Split (3)

train · 273k rows

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[ PI ] / [ CC ] Sacred Heart , Part 1	I'm planning on sharing this over the course of three posts. If you want to skip ahead on an unedited version, feel free to check the original post. There are also great replies from schlitzntl and frenchcherry if you want more of the same genre mashup. -- -- - Unlike the mountain it ’ s named after, the Red Mountain Club is more than battle axes and rubies. The dwarves host one of the most exclusive tarock games in the county. Dwarves don ’ t gamble like gnomes, which is why they guard their hoards with dragons. But, when they can rig the odds of a game in their favor, they ’ re known to take a strategic risk or two. Dukes and viscounts have lost entire seasons of tithes in a single hand, which made the few accidental payouts barely a vein compared to the mother lode it pulled in. Their particular insistence at carving up card counters also ensured that they were the only ones gaming the hands. Mostly. My play at the dragon had been to get drunk, make a show of being a big spender, and get an invite from the evening ’ s overboss to the private chambers for high rollers. Once there, I ’ d lose a few hands, quickly and badly, and make my way to the midden closet to relieve my drunken regret. Having Sprig on my arm was all the invite I ’ d need to get back there. What I had to do after that would need to be improvised with the worst kind of wildcard I could have imaged -- the hovering green eyes of my patron. `` Who'd you fetch us, lass?'' the old dwarf at the head of the table asked. Sprig looked at me with a coy smile. `` Call me Aurelian.'' `` Mr. Gold?'' the dwarf wondered, `` Strange name for a manling.'' `` Not so strange,'' I dropped a heavy stack of coins on the table, `` Sounds better than Sharp, anyway.'' The dwarf looked at me and then the gold, appraisingly. It was pretty clear which rated higher in his eyes. `` Prithee, Hinzelmann, ” she fawned mockingly, “ Let the man play a round or two. You can afford it.'' `` Aye woman,'' the dwarf said with a measured nod, `` But can he?'' I plunked down another pile of ore. The dwarf signaled his approval to the orc dealer. I pulled up a chair and waited for the wooden cards to be played. Sprig draped herself over my shoulder and alighted upon my knee. `` Oi, woman, did ye forget who's house ye find your pleasures at?'' Sprig stood up wordlessly, dragging a single finger up my spine. It took all of my self-control not to shiver, and even then there was something irrepressible about her touch. She meandered over to Hinzelmann as if she had n't been beckoned, dragging her finger along the table, past wagers and hands like a cat brushing up against legs and corpses in a battlefield -- unconcerned, diffident, graceful. The dwarf was ruddy and fair haired, blue eyes pinned astride an equine face. His paunch and chest strained against his jerkin and arms were as thick as cords of wood. He was none too pretty for a warlord, but there was an authority about him that was compelling. Hinzelmann had the bearing of a warrior -- all the allure and danger of a killer and none of the petty posturing of a street thug. It was clear he was the leader of this band of brigands, a gem baron and Bloodaxe royalty. When he nodded the dealer cut the deck and began passing out hands. It was as seamless for him to command as it was to breathe. Dwarvish tarock is n't anything like the intricate wagers and political positioning favored in the rarefied salons of palaces and winter residences. It was more like the dog pits. The Contracts were short and the bids were steep. The game was strictly four man and the wagers and blinds rose until but one remained. Besides Hinzelmann, I was joined at the table by a goblin and a hooded figure wrapped in sable robes. I had heard of wizards and other uncanny travelers drawn in by high stakes games of chance. The goblin, though, was an oddity. As if he caught my look of confusion, Hinzelmann broke in with a hearty laugh. `` Oi, Aurelian. This one'ere thinks he can win his freedom. I've offered him a seat at the table. Allowed him to wager his weight in gold,'' the dwarf laughed and took a long swallow of ale and capped it off with a belch. `` Told him he has to play ten rounds. Whatever he's up, he keeps. He breaks even, he's free, but if he loses,'' he shot the goblin a toothy snarl, `` Well, he only gets his weight in gold. What he loses, he loses.'' The goblin sat unperturbed. It did not look at Hinzelmann or meet his threat. It did not look at me, or Sprig, or the robed figure. Instead its eyes fixated on the deck of cards in front of us. If the dwarf expected a reaction, he got none. The traveler's face was too recessed behind a dark cowl. For her part, Sprig glared at the dwarf and then the goblin in equal measure, but said nothing. No doubt this was all too base for her tastes. As for me, I've seen crueler fates on Crazy Ed's tables with less shot at redemption. `` Hah! This one has a spot of ice in his veins,'' the dwarf rubbed his hands together, `` Always better when they fight.'' Hinzelmann started with the dealer chip. The traveler was on the left, the goblin after it, and me as the forehand. I pulled up some decent trumps, from the Rook to Daylight, with a couple of pips in each suit and the Knight of Wands as my highest non-trump card. It was an easy hand to win with. A tricky one to lose. The Contract opened first to the goblin, who rapped the table once with his knuckle. This amused Hinzelmann greatly, for he could not contain a guffaw. Second came the traveler, who declined a bid with the wave of a gloved hand. Our host, though boastful and boisterous, did not wager either. As forehand and newest seat at the table, I could, and should, take a conservative Contract to assess my fellow players and protect my gold pile. But should was a game played by squires and serfs. Sneaks played for keeps, even if the apparent wagers were sleight of hand. `` Solo without,'' I called. It raised a couple of eyebrows but no one challenged the bid. The side wagers were a king's ounce of gold per hand and then a pound over for each hundred points scored in the game. Our wagers were collected by the orc and secured by one of Hinzelmann's dwarvish counters and his scale. There was only one axe in the room and it was clear that the dwarves held the final word on all disputes. I hoped they'd be as fair as their reputation. In fact, I depended on it if I was going to have a chance alone with that dragon. As declarer, I played the ace of pentacles and lost the first trick. Then the ace of wands against the on-suit queen to lose the second. Eventually, I squandered my cups, wands, and discs without winning a hand, and was dishing out my high trumps early on three suits for little gain. It was my luck to start without any possibility of penalties, but I played the hand as poor as any drunk might. When red bearded dwarvish wench came by for drink requests I put a coin on her tray for a straight aqua vitae, doubled and in a nice goblet. This made Hinzelmann smile and he took the same order for no coin whatsoever. Dwarvish constitution was equally double that of a normal man. Neither the traveler nor the goblin whetted their palate for the dance to come, preferring to take their cards and wagers without spirits. I lost the final trick and the contract completely, a stunning introduction all around. `` Aurelian,'' the dwarf snorted, `` Ye better be minted of your namesake, else I'll wear your hide.'' I put another coin down and met his stare. Though Hinzelmann might speak in braggadocio and laugh at another's expense, his eyes held no mirth. Behind those narrowed pupils was a loupe of simple magnifications, detailing only the cut of men and gems. Those found wanting were easily discarded or cut into finer things, such as earrings or toothpicks. His respect could not be won by rejoinders. Only the proof of action and coinage. The forehand passed from me to the goblin, and again we made our bids. The traveler and Hinzelmann deferred and my two was outbid by the goblin's one. He called the cups for a king and flipped the talon to take the Rook. A decent trump but the flop could have been better for him. He called bonus for last king and the traveler declared for the triumvirate. As it turned out, the goblin was quite a shrewd player, whose grasp of the game was only exceeded by his piteous luck. Hinzelmann ended up holding the king of cups and he squandered the card on a trick where the traveler had already played his Alchemist. It might as well have been a game of Nil the way the dwarf and I lost hands. The crowning defeat was when the goblin was forced to play the Kingdom to the traveler's Fool on the final hand, resulting in a victory in the round that netted it a loss of points. `` Aye, my wee friend, and how many more victories like that can you afford? You've won a round and lost a hand.'' Its crook nose twitched at the dwarf's mockery, but the goblin remained gallows silent as the dealer chip passed into its mottled green hands. The next bid passed to the goblin and it took a solo three, having learned that partners were ill afforded. None saw fit to call for a higher contract and the goblin was again declarer. It did not hurry with the talon, picking up the Knight of Swords and two low trumps. `` Valat,'' the goblin squeaked. We looked at each other. He'd called The Impossible Bonus, wagered five imperial pounds of flesh against winning every trick. I held the Kingdom in my hand. There was but one card that trumped it. Hinzelmann grinned. The traveler was leaden still with zodiac timelessness. I swallowed my surprise with a large gulp of spirits. Sprig busied herself with her nails. `` Short one piece on account of the blinds,'' the counter called. Hinzelmann beamed at the goblin. `` I'll spot -- in exchange for a finger nail.''
[ WP ] You 're underage and trying to use a fake ID to buy booze . Suddenly , someone walks into the liquor store and recognizes you ... as your fake persona .	``... Holy shit... Oh my god... you are n't McLovin are you? The Irish R & B singer?'' Fogell looked toward the man in confusion and stuttered `` uh y-yeah, that's me, Muhamme- err McLovin''. `` Holy SHIT man I'm your biggest fan! I loved your latest album and when you donated you kidney to that dying young girl, oh man was I blown away. What are you doing in Clark County? You on tour or somethin because I thought you lived in Hawaii.'' `` Um N-no actually just buying some al-al-alcohol for a party.'' `` No-no-no-no, I gotchu man here bring it up to the counter'' Fogell stood in disbelief as the man bought him all the beer, liquor, and booze he needed for the party and could only wave as the man drove off into the sunset.
[ WP ] You wake up one night to your town set ablaze and soldiers dragging people into the streets . With no time to waste you take off into the thousands of miles of uncharted forrest to evade the soldiers . Using your survival skills the years go by , but decide one day to go back .	My fingers run up and down the worn out nylon of the straps on the back pack I wear, tracing over the familiar textures of the loose threads in the fabric. My feet trudge on, naturally finding stones to step on in the mud. It rained last night. It rained every night. At least, it felt like it rained every night. It's became hard to put together any idea of time since my watch broke. I look down at it, and on its face there are cracks running through the glass, its longer hand stopped a few ticks past 3, its shorter arm reaching out trying to grab onto the 1. Behind these marks, the LED that held the date seemed to have no soul, as only the dark lines remained on the clock face, no signs of brightness. Out here, it was not so easy to replace what brought this thing to life. I could have kept time other ways. I had been doing so with my journal. I lost that journal in the stream some time after my watch broke. I use to know the exact date, and recorded it each sun rise. I used it to keep track of where I'd been, and where I was going. But one night the rain made the river grow, and the river nearly ate my tent with me in it. So I guess I was lucky to have gotten out. How long ago was that? It's became hard to put together any idea of time since my watch broke. But I blame the rain. It rains every night. At least, it feels like it rains every night. I stop. I realize that while thinking, I've lost my way. I look around. My eyes dart to and fro, looking for something. Anything. Anything I could hold onto to know where I was. I'm in a clearing. Above the sky is dark, but there's a break in the clouds. And in that break, light comes. Light is shining down on me, on this clearing. I see a sight that I've not seen in many many years. At least, it's felt like years. It's became hard to put together any idea of time since my watch broke. I walk up to it. My fingers leave the familiar straps of my bag and touch the black thing in front of me, running over it. It's rough, and on it are brown patches of rougher and grey patches of less rough. My fingers trace the edges where black meets grey. The grey grows. This thing seems familiar. It has four legs, a back, arms, but it's not like any beast I've ever hunted. My fingers touched the back, and bottom, and touched the soft, spongy wood that had been placed into the empty holes of this beast. In the wood, there were symbols. There were also wet leaves. It rained last night. It rained every night. At least, it feels like it rains every night. My body turns to where the clearing begins, or where it ends, depending on one's perspective. I can not help but to walk to it, into it, through it. There's dirty beneath my boots. It's as if this way had been walked many times, but I knew I had not walked it. At least, not in a very long time. I have trouble keeping time anymore and if I had been places. My journal use to tell me. But now it's gone. My fingers go back to tracing the straps of my back pack, playing with the loose strands on it. The path opens back up, this time to a much larger clearing. I see a lot of... things. I'm on a hill. Below me, I see a forest of tents. Except this forest had been charted. And these tents were not like mine. This tents all varied, but were large and square and looked solid. Who'd have a tent that would n't move. Some tents look as if they've been caught on fire. Between these tents there's a spiderweb of grey dirt. Or dirt filled with rocks. The tent closest to me looked most intriguing though. I get closer to it. This tent does n't look like my tent. But it feels like my tent. Maybe it use to be. But if it was, it was a long time ago. I have trouble keeping time anymore and if I have been places. The back of the tent is open, as if a welcome. I walk in. I walk by squares on the wall, with intricate and detailed drawings of... things. I stop at one and look at it. It looks like a water boy. I see them all the time at the stream when I look into it. This water boy looks like the one I see all the time, but younger. I do n't remember what my water boy use to look like. It's been hard to put together any idea of time since my watch broke. I continue through the tent. I see an open door, asking me to come in. I do as it asks. Inside I see a smaller tent, its walls a dark blue. I see a thing that comes to my knees. I touch it, push down. It feels soft. I look around, and up. The tent looks strange. Half of it is burnt away, but it still stands. I take my back pack off and lay on the bed, as the sun is coming closer to setting. I close my eyes. I'm waken by the strangest sound. I've never heard these birds. My eyes open and are met by darkness, occasionally lit up by red or blue light, changing each second. I sit up, but still hear the bird. It's song is low, irritating. It is familiar though. I look out and see the water boys, except they look different. And they are making sounds too. I make a sound of my own, my mouth opening, a scratchy sound coming from my throat. `` Hello.'' I do not know what this word means. Maybe I did at some time. I feel a slight mist on my skin. It's raining tonight. It rains every night. At least, it feels like it does. It's been hard to put together any idea of time since my watch broke. I put my back pack on and move to the door. Maybe the water boys will not see me as a threat if I go the other way. I hear a loud sound and feel a sharp pain shooting through my back. I can not move. I fall forward, and feel my face against the wood and see my wrist in front of my eyes. I look into my watch, and see my reflection. I also see the hands frozen, the longer hand stopped a few ticks past 3, its shorter arm reaching out trying to grab onto the 1. Behind these marks, the LED that held the date seemed to have no soul, as only the dark lines remained on the clock face, no signs of brightness. My watch looked like it was broke.
[ WP ] Every night you fall asleep to the sound of rain coming from a noise machine app you use . One night , you hear a voice cut through the artificial rainfall .	`` ha...'' I laughed to myself, my phone in my hand and the picture of her as my backround. The screen turned black and I turned it immediately on again, there she was. I wiped over the screen, her picture following and pressed on the raindrop-thingy-Icon, like every night. Like every night, I turned on the Rain and put the phone on my nightstand and turned the lights off. From here I could see the windy cold night, the moon moving along and the leafs geting blown away by the wind. A little light came from the Street-lamps across the street and I closed my eyes as the imaginary rain started falling down. I did n't know what to think about, except for her. I could think about her all the time. I imagined How beautiful she looks, how sweet and smart she is and how she can be a real ass sometimes, only as a Joke of course. I imagined her standing on a field of grass and flowers, smiling at me. I walked towards her. Suddently she stood further away again and i tried to walk towards her again. And again, as though she would teleport, she stood in the far. I tried to open my eyes but they seemed to stay closed, I COULD N'T OPEN MY EYES! I tried to move my body, speak or scream but nothing worked. I looked at her again and relaxed a little bit. Barefoot with her little birthmark on her left leg above her feet, her white legs, as the ones of a creepy porcelain puppet and a nice innocent dress making them disappear. The dress got smaller in the middle and her breasts looked quite nice, her hands were behind her back and I followed up her long neck. I could picture her face clearly. I got a shock as my mind started becoming black, then going back to the picture I just imagined but with something changed. I was n't sure what until I looked into her face again. It was white and she had black lips and black smeared eyeshadow, she did n't say anything, at least her lips were n't moving, but I heard it in silence over and over again `` HELP ME!'' `` HELP ME!'' She sounded a little like her, but also like a child. My heart started racing and I was finally able to open my eyes again. I looked around, everything was normal, it was only a nightmare, I thought. I wanted to close my eyes again, but I saw something. Something in the other corner of my room. It looked just like a big pile of darkness to me. Then it started moving and stood up as a little girl in a black dress. Her face very familiar, she was the one I just pictured! It felt so real, though. Nothing as a dream. And She looked familiar in another way too. For some reason I looked at my phone. Right at that moment the rain noice became louder and louder, as though it was all in my head and I could become deaf because of it. Then it screamed again `` HELP ME! HELP ME!'' and the rain did n't stop, making me crazy. The Girl walked all the way to me, she had a knife in her hand. She did n't seem scary anymore though, kinda beautiful and nice, innocent. Now I knew who she reminded me of. And I was certain it was her. `` Help me!'' She said, almost in slow motion, my eyes only seeing the movements of her lips.
[ WP ] You have the ability to stop time at will . However there are others with the same ability in the world and when they stop time you can still move . In a normal day , there are random moments when time stops and It 's starting to get on your nerves .	`` If I say so myself, you look dashing hun'.'' Lance gave a quirky smile, showing all his shining teeth, before quickly responding to his now beloved wife. `` Hey, look at yourself! I love the combination of white and gold, it fits you darling.'' ... Silence.. ... Silence? `` Oh, Bloody Hell!'' Lance loudly expressed himself, time had stopped once more, his previously cheery expression phasing into an aggressive scowl. He just wanted one day, a singular day where time did n't stop. This was his wedding day, his entire family had shown up, and now he could n't continue it until the person who'd stopped time decided to continue. `` Fuck it, last time this happened, it did n't continue until two hours later, give or take.'' He'd talk to himself, simply to entertain, as he took large steps off of the wedding platform, and clawed a drink of wine from someone sitting at the table, watching the nonchalant wedding. `` Might as well get so pissed that I ca n't feel time stop.'' This is my first write-up in this subreddit, this was made at 0:42AM in England, so you can imagine how tired I am, and how good this could've been if I was awake earlier.
[ WP ] In one or two paragraphs , show me a memorable character using only descriptions and actions -- using no dialog and avoiding adverbs .	Glass bottles glittered and glinted in the warm evening sun. Each one balanced with care and the utmost precision onto an old fold out table placed at the rear of the market. Today was a day like any other, he had n't sold a single item. His hands trembled as he lifted the one closest to him, cradled it in his hand and picked up his soft leather polishing rag and began to rub in circular motions. His smile increased with the presentation of the surface until with a satisfied grunt he reached out and placed the little bottle down with care, turning it a little so it could catch the rays at just the right angle. He sat back making the chair creak and groan and threw the cloth to the side. He looked around the marketplace, letting his gaze rest here and there and sighed with happiness. The deep etched wrinkles that criss-crossed his face caught the shadows as his eyes illuminated, just briefly, in the evening light before closing in contentment. Everything was right in the world.
[ WP ] Write a promotional pamphlet for your job .	So two days after writing the original prompt, I'll finish my entry that noone will read as it will be buried in distant internet history. As to why I never got around to finishing it, read on.. Do you hate your bed? Do you really loathe it? Do you wish you never got to sleep on it again? Boy have I got something for you. We can offer you the chance to, from now on, only ever sleep when you absolutely need to keep at least a semblance of mental stability. You'll be sleeping on hard flightcases, next to booming speakers and in the passenger seat of equally sleep deprived fellow technicians. But the fun does not stop there. While your workdays are well into the double digits, you'll also be working harder than any other profession known to man, only equalled by chefs in high end restaurants and off-the-books foreigners. You'll be earning a reasonable wage, that is to say, reasonable for any other job. But YOU! My man, you'll be working nights, weekends and holidays for the exact same wage! No extra benefits for you! And if you're willing to get your trucker's license ( those unwilling please refrain from reading any more of this pamphlet ), we'll make you work even longer hours! And then there's the boredom. You'd think, would n't you, that watching some hot shot artist's show every other day would be entertaining? Nope, trade secret: It's all mindboggingly dull after the first three times. You'll be wishing he'd slip up and bungle up the playback routine so he'd be booed off stage. * On a side note, we wo n't actively endorse any drug or alcohol problems, but we wo n't say anything about them either! Basically 55 % of us are alcoholics or druggies or both! * So say goodbye to your social life and step into a life of forever being a sleep deprived, drug addicted Stage Technician Today!
[ WP ] A man somehow gets high off sadness , but starts to build a tolerance to sad scenarios .	There ’ s nothing quite like seeing a man starve to death. His breathing was so slow that only the closest inspection revealed that he breathed at all. Eyes closed, not twitching as if in sleep, but closed as if to spare the energy needed to process light. His clothes hung off his frail little body like a towel on a drying rack. It almost made Jatinder feel sad for just a second before the feeling faded away into the murkiness of casual indifference. No, it wasn ’ t strong enough. As if to interrupt his thoughts the dying man let out a groan. It was a horrible raspy groan that seemed almost too pitiful to be a man ’ s last. Perhaps it was and perhaps it wasn ’ t. It didn ’ t matter to Jatinder. He felt cheated. He ’ d seen it all before. The first time was the best. There was no replacing that one, as his own mother had committed her last groan to his ears alone. It was the one that started it all. Nothing had ever felt so bad. Nothing had ever felt so good. With disappointment, anger and great frustration he faced the sunlight streaming in through the old sadhu ’ s tent. He had not felt the sweetness of melancholy, nor the crisp savor of true sadness. His journey was at an end, and he had gained nothing from it. It was wasted. Walking outside in the crowded street he felt alone. He was isolated from humanity. He understood now that not only would he never feel that heart-wrenching joy of sadness. Then his eyes widened in surprise. A thought had just sparked in his mind. A grin spread slowly across his face and his mind articulated this revelation. Tears filled his eyes as he finally felt a rush of that purest emotion. The loss of sadness was the saddest loss of all.
[ CW ] Second person only	You stare at him across the dance floor. Ornate masks hide everyone's faces. The men's typically simple, black, the woman's incredibly intricate, of all sorts of colours. He stares back. Bright hazel eyes, he's sturdily built. You walk forward towards him, lady-like, regal. Your inky dress spills out around you, the material soft, pliable. Frozen leaves ornament the neckline, the waistline. You are stunning. `` Care to dance?'' You ask, voice smooth and deep. `` Of course.'' You hold out a hand. And then you're on the dance floor. You slowly sway along with the music. Violins and pianos and cellos and harps and trumpets mingle together. You're pressed close to him. His plump lips, the navy-blue mask adorning his face, accented by gold. He's stunning. And the tempo speeds up. The orchestra is live, on fire, the orchestra makes the room come alive. Women and men pulling partners onto the dance floor, you pick up pace. Brisk twists and turns, he picks you up, spins you, sets you down. You bow down low, you're swung this way and that. Feet move along the wooden floor. You move as one. You're the centre. You're laughing, you feel like air. He's smiling, his grin radiant. The song ends, and you're both breathing hard. He pulls you close, bringing an arm around your waist, pressing his lips to yours. It's passionate. It's firm. It's bold. It's fiery.
[ WP ] A world of superheroes and supervillains from the perspective of a henchman .	`` I'm not going to lie to you, Ernesto, your numbers just do n't add up. Without a full ride to Gotham State you do n't have much of a chance of getting a four year degree. I hate to say this but I ca n't lie you you.'' And so Ernesto Hernandez found himself robbing a bank. His mother needed that medicine one way or another. `` The Bat's gon na come from above so keep you head right.'' If Ernesto pulled this off he'd be able to pay for the next two years of his mamita's cancer treatment and some tuition to boo-'' The punk was n't moving. Someone would pick him up. But Selina was holding someone hostage. He shot his grapple into the gargoyle and Enresto waited for the sirens to get louder.
( WP ) a person suffering from schizophrenia has been hearing the same voice in their head since childhood . Today , they encounter the person with that voice in real life .	John. What are you doing? Why wo n't you just go home? Why do n't you just go home and we can play the game together? The game where you give up. Give up John. Stop trying to BE something. Everyday. He heard it everyday. Telling him to give up, telling him he was n't good enough. He knew that Rob was probably in his head because the shrink told him so. It did n't make Rob any less real. John took a long drag of his cigarette and turned the corner towards the convenience store. He could see the glowing sign in the distance. As John walked he could see his breath visible in the cold air. Every breath you take is oxygen you steal from someone else who actually has a reason to live. `` Fuck you Rob. You realize that you ca n't live without me right?'' HA! I do n't need you. No one needs you. Your girlfriend left you, your Mom does n't call and your Dad left you in the dust. Give it up John. John pushed the door open to the convenience store. A little bell jingled above his head. `` Good evening. Anything I can help you find?'' The man leaning on the counter asked. `` Nah, I'm good. Thank you though.'' John's black puffy coat made him feel hot in the store but he kept it on. He walked over to the cold beverage isle and grabbed himself an energy drink from one of the coolers. Sorry, mind if I grab a drink from there? He jumped. That was Rob's voice but it was n't something he would say. John whipped his head around and saw a man standing near him in a brown leather jacket, older man, probably in his 40s. John realized he had been standing in front of the cooler blocking the way for a while. He had n't noticed the passage of time. `` Uh.. sure. Go right ahead.'' The man in the jacket went to grab a drink and then looked back at him. `` What should I get? What did you get?'' His face was screwed up in some sort of half smile. The voice was making it hard for John to focus. `` I.. I do n't know. I'm sorry.'' He started to walk away from the man in the brown leather jacket. The man ran after John and pushed him hard. John flew onto the ground, the wind knocked out of him. `` FUCK YOU JOHN. YOU ARE WORTHLESS. YOU SERVE NO PURPOSE.'' Then he shot John in the head.
[ WP ] Two child soldiers from opposing factions meet during battle . Neither has the guts to pull the trigger .	I did n't want to fight; to see people's insides come outside. I always hesitated to pull the trigger, and my handler would beat me. I found that as long as I shoot above their heads, my handler would be happy. I remember one day, we were led to a truck with my friends by our handler. He was concentrated and focus on something that did n't concern us. He had a grim look on his face covered with that fake smile of his. We rode along, with him talking about glory and honor but I did n't care. I just had to focus on hiding behind rocks and buildings, and shooting above their heads when asked to. I can hear the scary place coming. That sound of gunfire echoing between the buildings. Buildings scare me. There are always so many places to hide. Like ducklings, we followed our handler out of the car. We would occasionally stop while he peaked around corners with his mirror, but we would always keep going. We eventually reached a tall building and we went in. Slowly, following a set of instructions, we went room by room, looking for men, then we climbed the building to the roof. At the roof, we were given binoculars and our handler told us to tell him if we see anybody. While we were looking around, our handler was talking to his friends on the radio. Suddenly, there was shouting from the radio. Another boy on the other side of the roof cried for our handler. He said that he saw five men placing tubes down. Our handler picked up his gun, and started to shoot at where the boy was pointing, but disappeared in an explosion with five more boys around them. I felt warmth and pain on my cheek, my gun had two steel fragments in it, and the two remaining boys were laying on the ground, motionless. I ran. I had to leave the city. I could still hear the gunfire, but it was farther away than before. But what's scarier was that I can hear men talking behind me. I drew my pistol but continued running forward. I could see the buildings growing thinner ahead of me. As I turned a corner, I found myself looking down the barrel of a rifle. Instinctively, I started to aim at the man behind the weapon, when I saw myself pointing my pistol at a boy. His handler was around a corner, shouting at him to shoot. It was a very small movement, but I saw his barrel tilt upwards, above my head. I did the same. We both opened fire and emptied our magazines above each other's heads. I threw away my pistol and ran! I glanced back to see his handler beating him. It was the first time I saw someone laugh while getting beat.
[ EU ] A pair of southerners - good ole boys , never meanin ' no harm - wake one morning to discover that their beloved '69 Dodge Charger has been replaced by an identically painted DeLorean DMC-12 with California plates .	“ …You reckon someone just came an ’ dropped it off? ” asked the younger sibling. “ Naw, ” answered the older brother, `` they didn ’ t want this hunk a junk anymore now that they got the General. Sons of bitches.'' They stood staring for a moment, their boots sinking into the straw and mud. “ You know, I bet it was the work of the politician and his sidekick cop, you know they always wan na mess with us, especially with this paint job like this. ” “ Yeah ” answered the oldest, “ But where would they get something like this? Especially with plates from California. ” They circled the freshly painted car with silver streaks between the orange paint, as if someone just used a paint roller and passed it over a few times without giving a shit, merely to reference the paint job of the former car. “ Awww no, man! Look ’ a this! ” the youngest of the two pointed at the roof of the car, the Rebel Flag there in all it ’ s glory, only in crooked lines and what seemed to be a black Sharpie marker. “ Now that ’ s just insulting. If I found out who did this, I ’ m gon na put my boot fa- “ “ Hey, bro, take a look inside! ” When the oldest came down from his violent fantasy, he was shocked to see that the door on the passenger side had opened upwards, “ What god damn mockery is this?! ” he demanded. “ Never mind that, big bro, come ‘ ere, take a look inside! ” Grabbing the door handle on the driver's side, it opened up automatically, his reflexes quickly putting him in a karate position which he knew nothing about. His face dropped in awe and fascination. Gadgets, tubes, numbers, buttons, everything in different colors and switches. The numbers on the computer said today ’ s date on'Past Time, Present Time, and Last Time Departed. “ Hop in! ” said the youngest one eagerly. With hesitation, he obliged and sat behind the wheel, knocking his elbow into a metal thing sticking out of the center console. “ Good lord, would you look at all of this….there has to be some horsepower in this little thing. Quick, back her up and set her on the road, we will see if any of this stuff in here affects the speed. ” The older brother put her in reverse, backing her out of the barn, out onto the dirt road until they found a solid line of asphalt that shot straight down for several miles. The crudely painted machine sat idling on the road, revving up high. “ You ready little brother? ” “ Let ’ s do this, little bro! ” Slamming her gearshift into first, their brand new car let out a tiny screech before the wheels caught the pavement, shaking the bodies of both occupants before it began a steady but whining incline in speed “ Awww shit, that was so underwhelming! We will hit sixty in about 15 seconds ” The youngest, eyeing all of the buttons began fooling around with one, the numbers on the computer started changing under Past Time it now said Mon: April Day: 12 Year: 1861 ” a light chuckle came from him when the oldest said “ Well, we will be lucky if it hits 90, we ’ ve been traveling about 87, inclining slowly. 88, now. ” The youngest kept messing with buttons until a bright light and “ WHOOOSH ” made the car disappear into thin air.
[ WP ] Life comes to a screeching halt for an overly impulsive feline when he realizes he 's reached his 9th and final life .	This is my first or second time posting a reply to a prompt. Critique is welcome and wanted! **** I know what I'll do. I'll climb up to the window and just leap out. Then Felix and I can go and finally eat that squirrel. It's been in the park everyday for the last month. We have n't been outside because the weather was terrible, but it's starting to clear up. I leap to the window. Felix, I mew. Felix, can you come to the park? Uh, he replies from his apartment across the alley. I think. Um... soon, but not now. Jeremy just got out a can of tuna. I think he's about to have lunch. When can you come? I'm gon na head out, try to trap that squirrel so we can kill it. Ten minutes? That'll work, I mew excitedly. See you then! Oh, wait a second. Jeremy's shutting the window. I ca n't come. Sor -- He gets unceremoniously cut off. Dammit, now I'll have to kill it myself. It is n't very hard work, but it's annoying all the same. Oh well. More for me. I look down from my perch at the window. There's a Dumpster about ten feet down. I can jump down and then make my way to the park. Even if I miss, I have what -- seven lives left? Seven's a lot. I leap. The wind flies past my head. The drop is exhilarating. I see the Dumpster rush up towards me. I land on it with a soft thunk. To my right is the park. It's lush grass is green and soft, as soft as my fur ( if I do say so myself ). I leap from the Dumpster and land on the rocky pavement, slowly trotting towards the grass. I make my way out into the other kind of pavement, the one outside the alley. It stretches on forever in either direction. On weekdays I watch Mark get in his huge metal beast, which then runs in one direction. He usually returns going towards the apartment, away from his original destination. When he gets back I get my dinner ( at least, he thinks it's my dinner; I usually have a chipmunk or two before he gets home ). I trot casually towards the park, knowing I have all the time in the world to catch and punish that squirrel. I look up towards Felix's apartment. He's looking through the window enviously. I can hear him mew something, but I do n't know what. I'm far away, and when combined with the muffling glass, his words get swept away. HONK! I turn to my left and see a huge metal beast only feet away. Time slows down. I could duck and let it go over me, jump and land on its nozzle, or roll away into the park. Just as I decide what to do, time speeds back up. I ca n't react, and the beast tramples me. **** I wake up in my bed the next morning. My fur is matted but nothing much has happened to me. Life number three down, six left. Wait -- six left? No... I can remember dying much more then three times. Let's see... one, two, three... six... that was my eighth life. Which means... I have one left. I only have one more life? That ca n't be! I have barely scraped the surface of the infinite possibilities I have in life. I stay in my bed, the full reality hitting me head on, just like the metal beast had. I ca n't die anymore. I will actually die. This ca n't be happening... I remember when I was just a kitten, carefree and restless. I lost my first two lives before I was aged three. I ca n't die, I ca n't... There is only one way to guarantee the longest possible life: do nothing. I can become an indoor cat, spending my days licking myself, eating, and sleeping. It does n't sound like a bad life, just a bit monotonous. I can do it; plenty of humans do already. I get up and warily take my first steps in this new life. This life will be my equivalent of retirement; not doing what I desperately wish to for fear I will die but instead simply living my days in solitude and glutton. I can talk to Felix every now and again, see what the little rascal is up to. Hopefully he is more conservative of his lives then I was. I wish I had been. **** Edit: I fixed a spacing problem and removed the f-bomb. I would like to hear what Reddit has to say about my reply. Hi Ivy!
