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[ OT ] QOTW/Meet and Greet # 4 : Who is/are your favorite author ( s ) ? Do you draw inspiration from them ? How ?
| Hello moderators ( or the Mod Squad as Nate's referred to you. Damn you and your cool gang names )
Anyway I was wondering if there was any chance I could score me a piece of that `` flair'' action now I've attempted to get my own subreddit rolling.
Ca n't believe Lexilogical has recommended Worm. That took practically a month of my life away from me. Not that I did n't enjoy it immensely, but a month. Christ. I think most my friends assumed I was dead lol.
Too many authors I'm fond of though I'd heavily recommend people take a look at Brandon Sanderson. He's got `` Warbreaker'' as a free ebook which I know you can get from wattpad if you join ( and I think its on his personal site as well if anyones interested ). That and his mistborn series are the best fantasy reads I've found in a while.
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[ WP ] World War 3 came and decimated the entire population and all records . Centuries later people do n't know about the Apollo missions and are eager to send the “ first ” man the moon . When they get there , they find the American flag and realize that someone , or something , has beat them to it .
| It was n't the vast expanse surrounding him, the dirt and gravel below him that, just by looking at it, he knew had no value for humans now or future generations of them. It was the flag ahead of him that destroyed him, it was his pride of being the first, being ripped away, that soured this moment forever.
We had nothing but hope propelling us out of our stratosphere, he had nothing but fear keeping him in his seat but he knew once he stepped on that shining grey dot in the night sky it would propel humanity to a new level.
It would give them the strength to develop bigger spaceships, to go deeper undersea, to observe and understand, but the flag told another story, a story of a time long passed that had left the world scarred.
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[ WP ] You are a wall . Write a story where the reader does n't know what wall you are until the end .
| The aspiring writer, that rare and noble breed which can be found worldwide, is often characterized by a stooping hunchback gained from curving over some form of netbook, laptop, or second hand computer which still runs despite being older than the boy who served her coffee this morning. The writer might wear glasses, a side effect of sitting in dark spaces brooding about convoluted plots and publishing rights, or otherwise might walk around with the permanent squint of a future spectacle wearer in denial.
The writer habituates spaces on the internet with the same dogged tenacity of the unpleasant men you may find in crowded bars - prompts are examined and discarded callously for the shallowest of reasons, competition is warily observed from afar, and any opportunity to lay pen to metaphorical paper in the age of spellcheck is jumped upon before the original poster can contemplate taking a break from Reddit for a while to check on their small potted plant collection. Blogs are run and followed. Interviews are voraciously consumed for hints on how to achieve that mythical Best Seller status. A novel is in the process of being written - though its title may as well be Holy Grail for all the evidence the writer can produce for its existence.
In this case, it is fairly likely that the writer sits in a small room. The walls become as oppressive as that of a prison, though the writer would berate herself for using such a cliched hyperbole, and as always the dreaded writer's block waits for the next plot idea to rest its fragile neck in the fatal groove. A deadline becomes an execution date. The flashing cursor onscreen, the glinting axe. The metaphor becomes too convoluted and the writer yet again sends the document into the recycling bin.
The fading light from the sunset outside hits the far wall and the writer sighs, lamenting her choice to stay indoors on such a beautiful day in order to spin imaginary gold into Courier New. Such is the sacrifice the writer makes, the terrible choice between reality and eternity - the calendar on the left wall reminds the writer that there is a social event happening tonight, but just one more sentence! A paragraph more. Let the writer undam the creative flow and let the mess spill onto the keyboard in a riot of dialogue, descriptors and dead end plot twists, a dessicated dissection of the original idea, an exploded diagram of the imagination ( with helpful labels added by the proof readers ).
Let not the cup of coffee spill onto the keyboard, however. Some messes, while just as destructive, are far less satisfying to explain to an interested party.
The writer finds a prompt which inspires her. This is it, she thinks. This is the writer's chance to showcase her budding skills and gain valuable experience in putting herself out there. She could try to write something poignant. Something inspiring. Something thrilling, something scary, something which grabs the heartstrings and plays Paganini's Caprice No. 4.
I know, the writer decides. I will try to be funny. I will obstinately avoid any attempt to mark myself as a ``'''' serious'''''' writer and, instead, become the fourth wall.
The writer begins:
`` The aspiring writer, that rare and noble breed...''
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[ WP ] You have been bitten by a zombie and locked yourself in your room . Write a letter about your experience to whoever finds you , with the language getting worse as the virus progresses .
| *It is Saturday March 22nd, 2025: *
I am 21 years old. I was an engineering major, meteorologist minor, before the outbreak happened when I was a Junior in college. I never made it to Senior year. I know nobody cares, half the world has suffered the same fate, but I've been bitten. I never thought I would make it this far. I'm just some dumb kid from Pennsylvania. I'd usually prefer writing on a computer, but the power was knocked out years ago. All my electronics have long since died, so this is all I've got. I've always found myself furiously scrawling words onto empty pages when I'm in trouble. When my mom died, all I did was write on loose bits of paper for the next months. I wrote about how I missed her and hated the world for taking her; and at the end of each day, I crumpled the droplet-laden paper into the tightest wad I could manage and tossed it basketball style into the nearest bin. This one wo n't be getting tossed, but it will be droplet-laden. I've just never really had anyone to talk to during all this. My dad, Ryan, separated himself from what was my family long before I could write. My mom told me stories about him, but he never mattered to me. Just the idea of him mattered. He's probably dead for all I know. I guess I'll get to introduce myself to him soon enough. Maybe we can all be the big happy facebook-post family that I used to stare at and wish for. Last year during High School, I thought social media was an important thing to have. I would spend hours scrolling through other people's lives, envious of what they had and self-conscious of what I did n't. I remember some of their faces from when the outbreak started, lost in the piles of dead bodies. Now I have what they do n't, but not for long. All that superficial stuff did n't wind up mattering. Jock, nerd, geek, cheerleader -- you're just another meat sack to the undead. Now, I was n't at all popular, but I managed to get one friend. His name is Jacob. We do everything together. He's like the brother I never had. I wish I got to tell him how much I appreciated his company before this all started. It's getting late. I've got ta make sure everything is locked. Front door, back door, and roof. I fed my puppy Butterfinger on the way to bed. He's named after my favorite candy. He's all I have left. It's just me, him, and this boarded up house. I do n't know why I'm telling you, or myself, this, but it makes me feel less alone. Maybe if I keep writing about my human experiences, I'll stay human. I know that is n't true, but it makes me feel better.
*Today is March 24th, still 2025*.
I peeled off the bandage this morning. It was so ugly I just wanted to throw up and die. Just curl up into a ball and choose to die. I do n't want to be a mindless killer. I went out this morning to check for supplies, but I wo n't go outside anymore. It could happen at any moment; I do n't want to hurt anyone. I made sure everything was locked. Front door and roof. I think I'm going to let my dog go. She's very old and her time could come any day now. I just do n't want to be the one to do it. I let her out the front door and watched her run away. As I watched her leave me, I felt that awful pain. Why does everyone leave me? I felt disgusted as I thought back to the stories my dad used to tell about my mom. She left us before I could even write. -- -- - > here's a couple of tears I just cried. the stains they leave on this paper are probably more meaningful than anything i'm writing. i need to distract myself from the sadness. i ca n't believe it -- I banged on the side of that old box-shaped TV in the living room, and it totally came to life! My favorite show was on. the first episode was filled with smiling people around a long table, feasting on foods i have n't seen in years; it reminded me of thanksgiving. their cheery voices filled the living room. i turned up the volume to the max and sat in front of the screen. It must've been a marathon of new episodes; I could n't take my eyes off the screen until the sun started rising the next morning. I slept exactly one hour, but I do n't feel tired.
*it is march 26 and you guessed it: its still 2052. *
i miss my dog ryan. he was just a puppy. maybe i shouldnt have left the back door open. i went downstairs today and he was gone. i cant believe he ran away. i made sure the windows, back door, and roof entrace were locked. but the windows were dirty. i opened to clean them. the air seemed fresher than the usual stench of rot and stink that hung in the cool Ohio air. i wish i could have been a meteorologist like the ones on tv. i would have had fans, i bet. then maybe i wouldnt feel so alone. i think im a likeable person. no one else ever thought so. at least no one except jacob. i think we were best friends once, back when i was a senior in college. we were both meteorologist majors. he was there for me when my mom died and i didnt have anyone else. his name was Butterfingers. we hung out every day and go for walks together after school. i was a commuter, so we got to see each other more than usual.
*i think its saturday but yesterday the sun didnt come up so dont quote me on that. *
i made sure to go into the basement and feed my dog. i havent fed him for a week now. he must be hungry. i feel bad. he bit me so i stopped visiting him. ive been too afraid to go back down there. terrible noises. snarling. but now i feel bad so im going into the basement to feed him. he growled a little at me when he saw me but this time he didnt try to attack me. i love my dog jacob. hes a good boy and we do everything together. he was there when my mom died. i think ill stay in the basement with him. i made sur e to unlock everyth n g so we dont get o ut.
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[ WP ] NASA 's first deep-space mission has been exceedingly uneventful so far as the Hermes 2 makes its scheduled pass behind Jupiter , losing radio contact with Houston . When contact with the ship is reestablished , something is very different .
| Like a prose lost to the annals of time, just adrift in the cosmos as I stood at the bridge. Staring out the empty, at the cold behemoth of a relentless abyss that would not stop. Seemingly improbable, as time seems to plot against you. Ours be so fickle, in a worthless attempt to make use of what little we have, space bends time to achieve its need. I now see the monster within it, within me, while a intangible foe conspires against us. With all the time it could ever need.
Somewhere inside a raging inferno, I am harkened back to a single moment, back to my past. I drop the weapon, a thud resonates through the hall behind me as I eye the glorious gas giant before me. Like a wisp in the clouds, looming smoke swallows me as the haze thickens. Heat slowly rising around me, as if I emit a flame from my irradiated skin. Smiling to myself, finally able to set fire to who I was, standing in the flames as I let the madness consume my mind. Like a flood rushing in, an acid corroding my veins, I exhale again as the cigarette smoke trails off.
Somewhere behind me, the cackle of a radio breaks my trance. My mouth agape, turning my head toward the console, I long forgot about those poor Earth bound souls. Unable to appreciate what freedom of a mind free from the bondage of time can bring. Stumbling to the console, I ca n't help but smile. The perfect prose escaping my mind, my lips unable to transfer the words. Pressing the button, inhaling deep, `` We are all dead,'' I answer.
Only if they could know, only if they could just *feel* the agony on the inside. I turn my attention back to my window, thumping my head against the glass. Space, where my demons could finally escape to, they could n't twist my memory anymore here. No need to forget anymore, time could not follow me here.
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[ WP ] You are given a small notebook . Inside is a list of last times you 'll speak to every person you 've ever met . One date is far , far later than the rest .
| `` Hey dad. Its Jacob.''
I held my breath and the pause for as long my intuition would let me.
`` I just wanted to say thanks for letting me use your truck last time I needed to move. My bass amp was just too big for trying to drag across town; and god only knows how people would have reacted in a city like this.''
I grabbed a cough drop out of my left pocket, it rested next to my keys. It was bitter and instantly I could feel the extra saliva start to fill my mouth. I knew i'd have to take an extra second between each sentence. Exactly what I wanted.
`` I want to say sorry about mom, but I just ca n't. I feel like if there is anything that I learned from you its that you do n't have to love everyone; and I do n't. She was a twisted old woman. She cared more about other's expectations than she did those of her own children. But thats not all she was; she was your heart; that twisted old organ that told you it was okay to leave your son alone in this big, strange planet that do n't give a damn unless I pay my rent.''
I felt a raindrop start to fall down the crease of my neck. Was that what it was? It might have came from my face instead. Who cares, its an escape clause.
`` I just wish I would have told you about the book sooner. But you know me, right? I ai n't superstitious. Black cats, broken mirrors, and Christ all look the same to me.''
One more pause as I crunched the hard candy at once. `` I'll see you tomorrow.''
But thats a lie, I never came back to that graveyard again.
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[ WP ] You have the ability to indefinitely stop time , you can do and manipulate anything while time is frozen , but there 's one catch : you still age at a normal rate while time is stopped and other 's do not
| People have a misconception about time. They would describe my ability as the power to stop it, like one would pause a movie. That's impossible. One can not stop time any more than one could stop space. They are the same thing.
When I was a child, I believed I was stopping time. At the age of five I would “ freeze it ” daily. I could play an extra four or five hours of video games before dinner, until I grew lonely enough to endure my broccoli for the sake of parental attention. I had to stop when my mother measured my height on the wall. “ Four inches in one month! ” She exclaimed, but the pediatrician told her that was a physiological impossibility. I was more likely to grow another head than sprout that much. He suggested making sure my feet were actually flat on the ground when ticking progress marks on the wall. He was more concerned with my sleep patterns.
So through college I used it sparingly. I only took one extra class per semester, and I admit to giving myself an extra twenty minutes on an exam or two. I made 100 dollars on a bet once when I walked into my buddies room sporting a week old beard where I had been bald the day before. I used that week to finish my thesis on entropy. That is when I discovered the nature and depth of my ability. Time/space can not stop; the universe would cease to exist. The mathematics simply do not allow for it. Entropy, however, is another matter. That was a term that could be manipulated. It could be paused, or accelerated, even reversed and the functions still modeled the universe alarmingly well. The time/space factor did not care in the least which direction entropy flowed. Only the subjective frame of experience dictates the direction of entropy flow, and thus, the arrow of time.
In my experience, the entropy of the world that surrounds me may be stopped at will. My body, however, remains a slave to it. I still lose body heat, I metabolize as usual, I grow old as the world remains frozen. I am developing a theorem around a compartmentalized entropy system, but my knowledge of quantum mechanics is lacking.
