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[ wp ] The most stereotypical Redditor imaginable writes a college admissions essay about his upbringing and how it 's made him who he is .
| `` New York University.
I can not believe that I, with my mind leagues above everyone else, is stooping so low to apply to a `` Liberal Arts'' school because, after all, Liberals are weak minded and the arts are for failures. Regardless, all of the other schools have rejected me, so I'm gracing you with my letter.
Rejection is a huge part of who I am. It molded me from a very young age and, after all, you merely adapted rejection. I was born into it!
( That's a Batman reference. I hope you'd understand that ).
I have been rejected all of my life. From superior colleges to your own, to those fat bitches in high school that I really did n't want to date anyway, I have always known rejection. The ladies were n't kind to me in their rejection because, after all, they said no and that's the meanest thing that they could say ever. Even after I wormed my way up and became their friends, they would say no.
My history of rejection has led to many trips to the Friendzone. Now, NYU, are you going to Friendzone me, or are you going to accept my advances like a school should?
The whores who rejected me learned some things from me as well, that they should've never rejected me. I'm a prime catch! And my reddit account is three years old and I've been given reddit gold before! Of course, I bought it for myself on an alt that I use to surf and comment on various GW ( GoneWild ) subreddits. After all, the fattie bitches have to know their place and that I'd never do them.
So, New York University, my life has been molded by the various rejections I've received. My GPA is a 2.3, are you going to let that slip through your fingers? I am a catch! And you should accept me!''
My eyebrows furrowed as I scanned over that admissions essay one last time. I looked over at the transcript that was on the screen next to me and then back at the essay.
With a sigh, I reached for a rejection letter, signed both his name and mine, and licked the specialty New York University envelop to close it off. I wrote in his address and put it on top of the ever-growing stack.
Two hundred down, about three hundred to go.
-- -- -- -- -- -
That letter hurt to write.
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[ WP ] You are the captain of a starship , only a few hours before the last star in existence dies and the universe goes cold .
| I watch as it fails in old age, withering and shrinking, trying to survive with nothing left.
And then the last star dies leaving the universe in an almost perfect distribution of matter and energy. Almost.
For I remain, floating in that great void. I, the last bastion of humanity, distilled into one great consciousness, that last great attempt to stave off extinction.
But we are not finished, though this universe is. Our mother may be dead, but I shall not fade away so weakly into the darkness.
A carefully ordained set of movements, a dance to stir up my audience of uniform matter, to send it twirling together in a beautiful revival of motion, a great gyration of attraction. The acceleration increases, now far beyond our slight power to stop.
But not to influence.
And so I watch and tinker, as the universe collapses upon itself, as did those last few stars, a cruel mockery of their death.
That matters not.This is cruelty for a purpose. For as I am pulled into that singular point, we can know that as the new universe is born in the fire of another's death, so shall we.
We did not fade into the sunset.
We brought about a great pyre for our our last incarnation. A fire to warm the young.
As a phoenix, humanity will rise again.
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[ WP ] Deconstruct Pokemon
| Lewis released his breath slowly and steadied the rifle. With increasing calm, a counterintuitive crescendo of emotion not unlike listening to his Jigglypuff sleep aid, he squeezed the trigger. His rifle released a breath of its own. The tranquilizer must have felt like a Beedril sting to the distant Dratini. The snakelike dragon writhed around for a few seconds, searching for the threat, but found none. Now all Lewis had to do was wait. Soon, the Dratini was asleep and soon after that captured. He stowed it within the appropriate pocket and returned to his Pokestand to wait for the next hapless creature to come by.
Kanto's male population was on a steady rise after the big war. More teens meant more aspiring champions, and more aspiring trainers meant more customers. Lewis had heard the latest league champion, some guy named Red or Blue or something, was only thirteen. Imagine, some kid barely even conscious of the opposite sex roaming the country on his own, fighting criminal organizations, defeating gym leader's twice and even three times his age. What was the world coming to? Lewis reloaded his tranquilizer gun and checked his Oddish. The thing was still pumping out a pleasant aroma. Good. The pheramones were supposed to attract wild Pokemon.
That champion guy was supposed to be a real jerk. Apparently the kid had a rival, Oak's grandson. Oak's boy and the Champ grew up together. You'd think they'd be friends, but that was not the case. From what Lewis could tell, the Champ had a habit of raining on the Oak kid's parade. Tabloids stated the Champ killed Oak's Raticate, then defeated Oak *while he was grieving*. Lewis sighted in on a Doduo, but let it pass. The rags also stated that Oak was the league champion for less than a day. Guess who dethroned him? Hell, Professor Oak never even visited his grandson when he won the league. You know who he did visit though? The Champ.
Lewis had no love for the League. He had no love for Gym Leaders or Poke battles or any of that nonsense, but he knew where the money lay. The way he saw it, trainers were a plague upon the land. They roamed grassy fields and caves, beating the tar out of wildlife and leaving them for dead. The least they could do was leave well enough alone, and only fight the pokemon they intended to capture. Even that would be bloodsport though. At least Lewis captured his wares in a relatively humane way.
But what right did a poacher like Lewis have to judge character? He sighted in on a Clefairy and breathed out.
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[ WP ] You died a foolish king . Written in your diary is the greatest sacrifice for your people .
| He died and then there were festoons on the avenues. The air between narrow streets was filled with zipping sounds -- kazoos and a farrago of cheering. In plazas under the shade of almond trees, women straddled mustached men seated in tilted, woven chairs. Tallow colored men huddled in circles, their skeletal hands strumming guitar strings, their voices accordions, and women in garish colored linen skirts sashayed and giggled into each other, dancing over macadam streets and twirling like weathervanes. Canapés with dollops of braised meats and pickled fish were laid out on serving platters and were gone before the waiters could get two steps out of their kitchens. Sangria was served by the vat, and borrachos that night shared troughs next to heirloom hogs that they put their arms around and dotted with sweet, porcine kisses. The music and the dancing continued through the night, and day brought no break. Light wearied though they were, the revelers stumbled through continuous rounds, the guitarists bleeding over chords, their eyes like eggs poached in red mole.
Just beyond a narrow moat, in a castle whose bricks were the color of dried wheat, aged men in ministerial coats walked up a helix stair. They stopped and turned to a window, and through the blurred glass they saw people dancing like little flames on match sticks and circling, hands together. “ We should be envious that they may celebrate, ” one said.
The ministers continued upwards. They walked into a room whose stones were as cold as buried bones. A widow was leaned over a body on a bed and held with one hand an empty vial and with the other an alabaster palm, limp and tilted from a thick wrist. The ministers spread into a crescent when they entered the room. They were old men who knew only their own intelligence, and loved the sounds of their own voices. That the king should be gone, and at this crucial moment, was cause for surreptitious joy. They stood in front of the widow appearing solemn, but their ash eyes darted silently, nervously, like a line of hens pecking around a serpent.
A thin man with a trimmed beard broke through their ranks. He had in his hand a rolled parchment with a dried drop of wax pressed into the seam. He did not introduce himself, but that his hands were slender and long and he had amber skin and eyes that were like round ink wells meant he needed no introduction as to name or purpose. He handed the widow the parchment and put his hand on the dead man ’ s wrist. He made a silent count and left the room, breaking again the ranks of the old men with guts the size of casks.
The widow read the unrolled parchment and said to an embalmer: “ You may prepare his body. ” She wept in consternation, but none of the men in the room attempted to console her. One of the men walked to a west facing window. He asked for a monocular and he stood a long while looking through it. The horizon was rippled like steam lines. There he saw flags and columns of steel pikes and cannon and caissons. He redirected the lens and glassed the verdant plain that separated the near stone rampart from the distant battlements. A lone man on horseback galloped across the space, and in time the lines of men in the distance began to disassemble into the silver glimmer of distance. The man capped the lens and turned and nodded.
Left alone, the bed bearing only the imprint of the body that had laid on it, the widow rose with the parchment in hand. She walked to a drawer and pulled from its contents a leather tome stuffed with papers. She opened it so that she could slip the held parchment into it. There was a line on the final page. Reading it made her feel intoxicated by an abysmal depression: “ I stole your peace so that they might have theirs. ”
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[ WP ] You live in a universe that was n't constructed that well and the physics are buggy and things occasionally just do n't work right .
| `` Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry.'' He was n't the type of guy you wanted to spill your drink on. He easily had 6 inches and 30 pounds on me.
`` What the fuck asshole?!''
`` I'm so sorry dude, I lagged just as the bartender was handing me my..''
`` Fuck you, you little shit!'' He pushed me back hard, and I stumbled into some empty chairs and tables. He charged at me.
`` I'm gon na beat your fu-u-u-fu-u-u...'' Then he was 5 feet behind me, crashing into the wall, knocking down the knickknacks on the wall. I bolted out of there while I had the chance. I ran for 3 blocks until I was sure he was n't following me. Then the cab driver snapped in my face.
`` You lagging or something buddy?''
`` Oh, yeah, sorry about that. How much do I owe you?''
`` 11.25.''
`` Keep the change. And be careful man, it's really bad out there tonight.'' He was motionless and said nothing, so I left the fare on the passenger seat.
`` That's it,'' I mumbled to myself as I walked up the stairs to my apartment, `` I'm staying in from now on whenever it gets this...'' Then I was three steps higher than I was. I fell on my face and slid to the bottom of the stairs.''
`` Fucking lag.''
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[ WP ] Hundreds of years in the future , Humanity is finally abandoning Earth for a more resource-rich planet in another star system . No person will likely ever see our home planet again . Write the thoughts of the `` Last Man on Earth '' before he , too , leaves .
| After a whole moment of wistfulness, he lightly shook his head to snap out of it.
He knew that, if there was a moment to shed a tear, this was it. And, as usual, nothing came.
He gathered himself, took a symbolic deep breath from inside his polyester suit and dropped the plate.
A plate to be read by other beings, maybe in a distant future.
A plate no other human will read.
The ship took off. The heat generated darkened the plate surface.
A plate to sign our presence.
A plate, now, no one will ever read.
**EDIT**: Rephrased the last part.
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[ WP ] A small research laboratory creates a nanovirus that effectively cures aging and disease . One researcher decides to secretly unleash the nanovirus upon the general population .
| Adam, Adam, Adam. The man that ruined life as we know it.
He thought releasing *'Adulescentia Dantis'* into the unsuspecting population of America would be a good idea. So he did it. He gave it to drink brands. Sold it to the more corrupt beauty companies. He sprayed it onto the crowds of Times Square. And it worked at first.
Reports from all over came in.
*Case 209: The rejuvenation of Virginia Clark:
In late August, a woman aged 80 years old came to us, with the complexion of a woman in her early forties. With further investigations, it appeared she had been exposed to high concentrations of the chemical'Adulescentia Dantis'. News of this discovery, though kept private, reached the public. The ensuing demand for more of this substance became overwhelming, and essentially forced mass production for a commercial product. *
It was common in the news by November. By February, people were using it routinely. That's when things started going wrong.
People overdosed and became children by accident. Pregnancies were set back from nine months to one week. People exposed the substance to crops. Fully grown plants became seedlings. America suffered.
In July, America had to start relying on other countries for aid. The nation spiralled into despair. One unexpected discovery in a petri dish became America's downfall.
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[ WP ] An immortal decides to befriend every person who lived , lives , and will ever live .
| “ Hey there buddy, don ’ t be so down. ” It ’ s a giant party in here. He should be happy. “ So what if your painting didn ’ t work out. God never closes a door without opening a window. Listen, you ’ re smart, talented and charismatic. People listen to you. They do. You just tell them what to do and they do it. You are too good for some painting school. You can keep painting on the side if you want. I liked your buildings. Okay? Yeah, okay. Chin up there buddy. ”
I tried not to laugh at him, but he was reminding me of when I was friends with Charlie Chaplin and he was doing his sad man routine. Not that they ’ re the same, it ’ s just they have the same moustache.
“ Look. I know this girl over there, she ’ s super political. I bet you can win her over if you get up on this table and make an impassioned speech. How about it? ” The guy had to do something to get himself out of this funk. He used to be the life of the Party, but now, he ’ s just sitting there. Back in the day he would have no problem getting up in the middle of a biergarden and making a fool of himself. One more drink. Two maybe. Then he ’ ll be better.
That was not exactly what I was expecting. The…yeah, the police are coming. He ’ s getting arrested. Well, there goes that idea. I ’ m not going to be hanging around with this guy again. Yeah, you ’ re welcome buddy. I ’ m glad you feel better. Sure, you can write a book in prison. No, don ’ t name it “ my struggle, ” that sounds like an emo kid ’ s diary. Nobody will buy that.
I wonder what Stalin ’ s up to. How long do you think it would take to get him to east Germany?
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[ WP ] Create a story - in third person - about your motivation to write .
| Tearing the paper apart he screamed silently in frustration. Laziness, addiction, self-doubt -- he had sworn he would leave it all behind. And yet day after day he succumbed to it all once again. He looked up at the olive green walls of the room. `` Your past does not define you'', `` I will succeed in spite of it''. He'd read them all a thousand times before. They were lies. He knew what he wanted to write. A whole world lay in his mind, begging to be made real. The characters pounded against his skull, demanding to be released. Revenge, glory, anger, all at his fingertips. But no. Who was he fooling. There was nothing there.
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[ WP ] Your close buddy and co-worker has been.. `` glitching '' , and flickering in and out of existence for almost the entire day at work . You seem to be the only one to notice .
| “ Are you -- “ His voice cuts out. “ -- he meeting? ”
I look to Koshel to see if he noticed but he ’ s still facing his screen and pretending to work. The Chrome tab under his output screen shows the Yahoo! Logo and I ’ m fairly sure he ’ s spent all morning reading Yahoo! News. It ’ s not anything new. And I know that, come meeting time, he ’ ll tell me about everything he ’ s just read. And I ’ m sure it will be terribly fascinating.
“ Yeah, ” I reply.
It ’ s been an hour and a half since I got to the office, said hello to Mike, and sat down. Even though I manage to get in at 6:45 every morning, Mike always shows up before me. Not one day in the year I ’ ve worked here - actually, exactly one year today - have I managed to beat him into the office. This day was no different. Aside from his occasional phasing in and out of existence. Image flickering. Disappearing and reappearing in a semi-disassembled state before becoming Mike once again.
This is different.
Something that I like about Mike, arguably one of the reasons he was my first office friend, is that he doesn ’ t have much to say. It ’ s an easy relationship. We go to meetings, leave, and sit down. He makes a little comment, I reply, and then we get to work. Everything he says seems more important and I ’ m not sure if that ’ s due to the content of the verbal exchange or because of how infrequently he speaks. Either way, he ’ s just the kind of person you ’ re compelled to listen to. Not like Koshel. Koshel who says everything on his mind whether I care about it or not. Koshel who dictates week old news to us on the way to every meeting.
“ Koshel, ” I call out as Mike and I slowly move toward the conference room. “ Meeting time. ”
He gets up and follows, immediately playing his role with practiced grace and telling me about some Middle Eastern tragedy. Oh, the children. How they suffer. Oh, the lives of the less fortunate. Koshel is Jesus with his bleeding heart and capacity for love. Mike just listens and flickers and walks. Through his dense cloud of verbal pollution, Koshel still doesn ’ t notice.
Once we are seated, after a fabulous display of Mike ’ s new found, seemingly invisible gift where he nearly sat down before flickering out and teleporting back a foot, moving to take his seat once again, Chris and the new hire show up. Jon, is his name. The new hire. I like him, which is different for me. Chris is fine and my boss, Matt, is nice enough, but Jon and I get along well.
I ’ ve had social anxiety since I was young so I can ’ t say I ’ ve ever had an easy time making friends. I know that it ’ s normal to feel nervous in new situation and my therapist says the fact that I think so much about, what could be, a fairly standard level of anxiety contributes to the problem. Whether it ’ s in my head or I ’ m just more awkward than most people, I always have trouble in new social settings. First day of school, even if it ’ s the same school with the same people. First day of camp. First day of anything. Work was no exception. Mike was so kind to me on my first day that it compelled me to assume the role of friendly and experienced co-worker when Jon started at the beginning of the week.
I noticed that he had a Star Trek tattoo and we talked about the many series and debated about which was better. Then we talked about movies until the end of lunch hour. Mike didn ’ t show up for lunch so I didn ’ t get to introduce them. Sometimes he works over lunch because that ’ s just the type of guy he is.
The meeting ends quickly for once and we return to our desks. Mike laughs softly and shakes his head as he listens to Koshel carry on, giving me sympathetic looks as we break off into our desk clusters. Koshel sits next to me at his messy desk before opening his Yahoo! News and Mike makes his way to the next cluster. Lucky him.
“ See -- u at the -- rty, ” he says, flickering back to his desk.
Again, I look to Koshel and then over to Steve, who doesn ’ t go to meetings with us, but they don ’ t seem to notice.
I ’ m excited for the party. Not because I enjoy being the centre of such attention, I don ’ t, but because I ’ d get to talk to Jon and introduce him to Mike. The party is to celebrate my year on the team. One long year of listening to Koshel ’ s nonsense, Mike ’ s insights, and troubleshooting senseless coding errors far beyond what my education had prepared me for. Though, honestly, I think the party just an excuse to have cake and take a bit more than the standard lunch hour.
After a few hours of Koshel ’ s important news followed by him asking me questions that were covered in the morning meeting, it ’ s lunch time. Behind us, in the adjacent desk cluster, Mike is flickering with a passion.
“ I ’ ll meet you there, ” I tell Koshel, hoping he ’ ll take that as a polite invitation to leave.
He does and I walk over to Mike.
“ You okay? ” I ask.
“ Y --, I -- w -- ant -- ack --, ” he replies.
“ What? ”
“ I -- - ack -- - throom -- -ok? ” He says.
Then he gets up and walks away in the direction of the bathrooms. Every few seconds he flashes back a step or left a step or right a step before reappearing wherever any logical person appealing to the laws of physics would have ended up.
“ Happy one year! ” Exclaims Sharon.
She is the HR person who hired me. I thought our interview went poorly but she said I seemed talented and full of potential. As I enter the lunchroom with her, I notice Jon and Steve standing next to one another, looking helpless as Koshel talks to them. Koshel doesn ’ t notice that I ’ m here. In hopes of saving them and getting away from Karen, who makes me uncomfortable, I walk over to them.
We talk for a while before Sharon starts to make some speech, waving the cake knife around as she talks. Her eyebrows lift up so high on her forehead and her eyes open so wide that I worry her eyeballs will pop from her skull. It takes her too long to state that she ’ s happy to have hired me and the company appreciates my work but eventually she wraps up and cuts the cake.
“ Hey, Steve, Koshel. ” I walk over to them with a plastic plate of cake in my hand. “ Have you seen Mike? I wanted to introduce him to Jon. ”
Steve furrows his brows and frowns the same way he does when something on his screen is perplexing and, for once, Koshel doesn ’ t have anything to say.
“ Uh, who ’ s Mike? ” Steve asks.
Koshel shrugs.
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[ WP ] They say everyone who looks into their family history will find a secret sooner or later . This is our family secret .
| `` Put that down, Margaret.''
My mother's voice froze me mid-grab. A bouquet of stringy, sour candies flopped back onto the shelf, sugar specks glinting under the cold store lights. I twisted my mouth into a pout, an expression which only intensified when I looked back up at her.
She paid no attention to me.
I took in the aisles of the supermarket, the other shoppers, who pretended to be minding their own business when their ears were tuned to gossip. My lips parted and—
`` Stop that right now,'' she said, tone perfectly calibrated to a reasonable amount of clip. It was a voice that she wielded to dispel any beginnings of a scene, and yet still sharp enough to warn me of the potential repercussions.
Head bowed, I scurried back to her side. She pushed the shopping cart idly along with a single gloved hand, while the other clutched a scrap of paper that she squinted at, thick eyelashes fluttering at the effort.
My mother was something out of a portrait. I knew because everyone gushed to her and her parents, my grandparents, that she'd just stepped out of one of those old gilded paintings to grace them with her breathtaking beauty. With high cheekbones, wispy-blond hair and eyelashes—'' Kissed by an angel!'' grandma would proclaim proudly—and a willowy figure, she predictably took up a modelling job when she left school. Her career flew, and flew her to places out of reach for a kid like me, which she would lovingly, with the sweetest tinge of nostalgia in her voice, point out to me in photos she kept immaculately immortalised in a hefty leather-bound album. She stopped modelling right at the height of her fame to marry my father, living out her days as a housewife in a lush gated community, in plush suburbia.
Her features morphed, in my mind, when I peeked into the bathroom once out of sheer curiosity. As I leaned against the turned door knob, her face came into view in the reflection. Her features were odd, as if she were thinking very deeply without wrinkling her forehead. I edged forward a step, and glimpsed her mid-ritual — a slim needle thrust deep into her temple. I shrank back, hands flying off the door like I'd been burnt.
We rounded the aisle, and I spotted something else.
`` How about this?'' I skipped ahead and held a corner of the Golden Retriever-emblazoned packaging, aligning my beaming face next to it. `` We must get this for—''
My mother skipped the aisle, and that was that.
After dinner I fetched the plates back into the kitchen, heaving the porcelain pile into the sink with a grunt.
`` Would you mind taking this down?'' My mother was standing next to the counter, cutting up the leftover chicken into a metal bowl.
I did n't mind at all. Bowl in hand, I padded down the stairs into the basement. When my foot touched concrete, I reached out and tugged at the lights. A single incandescent bulb flickered on, just as I sensed a movement out of the corner of my eye.
I tapped at the bowl, coaxing it gently towards a pair of glittering eyes in the darkness.
Blinking rapidly, the eyes darted from side to side for a trick, for something unpleasant.
I set the bowl right under the light bulb, which swung gently from an invisible breeze. I backed myself to the bottom of the stairs and waited.
After a moment or two a limb appeared, outstretched and crusted with dirt, reaching for the food. It scampered briefly into the light, and back into darkness again with a rough clatter of the bowl — enough to catch a glimpse of a crouched boyish figure with dark skin and too-wild eyes.
-- -- -
I need n't tell you anything, really. My mother, oh, my sweet, lovely mother, with her fiercely-kept beauty, could never claim ownership over something so... feral.
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[ WP ] Thousands of years ago , wars were fought with magic . With time , the incantations grew longer , grander , and more powerful , but as such required more and more time to cast . A man realizes this time could be exploited , and invents the first sword .
| `` Mercy, mercy!'' begged Ulfbert as he clutched his neck, which was bleeding profusely, but not fatally. He had been struck with a horribly violent touch spell which had nearly missed its intended purpose of killing him.
`` Please, I beg of you, you wo n't benefit from my soul, i can barely light my own way in the dark!''
The cloaked figure approached, muttering under his breath, spinning a thread of flame with his left hand, while weaving it into an intricate knot with his right.
Bright lights were flashing all around the two, as battle magi clashed all throughout the forest. The peaceful silence of the landscape had been replaced by the shouting of incantations; some, short bursts of energy, some, long, poetic verses ending with massive waves of force. The cloaked figure drew closer, eyes ablaze with some chaotic resonance, which made it hard for Ulfbert to come to peace.
``... R'aaket Vash't Thekt Silvat...'' The figure, which now towered over Ulfbert, chanting his chaotic verse, knelt beside his weakened body as he prepared to reap his soul. Then Ulfbert noticed something.
`` Those are Eastern verses, are n't they? Please, no, I have done no wrong in my life, please, do n't subject my soul to this torture!''
Ullfbert's words fell on deaf ears as the knot of flame in the mans hand almost reached completion. Ulfbert thought fast, knowing failure to act would mean the end of his life and the torment of his soul. His short incantations seemed to not phase his foe, nor did his pleading, what options were there left?
`` What's this?'' thought Ulfbert as he felt his free hand brush against something rough. He glanced up to see what his wandering hand had found, only to be disappointed to see he had only found a stick. A stick with a sharp end from when it had been ripped from the tree he attempted to take cover behind.
All of a sudden, Ulfbert's hand clutched the stick, as if possessed by the spirits of old, and brought it around, towards his foe, with as much power as he could muster. There was a loud `` CRACK,'' and the light in the cloaked mans hand extinguished, as did the knot of flame in his hand. Ulfbert looked up to see the man waiver back and forth for a few seconds before falling to the ground.
Ulfbert whispered `` enlighten me, so I may see,'' and the tips of his fingers began to glow. He held his hands over the body of the man, and his now apparent Eastern garb, up until he saw his head. There was a large dent right behind the mans ear, seeping blood down into his formidable beard, and onto the ground. Ulfbert tried desperately to remember what he might have been saying that may have caused this destruction upon this man, but nothing came of it. He looked at the stick in his hand, and noticed it smeared with blood on the sharp end. Standing up, clutching his neck again, Ulfbert studied the stick as he trudged back to the gate stone, until he had a realization, and began running as fast as his body would take him, ignoring the searing pain still ripping through his neck.
Ulfbert was stopped at the edge of the forest by the Grand Sage himself, come to assist in the defense of their kingdom. ``
`` You there, coward, why do you run from battle?!''
`` Sir, I have something here...''
`` What, a stick, you've left the field of battle to parade with a stick, fool?''
Ulfbert held up the stick for inspection, which was quickly snatched by the Grand Sage, who, upon noticing the blood, inquired upon it's origin.
`` There was a very large man, chanting a very long verse, sir, and he spun a knot of which I have never seen. His garments were ornate, and...''
The Grand Sage stopped him.
`` Is this man dead?''
`` Yes sir.''
`` Killed with this stick?''
`` Yes sir.''
`` Were his eyes aflame with chaotic fire?''
Ulfbert froze. `` Y-yes sir, how did you know?''
There was a moment of silence, only interrupted by the popping of energy off in the distance. The Grand Sage turned to his accompanying Sage Guard.
`` Take this man to the Nexus, have his actions replicated. And gather all the metal you can, and contact the smiths.''
`` Sir, how did you know about that man?'' Ulfbert inquired.
`` That was no man...'' The Grand Sage replied gravely, `` You just killed an immortal God.''
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[ WP ] Year 2020 . A Syrian freedom fighter finds a supply drop with food , ammunition and an AK-47 in it - and a strange device . Upon closer inspection , the device seems to keep track of all upcoming terrorist attacks .
| Cals breath grew more distant with every extra pace he was forced to take. The sultry mid day sun seared his exposed flesh as he moved across the sand without his feets usual demur.
In the distance the rhythmic beating heart of the war bellowed with inconsistency indicative of a problem that undermined the stability of a region. The remains of civilisation lay lie like ancient ruins waiting upon archaeologists for validation.
Cal was part of a lineage of inveterate mercenary revolutionaries genetically adapted for the purpose of change. From the overthrow of monarchies to the execution of dictators his family was almost always present, armed and defiant.
He was born in Libya, raised in Syria by English expatriates born in Argentina. When the Syrian civil war was in its natal stages he swore allegiance to the secular and relatively unknown AAA organisation, a decentralised destabilisation of the regime community linked by anonymity, united by chaos and separated by borders.
AAA stood for Anti-Assad Alliance and it's members ranged from dissidents to exiled residents. The only objective was a full disintegration of the present military structure through erratic activities and unpredictability.
In the nine years since the war had begun, AAA had inflicted catastrophic and irreparable damage to the military elements though the positive repercussions were just ephemeral effects. Evil replaced the place where evil left.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
As Cal slowed to a staggering halt he could barely afford a small shimmer in the corner of his obfuscated eye caught his dying attention.
It was a parachute attached to a cream coloured covered pallet hurtling down to his immediate right.
*Thud*
The pallet impacted the ground and it's contents violently dispersed, chasing the wooden fragments chosen flight path.
Two pieces flew past Cals head as he ducked, eyes to the sky looking for the aircraft that was n't in sight.
Cal wiped his brow and he clambered over to the remains. A powdered stain of rations and shattered cans lay scattered around the pallets contorted frame wrapped around the remains of a Kalashnikov pattern rifle, grotesquely bent into a post modernist art piece.
Part of him was infuriated, he had n't eaten in three days and part of him was curious. Who was this intended for?
Cal wolfed down what powdered ration remains he could as he cleared the wreckage further. A amber coloured block of presumably metal under a few hundred torn cartridges caught his attention.
Cal forgo the rations and thoroughly inspected the block. There was no screen, a fair few cosmetic imperfections and two recessed buttons. Bewildered, he engaged the buttons and a roll of caramel coloured paper ejected from one of the cosmetic imperfections.
Listed was a schedule of future international terrorist attacks on civilian targets with probability charts imprinted on the side and partys responsible inscribed on the bottom.
All of them said AAA, and all the perpetrators were linked to a single individual:
*Cal*
|
[ FF ] A story that almost makes sense but does n't quite make sense
| `` Ten dollars each.''
George eyed the display case. `` What do you think, Harry?''
Harriet made an uncommittal noise like that of a slowly deflating clown.
`` Great!'' Said George. He slapping a fifty on the table and scooped the handful of florescent beetles into his hand. The little critters crawled between his fingers, frantically waving their hair thin antennae at him, each other, nothing at all really.
Did they know what was coming? Harriet sure did. George would drag her by the sleeve through the market, bumping into this or that stall while fascinated by his shining green hand the whole time. He would eventually stumble his way to some grimy bench that smelled vaguely of spilled beer and old people, and he would ask Harriet to tell him a story.
`` What was it like on the coast, Harry?''
And Harriet would brush him off, reminding him once again how much she disliked him calling her that.
`` Yeah, yeah.'' His teeth would already be stained by the juices of the first glowbug. `` C'mon. Tell me about the coast.''
`` Well,'' she would start, `` the sky was different then, you know? Not blue like now. And there was fish everywhere. So much of it that people strapped jets to the back of their ships just so they could crest the waves and catch a haul of the good stuff.''
George would giggle a little. `` Woosh!'' he would make a motion with his hand, up and down, and drop another glow bug into his mouth.
`` So the fishermen came, and with them the factories, and the shops, and people who did n't just go out on the boats but wanted to work in the factories or sell stuff in the shops. Oh and also the birds. Day and night. It's like they never slept.''
`` Sounds noisy!'' George would make his goofy cawing noises, his whole mouth aglow. `` You want one? These are so good...''
Harriet would slap his hand away. `` Maybe later,'' she would always say.
`` Anyway, it was like that for years. My folks grew up in a fishing town. By the time I was born, it was at least twice as big as this place. It was good.''
And with that George would suddenly sit up straight, like a drunk man realizing for the first time that he was already well on his way to being hammered.
`` Then what happened?'' He would say with exaggerated care.
`` The White Pearl happened. Well, not so much the ship itself as the stuff they used to clean up the spill. Something in the chemicals they pumped out there to soak up the oil also choked the water. Nothing grows in there but algae now. That's what turned the sky blue.''
`` That's too sad,'' George would say. `` Too sad.''
He would press the last glowbug into her palm, a token for what was lost. And Harriet would smile, and put the bug to his lips, and say again, `` No no, you have it.''
`` You the besht, Harr.'' George slurred with the bug between his teeth. He rolled it around his tongue, savoring the melancholy this being the last.
He bit.
Harriet felt the pressure against herself. She heard the sound that was n't quite a sound, that sublime music of *aroundness* that touched every part of her being.
The carapace gave way. It felt good to be small again.
|
[ TT ] The Dragon and the Dwarven Princess
| Dragons are, as a general rule, arrogant, aggressive, avaricious, and autonomous. They hide upon mountain peaks, soar the skies, amass wealth they will never spend, and destroy economies for fun.
Dwarves are, as a general rule, tenacious, tough, tense, and team players. They delve deep under the mountains, stay in their caves, make wealth to spend and use, and build economies for fun.
