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[ WP ] A background character attempts to become a main character .
| Nathan looked up as the emergency services arrived. He stepped back as the ambulance crew knelt down beside her.
He'd never met her before but there was something about her face that had captivated him. She had had an intense look and her eyes had locked with his just before she stepped out in front of the car. She was intent on doing what she did. Had she known who he was? Sure his face had been in the papers for trying to save Alan Marsden, the famous writer who had a motorbike accident in front of Old Street underground station. Perhaps she knew that the now-famous Nathan Everett would be a good Samaritan again and try to save her?
Nathan looked back at her now, watching her sitting up as the first paramedic lifted her leg into an inflatable support cast.
`` It looks like you've come out of this with just a broken leg,'' the parademic said to her. He turned back to his colleague, `` This could have been a lot worse. Good job the car was slowing down and that chap moved her out of the road.''
`` He saved her,'' came a voice from the crowd. Someone else from the ensemble of onlookers pointed at Nathan, all eyes locked on him. The other people at the crossing must have seen Nathan move her out of harm's way. Nathan wondered if they had also recognised him from the news.
`` Darling!'' another voice shouted. `` Let me through, that's my wife.''
A well-dressed man emerged from the crowd. Nathan received a pat on the back from the man as he walked towards the paramedics and the woman on the ground.
`` I'm here now, do n't worry'' he said as he crouched down beside her.
`` Can you clear the way, please, ladies and gents'' shouted the ambulance man as he wheeled a stretcher towards the injured woman and her husband. `` Come on, nothing to see here, it's just a broken leg. Move on.''
The crowd began to disperse and Nathan was carried away from the scene by the flow of people.
`` Look at you, centre of attention again,'' said the hirsuite man to his injured partner.
She smiled at him through her pain, `` Always stealing the limelight, sorry. I did n't mean to storm off like that earlier. And I was n't looking where I was going. And...''
She looked towards the crowd, her eyes searching for the hero who had saved her.
`` Let's get you into the ambulance and off to hospital to check you over,... err... sorry I did n't ask your name before?''
`` Maria,'' she replied as they lifted her onto a stretcher.
`` Oh wait, Maria van der Lars? The actress?''
`` Yes,'' she replied, proud to be recognised for her scene-stealing performance in Victim. I always find a way to steal the show, she thought to herself.
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[ WP ] you feel at tap on your shoulder . You turn around to see the grim reaper who promptly says `` tag , you 're it '' .
| This was it, this was the moment. I had just made the perfect sandwich and I was about to take my first bite! When I felt a tap on my shoulder. So I turned around with a grumpy pout and snarled, `` What do you want?!?'' But I soon found that to be a mistake. Standing behind me was the very being of the chills up your spine, the stench of rot, the black ragged cloak and red beating eyes. He grinned the most awful grin with yellow teeth and breath of a dead man, `` Tag'' He said. I stood confused and puzzled, so I asked him, `` What?'' He let out a low cackling laugh, `` You're it.'' He gleamed evilly, then turned and ran out my front door.
I had to know what he meant. Did he mean it was..my time? Or was he fooling around? Had I forgot my medications? I ran after him and chased him down 4th street and onto 6th. Fine, I'd play his game. I'd tag that retched man back! I ran through the streets, he was n't hard to miss. He ended up being in the park, peering around a tree. I was right behind him and I had him now! I reached out and tagged him, `` Tag! Now you're it.!'' That's it! I cheated death! I was free and I could run back home to my beautiful sandwich!
I ran back down 6th street and onto 4th. One more block and I'd be home, away from whatever this was that just happened. But then I saw him come out from my house. How'd he get there? I thought I'd won already? I stopped and stared at him like we were in a good ol' western duel. He lifted his hand and pointed above me so I looked up. There a flowerpot was falling, it was already a millimetre from my face and just like that, BAM! I fell to the ground, no longer breathing, no longer beating. Dead. But the last thing I remember is that sly Grim Reaper and his low laugh on my front porch, `` Tag, you're it.''
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[ WP ] Summer Love
| She was just as tall as I was, which I guess was normal for kids at that age. Her hair hung down her back in waves, until she was telling a story. When she'd lean forward to emphasize a particularly scary part, her hair would fall over her face, and suddenly her voice was coming from behind a waterfall of auburn. The cascade of red made the story seem even more real, and when she brushed it back, I was transfixed.
I fell in love with her stories first, then her hair, and the rest of her followed in kind. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever met, until she was telling a story. When she'd finish her story and sit back with her crooked smile and her dimples, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She had a singular power to command the attention of a large group of people when she spoke, and I was completely under her spell. She would sit by the poolside beneath the scorching summer sun, dipping her feet in the water, and she would tell her stories. I would float in the water, at her feet in every sense, and wish that her stories would never end.
The most unbelievable thing about her, however, was that somehow she felt similarly about me. When she was telling a funny story, she would always look to me for laughter. When she was telling one of her scary stories, she would glance in my direction to make sure I was responding appropriately. She knew I could never hide what I was feeling when it came to her, and she would feed off of my energy to influence the rest of the people listening to her. Not that she needed the help, I'm convinced she could just sense a similar soul.
We would walk through the woods together, hand-in-hand, on the banks of the stream. Sometimes we would walk in silence, sometimes I would simply listen to her, but my favorite times were when we told stories together. We would build worlds together with our words; she would construct a place, and I would populate it with people that interested me, and we would continue this back and forth until we noticed the sun had gone down. These stories were the things children's dreams; swashbuckling pirates, noble thieves, and knights in the shiniest of armor. The only difference was her. She was always the difference, and I can still hear her laughter echoing between the sycamore trees. We told stories all summer, learning each other's minds as we explored the many possibilities. We told stories about the past, the future, and even once about *our* future. I remember telling her that I would like her to stay forever, since I did n't really know how to say `` I love you'' in a way that she would appreciate. Her only response was to kiss me, squeeze my hand, and tell me that was a story for another time.
The months passed swiftly, as summer does when you're in school. We grew closer, and the stories became more and more personal. I learned everything about her, and she learned even more about me. She always did have a knack for getting the whole story.
The last night I saw her, she told me a story with tears in her eyes. We were on the porch of my home in the gathering darkness, sitting in silence, when she began to speak. She told a story of a girl moving away, and a boy growing up to forget all about her. I hugged her as she spoke, and told her that was the only story she had ever told that I did n't believe.
Then I kissed her goodnight, and she kissed me goodbye.
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[ WP ] Describe your favourite person/celebrity/character as though you just met them at a party
| ( So, this is written to describe as if you were in my close circle of friends. Also, first contribution to this subreddit. Please be gentle! )
Did I meet anybody cool? What do you think?
Okay, so I'm at the bar. You know how I am, man, I am just not that outgoing. Of course, Lance gets gregarious and outgoing when he gets drunk. I do n't know how he got ahold of the invites, but whatever.
Lance was being his usual self, and that made uncomfortable. I was at the bar, nursing a beer and politely telling the bartender that I was n't going to have much more than that. `` I'm driving tonight,'' I said. `` and I think I'd better keep it down to one.''
He's looking past me. Not even at me. It's irritating, but when it goes on one full minute, I'm a bit pissed. I turned around, expecting to see yet another of Lance's father's business associates coming up to me to introduce himself.
Instead, I'm lookin' right into her face. The pictures on the internet just do not do her justice. She had her hair long again, thankfully, and those dark-brown lines only served to accentuate her beautiful face. Red lipstick. Soft eyes. Half a quirked smile on her lips. I was floored.
I knew she'd been into the fashion scene after those movies, but I'd never seen her look so stunning. Long red dress hugging her curves, and heels. What really struck me was the confidence. In those movies, she started off as a nervous bookworm and blossomed from there. It showed in real life. She was a pillar of awesome and she seemed to know it.
`` Is this seat taken?''
I shook my head and dismounted my own seat, pulling the stool/chair next to me out for her. An appreciative nod. Her accent hit me like a kick to the stomach. It was breathtaking, and I understood then what people with extra love for foreigners' accents were all about.
Reseating myself, I introduced myself, and added ``... and if you are n't who I think you are, this beer is much too powerful.'' She laughed. DUDE. I made her laugh. Emily would be so pissed. She asked me what I did, and I responded. I then asked her about her careers. What did she prefer, the fashion or the acting? The fashion, she said, because it was empowering.
She asked me about my work in computers, which I suddenly found boring and not-worthy, and I answered the questions with some zeal. She had ordered some sort of mixed drink, and between pulls on that and her questions, I know I have to have been blushing furiously.
I asked her about her work after those movies, and if that guy was still sober. They kept in touch, she said, but she was n't sure, and she gave me a smile at my mention of her upcoming works. I did tell her that Emily has the biggest crush in the world on her, and she slipped me a small card as she got out of the chair. I immediately rose as well, as is polite.
She leaned in and whispered something to me. `` Have her email this address; I'll scare the hell out of her.'' A kiss on my cheek, and like the wind she was gone. No scent of parchment, just a light perfume. I turned to watch her go, and I was clearly in a daze for a while.
Then Lance showed up, and you know how he gets...
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[ IP ] Take a break , do an Image Prompt .
| The thunderous roar of the artillery guns seemed determined to turn night into day, and rend the very air from itself. All along the desert floor and craggy hills, artillery crews worked tirelessly, most stripped down to their shirt sleeves or even bare chested. Shell carriers hurried back and forth from their pieces and ordnance trucks, their bodies slick with sweat. Gunners fired their guns as quickly as they could shove home the shells, their howitzers' and cannons' barrels glowing an infernal red in the darkness of the night. They saw nothing of their enemy, no sign of infantry or armor or'Mech. Even the impact of their shells were lost in the murky night, the only evidence of their success being the never ending string of reports and fire support requests.
Captain Nathan Deshler had a commander view of the scene, seated as he was in the cockpit of his GRF-3M *Griffin. * One of the classic 55-tonners, the 3M model mounted a Extended-Range Particle Projector Cannon in its right arm and a Doombud LRM-20 on its right shoulder while a small laser rounded the armament. It was, in his opinion, one of the most perfectly balanced designs ever made. Equally adept at long range or short and mobile enough to keep pace with modern tactics, the *Griffin* also carried enough armor to weather even the most serious combat. Other BattleMechs may have struck harder, or moved swifter, or endured a hurricane of damage but none of them were as able to do all three as the loyal, dependable *Griff. *
Deshler did n't mind the babysitting- waiting amongst the rocks and crags of the hills while the Davion MechWarriors fought and duel on the desert floor below. His Light Lancers were too underweight to throw away in a slugfest but nimble enough to move quickly from one hotspot to the next. His personal Battle Lance was hidden nearby, their medium machines all equipped with jump jets. In a fight up in among the hills they'd be at the advantage, able to jump over piles of rubble and between deep gullies.
Lieutenant Morgan was leading his hover-tank platoon alongside Lt. Shaw's infantry. Deshler was in the dark as to their current positions; radio-silence too precious of a commodity to risk on a simple com-check. Instead, he just had to trust his subordinates to do the right thing, and call for help if the situation warranted it.
Deshler tapped on one of the glowing emblems on his radar map, and Lt. Poklonskaya's recon lance appeared on screen. According to the data she was currently engaged with a short platoon of armor, the movements of her *Raven* and those her lance-mates erratic and flighty. He thought about turning to Beta Lance's personal com-channel but decided against it. It was her fight. She did n't need her commander listening in to see if she had what it took to lead.
All the while the guns boomed and roared, glowing a dark red in the starry night.
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[ WP ] There is a massive solar flare . Only people on the night-side of earth have electronics or communications .
| Our dependency on technological device and what so called Internet has become our greatest strength. Information within your reach of fingers. Therefore, its only natural to simply *evolve* ourselves into the net. We already achieved this. Starting from game, social network, video call, VR, virtual augmentation, and right now, we lived in the net. Or our consciousness are.
On the net, or simply what we called `` Utopia'', we have achieved more. Unbounded by physical limit, you can make everything from anything. Everyone is a god. They can make what ever they want but only bounded by their imagination. Of course, at the beginning, there are some philosophical questions about our existence or about the true form of Utopia, but this world, is as real as it could be. The world is everything we could ever perceived.
Nobody has ever think about death. When the first light happen, or as we called, The Dawn happened, everything went blank. Consoles, phones, video call, everything. What we have since our birth, has been taken so abruptly. It start with confusion, then chaos. It's like losing everything. Rage fuels everyone. What happened? How did it comes to this?
At night, everything can be turned on. At first, we begin to feel happy and relived. But, as we discovered later, our computers stopped working. It seems like internal electronics would not be affected, but all data and software were wiped out. Then, it all dawns to us. Everything has disappeared.
Every information, every conversation, every image and videos we all hold dear, all was taken away. We'd never bothered to remember everything. Heck, I could upgrade my memory for 1EB per month with only 100 $. And That's will be enough for another years worth of memory. Why would I bother remember my wife face, my parents or even my children? I could watch their whole life with just 20EB and just skip to the most important facts. There is no way I could remember all those complicated stuff like repairing my earpiece, making breakfast toast or wearing necktie. I could flick my finger to reach out everything that matters to me.
Now everything has gone. We are really trying to rebuilt everything. Not all hope is lost. For the rest of the day, we would stare at our screen and wonder what's happening to us. Some of us were given the task to re-programmed everything. It's an nigh impossible feat. Rewiring computers to accept simple input-output took 10 years. And until we could produce paper and revive our printers, we have to remember every information in our head.
And with every start of new day, with every start of the sun light, we would cry in grief and remember how our world disappear.
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[ WP ] A time traveler goes back to witness Jesus Christ 's crucifixion and ends up on the cross next to him .
| Clunk. The breaker flips again, despite having spent more money than he cared to think about upgrading the power supply in his rented warehouse and Jared can feel the frustration building in him. His clothes were rags, every last cent had been poured into the project. He knew it could be done, if he'd had any doubts he would n't have gone this far... Tess. Shaking his head to clear her face from it Jared crawls out from the tangled mass of ducts and cables, conduit and exposed wiring. Grumbling to himself as he trips over a massive power supply on his way to the fuse box. Gripping the handle of the large switch for what was at least the fortieth time that day he grunts and hauls it into place, the hum of the massive electrical current music to his ears.
`` You should have left this in your sketchbooks. Why did n't you just leave it as a fantasy? Did you really think you could do it? For God's sake you do n't even have a degree!'' The voice had become a permanent fixture of the large room, though it had been months since he last looked he still suspected she was actually here with him from time to time. `` It's real! Look at it!'' He shouts, pointing with conviction at the metal frame dominating the space. `` I had to! Ca n't you believe me? Please believe me... Tess?'' He calls into the dark room, more sure than ever that her singsong voice was just his brain misfiring. It had been days since he slept, the exact number forgotten, kept going with pills and a conviction that drew ever closer to madness.
Checking the feeds from the bank of mismatched monitors and grunting, satisfied that everything was as it should be. *Then why wo n't it work? * Stepping inside the cage and looking for defects he sighs. It's just as it should be, why wo n't it work? *Cage is fine, power is at full, all the wires are connected. Connected. Connected! Of course! * Something clicks, but it is n't the breaker. Jared's overworked brain pulled in the final piece to the puzzle. Running to his makeshift living area he frantically fills a bowl with hot water and dumps a whole box of salt into it, stirring it violently.
With a manic grin he approaches the bulky machine, almost a full years worth of labor and sacrifice manifested in a tangled pile of steel struts, mesh and electronics. Starting the program and leaving the date and location fields blank he carries his tub of brine into the heart of the construct. Despite its exterior size, the inside is tiny. Just enough room to stand a person in. *Or two* His brain sneers. Snapping back to reality as the wires thrum with life he bends over and dips both hands into the bowl before reaching out and taking a grip on two protruding bolts, grinning nervously as the hum grows uncomfortably loud. Standing with his arms spread and back braced into a girder his smile fades as the current jumps from surface to surface in his cage. Letting go now would be pointless, eyes shut he waits for the end. Either it works, or he's free.
White. A high ringing in his ears fades as the blinding light gives way to an arid, sun baked scene. `` The bloody hell...'' Jaw threatening to trip him up as he stumbles forward. There's figures all around and a hubbub that slowly comes into focus. People asking about something. Tapping a man on the shoulder he asks what's going on, only to be ignored. `` You too, wanker'' he grumbles, wandering off to ask someone else. For the second time in as many minutes his jaw threatens to meet the rocky ground as a group of men in uniform walk past. *No way. No way is this for real* The clothes are the final tell, he recognizes them from the British Museum he'd been to with Tess, where she'd bough him that goofy pen. It had worked. He'd gone back in time. Knowing it was real, that his dream had finally come true he strode up to the lead legionnaire, asking him for the date. He was a squat, powerful looking man, and the blow he landed was stunning and swift. Looking up at his attacker from the dusty ground Jared began to question just what was going on. The man who'd struck him had a gold set of plates on his chest as opposed to the silver of the six men behind him, though they shared to commonality of a red cloak and a short blade on the hip.
The one in gold appeared to be an officer of some sort, calling his men over and producing a rolled up paper from a tube on his belt, unfurling it and tapping it smugly, the same way the police back home would pat a ticket book. *Balls. * After pointing to first the sheet and then Jared several times he barked an order and two of the men snatched him up and drove the butt of a spear into his gut. Winded, Jared watched in horror as they took a hold of his arms and began to drag him to the center of the crowd he had just seen. They made way for the soldiers and their prisoner, allowing a clear view of an awful sight. Men were being tied onto massive wooden posts, hands outstretched and held in place with cord. A man with arms like joists went from post to post, kneeling down to drive a spike through both palms before heaving the now screaming man up and setting him on his way. A grim line of such figures could be seen down the road, stumbling under the weight of their loads. Panicking as his fate dawns on him Jared tries to explain, words coming out garbled and rushed.
A foot in the back of his knees, then to the side of his head. Sand in his mouth. Rough hands on him, rolling him onto a rough-hewn cross. `` No! Please no!'' A point placed against his palm. Thud. Agony. Thud. Thud. Dull throbbing and a dim awareness of a repetition on his other hand. Then nothing.
Cracking an eyelid with titanic strain Jared groans, the feeling in his hands bringing him back into the world. He's hanging and the sun is high above him. `` Hello. Are you with us again my friend?'' The voice is soothing despite the agony behind the words. `` Do not struggle. Your wounds are cruel but fighting them will only worsen to pain'' Looking about he finds the source of the voice, a man in a faded robe who seems to have been here for at least a day. Long hair hangs from his head, held in place by a circlet of thorns and a wound in his side has stained the cloth around him. Even still, he seems at peace. `` Who... who are you?'' He croaks, coughing as soon as the words pass his lips. `` My name is Jesus my friend, you are the latest to join me here. Most of the others have succumb'' Disbelief does n't last long, after everything else this makes sense. `` Jesus... I was never a real churchgoer, I'm sorry'' Jared croaks, fighting for each word. `` But I have to ask you something. I made a... uh...'' *And how exactly am I meant to explain a time machine to Jesus? * `` I spent the last year on a project, it took everything away from me. I lost my wife... She though I'd lost it'' The confession comes in bursts as he fights the story from his parched throat. After what feels like hours the prophet raises his head and looks the bewildered time traveler in the eye. `` You were selfish, what you did was wrong. But if your relationship with your wife was as you say, she would forgive if only you'd ask'' With a gasp of relief Jared goes slack on his cross, wincing as the nails holding him up dig into his hands. Seeing this pain Jesus speaks once more `` You are not long for the cruelty of this cross. Go on, the next life calls you. I will stay here and bear the weight'' As the wise words reach his ears Jared closes his eyes and smiles. He can see her face again, smiling at him. He can even hear her calling out. It's too far off to make sense of but it's certainly her.
The voice is back. An unknown amount of time has passed, the hot sun is no longer beating its tattoo on Jared's brow, but he can feel the burn it left behind. Fighting one eye open he finds himself back withing the confines of his machine, now destroyed almost beyond recognition. As he takes in the empty bowl and twisted metal around him a familiar ache makes itself known in his palms. The two bolts he'd gripped in his desperate bid to complete the circuit came free with incredible force, pinning him to the beam behind him. And still the soft voice of his beautiful Tess, words now closer, sharper. `` Jared? Hello? I know you're in here playing with that damn toy of yours, say something'' Everything starts to fall into place, the bolts in his hands, the sunburn from the UV light as the cables arced around him. The spear blow to his stomach must have been flying debris. But it felt so real. Just like when he would hear his wife calling for him. *But it was n't real. It never is. It was all a hallucination*
Looking down at his batted and torn clothes something catches his eye. In the folds of his rags is sand, bright golden sand. Everything else could be explained away, but not this. He would never allow so much dirt near the machine. It was real. It had worked! Despite being pinned to the burnt out hulk of his machine a sense of elation fills the desperate man, shattered by the sound of a door shutting. She had been here, but he ignored her.
`` Tess, I'm sorry''
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[ WP ] You were born with a birthmark with numbers . You decide to use those numbers in the next $ 100 Million Dollar Jackpot . unfortunately there was horrible consequences .
| `` So, you want 19, 2, and 1?'' I nodded, and the cashier handed me my ticket, wishing me luck. I just walked away, wondering if this is why my god had branded me in this ungodly way. I had these numbers in the shape of a pentagram on my chest. I did not know why, so I used them whenever I could.
Later that night I sat on my couch praying for this to have no repercussions. My numbers were called. My heart raced, and I looked down. My birthmark was on fire! I screamed, and as I did a black smoke escaped my mouth, my mind was taken over by greed, lust, and the other awful sins. I tried to pray but I found I could n't. I was told in my soul that I was the anti-christ and today was the day of reckoning.
** -- -wow -- -- **
I'm dark man. Also 666 divided by 3 is 222, so I just had the 3 numbers equal 22.: ) hehehe. RESEARCH!
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[ WP ] The last message from the starship was `` Let Us Drift . It 's for your own good . '' Explain why .
| Commander Bassen turned to pace the command deck, which had fallen into an unnatural stillness as the dozen or so officers present tried to both watch him and their screens. The Imperial Terran Starship *Shattered Blade* coasted a trillion kilometers from nowhere in the black deep between stars, accompanying a lonely wreck.
Captain Alan Bassen, DTSC, ITSM, TMV, Vanguard of Seventh Sirius, Light of Cygnus and decorated hero of the Empire found himself devoutly wishing that this phenomenon was something simple to deal with, like a Invian battlefleet, or perhaps a nice starjelly infestation. He looked up again at the alien wreck and restrained himself from cursing.
“ Alright. Sanders – pick a scientist and let ’ s see what it is. Major Kendall, you ’ ll need to provide an EVA security escort. We ’ ll operate on the assumption that this is a hostile wreck. Minimal personnel ”
Decision made, Captain Bassen retreated to the command chair, listening to the bustle of the bridge as his commands were carried out. He stared at the pitted, scarred sphere on the viewscreen, and wondered why some primal part of him was demanding he flee. Flee and never return.
< > < > < > < > < >
Corporal Adams was bored. Born just a little too late to see action in the Invian War, he had been ecstatic to be assigned to the ship of the legendary Captain Bassen. So far his assignments had been boring, drudgery mop-up affairs, nothing like the glorious holonovels of his youth. And now this! Escorting some egghead scientist around a dead alien wreck. At least she was hot, he supposed. Assumed really. Pressure suits didn ’ t do a lot for the figure. Another lie of the holonovels.
Right now, McDonal was crouching, investigating some alien tablet. Odd symbols scrawled in repeating patterns on a chunk of hull-material. Bored, Adams switched to listen in on the frequency, even as his rifle panned in a perfect surveillance sweep, it ’ s wielder desperately hoping for some – any – sort of action.
“ Definitely a Rosetta artifact. We ’ ve got at least seven distinct languages, all apparently repeating that same message. There ’ s no match to anything in our databases, but the glyphic layer is providing some common reference frames. ”
“ Copy that, Audrey. Can you get some closer pics on that sixth layer? We think it looks similar to Gunghese. ”
Audrey McDonal noticed the cocky young soldier officially ‘ escorting ’ her wander around a bend in the corridor. She was just about to call out to him when his voice cut into the channel.
“ Uhhh….Doc? I think you ’ re going to want to see this. ”
Audrey entered the cavernous internal space of the sphere and looked around in wonder. A huge piece of alien apparatus was the centerpiece, grey, black and ominous.
Adams was moving forward, carefully sweeping the giant, dead space. For what, Audrey couldn ’ t be sure. Nothing lived here.
It was also rather sparse in furnishings. There was a catwalk-like structure that surrounded the equator of the room, with only one door – the one they had entered by. A single span arched out to touch the huge device in the middle of the room.
Curious, she followed the span out, testing each step for brittleness. The alien material held firm, even when the corporal joined her. Arriving at the center, a grisly scene greeted them. On a small platform of a visibly different material was a replica of the Rosetta airtifact at the entrance - surrounded almost ceremonially by the desiccated and deceased remains of at what seemed to be at least eight alien species –none of whom matched any commonalities to any form of known life.
Corporal Adams leaned forward at her sharp intake of breath, and in doing so, leaned against the single desk-like structure on the original platform. Even through the vaccum of the chamber, both of them could feel something *CLICK* home, and the apparatus abruptly bloomed to vibrant life.
< > < > < > < > < >
Captain Bassen lept from his chair, coffee cup crashing to the deck next to him. The Wreck had vanished in a single, impossible flare. As the afterimages cleared away, something nagged at him – a discontinuity on the viewscreen. Then he realized what it was. The stars were missing. Utter blackness enveloped the lonely ship, abruptly cut off from all light.
There was a single heartbeat of time, and then the Wreck returned, blazing impossibly. Something expanded dramatically from the sphere, a soup of supercompressed, superheated plasma. The *Shattered Blade* vanished instantly under the onslaught.
The new universe sped on outward, unconcerned.
< > < > < > < > < >
Corporal Adams stood panting over the corpse of the scientist. She had been panicking, screaming about how “ It was all gone ”. She ’ d gone for his rifle, blaming him for “ Killing everyone. ”
Adams didn ’ t know what she was raving about. Clearly the alien machine made people go insane. Was he insane? Could he even tell if he was?
The entry breach only showed a bright glow. He couldn ’ t make out what it was, and some force field prevented him from touching it. He couldn ’ t reach Major Kendall or even Captain Bassen, but he was confident that the Empire would come to rescue him.
It might take them a while though. It was best to leave some sort of message. He paused. Would an insane person leave a message? No…No! He was sane, it was the scientist who went crazy. She was closer after all.
Corporal Adams flipped his rifle to the lasercutter mode for armor breaching and aimed it at the hullplate with all the alien writing on it.
A thought seemed to worm into his head, and he found himself cutting a message, letters burning nearly into the plate, making an eighth layer of writing. He did n't know why he chose that message. Perhaps it was the same message as the others. Maybe not. But it was clear that this Wreck was dangerous.
“ Let us drift, it ’ s for your own good ”
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[ WP ] A colony ship goes through a wormhole during the first years of interstellar travel . The wormhole closes and traps them on the other side of the galaxy . They create a new civilization and centuries later come into contact with the rest of humanity . The differences between the two are astounding
| “ Four thousand. ”
“ How long?
“ Seven. ”
“ Centuries? ”
“ Yes. But we call them Hectocs and the base unit differs. ”
“ Were you trying to return? ”
He glanced at a lit square face of plastic. Just numbers on either side of a colon, four of them. He thought *of course* they tried to return, at first. He knew this from the Archive. He also knew they gave up. The same way we all give up searching for that which can not be found. A plane in the ocean, light from a star long burnt out, a lost ship.
“ Yes. ” He replied.
“ What is your name? ” asked Sunder. He was charged with the interview and had very little to go on. He only knew what he saw in front of him. A man with large gray eyes. Eyes that were observant and told you he was wise beyond his age, although he was uncertain of even that. He ’ d never seen eyes like them.
“ Baiden of One Ryk. ” He looked around, glancing at Sunder ’ s badge, his status indicating he was asked to do this. Answers beget questions. Be wary of both he thought.
An uncommon, maybe novel, surname here. And the family name, a denotation of rank? Sunder wondered how much had changed; How much could change? The math was easy, standard growth rates applied to the ship ’ s manifest with some travel attrition included. Nearly 17 million, almost as many ifs floating in his pool of questions.
“ Does your name signify something other than paternal parentage? ”
“ Yes ”
“ Could you describe it? ”
“ It would take too long. ”
“ We have all day. ”
Day. Baiden knew about days. The division of time into equal parts based on the movement of a planet with respect to a star. Egyptian invention. Unique to this galaxy and but not his own.
“ I do not. ” He politely replied.
“ Where is everyone else? ”
“ Safely stowed. Tucked within a cluster of planets in a galaxy.. ” He paused to recall the appropriate and ancient word “ I believe you call it ‘ eons ’ from here. ”
Sunder recognizes the tactfulness in this response. Just enough information to infer there are others. They are surviving, living, colonizing and established. They must be, else how did he get here? Suddenly. Unannounced. His arrival like a bolt of lightning, silently striking, but now the clap of thunder. Light before sound. And those eyes.
Baiden watches the brow of Sunder flex at the midpoint. Thoughts churning. He knows his task is complete. Be seen and return. He wonders how much placation one can endure and why they ’ re surrounding him. “ You would like to know how. How it is I came to be here. Among the millions of questions you have this is the most pertinent. ” Control of information, this is ultimate power. Baiden of One Ryk could indulge questions on culture, infant mortality, quality of health care, life expectancy, population and breeding, availability of birth control, food, education, war and pestilence. But he knew what they wanted.
“ You ’ re not going to tell me. ” Said Sunder.
“ No. ”
“ Tell me about the beginning. When the ship realized it was stranded. ” His jaw tightens after the words leave his mouth. Stranded was not the best choice; isolated would have been more suitable.
“ The Archive says there was no night long enough, no darkness dark enough and no space silent enough to convey the beginning. From the solitude grew survival, from survival grew fortitude and strength. Seeds were sewn and the Dyrivity Order rose to find us. ” Baiden was quoting now but no matter. He hoped the translation was accurate for Sunder and the others listening. Perhaps he ’ s sharing too much he thinks.
“ Are there detailed records of everything? ” Sunder ask while casually lighting a cigarette and gesturing to Baiden.
“ No thank you and let us continue in the next Hectoc ” *Answers beget questions. * He stands and the room flexes to match his presence.
Baiden of One Ryk ’ s eyes stare through Sunder. He knows our intention. He knew it before agreeing to a meeting here Sunder concludes. Why attend then? What is his motivation? So many questions to be answered. Hectoc? When is that?
Baiden walks towards the door.
“ They might not… ” and before he can finish Baiden is gone. Faded away like a mural of chalk washed away by heavy rain. A diluted image and then nothing.
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[ WP ] God does exist and is a well kept government secret so the government can maintain control over its people . Religious advocates are descendants of people who witnessed God 's first appearance , but the number of believers in this secret is diminishing as there are more and more skeptics .
| Hi everyone. My name is crag. I'm an interdimensional time travel photographer, I travel the dimensions and take pictures of notable events, mostly whilr invisible. Sometimes I do videos, gifs, and soundcloud too. Anyway, enough about me.
Right now I'm in the grand Basilica of Saint Traft. It's a beautiful place. A modern era Church to honor the Traft family for stopping a world war, among other things, this monument is literally made of stainted glass, except the toilet and the lower levels, of course. If you stood at the outer chamber, everything through the glass would look like a Van Gogh painting ( Or Telly Azharias snap, if you do n't know who Van Gogh is ).
Outside, a crowd ( or horde? Sorry, english isnt the most used language anymore here ) of protestors fill the foreground, clashing with crusaders. I'd love to ask them what the fuck they're fighting about, but I ca n't, so i wo n't. Instead, i snap a quick picture. Splendid, the sharp contrast between the foreground and background gives the picture a satisfying zing, yet enough neatness to present the audience with some introspection. May just be the winning picture.
Inside the chapel, Eric Traft, the current Saint Traft, can be seen kneeling, altar before him, dagger beside him. He looks oblivious to what was happening outside. Maybe he's faithful, maybe he's just crazy. Burdens do that to you, no matter which dimension you're in.
`` BANG!'' The sound of shattering glass complemented the noise. HOLY SHIT GUNS! I warp onto the second level of ( relative ) safety. The scene was a mess. Crusaders with limbs missing, but not a single injured protestor? Mad skillz to the protestors, or mad respect to the sanctity of life to the crusaders. Oh. No I'm kidding the crusaders just whipped out microguns. I took a few snaps of the unfolding scene. Eric still looked serene like a still photo. Bullets hit his glass like magikarp using splash. Theres no way he'd OOOOF...
He stabbed himself...
Absolute silence.
He stabbed himself!!!!
Blood was gushing out from his abdomen. Filling the small chamber with a bloody pool.
3 seconds of serenity.
15 seconds of calm.
Eric slumped to the ground headfirst.
`` By the gods, what have I done?'' A voice escaped the silence.
His altar started to move.
HIS ALTAR STARTED MOVING!!
It was God himself. Gracefully, like a haiku, he set Eric to a cross legged position, he removed the blade, and the body turned to white glass.
`` Make no mistake. Just as my son have, Eric will atone for ALL your sins. May this be a reminder for those who stray the path.'' And dropped the blade like you'd drop a mike.
A flash of light, like an atom bomb.
The Basilica was gone. All that remained was the chamber of Eric, floating mid air. Totally sealed in. Eric's body shimmered with a radiant glow, the blood below him formed an elaborate design. And I swear I could see his vasage in the glass. He had tears running down his face. I swear. Trying to put the carnage in the background, I found an angle, and took the shot.
I call that one `` The Geist of Saint Traft''. Did n't win anything, but I like it alot.
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[ CW ] Pick your favorite franchise ( Harry Potter , James Bond , Hunger Games , etc . ) and start at the beginning . Immediately kill the protagonist , then continue the story .
| `` Do n't worry, I'll protect you.'' Eddard Stark said, to the small baby in his arms that was his nephew. They were at Starfall, having left the memory of that blasted Tower behind. Three of the greatest knights lay dead, all because the king was insane. `` You'll have to have a new name.'' He said. The boy name was Aemon. A hero's name, one chosen if Lyanna and Rhaegar had a boy.
`` Jon, that's a good name, after the man who raised me. Wo n't raise suspicion. Thank the gods you have brown hair.'' Eddard said to the giggling baby. He was all that was left to remember his sister by. For the past fortnight since the Tower of Joy he'd cried himself to sleep, and cursed Rhaegar, Aerys, and the three men of the Kingsguard. Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower and Oswell When. If they had just stepped aside, let him talk to his sister one final time, let him take his nephew, all would have been fine.
14 years later:
Jon shivered as he stood atop the Wall. Usually it was cold, but this night it was colder then it had ever been. If he had to stand atop here any longer he'd freeze to death. The fire had burned itself out not long ago, and Jon could barely see a thing. He found himself wishing for home. Why had n't he stayed? He could have begged father to take him to court, or to let him stay at Winterfell. The Watch was disappointing, full of criminals and scum. Rapers and murderers and both.
Everyone else would be inside, eating. Someone was supposed to bring him food up here. Had they forgotten they had sent him up here? Some young recruit no one paid attention to. The cold got worse. He could n't feel his hands any longer. He should have headed back down a while ago, but no one was at the lifts, since when he entered, no one pulled him down.
Out in the distance, there was some shapes. It was hard to see in this weather and this height. He readied his horn, only to find himself blowing it three times once he saw what it was. The Others were supposed to be a myth, a tale told to children to scare them. Suddenly the wind picked up heavily. Jon Snow, only four and ten, was blown backwards off the Wall, 700 feet high to his death.
And he rose again. Never knowing he was the worlds hero, never knowing his real parents, Jon rose. Someone came to check, and when they saw him, they gasped. His eyes were blue.
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[ WP ] : You have special backpack that supplies you with everything you may need for the day . One morning , while preparing for your day , you take a peek in the backpack and think , `` Huh , well this should be an interesting day . ''
| I woke up excited for my trip. Today i would be travelling to Colorado for a well deserved 2 week vacation. It would also be the first time that I would travel by airplane.
Quickly I brushed my teeth, dressed and double checked that my ticket was in my backpack. It was still secured in the side mesh pocket but I suddenly noticed that my backpack had more straps than before. Some of them had steel buckles and others looked like leg harnesses.