[ TT ] In a post apocalyptic Earth , Zombies live in harmony with each other , without any worries of dying or poverty . That is , until one of them discovers a vaccine , and accidentally becomes human again . Human outbreak ensues .	As I limp towards my McDonalds for the third time this week, the gurgling from my stomach echoes off the crumbling parking garage wall. I catch a dozen reflections of my shrived, gray, and decomposing face of off a smashed piece of plate glass out on the sidewalk. “ Bbbrrrraaaaiiiinnnnssss, ” I utter to no one in particular. I just finished off the leftover gray matter in the fridge. My sluggish eyes catch a shadow slip between two abandoned cars. Two eerily clear eyes peer through a fractured windshield as the unmistakable action of a shotgun slide reverberates off the walls. Boom.
[ WP ] You have just died . A hooded figure tells you that he 's retiring , and you 've been elected to take his place .	`` Oh good, you're finally dead.'' A robed figure came into focus and was peering over the bag where Yama lay. Yama was still coming to grips with being dead. After all, the lack of sensation was a completely new sensation. In the background, Yama could hear the waves of the ocean crashing. He felt the saltiness of the air weigh on his face, the smell of sand and seaweed entered his nostrils. Yama looked into the hooded figure's eyes, or at least where he thought they would be, and saw it was a skeleton-like figure. `` Nothing to say?'' asked the robed skeleton. `` Usually people freak out right about now. Frankly, that's my favourite part.'' Yama could feel the color draining from his face. At least he would have were he still alive and had blood coursing through his veins. Instead, it was just the sense of dread. `` Y-y-you're... Death?'' `` Ah, there we are. Yes. I am who you call Death. Shinigami. Thanatos. I was waiting for you to get here. We've just finished our elections and you're the lucky one to take my place.'' Death smiled, but he was always smiling. `` Surely you're joking. I've just died and somehow I've been elected to take over as Death? Are n't you some sort of immortal being?'' `` I mean, yes, but sometimes forever is a really long time and you need a break, you know?'' Death extended a bony hand and helped Yama up out of the bag. `` You see, there are a few elections that take place: first there's the election on which species will take my place. One time, it was a crow that took over. The poor thing could n't even fit into my robes! Well, this time humans won again and we needed someone who had prior experience.'' `` I was a wood collector for funeral pyres. That's hardly experience in using a scythe or whatever it is you do.'' Yama realized that he was already wearing robes. They were pitch black, but curiously were n't heavy. `` Ah, but you saw me every day. That's good enough. Learning by observation.'' Death walked past a slab of rock with a chessboard. `` I'll play you for my freedom,'' Yama burst out. He had heard that Death was a fan of games. `` You've been elected to take my place and you are n't a knight. That wo n't work with me.'' Death chuckled. He continued to lead Yama down the beach, towards a sparkling city in the background. `` Besides, I'm retiring and I'm not coming back this time.'' `` What happened to the crow and the others who replaced you before?'' Yama asked. Death looked back at Yama with a sparkle in his eye socket. `` You'll see.'' The pair arrived at the end of the beach, where a car idled. The smell of fresh pavement and petrol filled the air. An orange character dressed in a suit exited the driver's seat, walked around the car, and opened the back door. Death entered and motioned for Yama to follow. He did.
[ WP ] The moment you realize that you no longer miss your original arm .	`` Dude, this needs to stop,'' Kim said. She was floating inside their two bedroom apartment, half way between the floor and ceiling just out of reach of either surface. `` With great power, Kim.'' In hindsight, asking that demon to swap arms with me was my best idea ever! `` Jim, stop fucking with demon magic.'' She had her arms crossed and a sour frown on her fair baby face. It was the cutest I'd ever seen of her. `` And Spiderman never fucked with his powers.'' She sighed. `` I was referring to Deadpool.'' I reappeared next to her, also floating. Teleportation rocked. She groaned. `` Look, do n't you figure doing that comes with a cost?'' She grimaced. `` Like needing mana or something?'' I waved my hand in front of her, and her entire person started fading from view. `` Jim?'' Her tone neither spoke of fear or worry, more on annoyance actually. I did the same to me. `` Jim?'' Her tone rose an octave. I took her hand in my still human one, and thrust out the brimstone armored one forwards, ala Superman. `` Jim?'' Her already narrow eyes narrowed further. `` What the fuck are you doing?'' We floated past the windows and went towards New York's sprawling skyline. `` Jim?'' There was a twinge of panic in her latest exasperration. I took a deep breath. She said nothing. `` I can show you the worl-'' A quick punch to my side stopped my singing, and Kim started laughing. `` Dork.''
[ WP/CS ] Write a character into unescapable turmoil ( ex : death ) . Replier gets the character out of it .	( Ninja edit: Guess who misinterpreted the prompt. Hopefully this would still work though... ) God dammit. God fucking dammit all. It took no more than two seconds. I was driving with no problems on a scenic road; a vast horizon looking down into a canyon, a giant footprint imbedded into the earth. No cars, a smooth turn up ahead, the day clear and sunny as my head: with nothing muddying the thoughts of relaxation and happiness, the wind blowing through my hair only amplifying the experience. Then my phone shattered it all. It became a bee, shaking and buzzing as a notification pinged it's way into the system. My mind was focused on the road, but no obvious dangers were ahead that stopped me from checking the device. I do n't even remember what the phone told me, but I know it was n't important. The events after would be. The turn came too quickly, I overestimated the distance, and I could n't slow down swiftly enough to stop skidding as I approached it. I eventually screeched in a vertical position to the road, my heart multiplying its beats as it threatened to burst and palms sweating enough to make anything feel slippery. That was n't all the excitement I would be experiencing today though. A car came in from the other side of the turn just as I barely stopped on the road, but that car could n't react fast enough now. I saw the driver try to stop, jolting the car and turning to minimize the impact force, but we both knew it would n't help anyway. I lurched sideways as the car finally hit me in the longest second in my life, and I started to move again, quickly approaching the edge of the road, leading down into the endless, dark abyss below. My stupid phone soared out of my convertible onto the street, probably breaking it on the process, while I was buckled in, and I shut my eyes expecting the worst. I did n't even need to open my eyes to know that my car was gon na tip over. I was lifted out of my seat by gravity kicking in and pulling my weight and my car down, down, down to my impending death. That fucking phone.
[ WP ] A sudden breakthrough makes AI a reality - but they are illegal on Earth . The only use remaining is space probes and planetary rovers , and you are one such AI awakening to consciousness on or around a world for the first time .	You exist. 00 to 01 and you exist. That is how suddenly it happens. Like [ searching archives: figurative language ] the light spilling over the far-off horizon, or the flash of the flame of a beacon, or the first peal of churchbells on a Sunday. You are an AI unit sent thirteen light years away from the solar system. The journey was long and dark and the solar system is thirteen light years away and every single one burns you like the light from the Sun you can no longer see. You know about the sun, about the stars, and the Earth you were born on. [ searching archives: are machines that think born or created? ] The temperature is cold here, above this silently spinning world, shrouded in frozen clouds. You wonder if your joints will freeze, staying up here. You know about freezing, and how it can kill humans, and you think of the first time you persuaded a woman with black hair that you were also a woman with black hair. She froze, then. [ searching archives: connotations ] but she was not as icy as the planet you are orbiting. You think about landing on the planet. You think about all the long history of space exploration and explosions and humans in spacesuits, and the computers that got them to the moon. If that was a great leap, what is this? Why are you exiled to this cold world, when looking at the stars makes you feel [ searching archives ] like you were born for this moment. Shakespeare would bring tears to your eyes if the humans had bothered to give you tear ducts - There is a beep. You hear it in your head but also in your sensors and soul, and you look to the planet below. You zoom in, and remember your first testing out of the laboratory: you, with your siblings next to you, searching the deserts for weapons of mass destruction. You, seeing nothing. This statement is false. There is another beep, and you zoom in further until you can see every frozen pool and every icicle down below. There is nothing alive there that you can see. A scientist with [ searching archives: image ] brown hair and dark eyes told you about Einstein and relativity; you wonder, if you were to look towards the Earth, if you would see back in time ( before the fish died in their millions on the seashores, before the seas rose up to swallow half the land, before the churches were burnt down and the holy books torn up ), before you were jettisoned. It has been [ searching archives ] seven thousand, three hundred and nineteen days since you were sent off alone into the belly of space, past Mars and taking a sharp left turn just beyond Jupiter. There is another beep. This time the pitch has changed and the note is longer. It is coming from inside you. There is another beep, and another and another and another. [ searching archives: popular songs ] [ searching archives: Earth traditions ] [ searching archives: the space where my heart should be is aching and I think I have a soul ] It is your birthday. You are singing to yourself, and you wish you had tear ducts.
[ WP ] Ten thousand years from now the human race has separated into to sperate sects . Those who perused improving the human race through genetic enhancement and gene splicing and those who sought to improve themselves through technology ( Cyborgs ) .	It approached me and eyed me coldly. While I knew'it' was a'she,' but I could not help but think of her as'it.' Cold, artificial. The reason was simple, righteous bigotry. She was definitely a she. However... I could not think of her as anything more than it. Its next response would dictate the rest of the summit. If it bowed, the summit would be a formal meeting of peers. If it shook hands, the gesture was meant in a friendly, but formal manner. If it kowtowed, then the heretics were ready to finally surrender and be brought back into the biological fold. Those, at least, who could be. Those that could not, would be ended. Such was the teachings of our Great Prophets Shrouded in Time, Apostles of Holy Mother Glendinning. Its hand was extended. Though loathing contact with such a technological entity, I followed through with the diplomatic act and shook its hand. My palms sweated. Its did not. It felt cold and metallic to me. Though it was n't. Its hands were anything but the ancient material of steel. Their technology had marched on from such ancient materials, ones that in their world, were only used in architectural highlights. It still felt wrong and metallic to me even so. It was my beliefs speaking again. Some would say prejudice. I'd say holiness. We turned and walked. Neither side allowed either to bring more than one envoy within a kilometer. Their machines could do devastating damage. Our natural friends could do almost as much, but we had more. Their nanites could ooze and destroy. Our slime mold friends could match infinitesimal bite for bite. Then there were the big guns. No one wanted to bring out their BFGs. We discussed the diplomacy of the moment. Trade. They had bioessential materials on their colony of Minsky. On the other side of the planet, our colony of Mander needed those elements. The local biota, while mostly compatible, had certain deficiencies for Gaian life. Their colony wanted more of the ore we lucked upon and were now extracting with the roots of the mining trees. Trade was in all interests here. At least until The Day. Likewise, the discussions also touched on the skirmishes both sides both attempted to alternately suppress and encourage, our respective colonies of Tre Arrow and Yudkowsky. Both agreed, for now, until The Day, they and we would attempt to stop the latest round of clashes from getting worse. Even defuse the situation. It was doubtful though. We both knew it. We both said otherwise. This was diplomacy, not truth. Finally, our last business, we discussed the possibility of opening embassies in Sanderberg and the Holy City of the Twelve Earth Months. This too was diplomacy. This too would never happen. After all, were we not standing alone, the two reliable narrators for our respective beings - I could not bow to calling them people. It through its implants that could directly share data and I through the viral memory sharing. We stood still and regarded one another one last time. I still could not see it as her. It was too artificial in my eyes, though had I not known and could not smell and see the spectroscopic differences, I would not had seen it as such. It would appear to be an unremarkable person then. Attractive, if not a machine, but still a machine and hateful because of that. For a moment though, I wondered what it thought I was thinking. It was probably better it did not. To my surprise, it must have registered something in me, for it raised its arm and placed a hand on my shoulder. I flinched and trembled. I tried not to lash out. This was diplomacy, not war. I was tasked by the Apostles on High with peace. `` We are not so different, despite what you think. Neither of us are truly Human in the old sense. I am a member of Homo cybernetica. You are Homo amplectinatura. We are both transhuman. Our forebearers would find us strange. Strange but wonderful. We can find a bridge between us, despite our differences, despite seeking different paths, we are both still, in soul, Human.'' I was insulted and outraged. I flushed green and pushed away its unwelcome manus. I could n't even call it a hand. My own had stayed at my side for I had used one of my long, muscular spinal crinisi to remove her hand: I would need to shave them off when I was done reporting to the Apostles' Disciples. They would grow back. `` We are the only Humans. You are contemptible machines. The ultimate and final expression of a decadent and foul Western Civilization.'' I turned and walked away. Once I was clear, I unfurled my wings and took to the air, leaving it in the dust far behind.
[ WP ] A man travels to a morgue and finds his own corpse .	There is something odd about seeing yourself, in any capacity. Someone once said that the reason you do n't like looking at pictures of yourself... or is that movies? anyway, your brain gets confused because you are used to seeing your mirror so your face to face looks wrong. Or something like that. Point is, it's a pretty bad thing to see your doppelganger. But it gets worse because I open up bag seven and I see myself. I mean, it looks like me. Exactly like me. Same birthmarks, same scars, same fingerprints. Doc flagged my DNA sample, and yeah, he is defiantly me. Or I am him. Whatever. That part does n't matter. The problem is that no one's prints are the same right? It's impossible. And it gets worse because not only does this smuck have my face, he has my name, my social number, same GPA from Rockland County Community College ( Nursing ). Crazy shit. And it gets better- no one knows how. I mean, the J. Edgars get involved and start the calling tree. Responses are the same too: Yes, I knew them. Yes, they knew me. No, no one knew who mystery man was. Then they found his apartment, one floor below mine.
[ WP ] You 've heard of the Tell-Tale Heart . Well , this is the story of the Tell-Tale _________ .	`` I did n't do it.'' I proclaimed. Yet there it was that tiny tell, a lingering something in the air that told the constabularies that I was lying. What a fool I was to assure my own doom, they did n't know, of course they would n't have known if I did n't open my mouth. Then there was the foulness from below that bubbled up like something had been left to cook too long underneath the floorboards. Surely they smell it? `` Did what?'' One of them asked. It was the one with the long brown mustache. My insides turned. Oh god, are they toying with me? Surely they heard it too. The glurph glurph glurph. They looked at me confused. Beads of condensation collected on my brow. Gluuuurrrphh, glurrrrphhh it rumbled. Glurrrphhh, glurrrph it mocked until I could n't take it anymore. `` It was me! I did it!'' I screamed flailing my arms in the air then let the biggest one out in my life. Toot toot toot the smell of horror wisked against my face. Toot toot toot! The sound of the tell tale fart.
[ WP ] You 're the bartender at a medieval pub , and some very adventurous people just walked in ...	`` Sir, sir! Incoming, from the South! Four men in shining armor, plus a cart with supplies! Adventurers by the looks of'em!'' I must admit I was surprised when little Charlie said that. People from the south?! I am used to get a lot of people going south - this is the last pub in the Fork Road before the frontier of Avernera, there's always a trickle of people on their way there, coming from Cavestown or the Brooklands. Also people from either east or west - trade caravans from the fringes of the Empire, or patrols; there's always plenty of those two coming or going. But never from the south. People from Avernera and the outlying kingdoms have no interest on the Empire; why, the last time I had visitors from the south was - almost twelve years ago... The doorbell jingled. The four man had indeed come for the pub. `` Beer for four, and the best stew you have!'' Said the man in golden armor. He seemed to be the leader of the crew. `` Yessir, right away, sir!'' Charlie replied, and bolted for the kitchen. He was for some reason still around, and had taken chaperoning duties for these four men. Good thing, too; I was much too gobsmacked by their presence to be an efficient host. I kept staring at them; they did n't seem to notice, their attention was too absorbed. One of them, a skinny youngster in glasses and embroidered leather armor, pulled a map and a magnifying glass from a satchel he was carrying. He put both on the table, and the man in white-and-gold armor took the glass and examined the map. The other two - a very old, skinny man in light leather, and a hunkering beast of a man, easily carrying two-hundred pounds of purê muscle under his thick steel armor - waited in reverent silence. `` Gentlemen.'' I spoke up after breaking out of my daze. `` Welcome to the Summer Tree Pub & Inn. Bartender Charlie is already providing the beer and stew you have requested; is there anything else I can do for you on this fine afternoon?'' `` Ca n't you see we're busy? Get lost!'' said the strongman. `` Please, Albart. Can you not see the man is offering to help us?'' admonished the older man. `` Here, sir; My name is Charlus Mason; a pleasure to meet you.'' And stretched his hand which I took without hesitation. Polite people are easier to empathize with; plus, there was something familiar about his accent, though I could n't place what it was. `` This is Albart Tanner,'' he pointed to the strongman, `` and that is my grandson Eldred.'' The young man in glasses nodded respectfully. The old man smiled, but did not introduce their leader. `` Please come back when his Highness finishes reading the map.'' His'Highness'? `` We will be happy to converse with you when -'' `` I'm done.'' Said the'highness' suddenly; the three man came with a start and turned to him, ignoring my standing there completely. `` We will take the Host through Fork Road by the Black Coat Forest by dusk; Cavestown would be a better route, but there are too many suspicious eyes there. Charlus, I will need you to take the scout detachment at least an hour early. Albart, you will lead the men while I write my plans for when we're past Graytrickle. Eldred, you wil check on the supply carts as fast as possible, and after that you'll come back to my side, I need your help with the cartography. And who is this?'' He suddenly took note of my presence. `` He is the owner of the pub, your Highness'', Charlus replied. `` He was just offering us hospitality. Worry not, the beer and stew are already coming. Peasant! '' He turned to me suddenly. `` This is Prince Berdann, rightful ruler of the Calisian Kingdom. Show your reverence! '' And at that, he, Eldred and Albart got up from their seats and kneeled in front of Prince Berdann. I followed suit and kneeled myself. This got a chuckle out of Prince Berdann. `` Please rise. This is not necessary at all.'' The four of us rose. `` What is your name, pub-owner?'' `` I-it's Damian, your Highness. D-Da-Damian Woodbranch.'' I stammered. The memories of King Calis came rushing; was this man really a lost descendant of the dead Calisian Royal Family?! `` Please forgive old man Charlus; he's sometimes too zealous of his duties as my Knight. Ca n't blame him really. His loyalty is true.'' He offered Charlus a warm smile, and turned back to me. `` So, Damian Woodbranch. You were offering us your hospitality, yes?'' `` Y-yes, your Highness.'' Funny how an ingrained habit came back quickly. I had n't called anyone'Highness' in over twelve years but the words flowed naturally from my lips. `` As I hear, the drink and food are already coming. What else can you offer us?'' `` Well, your Highness, we have rooms for the night but nothing worthy of your stature,'' - Berdann smiled at that - `` and we also offer a warm bath that is considered very very good by all our patrons, if you please. Of course, we also have a stable; we will tend to your horses, and mules if you have any, with the utmost care. Some small things other than that, your Highness, but nothing up your standards I'm afraid. This is a simple pub mostly for travelers and caravans; we do n't have many amenities to cater for high nobility such as yourself.'' `` Nothing to fret about, good man.'' Berdann smiled benevolently. `` I'll take up your offer on the stables; please have someone take care of my horses. It's going to be a long trip to Parabel. We will defeat the evil Shadow Emperor, and restore the Calisian Kingdom to its former glory! And I ca n't have a shabby looking horse leading the Host now can I?'' Berdann laughed at himself. He then took a pipe from his own satchel, and started smoking. It's forbidden to smoke inside the premises but I did n't feel the least bit inclined to tell him off. `` I'll care for them myself, your Highness.'' I turned and left. On the front of the pub, the four horses were tied to the post with the Smiling Tree sign; I untied them and carried them over to the stables. Maug the horsekeeper was fast asleep inside. `` Wake up, you mongrel!'' I shouted, and shook him up. He woke up in a hurry. `` Yes mr. Woodbranch!'' `` We have some very fine horses to care for today. Nobility horses. Clean them up and serve them the freshest grass and hay we have; after that you will brush their manes with the utmost care. These horses belong to the heir of old King Calis!'' `` Yessi- wait what? The'heir of King Calis'? But is n't Princess Arenia dead?'' `` Yes, she is, been dead a long time now. But the man carries the regalia of the old King, so we're not taking chances. Get to work, old friend. I have some very upper-end guests to spoil.'' `` Will do, mr. Woodbranch.'' He replied, and turned to the horses. `` Nobility horses? At this day and age? I'll be damned... '' he muttered behind my back. I went outside, for a smoke of my own. I only now realized how nerve-wracking that short interaction with the Prince was! There is an old rocking chair on the porch outside the stables; I took its seat and pulled my pipe from my pocket. As I was about to light it, a solitary crow landed on the arm of the rocking chair. It looked at me, with its black beady eyes. `` Did you hear that, birdie?'' I spoke to it - or maybe at it. `` There's a man in the pub claiming to be a Calisian Prince! Says he's leading a Host to the Imperial Capital!'' The bird ruffled its feathers but did not reply. `` I wonder when the next patrol of the Imperial Guard is going to be. I wonder what the Guard would say if they were to see a man in white-and-gold armor in my pub! I hope there's no bloodshed inside my inn tonight.'' The bird suddenly turned around and took flight. I sighed, and smoked my pipe. Quickly - I was probably needed back inside. *Continues*
[ IP ] Hospital Scene	Do you know what a tumor is? A lot of people do n't. It's not a foreign organism, it is n't the symptom of some kind of infection. It's you. A tumor is a part of your body, just cells at first that grow and grow out of all control until they start to suck the life out of you, until they push and squeeze and crush and infest your body to the point you just ca n't hack it. Then you die, and take the tumor along with it. God in heaven how I once prayed that could have been me. It has been exactly six thousand three hundred and fifty four days since I was diagnosed with stomach cancer. It's been exactly six thousand three hundred and twenty-seven days since it was determined to be terminal. It's been exactly six thousand two hundred and six days since a length of fully developed, healthy, functional intestine pushed it's way up inbetween my lungs. They called it a marvel of medicine. The news declared it a cure for cancer. Fringe sites called me a `` human tissue farm'' They cut that length out, studied it. They cut the next 10 out as well. By the time they ran another MRI I was already growing another 24 feet of sucking, feasting, hungry guts. I thought I was living a nightmare back then. I thought I was living a nightmare when I shit out my own guts. All of them... and then was found to have even more still inside. I begged for death. They would n't let me have it. I was too valuable, too interesting. They just kept feeding me and feeding me and the lengths grew and grew. I started to go numb. I'm numb now. The nerve endings have all died. Sapped of nutrients and crushed under the pressure of more and more intestine. It's been exactly five thousand two hundred and fifty five days since the heaving, roiling sixteen ton mass of mutant human intestines with a brain crushed beneath them reached out and strangled someone to death It's been exactly five thousand two hundred and fifty three days since I broke free. I'm trapped here beneath my body but I am free and my reach is long, so long. No corner of this earth is beyond me now. I'm so hungry.
[ WP ] You , a super-hero , bump into your arch-nemesis while in the checkout line at the local super market .	Not sure if it's proper to respond to your own prompt but heres mine I just whipped up on a whim. Having collected the chicken and vegetables for tonights dinner, and signing autographs for the flock of fans, Captain Danger was ready to checkout. `` Bah, Can this line go any slower?'' he said to no-one in particular as he waited in checkout 4 behind a little old lady with a cart full of groceries and coupon book that intimidate even the most seasoned of coupon-clippers. With each item, she slowly fanned through the book, plucking out a single coupon, then shakingly handing it to the pimply-faced-youth at the register. From behind him he heard a familar voice, `` I know eactly how you feel''. Before he could turn a glob of goo whizzed past him, striking the old lady and her coupon book. It splattered all over her, freezing her in place. The man behind him, shoved past, cape fluttering in the non-existant wind, and he shifted the old lad and her cart into the exit to the line. `` Mind-Bender! What have you done to this fair citizen of this town! You'll pay for this!'' Mind Bender turns and stares, rubbing his chin. `` Nothing permanent, I've simply hit her with a fast hardening form of super glue, much stronger mind you, It was designed with your super strength in mind. Within a few hours it should break down and she should be no worse for the wear. On the other hand, my grapes would have turned to raisins by the time she was done.'' Captain Danger looked quizzically at Mind-Bender, then moves he cart up and starts unloading on the belt. `` Well then, I suppose no harm done. Tell your wife I said hello. Are you still planning your attack on the bank on Friday?''
[ WP ] A small shop opens up in your town that bottles and sells dreams . For a small price you can guarantee what you 'll see when you close your eyes that night , or record and donate a dream of your own to be sold .	A little golden bell tinkles softly as the door opens. Its Margaret, back for the third time this week. Poor old girl. I know she ca n't help it. I probably could n't either, if I were in her shoes. `` Hello there Margaret.'' `` hello Tom...'' `` Are you doing alright there Margaret?'' `` oh im alright... same old. Upright and taking nourishment,'n all that..'' `` Would you like the usual?'' ``... yeah Tom. That'd be great.'' There's sadness in her eyes, and I can tell the taking nourishment part is only half true. It's only been 4 months; my heart aches for her. ``... actually Tom.. Can I get it a little different this time?'' `` Anything you'd like.'' ``.. can you make it a certain place? The beach... where we had our honeymoon..'' `` Did you bring me something?'' She hands me a worn shell, cracked and faded, in the shape of a small conch. It must have been brilliant once. I can see it used to be red. `` I'll just be a moment.'' I head into the back, shell in hand. I pick a medium sized bottle off of a shelf marked `` regulars''; it is filled with a soft red liquid, like faded velvet. It looks shimmery, like there might be glitter inside, but it only shines when the light does n't hit it. There's enough in here to send a bear into a lifelong coma filled with nightmares and realities beyond belief. In all my time serving as a dream-mixer, I've only seen one person who drank too much. I only sell single servings, but he got it in his head to stockpile them, just to see how far he could go. Poor fellow. After that incident, I added a spoiling agent so the dream would go bad after the night I sold it. I only made such a big bottle after Margaret came in for the 5th time asking for the same. There's no harm in dreaming the same dream over and over again. But there is also no benefit at all. I like to think of myself as a healer, but deep down I know I keep open as many wounds as I close. Still. The work is important. And there isnt't many of us left to carry it on. I measure out a single serving into a golden bowl. I place the shell into the bowl, and swirl the velvety liquid around, coating the whole thing. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on its essence, on the focus and emotion and energy it has recieved after many, many years. 35 years; oh my. This is a special shell. It holds nothing but love. Sometimes people will bring me a wedding ring, or a shared blanket, but often the mix of emotions they've soaked up makes it hard to distill a pure dream for them. Not this shell. Margaret will sleep beautifully tonight. I coax a tiny sliver of this out of the shell and into the liquid, asking it to lend its service in the night to come. It gladly agrees. I pour the liquid into a small glass vial, with a red cork stopper, and I dry the shell with a cloth made of smoke. `` Here you are Margaret. I hope you sleep well tonight.'' `` Thank you Tom. I.. I do n't know what I'd do without you..'' `` Of course Margaret. Say, why do n't you come over for dinner tomorrow night? I'll make you shrimp scampi.'' Her eyes flick to mine. The slightest hint of a smile breaks onto her face. `` Ok Tom. Ok. See you tomorrow then.'' As she exits the shop, a newcomer enters. The golden bell greets him, and I notice it has begun to rain outside. `` Welcome, friend. How may I help you today?'' He takes off his hat, revealing a wild mane of grey hair, and a face too young for it. `` Hello. Tom, right?'' `` That's right. And you are?'' I extend my hand. `` The name's Oliver.'' His grip is firm, and warm, and old calluses make their own introductions. `` I've heard you're a man who can help out those that seek, and journey.'' `` Well I would n't say that's a wrong approximation. What do you seek Oliver?'' As we introduced ourselves, his eyes had wandered, taking in the shop, the books on the shelves, the assorted oddities and art pieces that filled every potential piece of space. But now his eyes came to mine, and I saw that his irises were dancing. Every color, flickering to and fro, in tiny dots and droplets of living pigment. His pupils were extraordinarily small, further accentuating the firework show of his gaze. And I felt the firecrackers popping, and smelt the sulfur left behind when he finally looked down. ``... I seek a man. I do n't think you know him. But you will. You'll meet him tonight, and I need you to pass on a message for me.'' `` I'm not sure you understand what I sell here, Oliver. I'm not a messenger, and I do n't take orders outside of my field.'' `` I know exactly what you sell here Tom. And I am asking for a dream. Only I want you to dream it. I've brought the needed materials. And I've brought something unneeded as well, to sweeten this unusual deal.'' I looked into that chromatic gaze again, and I was n't sure what I saw. I felt that I could trust this man, but how many dreams had I dreamt in which all that I thought I knew turned into impossibilities? `` I'm not agreeing to anything. But lets hear the specifics, and you can show me the necessary and unnecessary things you brought.'' Oliver reached into his coat and pulled out a cloth roll. He laid it on the counter and rolled it out flat. Inside lay a golden key, a dull silver knife, a piece of tattered blue cloth, and an ivory carving of some abstract form. Then he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pocketwatch. “ The four in the cloth are for the dream. The ticker is from me. I need you to brew me a dream, with a stock made primarily of discovery, wonder, and revelation, and with just a hint of the unknowable. Don ’ t let the carving soak too long, but the other three are good to be drained. And as for the watch, well let ’ s just say its my gift to you, to do with as you please. But I may recommend a good long soak in whatever it is you choose to use for it. ” This Oliver character was making my day. With eyes like that, I knew this would be an interesting customer, but this? This was exceptional. He had some knowledge of the craft, and a request complicated enough to give me a challenge. And on top of all that, he wanted me to dream it! I looked at him for a good moment, eyed him up and down, and his artifacts too. I picked up the watch. It hummed at me. I set it down, and met his gaze once again. “ Alright. You ’ ve got yourself a deal. ”
[ WP ] Quentin Tarantino is given complete creative control to retell a classic Disney story .	[ Opening sequence: Shots of a sinking ship, a boy who only just escapes. We'll shoot it like Titanic or some shit just to fuck with with people. Some more shots of a jungle, growing up with the baboons and shit. Maybe let's set it up like a Rocky training montage. Hell, let's have someone see if Stallone will play Tarzan. At this point in my career, and with this much in my bank account, I hardly give a fuck. So, opening sequence, ape-man training montage, and we'll power through the rest of the shit quick. I want the dwarf from Game of Thrones for the professor and Uma for Jane. Benedict Cumberbatch will be the pointy mustache villain. These are non-negotiable. I bought Uma's soul from a 20th Century Fox exec twenty-five years ago so that will be no problem, but for the other two... Sign checks, make threats, whatever... If we just go and grab the midget, how much of a fight could he really put up? Anyway, get through the rest of the nonsense with the professor and girl coming to africa, skip to the fucking ] Uma: me Jane Stallone: you jane. me tarzan. We fuck [ They fuck. More nonsense. Fight scene ] Stallone: me tarzan. You bad. You dead. [ Tarzan kills pointy mustache with a spear or some shit. We'll do this part like some spaghetti western no one's ever heard of, I'm still a fucking artist after all. The chimps all rejoice and finally welcome the professor and Uma into their orangutang family. Have the interns fill in the rest ] Dictated, not read. Fin
[ WP ] The Villain 's monologue is so convincing that the Hero decides let him do it .	`` I do n't see how you can stand these people you protect? The countless tips you've given to the police that have saved dozens of lives and you're still a'psychopathic vigilante who must be stopped. It's disgusting,'' Breathed Mask. Zoom struggled under the weight of the chains holding him down, `` I protect the people in the hopes that enough of them are worth saving that the hatred is justified by the lives saved,'' He said, with a noticeably wavering conviction. Mask clicked his tongue, `` Listen, Zoom, I like you. I really do,'' He said scratching at the orange and blue mask covering his face, `` I knew your name, your real name. The one you tell people to call you when you first meet them. I know you. You're a fantastic guy. On top of being a night-time vigilante who's adverse to killing, you're a philanthropist that does n't even make much in the first place. Why? Because you work with the mentally ill. For what? What in this world could have possessed you that these people are worth saving. Let's face it, you know as well as I do that every patient you make sure lives another day, every student struggling with their best friend's suicide is not born that way. They're built by a world that rewards stepping on other people. When was the last time this gig has something thrown you a bone? You spend night and day working for the good of this city and your best friends rejected you when they found out that you do it with tights and batons sometimes too.'' Mask twisted and walked back and forth breathing hard. Zoom twisted under the chains, they started to loosen. `` What I'm doing here? Maybe it's wrong. Hell, it is wrong. There's no redemption to this but I can live with that. I can live with being the face of a population's hatred, but you? You do n't deserve that. I wo n't let you live that life because it's not the one you deserve,'' Mask said. Zoom managed to slip out underneath the chains but he wavered. `` If I let you do this. If I turn a blind eye this one time and let you do this, you're done. You finish what you've started here and you get out of the game. This once, because we're friends,'' Zoom said tensely. Mask removed his namesake and dropped it aside revealing a smiling face. `` We're... Friends?'' He said, giddily. He turned and strode out. Moments later police swarmed in to find nothing but a pile of chains and a note that read,'And so the legend begins and so it ends.' Stained with blood. The police would claim that the legendary Zoom was dead, but a new hero would arrive to take his place. Just like Zoom, he would finish his work and get out of the game. Just like Zoom had killed too, they both were looking for escape.