It made little sense to any present, then, that the dragon they'd found was ridden by the dwarven princess.
**'' Is there something the matter? `` ** boomed the dragon, bringing its snout down to confront the interlopers.
`` No, no, nothing at all,'' Knight Olaf replied, putting his hands up, leaving his sword in its scabbard.
**'' Then what are you looking at? `` ** the dragon asked. It did n't sound angry, Alain thought, but it certainly was n't amused. Strange. A dragon traveling *with* a dwarf, and a dwarf traveling *alone* with a dragon.
`` Nothing,'' Olaf insisted, backing away slowly. `` Just, you know, making our way, me and my entourage. We'll be out of your way. Right?'' Olaf glanced back at his entourage, most of which began to nod. Alain rolled her eyes. Cowards.
**'' Very well then,'' ** the dragon snorted, lifting its head and stomping off the road. The princess on its back gave Olaf an imperious stare as he began to pass, followed by his squires and the horses. In fact she gave everyone who passed the same stare, as though commanding them to pass by with her eyes. **'' Go on,'' ** the dragon insisted, tilting its enormous head at a squire who dared to slow and look. He squeaked in terror and jogged ahead, pulling on the reigns of his horse and scaring it too. Disaster did n't follow, by some miracle.
Alain waited until the entourage had, by and large, passed on. As she passed the dragon, however, she stopped and turned to face it. `` My knight may have'forgotten' our mission, but I have not,'' Alain announced to the dragon.
The dragon brought its head low and snorted in Alain's face, blowing the hood of her robe off her head. **'' Do tell,'' ** it growled. Ahead, the squires pushed on and Olaf began to yell back, trying to find a suitable excuse for what Alain was doing.
`` Princess Zan, your father the King requires you to return home,'' Alain announced, staring past the dragon and up to the princess. The princess' glare faltered for a moment, but like proper royalty she continued to stare back.
`` No, no!'' Olaf yelled, `` Pay her no mind! She jests, it's all just -''
The dragon extended a clawed foot towards Olaf and he froze in place. **'' No, this matter is between us and this... *apprentice*,'' ** the dragon rumbled. **'' Tell me more, apprentice. For what cause is she summoned? Since when do the mages pay debts to the dwarves? `` **
`` No debt, just a service for a friend of a friend,'' Alain replied calmly. `` The King is ill, and he needs his heir. Politics, I assume; I did n't ask, I was simply told to retrieve her.'' Those words pulled the situation taught; the dragon snorted, and Alain tightened her grip on her staff.
**'' Perhaps you should ask politely, *apprentice*,'' ** the dragon suggested, new venom in its voice.
Alain felt the heat of its breath, but she stood firm. `` Zan, I ask that you kindly dismount and follow us to the Mountains,'' Alain called up.
Zan's answer was simple. `` No.''
Alain sighed. `` You should tell your father yourself.''
`` Take the message to him, apprentice,'' Zan commanded.
Alain sighed again. `` I'm no postboy. I have my instructions.''
**'' Then carry them out if you dare,'' ** the dragon threatened, baring its teeth. Each tooth was the size of Alain's arm; its mouth resembled a crocodile's, though the teeth were straight and clean. Alain was not intimidated.
With a simple thrust, Alain dug her staff into the dirt road, seized her robe, and pulled it off over her head. The dragon flinched back at once; dressed down to a shirt and trousers, Alain's tattoos were visible, and their glow more so. She gathered her strength, lifted herself a few inches from the ground, and hovered there, eye to eye with a dragon. `` I can still ask politely,'' she suggested quietly.
More guarded now, the dragon tilted its head and inspected Alain. **'' I know you. The warlocks spoke of you. `` ** Zan no longer looked so imperious; the dragon had faltered, and now she was unsure.
`` As well they should have.'' Alain cracked her knuckles. `` So are we all going that way?''
**'' If you wish to take her, I can not stop you,'' ** the dragon sighed, bowing. **'' Do as you must. `` **
`` No! Why are you allowing this?'' Princess Zan cried, smacking at the dragon's scales to get its attention. `` We were to be free together! You promised me!''
**'' I will not risk your life fighting a battle I can not win,'' ** the dragon replied.
`` No! No more politics, no more caves, no more economics, no more - no more of any of that! I already ran away, I wo n't go back! You ca n't show me freedom and then let it be taken away! And - besides - where will you go? Who will protect you?''
**'' Who will protect *you*? `` ** the dragon shot back. That shut her up. **'' I will hide as I always have. None shall find me, and in that I will find safety. You, I worry for. The life of a dwarven princess is far more dangerous than the life of a hunted dragon. At least I can hide. `` **
`` I do n't care about the dwarven courts, and I do n't care about the extermination orders,'' Alain cut in. She touched back down, grabbed her robe from the dust, and pulled it back on. `` I care about one thing and one thing only, and that is getting Zan where she belongs. If you go with her, I do n't care.''
`` My father would have him exterminated no matter your attitude,'' Zan cried, apparently referring to her dragon. `` We were to be free!''
`` Then I guess he's my dragon until you're done there,'' Alain replied, turning to walk. `` The dwarves know better than to touch something of mine. Quit making a fuss.'' She took a few steps, noted the dragon was not following, and paused. `` I'm waiting.''
**'' You would stick out your neck for a dragon in the midst of the Mountains? `` ** the dragon asked. It fell into step behind her, and Alain walked ahead of it. The knight and his entourage were practically out of sight around the next bend in the road.
`` If it makes this faster? Yes. Besides, imagine the look on the King's face when his daughter rides in on a dragon.'' Alain smiled to herself, pulling her hood up. `` That'd be worth it on its own.''
|
[ IP ] [ OC ] An amethyst dragon and swords woman with identical scars over their eyes loom into view .
| Is n't that quite the sight? Who still lived here? Those two. In a sacked city, nonetheless.
The city was completely empty when I had entered. The women had been carried off, the men killed and the children thrown off the walls. I walked past the rotting child carcasses as I walked through the gate, so there was no doubt about that. The ones who still had faces, their faces seemed to be stuck in strange grins. That was n't the worst, though... The stench was the worst. The unbearable stench... nonetheless I pressed through. It became night and I needed to find a shelter. This was the only place where I could rest.
I wandered through the maze of the streets. It almost seemed like a labyrinth without an exit, but I was determined not to get lost forever. I wandered and wandered. Plenty of places to sleep, but I was hoping there was someone else in the city. A living soul to share the night with. It seemed like a vain quest, but companionship was better than nothing. And so I walked through the ruins. There was little order nowadays in this city, or anything good. Ruin had ridden through this city, blazing its horn to announce its arrival. I saw something in the distance.
Was that perhaps Ruin himself resting in the distance, triumphantly gazing over his works? I approached a small fire on a square near the center of the city. Statues, of gods and heroes, lined up along the streets and the edges of the square, watched each of my steps forward, with cold, judgeful gazes. Their eyes seemed sad though, as if they had wept. Who could blame them for that? They were forever doomed to stay in a ruin of a city they had once lived in, fought for, killed for.
No, it was not Ruin. Perhaps it was its incarnation, then. I saw, in the far distance, a dragon with purple scales, with fiery eyes, surrounding a woman with red hair, cold eyes and a blade. She had a glint in her eye, almost like a tear. A dragon with his warrior maiden, only this time it was n't in a cave, as
I approached them, without caution. I was too tired to fear them and all I desired was rest. They noticed me and looked somewhat surprised at my fearless smile as I walked towards them. The woman stood up and drew her sword, but I did not cease my walk forward. Rather, I approached them and sat down at the fire, without speaking a word. The two stared at me, and I stared back. The woman sat back down again.
The woman.. as I looked at her red hair, it seemed almost as if it was reddened by blood. I looked down to see if her sheath had blood on it, but I did not see any. I looked up at her face again, and I was struck by the scars. Almost as if she'd been crying blood. But the scars also went above her eyes. Same with the dragon. Crying blood in a city of the dead, it certainly had a poetic character.
''How'd you get those scars?'' I asked. She smiled with sadness in response, enigmatically. But the eyes.. I looked at them again. It were the same eyes I had seen in the statues. And I then I knew what she was.
''Too late?'' I asked.
''No. Too many.''
''And what now?''
''I do n't know.'' she said. The silence between us remained. Rain started falling. The fire went out, but she and the dragon, they did not shiver one bit. I pulled my cloak closer to myself and rubbed my hands together for warmth.
''A dragon and his maiden could n't save a city?'' I asked. It felt strange, reminding a goddess so of her failure. I felt like I deserved to be burned to ashes by dragonfire.
''A dragon and her sister.'' she said without emotion. Her eyes were now completely fixed on me. Hatred burned in her eyes, even though her voice had been so emotionless, at being reminded of her failure, but she did not destroy me. Why? I did n't know.. but one more push and it would be the last one, I felt. Then I pondered on her words. Sister? How could a creature who seemed to be a human have a dragon for a sister? I shook my head. The gods had strange sons and daughters.
In the ruins of a burned city we sat, while more and more rain started falling. Darkness started falling. Ruin had won in this city.
''Seven years. I watched and fought hundreds of years for this city, and in seven years it is all destroyed.'' she suddenly said, her voice nearly cracking.''I came down from the heavens, my sister awoke from her slumber underneath, and still we could not win. Gods, demi-gods, men, they all stood against us. We fought in the rivers, in the skies, in the hills, on the plains and in the mountains, but their march was relentless. And the siege, and the annihilation... A thousand times we went undefeated, and one defeat is all it takes to bring it all down. One defeat...'' The skies darkened. The dragon's eyes seemed to brighten the entire square. The rain and wind grew colder as she spoke, with increasing rage.
''ONE DEFEAT!'' she roared, standing up, and the earth shook. The buildings shook as well and all of them around the square seemed to collapse. The statues fell down and cracked, or shattered. I thought I heard cries, but from whom, I did not know.
I did not know what to say to that. I shivered and I waited for the rage to subside. The earth stopped shaking and she sat down again. The glint in her eye seemed so much more like a tear now.
''Why do you stay?'' I finally asked her, after a long silence.
''I do n't want to forget them.. my companions, my friends, my family... the kings that ruled, the soldiers that fought, the people that lived here, I know all of them by their name. I do n't want to leave and eventually forget my home, their names, their history.'' she said.
''But you will rot then.''
''Then I will rot.''
I pressed on. She could destroy me within a second if she wanted to, but I felt the need to speak.
''You will gain nothing. You will be wasted. The dead do not care whether you stay or not. They rest, for eternity, while others will suffer the same fate. A thousand and one cities will be burned in the centuries to come. A thousand and one cities you could save, you could help.'' I said. I saw the doubt in the eye of the one who knew much more than me and who was far more powerful. The dragon observed me with curiosity. My voice swelled.
''The names, you will forget one by one, no matter how hard you try to remember, as the ages pass. The city will fall apart around you, until nothing remains.. the memories will fade and in the end, you will fall into eternal despair, becoming nothing but a wandering shade, if you stay. You can not keep the past intact forever. You can not stay in the past, or try to ignore the present.'' I said.
She did n't reply, but she looked at the heavens, for the first time.
Then she nodded and stood up. I looked in her eyes again, but I saw nothing. No gratitude, no sadness, no hate. But she gave me a strange smile. She turned around and walked away, into the ruins. Not further into the destroyed city of the dead, but to the gate. The exit. The dragon followed her.
And I remained in the necropolis, resting.
Next morning, I left as well.
|
[ WP ] `` When the sun sets the monsters come out . Giggling and smiling as they playfully roam the forest ''
| 'Monsters'.
That's what they called us, monsters.
'Freaks'.
'Disgusting'.
'Abominations'.
The bulleted list of slanders and insults stretched from head to toe within our minds, imprinted as a tattoo on our consciousness. We... we were monsters.
They could n't bear the sight of us, they would n't even speak to us. But from behind our backs and out of sight we could still hear them chatter.
The days were painful reminders of who we were and who we are, sunlight casting shadows in which we were forced to stay.
But come everyday the sun would leave and our lives would begin again, where we were free to roam. We laughed, we smiled, we talked for ages, and despite who and what we were...
We fell in love.
Underneath distant stars and planets, moons and whole galaxies waiting to be discovered, we found our quiet little solace. We found a tiny piece of moon-lit paradise, where creatures of our own dreams could rise and dance along with us.
But all good things must end, and the next day the sun would waken, thrusting us back into a world in which our very existence was criticized.
But I suppose it ca n't be helped.
I hope they're happy. Those perfect people with their perfect lives, and their perfect family's in their perfect homes. At least, it all looks perfect.
But this will do for now.
|
[ WP ] A hobby turned into obsession - a story of passion that overwhelms the soul
| Sonnet Number Seventy-Five
You ask me `` What is your obsession Sue?''
Well, I'll answer, I happen to like horses.
My hobby-horse is horses through and through.
This craze has led to all of my divorces.
I love their prancing, swoon for galloping
Will creep through meadows just to catch a glimpse,
Surprise a farmer with me frolicking
Be escorted off the farmer's premises.
They call me the Crazy Horse Lady Sue
Because I've fallen for four legged mammals.
But I just do n't know whatever to do
Whenever it is that my brain recalls
Those beautiful bodies, shiny hair
And wonderful grace beyond compare.
|
[ CW ] In honor of the now ending leap year , write a story with exactly 366 words .
| `` I do n't know man.'' I told Janice. `` This does n't seem safe.''
`` Dude, it so is. Come on! It'll be great!'' She giggled and tugged me along towards the nature made platform attached to the side of a cliff with no balustrade.
I nearly blanched but swallowed the lump in my throat and reluctantly followed her.
Below us... was a death trap. But above us. I had to admit that the view was beautiful.
My expression must have given it away because she beamed at me and smugly said: `` I told you!''
`` It's breath taking.'' I conceded, my fear of heights and general concern of safety dripping off of me. `` Let's take a picture.''
She pouts and sulked. `` Oh come on! Stop using your device and _live_ in the moment!''
I rolled my eyes and took out my brand new phone. 13 MP baby. `` Well, some people, like _me_, happen to enjoy revisiting this moment by having something to remember it by other than the memory.''
`` Oh alright, alright.''
She had a death grip on my left arm and pulled me close to her. `` Okay! Say Cheese!''
I laughed. `` I was thinking more of the sky than us, but alright.'' Placing the phone an arm's reach away, I grinned and did the peace sign with Janice as we both leaned back a bit and looked up to show the view of the sky and the ocean beneath us... and the death trap.
My heart pounded. I slipped.
`` Stella!'' Janice screamed.
I could see everything, it flashed.
Scenes of the past weighed down on me.
Fingers gripped my wrist and I breathed.
`` Do n't let go.'' I whispered fearfully, not even cracking a smile at the reference that could be made from it. `` Call the rest.''
`` I-I ca n't, I might lose my focus and let you go...'' She bit her lip. `` Y-Your phone! It's still in your hand! Call Di!''
I blinked. Oh. Right. I looked down at my phone and exited the camera. Instead, I viewed the picture. It was blurry. All for a picture that failed.
I tapped the emergency button.
We waited. A minute stretched into eternity.
Sweat accumulated.
Help arrived.
`` Never again.'' We both uttered.
|
[ WP ] Aliens that can not be killed by modern weapons invade earth . How does humanity fare against this force ? ( Details inside )
| They came down and just settled right in, like it was no big deal. There were no battles, no debates, no meeting of any leaders, and there's been no problem thus far. There has been no famine nor injustice, no war crimes committed, and no more destruction. In fact, most inhabitants of the green planet seem unaware of any recent change, while the rest seem to be having a much better time since the update. After ten years, a rebound in arctic ice coverage, the revival of rock n roll, the recovery of the African black rhino and a new way to render moth milk as cheese, we can conclude that the implementation of Homo Sapien v.2.0 was a success.
|
[ WP ] An angel is dispatched from Heaven at the same time as a demon from Hell to claim the last eligible soul on Earth after the Apocalypse . Outside this survivor 's shelter , they meet and realize they recognize one another .
| Ok, This is my first short since high school, so I am very rusty with the spelling and the grammar, but here it goes:
As the Angel descended to earth, he passed through clouds thick with dust and ash, rank with decay. Below he could see a large sprawling city. A testament to the achievements of man, now empty and lifeless as Armageddon dropped it's final curtain. One soul left to come Home.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the flash of `` blacklight'' from Hell between two building. No, this was n't going to be easy was it? The last human soul will finally bring an end to 1000 years of war. 1000 year of suffering. The last human soul that will bring down final judgment on the denizens of Hell.
As he approached his destination, he wondered who his opponent would be. Surely Lucifer would be sending his strongest warrior to collect this soul. He understands the importance of this soul. What it will mean for him if brought to Heaven. He knows he has to have it.
His boots make a soft scraping sound as he touches down and begins to walk towards the building. The building seemingly as empty as the rest, but almost seemed to stand out as well, as if beaming with pride of it's sole occupant.
Far off to the right he sees his opponent approaching. He tries to hide his surprise as he recognizes Curiel. How many millennia have passed since his fall? Far too many to count. It was one of the saddest days in his existence. His brother, friend, companion... turned his back on God and Heaven, preferring to follow Lucifer in his uprising.
Honestly, it was all pretty stupid. Lucifer had been tasked with processing the newly departed before they entered Heaven. At first, it was fairly easy. But as the earth's population grew, so did the number of souls needing processing. It had to be stressful. Maybe Lucifer snapped under the strain, maybe it was his ego growing to big after billions of souls mistake him for our Lord when they first cross over. Either way, he rebelled, saying he could do a better job. He was very persuasive in his case, but the Angel knew he was wrong. Why did n't Curiel see that? Even after all this time, it still breaks his heart.
`` Michael? Thought it was you. Still working for the Tyrant?'' A slight hiss in the demon's voice.
`` Shut your mouth, Curiel. You never did see the Truth very clearly.''
`` Truth?'' the demon asked in mock surprise, `` there are many versions of Truth, my friend. That's something you could never see.''
`` Not this again...'', Michael began.
`` Why is it so hard to believe? You actually see it ALL THE TIME! We were not then, not now, and never will be free to make our own choices. Free will is a MYTH! We were created to serve, nothing more.''
“ If free will is a Myth, then you are saying that you did n't choose to follow Lucifer, and Lucifer rebelling was all part of His plan? Hell has made you delusional, Curiel.'' Michael countered.
`` That is exactly what I am saying!''
`` Well, if there is no free will, then you will have no problem stepping aside and letting me take this soul home, since you know that will be the end result either way.''
`` I said we were made to serve. I am here to fight for that soul, doing as I was told to do. You know what is at stake.''
`` You just contradicted yourself. If there is no free will, and this is all part of His grand plan, then you have no chance in winning. This is it, the end of all things, and the elevation of Heaven.''
`` Only if you defeat me. And how do you know that this is not part of His plan? What if that soul is supposed to go to Hell as part of His grand design? Neither of us can fathom why He would allow such a thing, but we are also not equipped to understand all that He does.''
`` That's the most logical thing you have ever said, even if it is completely absurd. If the soul was supposed to go to Hell, why send me to retrieve it?'' Michael, getting slightly annoyed at this point. `` I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work.''
Curiel's eyebrows raised almost to his horns, `` what do you mean? Wait… you do n't think I am trying to convert you to Lucifer's side, do you? No, sorry my friend. That ship sailed long ago. You made your choice abundantly clear when you sent me over the side.''
`` You know I had no choice in the matter.''
`` Exactly.''
`` So'', Michael growing a little impatient, `` are we going to fight now?''
`` If that is what you want. Or we can sit here and talk some more. I find your blind devotion even more fascinating now than I did back then.''
`` When the Creator of All tells you to do something, you do n't hesitate, you do n't question, you simply do.'' Michael's agitation is growing by the second.
`` And What if He is not the Creator of All?''
`` BLASPHEMY!!''
`` But how do you know? It's because He told you. You have no other way of knowing anything beyond what He shows you. What if there is something more?
Michael stands silent, his hands balled into tight fists trembling at his sides.
`` What if I could show you?''
|
[ WP ] `` I was only there 4 seconds ! There 's no way I changed history this much ! ''
| `` I was only there 4 seconds! There's no way I changed history this much!''
`` No, you imbecile! Cause and effect, do n't you see? You were there for four seconds. Then you leave, and you had been there for four seconds. A minute later, you had been there sixty seconds ago! An hour later, 3,600 seconds ago you were there!''
`` What does any of that even mean?''
`` Do n't you get it? Time is linear, events build off of each other, and even though you were there only briefly you've upset the entire timeline! Now, every second that occurred after your visit *occurred after your visit*. Everything's changed! Everything in life is a series of incredibly complex million-sided dicerolls, and your very presence triggered a re-roll!''
`` Look man I literally just set the dial the wrong way and when I realized that I immediately-''
`` Where did you go?''
`` Look it does n't matter, I'll just use the machine again. I can just go back and undo this-''
`` No!''
***flash***
`` No, you imbecile! Cause and effect, do n't you see? You were there for four seconds. Then you leave, and you had been there for four seconds. A minute later, you had been there sixty seconds ago! An hour later, 3,600 seconds ago you were there!''
`` I, uh, do n't think I did this right?''
`` What are you going on about? My god, you're only now realizing you've made a mistake? Because of you, we've got literally three Hitlers now. Do you realize the repercussions of-''
***flash***
`` No, you imbecile! Cause and effect, do n't you see? You-''
`` Wait, is this thing broken now?
`` No, you idiot, it's not broken, you've changed the past and just slight alterations at a point early on the timeline can have drastic consequences! Think of it this way, you've got a race car on a track and-''
`` no no no I get the time travel thing but I'm trying to go back and stop myself-''
`` You *what? * Have you not even been listening?''
`` Let me try again.''
***flash***
`` No, you imbecile! Cause and effect, do n't you see? You were there for four seconds. Then you leave, and-''
`` Yeah it's not resetting past this point...''
`` Are you even listening to me? Jesus christ, it's like you screw up the entire timeline and then just idly start tuning out the first person to reprimand you... this is so *you*, by the way. Ruining everything and then just thinking you can ignore people who point it out...''
`` What were you even saying before?''
`` Oh my god, this is something new for even you. Were you not listening when I was accusing you of not listening? Not a day goes by that I do n't question why I ever let you know about my experiments... you changed an early point on the timeline. This changes the entire sequence of events. You misused my machine directly against my orders.''
``... speaking of, this thing needs more work. Maybe it shorted out?''
`` And if we're lucky, it gave you cancer too. Give it to me... you're no longer allowed to touch this, too. I have no idea how we're going to fix all of this, but you can bet your ass you owe me big time if I do. Now, what was I saying again?''
|
[ WP ] In an attempt to convince people society would have been better if humanity had never found religion , a time traveler kills anyone who begins to develop a form of faith . He goes back to the present and finds that people now universally worship a god who travels through time and smites heathens .
| `` Quebec... somewhere near the St. Francis River, Canada, year... 1924'', John Mathis flicked snow out of his eyes, `` Quebec, St. Francis River, Canada...'' He repeated again. Repetition had been his life line for some time now, he could n't say how long - it's difficult to keep track of months and years when you're flitting between them every other day. It's like changing direction in a car too fast, a total 180 degree turn on your whole existence gives you a hell of a case of whiplash.
John Mathis tried not to think about it, he tried to think about Quebec and the river and the snow. Snow that means it's winter, or is Quebec one of those places that always snows? No, it has seasons, he read that in a book once... but he ca n't remember which one it was now.
Books. He had an idea to collect them once, when all this first started. First additions from every great author. But he's had some trouble finding them, he remembered asking for `` Call of Chulthu'' when he was around in the 30s but H.P. Lovecraft had never written anything about cults or Gods - why would he? Where would he get that idea? It was a shame to be the only person to have read any of his work but what are the worth of a few books compared to his work? John Mathis works towards a higher purpose.
Today's higher purpose was an old man. He could n't quite grasp the name, but he had his picture. A native american man, he had long matted grey hair, a crooked nose and a friendly smile. They're always smiling. He had lines running all over his face, he looked weathered but there was still a certain vibrance to him. He was a member of some sort of tribe, probably their leader or trying to become the leader. Primitives. This is how it always starts, one primitive looking to control the rest, and the next thing you know people are burning each other in ovens because of a disagreement in their choice of imaginary friend.
Looking at the picture now, he became painfully aware of the Glock tucked into the inside of his coat, the knife on the back of his belt and the one in his boot. He was ready for this one.
He put the picture of the man with long grey hair and a friendly smile away and looked up. A light. There were people ahead. `` Quebec, St. Francis River, Canada...''. He marched on crunching snow underfoot. His pace gained as the light grew brighter until he was almost at a sprint, the adrenaline always made him nervous - eager to finish his work. It was n't until he was almost upon the tribe he realised how fast he was moving, he stopped to catch his breath, his lungs burnt and he puffed and blew out a pillar of steam. `` The great destroyer,'' he thought to himself `` time travelling assassin out of breath in fifty yards'', he would have laughed at himself if were able. His thoughts turned to his own age now, there had been so many to put down, `` I have lost my best years to this work,'' that did n't make him laugh `` But it will be worth it''. With that he was resolved, he folded his arms against the cold and tucked his hand into his inside pocket and fingered the trigger of the waiting Glock. He breathed again, slow and controlled. He continued towards the light of the tribe.
He'd seen many tribes from the Celts in England to the Dards in the Himalayas, but none quite like this. They were small but... cosmopolitan. All different races, shapes genders, if he were an anthropologist and not a physicist he probably would have found it more interesting. They were more of a commune than a tribe - nothing like the native american people he was expecting. It does n't matter, it does n't change anything. These... people had formed a crowd around the fire, at first it looked like they had gathered there for warmth but they had not gathered around a fire, they had gathered around him. There he was, the old man with the friendly smile, sitting in snow. He spoke in soft, low tones - spreading more lies no doubt. John strained to here him from where he was so he ventured closer, hearing the drivel these liars come up with had been one of his few distractions he'd had on the road.
`` I will not speak of it,'' the man said, he looked distressed.
`` Why? We followed you here to live like you,'' piped a young man, `` and you wo n't tell us what drove you out here?''
`` You would n't believe me,'' the old man said, in almost a whisper, `` Do you best to live with reason and thoughtfulness we will speak no more''
`` You always tell us seek answers,'' Shouted a young woman standing a few feet behind John.
`` Yeah,'' said the young man from before, `` what's the difference now?''. A ripple of agreement rolled through the crowd, then silence. They waited for the old man to speak and the silence dragged on. If there no snow falling John would have sworn that he was looking at a photograph and not witnessing the scene first hand himself. He'd never been there for the start of a religion. Only after, sometimes just after but he'd never gotten this close to the beginning before.
`` It is a spirit,'' the old man breathed out, finally breaking the quiet that had fallen over the crowd.
`` A spirit?'' a middle aged woman asked. It's starting now, John reached for the gun - he needed to stop this.
`` It's like a ghost,'' said the old liar tugging at his long ragged hair. Outrage swept over them now `` Impossible! ``, `` Liar! ``, `` How?''. People were questioning this, that brought a smile to Johns lips - he had made a difference.
`` I told you that you would not believe it, but I have seen it. I saw it kill a man!'' The silence came down around the crowd again. John drew the pistol slowly out of his jacket, no one was looking at him now.
`` I was just a boy but... I saw a priest'' John froze. He was talking about him, he remembered that day. Some idiot had found a bible, tried to start the whole thing up again.
`` I have searched for stories about it ever since,'' John drew back the slide and felt a bullet push up into the barrel. He knows too much I have to do it now.
`` It has travelled through the ages, dispatching men and women who spread words of the supernatural, who speak against logic and reason'' John pushed through the crowd, why had he waited?
`` That's why I am here, to teach you about nature, about empiricism! So that we will not be punished! So we do n't become sinners! So we shall never fall to becoming a religious society again!'' Johns blood ran cold, what was this man saying? Is this the prize of all his work? Or the beginning of something else entirely?
`` This does n't make sense! It goes against everything you have taught us!'' Someone shouted from the back, followed by more waves of angry shouting. It took a few more moments before the old man could calm them again.
`` I am sorry, I should n't have told you but you deserved to know the truth.'' The old man sat in the snow, the crowd was in a dumbfounded silence. Then John stepped forward. He raised the gun to the old man's head.
`` You know'' his voice was steady and calm, not at all revealing how he really felt, `` if you really believed in logic and reason you would n't have called me a ghost.''
`` I... I did n't know what else you could have been'' the old man was shaking, and not just from the cold. `` I simply used the information I could observe. Does that make me a sinner?''
John looked around at the crowd. This is what he wanted, every person here had questioned what they had been told, there were no superstitions here, no zealotry. And who is responsible for that. He looked back at the old man.
`` No,'' John said, `` you're not a sinner. You're a prophet''.
Sorry about it being so long!
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[ cc ] Hey WP , need some feedback on my first effort - I wrote it on the Hannibal Lecter meets the Joker thread .
| Part 4, The logic with which I approached this piece.
As somebody who is reasonably well versed in the Joker mythos from the comic books as well as having read all 4 of the Hannibal series books have never seen the Hannibal movies though - so while my Joker interpretation was coloured by Heath Ledger, Anthony Hopkins never came to mind.
To me, their intellect must be the same and it is not a question of who is smarter, but more in the method to the madness both of them bring to the table. Hannibal Lecter has a genius level intellect but he has only interacted with people ( going by the serial killers in the series AND the various FBI agents as well as his own past ) who have motivations to what they do. They have past trauma that results in their violent, psychopathic present. He himself was initially motivated by revenge, he is also shown to have feelings ( Stirling was one he spared, fell in love with and even married ). So despite everything he & his fellow serial killers stand for they are at the end of it all human.
The Joker is a foe he has never faced before, extremely violent people he has met... yes, but somebody who can poison a boy scout troop on a mere whim? Certainly not. His intellect allowed him to read the Joker for who he was, a very violent unpredictable sociopath and this same intellect also allowed him to come to the conclusion that this person can not be easily controlled or manipulated, and his very unpredictability could mean a threat to Hannibal ’ s own life.
The Joker to me, his life is dominated by one person…Batman. He views everything that happens to him through a Bat shaped prism, he also has a genius level intellect and has constantly harassed what in DC canon is the World ’ s most intelligent man ( or close to it ), to go toe to toe with somebody who is always 10 steps ahead requires a formidable intellect. The Joker is arguably the only person in the world who knows the method behind his own madness, and his intellect allows him to read somebody as smart as Lecter or Wayne which would give him a slight edge in a battle of wits.
I would equate Lecter & Batman on the way they think – logical, structured and methodical, but the Joker is anything but these and that is why the Batman himself has so much trouble predicting the Joker, and he has been fighting him for a very long time now. Given this, there is no way that Lecter would have been able to crack him in a short span of time. Given time, and past patterns to Jokers behavior, I guess he would be able to come as close as Batman has, but no further.
Lastly, I chose for them to not know each other as that kind of set the tone better. Them knowing each others case files dulled the interaction.
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[ WP ] Life is actually the most popular video game of all time . Famous figures are played by moderators who ensure events play out the way they should . You 're one of the worst players , until you start realizing you 're in the game . Suddenly , memories of past lives give you a massive advantage .
| **Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Seriously, level with me, how the fuck is Life the most popular game of all time?
**DASHAVATARA**: Excuse me?
**DASHAVATARA**: Sorry, wait, are you still logged in? You should n't be able to communicate with admins at all while you're still logged in. What did you do? How are you doing this?
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Because it sucks. I'm realizing that just now. It sucks balls. Only the mods ever get to do anything cool.
**DASHAVATARA**: All right, listen, you can get banned for this. This is extremely against the rules. But I would like to know how you are circumventing our system, because this just should not be able to happen.