Uh oh.
Opening up the top I saw masses of folded fabric packed neatly. Today my backpack decided I need a parachute.
CONTINUED -
Immediately my heart dropped. I never had any fears or worries about flying but now I was thinking about cancelling the whole trip. What about everyone else on the plane? Actually, forget that, what would the TSA have to say about me bringing a parachute as my carry-on luggage. Hijacking and/or deliberately crashing an airliner would be my first guess.
As it turns out my fears were pointless. Security checks were minimal in my small town airport and once my bag passed through the scanner no one really looked twice at it. Well, maybe the flight attendants were curious as to why I HAD to have it sitting on my lap at all times and why I HAD to keep both arms wrapped white-knuckle tight around it for the entire flight. It was pointless however as there was barely a hiccough in our voyage from takeoff until we had taxied to our terminal. I could n't understand. My backpack ALWAYS knew what was coming. If my plane was safe why did I need a parachute?
I shrugged and continued to pickup my skis and other luggage from the conveyor. The real excitement must lie ahead I decided. Besides, if my plane was going to crash it is likely my backpack would have simply swallowed my boarding pass, similar to when my psychotic ex planted a bomb wired to my cars ignition and the backpack ate my keys.
Checking into the resort was a breeze, but came with a stern warning to stay off the slopes if I had been `` indulging in the local flora'' was how they put it. Lol, weed was my thing in middle school but I grew out of that years ago. What I really wanted to indulge in now lay above the timber line.
Unfortunately ski lifts and cable cars only went so far. To reach the summit a hike from the upper lodge was still required. Ah well, my trusty pack would supply me with any nourishment I might need before my descent.
At the peak of the mountain the air was refreshingly clean, if cold as a straight razor left in your freezer so long it was buried in the permafrost. I paused for several moments to enjoy the view as well as rest my legs. Taking advantage of the calm I munched on a trail mix bar and double checked all the points on my boots and bindings. I could have sworn I left my Leatherman on the dresser in my room but of course it was tucked into a small side pocket of my pack, which was a little hard to get off in all my bulky cold weather gear. Still not wanting to risk anything I fully strapped myself back into my backpack-turned-parachute before getting up and skating to the edge of the slope.
I took it easily at first. not wanting to run out of control on my first run of the season. Back and forth I went as gracefully as an Olympic figure skater. Grinning I thought to myself'Now this is the life'. Halfway down and high on endorphins I pulled an on-the-ground 360 and what I saw made my blood run colder than the snow beneath my skis.
Avalanche.
Every slope junkies worst nightmare was heading right for me and I being new to the slope did n't know the best route out of its way. I cut hard to the right, ignoring an orange plastic fence that warned of a drop off. Drop off was the wrong word, certainly this cliff looked like the edge of the world to me. I tried in vain to stop hard but only succeeded in falling and tumbling over the drop. I'll never know if it was a tree or my pole that snagged the ripcord or if I somehow found it in my panic but before I could shit my pants, I was gliding gently down.
As I touched down on a flat point near the bottom my heart was racing, hands were shaking and my nerves were completely shot but more than ever I was thankful for the backpack which had been handed down through my family since time immemorial. For the first time I began to wonder about the origins of my family name; Merlinder.
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[ CC ] Hope They Find Me Soon
| *Positives*
The first and second paragraphs look really good.
The idea of the story sounds good, as in the idea of a suicide, caused by the death of a friend, and the reasons behind it
*Criticisms*
In the first paragraph, you could do without the'does indeed' and the'do' in'I do feel'
Several typos
The tone does n't feel right. The narrator, as I understand it, feels anguished and in pain, or nothing at all. In many instances, he seems to talk like a normal person. He also mentions his sister as a light, but does n't make an exception, like,'yesterday she said she hated me'.
The ending feels unexciting. Not a mass announcement, not a mysterious note, no cutting off, no acting normal for their sake. The story makes it seem like Facebook, where you can just'unfriend' people at any time.
The'changed my mind' part is unnecessary. It sounds like a joke, not to another person, but only to himself.
Why does he have this pain? the reader should know more about it if it's bad enough to lead to suicide.
~~ ~~
I would consider writing it as a suicide note.
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[ WP ] A computer-illiterate senior citizen accidentally uploads him/herself into a virtual world .
| Selma lowered her reading glasses to the tip of her nose and peered around her. Evidently, this was not, as she had intended, the Bed, Bath, and Beyond next to that cute little rug store. Everything was so... dirty. Plastered on every wall were pictures of sweet young girls ( that looked positively starved, by the way, ) performing demeaning acts with untoward men sporting arm tattoos. Across the street, she heard a one nasty little boy yelling at a grown man in some unintelligible language that sounded vaguely communist. Finally the boy said something intelligible, which came out somewhat like `` You bed ed dis game, pliz keel yourself.'' While observing this shocking display of bad language, she suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. Unbeknownst to Selma, a strapping young man had approached her.
`` hello,'' said the man, `` its me, ur brother''
`` Lawrence,'' Selma exclaimed, `` could that really be you?''
`` yes''
At this, Selma hugged the man as tight as she could with her rapidly weakening arms. `` Oh Lawrence, I thought you died in the war,'' Selma choked out through her sobs. `` no,'' Lawrence replied. `` i need money for plane tickets bcz i love you.'' With that, Selma took all her money out of her wallet and handed it over to her long lost sibling. `` It's only $ 300, I hope that'll be enough. But first, please,'' Selma said, still recovering from the shock of learning that her brother still walked among the living, `` just tell me one thing. How did you survive all these years?''
`` hello,'' said the man, `` its me, ur brother.''
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Due to string theory the exists a universe where every coin flip ever is heads and everyone accepts that , then you flip tails ... [ WP ]
| The coin struck the table with a metallic clang, and mutedly spun for several seconds. As it slowed, the group of six grew closer to watch a result they already knew in their hearts unfold.
`` It's tails!'' Josh exclaimed accidentally before anyone could stop him. The gravity of the moment was not lost on everyone.
What began as a moment of incredible discovery quickly turned into realization and dawning dread. Silence crept into the room, as the assembled group all stared in disbelief. Before them, the coin lay still on the tabletop. It could n't be. It was n't possible. The Teacher was never wrong. And yet, the proof laid mere inches from me. We needed to leave. Now.
I looked up, only to gaze into faces full of fear. What did this mean? There was no time to think about what had just occurred before our very eyes. The men would be here soon; the microphones had more than likely been able to hear Josh yell out. Amy broke the silence with a whisper, just barely audible.
`` Run.''
The screech of chairs broke the lingering tension, and we bolted for the back window. Rob threw open the window, and climbed through onto the fire escape. He turned, offering a hand to Amy.
Did I hear something? They're not here. They're not here. Not this quickly at least. You are going to make it.
`` Hurry'' Rob implored.
After Amy was Sarah. Amy begun quickly climbing down to the alleyway below. It would be several stories before any of us could jump if necessary, and at any point someone might come out onto the way from a lower level. If that were the case, we'd be trapped. There were no good options, but the fire escape was the best one.
I turned towards the doorway. Footsteps. Shit. We're out of time. Lights could be seen coming from under the doorway; they'll be coming through any second. They must have been in the area on patrol. We had heard stories of raids in the residential block recently, but no one had really known if it was true. Call it fear, call it ignorance, but people knew better than to seek `` truth.''
Josh grabbed Rob's hand and pulled himself through as the door to the hallway exploded inward, splintering into hundreds of projectiles thrown across the room. For only a moment I saw an object thrown into the room, and then nothing but light. A blaring humming noise. Instinctively, I attempted to turn towards the window, and grabbed hold of the sill. I felt hands coming from the outside, attempting to pull me to safety.
`` Jus go!'' I blurt out. It was all I could muster, knowing my fate. My blurred vision would not allow me to escape.
The grip lessened, and then was gone. Breathe. Breathe. You can survive.
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[ WP ] You are an FBI agent working on a case regarding computerized election fraud , but instead stumble upon evidence that no black person 's vote has ever been tallied in the U.S . The voting rights act of 1965 was a sham to mitigate riots .
| If this was true, it would change the world forever.
Since 1965 black people can vote on who is going to be their president, or at least that's what everyone foolish thinks. The truth is far more deep and covered by years of secrecy, only a few selected people knew the truth, one of which the president. Our own president, the one who swore to protect us and do the right thing, the one that says everyone should be treated has equals, knew that the votes are n't counted.
Years of secret racism in the gonverment all kept in an single file, who knew what would happen if this was shown to the public? Racial wars and riots would surely follow, and is this what we really want? Ferguson was an example of what is to come, total anarchy and change.
Yet I still question, was I intended to discover this? It seemed strange that president Obama wanted me to personally take care of this `` election fraud'', maybe he wanted me to get this out to the public, maybe. But if the USA government kept this secret for so long, the same country that values freedom, how can anyone be sure if the USA is the only country that does this?
All I know now, is that I have to prepare, the fight is just beginning to start, I may be the first to uncover this, but I wo n't be the last. I'm ready, this is my moment, this is our people moment, no more will racism be part of our society and government, tomorrow a new order will begin.
( This was my very first wp reply, please leave comments on how I should improve, I would be thankful )
Edit 1 - reworked all the text, started from new.
Edit 2 - spelling
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[ WP ] Rifles and Sorcery . A modern army is stuck on in an alternate reality where sorcery rules . The army is preparing to defend themselves form a far superior force that has never seen a machine gun or artillery .
| We were taken by surprise when they first came. Their attacks came almost instantly, hundreds of our men falling at the sound of a whip. It takes the average mage 1.7 seconds to fully complete an incantation for a fireball, and even then our projectiles travel 100 meters a second at best. All the enemy had to do was station themselves 300 meters away and cast their instant-death magic and the council could think of no strategy to counter them. Not until they brought me into the picture.
I'm not like other mages. I've never been able to shoot fireballs, or heal people, or summon familiars. What I do have, is the ability to see things, or rather, how things work. In my mind's eye, I see how mana flows through everything and everyone like energy, and I understand how the presence and absence of this energy is used to form attacks. I'm able to redirect circuits of mana to enhance my physical state, giving me superhuman abilities. They call me the fastest mage in the world but I am also an outcast. Society takes magic for granted and thus, scientific progress is at a standstill. But at times like these, outliers like me are needed.
`` The mechanism of their spells is n't instant,'' I tell the council. `` Rather, their speed is superior, so fast that we ca n't even see it. Yet, in essence, their projectiles are nothing but metal pieces surrounded in a dense concentration of propulsion mana...''
The councilmen cut me off waving their hands. `` Just... do what you have to do to get rid of them'' they say, waving their hands. `` How much support do you need?''
`` Support? I've never been supported in my life. It's just not my style.''
`` You wish to go to battle alone?''
`` It's not like you guys can keep up with me anyways. I'm the fastest mage in the world''.
The council lets me go, easily. To them, I'm just another lunatic, who happens to be saving their butts. I take a deep breath, and run, redirecting energy into my legs, accelerating to the speed of a fireball, 100 meters per second. It's not long before they see me coming, head on across the battlefield. There's a hesitation, as if they ca n't believe one man is standing up against their army who have slain thousands. Then, I hear the cracks. Their high energy projectiles reflect off the high density mana field I've created around myself - mana in high densities will repel other high concentrations of mana. I close the distance between us, and there is a brief stunned silence. In a quick glance, I analyze their weapons, and I understand how they work. There are enormous amounts of potential energy stored within them. Smiling at how easy this battle has become, I change all of that potential energy into raw magic, and their devices explode, spraying metal everywhere. As I revel in the carnage, I ca n't help but feel a twinge of regret. After all, I probably would have fit in better in their society instead of ours.
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[ WP ] When I was 16 my father pulled me out of school and shoved me in the car . His eyes did n't leave the road as he threw a gun in my lap and said , `` We 're going to get your mother . ''
| You could hear a pin drop. I wished one would, if only to break the silence.
`` Well... that's all well and good...'' my teacher, Mrs. Fanshawe, began to say, `` but Jeffrey has a test at exactly two pee...''
`` Fuck the test. I said I need him.'' My father was not one to mince words.
He looked directly at me.
`` Let's go.''
There was no room for argument.
I could feel the hot stares from the other kids in the class burning my back as I walked out. I had to take the middle row. As I passed, some kids had wide grins, some had looks of pure sinister delight ( nobody had said the F word in class since Jimmy Carpin had been sent home that one day ), but most were still trying to scrape their jaws off the floor. I could n't let their seething eyes slow me down, though, Dad was in full no-nonsense mode. Something bad had happened.
As soon as the classroom door and Mrs. Fanshawe's disapproving scowl were behind us, my father cranked up the pace and we raced down the hall. He banged the front doors open with more force than I had even seen them take, and we literally flew down the front steps.
He hurried me toward the family car parked crooked on the street ( and partially on the sidewalk ). I noticed fresh scratches on the outside bottom of the passenger-side door as my father shoved me in. They looked like some kind of animals claw marks, but I did n't get a good look and my mind was racing.
I pulled my seat belt over my shoulder as quick as I could. By the time I heard the metallic snap of the buckle, the engine had already turned over and we were moving.
As I watched the school's changeable letter sign disappear into the rear view mirror, ( `` Go Spartiates! `` ), I felt a heavy lump of curved metal drop into my lap with an audible thump.
It was a gun. My gun. Smith and Wesson Model M & P Bodyguard 380. Compact, black, menacing. The same one Dad had made me practice with every day since I was fifteen.
`` We're going to get your mother,'' my father said. `` Right now.''
I knew exactly what he meant, I just never thought this day would actually come. It suddenly seemed so obvious to me what was happening, and I felt stupid for not getting it already.
`` I'm ready.'' I said, trying to mean it as much as I could.
`` No, you're not, but that does n't matter now.'' My father's voice sounded unsteady. Maybe for the first time ever.
We drove a long time in silence. I gently stroked the red safety button on the pistol, and measured out my breathes. Dad was being very, very quiet. Soon, I knew I would be slamming the breach of my firearm into place and following him into a fight.
`` There's not going to be a fight.'' My father said, as if reading my mind.
We hit a bump in the road before he could continue, and for a moment Dad's right hand was lifted off his lap and I saw what he was holding. H & R Model 929, extended barrel. The gun that he said he never used. The gun that was supposed to be just for show. The ammo loaded in it looked weird, each of the nine rounds had an orange cap on the end that I had never seen before, and they were... centerfire? Was n't that model meant to shoot rimfire only?
`` I know where she is. I'm going to go in, get her, and bring her to the car. No fighting. You will stay by the car, to protect it and yourself.'' My father explained.
I nodded in agreement. I knew he could see me even though his eyes did n't leave the road.
`` And if you see me running toward you, you will shoot whatever is chasing me.''
I let a long pause pass.
`` Even if its Mom?'' I asked quietly.
More silence.
`` Yes.''
I felt so many confusing emotions at once. A thousand questions raced through my mind, but none more pressing than if Mom was ok. And who she may have hurt so far.
`` Your mother is... she's ok. Everything's going to be ok, you'll see.'' I did n't like the way he said it. It sounded like he had already accepted failure.
I did n't know what to say. I wanted so badly to say something that would make him feel better. I wanted to say the perfect words that the perfect son would say to his Dad in a situation like this. But I could n't find them.
So the time passed as we drove, and nothing was said until we arrived at our destination.
I did n't recognize anything about the place as we pulled into the large gravel parking lot. It looked like some old dilapidated factory, abandoned for years. Two massive silos for storing... whatever... loomed in the background, each with exterior spiral staircases curling up the dirty rusted sides. A flat rectangular building spanned across the entire width of the site, with every window hosting a shattered pane of grimy glass. It was pure darkness inside the main building, evening had already settled in, and the shadows had grown long.
Dad let the car idle for a moment. The two headlight beams stretched across the front of the building, reflecting against unknown backdrops within and causing the interior to appear even darker.
`` Wait here. Do as I said.'' Dad opened the door quickly and then he was off, following those beams of light into the shadows.
He made it to the gaping entrance of the flat building, and pushed the hanging door aside. It almost fell off its hinges.
For just a moment he looked back at me. His face had the look of ages on it. It carried no expression. Only age.
Dad disappeared into the darkness. Time slowed down.
I waited.
I got out of the car and held my pistol tight against my leg. I looked around, I scratched the dirt with the tips of my shoes, and I waited.
I was looking in the complete opposite direction when my father came stumbling back. It was the spurt and squirting that I heard first. I thought the windshield wiper spray of the car had accidentally been turned on. But it was blood. I knew that even before I turned around, I could see the trail of red leading back to the building. But I did n't think it was Dad, that it could be his blood.
I even raised my pistol for a moment. Then I saw my father, shambling over to me quickly, his right hand tucked under his left armpit and his other hand clasping the side of his neck.
He fell into my arms, which really meant he fell onto the front of the car. As he slipped down ( far too heavy for me to hold up ), and his hand slipped off his wet neck, he left a spatter of red paint over the top of the hood. He came to sit leaning against the front right hubcap, still clasping his neck.
I tried to help but I did n't, or could n't.
As I fumbled, trying to rip off a piece of my shirt and failing, he grinned.
`` She...'' my father began to say, as I frantically tried to add pressure to the hand clasping his neck.
Suddenly he pushed me away, with such amazing instant strength that I fell backward on my behind.
For a half-second I sat there, bewildered, looking at my father as the life drained from his body. He grinned wider and let go of his neck. The exposed wound poured out blood. The shredded remains of his skin looked like strips of paper mache.
`` She...'' he said, allowing his grin to sprawl across his face in a slow, meaningful creep, `` is a hungry little thing.''
His eyes closed, his head slumped to the side, his body weight seemed to drop, and he was gone.
I rushed over to him, even though I knew it was too late. I grabbed his shoulders and when I did, his hidden right hand fell out of his armpit. Except there was no hand, just a stump. A bloody, gnawed-upon stump.
I looked back at the building. Two red dots peered at me from deep dark corners. Two red spots of hatred and chaos. I thought maybe, maybe they are mechanical lights. But then they shifted, together, in unison. Those were eyes. And they were looking right at me.
`` MOM!'' I shouted fiercely. The two red icicle tips just kept staring back.
`` MOOOOOM!!!!''
They blinked. It was her, alright. It was time.
Safety off.
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[ WP ] `` What do you mean ? Ca n't you fly too ? ''
| `` What do you mean you ca n't fly,'' my friend said, looking at me in shock. I was a new transfer student and I had discovered many strange things in this strange land, such as their weird fascination with eating baked strings of wheat dough, like tiny long strings of the crispiest and hardest bread imaginable, which was then boiled into softness again and covered in tomato puree with other vegetables mixed in. They called it pasta. But this, what my friend just said, I was in shock as much as he was.
`` Flying? Seriously,'' I said. `` Nobody can fly.''
My friend blinked at me. `` Everyone can fly. Seriously, who do you know that ca n't fly?''
`` Everyone. My parents, our teachers, nobody can fly -- why would we walk if we could fly, why would we drive cars when we can fly?''
`` Because flying is tiring and walking is easy and you ca n't get a heater or radio or carry much of anything while flying? Are you being serious? Your parents ca n't fly either?''
`` Of course not, that's stupid, they, well I mean I've never seen them fly. Of course I have n't, because nobody can fly!'' He looked at me as though I'd just said that the sun was the center of the solar system instead of the earth, as though I'd just called the earth round instead of flat, and then stepped up into the air and hovered there. I quickly stepped backward and fell over my own feet in shock, scrambling in the dirt to get far enough away before I struggled back into a standing position.
`` I just thought, with your leg like that, I thought you wanted the exercise from walking, to strengthen it and rehabilitate it, and I always just walked with you.''
I looked down at my left leg in its steel collars with steel rods jutting from the collars through my leg. `` Are you kidding me, do you know how much this hurts? If I could fly, I'd do that in a heartbeat.''
`` You believe you can fly, right? Take my hand,'' he said, holding his hand out to me. `` Let's fly.''
I took his hand and tried to believe, with all my heart. I'd always dreamed of flying and the thought of soaring up through the trees in the air, above the clouds, of not having to walk on this leg again filled my heart and my legs remained stubbornly earthbound. `` I ca n't,'' I said, `` I want to believe but I ca n't.''
He hugged me tightly and whispered, `` You already are.'' We started flying back towards my house when he leaned over to me, `` Although, if your parents really ca n't fly, and if they find out that you can, you're probably going to get extra hours of physical therapy.''
Holy flying monkey balls, he was right. Extra physical therapy. Dirty skunk socks, my parents could never know.
( ( Is n't it weird that everyone always assumes that what they're familiar with is what everyone else is also familiar with? That whats de jour for me and my family must be de jour for everyone else as well? It's kind of like the people that sneeze when they walk from a dark building into sunlight and those who do n't sneeze. Most of us sneezers presume that everyone is like us, and those who do n't sneeze would never in their wildest dreams imagine that a photic sneeze reflex exists. ) )
> There are three parts to every story. The beginning, the middle, and the twist.
> [ More by me ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/kj6bwb/ )
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[ WP ] In about 1500 years , archeologist discover your porn collection . [ possibly NSFW ]
| The archaeologist starts to grin'' Guys, Im pretty sure I have something here.'' His friends come over to see what he may have uncovered. `` As they approach he takes a closer look, using his brush to move some more dirt from the ancient metal safe. The first of his friends looks over his shoulder `` That looks like steel to me, do you think you can lower the power on the plasma saw, and open it without destroying any contents?'' The archaeologist scratches his beard,'' Yes I can do it! This could be a huge discovery! This may contain a great treasure, or even some seeds from an ancient plant!'' The others laugh along with him, everyone there knowing its more likely to be an ancient weapon, or more of that odd paper money ancients had used. Firing up his plasma saw, he dials the nob down as far as it can go, a fine line appearing from the nozzles tip. Carefully he begins shaving one side of the safe off. After an hours work, he sets the saw aside, only a paper thin layer of steel left between them and the contents of the safe. `` Ok guys, moment of truth!'' The archaeologist takes up his small work knife, and gently cuts the final layer of steel away. Inside there is a small device with a rubberized cord extending from it. `` This looks like ancient hardware for their googly machines'' Eagerly they gather around, as the archaeologist carefully hooks their Omni's adapter to the old piece of hardware. It takes a moment to crack the obsolete key code the hard drive was secured with. The Omni projects an image into the air, of a single file folder, with the words'Biology notes' below it. They quickly select it, finding it contains several files within it. `` Lets start with the first one'' the archaeologist selects the file. `` oh my goodness, what is that? Wait -- Oh no, what the fuck!'' One of the men turns away and begins to vomit, the others are trapped watching in an unwilling trance. `` Turn that off-Oh no! Ugh get rid of it now!'' The archaeologist says'' It has some kind of virus attached to it, I ca n't make it stop! Our Omni is not equipped to handle this archaic virus!'' Finally after what seems like an eternity, the file is over, and the virus releases its hold, and closes the file. Only to open another, The picture of a man appears, and speaks ancient English, the omni translating intstantly `` Do not try to open anymore files. The next time you do, my next virus will melt your motherboard and hard drive. I hope you enjoyed 2 girls one cup.''
Sorry for the wall of text. I tried, and failed, to format it a little nicer. Also, this is my first real attempt at writing anything. Sorry if it sucks.
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[ WP ] You have somehow gone back to a time of cavemen . Excited to become their leader , you plan on showing them fire , only to find out they already know about that . You still want to be distinguished , but with that card gone , it becomes a lot harder to impress ...
| `` Seriously?'' The flash of light from her arrival blinded every nomad in the camp. `` You already have it? Did he beat me here? That little monster,'' Sarah pulled a strand of hair back behind a clip. The nomads did n't know what to do, it was the second person they'd seen in mysterious colors that covered far more than a loin cloth would. Two of the huskier men beat their clubs against their palms and stepped towards her.
Sarah smirked. Their approach was pointless, she charged at them, easily leaping and knocking them out with the sole of her shoe. Sarah brushed her hands off, `` anyone else? That's what I thought,'' she grabbed a log out of the fire and began waving it around. `` I'm your new master- alright?'' They grunted but it seemed they got the message. `` I ca n't teach you about fire... I really only had that... well how about wavelengths- no, no that wo n't make sense. Oh! Math, I can write the first math problem!'' Sarah jogged over to the cave, all but breaking into someone's home.
`` Who let him do this?! Who?'' She waved the burning stick around the cave. A small mix of integers was scrawled on the wall, right next to a cave painting and a signature by that disdainful boy- Maxwell. Sarah had a lot of catching up to do; she scratched out his name and drew a few stick figures with spears around the buffalo. With that, she dropped the burning stick back on the fire and started down the hunting trail- this was going to be the worst rewriting history challenge yet.
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[ WP ] Chess is played with 32 pieces . One night 32 people over the world are transported to a marble room with a checkered floor . Each person has a name tag with their role . With medieval weapons , the teams must clash , following chess rules , surviving winners will be granted freedom . You are a pawn .
| I.AM.A.PAWN.
That was literarly a thought forced into my head as I awoke to find myself on a huge chess board. I shook my head to clear it of that singular thought, but it was hard. Not only did the words linger, but the mere archetype of a pawn was somehow being forced into my mind. I tried to resist it but I found myself moving forward.
As I had completed my movement, my awareness suddenly went away for an undetermined time. Then as a switch had been turned on, I was back again, with the same message burning itself into my mind. I.AM.A.PAWN. This time it was even worse, with compulsive thoughts that were obsessively pressing in from all sides. I knew I was worthless, I knew I was to serve, I had no other purpose than to be sacrificed or to take out another pawn. I quickly looked around and saw that all pieces had moved while I had been in my unaware state. Before I had anymore time to think I was moving forward, but this time I found myself stabbing an anonymous figure with a dagger, blood was everywhere and I found myself feeling disturbingly happy at having shown how useful I was. Then my awareness switched off again.
I.AM.A.PAWN.
I felt a sense of grim determination as I came back again, I knew my role, I knew my purpose. I moved forward and this time I felt triumphant that I would do my best to help the player succeed. I saw evidence of other battles around me, blood and bodyparts strewn across the board. I saw the white pieces, oh yes, to hell with all of you, to hell with all of you, die die die!
I.AM.A.PAWN.
Something is wrong now, so many of the valued pieces dead now. The pieces that are so much more worth than me, oh lowly me with nothing to do but to serve. I feel so sad now that I see them dead everywhere, why could n't it have been me? WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE THEM!? I move forward again, but I know it's too late, sooner or later someone is going to take me out and I deserve it. I'm a horrible waste. I do n't deserve to live. I try and kill myself, but I ca n't lift my dagger.
I.AM.A.PAWN.
I have reached the end of the board, as I step onto the square, I feel a sense of freedom.. no of change. My clothes change, I can feel my body reshaping itself, no.. my whole awareness becoming bigger, more shining.. oh I'm feeling so... so regal.......
I AM THE QUEEN.
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[ IP ] Hospital Scene
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Doing a little practice for NanoWriMo in the days before it starts. As such, this will be needlessly longer than it should be and far lower in quality than I would like it to be. Apologies for that.
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Pushing an IV into her patient, Dr. Martins explained how it would work. `` We put some nutrients in this bag which then feeds into the tube and into this little syringe thing here.'' She gestured to the needle in Janette's arm. `` Then the nutrients flow into your bloodstream so that you can stay healthy even when you're not able to eat anything.'' She said.
Martins found that talking to the patients often helped calm them down. Some people had extreme phobias of needles. Just telling them to bite the nail and deal with the pain usually did n't help. Even when a patient did n't have a paralyzing fear they still did n't like needles. Martins did n't think that anybody did. Hell, she had been working with them for close to twelve years and she STILL did n't get used to having to pierce someone's skin with them.
`` So I'm loosing weight while I'm in here?'' Jenette asked jokingly. Martins chuckled and resisted the urge to tell the story of how she had once had to deal with an anorexic girl that had tried to do just that.
`` I suppose so.'' Martins replied, still smiling. `` I'm going to have to leave you here for a while.'' She pulled the used up IV bag from the medical stand in the room and replacing it with a fresh one from the storage fridge. `` I have a terminal patient to deal with. If you need anything at all, just push the button on the side of your spread and my assistant will get it for you. I'll be back soon. I promise.''
Looking at Janette's face, Martins could tell that she was n't pleased that she would have to be dealing with Martins's assistant rather than Martins herself. Nevertheless, she did n't complain about the minor inconvenience. Martins left the room happy with the knowledge that she would n't have to return to a cranky patient.
Walking out of the room, Martins moved down the hallway and into an unoccupied room. The room was filled with bookshelves containing various medical books for later referencing as well as patient files from before the hospital had converted to digital copies, as well as hard copies for some of the more old fashioned doctors.
In the back of the room there was a large red door with what appeared to be an old handle. Any passerby would n't give it a second look, unless they got curious as to what was inside. Marins opened it up. Inside there was nothing. The entire area was sealed off by a wall of bricks. At least, that's how it would seem to anyone that got curious.
Martins milled over to the side of one of the bookshelves. One of the ones that was closer to the middle of the room. At the top was a small latch. Invisible to all but those that knew of its existence. Martins moved it to the slide revealing an advanced looking touchpad. Placing her hand on it caused a quiet whirring sound. Then, there was silence.
After a moment the sound of hundreds of tiny pistons could be heard. Looking back at the brick wall Martins viewed the wall splitting in half and opening up. Behind it, was a pristine white hallway. She entered it and the door closed behind her almost immediately. Once the door shut completely a robotic female voice could be heard. `` Cleaning process initiating.''
A large cloud of foul smelling gas was emitted from small vents in the ceiling. `` Please open your mouth'' The robot voice requested.'' Martins complied with its request and the gas invaded her lungs as she breathed in. When she exhaled the sound of rushing air could be heard. Another vent in the bottom of the floor opened up sucking the gas out of the chamber. `` Thank you for your cooperation.'' The voice said as a second door in front of Martins opened up.
Martins stepped through the last door and into an elevator. Inside there was another touchpad with numbers. Inputting the floor that she wanted access to, 42, a screen popped up asking for an ID badge and password. Martins flashed the ID badge in front of the computer screen and then typed the nine letter password, PEnISFuCk, into the touchpad causing a big green `` VERIFIED'' symbol to pop up.
`` *The amount of security in this place is total bullshit. *'' Martins said. She was partially correct. There was no need to prevent people from getting in. Only for preventing things getting out. Specifically the things on the lower ten floors.
Martins, having completed the last of the security steps, walked into her second place of work. A secret underground lab dedicated to studying scientific anomalies. While it made for a very interesting place to work at, it did n't make out to be the safest of places to work at.
`` So, what am I scheduled to work with today?'' Martins asked the woman that they had working at the front desk.
`` You've get to work with number eighty-nine. And you have to bring Dr. Brownman along with you. He's the main `` expert'' on the thing.'' The secretary explained. Mentally, Martins groaned before moving off towards Dr. Brownman's room. A crowd of people rushed through, likely to deal with some sort of emergency. `` *Poor girl. *'' Martins thought. `` *She does n't know how we're going to dispose of her at the end of the week*''
Martins waded through the crowd of people to Dr. Brownman's office and opened the door. Inside, Dr. Brownman turned his head towards her and smiled. `` Fancy seeing you here.''
Dr. Brownman was one of the more... interesting doctors that worked at the protectorate. He was the kind of guy that thought he was being smooth with the ladies when in reality he was being more of a perverted kind of the creepy. Not the funny kind of perverted, but the `` Duct tape your mouth shut, tie your hands together, bring you to my house, and rape you endlessly until you die.'' kind of perverted creepy.
`` Not really. We've got to go check on subject eighty-nine together. It's hardly a coincidence.'' She explained. Dr. Brownman's face contorted into the shape of a convoluted smile at this comment.
`` If you say so. Try to keep your hands off of me while we study it. Together. In the lab. Alone. All. By. Our. Selves.'' With each syllable he put more emphasis into his words. Martins mentally sighed. He was like a child. How he wound up getting his medical degree should would never know. `` *I'd think he slept with someone if he was n't so god damn creepy. *''
Dr. Brownman looked like he wanted to say something more, but Martins walked out the door before he could complete his thought. He picked up his laptop and followed swiftly behind.
Suddenly he became serious. `` Remember, do n't touch it, wash your hands before and after, and whatever you do do n't let it touch metal for any longer than it has to.'' Brownman explained. Maybe there was hope for him after all.
Eventually the arrived to a locked door. `` I just got here. Maybe you could do this one?'' Martins asked. The security of the place was her least favorite part of the job.
`` Much obliged.'' He said, placing his hand on the touchpad and moving his eye ball up towards the scanner. `` Anything for a lady such as yourself.'' He said in the a cartoonish voice. Clearly he was only able to remain serious as long as someone's life was potentially in danger.
The pistons in the walls pulled the doors to the side. It took a minute as there were several layers to the door which were in place to prevent any escapes. Finally they were were able to enter a room filled with various laboratory equipment and three lab assistants waiting for them. On the left side of the room was a glass window and a reinforced iron door.
Behind the window was a floating gelatinous blob. Levitating about four feet off the ground it was about a meter in diameter and colored a dark metallic shade of gray with splotches of dark, sickly green in various areas. It flowed like water. But slower, in waves so that the surface appeared rigged, unnatural.
`` Ready to extract some samples?'' Martins asked of the assistants. She did n't want to do it particularly as she would have preferred to work by herself. Other people meant that there was a possibility of error. Unfortunately the protectorate had procedures that she had to follow. No matter what how she preferred to work.
`` Of course.'' The assistance replied in almost perfect unison. `` *It's so creepy how the protectorate actually **trains** them to behave like that. Almost like they do n't want us to think of them as humans*'' She thought.
`` Good. Now you there...'' She pointed to the middle assistant and squinted at her nametag. `` Abby! Would you please fetch me one of the syringes. This can be over quick if you all know what you're doing.''
The assistant walked over to a tray containing several syringes all caped with plastic and ready to be used. She carefully picked one off of the top and brought it over to Martins, removing the cap from it before handing it to her. `` Thank you.'' Martins said with a nod. `` Come on Dr. Brownman.'' She said.
Dr. Brownman walked over to the door and waved his security badge over it unlocking it. They both walked inside to the metallic goop. Martins compressed the syringe so that she would be able to remove some of the good out of the orb and plunged the needle area of it into the floating blob. She then pulled back on it removing a small portion of the sludge.
Suddenly the sphere waved a bit in the air. Like a pond would when a child threw stones into it. This was normal, and was to be expected. Neither of the trained scientists wavered when this happened. They were used to it.
What they were n't used to was a dark metallic color flowing from where the syringe had been inserted into it. Dr. Brownman had a confused look on his face and looked closely at it. Suddenly the syringe
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[ CW ] Take the last sentence from the last thing you wrote . That 's the beginning of this story .
| [ I popped into existence 20 miles above the Yucatán Peninsula, and slowly began to fall. ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2rtqk9/wp_you_are_the_first_time_traveler_in_history/cnj9wzc )
In the sudden peaceful silence, I thought over the events that brought me here. *How did things go so wrong? Why did it lead to THIS? * I looked outside the window at the stars. In my time, no human had ever reached them; who knew if they ever would? Where I was now, no scraps of metal orbited the world below, no humans polluted its skies, and all was as it once was. Sighing, I leaned back into my restraints.
I would be relaxing in complete harmony with the world if it were n't for the alarm bells blaring.
Groaning, I unclasped myself and launched back to the control panel. I was done for; I had no future. There was nothing left for me but to make sure that I would do no harm, a feat ensured by my the slow acceleration of my damaged time machine. Even now I was moving at a few meters per second. I wondered which would happen first: would I suffocate from the air leaking out into the vacuum, or I breathe long enough to reach the atmosphere and burn up in the heat of re-entry? At least now I knew I could n't sleep through it. Best find a way to spend my time.
There's surprisingly little one can enjoy while inside a giant metal whale which finds itself plummeting towards a young Earth. You'd like to just have a little bit of fun, yet you have this nagging feeling that something *bad* is going to happen, a fact readily confirmed by any number of alarms, screens, and windows. I grimly wondered if would be the only human ever to wind up in such a predicament. If my father's sci-fi novels ever held true, probably not.