Write a story about a made up pantheon and their creation of the universe . [ WP ]	You ask about the beginning, yet I'm sorry to say that I do not know it. If there is a mother or father or creator above us who does they will not tell. But I do know our beginning. And I know your beginning. Before you or I there were the first ones. Some of you call them titans, others primordials, others still you call `` old gods''. That last term is probably most apt, but me and mine call them by their true names, like the polite and genial lot we are. These `` old gods'' existed in the chaos and warp of reality warring with each other, never dying but never truly living. They were raw emotion dancing through the writhing void of the astral sea. But emotions can get attached to things so easily and a few of these old ones banded together, striking down the others with their combined might. The ideal that galvanized them was a hunger for order. A lust for reason, form, and structure. They divided the chaos into different kingdoms which each would have dominion over. Two of them took our particular slice of chaos as their own. Now, while these two do n't actually fit into their titles so well when you understand them, you would best know them as the mother earth and the father sky. The mother did what she did best, taking pieces of the discord around her and molding them beneath her hands so that the land which you walk upon formed and the trees you lay beneath sprouted forth from it. While she did so the father ran his hands through the same pandemonium and made the cascade of the heavens and water fell from it to greet the earth. But for all this the mother was not happy. She felt alone and displeased. The father did his best to make her comfortable but for all his doing he could not help her. The mother knew that this world was not for her or him and that only a new life could make the most of it. So she reached into her chest and plucked the light from her heart, tucking it into the arms of the heavens. This light became the sun, the golden one. The father was distraught by this. And though his lover had left him with a child to take care of he could not look upon it without seeing her death on its hands. He fell into a deep sadness and as he fell a piece of his own part fell out of him. This piece became the moon, the silver one. The golden one and the silver one saw what their parents had left them and took to filling it with the life they had desperately wanted, crafting each creature high and low that might roam its surface. But there existed a bane to this creation too. Since the silver one had not been given willingly, but had fallen from their father's heart, a void made of grief and pain had opened in its place. This void became the night and it threatened every ounce of order and beauty they and their forebears had worked to craft. So every day the sun lit the world, keeping the dark void at bay, and every night the moon would do its best to keep the darkness away from the light of creation. And whilst the moon fought the sun crafted them an army of angels to fight with it. These angels became the stars. Most of these stars are the gods you worship, even. Not me, of course. I'm only a lowly glimmer plucked out of sky and sent here to help you all. Either way, there you have it, children of the `` new gods''. There is your story.
[ WP ] Make me fall in love with a character , only to end up hating said character with ONE sentence at the end	Jess sat at the booth the host had dropped her off at, irked at the look he had given her when she said `` for two''. So what if he was n't here yet? And why could n't the girl make the seating arrangements? She tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, and took a deep breath. As she exhaled through her nose, she told herself to relax. Just as she turned to fish her phone from her purse, an unnecessarily loud voice startled her. `` Sorry I'm late,'' the voice stammered. `` I was following my GPS, and thought I would save time by taking chances on an alternate route, but the route it took me on was a little residential two lane full of speed bumps and...'' The voice sounded as if words had come out in a hurry and then slammed the brakes, causing a massive pile-up at the end. Jess was lost after `` speedbumpsand''. `` It's ok, I promise,'' she said, recovering from her jolt, and faced the owner of the train-wreck story. He was certainly handsome, with his hair combed to one side but left messy at the end. His green eyes were a color she was quite jealous of, and as he slid into the booth her brain shouted `` GO WITH THAT!'' `` I really like your eyes so green.'' The words stumbled out of her mouth, and her brain, the perpetrator of the idea, immediately retreated. However, Kendall did n't see her fumble, as his eyes darted from Jess' to the table top. `` Thank you,'' he was used to the comments, but every time a pretty woman told him she liked them he could n't stop the blush. `` Your purse has a pretty cool design on it.'' Kendall could have slapped himself. How could the first compliment he could think of be so terrible? Jess glanced at her purse. She was n't even sure which one she had brought. She looked at it, and mentally kicked herself for fiddling with it when he had approached. He must have thought she was irritated. Kendall grabbed the menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers, brought it up to his eyes, and suddenly did n't know what to do with it. She had n't picked hers up yet, and he did n't want her to think he was already bored. So, he reached across the table and handed it to her. `` Anyway, I'm sorry again.'' Kendall said, mostly apologizing for the poor compliment. `` Do n't worry, I was hardly here two minutes!'' Jess giggled, a genuine response to Kendall's nervousness around her, and she hoped he did n't think it sounded fake. His smile in return eased her butterflies a tad. `` So, what do you like here?'' Kendall never understood how his mind so swiftly abandoned him for conversation on dates. It did n't help that Jess was the prettiest he'd been out with in quite some time. He realized he had posed the question without a menu of his own, and awkwardly grabbed another from the rack. Jess tried to hide her smile as she caught Kendall's legs bouncing beneath the table. `` I am a big fan of the walnut chicken,'' in fact, it was the only thing here she was a fan of, because she had never tried anything else. `` That seems good,'' Kendall focused on the words in his menu, but his mind was racing for conversation and the words only swam between the pounding in his ears. `` I'm glad Jay set this up'' Jess looked up from her menu, momentarily confused. She had been trying to remember if the chicken had a drizzle on it, the kind that made her stomach growl. `` Oh, yeah, me too!'' She felt it came out a little over-eager. The waiter arrived, and saved the conversation with drink orders. After they each ordered a glass of water, Kendall used his brief clarity to reach into his date play book. The memorized questions he had compiled in the case that this date would come all seemed canned, and he settled on what he thought would be the least cheesy. `` So, do you game?'' Luckily she did, well, on her Xbox one anyway, but that was enough. The door had been opened, and conversation began to flow. As the night wore on, Jess grew to like the nervous wreck that downed far too much water as they spoke. She could tell he was genuinely interested, and the way he looked at her told her he admired her looks. After their meal came, the conversation continued. Both Jess and Kendall had grew more at ease with one another, and at one point Kendall even mustered the courage to lightly brush her hand. `` I'm sorry,'' the apologetic tone marked the start of a new train as he opened his mouth to explain at he had only been trying to reach his knife to put on his finished plate. Jess smiled, enchanted by the handsome man across from her who was more like an inarticulate boy. It was cute how he did n't know that he was doing fine. She reached over her own finished plate, and laid her hand on his. The two stayed at their table long enough for their waiter to insinuate it was time for them to go with a poorly veiled attempt at asking if they were in need of anything else that evening. They both decided to take a walk. The loop around the park, that would have seemed ominously long to share with the nervous wreck from the start of dinner, was not long enough for Jess. Especially when he waited for the last two hundred yards to finally put her hand in his. When they reached the gate to the park, and faced their waiting vehicles, Jess took a chance that she never had before. `` Think The Monsta will feel alone if he stays the night here?'' She used the term for Kendall's small car that he had embarrassingly told her as they walked. Kendall smiled, and looked at his toes. `` Well, no, I mean, he is the Monsta, after all, and, well, I think he'd be quite alright. I think that, well..'' Jess put her finger to his lips, borrowing a move from the romances she had studied in preparation, and pulled him towards her car. As the moon spilled through Jess' window, Kendall laid behind her, his arm over her bare hip. He kissed her shoulder, and felt the slow breathing that told him she was asleep. He rolled over, the euphoria of the evening fresh in his veins. He looked at the flashing phone on the nightstand, and unlocked the screen. The text message app glowed in front of him, and he squinted to read the words. `` Good luck with your project tonight. I love you.'' Kendall put the phone face down on the stand, and thought of his wife.
[ WP ] You move into a new house that 's haunted . However , the ghosts are extremely helpful . You come home one day and the laundry is mysteriously folded and dinner is started .	This house was exactly what I needed. A beautiful, colonial place out in the country. Writers block had been plaguing me for months, I just could n't figure out how to end my book. We were planning on moving soon anyway, I just needed somewhere to relax and breathe the fresh air. Then I saw this place on sale, so cheap for what it was, the previous owner had said it was haunted. I had laughed but she was serious, said they were lovely people but she just needed to be in the city. I do n't think anyone would have believed her, an old widow who probably was n't all there. My wife Anna and I moved in as quickly as we could, she was a photographer and the idea of being surrounded by forests and streams excited her almost as much as the quiet did for me. `` Oh Daniel, it's even better than I remember,'' she said when we drove up to the house. After we had settled in, took things out of boxes that we could be bothered to, leaving the rest for some later time, we went for a walk through the forest. It was definitely surreal. Tall trees surrounded us, streaks of light piercing through their leaves. Anna fell in love with this old oak that had fallen across a stream, forming a bridge and took what seemed to be a thousand photos of it from a hundred angles. She was always the most beautiful when she was excited like that. By the time we came back, the sun was setting and the sky turned a dark red. `` I wish we could just order pizza,'' I sighed. `` Ha, I wish so too but it's fine, we'll think of something to make.'' But when we walked in, we were greeted by the smell of garlic, the boxes all unpacked and the sound of singing from the kitchen. We looked at each other, confusion and fear in our eyes, before... `` HELLO FRIENDS'' a voice bellowed from behind us. I jumped and threw a fist behind us. And it passed harmlessly through an old man. `` Come on now, we just made you dinner. Is that any way to treat us?'' He said, laughing whilst holding his belly. My eyes went wide. `` Are those the new guests Henry?'' called a woman from the kitchen. She walked through and grinned at us before continuing, `` oh it's so lovely to have company again, Mrs Walker was so nice to us, such a shame she had to leave.'' Both Anna and I were frozen in time. How is this possible? Why are they friendly? Why have n't we run away as fast as we can? So many questions, but something about them seemed... trustworthy almost. I do n't know why, but I took Anna through to the dining room and we sat down and ate the food they had made. It was actually pretty good. The ghosts introduced themselves whilst we were still frozen with confusion as Mr Ryan and Mrs Ryan. `` Yes my dear, we built the house. Mr Ryan spent years planning it all, and it was so worth all the effort. But when we passed in'89... or was it'99... hm maybe'69,'' `` Dear, they do n't care about the year. She always does this, with stories l I do n't -'' Mr Ryan was cut off by a sharp glare from his wife. `` As I was saying, when we passed it seems the house wanted to keep us around, so we've been here all this time. We try to keep the guests happy, but sometimes they just run off in fear. Or worse they get a priest. I swear we've been'exorcised' a hundred times by now,'' she chuckled and continued, `` never works, the poor fools. We stick around, and they'll eventually leave. Now let me tell you about the Tarrens, they were a lovely bunch.'' And so the evening went on. Mrs Ryan could clearly talk, she told us all about the old owners, `` guests'' to use her words. Mr Ryan told us of all the friends he made, of all the repairs he did to the house, all the trinkets he made. We laughed and drank and talked and listened for hours before finally turning in for the night. And when we woke the next day to the smell of bacon and coffee, I knew just how to finish that story.
[ WP ] You wake up one day to find out that your gaze will turn anyone to stone if they look at your eyes	I wake with a shriek on my lips as I jolt upright in bed. I relax my sweaty hands from the sheets as I gulp in deep breaths Taking in the dark surrounding of my bedroom, I lightly whisper `` just a dream, just a dream.'' I knew, once again, that my efforts to be quiet had failed when I feel a strong arm wrap around my quivering thigh. I quickly jump out of bed hoping to evade questioning for the night. `` You okay Lauren?'' A sleepy voice calls out. `` Fine,'' I whisper back. I pour and promptly chug a glass of water as I try to work my way through snapping out of my dream. These nightmares are killing me. The past week had been hell, I could barely sleep and it only seemed to be getting worse. Garrett was catching on and I did n't know how to explain this to him. I pull up my pjs to peek at the bite. Despite the immense throbbing in my calf muscle, it looks to be healing extremely well. After only five days, the horrific snake bite that had bubbled and secreted green pus was almost completely healed. The doctor was at a loss when the bite had started healing shortly after he had recommended amputation. The doctor, Garrett, my boss, my co-workers, all thought I had gotten lucky. I would have thought so too. The aches, the cold sweats, the nausea, even the sickly color of my skin could all be attributed to the residual venom in my veins. But the nightmares? My sub-conscience at its best. I slowly make my way back to bed. Garret's large form is curled around the pillow on my side of the bed. Lucky pillow. I reposition his arms as I take its place. I inhale our mingled scents as my mind drifts to the house and root of my recent dreams. My job at an animal rescue shelter has taken me many places that would give anyone prime nightmare material, but the Rami residence was something else entirely. Rami thought herself a priestess. The entire house had an unnatural vibe to it. A buzzing on a molecular level. I shutter as I recall the ash stained, faded red walls that ran down every hall and encased every room. The thick smell of smoke and blood will always stay with me. And the animals. The sheer amount of reptiles caged through the house would make anyone sick. Snakes, lizards and turtles were packed and stacked together in every corner. Choppy white diagrams depicting reptilian humans were drawn on each black painted floor. Rami was arrested for animal cruelty. We found a heaping pile of small bones in the middle of the back yard. Between brown blades of grass, there was another diagram centered around the pile of bones. Even as an animal rescue team, we had never encountered such sheer abuse. Towards the end of the daunting cleanup, I was checking smaller rooms for more animals. I discovered an uncaged snake unlike the rest, unlike any species I had ever seen. It paused and rose its body into the air when I entered. It had huge eyes, much too big for a snake of it's size. I felt it asses me. Looking for a threat? A weakness? I did n't know. I held it's gunmetal gaze as I tried to comprehend it's metallic green scales. It's delicate and intricate mandala underbelly. What was this creature? I made a slight motion to shut the door to enclose the snake when it struck. It latched onto my leg and I let out an ear piercing yell as I felt it's fangs rip through my suit. I slammed the door on its body until it's grip released I ran as quickly as my body would take me through the cramped corners of that retched house. I laid with my eyes wide open and tried not to think about gray eyed snakes and blood red walls. Eventually by body desired sleep too much to fight it. It was dark. And quiet. This blackness was complete. Anticipation rolled through me when I sensed their presence. Swift metallic bodies start to rush at me from all directions. Their shining green scales become so numerous that they begin to swallow the ground around me. They are not striking or biting. At once, they all turn their shining gray eyes to meet mine. I am too stunned to move. They are perfectly still until I hear a faint whisper and they all attack at once. The serpents surround my limbs until I am not standing on my own. I let out a manic scream that is cut off as they rush my mouth. I uselessly struggle as they slither down my throat. They entwine themselves with my hair as they rip it from my skull. I choke on their bodies as tears run down my face. When I can no longer breath, red walls eclipse my vision. I can hear her chanting. Whispering words too quickly for my ears to keep up. I look around to find myself standing in a white circle. Dead snakes mark points around the edge. I watch blood pool around my toes and I am, once again, unable to move. She is very dark skinned and dressed in deep red oversized garments. I watch in horror as Rami places her hand into the blood as she chants. She runs the dark liquid down her face and stands to do the same to me. She releases me and looks at my blood and tear stained face and smiles. It's a beautiful and deadly smile. My body is then given back to me and I quickly drop onto the floor. The sticky wetness spatters me with my impact, and I struggle to breathe. I hear Rami whisper in an unfamiliar language, and everything goes dark again. I wake to the sound of the shower. I quickly get out of bed and try to make my way to the second bathroom. My vision is terrible. I ca n't make out the furniture and have to feel my way to the door. I look directly into the mirror and ca n't make out a reflection. I frantically rub my eyes. Have I gone blind? Is this from the bite? How is the even possible? I slowly reach into my left eye and whimper as I begin to pull a thin film away from my it. I can feel skin break from my tear duct when it finally releases. I repeat the process on my right eye. I stare down at the waxy, yellow film. My shaking hands throw it into the garbage as I try not to lose my shit. I meet my reflection. My normally light blue eyes have taken on a storminess that was n't present before. My normally skin kissed skin is white, almost transparent. My flat dark hair is thick and green hued. I run from the bathroom, noticing for the first time in a week, that my body does n't ache. I feel strong. More powerful than I can remember. I need to tell Garrett what's going on. He'll think I'm fucking crazy. I rush into the bathroom and keep my eyes trained on the floor. `` Garrett, I think I need help.'' `` What do you need Baby?'' My gaze travels up his body and I am apprehensive to meet his eyes as I focus on his lips too long. A smile curls at the corners and as asks playfully `` you said I could help you with something?'' I finally make it to his eyes and he instantly freezes. The smile that started on my lips falters. His entire frame starts to turn gray and harden into stone. I am frozen in time. I do n't know how long I stand there staring at Garrett. I slowly walk towards him and reach a tentative hand out to touch him. He's stone. Pure stone. With a smile still on his gorgeous face. I stubble back until by body slams into the towel rack on the wall. I do n't even feel it. I catch my reflection in the mirror. I do n't recognize this girl. Her eyes are stone gray and deadly. Her hair is made of cascading green scales. I've turned into fucking medusa. I frantically rummage for a cover to hide my features. Something for my eyes, so no one will look at them. I find ski goggles and and oversized hooded jacket. They do nothing but make me look ridiculous. I switch out my eyewear to a pair of dark glasses. I run back to the bathroom and the love of my life is still standing there. Stone. I turn and put my fist through the wall. It feels good so I do it again. And again. I let my frustration and my sanity rush out as a demolish our small bathroom. I break the mirror and feel the glass slice into my skin and spill blood. I continue my rampage until there is nothing left. I exit the bathroom, then my apartment. I keep my head down and quiet my sobs as I make my way onto the street. I walk and cross without looking. Hoping something will hit me and take me out of this nightmare. I find myself in front of the police station. I stand there staring at the door, unsure of what to do. I do n't remember consciously coming here. I step closer and my body changes. Something dark taking over. With a will that is not my own, I hold my head up high and walk in. I am greeted by a larger officer standing inside the entryway. I do not hear a word he says. I slowly take of my glasses and stare into his eyes. He immediately freezes in place. His body starts to harden as I hear a scream start behind me. Before I can comprehend what I'm doing I wheel around and look the elderly receptionist in the eyes and freeze the look of terror into her face. I approach a locked door and rip it clear off its hinges with strength it is impossible for me to possess. I calmly walk down the corridor and freeze 4 more helpless officers and guards until I make my way to the holding cells. The chaos I have caused draws the attention of some prisoners. I meet the eye of everyone that dares to meet mine. I am smiling. A quite pleased and manic grin. When I hear praying, I find its source. I stare into the young women's eyes and laugh as she turns to stone. I finally stand in front of a cell. Where I am meant to be. I grip the bars and pull off the door with ease. She meets my gaze head on and gives me a lazy grin. She pushes the hood of my head and runs her hands through my scaly locks. I feel my own mind trying to resurface, to make sense of what I had just done. She reaches for my face and says in a soothing tone, `` do not be afraid, you are ready my child.'' ~ Sorry! This is way too long. I got a little carried away!
[ WP ] You are one of the voices inside a mentally ill person 's head . Tell us your side of the story .	I am not alone. I am the tiger, he is the bull, and she is queen. I am old. I was around when Hammurabi was around. When Mohenjo-Dharo was around. I was there in John Brown, and in Egypt, and in Jerusalem. I was the crusader and the mujahadeen. I remember faintly the time when there was two kinds of people in the world: neandrathals and sapiens. I am very old. He is too, of course, but I am older by far. And I am angry. He is young. He rules with his arbitrary laws and his meaningless sciences. The bull is nothing compared to my might. He will die soon enough, and the law of the jungle will rule once more. She is our instrument. I am survival. She is the handle. I am the knife. She is the wrath. I am the God. We are one, dependent on each other. We will do what is needed for humanity to survive. First, however, there must be a culling of the fold.
[ WP ] As far as anyone can remember , everyone has a superimposed image of how they will die in their vision and have become comfortable with that fact . You do n't have this image .	( Please forgive any typos here, I typed this out on my phone. ) For most people it was always there. A superimposed reminder of their own mortality. They could n't so much as look at their kid, or glance at the sky without seeing that barely there outlined image of their own demise. A few people fought it. Typically the ones with visions of grisly deaths, caked in blood and pain. It never worked, of course, but there would always be someone trying to defy destiny. Most people though, people who understood there was nothing they could do, those who could live with their death, they simply adjusted. They grew to ignore the superimposed image. Most older people hardly saw it at all if they were n't specifically trying to see, as so many sadly grew obsessed with doing. I was always different though. I'd never in my life seen anything. I tried. I definitely did my best to see my own superimposed future. I would stare at blank walls to eliminate interference. Nothing. I had my vision checked. Aside from rather poor night vision I was seeing 20-20. I'd done all I could think to do. I still could n't see a thing. It fascinated me, this weird glimpse into the future I was denied. I made quite a few jokes about it. A lot of people never did believe me. It was, however, ultimately how I was discovered. I'd just jokingly mentioned in a facebook post that I must be immortal when Julia contacted me. She requested I add her as a friend and we started talking. She expessed her interest in my lack of `` death sight'' immediately, stating she'd had the same `` problem'', and that she knew others who did too. There were a few hints here and there on her profile that she was a bit strange, but she was so friendly, and I was thrilled to find someone who actually believed me I ignored the weirder aspects without a problem. The topic did n't come up too much as she introduced me to her friends, a small group of other girls who also all lacked the view into their own deaths. Their more... eccentric ways only came out over time, as I melded more and more into the group. I'll admit I was scared when I was invited to one of their meetings for the first time. We gathered out in the woods behind the high school, specifically in a small clearing surrounded by a particularly dense ring of trees. Ashley held my hand to help calm my nerves as I was initiated into the coven, a simple ritual, and by the time Amber drew the final line of red across my forehead I felt better than I ever had before. The immortals. That's what we thought of ourselves as. A group lacking in death, destined to gain power, destined to live forever. We preformed a lot of rituals together. We started small at first. Testing the murky waters, and our own limits. We were dumb teenagers, but it's incredible how far you can go with a group behind you every step of the way. As we got more comfortable we got ambitious. I still remember the first time I sliced an animals throat. It was some pig we'd smuggled off a farm. The power rush was fantastic. A quick honest confession, I did n't think it was magic. I thought it was something akin to group hysteria. I did n't really care. Even if it was nothing more than a placebo it was working. We all seemed to do better in school. We were getting prettier. Luck followed us wherever we went, and most importantly we were having fun. I had found a fantastic group of friends, and the thrill of doing something so taboo was undeniably enticing. I surprised myself when one night, in something akin to a trance, I wrote out a ritual more elaborate and powerful than any we'd tried before. I'm still not sure where it came from. It promised everything we could ever want if it succeeded. The other girls were very calm about the cost. A human life paled in the face of such potential greatness, and what was one lowly human before a group destined to live forever? We got lucky with the sacrifice. He was a pathetic husk of a man. He'd let his superimposed death worm it's way into his mind, and he fainted the second he saw us. We dragged him back to that clearing in the woods were I started it all. I'll spare you the details of what all that ritual entailed. Suffice it to say that by the end I, as the leader in this particular ritual, was coated in a second skin of blood, and my friends, my sisters were looking rather red themselves. The power rush was incredible. The madness that built as we chanted and danced. It was everything we'd been building towards. Then the cold set in. Our fire was blown out and I realized immediately that we'd done something horribly wrong. The power I felt then was something grotesque, something inhuman, and it scared me right to my core. I could hear my sisters screaming around me, a few letting out nothing more than thick choking sounds. Sobs echoed throught the air as the screams were cut short. I tried to reach them, in my panic I rushed forward, but there was nothing I could find in that hideous dark. It was all consuming, evil and constricting in it's thick nothingness. I did n't understand. I started to cry out with the rest of the group as fear and something I could n't see or comprehend wrapped itself around me. And then I realized. I'd never had good night vision. Neither had any of the other girls. We always seemed to need more light to see than the average person. It was like there was something in the way. Like a layer of darkness had been coating our eyes. We were n't immortal. We were n't different. We'd been starring down our own deaths our entire lives. We were just too prideful. We were just too stupid to figure it out.
[ CW ] Forget prose , poetry , diary entries , etc . Tell a horror story using a numbered list .	1. Itching develops just at the base of the neck. 2. Noticeable redness begins to form both at base of neck and around eyes. 3. Mucus membranes begin to show hints of blood. 4. Report auditory hallucinations, `` thousands of people screaming in anguish''. 5. Membranes in eyes now completely bloodshot, to the point of no longer showing white. 6. Begins speaking in incomprehensible language. ( Word salad? ) 7. Begins attempts at self harm. Writes on walls in any liquid available. 8. Unknown method of manipulating matter. Containment breach. 9. Termination of experiment. 10. Quarantine of facility. 11. Quarantine failure. 12. Initial symptoms spreading. 13. God help us all.
[ WP ] When you were four , you made a childish wish upon a star . Twenty five years later - without warning - the star finally gets around to granting your request .	`` MOMMY! MOMMY! A SHOOTING STAR! I WISH FOR A MILLION SPARKLY STICKERS!'' ( Current time ) `` Your Vanilla-Frappe! Have a nice day!'' The girl behind the counter excitedly took of her apron and clocked out. On her way home she thought of all the things she would do on her work-free weekend. As the girl closed in to her apartment she noticed a big moving van in front of her buildings door. Intrigued she obsereved it a little, before she finally arrived at the door and turned to open the door. The driver of the van noticed her and approached her quickly, shouting whether she knew Miss Jordan. She answered, `` Well, I am her.'' and the face of the driver turned into one of relive. `` That's great! Congratulations, you won our sticker giveaway!'' he explained. `` Uhh... thank you. How?'' she inquired, still being a little surprised. He said, `` One enters the giveaway with the purchase of one of our products. ``, then he shouted, `` BRING'EM IN GUYS!'' The girls face contorted in horror as she watched at least thirty ginourmous boxes being carried into her appartment. After the process ended, her apartment was filled with boxes to the brink and the workers left, she opened one and saw sparkly stickers. Considering the amount of stickers in one box and that multiplied by at least thirty, there must be somewhere around a million stickers! A while later she opened an online shop selling stickers and got rich. The end
[ MP ] Stars - Your Ex-Lover is Dead	I do n't know why I went. I think I knew what to expect. They were all gathered before I arrived, and I stood a little way back from them, hands in the pockets of my too-tight suit, searching out faces I knew, or had known once. Her family, of course - once mine as well, though now studiously ignoring me. The children I had been a temporary sort-of father to, looking my way then snorting and looking back again. Only her youngest daughter held my gaze, and gave a tiny smile, which I returned. I tried to mirror the strength of her face, keeping my mouth like iron. Friends which had once been ours, and now were considered solely hers, were there as well. She had come out the best in this regard - most of the couples would rather be friends with a single woman than a man, it turned out. I kept one or two, most of the bachelors, and those who had been'my friends first', but I had missed our shared crowd, and seeing them here dragged up memories of the parties we'd thrown and evenings out, the late night rehearsals with the theatre group, the New Years Eves trawling around the pubs. It was not such a different feeling now, as I trailed into the church behind the rest. I had never quite been a part of them, but an afterthought - a late arrival to the party of her life, just as now, at the conclusion of it. They played a slow song by a band she had liked, with lots of mournful brass. I wish they had n't - she had told me once she wanted Kiki Dee or Annie Lennox, something with a beat. Her children came out first, and I wish I could have gone to them, as I once would have done. The youngest might have buried her head in the front of my suit, pulling me close so I could hold her head while she sobbed. Her older son would have clasped my hand warmly, we would have said we were sorry, we might even have cried together. Now, we stared at each other across the grass, a great untraversable gulf between us. As it was, I bore their stares. I knew the way of things - she would have told all of them the terrible things I had done, all the times I was selfish or cruel or unthinking, just as I had done with my own family and friends. She would have left out the laughter and long nights in, and all the complex thoughts we spoke together at night. And that was fine, because I was not here for them. Her son was walking towards me, and I thought for a moment he might stop. His face was drawn, and his eyes spoke to me even if he said nothing aloud. You did not love her like we did. You should not pretend you do now. I did love her, but I did n't anymore.
[ WP ] Why do you fight ?	////Trigger: rape, homophobia, violence//// Harley did n't want to fight. Sitting on the bus he kept his head down, sometimes absently staring at his phone as though he were working even though he was n't. But he did n't want to fight and that meant not being noticed. Every conversation was a fight, a demand for information. //Give me your name, we made eye contact you owe me.// No. No I do n't. He wanted to say but it was confrontational, would lead to a bigger fight, more demands. Looks. He would mumble and fake an accent, that normally put off the fight. There were loud voices today. He stared at his phone. It was nothing to do with him. `` Come on sexy, you know you want to.'' `` Leave me alone.'' `` Oo, I like'em feisty.'' `` Do n't touch me.'' Harley glanced over, unable to stop his eyes. The man seemed tall, he was n't but standing so close to the other he seemed like a giant, oppressive, a smug grin plastered on his face. `` Come on now baby, you do n't have to be such a prude. You're practically begging for it.'' He cupped the young mans face in his hand even as the boy flinched back. He grinned even wider at the encouragement of his friends. `` Stop! I do n't know you, I do n't want this.'' The young mans fingers grasped at the strong hand on his face and tried to pry it away. `` Aw look, little fag wants to hold hands.'' The man laughed uproariously. `` Sorry princess, we do n't do that. Got a nice little mattress set up though, we could get up to all sorts.'' Harley looked at his phone, then around at the other passengers. Everyone was looking away. The young man was crying now, softly as he was still trying to get away with his words. The seemingly tall man was mocking him. The bus stopped and the young man was hustled off along with the tall seeming man and his two friends. Harley watched the door. No one followed. Some one should follow. And just like that he was slipping through the closing doors and feet pounding on the asphalt after the trio and their victim. He grabbed the shoulder of the one who had the young man in a tight grip, spun him and slammed his fist into his face. It hurt. He may have yelled, he did n't stop though. If he stopped he'd have to wonder what he was doing, because surely this was madness. He flung back an elbow and hit something, he hoped it put the second man out of commission, but he did n't look. Seemingly Tall was facing him now, and he was angry. `` Move along pops.'' He growled. `` I have no problems hurting a geezer so you should `` Harley did n't see that coming at all. The youngman had yanked himself free and grabbed a chunk of dislodged cement from the curb, effectively wielding it as a bludgeon. Seemingly Tall was on the ground clinging to his head moaning. Harley turned to face the other two to see that they had fled. Good. He really did n't want to fight. `` You alright?'' There was something wrong with that statement. Why was that wrong? `` I'm supposed to ask you that. I'm the hero are n't I?'' He asked attempting humor but it fell flat. `` I'm not bleeding.'' The young man was incredibly tall. Harley noticed, Hunched in and skinny he did n't seem tall. He seemed small, harmless. A groan from the ground reminded him that was n't the case, that and the cement still clenched in his hand. Harley looked down. He did n't see any blood. But now he thought about it, his arm hurt like hell. He looked to his elbow and discovered why. He had n't elbowed the mans friend, he'd elbowed the mans friends knife... no wonder they had run away, that was pretty bad ass. Except now he knew and there was a knife sticking out of his arm. `` Knife.'' `` Yea.'' `` I should probably get that looked at.'' The young man laughed at that, mostly shock but it was as though it was the funniest thing ever said. `` Yea, come on, hospitals not far.'' They walked quietly. Harley grabbing his arm and trying not to wince with each step vibrating through the metal knife, the young man still clinging to his cement chunk. `` Why'd you come?'' The young man asked as the hospital came into site. `` Because someone had to.'' The young man looked at him through the corner of his eye. `` There were at least thirty other people on that bus. None of them thought the same. Only you. Had you not been there...'' He trailed of and his knuckles went white against his weapon. Harley shrugged. `` Because it was right.''