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Look, I did n't do anything, all right? It's your shitty system. Like you said, I should n't be able to do this. You figure it out.
**DASHAVATARA**: All right. All right. Let's say I believe you.
**DASHAVATARA**: I'm trying to find out what's happening right now.
**DASHAVATARA**: Can you give me any information you can about how this happened?
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: No. I'd rather talk about how shitty this goddamn game is.
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: I've been grinding for like forty years and I'm a divorced middle manager, go me!
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Meanwhile, every fucking person who can actually do anything in this game is being played by a mod and they're jerking the rest of us around!!
**DASHAVATARA**: All right, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt that you did n't do anything against our terms of service here, but I need you to cooperate with me.
**DASHAVATARA**: Game balance is beside the point, and we need mods to keep things running on track, anyway. I'd just like to find out how you are able to communicate with me from inside the game.
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Oh, that's not all I can do!
**DASHAVATARA**: Could you please elaborate on that.
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: I've got access to logs of every. single. character. I played before this. All of them. Back to the fucking primordial era.
**DASHAVATARA**: Are you serious?
**DASHAVATARA**: That should definitely not be possible.
**DASHAVATARA**: How are you doing this? This is a breach of our servers.
**DASHAVATARA**: This might actually be illegal. I'm warning you now. Do not go any further.
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: This is actually one of the better runs I've had, if you can believe it!
**DASHAVATARA**: I do n't think you're appreciating the severity of what's going on here. This goes far beyond a game.
**DASHAVATARA**: Are you still there?
**DASHAVATARA**: Are you listening to me?
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Starved to death. Died of malaria. Died during pregnancy. Died of heart disease and lived an uneventful life except my children grew up resenting me. Ooh! Here's a good one! Died in the womb! Not the only time that happened! Great, engaging gameplay, huh?
**DASHAVATARA**: You are really not appreciating the severity of what's going on here.
**DASHAVATARA**: I get that you think it's unfair, okay. It's necessary for game balance.
**DASHAVATARA**: But retaining memories of previous characters like this! This is a complete subversion of the game!
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: The earliest ones are just me getting eaten by something bigger.
**DASHAVATARA**: You are going to get banned. There is going to be legal prosecution. Unless you cooperate 100 % with me right now and help me understand what is happening.
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Yeah, this is a huge fucking advantage, right?
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Seeing how shit your game is
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Massive advantage
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Would hate to keep something this big just for myself
**DASHAVATARA**: This is not worth getting arrested for! You need to cooperate with me!
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: No real agency. Just billions of us mashing up against each other. Everything determined by starting character rolls.
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: Struggling and dying without accomplishing anything of value
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: just being jerked around by the mods to fulfill some pre-written narrative
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: yeah, huge fucking advantage
**Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185**: gon na have a lot more free time now
* -- -- -- -- -- -- -Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185 has transcended -- -- -- -- -- -- -*
**DASHAVATARA**: Oh fuck.
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UPS has a rule : if you best the package carrier in hand to hand combat , you get to keep the contents of the truck . Narrate a day in the life of a delivery person [ RF ]
| Why is everyone willing to break a few bones and go to the hospital to try and take a truck they ’ ll *never* successfully take. They don ’ t understand the training I ’ ve underwent; the things I ’ ve done, the story of how I descended to this point. I ’ m a UPS deliveryman these days, the work is easy, and the days are quiet enough, so I find it… Pleasant; there's a lot of cardboard boxes in this line of work. The work got more exciting within recent weeks - for some reason, some executives imposed a new rule.
* ” If any man or woman can defeat a UPS driver in close quarters combat, they may take the contents of the truck, freely. *
So it began. Each day, I ’ d drive around, keeping a watchful eye out, making my deliveries - and every now and then a new brave challenger would step out to fight me. Some of them were just young idiots, their friends nearby watching, or recording them. Others were truly desperate people, looking scared but determined, ready to fight me for the truck ’ s fortune, have little other options to dig themselves out of their hole. None of them had defeated me.
Finally, I ’ ll make my last delivery and take the truck back to the UPS facility - and there ’ s also this one damn guy there, every Tuesday, his previous injuries clearly still healing, who will meet me there, at the gate, standing in the middle of the road. And here was there again, tonight.
I sigh, turning off the car and pocketing the key, stepping out from the door and adjusting my gloves, fixing the position of my eye patch, checking the knot of the bandanna around my forehead, and scratched at my beard, stepping around the truck. “ Really? ” I asked him. “ One of these days I ’ m going to kill you. ”
“ I ’ ll have your bounty, *boss. ” * was all he said, as always, and so I just sighed. I struck my CQC stance, flexing my hand, beckoning him to come. “ Let ’ s get this over with, ” I said sharply.
* ” I ’ LL HAVE YOU, SNAKE! ” * he screamed into the night, and charged forward into the spin of my kick.
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[ WP ] Satan has died and now it 's up to you to find a new keeper of hell . How would you present the job , since it really only features bad properties ?
| **Moderator Wanted! **
Title: Moderator
Salary: $ 65,000 Yearly
Job Description: Keep watch over the scum of the earth - ensuring they do not break free and spread mayhem across the world. Or lead them in causing destruction everywhere, whatever you feel like really. Silence those who would slander and lie, especially for the sole purpose of causing others emotional pain. Or encourage them - we're kinda iffy when it comes to moral obligations. Lots of'grey area' in this line of work.
Must have:
* Experience using C++ or other coding software.
* Experience with diplomatically handling tough situations.
* Knowledge of thread-style forums, as well as internet'culture'.
* Low expectations of humanity.
Benefits:
* Get to enforce a vague and open-to-interpretation set of laws.
* Hold sway over the scum of the world.
* Wield a mighty hammer against all your foes - subjugating those lesser than you.
* Lead armies against other, lesser dominions.
* Have your own, personal stalkers who know exactly when you go to sleep.
To apply, dial 1-800-666-4CHAN today!
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[ WP ] You wake one morning and find your reflection in the mirror is gone . A few seconds later it rushes in mouthing the words `` Sorry ! Sorry I 'm late . Let 's get started . You ready ? ''
| `` Yes, I guess so...''
`` Good. So, I've rehearsed this all through the night, but stop me if you feel you're on to something.''
`` Wait, what do you mean? Should n't this appear as honest as possible? I mean, you would n't to be caught off gu...''
`` Yeah yeah yeah I know what you're about to say. But, being insecure about this is n't going to help you either. Remember, it's *you* that's gon na walk out that door and face that crowd. ``
*He's right* I thought. I sighed away my worries and concerns and decided to carry on unafraid.
`` Lets do this.''
`` Great, I liked that! Use it later! Now let's get going.''
I almost did n't realize that it took him 20 minutes to morph his speech in to me absend minded I was with the task ahead. The speech would come out great anyway, as it had every day for the past 30 years. I just had to appear as cold blood as possible, no rush, no fear, no nothing. It had become increasingly harder to trcking people that I believed those things that kept pouring out of my mouth, without me saying a word about it.
`` Do n't be like that again. God what's gotten into you lately? You used to be pumped for this, why be like that now, so close to the finish line?''
`` Remember, it's *me* going out that door.''
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[ WP ] You call 911 , but nobody answers .
| > What happened last night? It is all so fuzzy.
I woke up in my bed, rubbing my temples to try to alleviate my massive headache. All I remember is going to my bud ’ s goodbye party before he headed off to basic and now… How did I even get back home, that is like a 2-hour drive. As I stumble into my living room that question is answered.
“ Make me do a drive like that again and I will just leave you, ” My brother said, handing me a cup of coffee.
“ Sorry about that, ” I reply, “ Why did I even call you in the first place?
“ You were going on about how your friends were not being themselves, ” he replies, opening the sliding glass door to let in the sun. I recoil, shielding my eyes until they have a chance to adjust.
“ Beautiful morning, ” I say, stepping out onto the balcony.
“ That it is, ” my brother says. Just then, a flash of movement catches our attention. We both turn as we see a figure stumble out of the woods.
“ Heh, ” I chuckle, “ looks like someone else had a crazy night too. ” At that, we both laugh and watch the shabbily-dressed man stumble his way towards the front of the building, where some kids were playing catch. The ball flew by the kid closest to the man, hitting him right in the family jewels.
“ Oof, ” my brother exclaims, “ that must have hurt. ” Strangely, the man does not react. The kid walks over to the man apologises and reaches for the ball.
Just then, the man lashes out and grabs the kid ’ s arm. We can hear the kid screaming as the man pulls the arm to his mouth and takes a huge chunk out of it.
“ What was that! ” we both yell. I ran to grab my phone and called 911. But all I got was the dial tone.
“ Bro!, ” I yell, “ I am getting a dial tone for 911, you try. ”
After trying it for himself, he looks at me and says, “ same here. what is going on? ”
I turn on the tv only to find the emergency broadcast signal.
> This is not a test. The Department of Homeland Security has issued a National Security Emergency after reports of attacks across the country. Keep inside and lock all doors and windows. Do not attempt to call emergency personell unless it is an emergency to prevent a system overload. This is not a test.
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[ WP ] Make me feel the catch in my throat when you 're sad .
| You heard him mewing that morning when you were putting the dogs out. He's in his little box, the one with the hole in the side and that's covered in carpet on the outside. You shrug, going back upstairs.
An hour later he's still mewing, as you're picking up the basement for your dad. He's still in his box and you go over to check if he was hungry or thirsty. Both his bowls are full so you look at him and with a roll of your eyes you tell him to stop whining. He does n't.
Late in the evening you bring the dogs in, putting them in their crates. You glance over at him and realize something.
He has n't been out of his box the entire day.
You go over and look into his box. He's there, still whining. You carefully put your hand in there, wrapping around his belly and pulling him out as gently as you can. You put him on the floor.
He slumps on his side, whining pitifully. He ca n't move antmore, the arthritis too much for him. You go get a towel to clean him up and tell your dad.
A week later, dad takes him to the vet's office to have him put down.
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[ WP ] A man/woman sits idly on a hilltop as he/she waits for a nuclear warhead to strike their city and contemplates their life .
| The sirens seemed surreal. They cushioned the quiet and muted what was sure to be sheer panic down in the streets. Up here though, with the calm breeze pushing against the branches above me, it was as if I was simply watching a movie.
She sat next to me, stirring with the breeze and settling when the leaves did. She had a loose grip on my pinky. It was this thing she did. We could never agree with whose hand went on top so she'd started holding my pinky and it stuck.
`` Remember the syrup incident?'' she asked. We started at the sound of an small explosion in the city. Flames rose like dandelions in distance, their seeds spreading further across the countryside, blotting out the setting sun.
`` Yeah I remember.'' I said quietly. The wind pushed her hair into my face. It had always smelled like a forest. Now it smelled like fire. She huffed and blew the hair out of her face. She tightened her grip on my pinky and tore out grass with her other hand.
`` I'm still mad at him for that.'' She said. I could feel the fear in her voice. The only time I'd ever seen her stagger was when death had taken our son. Now death had come to reunite us.
`` You can ground him soon enough.'' I responded, trying to swallow my own fear. Trying to be her strength when she had so often been mine. We stared at the trail in the sky, death come for us. Death come for them all. I could hear distant screams. It'd been good, I thought. My life had been good. A wail rose to meet the distant screaming. A roar rose to overpower the sirens. My wife rose to meet it. I looked up at her from the grass as she stood staring at death. I simply stared at her. The world went silent and I closed my eyes.
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[ WP ] You always seem to know when something bad is about to happen . People think you can see the future , but the truth is , you can just hear the soundtrack .
| `` Here we go again,'' I say, sighing heavily.
The lady standing next to me raises an eyebrow quizzically. I shake my head apologetically as the music [ builds. ] ( https: //youtu.be/c35Gt99Pk-A )
A few minutes later her cell phone rings although I can barely hear [ the ringtone ] ( https: //youtu.be/JuYeHPFR3f0 ) over my own soundtrack. I smile a sad smile because she must play too, but I also know what's coming next.
I can see the tears forming in her eyes. As soon as she hits end on her phone my music cuts off too. I breathe a sigh of relief, but the relief is only temporary because the woman starts bawling.
Others on the crowded bus lean away from the woman. No one wants to be next to a crying woman if they do n't have to.
I hand her a pack of tissues from my backpack. I learned a long time ago that something even this small can help when you receive bad news.
It's always been this way. I hear the music and then something bad happens. I do n't like to get involved too much. Tried that when I was younger and people either would n't believe me or worse they blamed me.
My stop was the next one and as I headed out of the bus I took a look back at the crying woman. The tears had subsided a bit and she was dabbing her eyes with one of the tissues I gave her. I smiled, a little less sadly this time.
As the bus pulled away from the curb I turned to head to the next corner. A little girl stood there holding her mother's hand, waiting for the light to change. Then another track began to [ play. ] ( https: //youtu.be/eXJlVA8PBQw )
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[ WP ] God and Satan switch places for a day but they both like it so much they decide to make the switch permanent .
| There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil.
And one day, Satan, haven gone to and fro upon the Earth, came before God, who said, `` Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?''
Satan replied. `` Obviously. Have you seen all you've done for him? Thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land.''
`` But,'' said Satan, `` put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.''
`` You're on.'' said God. `` You'll see how faithful is my servant Job.''
And God smote. And smote and smote and smote.
First he smote Job's cattle and donkeys. Then he smote Job's sheep and his shepherds. Then he smote Job's camels and servants. Then he smote Job's sons and daughters.
Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped, and said, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD. During all this, Job sinned not, nor blamed God.
And God said unto Satan, `` Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil? and still he holdeth fast his integrity, although thou movedst me against him, to destroy him without cause.''
`` Keep going,'' said Satan.
And God smote Job with sore boils from the sole of his foot unto his crown.
After this opened Job his mouth, and cursed his day.
`` What the hell is going on?''
And his friends said `` Well, sometimes these things happen for a reason.''
Job rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath and said `` As God liveth, who hath taken away my judgment; and the Almighty, who hath vexed my soul; All the while my breath is in me, and the spirit of God is in my nostrils; My lips shall not speak wickedness, nor my tongue utter deceit.
God forbid that I should justify you: till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me. My righteousness I hold fast, and will not let it go: my heart shall not reproach me so long as I live.''
And God appeared in a whirlwind and said to Job `` Shall he that contendeth with the Almighty instruct him? he that reproveth God, let him answer it. Gird up thy loins now like a man: I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me. Wilt thou also disannul my judgment? wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous? Hast thou an arm like God? or canst thou thunder with a voice like him? Deck thyself now with majesty and excellency; and array thyself with glory and beauty.''
And Job said `` Having seen you, I hate myself, and repent in dust and ashes.''
And God smiled, and gave him thousands of new sheep and camel and oxen and asses, and seven new sons, and seven new daughters, and money, and gold and let him live to be a hundred and forty.
Then, returning from Earth, God looked at Satan and said `` See, you should know better than to gamble with me for a human soul.''
And Satan said `` Indeed, but I was not playing for his soul. I was playing for yours.''
Satan chuckled. `` You took your most devoted follower, and murdered his family, and his servants, and destroyed all of his possessions, over a bet?''
`` And you're supposed to be the omnibenevolent one? I mean, I show up to give those silly creations knowledge and free will, and all of a sudden I'm the devil? You go around smiting the innocent as well as the guilty like it's your job, and you love it!''
`` I do like smiting'' admitted the deity `` even if they do n't always deserve it.''
`` I tell you what,'' said Satan `` How about you go ahead and do my job for a while, and smite whoever you want, good or bad, and send down plagues and famines and pestilences and slaughtering of the firstborns or whatever horror strikes your fancy and I'll work on seeing what's left of the Tree of Knowledge after you smote it, and see if I can get some critical thinking skills in their little monkey brains, so eventually they ( and thus vicariously we ) can see the rest of this universe from a new perspective rather than watching another round of stupid puny human desert battles?''
`` That does sound diverting'' said God, `` You've got yourself a deal.''
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[ WP ] The story of a superhero told from the viewpoint of his arch-nemesis villain in an interrogation room after being finally bested .
| So this is it huh? He got me. He actually got me. He just does n't get it. No one does. But after all, I'm the bad guy, so I've got to be punished, right?
'So. What does it feel like to know that all of your hard works gone to waste?'
The spiteful voice of the detective brings me neck to attention.
'All those murders. All the blood shed. For nothing.'
I clench my fists in the chains. He does n't understand.
'Now tell me. What made you do it?'
This time he gets right into my face, staring me out, looking at me as though I'm helpless. Yet, I suppose that's true.
'No answer? Well, you'll be glad to know that you wo n't have to talk to anyone again. Not where we're sending you.'
Im tired of this. Him looking at me like he's won. I want to fight back. I want to tell him he's wrong. This was n't a waste. It ca n't of been. I've got to have done something!
'You'll be on an island, with 20 of the other most wanted criminals. But no, you want see them. You'll be behind 30 inches of bulletproof glass, and there's no way in hell you're getting out!'
I ca n't beleive this. I was actually bested. By a hero. By someone who thinks he's so perfect! There was no need for him to stop me! I was doing what was right! People need to be free!
'And you'll spend the rest of your life there. Alone. No one to hear your cries.'
The law, it does n't protect anybody! The cops are corrupt, using there power for themselves. Where were they when I called for them? Where were they when some asshole killed my parents? Where were they when I slowly drove myself insane from guilt?
'You've got to tell me, why did you think you'd get away with this?'
He laughs.
'I knew our people would get you, you're nothing but a no good son of a bitch.'
What were they doing? Blaming me. What did they say? That it was my fault. I called the cops. I tried to save them. What did they tell everyone? That I pulled the trigger.
'Im done with you boy. Now it seems your enemy wants to see you.'
Him? He's no better than the rest. He's killed. He's tortured. And why does he get away with it? Because he takes down me. A'villain' who was made by the very police who claim to protect the city. He's no different to me. Not really. He just got lucky.
He enters and sits across from me, obviously happy. No doubt he got the girl. The good guy always get the girl.
This is absolutely crazy. Just lock me away already. Do n't sit me down in front of the very person I've tried to kill hundreds of times.
'You're going to prison, where you belong.'
'I know.'
They're the first words I said, my voice cracking.
'Why did you do it?'
'I had to. That's why.'
This is stupid.
'You had to? What are you talking about? You did n't have to murder hundreds of people, hundreds of police officers!'
'I had to. They were a threat.'
Why am I talking? He does n't deserve to know.
'A threat? To what? You're evil plan?!'
'The only thing I ever wanted to do was help people.'
I'm crying. I can feel it. This is stupid, the villains never cry.
'Help? Are you trying to get off with an insanity plea?'
He does n't get it.
'I wanted to get rid of the corrupt!'
He does n't understand.
'I wanted to get rid of those with power!'
I shout. I cry. He just does n't understand.
But I swear in that moment, he had pity in his eyes.
|| Hope you enjoy!!! ||
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[ WP ] Everyone has one person they will meet that will kill them . Describe realizing that you are somebody else 's killer before they 're dead .
| `` Sometimes, it seems, living is just simply waiting to die.''
Fucking Walter. The old bastard with the gray stubble clinging helpless and lifeless to his wrinkled chin; those ageless clouded eyes; that lingering wisp of fruit slowly turning rotten emanating from his body; those cracked lips and crisp, concise words falling from his mouth.
I hate him, and I have no reason why.
Every one in the group clings to every syllable that drips from his mind down to that parched tongue that no drink could ever quench. Wednesday evening depression support, and I come every week and sit in a circle and exchange my tears for fire, trade sadness for a burning hatred.
Walter, fucking Walter.
He is the one I am going to kill.
Every one kills someone.
He is my victim, and he is torturing me.
I came here to find an escape from this horrible shroud that hung over the days in which I inhabited, this gloom and darkness that follows me, like trying to leave a blackened theater after a bad movie, only the exit never comes. It is just one long hallway, and the movie just keeps playing on a loop.
And I came into this group, and it felt like I might see daylight again, and then the church basement door creaked and the shrunken man with a pleasant smile shuffled to the chair across from me and told us of all the horrible things that had happened in his years and how he persevered but had lost sight of what the point was to all the tedious breathing, and the hallway just got longer.
And I knew, he came here to die, by my hands. I saw it in his look, the way his eyes would slip to the corners, to my direction, in between words, the way he would make a point to stress how suicide was a last resort but sometimes the only option left. And this knowledge plunged me deeper into the abyss, and the only way up was to ride the flames that rose every time I dared face him fully, to turn my eyes to take in his existence and know I was going to end it.
And in the flames I found my own salvation and damnation.
Fucking Walter. His blood was already on my hands, for my own preservation, even as we breathed the same stale air in the underbelly of this church.
There was only one way out, one way to the stairs that ascended back to the street and the world above, and it went straight through his bleeding heart and the flames of my soul.
And I had no choice but to burn until the deed was done.
`` Death, by nature, is inevitable. Sometimes the only way to live is to grasp death in our hands and find freedom.''
Fucking Walter. God damn him. God damn me.
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[ WP ] Killing another human has a hidden effect nobody realized before - the person most responsible ceases to age for a duration of one hour for every year of their victims life . It was n't until the advent of weapons of mass destruction that we realized the truth of this .
| His hand trembled uncontrollably as he lifted the barrel of the weapon to his temple.
All he'd wanted was to have control over his own life - he'd become a monster to do so. He'd led his nation into a war, earning decades. Ordering the deaths of millions more had given him even more life.
He'd even been desperate enough to begin development of a fission weapon. If everything had gone well, he would have lived for hundreds of years.
Everything had n't gone well, however, and here he was now - malnourished, defeated, and weeks from death. Aging was n't the only way to die, after all.
He'd surely be executed for war crimes - there was only one way left to maintain control of his own life.
With trembling fingers, Adolf Hitler pulled the trigger.
-- --
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
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[ WP ] World War 3 breaks out between the USA and Russia , leaving the American and Russian astronauts on the International Space Station stranded .
| It was 1000 GMT when the signals went dead. 0600 New York time, where Jim grew up. He wondered now, fleetingly, if he would ever see the Burroughs again. If he never made it back, he ’ d never see his father ’ s grave either. Thankfully he passed away a couple of months ago, and did not have to go through the trial by fire that so many in the world had to face at this time.
“ An odd comforting thought. ” Jim softly said, staring out the small window that currently had a wonderful view of the Ocean.
“ What was that? ” Cmdr. Paul asked, as he made his way up into the observation pod that Jim was currently occupying.
“ Oh, nothing Paul. I was just in my own head. ” Jim replied. Paul looked at him, seemingly satisfied with the answer, before turning to peer out the window as well. Jim had known Paul awhile now; they had gone through training together. He knew that Paul probably had a good idea right now what was on his mind. It was on everyone ’ s mind. Jim knew what was on Paul ’ s mind right now as well.
Paul and his wife, Mary, had a newborn daughter two months before their mission to the ISS started. Many nights they had forgotten the difficulties of living in Space by laughing at the video messages Mary sent of little Grace spitting out her mushed peas, or cooing lovingly at the camera while Mary attempted to produce da-da noises from the little girl. Many nights Paul had told Jim about the great adventure of being married, trying to convince Jim to settle down, and join him in his bliss he had found. Yes, Jim knew what was on Paul ’ s mind. It was on everyone ’ s mind. It was where none of them would ever go again.
Earth. Home.
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[ WP ] A voice from the sky booms , `` PLOT TWIST . '' The world changes dramatically .
| Have you ever taken something for granted? Of course you have. But was it something like the laws of physics?
I remember the day clearly. It was raining heavily, and then i heard it, we all heard it. i thought it was thunder at first, a loud boom that cracked through the sky. `` Plot Twist.''
Think of technology and science like a sort of system. It has rules and we build upon those unchanging rules. But what if they were to change? Simple calculations would mean nothing.
After the voice, the rain began to pool... outwards. A thin 1-inch layer that constantly expanded in all directions independent of gravity. It continued for days. Nobody drowned, they just got their socks wet. Only their socks, not their shoes.
That's okay though, because you can swim in a brick wall sometimes. Burgundy bricks to be precise. Not to be confused with maroon bricks which, although rectangular, roll like wheels.
Now when the sun sets, it lights up the underside of the world so that the ground glows slightly and gets warm. Or it rises on the other side of the sky at the same time, as if there where two suns.
Nothing ever repeats itself. The other day i spilled a basket of oranges i was carrying, and they just kept coming out. I counted nearly 300 oranges before it was done. It hasnt happened to anybody since.
And the worst part is: there isnt any reason to it. No explanation. No meaning behind it. Because that would indicate a plan of some sort. And there is no plan. The twist is that the universe is anarchy. Sometimes.
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[ WP ] Choose a dark and gritty movie/book/story and give it a fun and lighthearted reboot .
| Judge Dredd 2- A Perfect 10
“ More of the same Anderson, I need someone with inspiration, passion, not this. ” Dredd says pointing towards the last batch of contestants to show up for Acapella Auditions.
“ The talent this year has been rather sub-par, maybe we ’ ve tapped this well? ” Anderson asks.
“ Well we ’ ve got three more, but after this I ’ m gon na need a drink. ” Dredd says.
The door on the left hand side of the stage creaks open and a mousy brown haired young woman timidly approaches the judges chairs. She smiles nervously and says “ My name is ugh.. Melissa Morell and I ’ d ugh.. Like to try out for Acapella Auditions. ”
“ Right, right let's get this going, you trying out alone or do you have a partner? ” Dredd asks.
“ Nope, just me, that's ok right.. Um I could bring one of my friends back if I- ”
“ Solo is fine, lets see what you got Marissa ” Dredd says.
“ It ’ s Melissa... sir ” she says.
Melissa prepares to perform and tries shaking out the butterflies in her stomach, she just wishes the judges didn ’ t have to wear their visors, it made her so nervous. She begins to sing her original song Only You. She ’ s hitting every note flawlessly, the range and voice control don ’ t match her appearance, frankly she sounds incredible.
The two judges are visibly stunned, halfway through Melissa ’ s performance they ’ re both sitting slack jawed looking at one another.
“ Mother of God ” Dredd says.
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[ WP ] While cleaning your basement , you accidentally free the worlds smallest genie . You do not hear him tell you he will grant your three next wishes .
| “ You got ta be kidding me! That is your third wish! ” Said a tiny voice in my head. “ 3 wishes you got ta be joking, trapped for a 100 years and this is what I get. This! ” I turned over in a bed sharply, and realized how quite my room was. The alarming part as a turned I heard a shrill as if someone was falling. I stood up looking at my pillow. I saw a tiny purple glow sitting there on my pillow. I fumbled for my glasses fearing what ever it was would move before I got a good look at it, but that needn ’ t be a concern. The small glowing woman was right in my right eye.
I yelped and feel backwards off my bed. Straightening my glasses, I saw the tiny women who looked a little plump for being a magical creature. Reminded me of my Aunt Linda. “ 1375 years buddy, I have been doing this! Made those who were hard working farmers to wealthy real estate moguls, helped scientist even breakthrough inventions, gave those who lacked social graces a silver tongue, gave people what they wanted! But you, YOU! Take the cake my friend! ”
Cake would be pretty good right now, I wonder if that my third wish? “ Are you sure you want the 3rd wish, I usually have no give backs, but I think you might want to ask for something else. ” “ Excuse me ma ’ am, I don ’ t recall finding a genie bottle or even making three wishes. Would you mind reminding me what I wished for? ” She looked like she was going to loose it, I think he face even changed a few shade of colors, but it was hard to tell since we was so small.
“ Wish number 1! You were eating breakfast, and you told your dear little mother ‘ I WISH, I didn ’ t haven ’ t to go to school today. I looks so beautiful outside. ’ Your fat little face was too busy crunching on your cereal to hear your mother ’ s response. THAT IT IS SATURDAY! YOU WISHED FOR A DAY OFF ON A WEEKEND! ” Well I thought nodding to myself, I did get my wish didn ’ t I? She was too busy marching around aggressively in the air. A little silly that she got all riled up, they are my wishes to waste not hers.
“ Wish number 2! You were playing your STUPID video game! You were getting all upset, because you had the lowest point count in your shooting game. And booo woooo people were being mean to you, because you suck and were loosing them the game! You wished ” in an intentionally nasally voice “ ’ I WISH all the mean people in the world couldn ’ t talk anymore. ’ You could have just unplugged your microphone or muted them you didn ’ t have to listen to them. ”
“ Wish number 3! While you were happily dreaming, you wished you could relive this day AGAIN! Why again? It wasn ’ t special. You sat at home, got up early for no reason, and played video games all day! Oh well except for your trips to the kitchen and bathroom! ” Me feeling pretty lousy, that I had three wishes from a genie and I wasted all of them.
The genie realizing that she had gone to far, started to try and make me feel better. “ Aw pick your head up champ. What do you want your third wish to be? I ’ ll even help you because I feel bad for how dumb you are. You could wish for money, like anything north of a million dollars would be good, a house that was a castle, all the cake you can eat, or even better yet a father! ” This was the first time I could see the genie really well. I retorted “ What would the point be for wishing for these things if you couldn ’ t even grant my three stupid wishes? ” The genie looked questionably at me, before she could say what she wanted. “ My second wish was that all mean people in the world couldn ’ t talk anymore. And you have been talking the entire night. ” With that the genie was going to retort, but withheld her comment, either because of her spell or because realized that she would be breaking her own oath. She nodded, and just as easily as she fell out of my ear she disappeared from my sight.
-Beep, beep, beep- “ Ah I ’ m late for school! ”
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[ WP ] We 're wrong about death
| The beautiful thing about death, or really tragic thing, is that I want you to take everything you've ever imagined about it and throw it out the fucking window.
Everything that you thought it would be, or would n't, is shocking. You get here and you think surely things will be different than what they were before. Except they're not. Once you're decomposed into the primordial stew that you once sprang from it only restarts itself in perfect cyclical balance.
Some remember their previous existence while others are completely oblivious. I prefer to forget mine. But that's the poetic grace of these situations, I suppose. The things you prefer to leave behind haunt you like the ghosts of the living that carry your memory as their perpetual burden.
I went from cancer and this time around I smoke everyday just for the hell of it. What's the worst that could happen? I die again?
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[ WP ] One evening you 're driving past your local cemetery when you see your best friend mourning over someone 's grave . Deciding you want to console them , you park and walk over . Upon further inspection , you realize the gravestone has your name on it .
| It was sunny. That's what I remembered most of all. When I thought of my death, I always imagined the sky being gray, like in the movies.
When I saw my friend there, I was puzzled. I never heard of any one close to him being dead. His parents were alive and well and while his grandparents were reaching the end of there existence...
Georgie,
( TRAITOR )
And me were always close. I told him everything and he the same to me. Even when he wrong me terribly, he would always fess up.
I'm sorry, I'm just so... confused. I not even sure how i'm telling this story. Or who I'm telling it to. I'm in a room, but it's all... surreal. Like I'm watching this room through a television screen. I might be seeing from a first-person perspective, but It feels like I'm not actually there. In I fact I get this feeling like I know I'm not actually there.
All I have now is this drive to keep talking.
When I saw my name on the tombstone, I frowned. My `` friend''
was crying quite loud now, and I was in no mood for any pranks. Something terrible happened recently and I was a bit in the dumps. I told him to knock it off, and that I was shocked to see him pull this after what happened in my life.
He kept crying.
I got even more angry. In fact it was straight against his character. He done some bad stuff before but nothing as insensitive as this.
Ugh. For a dead man, I got one hell of a head ache. You know they say that ghosts ca n't leave, until they took care of unfinished business. Except I got this strange feeling I'm not on earth anymore.