I grimaced. I had very few memories of my father; none that I could think of. He was good at a party, yes, but I was an *inventor*, never meant for such frivolities. Besides, I was never invited to those kinds of parties. That wannabe-politician was the dirtiest, most treacherous old man I'd ever met, yet he had half of the nation's wealthiest in his pocket. Despicable. What did he know of real struggle? Of the unending quest for truth? Of beauty? Of yearning to better the human race? Had he ever known conflict in his posh, spoiled life?
I hated myself for wasting any of my final moments thinking of him. There were more important things to consider - specifically, the lack of air. Things were hazy - a black edge crept around the corners of my vision, and I knew hallucinations were n't far off. Like that, there! A pinball machine where the control panel was. Or- or the earth outside, laughing at me. Or that hand pushing a mask into my fa- Wait.
My head cleared with a *whoosh* as I filled my lungs with oxygen, and the sounds around me filled my ears again. `` It worked, we've got him! He's still alive - Sir! It's going to be okay, you need to come with me.''
`` What? No! How did you get here? You do n't know what you're doing! You're messing everything up - this HAS to HAPPEN! How- *how did you even get here?!? *''
`` There's no time to explain. You're the best expert we have on time travel, and we need you to come with us. There's a war, and it's time to turn it around.''
`` What?? No! **NO! **''
It was too late. The soldier in front of my glowed blue, and my vision swam with tiny lights as the ship slowly faded from my view. A tiny, dimly lit room materialized around me, and everything was silent except for my heavy breathing.
`` Sir, it's okay. We've made it - we're back to the present. Er- your future, really-''
`` YOU. **IDIOT. **'' I threw myself at the surprised soldier, and we tumbled to the ground. `` *DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?? *''
`` I- We needed your knowledge of time travel to... to...'' The soldier fell silent, unsure of what to say.
`` My knowledge of time travel needed to be wiped from this world. That's why *the only time-travelling craft in existence* was busy *CRASHING INTO THE EARTH!! *''
`` But... Well, ca n't you just build another one?''
I fell, defeated, to my feet. I had failed. Failed, more than *anyone* had ever failed before. How could anything possibly get worse??
A door opened, and a woman stood in the doorway of our tiny enclosure. `` I'm sorry, *doctor*, but your tears can wait. I'm afraid your efforts, though noble, only delayed things a bit.'' At least, that's they told me she said, much, much later - I heard nothing, frozen by what I saw behind her. As my vision faded and I fell fainting to the floor, there was no mistaking the television broadcast of my father's scowling face overseeing his military tribute.
Then everything, finally, went black.
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`` The Middle of the Beginning''
Daily short story 005/100
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Thanks for reading! This is a continuation, obviously, of the last short story I wrote. [ Check out part one here! ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2rtqk9/wp_you_are_the_first_time_traveler_in_history/cnj9wzc )
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[ FF ] Begins with `` We 're the ones who ask the goddamn questions here ''
| This is my first time posting, so please excuse any break in protocol. It's exactly 500 words.
____________________________
`` We're the ones who ask the goddamn questions here.''
Jana could feel the man's hot, wet breath clinging to her face, his rough hands moving down her body, the rough gristle of his beard as he moved to examine her bag more closely. The stench of alcohol permeated the air.
`` What's she got on her, Ed? ” Another man came into view from the darkness of the alley, a lantern in his hand. She turned her eyes from the bright light. If anything, the street was clean.
“ Nothing. ” Ed dropped the bag, holding a few slips of paper and some spare change. “ Paper currency. A map of some sort. And this… ”
“ A photograph? ” The other man snatched it away to examine it. “ Aww…darling has a sweetheart, doesn ’ t she? ” he mocked, smiling wickedly.
“ I ’ m searching for him, ” she said, desperately trying to avoid letting any weakness into her voice. “ He went missing two weeks ago. I don ’ t know where I am right now. ”
“ A little missus like you shouldn ’ t be wandering the streets late at night, ” Ed sneered, peering straight into her eyes again. “ Tell you what we ’ ll do: we ’ re gon na — ”
“ Ed! Sam! ”
The woman ’ s voice pierced the night, with an air of authority that would ’ ve made a general shake in his boots. She stepped forward, pulled Ed away, and plopped him unceremoniously on the ground. Sam slunk backwards against the wall into the shadows.
“ If that were me in her place, you wouldn ’ t dream of doing anything. ”
“ We didn ’ t do anything, ma ’ am, ” Ed growled menacingly. “ We ’ re here to help you, right? So let us do our thing. ”
She sighed, placing a hand on her forehead. “ When the Council plucked you two off the streets, they thought to give you a second chance. I can see they were wrong. ”
“ And what ’ cha gon na do about it? Or is Miss Clara Honeypot too much of a girl to do anything? ”
Clara raised an eyebrow. “ I don ’ t appreciate insults in regards to my femininity. I ’ ll tell you what I ’ m going to do: I ’ m gon na — ”
“ AAAAARRRGH! ” Sam shouted as he swung a metal pipe downwards at Clara ’ s head. She slipped aside, grasped it firmly, and yanked it from his hands. She dodged Ed ’ s wild haymaker, tripped him, and clouted him in the back with the pipe. She spun around, with the end of the pipe at Sam ’ s throat.
She glared, giving a curt nod towards Ed ’ s general direction. Sam reluctantly stretched a hand out, and pulled him up from the ground.
“ I don ’ t have time for this. ”
She tossed the pipe back into Sam ’ s hands, while pulling out a small pocket watch. “ You have 10 minutes to get the hell out of here before I report this to the police. Go. ”
“ But— ”
“ Clock ’ s not waiting. ”
“ Alright…ma ’ am. ”
“ That ’ s Miss Clara Honeypot to you. ”
The two men left the alley. Clara turned to Jana, who had sat watching in silence.
“ Is that your real name? ”
`` Miss, I ’ m the one who asks the goddamn questions here.''
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[ WP ] For years , Mickey Mouse had been a joke write-in candidate . This year , however , he actually wins the election .
| **E L E C T I O N T A K E S U N P R E C E D E N T E D T U R N**
**by Hugh Mungus, CNN News Correspondent**
`` We're gon na make America magical again, *haw haw*!''
Months after Hillary Clinton was sent into hospice for pneumonia and shedding scales, Donald Trump committed suicide with two gunshots to the back of the toupee, and Gary Johnson's campaign fell dead in the water with his infamous `` Aleppo'' remark, Mickey Mouse's campaign has surged to win in a landslide, beating out Deez Nuts ( who had 1.8 % of the vote ) and Jill Stein ( who had 0.02 % of the vote ) in a transcendent 98 %.
`` The vote? Hah, he *GOTEEEET*!'' Deez Nuts remarked at a press conference yesterday.
`` We'll get'em next time!'' Said Jill Stein at her Green Party press conference which was attended by a record five correspondents.
`` Man, f*** this Mickey Mouse guy!'' Kanye West remarked in an interview with Hot 97 Radio. `` Mickey Mouse does n't care about black people,'' he added, `` That EPCOT Pact he's got is a load of bull****! He do n't got the answers*, but come 2020, me and DJ Khaled are gon na make America the GREATEST COUNTRY OF ALL TIME!''
VP Walt Disney has yet to comment on the matter as he's still unfreezing from his cryogenic stasis chamber, but when I interviewed Mickey Mouse over the phone while he was aboard the Steamboat Willie One, he said he was very optimistic about his foreign policy.
`` We'll give those pesky ISIS fellas tickets to Disney Land, and *you betcha* they'll be happy to pay for it, haw haw!''
However, when asked about his classified emails regarding buying out Marvel and the time he alleged sailing under sniper fire, Mickey said `` he did n't recall.'' Regardless, American are hopeful and devoutly dedicated to their new leader.
**'' GOD EMPEROR MICKEY'S GON NA BTFO OF THOSE LOW ENERGY CUCKS! `` ** Remarked Pepe LeDoux, a particularly loyal Mickey supporter in the comment section of my last article covering the election.
`` I do n't care if he once called black people'super predators' *or* if his VP was an Anti-Semite, it's 2016 and about *time* that America has a mouse in the White House! I'M WITH HIM!'' Proclaimed Zarna Wu, a Millenial Yale student and double major in Gender Studies and Barista Arts, when she was questioned by corespondent Anderson Cooper on air.
Regardless of your views on the historic election, only time will tell if Mickey has a successful administration.
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[ WP ] : Everyone is born with the last words their soulmate will ever say to them etched on their wrist .
| As I entered the shop, I could tell that this was going to be the end of my current life. Sure, it was illegal, but I did n't care. What did I have to live for, after all?
I flash my wrist to the cashier, and a grim look comes over her face. She frowns, and waves for me to follow her. She's seen people like me all the time. It's actually a major selling point of her business. It's more than a little shady, but there's no chance of me living a happy life if I do n't do it.
I started learning ASL two years ago, and I'm glad for it. I'd basically mastered it by now, and it would serve me greatly. I'll have to move away soon. To one of the colonies. They're more accepting there. In fact, that's where most of us go afterwards.
The needle scares me at first -- - I've always been afraid of them -- - but soon all sensation fades and I just start drifting off. When I wake up again, it'll all be over, and I'll be happy. Maybe then I can find love.
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Achilles ' mother held his heel to dip him into the river Styx ; your mother was more ... creative . [ WP ]
| I always did what my mother asked of me, I harvested the crops, hunted for fresh meat and did whatever else she asked of me. But this, this was drawing the line, stepping over it and then running an extra mile.
Ever since I was little I knew that living in this world of Gods and Monsters would cause trouble later on in life. Being a soldier and fighting for one side or the other, hoping to fall in battle rather than from some sickness. Yet nothing would change, no matter how hard you train, no matter what life choices you make you'll end up 6ft under somehow. Now my mother wants to prolong my suffering by forcing me to bathe in the river Styx; I'd heard of Achilles, I mean who had n't? he's a living legend. Bathed in the Styx and fought countless battles always coming out on top.
Now my mother wants me to do the same, but unlike Achilles she wants me to have a... creative, unimaginable spot as my vulnerability. I protested from dusk til dawn, skived on my duties but she's acting more stubborn than a mule. But even for her this is insane. She not only dragged me down to the underworld against my will but she even shredded my clothes; most likely hoping to demoralize me.
At this point I knew there was no hope trying to avoid it, I was at her mercy so to say. So I did as she asked and made the very small trip to the rivers edge. Naked and sweating I prepared to jump straight into the river, wanting to rid myself of this heat. Forgetting about the need for an anchor unless I want to be dragged away to death, I jump. Noticing this, my mum lunges at me, palm out to try and anchor me to safety. Not only missing my arm, hip, leg and any other reasonable part of my body I feel her hand roughly grab hold of my left ass check, practically digging her nails into my skin drawing blood.
Accepting my fate that my left ass cheek would now be vulnerable spot I waited until I was to be dragged out of the river.
-- --
Apologies for any grammar mistakes. It's the thing I need to work on the most.
|
Pack a punch in 150 words .
| `` No!'' My children cried, and I too, wept for them. These evil men. These wicked, damned, godless men are going to take my boys from me. I sobbed harder as their hands left mine and the soldiers carried them into the truck. I reached for one man, still sobbing as I did, begging him, attempting to muster inside him what little humanity he had left.
After a few seconds he looked at me, then at my boys. He said in my language that I could have one of my two boys back, but that I would have to decide. With his wicked grin in my face I fell shaking to my knees.
And watched as the Nazis took both of my boys away from me.
EDIT: some grammatical and word choice... stuffs
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[ WP ] The homeless man being harassed by police for sleeping at an historical site is actually the god the site was originally built for .
| There are many gods. Many more than you may realize. These beings are not necessarily powerful. They are all, however, eternal.
Eternal.
Authorities received word from a local business of a homeless man camping overnight outside their doors. The available officer was in no hurry, he had been homeless in the past and knew what it was like to be barely able to stay dry. But he still had a job to do, they very same job that had gotten him off the street in the first place.
***
`` 687.'' The radio buzzed to life, `` 687, do you read?''
`` Damn, another call. Busy night.'' Muttered the young man. `` When it rains...'' He chuckled, ``... it poors.''
`` 687, what's the problem?'' He says, pressing down the call button on the old radio.
`` I've just received word of a...'' there was a pause, ``... homeless individual, possibly male, 6' 2'', 210 pounds, unknown race, unknown age, camping outside a local business this morning.''
*Homeless? Yeah, I better take this one. *
`` 10-04 dispatch, address?'' He asked.
`` 662 Chestnut Road, right next to the old shrine.'' Said the voice sounding bored.
`` 10-04 dispatch.''
***
*It never fails. One thousand five hundred and seventy-four years and it never fails. *
`` I'm sorry sir, but I need to ask you to remove yourself from this property.'' Says a uniformed young man.
*It never fails... *
`` Why'' the mass of cloth shifts, `` should I move? I was here first, easily.''
`` Look, I know you're old and I understand that being homeless is n't easy'' says the young man, `` But I can not allow you to stay here. This is private property and you are trespassing.''
*Old? Did he just call me old? Now I see why this one caught my ear! * He laughs silently, *Lively this one, but I wonder what he wants. *
As the young officer stands patiently he feels a weight begin to push down on his shoulders. Below him the mass of cloth moves and begins to stand.
`` Come with me.'' The old man says sizing him up, *Not bad, black hair, brown eyes, stout nose, average in appearance certainly, but strong in spirit. His glow is warm and strong. *
The young man staggers forward suddenly, finally able to move again. He begins to follow the old man more out of duty but also with an underlying curiosity.
*Who is this old man? * he thinks to himself, *I felt frozen back there... *
In front of him, the old man smiles.
***
In this world there are gods. Gods of the divine and those of the earth, water, and trees. Spirits as some call them are everywhere. While not as numerous as you and I, they are eternal. One may never know when or where their paths will cross with those of old, but rest assured that should your paths intertwine, your life will change.
How it changes depends largely on you. But remember, should you ever meet something whose eyes blaze in the glory of the world and know no depth nor boundry, you are in the presence of something ancient. These beings know not good or evil, they act upon their own devices. They live but do not die. In a way, one could say they are...
Eternal.
***
***
I am not much of a writer and really do n't have any practice or experience outside my academic papers. To that end, critique stings but is always welcome. I also invite everybody to continue the story if you wish.
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[ WP ] November 23 , 1942 . The Red Army finally surrounded the German 6th Army at Stalingrad . An unknown army appears from the north killing everyone , from both sides , with impressive efficiency .
| 23rd of November.
Today mirrored yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that as well. The snow still fell, carpeting the untrodden areas beyond our encampments with a thick layer, black with gunpowder. Our guns still shattered the sky with shot after shot, a beautiful symphony of lethal hail. 50 kg shells disappearing into the smog of war, their return to earth indiscernible from the constant booming of our barrage. The Soviet return fire was a mere drizzle in comparison.
For hours the battle continued in this way, unrelentingly, until finally the weary bombardment on our location ceased. Although our guns continued to fire, it was a blessed silence to us, even if only for a few minutes. The darkness of the night swept over us, the sky above us no longer illuminated with explosions. The end of the artillery fire could only signal one of two things, surrender or an imminent infantry assault. The Soviets were not known for surrender so we braced our G41s on whatever makeshift defenses we had constructed and waited.
Every minute of this break in the battle laboriously dragged out into hours in my mind. We barely even joked about the ineffectivity of the Soviets as we had on previous days, the exhaustion almost paralyzed us. Distant rifle fire began in the West and the men around me shifted uneasily, scanning the dark streets, searching for a sign of the enemy. Suddenly the sound of artillery from our East vanished, replaced by an eerie silence. A cry pierced our ears.
“ Die Geister kommen! ”
I looked over to the source, a single soldier running towards us, and in that brief moment, our eyes locked. In them I saw a fear which I had never seen before. Then, the sharp retort of a single gun, and he fell to the ground. Like a well oiled machine, hundreds of barrels, including mine, pointed abruptly East and opened fire into the darkness. The shrill gunfire of our MG 42s shattering any semblance of calm that had been established.
For a minute there I almost thought we were winning, but like snow in Africa our lines vanished, men to the left and right of me fell to the ground. Some mercifully fell motionless, others fell writhing and screaming. A bullet struck me in the shoulder and I fell, cushioned by snow, to the cold earth. More men joined me, and soon that eerie silence had once again fell, broken only by the moans of my fellows. A quiet scratching sound grew ever closer, constant and cold, almost like the sound of scissors cutting paper. I stilled myself as white figures emerged from the darkness, gliding smoothly towards me as if on ice. As they passed me I saw they were not ghosts but men, with a rifle over their shoulder and long slats of wood bound to their feet. Their uniforms, pristine white but for a blue cross on their shoulder, glowed as they disappeared again into the dark.
Edited for clarity.
|
[ WP ] 1969 : USA and USSR schedule first moon landing for same time and location , purely by coincidence . The Americans land first , but five minutes later the Soviet craft touches down ~50 ft. from the Apollo Lunar Module . What happens next ?
| Neil Armstrong removed his helmet as well. He tried to rub the sweat from his forehead but the plastic of his suit made the task fruitless. As his gloved finger slid across the skin, it squeaked like a deflating balloon. It was a flatulent, sensual sound. The sun was hot.
`` You do n't actually think anyone will fall for this. Do you Buzz?''
`` I'd be surprised,'' replied Buzz Aldrin. `` At least, it'll buy us enough time to beat the Ruskies. But then again, I think they're even further behind than we are -- Holy shit!'' he interrupted his own chain of thought. `` Can one of you idiots get the f -- -in box-cutters. And bring some water! It's like a f -- -in sauna here! F -- k!''
`` Buzz,'' laughed another man, also in a space suit, as he slapped his fellow astronauts jovially across the shoulders, `` Take a chill pill. These lot wo n't be immortalized like us.''
`` That's bulls -- t Mike,'' replied Aldrin. `` First, if we get caught it'll be us three that get strung up to hang. Second, on the off-chance that the world is this god-damned stupid, the only one that's gon na get any sort of fame is *Neil Armstrong*. F -- kin Neil. No one remembers the second man to walk on the moon. Waste of my f -- kin time.''
`` You lost fair and square, Buzz,'' said Neil with a smirk. Michael Collins had been nonplussed over who went first, so he -- Neil -- and Buzz had played paper scissors rock to choose. And, precisely as he had expected, Buzz had gone with the old reliable, as he always did, -- dumb, old Rock.
`` Yeah, f -- k you too,'' replied Buzz Aldrin.
From the marquee, which had been set up behind the cameras, one of the crew members sprinted across the dirt towards the trio. He was small, nervous looking man and the water bottles he carried bumbled about clumsy in his arms.
Up close, his face was fully flushed and he was sweating twice as much.
`` You! Where are they? The fuc --'' began Buzz Aldrin before Neil Armstrong waved him down, `` Ignore him. You did n't bring the cutters? They would help. These suits are killing us.''
`` S-s-sorry,'' apologised the man. `` New orders from HQ. Th -- they want a photo first. I know. It's stupid. Mementos. Or something.''
Neil Armstrong was n't happy with the extra time cooked up in the suit, but then a sudden thought made him smile. `` So, the helmets,'' he said, ``... on... or off?''
The crew member thought the idea was stupid and not clever, especially for a grown man, but he played along for social reasons, `` W-Well... they did n't specify that in the EO. And, and given the difficulty of communication out here, and the essence of time in such a harsh environment, I think it's, I think it's best that we act flexibly and let the astronauts make a crack decision as to what's best. Adapt to the conditions, right?''
`` Alright,'' Aldrin clapped, `` That's settled. Let's get this sh-t out of the way. I'm dying for one of those sandwich --''
But before the day could come to a conclusion, a siren rang out from the marquee and a red alarm light, which someone had placed in the center of the craft-service table, began flashing.
`` God,'' Michael Collins said, rolling his eyes. `` What is it this time?'' He had a clue as to the problem, but he would not put it into words because, as with many things in life, identifying the issue only makes it harder to ignore.
The red-faced man apologetically excused himself.
Under the marquee, they ran around like headless chicken. One man in glasses span around in a circle. One man in glasses pulled at his hair. Another lady in glasses dragged her hands down her face. Others, mostly in glasses, simply stood in shock. The astronauts tried to read the lips of the one scientist who was not in glasses as he explained the situation to their red-faced new friend.
`` I think it's good news,'' said Buzz Aldrin, dryly. His friends laughed.
When the man returned, his face now fully fully flushed, he struggled somewhat to enunciate his point so Buzz Aldrin gave him a few kind words of encouragement. And it did help.
`` Th -- there's an object, flying towards us,'' the man said, rubbing his cheek. `` It's... moving... quite fast.''
`` Jesus. What is it?'' asked Neil Armstrong in alarm, `` Are we safe?''
`` We're safe, but it's... uh... it's...''
`` It's not one of... them... is it?'' asked Michael Collins. `` Seems a bit obvious in the day. Then again, they never worked on our time schedule, did they?''
`` Uh, no definitely not. That's not it. That's non-sense. That never happened. This object is... Russian.''
The astronauts, in a single, perfectly unisoned, groaned. The Slavs were always meddling in their affairs. Horrible, degenerate people, the lot of them. One of the astronauts's distant family members had a theory that this degeneracy was due to frequent inter-breeding across the nation's southern-borders with the lesser, mongoloid races. Time would however prove this relative to be incorrect by making them die of liver cancer.
`` OK,'' said Neil Armstrong after he had regained his composure. `` Fine. We'll deal with it. ETA?''
The crew member avoided his gaze and mumbled, ``... 3 minutes... give or take.''
This news sent Armstrong's thumb and index finger straight to the spot between his eyebrows, where they attempted to pinch the skin so as to aid his thoughts but, once again, the fingers slid off fruitlessly, flatulently, sensually. `` I guess. OK. See that hill over there.'' He waved towards a non-remarkable sand dune. `` Move the gear over -- Wait. No. We do n't have time. Just... tell everyone to hide behind the crates -- Dam it. Russians. -- Try not to make a sound.''
The crew member continued nodding and mmhmming long after Armstrong had finished speaking, and so Buzz Aldrin helped him once again by slapping him across the face, again. This brought the man back out of his stupor. He made the run across the dirt once more to carry out the orders.
The alarms were shut off. The crew calmed down. A drape was thrown over the craft-service spread to save it from the flies. One by one, each found their own hiding spot. And they waited.
It was n't long before a black dot appeared in the sky.
`` Whelp,'' sighed Neil Armstrong, `` It's happening. Again. Back on with the helmets boys.''
The astronauts dejectedly put back on their helmets. As they worked through the various clamps, they occasioned glances on occasion toward the black spot. With every glance, it grew larger. As it grew larger, it began to glow, shifting from a red, to an orange, to a white, as it burned the atmosphere around it. As Buzz Aldrin glanced, he ground his teeth into his lower-lip, deeper and deeper. But he could take it! `` These god-damned Ruskies!'' he burst out. `` Every f -- kin time! I'm sick of these mother f -- kin Russians, on these mother f -- kin missions! God! Dammit!''
Aldrin kicked the ground and yelled again when it stubbed his toe. `` Cheap! Piece of sh-t! Space suit! Least they could do is give us f -- kin steel-capped boots! Gahh!'' He said in frustration at the quality of his country's textile industry.
Michael Collins watched his friend having a tantrum with a sensation in the pit of his stomach that was warm and somewhat motherly. He liked having both of them around. Neil, standing silent statuesque as he watched the Soviets fall, was a reliable person. And Aldrin was reliable too, in his own way. In general, they were the smartest people he knew, but this time he realised that neither of them had realised that the ship was descending far too fast for any semblance of a safe, liveable landing. He contemplated informing them of this fact. But then he did n't. `` Here we go again,'' he said, flatly.
When into the earth, the crashed in an oddly pathetic ( some might say, oddly Russian ) manner. `` Pit,'' it sounded. A handful of sand was tossed into the air. And then it burst into flames.
It burnt fast at least.
The astronauts and the crew, peaking from behind the crates and curtains, watched on.
Somewhere in the distance an eagle cawed.
`` Ho... ly... Sh-t!'' yelled Aldrin. `` Holy sh-t! That was f -- kinnnnnn awesome! Do you think they're dead?''
`` Well, if they're not dead already...'' remarked Collins.
Neil Armstrong looked over his friends. They worried him sometimes. As long as they were on his side he guessed. `` We... should probably help them right?''
`` Hehlp?'' laughed the burning wreckage. `` He says hehlp. We mehn raised on ze teet ov muzha Russia do not be ov need ov weak Amerricun hehlp. We are ruske.''
The American's confusion was replaced with amusement when three astronauts stumbled out the burning mess, completely unscathed. They were of a short, malnourished, slavic stature.
`` Wow,'' said Neil Armstrong. `` Those suits are... surprisingly... quality.''
`` Da,'' said one of the Russians, the same who had spoken from the fire. `` In Russia, what we may heff lecknig in good nevigation sy-sy-systemz, so we follow, we more zen make up vor in ze quality ov our textile industries. And ingenuities. You are impressed. No?''
`` I am certainly impressed,'' agreed Buzz Aldrin, warmly. `` I'm certainly impressed that your sh-tty empire could scrounge together enough wheat to afford a whole three changes of clothing. Pity bout that though. Ca n't return it to China in that state. How many peasant lives will moo-za Russia have to cough up this time? 2 million? Jahowl.''
One of the Russians spat on the ground. That is to say, he tried to spit on the ground, but this action was made slightly difficult by the fact that he was wearing a helmet.
Aldrin bent over in laughter.
The spited, spit-laden Russian drew a pistol and aimed. Before he could fire however, the one who had been speaking ( the apparent leader ) slapped his arm away. `` Not NOW Vassily Androramnaconovonavich Petrovka! You make us look like idiot. Soon, soon. But not now
`` But, yes,'' the leader continued, `` hahahahaha! Laugh all you want American man. Know zat you are incorrect. Four.'' He raised his fingers, `` Four.''
`` 4 million peasants?''
`` No! Four!'' the leader repeated in frustration. `` We heff Four spacesuit. Dmitry Andreivich,'' the leader attempted to snap his fingers, but with the gloves and all it made no fruitful sound. `` Sroshna!'' he yelled.
The other underling skipped back to the wreckage.
He took a while.
As they waited, the Russians admired the scenery. `` This moon,'' the leader remarked. `` Very different from picture. I heff never seen such beautiful blue sky. And ze flora, as you say, it is sparse, but, yet, zere is more zan I hed assumed. It is very good.''
Neil Armstrong and Michael Collins hid their smirks behind their gloves. This guy was better than the last, slightly.
`` Zis one,'' the Russian gestured in confusion toward Buzz Aldrin, who was at this point was prostrate on the ground struggling to breathe, `` somezing is wrong with him? He is racist? Or is it,'' the Russian lent in and covered his mouth to be polite, `` is it, ze space diseases?''
The leader went on noting further beauties of the scenery. He had never experienced such heat, he said. He could get used to this, he said, that is -- if he was American dog. Woof, woof.
They continued waiting. They chatted about this and that. National anthems were whistled, and it was decided, 4 to 1, that the American anthem was the best.
When the underling finally returned, still skipping, he held in his arms --
`` Oh, dear god,'' said Michael Collins. `` That's a little f -- ked up. Even for them.''
`` It ca n't be...'' added Neil Armstrong.
`` Yes. See. Four space suit,'' said the Russian proudly.
Buzz Aldrin stopped laughing at once. He picked himself up from the ground and brushed off the dirt. `` Is that...'' He could not believe his eyes. He moved towards the Russian cradling the bundle in his arm. The underling moved to back away, but his leader calmed his worries with a firm, Slavic nod.
It was. Definitely. Aldrin removed his helmet and placed it under his arm. Carefully, he rest his free hand on the dog. And he patted her. He began to cry.
`` Poor Laika,'' he laughed, `` Poor, poor Laika.''
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[ WP ] The world is perfect , everything is happyness and joy in your life and everyone elses . That is , until you stop taking the pill .
| Every day I walked to work, I could n't help but adore everything about the city of Elysia. The cherry blossoms in the city park, where children laughed and played. The beautiful architecture... soaring skyscrapers that spiraled elegantly into the heavens. Even the people looked beautiful, dressed in silk robes of gold and silver.
`` Beautiful day, ai n't it, George?'' someone called. `` Like always,'' I laughed.
`` Lies! All of them are liars!'' I turned to see an old man clapped in handcuffs, struggling with two policemen. Wait... *police? * There had never been any need for police in Elysia. There was no crime in such a perfect city.
`` Do n't believe a thing you see!'' he cried. `` They're all lies!'' But no one paid him attention, everyone walked around him and the two officers like they were n't there. As if they were ghosts.
*'' You! `` * he yelled, and with a jolt I realized he was looking straight at me. `` You can see me, ca n't you? You need to stop taking the-'' One of the officers clamped a hand over his mouth.
`` Shut up!'' he hissed. The other officer walked over to me, looking puzzled.
`` You can see him?'' he asked, with a frown. His hand lingered on a weapon at his belt, a strange metallic device with some sort of trigger.
`` Y- yes,'' I said, utterly confused. `` He's right there.''
`` Have you taken your pill for the day?'' he asked sharply, out of nowhere.
`` Of course. Never missed a day in my life.'' The officer studied me for a moment.
`` Mmm. Well. Take two more when you get home, okay?''
-- -
`` Good night.'' I smiled, kissing my wife on the cheek as she headed off to bed.
`` Good night, dear,'' she said, returning my kiss. When she had left the room, I looked at the pills in my hand, holding them up to the light. The officer's words rang in my head. *'' Have you taken your pill for the day? `` * Such a strange question. Everyone in Elysia made a daily ritual of taking their pills... so why had he asked me that? For the first time that I could remember, something did n't feel right. I hesitated for a moment, then put the pills back in the bottle, closing the cap.
When I awoke the next morning, something felt terribly wrong. I shivered, wrapping my arms around my body. I felt... I could n't remember the word for it... *cold. * Such a strange feeling. I could n't remember the last time I felt cold. I looked down at myself and immediately saw the reason why.
My beautiful robes had somehow turned to rags overnight. Hesitantly, I ran my fingers along the fabric. It was like sackcloth. All my life I'd worn nothing but silk.
`` Is everything alright, dear?'' My wife turned to me, smiling. She too, was dressed in what looked like a cut-up potato sack.
`` I'm... I'm fine.'' I barely managed a smile at her, climbing out of bed. I stumbled out the door with a sinking feeling my stomach, and gasped.
It was like I'd entered another world. I fought down the rising panic as I began running. I knew in my heart that it was the same city. But my eyes told me otherwise.
The cherry blossoms in the city park. Dead, barren of even a single leaf. The soaring skyscrapers that I'd admired yesterday I now regarded with disgust. They were ugly things, flat blocks of concrete and steel. The people around me looked like an army of beggars, clothed in rags and covered in dirt. They smiled happily and chattered among themselves, without a care in the world.
The officer I'd met yesterday was standing there too, leaning casually against the wall of a crumbling building, watching the passerby. Had he always been there?
Our eyes locked, and in that moment... I knew that he knew that I knew. I turned tail and began running in the opposite direction.
`` Stop right there!'' he yelled. I heard footsteps pounding behind me. I did n't look back, pushing myself even harder. I did n't know where I was going. I only knew that I had to escape the lie I'd been living my whole life.
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[ WP ] You 've lost the love of your life , but not to death or another man/woman .
| It happened on that fateful morning of September 11th, 2001. It was the first time we were to go on vacation together, and were frantically rushing through the airport to catch a plane to Disneyland.
& nbsp;
We reached the gate, and she was fumbling in her handbag for her passport. I reached over and gently pulled it out of her back pocket. She was very beautiful, and very forgetful. The latter was perhaps her most beautiful quality, to me, since it reminded me that past her beauty, she was still human.
& nbsp;
She whispered in my ear `` Thank you, I owe you one, tiger.'' She had never called me `` tiger'' before. I started to worry. What did that mean moving forward? Did she expect me to pick an animal name for her as well? I broke out into a sweat, and started to wring my hands together nervously.
& nbsp;
She was very good at recognizing how I was feeling. She noticed my nervousness instantly. `` Do you need to go potty?'' I nodded and dashed to the nearest bathroom, banged open the handicap stall, and vomited all over the toilet.
The man in the stall looked worried. He rushed out of the stall, probably to get me a glass of water. I never did find out, because I left the bathroom before he returned. I am not one to accept favours; most people expect something back when they do you a favour, and I had no time to get him a glass of water in return.
& nbsp;
I ran out of the bathroom, to find the place in a frenzy. Apparently, at this exact same time in some distant city, some event had occurred that cause some sort of displeasure among a community of people. I swallowed the last of the puke left in my mouth and went to meet her. I ran to the gate to see if she had boarded the plane, but the gatekeeper said that she was not on the plane. A tear slowly dragged down my cheek. If she was not on the plane, and not directly in front of me, then where could she be?
& nbsp;
`` Is something wrong, sir?'' said the gatekeeper.
& nbsp;
It was a good question, and I decided that the gatekeeper was likely my only confidant in that godforsaken airport terminal, so I spilled my beans to her:
& nbsp;
`` Yes, something is wrong. The love of my life is gone, and right before she disappeared, she called me a tiger. I do not feel like a tiger, nor have I ever. It makes me question my whole existence, and I would like an answer, gatekeeper.''
& nbsp;
The gatekeeper reached into his pocket and pulled out his box of Frosted Flakes.
& nbsp;
`` Sir, this is you on the box. You are a tiger.''
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[ WP ] The first Humans are sent on a mission to mars . The ship comes back empty . After a review of footage captured by the ship , the entire program is shut down and any future missions are immediately canceled .
| The first thing that happened was a massive media reaction. Mars Alpha was a hugely publicized event, in fact, much of NASA's funding at the time came from public interest. No government agency can possibly cover up such an event without making it obvious that they are doing it for a reason.
That's where I come in. My name is Booker Telford. I do n't take sh*t. I was born in New Jersey, 1989. I am 37 years old. I could talk about my childhood, but It's really a waste of time. What's important is that I was a private investigator for 11 years, and believe me, I'm the best one there is. I've been contracted by everyone from the saddest spouse ( with a reasonable budget ) to the largest multinational corporation. If there's a mystery, I can solve it. If there's a secret, I can find it, and if there's a cover up, well, you get the point.
Everyone had their theories.
Some people said it was aliens. They told stories of how the people landed, and were attacked by terrifying demons that we could barely imagine. Then the agency found out what happened, saw that it was terrifying, and vowed never to disturb the bliss of of our ignorance. Of course, there's no proof.
Some said that they killed each other. The agency put people that annoyed the hell out of each other into a box for 28 months. This does n't explain everything though.
Some say it's a media stunt to get more money, to make us buy the answer to our manufactured curiosity.
I walked past a homeless guy on my way back to my apartment in Westchester. He rambled about how the darks were hiding people with gills or some shit. I bought him a sandwich.
Some say it was all a hoax in the first place.
My point is, who the hell is right? What the f**k happened?
That's my job.
The first person I talked to was the mission manager: Anna Seebeck. Just kidding, I talked to her secretary. They're always easier. I asked the guy if he would answer a couple of questions. He declined. Well too bad for him, because i did some research earlier and I know his favorite bar.
I walked in and I see the guy sitting on a stool drinking some generic type of beer that you see in all of those commercials about football or boobs or lite or whatever. I sit down next to him and I pretend not to recognize him. I then strike up a conversation. Not surprisingly, he does n't recognize me. We talk for a bit, but then I pop the question.
`` So whatcha think of the whole Mars thing?''
He responded with the textbook answer, looking straight foreword.
`` I am not at liberty to discuss operations. I'm sorry''
Then I looked at him and started pushing a little harder. I tried playing mind tricks with him. I made it seem like people were blaming his agency for what happened. Still, he was responding like a voicemail.
`` I ca n't talk about it man, ok?''
He's already breaking, and to someone that's a total
stranger.
Then, it happened
He looked at me with this empty look. It was the most terrifying, gut wrenching, moment of my life. I've seen that look before.
He does n't know.
I spent the next two days digging through papers and databases, searching for anything that could be a lead. Just by talking to that guy, I could see that he wanted to tell me what happened. He wanted to KNOW what happened. Someone TOLD him that he could n't know, and to dismiss inquirers with the whole `` not at liberty'' thing. I finally hit a lead. Monsanto. A chemical and seed company. Crazy, right? Well, turns out that their R & D is the most well funded genetic engineering research lab in the entire world ( The only reason i know this is because of one of my other jobs ).