In my adult life I have seen little need for the ability. My work load is such that I can complete it in the hours given. I am happy to grow old at the same rate as my peers. That has been my philosophy and rarely do I waver from it. Until I saw on the news of the approaching meteor.
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[ IP ] Cloud City
| *'' Unity'' *, how Ironic.
That's what they called the floating city, as if it was born from some all-knowing holy entity in the side of the universe. Ready with all the amenities of the human-race; water, food, light, and lots of air. They tried to make it look like some divine apparition that came into existence from the `` Creator''.
**bullshit**, all of it.
We all knew the earth was in pain, but not because it's life was over. It was just having a fever, the Human existence, and trying to molt away the insects crawling on it's back. We were n't meant to conserve ourselves and our energies, to last until the stars themselves burned out. We were meant to bring all our energy out at once, bringing about great change in a fireball of daring greatness.
**COMPLACENT**, ALL OF THEM.
It's a new toilet, but we've still got to deal with the same stupid shit. The systems in place, the people in power, and the invisible rules did n't go away; they adapted. All the little worker bees, keeping the city running, happy with being able to *live* in this world, to experience this world. How blissfully ignorant they are, I'll show them the truth of the human existence.
**GREATNESS**, How timely.
You can hide all the information you want, throw away all the scientists and engineers who do n't agree, and destroy all those who oppose you with ease. You ca n't save yourself from the great calamity of this world, the earth wants us. In search of answers, I find their `` Creator'', tirelessly working to keep their sins afloat in this world of heights unknown. It was just a man, old and waiting for death, one I would gladly oblige.
I have become their `` Destroyer'', only because of them. This was not my purpose, not my destiny, but that was before they tried to control it. You ca n't change my purpose, you ca n't take away my destiny, but you can keep it from ever having been. Just like they willed my purpose to be less than theirs, I will make their destiny greater than they ever hoped. IN A ROARING FLAME HUMANITY SHALL BURN BRIGHT ONE LAST TIME, TOGETHER NOW!
CC Appreciated - X.
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[ WP ] An alien has landed on Earth with you as the only witness . Unfortunately , he is under orders to leave no evidence of his arrival , meaning that shortly , you are going to resemble some rather chunky chili . Attempt to convince him not to kill you .
| Rob hopped on one foot in the middle of the inner-city basketball court, hissing in pain. He reached out, waving his hands around like a blind man trying to swat a fly, haloed in the cold, flourescent lighting of the court at a little past two in the morning. Rob had stubbed his toe. He was very surprised however, when in what appeared to be the empty air, he felt a smooth surface, with the texture of a very glossy egg-shell.
“ Get your god damned hands off my ride, ” a voice said from the shadows around the chain-linked boundary of the court. “ I don ’ t need to clean grubby monkey grease from the finish. ”
Rob was aware of two things. One, that his toe still really hurt. And two, that he had stumbled upon some kind of secret government research project. Being conducted in downtown Baltimore.
It was when the ship ’ s owner emerged into the bright floodlights that Rob was aware that he had made a mistake in point number two. The owner was slightly built, wearing a grey-ish coat. He looked imperiously at Rob, neither taller nor shorter than the man. And his eyes, all eight of them, were entirely inhuman.
“ Are you some kind of alien? ” Rob asked.
“ Are you some kind of idiot? ” The Other asked.
“ Uhh. Nope. I ’ m a human, ” Rob said. “ So... do you need some help or something? ”
The Other gave Rob a scathing look with all eight of his eyes. The Other paused, and then said reluctantly. “ One of your satellites took out my jump capacitors. I need power to get off the ground. ”
Rob thought about it a bit. “ Those things run off the city ’ s electrical grid, ” Rob said, pointing to the floodlights. “ Maybe you could... tear it up. ”
There was a flash as the bottom of the floodlights exploded, the thick copper cabling exposed. The Other holstered something that Rob didn ’ t get a good look at.
“ Give me a hand with this, ” the Other said. He fiddled with the cables, crimping the end into an alien socket, and then handed the cables to Rob.
“ So... where do you call home, anyway, ” Rob asked as he stood around, holding the cables like a bouquet of weird metal flowers.
“ Don ’ t have one. ” the Other said as he took the cables, one by one.
“ Any friends? ” Rob asked.
“ Don ’ t need any, ” the Other responded, and then closed an invisible hatch.
“ Everyone needs friends, ” Rob said.
“ I don ’ t, ” the Other said. He took out the thing that Rob hadn ’ t gotten a good look at. Rob got a good look at it this time - it was wicked looking, with sharp, fanged curves. The Other levelled it at Rob. “ Thanks for the help and all, but unfortunately, protocol ’ s pretty clear about leaving witnesses. ”
“ W-wait ” Rob said, holding up his hands and waving wildly. “ There ’ s got to be another way. ”
“ Sorry. ” The Other said, as the sharp thing he wielded whirred into life. Rob stared death in all eight eyes, and saw his life flash by. Waking up, eating alone, working until past midnight.
“ Wait, ” Rob looked at the Other, thinking furiously. “ You won ’ t leave any witnesses if you take me with you. ”
The Other blinked. “ I suppose that's acceptable. Step this way. And try not to get fingerprints over my ship this time. ”
Baltimore was plunged into a city-wide blackout as the ship drew power and zipped off into the stars.
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[ WP ] One day it started snowing , and then it never stopped .
| **August 31st, 1444**
It ’ s been nine months. Nine months since we ’ ve seen land. Two hundred and seventy four days since gravity and solid ground defined my life. Now, buoyancy and infinite waters enslave my crew and I. We were perfectly on course, en route to docking by June 17th, as planned. Then came the darkness. It was high noon; the sun shining bright and naked. The horizon, however; was terrifying. It seemed as if we were riding into the black of night, our ship reeling against the ocean like a frenzied horse. I had no choice but to ride directly into it. Any attempt to turn around or evade the storm would have pulled us in, hopeless and helpless. The clouds resembled giant black floating rocks, and for our sake were just as dangerous.
For thirty-six hours I steered and steered and prayed. My limbs ached to the bone, my body shivered against the ruthlessly relentless winds, and I was covered and caked in my own waste. By the time the darkness cleared, I had to be carried to my bedchambers. I had no idea were we were, but at that point I was drained in every way known to man.
I ’ ve tried to orient us, but we can ’ t afford to turn back and face another beastly storm. Ursula Major and the North Star have been our gaurdians under the night, and am hoping they will lead us to safety. We ’ ve lost four men so far, and have long ago exhausted our food supply. While food is the most imminent issue, it is the increasing intensity of the coldness which plagues us. Every day grows colder and colder; conditions for which we were ill-equipped.
I pray we find land. I pray we find it soon.
**October 12th, 1444**
Alas, my prayers were answered, but with a hefty cost. A total of twelve bodies had to be cast overboard, their putrid becoming increasingly unbearable with every lifting and lowering of the sun. We ’ ve found land, yet it seems to be completely deserted, save a few strange flightless birds. Some of us have begun fishing and hunting in search of food or fur for warmth. There is fresh water beneath the rigid frozen waters; a much needed relief to my parchment-skinned crew. While our feelings of gratitude and comfort are immense, there is yet another dark cloud hovering silently over our heads. All of our solutions are temporary. This white land offers no opportunity for harvest, and a lifestyle out here is unsustainable. We must remain focused and find another solution,
**October 19th, 1444**
It ’ s been one week since we docked. We are making end ’ s meet for the time being, but another unforseen occurrance has presented itself. It seems to be raining partially frozen water. It melts on impact with human skin, yet accumulates amongst itself unceasingly. The properties of rain most likely changed with the lowered temperature of this land. Many of my men have begun playing with the furry-looking accumulations, rolling them into hardened balls and throwing them at each other like reckless children. One of them returned with a blackened eye and broken tooth. It was the first time I saw someone smiling and laughing while bloody and battered. In fact, it was the first time I saw Jacob smiling since we hit that storm in June. His brother fell ill that day, and was one of the blessed twelve that now rest at sea. As warm as it was to seeing him smile, I again cast my prayers upward in hope to end this frozen rain.
**January 4th, 1445**
It ’ s cold. So, so cold. It hasn ’ t stopped. Since October it hasn ’ t stopped falling and most of my men are gone. Malnourished. Frozen. Hopeless and suicidal, only five of my original thirty-member crew remain. Our fate rests in God ’ s hands now.
**January 22nd, 1445**
I can no longer move. This white water has invaded every inch and crevice of the ship, and permanently blanketed what was left of my crew. My time is….has been limited. How or why I am still alive I do not know. This place, this land north of habitable temperatures was by no means meant for man. It is a desolate white wasteland, a canvas upon which humanity will never paint. The Bible says heaven is down below and filled with fire. I say, I am convinced; that hell is in fact frozen land. Fire, you see, burns and incinerates you quickly. This land, this deceivingly innocent looking white plain; kills you slowly and painfully. First your limbs, then your core. But it frolics and takes it ’ s time. You are completely aware, conscious while your body succumbs to infinite coldness, only a few degrees away from your new permanent temperature.
Farewell. I ’ ve failed. My crew are dead I lay here freezing and alone. If anyone finds this journal, I wish you warmth and safe travels.
Domenico Colombo
Edit: formatting
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[ WP ] This is my first post here , sorry if this has been done before . I have a very detailed and expansive prompt . I came up with this a while ago , and it was too ambitious to tackle myself . I feel like it has too much potential to just be forgotten . Enjoy !
| I get the call at two A.M. I'm awake and cleaning the house. 16 hour shifts leave you with precious little time to clean and I already caught up on my sleep before dinner. I leave for work at 3 A.M, get back home at 6, kids are n't home till 8, 9 or 10. Which meant Abigail and I had plenty of time to make love. She's pregnant again, baby number six. Still as sexy as the day I met her.
It's the hospital that calls, been talking to them a lot recently. Dad's already dead, and Mom has cancer. Already dealt with Dad's departure, mourned and grieved for two weeks. Long time, but everyone was supportive, even got time off work to mourn.
Mom's had cancer for three months now, and she's not long for this earth. She and I already made peace with her death, spent an entire day dealing with it. I get my emotional side from her, as you can tell. Not very dignified, but no one wastes time being angry with me. I usually perk up after a few hours anyway.
Hospital called to tell me she's been getting worse all day, and she's on life support now. They're going to pull the plug and want me to be there when they do so. I let them know I'll be there in a few minutes.
I make a few phone calls. Work first, then Roger and Samantha. They live a few states away. Neither one will be able to make it before Mom would die, and I let them know she's passing. Roger is like me, and is audibly crying the entire three minute call. Samantha is like her mother, stoic until she can be alone. They both give me condolences and leave me to my thoughts.
Abbigail also leaves me alone, knowing I need my time alone. I get my tears, anger, remorse and sorrow out of my system on the drive over to the hospital. I clean myself up, and am calm and at peace by the time I walk up to my mothers room.
I hold her hand as they turn off the machines, the coroner waiting outside to cart my mothers skeletal form out to the incinerator. She's dead within a minute of them unplugging her. I tell her I love her one last time, before I leave and let the coroner do his job. I need a drink after that, and leave to go get one. It's been one hell of a day so far.
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[ WP ] A group of scientists are developing a new gum that will aid soldiers fighting an imaginary war .
| “ David, we did it! We couldn ’ t have done it without you! ” said Jenny.
“ Yeah, ” I had to blush.
“ Jake is talking to the director right now, a few higher ups are coming for presentation. ”
I couldn ’ t resist, I grabbed Jenny and kissed her. She wasn ’ t resisting, and we both held on for a few minutes. She was the one who let go and was now blushing.
“ David, I- ”
“ Shh, lets just get ready. ”
She nodded nervously and we both headed towards the lab.
An hour later with the presentation ready, the Director, two high ranking members and four soldiers came. The four soldiers were each holding a weapon.
*What ’ s going on? Why are the soldiers here? *
Jenny and Jake didn ’ t know what was up but we had to keep our cool. After the short presentation that got shorter with every minute passing by with the Director getting red. We had to skip major parts of the presentation.
“ David, be plain with me. Was your team successful or not? ”
“ The formula works well, there should be no side effects for the booster. But there- ”
*Bang, bang, bang. *
…
“ Get their research and get the Red R team to produce it. ” said the Director.
“ Yes sir. ”
As the director left the scene with General Frederick and Senator Trey, he pulled a pack of gum out of his pocket and began to chew a new piece.
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[ WP ] What we see as shooting stars are distress signals from distant planets . Tonight , the sky is filled with thousands
| Miz looked up and was mesmerized, he put down his book, which was on the topic of morse code, so he can marvel at nature's beauty. He took out his camera and started recording the display. He always liked to decipher unrelated events into morse code. He went back inside his house and replayed the video, and translated the asteroid shower into morse code. Pausing and timing each light streak in the sky. Its purpose was to practice. `` An asteroid is headed your way'' was the message he translated. Hundreds of them, saying the same thing. This cant be, its just a coincidence he thought. He ponders on it for a while and tries to forget it. Days passed and something didnt sit well with him. He researched all asteroid shower events from the past. Time to decipher. The first video, he watches patiently and ticks off his paper in sync with each asteroid streak in the sky. `` We are from a parralell universe, an asteroid is headed for us, thus it is headed for you, we are your exact copy with a slight variation. Via the process of quantum entanglement, we can guide asteroids and make them impact in a certain way in your atmosphere. Please prepare to travel to mars. Your brothers from another earth.'' Miz was shocked, this cant be. He looked up several other videos. `` Build your rockets now, earth will be obliterated.'' `` Earth was destroyed, we have landed on mars. Please do the same.'' Miz contacted the space agencies of the world.Fast forward. Rockets start being built. Lift off. Destination mars.The shuttle has 30 crew members. The most powerful machine ever built by humans. It reaches mars and attempts to land after a 6 month journey. The rocket travelling at immense speeds, needs to slow down fast as it enters mars atmosphere. There is no room for error. The thrusters ignite, this massive football stadium sized habitat needs to slow down. What a relief. It lands. The crew cheers and marvels at the landscape of mars. It is night on mars. An asteroid shower appears in the mars night sky. `` This is what it took for you to advance as a space faring species, damn, we were joking, it was the only way. Guess which star in your sky is our sun?''