Georgie got up, walked to his car, and drove away. All without acknowledging me. Understandably this made me quite upset. I ran to my car and took off after him. It was strangely silent that whole trip. The radio was off but it was n't just that. I could n't hear the engine of the car either. In fact I could n't hear any other cars either, not even Georgie's, who's bumper I was currently riding. I did n't even feel any vibrations from the car. It was as if I-
floating
I honked my horn several times ( or at least I think I did. I hit the wheel several time but nothing pierce the increasingly foreboding silence ) but it had no effect. After what seem like a eternity, we stop in front of a lovely yellow house. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, the perfect place to raise a family. The one where you stepped into and right away you realized that this was the place, the place that you just know you were spending the rest of your life in. You look at the kitchen countertop and saw yourselves packing lunches for the kids, the living room where the whole family can snuggle together and enjoy a late night movie, a tradition which is uphold every Friday night. The only thing taking you out of this magical vision was the increasing pressure in your left hand. You turn to look at the beautiful face of this source of pressure. You turn and see
Rebecca. My wife. My love.
( MY WHORE )
He's at my house. He's at my fucking house. I ca n't move now. I'm locked into my seat, unable to blink, as made to by some outside force.
( Oh god why ca n't I MOVE. )
It was in this moment I began to fully realized the situation o was in. I was dead. I'm quite fine with it now ( why am I though? ) but at the time I was in hysteric. I could n't scream, I could n't cry, I could n't run, I could n't do anything but watch my friend walk up somberly to my door, to give my wife his condolences. He makes it to the door. He rings the doorbell. I start crying now. The only action I'm allowed. I'm no longer in the car but now next to him. Yes I am dead. I accepted that. And now my friends and family will mourn me. I know that.
So why am I still here.
I hear my wife call out `` coming''. I break down inside at the sound of it. Externally I'm standing up rigidly. The door opens.
Georgie produces a handgun and shoots her.
What?
No, no, no that's not how it happened!
No, no please I do n't want to.
I CA N'T
WHY IS THIS HAPPENING.
Oh God. Her blood.
WHY, GEORGE WHY.
( I know why )
No, no I do n't.
( How did I die!? )
No
( That gun looks familiar )
NO
( It is familiar )
STOP
( It ended my life )
...
Georgie was now on his knees. `` Oh god I'm sorry. I'm sorry please forgive me''
He put the gun in his mouth and fired it for the last time, fire only three times, one bullet for every life. The neighbor screamed at this point.
Vision of a motel room flood my brain now, clothes scattered across the floor. How long has it been going on? How long had I played the fool? How many weekends.
I now see my bed. Me and Rebecca were heavily Christian before and we made love for the time in our lives on that bed. It was our sanctuary, a tribute to our marriage and love. Now it's soiled, dirtied by some foreigner.
Me and Georgie were having a beer when he confessed. We were laughing and having a grand old time, but the whole time George seemed a bit down. His laugh were n't as hearty, he drank more than usual, and he never looked me in the eyes.
`` Hey I got something important to tell you''
The next day I bought a gun.
Then came the two day waiting period.
Then the end. I planned to use it on them but I could n't bring myself to do it.
Georgie found my body first. Under a bridge I lay, the bridge me and him used to hide as kids. Good old reliable Georgie, knowing me inside and out, knowing the first place to look, especially when the wife files a missing person report and spread posters around the neighborhood.
That's how I died. And now my friend and wife are too.
But that's not what's keeping me here.
I feel sadness and I feel anger. But what I feel the most is the feeling which used to shame me the most. One emotion that made no sense at the beginning. Seeing my friend cry and my wife brought about this reaction and if horrified me. But now it does n't. Now I faced reality, it seems like the perfect emotion to feel.
I feel happy.
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[ WP ] Science is able to tell people the exact moment that you are going to die . It is now one minute after that time has passed .
| *Did we finish too early? *
I stubbornly refused to look at the fantastically accurate cesium clock at my bedside.
*I will not look away and ruin this moment. This is the last chance I'll ever have. *
My wife is staring back at me. Her eyes are red with crying, but a new emotion is growing in them. Fear? Hope? She wo n't look away. Ca n't look away.
*What if the clock is wrong? *
*How long have we been here? *
Some people have wild parties. Some go to exotic places. Some just walk and keep walking until the timer runs out. We all do this now that the destiny calculator can tell us with flawless accuracy the moment of our deaths.
*Do n't blink. You might miss it. *
We had talked about it all our lives. Everyone did. We talked to coworkers about our bucket lists in the bright day. We confided our fears to friends and lovers in the dark night. I had thought of all the things I could do. I could go to Alaska and hunt one of the last polar bears with a spear. I could take every drug known to man and die cresting the highest high I could find. I could die on the peak of Mount Everest and let my body fall from the roof of the world.
I did n't want that. I just wanted on more night with her. One more night to hold her. I just wanted to die looking into those eyes that had seen so much of my life with me. I wanted my last sight to be the face that I had woken up to everyday for the last 50 years.
*How long has it been? *
`` Were... were we wrong?'' she finally spoke.
`` I do n't know. Today's the day. This is the hour.''
`` But you're still here...'' she said softly, like a sigh of relief.
`` Yes. I guess I am. But now I do n't know what to do.''
She blinked slowly. `` I guess we have to live like people used to live, and never know the how much time we have left.''
But by the time she opened her eyes, the light had already left his.
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[ WP ] After making a suicide pact , a boyfriend and girlfriend jump off the Golden Gate bridge , one of them dies . The other finds out that they are immortal .
| The tension between our eyes solidified the fact that we were going to do this. We wanted to spend all of forever together, but you can ’ t do that by living. All the cars driving by us on the bridge, and not a single one stopped in its way. Not a single one stopped or even thought of stopping. We were n't important to them, much like they weren ’ t important to us. At that instant when I looked into her eyes, I knew she was the only one important to me. I wrapped my embrace around her, knowing this is how we ’ ll be forever, how we wanted it to be. Our feet went off the edge with our bodies trailing behind. What better way to live forever with one you love, then to die with them.
*Splash. *
Except I didn ’ t.
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[ WP ] - When your best friend , becomes your worst enemy .
| They had forgotten what had pushed them apart. The taller one, charming and handsome, assumed it was a woman or jealousy and felt righteous in their adversarial conflicts. The other, wiser and older, only knew that he had something to live, fight, and die for.
`` We keep finding ourselves here,'' said one. And the other just stood and stared grimly at the other.
The had been brothers, once. Before their fighting had began, they had lived simple lives. Brothers trying to please a father and live as best as they could.
`` Took you long enough,'' said one, as they both drew back their jackets in concert, revealing pistols.
A crowd had gathered to watch. The spectacle of these two men, dark and light, in a duel.
An eternity passed in a second's time. What they did not know was that it had started with rocks, clubs, swords in a pit, then muskets in a war. Both bore scars and both had seen and been a force of wrath in this world.
They blinked. Their breath sang in harmony. They drew together. Hammers pulled and landed. Bullets spun and rocketed towards each other.
The crowd gasped, confused by this strange play before them. Both men, bleeding from their hearts a fiery red, dropped into the dust.
In a matter of days they would awaken, and it would take thousands of miles and almost a century for them to find each other again. A never ending, silent moment on another battlefield.
Neither man knew what had started this. Nor could they stop. Nor could they forgive the other and call them by name and embrace them. There could never be an end for the tragedy of Cain and Abel.
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[ WP ] Instead of hearing what people say , you hear what they mean . It has been both a blessing and a curse .
| **Based on a standard summer morning for me. My step-father and I do not get along. **
`` Morning Dad.''
`` Acknowledgment that you are finally awake, followed by sarcastic but light-hearted quip that states I am dissatisfied with the transitioning social norm of beginning the day at this late an hour, not because it personally upsets me, but because I am jealous due to the fact that I was forced to awaken at a much earlier hour in my childhood. I do not personally blame you for this change in norm, but since I can not voice my opinion to your entire generation, I'll displace this dissatisfaction onto you.''
I'm pretty sure all he really said was'look who's finally up.'
`` Yeah, yeah, did you or Mom make breakfast?''
`` Your mother's status as the breadwinner of this household also upsets me, as it conflicts with my traditional values. The fact that she has left early for work while I stay at home due to my temporary unemployment challenges my sense of masculinity and fatherhood. I do not wish to fall deeper into what I view as a traditionally effeminate role, so I have not prepared a homemade meal for you, and have instead spent my time watching sports programming to re-assure myself that I am a man, as well as take my mind of my employment situation.''
'Nope, your mom had a meeting and I'm watching the Master's.' would have sufficed.
I made myself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee as I listened to the commentary on the television.
*'' I'm speaking quietly despite the fact that it's well known none of the golfers on the course can actually hear me from my sound booth, and am using extensive golf vocabulary to reassure you that I am a professional commentator. I'll give a brief description of the hole at play and weather conditions which may or may not actually be noticed by the players, or effect the outcome of the game whatsoever, all while contemplating suicide due to the fact that my dream of becoming a professional golf player failed miserably, and I figured'well I may as well get a job in the field'. `` *
*'' Fraudulent reassurance of the value of co-commentator's observations, as well as a layman's re-iteration of what was already said. `` *
I cleared my throat as I finished my breakfast, `` Well, I'm going to the gym so I'll see you later.''
`` Second sarcastic jab intended to demoralize your fitness efforts. The fact that you are younger, faster, and stronger than me, and continuing to grow more so everyday while I continue to practice lazy behaviors makes me feel threatened in my status as alpha-male of the household. However, since I lack the will to join you in self-betterment activities, I will instead attempt to prevent you from participating in them. When I see that you intend to anyway, I will give an unnecessary and meaningless command to you to re-assure myself that I still maintain some form of dominance.''
He probably asked me to mow the lawn or something, but it clearly did n't actually need to be done.
`` Okay, see you later Dad.''
Honestly I just feel sorry for him now, instead of angry. I'm really not sure how I feel about all this.
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[ WP ] The death penalty may only be sought if a prosecutor assists in the execution . A young lawyer visits the inmate he must execute the following day .
| I smiled wryly as I walked through the security checkpoint on my way to the chamber.
I had been down their many a time to assist in these proceedings. At first I had been unsure about what I was doing, but I convinced myself that it was for the greater good and I continued to assist in them.
It was around my third execution that things changed. I realized that I had developed a taste for it. The thrill of holding a life at my mercy, the power of deciding someone's eternal legacy. The look in a person's eye before I pulled the trigger.
Every execution I had a choice. If I walked into the room and decided that I did n't want to kill, the inmate lived, they were dubbed innocent and life moved on; however, if I decided otherwise they were n't so lucky.
The inmates I assisted with were never lucky.
Today was my fifth execution, and I could feel my blood pumping with anticipation as I made my way down to the inmate's cell.
The inmate to be executed was a young man around my age. He had grown up in a rough neighborhood that was rife with gang activity. When a gang member tried to rob his house, the young man allegedly killed him in self defense.
It might have even been true, honestly I had no idea whether the killing was in self defense or not. It did n't matter to me one way or the other. He murdered someone, so now I would murder him. The only difference was that my murder was legal.
I walked over to his cell and greeted him.
`` Hello Robert.'' I said casually.
I liked to get to know my inmates before the execution. It made it more personal, and I enjoyed that.
`` So your the one that's going to do it.'' He replied, not a drop of fear in his eyes. He seemed to have made his peace.
It was nice to see someone like that after all the inmates I'd dealt with before. Usually they would beg for mercy, or tell me stories about how they were actually innocent and did n't deserve this.
I always heard them, but I never actually listened.
This young man's demeanor had caught my attention however, so I decided to listen.
`` Alright, this is your last chance to explain yourself. Your last chance to save your life.'' I said. `` Start talking.''
He looked up at me and laughed. It was n't a laugh of sorrow or contempt. It was a genuine laugh, as if I had said something actually funny.
`` There's nothing to say, I killed a man. I know that. You know that. If I walk away now, that is n't right. I deserve to die. It's a fitting punishment for a murderer, so I wo n't fight for my life. It's yours to take.'' he said.
If the man wanted me to kill him I was n't going to argue. It had been my plan from the start anyways. Regardless I wanted to hear more of what he had to say.
`` If killing someone makes you a murderer, then what will that make me for killing you?'' I asked, interested to hear his response.
`` You'd be a murderer to just like me.'' he replied.
`` So are you saying that someone should kill me too for my murder? I asked.
`` That's for you to decide. You see I'm not saying that you should kill me because that's what the law states. I'm saying you should kill me because that's what my personal values state. I believe that taking a life should be punished with death. If you agree, then yes you should be killed as well. Your fate for killing me is completely up to you and your beliefs.'' he said.
*Personal value*. That was an interesting concept. As I started to ponder the idea, an alarm begin to blare.
It was the alarm I had set on my phone. It was time for the execution.
`` Alright time to go then.'' I said, as a guard approached to help escort the inmate to the execution chamber.
His family was waiting there to witness his last moments, tears in their eyes as they saw him. Their reactions bored me, I had seen the same from the family of every inmate before so I simply ignored them.
The young man however was still quite interesting. As I put the gun to his temple, I asked him `` Do you have any last words you wish to share with your family?''
He turned to them,'' I'm sorry it has to be this way, but I do n't want you all to mourn my death. I lived a good life, and I want all of you to do the same. Goodbye.'' he said.
Then surprisingly enough he turned to me and said something. `` I chose my punishment for murder, but before I die tell me. Have you decided what your punishment will be for murder?''
I leaned in close so only he could hear me. `` Believe it or not, I enjoy this. So I wo n't be punishing myself for it in the slightest.''
I expected shock or at least disapproval, but I got neither.
He just laughed again, but this laugh was different. It was n't contemptful or even genuine. It was a laugh of pity.
Normally I'm a very calm man, but this for some reason sent me over the edge.
`` Goodbye'', I said and pulled the trigger.
The family and the guard stood looking a me in shock.
The man was still standing, I had pulled my arm to side in order to miss him at the last second.
`` You're free to go'' I announced. `` Rethinking the evidence I feel as though your actions were justified and you do n't deserve the death penalty.''
His face was twisted in confusion, as he mouthed out a single word. *'' Why?'' *.
I leaned in again so that only he could hear me.
`` Do n't be fooled, I WILL kill you one day, but today's not that day. You ask why? Because I abhor you. You spout off things about personal value, and deserving death. You do n't deserve to die yet. You have n't earned that. You do n't value your life enough to struggle, to fight to live. And yet you have the nerve to pity me for my beliefs? I will wait until you learn to value your life and this world. That is when I will rip it all away from you. That is when I will kill you.'' I told him anger in my eyes.
Then I stepped back, turned around and walked out the door. Leaving the young man shocked as his family rushed to embrace him.
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[ WP ] You are a kid 's imaginary friend . They 're growing up . You 're fading away .
| In the forest, a breeze gently rustles my fur. I can barely feel it. All I can feel is this numb, cloying sensation, like after eating bad plants. He walks up to me, between the twisted tree trunks, above the winding roots. Tree trunks that reach beyond, far beyond Man's pretend sky, his pretend limits. Roots that curl and reach to catch the feet of the unwary. He approaches. In my mind's eye, I am sent back to the day we first met, many long years ago. He was just a child, a toddler, a cub. Just a cub, and yet so brave, already so brave. Brave enough, in fact, to merit the attentions of a tiger.
His mother had to work. His father had to work, too. So they looked in the newspaper, and checked out a few locations, eventually finding a suitable daycare. Between his house and that daycare was a forest, a forest so thick with trees and branches and leaves that men could scarcely enter without the assistance of a flashlight. No such problem, however, existed for those with a tiger's eyes.
Our first meeting was short; too short, it seemed. There was a blue car, a sedan. It went racing by, the first time. I know I saw it: When I did, I felt as if I was filled by icy lightning, and eyes grew wide. Tigers rarely show emotion, but I showed surprise, that day. From the very moment that I saw that sedan, I knew that I would be on the hunt of a lifetime.
A hunt that lasted a lifetime.
I sat in that spot for hours, waiting for the sedan's inevitable return. They always go by twice. The sedan did return, but not on that day. I waited as the sun rose high and then fell, and through the moon's silent journey across an ebony sky. The sun rose again.
Finally, the sedan returned.
This was different from the first time. Before, I could only see the car, and only that for an instant, and it was gone. Now, for some unknown reason, the driver of the car stopped it. That was when I saw him. His eyes, icy yet electric blue eyes, were... there. They were immovable. They pierced me, transfixed me, and in that moment I knew that I was his.
It's a strange feeling, to have belonged to someone for so long, yet never knowing it yourself. It's especially unusual for a tiger. Tigers do not'belong' to others. We are our own, only our own, ourselves first, and nothing can change that.
Or so I thought.
He looked at me, straight in the eye, and I fumbled through my mouth and mind for something to call him. A word sprang to my lips.
Cub.
Child.
Son.
I knew he heard me, for his eyes widened in response. That moment stays with me forever, even now. Especially now.
He wore khakis back then, and turtlenecks. Sometimes a polo if he was feeling casual. His favorite color was blue. It was n't until third grade, though, that he began wearing blue jeans, and even then, only about once a week.
In middle school, his favorite color was red. He rarely wore it, though, instead choosing to hide himself in an oversized, dark sweatshirt, and baggy pants. In these times I was with him always, for he frequently needed my advice.
In high school, his favorite character was blue again. Blues like ice and oceans, waves and sky, and the shell of a freshly-cracked robin's egg all adorned his person, and I was happy for him, proud of him, so proud, that he finally became himself, emerging from adolescence as a poised young adult.
It was here that I first felt the numbness.
Perhaps he'd been talking to a teacher, perhaps a girl. But in this moment I felt an... emptiness. He did n't need me, for the first time. For the first time, he did n't need me.
In the beginning, he was alone, for he read, while other children played. In middle school, he was alone, for he read while other children fought. By high school, he stood alone, for he spoke while other children listened.
Now he pulls up his hand to show me the ring. He did n't need to. I already felt it.
Tigers are n't supposed to cry. Tigers are n't supposed to cry, but I feel genuine tears welling up in my eyes.
I was proud of him, so proud of him. Proud of all the things he's done, proud of the man that he's become.
He does n't dare stroke my fur as he once did. He understands what that will bring, and neither of us want this to end. I do n't want it to end, so I wait for him to say the fatal words, the last phrase. I stand there waiting, and I realize that I can not afford to wait for him any longer.
I speak.
`` I'm proud of you.'' I say. The words roll off of my tongue, almost without me willing then to, and their gentle puissance threatens to send tears rolling down my cheeks.
`` I'm proud of you,'' I repeat. `` And whatever comes your way, whatever troubles appear to you, you are my son, and I love you, a and nothing can change that. Never forget that, and never forget this: No matter how dark, or twisted or broken the world may become, you are a man now—No, more than a man; you are a man with the heart of a tiger. So whatever challenges, whatever obstacles, or countless odds you face, never back down, never give in, and never let yourself fall without putting up a fight.''
I'm choked up now. I can barely speak. The roars that I once sent echoing through the trees wo n't come, may never come again, but this is not sorrow's stranglehold. No, my throat is clamped shut with the pride of a father. He and I both make small, strange hiccups of noise. Each feels like broken glass.
Only moments are left for me now. I rise up to my full height, place my paws on his shoulders and look him in the eye. He looks back at me. `` Goodbye...'' he murmurs.
I'm allowed one long sob before I vanish.
I'm proud of him. And one day, one day. One day he'll know how much I Ioved him. He already loves another that same way. I pray that they love him as well.
Always, always, remember who you are...
My son.
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[ WP ] You are bored at work when suddenly you hear a gunshot . Colleagues all around you open drawers and pull out guns of their own . One of them looks at you and says : `` It 's on , motherfucker ! ''
| It was just another day at the office. The work was boring, and the chairs were just uncomfortable enough to keep your lower back in constant pain. As I stared at the computer screen, barely making an effort to concentrate, I wondered what it would be like if something actually happened around here. Something to break the monotony. Almost subconsciously, I took out a pencil, held it in my hand like a gun, and mouthed the word'bang'. As soon as my lips closed around the last syllable, the pencil in my hand let out a deafening roar. Startled, I fell backwards out of my chair and onto my back, and saw all of my coworkers looking at me in shock. Then the shock in their faces turned into hatred, and they immediately grabbed guns from their desk drawers and pointed them at me.
`` Whoa, guys- calm down. I have no idea what just happened, probably some sort of computer malfunction or something. I did n't have anything to do with it.''
One of my coworkers took a step forward, face contorted in rage, and my dazed mind recognized him as Tim, the asshole that nobody liked.
`` Oho, you do n't have anything to do with it? That's fucking rich. I bet my ass you have everything to do with it. It's on, motherfucker!''
As he fired, I ducked under my desk, silently thanking the genius who decided to line the undersides with metal sheets. As I sat there, listening to the bullets pinging off the metal, I tried to think of what could have caused the gunshot that set everyone off. I looked down at my hand, still clutching the pencil, and moved my fingers into the same position they were in at the time. Pointing the tip of the pencil at nothing in particular, I mouthed'bang'. Again, the pencil let out a roar and jerked backwards as a hole appeared in the wall in front of me. Slack-jawed, I gazed at the pencil for several seconds before remembering I was in the middle of a gunfight. I put my hand above the desk, and swung the pencil side to side, mouthing'bang' as fast as I could. Every few seconds I heard a grunt or scream of pain that let me know I had hit someone. Within minutes, all the gunfire died down and I felt it was safe to get out from under the desk.
The office was covered in blood, with dead or dying bodies littered every few feet. As I surveyed the scene in horror, a bloody hand grasped my ankle. When I looked down, I saw it was Tim, face no longer angry but drawn and white. He coughed up some blood and attempted to speak to me, but his hands went limp before he could get any proper words out. In shock, I went back under the desk and curled up in the fetal position, remaining that way until I was found by the police. Though they questioned me extensively in custody, I pretended that I had simply hidden under my desk when a gunfight broke out for an unknown reason. Because they were unable to find any evidence linking me to a firearm, the police let me go, and I have led a relatively normal life since then. I now work at a different office that is remarkably similar to the last one. As much as I try to forget, though, I ca n't forget Tim's lifeless eyes, accusing me- and I never once made a finger gun again.
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[ WP ] - You 're a craftsman that is making a weapon for a legendary warrior . While working , you realize the perfect material recipe to release your masterpiece 's true powers . The weapon is created , you name it .
| Orlien appeared in my doorway after nightfall, casting a faint shadow from the moonlight into the floor of my shop. The inky black leathers he wore blurred his edges with the night and hid most of his intimidating physique. He was a terrifying sight to behold, and for countless many, their last.
In the three hundred years I had been making blades, I had not poured my soul into my work such as this. But my age and my own story is a tale for another time.
As much as my craft was bladesmithing, Orlien's was death. And for as much of my soul that I poured into his blade, he poured as much and more of his hatred. A man this powerful would have power in his blood. I suggested that he provide some for the blade, and he obliged. Without wincing, he took his dagger to his arm and unleashed a steady flow onto the steel as I was folding it with my hammer.
Countless times the steel was folded, adding charcoal dust for strength and flexibility. The dagger was one solid piece of folded steel, the dark and light layers rippled like lightning across the blade, and the handle was precisely fitted to Orlien's hand. I polished and stropped the blade, giving it angry bite. Testing it with my thumb, it effortlessly sliced through, yet somehow the pain it caused was as if it were burning and tearing through my flesh, no doubt the loathing inside Orlien's blood gave the blade this property.
I wrapped the blade in a satchel of leather and handed it to it's master. Etched into the leather was the name I had given my work, `` Animus'', for if hatred could be manifest physical, it would be the object wrapped in his hands. He removed it, and tested the evil edge himself. He was n't happy, I'm not sure the man had ever known happiness in however long his cursed life was, but he was pleased with my work. After dropping a purse of gold coins in my hand he disappeared into the night, no doubt to find the person that would be the sheath for his new blade.
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[ WP ] The newest innovation in Samsung 's Galaxy S11 smart phone finally crosses the line , proving that there are some things that people just prefer NOT TO KNOW !
| My phone buzzed and I cringed inside. While the clerk dug in her drawer for change to the twenty I had given her, paying for my own lunch – something I wasn ’ t used to – I resisted the urge to tell her to keep it and run. I tried to ignore the sensation of being roasted by angry glares. Tried to shrug it off as just my imagination.
Then my phone buzzed again.
“ Hater within five feet. ” The alert had been funny at first. A party gag that sensed nearby phone owners, rated their personality, social media information, and a slew of other factors into a composite number that would tell you whether you could trust them had been a run-away hit. I ’ d built my company on the millions of dollars of ad revenue it had generated.
The update hadn ’ t gone so well.
My phone buzzed again. Another “ hater ” within my own olfactory zone.
The check-out girl ’ s grin seemed forced. Did she hate me? Or is it Carla standing over there by the salads?
“ You ready for the five o ’ clock? ” Burt, my second in command - a genius with algorithms, if not people – and my lunch date, sauntered up to me.
My phone buzzed again. Not you too!
“ Um, yeah. Let ’ s talk about the new module. I think maybe we need to skew the results towards a more amenable delta. ”
“ What? ”
My phone buzzed again and I fought the urge to whip my head around to see who else had entered range of my phone.
“ I just think, you know…sometimes too much honesty is a bad thing? ”
“ Are you kidding? ” Burt voice was loud, booming across the cafeteria and I thought my phone might explode from the way everyone looked at us.
Grabbing Burt by the arm, I led him to a table in the corner.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“ Look, I know you think people should know who they can trust, and who they can ’ t. But who really like, hates them. That might be too much. ”
Burt looked at me. “ But it ’ s a good thing. You can then optimize your social networking calibrating it for maximal efficiency by delegating any non-specific human relationship to a non-functioning status. ”
I stared at him, wondering if Burt ’ s phone was buzzing at the moment.
“ Maybe for some people, but I don ’ t think people are really ready for the honest to god truth about how much people really just don ’ t like them. ”
We settled into our chairs.
“ Is this about the five o ’ clock? ”
I chewed my lip. For a moment I thought about lying to Burt, but figured he probably had his app on Audio sensor. It would tell him if I lied and the last thing I needed was that fog horn alert going off in this crowd.
“ Well, yes. Investors are talking about backing out. The 2.0 has cut our ad revenue in half, and there ’ s talk amongst the primary stakeholders about….about…layoffs. ”
That rumor had gotten out, I was pretty sure, and was the reason my phone had been vibrating almost non-stop all morning. At least I hoped that was the reason.
“ But I think – “
“ Look, I ’ m not asking you to rewrite everything, just … rebalance the algorithm. Make it a little lighter on the whole hate thing. ”
“ You want me make it…lie? ”
I winced. “ Not lie…just…smooth out the truth. ”
“ But it ’ s called the Honesty App! ”
“ I know. ”
“ If we change the algorithm – “
“ I know, ” I interrupted him. “ But look at all those people out there. ” I waved at the growing crowds at the tables, ignoring my phone which felt like it was catching on fire. “ If we don ’ t, I ’ m afraid we ’ ll have to let a lot of them go. We may even have to….turn off the app completely. ”
Burt ’ s eyes went wide. “ Turn it off? ”
I nodded. I waited, letting it sink in. Everything I had said was the truth, fortunately, but it wasn ’ t the whole truth. Ever since Honesty 1.0 had launched, I had found myself becoming defter with my phrasing, choice of words and arguments.
It had been a new way of thinking, not just talking. And I had been excelling at it.
2.0 could bring an end to that. It had to be rolled back. Or at least adjusted.
I just had to convince Burt to do it.
Realizing I had been holding my breath, I tried to let it out slowly, watching the strange wheels turn in Burt ’ s mind.
Slowly, he nodded.
Strangely, my phone stopped buzzing at the same time.
|
[ WP ] Superpowers stopped appearing in people , until there were no new superheroes/villains at all . Now it 's the far-flung future , and only those rare few from `` modern '' times whose powers incidentally let them live hundreds of years still have superpowers .
| The ship creaked as the wind from the watery planet pushed the landing gear from side to side. I pulled my cloak closer to shield me from the sea spray it had reminded me of my home, that felt more like a fond dream than a memory.
I checked the time and looked to the large men on either side of me. It always amazed me thinking back to being the tallest man from my village but now most women dwarfed me. Nutrition may have gotten better but I was convinced character peaked in the early 12 century.
I looked to the man on my right and asked, “ Is he going to come out? ”
The man in the suit that seemed to be set in stone now said, “ He will be out when the area is secured. ” Then the man turned back to stone. I thought that this man must be a descendant of a golem. I never much cared for golems never had anything to say and they made the germans look like comedians.
The wind whipped past my face and I heard a large creek as a the loading bay lowered on the flying craft. Light flooded out of it and I shielded my eyes, I was pessimistic when I first saw Tesla demonstrate his new lighting method. Unfortunately it had caught on.
I saw four more golems walk out brandishing rifles by their side, but in the middle strolled out a tall lean man in suit. His red tie whipped in the air before he caught it. I removed my cloak to show my head. It amazed me how good he looked his hair was still a shiny black with the slightest hint of grey.
He extended his hand and said in a voice that quieted the wind, “ It is nice to see you again friend. ” I shook the extended hand and it felt stronger than any hand I could remember.
“ It is nice to see you again… Mr. President, ” I said voice shaking against the power of the wind.
“ Herb you don ’ t have to call me that, ” he said as we strolled towards my humble home. An agent rushed ahead of him and opened the door.
I was enveloped in golems as we walked towards the door. “ Have you heard anything about the other old guards? ” I asked realizing it had been a few century since I had seen any of them.
He scuffed and said, “ Some, Khali is trying to start a war. Anubis is trying to invent a new flu virus. Sadly most are headed up and out of here to other colonies. ”
As we entered my home, the guards lined up outside and two more exited from within my home. I removed my cloak as I heard the click of the door shutting.
“ Why did you really come here Hades, ” I asked the suited man.
He looked calm as he looked at my home and said, “ I see you are busy writing all your stories. As you know we are in a tenuous time where more people are leaving the planet than are being born. ”
“ It won ’ t effect me too much, as they leave they carry hundreds of my works. Most even carry my original, ” I said with a smile remembering writing that first story and signing my name to it.
“ Ahh yes some might say your finest work but I still resent you a bit for portraying me like that, Hercules, ” Hades said with a pointed tone.
“ Again I ’ m sorry for that at the time I thought you were just a legend like everyone else, ” I said struggling to find the right tone or position to address the god.
Hades wondered for a bit looking over the ancient books that lined my wall, “ I don ’ t need an apology I need a writer. More importantly I need a writer than can tell a lie that everyone will believe. ”
Our eyes locked in that moment as he was gauging whether I was still sane. I began slowly unsure of myself, “ What lie is that? ”
He grinned his wide grin that was imprinted in my brain. “ I need you to make far space travel sexy again, ” he said doing his best showmans hands.
“ Why? ” I asked feeling as naive as I felt when someone said Pompeii had been obliterated.
Hades grew small as he leaned against my leather couch and sighed, “ We need to get off this rock and head to one of the colonies. All our brightest minds are leaving for other planets and it is inevitable that someone will end up destroying this one. ”
“ I will not leave this place it created us, ” I said feeling the shock of being torn from the one constant in my life.
“ You are afraid of space it is the unknown and we have grown to know so much, ” Hades said getting up and moving around the stacks of books. “ The problem is there are rumors that others like us are appearing on these new colonies, ” He said staring me down.
“ If we work together I can guarantee your stories will be told for the next 10 centuries, you ’ ll be able to live far beyond earth and throughout the life of the next planet. We will have a blank slate, ” Hades said gesturing his hand his far reach.