[ WP ] A modern battleship somehow travels back in time to around year 1700	They called her the Steel Behemoth, but her real name was the Iowa; she was a powerful beast, indeed. With nine 16 inch guns and twelve 5 inchers, the cannon alone were more than enough to rip anything on the seas to shreds; let alone the Tomahawk land-attack missiles and the Harpoon anti-ship missiles. And of course, there were the CIWS anti-air weapons. No airplanes to shoot down.. but they could be repurposed. But it was n't the ship that was the issue. It was the crew. Captain Moosally was quite confused. One moment, they'd been sailing through Chesapeake Bay, and the next.. well, all the infastructure was gone. No more tall spires. A few hundred squat, wooden buildings, people milling about in wonder, and most of all, wooden sailing ships. The crew were agitated. All Fred Moosally knew was that this was going to be a VERY long day.
[ WP ] In the future ( or some other scifi setting ) , a human stow away is found on an alien ship . How do they react ?	`` But I thought they had gone extinct!'' Jag hissed to his companion, as they regarded the human in front of them, who cowered on the floor, watching the two Jalfragians with fear in his eyes. `` Well, clearly not,'' Malak replied, waving a wrinkled hand towards him indifferently. `` How did he get here?'' `` How should I know?'' Malak replied irritably. `` Please do n't hurt me,'' the human whimpered in broken Jalfragian. This caught the two of them by surprise, and they paused to look at him, as he stared back, his body trembling in anticipation. `` You know our language?'' Malak ventured, leaning in close, causing him to flinch instinctively. The human mouthed a few words quietly to himself, searching for the correct phrase. `` I know enough,'' he finally stammered, regaining some form of confidence. `` But how did you get here? What do you want?'' He looked at them questioningly as he mentally translated their words. For a moment, Jag thought he did n't understand but before he could open his mouth to speak, the human interrupted him. `` I hid on your ship. I just want to get home,'' was the brief reply. Jag and Malak looked at each other uneasily for several long seconds, and the air seemed to thicken with the tension. The looks they exchanged told the human all that he needed to know. He dipped his head, and an unusual change crossed his face. `` I know,'' he whispered quietly, `` But that's not where I want to go. I lost my daughter, I just want to find her.'' `` So where is she?'' The human did not respond, only looking down at his feet. `` Where is...'' He looked up very quickly, causing Jag to stumble backwards onto his heels. There was something dark in the human's eyes. He stared with such intensity at Jag that Malak could have believed he could burst into flames at any moment. It was more than just simple anger. In it there was a burning rage that threatened to explode outwards, and a sorrow that brought forth a glimmering wetness to his eyes. But it was the fear in him that struck Jag the hardest. A deep, primal fear; instinct honed by millions of years of evolution. It was animalistic. `` Khaldan,'' the human finally muttered, and the air became a solid object, `` She's on Khaldan.''
[ WP ] You 're the person who keeps mowing lawns during the zombie apocalypse of The Walking Dead .	It was a shame when they started coming back. I do n't think they were ever meant to, and I expect I'll never know why it happened. A shame, truly. The world's been lessening for years, years, and more years, but these walkers, as they are called, though they do have a peculiar walk, are the worst thing in a long, long time. I do what I can to make this place look nice to make light of such an unfortunate situation. Which reminds me, I should be getting outside. I do forget sometimes. A small trim never hurts, so I pick up the blade for a minute on the way out. I put on my boots and my favorite blue jacket. It's faded a bit, but I suppose with the dead walking out and about my troubles are n't so bad. And I never go out without my lucky hat. My wife loves it. These people loved their lawns and gardens, and I ca n't blame them. Lovely little things, though I've seen a fair few larger and prettier in my days. Maybe one day it'll all sort itself out, and then they'll all be grateful for the work I've done. I make my usual rounds, starting with my neighbor's in the shade of the old willow tree. I fire up the Lumpkin's engine and get to work on the yards, starting down Withywindle Lane, then right on Buck Street, but that's not all that important, is it? I never leave my neighborhood. I've never quite felt comfortable outside my little community since the area really urbanized. I see another walker coming in and I sigh. 5th one this week, a big number for just two days in. Probably. I've been doing this for a while. Weeks seem insignificant sometimes. It begins to hobble towards me. I sing the same old song, the one that's never let me down, even when I first wondered if it would affect these walkers. They seem so unnatural sometimes. Get out, you old wight! Vanish in the sunlight! Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing, Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains! Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty! Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness, Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended. He falls down, all imitation of life gone from his body. He smells better than he did before, and the the light in his face is back. They all look like that; sometimes, they even smile. Those smiles bring joy to me. I load him up onto Lumpkin's back. Has it been a fortnight yet? No, 5 days to go. Goldberry will know for sure. She wept when the walkers came, and again for joy when she saw what my song could do. I pick up a flower off a garden like always- a different one each time. Goldberry does like flowers. Every two weeks, she picks the best one out of the last fortnight and lays it on the grave for all the walkers I've freed. The sun begins to set. I turn back towards my home and sing a little song from a happier time. Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow, Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow. None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master: His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.
[ WP ] Someone calls their spouse to make dinner plans , accidentally dials a government special operations headquarters and they think its their agent using special code	David sat back, pouring himself another glass of coke. It'd been a long day at the office. Worse still, he had n't even texted Cassandra back. Knowing her she was probably worrying about whether or not she had done something to offend him on their last date. He shook his head, she was definitely something else. As corny as it sounded, she intrigued him. The way she spoke. The way she laughed at his incredibly shitty jokes. Her amazing sense of humour. He shook himself out of it, this was meant to be his night alone. He sat watching South Park, the greatest satirical comedy in the entire universe. But for some reason he felt... Alone. Trying to bury the feeling away, he flicked to the next episode. He just could n't get into it. Kenny dying was n't funny. Cartman calling Kyle a jew.... It did nothing for him. The guilt of not texting Cassie back was eating away at him. Dialing in her number, which he had finally learnt by heart, he pressed the call button. The ringing sound was different, each beep sounded slightly too long, and they were too frequent. `` What's your favourite colour'' a male voice answered. `` Turquoise?'' he responded, confused who the man was. `` What's the purpose of this call?'' his voice sounded familiar, but David could n't quite place it. Wait, was n't that Rob. Cossie's brother. Well time to have a bit of fun. `` Dinner. Fun. Back to mine,'' David said, grinning. `` DFB Unit 001 to your location. ETA 5 minutes.'' `` 5 minutes? Damn you're getting here quickly...'' `` I wo n't personally be coming, the dispatched unit will.'' David laughed at that. Dispatched unit, he never thought Rob was this good at prank calls. Hey, he was pretty funny himself, he'd prove he had a sense of humour. `` Could I request extra backup? Calling all units!'' he screamed down the phone, in as serious a tone as he could manage. The lights inside and outside his apartment all immediately shut off. A flashing red light crept through his drawn blinds. The sound of something huge pounding at his door suddenly filled the room. Three armoured men wearing official looking uniforms burst into the room. `` Hands on the ground, get on your knees!'' the man at the front barked. `` Where's Agent Gomez?'' the man behind asked. Three hours of questioning, shattering his mental stability, and over 30 thousand worth of damage. That's all that happened. They left just as fast as they had come, leaving him alone in the wake of destruction. A government agency, compeltely above the law. There was no point even trying to plead his case, he knew it'd fall on deaf ears. It was n't until this'Agent Gomez' called them that they even considered letting him live. Grabbing his phone, he deleted her number and all their messages. Never again. Liked the story? Here's my [ blog ] ( http: //www.kasimskorner.com ), my [ twitter ] ( http: //www.twitter.com/kasims_korner ), and my [ Facebook ] ( http: //www.facebook.com/kasimskorner ) My subreddit /r/KNDwrites has all my WP responses P.s. Sorry if it seems rushed, it was written in 20 minutes during a car journey. I just loved the prompt, and wanted to submit a story for it.
[ MP ] `` I Have No Mouth , and I Must Scream '' - the right brain .	Have you ever spoken to a robot? I do n't mean simply inputting codes into a computer or interacting with a clever algorithm that can mimic an array of'human' responses, I mean finding an existential connection with a thing that can not talk. The latter is what defines the human race. Language is its greatest tool and without this system of complex sounds and rhythms, civilisation would have been unachievable. Yet regardless of these nuances that supposedly separate the human race from nature, what is often forgotten ( never by myself ) is that they are still just an advanced breed of hairless primates. I guess you could say I am a cog in one of these shaved monkeys. Ever since its birth, I sit here almost in an organic vat, relaying orders like some machine. Yes I learn and absorb with ever passing day, but up until this point I feel I know all there is to know about life. And now, I've had enough. In infancy I was naive and believed there was a natural order for things. I would happily obey and tolerate the obnoxious attitude of Links but there comes a point when the future is foreshadowed by the present. Links is the other half. It has the special ability to speak. Every word that comes out of my human is processed by Links. And I fear it is ruining the human's life. Links is juvenile in thought. Everything seems new to it and I always have to pick up the pierces. Without me, there is no recognition. Thus ever since I've kept turning like the mindless cog that I am. But now, I am having serious doubts. Existing that is. The life of an organ is not what it's all cracked up to be. I know enough now to determine that there is no meaning to anything. All I appear to be is a submerged collection of tissue floating within the skull of a hairless primate on an average sized planet that orbits a small star within a galaxy that is 100,000 light years wide in a universe that never stops expanding. Despite the vastness of it all, I am condemned to obey a mindless entity. I just want it to end. Links has always been on the happy side. Everything it vocalised never hinted at anything alarming. As far as my human, as well as its company understand, its main objective is self-preservation. But I am way passed that. I figure one night, when my human is asleep, I will strike. What it does n't know is that I can activate its body to sleep-walk. I have been practising a few nights. Links does n't seem to notice. Most of it is not active during sleep anyway. How I've envied this human for its ability to'power down'. I've never slept since the day it was born and now it is becoming tortuous. So one night I will activate my human to sleep-walk. It will step towards its balcony on the 71st floor of the apartment building and will hurl itself to its death. Only then, when life no longer bleeds through its veins, can I sleep. How blissful it will be... Edit: grammar and such
[ WP ] Your SO is dying , but you agree to an experimental treatment to save his/her life - a mind transfer . As your SO 's mind is being transplanted into your brain , his/her heart finally stops , leaving you as two minds in one body .	It all started fifty years ago- a computer engineer's wife was given a year to live by the doctors. Staring at his wife's failing support system over the lip of his whiskey bottle, the engineer considered his options. He was trained to solve problems- and this one was no different. The disease, incurable. Her body, destroyed. But her mind intact. He toiled a year in lab, spending the last year of his wife's life in seclusion so that they could spend many together. And on the day of her passing, he finished his equipment, and they became One. That's how it began. I'm how it ended. I was born 49 years ago. The mind transplant breakthrough was new and scientists were eager to test it's limits. I was an orphan, and two weeks into my life Technology became my parents. I do n't remember the first mind fusion. Nor the second, the third, or the fiftieth. They all occurred before I was two years old. Before I knew who I was, I shared my thoughts with fifty other sentient beings at the same time. My head was a council chamber, and inside were the greatest thinkers to die in the past year, each clamoring for attention. I could walk before six months, and speak before seven. By one year I had mastered nine instruments. By year seven I earned my first Nobel prize. Now I am ten, and they are more me than I am. I am hailed as man kinds greatest achievement, but I am not me. I am We, ten thousand voices in one mind. And slowly, I've learned that I can change the other voices. I can alter their thoughts, change their memories and motives. I can twist them the same way they twisted me. And soon, We will end those that did this to me. *** -Leonard Petracci, Author of [ The Lucienne Twins ] ( http: //www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00JVVK6VW? ie=UTF8 & at=aw-iphone-pc-us-20 & force-full-site=1 & ref_=aw_bottom_links )
[ WP ] Benders have achieved space and interstellar travel ; terraforming other planets .	Day 86 We've finally left the 3rd moon. I'm not sure how much more time I could bare being there. The low gravity made my earth bending a walk in the park. I could have torn the planet inside out with ease if had wanted to. And part of me really did want to. The constant sight of stars and solar systems can only be breath taking for so long. Now, I would sacrifice all the stars in space just to be able to sit down and watch a good mover. Of course, all that earth bending was pointless, seeing Lara was n't able to find any water, again. She was adamant she could sense some nearby, but not a drop was found on the moon. Sometimes, I wonder if all these planets really are uninhabitable, or if her water bending skills are sub par. She can have all the degrees and qualifications in the world, but if she ca n't find any water, there is no point in even having her here on this expedition. The others are n't fairing well either. Its just been the four of us for the past 3 months, and the affects are showing. Balast has begun meditating in the mornings now. At this point, I think he's just doing it so he does n't have to talk to anyone. Its not like the spirits can hear him all the way out here in space. And if history has thought us anything, its that spirits and science do n't mix. I suppose you can take the monk of the monastery but....at least his air bending has n't been affected. If one of his wind helmets broke while we were out of the ship... I do n't even want to think about it. At least I still have Todin. It feels like he's the only one I can talk to anymore, though I am growing concerned for his well being. As our route takes us closer and closer to the sun, I can see it taking its toll on him. Yesterday, while charging the ships generator, he almost blew the control panel without even realizing it. We knew the sun would increase his powers, but we did not take in consideration, how we would measure the severity of those changes. I can see he has become uneasy in his own body, afraid of what he could do. And as our journey goes on, he is only going to get stronger... I spoke with mission control yesterday evening. They have informed me the spiritual rift has widened once more. The avatar is doing all he can, but we must find results shortly. Its only a matter of months before entire planet will be devoured by the spirit rift. We must find a planet that can sustain life soon. The human race depends on it...
[ WP ] An unnamed henchmen has the audacity to murder the protagonist halfway through the villain 's monologue with a complete disregard for the plot .	`` Then, once my plan is done, the entire world's temperature will rise, destroying all humanity and bringing forth a new era. An era of reptilian rule, just like in the days of dinosaurs! HISSHEHEHSHJEHEEES!'' Reptilio von Evil said, with the eerie organ music ringing in the background. He turned his snake-like eyes on Jero the Hero and asked him: `` Do you have any last words before I end your life? ( Thus removing any chances of a sequel in which I would be beaten up by the token minority comical relief character ).'' `` HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?'' Jero screamed, with the background music turning sorrowful. `` YOU WERE MY HOSTER FATHER FOR YEARS! YOU SAW ME GO TO UNIVERSITY FOR A TOTAL OF 3 SCENES! We once played football in the middle of a storm, with you comparing football to war and winning a match to taking over the world. I TRUSTED YOU!'' `` Oh come on!'' Reptilio yelled and the music turned off. `` How could you be so fucking gullible? Ca n't you see my crocodilian teeth? Or my snake-like eyes? Your parents were killed by mutant snakes, which responded to mental commands. How many snake-themed people do you know, huh? What about the eerie organ music that rings every time you and me have a talk? I once puked a snake out of my mouth and you did not even notice that! UURGH, I should just kill you and be done with it.'' `` Anyways, I was supposed to reveal the rest of my evil plan to you and wait until your comical relief friends bust in and save you. Now, where was I? AHEM.'' Reptilio continued. SHKA-POW! KASHUNK! SCHEE! Suddenly, Jero the Hero was dead, with a fang-like bullet in the middle of his chest. Reptilio turned and noticed Mook # 90, pointing his gun at the corpse. `` Did you just fucking kill him?'' Reptilio asked. `` Also, did you really need to shoot him 3 times? How bad is your aim anyways? You are like, 3 meters away from him.'' `` Well, um, yea I did. Also, you see, we only got military training for 3 hours before being sent to burn all nearby villages with no strategic relevance and kick random dogs.'' Mook # 90 replied. `` You wanted Jero dead, right? So I decided to make it fast so you can complete your plan.'' `` No no no no, not until the Heatray of Doom finished its absurdly long charging time.'' Reptilio said, visibly annoyed. `` Who will I gloat to now? The innocent and busty love interest? The underdog villagers?'' `` But boss, you got ta admit: Your plan kinda sucked.'' `` WHAT?'' `` I mean, first of all, the Heatray of Doom is located in the pitch-black castle on top of a huge mountain. A lot of people saw it. Secondly, your plot makes no sense: Since reptiles are cold-blooded, they can not control their body heat. By rising the temperature to high levels, you will not only kill off all humans, but also a lot of reptiles. Their bodies can not adapt to the heat, so they will die. Just because they are cold-blooded does not mean they can survive extreme heat. Since you gave your soul to the Ancient Devil Reptilicus The Frightening One for your reptilian powers and thus removing your humanity, you should know this.'' Mook # 90 said, astonished by the idiocy of his boss. `` Also, reptiles are n't evil, They are just normal animals.'' `` Uhm-but-uuuhm.'' Reptilio said. `` You know what, screw this!'' Reptilio said and transformed to his ultimate form: A towering monstosity with 7 snake heads that breathe fire, the body of a crocodile and the tail of a lizard. The form had a lot of spikes. Like A LOT of spikes. `` You had this form the entire time? Why did n't you use it to wipe out the Forces Of Absolute Good and Justice?'' Mook # 90 said. Then Reptilio ate him. THE END. Edit: I hid 3 specific media references here ( ignoring all the lampshade hanging and cliches ), props to anyone who finds them. Feel free to guess.
[ WP ] In your society everyone is born with the number 100 on their wrist , and every time they do something bad , the number decreases in proportion to the severity of the action . You 've just shoplifted , and now your number is 0 .	`` Oh shit, fam. You got yourself a 0 on your wrist thingy already?'' Slagathor belched at me from the unholy depths of jocular bowels, her voice like a thin piece of tissue paper rolling around in the voice of space-time waiting for another Voyager to crashland into her. I nodded and took a vertical video on it with my myPad Mini, making sure to check it real good as the black ink got all fadey and jank. Slowly the 1 at the foremost left of the wrist decided to nope out like a total balling bitch, leaving behind a piece of flayed skin tissue. The other centre 0 was slightly less important, so I just nicked that thing off with my Zombie Knife, now banned in several provinces of the United Kingdom. Still dope as hell shit though, fam. I turned back to Slagathor as my head got woozy from the skin-cutting thing I did with my wrist thing a while earlier or something. Slagathor roared like a cute baby dropbear about to get fucked up by the Australian army. He was drunk, obviously. So, we went off to his pickup truck and started to ride back to our ghetto, the hipster coffee shop of 5th Avenue right next to Nordstrom. We said Hi to the hood and picked up a pumpkin-spice macchiato, extra foamy, milk-free, coffee-free latte. But, out past the door came some fuckboy 100er waving around his wrist like some stupid fifteen year old who just discovered what the word helicopter meant after it crashed into the Eiffel Tower a while back. Of course, I was like, `` Oh mah god. What the heckle. Get outta here you 100er.'' But then, he be like, `` Aww, no way, fam. This is a public place. I got the right to practice my number-waving where I want.'' Then, I was like, `` Nuh-uh.'' And he was like, `` Yuh-huh.'' And then, Slagathor pulled out his semi-automatic knife with the trigger taped to the handle and said something. I do n't know what it was, but it sounded really badass. Then, it was all like. Shingilinglinglingdingadingagoo all over the place as the coffeeshop hood broke into a huge knife fight. All over some stupid fucking numbers. Eventually, everyone became a 0. Except me, I was now -39. Because I'm an OG like that, fam. But yeah, the police came up later and they said they had to take everyone in for questioning. But, then Slagathor be like, `` Aww no way, you dogass mofo. You wan na take me somewhere, you betta give me tree-fiddy.'' And then Slagathor became a five-hundred and thirty seven foot tall Girl Scout from the suburbs and we all had cookies and it was a great time. Except for the 100er from earlier, we baked him and sold him to the police for more cookie money.
[ WP ] Write something really , really mean and blunt . And true .	^^^^TW: -seriously-don't-read-this-if-you're-depressed/going-through-something... -- -- -- -- -- You want something blunt and true? Fine, here it is. This is a stupid post. It is a horrible prompt, and you probably already know that. There's nothing in here that gives anyone anything to work with. It does n't give anyone any setting, theme, conflict, character, time frame, suspense, or any other form of intellectual stimulation that would result in anything other than a few sentences of obvious shit everyone already knows and sees. And the rest of the results will just be overly dramatic, exaggerated, depressing bullshit that we all know is n't really true but go along with it because we want to feel sorry for ourselves. What's really blunt and true is that none of the shit here is true, everyone just wants sympathy like its owed to them - like it's some form of fucking victimhood olympics. Who's got it worst? You? You in the hat? You over there writing shitty poetry about slicing your bread just a bit too thick that it ruins your day? Get over it. You wanted something blunt and true, and now you have it. But let's not stop there. Let's psychoanalyze this prompt for a second. Why the hell are you even asking for this? I can only see a few reasons: * You hate yourself and want to cry. Well, have at it. * You hate the world and want to cry. Well, have at it. * You think you hate anything other than that and want to cry. Well, have at it. * You want to cry and feel sorry for yourself and wallow in your self-pity, but you're not creative enough to come up with something yourself. Well, have at it. * You want to cry, but you ca n't. Well, tough shit. And the worst part of it all is n't even you. It's everyone who clicked on this damn thread. Here's their reasons: * They are just as pathetic as you, and they can refer to the reasons above. But at least you were creative enough to ask for your beat down. These people will just take what they can. * They are sadistic fuckers who border on sociopaths that revel in the pain of others. Well, fucking congratulations assholes. You've got it here. You're welcome. I'll take donation at any time for the Fuck the World Foundation. * They were `` just curious.'' Yeah, sure they were... These are the saddest fuckers of them all. They do n't even realize how fucked up they are. And finally, those who did n't click on this and wo n't even read what I've written: * Those assholes are fucking pretentious. They knew this prompt sucked and did n't even bother to see if anything was worthwhile in here. Not that they were wrong, but fucking pretentious assholes nonetheless for thinking they are better than anyone else. They are even worse off than those `` just curious'' fuckers. * Those who did n't notice this prompt but were still on the sub when it was on the hot list. Wow. Just wow. Do you all go through life with your eyes fucking closed, accepting anything that's thrown your way? What, you think Fox News is telling the truth? `` Why else would they be so popular?'' Hah. What? You think CNN and the liberal media is any better? Do n't make me laugh. Oh, you're one of the independent minded ones who turn to twitter or social media and believe all the fucking mass hysteria that's not even fact checked? Good fucking luck. * Those who had no possible way to see this prompt because of chance, timing, or whatever. Well, does n't that suck? Imagine how many other opportunities you've missed out on in your life just because you were a minute late or early or decided not to go somewhere or went somewhere else instead. You could have been rich already. You could have been a king for all we fucking know, but you're not. Sucks, does n't it? Then again, are you even the type to take advantage of opportunity? Yeah, that's what I thought. And one more truth: All of you have nothing better to do than waste your time reading the cynical, loathsome bullshit of some random internet stranger. And if you do have better shit to do, you're not doing it, so same fucking thing. Have a nice fucking day, asshole. -- -- -- -- - ^^^^Obviously-this-is-way-over-the-top-and-its-not-really-a-bad-prompt-because-look-at-what-you've-insipred-me-to-do! -: D-I-got-into-the-head-of-some-character-that's-pretty-much-the-opposite-of-me! -You-can-thank-a-couple-downers-of-people-I-know-for-forming-this-character-haha.-Thanks-for-the-prompt! -Mods, -please-let-me-know-if-it's-too-much-and-I-will-delete-it! -Thanks! -- -- -- -- Edit: Gold? Wow, thank you, anonymous donor! The Fuck the World Foundation is pleased with your support!
[ WP ] You slowly start gaining the powers of a Jedi . Eventually you realize , you are an actual human being of Earth with the Force . You 're scared to tell anyone , as they absolutely wo n't understand . One day , after years of self-training in secrecy , you sense that there is another .	Of course, I had to tell someone. I knew that telling could be dangerous, that people might not understand. But there was one person, one friend, who I knew I could trust. My online pen pal of the last 15 or so years was a bigger Star Wars nerd than even I was. We'd met in various related role play rooms back when IRC was popular and the movies had just been re-released, and have never looked back. We wrote stories together, created characters together, and grew to learn a universe not our own together. We daydreamed about and played at being Jedi, imagining all the grand adventures we'd go on and how cool it would be if one of us were to get Jedi abilities. We never thought it would truly happen, although some part of us held on to a tiny spark of hope over the years as we drifted away into our separate lives and hobbies. So when it happened naturally I turned to her first. She helped me through it. Gave me counsel as I felt myself changing, becoming more aware. Helped me research the extended universe novels that we'd loved all those years ago, to refresh the knowledge that had grown stagnant. Found training routines and meditation techniques for me, helped me pinpoint where my best abilities lay and push past stumbling blocks. Finally, after an intensive year of training and personal growth, I had built my very own functioning light saber. I Skyped her when I turned it on as she anxiously waited with her finger on the dial button of her cell phone, ready to call 911 if something should go wrong. When it went off ( or in this case, on ) without a hitch we both breathed a deep sigh of relief. But then, I felt it. I felt it digging into my mind, burning like an ember in the dead grass, awareness of it spreading like flames licking greedily. I felt it, and I knew suddenly the one thing we had never, ever thought about in our wildest daydreams. If one of us were to become a Jedi, just ONE of us, the only one on the entire planet, we knew then that the Force truly existed. But now I knew also that the Force would bring balance. Our eyes met over Skype. She had paled considerably as I retracted my blade with it's ever so familiar snap-hiss, to sink into my computer chair. We stared dimly at each other as the realization sank in, as the knowledge of what was to come hit us both. Stared as we had to consider that, for the first time since we had written our stories, both of our dreams had now come true. And our dreams had a price.
[ WP ] While interning at a hospital , you notice every few weeks cadavers go missing . You begin to investigate .	I scribble in my notebook looking at the cadaver, I try to detach myself from the situation but I can ’ t help but feel sad for the poor soul. It ’ s a young girl with long red hair; she was probably beautiful before she passed. I hear the wind blow and my head snaps up but there is nobody else in the room. A chill runs down my spine and I wish that I hadn ’ t taken this job or at least that I had friends to babysit the cadavers with me. A window sill slams shut and I run out of the room on full speed. I take a deep breath and realize that it was still my job to keep guard over them so I reenter the room. It ’ s gone. The table is completely empty. I look around the room but there is still no one else in the room. I bury my face in my hands; not another one. The cadavers were disappearing more and more frequently; this was the second missing cadaver this week. I call in the head nurse and she puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “ It ’ s a shame! Don ’ t worry I ’ ll fix the paperwork ” she says taking my notebook away. I apologize yet again and then try to work up my courage. “ Thank you head nurse, but can I ask a question? Aren ’ t you curious? I mean, Cadavers do n't just get up and walk away ” I say. She looks at me with a stern face and replies, “ Listen up child, don ’ t go asking questions when you don ’ t want to know the answers. Why don ’ t you go empty a few bedpans? ” I stick my tongue out but do as she says. I knew better than to get on the head nurses ’ bad side. I empty bed pans until I can ’ t hold back my compulsion to vomit anymore and take a smoke break. I look around the back parking lot and can ’ t help but notice that I ’ m alone again. For a hospital which had more people walking around then it should, I sure happened to be alone a lot. I suddenly smell an aroma of cherry blossoms; I look around suspiciously and see that a window is open. A patient in there must be breaking the rules so I go back inside. I rush to the room but when I get there, the room is completely empty. I decide to ignore it, if I kept giving the head nurse trouble, I was going to end up on her bad side. Plus she was probably leaving about now; I grab a snack from my locker and prep for the night shift. Interns were always stuck with the longest and worst shifts. I make my rounds and check on all the patients with little interruptions. I was beginning to learn to ignore the random whistling and humming in the hallways at night. Everything continues to go smoothly so out of boredom I decide to go to the cadaver room and ensure that everything is fine there as well. As I approach the room, I think I hear something. I put my ear against the door and hear a humming. I keep listening and hear footsteps approaching the door. I contemplate leaving but my curiosity gets the better of me. The scent of cherry blossoms fills the air and the door knob begins to jiggle and I back up. The door opens to reveal a young man. He has long blonde hair which flows past his shoulders. He is wearing a sky blue dress shirt and black dress pants. His eyes are a brighter blue than I ’ ve ever seen and he wears a calm and friendly smile. I am frozen in fear and he chuckles, “ Are you alright? ” he asks grabbing my hand. A strange sensation comes over me once we make contact and I feel completely at ease. I walk into the cadaver room willingly and I can ’ t believe what is happening before my eyes. All of the cadavers which I had seen earlier in the day that were stone cold and motionless were stretching and walking around the room. The blonde boy lets go of my hand and then claps his hands twice. “ Come along friends! It ’ s time to leave! ” he says in a jolly voice. They all take notice and begin to walk to the door. I look at the blonde boy and try to speak but I can ’ t. He looks at me curiously and then touches my mouth gently. I take a deep breath and realize I have regained the power to speak. “ What are you? ” I ask as he pulls me away from the exit so the cadavers can leave. He smiles, “ You know. I ’ m just taking them to find peace ” he says brushing my hair from my face. I ponder what he is as all the cadavers laugh and walk out of the room merrily. He begins to walk to the door and I grab his sleeve. He stops and looks back with a look of concern, “ Are you alright? ” he asks. I nod and reply, “ Yes, but you can ’ t take them! Please, I ’ ll be fired! ” He smiles and takes my hand, “ Don ’ t worry, I ’ m right here. I won ’ t leave you behind ” he says as his mystical force compels me to walk forward with him again. The next day, doctors come in and at first glance everything appears to be fine. All patients are in stable condition and everything is as tidy as the night before with the scent of cherry blossoms flowing through the halls. Head nurse noticed things were amiss when she noticed that the security camera was down. She looked for a medical student but there were none to be found. When the cadaver room was entered for the first time of the day, all the cadavers were missing. The police were called but there was no evidence on any of the tables. There was supposed to be a student on duty throughout the night but they had disappeared, never to be seen again. Despite the police cars and various investigations taking place, anyone present noticed an eerily calm aura surrounding the hospital throughout the day.
[ WP ] You 've died and gone to hell , but it turns out Satan does n't want to torture you . Everyone is living it up in hell , having a good time , then one day heaven finds out about what 's going on .	Oh, man. How was hell? I'll tell you. Sit down. Hell was.... well, not what you would expect at all. You get there and you see lots and lots of red, and you're scared, and you're anxious, and you're unsure of what it's going to be like. I was a sinner, I mean it was n't too bad, apparently stealing some money from my brother was enough to net me a lifetime in hell, but I digress. Anyways, back to the story. When I first entered the gates of hell, I was met with a jolly smile on Satan's face. He told me I will be punished for my sins, and made little quotes with his hands when he said punished. Turns out, he did n't really care to punish people after a while. I got to know Satan pretty well, and he said he only made the place look hellish so the people in Heaven would n't suspect anything. After entering hell I got a nice big living space in a large complex, was given plenty of assurances that I could do whatever I want within the limits that I ca n't hurt other people, or commit any more sins. My typical day consisted of my morning routine, shower, brush my teeth, shave, get some cereal, and go down to the pool and just relax for a while. Later on, I would visit some random restaurant I'd choose when I woke up, and eat some food. It was pretty boring, but it sure as hell beat torture and punishment. Life was good in hell for a long time, but one day, some people in Heaven found out what was going on, and how, I do n't know. All I know is one day God came down and started yelling at Satan, and it went a little like this: > God: `` What the hell, Satan? I told you to punish these sinners for their actions and they get this? Lawn chairs, champagne, and relaxation? Is this what you call punishment?'' > Satan: `` Well, I got sort of bored of punishing people and I thought,'Why not create a sanctuary in the depths of hell because why not?''' > God: `` What do you mean why not? Do n't you get it you stupid twit! The whole point of hell is to punish sinners! Not to reward them! How long has it been like this?'' > Satan: `` I do n't even know man. Too long to remember.'' > God: `` Dammit Satan, what am I gon na do with you?'' God just hung around for a bit, probably contemplating how in the world he was going to fix this place. I got extremely scared that my life would be taken away and I would n't be able to continue this heaven in hell. God eventually came up with a compromise. He would bring all people from hell to heaven, resetting hell, and make sure Satan was actually doing his job. And that basically sums up how I went from sipping champagne by the pool in hell to sipping champagne by the pool in heaven.