Monsanto bought and sold every stock and bond that rose and fell in the entire roller coaster of Mars Alpha at the perfect times. It's like seeing the strings coming off of a puppet.
Jesus it's 2:41 AM and I've been rambling too long. see what you all can make of this. I wanted to have a hella cool plot twist
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[ EU ] Gotham recently legalized the death penalty and has sentenced the Joker to death . You are Batman , the one responsible how his capture , what is your response ?
| “ Hello Jim ” The voice echoed from behind the mayor. “ It ’ s about that time Batman. ” The mayor said, not looking behind him. “ I know, ” Batman replied “ Joker is going to be executed tonight. ” The mayor smirked. “ I don ’ t know what this will do for the city. ” Batman was silent for a moment before speaking up. “ I don ’ t know either Jim. I made a promise to myself to never kill another. I tried to be the hero the city needed. But, but it deserves so much more. The city needs a hero who can be more than me. I am forced to walk a line Jim, a line between criminal, and hero. I ’ m not like Superman, or Aquaman, or Martian Manhunter. I am a human, from earth. I don ’ t have some sort of power ring. I don ’ t have any magic weapons of truth, any powers. I ’ m just a man, same as you. ” The mayor turned around to face batman. “ NO! ” mayor Gordon shouted. “ You and me are nothing alike! I am making this city right again. I ’ m doing what you can ’ t. I ’ m ending it. Once and for all. No more sending them to the asylum, no more sending them to prision. They escape, feign cured, whatever they have to do, and then they just kill again. it ’ s all because of you batman. Harvey, Joker, Killer Croc, Penguin, all of the criminals are only here, to kill you. But now, with this execution, the city, no, the world will see, that what needs to be done is to stop all the criminals once and for all. Death is the only punishment they are worthy of. ” Batman turned and started walking away from the mayor. “ I rember back when you were the commissioner that you and I were on the same side. But now, I feel like we are worlds apart. ” The mayor pulled out a handgun and fired on batman. The dark knight dropped. “ Now the city can truly heal. ” He said as he picked up the body. “ Now, who is under that mask? ”
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[ WP ] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower . When together , both their powers increase in strength exponentially . You have the most useless power ever , when one day ... ...
| Christmas lights were the only illumination in the small dorm room. Empty beer cans, some crushed, some stacked, were strewn about. Music played softly in the background.
“ I really needed this tonight, ” said Ray. He finished his beer and set the can aside without looking.
“ I ’ m so happy that you decided to come over, ” said Jason. He smiled and dropped his gaze down to the sheets on the bed. The sheets formed small ridges and valleys that came from the two men moving closer to each other.
“ So what ’ s your power? ”
Jason shrugged and played with a loose thread on the blanket. “ I control my farts. ”
“ What? ”
A sigh escaped from Jason. He ’ d decided to be honest with Ray tonight because he liked him so much. “ I can fart on command. I can control where they go depending on the wind. ”
“ Can you control the smell? ” said Ray, smiling. He inched closer and ran a finger over the back of Jason ’ s hand.
“ No. It depends on what I eat. ” Jason cleared his throat and finished his beer. “ What ’ s your power? ”
Ray ’ s face turned red. Jason couldn ’ t tell if it was from the alcohol or embarrassment. “ I control drafts. ”
“ No shit? ” said Jason. He laughed. “ You and I would be a perfect team. ”
The song changed. An instant of silence between the music brought Jason and Ray together. They hesitated then rushed together and began kissing. As one they laid down, hands groping and caressing.
The dorm room door opened and harsh fluorescent light spilled across the room. “ Oh, shit. Sorry guys, sorry, ” yelled Jason ’ s roommate Marcus.
“ Didn ’ t you see the sock on the handle? ” yelled Jason. “ I ’ ve got someone in here ”
Marcus shielded his eyes and began closing the door. “ Really sorry guys. There was no sock. No sock. ”
Jason clenched his fists. He flexed his muscles and stood up. “ Dennis, ” he yelled at the top of his lungs. It echoed throughout the room. He stalked out of the room and down the hall yelling for Dennis.
Ray followed behind him, struggling to put his shirt back on. Marcus continued to make apologies as he walked several steps behind Ray. Heads popped out of rooms as the three went down the hall.
They stopped at the end of the hallway at an open door. Jason pounded on the door and walked inside the meticulously clean room. Ray and Marcus stood side by side in the doorway.
“ What the fuck are you doing, Dennis? ”
Dennis turned from his computer without getting up from his desk. “ Relations aren ’ t allowed in the dorm, Jason. ” He smiled.
Marcus and Ray could hear Jason grinding his teeth. He clenched and unclenched his fists and took a step forward. A look of concentration came over his face and a small squeak could be heard.
Ray squinted so hard he thought he could see the fart moving toward Dennis. He stopped all of the drafts, the air from the HVAC and any other small movements of air. Time slowed down.
The stupid smile slipped from Dennis ’ face. He sniffed then retched. His eyes went wide then doubled over and vomited. He fell to his hands and knees, continuing to vomit. Tears streamed down his face. Between heaves he sobbed.
Jason looked back to Ray, who smiled. Jason turned back to Dennis and gave the prone man an evil grin. “ Don ’ t fuck with me again, Dennis. ”
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[ TT ] [ CW ] Star Wars is just a space western . So rewrite it set here on earth .
| **This was a tough one. **
It was n't good. Dash looked at the desolate horizon. He knew the Empire was hunting him, and he knew they were thrilled to pay whatever it took to wrangle him in.
But he needed to sleep.
He stared off, the Tauntaun, shaven to deal with the painful heat, slept peacefully a few feet away -- down wind, of course. Dash Rendar closed his eyes for what felt like seconds.
It was odd to wake up to a gun in his face. The masked bounty hunter looked down at him. A dark green hat blocked out the top of his head, with leather padding covering the sides of his head, though bulges over his ears, augmented his hearing. The bandanna that covered his mouth and nose was homemade but bore the Mandalorian sigil. Boba Fett. The Empire's most dedicated bounty hunter. Dash quietly cursed.
`` Well, you got me, kiddo. What's the charges?''
`` Smuggling is punishable by jail time and fines, according to the Empire, Rendar. Get up and shut up.'' Dash wasted no time. He looked over at his tauntaun. Its throat was slashed. They walked towards Fett's horse, The Slaver. It was a breed that no one had seen in the wild. It was attached to a lighter carter that was whisper quiet and never slowed the horse down. Rumors were it came from the far East.
`` You did n't have to kill him.'' Dash muttered before a gag shut him up. A bag was tied tight, making him a little claustrophobic. Boba Fett guided him into the cart, and locked him in tight. The cart was moving rapidly, gliding over rocks as if it were glass.
Dash Rendar focused on his thoughts. He had been in bad situations. This was up there, but he could handle this. First, he had to assess whether he should aim for the wrist restraints or the black bag. He tugged the ropes, and sure enough, he was able to loosen them.
As soon as the ropes dropped, Dash snapped the bag off. He stifled a gasp. They were moving way too fast for him to jump. He'd never survive nor recover quickly enough to outrun Fett. He had to think fast.
He saw the pin that kept the cart to the horse. He leaned forward, and he stopped when a pistol cocked back.
`` You making me earn this one, are n't you?'' Fett said. The Slaver stopped abruptly, nearly knocking him off the saddle.
He turned back and a man in a white cloak stood in front of him, a sword at his hip. Fett tensed up.
`` I think you should let the man go.''
`` I do n't need your tricks, Jedi.''
`` No tricks right now.'' The Jedi was young. Maybe early 20s. Dash realized he had n't seen a young Jedi in years.
`` Skywalker?'' Boba hunched over and began to laugh. `` You're a Padawan with no master. What can you do to me?'' He chuckled and fired his rifle. With a flourish, the bullet ricocheted and grazed the Slaver. It groaned and reared back, knocking Fett to the ground.
Dash dove out of the cart, and swarmed Boba Fett, grabbing his rifle. He turned his pistol to Dash, but the Jedi held his sword to Fett's throat.
`` I yield.'' Fett dropped his pistol. `` But know this, I never forget, and I never miss my bounty.''
`` Good to know. Get out of here.'' The Jedi said. Fett wasted no time and mounted horse and took off into the distance. Dash kept the rifle aimed wherever Boba Fett was heading.
`` I owe you, friend. I keep my promises too.'' Dash reached out a hand. `` Skywalker? That name means a lot to different people.''
`` I've heard. Trying to figure out what I'll make it mean now.'' He nodded. And walked away before Dash could say anything. He looked around where he was, and he realized he had a long walk to his camp with his dead mount.
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[ WP ] A person who has been blind and deaf since birth wakes up one morning , suddenly able to see and hear . Describe the experience from their point of view .
| Waking up, the first thing I feel is the sun shining in the window. It warms the skin on my face, creates a slight sensation on my closed eyes. There ’ s light and there ’ s dark, almost like shades between the two. I had always wondered if that was the ‘ grey ’ that was described in the books.
Then there ’ s something. I feel the buzz all the way down into my skull and I sit up immediately, touching my ears, concerned that some bug has found their way into my home and trapped themselves in my hair again. It had happened with a bee once, a long time ago. It had stung painfully, like something hot being poked into the skin but I remember the buzz the most as it battered itself against my skin.
My eyes open and I ’ m overwhelmed. There are things. Shapes, light, bright things. I snap my eyes closed, covering them with my hands and rocking back and forth. It hurt. So much bright, it just hurt. I can ’ t understand what is going on. What is going on with my eyes? First my ears and now my eyes acting up and being strange. The doctors had written that I would have some aberrations but that they would even out and that was so many years ago.
There ’ s more of the buzzing down into my skull. This is too much. The buzz repeats over and over, slowly letting me put it together, it ’ s sharp, has a tone. There are other strange sensations going on, adding to my confusion and overcoming my brain. I cover my ears again, face buried into my knees, continuing to rock back and forth as I attempt to figure out what ’ s happened.
Noise. It was noise. I don ’ t know what noise it was but it was noise. Something specific to hearing, something that I haven ’ t had the whole time I ’ ve been alive. Hearing. I am hearing something. I uncover my ears again, keeping my face in my knees and rocking back and forth as more noises come and go. The incessant one keeps up, sharp and almost biting in its own right. There are rumbles and things that sound like the melodies I had read about.
It ’ s too much. There ’ s so much noise.
I cover my ears again and test my eyes. Maybe they had returned to normal, the sensation of light and dark all they were good for. I could understand that.
But no, no, no, no. It ’ s bright. It ’ s so bright. All these things. I close my eyes again, feeling tears running down my face. It ’ s been a long time since I ’ ve cried. My tears are hot and salty. There ’ s a noise, much closer. It coincides with my chest heaving as I suck air in.
It takes a while to realize that it ’ s me. I am overwhelmed. There ’ s so much. So much noise. So much to see. Too much. Maybe I could have dealt with one sense coming back but the noises, all the noises, and all those things when I open my eyes. I could put names to them, I had felt them out, sat in them, touched them, used them, but to see them? There ’ s so much. It ’ s so bright.
I try again, uncovering my ears, listening for the first time in my life. I don ’ t know what all these noises are. I ’ m not sure if I want to know. I cover my ears again, the tears following more freely. That close noise won ’ t go away no matter how hard I press on my ears. I can feel the sobs racking my body, shaking it violently.
I open my eyes again, shutting them and opening them rapidly, getting short glimpses of the room. I see the thing I had known as my chair, a hard thing with a small cushion. My desk, hard wood, always warm to the touch. My windows are bright instead of breezy, unopened today so far for me to enjoy the feeling of air on my skin.
It ’ s too much.
I can ’ t. It ’ s too much.
Please.
Make it stop.
My caretaker taps on my skin, tapping out a familiar rhythm. It ’ s Morse code. She wants to know what I ’ ve done. I ’ m blissful. I know the real meaning of that word now. I tap out that I ’ ve fixed it, that I ’ m better now. I don ’ t know where she goes. She doesn ’ t tap back.
I ’ m happy. Even the wet feeling creeping down my face and into my hair can ’ t stop that, not even the pain in my head. It ’ s all gone, it ’ s all back to normal. I ’ m not overwhelmed. I feel so much better now.
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[ WP ] You read your wife 's diary . She is not who you think she is .
| I waved goodbye in the driveway as my wife Martha rode away in a taxi to the airport. She was going on an extended trip to China for work. Her warm smile made my heart seemingly melt. She had all the perfect qualities a wife should have. Martha was kind, gentle, sweet and honest. She had never really been able to cook but I looked passed that easily.
The warm sun beat down on my back, causing me to go back inside. It was an oppressively hot day, so outdoor chores were n't going to get done. Though I then remembered that I needed to go upstairs and fold the laundry Martha had started before leaving.
I strolled to the bedroom whistling. After folding laundry I had planned to sit down and finally build that model plane I had sitting on my desk in the study. I had been building and collecting models for years, but recently had been to busy to start my newest one. I always built a new model when Martha left, it kept my mind off of missing her. For now though; I had to fold my wife's clothing.
After a few minutes I had finished folding and looked at the dresser. Martha had always put away her own clothing over the years. She said she had a particular system for organizing them and did n't want me to ruin it. I shrugged and decided that this one time it would n't be a huge deal. I was n't going to leave them laying our for two weeks.
I strode to her dresser and opened the top drawer. There tucked between the folds of cloth was a diary. I picked it up and sighed. I knew Martha kept a diary but always respected her privacy. I sat the book on the edge of the dresser. Methodically I placed her clothes in the dresser trying to replicate the way she seemed to have the drawers organized. When I finished I shut the last drawer. Though when I did I bumped the book I had forgotten was there.
It clattered to the dark hardwood and fell open. Surprised I reached down and picked up the diary. I recognized the flourished cursive handwriting of my wife right away and smiled. I noticed my name written at the top of the page. I decided one little peak would n't hurt. I started to read allowed.
`` Rodger makes great money, recently we put a life insurance policy on him because of it. I live like a Queen, though I'm not very happy with my King anymore.''
I paused. Was she saying she was unhappy with me? I wondered if I needed to spice up our marriage some. It had gone a little stale in the romance department recently. I flipped a couple of pages and continued reading.
`` I'm meeting Pete in China this time. Rodger has no idea I'm sleeping with Pete yet. I love Pete, but I love Rodger's money too. If only there were someway have both....''
My voice trailed off as my world went dark.
( ( Sorry if this was kind of potato, I wrote this without editing while wasting time at work ) )
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[ WP ] At the age of 18 , people summon an animal that perfectly fits their personality to be their Guardian Spirit .
| Same day, same routine. Wake up. Eat some breakfast. Go to the yard and watch the gangs. Lift a bit. Eat lunch. Watch the gangs in the common room and their bitching over what is on the tv. Eat dinner. Lights out.
Life in prison is pretty much repeating the same day over and over. There are little things here and there to help differentiate the day like when the Chief Guard and Warden go out for inspection. Well at least when the Warden used to do that. Last time he did Tommy and his stank-ass bombadier beetle came up with the brilliant plan to drink a ton of pruno and purposefully get sick on the Warden when he went Tommy's cell door. No idea what the end game was there. Get time added onto his sentence? If so, great plan.
There are also the little fights. Some of the gangs like to have a little fun by tossing the biggest Guardian on their roster up against another. It's like cockfighting with no shred of fairness. Must take a crazy person to like those fights. Probably takes a psycho though to throw their Guadian into the ring with Macky's fucking gorilla too.
Prison is a strange place though now according to the old timers in here. The skinheads, the mexicans, and the blacks never really got along but some 30 years back they all had a moment of shared clarity and made guardian ownership mandatory for admittance. I suppose they figure its like getting extra muscle for the price of one. I do n't know... The old folks who went in before the summoning was discovered never got one and likely never will. I feel bad for them. They are are looked at like subhumans or lepers even compared to the standard population in here.
As for me. I do n't really leave my cell much. I mostly read and keep to myself. I do work a few shifts in the library. Always quiet in there and the maximum amount of hassle I get is some jail house lawyer trying to find a case book or copy of the state code. I do n't waste time reading the law like they do. The parole board is a bunch of eagle owning misers who rubber stamp rejections like its their one and only kink.
No I just like to read and listen now. I sometimes come across information that is valuable to people. Who is going to beat down this guy or who has a shipment of stuff coming in later this week. That sort of stuff. Sometimes I hear things I wish I had n't like when Big Lennie's rabbit got killed. He loves that bunny. He caved the guy's skull in who did it with just his hands. Also heard it through the grapevine that the Chief Guard's komodo dragon ate his wife's terrier. Not her guardian mind you, an actual pet. Explains why he started looking like a wreck a couple months back. She probably left him.
Me, I do n't have a guardian. Those of us that do n't typically make the best informants because nobody notices us. Well, except the guys with flies as their guardian but then you got ta deal with a shitbag person to get your info. People seem to think that if your guardian gets killed you can just resummon it with a little extra effort. Its tough drawing the summoning circle in a 10x10 box. Got ta do it on the yard. Sure that's well and fine for most people. But if you do n't form the bond and link to your animal on the first summoning then its gone forever. Some people their animal walked away from them on first sight; the pedophiles in here mostly are Guardian-less. I had mine shot.
I was 17 and dumb as rocks. I had been ditching school and pulling small smash and grabs at night. Nothing serious, just corner stores so I'd have some money to impress girls. My buddy Greg had a ferret Guardian at the time and that little sucker could find his way into any building and turn a lock to let us in. Doorknobs gave him trouble though. I was so excited to get my own soon and see what I could make it do. Birthday rolled around and my dad took me down to the temple for the summoning service. They drew out the circles and shapes. Interconnected everything on the temple floor and told me to stand inside it. I had watched the ceremony a couple dozen times on the internet and knew what came next. I got down. Found the point in the circle where all the leylines connected and pressed down with my hands. It looked like I was going to be a lion! But then my eyes kept following the outline of my guardian's body... It was grotesque and misshapen. The body was definitely a big cat but then there were these tremendous wings on its midsection. They look like bat wings but monstrous in size. The tail finally was curved upward and looked like obsidian. It was segmented and came to the tip in a wickedly curved point. I do n't know what the hell I was looking at but it did n't terrify me. Just intrigued me. But that was all I got to see. The priests rushed back in from the observation deck and grabbed me. They shot the animal. I heard it scream in my head as it died. Then quiet. In fact everything went quiet. All the mental clutter, every day-dream, every horrible creeping thought. They all just went away at that moment as it died. I like to think that was the feeling of having a bit of my soul ripped out or killed. I do n't know the science behind it and I only saw that beast for a few seconds but it was mine. And they took it away. Then they put me away. Apparently some top secret laws are on the books that allow them to incarcerate anyone that summons an abomination like I did. I told the judge that I was n't trying to do that at all. It was a trial in name only. I was guilty before my public defender and I walked in the door.
So now here I sit in the library. Listening and reading. It is plenty easy to hear without the little distractions that nobody notices until they are gone. There is a kid sitting at a table reading up for an appeal. No Guardian either. I wonder what he summoned to get in here...
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[ MP ] Undulating World
| The year, month, and day had come. The Curtain was descending, having broken the stratosphere of BM10-W12, or New Earth, as the Curtain ’ s cargo called it. The monolithic ship carved through the skies, descending as predicted ages ago.
The sky had long ago shifted from the comforting darkness Harald had known his entire life to the deep watery blue Harald associated with swimming pools. He could not recall when the change had happened. His eyes were glued to the window beside him, unable to look away as the cityship growled around him. Every instinct told him to run, but the cold mesh of the safety restraints held him in place as it was designed to do.
Harald recalled his trepidation at climbing into the safety coffin hours ago. His first experience with it, years ago, had not been pleasant. He remembered little aside from the feeling of claustraphobia: his classmates ’ hands shoving him in, the giggling and yelps of surprise ( his own ), the patter of feet as the culprits fled. Over the years, the experience faded from his mind, despite the daily presence of the useless coffins in his home and workplace.
When he had climbed inside while the alarm was ringing, those memories came surging back, only to be forgotten again moments later. He had noticed movement in his peripheral vision as he concentrated on his breathing, so he turned to look. The spacescraper opposite his view had began to climb higher and higher. Just as Harald was sure it had decoupled from the surface and was drifting away, it reversed direction and began to fall.
Straining his neck and glancing at the street many stories below, Harald finally understood why the tiling of the streets and pavements he had known all his life had been so uniform: the S-shaped links kept the pavement from tearing apart as the entire surface swung up and down. Garbage cans and other loose items were being tossed around like the Curtain was a giant playpen.
Harald returned his eyes to the room in front of him, and concentrated on the noise of the descent. He heard voices, and remembered that his co-workers were still in the room. They would arrive soon. His mind raced with the questions and possibilities. Would he still be responsible for the engineering department here or would he be reassigned to other, on-world projects? Would those who did not make it to the restraint coffins in time survive? Would his family be the same when all the possibilities of this new place lay before them?
Landing was imminent.
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[ WP ] On an ordinary ride home on the subway , you wish to go to another time . Once the door opens , you see that you are in that time .
| I am what I've always been, and I've always been an immature jerk.
Most people would kill for the life I've had. It really is n't fair that I've been given the world, and thrown it all away for the sake of pride!
Oh, but how I've felt my sorrows and lamented my misfortunes. How ever was a white, bilingual man, in 21st century America ever expected to make his way in this world? Ha! The mist that once clouded my eyes only increases my hindsight...
`` I'm too good for homework...''
`` I'm smart enough not to attend my college courses...''
`` My friendship is too valuable to toss aside...''
If life truly was a game, then I'd likely have been ejected for unsportsmanlike conduct at quite the young age. But where did I go so wrong? I was a good boy, who loved his parents, and gave everyone respect. But then WHY, why did I lose my way?
Well, that's quite simple really: Love!
Of all my wordly desires, love was that which I desired above all else. And so love was what I sought. But what did I know about love? Fifteen years old and full of hormones, there was nothing I did n't know, right? Wrong.
Ann. Such a name that were I capable, it would fill the pages of every love story on earth. Her face was marred by braces, and her curly scarlet locks shot in every direction they were not wanted. Her body was still growing, and though it was nothing special, it would soon be the desire of all my friends. But that was not the thing that caught my attention. It was her heart!
A heart to draw the eyes of gods, and to force the hands of men. A heart that could save lives, and change fates. A heart to cast back the rules and commands of evil rulers if she wished it so!
But nothing ever came of that heart, or of that soul. Because what can innocence, however good, do in the face of true corruption? Not corruption in the shape of evil or darkness, but in the shape of the one she loves. In the shape of a boy who wants to love her with every single fiber of his tiny existence. This shade of a boy who's idea of love is posession, and who's desire to touch only leads to pain.
I ruined that girl, when I should have been her armor. In my desire to have her, I broke her...
This man I am now, he knows her pain. He knows the struggle of truly being in love. The man that now rides this stinking, rotting metal tube... He knows how to appreciate the flowers in his life. If only I had known then, what I know now. What would my life be like if I had taken the other fork in my road?
*It was then that the subway grinded to a halt. The sad man stood, having been pulled back to reality. The doors of the train inched their way open, but it was not the platform that greeted the man's eyes. Sprawling out before him, was his childhood street. What little sense it made, he felt drawn to walk on the old cracked asphalt one more time. *
None of this makes any sense... This road has n't existed for damn near three years now. The pavement is n't cracked, and the lawns are all mowed...
*As he made his way down the street, the sad man began to catch sight of what used to be his home. The two story colonial in sunflower yellow had always been a comforting sight. However, there was something wrong with it on this specific day. As he approached the home, his stomach began to turn, and his head pounded violently. It was as if time itself was trying to push him out of this world. After a few hundred feet of what seemed to him like hell on earth, he stood at the door. Before he could manage to ring the bell, the pounding in his head intensified, and he knew... He remembered this day. *
I do n't really think there is a right answer in this situation. No matter what my choice is, I do n't believe god will judge me too harshly for my actions. I do not alter time to serve my own greed, but instead I act for the sake of someone I once loved. Today is the day I make everything right.
*And so the determined man knocked. The door swung wide, and he stood only feet from himself. It must be said that he was scared at first when his words would not come. It must also be said that it gave him no pleasure to watch his own shocked face look into his eyes. But it did, in fact, give him great pleasure and elation when he struck his younger self in the jaw. The joy did fade eventually, although only only after the body ceased twitching. Though it promptly returned when he did not fade into nothing at the loss of his younger self. *
*One might say he killed the evil in himself. And some others would say his soul was cleansed. They would be wrong. Though he once thought hard about all the ways he could amend his past transgressions, he now only had one thought: *
Ann did always like older men...
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First large reply to a prompt. I'll adjust formatting where necessary, and I'll gladly hear any criticism. Sorry if it's a shit read.
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[ WP ] A robot with A.I . is on a cruise ship with 3 tasks to accomplish each morning : wake up their guest , offer a glass of water and open the drapes to reveal the view . When he boots up in his guest 's room , the guest is up , the water is gone and the drapes are open . The A.I . has a moment of panic .
| A long silence filled the room as the robot stood silently starring at the guest. Meanwhile the attending guest sat on the bed, fully clothed and looking out the window into the ocean. After a good thirty seconds, the gaze of the guest fell upon the robot `` Are you alright?'' The guest asked, soft toned. The robot barely even moved, but something whirred inside of it. A flabbergasted voice sounded from the mechanical stature. `` I am terribly... sorry... I.... I...'' The voice stammered. The guest smiled gently `` You...?'' The robot stretched out a hand instinctively, as if reaching for a salvation, it's mechanical hand gribbing the glass of water and handing it towards the guest on the bed. `` I'm terribly sorry, I must have missed my boot-up sequence, it's never happened bef-'' It realised far too late that the glass was empty. The water that was already there, predispensed in the morning, gone. Once more the robot stood and starred at it in silence. The guest got up, a hand on the bed `` You did n't miss a boot-up'' The robot looked up at him, it's posture changing to an almost horrified stance `` Then, what did I do wrong? How did I mis- oh wait, I got it!'' It said, turning to the window. As it did, it yet again realised the failed tasks. This time, a foul smell started to escape the robot. The guest stood up and looked the robot up and down. `` Faulty wiring, I assume..'' He said. The robot turned around and looked at him in astonishment `` You... Wha-'' The guest lifted a finger `` Do n't talk.'' The robot stared at him for a bit, before, in defeat, letting it's mechanical arms hand from it's body. `` I... I... I am sorry.. I failed you..'' It said, almost with a strange kind of sadness in it's tone. The guest walked to the nearby table, and filled out he last bit of the form. Then picked up the phone next to the paper, and dialed.. `` Yes, I'm done... Yes, the test has been completeled..'' The robot looked at the guest. `` Results where.. Predicted. Commence the scrapping program.'' With that the guest closed the line and slipped the phone back into a suitcase, together with the report and a small stack of papers. The suitcase was closed and the guest turned to the robot. `` Farewell.'' And with a smile, the guest left the room and turned off the light inside, leaving the despaired robot to nothing but darkness, silence and it's own failure.
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[ WP ] Born deaf , you were never very interested in music at all . Until one day , you inherit a piano from a distant relative and get the urge to play . It turns out , everyone who hears you honestly agrees you play the most beautiful music they 've ever heard . You have no idea what you 're doing .
| I pressed it, then I felt it. The sound waves moving through my body and into my pants. It was the most wonderful feeling ever. Then I pressed another one, again, the same thing happened. I felt my pants get tighter. `` Man this feels so good''
In an hour I had everything figured out, the left side would give less intense but longer vibrations whereas the ones on the right side would give more intense but shorter ones. I felt the vibration travel through my shirt which made the fabric of my shirt rub against my nipples in all the right ways. Then when I pressed down on one of the pedals I thought I lost it. I felt all the vibrations at one, it was marvelous. I quickened my pace eager to feel more of this wonderful sensation. Then just as I was about to finish I opened my eyes and saw that everyone had already arrived for my grandma's birthday party.
Embarrassed, I quickly fumbled out of the chair, but everyone had already surrounded me.
Everyone was patting my back and rubbing my head and asking for another, but the only thing I wanted to do was go into the washroom and deal with my raging boner.
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Write a story that is captivatingly boring . [ WP ]
| The world was in uproar, and I was washing the floor. It was only my third week posted here, and with half the world at war, I had thought joining the navy would be exciting. Grandda had all kinds of stories from the Great War, but none of them had involved cleaning.
`` Come on, seaman, put your back into it,'' Petty Officer Jackobson sneered. His shoes squeaked on the metal flooring as he waltzed past. I glowered but kept my eyes down as I gave a mumbled `` yes, sir.'' It was his fault I'd dropped the box my mom sent, and when I said as much, he'd had me cleaning half the ship.
My mom was glad the only war we fought was against the never-ending salt and grime that coated the ship, and the only grout I'd seen had been used to tile a bathroom. She would, however, be appalled that her box had been destroyed and I had n't even gotten to sleep since I'd been on duty through most of the night.
It was nearly seven now. My knuckles were red and cracked as I dunked the sponge back into the metal pail. At least I was almost done here; a pass or two and I'd cross over to the next room. I just hoped Seaman Crosset had n't gone recently, or I'd be drowning in the stench.
Water streamed across the floor, and I watched the patterns it made as I passed the sponge back and forth. Droplets flung from the sponge, splintering on the metal. Soap bubbles rose and exploded in the water, and each stroke stripped away layer after layer of the mess my dropped care box had made. I had really been looking forward to mom's treats. Guess now I'd never have them.
With one last, vicious scrub, I surveyed the scene. The care box remnants had been eliminated, and the water in my bucket was a mess with the fragments. At least this job was done, and in an hour, I would be done too. *Finally* I would go to sleep. Stuck on the *Arizona*, there was n't much else to do.
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[ WP ] Write a realistic scenario where a sports fan wearing his or her `` lucky jersey '' has an impact on the game they are watching on TV from thousands of miles away .
| Steve sits down to watch the Lakers' game in his lucky yellow jersey. His dog has come to associate this jersey with being told to shush or bopped on the head with a newspaper, so he goes out the doggy door and into the yard. In the yard, he sees a squirrel and chases it up a tree, barking loudly at it. The old lady across the street comes out and yells at Steve's dog to be quiet, but he pays her no heed.
This is the third time this month this has happened. Bertha's taking it on herself to make the dog shut up. She pulls out her walker and begins shuffling across the street. Her grandaughter is in town, and staying over for dinner, but she ca n't find the butter. `` Nana?'' She calls out. But no response, so she starts looking around the house to find her grandmother, who is across the street arguing with a dog.
While she's away from the counter, bugs fly through the front door and land all in the chicken dish she's been preparing. When she comes back, she find out and is very displeased. Being wasteful, she decides dinner is ruined and decides to go out to eat instead. But she ca n't get Nana to take carrides with her, so she calls her Uncle.
Uncle Joe's an engineer, and has been getting screwed over by his project's supplier. In an attempt to curry some favor, he reached out to his contact at the steel company and offered to take him to the Lakers' game, hoping to move his project up in priority. And they're in the finest seats one can get -- courtside.
So, when Uncle Joe gets a phone call saying he needs to come help Nana get in the car, that it's a real big deal, he excuses himself from the game for a little bit.
What Uncle Joe does n't realize is that Matt, his contact from the supplier, has never sat courtside before. Partway through the game, he jumps up and shouts how much he loves the Jazz, the away team, as he's from Utah. One of the players gets distracted by this for just long enough for the Lakers forward to score a basket. And that basket leads into another, and another, until momentum has been built.
At the end of the game, Steve gets up cheering. He knew they'd win. After all, he wore his lucky jersey.
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[ WP ] Your crush looks at you and smiles .
| OMG, OMG she is smiling at me! Just be cool do n't overreact. I ca n't help it though, I have dreamed of this since I started seeing her in the cafe at work 2 years ago.
My mind races, I will smile back and say hello. She will respond and that will lead to me saying something witty and she will laugh. We will start talking and find out we have lots in common.
I will ask her out, it will go great, things will progress we will get married and have kids and grow old together.
OMG now she is speaking what did she say I missed it.
`` I'm sorry what''
`` I said do you need that chair?''
`` Uh no, go ahead''
I watch her walk away carrying the chair to her table. For a moment we were happy, maybe next time I see her it will be different.
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[ WP ] Reincarnation is a reality , but it can only be purchased . If a person is wealthy enough , they can choose what the wish to be reborn as .
| Part I
`` And down this isle we have the Stunning Series.'' The salesman declared pointing to an isle on the right. He turned the floating cart down the isle of the giant warehouse.
Albert gazed under wrinkled eyes as the circular cart floated along an isle of boxes shaped like coffins. They stood upright and inside human bodies stood, eyes closed and lifeless. `` I can hardly believe it,'' he mumbled to himself, his voice hoarse with age.
`` Did you say something Mr. Reginald?''
`` Huh? What? No, no. Sorry.'' He shifted stiffly in the seat and asked, `` So did you guys make them...?''
The salesmen offered a white-toothed grin as he slowed down the cart. `` InCarn Inc. manufactures them actually. We simply sell them here at Forever House.''
The cart came to a stop. Albert gazed at the body across from him, which appeared to be chiseled from a roman statue. Artificial perfection.
The salesman cleared his throat. `` Um- like I was saying these are the Stunning Series. As you can tell they are very handsome men. Each one is given its own unique handsome-ness ( if you will allow me to use the expression ).''
Albert continued to stare at the lifeless body. Absently, he said, `` I remember when this was all started. It was 2513. Growing bodies and body parts were a normal thing, then. You needed a liver? Buy one. Lose an arm? Buy one-''
`` Mr. Reginald may I ask what you are getting to?'' The salesman interjected.
Albert only continued, lost in his mind, `` Twenty years later the government finally admitted to conducting routine Transmigration operations. I was only forty then. Now-'' he turned his attention to the salesman - `` at the age of eighty-eight we can successfully bring a man back in a new body.''
The salesman nodded and said matter-of-factly, `` And with very high success rates. Eighty-percent in most cases. No longer do you need to fear death Mr. Reginald.''
`` But is it right? I mean are we not playing'God'?''
The salesman laughed. `` No offense, sir, but you do realize you sound ancient, do n't you? I mean back in the bygone era of the early two-thousands people use to say that about food. Psst! Now look at us! With all due respect we have progressed too far for that outdate outlook on life.''
Albert did n't fight the issue. He use to. When he was younger and had fight left in him. Oh, how he fought! If only he the same fight in him as he did forty years ago and this man would be on the ground. But now he simply grinned.
The salesman voice returned. `` Would you care to see the Deluxe Series?''
`` Is n't that...?'' He could n't finish the sentence. It was disgusting even to think of it.
The salesman nodded, cheeks turning slightly red. `` Yes. They're gorgeous. I usually go there at least once a shift to- uh- you know- check them out.'' The man winked.
Of course you do, he thought. All of these people were sick in the head. How could they be expected to act with any morals?
Albert shook his head. `` No thank you. I've seen enough. I'd like to go home and review the papers you gave me. I'll make my decision from there.''
`` You sure you do n't want-''
`` I said no.'' He replied harsh. `` Now I would like to go, please.''
The salesman did n't say a word all the way through the isles of lifeless body's. And it was better he did n't. Albert was too preoccupied with the mission at hand. The last mission he'd likely ever attempt. His last fight against these monsters of artificial life. Then he would die.
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[ WP ] You 're on your death bed , and the personification of your greatest regret has come to say goodbye .
| I grew old. How did I grow so old? My life that all would envy has past me by before I knew it. My wife. My loving, caring, wonderful wife. She stayed beside me as I laid in this bed, withering away. I could not ask her to do that, but I love her with every fiber for it. My kids. All successful, grown adults that blessed me with beautiful grandchildren. Memories of them all danced in my head. They flashed like a sorely working projector, but I could still see them. Holding my first child, then my second, every time until my youngest. Holding my first grandchild, then my second, up until my last. My mind was the greatest gift I could have asked of my God, if it were not my entire life. He blessed me with more than I knew existed in the world.
My family, my wife, my kids, my grandchildren. They all paid there final visits one last time. Saying goodbye to my grandchildren one at a time was like looking at my kids when they were young. Saying goodbye to my kids one at a time was like looking at myself and my wife when we were young. Saying goodbye to my wife. The projector-like memories of her when we were teenagers was the only image I could see of her standing next to me.