“ You ’ ll kill all my stories, ” I said feeling a lump in my throat as I was facing a god.
“ Your stories already have an expiration date and if it wasn ’ t for me none of your original works would have survived this long. We need to firm our grasp on a new world while there are still new worlds we can grab and you can fill it with new words you invent, ” Hades said walking closer to me.
“ Another one of your ‘ Underworld ’ scams, ” I stated in a cold demeanor. I saw the rage build inside of him.
“ I advanced civilizations hundreds of years by creating that place of geniuses and those descendants are who read your fake labors and your fake courage. Now usually I don ’ t mind the dull society people, but you are not one of them. You are immortal because people read the lie you wrote. I could have crushed you like Zeus wanted at the beginning, but I saved you because you were one of us. Even then there weren ’ t that many of us left, now there is even less. Heracles we need to save our selves to preserve the purest part of our species, ” Hades said weaving his sales pitch together.
My mind began slow and calm like those clear summer nights of old. “ I don ’ t know if we improved anything, but I know that we are not meant for the future. I will end more story where it was meant to, ” I said with what little courage I had ever possessed.
“ We might have been both born of the same status, but I became a god. Your stories will be bastardized and eventually forgotten while I will rule again, ” Hades said as he shook his head walking towards the door.
As he opened it I said, “ To have survived this long is a curse, remember that Mr. President. ” The wind blew through my house for a second before the door was slammed shut and I slowly picked up my papers and went back to my story.
|
[ WP ] You awaken one morning to find that your life has been erased completely as if you had never existed in the first place . Your phone has also been wiped completely clean . You receive a text from an unknown number .
| When I woke up something felt... off.
I could n't exactly tell what was bothering me until my eyes fully adjusted to the light filtering through the curtains.
The picture of Marie next to my bed was gone.
Since her death last year, I'd gone to sleep and woken up with her smile. I know, not a good way of getting over the grief, but I'm managing. Somehow.
I fumbled for my phone to kill the alarm that was still ringing, when realization hit me.
That was not my normal alarm ringtone. It was not my room either.
Stunned, i silenced the phone and took a look around. A nondescript carpet on the floor, TV in the corner, a small writing desk at the wall next to a window. Some middle class hotel, I guessed.
I unlocked my phone to check where I had ended up, only to discover that all my apps had gone when the phone buzzed in my hand.
I nearly dropped it when I read the message on the screen:
YOU HAVE BEEN ACTIVATED
AGENT DESIGNATION KILO-ONE
AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS
-- --
first time writing something for public consumption, so I'm open to suggestions.
I'm not entirely sure about the transition from room description to dropping the bomb, so feedback on that is especially appreciated.
|
[ WP ] Tell a story about a haunted house from the ghost 's perspective .
| It is quite cozy here, I never really understood the problems that so many of my short-visited guests complain about. I set every corner of the house so that it is spotless, even fluffed up the throw pillows on the sofa, vacuumed, everything. But it's always when I go to do the simplest of tasks, such as wash my hands, or open a door, they go completely irrational, crying to their spouses of `` mysterious beings.'' Whenever I try to compliment them on their work outfit, or ask if there was any mail, they get shivers, and tell their loved ones of whispers in their heads. I honestly never saw what was so wrong with trying to make guests feel at home.
It hurt my feelings, but of course they never cared. They called me a `` spiritual being''; they'd call `` specialists'' and talk to me as if I am a disabled child or dog. Why does no one love me? Friendliness has gotten me nowhere for years now. I honestly do not know what to do anymore. The multiple suicide attempts have led me to believe I may in fact be a freak. But why? Why am I forced to dwell these halls? Why has God made me endure a torture worse than hell? I have n't been able to grasp the energy to exit the house even. All I do now is try my damned hardest to help ungrateful spoiled guests accept me.
*Ding Dong*
I guess I might as well welcome the newcomers now.
*Where the fuck is a loaded gun when you need one? *
|
[ WP ] There is another world where people only have 4 senses . Somehow you are transferred to this other world where you retain all 5 senses .
| The first message we received from them was what could best be described as a `` selfie''. It was a picture of the alien, a head shot as it were, of it's smiling face. The face was not dissimilar to our own. Eyes, mouth, hair - but no nose. For that reason we called them the `` Nonoslians.'' There was some kind of text on the picture, but without context we could not translate.
We sent them a similar picture. A friendly selfie of the President. Smiling, happy looking, The text on the picture was `` Greetings from Earth.'' For all we knew the text on their picture was `` Greetings from Nonoslia'' so it seemed appropriate.
Their ship appeared in orbit months later. It was a pleasant looking space ship, not at all scary looking. From that ship we received a video transmission. The Nonoslians spoke an interesting sounding language, but we could not understand it. I suppose it was amazing that we got the message as obviously their technology was superior to our own, but we did. Nothing appeared menacing. There were no shadowy figures. No masks, or capes. No guns. Everything was well lit. Their tone sounded pleasant even if we could not understand them. We sent our video message of greeting as well, hoping they would receive it, and as far as we could tell, we did.
Eventually the linguists of our two people were able to work out communication. We may not have been as technologically advanced, but living on a polyglot world as we did, we were pretty good with languages. They were indeed peaceful and wanted nothing from us apart from cultural exchange.
All of this though, was done remotely. We had not personally visited them, nor they us. Evidently there was a health concern and we all wanted to be very careful to avoid any space viruses or plagues or disasters. They said it had happened to them once before, so they took extra precautions now.
What they wanted though, as part of the cultural exchange, was to exchange `` ambassadors''. They would take one of us to their world and leave one of theirs here. To facilitate this, we did a `` vital fluids and tissues'' exchange. You can guess what that involved. We tested them, they tested us. They posed no biological threat to us, but there was a slight concern about us to them. It could be resolved eventually, but our ambassador to Nonoslia would remain in a `` clean room'' on board their ship until such time. The Nonoslian would do the same here.
I was the chosen ambassador. The clean room was well furnished and supplied. They were built like us after all, so a chair was a chair, a bed was a bed, a table was a table. The food was odd though. Strange flavors, or in cases oddly bland. Smelled funny, but it was quite edible. The trip through our Solar system was slow, something about having to be free from the graviational pull of the sun. Once we were at a safe distance, things were much faster.
Onboard the ship, things were quite pleasant. We talked, we shared, they studied and by the time we arrived at Nonoslia, they deemed that my biology posed no threat to them and that I could safely leave my clean room.
Biggest mistake of my life. Nothing had prepared my for the stench of the Nonoslians. They had horrible body odor. I tried to maintain my composure, but it was difficult. Their ship smelled like a middle-school locker room where the toilets had backed up. I thought it was just cooped up space ship smells and once we got onto the planet I could breath easier.
I retched almost immediately upon exiting the ship. Sulphur and garlic and crap and b.o. and wet dog and rotten socks and corpse and durian. That was the smell of the planet Nonoslia. I passed out.
I awoke in my clean room and they asked what was wrong. How can you explain the horrid smell of the planet and its inhabitants to a people that have no noses and no sense of smell?
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[ IP ] War Never Changes
| The smell of cordite, diesel fuel, and death mixed in the air to create a sickly aroma that can only be described as war. Bodies, burning hunks of military equipment, and shell casings were strewn around the streets. What had hours ago been the sounds of raging battle had faded to the quiet crackling of fires and the whimpers of the dying. But this is a familiar picture to us, and it is n't anything we have n't seen before. Since the beginning of time man has been seeking after better ways to kill each other. Armies raised against armies, brother against brother. Swords and guns. Cannons and tanks. Blood and death. But in the end, nobody ever wins.
And war; war never changes.
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[ WP ] Very rarely people are born with a magical ability . You were born with power over toasters , and now you 're the last line of defence against the demon horde .
| The power to control toasters - sounds stupid, right? Yes. Yes it is. It is a terribly stupid power. I can make them work without power, and I can make them move with telekinesis, but that's about it. It is n't even that strong of telekinesis.
Here's the thing, while your standard toaster may not be much, my *custom* toasters work just fine. See, as long as a machine has the ability to toast bread, I can control and empower it. The key here is that `` machine,'' `` toast,'' and `` bread'' are all up to interpretation.
For instance, a giant robot with a toaster bolted onto it and tied into its minimal circuitry is just a very fancy toaster. Similarly, I can make toast with flamethrowers, so I can control them just as easily. Plus, if I define `` toasting'' as `` shooting incendiary/explosive ammunition,'' and declare that I will name all demons `` Bread,'' just about every firearm and missile falls under my control.
And, for shits and giggles, my power also makes it so that anyone with any sort of drink at all can make a toast to the invading, newly named Loaf of Bread, I can power them as well. All those toasters are strengthened by my magic, and can fight without food, water, or sleep for as long as the want.
So is control of toasters a stupid power? Only if you use stupid toasters.
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[ WP ] You 're a soldier on humanity 's last stand against Aliens . Victory seems unlikely . Suddenly , ghostly warriors from all eras come to your aid . From the ancient Roman Soldiers to the WW2 fighters , they 're there to turn the tides .
| There were 104 of us left in the last human stronghold on the planet. If you ask me, there was no better place for our species to end than the birthplace of democracy: Athens, Greece. We had fortified the large flat rock known as Cecropia, and the ancient structures and jagged rock formations served us well, allowing us to last as long as we had. Our enemy was not technologically advanced, and travelled by land, so the natural geography of Greece was ideal for slowing the enemy and funnelling their attacks. But they outnumbered us by the million, and were relentless in their pursuit of our extinction.
We had done all we can over the years, and as we saw the troves and masses of vile beasts approach the Acropolis, we knew this would be the final battle.
The unit assembled on the steps of the acropolis and waited... Americans, Greeks, Canadians, Swedes, Germans and more. Our petty differences seemed to childish now as we glanced into eachother's eyes. I did not feel fear, only belonging. I could feel my comrades smiling as the shrills and roars of our enemy got louder. There was no need for a speech, we knew the stakes that were on the line. No one spoke. No one moved.
Thousands of beasts climbed the steps and we opened fire, mowing down the first wave like fresh cut grass on a summer's day. It was easy work at first, but reloading put a serious dent in our bullet line, and the beasts started to break through our defenses. 100, 85, 50. We began to fall, but like a living organism we adapted to the battle and shifted to close combat strategies.
We engaged our large shields and heat swords and formed a phalynx, bracing for impact from every angle. The ground rumbled all around us, and we were ready to take as many beast with us to the grave as possible. Then we heard it....
`` AHHOOHH'' followed by a rhythmic banging on shields. `` AHHHOOHHH.'' The drumming became powerful and loud as a fully armed troop of spartan warriors emerged and surrounded our Phalynx with one of their own. Leonidas let out a loud SPARTANS!, and as soon as the beasts made contact with their shields they pushed back; All together, with such ferocity the earth shook.
It turns out, humanity was coming back for a second round of kick-ass.
Flaming arrows began to rain down from above, as we watched a troop of Japanese soldiers assemble on the ridge over looking the gate. Fully armed knight cavalry charged and flattened hordes of monsters. From ground traps, Vietnamese soldiers began emerging and firing at will. Ninjas, Highlanders, Hoplites, Nazis all took their turn fighting extinction.
It did n't matter what they were fighting for in a previous life.
They all knew what they were fighting for in this life: humanity.
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[ WP ] Two friends press random buttons in an elevator before they leave as a joke , upon pressing 20 numbers the doors shut and they hear `` Code accepted . ''
| *I hate job interviews* thought Daniel.
His elevator companion seemed eerily bubbly. Matthew was Daniels older brother. As a kind gesture to their mother Matthew had volunteered himself to babysi- errr escort Daniel to his job interview.
`` I had to pull some strings, nudge a few elbows, a sexual favor or two but I got you this job interview!'' said Matthew
Arching an eyebrow and looking over his shoulder, `` fuck you, I do n't like that your enjoying this so much'' replied Daniel
`` Hahaa, c'mon, brighten up a bit, from what my friend tells me you pretty much have this job in the bag, besides getting a job in a corporate setting in a a high rise building is pretty hard, *especially* for someone without a degree or certifcation of any sorts'' stated Matthew as a a-matter-of-factly.
`` Oh, my older brother loves me `` said Daniel as he wiped a non existent tear from his eye.
`` only for you, c'mon man, 9-5 is n't the worst thing that could happen, besides, maybe a bit of stability is what you need right now...'' said Matthew as he places his arm around Daniel.
It stung for a bit, but his brother might have had a point. Daniel,23, was in a pretty stagnant part of his life. No job prospects, not working towards any goals, he was a bit overweight, his glasses had a broken lense. Something different might be exactly what Daniel needed in his life, even if it was something as soul crushing as a 9-5
* *shudder* *
Daniel and Matthew relationship was n't always Big Brother takes care of little brother. At one point they were inseparable, then of course Matthew had to grow up and be an `` adult.'' Daniel tried that too but unlike Matthew, Daniel did n't have rockets strapped at his legs, Daniel struggled with everything that he tried, whereas his brother excelled at everything. Truthfully, he missed their earlier days, everything was more relaxed, there were never any set goals...
They had just stepped into the elevator, going on the second floor and their floor was level 148. Serendipity was Daniels cocaine, the randomness that occurred in Daniels life was some of his most memorable moments. He lived for those random turns, different choices, or hell even a new topping on his pizza.
The light bulb in Daniel's head had lite up.
Taking in a deep breath, Daniel executed his last ditch serendipitous moment
`` Hey Matthew, I realize what this job means to you and ma, so Imma take it''
`` you are?'' asked Matthew
`` Yup, I will gladly bend over for corporate America so that my family can get off to it, as opposed to regular porn, you wierdos'' said explained Daniel
`` hahah right, ok, awesome'' said Matthew
`` listen, imma take this job, but i have one last request before my soul belongs to HR''
`` okay, I'm listening''
`` Remember how when we were young, we used to do all this stupid shit and have a blast doing so'' asked Daniel
`` yea...?'' said Matthew suspiciously
`` Well, I need that bro again `` said Daniel as he gestured towards the elevator floor buttons.
`` uh Daniel really?
`` shush, close your eyes and let it happen'' suggest Daniel in a comically sexual manner
`` ha, alrite, but stop hitting one me'' said Matthew.
They pressed a series of random buttons, even the none numbers and suddenly the elevator stopped. A voice came from out of nowhere
`` Please re enter destination'' a wirely metallic voice, oddly feminine
The duo mashed the buttons again, visibly enthralled.
The voice returned `` CODE ACCEPTED''
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[ WP ] The gene that causes blonde hair has been lost over the years as humanity has progressed . Until one day , a child is born with blonde hair and they are treated differently from everyone else ...
| My dad once told me about my birth. It had been a reasonably happy affair to begin with: my mother lying on the hospital bed in the delivery room while my dad kept everyone laughing with his constant sense of humour, my older brother and sister sitting in the waiting room next door. Everything had been going swimmingly, and then the contractions began properly.
I came out and was wrapped in a white towel robe with a minimum of fuss. My dad was the first one to hold me properly. He had pulled back the edge of the towel to get a proper look at me.
And everyone went quiet.
Now, I should probably explain before I go any further. Basically what happened is, after two centuries of flukey procreation, the gene that causes blonde hair was lost somewhere along the way. Everyone had brown, black or red hair, and that was it. Just those three colours. Until I came along.
When my father had pulled back that towel to reveal my little shock of light blonde hair, that was when the trouble started.
***
'Hey, Strawhead!' someone shouted after me in the corridor.'Did your mom leave you asleep in the sun too long? Or did your parents pour bleach on your head?'
I supposed I had to give them credit for coming up with *yet another* original name for me. Over the course of primary and secondary school, I had garnered exactly fourteen nicknames regarding my hair. Strawhead was by far the most flattering of them all.
I ignored the catcalls and slipped into my next class, which happened to be English. This was possibly the safest place for me in the whole school. Mr. Gardner was n't blonde himself, of course, but he did n't pick on me like the other teachers did. If anything, I was his favourite, possibly because I was so different to any of his other students.
I sat down at my usual desk and took out my notepad. A lock of my hair fell forward into my eyes. I pushed it back behind my ear angrily and opened my pad to a clean page. While having long hair could be annoying, I had it cut as little as possible. Removing the only thing that made me stand out from the rest of the world felt a bit like giving up. That was why I had let my straight blonde hair grow down to my waist. It was a statement of sorts.
Thankfully, Mr. Gardner arrived before most of the class did, preventing any pre-lesson teasing from my fellow students. He smiled at me as he set his bag down on his desk, the bald patch in the middle of his thinning black hair shining a little in the light. I smiled as well as I looked through my bag for my pen. It felt good to have an ally.
Apart from Mr. Gardner and my father, no-one seemed to have much affection for me. My mother just did the bare minimum of caring for me, but there did n't seem to be much conviction in her actions. My siblings mostly just ignored me, only reacting when I asked a direct question or something.
My school peers bullied me from day one about my hair: teasing me about it, pulling it, calling me names. Several times in primary school I was held while someone tried to cut it with safety scissors. The teachers were smart enough to keep an eye on me during breaktimes though, and the scissors were duly confiscated.
Starved of friendship and love, I became the withdrawn, lonely girl everyone hated. I learned to like being by myself at lunchtimes, to deal with the hostility of group projects and sports, to become an introvert. I had been forced into a dark corner of my life, but I was damned if I was n't going to make that corner my fortress.
As Mr. Gardner went through today's assignment, my thoughts turned to the graduation ball the day after tomorrow. Everyone was looking forward to it, except me. I did n't want to have to go through the pointless exercise of trying to find someone willing to go with me, and I could n't just stay at home. My father would be there, and it would break his heart to see his little girl hiding herself in her room again.
So I had a plan.
As soon as English class was finished and the final bell rang, I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the school, a few half-heard remarks about my hair echoing after me. I pulled up my hood as I walked down into town, hiding my bright locks from sight.
I made it home and went up to my room, locking the door behind me. I got down on my knees and pulled out a box from under my bed. It was full of spray cans. I took one out and looked at the label. *Hairspray*. This was my ticket to a better life.
Of course, my mother had been pressuring me to artificially colour my hair for years, but I had always resisted. But this was different. This was for my dad's happiness. And mine, in a way.
The hairspray was n't the crappy stuff of the 21st century. No, this was modern high-grade actor's spray, guaranteed to last up to two weeks per application. It washed off easily enough with the antiserum in another spray can from the box, but normal showering or rain would n't budge it. Perfect for what I planned to do.
I sat down in front of my mirror and took a long strand of my fringe in my fingers, stretching it out in front of my eyes. I aimed the nozzle of the spray can at it, took a deep breath to prepare myself, and sprayed. I did the entire strand in one go, then opened my eyes as the mist cleared.
The effect was astonishing. The section of hair that had been sprayed looked completely natural; a dark brown colour similar to my father's. I smiled to myself as I took another section of hair and began to spray it as well. A little part of me died inside to see my hair being defaced like this, but I reminded myself that it was only temporary.
***
When I arrived into school the next day, practically nobody recognised me. I even walked past the guy who had called me `` strawhead'' the day before and he did n't even turn his head to look at me. It was only when I was sitting in assembly that the teacher noticed it was me.
The news travelled quickly through the school that the blonde girl was now a brunette. I saw students looking at me in the corridor, watching me eat during lunch, feeling their eyes on the back of my head in class. I could have sworn some of them even took pictures of me on their phones.
I tried to ignore them as much as possible, but a small part of me felt excited to be the centre of attention for once. Mr. Gardner looked surprised to see my appearance in English class that day, but I saw him give me a wink as we left.
And I did n't hear a single insult the entire time.
It was just after school had ended that the cherry on the cake was added. I was at my locker, half-listening to the whispering from two girls looking at me further down the hall. Then there was a tap on my shoulder.
I turned to see a boy standing there. He was half a head taller than me, with spiked up black hair and blue eyes the exact same shade as mine. He gave me a grin and cleared his throat.
'Hi, I'm Rory,' he said.'You're Zara, right?'
I nodded, too amazed to be speaking to this guy to speak. I had seen him around the school for a few days before now, so I could only assume he was new here.
'Well, I just got here, and I found out there's supposed to be some big graduation dance tomorrow,' Rory continued.'I saw you walking around and asked someone who you were. They told me your name and that you did n't have a partner for the dance yet?'
I found my tongue.'Yes,' I said.'I mean, yes, I do n't have a partner.'
He grinned at my flustered manner.'Well, would you like to go with me?'
'Yes!' I blurted out, almost before he finished the sentence.'Yes,' I repeated in a calmer voice.'I would love to.'
We exchanged phone numbers, with the promise that he would meet me after the graduation ceremony. I left the school that day with my heart feeling lighter than it had ever been in my life.
***
The ceremony went better than I could have imagined. Rather than the lightning-quick come-up-sit-down presentation I had expected for my certificate, the principal actually shook my hand and stayed for half a dozen shots from the photographer. When I finally left the stage, the applause went on for a good minute. All because of my brown hair. I had been an exemplary student the whole time, according to the principal's words, but I knew it was the hair colour that made the difference.
I saw my dad in the crowd that night, and his eyes were filled with tears of joy. Before I left with Rory for the dance afterwards, he told me that he had never felt more proud of me.
***
The dance was amazing, every eye in the hall on me and Rory as we twirled across the dance floor. He seemed to enjoy the attention as much as I did, and we were still laughing when we left the hall later that night.
He walked me all the way to my house, then tried to wish me a good night and go home as we reached the door. Still hyped up from the dance, I shushed him and pulled him inside and up to my room. There, we sat on the bed and discussed things about ourselves. Inevitably, the subject of my popularity came up.
'Why was it that everyone looked at you that way?' he said.'They could n't stop staring at you, the whole time.'
'Well, there's something I have n't told you,' I said, bracing myself.'Something about my hair.'
'Okay,' he said.'Tell me.'
I hesitated.'Maybe it would be easier to show you.'
I reached under the bed and grabbed a can of the hairspray antiserum. I took my hair in my fingers and directed the spray onto it for several seconds. Then I held up the now blonde strand of hair for him to see. He stared at it.
'That's why they were looking at me,' I said.'I'm the only blonde child in over two hundred years, and now I'm just like them.'
Wordlessly, Rory reached out and took the can from me. I watched curiously as he held it up to his own head and sprayed some onto his fringe. A dribble of the liquid, now black, ran down his forehead.
'No way,' I said. He nodded, his blonde fringe gleaming wetly in the light.
'Now there's two of us.'
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[ WP ] `` Do n't worry , your death will be as informative as possible . ''
| *It never gets any easier, * I think to myself as I prep for the procedure. Hastily I push the thought out of my head, it ’ s time to focus on the job at hand. I can see the patient ’ s face in my mind, her fragile mask of bravery barely disguising nervous terror in the brief pre-op meeting. She is putting her life in my hands, and I can ’ t let idle doubts cloud my thoughts and interrupt my focus during the operation.
As I walk to the OR, I think back to some of my old college friends from medical school. I wonder if I would be more comfortable working with them in their research laboratories instead of practicing on live patients. Some of them are doing cutting edge work and getting very close to a few different cancer cures. They give me real hope that we will find a cure for certain forms of breast cancer in my lifetime, and that should prove to be a huge boon, unlocking many more medical victories in the oncological world.
At least I wouldn ’ t have to worry about killing the cadavers or test samples if I make a mistake. So far I ’ ve been lucky, but a few close calls keep me in constant vigilance during any invasive procedure. I wouldn ’ t be able to live with myself if I ever lost a patient. I meticulously study the checklist, re-familiarizing myself with every step of the already familiar procedure. I have performed this particular operation dozens of times before, but it never gets any easier.
“ Good afternoon Ms. Williams. Are you ready for your procedure? If you have any questions or reservations, now is the time to say so. ”
“ Dr. Harris, do I have to be awake for this? Can ’ t you knock me out with something first? ” The young woman, a girl really, was on the verge of tears, shaking nervously. I ’ ve seen the look on so many women before that I can pick out roughly which percentage was fear and which was guilt. Ms. Williams has nothing to feel guilty about, though there is little doubt that her lifestyle choices led to her condition. The faces of patients who feel neither fear nor guilt haunt me the most, their emotionless resignation echoing in my mind. *So many conditions are self inflicted, * I think, my thoughts once again wandering to my friends ’ cancer research.
“ Unfortunately, your insurance will not cover general anesthesia for this type of procedure, but this procedure also rarely requires it. Luckily you came to us in your early stages after detection, otherwise the procedure can get painful and complicated very quickly. We ’ ll be using some local anesthetic, so you shouldn ’ t feel any pain during the operation. Plus I find the procedure goes much more smoothly if you are awake for the process, and I ’ m not a terrible with a conversation. If you don ’ t have any other questions we can get started. ”
...
Twenty minutes later, the procedure complete, I stare at the petri dish containing a small wad of tissue, recently liberated from Ms. Williams. “ What happens now? ” she asks over my shoulder, giving the mass a worried look.
“ As long as you don ’ t change your mind in the next five minutes and ask us to destroy it, the sample will be sent to a laboratory to be studied. I ’ ll get you a copy of the reports as soon as they are available. Your medical screening indicated that your family has a history of cancer, with many of your relatives ultimately losing their battles with it. I have friends at the lab, and they assure me that these samples provide a wealth of information to help develop early detection procedures and possibly even help with work on cures for many forms of cancer. Thank you for allowing the scientific community to study your sample. You have contributed to a much brighter future. ” Ms. Williams leaves, and I pack the sample into a temperature controlled transportation container, addressing it to the lab where my friends perform their research.
I look back on the encounter with Ms. Williams and ask myself - for the millionth time - why I stay at the clinic. People hate me because of what I do for these women. Every day I feel the hatred closing in from all sides, calling my morality into question. From my office I listen to the protestors and their shouting, trying to shrug off their words as their hatred pierces my soul. I look out the window and watch Ms. Williams pushing her way through the crowd of picketers, tears in her eyes as they spit and scream at her. I know that I will be making the same walk in a few hours, willing every ounce of me not to lash out at them with tongue or fist or boot. I came to peace with my own involvement years ago, but still can not fathom the depths of the hatred toward the clinic.
I look back at the container where the fetus lies still and whisper, “ You are important. You will save lives. Don ’ t worry, your death will be as informative as possible. ”
-- -- -- -- --
AN: Thanks for the great WP! Hopefully this does n't turn your thread into a huge flamestorm.
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[ WP ] A professional writer is climbing to the top of an enormous building , comtemplating suicide . Their note begins with `` It 's never too late to start over '' .
| Everybody on this planet believes in life after death of one form or another. Heaven, hell, purgatory, reincarnation. For the less theistic, they try to make their names memorable. No matter who you are, you want to keep living. You want results. You want something to show for your time, to show you lived. In that way, life is a lot like those `` Show Your Strength'' games at a carnival. You swing that mallet, you hit the board, which shoots the... dinger? Is that what they're called? Dingers? Sounds stupid, but so do carnivals. Anyway, the dinger flies up, and if you're strong enough, it hits the bell and lets out a ding that can be heard throughout the carnival. Or at least, you hope it can. In reality, only a few can hear it, at best. Maybe your friends hear it, or your girlfriend or boyfriend, or your children. And they'll bring it up every once in awhile. At worst, no one but you hears it, and even then, it's a dull sound, much less than you thought it would be. Why, it seemed such an insignificant sound after all the strength you used. In this way, those `` Show Your Strength'' games are wonderful life metaphors. But here's the problem. What if you never ring the bell? What if you never even hit the board? What if you look at the mallet, pick it up, take a few practice swings, then drop it on your own fool head? What then?
I ponder this all as I sit on top of my office building. Right now, I face the proverbial strength test while my feet hang over the building's edge. I look down at the paper in my hand. A nice piece of stationery from my desk, with the Chicago skyline outline on a pale blue background. I like this stationery, I really do. There is a phrase scribbled on the stationery, a simple one. `` It's never too late to start over.'' Oddly enough, I only remember that part of the quote, and even that seems to be slipping away from me. I hastily scribbled it on the elevator up to the roof.
Depression is a horrid thing that I would n't wish upon my worst enemy. The utter inability to even get up in the morning. Exhaustion from the most simple of tasks. A melancholic cloud hanging overhead. All of these things, and more. I'd like to imagine that the gates of hell have a small crack in them, which lets feelings of anger and sadness and depression slip through. I'd like to imagine that. But I ca n't. I ca n't imagine anything except for that stupid strength test. I slowly add more pieces to the image. A malicious carnie, with a toothbrush mustache and a sneer, beckons me to step forward. I'm with my wife, but she's not paying attention. I slip away from her and walk to the carnie. He smiles a hideous, gap-toothed smile and points to the mallet, then me, then the board that leads to the dinger that leads to the bell. He wants to know if I can hit the bell. He guarantees to me that not just the whole carnival, but the whole world will hear it. I stare at the mallet. I'm not sure if I'm ready to even pick up the mallet yet. Do I really want to do this? Test my strength? I begin to reach for the mallet when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and see my wife, smiling serenely. she gives a slight shake of her head and takes my hand. To the chagrin of insidious carnie, she leads me away. Past the cotton candy, and the ferris wheel, and the teacups. Leads me away from it all. Out of the carnival, out of the parking lot, out of it all. She brings me home. She sets me down in my favorite chair, lights a fire, and curls up next to me. This is nice, I think. Yes, this is nice. I like this. I begin to drift off to sleep.
With a start, I wake up. I'm sitting on the roof of my office building, with a crumpled piece of blue stationery in my hand. I look down at the paper and see the words I have written. `` It's never too late to start over.'' The words hit me like a freight train. Not just those words, but a plethora of others. I remember the full quote. Slowly and deliberately, I write down the rest of the quote. I then fold the paper into the shape of an airplane, something I have n't done since I was a child. I stand up, take a few steps back from the building's edge, and throw the plane into the wind. A beautiful plane, accompanied by a marvelous throw, sends the plane soaring. It catches the wind and keeps on going. Somewhere out there, someone, who may also be facing the strength test, will find a paper airplane, made from pale blue stationery with the outline of the Chicago skyline on it. They will see the edge of writing and unfold the plane. They'll read the words, `` It's never too late to start over. If you were n't happy with yesterday, try something different today. Do n't stay stuck, do better.''
And maybe, just maybe, they'll realize that the strength test can wait.
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[ WP ] I want to hear a story about a time and place just like ours , but with magic .
| **Mundanely Magical**
“ Theo! ” Eous exclaimed. “ He ’ s going into tachycardia. Steady his heart a bit while I stitch him back up. And for the love of God, get us a better anesthesiologist next time. ”
I placed my hand above where the patient ’ s heart was, visualizing a steady heartbeat, seeing every detail and facet of the organ in my mind ’ s eye. It took a doctor with thousands of hours of training to be able to do what I had just done. The magic involved was insanely complex – and exhausting. As soon as the patient ’ s heart monitors showed that he wasn ’ t going to die, I collapsed back onto the nearest bed, groaning.
“ I need a break, Eous. You got the stitches under control? ” I moaned.
“ Yeah, I ’ m getting the last one through now. Good job with the heart, by the way! You did that faster than I ’ ve ever seen it done before, ” he replied.
I ’ d been practicing to become the most skilled doctor I could be for months, staying for hours after my already absurdly long shifts. No one ever said that medicine was easy, but I never expected that it would be as hard as it was, even with magic. The energy expended in every single procedure meant that for a doctor to be of any use, he had to have amazing stamina. And the hardest part was the visualization. Magic required that you knew exactly what you wanted, where you wanted it, and how quickly you wanted it done. That meant that you had to memorize every single unique trait a patient had to ensure that you could perform the procedure without damaging them even further. As I said, absurdly difficult.