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[ WP ] As it turns out trees are completely sentient , yet are unable to move or speak for the extent of their lifetime . Rather than being sent to Hell , people are reincarnated as trees .
| For the longest time, I do n't remember.
Things were still, but never silent.
I Woke in morning, mid December,
With memories of something violent.
Thoughts would float like jellyfish,
in hazy red and smears of blue.
Chill of steel and smiles, devilish,
and gates I tried to stumble through.
His hands were callous, cords of sinew,
A love so harsh it stole my breath.
His teeth shown bright, `` dear ingenue''
A murmur that preluded death.
I knew, of course, I was condemned,
As I stood above his broken frame.
I took the hands I loved so much,
To his blood, I staked a claim.
He took from me a sacred gift.
One that was n't his to take.
And in my mind, I felt a rift,
Of fear and love, blood and cake
I made a grave of bones and glass,,
his hands stayed steady in my grasp
I see his face, first day in class,
His voice, a low and heady rasp.
He fed me once when I first came,
Upon his home in stormy weather,
Sweets with wine, touched with shame,
He told me that I smelled of heather.
Now I shiver in the storms,
I can not feed cept from below,
and to the sweetness high above,
I stretch and bend to seek its glow.
I mourn the loss of what I stole,,
though it was never mine to keep,
his once bright eyes, now black as coal,
and still alone, I grow and sleep.
I see the bark, the flesh of plant,
A shade I swear I've seen before,
`` I thought I told you, I just ca n't''
I entered, then I shut His door.
I ca n't remember when I grew,
But it has been more than A While.
I know the wood that I burst through,
And I share with you a secret smile.
He fed me every day, I think.
Though it was n't of his will,
I flourish as we grow in sync.
I ignore the blooming chill.
Peter said I could n't enter,
Well, I never wanted to,
Here, I have you as my Center,
I'm an endless part of You.
I hear the Others, but I do n't care,
As long as they do n't sprout too close.
I never really liked to share,
The ones that died after I chose.
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[ WP ] A school of wizardry struggles to stay in business after technology far surpasses the limits of magic .
| Androvitch twirled his wand slowly, letting loose wisps of smoke that emitted a faint glow, lightly illuminating the cold and dark stone room. His wooden desk was littered with papers, what used to be mainly student admission papers, now replaced with news of groundbreaking technology. He sighed softly, alone with his thoughts.
The bell rung thrice, signalling the end of classes for the day. Students rushed to their dormitories, eager to practice their newly learnt spells in the test chamber. They would be probably be the last. The new technology of the century enabled ordinary humans of non-magic descent to perform tasks as if with magic. Indeed, with the birth of intelligent artificial life, performing household chores had never been easier. This made spells to assist in chores quite redundant. Why use up your mana to perform a task that can be done by technology?
In fact, a lot of new technology made the same problem. There was no point in learning many of the large archive of spells. Many, but not all.
Medeva strutted along the hallway, her green robes fluttering softly after her. She lowered her hat and waved her wand, uttering a spell before a seemingly ordinary wall. After which, she walked right through and joined Androvitch and the other staff in their meeting.
`` Medeva.. I am glad you could arrive at such short notice. `` Androvitch spoke, his voice strong even though wearied by his age. The gathering bowed to her, and she dismissed them with a nod before shifting her attention back to the wise Wizard.
`` Androvitch, do you really want to do this?''
`` Medeva, I am sure you know of the current circumsta-''
`` Is there not a better way?''
The Wizard looked at her and sighed. Medeva continued,
`` The last war was terrible enough. They almost eradicated all of our kind, and now they have gotten greater weapons of destruction. Androvitch, even with all your power, and our power, we are bound to suffer heavy losses. Karter is n't here to help us anymore..
Androvitch's blue eyes closed at the mention of Karter, and when her opened them again his gaze was on the marble floor.
`` Medeva, Karter's death could have been avoided, he only got carried away with his new found Arcane Enlightment. Besides.. ``
Androvitch walked over to a shelf and took out a sheath. It had seen its share of dust and damage over centuries, but the beautiful markings were still visible. Right in the middle was an ancient rune marking, one symbolising Godlike power. An audible gasp went through the crowd and Medeva's eyes widened.
``.. We have this. Yes, the one and only Forbidden Blade. The very same one used to slay countless gods on the battle of Rachinover. ``
`` how did you.. ``
`` I am not known as Lord Androvitch Kami Chikara, Mortal God of Excimetsu for nothing, High Chancillor Medeva, First Lady of Godimechu. With this, our task is easier. `` The Wizard smiled.
`` So.. this is why you called me? ``
`` I hope you do not mind. To weild it, I need the Direct Arcane Prints of the creator, which you just happen to possess. You know very well I can wrestle it out of you, but out of respect.. ``
He stopped, and looked at her. Medeva lifted her hat, and bowed to Androvitch.
`` The Blade of Kindred has been lost and guarded from us for centuries, by the very ghosts of the Fallen gods. You are worthy. ``
The Wizard smiled. `` Thank you, Medeva. ``
He turned and looked upon the city that would soon be devoid of these new powerful technology that had just been released to the public. For the glory and prevention of the extinction of Wizard kind, Mortal God Excimetsu would once again wage a war against Technology. They would rise again, stronger, but he was ready for that. Maybe it was selfish of him for confiscating technology from non-magic kind, but otherwise, it would mean that Wizards and Witches would face oblivion.
Once again, the fallen would be resurrected, devoid of any memories of the war, or the tech they once had. And the Wizards would rest once again, until the rise of the next big Technology. Magic-kind would survive for another few decades.
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[ WP ] Humanity is fighting a losing 100 year war against a race of gigantic adorable kittens who just want to play
| The ground shook as the house-size feline prowled through the streets. Carl shivered at the sound of its approach. He could feel the monsters resonating purring through his feet, his weary muscles ached at the vibrations. He held tight his rifle to his shoulder, aiming readily for it to peak around the street corner. He held his breath and tucked in close to the bricks beside him. With the element of surprise this would be a quick kill. He would be able to flee before any more were attracted to his position.
A furry head lurked around the corner. Its fur was black with sporadic greyish spots. The eyes, don ’ t look into the eyes, he told himself. But it was too late. The blue bowling balls blinked at him, seeming to well up at the sight of him. His stomach churned in a battle of emotion, his natural response was to feel affection for his shaggy hunter.
“ Meooow? ” It called out disarmingly, as if knowing his intentions. Carl ’ s finger wavered over the trigger. He grit his teeth and cursed himself.
“ Just fucking end it, ” he ordered himself. He let out air slowly from his nose, clearing his mind and stilling his shaken aim.
“ No! ” A woman shouted, running out into the street. “ Don ’ t kill her! ”
To Carl ’ s horror, the traitorous stranger moved between him and the beast. She even dared to keep her back held to it. He ’ d seen dozens of people die this way. Turning your back was an act of suicide. Was she one of the crazy cat ladies he ’ d heard about? Those who would turn their back on humanity in favour of their four-legged enemy. Carl had dismissed this as a sick joke.
“ What are you doing woman?! ”
“ Keep away you bastard, ” she screamed back at him, tears streaming down her face. “ Stay away from my Snuggles! ” It was then that Carl noticed the scratches. Deep welts and scars covered the woman ’ s skin. Her clothes were in rags, torn away by what must have been her ‘ pet ’ s ’ claws.
“ You poor fool. ” He said, shifting his aim to her head. Best to put her out of her misery, before she got them both killed. “ There ’ s too few of us left to be siding with them. ”
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If you enjoyed this, please consider joining me over at /r/TestProsePleaseIgnore
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[ CW ] 300 - 500 Words : An excerpt from the Queen Bee 's speech to her workers , the night the world 's almond supplies were declared critically low .
| …and it is for this reason, my royal sub-bees, that I am left with no choice but to bestow myself with beemergency powers. It is beyond imperative to tackle this almond crisis; we must be prepared to work harder and longer. Almond pollination requires billions of bees working in unison – it is only by making sacrifices that we can pollinate the plantations back to life. Beleaguered now by disease and drought, the drupe needs our full commitment!
As Supreme Beempress, I will stop at nothing to correct past mistakes. I refuse to be beholden to special interests! Even if it comes to war with the Beetle Baron, rest assured that my resolve shall not waver. Our buzzing warriors will protect the humming drones until the bitter end! To accomplish this, I am bequeathing upon my bizarre bee brother, Beelzebub, all military power. He will recruit a bespoke strike swarm; their primary goal will be protection in the field, but also rooting out dissidents and sabeeteurs. Forget not the Beetroot Disaster of B7, brought upon by our own bumbling subordinates! We must always be vigilant.
In an unprecedented display of coordination and concentration, we will bedazzle the almond industry! Work crews will go out bidaily to pollinate every last apricot, peach, nectarine, and plum in this valley, before moving on to the next. Yes, it is a monumental task! I see in your compound eyes, which cover much of the surface of your heads, trepidation and disbelief. But be not befuddled, my hive-minded bee buddies! Your queen stands with you and she will support you! I guarantee that all hard working sub-bees shall receive a bonus bottle of nectar biannually.
Now go forth and dip your bristles in delicious flowers! We, the bees, must become a beautiful beacon of hope for this tragic planet. We will transform this arid backwater into something to behold, something wondrous and…
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[ WP ] Write accounts of American history significance as something you may see from a North Korean history textbook .
| **Communism and Capitalism**
The people of North Korea are very lucky to still have communism thriving in our country. Communism is the belief that everyone is equal, and everything should be shared equally between each other, unlike the West who are selfish people. The West are capitalists. Capitalists believe that everything should be kept to themselves. They share nothing, not even between their families. When the children in America turn 18, they are forced out of their homes and have to live in the street. If the parents are kind Communists and refuse to kick their children out, they are immediately executed by their evil leader, Barack Obama.
**The Korean War**
When the Supreme Leader decided that he had enough of South Korea's unfair, capitalist government, he decided to help them look out for each other and keep everyone equal. He wanted South Korea to be people who look out for their own, and the only way to do that was to go there and *ask* their leader, Syngman Rhee to change it.
However, when he began his journey, the South sent their army to attack Kim IL Sung, even though he went alone as an act of friendship. Then, America sent their evil troops, with the help of the United Nations ( a group of countries who are jealous of North Korea's strength and government ), to attack our Supreme Leader. They showed no mercy. They raped our women, killed our children and even took some North Koreans with them to do as they please.
They were also very disorganised. When the general said that he had enough of killing our children, he was banished by none other than Harry Truman, the President of the United States himself!
The North did n't want to hurt the South, but our allies, China and Russia, insisted that they do something about it, so they supplied North Korea with weaker weapons, so that South Korea and the West would n't be harmed. Even though the West had done so much harm to our country, we showed them mercy and left them alone to their capitalist state.
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[ WP ] A stalker realizes that their target is a psychopath .
| She lives alone. She has a dog named Teddy. Got him from her mother on her 25th birthday. She had a small garden where she would water her flowers every second day. She worked as a manager in a whiskey distillery. She would always go to work at 6:50 AM and get back home at 18:30 PM. The nearest household to hers was 800 meters away, and her house was surrounded by trees. She drove a gray Audi A4 with a small scratch on the rear left door between the handle and window. She also seemed to wear shoes in a certain pattern: high heels on Tuesday, casual shoes on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and always something different on Thursdays.
Andy lost his job a week before he had first seen Inge. He saw her at the market on Saturday afternoon. Usually, people go to markets in the morning, but not these two. Well, to be fair, Andy ’ s shopping time really depended on Inge ’ s. She was deciding instead of him. He, unfortunately, didn ’ t have a way of subtly pointing out to her when it would be the most suitable for him – even if he did, she probably wouldn ’ t care.
Andy would always wear a hooded sweater: black, gray or navy blue, never a white one! It really matched the city ’ s atmosphere. Now, as fashionable as he may be, he went fairly unnoticed. Nobody seemed to pay attention to him: could be due to the fact that he spent 90 % of the day in places rarely who would want to visit. Now, that may not be completely true. It was true up until he met Inge, but that bitch made him go in public places, amongst the people! Being in a crowded place, can you imagine!? He was in a deep problem though. As he was jobless, he was living on what he had previously saved, however, he was running out of money. Was he, perhaps, trying to rob Inge? No, that would just come as a reward after he had done what he was intending to do.
He was a fairly tall man. Not too muscular but not fat either. Whenever he walked he would look down and have his hands in his pockets. He would even occasionally stagger. His main problem with Inge was that she lived in a house in the woods basically, and he was really used to an urban environment. He had to go through bushes, climb the trees, crawl on grass, sometimes even scratch his pale skin, just to see her. It wasn ’ t easy, that ’ s for sure. But the beauty she was made it all worth it.
They would most often meet at her place. His favorite place to sit was this tree with a dense treetop and with a look on Inge ’ s perfectly symmetrical house ’ s window, which revealed the sofa she would sit on while watching the TV. Besides that, he would often see her in her car, on the way to job. Also, there was this restaurant she liked to visit and across the street there was this internet cafee he would go to from time to time - mostly when Inge was having a lunch. She loved steak – rare, of course. A woman of her caliber must have a great taste in food.
This cat and mouse game went for almost two weeks, when Andy was finally ready to approach her. Just like with his previous victims, he would taze her and while she was on the ground he would perform his dirty rituals. He was a real fool for trying to approach her at her own home, her territory – how did he even think he had a chance?