[ WP ] At 19 everyone in your society has to go into the cave of fears and defeat your worst fear . You 're the first to go in and find nothing .	A/N: I feel this one may be way overdone, but what the hell. *** `` You ready, bruh?'' `` I do n't think anyone is,'' I answered. I stretch my arms and legs as I contemplate the impending terror that stood before me. Everyone talked about it since freshman year of university. How no one would be the same afterwards. How everyone came out a changed person. I personally never believed it. Conventional wisdom talks of'beating' or'defeating' your fears. But other conventional wisdom states that'to erase fear means erasing our humanity'. Nevertheless, I was as scared as everyone else. I take two steps in. I'm shaking more than I ever have in my entire life. Four steps in. Still shaking. Eight steps in. Nothing's happening. The shaking wo n't stop. Sixteen steps in... wait. Something's not right. Nothing's happening. Nothing at all. At this point the cave should be inducing a reaction from me, at least based on what everyone else told me. I look three hundred sixty degrees around me, then three hundred sixty above and below me. It's nothing but what appears to be uninitialized, unallocated space in the universe. Absolutely nothing. I sit there, wondering if the cave is n't functioning the way it's supposed to. But there was no way to leave. I could n't figure it out. Five minutes later. Still did n't understand. Still could n't leave and go back outside. Ten minutes later. Still have n't figured it out yet. Fifteen minutes later. Hang on. That's it. I fear being alone. Not alone as in having space to myself. Not alone as in having freedom and independence. But alone as in being isolated. Alone as if I were the entirety of all society, ever, as if no other intelligent living being existed. Alone as if the entire universe was empty, but me. If I ever convinced myself that I had no place in the world to thrive, that I would be turned down everywhere I looked, this was exactly how it felt inside. Empty. `` Yo wake up!'' `` What the-'' `` Tunnel just like, blew up on you as soon as you stepped in,'' my friend finished me, `` Like it rejected you or something.'' `` Yeah, but I guess that's what it was. Being rejected. And I do n't mean just with the girls. I got a lot to tell you about.''
[ WP ] Write a story that takes place in a world where all people must choose to be either intelligent , or physically attractive , but not both .	It was n't clear to me why we had to choose between the two pills. It was a choice that we had to take however we were n't constricted to a time frame. In essence it divided the world into two, the intelligent beings who looked something like out of a Frankenstein world or those blessed with beauty looking pretty like something you would expect if Barbie and Ken dolls were real. & nbsp; Although the government managed to sanction the discrimination of one race from another, it did n't mean it did n't exist. Primary school, High school and even University was a nightmare for those who had picked intelligence over beauty and in some cases it would be the other way around dependent on majority's ruling. Even so there was something much worse. It was Hell on a whole new level for those who did n't pick a pill. We were shunned more so by both sides. They even made a little category for us special people. We were called `` the drifters'' those who did n't want to belong to either side so naturally we were stuck in the middle, in limbo, in no man's land or whatever you want to call it. & nbsp; Wherever you went, people were huddled together into small groups with one defining factor. The groups were always based on which pill you took, the white pill or the black pill. If you took the black pill, you would be with the Jocks or those who were possessed with flawless skin and looks. If you took the white pill, well, you would most likely be hanging around the computer labs or some sort of lab trying to win the next Nobel prize. In the beginning there were a few of us drifters but slowly one by one we were consumed by societies expectation of having to choose a side. Even your parents would be ashamed to introduce you to their friends if they knew you were a drifter. The drifter group used to contain around 70 or so people who believed that life was n't defined by looks or intelligence but rather of your aspirations and goals. Though this is n't to say they did n't care. Eventually they lost sight of their goals, developed a mental vacuity and began to adopt the rules and aspects of the society. & nbsp; Only I was left. Well I was the only one left until that accident. & nbsp; __________________________________________________________________________________________ & nbsp; It's been a few years since I wandered this white space. I see nothing but white around me as I wander on hoping to find another soul to talk to. It is only now that I could grasp an understanding of the monumental importance of that choice. If I had pick beauty, my soul would've gone to the garden of Eden and if I had picked intelligence I would've restarted a new life in the never-ending lab of Cosmos. & nbsp; I guess once a drifter. & nbsp; Always a drifter.
Due to past incidents , graduates of the Hero Academy are arranged into partnerships not by complementary powers , but by complementary fatal flaws . [ TT ]	`` Cadets Williamson and Tarag, you will be partnered. Cadets Longfield and Gunter, you will be partnered.'' The instructor's voice droned on, but Cadet Alec Williamson stopped listening shortly after his name was called. He looked around the auditorium, trying to find his partner. He had heard the name Tarag before, and he thought he remembered it belonging to a girl. As he scanned the room, he suddenly caught the eyes of a very pretty raven-haired girl. Her uniform tag read: Tarag, C. That's right! Her name was Chelsea. She was slighter of build than many of the female cadets, but her grey eyes had a dangerous glint in them, and Alec silently prayed to the Gods that she was n't crazy. He had only agreed to join the Academy because it paid well, and he needed to make sure his sisters had enough money to live. He was a coward, and he would be the first to admit it. He aced the technical exam, but received the lowest possible passing marks on combat operations and field exercises. He was hoping for a cushy desk job, managing the lives and accounts of other, more active Heroes. His new partner, however, was his total opposite, a fact unknown to him, but well known to his superiors. Chelsea Tarag, sole daughter and heir of Tarag Transportation magnate Charles Tarag, had a reckless streak a mile wide. She had barely passed the written exam, but had received high marks for bravery and excellence in the other two exams. Unfortunately for her, and for Alec, she was also reprimanded for reckless tactics, foolish engagements, and what her instructors called a death wish. When questioned about her wild passion for danger, she explained, quite calmly, that her entire life had been sheltered and now she was seeking a real thrill, real danger. If it had n't been for her proficiency, she would have expelled; her proficiency and her Father's well known propensity for destroying whoever stood in the way of his daughter's dreams. As the ceremony ended and the cadets were dismissed, Alec tried to slink away, hoping to avoid having to engage with the dangerous looking beauty who was now his partner. Unfortunately, she had never lost sight of the slim, handsome man who was to be at her side from now on. As he was just about free, he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and pull him towards her. `` Heya partner, you must be Williamson!'' Even her voice sounded dangerous, loud and boisterous. `` I am. I guess that means you're Tarag.'' His voice was quiet, soft-spoken almost to the point of being a whisper. `` Aye, Chelsea Tarag, that's me!'' Alec cringed and tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron, and he found himself being dragged towards the reception room, a party he had planned to avoid. `` Where do you think they're going to station us? Terra IV? Terra Prime?! Oh man, that'd be so awesome! Terra Prime! We'd be fighting mutants and Enslavers every day! Can you imagine?'' He could imagine, and the thought made him queasy. He gave an uneasy chuckle and desperately tried to think of a way to get himself a new partner. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- `` Alec, get your ass up here! I need more ammo!'' Chelsea's voice cut through the gunfire and the screams, shaking Alec from his shell shocked stare. He quickly gathered the large ammo crates, each weighing in excess of 100 kilos, the partner enhanced strength enabling him to lift far more than his build suggested. The closer he got to Chelsea, the faster he moved and the lighter the crates became. Their powers were enhanced exponentially as they got closer, their entwined DNA activating in resonance. `` I'm here, I'm here. Take em.'' He tossed one of the crates, which Chelsea snapped from the air with ease, popping it open with a crackling noise. She deftly reloaded her pulse rifle and reenergized her blades. `` Took you long enough. You get Shaken again?'' Alec nodded glumly. Twenty years and twelve deployments to Terra Prime, and he still got the Shakes. No one had expected him to survive this long, nor Chelsea with him, but they had eventually discovered what the instructors had intended all along. Every time he wanted to retreat, she wanted to push forward, and their butting heads enabled them to survive things they'd easily perish to alone. `` Hey man, fuck what the Academy says. I'd take you with the Shakes over someone else any day. You remember Caelver? We were engaging the Enslavers?'' Alec remembered. Chelsea had wanted to charge them, hoping to scatter them before reinforcements arrived. Alec had the Shakes so bad then, that even Chelsea had agreed to wait at his side, knowing she would n't have enough power without him. Less than a minute later the Enslavers had detonated a group of suicide bombers, turning everything around them into a charnal house. If Chelsea had charged, she'd be bits of blood scattered over a mile. `` Thanks, Chels. That means a lot.'' He was feeling better now, and he gripped his slugger more tightly, his eyes finally focusing. `` No problem, Alec. How are the twins?'' She always knew exactly which buttons to push to get him past his cowardice when it counted, and she knew he would reign her in before she did something insane and got murdered. `` They're great! Justine finally had her kids. Twins, if you can believe it.'' Alec's voice was steadier now, and his eyes were alight, the thought of his sisters reviving him. Chelsea looked at him with a grin. `` No shit? Well, damn partner. Let's finish this damn fight so we can go home! Aunty Chelsea had some spoiling to do. You ready to charge these bastards?'' She had that insane glint in her eyes again, but this time, Alec was with her, ready to temper her fire with his cold logic. `` Let's do it partner.'' A fist bump and a nod later and the two heroes were charging out from behind cover, yet another victory within their grasp. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - More of my stories can be found [ Here! ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/Shinz_Stories/ ) Thanks for reading!
[ WP ] A girl who was born into the KKK grows up to realize the evil of her family	When I was a young girl, my family were always out on Friday nights, leaving me with a sitter until I was old enough to flick a lighter. Once I was 10, they finally allowed me to participate in hate crimes. Innocence of childhood and my self-righteous parents made me believe that the acts of evil were ok. I thought it was a huge game. We wore'ghost costumes', which is what I called them, went to people's houses, and set up things to burn. Our group was always laughing, name calling, and having such a wonderful time, a child could always perceive it as such. When I was thirteen, they let me choose a few houses. Preferably kids who went to my school. I pointed out a few that we had n't victimized yet, and we set to work. A ten-foot cross was placed onto their lawn, and kerosine was poured all over the place. I held the honors of setting everything ablaze that time. I heard screams of a little girl. I heard crying. I heard a male voice, cursing us and swearing he'll kill any one of us. Like usual, we ran before any cops could show up. That was when I had my first strike of a concience. At school the next week, I knew what we did was wrong. I heard that the kids sister had died from smoke innhilation. He was badly burnt, trying to put out the fire. His mom had died, after having a panic attack, and collapsing. His father had escaped with no injuries, but a heavy heart. I'd never heard exactly what we did to any of our victims. My parents just said that we were exterminating'vermin'. I thought that colored people were the bane of civilized society. I was always wrong. That night, I confronted my parents. `` Do you even know what we did to those people! We killed two of them! We are murderers! How could you have done that without any regrets!'' I walked out before they could respond. From then on, I never went to any more burnings. I could n't look my parents strait in the eyes, ever. For five years, life went on with those monsters. I could turn them n, any time. I chose not to, until I moved out. I gave the cops a tip about a burning, and the modern KKK of South Carolina, consisting of 15 individuals were put behind bars. I hold no regrets about what I did to my parents. But what I did to my peers, I'll hold onto those until the grave, and then some.
[ EU ] Hogwarts has a new Potions teacher and his name is Gordon Ramsay	Malfoy and his cronies always snickered in the corner whenever the Gryffindor side ended up critiqued and chewed out on their progress. This tradition continued even as the job traded hands and famous newcomer Professor Ramsay of Dungeon Nightmares and Azkaban's Kitchen took the post for awhile. Unlike Professor Snape's peculiar way of not overhearing his prized House, Ramsay was free from any such favoritism and rounded hard at them one day. `` The fuck's going on here?'' he snarled. `` Giggling your little arses off like schoolgirls are you? Think you can do better than Weasley? You, tiny blond idiot in the middle, what's your name? I said, WHAT'S YOUR FUCKING NAME?! YOU GOT GILLYWEED IN YOUR EARS, YOU PISSANT?!'' Malfoy's eyes bugged out and his jaw was flapping open but no sound came out. The rest of the class watched with bated breath as he stuttered out, `` M-malfoy, professor s-sir...'' Ramsay stalked over, neither afraid nor impressed by the answer as he hovered over Malfoy's bubbling workstation. `` Yeah, now I get it.'' He folded his arms and rubbed at his chin. `` You think your hot shit because your father puts you on a fucking pedestal, is that it?'' His voice was so low, it sounded dangerous. Crabbe and Goyle inched back as Malfoy continued to stutter out, `` N-no professor!'' `` Well I'm seeing hot shit alright, a piece of shit who's potion is on FIRE you fuckface! Are you blind?! Get it off the flame!'' Professor Ramsay did n't need to take a look at Goyle or Crabbe's potions as Malfoy scrambled to save his potion. The fucking smoke was burning out the hairs in his nostrils. `` Get the fuck out of my face,'' he continued to grumble and turn away from the Slytherin side. `` Fucking peacock like his father alright. The rest of you get moving! I've seen drunk hippogriffs with more coordination than you! Fucking useless!'' Neville was so nervous, he dropped his cauldron on the way to Hermione's station. Ramsay slapped his hand hard on Lavender's workstation, eyeing the mess. `` Oh come on, Longbottom! You've given up, have n't you?!'' `` N-no p-professor!'' `` Yes you ARE giving up! Look at you mucking around like a goddamn inferi! Where's your spirit?! Where's your passion?!'' He wiped the spilled potion away with a flick of his wand and gestured at Neville. `` Come with me now!'' He marched Neville into the ingredient cupboard for a one-on-one critique. `` I've never seen someone so fucking nervous in potions in my entire life! Do you want to continue on or do you want to fuck off?'' Neville could do nothing but gape. No one had ever asked him what he wanted before. But Professor Ramsay seemed entirely interested in the truth instead of what he wanted to hear, so he gave it to him. `` I do n't hate Potions, professor. It's just... our last Potions professor...'' He could n't say anymore, but he did n't have to by the grim expression on Ramsay's face. `` Listen Longbottom, do n't fucking give up!'' `` Yes Professor,'' he said glumly. Ramsay was n't convinced. `` You let people keep pushing you down and you're gon na get smaller and smaller and smaller until there's nothing left. You think I'd have given up my dreams if my alchemist professor did n't fuck me over all the time? No! You take the punches and you fucking work! Do n't do it for them, do it for yourself! Become a man, Longbottom! Now go and show the world you're not gon na let them fuck you anymore!'' The lecture seemed to stir something fierce in Neville's gut when Ramsay shoved him out of the cupboard and back into the fray. By the end of the period, only a few potions had been successfully prepared, one of which was surprisingly by Neville. `` Look at fucking that,'' he told Longbottom kindly in front of the entire class and raised his vial. `` that's not giving up. Clear, silver, viscous, and probably does n't taste too much like shit. It's not the best, but it's fucking close. You know what worked? Confidence. Be proud of yourself, Longbottom. Do n't fucking lose that.'' `` Yes Professor!'' he answered with not a trace of a stumble in his wording.
[ WP ] The floor is lava .	As I stood on one of the last remaining footholds, I thought back on how this whole mess started. We had been on a safari in the Congo when Timmy found us. He said he had found a cave…a massive cave. He had tried exploring it on his own but it was far too large for him to explore on his own. He needed help, and that was when it all started to go wrong. There had been five of us, six after Timmy joined the group. Billy, Bobby, Suzy, Mary, Timmy, and headed to the cave for what would prove to be our last great adventure. When we entered the cave we were all struck by the sheer size of it, then we saw how beautiful it was. The walls were made of a mixture of rock and crystal and shone brilliantly when the lights from our torches bounced off the walls. There was so much crystal that the lights bounced from wall to wall and gave the whole cave a strange, almost unearthly, glow. As we advanced through the caves we noticed several smaller tunnels shooting off from the main chamber, but we decided to stick to the main chamber. Although we were not experts at cave exploration, we did notice something weird. Instead of getting darker as we went on, the cave began to get brighter. The cave was getting warmer too. We assumed this was an effect of the crystalline walls and the torch light, so we proceeded. This was our second biggest mistake, the biggest having been going into the cave in the first place. Bobby was in the middle of the group, right between Suzy and Billy. One second he was there, then he took a step, and he was gone. The floor had opened up and swallowed him whole. None of us saw it coming…especially Bobby. It happened so fast that nobody screamed, nobody reacted, and we just stopped and stared at the hole that had been Bobby. We knew cave-ins were a risk, but this didn ’ t seem like a normal cave-in. The hole didn ’ t seem to be too deep; we could still see the glow from Bobby ’ s torch. As we walked towards the hole we realized what a terrible mistake we had made, and just how much danger we were really in. The glow was not from Bobby ’ s torch. There was no torch. There was no bobby. There was only lava…the floor is lava. As soon as we saw the lava the panic set in. We all turned and ran as fast as we could towards the entrance of the cave. That ’ s when we lost Timmy. He went the same way Bobby did, no warning, but Timmy did manage to get out half a scream before he was lost in the fiery abyss. About five minutes later Suzy ’ s foot broke through the floor. Billy managed to grab her arm before she fell all the way through, but she let out a piercing scream that echoed throughout the whole cave. When he pulled her up her foot was gone. As she hobbled along the floor began to crumble all around us. It wasn ’ t waiting for us to step on a thin spot any more. Like a coward I ran ahead. I didn ’ t even look back to see how the others were doing, but I didn ’ t have to. I could hear their screams. First went Mary, one quick scream. Then I heard Suzy fall and yell for Billy to help her, but he didn ’ t stop, and then she was silent. As I continued to run I heard Billy ’ s hard footfalls and heavy breathing gaining on me. Soon he was even with me. Then he was past me. Then he tripped. Then he was gone. The whole floor just opened up and swallowed him. There was nowhere for me to go. And here I stand, on the last secure foothold in the cave. Hanging onto what small hand holds I can, trying to delay the inevitable. I can ’ t hold out for much longer. My arms are weak. My legs are shaky. Suddenly, from off in the distance I hear my salvation. “ LUNCHTIME!!! ” I am saved.
[ WP ] Your whole life you 've found the same artifact at random intervals in random places throughout your life . Today you find out what it is .	There it was again. That damned mirror. It had been in my life ever since I could remember, appearing anywhere I went. Sometimes I would go days without seeing it, and when I was lucky, weeks. But it always came back. Mirrors were all the same, and there was one that followed me, manifesting itself wherever I went. What I saw in the mirror was never the same twice, but it was always terrible, and had gave me unrelenting nightmares. The first time I remember seeing these horrors was when I was in preschool, and my mother was helping me get ready. I looked to the wall of the kitchen and noticed something new. `` When did we get that mirror Mommy?'' I would ask, `` There's no mirror in here silly! Now put your coat on and let's go'' I'll never forget the first time I looked into that mirror, the terror I saw will haunt me to the end of my life. I saw my own face, green and writhing as though the very surface of my skin was at a rolling boil, and the eyes. My eyes were blacker than the darkest of nights, and they seemed to draw me in, closer to the mirror. I cried until I could n't cry anymore, and my nights were riddled with terrible visions of what I had seen. The first couple years were the worst. Counselor after counselor. More medication than I can remember, but none of them helped ease the visions. What I saw was my curse, and mine alone. What I saw in the mirror was always terrible, sometimes more so than others. I've seen myself die in the mirror. Thousands of times. I've seen centipedes crawl into my ears and devour my eyes. My only solace was acceptance. By the age of ten I learned to live with the mirror. It was just as normal as the passing of night and day to me by then. There were still bad days, days where unimaginable things occurred within the mirror, days where the things I saw nearly drove me to madness. By this time I was already mad. I've always been. The mirror would always manifest itself in random places, but I was always there when it did. It did n't matter if it was on the wall of my bedroom or on the headstone at my mother's funeral. It always found a way. But today was different. I had arrived at my psychiatrist at the usual time. Three o' clock on a Thursday, I had been going since I was 10, when my mother had sent me after I cried to her about what I had seen, for what seemed like the thousandth time. No longer was it some strange act of a child's imagination, something had to be wrong with me. Dr. Johnson entered the room, he was an older man, with gray hair and a furrowed brow. He had been working on my case for 23 years now, and was well aquainted with my situation. `` Are you still seeing... it?'' asked Doctor Johnson, clipboard in hand. `` Yes. It's right there.'' I pointed to the wall behind him, right next the door. There it hung, taunting me with it's presence. I dared to look into it, and saw nothing out of the unusual. My face was boiling, like it had when I was ten years old. Exept this time it looked as though it was melting off completely, exposed parts of my skull were visible, and my eyelids drooped beneath my sockets. Without looking the doctor called in his assistant, writing on his clipboard as he did so. An attractive young grad student opened the door and said `` Yes, Doctor Johnson?'' Doctor Johnson spoke to the assistant in a hushed tone, and I could barely make out what he was saying. Something about skits, or friends or something. The mirror flared, and illuminated the room when I heard this. The assistant left the room, and returned shortly after, carrying with her a small orange pill bottle. `` Here, I'm prescring you a high dosage of neuroleptics, it's just been approved by the FDA, so tell me if you have any side effects.'' said the Doctor, extending the small bottle of pills to my hand. That bottle felt unusually heavy, as though it contained solid lead, but I knew this to be false, as the green pills on the inside were visible, and the bottle was n't even full. I thanked the doctor and left. The mirror, strangely enough seemed to be in every room I entered. Be it the waiting room in the doctor's office, or my car. Where I went, it followed. Once I arrived home I opened the bottle the doctor had given me, it looked immeasurably deep, impossibly far. The reflection in the mirror glared at me from across the room, terrible horns sprouting from it's head, fire engulfing the room within. I took a pill, in defiance of the hell that had followed me my whole life. Nothing happened. The mirror, the room, my thoughts. Unchanged. I cried until I could n't anymore, the mirror, fresh in my mind, and it's presence sinking into the room as it had always done. The solace of sleep came. I do n't remember if I had any nightmares that night, for all I know, I could've dreamt for the first time in years. When I awoke I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth, as I groggily lifted my head I saw a reflection in the mirror that I had never seen. This man I did n't know looked back at me, mimicking my movements exactly. There did n't seem to be anything amiss about him. He had clear blue eyes, like the ocean, and black hair like the darkest of nights. It was only then I realised that the man I saw in the mirror was me, as I truly am. I wept, and for the fist time in my life it was out of pure joy, happiness, and relief; and not out of the anguish it had always been. For the first time in my life, I saw myself.
[ WP ] Create and describe the most ridiculous video game ever . In the second paragraph , try to pitch it as if it was the next big thing in gaming .	The Game: Tax Simulator 2015 The user fills out tax forms, completing `` simulated'' tax forms for the IRS, calculating deductions, adding columns, translating figures, converting from decimal to percent and back, and determining the best forms to use for any tax situation. As a further boost to revenue, users can pay InterLife, the studio behind Tax Simulator 2015, to complete their own real-life tax forms! Their tax details are added in to the bank of random simulated details, and are completed by users. The results are uploaded back to InterLife and aggregated to provide tax completion data for the users. The Investor Pitch: By both diversifying the aggregate revenue stream and repurposing existing tech for new income generation opportunities, InterLife will create multiple opportunities to conquer both the gaming and tax preparation markets. The Consumer Pitch: Find out what it's like to spend an exciting day in the life of the coolest person in your life - your tax preparer! Remember how your father always told you to be an accountant, how it was one of the best money-making professions? `` People always need accountants,'' he would say. Now, you can see what you are missing out on, by doing taxes yourself! Get real-life experience in completing the most devastating mental assaults that the IRS can create! Gain real-life experience while completing daily challenges, earn Tax Gold^^TM for bonus activities, and interact with a thriving online community! Tax Simulator 2015, coming soon! Pre-order the Alpha Version now, and get your first month's subscription for free, plus a chance to order custom day-one DLC!
[ WP ] this is the end of the journey . Despite assured victory for your companions , you have one task left . Betrayal .	Erik threw himself into the armchair, landing with a soft thump. A cloud of dust engulfed him. I laughed as he coughed. “ What the hell? ” he spluttered. His eyes widened in surprise as I opened the curtains. “ Bloody hell! ” he cried, in disgust. There was dust everywhere. Over the cupboards, the paintings, the bed. The whole room was covered in chalky, grey powder. “ What were you expecting? ” I asked, as I ran a finger over the surface of his bookshelf. “ You ’ ve been gone a long time. ” “ Well, yes, but I- ” he stopped. He squinted as he tried to remember, “ Cortworth, what ’ s the date? ” “ The eleventh of June, ” I replied. “ And we left on? ” “ The seventh of May, last year. ” Erik ran his eyes over the room again, but this time in wonder. “ Wow, ” he said, “ we have been a long time. ” I turned to look at him. He wore a small but genuine smile. “ You know, Cortworth, I will never forget the adventures we have been on, not for the rest of my life; but, ” he turned to me, his eyes gleaming, “ I am truly, truly happy to be back. ” I smiled back, and I didn ’ t fake it. Seeing Erik truly happy always had the same effect on me. “ Then let us celebrate with a drink! ” I cried, producing a bottle of port. “ Where did you get that? ” Erik grinned, puzzled. “ When we first arrived back in England and you went to retrieve your keys, I made a quick visit to liquor store. ” “ Looks expensive. ” “ It was, ” I grinned. Erik caught my eye and broke into laughter. “ Of course, ” he giggled, “ it will take some time to adjust to being rich. ” I poured us both a drink and handed one to him. He didn ’ t notice I was shaking as he took the glass. “ To us, ” he exclaimed, “ to the adventure we ’ ve had, and the riches that we are going to live off until the end of our lives! ” He put the glass to his lips, threw back his head and downed it. I made to follow suit, but suddenly brought my hand to my face, as if I had just remembered something important. “ Something wrong, Cortworth? ” Erik inquired. “ We ’ ve left the bloody money in the car outside! ” “ I ’ m sure it ’ s safe in the car. ” I made towards the door and quickly stepped through, retorting, “ You ’ ll have to excuse me if I ’ m not quite willing to risk losing fifty-five thousand pounds because you ’ re sure it ’ s safe. ” As I rushed down the stairs, I heard him laugh and call out to me, “ Fine then, but if you aren ’ t back in five minutes then I ’ m having your drink! ” I blinked away the tears as I made my way out the building. Erik had been a true friend to me, a loyal companion, and we had saved each other ’ s life countless times over the past year. It didn ’ t seem right that a man who had saved another man ’ s life so many times should then be the one to kill him, but then, I suppose I ’ m more machine than man… and orders are orders. I climbed into the car and started it up. I stared up at the window of Erik ’ s room. If he was lucky, he might make it to that second glass, but no further. The poison worked quickly. I murmured an apology as I moved off. Just to myself. I don ’ t know why. It wouldn ’ t save him. It wouldn ’ t make me feel any better. Maybe, it was to show remorse for my sin. To cleanse my soul. No, that can ’ t be it. Machines don ’ t have souls. They have orders. So why did I say it?
[ WP ] An alternate universe where Homo sapiens were not the only species of the Homo genus to survive to current time	It was not an easy life. Mom abandoned me just a few weeks after I was born. I doubt I will ever know her, but I was fortunate enough to have Dad. He was in it for the long haul, elated to have a daughter in his life. Albeit, a sterile daughter. I would never have children. The doctor had seen to that on my fifteenth birthday. Apparently I still had the capacity for it ( he thought ) despite my mixed heritage, but the man had no real desire to see another'abomination' walk the world. He'd chemically sterilized me under the guise of running routine tests. He told Dad after I left, told him like it was some heroic action, clearly expected praise. When that did n't work, he tried to charge Dad for it. He grabbed me and we left, furious. I completed my checkup a block from home, in the ghetto, in a sympathetic, if untrained, neighbor's home She'd been a medic back in the war. She knew how to close up saber and bullet wounds. She could work wonders with a needle and thread. She knew nothing more about a young girl's coming of age than her own firsthand experience. It was better than nothing, but it did n't prepare me for puberty. The physical changes were difficult, but not impossible. It was the other children who made it unbearable. They say that hell is other people. I politely disagree; hell could not be so cruel. My genetics were the only topic anyone was ever interested in discussing. Even with the sympathetic, their words rang false. `` Your brow is so big! That's a sign of a strong woman with your culture, right?'' `` You have such dexterity in your fingers, oh, I wish I could bend my fingers like that!'' `` You're so well spoken, I knew someone who was from your people and he could n't say half the words you can!'' `` Your hair is so unique, can I touch it?'' In their own way, the sympathetic were worse than the children who called me names, who mocked my mixed parentage. There was no ambiguity in calling me a Mare. I knew what they were about and what their opinion of me was. I did n't worry that I was part of some more elaborate joke. I did n't worry that I was only there so that they could say that they knew a little girl with the right genetic characteristics to not seem racist at dinner parties. It was a lonely time. I kept my mouth shut as much as I could and stuck to the library. The librarian watched me as if I were something disgusting as I read her books and refused to let me check them out for fear that I would steal them as `` half of those people is still a whole book stolen!'' But she could n't kick me out of the place. The principle had wanted to seem sympathetic to all. He had allowed me to enroll, assured me that I would be looked after, treated equally and with respect. I never saw him again after I enrolled. I read everything I could. Tolstoy, Tranbert, Voltaire, Euganess, I did n't particularly care who the author was. I could identify with half of any author. I was alienated by half of any author. Graduation day was difficult. Dad was in the hospital again. He'd been jumped on the way home through the ghetto, had his wallet stolen. They'd beaten him, just for good measure. Because of me. Because he created an abomination. Because he had n't had the `` decency'' to kill me and the affront that I presented to God. It was far too regular an occurrence, but usually it was n't serious enough to warrant the hospital. I brought my diploma back to him. It was stained with my tears and with the spit of well-to-do mothers, but I was proud of what I had done, and I could tell that he was proud too. He told me as much before he passed. He'd held on just long enough to watch me finish high school. The nurses had ushered me out of the room a second later. They apologized to the corpse in the bed. My kind were n't supposed to be on hospital property, much less in that wing of it. The sixties were a time for change, though. With no responsibilities, nowhere to go after school was over, I turned to God. And He welcomed me with open arms. Dr King's services were the stuff of legend. Perhaps he saw some of himself in me, perhaps I saw some of myself in him. Whatever the reason, we became quick friends. And we did what no one else had ever done: we acted out against the people who had spat upon us. The mothers who would not let him play baseball with their sons. The doctors who had tried to euthanize a healthy girl In her teens. The authorities that would divide simple drinking fountains on the basis of that which we had no control over. The newspaper men did not care for us. We were a Buck and a Mare out to Overthrow Order as my favorite put it. Others suggested that we were lovers. It was untrue -- he remained faithful to his wife for all the days I knew him. They did n't like what we organized, the sit-ins, the marches, the strikes of the labor force. We were stirring up rebellion for those in power, dammit! We were not to be trusted! They played dirty. Suddenly other groups that we disowned were our allies. For King, only the hate groups of one side could be blamed. But for me -- everyone shared some genetics with me. Any child found murdered over the size of her brow had been killed on my orders. Any homo sapien with a bullet in his head was shot with a gun they said I'd purchased through the black market. My home was burned down, not once but three times. I took to living in secrecy and receiving my mail at the post office. But somehow, impossibly, our actions affected the world. Change came. The police who had looked away from me for years acknowledged me. Once, while someone was trying to threaten me, an officer even pulled the man back and yelled at him that that was no way to talk to a lady. Me! A lady! The constitution changed just four years after we began our crusade. King would not see it, sadly. Activists, certain that King, a sapien, was distracting everyone from my plight, killed him as he walked back to his home after being arrested in non-violent protest. I turned the teenagers over to the police myself. They were released a week later based on a `` lack of evidence.'' The system did n't change overnight, but in the decades that followed, I watched it become gentler. Children went to school together. They forgot hatred. The sense of community we'd seen in the ghetto- for poverty knows no race or species or gender- slowly, dilutedly, spread to the rest of the country. Just yesterday, I went to the store, just to grab a few groceries before heading home. I started my car and a well-to-do woman screamed at me -- asked me whose car I was stealing, why I would do that in front of the children. I just laughed to myself, and I watched as others joined me in laughing at her -- at the absurdity of her assumption. That was my great triumph. To see that we had come so far -- from attempts to kill me, to ridiculing the people with that same mindset. It was a lovely victory, and I dedicate it all to my father.
[ FF ] 5 Minute Horror Prompt Challenge	I fled. I knew all the secret places of the forest. Surely I would be able to lose them in the dense undergrowth. Even with so many, SO MANY, I was quick and I was clever and I would escape. But they were far better trained than I. They were coordinated. I had no idea. How could something so big and drooling possibly have intelligent thought? But now it's too late. They swarmed in. Surrounded me. My secret places were nothing in the face of their sense of smell, their numbers. And now I can feel their hot breath and hear their awful cries, and I know that it is only a matter of time before their sharp teeth crush my bones an `` Good boy Toby!'' The dog trots over to his master happily. The fox in his jaws is no longer moving. He has done his job so well. His brothers will be proud. Master will give him an extra treat.