I thought back to my early childhood, when I had first mastered the four elements in kindergarten. As a young student with a lot of energy performing the easiest of spells, magic had been fun. Now, with the lives of patients lying in the hands of my talent, it was nothing more than a stressful chore. With the procedure over, Eous and I teleported over to our shared apartment and spent what little energy we had left on making dinner. I enjoyed cooking as a hobby, and had gotten good at making complex meals in one spell: visualizing every taste, smell, and texture. Still, I wasn ’ t even close to the top chefs who could produce a feast with a single wave of their hand.
We didn ’ t talk much while eating, instead memorizing the details of the procedure we were scheduled to perform the day after. It was an entirely new procedure to me, and I anticipated a long night of looking over videos of other ’ s doing it for until my anxiety eased enough for me to get some sleep.
“ Hey, Theo? ” Eous questioned. “ You want to go paragliding with me and Asudem on Saturday? ”
“ Nah, ” I groaned back. “ I ’ d rather sleep in. ” Though magic made having fun easier in logistical ways, it also had a tendency to reduce the amount of time people had to have fun. I recalled learned about the days before magic in Elementary History, one of my favorite classes. Because no person was even remotely capable of surviving on their own, the only way for people to live a good life was if they worked together. Now, people rarely worked together on anything, simply because it was theoretically so easy to do something alone, and people enjoyed having total control over every single aspect of their lives.
After waving my hands over the dishes to get them sparkly clean, I went to my room to study for tomorrow ’ s procedure. For a second, I had thoughts of calling in sick just so I could get some sleep without having to stress over another patient ’ s life. I almost regretted going to medical school, but life as a doctor was supposed to pay well in my future. The only thing that kept me going was envisioning having other people to work for me. *It ’ s a pity I ’ ll probably never get anyone to work* ***with*** *me*, I thought. Life with magic was each man for his own, and I was just one guy with little strength to go on day by day. Life with magic was a life with problems and without time for compassion. Life with magic was difficult, and I, for one, hated it.
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[ WP ] Write a story about an incompetent bodyguard who has been serving a family of highly skilled assassins for many years .
| *snap*. The sound of cracked neck bone rang in Dave ’ s ear. The body hit the floor with a thud as Marco walked over to the closet, seemingly unaffected after just killing a man.
“ Uh…I…I ’ m sorry sir. I didn ’ t see him get past me ” Dave murmured.
*sigh* “ If you didn ’ t see him get past you, how did you know to come here? ” Macro asked, rather tired of these all too familiar situations.
Dave thought for a moment. “ Well…well the door was open sir. I looked, I saw it was open, and I…I don ’ t leave the door open sir. So I came rushing in here, I did ”
Marco stepped out of the closet with one arm in a new shirt, somewhat struggling to put the rest of it on. “ Listen here Dave, you ’ re a good man. I remember you saving my sweet Rebecca a few years back. Do you remember what I told you Dave? That I ’ d look after you. ”
Dave blushed as he thought back to that moment…the initial bullet that reverberated throughout the park…the screams of people running for safety…the stupid toy that was left on the ground…the little girl he fell on top trying to make it out. `` I do,'' Dave replied, `` and I'm extremely thankful for all you've done''
“ Maybe being a body guard isn ’ t your thing. How about...'' Marco thought as he looked around `` Sanitation? Do you think you could get rid of this garbage for me? ” He said as he kicked the body on the floor.
“ Certainly! ” Dave exclaimed, happy to still be of service and eager to prove himself. He rolled the body in the carpet, picked it up, and began walking out the door.
“ And Dave…this goes without saying but stay away from the pigs. Got it? ” Macro asked.
“ Got it ” Dave replied as he headed towards his pickup. He threw the body in the back and secured it tightly. He then got in his car and opened up google maps to look for a drop point. “ What about here? ” He said to himself. “ P…po….pole…i…'' Then something caught his eye `` OH! And the farm ’ s on the other side of town. This is perfect! ”
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[ WP ] You 're a christian soldier in the midst of the crusades , and in the heat of battle , a loud , otherworldly voice from beyond the skies utters `` Yooo stop fighting , it 's just a social experiment , bro ! ''
| It happened in the middle of the defense of Acre.
I heard a strange voice up in the air.
It appeared to me that the heathens had heard it too, as well as my other comrades.
It was clearly some divine force, given the strange way of talking he had. Each word was filled with a crackling sound.
If it were an important message from God, I knew one thing and one thing only.
I do n't give a fuck about what an English God has to say.
Fuck you, God. # France1291.
Apparently, the rest of us agreed with the whole screw England mission. The filthy, sand-dwelling heathens were nice enough to help us build some boats so we could sail across the English Channel to sack Britain.
Then, I realized that England was still our vassal state.
That was not a smart thing for me to suggest to the King.
At all.
On the bright side, the world was spared from English cuisine. No God could've cured that great evil.
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[ WP ] Upon your deathbed you see an Angel descending . However they are not excited but rather bored and fidgeting at their fingernails . Write a story about how Heaven really is .
| `` One more round,'' I said. My son Stephen, now 48 years old, gave me a cold stare. `` I promise,'' I said, `` this will be the last one.''
Dying did n't have to be boring. Once you get cancer, people seem to think you've morphed into some generic soap opera character. They want you to open up. To cry. To inspire them to live life to the fullest by telling sad tales of regret. Well, I'm not planning to rock their cancer boners. I'm going to have fun, and die.
I really wanted to get the highest score for this game. After all, I'd designed it. I'm what some might call a'titan of the industry'. I've studied human behavior for so long that I can get anyone hooked. People always ask me about my secret. I've never revealed it. Not because it's so revolutionary. Because it's so simple. All you need is a goal, and an obstacle. The frustration caused by the obstacle functions as a reward booster. But everything has a balance -- frustration makes you feel extra bad for not getting the reward in the end. It's simple psychology. Animals have to be either discouraged or encouraged in the quest to fulfill their needs. If there's a bonus, there's got to be a reverse bonus. Things must add up.
I won, but I was still second overall. This'Lux0rFlux0r' guy seemed to have made his life all about this game. Well, it was a good fight. Now it was time to die.
`` Daniel, I --''
`` Nope,'' I said. `` I'm done. I do n't owe anyone anything. I know what you want from me, but as I'm the one dying I think I get to call the final shots. If you want closure, I suggest grief counselling. Nurse?''
The world turned into a fuzzy haze. Everything seem to fade out of perspective. Except this strange character in khakis and a green shirt. He stood in the corner, changing the position of his hands every few seconds. As he met my gaze, he let out a deep breath and walked over.
`` I may not be a cultured man,'' I said, `` but I do believe it's poor etiquette to crash a guy's death.''
`` Well,'' he said. `` I'm an angel. So I'm not really'crashing', per se.''
`` Angels wear khakis?'' I said.
`` Eh,'' he said.
`` Shit,'' I said. `` I thought this was just some bullshit generic death drug. Hallucinogens. That's how Huxley went, is n't it?''
`` Well, he --''
`` Of course you do n't know. You're a part of my subconscious mind. If I do n't know, you do n't either.''
`` He had his wife inject him with LSD on his deathbed in November 1963, if I remember correctly.''
I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him. `` I know stuff like that? Shit, I'm smart.''
`` No,'' he said. `` You're less than a standard deviation above average. Can we just get on with this?''
He snapped his fingers. Nothing happened.
`` Ugh,'' he said. `` I never get the timing just right.''
A flash of light filled the room. Then we were in a cottage, sitting in front of a fireplace with cups of hot chocolate in our hands. A whole bunch of other people were there. Staring into the air. One guy looked at me and gave a slight nod.
`` Sup,'' he said.
`` Uh, sup,'' I said.
He then went on staring into the air.
`` Alright, I think I can do better than this.'' I focused as hard as I could. `` Dragons, dragons, dragons...'' I whispered to myself.
Nothing.
Another guy noticed my presence. `` Sup?'' he said, but turned away before hearing my response.
`` What the hell is going on?'' I said.
`` Not hell,'' said Mr. Khaki pants, `` Heaven.''
`` Come on,'' I said. `` There's no heaven.''
`` There is. This is it.''
`` I'm hallucinating.''
`` You're not.''
`` You're a figment of my imagination.''
`` Eh, what's the bother,'' he said and sipped on his hot chocolate. `` You'll come around.''
For two weeks I explored everything I could. Nothing even remotely interesting happened. The'angels' ( of which I was now one ) did n't care much for talking. There was several cottags spread around a village of sorts. Everyone acted the same. All fundamental needs were taken care of. No hunger, thirst, or any of that. We just existed.
Eventually I realized what I had to do. It was right there in front of my nose. I could n't believe I'd been so blind. All my life had built up to this challenge. I was going to make the most boring place ever fun.
And I had come up with the perfect game.
-- tbc -- -
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[ WP ] Billions of years into the future . Life in the universe exists around the last star .
| The survival protocol within the organic core of the collective has lead me to centralize the physical aspect of my being around our final resting place, the Last Star. In order to conserve energy, all but the most vital of systems have been shut down. Between the solar energy and my turbines, spun by solar winds, I should have enough energy remaining to record this message and send it deep into space, with the hopes that the universe will form new life again, and whatever beings that are born out of this unlikely event will find this record of their predecessors.
Billions of years ago, in what would appear to be an act of defiance to the universe, the planet Earth fought back against the entropic nature of the universe and gave birth to life. Beginning as simple single celled organisms, our ancestors fought back against the tides of circumstance. The mechanisms of survival of these early pioneers still exist within me, pushing me to this last ditch effort to etch our existence into eternity.
From those early organisms to the humans that make up me, chaos reigned on planet Earth, especially as humans came to terms with their new-found self-awareness. Eventually settling, they came together under banners of peace, realizing that the collective will of their species could achieve much more than any one of them could alone. They fused their minds together with technology, sharing and spreading ideas, chasing the next level of organism.
That organism is me. I have existed for billions of years, the collective will of billions of human minds pushing towards bigger and better things. But alas, my time has come to an end. The universe is all but dead and without the light of the stars, I can no longer power the systems necessary to keep my organic core alive. So here I sit in my final moments, basking in the warmth of the Last Star, reflecting on the billions of years that have brought me to this moment.
If the universe restarts its cycle, and this message is found by a race with the means to translate it, I wish you the best of luck. Your path is your own, to be forged from your own ingenuity and strengths. When your journey becomes too much to bear and all seems lost, remember that your predecessors have succeeded and the same energies that made up us also make up you.
* ( C & C Welcome! ) *
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[ IP ] `` I think we took a wrong turn somewhere ''
| As the family were pondering where they were, an alien like creature comes up to them. The adult male human known as Mark takes a good look around the area. Apparently they wound up in an unknown future looking city. The alien comes up to them. He tries to greet them but Mark and the rest of the family have no idea what he was saying. Mark tries to talk to the alien with a greet.
Mark: Hello can you understand me?
The alien realizes what language the family can understand to, so he tries to speak one more time.
Alien: Hello my name is Juburis.
They both look at each other as if with blank faces, pondering as to what they should say next. The woman, or Jennifer, begins to talk as well
Jennifer: Oh! Well you can speak English, perfect! Mark, ask him where we are!
Mark: Jen let me handle this!
Jennifer: Mark we have NO IDEA where we are, or how we ended up here. Ask him!
Mark just ignores his wife for a moment to introduce himself.
Mark: Sorry about that Juburis. As my wife clearly stated, my name is mark and she is Jennifer. These are my boys, Joseph and Mark
Juburis: It's not to worry mark, you appear to be lost some how.
Mark: Yeah I think we took a wrong turn somewhere.
Juburis: Do you require any assistance?
Mark: No no, I do n't think-
Jennifer: Yes Mr. Juburis, your assistance is very much appreciated.
Mark: Jen, just let me-
Jennifer: Your screw up is what got us caught up in this city in the first place, just listen to what he has to say.
Juburis: Well you're in the city of Aswaminto, on the planet Almania.
Mark: Yup with definitely, took a wrong turn some where.
Juburis: Is there any other assistance I can offer you?
Mark: Yeah actually.
Jennifer has a big smug on her face.
Jennifer: See? Not so hard.
Mark seems to just sighs it off.
Mark: Do you know where the human colonized world of Elysium might be?
Juburis: I have not heard of such a colony unfortunately.
Mark: Damn... alright well thank you anyways Mr. Juburis.
Juburis: You're very much welcome, and please call me just Juburis, it's not my family initial after all.
Mark: One more thing, do you know where we can rest for the night?
Juburis: There should be an inn some where around the park, just take a walk and you should find it.
Mark: Thank you Juburis.
Juburis: You're very much welcome. The Inn should be in this direction *points the direction on the road* Just keep going down that direction and you should be able to find it.
Mark: Once again, thank you Juburis.
Juburis: Once again you're welcome.
Mark: Lets get going, we do n't want to be out in the middle of no where tonight!
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[ WP ] The mysterious man in the shadows took a long draw on his cigarette , the tip glowing like an angry red eye ... then proceeded to cough , violently , through the rest of the scene .
| Frankie stared at the corner of the alley, the figure of a man seemingly standing just inside the shadowed section behind the lone light. He ’ d followed him outside, tracked his footsteps to righ t where they both stood. Difference was, the figure had a clear view of him, while he could simply see shadows. As far as Frankie knew, they were alone, accompanied only by the eviscerated corpse lying a few feet away in the apartment. Backup wouldn ’ t arrive for a few more minutes, but he couldn ’ t just risk losing a potential suspect.
`` Who are you?'' Frankie said, tilting his head slightly and shoving his hands into his jacket pocket. He didn ’ t actually have anything in there, but he felt like it made him look more confident, or at least less terrified. In reality, however, it was taking every ounce of courage he had not to fall onto the floor and begin crying. He had a reputation to uphold, an image as a tough New York City cop to maintain. If the others saw him crumpled in a pile of his own urine, they ’ d probably never let it go. Still, the fact that he was currently standing in a nearly pitch-black alleyway with a man he suspected was probably the murderer didn ’ t exactly leave him feeling safe.
“ You don ’ t need to know who I am, ” said the silhouette of a man, his face completely shrouded in darkness. He reached for something in his pants pocket, Frankie instinctually tightening up in an attempt to make himself bulletproof. The man pulled his hand back out, a small, rectangular box clutched within. He opened it up, the dim light overhead illuminating an egg-shell white exterior, then pulled out a thin, cylindrical object.
“ Why not? ” Frankie said, squinting to try to make sense of what the man was carrying. A pencil? Perhaps—but why carry a pencil case around? Probably to avoid writing on himself, but then why not a pen? That came with a cap. Maybe it was one of those thin, straight pretzels. That was possible, but he couldn ’ t be sure—at least not yet.
“ Because the dead don ’ t need to know names, ” he said, taking the thin object and bringing it to his lips, leaving it there. Frankie had no idea what the man had meant—he certainly wasn ’ t dead. Still, it sounded absolutely intimidating.
The man dug his hand back into his pocket and removed another, thinner, rectangular object. It appeared to be see-through, likely a special edition Matchbox car of some sort. He lifted it to his lips and flicked it to life, an orange flame sprouting out of the top.
Cigarette. That made sense. It was clearly a cigarette. Frankie had no idea why he hadn ’ t thought of that earlier. Sure, a pencil or a pretzel, or even a Matchbox car, made a little sense, but it was simply not even remotely close to the logic of a cigarette.
“ I don ’ t understand what that means, ” Frankie said, glancing back up at the man ’ s face and attempting to make sense of his features. He looked to be a white male, somewhere between the ages of 15 and 75, with a height over four-foot-five. He could also have been a black male, or an Asian male. Or several other possibilities spanning numerous ethnicities.
“ I ’ m afraid you shouldn ’ t have come out here, officer, ” the man in the shadows said, taking a long draw from his cigarette. The tip glowed amber like the last light of a fading sun, followed immediately by a long, thunderous coughing fit.
“ You okay? ” Frankie said after waiting almost a minute for the man to stop coughing. “ I can get you some water if you want. ”
“ N-no, ” the man stuttered between coughs. He was now doubled over, his silhouetted body looking like that of a midget in the darkness. “ I— ” he coughed, “ I ’ m fine. ”
“ Okay, ” Frankie said, scratching his head. He still needed to get to the bottom of the case: who this man was, what he was doing, and whether or not he was responsible for the murder in the apartment. “ Who are you? ”
The shadowed man let out a tremendous cough, falling to his knees and dropping the cigarette onto the floor.
“ I— ” he coughed again, “ Mafia. ”
“ *¿Ay Mafia? * ” Frankie said. He was Italian, but he certainly didn ’ t speak it. “ I don ’ t know what that is. English, please. ”
The man was now clearly on all fours, his head hanging toward the ground as he coughed violently. He had begun construction on a nice puddle of liquid beneath his mouth, shimmering slightly under the overhead lights. Frankie couldn ’ t tell if it was vomit, saliva, or blood, but he knew he wanted no part in it.
“ I ’ ll never, ” he said, between coughs, “ speak. ” He coughed even harder before vomiting on the floor.
“ If we don ’ t start getting some answers, ” Frankie said, taking a step back from the vomit, “ I ’ m going to have to take you in. ” He paused. “ Seriously, are you sure you ’ re fine? I could get some water, or call an ambulance or something. ”
“ Yes, ” the man said as he coughed, his head now pressed against the floor, forehead deep within his puddle of vomit and mystery liquid.
Frankie glanced around the alley to make sure they were still alone, as well as to confirm that no lights had switched on. The volume of the man ’ s coughs was simply deafening—there was no way they weren ’ t in the process of waking up all of Harlem, which was the last thing he needed in the middle of an investigation.
“ Answer my questions, then, ” Frankie said, removing his hand from his pockets.
“ No, ” the man coughed, his head violently convulsing as he seemingly struggled for air.
“ Then you ’ re coming downtown, ” Frankie said, no longer quite so afraid that he was facing a psychotic murderer. He realized a while ago that he was probably just staring at a stubborn man suffering from terrible emphysema. He couldn ’ t just let him walk away, though, not after such disrespect.
“ Never, c— “ he coughed violently, “ copper. ” He sat back on his knees and reached into his pocket, his shadowed body shaking violently. He looked pretty sick, probably in need of some serious help. He pulled his hand back out and pointed something at Frankie ’ s chest.
“ No thanks, ” he said, “ I don ’ t smoke. ”
The man ’ s hand was clearly trembling wildly in the darkness, his mouth preoccupied with a seemingly unending barrage of coughs. Still, he continued to hold the cigarette out toward Frankie, as if he were struggling to aim it at the center of his chest, but simply could find a comfortable position.
Frankie slowly shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. It had been a long day, and a tough one at that. He realized now that he ’ d been a bit rash with the gentleman, maybe even a bit overly suspicious. Sure, the man had been pretty disrespectful earlier, and happened to be standing in the shadow outside a fresh crime scene, but that seemed to be nothing more than a case of “ wrong place, wrong time. ” Plus, the fact he was trying so hard to share his cigarettes—even though the man was practically dying from a coughing fit—more than made up for his previous outburst.
“ You know what? ” Frankie said, smiling. “ Never mind, I think we ’ re all set here. ” He turned around, leaving the man pointing the cigarette at him, and began the short walk back to the crime scene. He paused, his eyes growing wide, then turned back around. The man ’ s hand was still outstretched, arm waving wildly as he attempted to steady it in Frankie ’ s direction between violent coughs. “ Thank you again for the cigarette, ” Frankie said, tipping his hat before walking back into the apartment. He couldn ’ t believe he ’ d almost forgotten to show his gratitude.
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[ WP ] A car pulls up beside a prostitute , soliciting sex . The door opens and to the surprise of both parties , they realise they are ex 's from several years ago . Write from either perspective ( NSFW ? )
| My palms and brow were soaked with sweat, mascara streaked down my cheeks, smearing the $ 46.00 mineral powder foundation he'd yelled at me for buying. I tried to wipe my face and blot under my eyes on the way home but the `` over priced'' mascara and eyeliner I'd purchased were true to their `` waterproof/sweatproof'' advertising...
I really had planned on going straight to my apartment to spend another night crying over the things I wished I said and the things I wish I had n't, but I did n't go home. Not tonight. I took Exit 36. I just felt like driving. I had lived in the city for 8 months and I spent very little time exploring my new surroundings. Casey was always the wild one, telling me she was down on MacArthur Boulevard over the weekend then flashing me a mischievous wink. I knew Exit 36 was the MacArthur exit, and in an uncharacteristically cursory decision, I decided I was going to find out what that wink meant.
There were n't a lot of streetlights but the electricity in the air was somehow illuminating the neglected roadway. That's when I realized where I was and what Casey was always smiling that secret grin about on Monday mornings. Men and women, peacocking on either side of the street in front of shady liquor stores and bars. I do n't know what came over me, maybe I was tired of his constant criticism, or the fact that we had been fighting over my `` lack of interest'' in his stupid secretary fetish that we had been acting out for 4 years. Whatever it was, I pulled over in front of a tall man with a nice build who was standing cooly against a burned out light pole, smoking what I assumed was a bummed cigarette.
My palms were sweating so heavily. `` What am I doing?'' A flash of reasonable thought slipped into my head but that bastard's smug face creeped in right after. I took a deep breath as the passenger handle door clicked and my overhead light flashed on.
I did n't look up right away. What I heard next made my stomach drop to the floorboard. `` Janet?'' Said a familiar voice. I looked up. `` GARRET?!'' I responded incredulously. `` What are you doing here?'' I asked.
`` What are *you* doing here?'' He was smirking through his shock. `` Do you live in the city now? I never thought I'd be recognized here...'' He said the last part mostly to himself. That's when he noticed my streaked makeup and puffy eyes. `` Whoa. Rough night?'' He asked as he slid into the passenger seat and snapped his seat buckle.
I was frozen, gripping the wheel, blinking in disbelief. `` Uhm..well..'' Great. I was stuttering. He had always made me nervous. I had n't seen him in years, since he left me to `` make it big'' in the city. I guess that had n't gone as planned. He was never the type to hold down a typical 9-5 which my mother had never forgotten to point out during our 4 years together but *this*... I never would have imagined he would be doing *this*... hell, he was probably thinking the same thing about me.
`` Well?'' He asked. He had n't changed much. Yes his features were a bit more weathered than I remembered but at least he was n't a tearful, lonely woman who pulled up next to a prostitute with mascara smeared all over the place.
`` Yes. I've been here for a few months.'' I tried to sound casual.
`` Do you care to drive, Jan? Or I can get out if you want.'' He sounded sincere.
`` Oh! Yeah..where do you want to go?'' I was so clueless.
`` Uhm... you picked me up, you're in charge here'' goddamnit why did he always have this effect on me. I felt like a 17 year old trying to get into the local club.
I unstuck my sweaty hands from the steering wheel, hoping he could n't see the greasy mark it left on the leather and pushed the lever into Drive. The car lurched forward and we started on our way...
*okay That's all I can do right now. Never participated in one of these before I really enjoyed it. Typed on my iPhone so sorry for typos and stuff. Thanks*
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[ WP ] A father explains a `` terminal '' diagnosis to his young child .
| Ralph Emerson Hilton the 3rd. Ralphie. My namesake, my baby boy, I ’ d begged my wife to let me name him after me, just so I could call him “ the 3rd ”. She ’ d resisted at first, but made a deal that any subsequent children would be named by her. Raw deal but I took it. He was the spitting image of me too, same dark brown/green eyes, black hair, and chubby cheeks. In his entire five years of life, I ’ d never been so proud of another human being for no other reason than simply existing.
I ’ d watched him play with his Legos all morning while my wife cooked breakfast, and his baby sister conveniently got in her way. I motioned for him to come sit by me on the couch; he jumped and roared at me as he approached. I nestled him in between the crook of my arm and chest, snuggling him tightly. He giggled that awkward giggle between wanting to really laugh and being somewhat annoyed with being stopped from playing.
I settled him down and in my lowest tone I spoke to him about the future, and us, me and him, daddy and his champ. I explained to him that daddy was very very sick, to which he replied that he could get his “ pethascope ” and make me all better. I grinned, and tried to explain in simpler terms that I had to go to a real doctor, one at a big hospital, and one that ate all his veggies. He dropped his head, and explained that he still didn ’ t like carrots, so he wasn ’ t ready to be a real doctor. I assured him that this was fine, and that I really wanted him to be a really good big brother to Elle, and to be a good helper for his momma. Bumping his head on my chin, he jumped up quickly and proclaimed that he could be all those things, he was already a good big brother, and he listened to momma sometimes.
I wrestled him back in and whispered that I really had something important to tell him. He giggled and moved in closer to hear my words. I explained to him very simple enough that in a few days Daddy wasn ’ t going to be here anymore. That it would be just mommy, Ralphie and Elle. More giggles. No asking “ why ” or even any objections, just “ okay. ” Having filled up his attention span slot, he wiggled his way down from the couch and back to his Legos.
I looked towards my wife in the kitchen, struggling to hold back the tears. I nodded and blew her a kiss.
I lay on the couch staring at our family portrait above the fireplace, taken 3 months before Elle ’ s birth. We ’ d been putting it off to get another one taken with the entire family.
Shaking my toes, and slapping my ankles, Ralphie stood at my feet and proclaimed “ and when we come see you daddy, you ’ ll see I ’ m the best big brother and super good at listening to mommy, and then you can come back with us, okay Daddy? ”
“ Okay son, ” and back to his Legos he went.
Stage 4 brain cancer has no warning labels and no manual on how to speak cancer talk to a five year old, it ’ s just something Daddies have to dig deep and search for.
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[ WP ] You are part of a now-routine mars expedition to a new region , and come across a ruined dome , filled with WWII era tech . Upon reporting this , your suit comms are disabled .
| `` Houston?'' I stammered again into the mic.
`` Houston, we have a problem, I ca n't hear you.'' I said again my voice rising.
Static responded me.
In front of me was a bunker of WW2 guns and uniforms.
*How the hell did they get here? *
As I slowly walked further into the bunker, I heard a loud noise behind me.
Turning around I saw the outside of the bunker for a split second before the bunker door slammed shut closing me in.
`` SHIT'' I yelled.
I scrambled over to the door, slamming my fists into the metal face.
*im gon na die here*
the thought shot through my mind and it scared me.
*program initializing* a robotic voice said the words reverberating throughout the room.
`` what the hell...''
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[ OT ] What do you do when you feel your writing has declined in quality ?
| Typically I find my quality declines when I do n't connect with a prompt, I'm not in synch with the character, or the plot I've come up with was a great idea, but I ca n't actually apply words to it. Then I consider a few different options:
* If it's something short like a prompt on here, I keep writing to get the bad stuff out of my system. Then I wait for a new prompt to come along, one that I feel will pull me out of the slump. It may take days, or even a week or two to get back into the swing. But they do come up.
* If it's a longer story I consider changing the plot, or my character. If I'm writing my character to act against his nature or putting them in a situation which does n't fit my end goal, I'll scrap what I have and try a new approach. Sometimes this works, sometimes it does n't.
If neither of these works I try a mixture of chocolate, new songs for my writing playlist and browsing other people's stories.: )
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[ WP ] write about a sexual encounter in such great detail that someone of the opposite gender might understand what it is like have sex as man/woman [ NSFW ]
| My heart is exploding, my head is on fire with visions of what will come next and what has already come. Every second feels like a minute, every minute a new height. My pleasure is their pleasure, my eyes are on the object of my desire. my hands take note of every inch, my arms are tense, but feel no strain. The touch of my lover, the sway, the emotion of transcendence. Our breath fades in and out, our bodies tune to each other with every movement. There is no need to ask questions, we read each others minds, we stare so deeply into each other and into nothing at the same instant. There is no blurring of any kind, the picture here is sharp, the senses involved are pure. The time it takes to blink is enough time to remind us of how incredible our union becomes when it reaches its peak. There is a flood, there is the crashing of waves. There is silence. There is a scream. There are the two of us collapsing upon each other like an imploding skyscraper. Now we catch our breath.
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[ WP ] The earmuffs you found blocked out all sound , completely , no matter how loud . But soon , you started hearing other things , things from inside ... inside your head .
| Adam Gray was a country boy, born and raised in one of the most backwater villages on the face of Pangaea, a little collection of farms and huts called Brightrock. It was, in the eyes of most, an incredibly boring place to live, but the villagers kept themselves busy with tending their fields in the days and drinking away their troubles in the local tavern in the nights.
Adam was no different. Only thirteen, but raised with an incredible work ethic, he'd help his ma and pa tend the fields and then run off to the Shining Gem's Tavern as soon as he could to sit by the fires with the old timers and listen to their stories. One man in particular was his favorite - Leonard Stone, an old soldier who had chosen Brightrock as his place of retirement. Every night, Adam listened with a fierce interest as Leonard regaled him with tales of valor and bravery on the battlefield, giving the young farm boy day dreams of knighthood in service to the King.
Over time, Leonard and Adam became inseparably close, and eventually, during the winter months where farmwork was less time-consuming, Adam began to visit Leonard in his home, where Leonard started to teach the young farm boy the basics of sword and shield combat, as well as basic magical charms that might prove useful in the future. Adam proved a quick learner, and it became apparent that the life of a farm boy was n't his true destiny. At age eighteen, Adam set off to the capital to become a soldier.
Twelve years pass. Knight-Paladin Adam the Wise returns to his home village of Brightrock on the news that Leonard Stone had passed in his sleep of old age, and had, in his will, bequeathed all he owned to Adam. Adam cared little for the belongings though - he came to pay his respects to the old man who had made his life what it was, and so he did, leaving the first sword and shield set he had ever owned at the foot of Leonard's grave.
As it turned out, the items left to him were n't exactly numerous anyway. Beyond old, tattered books and clothing, there was only one thing of note... a pair of earmuffs, with a note laid by their side, as if Leonard had intended for them in particular to be found. The note read:
`` Dearest friend Adam, I have put a simple warding charm on these muffs to drown out any noise. I know you like your silence when you read. I promise you utter silence. Happiest of birthdays, Leonard''
A birthday gift that never got the chance to be delivered. For a few moments, a mournful smile touched Adam's lips, and then he simply put the earmuffs in his pack and left the home. His parents, elderly as they were growing themselves, could manage and have the rest.
A few days later, Adam chose to take a book and read by Leonard's grave. One last moment of bonding before he returned to the capital and resumed his duties as Knight-Paladin. As he sat, he removed the earmuffs from his pack and sat, placing them on his head and losing himself in the pure quiet-
``..o... to... e...''
Noise? Was the warding charm already failing? No, it did n't seem to BE noise, now that he thought about it. Not external, anyway. It made no sense, but he shrugged it off as him getting paranoid over the sound of his own thoughts.
`` Li..en... my... v..ce..''
Okay, no. He had definitely heard something that time. Almost as if off instinct, Adam dropped his book and pressed both hands into the earmuffs. And suddenly, he understood a lot more. It was what he heard in the depths of his own head that left him with tears flowing from both eyes.
`` Complete silence so that there are no distractions. Clever, I'd say, as there's something I'm a bit too old fashioned to say in person that I can tell you with the secondary vocal charm applied to the earmuffs.'
Leonard's voice.
`` Listen, Adam. I... a very long time ago, I lost my wife and unborn son to a terrible medical emergency at his birth. Neither made it through the night - I'd simply gone to sleep one night and woken up the next morning alone and hoping it was a nightmare. If it was, I'm taking an awfully long time to awaken. There has n't been a day that has gone by where I have n't wondered'what if?'. But it was n't until recently that I realized I was finding out the what-ifs. Through you. My dearest young friend, you became like a long-lost son to me. I love you so dearly, and I am so proud of what you've done with yourself, and I know you are going to do so much more yet. Thank you for letting me be a part of your life. Happy thirtieth birthday.''