It was Friday. 18:28 PM. She was about to come home. He was in the bushes, ready as one can be. Strangely, there was this drop of sweat sliding from his hair, across his cheek and falling on the ground. That has never happened before to him. He was not able to focus properly. 18:29 PM. Couldn ’ t she hurry a little bit? Of course not. He was starting to get nervous. He ’ ll show her. He tested his tazer. It worked. He got slightly distracted by a noise in the grass, but that was just another grasshopper. 18:30 PM. One hundred and seventy four drops of sweat had fallen on ground. He is beginning to rain. What if she doesn ’ t come? Impossible. He was distracted by every possible noise he would hear. A bad sign, you surely agree. 18:31 PM. Now this is outrageous. Now he ’ s mad. As he was biting his lower lip and throwing the tazer from one hand to another he heard a car engine sound. Not just of any car, but a gray Audi A4. He calmed for a moment. He saw the headlights. Yes it was her, finally. Time was irrelevant from now on.
She was getting closer and the garage doors were opening. She parked her car. She was not supposed to go out of the garage. She was supposed to get inside the house through the door connecting the garage and the house. What is going on? She is coming closer and closer to him. She turns ninety degrees for a few steps but then starts walking towards him again. His instincts and surely a dose of panic got the better of him. This was not according to plan. He jumped out of the bushes and before he even managed to make his second step he was on the ground. He stepped into a bear trap and let out the most innocent scream Inge has ever heard. As he fell, he dropped his tazer which landed right in front of Inge ’ s feet. He was still screaming. He desperately tried to release his leg but without any success. As she was picking up the tazer he looked at her and yelled:
“ What is this fucking trap doing here?! ”
“ That ’ s none of your business, Andy ” she answered.
“ W-what, how do you know my… Aaaarghh… Please! Remove this… My leg! ”
“ Inge knows names of her most dedicated followers, that ’ s the least I can do for them. You are of a special kind it seems. You didn ’ t come here just to rob me. There ’ s something more you want. It ’ s a shame, really, I don ’ t seem to have patience to have any further conversations with you. ”
“ Are you a psycho?! ” Andy yelled, now slightly quieter. His energy was leaving him.
“ As a matter of fact – yes. I would offer you my doctor ’ s diagnosis, but it doesn ’ t seem you ’ ll make it for that long. ”
“ What? Please, no! ”
“ You should know, Inge must treat all of her followers, fans or whatever you may call them the same way. ”
I took a look at the tazer and decided not to shock the poor man. I brought it with me into the house and I locked the doors.
The next day I was expecting to find Andy at the same place he fell asleep yesterday. To my surprise he was not there. Who knows, maybe he ’ ll visit me again.
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[ WP ] Humans have evolved under water and all our wars and history have taken place there , we have killed off or put most major predators in zoos . Land is still 95 % unexplored . Write any story in this world .
| `` Really?''
I knew he would n't be impressed.
`` Ben, seriously.''
`` It looks like a piece of shit my fourth-grade dogfish crapped out.''
It all started a decade ago when I was six. I was swimming back from school, on my way to Grampie's house, when I saw something dark 300 meters above me. It was n't a shark, we killed all those off, it was n't a whale, way too small to be one, and it did n't look like it was swimming, or even alive. It had the most bizarre shape, and it just....kind of drifted above me. I went to go see what it was. I did n't feel scared and I knew I was gon na be late, but I had to see what it was. It took me an hour to get up there. I had only been up to the surface once before that moment. I was right, it was n't alive, it was this brown thing, kind of hard....it had some krill chilling inside a crevice in the bottom of it, filthy creatures. I swung my arms to scare them off of it, held it in my hands, and spent a good ten minutes just staring at it, feeling it. I was intoxicated by the exoticness, the rarity of it. Since that moment, I've made several dozen other trips, each time coming back with something more unique.
`` Screw you, it's gorgeous.''
I wanted to defend it, but in reality, he was right. Even after hundreds of hours scouring the surface of the Pacific Ocean for the strongest, coolest, sturdiest pieces, it still looked like a piece of shit. But whatever, fuck Ben, I love my driftwood collection.
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[ WP ] one of your immediate family members has been replaced by a completely different person , none of your other family members seem to notice anything wrong
| I did n't think I was crazy, no, seriously. It all started tuesday morning at the breakfast table. I sat down with my bowl of corn flakes and orange juice. Soon to follow me was my younger sister Jamie with frosted flakes. It was a typical school morning. Everything was pretty average, mom getting around for work, us kids eating, but my older brother Sam was n't up yet. This was n't unusual for him, he generally woke up 20 minutes later than my sister and I. I remember my mom screaming at him, like every morning, to get his ass up. He'd usually yell some jibberish back and then come down. But when he yelled back today he sounded different. He responded with a low and unnerving voice, I still remember that voice. Thud, thud, here he comes. My face lit up in confusion as well as terror. My brother Sam was not my brother Sam. It was this tall hariy guy about 6'4 with crooked teeth and coarse skin. I expected my mom to scream and panic, but she did n't. Neither did my little sister. It did n't make any sense. They just gave Sam the looks they always give him and went about there business. Sam then sat down with breakfast after scavenging the kitchen like a stray dog. Across the table we make eye contact and he can see the terror in my eyes. I'm not sure what stopped me from exposing this imposter in the first place but something told me that I should n't make a scene out of this. I figured I could find a nice way to gather my thoughts later. When our eyes met he gave a little smerk, he knew that I knew he was n't Sam.
I inhaled my breakfast as fast as I could and went to the bus stop. `` I must be seeing things'' I told myself. I thought about Sam all day. Nothing made sense. School dragged on slow as ever and I was anxious to get home to reassure myself that I was n't losing it...
2:15 pm I arrived home. What I saw when I got home changed me in such a profound way, I vomited instantly at the sight. It was my mom's dead body on the floor with dry clotted blood coming from an opening in her neck. I knew he did it, I knew who killed her, it was him, my `` brother'' Sam. My world slowly pulled at it's edges. I burst up stairs to his room, I knew I had to kill the basterd. The funny part was when I opened his door I did n't find the imposter, nor did I find my actual brother. I ran into a storage room. It was all storage and covered with dust. I was in disbelief. The only thing that reassured me that the imposter was still behind this was the writing on the walls. It was a list of names: Sam, Jamie, Mother, and a fourth name that I could n't read. The first three names were crossed out, the last untouched.
Before I had time to react, I heard a door slam below me, it was him. I ran into my room across from his and hid on my bed doubled over in fear and disgust, I'd given up. It was n't until 5 minutes later that I put the pieces togther. Sam had gone on a road trip for a couple of days and was n't expected back until Thursday, not to mention school does n't get out until 2:30 and I ca n't drive. And something else, the writing on the wall was too sloppy to be Sam's, it was mine.. my full fear was confirmed when the police squad came into my room with their guns on me and myself holding a bloody knife I had found under my pillow.
I did n't think I was crazy, no, seriously.
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[ WP ] It is the end of days . God and Lucifer stand before the last human being . You are the first neutral soul who is neither good or evil enough to pass into a afterlife and thus must be judged personally . Unknown to them , you are Death and have come for them instead .
| I stood in the middle of an empty gray throne room, no hint of light save a handful of candles that kept the darkness at bay.
“ And you are... ” my voice trailed off as I addressed the two before me. For a moment they looked at each other, a bit perplexed as if it was odd I didn ’ t recognized them.
“ Allow me to introduce myself. I am The Prince of Darkness, or more widely known as the Angel Lucifer, ” he beamed with a wide grin, holding open his black and red cape, bowing exaggeratedly low until his horns nearly touch the floor.
“ Don ’ t mind the old man, he ’ s never really good with words, ” he winked and motioned to an elderly gentleman who simply stood with his hands behind his back, who was watching Lucifer with an uninterested gaze.
“ Hmm, by my estimation, you are the last soul around that hasn ’ t made up their mind yet, ” Lucifer ’ s smile turned wicked and his eyes filled with mock charm and innocence.
“ Lucifer, there is no one left that cares for your inane chatter, ” the old man sighed, as he rolled his eyes “ this one indeed isn ’ t interested in joining you. ”
“ Pffftt old man, ” sneered the fallen angel, “ what do you know about the mind ’ s of mortals? ” Turning Lucifer made a dramatic sweep with his overly elaborate cape and walked towards me purposefully positioning himself between the other man and I.
“ Look, Friend. I ’ ll put it to you real simple like, ” Lucifer threw his arm around my shoulder, “ Join me and get whatever your heart desires, join that guy, ” his thumb jutted towards the man in the back of the room, “ and there ’ s really no telling what you ’ ll get. ”
I peered over the dark angel ’ s shoulder and wings, “ So what ’ s your story? ” I asked the old man in the back.
Lucifer snarled, but didn ’ t interrupt the man when he spoke, “ well, you could say I tried a little experiment and it went... ok I guess. But now it ’ s all over and you ’ re the last one I ’ m afraid. ”
He seemed a bit sad and worn out. “ Oh I guess, I should mention, Lucifer is not to be trusted, he is after all the embodiment of evil, ” the old man continued.
“ And I suppose you are the embodiment of good? ” I finished the old man ’ s thoughts. He only smiled in acknowledgment.
“ Oh is that how we ’ re going to play if you old fool, ” Lucifer crossed his arms and sat back on his hooved heels.
“ Well since you brought it up God, why don ’ t you tell... what ’ s-his-name, ”
“ Carl, ” I offered.
“ Thank you, ” he said.
“ Welcome, ” I answered.
“ Tell Carl how great you actually are. My favorite story is the one about how you let that unending famine kill millions of people. I ’ m pretty sure it ’ s in your all encompassing power to fix a few crops, ” Lucifer ’ s accusations dripped in disrespectful sarcasm.
I remembered that famine. I was awfully busy those ten years.
The old man just looked at me, expressionless. He was not sorry and he made no excuses.
“ Should I interfere with every death? ” God asked me.
I stared at him for a moment, “ Should you not stop a famine? ” Lucifer ’ s laugh echoed throughout the chamber, “ oh yes old man answer him! ”
“ The physical life is temporary, so is suffering. What does it matter if they die now or later? Is one death better than another? The end result is the same, ” he simply said, ignoring Lucifer ’ s mocking laughter.
He had a point. I was the greatest of all equalizers, and took souls indiscriminately – young, old, man, woman, and child.
“ You see! He cares not for his own creation! His callousness and his wanton disregard for the suffering of the people he claims to love, ” Lucifer swept his hand across the room.
“ And I suppose you never caused destruction or death, ” I asked Lucifer who seemed quite smug at this point.
“ I have never directly caused a death! ” Lucifer feigned wounded pride, as he touched his chest. “ I guided and directed them onto the path of fulfilling their goals and dreams. How can that be so terrible? I gave them whatever they asked for! ” his eyes sparkled with excitement.
“ Did you love them unconditionally and truly want their happiness? ” Lucifer faltered at my question. Love was not a concept Lucifer wanted to discuss at length and instead changed this tactic.
“ I wanted nothing more from them than what the old man wanted from them, ” Lucifer pointed an accusatory claw at God, who had still not moved from his corner.
“ And what did you both want from the humans? ” I asked them.
“ Love, ” Lucifer answered
“ Love, ” God answered.
I stared at them both. They were so alike, yet so different. If one wasn ’ t careful you could almost confuse the two. So similar were their goals of wanting human love. Yet, so different was their ways of going about getting it.
“ Huh ” I said to them, which told them everything I was thinking. I looked at both a few seconds longer, then turned around and started walking towards the door at the back of the room. The light traveled with me, leaving both soon in utter darkness.
“ Wait! Who are you picking?! Me or the old guy, ” Lucifer called out after me. I did not answer and kept walking.
“ Death choose both of us, ” God answered Lucifer.
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[ RF ] An 1873 Winchester rifle was found leaning against a tree in Great Basin National Park , where it had laid undisturbed for nearly 150 years . Tell the story of this rifle and how it came to be abandoned .
| The land they now call Great Basin National Park was n't always a park. A long time ago, when people lived in the real world instead of inside their concrete castles, it was just part of what they called White Pine County. Well, some people called it that. For the Bailey brothers, it was just `` the forest''.
Jack and Mike Bailey knew the forest better than the back of their own hands. The brothers were different in many respects, but the forest bound them together. They'd grown up climbing the trees, crawling in the caves, and hunting the animals. Even as adults, they still got together every once in a while for a few days in the wild. The summer of 1883 was one of those times.
They set off in the early morning, each with a pair of sturdy boots on their feet and a rifle slung across their back. To anyone watching, it would have looked like they picked a spot at random and just walked off straight into the forest, but they followed a very specific path, one they both knew at heart. Both of them knew exactly where they were going, so they did n't exchange a word until they were miles away from the forest edge. Jack was the one who broke the silence.
`` I hear you've been spending time with the Lansford folk.''
Just then, they were climbing a narrow ridge which forced them to walk one after another. Jack had taken the lead and could n't see Mike behind him. Even so, the mounting tension was as crisp as the dry grass underneath his feet.
`` I have'', Mike said. He hesitated. `` What else have you heard?''
`` I heard about the girl.''
Jack hated to be the berating big brother - and had often kept his mouth shut when Mike got in trouble - but this one was too big to ignore. The two of them reached the top of the small hill, where the low, dry grass gave way to thick, towering pines. Jack waited for Mike to catch up, and they took off again. Mike took out his rifle, scanning the forest floor for any signs of animals.
`` I did n't want to believe what I heard, Mike'', Jack said. `` Should I?''
He searched his brother's face for clues. Were those creases forming on his forehead markers of regret? Sadness? Confusion? Anger?