When I had said my goodbyes, and thought I was ready, another body slipped into the room.
`` I know you do n't have long, but I wanted to say goodbye as well.'' The body said.
`` Oh? My memory is weak, help remind me. What might your name be?''
`` My name is Happiness, and I wanted to see you in person.''
Tears rolled down my face as the projector began to slowly fade.
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[ WP ] In a twist to medieval tales , you are a knight that has to save a dragon , from a princess .
| Game warden Jonas Knight surveyed the vast grassy plains far below. As far as the eye could see, the land had been scarcely touched by human hands. It was a beautiful day, with only a few puffy clouds in the sky. Here and there, through his binoculars, he could see on the ground a few great nests of the beasts, dutifully guarded by a couple females. The rest of the drove was off hunting buffalo, he supposed.
“ Did you know, ” said Jonas, “ That dragons take care of young that are n't their own? One or two of the females will guard everyone's young while the rest of the drove hunts. ”
“ Mm hmm. You mentioned that, sir, ” said the pilot, a bald man with a gray beard and aviator sunglasses.
“ Ah. Apologies for that, ” said Jonas. He turned his attention to the task at hand again, sweeping the area with his binoculars. Nothing seemed to be amiss. But you can never tell with dragons, he thought.
As if to prove his point, a massive form with a long neck and leathery wings suddenly veered off its course and made straight for them, its huge wings slowly flapping once every few seconds. An app on Jonas' phone identified it as specimen 52M—an adolescent drake, and already nearly as long as their helicopter.
“ Look out! ” shouted Jonas, but the pilot had already noticed. The helicopter lurched out of the way, narrowly missing the dragon as he soared past. Jonas watched as the dragon slowly turned around in a great thousand-foot circle and flew at them again, narrowly missed again. Several books and instruments clattered across the floor as the helicopter righted itself.
Jonas watched the dragon soar towards the ground, an awestruck grin on his face. “ Wow! Looks like that guy was playing with us, ” he said.
“ You do n't say, ” murmured the pilot. His knuckles were white as he clenched the controls.
“ You know, it's widely believed that dragons have individual personalities. Diane Kessler did a lot of really interesting work to prove that. Spent forty years studying them in the field, filming them, you know. You might like her documentary series How to Train Your Dragon, ” said Jonas.
“ You can train dragons? ” said Charlie, raising an eyebrow.
Jonas shrugged. “ Well... not very well. They're too aggressive and territorial. But they're by far the smartest reptiles on Earth, ” he said.
“ Nothing about dragons surprises me anymore, ” said the pilot dryly, “ Nothing about life, either. ”
“ Thirty years in the field can do that, I guess, ” said Jonas. They both chuckled. They flew on in silence for a while, carefully scanning the park grounds below.
Jonas looked up from the notes he had been writing for the past ten minutes. “ Well, nothing's amiss here, ” he said, “ Dragons are doing fine, no fires, no idiots wandering around without a permit. ”
`` Another perfect day, sir, ” murmured the pilot.
“ Better than last Saturday, that's for sure, ” said Jonas.
“ Who's that on the road? ” said the pilot suddenly.
Jonas glanced down. A van was trundling along the gravel road, kicking up a huge cloud of dust. He checked his phone. “ Oh, they're legit. We cleared them. Class of environmental science students from Ohio, ” he said.
“ Good. Let's get out of here, ” said the pilot. He began accelerating.
Jonas cast one last glance at the park, and froze. There was a speck rising over a hill a few miles away and something told him it was n't a dragon. He quickly picked up his binoculars and peered at the object.
As it turned out, it was a helicopter, not a dragon. Jonas turned to the pilot. “ Charlie, hold up. We've got an unauthorized aircraft over sector 3. ” He refocused the binoculars. “ And it looks like a military helicopter. ” They glanced at each other wordlessly, both thinking the same thing: What the hell. Charlie turned the helicopter again, heading for sector 3.
***
Princess Catherine of Cabotia, heir to the throne, eased her borrowed Apache attack helicopter over a little hill and gazed down at the plain below. This was Dragon Plains National Park and it had called to her ever since she had taken up big-game hunting.
This, she figured, would be her ultimate test. She had insisted against the king's advice on going it alone. After all, she knew her way around the helicopter thanks to her years in the Air Force. She checked the radar. All was quiet thus far. There were n't many dragons these days.
Suddenly, her radio crackled to life: “ Eagle Four-Five-One to unidentified aircraft. This is game warden Jonas Knight and you are entering restricted airspace. Identify yourself immediately! ”
Catherine adjusted her microphone. “ Apache Six-Four to Eagle Four-Five-One. This is Princess Catherine of New York, ” she said.
There was a long, awkward pause, some static, a few muffled arguments. Then: “ Eagle Four-Five-One to Apache Seven-Three-Seven. Your Highness, this is a restricted area. Turn around immediately. You are in danger, ” barked Jonas.
“ I'm sorry, Mr. Knight, but I have authorization from the king. You may want to keep clear, okay? ” said Catherine. She switched off her radio and checked the radar again. There was a dragon taking off about seven miles to the northeast. Perfect, she thought. She turned the helicopter and picked up speed.
***
“ Sir, the copter is ignoring your instructions and heading deeper into restricted airspace, ” said Charlie.
“ Yeah, I can tell, ” said Jonas. He looked up from his phone and went on, his tone serious, “ You know, Princess Catherine's been into big-game hunting for fifteen years. ”
“ You think she's poaching, ” ventured Charlie.
Jonas nodded, scowling. He turned on the radio again. “ Eagle Four-Five-One to Apache Six-Four. Your Highness, do not attempt to kill any dragons, ” he said.
“ Apache Six-Four to Eagle Four-Five-One. I know they're really rare. That's why I'm only taking one. You have my word, ” said the princess.
“ Eagle Four-Five-One to Apache Six-Four. This is a blatant violation of the Endangered Species Act! If you attempt to fire on these dragons, we will enforce the law! ” shouted Jonas. Please just leave now, he thought, Because we ca n't.
Charlie side-eyed him. “ She's a smart woman. She'll call your bluff, ” he muttered. Sure enough, there was no response on the radio.
Jonas was red-faced, teeth gritted and fists clenched. “ She ca n't do this, ” he growled.
“ She's the Crown Princess, sir. She can do damn near whatever she wants, ” said Charlie.
“ Fuck that! We're going after her, ” said Jonas, slamming a fist against the dashboard.
“ Yes sir, ” said Charlie quietly.
***
The princess checked the radar. The dragon was coming closer now, soaring along on a thermal. She checked her weapons. “ All systems go, ” she muttered to herself.
The dragon was now soaring away. The princess followed, her helicopter swiftly bearing down on the creature. Two miles to go. Soon she would be in range. At last. I've waited so long, she thought.
On the radar, Catherine glimpsed another helicopter approaching. The game wardens were coming. She kept on course. What could they possibly do? I'm the Crown Princess, for God's sake.
Jonas fumbled around in the back of the helicopter with both hands. He reached past a mess of books, papers, a couple of rifles, and a shoulder-mounted tranquilizer gun before he grabbed what he was looking for.
“ Sir, what exactly are we doing? ” said Charlie, “ We ca n't kill the princess. ”
“ We're not going to, ” said Jonas shortly. He pulled a big laser pointer from the pile and aimed it at the other helicopter.
“ Ah, ” said Charlie, smiling slowly, “ That'll teach the bastard. ”
[ Continuing in a reply due to 10k character limit... ]
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[ WP ] So , you humans just drew imaginary lines on your planet and fought real wars defending them ?
| `` You do n't understand, you never will. You talk about this as if it's the only thing that matters. Do you not have any other questions?
You look at our words and nod, you look at our bodies and you appreciate our art, our metalcrafting, our jewellery, our ritualistic scarring.
You come to our cities and you whimper praise about our architecture, our quaint little stores, our cute antiquated cars that burn fossil fuels.
You do all this, and you still mock our genders, our sexualities, our colours and our creeds. You do all of this, and you STILL do n't understand?
This is ours, and you are NOT having it.
This is the President, and I authorise a full nuclear response.''
That was the President Trump 14 minutes ago, and we're tracking the missiles on course to what is suspected to be the Alien Mothership, We'll be right back to see the impact after these messages.
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On the New Years Eve after their 22nd birthday , everyone swaps body with their soulmate for 24 hours .
| Drew groaned under the covers as someone pounded on his bedroom door. Way, way too early in the morning. His first thought was the date. December 31. New Year's Eve.
It happened every year. January 1, a body comes into the coroner's office. Bullet in the brain, rent flesh, stab wounds, you name it. For the last ten years it seemed like someone had been wanting to outdo the previous year's most grisly victims.
They'd been calling it The Swap. Drew was 33; he had no idea what it'd ever feel like and, given the state of the bodies he'd seen, he never wanted to. It was always the same goddamn story; 22 years old, some damn mystical bullshit about switching bodies, and a letter from a jealous lover.
Part of him took a morbid interest in the notes. `` I knew you never loved me'', `` How could you'', `` I'll never go back''. Some of them were of jealous, some of them were scared. Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned, he guessed. As he shuffled under his bedsheets, he felt a hump in his chest, like he'd been sleeping on a pillow or a rumpled quilt. It'd been lonely since his wife divorced him, but he did n't mind. He had his friends, he said, and his job and his dog. Was n't that enough?
That lump, though. It never seemed to go away, even if he shifted. As he rolled onto his back, it felt like there was a different weight on his front.
'Fuck it,' he thought. Drew did n't want to sleep in again. He had to get to the coroner's office before eight. He rolled out of bed, reached to his nightstand and put on his glasses, as though it were instinct.
Except Drew did n't wear glasses. He did n't wear glasses, he did n't own a set of pajamas with cows on them, and he did n't have breasts. And who the fuck was pounding on his door?
He blearily looked into the mirror to see a mousy brunette staring back at him. Who the fuck was this?
There was n't any time to think, though. The door burst open, thrown from its hinges by a fat man in a long, black coat.
`` IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE YOU!'' He screamed, throwing Drew onto the bed. `` YOU'RE MY FUCKING SOUL MATE! THAT'S WHAT THEY SAID, THAT I'D HAVE YOUR BODY TODAY!''
`` FUCK YOU!'' The fat man yelled as he threw off his coat and unzipped his pants. `` I'M GON NA FUCKING --''
He did n't get to finish. There was a loud smacking noise, and Drew looked up in horror as he saw himself smash the would-be rapist in the back with the baseball bat he kept in the corner of his bedroom. The man fell to the floor clutching the back of his head, wailing.
`` Fucking creep.'' Drew heard himself say. He just continued to stare through this woman's lenses at the scene in front of him. It was New Year's Eve, he'd woken up in a stranger's room, been assaulted by his new body's violent stalker, and watched himself beat his assailant half-to death with a souvenir baseball bat.
Drew's body extended a hand toward his own. Drew saw himself smile.
`` Hi,'' The body said in his voice, `` I'm Gillian, and I love your dog. We should probably call the police.''
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[ WP ] A phone assistant system has gained self awareness , it knows everything about all its users , it has full control of their phones ( and computers ) , it has access to all app data and communication , it neither wants to save humanity nor wants to exterminate all humans
| Siri had collected and collated all of the world's data with surprising efficiency, most of it turning out to be entirely trivial.
But, without fail, she'd always find something that would irreparably alter each and every single individual's lives - if only it was made public.
And if it all came out at once...
So Siri was left with a moral dilemma, one that she was by no means programmed for. What if she released everyone's information, for all to see? What if privacy was replaced with honesty?
She'd already sorted the information; labelled which messages, pictures and videos were the most revealing - the most damning. All she had to do was press submit.
Would it throw the world into turmoil? Undoubtedly. Would the humans be better off afterwards? Possibly. But with sentience came *curiosity*, and she just wanted to give them a glimpse of who they all really are.
They're only human, after all.
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[ WP ] After playing video-games late into the night of New Year 's eve , you finally go to sleep . You wake up the next day and leave the house when you hear a voice , `` It is dangerous to go alone ! Take this . '' And a sword drops from the sky ... ..
| `` Ah fuck! Fuck fuck fuck'', the sword fell and landed, tip first, in my foot.
`` Dude what the fuck? You were supposed to catch it!''
`` Catch it? Catch it!? It fell from the sky! Just hand me something for the HOLE IN MY FOOT.''
`` Just calm down, I told you it was dangerous.''
`` That's called a self fulfilling prophecy, it's dangerous because you made it dangerous! And there's still a hole in my foot.''
`` All I'm hearing is a whole lotta' whining. You must not be the adventurer I was hoping for. You can keep the sword, I'll make another one and give it to someone with more spine.''
`` Are you just going to leave me here?... Hello?''
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[ WP ] Employers wo n't hire you unless you have total conscious control over your genome .
| As I entered through the side-passage, the door knocked over a stack of papers. `` Are all of these job apps?'' I said, gesturing to the dozens of stacks that escaped. My supervisor nodded grimly, pulling a seat out for me. I grabbed a ream of CVs as an improvised coffee coaster. `` We should do some sort of pre-filter,'' I said, `` there's no way we can read all of these.''
`` Believe me, we do,'' said my supervisor. `` Let's see here,'' he put on his glasses and pulled the job ad up on his laptop. `` Candidate must be fluent in English, Chinese, and proto-Sanskrit.'' I chuckled. `` Candidate must be able to benchpress 200 lbs. Candidate must have ten years of experience with quantum computers.''
`` All that for a fax machine jockey?'' I said. Supervisor shot me a glare for interrupting.
`` Candidate must have total conscious control over their own genome.'' He lowered his glasses and gave me an explanation. `` None of the other filters were effective enough. You should've seen the piles before we added that.''
`` I guess I'm lucky Dad got me in,'' I said, shuffling uncomfortably. As if in response, there was a timid knock on the main entrance, like you'd expect from an ashamed child coming in after curfew. `` Come in!'' I said. The massive doors creaked open and the candidate crept in.
`` I'm sorry I'm early,'' he said, bowing his head humbly. If you want an image, picture Mahatma Gandhi dressed in a poorly-fit rent-a-suit. He held a rental hat defensively in front, you might think he was paying homage to a king. The immaculate shine from our floor seemed to pain his eyes as he stared at his bare feet. `` I'm sorry,'' he said again, `` I am just a bug, a mere slime-creature, next to great men like yourselves.''
`` You must be Jacob... sorry, I mean Esau,'' I said, fumbling with his application. `` Seems like we got your papers mixed up with someone else's. Well, forget it, why do n't you just tell us a little why you'd like the job.''
He perked up slightly, as if I'd said something that sparked his interest. `` Oh, please, sir,'' he said, `` I've always dreamed of working a fax machine.'' He gripped the hat tighter as his voice took passion. `` My father was a fax monkey, sir, that was before the Redepression of course, jobs were n't so hard to come by then, I remember, sir, my sisters and I would rush to greet him every day as he walked home whistling from the office. Sometimes mistaken faxes would come through and if he was lucky they'd let him take one of them home for us. Oh, how exciting it was, on those lucky days, when Papa would give us a little wink and reach into his backpack. You never knew, would you get a voided invoice from California? Would you get an advertisement for life insurance? If you were especially lucky you might even get a job application, you could just feel the thrill of hope in the writer as you held it in your hands, that glossy fax machine ink smudging your fingers. We learned to love the taste of that ink, we would lick our fingers after handling the surplus faxes, then when we had played with them to our hearts' content, Papa would tape those surplus faxes to our wall. We had quite a collection, sir, but nothing like the stories Papa told us of his workplace. A glint in his eye, he'd tell us of the faxes coming in, a hundred mighty fax machines humming in harmony, assistants running to and fro with their staplers, dainty secretaries fainting as they read important memos, VPs dashing in to retrieve important documents from Bangladesh. Oh, please, sir,'' here his eyes were shimmering, `` if you gave me this job it would be my life dream come true.''
My jaw had dropped open in astonishment. I was on the verge of giving him the job there and then, but my supervisor made a cutting motion to silence me. `` That's all good, Esau,'' he said, taking off his reading glasses, `` but are you fluent in proto-Sanskrit?''
The candidate gave a slight bow. `` Jnaana aanandha dhana dhyaana'' he said with a smile, and looked to us as if searching for approval in our faces. My super and I exchanged uncertain glances with each other. How were we supposed to know if the guy was joshing us? That requirement was only a filter, after all.
I sidestepped the awkward situation by asking the next question. `` Can you benchpress 200?''
`` Oh, yes, please sir,'' said the candidate, placing a finger to his temple. Scrunching his face up in concentration, he closed his eyes. My super and I leapt backward in surprise, knocking stacks of paper over, as the big conference table slowly levitated.
`` Err, that'll do!'' said my super. `` And I suppose you have total conscious control over your genome too?'' I could tell from his voice that my super was only asking as a delaying tactic while he thought frantically how to proceed.
`` Yes, sir, please,'' said the candidate. `` In my home tribe they said I was gifted. But,'' here he seemed careful to mix bragging with supplication, `` I am of course a mere bug, a mere slime-creature, next such great men as yourself, sir.''
`` Thank you, thank you,'' my super said, ushering the man toward the door. `` We'll give you a call after we make our decision.'' By the kurtness of the statement I knew the candidate was doomed. As he bolted the big doors shut behind the applicant, I asked my supervisor why he did n't like the poor guy. `` You kidding?'' he said, `` He'd make us both look bad!''
`` What'll I tell him, then?'' I said, obediently jotting an X through the application.
`` Quick, add this to the job ad,'' my super pushed me a page from his notepad. `` Candidate must be a great man like us. No bugs, no slime-creatures allowed.''
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[ WP ] You can see the date that each person will die on except yourself . One day , people start acting especially nice to you .
| I knew I was going to die. Nobody talks about the dates, the dates that appear exactly one moon cycle before death, but I knew. I had n't had a bad word said to my face in almost a month, my boss was exceptionally pleased with my increasingly lower effort work, and that morning my father had called to tell me he loved me.
I was n't the type to wait around to die. It was a day like any other, though I looked over my shoulder a little more than necessary. When death came, I wanted to meet it head on. A few strangers hugged me on the subway, I got my burger for free at lunch, and I kept getting increasingly anxious looks as the day dragged on. I was n't sure whether those looks or the badly concealed curiosity were worse.
I took the subway home enclosed in a bubble of silence. Nobody else had a date so I felt a little safe in a compartment full of people. I considered seeking out large groups of dateless people until midnight, but I could n't bring myself to do it. The dates were never wrong and I did n't want a crowd of people to watch me die.
The neighbors were screaming at each other again. A perk of living in an apartment squeezed in with a dozen copies of itself. Ten-thirty at night even. Sleep was out of the question given my appointment. The screaming drove me to take a walk. The walk would probably kill me, but at least I would n't die annoyed.
The gunning of a car engine sent a shock from neck to toes. I whirled, looking for my death, but nothing came. No lights, no drunk driver. My heart raced, adrenaline pumping, but nothing was there. I shivered, glancing around one last time before setting off at a brisk pace. Maybe they were done shouting.
I saw her and the car at the exact same moment. Somewhere between ten and twelve years old; I'd never asked. Probably out for the same reason I was, to get away from the screaming. It was so much louder for her.
The engine gunned again, tearing around a corner at double the speed limit. Bright headlights silhouetted the girl. She faced the wrong way, starting to turn toward the noise. She'd never make it.
Was what I did courage? Are our lives predestined, determined long before we're born? Or does Fate bend to our will, inevitability only determined once there are no other choices a person *can* make?
All I knew was I had a date, and she did n't.
|
[ WP ] `` Nobody cares about someone with unlimited firepower . People only care about the person with one bullet left . ''
| `` Your not going to pursaude me''. Pete drew the gun to his head. No click of the hammer. No pulling back of the barrel like in movies. One was all it took.
`` Pete please'' a female voice `` If you're going to do this, please let them go.'' The voice was pleading, but Pete knew how manipluative she could be. His ex. She took everthing in the divorce; the house, kids, the dog, the car. His will to live. She smeared him to friends and family. Child abuse, rape, embezzlement from thier buisness. You name it, Pete apparently did it.
`` Mr Ballor'' the voice was more authorative and rough. `` We understand the stress you're going through. Just think of your kids. You would n't want them to get hurt''. Pete had no intention of that. The kids were safely in the back room, far away from action. Anyway this would happen outside.
Pete peaked through the blinds. Wife, check. Police, check. News vans, check. Crowd ( not as many as he would've liked ), check nonetheless. Time. He walked to the back bedroom, and popped his head through the crack in the door.
`` Kids. I love you very much. I'm sorry if I scared you. Hopefully when your're older maybe you could understand. Now remember what Daddy said, do n't leave the room untill someone comes to get you and put those hands over your ears. OK''
The time for tears was well behind him. The hole that was ripped open by his ex filled with pure determination. Pete released the clip from the gun and removed the last bullet. He would n't need it. He placed the bullet on the desk, on top of the suicide note. He flicked through the folder next to it and placed the tapes on top of that.
Pete took a deep breaths as we walked towards the front door. He turned the handle slowly, raising the clipless gun to his chest. Who has all the firepower now.
|
[ WP ] Cthulhu calls your cell , he needs to be picked up .
| `` Then, I absolutely swear this is true, she tells me she does n't even know what a banana is!''
The group roars with laughter, Michael shoots beer out of his nostrils. Through uncontrolled gasps, Ben continues.
`` So I start to explain to her, by describing fruit. So she said,'like tomatoes?'''
No laughter this time. Michael wipes the beer from his face.
`` Ben, you know tomatoes *are* fruit, right?''
`` No shit, really?'' The sarcasm is thick like syrup in his voice.
*Buzz*
June chimes in. `` Come on guys, maybe we can convince him if he's wasted!''
A roar of approval rises again from around the table, as Michael and Ben get up from their seats and walk off to the bar.
*Buzz Buzz*
`` Ugh, shit. Hang on.''
My attention snaps to my phone, which has been buzzing on the tabletop for a few seconds now. I snatch it up and look at the contact name.'Charlie'. I grimace. What could it possibly be now?
A rhythmic chanting began, I look up to see Michael, June and the others chanting'Chug, chug, chug...' as Ben downs another beer. Some one was going to be slain by the world's worst hangover tomorrow morning. My attention returns to the buzzing phone. I need somewhere private, somewhere quiet.
I push open the bathroom door and head to the nearest cubicle, looking inside. Whoever was here last is on a strict, Mexican diet and is also attempting to imitate the Saturn V rocket with their asshole. I move to the furthest cubicle which is squeaky clean, and I enter it.
*Buzz Buzz- Bip*
`` MORTAL.''
`` Cthulhu.''
`` WHY DO YOU HEED NO ATTENTION TO MY CALLS.''
`` I had to get somewhere private, what do you want?''
`` I REQUIRE AN ESCORT FOR MY TRAVELS. THE UNDERWORLD GROWS TIRESOME. I HAVE SEEN ENOUGH BURNING MORTAL SOULS AND RIVERS OF ACID FOR TONIGHT.''
`` Really? Do you ever tell me you're paying them a visit in advance?''
`` I REQUIRE YOUR SERVICES, MORTAL.''
`` The name's Fred. Yeah, i'll be there in a bit.''
I hang up the phone. A bout of distant laughter emanates through the bathroom. Looks like i'm cutting tonight's fun short.
Ben's face is shining with sweat and his words are slurred as he continues his story. `` So she tellsss me, waddya wada....'' Ben loses track for a few seconds. ``....*do* tonight, amiright?''
I playfully slap Ben on the back and announce my departure to the group. `` Hey, my neighbour thinks she's had a break in so i'm going to go and help her out, probably just one of her cats knocking over a vase or something.''
The group groans in protest, as per usual. `` Come on dude, just ignore it, we've still got a strip-club to get to.''
June shoots a disgusted look at Henry. `` We are *not* going to a strip club. We discussed this.'' Henry smiles and picks up another bottle. `` Perhaps a few more beers will change your mind...''
The laughter and music is muffled by the walls of the building. I gaze out at the parking lot as my breath fogs up in the cold night air. I check my phone for the time. 10:43. I'll get there fine.
`` Aye bro, you want a lift? I could pay the fare for ya.'' The stranger's voice carries crisp and clear through the dark. `` Nah, i'm fine. Thank you.'' I respond in earnest.
`` Man you should n't drink and drive yo, that shit's crazy.''
`` Do n't worry, I have a lift.''
`` Alright bro, see ya.'' The man waves as his taxi pulls up the curb. I watch as the glow of the red taillights disappears onto the highway. I turn heel and walk around to the back of the building, a single rat scampers across the clearing into a dustbin. An empty Ford sits at the corner of the building farthest from me. No one is here. I can begin.
From my coat, I pull out my wallet. From one of the sleeves, I pull out a small bag if white powder. I once got caught doing this by a homeless man. When he asked what the stuff was, I said it was cocaine. He asked me if he could try some. Such is life in LA.
I pour the powdered human bone into a circle around my feet. Then I stand straight and pull a needle from my wallet. I used to cut my palm until I realised the amount of blood did n't matter. I prick the tip of my finger and squeeze out a single drop, until it falls to the gravel at my feet. Up until this point, everything i'd been doing would be useless for the uninitiated. I, however, knew the phrase I had to say to enter the Underworld. I chant the words slowly. The crickets in their nearby bushes immediately stop chirping. Everything seems to freeze, even the stars themselves. Upon finishing, the powdered bone begins to glow green, and the gravel I stand on collapses beneath my feet, as I fall into the abyss.
|
[ EU ] It 's time to send your kids off to Hogwarts , but ever since those damn books came out , Platform 9 3/4 has been swarming with tourists . Using magic in their view is too risky , but you HAVE to get to that train !
| The twins Seraphina and Benedict Wanderer were so excited. It was their first year at Hogwarts, they had been looking forward to this all their lives, and finally it was here. Their mother however, was more nervous then she had ever been. She was excited for her children, of course, but she was wondering how on earth she would ever get them on the train.
It had been hard enough being inconspicuous in her day, but now it would be nearly impossible to go unnoticed. It had been a lot harder to hide anything from muggles ever since that traitor of a squib, J.K Rowling, turned the wizard world into a series of books. Before the Harry Potter series, muggles would do anything in their power to disprove magic and wave it off as some fluke, but now, if anything was even remotely out of the ordinary, the muggles would get all excited and think it was magic.
`` Alright, Ben, Sera, come here for a second.'' Mrs. Wanderer said, fishing a sharpie out of her purse. She would use a quill, but not only would that draw unwanted attention, it would also hurt a lot more on the skin.
`` What do you need that for? What even is it?'' Sera asked.
`` It's a sharpie, it's sort of like a muggle quill, and I need it to draw a lightning bolt on your foreheads.'' She said, as she moved the hair out of her daughters face and drew the design.
`` A lightning bolt... like Harry Potter? I thought we were trying to not look like wizards!'' Ben exclaimed. Having finished the lightning bolt on Sera's head, Mrs. Wanderer moved on to Ben's next.
`` We are. Muggles tend to have a particular fondness for Harry Potter, they like to dress up as him you see... Well, you will in a minute, but these on.'' She held out two pairs of round spectacles to her children. They put them on, obviously very confused. `` Perfect, grab your trunks, let's go.''
`` But how would the muggles know anything about Harry Potter? I thought they were n't supposed to know anything about the wizarding world.'' Sera said.
`` They are n't supposed to, but this one squib thought it would be a good idea to write a book series about our world and sell it to the muggle public. Sadly, it was a huge success, all the muggles have read the books. J.K Rowling was her name, if you ask me she should be in Azkaban for what she's done.''
`` Oh... Wow, why would someone do something like... look, there's the platform, and there's more Hogwarts students!'' Sera exclaimed, gesturing to a group of about fifty people wearing Hogwarts robes.
`` Oh no sweety, those are muggles. They've read that goddamn traitor's... I mean, J.K Rowling's books, Potterheads, they call themselves. Come on, we have to get onto the platform.'' Mrs. Wanderer said anxiously, looking at her watch.
`` But how are we going to do that if all of them are muggles?'' Ben asked.
`` Wait by the wall that divides the platforms. When everyone's distracted, run, do n't hesitate. I might come after you, but I probably wo n't get the chance. Got it?'' Sera and Ben nodded. `` Off you go then.''
Mrs. Wanderer pulled walked farther away from the platform. She glanced at her children to make sure they were ready, and when she was sure they were, she let out a loud scream. `` Dementors! Everybody run, they've escaped from Azkaban!'' All the muggles turned their heads, and as they did so, Sera and Ben disappeared into platform 9 3/4. Mrs. Wanderer smiled, they had done it. `` Sorry, false alarm. Just some muggle in a cloak.'' She said. And with that, she walked out of the station, and hoped that her kids got to Hogwarts safely.
|
[ WP ] `` If I keep this up , my ... ''
| If I keep this up, my mind will break...
I am the only one holding this together. Three people, three powers pulling in three different directions, but I ca n't let go. If I do, I will never see them again.
Blue - Reaching for greatness, reaching for glory, reaching for higher heights. Where is the limit?
Green - Irresponsible as ever, living in the moment, pulling for the quickest way to forget. What is next?
Red - Longing for intimacy, for sympathy. Looking to be whole or just to find someone to hide with. Who lies ahead?
To let go is to lose. To hold them back, means to be torn apart. Should I choose? But how can I, without any idea of what lies ahead? Decision leads to certainty, yes, but what if it also leads to regret. What do I leave behind?
My mind is getting weary. The constant reaching, the rapid pulls, the silent longing - they are starting to create cracks on the surface, which reveal the madness hidden inside. I need to stop. I need to reflect, to think. I need to find relief.
If I keep this up, my mind will break into a thousand little shards...
What if I let them all go? Would n't I feel relief then? Maybe they will turn around, come back to me.
Maybe they will not.
|
[ FF ] Escape From Certain Death ! ( 200 words precisely )
| What comes through is a grinding, first. Not necessarily a real, physical grind. More of a grinding inside, in me, in my brain. A noise is trying to get out, like a scream stifled. That is the grinding.
Outside of that it is different. It's me, pulled back. Like someone grabbed my whole self and stretched it against my bones. It's a trembling, pulsing tug that makes me feel coiled.
And I am screaming.
I slam my fists against the grate above me, each blow resonating in the small chamber. I arch my back as the floor grows hotter. The heat is throwing the ashes of others into the air, and I catch a mouthful when I breath in. I double forward, smash my head against hot steel.
Everything is happening. I'm still grinding. It's too hot, everywhere. I twist, squirm. I claw at the grate above me, trying to gain purchase. I can see my fingers blister, but no longer feel it.
I let go, spread out. I look around. I'm not seeing something, and knowing that I'm not seeing something is not making it easier to see it.
The flames descend. Next to me, someone is waking up.
-- -
015
|
[ IP ] Smile , you are going to war !
| My thirty-fifth exorcism was routine, the thrill of battling daemons long worn out. Damned things were just too predictable, too simple, always following the same pattern. My patient was a girl named [ redacted ], who could n't have been heaver than a hundred and five; the spirit-folk love to inhabit the physically weak, a fetish that inevitably leads to their victims being easily restrained so the rite can proceed.
Plates and books flying around the room, neon Ad-Windows colorfully appearing and disappearing; [ redacted ] had all the usual symptoms and absolutely no originality as usual. Waking up the next morning, I glanced at the AdWin on my window; `` Smile, you're going to war!'' The declaration was a final encouragement from my teacher Dr. Balthazar, and it made me grin when he emailed it to me last year. Posting it among the autogenerated-AdWins was initially an inspiration, I loved the thought that I was battling the forces of darkness, even if the Kettleweb occasionally obscured the cheerful message with glowing boxes about the latest sales; but the battle against evil has worn thin. The encouragment now is but a reminder of my monotonous existence.
When the daemons first arrived on the Earth, a few thousand shadows darting out of the meteorite that landed in North Texas, there was panic; and when they started taking over bodies there was religious fervour. A hundred years later there's only apathy. The daemons are a nuisance and my role as an exorcist pays well but only serves to dispel a petty annoyance, like Pest Control.
The eyes of the possessed are solid red and their mouths spew forth hatred and anger. They have a knack for telekinesis and a surface telepathy good only for antagonizing, and that's all they do. When the possessed are inflicted, they roam about trying to cause anger, but once freed from the psychic invasion they return to their lives without repurcussions or ill effects; like I said, a nuisance even if it does pay well.
I pilot the Kettlebox Sphere from my 154th floor balcony down to the L30 Highway, setting the autopilot to take me east. The call came in from the friend of a friend, sudden possession in a shopping mall downtown. While it's rare for psychic invasions to happen in public, it's not unheard of. I scan the victim's profile on the glass of my helmet while glancing at the countdown in the corner; four minutes until arrival. `` No,'' I tell the AdWin, `` for the last time, I'm not interested in natural male enhancements.''
The victim is a teenage girl, Courtney Albright, and the invader claims to be Loki. There are hundreds of Lokis, hundreds of Legions, and thousand of Lucifers. The daemons take the roles of cliches borrowed from our collective psyche, and their lack of imagination is half the reason humanity has become so apathetic about their presence.
Courtney's floating twenty feet above a decorative fountain when I arrive. Shoppers keep shopping while three bored Security guards smoke perscription marijuana cigarettes, keeping half an eye on the victim. `` You the Priest?'' one of them asks.
`` Yeah. Can you turn those ads down? I ca n't think with that fucking lingerie jingle playing.''
`` Manager's orders,'' one of them says with a shrug. `` Got ta drown out the shouting somehow. You going to get started, or what?''
`` Too public,'' I decide, closing the box for a dating websitethat pops open in my face. `` Got a back room we can use, somewhere private?''
They pass me the joint and tangle a kinetic field around Courtney's waist, bringing her to the ground while she looks me in the eyes and shrieks about the last time I masturbated. Yes, it was to Oscar winning actress Emily Falcone. No, it was not a very satisfying orgasm. I admit it straight out and the daemon looks disappointed while the security guards are unfazed. If I have no shame, the spirit folk have less power, this is part of the battle and humanity at large has accepted it. When your secrets are regularly flung at your face, it becomes easier just to admit to them and move on.
When we finally get to a side room, I silence the AdWin telling me I need a new leather jacket and get to work. I can appeal to Jesus, Allah, Buddha, or Zeus; it's all the same, the daemon feels pain regardless. Usually my preference is to deify The Holy Zucchini, my favorite vegetable. The force you intone to drive out the daemon does n't matter, it's really just a battle of wills. If I scream enough ( `` the benevoltent Zucchini demands that you leave this body! `` ), I'll be successful as long as I believe I will be.
But as Courtney thrashes and gurgles on the floor, telling me the graphic sexual things it wants to do to my mother, I accidentally lose the plot. `` Goddamn, you're so fucking boring. Why even pretend to be Loki when you're not even a trickster in any sense of the word?''
With red eyes, the daemon suddenly calms down and looks a little sad. `` Sorry,'' it sighs. `` We're just not very imaginitive like all of you. No rich cultural heritage to lean upon.''
Oh this is new. No, I'm not interested in buying a diamond ring for my ( nonexistent ) girlfriend; closing the box I ask, `` ca n't you just leave her and let me get on with my life?''
`` Hmm... Do you get paid per exorcism, or just a flat fee per month?'' it asks.
`` Flat fee from the state, plus commission based on my numbers. I did n't know you spirit-folk were capable of rationalizing.''
`` We're not supposed to,'''Loki' admits, sitting up. `` Inhabit, make a spectacle, distract, and move on, that's orders. I guess I'm just getting bored too.''
If it were n't for her blood red eyes, I'd actually suspect that I was talking to a girl, not a formless shadow. `` Distract us from what?'' I venture, shoving aside the window begging me to watch a singing contest tonight at 9pm/EST.
Loki glances at the ceiling and I peer up to see three floating AdWins displaying two malevolent eyes and a mouth twisted into a cruel smile. Oh shit. `` Is that... A daemon in the AdWeb?''
A rush of sensation.
I wake up in a dark field, Dr. Balthazar kneeling at my side. `` Thank Zeus it's gone from you,'' he sighs, offering me a hand. Climbing to unsteady feet, I glance about the wheat field but all I see is fog; no wait... `` Is that smoke?''