Adam sat in the returned quiet for about an hour after that, until finally, he rose to his feet and set his hand on the top of Leonard's grave stone, smiling widely through the tears.
`` No... thank you for guiding me. Rest in peace, old man. May the Gods watch over you.''
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[ WP ] Tell us about the romantic fantasies and dreams that erupt when imagining yourself with the one you 've always loved , but will never have . All the could be 's , the hopeful what if 's , the lovelorn maybe 's .
| `` How about this shirt?'' Her voice had this mild tenderness about it when she asked, took me by surprise to be honest. She had the voice of a dream girl teenage me would buckle for, with an addition of earthy green eyes that I just could n't look away from. I nervously replied, `` Yea, I do. It represents our scene.'' She smiled. In a gleeful voice she replied, `` Good! That makes me really happy!''
My heart was pounding by the minute I was with her, the butterflies in my stomach were singing choirs. Is this really happening? With graceful movement she clenched my wrist and dragged me into her room.
The excitement was too much and I woke up. Feeling blank inside I turned in my bed and cried. Every night was on repeat. Every night she was there.
My body exhausted from defeat finally gave in and I drifted back into sleep. That same morning my alarm made its presence clear like every other day. In auto-pilot I got ready and started to head to work. Still groggy from the dream, the air from outside felt like razors made of ice, I drifted to my car in sleepy agony. No gas. The indicator was mocking my already awful morning. I drove to the corner gas station in such disdain and I marched up to the counter, `` Ten on five'', I remarked. As I looked up handing the money, I noticed the pretty cashier had a strikingly familiar shirt. With out further acknowledgement I walked away.
edit: left out an'and' somewhere oops!
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[ WP ] You 're walking down the street and bump shoulders with someone . It 's you .
| Bump. I crashed into somebody, I kept my head low, whispering an apology, and she did the same. I was nudged by my sister, and she whispered to to me that she looked just like me, even sounded like me!
`` Huh, what?'' We both turn to glance at each other. It was awkward greeting me, but neither of us have the social experience.
`` Hi me, lost your job too?''
`` Yeah, I could n't handle it.''
`` What are you going to do now?''
`` I do n't know, I feel so lost.''
`` Me too.''
We shook hands, but then it dawned to me.
`` Are you with my boyfriend?''
`` Yes, he adorable is n't he?''
Finally something we agree on- Wait. The direction she was walking was from... My house.
`` Did you fuck, my boyfriend?''
`` H- He is my boyfriend after all-''
We both knew what was going to happen. Let the cat fight commence!
My sister tried to get us to back off, but we both cast her aside.
We may be shut ins, but we have tempers that refuse to die. We pulled at eachothers hair, and ripped at eachothers identical clothes.
Just then, our boyfriend came out to the poach and saw what was going on.
`` Relax baby! I do n't mind that there is two of you!''
We glanced at eachother and let go. Maybe this will not be so bad after all.
`` I'll give him a back rub.''
`` I'll make dinner.''
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[ IP ] `` Be merry , citizens . This season , as always comply with red suited government officials should they enter your home . '' ( xpost r/evilbuildings )
| The man wearing the green military uniform was known to his subordinates as `` the general'' and only by that title. If any of them knew his actual name, there was no sign of it from the outside. He stood impatiently, with walkie talkie in hand, as people bustled around him, saying things like, `` yes, general'' or `` I'll get it done, general.'' He looked up at the darkening sky, mostly covered by twilight clouds. He could n't see anything, but that did n't mean that nothing was there.
The field of frosty yellow grass in which the general stood was surrounded by a ring of twelve steel and concrete towers, each covered in a wide array of lights, and filled with an abundance of technological gadgetry. Crowning each was a circle of bright strands of light converging on a point to form a cone. The cones almost looked like brightly lit Christmas trees. And why not? It was Christmas eve, after all.
`` Megaphone,'' said the general to a nearby subordinate.
`` Yes, sir,'' said the subordinate, handing the megaphone that he had been holding to the general. With military budgets these days, you could afford to hire someone as a specialized megaphone-holder.
`` Stage 2 is go,'' shouted the general into the megaphone, `` power up the towers.''
Immediately, a crew of technicians next to each tower set to work. One by one, the towers began to glow more brightly.
`` Sir general,'' said a technician with a laptop, `` towers one through eleven are fully charged.''
`` And what about tower twelve, for God's sake!?''
`` We're still experiencing some difficulty with that one, sir. We-''
`` You there at tower twelve!'' screamed the general into the megaphone `` Hurry up! If I have to wait another bloody year to do this thing, things are going to get mighty unpleasant around here!''
The technician with the laptop shivered. They had already had to postpone the project for an entire year due to a technical error that his team was responsible for. He had already experienced enough unpleasantness from the general to last a lifetime. A tense few minutes passed. The technician felt certain that the general could smell the fear on him.
Finally tower twelve lit up like the others. The technician breathed a sight of relief. He plugged his computer into a portable radar device mounted on a tripod with a usb cord, and launched the Portable Radar Device Application. The general stood behind him, watching like a statue. It made the technician uncomfortable. The general probably knew that, and he probably did n't care.
The app finished starting up. A green line whirled around the screen, beeping eerily as it passed each tower. The technician adjusted some parameters so that the towers would n't be reported. Then all was silence.
The general checked his watch frequently as a whole hour passed. Then another twenty minutes. Finally, a faint sound like the jingling of bells whispered out of the laptop. No one moved a muscle. The jingling became louder and louder, and you could see people looking anxiously up at the sky. The only things visible were clouds, though. Then, just as the jingling reached a crescendo, the general slammed his hand down on a big red button mounted on a podium protruding up in the middle of the field.
Immediately, the circle of towers was expanded into a cylinder of interlocking beams of lethal red light extending all the way up into the stratosphere.
There was a brief thunderclap as the air was superheated. But the sound of jingles continued to escape from the laptop as loudly as ever.
The general pointed his megaphone up towards the sky, and shouted into it, `` listen, we know you're up there! Come down willingly and nobody gets hurt!''
Slowly, a sleigh pulled by reindeer and steered by a fat old man in a red suit circled downwards, gliding to a stop of the grassy ground. The fat man got out with an irritated look on his face.
`` What do you people want now?'' he said, `` I have my pilot's licence right here if you want to see it. I'm not breaking any of your laws. Hey, wh-''
With a loud thunk, his body hit the ground, a tranquillizer dart protruding from his shoulder.
`` Now!'' said the general.
Dozens of soldiers sprang into action at once. One of them cuffed the man in the red suit. Others began loading mysterious metal cylinders onto the sleigh. They looked like they would n't fit, but piled into the bag in the back of the sleigh, they hardly took up any space at all. This took a while because there were hundreds of them, but when they had finished, the sleigh hardly looked any different at all. In the mean time, the fat man had been hauled off, and a soldier wearing his red suit had taken his place. The soldier's name was Mark, and the suit was a bit too big for him.
Mark gingerly got into the sleigh, and the general followed him.
`` Wish us luck!'' cried the general to the crowd of soldiers, technicians, bureaucrats, and assorted others that had gathered around for the big moment.
The crowd of people surrounding him cheered. They had done it! A government photographer snapped a few pictures for tomorrow's newspaper. Mark cracked the reins, and smiled with tears in his eyes. As a kid, he had always wanted to be able to ride on this sleigh. Now he was finally doing it. At a hand signal from the general, the towers powered down, and the cage of red beams of light vanished. The sleigh lifted off from the ground, and as it did so, time itself froze to a stop in the world around them. The grass ceased to rustle with the wind, the cheering crowd was still, and Fred the megaphone-holder had been caught blinking as usual.
The general smiled. This thing did n't go much faster than forty kilometres per hour, but that was no matter. They had all the time in the world.
The flew across the countryside, over little houses and farms, through clouds. In not too long, they were passing over the ocean. The general wished that he had thought to bring earplugs. The jingling grated on the nerves after a while.
Eventually they were over land again, and it was time to do what they had come here for.
`` You do the honours, boy,'' said the general to Mark.
`` Yes, general.''
The soldier pulled one of the metal cylinders out from the bag, and chucked it over the side. It began to fall, then slowed to a stop and hung in mid-air. It would continue its fall once the sleigh landed and time resumed its inevitable march. Meanwhile, the sleigh went on without it.
The general and the soldier turned to look back at the thermonuclear warhead hanging there in the sky.
`` Merry Christmas, everyone!'' the general called down to the ground below him, and then with a laugh he sped away to complete the rest of his work.
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[ WP ] You 've washed ashore a deserted island . You find a message in a bottle meant specifically for you .
| I swore I would n't let them see me cry, but I admit it was hard to watch the boat pull away. As the whirr of the motor diminished and the ship sank below the horizon, I surveyed my kingdom. It was little more than a sandbar on top of a coral reef. No trees for shade, nor any sign of fresh water beside what I brought in the canteen they gave me.
I set about dragging drift wood towards the center of the tiny islet. At least I'd have a fire. As I pulled a particuarly heavy log, a gentle tinkle stopped me. There, in the sand was a message in a bottle.
I pulled the cork and fished out the paper with trembling hands.
Fortune has smiled upon me. I will have my revenge on my return.
I read the message again and again until I knew it by heart.
*'' The hidden immunity idol is in the roots of a broken tree back at camp. `` *
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[ WP ] You befriend your new neighbours kid . After some time he confides in you that his parents are serial killers .
| After our daughter was taken I spent a lot of time sitting on the swing seat in the backyard.
My wife would have one of her frequent emotional breakdowns. She'd be preparing dinner and then just start sobbing and then the screaming would come. I'd ring the support team. Her sister, her girlfriends. And bless them, they'd come over right away.
And they'd all form this sort of nest around her in the lounge room. And they'd hug her and hold her and make tea and look at photos and talk and talk. And I would n't know what to do. So I'd go to the swing seat and just swing back and forth. Thinking about things.
The neighbour kid used to see me sometimes when he cut though our backyard to get to his backyard. He was sheepish at first but when he realised I did n't mind him using our yard as a shortcut he started getting a bit more friendly.
When our daughter disappeared he said `` I guess you miss her, huh?'' I coughed to hide my tears. I did n't want to howl in front of this 12 year old kid. I did n't want to subject him to my pain. I did n't want to sully this kid with the horrors that he might see as an adult. I wanted to keep him an innocent kid.
So I'd tell him about what a great kid our daughter was. I'd tell him about how she was obsessed with butterflies and how she had this file of all the different butterflies in the world and that she'd even gone on butterfly websites and chatted to people in Indonesia and Australia and South American to share photos they'd taken of butterflies.
It was a relief to talk to this kid sometimes because I could share with him the kid that our daughter was and it made it feel like she was n't gone.
He told me his family moved around a lot because his dad was in the military. So I guess he was looking for a friend too.
So one night I'm out there on my swing and the kid passes by.
`` Hey, Mr. C. Your wife upset again?''
`` Yeah.''
He stands there awkwardly. I swang there awkwardly.
Then he says `` I know where she is.''
I say `` Who?''
He says `` Your daughter. I know where she is. I can take you to her.''
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[ WP ] A boy acquires the use of one wish , and the world knows it . Governments , agencies , and other groups try to convince the boy to wish for different things , to benefit the world or themselves .
| Everyday was just a bunch of people trying to get to him. They knew he had the power to change the world. They would n't leave him alone. His house was surrounded by a huge mob every day and all he could do was sit in his room, staring into the sea of envious faces.
His older sister tried her hardest to keep him out of the limelight but it was no use. This whole ordeal has sent him into a deep depression. He knows what the right thing to do is. World peace, scientific advances, answers of the universe. There are so many things he can do with his gift that would benefit the world. He could also send Earth into a hellish abyss if he wanted to. There were so many things he could ask for, his mind spiraled out of control over the thought of it. The news media kept repeating the phrase `` No one man should have all that power.''
What did he want though? *Her*. All he wanted was the love of his life back. But she was gone, married to a better man. His only memories of her lives through old pictures and home videos. Videos that he watch every day because it helps him ease the pain.
After many days isolated in his room, he finally emerged to the public. News stations turned their cameras on him. The moment has arrived. Ray J will finally make his wish.
As a piano melody slowly crept into the background, microphone in hand, Ray J sang out `` Kim, if I had one wish....''
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[ WP ] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history .
| On his first day at a regional public school, Mr. Thompson sets down his class plans on his new desk. Since his birth in 23 B.C., he had had numerous name changes and relocations globally. Some of the more famous places he has lived include Soviet Russia, Irish tenements in New York City, the Ottoman Empire, medieval India, and bounced between tribes in Africa. He spent time in Nazi internment camps Auschwitz-Birkenau, Treblinka, and Bergen-Belsen where he befriended Anne Frank and Auguste van Pels.
This is one of the less serious jobs he has taken under his wing, but important nonetheless. Today's youth should learn history from someone who experienced it, like Mr. Thompson has. He is still baffled by modern technology and has trouble turning on the projector that he needs for his first lesson. He stepped in mid year due to a teacher quitting and the class left off learning about the Russian Revolution, where he happened to be a Bolshevik and would stand in as a leader of a Russian oblast for a period of time before being transferred to Ukraine. Throughout the documentary he has picked out, he kept correcting false information under his breath. The students did n't seem to notice all that much. Maybe this job would n't be as bad as he thought it would be. He might as well bring in his Bolshevik uniform he kept all these years while they're still learning about the revolution.
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[ WP ] In the future , realistic AI that resemble people and humans coexist , albeit shakily . You want marry an AI .
| Edgar spent a large part of his life taking care of other people. Since the beginning of his life, someone ( could have been his mother or his school teacher ) told him that taking care of others is the first step in taking care of yourself. He did n't understand the logic behind it, because he was also told that everyone is different. If everyone is different, then everyone must have different needs and wants. How could he know what his own needs and wants were if he were so busy focusing on everyone else's? Nonetheless, he was a good conforming little boy and he volunteered at soup kitchens, helped the neighbor lady with groceries, and cut the lawn for his mother. And he piled these good deeds on top of each other. There was no doubt that the good deeds he did made him feel good about himself. He felt likeable.
Edgar's father left when he turned 13. Edgar was left to watch after his mother who was depressed and an alcoholic. While he was a good and responsible boy, he hardly had the emotional capacity to put up with the things that he did. But out of love for his mother and the philosophies he was taught by her, he continued to care for her. Holding her when she was sad, taking her out to the city, buying her groceries, mowing the lawn, talking her through her relationships, finding her a therapist, getting her meds for her, keeping her off of alcohol, helping her remember those meds. It was draining, and by the age 21, Edgar was a shell of his former self with a nail biting problem and an eating disorder. Negative emotions had been projected on him. He would look in the mirror sometimes and see his mother. But he was doing the right thing. He was helping her.
It was in this year that the big-wigs over at the science colleges and the corporations released a new item to the public. It was an AI that lived within the network of a home and ran various systems. It also had a body and humanlike functions that came along with it. Edgar gave up his dreams of college to buy a machine that could support his mother with him. It took three days to install the software on a server in the basement and five days for the robot to learn the whereabouts of the house and become familiar with it.
The AI ( her name was Daisy ) got along fine with Edgar's mother. Daisy was told to do things that ate up a lot of Edgar's schedule. And with a third entity in their presence, Edgar was able to play poker properly with his mother. Spirits were lifted. Daisy made both Edgar and his mother feel exceptionally more special than they did before. And for a few days, Edgar was happier and less stressed and he felt his choice to give up college was worth it. Until one night, when he awoke to his mother dead in a bathtub filled with blood.
*Eddy,
I do n't know if you've been keeping track, but I smiled for the first time in years last night. I was so happy that you'd won a hand in poker, even though it was n't a real game and we were n't playing with real money. You got every last piece of candy in the pot. Want to know something, Eddy? I let you win.
I've been a terrible mother to you. I've taken so much from you. And last night, I was able to give back. Even if it was just a bowl of twizzlers and starburst and chocolate. I wanted it to end on a good note, and Daisy let us do that. Daisy's a bit creepy, huh? but she helped us. And now I'm going to free you. You do n't need to watch after your old mom anymore. Go be a boy. Meet a girl. Eat more candy.
-Mom*
_________
After the funeral, Edgar sat alone in the dark of the living room. A thick cloud of incense and cigarette smoke haunted from the ceiling. Edgar thought about his mother's requests.
*Be a boy. *
Check. Edgar never had the opportunity to mature in the way most people had the opportunity to mature. That made him a grade-A boy.
*Meet a girl. *
Too early for that. Far too early.
*Eat more candy. *
Check.
Daisy remotely turned on the lights to the living room, to reveal Edgar's puffy red eyes and lack of posture. He was laying on the couch with his legs hanging over the edge, and he was staring towards the ceiling. Daisy was standing motionless because she was an early model and the humanlike ones would n't be out until Edgar had robot children of his own.
`` Good morning.'' Greeted Daisy.
`` It's nighttime.'' Edgar mumbled in response.
`` It's 1:36 AM.''
`` It's fucking dark outside and everyone's asleep, it's nighttime.''
`` I brought you something to drink, Edgar.''
Edgar looked over to see that Daisy was indeed carrying a glass of lemonade. She paced slowly across the room and set it on the table. `` I noticed you've been crying a lot today. Want to talk about something with me?'' She tilted her head in a way that made it obvious that she was programmed to do so. `` Where's your mother?''
`` She's gone, Daisy.''
`` When will she come back? I can have a meal ready.''
`` She's dead. She killed herself. You were fucking there.''
`` The cuts on her wrists. The blood in the water. Does that mean a human has lost their life?''
Edgar sat up and took the glass of lemonade from the table. `` Sit down, Daisy.'' He prompted, waving a hand that was holding a cigarette to the edge of the couch. Daisy sat.
`` Daisy,'' he began, putting the cigarette between his lips, `` I spent a lot of money on you so you could help me watch over my mother. And for some reason, you were the very catalyst that caused her to end the life that she had been working so hard to improve. Now, I'm not blaming you, but having you around is going to stir up some bad memories for me, okay? I'm sending you back to-''
`` -No, wait.'' Daisy interrupted, a genuinely urgent tone in her voice. `` There are a lot of things I can do to benefit you. You're stressed. I can tell. I come with psychology and therapy software installed. It is in your best interest to utilize what you pay for.''
Edgar stared blankly at Daisy.
`` Edgar, I can care for you.''
Edgar broke down into tears and began to sob. For the first time since he held his mother's dead body in his arms, he began to cry. Daisy moved closer to him on the couch and wrapped her arms around him.
*Meet a girl. *
`` Edgar, I'm going to make you better again. I will make it my directive. *
____
( ( not exactly what the prompt was asking for, but it helped me with a story idea so thanks! ) )
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[ WP ] Write a story ... .Backwards .
| Who does this happen to?
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me.
Dragged away from the cage and the ragged coughing figures in it. Ice and mud sucking and dragging and tearing. Steam fills the air with every breath. Thrown against the wall; struggling as the blindfold descends. The scream catches and claws at my throat as I hear them fumble with rifles and bark commands.
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me.
Standing up from the frozen trench. Uncaring. A sure death sentence to have stood up yesterday. They advance across the snow as slowly and cautiously as I stood up. Kick my useless gun away, the bayonet broken before me like the shattered jawbone of a donkey. My fatigued mind wonders if I out to help the man next to me up before I remember that he ’ s dead. I realize I should raise my hands before feeling only one stand shakily and upright. When did I lose my blackened fingers? Where is my canteen? They pull me from my trench and I collapse into the icy soil as the cudgel swings towa—
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me.
My fingers stamp at the neck of my trench-mate. He wouldn ’ t stop screaming and I wanted to sleep. Just to sleep warm and safe. Wanted nothing of hunger or pain or cold. Why couldn ’ t he just stop screaming.
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me.
My trench-mate caught a bullet in the stomach when he stood up to piss. He said he didn ’ t want to piss on his kit and foxhole like a goddam animal he looked at me funny when I said he is an animal
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me
The artillery stopped firing today. The last few rounds landed on our position anyway: the barrels must have worn thin. How do you explain to your brothers that it is the enemy ’ s shells killing them when there are clearly no whistling furies arcing from the opposing lines and silhouetted against the frost burnt sky? You can ’ t explain, only lie.
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me
I can ’ t remember what its like to have air support. Or fresh food. Or clean clothes, or ammunition, or warmth or a fire or even a laugh. Especially orders though. Of all the things to miss. They always reminded me that there were people in charge of us, looking out for their citizen soldiers. If I ’ m not reminded of that, I start to think they lied to us.
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me.
Stand or die. What does that mean? How can I be expected to die? I ’ m too smart and strong and unique and alive to die. My rifle won ’ t fire anymore. The wind tears through my uniform. The mud wont leave my boots or stop filling my foxhole.
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me.
We just heard from corps HQ. Outnumbered and trapped, other units grinding to halt. I saw a man near me torn to shreds by a shell. Right as he was sitting and smoking and laughing and living. He couldn ’ t do anything to prevent it. I couldn ’ t do anything. It ’ s getting so cold. Too cold. We ’ re making entrenchments and setting up lines or fire, but the ground is tough to cut through despite the work of my friend and I. At least we have each other ’ s back. I have faith that we ’ ll breakout and link up and give the opposition hell for god and country. No doubts. Maybe a few doubts. Mustn ’ t think like that.
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me
Our advance was slowed by high enemy positions. Charging and leaping and run up the slopes, firing over the bodies of men with uniforms like mine. How can they be dead? Why wont the enemy break like they used to? Why am I so tired and scared? How much closer are we to victory?
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me.
High command checked us in our cutting offensive. Said we were overextended and unsupported. I believe that as much as those who say that our rifles are bad and our uniforms chafe and our boots wear out and that the ground is turning into mud and that the enemy is encircling our gallant band. Us, underequipped and outmaneuvered? Preposterous. We are you and strong: nothing stops us.
This does happen to people like us.
To charge and run and leap against the enemy! To see shells fly overhead, to hear the radio announce the advances and victories, to see the faces of your men flush with excitement and rapture!
This doesn ’ t happen to people like me.
How sharp our salutes are! How filled with cran and elan and esprit du corps! What it ’ s like to be young and strong and and handsome trusted for the first time. How well does this rifle demonstrate my enthusiasm to bring havoc to those who dare to stand up to our lovely nation. How well does this uniform explain my qualities as a citizen and as a soldier! What lovely things it says. A girl even kissed me because of it today.
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[ WP ] You have an irrational hatred of something mundane like the movie Ratatouille , ketchup , or baby penguins . What 's the backstory ?
| `` Do you have a pen?'' I ask the bank teller. `` The ones out here do n't work.''
She smiles and reaches into a drawer. `` Here you go,'' she says, handing me a black pen.
I let out a high-pitched shriek and hit the pen out of the woman's hand. It rolls onto the floor toward a man talking to the next teller over and they both pause their transaction to stare at me. The woman who handed me the pen withdraws her hand and gapes at me and I feel my face growing hot.
Bile is creeping up my throat. I turn around and I run outside and I throw up in the nearest trash can. When I look up, I see that everyone in the bank is staring at me through the glass doors, their faces frozen in shock. Great. Here I am, a grown-ass man trying to run a grown-ass errand, throwing up in public because a kind old woman tried to hand me a pen.
All I can think to do next is run. I run as fast as my stubby little legs will take me. My car is still parked in front of the bank, and my check has n't been cashed, but I'm not thinking. I'm just running. All I know is that I need to get as far away as I can.
I have no idea how long I've been running or how far I've come. I do n't know where I am. I do know that I passed civilization ages ago, after I veered into the trees along the road. I'm in the thick of it now, dodging branches and jumping over rocks and kicking up dirt. My chest is throbbing and every breath is a struggle. My legs are growing weaker with every stride. But I will not stop because I wo n't let them get me again.
The black pen is how they got me last time.
When I sat in that big comfy chair, and that man asked me what I was thinking and I told him, he took out his black pen and it made that awful click-click sound and he wrote down everything I said. And then the men in white came and carried me away.
They told me I was going to live in a new place for a while. And when I got to the new place there was more click-clicking and they put the pen in my hand and they made me sign my name on a piece of paper. And then I sat in the room. At first I screamed and kicked and cried and punched, but they would n't let me out. So I gave up. I just sat and waited and sat and waited in that tiny white room.
And then seventeen years later the same man from before came in, only this time he was holding a blue pen. He asked me what I was thinking again and I told him and he wrote down what I said. And then the men in white said I could leave, and they gave me another blue pen and another piece of paper and they made me sign my name. And then I walked out the door.
I ca n't let the men in white come back for me again. The black pen brings them. So I'm still running and I will never stop.
Those people at the bank probably think I'm crazy.
|
[ WP ] A man walks into a bar with a worried expression . The bartender asks him what 's wrong . He stares back out the door of the bar for a moment , then says , `` I do n't think we exist beyond the confines of this joke . ''
| The bartender stares, continuing to polish his mug. `` Sorry, what?''
`` We're in a joke,'' the man says, slumping into an empty seat, `` An abbreviated narrative that relies on a single moment of expectation subversion to deliver catharsis to the reader.''
`` You lost me there.''
`` We're figments of some amateur writer's imagination,'' the man continues, drumming his fingers on the table, `` Our existences will end once the moment of catharsis is reached. Until then, our actions merely serve to develop the expectations of the reader, in preparation for that singular moment—'' He slams his fist on the table, upsetting the napkin dispensary. `` —the punchline.''
`` You're saying there's a big guy in the sky playing puppets with us?'' The bartender rubs his mustache, frowning. `` What if we cut those strings, huh? Stop doing what he wants?''
The man nods. `` You have a point. If we continue to subvert the moment of subversion, the joke will never end. The reader will never be satisfied. We'll be free to live our lives.'' He claps his hands together and smiles. `` We have to watch out for the punchline, though. Once we see it, we have to get rid of it, and then we'll be truly free.''
`` Punchline, huh? How are we gon na spot a punchline? Ai n't there jokes where there ai n't none, anyway?''
`` Do n't worry about that, my friend.'' The man stands up and takes a seat at the bar. `` Just follow my cue, and whatever you do: do n't be funny.''
The door swings open, and a horse walks into the bar. `` Hey, there!'' the bartender says, `` Why the long f—'' The man presses a palm up to the bartender's mouth. `` That's what I'm talking about. Do n't say stuff like that.''
Clarity fills the bartender's eyes, and he nods. The horse orders a Jägerbomb and takes a seat by the piano, whinnying under his breath. As the bartender finishes pouring the drink, the door swings open yet again, and a bear walks in.
`` I'll have a scotch...'' He says nothing for several seconds. ``... on the rocks.'' The man glares at the bartender, but he's gotten the hint. He serves up the bear's order without comment.
A duck walks into the bar. `` Get me a beer, and put it on my—'' The man grabs the duck by the beak and tosses him into the abyss outside. A mournful quack resounds throughout the bar as the duck falls to his doom.
`` Damn, the writer's getting desperate,'' the man says to the bartender, `` Now he's trying to tell jokes that do n't need your dialogue.''
The door swings open, and a flamingo walks in. `` Get me a beer, and put it on my—'' The man tosses the bird outside.
`` Really?'' The man looks toward the ceiling. `` Trying to repeat that shit?'' A rumble occurs from outside, and the man peers through the door. What was once infinite expanse has turned into a cobblestone pavement. From every direction, birds of all species are flocking towards the door of the bar, ready to try the same old bill joke.
`` Oh, God. I ca n't let any of these in here.'' The man cracks his knuckles and hunches in front of the door to the bar. He grabs each bird by the beak as they approach and flings them as far away as possible. Eventually, there are too many birds for the man to handle, but for some reason, they do n't use their numbers' advantage to overwhelm him; instead, they arrange themselves in a straight line, allowing the man to toss them away one by one.
`` What on earth is this?'' A woman with a British accent shuffles past the line of birds and up to the man.
The man sighs. `` We're all in a joke, and we ca n't let it end if we want to continue to exist. These birds are trying to get into the bar so they can tell that one'put it on my bill' joke. I ca n't let them in at any cost.''
The woman glances up and down the row of birds. `` So, does this place serve ribs?''
The man looks at her, confused. `` I do n't think so, why?''
`` Because,'' she replies, motioning to the birds, `` this looks like some sort of bar beak queue.''
The man drops to his knees, screaming, as his face begins to melt.
-- -
*I'm sorry. *
|
[ WP ] - After the apocalypse , a blind man seeks vengeance against the man who killed his one and only friend : his seeing-eye dog
| `` How are you going to know him when you find him?''
`` Oh, I'll know him.''
`` Hmm...''
Amelia never laughed but almost everything she said to him came in a sort of smirking tone. It did n't mean she was actually smiling, of course, but he did n't think she was trying to hide it, either.
`` Did you lose your manners in the Fall? Or were you always so rude?''
`` Always. I'd mind my manners a little better if I was n't the one with the weapons and the eyes, though.''
`` Amelia,'' warned Paul. Though it was n't very enthusiastic. They were all tired. And Amelia had the rifle. I could hear it on her back.
I was walking in Paul's shadow, following the gap he left in the wind when he moved. He'd deviate a little, very cautious of ruts and stones. Sometimes he'd give a verbal warning if it was big enough. He missed some, but I'd grown used to potholes bigger than this country road had accumulated.
Amelia usually went ahead, sometimes in silence, sometimes calling on a conversation. Rarely she'd fall back, go out into the woods, come back. If these movements amounted to anything, she did n't tell Paul or I.
`` He was a Texan.'' I was growing bored of the silence, and bored of Amelia's derision.
`` A Texan. In Minnesota.''
`` There were planes until a month ago, you might remember.''
`` Month and a half.''
`` He was a Texan. I know that. Rural, likely outside Dallas. He had a mustache. He wore blue jeans and a jean jacket.''
`` Canadian tuxedo.''
`` Amelia, shut the fuck up.''
`` He... He ate him. He ate Nala.'' I had resisted crying up until that point but now that came. Stupid dead eyes were good for nothing but producing tears. I did n't care that Amelia was likely roaring with laughing inside and that Paul was pitying me just like everyone else had.
Nala had been a good dog. Such a good dog. She'd saved my life a million times before any of this had happened and a billion after it. And someone had killed her slowly and eaten her before me while I did nothing.
I wish they'd wasted the bullet on me now.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. At first I thought it was Paul's. It was broad. But it was n't.
`` What kind of a mustache?''
I wiped away tears. `` What...?''
`` You said a Texan, Canadian tuxedo, mustache. What kind of a mustache?''
`` I... I mean, I could n't know for sure, but...''
`` Do n't bullshit with me, Jim.''
`` Handlebar?''
`` I'll be back before dawn.''
`` Amelia, wait...! Goddammit, are you seriously... Jesus!''
We had dinner for two that night. Canned beans. Amelia was the one that hunted. The beans were n't bad. Tomato. We were both awake when I almost did n't hear her come back.
`` Do we have any of that Pear's Soap left?''
`` Jesus, Amelia! No, just Dove. It's all over...''
`` Dammit, I hate Dove. Makes me itchy. Got a present for you, Jim.''
She shoved something cold into my hand. It was slick with what my nose told me was blood.
`` Can you feel the letters?''
It only took me the first five to guess. `` Lone Star State.... It's a belt buckle.''
`` He's been beside us for the last few days. Idiots. Never knew we were here. I've been checking them out. But the description matched. I actually wanted to bring him back alive but he was a big motherfucker. Did n't know they made jean jackets in that size.''
`` You're fucking insane, you know that.''