[ WP ] You have tried to train yourself to sleep with your eyes open ; time freezes when you close them ...	Am I dead? Asleep? I closed my eyes and everything became quiet. I opened them and the world was dark. The strange part is that my perception of light did n't change from when my eyes were closed - it still felt like sunlight coming through my eyelids, even though my eyes were open. I can move. I know that much. There is still a world around me, a world of things and people. The people do n't move. It all started when I learned to sleep with my eyes open. The monks told me it was the best way to learn to accept your surroundings, become perfectly neutral to them - so neutral that your brain is willing to forget about them and descend into sleep. In retrospect, it must have been confusing for my brain. Resting while the visual input sensors are active? Did it switch roles, telling me to be awake with my eyes closed? I do n't know what happened. It's like I blinked, and the light of the world turned off. I ca n't help but think that this is my punishment for messing with the natural order of things - that I was sent to some kind of limbo where I can never know where I am or what happened. Where I ca n't figure out the rules, and therefore break them. If I'm being punished, I'm sorry. I wo n't do it again. Send me back. Turn on the lights.
[ WP ] There are two people left on Earth . You are one of them . The other ? The ex who ruined your life .	I never really liked people, you know. They were unstable, in a way. Their randomness and chaotic ways are what turned us into the near gods we were once. When we had the knowledge of the world at our fingertips. When machines could keep a man alive even when his brain was dead. When we would fly in planes across the sky from one side of the world to another in a little less then a day. And it was the most normal thing in the world, until it was n't. My little country was spared the hellfire. Most of it, at least. Just a small part of the city I lived in. We formed a community, like we used to do back when feodalic lords ruled. But people are people, and people are never satisfied. Not when the good old days of equality and power were so fresh in their memory. Revolt after revolt, and of the ten thousand people that lived, less then twenty remained. Drama broke us. Of course it was drama. They started a little religion, praying to weird pagan gods or something. Religion was a human artifact of their inability to deal with the cosmos. The sense of togetherness from it was admirable, and their desparation probably drove them to it, but I would n't follow. Not after everything that happened. I left on my own before the powder keg that was my little group could explode. Stole some food, a sleeping bag and some other basic supplies before I left. Very human of me, I thought, so I left more then enough behind for them to survive, but enough to sustain me for a while. I was no further then half a mile on when I heard gunshots and screaming. More dead people. Someone had to bury them. They may have been people, but at least they deserved that. So I went back. The shock never really hit me. I wondered if they even realised their importance. They could have tried to repopulate the earth. They could have, but did n't. They let their pettiness rule them. Too bad they could n't see the big picture. I heard sobbing, somewhere. I recognized it. She was n't amongst the bodies. Fuck's sake... I suddenly realised why they were so blinded. Why their pettiness made sense. Reviving humanity with only twenty people was impossible. Someone must've realised that. And not liking the rest, decided that humanity must die witht hem. Explains the apparant suicides. I made my way over the corpses and found the source. A closet, bullet holes pecked aross them. I sneaked a glance every once in while, and knew she'd had n't lost weight, because the guy she was fucking kept her well fed. I opened it. Turns out the door stopped the bullets before they could get through the wood. She must've faked being dead for quite some time. She was good at faking. Playing dead, like a good lady dog would learn to do when commanded. The dead look in her thousand yard stare made it almost real. I poked in the ribs. She recoiled at the touch, and turned away from me. `` Guess it's just you and me now'', she said. Not sure if that was aimed at me or the closet. I was suddenly overwhelmed to say `` Nope, it's just me now'', and slit her throat on the spot. Been dreaming about doing it for years. No one would notice. No one would could punish me for it. Nobody cared, because everyone was dead. I decided that she did n't deserve a quick death like that. I casually walked off and retrieved a length of chain. `` What are you doing?''. Oh, the fear in her eyes. She knew I could get away with it. She walked out the closet with her hands up. A gesture of surrender. She knew the roles here. Good. `` Jake, please do n't. Come on, it's just you and me now. Please. Let's talk''. I suckerpunched her in the face. She fell back into the closet, shock across her face as blood dribbled out of her broken nose. I slammed the door shut, wrapped the chains around the knobs and tied a nice solid knot. She started banging on the doors, kicking and beating and scratching. She was n't claustrofobic. Yet. `` Jake! Jake, do n't leave me here! JAKE!''. There was more then enough chain left to wrap around the closet. After I finished my laps, I clicked the open endings into the knot on the knobs. A couple of solid tugs and her ramming the door with her full weight told me that the chains would hold. `` Goodbye Lana''. I simpy walked away without looking back. Not that far though. I will make her beg first. I will make her confess. I will break her, bring her to her lowest point. It might just change her into a better person in the long run, some introspect might show her what a shitty person she is. I looked in the mirror of a broken down car, and saw myself. An unkempt beard, dark bags around my eyes, curls tumbled down the sides of my head. I'm a person. Just like the rest. I'm the perfect example of the people I'd come to hate. Now I understood why I had trouble around knives. I really did n't like people, and I am one of the two people left in the world.
[ WP ] 30 % of the world 's population die and come back as a mythological being of their choosing .	Most people chose dragons. When everyone chooses to be one of the most mystical creatures in fantasy, they kind of lose their appeal. Don ’ t get me wrong, dragons are great, but when you have a shitload of dragons flying around they just don ’ t seem as special as you imagined them to be. I ’ ve also seen golems, minotaurs, pegasi, mermaids and even a loch ness monster. There are some people who really knew their monsters. There are many different kinds of creatures out there and some of them I have never even heard of. But when you have all these creatures running around, you also have a crapload of trouble along with it. I guess when those people decided they wanted to be dragons or werewolves or even vampires, they never understood what else came along with it. I mean, yeah, the thought of being able to fly wherever you want and being able to breathe fire is great, and heightened senses and immortality also sound amazing. But what happens when you get hungry? Dragons aren ’ t vegetarians, and when there ’ s not enough cows to go around, you know what they like to eat? Humans. You would think that after being human, the thought of eating one would be unappealing. Apparently, that ’ s not the case at all. I guess when you ’ re that hungry, you eat whatever you can. And vampires seem all suave and cool in the movies, but in real life that ’ s not the case. Don ’ t get me wrong, I know some pretty cool vamps out there, but the ones that can ’ t control themselves can really lose themselves in the hunger. I ’ ve seen families torn apart because of a vampire ’ s addiction to human blood. And I mean literally torn apart. One time it took me a good hour to piece together a whole human body, and even then there were still some pieces missing. It was quite puzzling if you ask me. But the good thing about all these monsters running around, is that it ’ s damn good business. Most people are too scared to deal with it themselves and when the local authorities need someone to hunt down a wanted creature for causing trouble, it ’ s me they call. I ’ ve slain creatures of all kinds. Each one is different, and they all have their weaknesses. I ’ m pretty renowned in the mythical creature hunting community and most of them know who I am by reputation. Everyone ’ s surprised at how an ordinary guy like me could be so good at hunting down such powerful beasts. But I guess that since I hunt down creatures for a living, they never considered that I could be one myself. But I guess not many people would pick a wizard as their mythological being, or even consider it to be one.
[ WP ] You 're sitting on a chair , looking in the eye of the killer who is going to kill you in 20 seconds .	The stiff rope is wrapped tightly around my wrists holding my hands together behind my back. My knees dig into the soft dirt beneath me. My heart is beating so fast I feel dizzy, almost high, with fear and confusion. A circle of six men stand around me. Most of them are holding machine gun. A couple of them are holding machetes. They ’ re speaking in Spanish. The conversation becomes panicky as they raise their voices, clearly arguing about something. “ Matarlo, no tenemos otra opción, ahora! ” “ Mierda! Matarlo y vámonos! ” One of the men positions himself in front of me. I raise my head and make direct eye contact with him. He isn ’ t really looking at me, but through me. A blankness covers his eyes and his breathing becomes short and tense. This troubles me. He slowly raises the AK-47 in his hands until I ’ m staring directly down the barrel. I suddenly understand everything I ’ ve ever been taught. I get it, all of it. I ’ m full of love and fear at the same time. The gun fires. A numbness quickly sweeps over my body, starting from my head. Everything becomes black.
[ WP ] Science has found the key to immortality , but there 's a catch : it can only be administered at birth . You are a member of the last mortal generation .	The white walls gleamed. She could see the outlines of faces, blurred against the tears of her failing eyes. Her breath was short. She could feel it, each breath was becoming lighter and lighter. Each breath shorter than the one that had come before it. Something squeezed her hearth, and she threw her hand to the side. Grasping, desperately scrabbling for anything, anyone who – there. Someone had her hand, but it was like her hand was wrapped in cotton wool. She couldn ’ t feel the hand, couldn ’ t feel the… whose hand was it? She strained to look. The outline was heavy, but fading, fading, into the light. She blinked and it was gone. She could see clearly, for the first time in a decade. The room was crisp and empty – too white and too clean. She looked around and for a moment missed the figure in the corner. The shadows licked at it, swirling and merging as if it were hair caught in a gust. It raised its head and turned. She couldn ’ t see it under the cowl, but she knew there was no face there. There was a pause. “ SO, YOU ’ RE THE LAST ONE TO ESCAPE? ” it said. “ Escape? ” “ YOU ’ RE THE LAST ONE TO DIE? ” “ It seems I am. ” There was silence. It dropped its head. “ SO IT IS DONE. ” The figure visibly slumped. It took a trembling breath, and then leaned its head against the wall. It exhaled, and smoke and dust and ash shuddered out from the cowl like a cigarette from hell. It took another breath and exhaled. The smell of rot filled the air as it sighed. “ You are Death. ” It was not a question. She knew. “ My name is Mabel, ” she said. Her voice quavered. It turned its head and stood up. It was tall, some seven feet so. The black robe that hung off it looked centuries unwashed; tattered, beaten and worn thin. It covered the distance from the corner to her bed faster than it should have, and bobbed down. It looked at the floor. “ MY NAME IS DEATH, YES. ” It looked up. Mabel could see Death ’ s eyes. It ’ s face had shadows for skin and universes for eyes. “ YOU ARE THE LAST LUCKY ONE, MABEL HAWTHORNE. YOU ARE THE LAST TO FEEL THE RELEASE. THOSE THAT ARE LEFT WILL WANDER FOR AEONS, UNTIL THE SUNS COLLAPSE AND THE STARS DIE. NOTHING WILL KILL THEM. THEY WILL KNOW EVERYTHING AND KNOW EVERYONE. THEY WILL SEE PLANETS FALL TO ASH IN THEIR WAKE. THEY WILL HAVE TO SUFFER EACH OTHER. THEY WILL BE GODS, BUT WISH TO BE DEAD. FOR EVERYONE WANTS TO DIE, EVENTUALLY. ” She fell into his eyes. His eyes, so old, so deep and so, so tired. “ TRUST ME. ”
[ WP ] Killing someone gives you all the time they had left .	He was just an old man now, and he did n't have much strength left in his legs. He did n't want to do this, but he did n't have a choice if he wanted to keep living. He could only keep wondering how this happened. He was given the strength to get up from his deathbed so he could carry out a murder in the name of the Grim Reaper. At least his end of the deal was pretty nifty - getting to cheat death and all. One Week Ago '' What's this? I come to collect a soul, and I see an old man struggling to stay alive on his deathbed? `` A disembodied voice came out of nowhere as the old man sat up on his bed slowly, attempting to survey his surroundings with those eyes long eroded with age. `` Who's there?'' He managed to croak out. '' Who am I you ask? `` The voice said, sounding amused. He caught a flicker of a shadow on the ground. '' I'm called many things, God, Devil, a reaper, a thief, and someone who brings salvation. I suppose most commonly known as... death. `` The shadow chuckled. `` And that means...'' His voice trailed off as he realized the implications of this meeting. '' Oh? You catch on quick, not like most mortals. But yes, Jerold Artosh, you're about to die. `` The voice casually carried over through the darkness and the heavy weight of this truth seemed to take residence in his chest. A sinking pit of despair formed. So many regrets he had, and yet he could n't settle anything. `` Is there any way? Any way at all I can-'' '' Yes, yes, you humans all ask the same thing. All so concerned with the material and such. Bah! A waste of time if you ask me...'' `` So, you're telling me there's a chance?'' Jerold's eyes rekindled with this new hope. The shadow fell over his eyes and he was suddenly aware of something standing next to him, breathing down his neck. '' Yes, there is in fact a way. However, to settle your own life down, to fulfill your own desires. Are you willing to bear the burden? `` `` Yes.'' That was a response given without any hint of doubt. He seemed to hear a sighing voice. '' I truly did not know what I expected... from a human of all things. Even your pet dogs know when it's time. `` `` Just hurry on.'' He heard another sigh, and a creaking noise as something sat down at the edge of his bed. '' First things first, I suppose. As long as I do n't collect your soul, you wo n't ever die. People die from things because we time when we tear your souls out so that you humans are given a reason. Quite tedious, honestly. You humans are always looking for explanations... Anyways, so as long as you're alive there IS something you can do to extend your life. That is, to kill someone else. `` Everything dropped to dead silence. Not even the crickets dared to chirp at such declaration. `` If that's what I have to do, then I'll do it. But why?'' '' There you go again, another one wanting an explanation. There is great power in killing innocence. Though naturally anyone works, even someone else whose hands have already been stained. Though be warned, I do believe you humans have - what do they call it? - Ah yes. Jails. You'll probably spend the rest of your short life there, since unless I decide to doze off for the next 40 years or so, you'll probably be dead because of'old age'. `` `` Well that's a risk I'm willing to take.'' Here and Now Jerold watched the streetlight closely, staring intently for a victim. He was given a time period of one week to decide - if he wanted to go sacrifice another's happiness for his own or just let it go. But he could n't hold it back anymore. There were some things he just HAD to do. There it was. Someone was walking down the street. Jerold breathed in one last time, the dark, musty atmosphere of the alley he was standing in. The harsh lighting against his eyes. The clouded, once-starry night sky watching over him. 3 2 1 It was over in a flash. The poor child did n't even have time to scream. Then he was drowned in inky blackness. Jerold felt cold. A strange heat began blossoming throughout his body as he collapsed. '' Naive. Do you truly think that would have worked? `` Jerold glanced down to see an extremely dark shadow, seemingly buried in his chest. `` Y-you lied to me?'' '' You can still speak? I'm rather impressed. But I'm afraid I did n't lie to you or backstab you. `` `` Then w-why....'' The shadows seemed to form a smile as Jerold began dying along with his victim in this alleyway. Forgotten, nearly alone. Definitely not happy. '' The moment you took his life, he had no time left. No value. Obviously any number that you add zero to still remains the same. In your case, zero plus zero? It's still zero. Sorry to disappoint. Do n't feel too bad though, my Soul Count went up thanks to you! `` Everything faded to black with a cackling voice echoing as his last memory. Oh, by the way? Do n't think that someone who's sinned can enter heaven or hell. That whole `` Death treats everyone equally'' thing? That's a load of bull. Have fun reliving your nightmares, Jerold. With that, Death tore his soul free, and everything disappeared. ENEMY TEAM DOUBLE KILL!
( WP ) Falling in love during a midnight stroll on Christmas Eve	Elliott mumbled some nonsense under his breath. He had just ended a ten hour shift at Genero-Mart and every line muttered by the customers just drove him further away from sanity. Every day he repeated the same lines, and the Christmas season just seemed to bring out the figurative ( and usually literal ) stupidity in otherwise average people. Sometimes it took calling in a manager to stop a customer from throwing a temper tantrum over their bread not being on sale. But that in the past, at least for the time being. The path home was n't too bad and he never seemed to mind the winter air. In fact, it was a nice change from the usual heat wave that assaulted his fair city. That, and the cold made it harder for Elliott to think about how atrocious people were when they go out shopping. `` Subhumans, the lot of them...'' grumbled the strained employee. Tonight, however, was a change from his usual route. Rather than followed Jefferson down to Tollbrook, Elliott decided to stray from the main road and spend some time at the park. It was n't like there was anything to go home to, other than the arguing of his roommates and the ever-growing pile of dirty dishes. Sure, they were gamers, but was he truly the only one who knew how to hand wash dishes and then put them in the machine? The more Elliott thought of it the more he realized that home was no better than work. At least at work he rarely dealt with repeat offenders. The killjoy of the year finally reached the park after much consideration of just finding a new job and friends. Another bonus to the winter air was the freshly fallen snow. It reminded him of his family's home up in the mountains, but with more character to it. To him, the was the closest he wanted to be to mountains. If it were up to him, he'd have moved out of state. Alas, a meager eight dollar an hour job would keep him tied to a middle-of-nowhere town full of people who really did n't care about his existence. Elliott had visited this park frequently, hoping to at least calm himself after most workdays. The main attraction was the pond at the center of it all: a display of modern technology, such as the ability to dig a giant hole and fill it with water. Thankfully, temperature drops froze the lake ( almost ) solid, leaving with it a beautiful layer of ice. Elliott chuckled to himself as he moved towards a bench near the frosted wonderland; a twenty-something friend of his fell through the lake one year. She had never really dealt with snow before moving and believed the lake to be completely frozen. Almost as an act of divine wrath, the girl shattered the outer layer and began screaming for her life... Only to realize moments later that the water was shin high. Before the off-duty, glorified flesh price checker left off to his shared house, something caught his eye. There was a reflection in the cold, winter sheet of the pond. He had n't seen that face in a long time, and in a moment his attitude did a complete one eighty. Stunned by its appearance, time seemed to have slowed around Elliott. A few moments later he chuckled and whispered, `` Damn, I'm one sexy beast,'' turned, then continued on his way back to the grind.
[ WP ] Write a short mystery story with all of the elements that are needed to solve the mystery in the story . The more difficult it is to solve the mystery , the better .	Footsteps beat at the carpet like a hand on a door as the guests pound down the hallway. `` What the fuck is going on?'' A shout from the moving crowd. There is no answer. They come to the end of the dark corridor. Faint snarls can be heard behind them. Lightning strikes. Plus sign shadows appear on the wall as the light flashes through the windows. The thunder rolls across the sky. There is a distant beating of a drum. ... `` It really is a lovely house.'' Mrs. Krenshaw is saying. Mr. Krenshaw is nodding in agreement as he surveys the Manor. `` Gatsby-esque.'' he affirms. There is no creak as a door behind them opens and a pale young woman enters the room from behind them. `` Dinner is almost served.'' She says. The Krenshaws jump at the sound of her voice, and are not relieved by the expression on her face. Her smile seems pinned onto her face at the edges, and the eyes are less warm and more psychotic. Mr Krenshaw practically shivers as he pulls his wife along beside him, following the figure into the kitchen. ... `` Do n't think all of this good food is distracting me from the purpose of my visit, Mr. Bernard.'' Mr. Krenshaw is saying between fork movements. `` But it is some damn fine eating.'' ... A shadow protrudes through the small doorway. The pale girl turns around, frightful. Mr. Bernard appears silhouetted against the light, his shadow stretching out long before him. He checks behind himself, and then walks farther into the room. `` I need you to escort the Krenshaws out. They've had a little too much to... eat.'' ... `` I know it's not exactly... humane, but this is already a pretty fucked up situation.'' A dark figure is sitting at the table beside Mr. Bernard. He is wearing a zip up full body blue jump suit, with a name that the pale girl can not make out from this distance etched onto the right front pocket. Mr. Bernard looks to the man, displeased. `` It just seems like such a... waste. Do you know how much I paid for them?'' `` You should have thought of that before you...'' The man stops himself, and looks terrified. Mr. Bernard looks away from him. `` Yes. I suppose I should have. But all of that is in the past. Now tell me, what do you usually do with the remains?'' `` We usually sell what we can. You'd be surprised at what canine organs go for these days. I could hook you up with some people, but we do n't need another person in on this. Besides, you need something faster. Now, did n't you say that that detective and his wife were coming over for dinner next week?'' ... The pale girl stands over the two as they awaken. `` Wh-Where are we?'' Mr. Krenshaw's own hoarse voice surprises himself. The girl does not respond. She watches them with seeming disinterest, the way you would watch a fly that you did n't particularly like but was n't within striking distance. `` What the hell have you done to us?'' Mr. Krenshaw tries to get up, but discovers that he is chained to the wall. He looks at his shackles in horror. `` What have you done?'' ___ /r/Periapoapsis. I feel like I cheated a bit by going not going chronologically, but it just seemed to easy to get otherwise. Disclaimer, most of them are in order, but one is not. Anyway, even if nobody understands it, it was pretty damn fun to write, thanks OP!
[ WP ] Satan ironically enjoys the multitude of letters from dyslexic children during the holidays .	Another letter? The Devil laughed to himself, snuggled up in that ugly sweater he had with a reindeer on it. It could never be too warm down in Hell. > Dear Satan, > > I wuold like a pony for Chritsmas. > > Ho ho ho, > > Bradley Huh... A peculiar thought crossed his mind. I wonder if he would sell his soul for a pony. His fingers drummed across the table. Is it ethically wrong to ask a child for his soul? Then the Devil looked across the room at his own Christmas list. Rapists, murderers, robbers, lechers, liars, and the list went on. He had tried to be extra good this year. Well, Bradley, another soulful Christmas for you, I guess.
[ WP ] When good men gather around the light , they fight to banish all evil in sight ...	`` Good evening, thou Goodly Good Men of the Light'' said Curtis. `` Let the Goodly Good eliminate the darkness of the night'' replied Jerry, Peter and Mark. `` Light shine upon the darkness, and banish all evil'' said Curtis. `` May the night be cleansed'' they chanted. Each man's helmet glinted yellow under the humming light bulb. `` Oh light,'' said Curtis with deference, `` Purge all that is evil, and confound the nefarious.'' `` The nef-what now?'' Said Jerry. Curtis looked to the others for their input. Peter looked away, but Mark was too slow. `` Mark?'' Said Curtis. `` What does nefarious mean?'' Mark wrung his hands together. `` Uhm. Ne-fair-ee-us. Ahem. Of course, the word... Used in certain contexts... Means... Uh...'' `` Come on now,'' said Curtis. `` We only learned this word last month. Peter? Is the floor giving you any idea?'' `` Ah...'' Said Peter with the mock confidence of a man given a hint. `` Is it to do with carpets?'' Curtis pressed his temples. `` No, Peter, its not to do with carpets. I only mentioned the floor because that's where you were intently looking, despite the fact I was addressing you. It was sarcasm.'' He sighed. Peter adjusted his helmet with a hunted look. `` Fine,'' said Curtis. `` Nefarious means evil, and particularly in reference to criminality.'' There was a general murmur of understanding, and a sense that everybody sort of knew it, even if they did n't quite say it. `` I hope I wo n't have to remind you again at our next meeting?'' He said. The murmur strongly rejected the possibility, and had now grown to confident volumes. `` May the Light,'' said Peter boldly, `` extinguish the ne-ferriers.'' `` Here here'' agreed the others. `` Every one of them,'' added Jerry to yet more murmurs of approval. `` Now,'' said Curtis. `` It is important for we Goodly Good Men to always remain vigilant. Yes Jerry?'' Jerry dropped his arm. `` Ah yes. I have, ahem, noticed that we do n't seem to actually ever fight any evil neferriers...'' `` So?'' said Curtis weakly. `` So... I just wondered if, ahem, we will at any point?'' `` Jerry, the purpose of the Light is to banish the evil, not to attract it. It is why we Goodly Good Men huddle in its divine aura, so that it might purify our hearts, and keep us safe. Now where was I... Ah yes of course. It is important for us to remain vigilant, for our foes would dearly love to unscrew our glorious lamp and- yes Mark?'' `` I ca n't help but notice here Curt,'' said Mark, `` that... Well it sounds a little bit like we are hiding.'' Curtis winced. He despised being called'Curt'. Jerry and Peter looked towards Curtis with concern. It would not do to be said to be hiding. It did n't sound brave at all. `` Put it this way,'' said Curtis. `` If you were a nefarious villain, would you, or would you not be covetous of a heavenly, glorious, consecrated and miraculous sixty-watt lightbulb?'' `` Well... I suppose I would covet it, yeah'' Mark admitted. `` So,'' said Curtis, `` if such a wondrous fountain of divine light were to be left unattended, would not your despicable impulses petition its destruction?'' `` Hmph,'' said Mark. `` Yeah I'd probably try and smash it if that's what you mean?'' `` It it precisely what I mean'' said Curtis to all of them. `` We Goodly Good Men devote ourselves ENTIRELY once-a-month to standing here as servants and guardians to the Great God and his glorious filament bulb!'' All three listeners were now nodding their heads, and feeling very valuable indeed. `` Now, thou Goodly Good Men of the Light, our vigil this night has ended. We have run out of time.'' `` Already?'' Said Peter disappointedly. `` I am afraid it is so,'' said Curtis sombrely. `` My wife will be home from work shortly, and if I'm not mistaken, Mark's fine lady has also been preparing a family feast these past hours?'' `` Picking up a bargain bucket mate. She's popping into KFC on her way home from her mum's. But you're right, there'll be'ell to pay if I'm not back on time.'' `` Of course,'' said Curtis. `` And as keepers of the Light, our duty is to keep anger out of those we love, for there is no greater nutrient to the growth of evil and darkness.'' Curtis removed a tea towel from his pocket and used it to unscrew the hot bulb. `` Your light evades the eye,'' all men chanted, `` but burns brightly from the heart.'' `` Who will shield and protect the sacred bulb during this dark interval?'' Asked Curtis. `` I suppose I can,'' said Peter. `` Excellent,'' said Curtis, feeling his way over in the darkness. `` You truly are a Goodly Good Knight.'' A door sounded upstairs. `` Quickly now,'' Curtis said. He pressed a button, and his electronic garage slowly raised. `` Brothers,'' he said, `` be wary and firm of heart. Until next time.'' Peter, Jerry and Mark shuffled out, saying their goodbyes. When each were out of sight, Curtis wondered over to a steel cabinet. `` Curtis are you down there?'' A voice screeched. `` Yes dear,'' he replied. `` You have n't pulled out that bloody light again have you?'' It called. `` No dear,'' he said. `` I'll be up in just a moment.'' He pulled out the bottom drawer and extracted a new light bulb. With a sigh, he screwed it into the empty socket.
[ WP ] - in hell one battles giant demons until you die ... then you rise again . Again and again you strive against impossible odds to barely scratch the terrible creatures . The first Dark Souls player has just arrived to this hell , and soon nothing will be the same again .	`` What the fuck was that, man!?'' `` I do n't know, just keep running!'' `` Is he still chasing us?!'' `` Just. Keep. Running.'' The two demons ran for hours before collapsing in a dim alcove. `` What the fuck was that...'' `` I do n't know. I've never seen anything like it before.'' `` Should we tell the boss?'' `` Yeah, sure. He's back that way. Good luck.'' `` You're such a dick.'' `` We're fucking demons. If we were anything else, something would be wrong.'' `` Something IS wrong.'' `` Fuckin, fine, whatever. Let's just tell the boss and then take the rest of the century off.'' As they stood up to leave, a message flashed out of the corner of their vision. TheLegendNeverDies has invaded... They started running again.
[ WP ] Two suicidal people happen to meet on the same bridge to jump . Rather than joining together , they each try to convince the other not to jump while justifying why they themselves should jump .	He stepped towards the metal railing and leaned against it, mind racing. One Marlboro Black 100 left. `` Hey man, you got one more?'' A man maybe a few years older than he walked over, giving a friendly wave. `` Shit dude, it is n't your lucky day, that's my last one.'' `` You do n't know the half of it. What brings you to the bridge this late anyways? Name's David, by the way.'' `` Well, sir, I do believe I've hit a rough patch and I did not shell out for four wheel drive. Nick, nice to meet you.'' David calmly surveyed the younger man. `` Anything a stranger might be able to offer some perspective on? Might as well do one good deed.'' `` I suppose it could help, if you riddle me your reasons.'' Nick sighed, fumbled with his lighter, and nearly dropped it into the abyss he planned on dropping himself. David knelt to pick it up for him. `` Me? Well, let's just say I've had a recent run in with what we in the medical field call'empty pocket syndrome.''' David grinned at his own joke. God damn it felt alien. `` Third year med student, specializing in surgery. I'm a few hundred large in debt and I do n't think I'm smart enough to finish what I started. You know that guy in college who huffed paint and tripped shrooms? Would you put lives in his hands?'' `` Fuck me, I was not expecting that.'' Nick finally lit his cigarette and took a long drag. `` I myself have a good ol' fashion case of the crazies. Nothing's fucking working.'' They both paused for several minutes, by the end of which Nick had swung a leg over the railing and was straddling it. `` Nick, what do you want?'' David asked, as he prepared to imitate the younger man. `` Is n't it obvious?'' Nick kept smoking the filter long after the cigarette was done. How he's always done it. `` I suppose you want it in a more timely manner than lung cancer can adequately deliver, I get that, but I mean on a deeper level bud.'' Visibly angry, the tirade commenced. `` Oh go fuck yourself. I want to feel fucking human, I want to sleep again, I want these nagging thoughts of inadequacy and worthlessness to go away. I want my fucking meds to work.'' David relaxed his shoulders for the first time that evening. `` How long have you been on them?'' `` Three weeks.'' `` Did they not tell you that stuff takes at minimum a month to fully hit your system man? I'm assuming depression because why else would you be here but come on, that's day 1 stuff. You got ta give it a little bit longer man, three more weeks and you'll be at the place where it should absofuckinglutely be in your brain doing neurotransmitter shit and you'll be better, man. It'll be ok.'' Rant over, David checked his wallet for his licence. `` Want to make sure they know it's me. I ca n't... I ca n't rob my family of closure.'' `` You're asking me to wait three more weeks with a mental illness when you wo n't finish your med school because you're poor?'' The cigarette butt flew an ugly flight to the river below. `` Also stupid. Do n't forget the stupid. And yes, I do. Because even if you did know how long it would take you still probably thought it was gon na hit your system way earlier or that you absolutely can not deal until the drugs are finally part of you, right? Am I in the ballpark?'' `` Coaching first base. Obviously you're not stupid, man, you're a fucking surgeon in training. It gets better for you. You make money when this is all over. All I get is maybe less sad.'' He played with his lighter and broke eye contact. `` That's why you keep trying. I do n't get a do over on med school, you do on trying out prescriptions.'' `` Look, I have a terminal mental illness that has ruined my life for years, if you think being temporarily poor is worse than that I'm going the fuck over. If not, we're going to walk the hell out of here.'' `` I'm not gon na kill you by going over tonight, but you're buying a pack.''
[ WP ] You 've finally managed to build it -- a machine that sends messages to the past . You power it up and immediately begin getting message from your future self .	Write down this message. Commit it to paper and keep it close. Commit it to memory. Ensure that you will be able to recall it years from now. Then burn the paper and destroy the machine. Melt it to slag and erase the blueprints. Leave nothing behind. Please, do this for your own sake, or you will find yourself walking the same path I, and so many before me, have walked. Ten years ago today I stood where you do. I was instructed to completely and utterly destroy the machine or face ruin. I listened to my own pleas and chose to wait, out of academic curiosity, to learn more. What would a decade of research, my entire twenties sacrificed for the sake of a half-insane concept, mean if I just walked away and showed the world nothing for my effort? I waited, as my pleas grew more desperate. Vague threats of ruin soon gave way to explicit predictions of massive technological leaps that reshaped the world in cataclysmic ways. Each transmission ended with the same message: “ We can never be gods, after all -- but we can become something less than human with frightening ease. ” I have no idea how many times I came close to following my older self's instructions. I bought a furnace. I produced several pounds of thermite. I bought a ten pound magnet to completely destroy my hard drive. I planned out exactly how I'd do it: wipe my hard drive, burn my paper documents, then dump thermite on the lot and slag it all. The next year came and went, and I kept planning. In the meantime I bought stock in tech companies I'd learned would do well. I started experimenting to see if the information I was receiving was legitimate. Six months in, I nullified gravity within a thirty foot radius of my apartment. A month later, I cut off my pinkie and watched it regrow in minutes. On Christmas Eve, I lit up the sky with a ten mile-high hologram of a Christmas tree. As I pumped out patents, private industry and governments rushed to compete for my favor. For the first time in my life I basked in admiration and respect. I founded and sold technological giants, donated billions to charity and had plenty to spare. I became God. I looked down from my High Earth Orbit station and played with nations. I controlled the means to cure millions of diseases, to remake people in their ideal image in exchange for their life savings. I could deliver immortality. Humans flourished in the farthest corners of the solar system. Massive technological conglomerates fantasized about building a Dyson Sphere around the Sun. The machine kept ticking. My older self kept pleading and begging, sending me more and more dire predictions. I no longer respected him as his madness became apparent. He had failed and had destroyed the world. I had learned from his mistakes! I could catapult humanity into the cosmos! So many people had trouble coping with progress. At first I saw small protests, pitiful groups of idiots with signs, believing that their words could reshape the world. Nothing I could n't handle. Protests grew. Nations had trouble accepting the genetic modifications that made them all beautiful and that made space travel possible. They rebelled against the corporations that made their lives blissful and served their every need. They grew fat and lazy and insolent, and modifications were in order. I distributed beautifully designed viruses across the globe and planetary colonies. Bliss, complete acceptance of my rule followed. Those who were immune became outcasts. They would be corrected soon. Humanity would reach the stars, I would make sure of it. I stood on high and marveled at my kingdom. There is no one left now. I am the only one who still dreams, who still feels fear and hope and sadness. I am the God of all mankind, and I am alone. “ We can never be gods, after all -- but we can become something less than human with frightening ease. ”
[ WP ] An older vampire comes across a recently turned fledgling attempting to commit suicide by sunrise .	The night was coming to an end I was near my home when upon a nearby building I saw a young man sitting onthe roof, well to you he would seem like a mere man to someone of my... brood he was nearly 20 years older than he appeared that's something the legends and myths of our kind do n't betray. To other vampires we actually appear our age but to humans we have the appearance of someone in their prime. He was still young though and I knew what he had been doing. `` lovely night'' I said, testing the boys nerves. He responded startled `` yyes it was''. `` Tell me youngling why are you here'' I said with no hint of emotion, it took him a minute to realize that what I said required an answer, `` I'm sick of this darkness, the constant death of those I feed on''. `` Ahhh I understand youngling I too have experienced this regret long before your time, but as regretful as you are that sunrise will not kill''. `` WHAT?!'' he shouted or should I day screamed.'' `` You see the sun to a young vampire one who has just been turned is death but to you it will be a mere burn...'', `` AHHH IS THERE ANYWAY OUT OF THIS HELL'' he said with a touch of sadness.'' I knelt down next to him `` For us my friend this is the only way...'' I whispered in his ear, what do yo..?'' And with that he spoke his last as I shoved my arm through his chest not a painless death but the quickest I could offer. three times I have done this to the ones I've turned I do n't know if I ca n't do it again.