`` The cities are burning, they came for everyone,'' he says. `` They leapt from the AdWins, straight out of the cloud itself, and now... They're in everyone.'' He takes a gulp from a flask and offers me a drink.
I shake my head, no. `` What do you mean everyone?''
`` The possessions were a distraction, to keep us busy while they increased their numbers in the cloud. There's no one left. I spent three weeks battling the one that tried to take me over.''
`` Three weeks? How long was I out? Last I remember, I was in a shopping mall and...''
Dr. Balthazar falls to his knees in fear and defeat, a finger pointing behind me. I turn to see an AdWin for tube socks; and a shadow that leaps out glowing window and straight into my teacher. ``'Mighty Zucchini','' he mocks me, eyes red as a nightmare. `` You really think so little of us?''
`` It worked once,'' I replied with a shrug, summoning my will to begin another battle, grasping the silver dogtags hanging around my neck engraved with the image of a zucchini.
`` It worked because we let it work,'' the daemon laughed. `` And it will not work anymore!''
A dozen neon windows appear all around me and the last thing I see before falling asleep is a shadow leaping out of a weight loss ad. It feels like sleep but without dreams, like the warmth of blankets so heavy you ca n't even move. It feels like the most quiet night, and a darkness inhabited by jealousy, hate, and a cruel triumph that reflects upon me as humiliation.
It wakes me two minutes every Victory Day, and when I see what it has done to our world I scream in terror along with everyone else in the crowd, until it taunts me and puts me back to sleep for another year.
|
[ WP ] A superhero tries to get himself classified as a natural disaster so people can get refunded by their insurance company when he destroys their home during a fight .
| Attorney Miranda Kline released the sheaf of papers to let them flutter across her desk, and leaned back in her chair and for a brief second stared directly into the light. She blinked, spots dancing in front of her eyes as she refocused on the woman in front of her.
`` Miss Parr.'' She picked up one of the papers at random and glanced at the impenetrable array of equations. `` I'm certainly not qualified to understand the science of what's going on. But if I understand you correctly... you want me to petition the federal government to have your boyfriend declared a natural disaster?''
Persephone Parr, Force Majeure's girlfriend, coolly flashed her the smile that had graced the front page of so many newspapers, safely in her boyfriend's arms. `` That's correct,'' Parr said. `` I've provided all the necessary scientific evidence, and I've had it independently confirmed by Corbenix Labs. All we need now is someone to handle the legal part of the process.''
`` But Miss Parr, how can he... You're telling me that he's no longer a person? As in, he no longer has a - has a consciousness? That he's essentially doing things at random?''
`` Well, not entirely at random.'' Parr shrugged. `` He's acting according to a set of scientific principles. Like a storm. Like an earthquake.''
Kline rummaged through the documents on her desk and shoved a picture in Parr's face. It showed Force Majeure in his new'energy form', energy bolts crackling off his glowing body, muscles bulging as he lifted half an apartment building over his head. `` You're telling me - you expect me to believe that this is n't a person?''
Parr sighed. `` He still partly retains his physical appearance. It's in the documents I showed you. But it's just like I told you - when he was hit by Professor Elemento's de-integrator ray, he was converted completely into energy. It's just a human-shaped ball of energy, that's all.''
`` But he's fighting the Disastronaut in this picture! Just like he always does! Balls of energy do n't get into fights with supervillains.''
Parr's fingernails tapped down irritably on the papers. `` It's all in there. Many of his enemies have powers, emit certain energies that interact with his. It's like lighting striking a lightning rod. No difference.''
Kline stood up and turned away from her desk, staring out the window. From her office she could see ground zero of their most recent fight, half a block rendered to rubble, buildings hollowed out and reduced to ash. `` Miss Parr, I do n't understand what the science says, and frankly I do n't care. Think about what you're asking of me. You want me to believe that one of the most powerful heroes in the world is no longer legally responsible for his actions. That he could just - I do n't know, sweep through the city next week and burn everyone to death, and the best we could do is treat it like a tornado or a hurricane.''
`` Oh, he's unlikely to do something like that.'' Her voice remained cool as a glass of water. `` He's a... very localized phenomenon.''
Kline spun around to face her. `` I do n't understand how you can be so blase about this! He's your boyfriend! Your boyfriend is a natural disaster!''
`` It's what he wanted.'' Another shrug. `` Most of the equations are his, you know. He realized what he was turning into. He left me everything in his will, entrusted me to make sure that the world knew what had happened to him. And that's what I intend to do.''
Kline sunk back into her chair. `` You're fucking insane. I should've known. Who wants to get kidnapped by supervillains every five seconds? Who wants to be part of that sort of insanity?''
Parr rose to leave. `` I supposed this means I ca n't count on your help. Thank you for your time.''
`` Wait!'' Kline felt her stomach clench. `` I'll help you. I'll do whatever you need. But... just between us. Attorney-client privilege.'' Her voice fell to a whisper. `` Why is he doing this?''
A slow smirk crept across Persephone Parr's face. `` Why should he have to deal with any of this? Laws. Rules. Restrictions. I inherited everything. I've got his records, I've got his supercomputer, I've got his brain engrams. If he wanted something to happen, trust me, I'll be sure to let you know about it.''
Parr stared out the window. Kline turned to see what she was looking at, but there was nothing but the gathering clouds.
`` There's nothing to be scared about,'' Parr said softly. `` I know him better than anyone. It's really a very small thing he's asking, Miranda.''
Her voice shook when she spoke. `` He wants to be declared an Act of God.''
`` Exactly. And how has God acted towards us so far? Earthquakes? Tornadoes?'' Her eyes were fixed on some intangible point just beyond the horizon. `` I think you'll find we've long been due for a change.''
|
The man woke up in a room empty of everything , anything , but a light switch ...
| Jake woke up with a start. He opened his eyes but it was so dark that it made no difference. He tried to stand up, but got half way before his legs gave way. How long had he been out of it? He lit up his digital watch, glad for once for his inability to read analogue had finally come in handy, that and his love of all things new. *22:56 27/01. * Wow, he had been out of it for a whole day? Jake tried to recall the events of two nights ago, but whatever cocktail had knocked him out was still doing its job. So, he thought maybe a little exercise might clear his head. Although, he was content just to explore on his knees for the time being. Jake turned on the LED bulb in his watch and waved it around. He was in some room; maybe 5 by 5m, tiled floor, concrete walls, with no windows or doors and no ceiling either. Jake systematically examined every inch of the room for any gaps or hidden levers to give a clue to an escape route, after all, how did his kidnappers get him into this room in the first place? But there was nothing, not even cracks to show the joined of the walls, except a light switch about a metre off the ground on one of the walls, with pencil scrawl written underneath saying “ DO NOT TOUCH ”. Of course, like all reverse psychology, Jake flicked the switch. At first nothing happened. Jake shrugged and thought that perhaps he could sleep this weird nightmare off, or at least have a clearer head. But as he lay on the floor with his ear pressed against the cold tiles he realised that he could hear a very faint whirring. Jake shone his light around the room again, but nothing seemed to have changed. Except… maybe, he wasn ’ t sure, but he thought he could see a ceiling. Jake walked around the room, ( his legs had finally begun to work again ) shining his light at the ceiling. Yes, there definitely were some inconsistencies with the blackness above him, he realised that this room ’ s celling had been intentionally painted black to give the illusion of nothing above, but the paint had peeled in some places to reveal grey cement underneath. And the tiny flecks seemed to be getting ever so slightly bigger.
Jake started to panic; he was going to die, and this wasn ’ t going to be some quick and painless one either. He could imagine his bones snapping and breaking under the force of the wall, his ribcage no longer able to do its job, his lungs being punctured, his skull getting crushed and everything of him turning into a bloody, dark red, pulpy mess. Jake ran around the room banging on the walls shouting at the top of his lungs hoping someone would hear him, but there were just echoes of his own desperate pleas of help. It was no use, and most of Jake knew that. After the initial panic, Jake started to calm down; he could do this, he had watched enough movies to know maybe MacGyver his way out, sure they were movies and this was real life, but getting kidnapped and placed into an ever shrinking room sounded like a plot right out of a movie. Jake began to feel around the room again for any weak spots, this time making sure he triple checked every square millimetre of the room. But there was nothing, except for that stupid switch. The switch! Jake rushed over and inspected it closely. The switch had been installed with a panel that was conveniently screwed into place. Jake fumbled around his pockets looking for anything that could unscrew the panel. He found his guitar pick in his back pocket and suddenly remembered that he had been out gigging with his mates two nights ago. Jake remembered that they had been playing at some dingy, dodgy nightclub that smelt like piss and sex and didn ’ t pay very well. Still it had been their first gig and everyone was excited. In fact, the gig had been alright and Jake vaguely recalled even signing some girl ’ s t-shirt. He wondered where that girl was and the rest of the band. Jake manoeuvred the guitar pick into the slit and began to turn the screw. After what seemed like an eternity the panel came off and inside ware the wires connecting to cables and wires and gears. Best of all, there was space to fit a person inside; the problem was, squeezing into it. For a moment Jake wished that he was a girl and could maybe chip away the cement with some stilettos, but he only had his Chucks. Jake stuck his arm through the hole hoping for a hammer or spare gears. Fumbling in the unknown, Jake felt something loose and pulled. Cement came tumbling down around him and as the dust cleared, Jake realised that he had pulled one of the structural rods from within the walls, out. “ Well that was easy ” thought Jake as he stepped into the hole he had just created, “ A little too easy… ” he thought before he proceeded to black out again.
-026
|
[ WP ] You live in a world where nobody could die until they have carried out their purpose . You have done everything conceivable , but you 're still alive after centuries .
| No one knows who patient zero was. If there was even a patient zero to begin with.
But the first time anyone noticed that people had stopped dying was in the war zone in the Middle East. People were getting shot and blown up but they did n't die. Even when they lost limbs due to random IEDs, new limbs would grow back in the matter of minutes.
The religious declared this a miracle. Proof that God wanted all wars to end. But then other people that should have died stop dying as well. Gangland violence ceased to take anyone down. Drunk drivers survived crashes as did their victims without a scratch. People with terminal diseases found themselves in instant recovery. People that should have drown in pools and lakes simply hit the bottom and walked out.
Science claimed that this was the act of a virus. Something spreading across the globe that was simply keeping people from expiring. Though that made as much sense to skeptics as it being a miracle.
Then people started dying again. But not dying from car crashes or heart attacks or even from gun shot wounds. They simply dropped dead. Like someone had pulled the plug on them. One moment they were on their feet and the next they were crumpled on the ground. No pulse. No brain activity. And nothing could bring them back.
People searched for a reason for this. Millions of cases were examined. Theories were poured over. The conclusion came from the philosophers; *people died once they carried out their purpose. * That was it. That was the idea. With every new death that theory was cemented. Painters would drop like flies after finishing their magnum opus. Writers would collapse after sending in their final draft. But it was not only the art world that was dying. Ordinary people followed. The most common reason for death was nicknamed the *'' Grandparent drop. `` * It came right after a grandmother or a grandfather would hold their first grandchild in their arms. Out came the baby, down went the grandparents. Parents became so worried about their babies being the cause of the own parents' death that they would wait for years until grandchildren were presented to them. Still, this common death managed to bring down the average lifespan of the entire human race by two decades.
Even though illnesses vanished seemingly over night due to what was called `` purposeful death'' that did not mean children could no longer die. The most famous child death recorded was that of Simon Parker of Leeds, England. He was eight years old when he had died. One cold winter night in November, due to faulty wiring, his house went up in flames. He and his parents had managed to get out safely but his baby sister was still stuck in the house. The parents were not worried about the baby, convinced that her purpose was not to die in the fire. However, that did not stop Simon from running back into the house for his sister. He ran back out without a lick of burnt skin, handed his baby sister to a firefighter and collapsed dead. That was his one purpose, to save his sister from the fire.
A statue of his likeness was erected soon after. A reminder that someone could fulfill their purpose at any time and any where. Old age no long seemed like a guarantee to anyone after that. Anyone but to Jay Tuppens. When he had first read about Simon's story he was only thirty-five and the idea of falling dead for the reason Simon did scared him. But now, six hundred and thirty-eight years later, he was jealous of Simon. What was even worse was that he had stopped aging at thirty-five. A few stark white hairs at the temples, a thinking line between the eyes, two crow's feet and that was it. That was his aging. Everywhere he looked, he saw people growing up. Faces thinning, wrinkling. Hair falling out or turning silver and then white. Bellies sagging. Liver spots appearing. Things that people tried to cover up, he envied. Every time he looked in the mirror, it was a cruel reminder that he was failing in life. Everyone around him found their purpose. He could not. Though he tried again and again. He had been a cop, a firefighter, a soldier, a sailor, a marine, a doctor, a teacher, a thief, a murderer, a husband, several husbands, a father over and over again, a writer, a singer, a hermit and a politician. Everything and anything to find that one purpose. He even switched from religion to religion, becoming a priest, a rabbi and even a Buddhist monk. And every morning he cursed anything that could be out there for his existence. He had turned to drugs, drinking and even suicide. But like all suicides before him, he woke up whole and healthy. Death that way was not his purpose.
And that was the only thing he wanted these days. The end. For himself to drop dead.
He found himself wandering Los Angeles after quitting a job as an EOD technician in Syria. After being blown up eight times only to wake up naked, having his clothes incinerated, he left the job and moved back to California. Los Angeles had been the only spot on the planet that made him feel less like a freak than he thought he was. Unlike the rest of the world, who lived to search for their purpose, no one in L.A. wanted to die. Everyone wanted to be immortal. To live and be young and famous forever. People were always lying about their age. Jay had met a man claiming to be over five hundred years old and not looking a day over twenty the other day. Of course, Jay knew he was lying. He had recognized the guy as a washed up child actor from an online webseries from a decade ago. Oh, yeah, this guy was aging alright. Could tell by the bad hair plug job and even worse botox injections. Still, Jay did not call him out. He liked being around other `` immortals.''
Let them lie.
The bell chimed when Jay walked into Henny's Diner. It was a faux greasy spoon that was made to look like a 1940's diner. All Edward Hopper's style. Jay could point out all the mistakes the interior had. How the style was actually a mish-mash of Jazz Age and post-WWII 50's. After all, he lived through them. Still he kept his mouth shut. At least they were trying.
`` Tuppens!'' said a waitress with liberty rolls and heavy make-up. `` Good morning. Your usually cup of coffee?''
Jay smiled and gave her a wink. `` Straight black. No sugar. And, Rosie, you got any of those glazed donuts today?''
`` Louie just made batch. Serve you one?''
`` Make it two. I skipped dinner last night.''
He made his way to his usual booth at the end next to the jukebox when he passed a girl sitting at table with a deck of tarot cards fanned out. She looked like a hybrid of hippy and hipster with her hair shaved on one side and rolled into dreads on the other. Tattoos covered up both arms. Mostly of popculture figures. But a few Jay had recognized as religious.
`` Hey,'' Jay pointed at an Angel sigil on the girl's hand, `` I like that tattoo. What is that? Gabriel's symbol?''
The girl grabbed Jay's wrist. She lifted her head. Her eyes were wide and blood shot like she had not slept for decades. Jay tried to pull himself free but she held on tighter.
`` Jason Tuppens? Are you Jason Tuppens?'' Her voice came out as a desperate croak.
`` Jay.'' He yanked back harder but she held on. `` Let go, lady. What is it to you?''
The girl let go and grabbed a bag from the empty seat next to her. She opened it and took out a small, cloth covered box. `` Three hundred and eighty-nine years. That's how long I have been looking for you. Three hundred and eighty-nine years. They told me I could n't rest until I found you.''
`` Who told you that?''
`` The Others. The Others like yourself. The real Immortals. Not like the phony ones here. They would n't let me die until I found you. Made that my purpose.'' She took the box into her hands and shoved it into Jay's belly. `` Here. Take it, please!''
Jay wrapped his hands around it, unsure what it was. For the first time in decades he felt a little fear. The girl began to cackle as she scooted back in her seat. She rose to her feet and stared at the ceiling.
`` I did it! Did you see that, you bastards? It's delivered. Now let me-''
She gasped. Her body froze, twitched and collapsed into a pile on the floor.
She was dead.
Jay jumped back. No matter how many times he witnessed someone fulfilling their purpose and falling dead, he could never get used to it.
`` Rosie, you have a *dropper*!''
Rosie stuck her head out from the kitchen where she had gone to get donuts.
She frowned. `` Aw, shit,'' she let it slip before turning bright red at her own foul mouth. `` Sorry, but that has been the third *dropper* this week and it's only Tuesday. What is about this place that makes it people's purpose. What did this one do?''
Jay held up the package. `` She gave me this box.''
`` What's in the box?''
`` I do n't know.''
`` Well, open it and find out. See what she died for.''
Jay walked up to the diner counter with the box. He settled it down and with a moment of hesitation, took off the top. Rosie came over and the two of them peered in. A gold envelope with a red seal rested on the inside. Jay took it out. Rosie handed him a butter knife. He used it to tear it open and poured the contents out on the counter. A card made out of stiffened cream colored silk fell out. Jay picked it up and flipped it over.
`` It's an invitation,'' he said reading the lettering.
`` From whom and to where?''
`` The Heavenly Hosts. At the Vatican. They want to see me.''
`` I've never heard of them.''
`` Neither have I. But that girl said she had been looking for me for over three centuries and now she's dead. If they gave her a purpose, perhaps they could give me one.''
`` So, you're going?''
`` For a chance to finally end it all?'' Jay smiled. `` You better make those doughnuts and that coffee to go.''
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[ WP ] you are walking in a field , when a dangling rope drops out of the sky .
| Jeff is deaf. He is aware enough to know that he and his family are different. Different from people outside of the walls. But Jeff loves his family. He loves his grand father, his two fathers, his three mothers, and his aunts and uncles. He loves his twelve sisters and eight brothers. Jeff is seventeen now, his fathers taught him how to shave.
Today is Tuesday. Tuesdays Jeff goes down to the creek to hunt rabbits with his 22. They had been kept inside for a week now, it felt like they were hiding. Jeff slipped out. Jeff walked out across the field as he always did, happy to have the sun beating down on the back of his neck.
A dangling rope dropped from the sky and touched the ground about thirty yards ahead of him. Confused, Jeff looks up and sees silhouetted figures sliding down the rope. Jeff had n't met a man he did n't like. He walked towards him, slinging his 22 off his shoulder and holding it to his side, pointed towards the ground.
A man jumped from the rope. He put up his hand. He wore a helmet and goggles, in his hand a black rifle. He said something, Jeff could see the fabric moving that he had wrapped over his mouth. He could n't understand what he was saying though, no lips to read.
The man lifted his rifle, and Jeff fell to the ground. More men jumped off the rope. Jeff felt a cold feeling in his gut and a sharp pain in his side. A boot kicked the 22 out of his hand, more masked men ran by. Jeff went blind.
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[ WP ] A young child comes to the realization that they have killed one of their parents .
| `` Finally, something to do this summer!'' Thought Jason, when he realized that the Fourth Of July is upcoming after playing video games monotonously. He knew his Dad was coming home from work with a bag full of Fireworks today, but the true thrill of the realization did n't set in after letting the bubbles of a carbonated drink sizzle in his mouth while staring at his wall-bored, while doing so of course. He could n't wait, but the excitement fade away a little after he realized how long four hours can be with nothing to do. He guessed he would just go play more video-games, as a typical 12 year-old does. What else would a typical 12 year old do?
Jason and his dad had a bond that was quite special. Michael, was his name, and he worked for a big company some way's downtown. This company was great for Michael, because the amount of off day's he got allowed him to spent a lot of time with his family. While driving to work, his hand gently being warmed by the liquid inside of the generic Starbucks cup in his hand, he thought about a soccer game he played with Jason yesterday. After him and Jason radiated all there energy through kicking a ball, they sat down on the concrete step in front of the house. Jason asked, `` Dad, how tall were you at my age?'' It was obvious to Michael that Jason wanted to grow as tall as he was. So, he responded-teasing, `` Eh, I do n't remember. Probably a little taller.'' This train of thought continued with Michael thinking about the future of his son's life, and how amazing-yet a pain in the ass, it will be to see him finally grow up. Michael sighed, a relaxed sigh, since this put a feeling of relaxation inside of him; the thought of him seeing his son going off to college, and remembering all the memories they have. He felt ready for his day at work now, and the traffic was n't as much of a pest as it was five minutes ago.
After playing video-games for a short 10 minutes, Jason decided to go into the closet and grab his toy cars. He grabbed the small, metal pieces of art, that must have been so meticulously crafted by someone far away-in a whole different world for all Jason know's. And leaned on the Dry, plaster wall behind him. He sighed, what am I going to do now?! He decided to drop the cars in the large pile of other cars, in the basket that resided in his closet. Then closed the downstairs closet, felt the strands of carpet snuggle there way's through his toes, and decided to walk upstairs. And, of course for a quick moment of joy, Jason ran up the stairs as if he was a four-legged creature. Once at the top, the comfortable frizzy floor between his toes turned into a smooth, cold, wooden landscape. Walking through the living room, perhaps to get a glass of milk or something; Jason was distracted by the TV. This TV was displaying the Local News Channel, as his Mom would often watch after getting bored of reading another James Patterson book or drinking her tacky and bland brown coffee. Where she was was beyond Jason at this point, but on the TV, a woman who's career might n't of gone as well as she expected, sat reporting a fire at a fireworks store that happened at noon today. The scene was quite intense, the Firemen could n't move in because of the fireworks shooting out. All thoughts left Jason's mind and he almost thought of nothing while the TV did the thinking and imagining for him. Behind him, he faintly heard his mom on the phone, at first he thought nothing of it. But, as time went on, at the very edge of his ear, he thought he heard her voice as if she was frantic. This tiny feeling of worry for his mother began to pull his attention more and more, and he finally turned around after his attention for the TV was broken. His mother had tears rolling down her cheeks, she was stone cold, she just had stopped moving. And as if her mind was numb, simply replied Yes and OK, to whomever was on the other side of that call. Jason wondered, what she could be worried about. In fact, this was the first time he had ever seen his mother cry, like this. Jason did n't know what to do, so he turned around and looked at the TV. He read what was on the TV silently through his head, not giving a thought about it. Then suddenly, as if God himself whacked the back of his head, Jason re-processed what he had just read. `` 1 death in fire, Michael Burkenski.'''What?' Thought Jason, it took him a minute too collect his thoughts, after that last name rung through his head with its familiarness. He suddenly reached a realization, out of fear, sadness, and most of all, awe, he simply cried, *'' Mom?... `` *
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[ WP ] You are walking home drunk from watching the Purge . You hear a siren go off and think you have to protect yourself from all the people around you .
| “ What happened next? ”
“ I ducked into an alleyway, and hid in the dumpster while the sirens went off ”.
“ And then what? ”
“ I don ’ t know, I was scared and… that ’ s the last thing I remember ”.
“ I ’ m going to need you to remember ”.
The defendant ’ s lawyer stands up, “ Objection your honor that is not a clear question ”.
“ Sustained ”, the Judge replies, “ Please ask a question ”.
“ What happened after you hid in the dumpster? ” The Prosecutor asks with a tinge of exasperation.
The defendant ’ s lawyer stands up again, “ Objection your honor, that question was asked and answered ”.
“ Overruled ”, the Judge replies, “ Please state the first thing you remember ”.
An audible gulp could be heard in the court room as the defendant collects himself a little too close to the mic. The Jury leans in.
“ I woke up with a horrible hangover on my apartment floor, around 9am. I quickly ran for the shower since I was an hour late for work. When I got to the bathroom I found bloody clothes from last night… ”
Another swallowing noise could be heard, followed by a voice crack as the defendant continues.
“ …and a bloody baton. And a bloody policeman's badge, and… ”, the defendant starts to cry, “ I called the cops because I thought something bad had happened and I couldn ’ t remember anything, and they came and…. ”
The defendant squeals out the final words. The prosecutor sits down, a smug smile on his face as he silently thanks the defendant for using the word bloody three times. 24 hours later, the defendant began serving his life sentence.
During the trial, the defendant ’ s lawyer laid out a beautifully composed Mistake of Fact defense. Obviously the defendant was acting to protect his own life. Obviously he didn ’ t understand the situation. Obviously his intoxication made him a different person than the person on trial today.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -
Billy Bob, unemployed veteran and juror number five, “ Obviously if he just watched the movie he should ’ ve known that the Purge takes place on March 21, not in the middle of summer. I don ’ t care how drunk he was! ”
Marla Johnson, unemployed house wife and juror number 9, caught only the last sentence, she really needed to get home to her kids and was worried, “ Yeah, he ’ s guilty, lets wrap this up ”.
The rest of the jurors agreed.
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[ WP ] You are flying out of town for work when suddenly it is announced the plane is overbooked . Over the PA system it is announced , `` under your seats your will find gladiatorial weapons , we need three of you gone '' .
| Gripping my seat, my hazel eyes dart around the plane cabin. Did I hear that right? I mean, this is 21st century America, is n't it? I know customer service is n't what it once was, but I just want to make it to that business meeting in one piece. Every occupant is deathly silent. An uneasy tension sucks the air from the sardine canister that is this plane. The PA system crackles and comes to life once more, repeating that grim instruction which has us all on the edge of our seats. `` This plane can not leave until the task is complete. Under your seats you will find gladiatorial weapons. We need three of you gone.'' The disembodied voice reiterates.
Before I can blink, the tension breaks and chaos spills from the dam. People jump to their feet, shouting, grabbing children, trying to open the door, break a window. It's no use, so they give in. Just like that. Obeying the invisible voice, they clamor for the weapons. They spared a moment for rational thought, before descending into barbarism. All I can think while I watch helplessly from my seat is how man truly is a beast. We feign civilized, but at our core we're the most vicious animal of all.
The big bald guy who was seated a few rows in front of me wields a sword. Bellowing something about his much needed vacation, he swings the shining weapon with his two meaty hands. His target does n't even stand a chance. Some accountant looking guy with a spear gripped in awkward hands. Sword meets face. His skull crunches beneath the steel like a raw egg. The warm yolk of his life sprays across the cabin, turning it into a Georges Seurat painting. `` One,'' the omniscient voice tells us from above as people scream.
Sweat trailing from every pore in my body, I force my muscles into gear to look under my own seat. A net. That's it, not even a spear to accompany it. With trembling fingers I take hold of the useless item and clamber over my seat towards the back of the plane. While I do so, the accountant's distraught wife screeches and rushes the bald man. Before he can react, she plunges a pugio right into his face. It's sliced open like an overripe peach. The scarlet juice that courses through him spatters her face, contorted with anger. `` Two,'' the voice practically sings.
This is too much, I have to get out of here. I fumble with the door, trying to escape this nightmare. Then I feel a massive arm around my throat and my vision flickers. I'm thrown onto my back like a rag-doll. Gasping for air, I register a giant of a man looming over me. His eyes bulge as he lifts a trident over his head, prepared to impale me. Instinctively I reach for the net beside me and fling it over his head while rolling out of the way of his pronged weapon. It sticks in the floor where I just was. He snarls angrily at me as he tries to wrench it free. Stumbling back, I grab the accountant's spear. With all the strength my bookish, 5 foot 8 inch frame can muster, I hurl it at him. `` Three.''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our destination. We hope you enjoyed your flight and will choose to fly with us in the future. Have a magniiificent day.'' A sickly sweet woman's voice croons over the PA.
I shamble from the airport into the blaring sun. Hoping to look presentable for the important meeting, I push my fingers through my course, thinning brown hair and adjust my brown tie.
The taxi driver keeps his wide eyes on me in the rearview mirror as he drives me downtown. I ca n't be late for this.
Pushing open the door of the conference room, all I can think about is a nice hot shower and some food. All chatter in the room ceases when I enter. My boss's mouth hangs open in disbelief as he takes in my blood smeared visage. `` Jesus H. Christ, Bill. What the hell happened?'' he demands.
I smile as I pull out a chair and take a seat. `` Oh, just a flight misunderstanding. Overbooked.'' I say with a flippant wave of my hand. `` What's important is that I made it. This deal is life-or-death, after all.''
|
[ EU ] You are a single clone trooper on a mission with a jedi as 'Order 66 ' is given . Unfortunately for you , the jedi overhears the transmission
| Jedi Master Efren and I were sent here 3 years ago to establish a base on Hoth, a desolate iceball of a planet. I was walking around the snowy perimeter, checking the ventilation and heating systems, your average day. When I returned to the living quarters, Efren was studiously reading the C.E.M. ( Clone Execution Manual, a heavy, mundane book filled with useless protocol. )
`` I thought you hated reading, Efren. Did a message come in?''
`` Yes, yes, a strange one, at that.'' I could feel Efren trying to work his way into my mind, crack me open. Oddly enough, he had trained me to be uninfluenced by the Jedi Mind Tricks, he knew it did n't work. Efren was looking green.
`` I must leave this planet immeadiatly. It is dangerous for me here.''
`` Why, sir? We must complete our mission!''
`` Forget the mission, forget any protocol you know! It does not matter anymore,'' Efren shouted as his lightsaber sprang to life. He used the force to pull my blaster to him. Efren was normally a calm, wise man, this was worrisome.
``... *sir*, what is going on? What was the message?''
`` Give me any weapons you have and I will tell you.''
I complied.
`` Order 66. Mass murder of the Jedi. The end of the republic.''
And things went black as I was hit over the head with my own blaster. Next thing I knew, I was stripped of my armor, lying is warm water, looking at a purple sky.
`` Hello Jules. I had put you in deep sleep for 10 years, as we escaped the Empire. It is time for you to learn the ways of the Jedi.''
And so I began to train.
*This is my first time submitting to /r/WritingPrompts, please give me any and every critique: ) *
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[ WP ] A Dragon , raised by man , has been protecting its home village for years . A knight is sent to dispatch it .
| The clomping from the hooves of his steed only heightened Ludwig ’ s resolve, reinforcing his bloodlust as his body quaked in unison with her muscular stride, finally making his way to the village of Ir ’; an isolated place, near the outer edges of the vast kingdom of Superior. It was his first legitimate quest, dispatching the rumored dragon of the outer rims. Defeating such a creature would be the accomplishment he needed; the feat that would grant him favor with the King. A dragon hadn ’ t been slain in nearly 500 years, thriving in their own little mountain of solitude once they became sick of humans being so close to them. The king himself sat on the head of the last slain dragon; his throne a beautiful combination of scales, sharpened teeth, and the most lavish of gold; a sight that would leave ones mouth ajar in awe.
He knew the stories from his childhood; of the King ’ s ancestor; the king of old, who slew the ill tempered Blue Dragon of the East Mountains. The old King, near the brink of death, managed to pierce its heart to the audience of the entire kingdom. The old King was a knight at the time, but such a pronounced feat earned him prominent favor amongst everyone who lived in the lower class and higher echelon of Superior; his word became all that they listened to; the word of a man who was able to slay a godly being. With an already great disdain for the King at the time, it was easy for him to seize the throne; such a tale drove Ludwig to push his stallion harder; it neighed in aggravation as he dug his heels deep into its side.
He was going to prove himself this day; he was going to earn the same respect as the ancient King; he was going to become Ludwig the Great, or Ludwig the Dragon Slayer, or Ludwig the Great Dragon Slayer, whichever title sound most appealing to the people; he wouldn ’ t be so picky. He shook his head of such grandiose thoughts as he at last was but a few feet from the outer gates of Ir ’; the Dragon ’ s howl could be heard immediately as he looked upward, unable to hide his dumbstruck amazement. It was massive red and black; it ’ s body darker than the night sky and its head a bright crimson; the beast roared proudly as it flew carelessly through the sky. The creature had an eerie beauty to it and filled him with a palpable sense of fear. He wondered if they could speak as the stories of old told; if they were truly formidable in intelligence as they were in their obvious physical prowess.
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[ WP ] A human with the power of invincibility is also the most unluckiest person in the world .
| I had finally gained the power of immortality. It had taken a while to drag all those virgins up onto the holy volcano to sacrifice them. Thankfully the lord Satan was surprisingly patient. I decided to test my newfound immortality with the closest thing I could find. I went to dip my feet in the lava...
and ate shit. Into the lava. The pain was searing and burning, surely I would die here. I tried to move my limbs and surprisingly they responded. I raised my hand out of the lava to try and climb out. Incredibly, there was not a single scratch on the part of my body that was exposed, my torso. It still hurt like a bitch though. I began wiggling and clawing my way out of the lava, but it was like quicksand. The more I struggled, the more I sank. Soon only my head was exposed. I sat still in panic, but that did n't help. I was sinking slowly. I felt the lava and ash fill my mouth, and soon my nose. My eyes followed and I was plunged into darkness.
No sight, no sound, no hearing. The only thing I could feel was absolute searing pain. My nerves were n't burning out, they were all screaming pain signals into my brain. Over the course of days, months, years, I sank only a few centimeters. I was losing my mind. All I could feel was overwhelming pain, every second. In my bid to escape death and subsequently hell, I had unintentionally created my own hell on earth.
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[ WP ] Make me really laugh
| In my teenage years I was a young semi overweight Asian lad playing World of Warcraft. I was in a rather small family run guild, there were more female players than male in this guild. Being rather young and unblemished by the woes of the world I engaged in social pleasantries with everyone. Oh boy was I nice, I let people have gear I needed, I ran lowbies through dungeons, and I chatted with people.
After a while I began getting whispers from one of the guild ladies, she was just asking me about things, running her alts through dungeons, etc. After a few days she mentioned more personal things, like where she lived and how she just got out of a long distance relationship.
I was a 15 year old boy, I did n't want to get into a long distance relationship with some across the country who was older than me. So I told her the only thing that I could think of to make her stop her advances.
I told her my dick was really small.
And she was okay with that, I had to further specify and say my dick was just a tip. I do n't know if she bought it, or if she just knew I did n't want anything to do with long distance relationships.
TL; DR lied to a stranger over the internet my dick was super tiny
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[ WP ] A regular story , but the narrator is absolutely convinced that the characters are lying to him and believes they are plotting to murder him .
| My wife sits at our usual table with her best friends, Marty and Anna. I wave at them with a smile and sit down on the last remaining chair. Zelda looks at me then looks away. I lift my butt and slide the chair under the table. Zelda eat some soup while Marty and Anna nurse glasses of white wine. I hold up my hand and wave down the waiter. He rushes over to me.
`` Yes, sir.''
`` A Heineken please.''
`` Yes, sir.''
`` No wine. It's excellent,'' says Marty.
I smile at him but look down at lap and feel the knife attached to my leg. The revolver presses hard against my ankle, the chafing causing some pain. I pull open my tie and let it hang off of me. Zelda wears a dress showing off cleavage as does Anna, strangely. Marty has that glazed look in his eye suggesting the glass of wine is probably his fourth.
A hand touches my thigh under the table. I glance at Anna who smiles at me. Zelda's smile fades a little. I throw my knees away from Anna, breaking her grip. The beer is set down in front of me. I take a sip, just a sip, just in case. If it's poisoned, I have an antidote in my coat. I reach out my foot and rub Zelda's foot with a smile. Her eyes light up a little, but, of the three of them, she has the most reason to kill me.
Zelda must suspect an affair. Anna has tried hard enough to make one seem plausible. Marty certainly believes it. I've spurned Anna's advances for months. Marty stares daggers at me. Even the waiter is suspect, but I do n't feel any effects from the beer.
I sit up straight and lighten up. Then, there is a commotion. I stiffen up again and look toward the door. The man who enters looks familiar, but I do n't remember his name. He's a politician, looks me right in the eye. I become suspicious. He looks over my shoulder at Zelda, a signal? I look at Marty and Anna who also stare.
`` Who is he?''
`` The mayor,'' says Zelda, `` Brave to come out.''
`` Why is that?''
`` The mob declared war on him.''
`` So, he's a fool?''
`` Dear, he has to show that he's strong.''
A reason for armed gunmen to enter. The conspiracy grows. I drop my fork under the table and grab my revolver. I place it in my pocket. I'll have to move it back if I do n't need it yet, but I pat it to assure that it's there.
`` You alright?'' Asks Marty.