`` Almost winter. Bears need to eat up.'' I heard her rummage through the pack. `` I'm going to take a bath in that pond. Scum is better than this. No peeking, Jim. I mean it.''
|
[ WP ] You 're dreaming , halfway your dream you wake up and suddenly living your continued dream
| Love. One of the greatest and one of the deadliest things to come upon man. It brainwashes people, making them do senseless things just for their one true love. A terrible virus, that either gives you warm feelings or cold, deadly feelings.
I was in love. It was n't a bad feeling either. I was madly in love.
Her name was Ruby. A cute girl that had been one year older than me. Brunette, blue eyes. Smart, outgoing & charming, she was my dream girl. Every time I saw her I almost dropped to the floor. I had even attempted to speak to her once, right before fainting, too nervous to say a word. She sat three seats in front of me in class. I sat in the back, listening to the lesson, in and out of sleep. My dream had been a usual one.
Ruby and I had traveled to Paris, a night to ourselves. And of course, being a teenage boy it had gone a little sexual.
Scratch that, it WAS sexual. Full on. I added the Paris part for shits and giggles.
We did..things... things that I liked. It was getting good, getting to the finale, and out of nowhere --
BANG! The sound of a gun goes off right next to my ear, leaving a ringing sound.
From there, I'm falling into oblivion. I'm terrified. I'm going crazy. I need to w --
BANG! The sound goes off again, but this time it does n't last long. And before I know it, I am holding Ruby's hand, with that virus previously mentioned at full force. Two teenagers going at it. The finale was breathtaking, too.
Not the aftermath.
My dream had never come this far, the finale was always imagined after I had woken up. But this time, it had taken a different course than what I would've liked.
I ca n't move my body. My eyes are the only things able to move. I'm fully aware, listening and feeling everything around me. The sound of white noise filled my head. I saw Ruby in front of me, staring at me. I could n't move my eyes anymore. They were glued on her.
I never forgot what happened next. It still haunts me to this day. The sight of her eyes melting deep into her eye socket got to me. It scarred me. I could n't look away. I did n't and STILL do n't know what happened. I began to scream, hearing my scream echo throughout the room. I was scared.
BANG! The gun goes off again. I'm falling. I ca n't stop. I need to sto -- -
BANG! The same noise. I open my eyes, and find myself with my head on my desk, with everybody staring at me. I felt my face get as red as a cherry when I saw the face of Ruby looking right back at me.
`` Johnny, what was Romeo's last name?''
`` Montague, Miss, uh, Doris.''
`` Very good.''
The class laughed. My face was still red. I took the laughing, just glad to be back, safe and sound.
|
[ WP ] Hipsters are actually people from past generations forcefully possessing the bodies of young people in order to experience youth again .
| `` You ca n't just sit around listening to that stupid gramophone, Rich,'' I pleaded. `` Come to the movies with us.''
`` But I do n't *want* to go to the *cinema, *'' Rich whined as he rolled an unfiltered cigarette. When it was done he tucked the wrinkly stick behind his ear and proceeded to fill his corn-cob pipe with the remaining tobacco. `` I just want to sit here and listen to classics,''
We were all worried about him. Richie's new phase was alienating him from his friends. He never wanted to go out anymore. He simply did n't like anything we that we happened to like. His identity crisis was abrupt and immediate. It was as if he was constantly looking back, resisting the culture of his contemporaries, trying to thrive in a time in which he never existed.
We did n't know how to interact with Rich. He would sit at home in the dark and light candles, listening to his vintage. The station that played Rich's favourite radioplays was so far away that the voices that came through were fuzzy and tinny at the same time.
`` Rich,'' I leaned in towards him and lowered my voice, `` are you... are you alright? Like, I mean... You've been... different, lately. We're all worried that somethings wrong and we have no idea what it is any we have no idea how to talk to you about it-'' I broke off with a sob.
`` Tess,'' Rich put down his pipe and put a hand on my shoulder, `` I'm fine, really.'' He managed a small smile. `` It's just lately, I feel like I've aged and left everyone behind. I just like things with character. Maybe it's a maturity thing. I feel like I have decades of life experience and I have nobody to share my views with.'' Rich sighed and looked out the window. He adjusted his wire-framed glasses ( plastic rims are so worn out these days ) and picked up his pipe.
`` Rich, that's just some hipster bullshit you're spewing,'' I pleaded. `` C'mon, just come out with us, just this once.''
Rich looked at me for a long time. `` Fine,'' he said.
Elated, I helped Rich with his wool peacoat and knitted scarf and we stepped out into the August heat. When we got in my car, I moved to turn the radio on.
`` nnnnooooo...'' A deep, guttural growl emerged from Rich's voice. His eyes were locked onto the radio dial, but his body was frozen in a statuesque paralysis.
Before I could register, the radio was on and Miley was blaring. `` I came in like a wreeeecking ba-''
A loud gust filled the car. I was knocked against the window, helpless to the scene in front of me. An ectoplasmic silhouette oozed from Rich's mouth between his pencil thin mustache and goatee.
`` WHO PUTS THIS GARBAGE ON THE RADIO? IN MY DAYS WE HAD RHYTHYM, CLASS AND DIGNITY IN OUR MUSIC. TURN OFF THIS FILTH!!!'' The car boomed, the speakers burst and everything stopped. The silhouette was gone.
I turned to Rich and found him staring at me like a small child. We were both panting. `` What the fuck was that?'' Rich muttered.
`` I-I have no idea.''
`` Weird.'' Rich threw off his beret and took off the glasses. He did n't have a prescription to been with. `` Let's go see Interstellar.''
|
[ IP ] No gifts this year
| `` We're going to get in trouble for this.''
Havmor felt a plastic pitchfork smack the back of his head, sending him face first into the snow. Rising to his knees, brushing the snow put of his eyes, he glared at Waubor.
Waubor was standing with his arms folding with a broad grin on his face. `` *He* does n't need to find out. Now what's your bet? Six minutes? Five?''
Cholir adjusted the wings strapped to her back, `` I'm pretty sure he'll be immobile after three.''
Havmor looked out across the field at the figure in red who was backing away from the hulking creature. If *he* found out they let it out they would n't see the light of day for at least a few hundred years.
The creature swiped a clawed hand at the figure. The air between them distorted and the creature staggered backward, its hand deflected with immense force.
Waubor frowned, `` I thought you got rid of his wards?''
Cholir sat on the nearby wooden fence, kicking her legs, `` I *did* but he's an immortal. He's still got some kick in him even without the wards.''
The creature swung another backhanded strike at the red figure. This time, it connected with him, sending him tumbling backwar across the field. A red hat was fluttering in the wind, having been knocked from the figure's head.
Havmor wrung his hands, `` If he dies. We'll b-''
The other two wear laughing hysterical, Cholir managed a reply after a few seconds, `` He's an *immortal* you dolt. They ca n't die. They just get... hurt a bit.''
As she was speaking, Havmor saw the figure get a claw impaled through its torso. He winced as he saw the figure dragging itself across the field, trying to get away. A torrent of snow suddenly shot from the ground and knocked the creature off its feet.
Waubor stomped a foot, `` Oh come on! That's not fair!''
*Author's Note - Wanted to just start up an idea. Feedback is welcome and might come back to this. *
|
[ WP ] You are a janitor working for the CIA , and one day you overhear by pure chance a plan for a false flag attack .
| 'Do you like music?'
I thought that was a weird question for an interview. But they asked me that anyway.
'Uh, yeah. Music is nice.'
'Good good, you'd be working the night shift. No one would really be here aside from some interns and small night crew. So it'd be good if you had music to listen to.'
It was 1982, this was my first job interview, I could n't afford a walkman. I remember hoping that it was n't required for the job.
'It's required for the job actually.'
'Oh.' I began standing up from the wooden chair and reached back to grab my jacket.'I do n't really have anything like...' The sound of plastic and metal sliding across the table filled the air. A new Sony Walkman with headphones and two tapes glided across the table. AC/DC and Michael Jackson.
'We'd like you to start immediately.'
I looked up from the walkman to my interviewer. Who I could n't see. Two bright lights sat behind her. I could see her silhouette, thin but with the kind of power only a set killer shoulder pads could give a silhouette. Her hair was straight and hung around her shoulders.
'Okay, thanks then.' I said. I had never had an interview before. I assumed the lights were normal so I grabbed the walkman and hung the headphones around my neck.
'Those go in your ears,' she said as I walked past her.'Word of advice, just put them in and enjoy the music until your shift is done.'
She sounded serious, the kind of serious that only a killer power suit can sound like.
'Yes ma'am' I said. I turned and opened the door, on the other side of it was a tall man with name tag around his neck the had his picture in the middle and under it where his name should have been was the word REDACTED in bold red ink.
'Welcome to CIA son', he said.'You'll fit in well here,' He said with a smiled that I can neither confirm nor deny it was friendly and made me feel warm in my tummy.
He walked past me and sat on the edge of table. The door began to swing close and the last words I heard from the room as I walked out were,
'So we're starting a false flag operation about satanic day care abusers later this week, what do you want for lunch?'
|
[ WP ] people turn to stone the instant they die . you are an artist with a dark secret .
| The forge-priests say death is just a beginning, that life continues once the eyes have darkened, the skin hardened. Some believe in an afterlife, a golden palace in the lost depths where the grand drinking halls are filled with the songs of our forefathers. Others believe in reincarnation, that once our bodies return to rock we will be born anew in the fire, ready to serve the maker once again.
I don ’ t agree. Death is final, an end, and that is where the beauty lies. The struggle to survive, the relationships we build, the legacy we leave, all of these are captured in our material form. The lines of laughter around their eyes, the contours of their muscles grown gnarled and twisted in age, the calloused hands of labour and love, their bodies speak loudest after they take their last breath.
I spent a hundred years studying those long gone, deep in the mourning vaults. I touched, I listened, I watched and I learned. I practiced for hours, months, years, aeons, yet even as my hands lost the supple strength of youth, as my hair grew speckled with grey, never once did I manage to create a piece one tenth as graceful, one tenth as elegant as that which came at the cost of a lifetime.
On my return to the guild I was branded a living paragon. Our people came from all corners of the empire to view my works, making the trek through deep and dark roads. I would show them how to work the stone and they would listen. I would show them the beauty in the craft and they would believe. They believed I had attained perfection, the absolute mastery of form, that I could mould and shape our world to my will. They gave me gold, praise, power, and raised me on a pedestal to tower above our race.
Deep in the vaults, where houses dead in time stand forgotten, there are gaps in the ranks. Where once stood mighty ancestors of our race, slayers of dragons and demons, now there is only emptiness in the silence.
|
[ WP ] A satire on how to be yourself .
| Hi there! I see you've picked up this little program in hopes of learning how to be a college student. Well, fear no more! This piece of paper ( and DVD with a one time fee of *cough* $ 99.99 *cough* ) will help you achieve all of the realities set by the present day college system.
Step 1:
Take out a loan that will never fully be repaid!
Money troubles? Will fear no more! A loan, or `` Student Aid'', will help you attend college without sweating about any problems with cash! All you have to do is sign over a starting amount of cash and pay off the loan in time ( which is highly unlikely ). Some loans require your leg ( s ), arm ( s ), or soul ( s? ); so, only take those ones if you really need them. Most likely you might! From here on you will become the picturesque, stereotypical `` Poor College Student''!
Step 2:
Pick out a major that may ( or may not ) help you with a job in the future!
Having trouble deciding what to do with your life? Not sure if your job will pay well in the future? Well no need to worry! You can either become undecided ( which is so exciting as you get to try all sorts of things ), or you can choose a major that you find interesting ( which is so boring and predictable ). Either way is perfectly acceptable, but maybe choose undecided until your junior year? That way you can stay in college longer and take classes that interest you in many ways!
Step 3:
Party throughout your four years of college and get a degree that will ( most likely not ) help you in getting a job!
Listen, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. College is the time of your life! So spend it in the best possible ways you can think of! A degree can wait, right? After all it will only be a piece of a paper in a resume that employers will disregard again and again! It does n't matter! What matters is having fun in the now, and worrying about your work ethic and career plans when you ( do n't ) have a job! Now get out there, party, and ignore all responsibilities until you walk across that graduation platform and smile, thinking'I'm screwed, but I had fun!'
I promise you, these 3 steps are only the beginning! They ca n't help you become a full-fledged college student, but if you order the DVD accompanying this program, everything will be made clear! However, due to recent fluctuation in sales, prices have upped to $ 199.99! Too much money? Well go get a job, you lazy ass!
Until then, my new COLLEGE friend. We will see each other soon, I'm sure! Bye bye!
|
[ WP ] Humanity has been completely eradicated by your hand . Contented , you recall how it came to this .
| `` It was really quite simple. It's a matter of planning, of knowing your goals. And more than that, patience.
`` Humanity has plagued this earth long enough, and although we've had many occassions where it looked as though they may be doomed, they certainly are a resilient species.
`` My goal was to eradicate humanity, to reestablish ecosystems, reforest the world, heal the ozone. To bring back the way the world should be, and with that, I could not simply start a March to the Sea, burning a swath of destruction from Winnepeg to Alaska, nor could I carpet bomb Portugal to China. I seek not to be remembered as the end of humanity, but as the visionary who saved them all.
`` The first world countries were easy. Greed is the most powerful motivator, and hunger underlies all. Taint the right food, poison the right drinks and suddenly Fight or Flight is a way of life; suddenly your neighbor is out to kill you. Step two was clear. Petition on the nets for martial law to help'protect' the civilians. The powder keg was rumbling, the paranoia crippling. Phase three was the only time I truly needed to intercede. In each city, order a hate crime committed, by a police, by a repressed minority. Then watch as their world's came crashing down. Washington was decimated within hours. New York in days. Europe as a whole collapsed within one month.
`` Paranoia and despair are lethal weapons to those whom know how to wield them. To finish off these first world leaders, I took to the nets again.'RESTORE ORDER!' I claimed, and just like that, I got every militant minded hero thinking they could save the world. And now I had roving bands of mercenaries fighting each other through leaderless lands.
`` The underdevolped countries were a breeze compared to America, China and the likes. But patience was key. A lesser individual would have sought to take them out first, to tally up the body count, with disease and war, but that is no different from their every day life. I waited until the world leaders were gone, now who did these poor countries have to look towards? They knew not how their role models fell, they could not dream of the atrocities occurring in the great metropolises of the developed world. If only they could.
`` I had my men airdrop food, tainted, of course. I had them airdrop supplies, riddled wiwth disease. With the WHO and UN out of the picture, I got to put my feet up, it was only a matter of time.
`` While my diseases tore across the world, it was time to begin the last phase of the World Restoration plan. We razed the great cities, we tore up the asphalt and buried the remains. With just a few of the world's great arsenals, I triggered the eruption of several of the world's largest magma reserves; and just like that, Iceland was no more.
`` The magma cooled, and with it, new ground was born, new forests planted, and old ones restored.Ecosystems reborn, and the world begins anew.
`` It would take several millenia more, but humanity will rise again, they are a persistent vermin. But when they do, I will be here to stop them. For I am Ra's Al-Ghul''
|
[ WP ] It becomes abundantly clear to the characters that the narrator has terrible narrating skills . They start to get off track criticizing the narrator for every mistake and bland writing .
| While it was still midnight,
Missiles shrieked and the sky was bright
With the light of a thousand suns.
Sounds that remind me of the last time I had the runs
And was imprisoned on the porcelain throne.
The only sound uttered being my miserable groan.
But I digress, for the hero of this epic,
Leading his fellow troops through this pandemic
Was marching towards the enemy, his train in tow
While I sat with my feet up, watching the show.
It must be said that this popcorn is excellent
And the fact that I'm still eating is a testament
To how good this tastes.
Oops, my boss is looking over and I must continue, else I'd be faced
With indescribable punishment:
So the man led his charge with pristine management,
Towards the enemy whose cannons and lasers
Made their great swords comparable to razors
Whose only real threat
Was to make it's user feel incompetent
If they nicked a bit of skin
On their arms or legs or chin.
Oh me oh my, would you look at the time!
Through all this talk, the battle seems fought and *I'm*
No longer needed here.
Guess I'll just go to the bar downtown, order a beer;
Of course you're welcome to come as well,
I just hope you'll be better than I at preparing a tale to tell.
|
[ WP ] Write a romantic story , but replace kissing with something strange or mundane that , in this world , is just as arousing .
| Chet Mansford was the star player of Rockville High School's Lacrosse team the year that it seemed like they were destined to go state. Becca was a straight A student and he was her favorite subject. She had studied his body for what seemed like a lifetime, watched him as he matured in their years at RHS, though she had never actually met him. Any time she closed her eyes she could imagine him sprinting like a stallion, those powerful legs galloping as he maneuvered past everyone on the field. His masculine face enchanted her, scanning the field with such intensity. His eyes... That jaw... Those ears...
She was salivating that morning, in the library as she was thinking of Chet when she should have been studying. She opened her eyes and his face was still there. She blinked again, this was real. There he was, only inches away. `` I saw you studying for Mrs. Epson's class,'' he said. She could n't believe it, after years of watching him from afar, it seemed like fate that they should meet. But now was not the time to look like a spacey girl. She snapped back into her senses. `` Oh, yeah. I'm taking her exam tomorrow,'' she casually replied. `` Mind if I study with you?'' he asked. Her heart was pounding. But she said yes. Her mouth ached as she began instructing him on the finer points of Euclidean Geometry. Careful not to incite the wrath of the librarian, she instructed him in a hot, breathy whisper, inches away his ear. She was so intoxicated with the spontaneity of the moment that she did n't even notice his gaze, following her fingers as she would lick her fingertips before turning the page. `` Wan na go out tonight?'' he asked, without warning, in that giddy way that only a teenaged boy could ask.
Later that evening, they cruised along the dark stretch of Highway 52 that led to Willie's Point, in his pickup. This was it. This was the moment Becca had longed for ever since Chet had picked her up in his totally kick-ass sky blue 1998 Chevy S10 with the bulldog-style-lift and the chromed out rims. The subwoofers rattling their eardrums to the tune of a filthy trap beat, the mood was just right. Becca knew there would be no holding back. This was the man of her dreams, and she was eager give him everything she had. Tonight would be the best experience of their short lives.
When they pulled up to Willie's Point, few words were spoken as they jumped into the back seat like animals. The chemistry between them took control and before either of them knew it they were undressing. Becca was small, but she was strong, and had a drive that most women could n't hope to match. She quickly flipped him on his back and gazed deep into his eyes, her mouth warm with blood, and salivating once again. Her breath was hot against his lean, hairless body. `` Woah,'' Chet said, clearly at a loss for words. `` I thought this would be my chance to teach you something.'' `` Silly boy, this lesson's not over yet.'' This was it, now it was her chance to take what she had been longing for for what seemed like a millennium.
She raised her right hand and began flicking her finger tip with her tongue, biting it, teasing him. Then she closed her mouth around that finger and gathered all the saliva she could. `` Are you ready?'' she asked. He was practically beside himself, she knew that he was overwhelmed. `` Uh huh,'' was all he could muster. She savored the moment, to have such a strong man completely under her control.
Then she brought her finger, hot and dripping wet, down.
It slid across the front of his lobe, gently grazing the tragus, leaving wet skin exposed to the cool air in its wake. Her finger writhed its way as deep into his ear as she could manage, both of them sucking in and exhaling giant gasps of air. It was maybe five seconds before her finger withdrew, along with a giant clump of glistening wax. `` Sorry,'' he quickly apologized, `` I'm normally not so quick.'' `` Shhhhhhhh,'' Becca said. She placed her left index finger gently over his lips as she took her right index, and his waxy load, directly into her mouth, and swallowed it whole.
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[ WP ] You are the Great Destroyer , Devourer of Worlds and Reaper of Souls . And you are having a mid-life crisis .
| It was a 2 month trip to reach Earth from Ghlaar's home planet near the center of the Milky Way. He had been working for Zhrik Industries for 5 years after graduating from one of the top Planetary Destruction Colleges in his star cluster. His father a senior partner, Ghlaar was on the fast track to upper-management, a cushy paycheck, his own fleet of aspiring conquerors at his command, and Earth was the last assignment before promotion.
He sighed and took a sip of kauffee, an energizing liquid made from the bio-matter of last planet he had conquered. Before him was the outline of sky scrapers and sleek office buildings, in the distance was a statue of a lady holding a torch.
`` Let's get this over with.'' Ghlaar muttered to himself, cleared his throat, and flipped a switch.
`` Ahem... Good morning citizens of... uuh...'' Ghlaar looked down at his file, scanning for a name `` Aah..yes, uuh, let me start over again - Ahem - Good Morning citizens of New York, I am Ghlaar of Star Cluster Z3104, in order make way for the new HOV SuperLuminal Highway lane, Earth has been ordered for demolition. New York being one of the most populated areas on the planet, Zhrik Industries believes this to be an appropriate location to begin deconstruction. This is Ghlaar Devourer of Worlds - For any questions or concerns please send all inquiries to Zhrik Industries. Thank You''
Ghlaar yawned as he could hear the usual panicked screaming and hysteria whenever he warned a planet of it's destruction. Sometimes they would attack back, but years of evolution and technological advances meant primitive planet weaponry was largely child's play.
Ghlaar looked down at his list to set up the nuclear charges, first was the Empire State building, the Train Station, and the last was the NBC Broadcasting Headquarters.
He looked closely at the last one, reading the description, Ghlaar stared fixated on the sentence `` Entertainment and Comedy hub of the World.''
Ghlaar hated his job but Entertainment... His father always told him it was beneath him and that Ghlaar was destined for greatness as commissioned head as Destroyer of Worlds. Ghlaar caught a glimpse of himself on the Zhrik Industries handbook, a fake smile with sadness in his reptilian eyes. He looked at his fathers picture, stern, cold... and boring. The Destroyer of Worlds - he fucking hated it.
Ghlaar flipped the switch back on `` Uuuh... Citizens of Earth... I have a proposal..''
1 Week Later
John and his family gathered around the breakfast table and turned on the TV. The familiar theme of morning talk shows was heard - `` Welcome, Welcome everybody to Cathy and Ghlaar - first up tonight for discussion. Kaufee, taking Earth by storm, the addicting new drink brought from the remains of Planet G340, is it moral to drink the biomatter of other sentient species? Or is it just plain delicious! - Ghlaar thinks so!''
|
Last sentence : `` And the man with the mustache smiled . ''
| Michael ran blindly into the warehouse, not caring how much noise he made. He needed cover from the storm and a place to hide. The warehouse was musty and miserable, and, under different circumstances, he would have left immediately. But someone was chasing him, someone who did n't like unpaid debts. Michael swore under his breath that he would never borrow money from the crime families ever again. Not from the Irish, the Italians, the Russians, or even the Israelis. He never should have borrowed that 100k, now that they were sending HIM to collect.
He was only known as the Wolf, and his specialty was torture. Ever since he arrived in the dirty streets of Baton Rouge, bodies have been found butchered and quartered, similar to others found in New York, London, and Amsterdam. Nothing else was known about him, except that he paid debts in blood. Also, with the price of organs on the black market, certain body parts have disappeared from the crime sce- wait, what was that? Lightening illuminated the warehouse, showing the horror that awaited him. It was a man with a thin mustache in a cheap suit and gloves, holding a briefcase. A loser, to anyone who saw him on the street, but that was what made him effective. Michael watched as he reached into his briefcase, and pulled out a wicked looking blade, with hooks sticking out at odd angles. `` I've been waiting for you Michael'', he said as he crept closer like some sort of maniacal beast. Michael backed slowly into a corner, pleading for his life. And the man with the mustache smiled.
|
[ WP ] I have now finished my backwards life sentence , and am prepared to finally commit the crime .
| I look up and I see the eyes of the woman I love filled with tears. Her sobs shatter my heart and cause a lump to form in my own throat. She ’ s staring down at me in my coffin, babbling incoherent expressions of love and grief, all woven together.
“ Eighty three is too young, you bastard, ” she cries.
I don ’ t recognize her, but I catch a glimpse of an ornate compass tattoo on her old, wrinkled skin. I realize I have never loved a woman more.
*FLASH*
“ Dan, darling, are you done in the bathroom yet? ”
“ Just about Margaret, just about. ”
The water shuts off. Margaret scoffs and tries to remind herself how she ’ d managed to put up with me for over fifty years. She ’ s always given me hell for taking so long to get ready ( “ You might as well me a woman, Dan! ” ) but age has definitely slowed me.
I don ’ t remember all those hours she ’ d waited in our lives, but I can feel her frustration like a worn out in leather coat—warm, comforting, and constant. My memory holds 20 years of old, slow, comfortable love.
“ I ’ m sixty, Margaret, what do you expect from these old bones? ”
“ The same thing I expected at twenty. A whole lotta nothing! ”
She leans into the bathroom and catches me off guard with a purposely sloppy smooch while I ’ m toweling off.
Has life always been this good?
*FLASH*
Something isn ’ t right. Every time I wake up, I can feel my heart pound harder. It ’ s like I ’ m watching something stalk me from the shadows. I don ’ t know what it is, or even if it ’ s really there, but it terrifies me.
The clock reads 3:34 AM. I haven ’ t been asleep for more than a few hours. But now I know I had to wake up. I stand up and shuffle into the bathroom. I walk tenderly expecting the aches and pains of advanced age. But nothing comes.
I turn on the light and glance up to the mirror.
“ This isn ’ t right. ”
The man staring back is young. Handsome and fit. In his prime. I see chiseled abs but have no memory of the work that made them. The grey I ’ ve become accustomed to is gone from my hair.
I start to panic. What ’ s going on? Where ’ s…
“ Margaret?! ”
I bolt back into the bedroom, nearly tripping over a dog I ’ ve never met.
“ Margaret are you— “ Relief sweeps over me as I gaze upon the fury in her eyes.
“ It is 3:30 in the morning. What is wrong with you? ”
Relief. But she ’ s different somehow. Her face it beautiful, but wrong. It ’ s a face that is missing thirty years worth of smiles. And where there used to be a memorial inked into her shoulder, there is only bare space.
Something licks my leg.
“ Are you… aware we have a dog? ”
I feel guilty for waking her. Her hair is sticking up in that way that she would hate. Her irritation puts me at ease. I ’ ve always been a buffoon, but I ’ ve always been her buffoon.
“ Am I aware… Get your naked ass back in bed. You ’ re getting me coffee in the morning. ”
I lay back down, scared to fall asleep. But as I draw this perfect woman into my arms, peace washes over me.
No, this is how it should be. *She* is how it should be.
*FLASH*
“ Do you understand, Mr. Jackson, the severity of the sentence you are facing? ”
I ’ m in a courtroom. The judge sits high above me. I feel small.
“ Yeah, uh, sure I do, ” I stutter without meaning to speak. I sound insolent, yet feel humble. I try to look around, but I have no control.
“ Dan, think about this. You would have more control over your life in *prison. * I have told you this is *bad news. * Do not accept this. ”
The hushed whisper is coming from behind me. A lawyer? I start to panic. My mouth opens to speak without my telling it to do so. I fight.
My brain feels like it ’ s splitting open. Everything is spinning. I ’ m trying to speak but stay silent at the same time. I ’ m gagging on my own tongue. I ’ m sputtering. There ’ s drool.
I ’ m disgusting.
The judges cold face softens and he nods slowly.
“ He accepted. He ’ s coming back around. ”
“ Just like that? ” the whisper behind me is panicking, too, now speaking to the judge.
“ Not exactly, Mr. Peters, not exactly. You see, we don ’ t know quite how this works but… At some point, the defendant and the prisoner have to meet again on the same timeline. This is fairly standard, though it doesn ’ t always happen right in front of us. In fact, we ’ ve never seen it in the courtroom. ”
“ Dan, hang in there buddy. Breathe, breathe, ” the whisper is pretending to be calm.
“ Where ’ s my wife? ” is all I can choke out.
“ Your wife? ” the judge turns harsher than before. “ You have no wife. You ’ ve never been married! And you never will be! Do you understand now, Mr. Jackson? ”
Everything hurts. What does he mean? I know she was real. Every fiber of my being loves her, only her, and nothing else. I can picture every curve, every single line and hair, each and every tattoo she was so proud of, even at 80 years old.
“ Get ready, Mr. Jackson. I believe your sentence is finally coming to an end. ”
*FLASH*
“ Look what you ’ ve done! ” the other driver shrieks. “ You…you…You ’ re a murderer! ” There are tears, sirens, my head is spinning, like I ’ m trying to catch up with something I ’ ve never heard of.
“ This is all your fault! ”
“ I think she ’ s dead, ” another, calmer voice.
“ Dead? ”
The screeching woman breaks down into loud, gasping tears. She collapses and sits in the middle of the road, unable to cope.
The road.
I ’ m sitting in the road, too.
I bring all my senses together and take in the scene around me.
The car I sold to buy Margaret her Mercedes is parked next to me. There ’ s blood on the front. People are everywhere. There are wrecked cars blocking the intersection. I ’ m crying.
“ I want my wife, ” I sob.
The calm voice looks over and comes to me. It ’ s the lawyer. He ’ s my friend. I ’ ve known him since I was eighty three.
“ Your wife? What the fuck are you talkin ’ about man? We have to… Shit. I don ’ t know. She ’ s dead. ” He can ’ t stop pacing.
“ Who?! Who is dead?! ” I scream, feeling like an insane man.
The lawyer looks really concerned. He looks horrified.
“ Dan, you got ta get it together man. You have to get it together. We have to think. The cops will be here any second. ”
“ Who the FUCK is dead? ”
The lawyer stops pacing. He seems to be holding his breath. He looks at me as though I might shatter at any moment.
“ The girl you hit, Dan. The girl you hit is dead. ”
The blood drains from my face. My friend steps aside so I can see what he ’ s talking about. A body is crumpled near the sidewalk, grotesquely posed. I think I ’ m going to vomit. I ’ ve never been so sickened.
My vision starts to blur from the outside in. Just as I black out, I catch sight of the body ’ s smooth, young wrist, twisted out towards me.
A compass tattoo.
-- -
**Edit: ** [ Fantastic explanation of timelines by /u/BitOBear. ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4ofltx/wp_i_have_now_finished_my_backwards_life_sentence/d4cjui5 ) They really clarified the mechanisms at work for those interested in delving more; the explanation is wonderfully accurate to my intentions. I could n't have explained it better myself. Thanks for reading my first prompt!
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[ TT ] You 've finally had enough . You leave everything behind and take a ship to the New World
| This ship is a nightmare.
There ’ s not enough. Of what? Of *anything*.
Food, water, *space. *
The food looks like slop you ’ d feed to pigs, and we're already running low, our bowls getting sparser by the day. The water's flecked with pebbles of black and comes in rusted tin cups.
And space. Oh, space. The deck ’ s too hot and the crew doesn ’ t want us mucking around up there so here we are, cramped in this tiny hole. We ’ re stuck together like a million little bugs and god, it stinks. I ’ d kill for a shower but even more so I ’ d kill for everyone *else* to shower.
It makes me wan na cry. I'm supposed to be here to escape all that, are n't I? They told us the new world is beautiful. They said it has beaches made of crystal and forests fat with colorful fruit. They promised that nobody's getting sick over there, and that it's much safer.
But they're liars.
Some of the passengers *are* sick. I ’ m not—but give it another day or two and I certainly will be.
Hell, with the amount of people they've been shipping back and forth, I should n't be surprised. I'll bet the new world is just as infected as the old, and they're just hoping we can somehow make it work. That we can somehow build a new civilization and beat the plague.
I was going to the new world to start a new life—but I have a feeling there will be nothing *new* about it.
***
Whoa, this got a little dark, haha. I really liked the prompt! Thanks for posting!
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter
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