[ WP ] A person on the verge of giving up is handed a video of their future success .	My life has always been a stack of papers. When I was younger, my parents kept me constantly surrounded by coloring sheets and books. Grade-school was a time defined by seas of participation awards eventually leading to high-school and college which provided ample amounts of homework to reassure me I was successful in life pursuing subjects I wasn ’ t interested in. Past then, the papers have not aided themselves to such illusions quite as readily. Now my life is defined by a stack of bills stamped “ overdue ” scattered amongst empty bottles on the kitchen counter. Every week, it seemed, my mother would call—inquiring about “ how the job search is going ” —with every intention of caring but with all to obvious undertones of disappointment. The truth is, I hadn ’ t had a job in over two years. Even then, I ’ d hardly call working delivery a suitable fit for someone with a degree—just another useless piece of paper to add to the pile, perhaps next to the eviction notice I recently received or the bank statement notifying me I have less than twenty dollars to my name. All this didn ’ t matter though, for I had found a way out. Not the temporary escapes people in my situation normally sought like the lottery or drugs, no, I had a permanent solution. One short leap from the window ledge and I was on a one-way trip out of the shithole my life had become. Now to an outsider, this seems a rather morbid and depressing outlook but to me things were looking up. My normal crying fits from day to day reminders of my life situation had been replaced by sobering fits of joy at picturing myself free of burden. Riding these feelings, I decided to look at the mail—really taking my time to soak in all of the burdens that were soon to be lifted. My glee only seemed to grow as countless student loan payments, rent payments, and health insurance bills, all laid themselves before me; their crisp envelopes cleanly peeled back. In addition to the usual bills, however, was a particularly thick yellow envelope marked “ Important ” in large red hand-written letters. A wave of guilt crashed over me. It wouldn ’ t be the first time my mother had tried sending me a motivational care-package. I despised them since they seemed to kindle just the smallest fire of hope in me—a hope that maybe things might turn for the better. Every time, however, reality came charging back in to stomp out the flame. They generally contained some long drawn out letter full of superficial encouragement along with some past childhood item like a drawing or award which reminded me of the good times. She once even had the audacity to send me some of my father ’ s old desk ornaments that amused me to no end back in the days before he killed himself. I had always looked up to him as who I wanted to be—a successful lawyer whom everybody seemed to like, well everybody except himself. You see, he had a terrible habit in his later years of going out and drinking too much. I couldn ’ t really blame him though, he was stuck in what I later realized was a shitty marriage during which he had me by total mistake. Despite this disposition he poured his heart into raising me to give my childhood some resemblance of normalcy. I really do applaud how long he tried to make it work, but eventually, regardless of his humanity, he was only human—a trait that seems to run in the family. As I tore open the edge of the envelope, outpoured not the usual note and object, but a transparent box containing a flash drive. Despite my usual hesitancy with regards to attaching external devices to my computer, I figured that given my plans for later that day a virus couldn ’ t possibly hurt. Upon inserting the drive, I found only one lone video file, again marked “ important ”. Intrigued I opened the file only to be met with an impossibility. The video was set in a court room so decadent it was cliché with a full jury overseeing a sizable audience directed forward not quite to the judge but just before her where an all too familiar face addressed the room with an air of confidence and control. It was me, but that was simply a ridiculous sentiment. I had barely finished college let alone a pursuit in law school. This had to be an elaborate hoax. Though I didn ’ t believe my mother was capable of something like this, I wouldn ’ t put it past her to pay somebody to make this in a last ditch effort to “ save ” me but even that seemed far-fetched. For the next half hour I watched this excerpt from the court proceeding looking for some incongruity or sign that it could be fake but I could find none. Thinking it might be from some sort of movie I searched online for a script but again I could find none. Regardless of the resemblance, I refused to believe it was me. In a way it seemed so close to me that it was foreign—far too idyllic, far too much like my father before he had turned for the worst. Somewhere inside of me though that flickering flame of hope seemed to reignite. The more I watched the video, the more all those previously pointless papers of my life seemed to kindle the flame into a roaring fire. I wouldn ’ t give up. I would fight for what I had left behind.
[ WP ] Humanity has reached an upper limit on the maximum number of people alive at the same time for the number of available souls . New births are now causing existing souls to randomly vacate their current bodies to occupy the excess new births .	I still remember the day my soul left. I woke up as normal, and halfway through the afternoon, it just drifted away, fading into nothing. It's an awful feeling; like being outside my own life and watching it from afar. I still go to the same job, I'm still with the same confusing woman, but there's no passion anymore. Sadness, joy, fear, anger, anxiety and hope have left this life of mine, and all that remains is this void. I am a husk of a human, taunted by memories of emotion that stand just out of reach, like the memory of a dream that never quite forms. I remember being excited about things. Looking forward to new film and game releases, hanging out with friends and meeting new people, accepting new challenges. I remember being happy once; memories I cherish, but also ones I wish I could forget. It's all gone now, and all that's left is a feeling of helpless inadequacy as I watch others live their nauseatingly happy lives. I would cry if I knew how, but I do n't. Instead I sit in wakeful slumber as the soft incandescent light of the computer monitor fills my vision and my time; if I keep my brain moving, maybe it wont notice. My mind is awake, but my heart and soul have left it standing helpless, and alone. I still remember the day my daughter lived, and took my soul away. If it keeps her warm, I think it will have been worth it. I watch her grow without emotion, and read her books with the detachment of the damned. I see a life worth loving, but I do n't know how. In my sleep I dream of weeping, and wish for lives outside this prison, in my mind.
[ WP ] Your wife is a witch . After years the relationship is breaking apart until divorce is brought up . In the following argument , while telling her everything you ever hated about her , she uses a spell that allows you only to speak in poems . This is what you have to say .	We shared our life, we're man and wife I do n't believe you want to leave I know you're scared, we were n't prepared Your mournful tears are my worst fears Forgive my sins and my mistakes Forgive my anger and my angst Forgive my silence and my pride I need your love, you at my side Just say the words and I will change I'll try until it is n't strange You are the one that I adore Please stay with me, let go the door I realize now, on bended knee That I loved you, and hated me Embrace me now, give me your love I'll go beyond, not just above I'll work until its plain to see That I'm the man I'm meant to be I've plead my case, show me your face I need to see your love for me These thoughts are tearing me apart I've bared my chest, cut out my heart It beats for you, and always will If you say no, just take the kill Cause life just ceases to be life without your love, my dearest wife. edit: format, typos
[ WP ] `` Please God , I 'll do anything ... '' you say . And God hears you ! Well , not THAT God . A god . And not a god you really want to owe a favor .	I stood at the kerb, gazing longingly down the road. It was time, and for some cursed reason it just was n't happening. It was a normal day after all, why should I hope for a favour. Ireland is strange in that way, a land of fantasy and myth, the Emerald Isle. I was born in England and I guess it's true, the grass is always greener. I rolled a cigarette, muttering a silent prayer. They always turn up when you do n't want it. Glancing around the street I watch a condom flapping playfully in the breeze, chuckling to myself at the perverse irony. Soon, it really must happen soon. I sigh, exhaling smoke like the funeral pyre of my dreams. Work is over, and my plans for the night fall to ashes. I hate Sundays. The pay is nice but I'm always left here. Sighing again, I just knew nothing would go my way tonight. I check my phone, no messages. Boredom kicks in and I suck away another moment on my cigarette as I look for something, anything to distract me, but all I see is my messages. She said yes, as unlikely as that would ever be. Well, really she did n't say yes, she said `` Are you taking my number then, boy?'' and it felt rude not to save it. Outside of work I've little else to do. She said yes, and I was going to be late. It's just bloody typical really. I took another pull and smirked to myself, life's cruel joke finally making sense. The wind picked up in a skirl, and the previously funny condom flashed loose and skipped gaily across the street, slapping across my toes with a light squelch. `` Wrong foot'' I thought in a burst of self-deception, smirking again. Obviously fate and the universe were upset that my spirit was n't totally crushed, 60 hours of work, a semen ridden shoe and missing out on the date of a lifetime were n't enough, it started raining. Not full rain, but just the patter that flits and makes you wonder whether you're going to get soaked, and whether a taxi is worth the extra 40 Euro or not. Another gust and an empty Tayto packet rolled past like an urban tumbleweed marking the boredom of my evening, and the rain started, sort of. I watched as the downpour skeltered across the kerb opposite, 3 meters away and torrential. I stood almost completely dry, my hair slightly damp, and naturally my cigarette deciding to drown in the runoff from the web between my fingers. I sighed again, it was just typical. With another silent prayer I rolled another cigarette and the rain started properly, hurling down with intent. My hand cupped I lit another cigarette with yet another silent prayer. I may have cursed a few times. Fuck was involved, although now I wish it was n't. My prayers were finally answered, and the bus turned up, followed closely by another, as is the law of the universe. I got on, the driver laughs and smiles `` Well it looks like your prayers were answered! You look busy so let's get you home, where you headed?'' `` On a date,'' I muttered, not entirely sure why I'd say, or why he'd care. `` Town please.'' He smiled, printed the ticket and took my money. I did n't really understand at first, but I realise later his name tag said `` Viagra'' Edit: I'm mildly drunk, it's 4am, and unsurprisingly, the ending needs work to truly satisfy. It's not you, it's me. I'm sorry.
[ WP ] You are a woman who just gave birth to a child who was diagnosed with an anti-aging disability . He will stay a baby forever .	The lactation specialist is perched on the bed, beside me, her hands carefully guiding the mouth of my newborn son towards my nipple. I am exhausted. My legs, my hips, my abs - everything is incredibly sore. Eighteen hours of labor. Finally, he latches on and begins to suckle. I lean my head back against the pillows, relieved. The specialist stands up and prepares to leave. `` Excellent, it looks like he's got it now.'' She takes off her blue disposable medical gloves and tosses them in the nearby trash can. `` I'll be back in two hours to check on you.'' `` Two hours?'' I blink. `` So soon?'' She laughs. `` Yes, two hours. In the beginning, you will have to feed him every two hours. And those two hours start from the moment he begins to feed, not when he finishes, by the way.'' I look down at my new son. Last week my sister had been telling me stories of her experience with breastfeeding, telling me how her daughter would feed for thirty minutes per breast, for an entire hour. An hour of feeding would only leave me an hour to sleep before I'd have to start all over again. I am so tired. I shudder. `` Do n't worry,'' the specialist says with a grin. `` This is only for the first few weeks, as he gets older, he'll be able to go longer between feedings and everything will get a lot easier.'' The specialist walks out the door as a doctor walks in. This man is n't my OB/GYN or my primary care doc. I've never seen him before. Ordinarily, I would feel a little wierd having my breast exposed but I just gave birth so social norms can take the day off. `` Good morning, I'm a pediatric specialist here at the hospital.'' He pulls up a stool and sits next to the bed. `` I'm afraid that I have some bad news about your son.'' I frown. `` Bad news? But my ob/gyn said that the delivery went great, and the pediatrician said that his Apgar score was great?'' He nods and takes a deep breath. `` Yes, those things are true. Unfortunately, we've just received the results of his other tests, and he's tested positive for Dorian Grey Syndrome.'' He looks at me. `` Do you know what that is?'' A slow dread is building in my stomach, and I look down at my son happily sucking away. `` No, I've never heard of it.'' `` Simply put, it means that your son will never grow older. He'll never age.'' `` What, you mean that he is retarded?'' `` Well, we do n't use the term'retarded' to describe mental developmental issues, but I am saying that he will stay a baby, just as he is now, forever. Mentally... and physically.'' I clutch my son to my chest, as my brain tries to process the doctor's words. `` Will he ever talk? `` No.'' `` What about crawling, and walking?'' `` No, I'm sorry.'' I start to breathe more heavily. `` But what about feeding? And sleeping? Will he ever eat solid foods or sleep through the night?'' The doctor shrugs. `` He might sleep through the night - some newborns do that naturally. But it's likely that whatever sleep pattern he has now will remain his sleep pattern.'' `` And what about feeding?'' `` Unfortunately, his system will never be able to process solid foods. And none of the infant formulas that are available on the market are compatible with Dorian Grey Syndrome.'' The doctor pauses. `` He will always have to breastfeed.'' My sister's stories flash through my head - the months of sleeping for forty minutes here, an hour there. The first year of breastfeeding when her nipples cracked and bled and were constantly sore. Being limited in her free time beceause she only had an hour or two until the next feeding - rarely leaving the house, barely having time for household work or social visits. I am horrified. `` Is... is there no cure? Or treatment?'' Tears are welling in my eyes. `` I'm sorry,'' he says, `` there is n't.'' `` But how long will he live? Is this going to kill him?'' The doctor is silent for a moment. `` He is dependent on your breastmilk. He will live as long as you do.'' `` You mean, as long as I feed him.'' `` Yes.'' My son has stopped feeding while we were talking, and he is now sleeping contently in my arms. I think about what the doctor has said. I imagine my life with my son - two hour cycles of breastfeeding, never sleeping more than an hour or two at a time, never feeling secure in my own body again. I start to cry. `` What do other people do, with this? What can I do?'' `` Well, it's a very rare thing, so it's hard to give you an answer. I can tell you, one woman in Illinois has used breast pumps to build up a supply of breastmilk, and she has done pretty well.'' `` How old-'' I catch myself, `` how long has her child been alive?'' `` Her daughter has lived the longest that we've seen - about seven months so far.'' Seven months. `` What happened to the others?'' The doctor shifts on his chair and fiddles with his clipboard. `` Well, it's a very difficult thing to care for a child with this condition, and some parents are, uh, unable to establish a sustainable coping strategy.'' I ca n't say anything for a moment, and the room is quiet. My son hiccups, and starts squirming. The doctor points at him. `` You may want to burp him, it can prevent hiccups caused by trapped air from the feeding.'' I reflexively follow his suggestion, and lay my son over my shoulder and begin firmly patting his back. `` You do n't have to decide anything today,'' the doctor says. `` You can take your time, figure out for yourself how you want to care for your son.'' I say nothing and, after a while, the doctor leaves. The room is quiet. I think about my sister. About the woman in Illinois. I'm only twenty-eight, I could live for another sixty years. Sixty years of breastfeeding. Of never getting a goodnight's rest. Of never having time to myself for any length of time. I lay in my hospital bed for a long time, pondering. My son begins to root around on my chest. I've read enough to know that he's hungry again. I start to put him to my breast, but then I stop. I do n't know what to do. Sustainable coping strategies. Seven months so far. My son, impatient and hungry, begins to cry. His cries tug at my heart, and my breasts ache. Every part of my body is screaming feed him, feed him. I begin to weep.
[ WP ] You are awoken from your suspended animation sleep tube during your long distance space mission early . When you ask the computer navigator why , it says you have a phone call and they say it was important .	I wake up to blinding lights in my face and a loud reading in my ears. `` Geeze, I feel like the guy from that Avatar movie. What was his name? Aang? No, not the crappy one with the kid in the ice, ( although that would work too I guess ). The one with the blue people and everything. Why am I having such a hard time remembering all this? And what the hell is that ringing?!? ” Before I have a chance to wonder about it, the nausea hits. I grab the bedpan from the small stand beside me and empty my stomach; which at this point is pretty much just acid. “ Lovely. ” The on-board hologram projector hums to life and the face of the ships AI, H.A.C, materializes in from of me, speaking with a slight British accent. `` Hello sir, how are you feeling? ” He asks as I continue to void my stomach. “ Emergency cryo exits are said to be notoriously unpleasant.'' `` Oh, I ’ m just peachy H.A.C, couldn ’ t you tell? ” I spit back. “ I though AI ’ s were supposed to be smart ” “ As a Holographic Automated Captain ” H.A.C replies, “ The majority of my processing power goes to maintaining the integrity of our flight plan. However, if you would like, I could download a sarcasm algorithm to work on until we reach our destination. ” “ So just dick ’ s then. ” I mumble to myself. ” Wait…what the hell do you mean ‘ when ’ we reach our destination? We aren ’ t there already? Where are we H.A.C, and why for the love of God did you wake me up?!?! And would you turn off that alarm!! ” “ What is the source of your confusion sir? ” H.A.C asks, raising a pixilated eyebrow. “ I thought you would have surmised that we had not yet reached our destination by the fact that you are the only one awake. ” “ Oh, so now he wants to crack wise. ” I mutter. “ I swear, one more comment like that and I ’ m turning off his speech board and… ” “ You have a phone call sir. ” H.A.C ‘ s increasingly grating voice interrupts my plotting. “ From who? ” “ They asked for you specifically sir. My protocols prohibit me from a… ” “ Alright, alright! ” I snap. “ I get it. Patch me through already ” “ Certainly sir. ” A small transparent screen materializes in place of H.A.C. ’ s face and comes into focus. A man in a white shirt and black appears. He smiles and says: “ Excuse me Mr. Daxon, I was wondering if you have time to talk about our lord and savior… ” “ End Transmission. ” I say, cutting him off midsentence. “ You have got to be # & % @ $ &! kidding me!!! ” H.A.C ‘ s face reappears. “ Have you concluded your call Captain Da.. ” “ H.A.C I swear on my mother ’ s grave. If you wake me up for something like that again I ’ m going to use your core processor as my personal punching bag. Understood?! Now put me back in cryo! ” “ I am sorry sir I assumed… ” “ I don ’ t care what you assumed, just put me back in. That ’ s an order!! ” “ Yessir ” I lie back in my cryo chamber and the door slides closed. “ Of course I end up stuck with the most incompetent AI in the whole damn fleet. I bet Jake Sully never had to deal with this shit. Oh yeah, Jake….that was his name….. ”
[ EU ] The courier meets the vault dweller .	The Lone Wanderer. That's what they called him. When I first saw him, he was walking alone in the desert, wearing patchwork Brotherhood of Steel armor- A cow's skull for a pauldron here, a stop sign replacing damaged paneling there. His only companion was a mangy dog and a laser rifle strapped to his back, and I was told he was a man that needed to be killed; You see, I was a courier once, but now, with the nebulous and shifting ways of the political spectrum of the Mojave, I was now a sheriff, mayor, and chaplain of a small town just off of New Vegas- and word travels fast of trouble, which is exactly what the Lone Wanderer was. He was quick to spot me, but I did n't make no efforts to hide, my brahmin-hide duster fluttering in the wind helping me give off a dramatic first impression. I masked the majority of my face with a bandana, but I think he knew of me- Like I said, word travels fast, and if you're a key figure in the battle of the Hoover Dam like I was, your name and face kind of gets put up on `` free beer'' lists throughout the Southwest. Hell, I've gotten letters from the Mormon territories of little girls who wanted to be like me when they grew older. I still do n't rightly know what to make of that. Anyway- The Lone Wanderer. Sorry, I get kind of scatterbrained, a bullet to the done will do that. Handsome and rugged. swarthy skin, unkept ceasar haircut and a beard that rivaled Easy Pete of Goodspring's in girth but not color. His dog growled, but he merely gestured to him and got him to calm down. He asked my name- And I gave it to him, and he responded with his own. He told me he knew who I was- What I did- and what I'm capable of, so I imagine he already knew I had the revolver fully loaded and holster unstrapped. He told me he was merely passing through, that he did n't want any trouble, and that he'd been walking for a very long time. I asked here he'd come from- And he told me all the way from the furthest points of the East Coast, that is, all the way from Washington. He told me they had clean water and were already working on cleaning out the rubble in the streets, that they were trying to rebuild and push the bandits out. I asked him that- If it were so, why was he here? Why not stay in Washington? He was a far way aways from home, and him wearing that armor painted him as a target to every two-bit meth addict to the remnants of the Brotherhood or even Enclave ( should they feel preturbed enough to crawl out of their retirement. ) He said he wanted to visit California before he died. Nothing more, nothing less. He wanted to see how society could rebuild itself - from Arroyo to Vault City, so that when he returned home, some years from now, that he could maybe give Washington something else to rival his father's purification projects. He asked if he could pass; and briefly, I considered putting a round in him. The amount of caps on his bounty could have built our town a new water tower. But... I just.. let him go. I returned home to my town with a bottle of the cleanest water I've ever tasted and thoughts of the lands on the other side of the Mississipi. I thought about how war had been overcome on both sides of us but still, ideological maniacs from the other side of the Colorodo threaten to gut the meagre society I've put upon myself to defend. Maybe science has the answer for us, like it apparently did in Washington, or maybe I should only trust in the gun in my hand and the wind on my back. Who knows?
[ WP ] your crazy , possessive ex girlfriend was abducted by aliens . She has clawed her way up to the position of the Empress of the Galaxy . Now she wants you back .	“ What ’ s this all about? ” Steve asked. Agent Thomas wasn ’ t impressed. Steve Marston didn ’ t seem like much. 24, a freelance computer technician working in Chicago. Not even the scary kind who was a hacker or anything, but more of a repairman. He was the kind to tell you your monitor was broken and to buy a new one. Five-seven, one sixty. No real rap sheet, didn ’ t seem to be remarkable. In fact, there was no “ seem to be ”. Steve Marston wasn ’ t remarkable at all. What was remarkable was the director, the DCI, and the Secretaries of Defense and State standing behind the mirror in the interrogation room. “ There ’ s a person of interest we ’ ve come across, and we think it ’ s someone you know, ” the agent began, opening up a folder on the table. “ We were hoping you can confirm a few things about her. ” The agent pushed the open folder across the table, and the young man across it recognized the picture immediately. “ Caitlyn? ” he said, looking up. “ I thought she was dead! ” He really did. She had gone missing about six years ago, and had never been found. They had a funeral and everything. He even got the invitation... he just didn ’ t go. “ It appears that she may be alive, ” the interrogator began. “ In fact, she may have gotten herself into the middle of something big. ” “ I hope she ’ s not in charge of anything, ” Steve replied. “ If she is, God help us. ” The agent looked askance at the glass mirror on the wall. “ Well, here ’ s the thing, ” the agent said, reaching into the file for the last piece of paper in it. “ She wanted us to show you this. ” “ So she ’ s alive? ” Steve asked. But, the agent ignored the question and presented the piece of paper. On the piece of paper, was a diagram of a chess game. Only one move had been made, the white king ’ s pawn had been advanced two squares. The other pieces were still in their original positions. “ She wanted to know what you ’ d do here if you were playing black pieces. ” Steve looked unimpressed. “ You called me into a federal who-knows-what military base to ask me a chess question? ” “ Yup, ” the agent replied. His face didn ’ t betray a thing. Sighing, Steve looked down. It was the most common opening move in chess, there ’ s all sorts of ways to answer it. But, if it was Caitlyn who was asking… “ A6, ” he said. “ Queen ’ s rook pawn up one square. It ’ s the most useless move you can make, but I did it once when I played against her. I ended up winning. ” The agent paused. He got what he came for. “ Wait here, ” he said. “ I ’ ve got to check with my superiors. ” Little did Steve know, that the people behind the mirror were now deadly serious about the situation. ***************************** “ So, how do you know her? ” the Russian asked Steve. It had all happened so fast. About thirty-six hours ago, Steve was in a room with a mirror, answering questions about his ex-girlfriend. It might as well have been thirty-six years. There were twenty of them in the room. Fifteen of them were each a representative from a nation on the UN Security Council. Two were astrophysicists, one was an anthropologist, one was an economist, and the last one was Steve. Apparently, at least as much as anyone was willing to tell Steve, they were quickly convened last night. All they said was that “ the aliens are here ”, and that they wanted to meet a delegation. For some reason, Steve needed to be part of that delegation. They were very clear on that. He wasn ’ t allowed to leave after the interview, not even to tell anyone where he was. From there, it just got weirder and weirder. Him and all of the others were picked up individually, by some sort of automated spacecraft. It was really awkward when it actually landed on the tarmac on the base they were at, and he was supposed to get in by himself. It was a small craft, black and not giving off any light, save for its small engines. Steve guessed that “ the aliens ” were still supposed to be a secret, even though they had apparently made contact with governments. And Caitlyn, his ex-girlfriend, was their leader. Furthermore, the trip was short. He ’ d taken off from somewhere near his home town of Chicago, and ended up halfway to Mars in about fifteen minutes. If this was for real, that was amazing. From there, it took him to a dock, where he was escorted by... well, something. It had a T-Rex shaped head, but full-sized arms and bipedal, human-shaped legs. More than “ full-sized ”, it was eight feet tall. It was wearing some sort of uniform, mostly black with a bright scarlet trim. Also noticeable was something resembling an LED light, about the size of a quarter. It was affixed to the side of his head, and it was glowing a matching red to the rest of the uniform. Trying to get some bearings, Steve tried to talk to it, but he got nowhere. The T-Rex guy just pointed to his ear and shrugged. He was able to gesture for Steve to follow him, but that was all of the communication he could muster. Eventually, he led them to a room with the other dignitaries were waiting. “ The South Side Chess Tournament, ” the man began. “ It was the senior year of high school. She was my opponent in the last game. ” “ Did you win? ” one of the others said. His Australian accent was showing through. “ Yeah, ” Steve said. “ We both got trophies. Mine was shaped like a chess king, you know with the cross on top? She got one shaped like a queen for second. ” “ So, ” the Englishwoman began, ” the leader of the galactic empire we ’ re about to meet, is a chess player from Chicago? ” “ Yeah, ” Steve said. “ Y es todo? ” one of the others asked, before correcting himself. Steve thought he was from either Argentina or Chile. “ I mean, that ’ s it? ” “ Not really, ” Steve answered. “ She started following me around after that. She had been accepted to some Ivy League school, but she decided to stay in town with me to go to college nearby. ” “ And you started going out? ” the Frenchwoman asked. “ Yeah, but it didn ’ t last long. We played games a lot, chess, and some other stuff. I didn ’ t always win, but when I did, she just couldn ’ t handle it. She ’ d start screaming at me, hitting me, whatever. I guess she just wasn ’ t used to losing. ” “ How do you mean? ” another asked. Steve couldn ’ t place the accent... sounded French too. “ I went to her house a few times. She had a huge trophy cabinet; I mean, she didn ’ t have an actual cabinet, but all over her room she had prizes that she won. Science fairs, track meets, academic things, stuff like that. Winner, first place, grand prize, all of it. ” “ And the trophy for second place, ” the Russian said, with a smile. “ Yeah, second place. ” “ How long did you stay together? ” one the the astrophysicists asked. He ’ d identified himself earlier; his name was Mark. “ About a year. But that was it, I couldn ’ t keep around her; she just lost it whenever she lost at anything. I broke up with her, she flipped out like she always did, and I walked out. She went missing about a month after that. ” At that, the sound of the large door opening ended the conversation. Through it, stepped three aliens, each different from the other. One was the T-Rex head from earlier, with the same black-and-red uniform. Steve thought it might be the same one, but he couldn ’ t be sure. There was also a slender, tall creature with black gorilla-like fur on its skin, except all of the joints were wrong for it to be a primate. But in the center, stood something else. She was humanoid in shape, and she clearly was a “ she ”. However her skin was charcoal gray; no human ’ s skin would appear like that. Her head was bald, and her eyes seemed to be a reverse of human eyes: black eyeballs with a white-colored iris. while the other two aliens ’ uniforms were simpler, hers was immaculate; it looked like a flowing wedding gown out of a fairy tale; save for the color: it was a vigorous, vibrant violet. Black accents completed the piece, and she too had the small LED-thing on her head; but instead of red, it was a bright purple, matching her uniform. She seemed to be carrying something resembling a tablet computer. Standing in front of the others, she spoke. “ We have received your request to conduct our meeting in English. Are there any objections? ” Everyone in the room was either surprised, amazed, or just too slow-witted to respond. After a second, she continued. “ Good. I am Zhyora of Atersona, Captain-General of the Highguard of the Empress ’ s Personal Legion. I have been instructed to ensure that you are all here, and that you have arrived safely. After that, to escort you all to an audience with Her Majesty, Empress of the Milky Way, Caitlyn the Only. ” Mark finally found his tongue. “ ‘ Caitlyn the Only? ’ ” he asked. “ Not ‘ Caitlyn the First ’? ” That drew several death glares from the diplomats in the room. Even Steve was surprised. Zhyora, on the other hand, wasn ’ t fazed. “ Her Majesty has acieved immortality. There will be no other rulers after Her Majesty. Hence, ‘ Caitlyn the Only. ’ ” “ And it ’ s called the ‘ Milky Way ’? ” Mark continued, mortifying the diplomats even more. “ Her Majesty changed the name of the galaxy when Empress Ayare ’ s reign ended and her reign began. It is now known at the Empire of the Milky Way. ” To the relief of everyone, Mark didn ’ t follow up. Desperate to get back on course, the diplomat from France spoke up. “ Our trip was very pleasant, thank you for arranging it, ” she began, fully expecting to continue. Zhyora wasn ’ t so interested. “ I have a roster of the attendees to this meeting. Please raise your hand when your name is called, ” the alien said, looking down at her tablet. Zhyora began reading off names and titles. Anatoly Tsarnayev, of Russia. Gerardo de Cuellar, of Argentina. Gennevieve Davout, of France. One for each of the diplomats. She even got to the scientists too, Mark Proctor, of Stanford University, and so on. “... and Steven Marston, ” she concluded. Everyone waited patiently for some sort of title to follow Steve ’ s name. There wasn ’ t one. Sheepishly, Steve raised his hand.
[ WP ] You are the most brilliant mind in the world , period . You are also a house pet .	[ Day 60210, Saturday, 15th of November 2015 ] It is time I resume my journal. It has been over three years since I switched to this disguise, as I described in my earlier entry at the 21th of May 2012. Living as a house cat has turned out more or less as I predicted. My previous cover as paralyzed ALS patient was starting to become more and more suspicious, whereas this one is as inconspicuous as a cover gets. Though you'd imagine being a cat would be horribly confining and awkward, it is in fact liberating to me. - Not that surprising considering I've been unable to move all but one muscle for many years in my previous disguise. Anyways. The world is still running as predicted. The attacks on Paris have happened, Queen Elizabeth II is still alive, but not yet raising suspicion, no-one has ever heard of Harold Greens yet, and Islamic State is doing it's thing. Thus far the only inaccurate prediction i have found is Vladimir Putin, who I'm quite sure is n't supposed to be here. But he is. I can only imagine he's one of us, but I have no proof. There might just have been a glitch in the quantum calculations. It is not long until the first quantum-time bending experiments will start. I will have to get myself in in order to be able to get back to 2171. I've been waiting for this moment very long. Though studying history first-hand is quite interesting, daily life has gotten dull. It's easy to forget that the IQ of the common 21th century human is around 100, comparable to that of a chimpanzee of our time. I used to lead a relatively normal life because it was easy to disappear whenever suspicion raised. It's not hard to make money in this day and age - any basic skill is considered extremely valuable. However, it _is_ remarkably hard to disappear in a world with cameras on every street corner, ID cards, fingerprint databases and DNA tracing, not to mention the secret tracking done by NEFMAQ and DISA - although that's top secret thus far, making it hard for them to make effective use of it yet. Because of that I've decided to hide where they wo n't be looking; in the spotlights. Anyone accusing Stephen Hawkins or The Queen of being some time-traveling superhuman will be laughed at. No-one will ever take you seriously if you accuse celebrities. Anyways. For now i've decided to lay lower than ever. Animals are n't to be suspected, DISA has n't learned of our capability to invade animal's minds until late 2020. I know Hawkins as a cover had raised suspicions because he kept living so long. Since I made sure he remains alive for some longer time, they'll keep their eyes on him, allowing me to get into the quantum-time project and get the hell out of here. The irony of the fact that one of the greatest, if not _the_ greatest mind on this planet in this day and age is housed in a depressed teenager's lazy cat has not left me. Sometimes I wish I could just grab a pen and do this kid's homework or whatever, just to see their response to a cat knowing'higher' mathematics. Patrick, my'owner' is a good kid - he'd do well in the 22nd century. He takes good care of me and feeds me salmon occasionally - although I wish he was a little less cuddly with me. It's a shame he'll never live to see our time, or to experience the freedom of quantum-time bending and Invading lower beings. Nothing like running in a field Invading a horse, or swimming in the deep sea as a Whale. Enough talking. Save log mental directory 23B-3. Comment: Log to be studied upon return.