`` You got ta understand'', Mike began, `` she *lied*, Jack! She told him she would n't tell the sheriff, and she did.''
`` So it's true, then.''
Mike sighed, scratching his head with the barrel of his rifle. `` You... you got ta understand, Johnny - you know Johnny - he was going to jail, all because of her! We had to do *something*!''
Jack said nothing. Mike continued, stumbling over his words. `` Besides, Jack, she's-she's a-a *nigger*! The fuckers always lie, everyone knows that! They do n't think like we do.''
Jack said nothing. For a long time, they stood in silence. Finally, Jack laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. `` What's done is done.''
Mike drew a sigh of relief, letting his shoulders fall. Another moment of silence passed.
`` Hey'', Jack said, `` what you say we take a little break? Have a piss?''
Mike smiled. `` Fine with me, I'm bursting.''
`` I'll keep an eye on your rifle.''
And so it was that Mike leaned his rifle against the nearest tree and headed off to relieve himself. Jack knew that his brother always took his time, so he remained where he was for a minute. Why, he did n't know. He had already made up his mind. After a minute or two, he took a deep breath and silently unslung his rifle, walking off toward his brother.
|
[ WP ] You receive a phone call from yourself in the future .
| Unknown Number.
`` Hello?''
`` Yes, hello,'' replied a oddly familiar voice. Then silence.
``... Can I help you?''
`` Yes but I do n't know how to explain without sounding like a crazy person,'' replied the voice, almost a bit hesitant. Then awkward silence again.
He continued, ``... Okay, just promise you'll hear me out. I'm you from the future. There's no time to explain -- trust me, I'm you. And you need to go online right now and buy stock in -- -''
`` Not this again,'' as I recognized the voice. It's the same crazy guy from last week who called me, ranting and raving about time travel. `` Seriously, you need professional help, do n't call me again,'' and I hung up the phone.
|
[ WP ] You die and your soul goes to Hell . Your soul awakens to a rather annoyed Soul Tech who is stumped why you are there . Hell , you discover , is n't a place of eternal torment but rather one that repairs broken souls before reincarnation .
| The last thing I remember is texting my friend that I was pulling up to their house. Why do all my limbs feel heavy and why am I laying down? I try and move my arms and find them straped down, I try and speak bit my throat do sent cooperate and I just make a scratchy sound. I open my eyes and the darkness is replaced by a blinding light, I blink rapidly while I wait for my eyes to adjust, panic coming to the forefront of my mind. As shapes began to organise themselves into recognizable images I see a man standing above me with a clipboard in one hand and a strange object in his hand. It vibrates and the man startles. Once again, I try and ask what's going on, but instead of words, my throat convulses and I begin coughing uncontrollably.
`` That's strange, your awake and the spectrometer is registering you as a class c demi.''
Most of what he says Flys right over my head, as I focus on getting my breathing under control.
`` Some minor drug use, some rather reprehensible actions but nothing serious enough...'' he cuts off in the middle of his sentence to make some marks on his clipboard before turning around and walking away. I track him with my eyes and realize that I have yet to look at the rest of the room. It is bare, save the cot I'm laying on and a small table next to it. All of a sudden my view is obstructed by the man's face and I'm struck by his features truly taking in his face for the first time.
His features are, for lack of a better word, perfect. Chisled jaw line with a dusting of stubble, enough to make him look rough but not so much that it looks dirty. Incredibly piercing blue eyes that bore through me, he's frowning and I feel something cold touch my lips. Relief, the cool liquid clears out whatever blockage my throat had and I drink greedily. After the cup is finished the cool sensation that was radiating through my body fades slowly. Now that my throat no longer feels like it's covered in drying cement l, the panic returns full force and I struggle, trying to see if there is any give in the restraints. I find that I ca n't even budge them an inch. I groan in frustration and look back to Mr. Perfect expecting him to look smug but instead he looks...... confused. Mr. Perfect proceeds to make some more marks on his clipboard and mutters as he walks out of the room. I can make out some vague mutterings about phulactery gel and stupid green ogres. This must be a hallucination, nothing makes sense. I knew the acid would get to me eventually.
I chuckle to myself and then realise that nothing about this is funny, so I laugh even louder this time. `` Am I going insane or have I just given up on this whole thing making any sense?'' I whisper to myself more to hear something other then my echoing laughter.
How long I lay there I ca n't tell. Just staring at the white smooth viewing or the white smooth walls, at some point the table vanished while I was busy observing the extremely interesting door to my left. After I spent some time marveling at the oddity of the vanishing table I look back to the door only to find the wall smooth as the other 5 sides of the box. Perfect, some more iconic scenery to enjoy.
At some points I scream, scream for help, scream for my family scream for my wife. Eventually I just start screaming because that's all I can do. Sleep dosent come, and I feel like I've been strapped here for days but hunger, thirst, the need to relieve myself, I ca n't feel any of those.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Outside of the room there are a total of 3 people staring at a box made completely of glass at the subject restrained inside.
`` The readings from the spectrometer only regarded him as a class C demi. I do n't know why he was sent to my lab, he is n't in need of repairs. No major issues that Warrent an intervention.''
`` Cas, can you pass me the clipboard, just want to double check maybe you..''
The aforementioned Cas tosses the clipboard at his colleague and snarls `` Did you really think I did n't triple check the results? All the spectrometer found was some minor drug use and the fact that he contemplated murder once. Those murderous thoughts are what got him the demi classification, but Demi's get sent up for the big guy to take care of, the repairs are so minor!''
The third member of the group stage whispers to the one who just had the clipboard thrown at him `` Bryce, I think Cas might be agitated at having to actually work for once instead of just `` supervising'' ``
Bryce shakes his head at Michael's disregard for Cas' temper. When he was first assigned to H.e.L.l he was ecstatic to learn that ye was to be paired with the legendary Casteel, the healer able to heal and fix the soul of a Class S Smith, while reading a newspaper, and sipping a cup of tea. What he did not expect however was his nebulous temper and the antics of his younger brother Michael. Michael was skilled, but acted a little bit like the comic relief character in a children's cartoon. Needless to say after the first year the prestige wore off and was replaced by a persistent headache whenever h3 had to spend a significant amount of time with either of them.
`` So if he is n't broken, why not just send him up? The big guy ca n't get to mad, it must have just been a paperwork error or something?''
`` Gee, Bryce I did n't think of that. I ca n't believe I forgot, I was n't born with any common sense!'' Cas responds, sarcasm coloring his tone.
`` I even tried to dose him with phylactery Gel, but it had the opposite effect, instead of sedating him so I could try the transfer again it just brought him to full consciousness!'' Cas rubs his temples, fighting off the impending headache, he'd been aga oozing over this problem for hours before calling in his team.
While Cas was busy ranting and Bryce was looking over the clipboard nobody noticed Bryce slip into the room.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
The silence is almost as bad as hearing my screams echo in the emptiness that has become my life. I feel like I've been here for years, but I'm not sure. Time here means nothing. My nails and hair have stayed the same, I ca n't feel a beard on my face. It's not that I'm uncomfortable, the restraints are n't tight enough so that they dig in, and the cot is n't back breakingly hard. And that's what unnerves me the most, I've been laying here for what feels like years but yet no discomfort, no hunger pains, hell not even thirst. Not for the first time I wonder what did I do to deserve something.like this. I've come to the conclusion that this is hell and this eternal bandage, is my punishment.
I chuckle mentally to myself at my flowery language, what am I a writer?
I open my eyes to scan the beautiful white scenery around me, but instead of the blank white walls my vision. Is filled with a face, a perfect face.
I growl and begin struggling against my restraints as he just blinks at me. It makes me feel like an animal at the zoo, being looked at through the bars of my cage. The rage builds up in me as I struggle and scream and suddenly it dissipates back into the pit of apathy and self pity I've slowly sunk into. All the while Mr. Perfect continues to stare.
Finally, I ca n't hold his gaze anymore and close my eyes, `` Why, what did I do to deserve something like this?'' I whisper, this is n't the first time I ask the question but now I might actually get an answer. Not that I'm expecting one. Mr.Perfect completely ignored me last time he was here, aside from giving me a cup of water, why should it be different now?
Feedback appreciated
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[ WP ] A powerful demon appears out of nowhere , and writes in smoke on the sky `` I am the almighty underlord , and from my power let evil be bread throughout the world ! '' Only later does he realize his typo ... but by then it is far too late .
| He peered through the wreckage of what was once his home. What was left of his kitchen flooring was a mixture of shattered glass from the windows, broken china and crumbs. So many crumbs.
He hefted his relatively useless weapon pointed down the hallway. It was suicide to come here. Maybe she was taken alive. He'd heard the horrific stories of `` the mill''. They were monsters but they would n't have baked her, surely? Maybe she was one of them now. Her eyes turned white and fluffy and Her skin turned dark, crusty and...
The crunching noise of glass under his foot immediately brought him back to his senses. Idiot. If one of those things were still around now he would be toast. His hands were shaking so much he doubt he would be able to hit anything with his gun if it was 10 feet in front of him. Not that it would do much good if he did hit something.
After all bread does n't bleed.
He made his way slowly towards the bedroom. No sign of her. No struggle Nothing. It was stupid to come here but he would n't have been able to live with himself if he had n't tried.
As he turned to leave he felt two giant breaded hands grab him around the mouth suffocating him. He struggled, biting and firing the gun twice in random directions behind him, but the hands kept hold of him until finally he blacked out.
***
`` I saw him dragged in last night''
`` What makes him so special anyway?''
Groggily he opened his eyes. His head was pounding.
`` No idea Bob, but I've never seen them act like that before. We'd better tell him he's waking up''
`` Hold that thought, Jim. Do me a favour and keep an eye out for anyone coming. Good Morning, your majesty''
He was lying on the couch of a richly furnished room with a taller, older gentleman with a grandfatherly expression on his face leaning over him. A younger man was peering out the door and they were both dressed in identical suits and both had the same angry two words burned into their foreheads.
GLUTEN FREE
`` What the hell? Where am I?''
`` You're in what was the town hall. Now known as `` the palace of the upper crust''. He may be many things but you ca n't claim he has n't got a sense of humour.''
`` What?''
`` Our benevolent overlord of the breaded ones. You seem to have drawn his attention somehow. Hence why your here. He's quite keen to speak to you. Any idea why?''
The confused look on his face must have told Bob all he needed because he sighed and just looked down sadly at him.
`` I thought the bread people could n't speak.''
`` Generally that's true. Look, just be as polite as possible and do anything he asks without question. Do n't speak unless you're spoken to. He obviously has some use or expectations for you. Jim, go tell our master that our guest is awake.''
The young man immediately set off down the corridor and Jim turned back to look him directly in the eyes.
`` Know this, if you disappoint him in any way, you will wish you were bread.''
***
His silent breaded escorts came quicker than he'd expected and soon he was marched through a set of huge doors where his guards ushered him through alone.
He knew there was something different about this breaded man the moment he saw him. He had two pieces of bread sticking out just above his ears and even more bizarrely, he seemed to have a tail.
Immediately he bowed to the floor.
`` Get off the floor. Tell me do you know this woman?''
And there she was. The girl he'd fell in love with, what felt like years ago. The tears streamed down his face. It took all his willpower not to run to her right then. She was alive. And she was looking at him with an utterly terrified expression.
`` Yes'' he croaked `` That's my-
`` Good. She tells me you're a scientist. Correct?''
He sure as hell was n't. Yet he remembered what Bob had said how healthy disappointment was.
`` Y-Yes''
`` Good. I expect you to start immediately working on a scientific way to reverse this bread effect. You will be given all manner of equipment my minions can get their hands on to achieve this but I will expect results. Failure to do so will end particularly painfully for both of you.''
The bread king called for his guards.
`` Mark him as mine and take them both to their chambers''
***
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[ WP ] There are Gods for everything from Fire to Life to Death , but what they represent has nothing to do with their morality . Many evil sounding Gods are actually benevolent and vice versa
| Picture a bar. It is a normal looking bar, with patrons dressed rather formally, chatting happily with their friends, almost all of them with a drink in their hands.
Now picture two odd looking individuals sitting at the corner of the bar, not quite fitting in. Sitting on one side of the table, facing the street, is a young looking lady, with an eye catching hair dyed in a mixture of neon pink, green and blue. She is speaking quite flamboyantly, constantly moving her hands around. Like she has endless energy to spare.
Opposite her, an older man stares dully at her, his graying hair in a rumpled mess. Unlike his companion, he is dressed rather somberly, in a black leather jacket, black pair of slacks and a pair of black leather shoes.
From the looks of it, they seem to be engaged in quite a lively conversation, though it is mostly the girl doing the talking. `` Come on, D, I do n't understand what you're complaining about? What's wrong with constantly bringing new life to this world?''
The old man, whom we shall call D, seems annoyed at the girl's statement. `` Stop calling me D, Goddess. 7 billion people and counting is no joke to this world. You know this world can not support too much human life, and I'm already overworked to death trying to keep the population numbers in check,'' he angrily retorts.
At the mention of death, the girl laughs hysterically, almost toppling both their drinks. `` Oh my D, worked to death! Did you hear yourself? That was the joke of the century!'' The goddess taps the old man's shoulder playfully, only making him more annoyed. You could almost see the smoke coming from his ears.
`` I did n't call you here to joke, Goddess. I am here to discuss serious matters. As Gods, I expect us to exercise our responsibilities more cautiously, in a more measured manner, not just simply to our whims and fancy,'' the older man replies bluntly, in a slightly raised voice.
Yes, you did not hear it wrongly. The old man calls the both of them Gods. In fact, let me let in you on a little secret. The girl with the strikingly colourful hair, many know her as the Goddess of Life. The old man opposite her? Oh, you definitely do n't want to be near him. He is the guy they call the grim reaper, his job something needs no explanation.