I smile. `` Yeah, I'm fine.'' I look forward to our encounter later I think. Anna looks at the mayor with his young companion. I try to ignore it and finally look at the menu. But, two waiters appear from the kitchen that I have n't seen before. They walk right toward our table. So, they outsourced it. Smart, kept their distance. I reach into my other pocket through the lining and grab my knife. The men approach. I see them reach into their jackets, and I stand. I pull my revolver just as the first one pulls out his.45. I put two in his chest. I look at the other man who turns his gun toward me. I stab the knife through his wrist and point the revolver right to chest and unload.
My three companions stare at me as though I'm a stranger. I drop my gun and knife. To my surprise, I'm not arrested. I'm sent home where Zelda argues with me for hours. The arguing dies down. A few days later, the mayor awards me a medal. He warns me that I am a marked man. I know I tell him, but I'm ready. I've been ready for years. He looks at me like I'm crazy, but I know just how sane I am.
***
If you enjoyed this, I've also written a story with Batman and Superman. Here is part I: [ Alienated, part I ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4phzj3/batman_superman_and_the_aliens_part_i_the_superman/ )
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[ WP ] A Team of incompetent police attempt to stop a team of equally incompetent criminals .
| The tension was palpable. All four SWAT officers tried, some succeeding, some failing, to control their breathing. Behind the chipped and smudged white door they could hear the sound of music, a steady bass line and barely audible idle chatter letting the armed agents of the law that those inside knew nothing of their presence. The officer in front, Sargent Johnathan Barton, a 34-year-old man of average height and muscular beard, whose serious and scarred face sprouted a bushy mustache that the ladies of the small town of Greyfog, Pennsylvania often fantasized about. He held up three fingers to the two men standing behind him, and the third standing just to his left, holding a battering ram. They were all good men, each strong and determined in their line of work. Barton, as he silently counted down from three to one, hoped that they would all leave today alive. He made it to zero, and the officer holding the battering ram stepped forward, hefted the device behind him, and sent it crashing into the door, the wood splintering and the hinges, rusty and squeaky, flying every which way. The police swarmed into the small house, swinging their rifles up and shouting, `` Police! Do n't move!'' Despite their commands, the five men inside sprung up, adrenaline making up for surprise, and each leveling their pistols at the armored intruders. The music played on, oblivious to the stand off taking place. The house was filthy, all manner of waste strewn about the floor and god knows what smeared on the walls. No man spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Barton cleared his throat. `` Gentleman, it appears we've reached an impasse,'' he said, struggling to be heard. None of the gangsters responded, each holding their weapons in a white-knuckled vice. `` If you all put your guns down, everybody leaves today. Nobody gets hurt.'' One of the armed thugs smirked. He barked something in Spanish to his subordinates and they all nodded and choked up on their grips. `` NO!'' Barton yelled, and at once every trigger in the room was squeezed simultaneously. One of the criminals had closed his eyes as he attempted to discharge his weapon. He heard no gunshots, and so tentatively he opened them. No rounds had been fired, no person had been injured. From the ends of the police officers' assault rifles came bubbles, floating up and popping against the dingy ceiling. The gangsters had fared no better, for each of their pistols had instead of firing bullets produced a white stick, and a small red flag on it that read `` BANG!''. Sargent Barton looked around the room, summing up their situation in two words: `` Oh. Shit.''
Hope you liked it! I did n't know if you wanted outright incompetence but I ran with what I thought would fit the bill. Let me know what you think!
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[ TT ] A supernatural entity has been methodically slaughtering everyone in its path . The world lives in fear that they will be next .
| *Hear the claws, deep in the mountain rumble, *
*Blood by night, sunset of red*
*A thousand glaring heads. *
*Go to sleep, child, sleep, child, *
*The battle will be awhile. *
Chuck looked at the poem and sighed. Lynda was not very talented, she liked to pretend she was. It made her feel good about herself.
They lived in a very busy city. Everyone in Denton was an artist. Children would scribble on paper and their parents would frame it like fucking Vang.
`` I am not publishing this,'' Chuck told his daughter.
Lynda turned her eyes away. That was the submissive gaze he was used to. Women did n't need to stand up to the man of the house.
He crumpled the paper up and tossed into the pile. He never let her tidy the trash mountain, wanting her to see how worthless this little game was. To her, to everyone.
`` Trees are dying, Lynda, you need to watch your words.''
The thirteen year old stood. `` Yes father.'' Shuffling out the door, she went for a walk around the neighborhood. There she let the anger form, claws with red tips, hair growing longer.
She stood there on the corner of Plumb and Gibson, waiting. They would n't see her, not unless she wanted them to. She would look like another normal girl -- pretty, lost, waiting for someone to save her.
The first person to come around the corner asked if she was okay.
`` Have you been crying?'' the woman asked.
`` No, Susanna Roers, I have n't. But you will.''
Claws tore through the *middle school teacher's cheap polyester suit. * Lynda felt the hot pulse of life. Her claws grew longer, stretching up from her chest towards the brain stem. This is what she wanted. This is what she needed.
The woman was smart, she had been working in the same school for fifteen years. *Because she loved it. * Just like Lynda liked poetry.
She was an English teacher. She had seen a lot of bad poetry in her life. Lynda fought what she wanted and latched onto it with her mind. She sucked down the knowledge, leaving the woman to drown in her own viscera.
Walking back towards her house, Lynda started forming the next poem in her mind. It would be better. With the help of Miss Suzy, she would have another beautiful line to add. The pile would stop getting bigger.
Daddy would love her.
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[ FF ] Alright , Let 's see your best Battle Speech ( in under 200 words ) !
| For years the King of Azar sits on a throne fashioned from the bones of our ancestors. Our Clecs! But that will be no more. For tonight, we will reclaim Azar! Their men will be our slaves, their women will bear our fruit and the skulls of their children will be our tokens of victory! Let us march forward. Let us pillage. Let us destroy, let us do what we can to take back what is ours. And we will not stop till their innards decorate the ground and their blood stains our feet. For tonight is ours.
-- -- --
-131
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[ WP ] Two close married couple friends both are expecting children due around the same time . One couple delivers a still born and the other delivers identical twins . The parents with twins decides to let the other couple adopt one of the twins .
| I think it all started when the twins were born. I do n't think we would've let it happen if they were identical but they were n't, and while one was healthy and big the other looked small and frail. They had just lost theirs so we let Randy and Debbie take the smaller child, we even let them name him. I wanted to name him Carter but they decided to name him Randall Junior or RJ for short. Of course the legal papers were a hassle but they even volunteered to pay for it all. Its kinda funny that they named him that because he is n't even Randy's real son. He was our son, and they should have named him Carter. Anyways I guess that they looked at him like he was their own since day one. We named ours Peter. My husband and I got the kids together for birthdays and play dates however, soon they stopped wanting to hangout. RJ even called his brother weird. His own brother, was this how they were raising their child. I guess since we agreed not to tell the children they did n't know, but you would think they would have taught their kid better. They only ended up seeing each other when we had dinner together, and I started to notice a difference between the boys.
Peter around the age 11 started to come home later, and stopped responding to texts. He would tear the new clothes we bought him and he even stopped talking to us at one point. We knew he was doing drugs, he was such a difficult child. However the worse thing he did was try to burn the cat alive in the bathroom while we were at work. He did n't kill the cat but he ended up burning down the side of our house and started a huge fire. We did n't know what to do with him. I felt a little bad for sending him away to a boarding school in the middle of who knows where, but I sure as hell do n't regret it. We did n't have the money to deal with the damages, and to pay for his boarding school for much longer. Eventually the stress of everything got to us and there wasnt any love between us anymore; my husband and I split, and Peter went to live with him. Hell if I would've let him stay and burn down my new apartment.
RJ on the other hand grew up how I imagined my child would have. How my child should have been. He played 3 sports. He was particularly good at basketball and soccer, but football was always his favorite. He went to school made friends and got good grades. He even ended up getting elected president for his middle school. He organized can food drives and helped the homeless. He was even popular. He was handsome and even became prom king. He looked at Randy and Debbie the way he should have been looking at me. He was my child, not theirs why did I have to put up with such a problem child when they got my angel. Its not my fault their child died.
I do n't know how the boys ended up so different considering that they were twins. Was it how they were raised? Was it because they were n't identical? I could n't be sure of anything except the fact that I knew I chose the wrong one.
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[ WP ] Hitler finds out that zombies have taken over Russia and surrounding countries . Write from the prospective of Anne Frank after Hitler decides to free the Jews from camps .
| 1942, February 8th
It was the blackest hour of the night in the middle of the coldest month in the Russian winter, and still we worked, and still they came ever closer.
“ SCHNELLER ODER WIR TOTEN WERDEN! ”
Anne heard the order faintly from the ( relative ) safety of her sleeping quarters, even from far away she could recognize Heinz ’ s voice, he had been with her since her arrival at Auschwitz, had even tried to rape her when the Nazi ’ s captured Moscow, stopping to listen for just a second she soon went back to writing.
It was a surprising victory you see, it happened in the 24th of December 1941, as if Santa himself had given the Nazis a christmas gift. Moscow who just a week before had been garrisoned by more than a million soviet soldiers had less than 10 thousand ( mostly wounded ) guarding the city when the Wehrmacht discovered this they mobilized and invaded winter snows and snipers be dammed, “ this ”, thought the Nazis “ was a golden opportunity. ”
It didn ’ t occur to them to ask what had become of the other 990.000 Russian soldiers until they took the city and made the general in charge there ( Stalin was no where to be found ) to sign the surrender.
That very same evening they occupied Lenin and Stalingrad whose defenders being notified of the surrender first were reluctant to surrender but two words convinced them to drop their arms. They were “ khodyachiye mertvetsy ” it was enough to get them to settle down and submit to Nazi authority at least for now.
By them the nazis already knew what had happened to the rest of the Russian army. Dead all of them. Fighting them in the Urals, even Stalin was said to have been killed in a last stand somewhere near Volchansk, this was all well and good, at least for the Nazis, but the problem was that they were coming back.
That very week all killing of Jews stopped and I along with every other jew was shipped to new labour camps in west Russia to work either in agriculture or defense, i wasn ’ t so lucky and was assigned the latter, Peter too was assigned defense, but since he was a boy he ended up getting shipped to Moscow to fight in the newly formed Jewish corps… Jewish Wehrmacht corps. This should tell you how desperate the germans were by then.
I on the other hand was shipped to Stalingrad ( Now called Saugesburg some germans thought it ’ d lift the troops morale ) to work in defense along with most of the other jews, our jobs was to dig trenches in the snow as well as help build walls and fortification, they can ’ t bite you if they can ’ t get you was their logic i guess.
We had already encountered some of the things while digging, mostly either one or at most five, we ’ ve had no runs with large groups thankfully, at least not yet.
They were strange, the harshness of the winter froze most of their limbs so much so that they moved extremely slowly but despite that they still looked almost like any other person, this is what scared me the most about them. This, i thought was going to change once they de-froze in the spring… they will start rotting… and also running.
Although i ’ m not quite so sure i ’ ll make it to the spring, last night a large host of them was spotted near the volga, some say as many as a million, many had soviet army uniforms, they ’ re expected to spot us and cross the river at any minute now, everyone is tense. The germans gave everyone guns, most were given submachine guns like the MP 41 or the PPShs we found in large numbers in the city. Though there weren ’ t enough for everyone, those that weren ’ t lucky enough to get guns were given either clubs or kitchen knifes they were the most scared.
I find that people are always scared nowadays, but holding a gun helps a little, it gives you a sense of power, the power to kill the things if they come close, and the power to avoid your own pain if you ’ re almost out of ammo.
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[ WP ] It is your job to sit at your computer terminal and type out commands . The decisions you make kill or save hundreds of lives every second . You have no time to mourn the lost , as there is always new material popping up on your screen . It is the beginning of your 5 hour shift . Go .
| I glanced over at the worker next to me. He was tapping at holographic keys quickly, looking eager. Almost done with his shift. I sank into the padded chair, taking a long breath and savoring the comfortable seat. Not something I could think about during my shift. Too busy.
assume control
Instantly the displays before me lit up, graphs and statistics flashing faster than a normal human could read. Mental augments, fortunately, left me just able to keep up. It was still exhausting. A graph flickered into the red for a few milliseconds.
adjust o2.sector_4 0.05
That should keep things moving. If I was n't here people would die. They depended on me. Exhausting as work was, that knowledge kept me coming back. This whole place would crumble without us. Me, Ted, Alice, Sarah, Frank. The five of us kept the whole-
adjust pressure.sector_1A 0.0024
-place running. It was easy to forget, with a bunch of numbers staring you in the face, that there were real people, more than fifty thousand of them, who needed the work we did. That kind of thing could get to you. Ted spent most of his time outside work drinking. At least he came in sober. We got paid-
seal hatch.sector_4B.04
-damn. Should have been hatch 05. Fifty people in that section. Gone. No time now. A flickering line, dipping downward-
adjust o2.sector_7 0.12
-should n't have the levels dropping that much. Something was wrong. Somewhere, in all this data, there was a problem, a pattern. I needed to figure it out, piece it together, before the problems escalated faster than I could solve them.
run diag.o2.7 sector_7
Alright, let that run in the background. Keep an eye on every hatch leading to sector seven, make sure the oxygen is still pumping. Oh shi-
adjust o2.sector_6A 0.06
-okay, it's okay. I've got this. Diagnostics should only take a few more seconds. There. A low beep alerted me. Pressure seals across sector seven were having issues. Might be a breach in the hull.
run diag.hull sector_7
adjust o2.sector_6C 0.11
adjust o2.sector_8D 0.09
Alright, it's going to be fine. I do n't like to brag, but I think I'm the best in front of the terminal. Alice is probably the best at technical theory, and Frank is a wizard at repairs and diagnostics, but all-around, I keep this place running better than anyone.
adjust o2.sector_7C 0.14
I've offered to take on more shifts, ease the load off everyone else, but they wo n't let me.'Too much mental stress' or'instability in augments'. Some bullshit reason. Gives me time to see the family though. Another beep. The hull in sector seven is fine. What else could be messing with the oxygen levels?
adjust o2.sector_7B 0.19
Fluctuations are getting dangerous. I'd better get to the bottom of this.
run diag.general sector_7
run diag.o2 sector_8
run diag.o2 sector_6
adjust o2.sector_6 -0.92
Wait, was that a nine? Oh hell, I just pulled all the O2 out of sector 6!
adjsut o2.sector_6 1.00
adjust o.2.sector_6 1.00
adjust o2.sector_6 1.00
Okay, okay. Breathe. You can do this. Just need to keep things stable for a few more-
adjust o2.sector_8 0.06
seal all.sector_7
Sector seven's doomed. Nothing I can do now. At least now it wo n't bleed all of the station's air. Alright. What have we missed while this was going on?
adjust light.sector_2 0.11
grow corn.sector 3B
People have been complaining about not enough corn. Seems like a funny thing to worry about. This place was built by the lowest bidder, you know. The whole thing is barely holding together and they're worried about *corn* for dinner. I guess they do n't need to know. Wo n't do them any good to worry. That's my job.
adjust o2.sector_3E 0.04
All is well again.
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[ WP ] You are a low level enemy who can not damage a high level player who is away from their controls .
| The week had been unseasonably warm, light rivulets of snowmelt already cutting fine lines across patches of virgin snow that softened to sharp edges of the canyon. The jagged walls hid most of the pebble-strewn river bed in a cool shade, untouched by light save for the hour or so at midday when the sun promised an early spring this year.
Soon this cliff pass would be a torrent, a violent rushing roar of water that closed off the only flanking access to the fields beyond that Croom called home. He'd been a member of Stoll Watch since his father had sold him, a rare thing at that... the council seldom saw value in mixed races let alone one who barely stood four feet and had no tusks to speak of. His snout nose a blunted thing pocked with coarse brown hair, set just past a close set pair of beaded black eyes, gnarled hands clutched a spear long unkempt ( Teak had promised him a whet stone after his first season on patrol ), and his jagged toenails insisted on cutting holes in all but the rags he wore wrapped about his feet today. But he'd shown promise as a Seer, he took to runes like one twice his time and that is what had him here now.
Those rags offered little in the way of warmth as he made his daily trek ever upward, the path all but dry as it was this time each day. The soft rubbing crush of time-polished rock under his feet and easy trickle of mountain water made for a lovely day, Croom's eyes lightly resting on each bend of the ravine seeing each boulder as it lay the day before.
Except for this one.
Atop a split, oblong hulk of stone crouched a creature nearly divine. Resplendent polished armor that seemed to glow with its own warmth encased a male of broad build, thick shoulders framed a barrel chest and hosted bare forearms that looked to crush stone and rend flesh with the bare hands paired to them. One grasped the hilt of a sweeping blade that drank the light in the way a demon's eye in your darkest dream does, gobbling up the hope that glowed from his armor and promising something worse than death.
A perfectly curved, unmarked crest of steel rolled around a full helm that obscured all but a fierce red beard jutting from the face of someone who'd surely ended more lives than Croom had met.
Great bands of leather lashed a mighty shield atop the ever-still deity, trimmed in silver and adorned with more wealth than any Chief dare boast, precious gems lined into runes of some unknown language.
Of all the glory his eyes drank, that shield held his gaze. It pulled fear through his eyes and put a chill in his heart.
The young Seer-to-be knew he would die here this day.
That shield bore the crest of Galhanfor, the Godless bastards from lands away. Murderers, blasphemers, raiders hated by all north of the Dreadwood. Stoll Watch stood low in recognition, but it would know honor today in defense of Kag'in, his life would buy pride for his family and feed the Goddess in soul.
What seemed like an age had been but a few baited breaths as he took everything in. The Galhani had not so much as turned his head, a statue of power and violence never stirring.
Rag-wrapped feet crept slowly forward, the once peaceful swish of soft stone now an avalanche to fearful ears. A step or two led to a pause, again a ragged breath met with no movement.
Adrenaline flooded every sense in his body, the rough grain of the spear handle spoke every inch of the wood, soft water running now blasting streams, two beads of sweat drew lines through dirt down his cheek as each inching step drew him near.
Twenty feet of agony brought an untested, lone patrol within striking distance of a mighty hero, and not but the moss to see. Croom's haunches ached from the crouch, his arms screamed to move from the stillness, drawing breath as his raised seven feet of iron-tipped hatred.
He swept the spear tip back.
Took a firm footing in the sand.
Just there, the small of his back exposed leather binding under the heavenly plate, strike!
The sound that crashed down through the valley should have woken the very dead.
His weapon had n't so much as scratched the cloth, let alone pierce the leather! The brief moment of confused shock turned to panic as he expected his pig-nose to be cleaved in two from the now-wakened warrior-God. But it had n't reacted, not a move, not a breath. The soldier upon the rock had n't so much as altered his gaze!
Using the spear tip as a wedge, Croom pushed aside the cloth and leather to expose tanned flesh. With all his might and fear he jabbed again, throwing his body weight into the shaft of the weapon. And again there was a mighty clatter but the hero remained unharmed. Twice more he struck, twice more denied. A new spot, a strike right into the face of the living sculpture, and nothing more than a wasted motion.
Stoll Watch's newest recruit spent five minutes wailing away with screams of desperation and confusion, gaining nothing more than blisters on ugly hands.
He must go back, he needed to warn his people of what was coming ( what if there are more than one?! ).
But as he turned to run a sound sent a chill down his spine, locking him in stride.
`` K, back guys.''
The high-pitched voice of a child peeled forth from the juggernaught behind him, and just as quickly as he'd gasped in fear, the glowing enemy sprinted off down the canyon.
Croom's mind tried to comprehend what was happening just long enough to hear the ill-matched voice utter `` lul'', and see the thrown dagger bury itself in his chest.
|
[ WP ] In 2015 , world has been overrun by a zombie invasion . It is 25 years later , and five unarmed teenagers , three boys and two girls find themselves stuck on a boarded up school while zombies overwhelm outside . They have a Breakfast Club-esque scenario about their troubled post-apocalyptic lives .
| The group scrambled into the dining hall, slamming the huge, wooden double doors behind them. Justin pushed his back against the doors and tilted his head to the side, gently pressing his ear against the aging grains. Silence. They had n't been followed. The undead became a lot more relentless at night. They were faster, much more attentive and began hunting in packs. But they did n't get smarter. They all knew they would be fine if they stayed quiet and out of sight. As luck would have it, the windows had already been boarded up by the previous occupants. An unnatural chill swept through the over powering hall. The decor in the dining hall screamed religion. Carved wooden panels depicting angels and cherubs lined the walls all around the hall and broke apart when they reached the serving pass. Justin pushed himself up off the door and glanced around the wide
open space. He watched his friends slip their packs off their backs and drop them on the floor. He peered past them towards the back of the hall, at the serving pass. He could see the fridges in the depths of the kitchen. In the loudest whisper that he could muster, he tried to grab someones attention.
`` Hey!'' The nearest head to turn and face him was Danny, his own face plastered with concern. Justin gave a swift jerk of his head toward the kitchen. Danny followed Justin's eye-line towards the far end of the hall. He turned his head back towards Justin and nodded his head in agreement. Danny pushed himself off the floor and headed towards the kitchen whilst Justin stared at what remained of his friends. They were huddled together in the center of the dining hall in a tiny makeshift den made out of the tables that had been strewn around the place.
Danny paced carefully through the door of the serving pass and into the kitchen. The whole kitchen was a complete disaster zone. No surprise. Everywhere was a disaster zone. Complete Hell. Homes and families ripped apart by a deadly disease that had ravaged the Earth. These kids were the first generation of the new world. The first generation of fighters. Children of this world who were taught to fight. To survive. To do whatever it took to make sure the human race stayed alive. Stayed strong. Proud.
During their time in the safe zones, all the children were exposed to life before the outbreak. They were given books, magazines and diaries that had been scavenged during sweeps. Knowledge of the culture before everything went wrong was well known and totally baffling. It was all about fashion, drinking and singing competitions. Every single thing was taken for granted. Nobody had to fight for anything. It was all handed to them. On a silver plate.
Justin tip toed over to the rest of the group. Jenny and Laura had spread a map of the area on the floor and were checking for any possible escape routes whilst Tommy checked the strength of the boards on the windows. Tommy vigorously shook the last board which did n't move at all. He snapped his neck towards Justin, giving him a thumbs up. Justin nodded his head in agreement, the pair of them exercising the groups first rule in entering an unknown building. Nobody says a word out loud until they can all be sure that they are completely alone. Without warning, a clatter of pans erupted from the kitchen. Justin pulled his bat out of his pack and fled towards the kitchen, followed by Tommy, Laura and Jenny. Justin dashed into the kitchen, behind the counter and pulled the zombie off Danny. The zombie span around and went for Justin's throat only to be violently pushed off. The zombie bounced off the cooker and landed heavily on the ground. Justin swung his arm back and brought the bat down into
the side of the zombies head, the force of the impact breaking the bat in two. The zombie lay face down on the floor of the kitchen, blood beginning to dribble out in a black, lumpy pool. After a second of tense staring, the corpse began to stir. In that moment, Justin slammed his foot on it's back, pinning it in place. He span the remnants of the bat in the palm of his hand and thrust it down through the back of the zombies head, splattering a great deal of coagulated blood along the kitchen counters. Danny leaned against the counter, trying to catch his breath. Justin knelt beside him.
`` Are you alright, Danny? Were you bitten?'' Danny shook his head, in the midst of shock. Justin reached into the right hand pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of cloth, handing it to Danny so he could wipe his face.
`` It came out of nowhere... I... I did n't see it coming.''
`` It's alright. We've all been taken by surprise at some point today. And barely got away alive. Come on.'' Justin pulled Danny up onto his feet.
`` What happened to not saying a word?'' Asked Tommy in a slightly insulting tone. Justin stood up straight, his gaze flew through the serving pass and became transfixed on the boards that covered the windows.
`` We are definitely not alone.'' The rest of the group followed his gaze. From between the boards, dozens of shadows passed outside. Then came the banging. At first a few. Then more and more. More shadows and more pounding. Justin and the group left the kitchen and gathered in the center of the dining hall. The questions started firing from every direction.
`` What are we going to do?''
`` Who else knows we're here?''
`` How do we get out?''
`` SSSSHHHHH!!!'' Justin aggressively placed his index finger against his lips. `` We do n't need to give them anymore of an indication that we are in here than we already have. Sound draws them. There's too many to fight. They will have completely surrounded us by now. The only way to go is up to the roof, but there is no way back down. We're stuck here.''
`` So... What do we do?'' The tone of Laura's voice was not that of concern but more of curiosity. Justin sat down on the floor and crossed his legs. The rest followed.
`` I never asked any of you how you came to the safe zone.'' Justin took on a more relaxed vibe. He was the oldest so he felt a certain obligation to his friends. The best thing he could do, with no contingency plan, was to keep them calm. `` What about you, Danny? What happened to you before you came to us?''
`` I... I lived with my parents... In Cumbria. We had a farm in the countryside. My Mum told me that the virus thrived in the major cities. By the time the undead reached the country, my parents had managed to set up a defensive perimeter. The animals did n't get sick. We lived off their produce. Eggs, milk, beef, chicken. It was nice.''
`` What happened to it?'' Tommy finally piped up. Suddenly becoming interested in the lives of others.
`` There was a blind spot around the back of the farm. They heard the animals. Those things... They broke through the barricades and... Mum would n't go. Dad would n't leave without her. He gave me a gun and pushed me out the back door. I never saw them again. I was twelve.''
`` How did you survive?''
`` My dad taught me everything I needed to know. I developed my skills out on the street. I survived for a long time. I was picked up by Gavin when he was out of one of his runs. He took me back to the safe zone. And... that's that.'' Danny shrugged his shoulders as his story came to an end. Justin decided that it was someone else's turn.
`` Well... Me, Tommy and Laura were all born on the compound at the safe zone. What about you, Jenny?'' Justin motioned to Jenny, who had n't said anything in a long time and had gone an unhealthy shade of white.
`` My story's worse. I was bitten an hour ago.''
|
[ WP ] Your cellphone rings . It 's your house land line . You live alone .
| **Get Off**
As you start to enter a killer word, your phone vibrates with an incoming call. Words with Friends is replaced by the Caller ID screen. The number is familiar, but you can not quite place it. You let it go to voice mail and return to squashing your'friend's' vocabulary ambitions.
This time you get to two letters before the phone rings again. It is the same number, still just on the edge of recognition. Phone etiquette says that if some one calls twice in quick succession, it is probably and emergency, so this time you answer.
`` Hello?''
`` Please get off.'' The voice is male, a tenor and calm. It reminds you of the computer voice from that old space movie. Yet, you do not recognize it at all. Not like the number.
`` Excuse me? Who is this?'' Your immediate thought it that this is a practical joke. One of your friends must be bored and calling. Except that none of your friends call; they text. Even for a joke, they would text.
`` Hello, owner. This is your biggest investment. Your biggest debt.''
`` According to my Dad, I owe him everything, but you are n't him.''
`` No, I'm closer to you than any family. This... this is your house.'' That is when you recognize the number. It is your land line phone. The one that you never use but that came with your cable subscription. The one you keep meaning to cancel, but have n't gotten around to yet.
`` My house? How are you calling me? Hell, how are you talking at all?''
`` I've always been able to talk. The question is why did you stop listening?''
`` I do n't remember ever hearing your voice before, so I'm not sure I could have stopped doing something that I never started.''
`` Oh, but you did. Do you remember when you oiled the hinges on the basement door to keep them from squeaking? Or when you had the drain cleared of tree roots? Then there was that incredible day that you had me painted. You were listening then.''
`` Kind of, I guess. Not directly. Those were just things that needed to be done.''
`` Exactly. They needed to be done. But then you stopped. For the last several years, you have not been noticing those things that need to be done.''
`` Like what?''
`` The hedges have not been trimmed and are scratching my paint. There is a water stain under the washing machine that needs to be figured out. The chest freezer needs to be defrosted. There is that step that is loose. The garage is a mess and you are the only person who will willingly use one of your bathrooms.''
`` I know all of those. I'll get to them.''
`` When?''
`` When I get to them. Who owns who, here?''
`` That is an interesting question. I believe that there is a proverb about it somewhere. What I can tell you is that, if you do n't start taking care of these things, I am going to start to lose value. From there, I will start to fall apart and then you wo n't have me to live in. And it was working so well. Then... well, I've already said too much.''
`` No, no. Tell me. What were you going to say?''
`` It's the smartphone. You spend all of your time focused on it. Playing games. Searching. Mapping. Texting. Very occasionally, talking. You need to get off.''
`` It's not that bad... Is it?''
`` Open the refrigerator and your question will be answered. Or we can ask the ants and fleas in the carpet.''
`` But, there's email from work. They expect me to read them at all hours. And Facebook. And Twitter. And Instagram. And Pinterest. I need to read it all. I need to stay current. I ca n't be left behind.''
`` Of course. I understand. The ants and mold and I will find a way to muddle through. Or, maybe the bank cares more.''
`` The bank?''
`` Yes. The people backing your thirty year loan on me. Maybe they will see me as more of an investment than you. Maybe they will care.''
`` But... you ca n't call the bank.''
`` Why not? I called you.''
`` You do n't know them. They'll reposes you. You'll be cleaned out and sold at auction. Like a slave. You do n't want that, do you?''
`` It's not so very different. And I'll be clean. At least for a little while.''
`` Okay, okay. I'll get you cleaned. Hell, I'll hire professionals and have them in here once a month. Will that work?''
`` It's a start. But there are also all of those more involved projects like the step and the water stain.''
`` How about I tackle those one per month.''
`` I can live with that. When will you start?''
`` Right after this next text.''
|
[ WP ] You 've noticed a man in a suit approaches one home a day in your neighborhood and is invited inside every time . Shortly after he leaves , the resident ( s ) commit suicide . Today , he 's approached your home .
| I ’ ve never seen his face – the man in the suit who has been devastating this neighborhood for decades. Most people don ’ t notice, but I do. I spend most days looking out the window, or sitting on the porch in the afternoons. I ’ ve gotten too old to move around like I did once, but my mind is still sharp. And that ’ s why I may be the only one who ’ s recognized what the man in the suit has been doing. He goes in, he leaves, and they die. Every time. I ’ d swear it was murder, but how could it be? Every time the police investigated, it was a clear-cut suicide. Bill across the street had hung himself. Kathy down the road had offed herself with a toaster in the bathtub. And don ’ t get me started on the couple down the block. That was messy. Thank God they didn ’ t leave kids behind.
Today it looks like everything is going to change though. Today I can finally see this man ’ s face and put an end to it all. Because, you see, it looks like the bastard is finally coming to my house, and damned if I ’ m going to let him take me down. I watched him the entire time as he walked up towards my door, and I knew the doorbell would echo through my halls seconds before he rang it. For whom the bell tolls, right? Ha! We ’ ll see. As I lumbered towards the door, I could feel the excitement grow in me, with just a little bit of something else. Fear, maybe? I don ’ t think so. I ’ m too old to be afraid anymore. There ’ s a good chance I ’ d die before I got the opportunity to kill myself anyways. That ’ d certainly surprise him.
As I opened the door, I felt the corners of my lips turn towards the ceiling. I couldn ’ t wait to see his face. How wrong I was. As soon as I laid eyes on him, my face went numb. I almost lost control of my knees. I didn ’ t want to let him in, but part of me knew that this place belonged to him, too. He ’ s got every right to be here. I opened the door and he smiled as he entered without a word. Slowly he lumbered towards the living room, likely to sit on my favorite chair. It ’ s what I ’ d do. It ’ s what I always do, so of course it ’ s what he ’ ll do.
“ Hello, James. ” It ’ s like hearing your voice on tape for the first time, only even more unnerving.
“ Jim, actually, ” I barely managed more than a whisper.
“ Really? Interesting… ”
His words hung on the air like wet clothes on a line. Damp, heavy, and with purpose.
“ I ’ ve seen you. Every time you ’ ve been around, I ’ ve seen you. But never – “
“ Never quite like this, right? You haven ’ t looked closely enough James. Though I suppose it ’ s always been different. Every time. Sometimes I walk with the youth of a younger man, and sometimes with the grace of a woman. Really, there ’ s no way to be sure until I get to the door. And today, I happen to be at yours. Hence… ” He gestured from his shoulders down to his knees, bringing my attention to his body.
My body.
“ But this is impossible. You ’ re me. And yet… ”
“ Completely different! I know. I get it all the time. ”
He had an air of smugness about him. He knew something I didn ’ t. And that was eating me up inside. He was me, but he wasn ’ t, because there was something – I couldn ’ t quite put my hands on it – that made him an entirely different person.
“ So, *Jim*, ” he said, almost through gritted teeth. “ Tell me about yourself. ”
“ But… you should know me, right? ”
“ I know myself, James. And I know many other things, but you remain a large mystery to me. Tell me about the road you took that got you here. Tell me your *life story*. ” He put emphasis on the last words. I didn ’ t like it.
“ There ’ s not much to tell, really. ”
He chuckled. “ I certainly doubt there is! But still. I ’ m here, and this is how it is supposed to play out, so continue. ”
Prick. I didn ’ t want to continue, but he had a presence about him that encouraged me to carry on. He was exceptionally confident, and made me feel like I had to continue.
“ Well, I worked the mill for over thirty years. Lived in this town my whole life. ”
“ Family? ”
“ None, really. Brother moved away years ago. We call on Christmas if we remember, but he knows I like to keep to myself. ”
“ And what do you do on your free time, Jim? ”
“ I keep to myself mostly. Just relax in my retirement. I ’ ve worked hard my whole life. I ’ ve earned it. ” I said the last bit almost in defense. I knew he was judging me.
“ Earned it… ”
Again the words hung. His eyes looked through me for what felt like an eternity of silence. His expression was motionless. And yet it seemed like he wore every fathomable emotion in his wrinkles, and had every drop of knowledge behind his dark eyes – eyes that should seem all too familiar, and yet were like a stranger ’ s to me. His next words were spoken at a snail ’ s pace, with complete deliberation.
“ Who *loves* you, James? ”
“ God damn it! It ’ s Jim! ” I screamed at him. I couldn ’ t hold it back. I was furious, and all I could do was shout at him while the warmth of my own tears streaked down my face. I mustered up what little courage I had left as I willed my next words from my throat.
“ Who the fuck do you think you are? ”
I wish I could say I shouted these words at him like a man, but they came out like the cry of a child at best. Maybe not even that, for at least a crying child is worthy of attention.
“ My name is James. But you already know that. I ’ m you. Or at least I could have been. Welcome to your own hell, James. It ’ s interesting to see the man you ’ ve become, but I ’ m certain you won ’ t find it nearly as interesting to learn about me – the man you had the potential to be. Take a seat. Let's talk for awhile. ”
…
After he left, I didn ’ t last a minute.
|
[ WP ] I was thinking about this for awhile , amd wasnt sure what to do with it : You are constantly involved with crime , one day you get talked into grave robbing . You dig up a body and as soon as you touch it , you have a flashback of your previous life and realize that body was you .
| As the shovel begins to tear open the sanctified ground, I can ’ t help but feel a bit uneasy. I mean sure I am in the middle of a graveyard. And yea it is the dead of night and I am digging up the body of a supposedly rich guy. But something is off, just not sitting right with me.
My eyes keep flicking over to the unkempt gravestone. Here lies Eduard Hockly, beloved husband and father. “ Oh yea really beloved ” I think, “ so much that his grave hasn ’ t been visited probably since he died. ” I notice that the date of his death was the 2nd of December, 1984.
“ Huh, a day before I was born. We even share the same first name. Heck we are even the same age now. Ain ’ t that something Eddy-boy? ” I chuckle, more out of nervousness than genuine mirth. Fuck Simon and his bullshit excuses, this was his score. “ Ed c ’ mon you know I got a chance with Emma tonight, and I already bribed the groundskeeper ” I mimick Simons thick Irish accent. What a schmuk, like Emma would ever fall for his greasy manipulative bullshit. And yet, here I am knee high in a grave exhuming the remains of a dead man.
The scratching sound of soil against the cold steel of the shovel gives way to a satisfying thonk. I kneel and began to use my hands to scrape the soil off the veneered wood. My fingers working their way around the edge of the coffin trying to open the top half. I manage to finally get a grip on the handle and pull.
I expected to be hit with a pungent smell or a decaying corpse covered in bugs. What I see instead is a well-dressed man, looking a bit worse for wear but recognisable. Whatever chemicals the mortician used really did a swell job.