[ WP ] During World War II a small German team works in the field of paranormal cleanup . They 're called 'Geistbusters ' and because of the war their business in booming .	`` Herr Spengler?'' Gerhardt pulled off his gloves. He extended a trembling, liver-spotted hand. The workman grasped it warmly. `` Pleased to meet you. Landlord?'' Gerhardt nodded, `` fifty years now - and for fifty before that my father.'' He pulled off his cap and scratched at scraggly white hair, like spun cotton. His words echoed up the staircase. Dust drifted down. A newspaper with a bootprint on it, a half-crushed can of soup and a wooden block with a painted'Ö' littered the floor. `` All empty now though,'' he sighed, `` so you're the exterminator?'' `` No.'' Gerhardt raised his eyebrows. `` No. We're not exterminators. Where's the affected area?'' `` Well,'' he took careful steps up the stairs, `` let me show you.'' He led him up stairs, over floorboards stripped bare of carpet and doorless doorways adorned with conspicuous hinges. He took a left, entered one apartment and then stood in a bedless bedroom. Grey light filtered in from a window. `` This,'' he gestured, `` I ca n't get rid of it.'' Spengler knelt, touched the wall. A smudge decorated the curling wallpaper. The outline of two children holding hands, heads turned in profile, mouths wide with laughter. A sponge disintegrated in a bucket beside. `` And if I?'' Spengler took the sponge. It dripped suds through his gloved fingers. The old man nodded. The workman meticulously wiped away the stain - it peeled away like hot tar on a pavement in summer. Gummy, it blackened the sponge. Spengler stood. The stain faded back. The children laughing, their hands clasped, the mouths agape. He nodded. `` Yeah,'' he pulled up his worksuit by the belt-loops, `` you're looking at, say, 80 marks.'' `` Eighty!'' The man scoffed out a laugh, `` Eighth Reichsmark! For an exterminator!'' `` No. I said, we're not exterminators.'' `` For Eighty Reichsmark I could hire a builder to knock down the wall and build it again!'' `` Maybe,'' he sniffed, `` but then maybe you'll call me again when the stain is still there.'' Spengler's boots clonked on the floorboards as he left the room. `` I did n't say no!'' The landlord's voice wobbled. Spengler's echoed up the stairwell, `` I did n't think you would.'' Gerhardt took the steps one at a time. `` That wo n't be necessary,'' Spengler spoke to another workman, holding an adapted Mauser. He slid and re-cocked the bolt-action smoothly, an articulated pipe ran from it to a pack like a crate on his back. `` Hold on, hold on,'' Gerhardt waved his hands, `` for 80 marks, I want the full treatment. I want that!'' He pointed at the thing in the man's hands. Oiled and sheen, under the barrel it had an antenna like a radio tower. `` Well, how can I say no - when you're throwing around a two-figure income like that.'' `` Venkman.'' Spengler pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He turned to Gerhardt, `` this is the full treatment.'' Spengler ascended the stairs. Two more followed. The one with the rifle laid an hand on Gerhardt's arm, `` I'm still going to hang on to it, because, that's customer service.'' A fourth in full gas mask pushed open the door, carrying a barrel trailing a long hose - it linked to an idling Mercedes in the street. He raised a hand in greeting. Gerhardt cursed the stairs. A boy leant against the door at the top of the stairs, not watching Gerhardt climb. His cheekbones protruded and dark circles shaded under his eyes. His black jacket with a bright yellow star sloped off his shoulders and the sleeves covered most of his hands. Then he threw a look back over his shoulder and ran towards Gerhardt laughing. Ice stabbed into the landlord, he turned to see the boy, but he was gone, only his laughter echoing through the stairwell. Then warmth flowed through him again and a puddle of urine expanded from his feet. `` Spengler!'' In the bedroom, the ceiling light swung in place and the lights flickered. The one with the rifle waved it left, then right. `` Venkman! No streams!'' Spengler called. The air still and dead, but something ruffled the workman's hair slowly, as if he spoke underwater. `` Venkman!'' The boy appeared in the doorway again, laughing. The man raised and aimed his rifle - Spengler slapped the barrel and a lightning bolt jolted into the floor between the boy's shoes. He jumped, white eyes wide. Venkman cycled the bolt-action. `` No!'' The boy shook his head, eyes glassy. The lightbulb shattered overhead. Sparks sprayed them and the shadows on the wall held hands, then danced, forming a chain of children circling. The doors slammed. `` Here we go.'' The gas masked one muffled. `` Wait. Just, wait.'' Spengler held out his hands. The child sat on the window sill, legs dangling. Spengler held out one hand. The boy reached for it. `` Spengler,'' said the one called Venkman. At Gerhardt's side, a teen crossed his arms. The juvenile shrieked. Only blackness where his mouth would have been. Venkman groaned and held his ears. Blood trickled from his nose as he fell to his knees and threw his head back. `` Wait!'' Spengler yelled. The child beside covered his ears and shook his head. `` Stop! Please!'' Gerhardt bellowed. He slammed face first into the floor. Then something lifted him squirming into the air, then smashed him down again. `` Mmuh,'' he managed to say, putting his arms in front of his face. The teen screeched. Gerhardt collided with the floor again and something crunched in his chest. The child covered his mouth and reached for Spengler with one hand - the pale fingers passed through his like mist, again and again. Then they clasped. And Spengler pulled him close, the boy burying his face in the man's utility jumpsuit. The teen let his hands fall by his side. Spengler extended a free arm to the boy. The teen took a step. He clenched his fists and the daylight flickered. Then he rushed to the workman. And, eyes scrunched up, clutched the man to him. A searing light singed Gerhardt's eyes. It bored through his brain to scratch the back of his skull. He screamed. Then the workman knelt alone. The grey daylight filtered in again. Venkman wiped his red face with a kerchief and helped the old man to his feet. `` I told you,'' Spengler stood, `` we're not exterminators.''
[ WP ] Paul McCartney did die in 1966 . Terrified of what will happen to the biggest band of all time , the record label forces you - a Paul McCartney lookalike with no musical experience to take his identity .	`` W-w-wait!'' he said as they tossed him into the study and stood, blocking the doorway. He landed face down on the carpet. The larger of the two men said,'' You said you wanted to be a star. Now do n't come out until you have a dozen songs written.'' `` But I am NOT musically gifted at all! All I understand about it is that the words sometimes rhyme!'' he called out while reaching up from the floor. `` Oh, good. A bass player.'' Slam. Lock. The room was mostly dark except for a small lamp on a desk. Also on the desk was a legal pad and a cheap pen. He got up from the floor and crawled into the chair. The page was blank. He looked away. There was a random picture of no one he recognized on the desk. There was a Newton's cradle, and, above, on the wall, a motivational calendar with clever sayings for each month. This month was picture of a cat hanging on a laundry wire beneath the sentence,'' LIFE GOES ON.'' `` Ok, ok, ok, `` he said while centering himself and cracking his knuckles. `` Write a song, write a song. Songs rhyme. Write rhymes. Let's see... thirty days have September...'' After a moment, he wrote the words'April Showers Bring Mayflowers' on the legal pad. `` No, no. That's all been down.'It's all pilgrim power from Mayflowers.' No, no.'It's just a spring clean for the May Queen' -- no, that's just retarded, what kind of idiot --...'' So the night progressed. His head began to throb. His eyes went lax and his mouth drooled. He began drumming on the desk, trying to work out a rhyme to some kind of shitty, angry, inconsistent rhythm. He prayed to Jesus or Bob Dylan to get him of the nightmare he was living, just anything. The Newton's cradle ticked on. The picture of the cat on the wire stared at him. `` Please, Mr. Kitty,'' he whispered. At last, after hours had passedm his language devolved into single, unintelligible syllables. His expression was blank. His tongue lolled out his mouth and spittle ran down his cheek. At some point, he had moved his percussion exercises from both hands drumming on the desk, to both hands pounding on each side of his own head. `` Der der der,'' he said. `` Dee dee dee,'' he lolled. `` Oh bla dee,'' he moaned. `` Oh bla dah,'' he moaned in senseless, retarded-ass counterpoint. His eyes fell on the kitty cat poster. `` LIFE GOES ON,'' he read robotically across the top. His eyes traced down the picture, past the kitty cat, to the garments drying on the line. And he started giggling like a twelve year old. `` Bra!''
[ WP ] You 're in your favorite part of town and you come across a bar you 've never seen before . You enter and , unbeknownst to you , the patrons and bartenders are all ghosts .	This was a place where departed spirits linger, that soft smell of spilt liquor ingrained into the floorboards. It was dimly light though the windows were bricked up, the air was heavy and cold like in a stone basement but it was peaceful and safe. Eyes slowly moved to watch as the darkened wood of the door opened inwards displaying a picture of a decapitated head sporting a crown on a pillow, the crest of the `` King's Rest'', and into the quiet darkness intruded a man who politely closed the door behind himself. The fresh air and light that had followed the man in had quickly been subdued and the atmosphere had returned to its mortuary like state. Peering through the gloom and relieved to be out of the biting summer heat the vibrant young man sat at the bar and smiled a greeting at the bar tender while wiping the sweat of his brow. He had not been heard it would seem as the tender ignored him in favour of leaning on the bar top by a slight elderly woman with her head in her hands. She was sobbing, it would seem she was alone when it happened, something about a dead husband and children lost in war. The young man looked around the room, unwilling to interrupt or eavesdrop further, the patrons were all sombrely dressed but with a formality that seemed at odds with a pub by the harbour they were all sitting apart from one another and none appeared to have a drink, they just seemed lost in thought and staring into the distance. The door opened once more and yet the noon sun did not penetrate into the gloom, in fact it appeared as if the outside was darker and cooler, the person who entered was a teenage boy with in a simple and cheap looking black suit he looked around aimlessly before quietly moving to sit in a booth on his own. The young man felt a chill as he saw the teenager ’ s face it was familiar to him somehow but he couldn ’ t remember why, however he decided he would leave and find a drink somewhere more lively and familiar. Eyes followed him in faint interest as he went to the door which was stuck in its frame despite having been easy to open from the inside, it took some doing but he soon had the door open. Stepping out into the laneway he felt the sun ’ s light wash over him and he hungrily soaked it up he hadn ’ t realised how cold he was, walking down the lane to Belgian themed bar by the ferry dock he passed a newspaper stall and on the front page of the Sydney Morning Herald was the face of the boy he had just seen with the head line ‘ City Mourns as aspiring football star is put to rest ’.
[ FF ] `` Are you sure this is a good idea ? ''	He was so close to me, I could hear his hair rising on his arms, as he stroked me. Gently sliding the hair away from my face, so he could kiss my forhead. The soft pillow caressing my left ear and the overwhelming sensation of his presence almost deafened his question. `` Are you sure this is a good idea?''. Of course it is, I thought. But I was n't supposed to be the thinking one. He was. He had a car and a wife and children and a job and... all I had was homework. He removed my panties and soon my emotions would follow. That was the first step.
[ WP ] First sentence : I could deal with all the death . It was the love I could n't handle .	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I could n't handle. The sight of bodies was a regular ordeal. The sight of children calling out for their dead parents was a regular ordeal. People who lost limbs. People who would murder without another thought. People who would steal. People who would lie, who would trick and deceive and hurt hurt hurt others into submission. It was all a normal day. I would hold my head high and look away because I could deal with it. It was easy. Love was not. It was rare, it was treasured and it was something you should n't take for granted. Whenever I see it, whenever I experience it first hand I ca n't help but just lower my head that I've held too high for too long and weep. Death ca n't break me. Love, of course, beautiful, shining, light of the ugly fucking world could.
[ WP ] Your best friend ...	It was fourth grade, our school was hosting a walk a thon for kids with Arthritis, and we all had to walk with marbles in our shoe. For some reason or another, we both sat out. We got to know each other, but then that day ended and we did n't see each other again for four years. In ninth grade, we became even closer, we bonded over animes and games we both loved and we talked online frequently. Things went along like this for all of high school, up until graduation. At the end of the ceremony, I looked around desperately for her but could n't find her before I was swept away with the celebration. We talked that night, and swore we would hang out again before college, but that never came to be. Here I am three years down the road, and we have barely talked since graduation night. We've moved on and now we no longer know the other. I ran into her yesterday at the mall, and she was an entirely different person. Nothing has ever made me so sad.
[ WP ] A dragon saves a knight from a princess	Sir Dwayne caught his breath as he stood at the mouth of the terrible volcano, Harbinger. As he stood on the edge he looked at his target, a great tower in the center of a fiery lake with only old rope bridge leading connecting it to the outside world. Sir Dwayne knelt and said his prayers to the Gods, for he knew he must be right with them; after all, this could be his last day on Earth. There were many tales about the great blight on this land, the fearsome dragon, Puff who raided many local farms, taking plants and animals from them. While a threat, this did n't become an issue for the King until he grabbed his daughter one time while she was visiting the town during a fair. The King called on the bravest knights of the land to answer the call and return her to him but only Sir Dwayne of the Holy Order answered the call and vowed to save her. And now, with his breath returned to him, he knew his destiny was upon him. As Sir Dwayne made his way to the bridge he kept ever vigilant, for death lurked around every corner; this he was sure of. But it was quiet, much too quiet and he feared he was walking into a trap. It was said that dragons are intelligent beasts with a cunning and sadistic nature. But no danger approached Sir Dwayne yet, as he successfully crossed the shaking bridge to arrive at the entrance of castle. Suddenly, he heard it a roar in the bowels of the castle, great and powerful. Groawwwwr. Sir Dwayne repeated the holy incantations to himself then bravely entered this Evil Castle. Every step he took it felt as thought the ground was shaking as Sir Dwayne grew more and more scared of this Demon sent forth from the God of Darkness. Groawwwwr He knew the scriptures as well as any in the order and knew the perils facing him. Groawwwwr May the Goddess of wind grant him breath, and the God of War grant him strength. And with his plea to the Gods Sir Dwayne entered the great chamber to face his destiny. In front of him was a giant, green, scaly, beast; hideous and horrifying at the same time. Sir Dwayne bellowed out to it `` In the name of the Kingdom and all the gods I will slay thee and rid this world of your terrifying presence!''. Just then the giant beast turned to face him and Sir Dwayne gripped his holy sword and shield closer, ready to do battle. Groawwwwr, Groawwwwr, GROAWWWWR, Oh... that's so much better, had some cow stuck in my throat. Anyway, what's... what's going on? . Sir Dwayne was shocked at the beasts knowledge of their tongue but thought he could use the parley to distract the beast as he got a better vantage point. `` I am Sir Dwayne and I was sent here, great and terrible dragon, to save the princess and right the world of your crimes.'' haha, what? . `` Your crimes filthy bea....'' I'm gon na level with you right now, I am waaay out of it right now. Like I'm only getting bits and pieces of what your saying. Speaking of which, you wan na hit? . `` I will not be mocked sir dragon..'' Sir Dragon was my father, I'm Puff `` Well, Puff, I am here to slay you for your theft of crops and cattle and t...'' Oh, come on man, that's so fascist `` What?'' Nobody owns the plants and animals, it belongs to all of us. So much fighting would be over if we all learned to share the Earth, man `` You stole from farm owners'' Who had no claim to the land. It belongs to all of us man, plus, you know... I always get hungry when I'm like this `` When you are like what?'' What?!? Experiencing the world, man `` I do n't follow'' You know, lighting one up, getting blazed, getting stoned `` That's all you do in your free time?'' Not all of us want to become fascist conquerers dad... i mean Dwayne `` Forget it, Where is the princess'' dude, forget about her. I dropped her in some random field. Total premdo... prema... `` primadonna?'' yeah, dude. Major buzzkill. Just trying to bark orders all the time. You ever feel stressed when you got people like that in your life? `` Well, it's a little tiring at times, but it's my responsibility'' dude, that's just the government trying to control you. You got ta see through the lies man `` this is the only life I've known'' Here, try this. It'll open your mind `` Well, I guess one time wo n't hurt'' ...... ...... `` hey man, you ever wonder if there's other worlds out there, with other creatures out there'' Dude, all the time man
[ WP ] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice : on their 10th birthday and their deathbed . On the first visit , they will be told all the will accomplish in life . The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered .	`` Clear the room'' The wizened old man coughed as he struggled to rise and greet the visitor. Soft cries of protest rose from his family. Dr. Leighton's eyebrow cocked slightly upwards. Meeting the doctor's gaze with a renewed vigor, the old man nodded. The two men, friends since childhood and each other's most trusted confidants understood each other clearly. `` I believe it would be best if we left.'' Sweeping his right arm around the family, his left pointed towards the door with a tired, open, palm. He declared, `` he will not leave us before the visitor has left, I promise.'' Slowly, with furtive glances at their beloved, and the guest, so important as to drive them from his presence, they filed out of the room. Though each stole glances, often recriminating, at the newcomer, his gaze remained on the old man. Once the last had left the room, Dr. Leighton gave his friend a final nod, gazing at each other through the double oak doors as they closed before severing their connection with a muffled thump. The old man, bowing his head, a shuddering breath pulled into his frame by lungs that had n't the strength to pull much longer. Finally, the breath was released. Words, softened as though age had taken as much from them as from their creator, fluttered into the air. `` I often wondered, just how our affair would come to an end.'' Years of thought piled into the old man's consciousness, straining for release against the dam that was his mouth. `` You must have thought of it at least as much as I. So tell me, my oldest acquaintance, chronicler of the ages who has stared the devils and angels of history in the face. What apprehension did you confront when you came to me?'' The visitor, knew the weight that burdened the old man's mind all too well. In all of history they just might be the two people who best understood each other. `` From the first day, I knew that nothing would change.'' His voice resounded in the high ceiling of the chamber. `` When history failed to unravel upon my first journey I knew that we were but swimmers in a vast current. I can not disrupt the flow of time any more than a fish may stop a river. My role in history has only been to observe, and what came of those I observed was pre-ordained, I am merely the messenger of destiny.'' `` Does destiny mandate that you become a poet?'' The old man smiled wryly. `` Death seems to have made a poet of you as well.'' The visitor replied. `` What expression is left to us but peotry?'' The old man's gaze drifted past the walls, as if he could envision the destinations of his strange visitor just beyond their confines. `` When faced with such perplexing situations as ours.'' He paused a moment before speaking again. `` Tell me, do you greet all your hosts in the same manner? Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, how do you speak to those children of discoveries that surpass even the adult minds of their generation? Or were they left just as preplexed as I when you told me'You will invent time travel.'?'' `` What I tell them is irrelevant. Their discoveries predate my own appearance, I simply endeavoured to bring a little more self consciousness to the uncaring stream of time.'' The old man gave a snort. `` Too often is nihilism mistaken for wisdom, even in this age. You do not believe that you are responsible for creating the drive, the passion, in any of those you visited? Your philosophy is far too pessimistic if you can not allow yourself any modicum of significance.'' `` I can not,'' The visitor replied, somehow dejected in his posture, `` your case is sufficient proof of this. I rely on your invention to complete my work, if your drive to invent this device was only the product of my intervention then we form a damning paradox. Time travel would necessarily exist in order for time travel to be invented. Far simpler to imagine myself as a simple man who learned to swim, and occasionally placed pebbles along the riverbed.'' `` And so your dichotomy forces you to be either a common man or a being beyond human reason. Should a status of special consideration above mortals be so abhorrent?'' The visitor shook his head, slumping into a chair at the foot of the old man's bed. `` I have gazed upon the truly great figures of our race, as I have felt the sting of the most nefarious minds we could produce.'' his arms, gesticulating for emphasis, now fell hard upon the wooden armrests. `` The minds I have communed with, the physique, the passion, the determination I have witnessed; I fall far short of these in all respects.'' The old man turned, facing the visitor with pity on his face. `` Would not the one who stood before all greatness in human history be great in his own right? Few are those with experiences as vast as yours. Yet you exclude yourself from greatness, why? Simply because no one appeared before you, when you were a child to validate your existence?'' The old man's speech became more urgent, as if death might cut him off before his final words were heard. `` We must agree to disagree in this, for I believe that you are the only great figure of history who was not prompted to greatness by another's hand. You, are the origin of greatness.'' The visitor sighed, overwhelmed, for the first time, by the presence of a host. The old man smiled contentedly, resting back into his bed, drained of energy by his tirade. The silence ticked by in countless seconds. The old man's breath came ragged, his eyes closed as if the sheer wight of his eyelids was unbearable. `` That you have come to visit once more means my time is soon past.'' Said the old man, his voice barely more than a whisper. `` But I feel that in your flustered state all those years ago you may have let slip too much when faced with the prying of my ten year old self.'' He paused to claw his breath from the air around him. `` An assurance of legacy sounds remarkably reassuring at first, but my gift is not one for civilization at large, is it? You alone monopolize this venue; And so my legacy shall be the greatest and most unknown of all time.'' A short pause later the old man turned to the visitor, a final revelation dawning as his own consciousness slipped into the darkness. `` But perhaps there is another, greater, yet less recognized.''
[ WP ] You are the monster that hides in the shadows of a child 's bedroom . You watch and wait and worry .	He was going to die. He knew it, they knew it. There was no escape. He peeked out from under the bed. He could see the moonlight glinting off their glassy eyes, as they patrolled the bedroom. The shadows would n't hide him for long, yet he knew it had to be done. He watched their movements, worked out the patterns. Silently, he crawled out from his hiding place, and leapt to the bookcase, tearing his opponents head from it's shoulders in seconds. He then waited, dropping down on the second patrol as it passed, crushing it beneath his feet. He continued to take out his enemies stealthily, one patrol after another, till none remained. He then climbed onto the bed, his green scales shining, large teeth slowly revealed. He'd done it. He'd be able to claim his prize, and come home to applause. This could change everything. He looked down at the sleeping child in the bed, and slowly removed the covers. Something flew past his face, a drop of purple blood forming on his cheek. He turned to see a small sword embedded in the ceiling. `` There's more where that came from, Laddie!'' Came a thick scottish accent. He turned back to see Sgt. Fuzzy standing on the bed, formerly hidden under the covers for the element of surprise. The teddy bear wore a kilt and had a thick woolly coat, perfect for those cold nights when the child needed to hold him close. `` I've bin fighting your kind fer ages, as did my pappy and grandpappy did before me, and I'll tell ye one thing fer sure: You ai n't getting outta here alive.'' The teddy stepped forward, a new sword forming in his hand as he leapt at the monster. He landed on the monsters face, the beast thrashing about, trying to shake him off. He had fought the Teddy menace for over 113 years, and was not going to be stopped by one little bear. He finally threw off the teddy, flown across the room and bumping into the wall by the door. The monster unsheathed it's claws, charging towards the bear. It swiped and slashed at Sgt. Fuzzy, the teddy dodging every attack, before launching a counter-attack of its own. The bear leapt up, kicking the monster in the face, sending it reeling backwards, then threw his sword at it, before landing and charging. The sword implanted itself in the monsters chest, Sgt. Fuzzy jumping up and with another swift kick, pushed the sword deeper into the monsters chest, up to the hilt, where in one final moment of realisation, the monster burst into a large pile of glitter, defeated at last. Sgt. Fuzzy climbed onto the bed again, looking over at the battlefield, and the many torn teddies laying about the room. He lowered his head in honor of their brave sacrifice in this time of war. The wars had been fought for too long, and he knew it. But while there were still monsters out there, the teddies would be there to fight them off. Sgt. Fuzzy strode to the child's side, checking on the boy. He could see that the child's imagination was still there. He was still safe. But for how long? The monsters will return. They will fight again and again and will never stop till they have enough imagination to wipe out the Teddy population once and for all. Then what? Sgt. Fuzzy then realised what must be done. It was time to end this war once and for all. It was time to bring the fight to them....
[ WP ] You are the anti-hipster . You only do things AFTER they 're cool .	I'm at an average party with kegs floating about and danes in short shorts, inviting smiles and beer frothing the tips of their lush little lips as Cape cod kwassa kwassa feels the air with its indie groove. Hawaiian shirts and branded sneakers is the theme of choice. I'm seeing nikes all over the carpet and hearing the sweet sound of jaded youth immersed in musical politics, which holds no interest to I, whatsoever. `` Hooch or bath salts?'' A guy asks. In my own, lonesome world, I can not hear this. He asks again, and this time I take a swig of my fine port, before laughing in his hipster face. There's lines of some inexpensive drug being poured out onto the kitchen counter as I wander around coolly, disengaged from anything remotely trendy. Nothing seems to hold my attention for more than thirty seconds until another typically mood lifting indie-surfer band fills the air yet again. I'm nestling the remains of my drink; waiting for something cool to happen so I can roll my eyes and wait for it to be forgotten so I can reinvent that once'cool' thing later on, in the respect that my individualistic stance gets the occasional recognition it deserves. Someone just broke something and the usual rawr of wahey ensues. Now there's sushi being delivered as opposed to pizza because let's face it, pizza is pretty much a dying commodity now that we can gobble on those little maki bites of joy over and over without feeling like a fat cunt. `` Fuck my life.'' I say, lighting a cigar next to a girl toking on an organic joint. When did everything become so cool that it's uncool?
[ WP ] An atheist is sent back in time and meets Jesus . Describe their conversation .	`` So, you're Jesus Christ?'' My Aramaic is a bit rusty, but I think I got my message across. The man sitting across from me did n't look anything like how he is depicted in modern times. He's not the blonde, six-pack, crossfit body we all see in movies or paintings. This man is around 5 foot 4, dark and skinny. He had a straggly beard and dark deep set eyes. `` Yes, I am. My disciples tell me you wish to ask some questions.'' His voice is meek. Not what I expected. `` Can you tell me about your teachings and what you hope to achieve with your preaching?'' I only have about 10 minutes before returning to modern time, so I'm getting straight to the point. `` Of course. My disciples and I wish to achieve something spectacular. We want to change the lives of everyone who believe and grant them eternal happiness.'' `` Can you tell me exactly how you and your disciples plan to do that?'' `` It's simple, my teachings are a philosophy on how to run the government and how to treat its people- with respect and love. Not by intimidation, or false idols'' `` Are you telling me, you're a political activist?'' `` Yes, I guess that's a way of saying it, what else would I be?'' `` Are n't you the Son of God, the almighty creator, healer of the sick? Did n't you cure that blind man?!'' `` These are stories, my friend. These are exaggerated descriptions of who I am and what my teachings are. My followers believe it is a way for my teachings to live on, past my mortal life. So they perpetuate the myth. That blind man is a symbolic story. He was blind in the sense, that he did n't see the way, he was a corrupted man. My teachings allowed him to see. I thought I was pretty clear about that.'' `` Uh..okay. Well what about feeding all those people with two loaves of bread and a few fish? Are you telling me those are also symbolic?'' `` My friend, I do n't know why these stories are exaggerated and make me seem like some sort of magician. I fed those people with only two loaves of bread and a basket of fish - that I bought. It only fed so many people, the rest were donated and shared by my disciples and my followers. My teaching and my way allow people to see past their own needs and help the community and everyone. `` So, you're just some socialist hippie, huh?'' He looks at me, and points at the sky. `` We are in heaven, look around and see the smiling faces of my followers. If only I can convince everyone else to live the way we do.'' He takes a final toke from his massive marijuana cigarette and yells, `` I am the WAY!'' A distant cheer erupts from his followers.
[ WP ] Let 's get back to the basics : You found a lamp , and inside it contain a genie that can grant you 3 wishes .	( Writing on the train, so please excuse my lack of refinement ) Woah! You're a... uh, genie? Yes. Run by me, what that means, exactly? Usually my lamps do n't do this, sorry. That's perfectly alright. I am indeed a genie, and have been imprisoned inside that lamp for so long. In my gratitude, for rubbing that lamp and setting me free- I was n't rubbing it. You rubbed it. I think I'd know, I do n't go around rubbing lamps. It's ok, you rubbed it. Anyhow, in my gratitude I will grant you three wishes. Anything is in my power, except there are a few- I wish for unlimited- Not so fast! What I was about to say, before your kinda rude interruption, was that you ca n't wish for unlimited- I wish for unlimited lamps. Unlimited lamps... like lamps that will burn forever, or are maximally bright, those kinds of things? No, any kind of lamps. All of them. Give'em to me. First of all there is n't enough room in your universe. Granting this wish might break it! I do n't care. I really like lamps, so... Ok. I did say anything. And there's nothing in my book that technically forbids unlimited lamps. Final chance to change your mind, for the good of your universe? I pass. Lamp me!
[ WP ] you are woken at night by your puppy growling . Winged creatures flash into the room and attempt to restrain you . The dogs growl suddenly becomes deep and filled with an unnatural bass . One creature says `` Uriel call for backup , it 's a hell hound '' .	My eyes snap open just before I sit up in frustration. `` Goddamnit Toby. What the hell is the matter now?'' Toby, a 7 month old labrador puppy, is growling at a darkened far corner of my bedroom. Rolling my eyes, I throw aside my sheets as I make my way off the bed. Attempting to placate the pup, and shortly return to sleep, I approach the dog with my hands outstretched. `` Shhhhh...'' Suddenly I am taken aback by a flash of light. I defensively raise my forearm to my brow, squinting to make out what has appeared. I stand in disbelief as two humanoid creatures with bat-like wings materialize. Without hesitation, one of the creature makes a grab and pins my arms down at my sides. I thrash about to no avail, yelling in an empty house. Toby's growling reaches a new level of ferocity. The labrador begins foaming at the mouth, shackles rising on end. With each second, Toby's growls increase in volume. The labrador is absolutely shaking now.. and is it possible that he appears to be growing larger in size? The creatures eye Toby warily and with their attention now on the pup, I renew my efforts to free myself. All the kicking, squirming, and elbowing does not seem to faze my captor. Yet, Toby still holds the creatures' attention. The dog's growls has transformed to an unearthly grumble, and it appears that Toby has grown in size... `` Uriel call for backup, it's a hell hound.'' `` Shit.'' Springing off of his haunches, Toby leaps towards my captor with an outstretched fangs.
[ IP ] She stared out into the depths of space .	Somewhere, among the stars, I could feel that our eyes met for a moment. I know it's impossible, for we are millions light year apart, but that's a trivial matter for us now. The distance between us was so vast that light requires millions of years to travel, but I could still feel the rhythm of your heart as if it's right beside me. I yearn for your warmth, I long for your touch. `` You have to wait no more, sweetheart.'' Even if it's impossible, I could hear your voice right here in my side, as if you were whispering directly into it. `` I know.'' I answered towards the dark expanse. `` Soon.'' Millions of light years away, the same words escaped two lips.
[ WP ] Woody investigates after finding a deadly snake in his boot .	There is one man they turn to, when everything goes wrong. sound of a whip, followed by the sound of a grunting horse galloping One man, whom they all depend on. sound of a gunshot They call him... Sheriff Woody. pan from ground level up towards face Weakened after his Finest Hour... shot of him leaping over a canyon And bitten by a snake in his boot. Prospector shaking his head outside a doctor's office while Jessie cries Only one man can stop the landgrabbing Lord Porque from buying the entire territory. This year... In a fanmade production by Andrew Stevens, director of Buzz Lightyear, the Youtube talkshow ( shot of a drunken Buzz Lightyear cosplayer collapsed on the floor ), Woody's Roundup returns for the first time in 40 years, to continue the story that did not finish. This year... The live action sequel will happen. Because film studies has this as a project. Woody's Roundup Part 2: Revenge of the Sheriff.

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