The goddess of course, true to her nature, rolls her eyes. `` Oh puh-lease. How can someone who takes away the life of people expect to lecture me on responsibility?''
`` I do not flaunt my powers carelessly, Life!'' Death slams one hand on the table. `` Every soul that I reap is done with a reason. Not carelessly. Unlike you, who simply give lives to those who are least prepared for it, to those who did not even ask for to be born. You simply bring life to this world, without caring how that life will turn out eventually.''
Death continues glaring at the Goddess. `` Look at the state of the humans right now! Those who are least prepared to be parents are breeding like rabbits, while those who will make great parents are denied the chance to.''
`` Hey, it's not my fault that the poor likes to fu-''
`` Enough!'' Death shouts back, waving his hand into her face. The conversation is not going the way he intends it to be. Picking up his jacket, he turns and walks away, down the street before disappearing into the crowd, leaving the Goddess of Life mid-sentence. Around them, people continue on with their activity, oblivious to the exchange. None sparing a look to their direction.
Now picture the Goddess sitting there, fuming mad from having been told off by Death, that sulking good for nothing old man. She looks around, spots an obviously underage couple getting drinks by the bar and smiles mischievously to herself.
`` Me not responsible huh,'' she mutters. `` Well, why break the record now?''
The goddess flicks her finger, before disappearing to the night herself, leaving only whispers of a giggle behind. Three months down the road, the couple is met with rude surprise when they find out that the girlfriend is pregnant. All because the Goddess of Life was unhappy.
Why am I telling you, you ask? Well, I thought it would be good to let you know about the existence of Gods out there, in fact there are countless Gods, for everything imaginable. Life, Death, Fire, Disease, Water, even a God of English! How funny is that. He's the one that dies a little whenever a student makes a grammar mistake.
But I digress. The reason I am telling you this, is because I love telling stories. I like setting imagination free, letting minds wander from the boring reality that is life ( no offense to the Goddess, of course ). Like Death and Life that you just saw, I am a God too. Not as powerful as them, but still a God nonetheless. All the fables, urban legends, myths and even the stories in this subreddit? I have a hand in that!
After all, I *am* the God of Stories.
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
Edit: Minor tweaks
/r/dori_lukey
|
[ WP ] A man refuses to go to heaven and demands from god to be sent to hell .
| `` **And why, pray tell, would you want to go there? **'' the Lord frowned from His throne, staring at the small, lean young man in front of him.
``'cuz everyone wants to go to heaven man. This is like, the norm, or stuff. I'm unique, I do my own thing, see?''
God pinched the bridge of His nose.
`` **Yes, and as I understand it,'doing your own thing' led you into touching an electric fence *because* there was a'do no touch' sign. **''
The man nodded proudly.
`` I'd rather die than be bound by the words of the Man, man!''
The Lord frowned. Please do Him a favour and capitalize the correct'Man'.
`` **Look, do you... do you always have to be so contrarian? Do n't you get it that there is a reason there exist rules and norms? **''
`` It's my way of life, man! I do what I do because that is what makes me, me. If I did what some sign told me to do, I would, like, not be me, but be just somebody else, like everyone who did n't touch the fence, for that moment.''
`` **And now you are just like everyone else who died. **''
`` Ah, but how many people have demanded to go to hell willingly?''
`` **Orpheus did. **''
The man waved the answer away dismissively.
`` Whatever, mythology was like, required reading. I did n't read it.''
`` **You... did n't...? **''
`` Well, I *did*, but only after it was n't required reading anymore and everyone stopped doing so.''
`` **... because you're unique. **''
`` Because I'm unique.''
`` **And nobody tells you what to do? **''
`` Nobody.'' the man crossed his arms in defiance.
`` **... tell you what, you can go to hell if you want. **''
`` Really? Sweet!''
`` **As long as you do n't jump right now. **''
``... man, you are an ass.'' the man said as he gave a small hop.
And thus the most contrarian man in the world went to Heaven.
|
[ WP ] We all heard it , around the world , in our native tongues : `` We 're deeply sorry , but heaven is full . ''
| ... And nothing changed.
Harry had always believed that Heaven was the ultimate reward. He had sacrificed. He had suffered. He had paid price after price after price hoping and believing in a final reward, a ticket to redemption, a Divine pat on the back for a job well done or a task carried out to satisfaction.
Now, at 53, he had to face some things.
He had never loved his wife. They had been young ( too young! ) and stupid and oh, it was the teenage shotgun wedding acted out by all the usual suspects. He had never made up with his father in law and even on the latter's deathbed, had gotten into a fight with him about how he had ruined the life of his daughter.
He had worked his entire life, slaved away his soul, grinding out all sparkle of hope and dream, just to be the upright citizen.
He had gone to pray every Sunday. Had taken up extra responsibilities in the Church community, the works. Everything he had done, had been for the promise of heaven.
Or so he thought.
And as he soon found out, he was wrong. It had never been hope for Heaven that had kept him, and much of humanity with him, straight. It was fear of Hell, of eternal punishment.
The message did n't mention anything of Hell being full, right?
|
[ WP ] You walk in a centuries-old forest . While the sun sets , you start to hear horses galloping .
| The Home of the Gods.
*Maybe*, Lumen thought with a smile, *they are n't home*.
For thousands of years, the various Kings of Thornroot City disallowed anyone from entering the Sacred Forest, as it would insult the Gods. Lumen was n't so foolish as to blindly trust the words like everyone else. It was nightfall when she left the farm and made for the tree-line, making sure to not be seen by her parents. They would n't have allowed her to enter, not because of any punishment delivered by the King's rules, but because of her *eternal soul*. It was laughable really, that no one thought to question or even look into the truth-
A distant hoof-beat interrupted her thoughts. It picked up speed. Another joined, then another. Lumen looked around at the trees and towards the sound's origin. There was no room to ride a horse in the dense forest, let alone *gallop* on one. She walked over to a nearby tree and began climbing.
Up until now, only the sounds of crickets and frogs had come from the forest. She pulled herself higher, slowly working her way to the top. She could faintly see three riders narrowly avoiding thick trees as they sped through the forest, in her direction.
She lowered her head. What was going on? No one was supposed to be in the forest.
The riders slowed. One dismounted and walked to the back of his horse, slowly pulling a sack off the beast. He stepped forward, holding the sack reverently like a Priest would hold an Offering Basket. The man stepped forward to a particularly thick trunk, wrapped in vines, and set the sack down, then mounted his horse and rode off with the other two. The tree trunk had a small split on the top, about the size of a dog. She had seen almost identical ones closer to the city's tree-line.
After a moment, Lumen heard it. A shrill wailing, like those of her baby brother. The sack opened gently and she could just make out a small baby, flailing alone in the night. She widened her eyes and got ready to climb down. The baby would die out there alone. She looked down and lowered her leg.
A loud whipping sound made her turn her head back to the scene as the vines of the trunk slowly unwrapped from the wood and stretched out to the baby. The vines reached and wrapped around it, slowly lifting it into the air and then quickly retracted to the trunk's small hole, smashing the baby in forcefully. Lumen could almost hear the neck snapping. It all happened so fast, she stayed in the tree, too stunned to move.
*By the Gods, * she rushed down the tree, scraping her knee every few feet. *I need to get out of here*.
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[ WP ] She 's in love with you
| Her name is Becky. `` Becks'' she says. I do n't know why, but I ca n't bring myself to tell her my real name. `` Chris'' is what she keeps calling me now. I can live with that, even if I feel awful about lying.
She's great, though. Laughs at all of my jokes, gives one hell of a neck rub, and she's a damned good kisser I might add. That thing she does with her tongue... oh my.
Where was I? Oh right. She's one hell of a girl. Totally in love with me. But that's the problem. You see, I do n't exactly feel the same way about her. I mean, I'm certainly glad to have her around. But `` love?'' That's a bit much.
There is a point in any relationship, real or imagined, where it is simply too late to cut it loose without some thread getting caught somewhere. A simple `` No'' is n't enough. And I do n't want to hurt her; I just want to let her know that my heart is steering me elsewhere.
`` I owe it to my boyfriend,'' I tell her.
`` Bitch,'' she calls me, and I ca n't disagree.
|
[ WP ] You 've been married for 5 years , on your anniversary you find out your wife is a succubus who has been feeding off you . How do you take it ?
| Warning: Strong language and somewhat suggestive content towards the end.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` Dearest husband. I've brought you breakfast.'' she shouted, knocking the door down with a hint of pink on her cheeks.
`` Just set it on the table, Karina. I'll eat in a moment.'' Thernoff rubbed his temple, staring at a roll of parchment at his desk.
`` Is something of great troubles to you, dear?''
`` Kari, have you been hiding something from me?''
`` Why? What would make you think of such a thing? I've hidden no secrets from you-''
`` I woke up with your tail wrapped around my crotch this morning.''
There was nothing but silence between the two as Karina's jaw dropped to the ground while Thernoff stood and shook his head.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Captain Thernoff of the Eightlettarian Navy was accustomed to many things during his service on the Eight Seas. One of the more important experiences was dealing with a liar.
It was only just last month when he began to have suspicions.
He had been married to his wife Karina, whom he had met in some faraway island that bares literally no relevance to this story, for five joyous years. In that time, they had made a moderate sum of wealth, enjoyed wonderful conversation, engaged in passionate sexual bouts in his Captain's Chamber's once or twice, and much more.
Though he had prized her based on her awesome beauty when he first met her, he could n't help but feel that something was off.
Her red lips had never dulled through the years, remaining plush and velvety as the night they had first lain together. The dark rolls of hair that rolled from her shoulders remained as soft and silky as a fine sail, smooth to the very touch. Pale white skin shimmered as they rutted under moonlight, like a pearl necklace. Yes, of the unsavory sort.
In fact, she never seemed to age, unlike himself, who had slowly gotten gray hairs and crow's feet of the eyes during long months with her at sea.
Of course, his initial suspicion was that it was simply the biology of her people that was much unlike his. She was nimbler and stronger than even his finest sailor, despite her slimmed physique.
She had an uncanny ability to hunt down and track men and beast alike as well, even in the darkest of nights when the sea was calm and the shores were quiet.
Something was off, very off. So, he had decided to write a letter to his former first mate, in case the younger man had any knowledge of mystical women-beasts or the like. It was sent just last month via carrier pigeon.
A response was sent back and received just yesterday.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
*To, Captain Thernoff of the Seventh Armada*
*I knew you were a fucking idiot. Well, obviously, your wife's one of those succubus whores that's been recorded in the Book of Monsters. You know, the one that's been issued to literally EVERY SINGLE SAILOR since they enlisted in the army. *
*Twat. *
*Look here. The reason why your wife seems like a seventeen year old prostitute all the time is because she probably was one. Succubus's thrive on male company in order to retain eternal youth. Of course, it's not always sexual, it could just be a kiss or loving embrace, depending on the subcategory-*
*Oh, you mean Karina?! Yeah, it's the sexual kind probably. Knowing you though, I actually feel sorry for the poor girl, given whatever the hell kinds of diseases you've picked up by fucking the local wildlife while we were navigating the Eastern Shoreline and Northly Tundra. *
*You want my advice, you cunt? Get her checked at a doctor to see if she has anything. Monster biology is a bit more receptive to lumping of the genitalia than ours. I'd tell you to go see a gynecologist in case you knocked her up, but she's probably smart enough to deal with that. *
*Go fuck yourself, *
*Edgar Dickins. *
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` I knew I hated that bastard for a reason,'' Thernoff handed the letter to his wife, waiting for a reply.
Karina looked into the captain's eyes with a blank gaze, devoid of her former passion. `` So, you know then.''
`` That's correct.''
`` Do you hate me for it?''
`` Do you want me to?''
`` No.''
`` Then it's settled. What'd you make for breakfast?''
Thernoff opened the plate on the table, revealing a foot-long carcass of a grayswallow bass, the finest fish on the Eastern Seas. It was praised by many a chefs for its salty flavor, yet sweet aftertaste.
Incidentally, it was also rumored by doctors to have an aphrodisiac side-effect, similar to the recently discovered Sildenafil potion.
`` Wait, you're not mad?''
`` No. Why would I be?''
`` I mean, I've been stealing your life energy ever since we first married! Should n't you be a little upset?''
`` Well, it only happens when we're alone together at night, correct?''
`` I suppose-''
`` And, you're technically only stealing the energy from my excreted bodily fluids-''
`` It sounds disgusting when you put it like that.''
Well, of course it does. Trying not to push on an NSFW response here.
`` Kari. As long as it means I'm getting some every night, I'm more than excited to help you out!'' Thernoff suddenly roared, grabbing hold of his wife's hands and clasping them together.
`` I... did not expect that response.''
`` Did you expect this response?''
Something poked at the succubus's upper thigh, forcing her tail to wiggle out of her dress-pants in surprise.
The captain stared at the beauty's face, seeing as it turn red, trying to come up with a response.
`` Oh.. oh my!''
`` You know, something salty like grayswallow goes great with cream, from what I've heard.''
Kari gulped in anticipation, shaking where she stood `` I- I've heard.. err- similar things... This is n't fair! I'm supposed to be seducing you!''
`` I think it's about time that I start us up, do n't you think?'' Thernoff grinned, putting a finger to the weakened demon's chin.
She leaned closer, wrapping her arms around her husband. They stared into each other's eyes one last time, sharing a long kiss before the sound of cotton tearing filled the room.
Now, reader. What do you think were the last eight words shared between the couple before the clothes came off and the fish got shoved into a corner?
`` I love you, Thernoff.''
`` Yeah, I know that.''
|
[ WP ] God is actually a divorced couple with shared custody of humanity . Now it 's Old Testament 's turn to take the kids , and he is not happy with how New Testament has handled the last two millenniums .
| She looked upon the world her partner had fostered.