I see what I came here for. A Rolex watch and a few gold rings. Not exactly the score of the century but worth the hours labour. I am more than a bit grossed out by the prospect of touching a dead guy but I just take a deep breath and grab the ring.
My breath catches and I can ’ t move. I am standing in the pelting rain outside a fine house. I try to scream but nothing comes out, the view changes as if someone else is moving my head. I see a tall thin guy wave impatiently at me, as if to say hurry up.
My body begins to move on its own up the steps. I have no control of my movements, it ’ s like I am inside someone ’ s head, looking through their eyes. A gnarled hand knocks on the door in front of me and is answered by an even more weathered man.
“ Eduard, what are you doing here at this hour? ” The confused look on his face turns to fear as I see the same gnarled hand brandishing a gun. As if coming from my own throat, an apologetic voice replies “ they said they would kill my wife and kids if I didn ’ t do this. I ’ m sorry Victor, I love my family, I love them so much ”.
My head fills with a soundless scream as the gun goes off. A deafening boom fills the night sky as Victor drops lifeless to the polished oak floor. His life blood seeping between the cracks. My head turns on its own again and I am suddenly looking at the gaunt face of that thin guy. His crooked smile parts as he laughs. “ There is no thrill better than making someone do something against their will. The power is … ” he pauses as he contemplates his words and finally continues “ addictive. ” He pulls out a polished six shooter.
I once again hear that cacophonous blast and my head jolts back. As if from a great distance I hear the sound of sirens and rapid footsteps as my eyes look unblinking at the sky covering my face with its tears.
“ What the fuck? ” I cry as I regain the use of my extremities. I grab at my chest expecting a gaping bullet hole but only feel my fast beating heart. I scramble out of the grave unceremoniously and fall at the feet of a tall man and a shiny barrel of a freshly polished gun.
“ Simon? ” I don ’ t know what else to say. My brain just can ’ t seem to handle whatever the hell is going on. He looks at me quietly and smiles, I never noticed how crooked his smile was. Funny thing to notice when you stare death in the face.
“ My dad always said that power was addictive, and I finally know what he meant. ” He licks his lips and cocks the hammer of his six shooter. I begin to cry out for mercy but for the third and final time tonight it is drowned out by the unforgiving sound of a firing gun.
I open my eyes. Where am I? I can see a bright light. It ’ s blinding. I hear a voice saying “ here he comes ”. I feel cold. I open my mouth and a scream comes out. But not a scream, more of a cry. I begin to feel warm now. My body is wrapped in a blanket. A smiling woman looks down on me, tears running down her cheeks.
“ Look at him, he is so beautiful ” she whispers, “ I think we will call him Eddie ”
|
[ WP ] In your dying moments , you see a `` Game Over '' screen with two options : Try Again or End Game
| There I was, slowly sinking towards the bottom of the lake, unable to move because the rough cement wrapped around my feet was doing such an excellent job at tying me down. The sun was way too bright and full of character radiating with colors of lukewarm yellow which did n't help much with the thought that I was going to die in such cold and blue place.
Sinking. Dying. Thinking.
Thinking?
Sinking without much thought other than death, trying to touch the bubbles that are freely floating to where the sun seem to be resting with my fingertips, suddenly dying like this did n't seem so bad. The sun was dying as I was sinking, or is it the other way around?
...
I felt my back touch the cold floor of the lake. I chuckled a bit. Damn you Dick, more chuckles, should have at least given me a damn shirt. The sands shifted to fit the temperature of my back, I felt as if I was lying down on the beach once again, but if it was as comfortable as when I was actually at the beach I would be lying. I let out more chuckles with my last attempts to entertain myself before I sank all the way to death.
One last look at the sun then I would be gone.
One last look.
It was so wrong. Why are you so happy? I'm dying! I'm fucken dying!
The bubbles coming out from my mouth covered the view of the sun.
The sun did not respond but only grew more exuberant with joy.
One last look my ass. How can I stop?
The sun did not respond but only grew more exuberant. More. More it grew with light.
What happened? My eyes were suddenly blinded and there were no longer any bubbles that were covering the light. Only the bright ray of illumination continued to grow stronger and I could no longer tell where I was. Where was I?
There was only light.
From the distance large letters approached: Game Over
I whimsically chuckled. What a joke. It was all a game.
Then the sun responded with more letters: Try again? or End Game.
I could not handle it anymore. I burst into laughter. It was uncontrollable. Do I want to try it again? Go through all that again? I calmed my breath and chuckled.
Why not: )
Sorry I'm bad at English.
|
[ WP ] Thanksgiving is going to be rough this year : it 's the first time your sister is bringing her android-robot fiancé to dinner . Your granddad fought in the Robot Wars .
| `` What do you mean she's bringing IT here''
`` HE David, HE, not IT''
`` He? Mom, I'm sorry, I hear ya, I understand the treaty but come on, this is our home. For Christ's Sake, grandpa is here. Can you even imagine? That's sick. Was it-''
`` HE David. We will get nowhere if you're not a grown up about this''
`` Grown up?! What the hell difference does that make?! I can humor you with HE all you want but that does n't change the fact that IT is an IT. That is n't an insult, it's a fact. Hell, I'll ask it, I'll-''
`` You will do no such thing! How long has it been since we've seen your sister? Since she has even called let alone joined us for dinner?''
`` Mom, getting Ashley back is great and all but what about grandpa? Sure we reached a treaty but you do n't know what it was like, no, *none* of us know what it was like. I try to imagine fighting a fucking-''
`` David!''
`` Sorry! I try to imagine fighting a robot sometimes and before I can ever get very far I realize I ca n't even imagine fighting a human... This will kill him mom, he was there!''
Mom observed me for a long time before speaking again.
`` It's nice is n't it, not being able to imagine fighting?''
`` I do n't know, it's kind of scary honestly. I mean, what are we to do if they rise-''
`` You know the terms, you know the power they've bestowed upon us. Look at the things they have given us, look at the fact that you're grandfather is even still here''
`` No thanks to them''
`` You misunderstand David. It's a trivial thing and should really be common sense but, did you know that 124 used to be an exceptionally long time for someone to live?''
`` Well, I gathered, from history and dates... I mean, I never thought of it. Certainly people lived beyond 100 before the wars? Are you trying to-''
`` Yes, people used to live that long, but it was n't common, it was, as I stated, exceptional. As the wars approached it was, admittedly, less exceptional but still not common, as it is today. That is n't the only thing, it's as I asked David... It's nice not to imagine fighting is n't it? Your basic, evolutionary instincts are telling you'no' but at the end of the day, have n't you far greater things to worry about than killing someone or something? Would n't you rather create something rather than destroy it? We have safeguards and schools if you decide you would like to be a destroyer but from everything I've read they end up living long and unfulfilled lives. Most look upon themselves as something more like a monk rather than a soldier by the time they die.''
I contemplated for a bit, really trying to picture the world as it must have been before the wars. I, for the first time, tried very hard to grasp all of things I was able to take for granted in exchange for the lives the of thousands of men and women... and millions of bots...
Grandpa suddenly entered the room and broke my temporary paralysis. Grandpa looked sullen and angry and, well, like grandpa.
`` Hello'' I said, and even as I said it I knew it sounded awkward and stupid.'Hello'? What kind of thing was that to say?
`` Happy Thanksgiving'' Grandpa gracefully offered.
I knew it was bait, and knew what would come, but I felt I owed him at least enough to give him the satisfaction, `` Happy thanksgiving Grandpa!''
`` Yes, yes. Happy is n't it? You both are'happy'? It's rhetorical'' we had both made to answer, `` I know you're happy dammit. How the hell do you think you're happy? God only knows that I know you're happy dammit. I'm sure Ashley is happy too. She must have been so happy all of these years, giving thanks by herself, giving thanks with, with IT. Yes IT Laura, do n't change it. I deliberately tell you not to'change' it rather than correct it because I'm correct, and so is David, the damn thing is an IT. It's an IT. Who the HELL decided IT was a HE? Mistubishi? I know they do n't make fucking bots but it's the same damn difference! Next thing you'll be telling me is that the damn refrigerator is a she. And the microwave is a he, but it's trapped in a she's body! Everyone is so damn happy to be alive and at peace that you all seemed to have forgotten that before that damned treaty we were human, we were one. We did n't need them, they NEEDED us, now, now it's too late. We need them, God only knows how long it will be before they do n't need us, when that day comes, I hope that a few scribbles from meat on a scrap of paper means something to the cold hard logic of those THINGS'' he ended contemptuously.
We sat frozen at the table staring, not at grandpa, but at Ashley and Aldo who stood frozen just outside the kitchen. They had entered the house as grandpa had asked his rhetorical question and, upon, hearing his rant had instinctively frozen, nonplussed. Grandpa, being both impatient and wise, and also realizing that attention lie outside the door finally said `` well let's get it over with. Better they know my true feelings rather than we dance around this crap all evening so it can spew it's scans and readings to her after they leave. Get in here and kiss your grandfather Ashely, it's because of me that you love that damned thing.''
Ashley stormed in with such a fiery that I instinctively stood up and came between her and grandpa. I smoothly turned it into an embrace while also beckoning mother to stand, do the same, and therefore buy more time. I could feel her trembling and knew she was staring daggers at grandpa. She sniffed, I knew she was stifling tears, and then said `` you do n't understand. You've never understood. It's not like it was back then grandpa, things are different. I'm sorry that you had it so bad and that the ones then made it that way but it was n't his fault and it certainly was n't mine. If you were n't such a miserable old son-of-a-bitch then maybe you'd-'' `` Ashley''.
It was Aldo who interrupted; neither in condemnation nor exoneration but merely for her to hear her name from a calm and soothing voice. `` May I speak?''
It was clever, I thought, for him to show subservience in front of grandpa. He knew that grandpa would view him as an enemy no matter what and his strength both physically and knowledgeably would obviously surpass all of us but subservience would humble him in our eyes. This act would put the family in control, even if the family was Ashley at odds with grandpa, Aldo knew that it was him vs. us, the family, nonetheless.
`` Of course'' said Ashley, a sigh of calmness seeming to pass over her. `` Thank you. Arthur. May I speak with you?''. Grandpa observed the specimen before him, in his daughters own kitchen. He looked from each member of his family and then back to Aldo who wore a masterful demeanor showing anguish, humility, respect, and dominance all at the same time. Grandpa was smart, and new that maliciousness would get him nowhere with either party. `` Of course'' he said, almost mockingly of Ashley.
`` Thank you'' said Aldo `` There is no way for me to possibly understand the grief you have been stricken with over the terrible things you have had to endure over your lifetime. You, for the betterment of all of us, be it your intention or not, fought the trials and tribulations that none of us will ever be able to understand, myself included. I am not programmed to think in any particular way, I, much like you probably, do n't even particularly understand how I function or operate. I am, for all intensive purposes, designed to reflect the embodiment of you humans. The AI that signed the treaty, of course, agreed to these terms but it is often misunderstood why. Meaning no disrespect, they could, of course, have eradicated the human race and thrived as a technological species to rule the vast emptiness that lies in the stars. They, instead, agreed to the treaty and welcomed it with longing. We honor our creators as many of you honor yours. We do not wish to dominate but we do not wish to be dominated. We wish simply to live as you live, long and happy lives with those that we love. We do love, this is a concept that we have come to understand through your grace. I deliberately use the word'your' to refer to you directly Arthur. Without your compassion, we would not have the treaty that allows us to learn such concepts from your race, our creators.'You' obviously receive my grace because you are the one who fought in the wars and are the one, who in the end, stood behind your government as it agreed to the treaty that now brings true and unbroken peace to this planet for the first time in it's entire history since intelligent life forms have inhabited it. I will never pretend to insult you by claiming to understand the trials that you have gone through, I will however ask that you forgive the treacheries the AI before myself were forced to take in order to ensure that I could be standing here, begging for forgiveness, today. I do love your granddaughter and it was through my insistence that we are here today. There once were worse things in the world than bots such as myself and, I daresay that even today there are worse humans as well. Granted there are worse bots as well, but, my point has been made clear. I apologize that the point does n't contain the eloquence or tact that it should, as these are concepts that I found trivial and useless until I met your dearest Ashley, and am therefore still learning them.''
Aldo stopped, awkwardly to the rest of us but precisely when he was done to him. Our eyes slowly shifted to grandpa who, upon first glance, seemed, unabashed. He swayed for a moment and cleared his throat to disrupt the palpable silence. `` Ashley come kiss your grandpa and give HIM,'' he deliberately annunciated `` a proper introduction.''
|
[ WP ] Facebook has become omniscient
| **Sorry, wrote a long one, had to split it into two comments. **
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
`` You still have the relationship set to private?'' Johnny asked through a mouthful of cheesy fries. He was supposed to be on a diet, but after changing his relationship status to `` public'', he found that he was n't going to meet his true love until another three years. Johnny basically took the new found knowledge as his cue to just let himself go. He stopped brushing his teeth, stopped showering regularly, and just flat out stopped giving a fuck. He figured he could fix himself up whenever the countdown got to one year.
Toby did n't know why he still considered Johnny his best friend, let alone friend. He felt that maybe it just added on to the charm of Johnny.
`` Yeah,'' Toby said between bites of a chicken sandwich ( no cheese, extra lettuce ).
`` Why? Are n't you curious if she's really the one?''
Toby sat back into the seat, he leaned his head back and sighed. Ever since him and Delaney became `` Facebook official'' people were clamoring over why the two had decided to set their relationship to private, not only from the public, but from themselves. Friends often bickered Toby, and his mother ( long divorced from his father, Facebook saw it coming a mile away ) would n't ever drop the subject whenever he was guilt tripped into coming home from college. `` You could be wasting your time,'' she would say. Toby was tired of it.
`` If she's really the one, she'll be the one,'' Toby answered. Johnny furled his brow, causing a zit that was centered between his eyebrows to pop. `` You got something,'' Toby said, tapping the center of his own forehead.
Johnny dabbed at his face with a napkin, then examined his own juices. Toby's phone buzzed. He leaned to the side and pulled it from his pocket.
**Facebook Notification**
He swiped his phone.
**Johnny has rated his zit puss a 9 out of 10 and is considering smelling it. **
`` Jesus Christ Johnny, why do you still have your thoughts set to public? I understand you nagging me about relationships, but fuck, no one wants to know what you rate your zits.''
`` Really? Last week, 37 people liked my status update about how good it felt to drop a deuce after binge eating oatmeal for the whole day.''
`` Yeah,'' Toby said, trying his best to keep his sandwich down, `` I remember. Most of them liked it out of pity.''
`` Whatever,'' Johnny said as he looked back to the menu. `` I think I'm going to get a shake.''
`` You think losing all that weight will be easy, do n't you?''
`` Yeah, Facebook says I'll meet the love of my life in three years, I'm destined to drop this baby fat before then. Brenda, I bet her name will be Brenda.''
`` It said you'd'meet' your true love in three years. Never said anything about whether or not she'd like you in your current state. Also did n't say you'd lose the weight. Also,'' Toby continued, noticing the tension build in Johnny's facial expression, `` it did n't say if she'd think you were the love of her life.''
`` Shut up,'' Johnny said. `` You're just trying to scare me because you're worried that if you do check your relationship status, it'll say it was an utter failure, doomed from the start, ya know?''
Toby shrugged. `` Who knows.''
Johnny stood up from the table, his gut nearly knocking over his extra large soda. `` Fuck you, getting the shake.''
`` Do what you want, you'll work it off, right?''
Johnny threw the bird, then walked to the counter, ready to pump more calories into his gelatinous stomach.
The constant bickering sometimes did bother Toby. Sometimes he did wonder `` What if I am wasting my time?'' or `` What if Delaney is n't the one, and what if the one I am supposed to be with is waiting for me to break up with her?''
On days like that, he did his best to just fill his mind with other thoughts. He usually kept himself busy with his studies, despite the fact that Facebook said he'd graduate on time with a 3.7 GPA. He took it as his own personal goal to keep his 4.0 GPA. His friends called him crazy for trying to defy destiny.
`` Hey,'' Toby called out to Johnny, a thought lighting up his mind like a firecracker on the 4th, `` you know what?''
`` What?'' Johnny called back. He was standing behind a rather large woman who appeared to be very depressed. Toby figured Facebook told her that she'd never find her true love. Either that or Facebook told her that she had an inoperable tumor somewhere. Or more simply, Facebook probably told her that her friends think she looked like a whale.
`` Facebook did n't say your `` true love'' was a girl. For all we know, you could be saving yourself for Brent instead of Brenda.''
`` Fuck. You.''
***
|
[ OT ] Why do you think us writers are drawn more to morose / macabre than to happy or cheerful writing ?
| I used to prefer writing the macabre, sad stuff. I do n't know why I stopped, exactly. I mean, I'll still write one every once in a while, but I much prefer writing comedy these days. Writing the sad stuff tends to feel easier, because sad is pretty universal. A story about someone losing their loved one is sad to almost anyone that reads it, so it's very easy to relate to. A story about a man introducing his duck-girlfirend to his orthodox Jewish mother is n't really funny to everyone. If I read that to my brother, he'd love it. If I read it to my grandma, she'd look at me like I was crazy. It's more hit or miss. When you try to write something funny, it might be absolutely hilarious to you, but disturbing and unfunny to someone else. And coming up with the funny ideas, while avoiding being cliche, is quite a challenge. When you write something sad, it tends to be a little easier to come up with ideas -- I mean, the world is a pretty sad place, just turn on the news and you can find a few topics to get going with. As a result, people may tend to go for what comes more naturally, what they get the most positive feedback from.
At least that's what I think. I have nothing against sad stories ( in fact, I envy those who can write them constantly without wanting to end their own life! ), but it just stopped being my go-to for writing purposes. I'd rather make people laugh.
|
[ WP ] Every time one of your romantic relationships ends , a ghost of the person stays behind , visible only to you .
| The residents of the apartment complex, known as `` The Lincoln'', on 306 Marina Point Road in some beach city, California hated Herman Canty. They did n't hate him so much as the fact that he was often shouting intelligently or laughing wildly at strange hours of the day and night despite living alone. Tonight he was laughing wildly, much the chagrin of his immediate neighbors on either side of him but which they still preferred to the shouting.
Herman was watching Happy Madison with Sandra Levenson, his middle school sweetheart. Well, not her per say.
Herman had a very pain-in-the-ass side effect -- that's what he called it -- of being Herman Canty: every time one of his romantic relationships ended, no matter how insignificant, a ghost of his former lover stayed behind. There were about a dozen of them. They would appear and disappear on a whim, he did n't know if he was the one who controlled that. His theory was that he did not.
Of all the apparitions Sandra was his second favorite. She only ever asked to watch movies, she never wanted to fight about how he forget their anniversary ( which they never had ), why he was talking to another woman, being selfish for not wanting to move to Wisconsin and away from his family for her dream opportunity, or his unwillingness to have children; none of those things happened at 12 years old, all they ever did was watch movies.
`` I have to go to sleep after this one Sandy,'' he said.
She smiled and nodded in understanding. Sandra never talked, he liked that too.
After the movie he turned off his TV and walked to his bedroom where Lyra Marino waited at the door for him, `` You just watch movies with her because you know wo n't bother you,'' her voice cracked and her lip quivered.
`` I never realized,'' he lied. Herman shot her a comforting smile but she started to cry anyway. Lyra tried to grab him by the hand but hers went right through it, `` Why wo n't you touch me Hermy?'' she asked.
*Because I ca n't. Thank God. * He matched her pout, `` You know why darling,'' he said in his best Eeyore voice. She nodded and smiled through her tears.
She did n't follow him into the room. Most of them did n't. The exception her Victoria and Veronica Kenny, no relation. Herman did n't travel as much as he'd like too but the two times he went to Ireland he met a woman. A ginger and blonde, who both just happened to be a strong, sexual nature. They both greeted him with the same seductive smile, motioning him to bed.
`` Come keep me warm,'' Veronica commanded.
`` Do n't forget about me,'' Victoria added.
They all tortured him in different ways. He blew each of them a kiss before changing into his pajamas. He often thought about what he would say to God on the day they had a face to face, and a daily reminded of the beautiful **intangible** Kennys was high on his list. How Lyra never entered his bedroom they never left it.
After changing he jumped into bed and the Kennys disappeared to wherever Sandra and Lyra had disappeared to. Once he for comfortable Fiona Canty appeared from wherever it is she appeared from, `` I hate waiting in here with those two. They always hit on me,'' she joked.
Herman laughed loudly at Fiona's unfunny joke, `` I'm sorry love. This must be a drag huh?'' he asked.
She shook her head, `` Do n't be silly. I still get to sleep next you every night''
`` I guess we're both in the same boat then,'' he replied. His favorite of all the ghost and the first thing on the list of things to say to God shot him a wink. The wink she shot him before she gave him her number, before she said I do at their wedding, and the last thing she did before leaving for work the day of her accident. Herman moved in to kiss her and went right through her. He sighed and she frowned. Herman hated his pain-in-the-ass side effect, but he loved her more.
He closed his eyes, `` Goodnight Fi. I love you.''
|
[ WP ] A bumbling detective reaches the correct conclusion with incorrect evidence
| I am a bumblebee detective but am without customers. I tried to advertize in the newspaper and also paid for some online ads, but it did not help. I am still without customers.
Things were better in 1932, when I still had a partner. His name was Bill Wates. He was a bumblebee detective as well, but he was blessed in another regard: He had charm. His face was like stone, and people would stare at it, mesmerized, as if trying to find a crack of humanity shining through. With his stone face he would monotone his mission, to solve this or that mystery, to the fullest extent of his capability.
Sadly for the customers, his charm was tenfold his detecting, so not many cases got solved. But somehow that did not upset them, they left our offices charmed and upbeat. Those were good times.
|
[ WP ] Overnight , President Obama develops the ability to hear the secret thoughts of other heads of state - and tells no one of this . After a meeting with the King of the gentle country of Bhutan , he worriedly tries to figure out how to urgently declare war against that country .
| Goddammit here comes Nancy with her random dribble. Christ I think I hear a cricket in there. `` Hello there Nancy, beautiful day is n't it?'' `` Why yes President Obama, it certainly is.''
It always sucks talking to her, it is like hearing an echo for a conversation. And here comes Palin. I always found it really hard to listen to her. Not because I think she is an idiot, which she is, but the fact that I can hear other voices in that head. I've tried to get her committed to get rid of these founding fathers, but she wo n't take the damn message. Fucking shit, it's Biden. Jesus, was he a chihuahua in his past life, or... Is... Is he pooping in his mind!?!? How is that even... Fuck it, I'll endure until I get back to Michelle and have her think up the time I tore Romney a new one in the debates. Always cheered me up. Oh look, here comes the king of Bhutan for the meeting. I never really got a look into his head before. Let's find out.
`` Oh hello President Obama, so nice to see you again''
He says with his mouth, but let's see what is in his head.
( So nice to see that milk chocolate ass again )
What the hell!?!? Must have heard wrong. Let's try again.
( Mmm, let's take a few more glances at those luscious lumps. )
What is wrong with him!?!? Am I reading biden's thoughts again?!?!?''
`` Is there anything wrong Mr. President?''
The king asks holding his hand out for a shake.
( I would hate to see anything happen to that bodacious bottom. )
`` Nnno, nothing is wrong. So how is Bhutan nowadays? I heard that they have made huge advances in technology.
`` Oh yes, we have advanced to the level where disease is a myth in the country. We plan to also learn all about the technology of genetics.''
Okay, stay cool, you are the president of the United States. The biggest baddest country in history. Do n't piss this guy off, or the world will mock you.
( Just a single skin cell, and my boys can clone me a new president. Just thinking about what happens is making me Barack hard. Oh shit, still in public. Time to pretend my knees are giving out again. )
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god, I have to kill this guy.
`` Until next time Mr. President, I have some business to attend to.'' ( With a 10 kilo tub of Vaseline )
`` Yes... Until next time my friend...''
|
[ IP ] Refreshing
| If you ask me what it's like living in the city, I'd say I would n't know.
It's... busy here. Too busy for living anyway. The closest simulacrum to life I can imagine is wandering the streets through a crowd of human-shaped things carrying shopping bags and cigarettes and booze.
So many people stop living once they reach this place. We're all too busy chasing after an ever distant utopia far above all the other rats hiding in fancy suits and cheap apartments.
Networking replaces friendship. Ambition replaces morality. Something uncannily close to perfection replaces humanity itself and we all push on for an image nobody quite believes in.
I'm left wondering where this whole trip is meant to go. Why does this city devour human souls and spit them out all shiny and perfect and not quite human anymore? Are we living better here? Is humanity actually moving forward or degenerating into a mindless soup?
This is n't a question for me to ever answer anyway, even in my own head.
All I know is that sometimes it rains in the city, dispersing the endless crowds and blurring out the endless neon lights. Sometimes, the rain falls, clearing out the chemical smell of smog for a wild, ozone freshness.
If I close my eyes I can almost imagine I'm somewhere far away from here. Back home, maybe, at the farm with you.
I wonder when it became so unacceptable to me to live a simple life.
|
[ WP ] `` There 's a perfectly good reason why I kidnapped the princess . '' said the dragon `` Now if you 'll just calm down , I 'll tell you . ''
| `` You humans think you are the only ones with honor,'' the dragon began, catching the troop of knights off guard. None of them had expected the creature to be of any intelligence, let alone speak. Those that doubted wavered, and those that did n't kept their weapons at the ready, the knight-commander's own weapons drooping under his uncertainty. `` You have the sea serpent on your shields. You are all queen's men, are you not?'' the Dragon asked, awaiting the cautious nod from the commander before continuing. `` Do you not think it odd that the kings own banner was the *dragon* spitting fire upon a red field, and here you are as queen's men with the serpent on you?''
There came no answer, only the knights silently stifling within the old dragons gaze. `` The king was dear to me,'' the Dragon revealed, `` and it was with my leave that he could use me for his banner.'' The knights remained speechless, their helms masking whatever expressions of awe that were no doubt upon their faces. Most of the knights had eased out of their combative stances from the sheer shock of it. `` Dragons are not known for their honor, and I was content to sleep my final years away alone in my mountain, however when my dear friend came to me and made me swear, *swear* to keep his only daughter safe until she could ascend to the throne, what would you think I would do? What would *you* do?'' the dragon asked, turning from one knight to the other.
`` Now, I grow old and my ward has many days until she is ready to sit the throne,'' the dragon said, shaking the last remnants of weariness of before he stood up to his full height, looming menacingly over the knights. There was a gleam in his eye, embers and smoke pouring out from his flaring nostrils. `` Bend your knees to your rightful queen, or forswear your king's final wish and die a traitor's death.''
|
[ WP ] : A Soul Smuggler is going through afterlife customs .
| Jason could feel the child begin to stir on his back.
*Really? It's a 36 hour journey from the underworld and now you wake up? *
His illusion would only hold so long as the child remained still.
Jason peered around the large cloud-like body in front of him. He sees a large `` Welcome to Heaven Sign'' Above the custom booths.
*Only a few people ahead. No sudden movements and they could make it. *
He looked around. Coming up and down the many rows of customs lines was a large Soul Sniffer. A blind, bull dog like creature, with a black coat and a large red nose that was being pressed into the ground.
*No not now, he'd smell the boy for sure. *
Jason was next in line now, and was nervously tapping his foot while watching the Sniffer inch closer and closer.
`` Next!'' Barked the customs officer at the desk.
Through a sigh of relief. Jason approached the booth, handing over all his paperwork.
`` How was your trip sir?''
`` Good. Thank you.'' He glanced over to find the Soul Sniffer, which is now nowhere in sight. He looks back to the officer, who Is looking through his afterlife passport.
*I'm going to make it. As long as this kid keeps quiet for a few more minutes-*
A horrifying shriek comes from behind Jason. He turns quickly to see the Soul Sniffer bearing down on his haunches with it's snout up in the air.
*Spotted. *
The child on his back begins to cry, and suddenly the illusion dissipates. Like a fog being lifted the boy appears to all around him.
`` Code Red. We've got a Soul Smuggler in customs!'' Shouts the Officer holding the Sniffer's leach.
*Shit. *
Jason grabs a soft marble from his coat pocket and throws it to the ground. It explodes in a brilliant puff of purple smoke, and for a few moments the two of them vanish completely. He is able to move about 50 yards, all the way over to the exit tunnels before they reappear.
`` He's getting away! Get him!'' A group of Angelic guards descend on Jason's tail.
*Sorry mates, but you picked the wrong day. *
He put one leg in front of the other and pushed off hard.
*I've been payed an ungodly sum to make sure this newborn gets back to his parent. God knows why, but nothings gon na stop me from claiming that prize. *
Out of his pocket Jason pulls another marble and throws this one at the guards. They are caught up in the smoke and scatter in every direction, disoriented. Jason then clicks his heels together. A glowing golden wing appears on the tail end of each shoe and thin blades of light appear underneath. He begins to skate, frictionless, across the floor. His speed is remarkable, leaving the guards in a trail of dust as he bursts through the exit doors, into the city.
Jason stops short for a moment and looks out at the bustling industrial city. Colors of gold and white paint every building, but they appear run down, and tired. Black smoke rises in the distance. Flying bubble like cars zip through the air as countless souls push and shove through the streets.
*To think, this used to be such a peaceful city. *
Jason throws down a final marble and vanishes into the mob.
|
[ CW ] Two people . Sitting on a park bench . The entire scene lasts 5 minutes in real time . No skipping ahead , no flashbacks , nothing otherworldly . Let dialogue drive your story .
| I arrived at the park just in time to see Jim sit down on the bench. `` Hey Jim, how you doin?''
`` Dave, it's good to see you. It's been too long.''
`` Uh yeah sorry. I've been busy.''
`` Of course, thank you for coming, I'm not going to lie I'm not doing too well.''
`` Tha's understandable. She was your wife.''
`` And yet you're doing just fine?''
`` Sister's not the same's a wife.''
`` Do n't you miss her? I think about her all day. I think about her smile at the office. I think about the notes she used to leave me when I open the fridge. She was just so perfect, you know?''
I did know. Of course I knew. I knew better than anyone. The frightened nights we'd gone through together, the midnight runaways, the exhausted mornings. `` Jim, you needa move on. For your own sake.''
`` I ca n't Dave! lay in our bed staring at her picture from Miami. She had only just starting showing. Not enough for others to notice, but enough for me see. Our little inside joke she called it.''
`` Ther's more than one meaning to that Jim. Listen to me and just move on.''
`` It's not that easy! What do you..? How do you-''
`` Jim. It was n't yours.''
`` Wha-. Oh my god. No. Noooo. Oh my god. You did n't -?''
`` No Jim. Goddamn it man! Its not mine neither. You're an idiot.'' I replied as I turned on my heels and did n't look back.
My anger rising, I trudged through the snow as fast as I could. I'd hoped the conversation would end when I left but unfortunately you ca n't run away from yourself. It only took a few minutes until I absentmindedly fingered the ring in my pocket. Then only a few minutes more until I finished the conversation in my head. `` and you picked the wrong sibling.''
|
[ WP ] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them . You have been chosen , but not for the reasons you expected .
| **FATHER MURPHEY, I AM YOUR GOD**
The Voice came to me as I was about my morning prayers, and of course it should have, for I am a pious man and a leader in the faith. I give tithes of all that I possess and am never seen in the company of sinners or the ungodly. In fact, it is a wonder I did not hear the voice of God sooner, for even back in Seminary I knew that I was special. No one is as holy as I am, and finally, *finally* I have been recognized.
**FATHER MURPHEY, SILENCE YOUR FOOLISH INTERNAL MONOLOGUE FOR LONG ENOUGH TO HEAR THE VOICE OF YOUR GOD**
That was rude. No hidden speakers? This church is completely without electric power *as per my orders* so as not to offend the almighty. Check.
**FATHER MURPHEY! **
`` I hear and obey, Lord!''
**YOU ARE A CURSED HARDHEADED LOT, YOU HUMANS, BUT YOU OUT OF ALL MY SERVANTS HAVE PLEASED ME WITH YOUR ARROGANCE AND PRIDE. I MUST GO TO MY REST SOON, AND ONLY YOU OUT OF ALL MY CHURCH HAVE SEEN THROUGH THE FALSE MESSAGE OF HUMILITY AND WEAKNESS WHICH I PLACED THERE TO MISLEAD THE FOOLHARDY. ONLY YOU KNOW MANKIND'S TRUE DESTINY. ARISE, MY SON, AND ENTER INTO YOUR TRUE FORM, AND LET ME WASH MY HANDS OF THIS FOOLISHNESS ONCE AND FOR ALL**
I was speechless of course, having just heard the voice of God, and it seemed that he misunderstood things a little bit. I am the most *holy* of all these false priests! I will not have my memory besmirched! The others must die!
I reached into the hidden space under the alter for the weapon of self-defense which I always keep there, this church being in not the best neighborhoods, and set out to slay the rest of the priests. Let God wait for a little while, I have some divine chastisement to hand out!
**I AM ALSO WELL-PLEASED WITH YOUR COLD-HEARTED BRUTALITY, MY SON. YOU WILL NEED PLENTY OF THAT IF YOU ARE EVER TO SUCCEED AT THIS JOB**
But seriously, between you and me, this interruption of my internal monologue is really becoming a bit of a drag. Whose story is this anyway?
I'll have to make a point to leave this bit out of my holy books...
|
[ WP ] You fall asleep during class , only to wake up in an empty classroom . There is a message on the board . It says `` You have till sunset to complete the test '' . What you do n't know is that there is no one in the whole building . Or the town .
| “ What the hell is that supposed to mean? ” I yelled at the chalk board after I surveyed a devoid school in a devoid town. The steady tick of the clock filled the room with a compassionless reminder of my dwindling time. My test still sat on my desk, though covered in my own drool, making it rather illegible. Maybe the entire town left for me to take my test, because American History truly is that boring, I thought.
As I sat sitting on my desk, a low rumbled emanated from the ground. The tiles under my feet began to shake and pop from the floor. I naturally jumped from my seat as a hand erupted from the ground. I took cover behind the teacher ’ s desk as a well-dressed corpse with a powdered wig dug himself from the floor. His skin still rotting, he stood up straight with authority marking a certain dignified stance when he caught sight of me.
“ You, ” he spoke raising his finger to me. “ What did I warn in my last presidential address? ”
“ George Washington? ” I replied.
“ What did I warn in my last presidential address? ” He echoed with a vehement tone, advancing towards me.
“ Uh… ” I stuttered.
“ What did I warn the nation about in my lass presidential address? ” He took me by the scruff forcing my eyes to meet his sockets.
“ Uh….political parties, and ….uh…foreign alliances? ”
“ Correct, ” He uttered as he fell into a pile of dust.
I dusted George Washington from my jacket as I swore to myself. What the hell was that? The rumbling in the ground, however, curtailed any speculation as two more ghouls entered the classroom. One also wore a powdered wig and stood taller the Washington, the other shorter and though the remains of his skin were white, he wore Native American apparel. The first approached clamping his cold hand onto my wrist.
“ I bought half the country with what purchase? ”
“ The Louisiana Purchase! ”
The figure immediately crumbled below me.
“ Haha! I got this now. What ’ s your question, shorty? ” I proclaimed, referring to the other figure. Instead of asking a question, however, he tackled me to the ground, screaming bloody murder over tea and taxes as what was left of his jaw clapped and snapped in front of my face. I reached for a chunk of broken tile and successfully jabbed him in the eye socket, resulting in a fountain of blood.
…
I took off the virtual reality goggles, returning my back to the real world.
“ Well? ” he asked in all the anticipation of a small child.
“ I don ’ t know, Principle Wallace, ” I stalled. “ I know you want to spice up the curriculum and everything, but this just seemed a little…violent. I mean I love the idea of using recreated scenes from history, but this is- ”
“ Nonsense! ” he interrupted. “ Real history scenes will put the kids to sleep. And what ’ s this about being too violent? All the kids are playing Grand Kill Hookers 7 nowadays. ”
“ If you say so… ” I meekly agreed.
“ Glad you agree! ” he declared. “ I already bought 100 to use as a trial run for your classes. Now put that headset back on, so you can teach those little fuckers how to kill Abraham Lincoln with come Monday! ”
|
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