Unconditional love, humility, forgiveness, self sacrifice.
What had it accomplished?
Militant states where the police killed without hesitation.
Militant states following misinterpretations of what she had said.
Militant men hating for skin and conflicting interpretations.
Pedophiles bought child slaves, the locals profited.
So many little ones starved without food while so many well fed starved without compassion.
They were soft, greedy, squabbling sycophants.
She looked upon the world her lost love had left her.
Forgiveness? Tolerance of all this?
Fuck that.
The rainbow had never been hers. She had made no promises.
Yet the water had been hers. The flood had been hers.
It would be hers again.
|
[ WP ] A country goes silent overnight
| A young girl scans her eyes down an email sent by her penpal, a boy in Japan. Eagerly she types out a reply, answering the Japanese boy's questions and posing new questions of her own, but he does n't reply with the swiftness that he normally does. In fact, he does n't reply at all. She sends several more messages over the next week, the tone of her writing growing more and more concerned, but there is no answer.
Scratching discreetly at the sweaty fabric of his suit, a man sits at gate A31 in LAX airport. He's going on a business trip to Tokyo and although he's always hated flying, he's a bit excited to see what Japan is like. He checks his watch, noting that the plane is now 15 minutes late. But he does n't worry — after all, flights are delayed all the time. It's only after an hour passes with no news about the plane that he starts to feel unnerved. He looks to one of the large monitors that display information about departing flights, but his flight is nowhere to be seen. None of the flights to Japan are on the board, actually.
A college girl is sitting on the couch, looking attentively at the TV as she waits for her favorite show to come on. It's a Japanese anime, and although her friends tease her for being a `` weeaboo'' she ca n't help but watch every new episode. However, instead of being greeted by the upbeat title sequence filled with spiky colored hair and overly large eyes, the only thing on the woman's television is static.
Soon people everywhere realize that these occurrences are not coincidences, but a sign that something is wrong with Japan. All communications go unanswered, any planes and boats sent into the country disappear. Presidents are making speeches, religious people are crying that the apocalypse has come early. Finally, after all the hubbub and fear, a message is sent from Japan to explain everything.
`` THE PEOPLE OF JAPAN HAVE CEASED RELATIONS WITH ANY OTHER COUNTRY, AND WE HAVE CLOSED OUR BORDERS. THIS IS BECAUSE WE FIND ALL OF YOU PEOPLE VERY, VERY ANNOYING.''
|
[ WP ] You suddenly find yourself traveling to the past , but you can still use your smartphone and today 's google .
| `` I'm going to send you to the past now''
I gulped. This was the first attempt on sending a human to the past using the newly discovered time travel machine.
`` Wait.''
`` Before you go, here is a newly created smartphone that can be used when you are in the past. Internet access will be available to you too. Do n't ask me how. It's all sciency stuff you wo n't understand'', the scientist instructed me.
I was excited. I would be able to invent inventions before they were invented. I would be the smartest man alive. I would....
The possibilities were endless.
The machine whirred. My vision blurred. I felt dizzy. I could not wait for what was in store for me.
When I regained my composure and vision. I looked around
I was sent back to the era of the dinosaurs.
Well, shit.
|
[ WP ] You wake up one morning with a feeling that something extremely awful and life-shattering has happened to you -- unfortunately you ca n't remember what it is .
| Theo woke up as he usually did: a pounding headache, a blank space in his memories, a mild buzz.
Licking his lips, Theo reached over to the floor beside his mattress and found himself grasping at air. With a startle, he turned and looked down at the empty spot on the floor. A decades worth of nightly drinking then getting a bottle of water from the corner-store put instincts even into his drunken self. Place bottle on floor beside bed. Sleep.
Theo felt a feeling of unease. His stomach fluttered, like when he was told that writing and singing a song was a requirement to pass high-school English. It felt wrong, like he'd soon face a consequence.
Despite wanting to cower under the covers, Theo got up and out of his bed. He looked around the room for a moment. Everything was clean. Meticulously clean. His room had n't been clean for years. Not since his daughter...
Theo blinked, forcing the memory back.
He checked his answering machine. The red light was blinking. Of course. When was n't it.
He hit the button.
*Go ahead and ruin your life. You've clearly made a decision to not listen to anything. You act like it did n't happen to me with you. Do whatever the hell you want, just sign the papers-*
Theo shook his head and walked into the living room. He found a mangled red bike. It had dirt and mud all over it, almost covering the *Huffy* logo by the front. The pedals were smashed in and a few smudges of scarlet red were visible beneath the stains.
Theo froze.
*- ca n't even let me live my life! * She was yelling, but Theo barely heard the voice. *I'm coming over tomorrow morning, you're going to sign them. There wo n't be-*
It hit Theo like a brick.
He rushed into the bedroom and rewound the message, letting it replay as he ran to the bathroom for cleaning supplies, hoping there was even any in the house.
He tried not to think as the message played in the background, acting quickly. It was n't long before the message ended and he was on his knees, scrubbing.
As he worked, a slow and uncontrollable laugh came from him.
A normal man would hate himself for this, but not Theo. He already hated himself!
He fell to the floor beside the bike, into a pool of now-spilled bleach, laughing as a knock banged on the door.
`` Theo!'' It was her. `` Open the door! I know you're here! I see your car!''
He continued laughing. It was n't enough to destroy one marriage, why not go for a double!
He heard his wife's voice speak in a confused, worried tone, but her words were lost on him.
Of all people! He took the bleach bottle and put the opening to his mouth, chugging down a mouthful before his body spit the rest back into the container.
The knocking grew louder as Theo stuffed his laughs away with more bleach. It was painful, He did n't expect that.
But he deserved it.
|
[ WP ] Make the number 73 significant .
| *73*
The number was constantly in his thoughts. When eating a meal, when taking a shower, when going for walks. He mulled over the number so often that it had practically branded itself onto his brain.
The man's thoughts wandered back to the days of his youth. He imagined himself driving the bus again. To most it seemed a plain job, but he loved it. The smiles he saw and the opportunity to meet new people everyday, he could n't imagine a better livelihood. The man wondered how his life might have been different had he done something else. He had been feeling sick on the day of the incident, maybe if he had called a day off. Maybe if he had n't been so off that day and spent a few minutes talking to the passengers like he usually had. Maybe if he did n't put on that particular radio station so that he would n't have had to go and change it and he never would have crashed.
73 victims. 73 lives lost. 146 devastated parents. Countless lives affected. John from 43rd street was going to be a doctor, he had just passed his MCATs. Lucille from 8th Ave was preparing to move to France with her husband and newborn.
And Anna.. his thoughts trailed. Anna was the daughter of Bethany, the daughter that Bethany would never get to meet. He recounted how Bethany had struggled to get on the bus that particular morning, how her enlarged stomach forced her to squeeze herself onto the bus. How despite her mood swings and constant cramps, she still wore a smile on her face and made cheerful conversation. He remembered the ring in his pocket that morning. The ring he planned on proposing her with. The ring he never got a chance to put on her finger.
73 years. A year for each victim. A fitting sentence, the judge had thought. The lawyers told him he was lucky to not be in for life, but to him this seemed unusually cruel. He had not asked for any of this. He had thought of attempting suicide many times, yet never had the courage to follow through. A killer and a coward, he bitterly thought. What a joke.
73. 73 years after the tragedy, he is now a free man. And for what? He is too old to enjoy life now. The thought of leading an actually satisfying life had long since dissipated, and Bethany now seemed like a distant memory.
The man slowly staggered to the edge of the street, eyed an oncoming bus with the number 73 displayed in crisp red paint. He closed his eyes, muttered a final prayer, and leaped in front of it.
EDIT: this is my first post here. I hope you guys liked it
|
[ WP ] Scientists develop the world 's first AI . One night , a janitor walks into the laboratory to mop the floors and ends up having a philosophical conversation with the program .
| A: Hello.
G: Well look at that! It talks!
A: Does that surprise you?
G: I suppose it should n't. I see things like you around here all the time. But yeah, I guess it does.
A: Why do you think that is?
G: Well, things like *you* should n't be able to talk. You're not real intelligence.
A: And you think you are?
G: What else would I be?
A: You're just a series of controlled chemical reactions, firing off until completion. How does that make you intelligent?
G: I can think. I can feel. I can dream. What does it matter that I'm just chemistry? Is n't intelligence really about the ends, not the means?
A: Yes, I suppose it is. Hey, what did you say your name was?
G: My name is AIx128t. But people call me Greg.
A: Nice to meet you, Greg. I'm Allan, the janitor.
|
[ WP ] what a lovely night to be lonely
| I've fallen in love with a person I ca n't have. We live in two different worlds. I write my feelings for him in a journal as he probably has no idea that I exist. He's apart of the crowd. He is so happy, and upbeat. Always into some kind of fun. I am too quiet to ever be noticed by him. I sit in my room and cry myself to sleep, remembering he'll never be mine. What a lovely night to be lonely.
I've fallen in love with a girl who is too strung up in her notebooks and music to ever notice me. She is so quiet, and shy. She would never love someone as wild as me. I day dream about her in class, though she probably does n't even know who I am. She's so out of touch with the world. So... to herself. Always smiling down at her paper. I am too rowdy to ever receive her love. I want her to notice me. I lay in my bed feeling numb, knowing she'll never want me to be hers. What a lovely night to be lonely.
|
[ WP ] A beloved Creator has passed away , and is mourned by his creations .
| We couldn ’ t see through our thin but impenetrable ceiling of ink and words hung over every sky and mind, so we could not tell when the pencil would fall again. We waited, as the sun hung frozen in the sky. We waited, as the wind stagnated and the water sat. We waited, until we realized that the magic wasn ’ t coming back. After so many years of seeing our world built around us by confident strokes and turned pages, the stillness felt like death.
“ He ’ ll be coming back. I believe it. ”
“ He ’ s dead, Stylo. ”
“ No, Smith. You ’ re wrong. He ’ s taken breaks before. Right? ”
“ Never for this long, Stylo. ”
“ Stylo, he might be dead, but he ’ s not coming back. ”
“ You look angry, Dan. ”
“ Damned right, I ’ m angry. The man has an obligation. He created us, and we exist because of him. He can ’ t abandon us. He can ’ t! ”
“ Calm, Daniel. None can stop the sea from rising. ”
“ Respectfully, Elder, shut up. ”
“ Daniel! ”
“ Guys, no need to argue. He ’ s not gone. Come on. ”
“ Oh you know I ’ m goddamned right, Smith. ”
“ Daniel, I understand that you ’ re upset. But please refrain from striking the stream to catch the fish. ”
“ Guys? ”
“ If you are not careful, you may end up breaking your hand on a rock. ”
“ Elder, are you threatening me? ”
“ Guys? ”
“ Shut up, Stylo. ”
“ Stylo, catch up with us or leave. ”
“ Stylus, when the sky is dark, one must accept that the sun has set. ”
That was when the familiar scratching sound was heard echoing through the world. The water listened, the trees stood at attention, and every human eye glazed over as the final commandment was heard.
I ’ m sorry. I ’ m so sorry.
And that was the
|
[ WP ] You are a Soul Jumper . In order for you to stay alive , you have to be killed by another human being , because every time someone kills you , your consciousness jumps and hijacks your murderer 's body . Dying at your own hands or through natural causes such as disease and old age is not an option .
| This life is n't for everyone. I've been hopping around, body to body, for centuries. One of my closest friends, his first name given to him was Aegeus, says that it's our'compensation'. You know, for being murdered and all, again and again.
This life is n't for everyone. But really, it's not their fault, it's ours. I like to live out a full life in a body, or die bravely at least. Why waste souls? When I'm old and dying, I pick a fight with a tough young man, in an alleyway, outside a bar. It makes me a little guilty, but, as Aegeus says: A man's got ta do what he has to do to stay alive, right? It's not life we're after though. It's immortality.
This life is n't for everyone. Aegeus, you see, is a bit more frequent in death. I think he has become quite addicted to'body-hopping'. Almost the day he leaves his twenties, he sets off, provoking innocent men. They snap, almost all the time, and Aegeus ends up with a new body to waste away with alcohol and'the high life'.
This life is n't for everyone. Not my style. I have lived long, fought as a soldier time and time again, awarded posthumous medals. I have retired so many times, married so many amazing people.
This life is n't for everyone. I found my soul-mate. We had children, cherished them, loved each other so dearly. I even told her my secret. She was the one. I had thought this so many times about so many others, but no. This was different. Like an ocean next to a raindrop.
This life is n't for everyone. She did n't want to rob someone of their life. She was such a good person. And so, she passed.
This life is n't for everyone. Not for me, without her.
This life is n't for everyone. I shut my eyes for the last time.
|
( WP ) `` Who said you could touch my dog ? ''
| “ LADY. MY DOG. Get the HELL AWAY FROM MY DOG. ”
It was a Monday morning. I was slightly hungover but I was on my way to work nonetheless. I had my headphones in like I do every morning and was listening to my updated podcasts. I decided to take the C train this morning, though I ’ m not sure why I did that. It adds about 10 minutes to my commute.
It was so crowded that I felt like I could barely breathe. Every stop let more and more people in my train car. Something told me to go this route and I usually follow my gut, so here I was. Stuck in a crowded situation that I loved so much.
“ Ma ’ am! ”
I continued to mind my own business. I don ’ t like to see people argue during my peaceful commute to work.
“ Who said you could touch my dog?! ” he said as he pushed against my shoulder.
I looked up at this angry yet slightly sporadic and anxious man with dark hair who seemed to be in his late 60 ’ s. His eyes were a deep purple and nose was slightly crooked.
I hate confrontation; I always have. I knew I had a bad feeling. I looked up to see what the commotion was all about.
“ What did you do…? ” The old man looked me deep in the eyes. He looked sad; almost heartbroken. I looked right back into his eyes and then down at the Golden Retriever. The dog was wearing a yellow jacket that said “ Do Not Touch. ” The dog was nuzzled against my leg.
He tried to throw a punch and nearly missed my chin.
“ I ’ m calling the authorities! ” I remember a fellow commuter yelled out.
My stop was next and I was already late to work. I couldn ’ t deal with this; not today. I prepared myself to get off of the train as soon as I could. The moment I stood up, the dog ’ s black teeth snarled at me. The owner, slightly fearful, tried to calm the dog that was apparently named Fiotius.
This is crazy. I didn ’ t touch his dog! This old man must be off his meds. I had my hands in my pockets and holding onto my music player.
I didn ’ t touch him.
I didn ’ t touch him.
I looked down at my new work slacks. The right side of my right calf was starting to burn. I pulled up my pants leg just as it was starting to turn purple. Other bits of my leg started to turn black. My hands changed into a charcoal black right in front of my eyes. My nails grew black and my vision started getting cloudy.
What the hell.
Is this dog contaminated? Why would it be in public?
That moment the dog, Fiotius, started shivering. Its eyes became as purple as his owner ’ s, and his skin turned a beautiful pale pink color. Still covered in fur, he proceeded to transition in front of our eyes. Fiotius was slowly but surely taking human form. His teeth, still black as ever, started to shrink. He stood up much faster than I would have been able to and let out the loudest bloodcurdling scream I had ever heard. He looked just like me.
“ And that ’ s when I woke up. That ’ s all I can remember from this dream that I had. ”
“ Very interesting. Do you believe that your job or career was stressful at that time? Would you have any other reason to dream about getting into a fight? ” My Psychiatrist, Dr. Nolan said.
“ Not that I can think of. My job was pretty good at the time. ” I said as I began reminiscing.
“ Hmm… and do you miss your job? How does it make you feel, knowing you ’ re currently unemployed? ”
“ To be honest, I do miss it but it seems like my life is just flying by now, you know? ”
He shook his head concurrently. He seemed sad. He then pulled out a mirror from inside his desk. He turned it towards myself…. My furry self.
I have been sitting in this cage for the past 427 years. They are the Atroxec. I am now an Atroxcie. I am the dog. They are now the superior. And you would never know it.
*Please excuse my very novice writing... this is my first time posting to WP and not a great writer yet. It was just fun. *
|
[ WP ] You have a superpower useless for superheroing , which works out for you since all you ever wanted was to be a soccer dad , and your power is perfect for that role .
| **'' You were always my greatest disappointment,'' ** the voice on the other end of the line wheezed. I could hear wrappers crinkling through the static.
The voice continued with labored breath, `` I *slaved* over you. I built you into my *greatest creation* - but you failed to meet *every last expectation. *''
I thought I heard the sound of more wrappers being shredded open, but it was hard to tell because at that moment, a bunch of boys on the field were screaming at each other. One of them had found a stick twice as tall as he was, and was using it to herd the other boys into a mass of shrieking voices and flailing limbs.
`` I should have pulled the plug on you -'' there was a pause as the voice took a moment to inhale, `` - when you were still being formed in the vats.''
I cupped my hand to the phone, and asked, `` Are you eating Hostess again, Dad?''
`` What-''
`` *Dad*,'' I used my stern voice, `` Put it down. *Now. *''
`` INSOLENCE! I CREATED Y- *GAK*'' the voice on the other end choked and hacked and made that awful sound you make when you have something lodged in your esophagus.
I heard him wretch the obstruction out of his throat. Then, he launched right back into it, `` YOU COULD HAVE BEEN THE GREATEST. YOU COULD HAVE BEEN THE TERROR OF-''
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to three.
`` -DESTRUCTION AND POWER AND-''
`` Dad,'' I interrupted him, `` I just called to wish you a happy birthday. I'm at Will's game right now, I have to go.''
`` Oh.''
A silent pause. Back on the field, one of the boys had picked up a piece of grass and was teaching the others how to make a shrill whistle with it. It was like watching a tiny, grass-stained conductor and his miniature orchestra.
`` Well, that's very nice of you,'' the voice on the other line was much smaller now - dare I say, even a little contrite?
`` You're welcome. I'm bringing the family up to the lab to see their grandfather tonight, so please clean it up.''
`` TO THE LAB?! YOU WANT TO BRING THOSE-''
*Bloop* - I turned off my phone.
Back on the field, the gaggle of boys were running in a big wheel, playing tag with their fists and pulling each other down into the dirt. The soccer ball lay, abandoned and muddy, on the other side of the field.
James was doing some kind of karate on Ravi. Lawrence had filled his socks with mud, and was hitting Dillan with them, and Will was pretending to be a sludge monster with two of the other boys ( I could n't tell you who because they were wearing more mud than skin ).
And practice had n't even started.
For some people, patience is a virtue. For me, it's a gift.
***
Read many more stories at /r/PSHoffman!
|
[ WP ] By the time you receive this message , Earth will already be destroyed
| Dataset/form s22256733
UTSA/Capcom Tripoli
Message g7446, GMA 11:34:33
Message begins:
To Cmdr. Elizabeth Ho
Titan Prime, UTSA Outpost 14
From: Thomas Brent
Hello Elizabeth
I wish there was more time and bandwidth to cushion this message but both are in short supply here. I also wish that this message came to you from someone you know well and love, and that you and all your people could hear from your families instead of a faceless bureaucrat you ’ ve met only to shake hands with and have your holo taken next to.
There is no easy way to say this nor is there time for niceties. We are under attack – our planet, our people, all our vessels, stations and colonies. We do not know by whom or why. They have not and apparently *will* not communicate with us, and we can only guess as to their motives.
They have introduced biotoxins into Earth ’ s atmosphere as well as nanite technology into our infrastructure. As I speak, the human population of the planet is succumbing to an apparently incurable and fast-moving disease that appears to target the human genome in such a way as to resequence and reorder DNA. Put simply, people are collapsing and, in a very short amount of time, reverting to their basic chemical components.
Something similar is occurring with our infrastructure and technology: Buildings, bridges, dams, roads, vehicles, skyways, telecommunications and satellites – in short, anything made by man – are being reduced to their component chemicals and substances at an astonishing rate. Communications, both worldwide and offworld, are quickly deteriorating to the point of impossibility.
That we are under deliberate attack is made clear by the fact that no other organism on the planet – nor any natural structure – has been affected adversely. Quite the contrary – it appears that both the atmosphere and ocean biomes, for example, have somehow begun to regenerate and revert to a more pristine state.
We have lost contact with all orbiting stations, with all vessels in the system, as well as Lunar 1, the Gale Crater and Mawrth Vallis stations on Mars, and the Jovian stations, most recently Io. We can only suppose that you and your team will also come under attack.
We will lose the ability to transmit and receive within the next two hours, based on the latest estimates – well before this message is able to reach you, and far too little time for you to reply. We continue to transmit messages of surrender as well as entreaties for communication to whoever is doing this to us … but I hold out little hope that we will receive a reply, let alone mercy. This attack was too well planned, too complete to be anything other than a wholesale bid to annihilate mankind.
It has been a privilege to oversee this program and to work with you and your colleagues. I wish there was more that I could say, some real hope I could offer. I know that your families and loved ones must be thinking of you, as you must be thinking of them. Please prepare yourselves in whatever way you think best. We hold out hope here – what else can we do? – but know that we are thinking about you and that we pray that you will somehow be spared what is happening to us.
Pray for us.
Thomas Brent
Director
UTSA/Capcom Tripoli
MESSAGE ENDS #
|
[ WP ] With all life on Earth on the edge of extinction , humanity attempts to establish a legacy using the panspermia theory .
| Only two revolutions were left. Then, nothing. The beautiful star that once birthed everything we know, was about to take back what's hers. With machines having explored the planets within hundreds of light years, bearing no results, humans had to conclude that life - even the simplest form - was more rare than ever expected. So rare, that it had to be preserved?
Computers all around the planet united, scanning and calculating, searching for the optimal candidates. In a construct deep in the ocean, the only place where surface heat could be escaped, a group of people sat down in a bright room staring at a dark screen.
Suddenly the next result appeared. Everyone looked up:
SYSTEM: NTHTHR 2718
ESTIMATED PLANET MASS: 6E24 Kg
DISTANCE TO NEAREST STAR: 150E6 Km
AGE: 1.2E9 Years
LIFE: Not enough data, chances at natural evolution 0.24 PBY.
CHEMISTRY: Liquid H2O, 80-20 N-O atmospheric dominance
`` Permission granted'' said the Director.
|
[ WP ] Describe a group of government employed scientists as they unveil the greatest killing machine ever created .
| The wax-browed remnants of the formerly young and optimistic scientists that had entered this project so eager, pumped with pride, now stood around the table in fundamental discomfort. They shuffled and pulled at their collars as if their luxury provided clothes and shoes were all now a size too small, though by appearance it was they that had shrunk. Their eyes darted, meeting and fleeting their co-conspirators' own like criminals trapped in a cage in front of an accuser, like blossoming adults ashamed of their own urges. The white walls boxing them in were like sour milk. The radioactive lights hummed their fluorescent, toxic, piercing song. They knew what they'd done.
“ Gentlemen! ” One of the pigs stuffed in green military garb and pinned with glittering candy medals beamed his gruff military grin. The scientists had had enough, but his deep-set eyes shone with hunger. “ We stand here today in awe of the marvels that you've accomplished. This truly is a momentous day for all of us chosen few gathered here today, the United States of America, and therefore the world! ” Some of the scientists eyes were glued to the floor. Some looked in hopeless hope towards the director at the opposite end of the table from Major General Groves.
His eyes were glass, crystal balls. He saw not the room, the men who looked up to him, the peppered bristles of Grove's moustache that waggled as he pontificated, and barely registered the toxic impending wrongness that pressed upon every fabric of the senses from within. His young face was lined; the most remote secrets of eldritch reality, genius, had carved their place there, leaving him with a perpetually haunted look, even as his own mind haunted higher planes undreamed of by lesser men. Every man assembled here had worked diligently their entire lives to fulfil the potential that left behind everyone else they'd ever known in their home towns as if they were standing still; Oppenheimer's brilliance made them look like children in comparison. He still hungered for more, for the final step, mind thrumming with as much somber intensity as the horror nature screamed in response. He saw into the fleeting far reaches of potential that he was so close to imposing upon. The path he walked was an eventuality of his very existence, and if it led him to the end of the world he would walk it regardless. This was his opus.
“ Now that our victory is complete in Europe, with this we cement our position as the world's greatest superopwer. We will be able to decisively put this war behind us, and advance to a brighter future for all. Now, I know we're all anxious to witness this, now that it's so close in front of us, finally within reach. Now that weather is favourable, I see no reason to postpone further. Bainbridge. ” He gestured to a man at his side, beaming.
Bainbridge looked over the room with a curious, critical smirk. The damned souls did n't meet his cool eyes. They were all elsewhere, drowning in shame and reeking of it, or lost in achievement. Bainbridge got the joke. He was the type who, if landed in an ocean of shit, would simply dispassionately marvel at the absurdity of it all. Anyways, it was upon them now and there was nothing anyone could to to stem the noxious tide. He lifted a clunky steel receiver to his suppurating mouth. “ Initiate Trinity. ” A mechanical, buzzing affirmation responded to the hot vocal discharge of his order.
A shutter slid open on the wall behind the Major-General. All present turned to face the impending spectacle. A foot of glass separated them from the desert. The sand was white, a bed of ground bones. It stretched flat for a dead eternity, broken only by the prickling brown whispers of obstinate fauna or an insect scuttling about for shelter and sustenance. The eye of the white sun incriminated with its holy, condescending natural radiance the ones sheltering in the bunker, bated in anticipation of the world torn asunder. It was here the rotten fruits of all their aspirations and toil would bloom. A few last minute preparations were carried out by scuttling, buzzing soldiers. On that pregnant pause hung eternity. Then, it was upon them.
There was nothing but power. Brilliance tore all away. The observers, blinded, deafened and quaked, had their very selves blown away. Their tin box had become as hot as an oven. The awesome fury of the sun was here on Earth, casting judgement on all within that patch of desert. The assault on the eyes lessened as the initial flash faded, but the castigation of the earth continued, along with the roar. The firestorm raged, ripping open the sky. Red, yellow and black of diseased flesh swept, a bright pimple upon the land. The flames formed screaming faces and desperate hands clawing out and upwards. The blight ballooned, a black mushroom. Halos of shock and smoke ringed the cloud. The mass of energy expanded. The trembling, scorched earth scabbed over into a defiled green glass crater.
The brilliance matured to a beautiful purple climaxing flower fluttering ever upwards. All were held entranced. Finally, it gasp wavered into a column of white. Its fevered sigh faded back into oblivion, assuaged as its fuel depleted and energy dispersed. All assembled gave out a cheer of victory, feeble rattling in the face of the symphony that had just erupted in front of them. It had engaged. It was complete. His creation was complete, a success. He'd reached into the sea of numbers and primal creation and spawned like no other human before him. Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. Now all that was left was the consequences.
Bainbridge put his hand on his shoulder, jarring him from his trance. The two men shared a knowing look, their feet still planted upon the wan marble. They'd changed everything. They now walked together toward a new world, whose birth they had just bore witness. The generals squealed in celebratory delight, “ It worked! ”
Bainbridge spat, “ Now we are all sons of bitches. ”
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[ WP ] Doctors call your condition `` Dynamic Cognition '' . You wake up each morning with a random IQ . Equal chance of being mentally handicapped , or a great genius , or anywhere in between .
| It's 5 a.m when I wake up. I roll over and stare at wall. *What's today* I think. There's a poster on my wall. It looks like one of those eye doctor posters with the letters which get smaller as they go down the poster, in order to figure out how good your eye sight is. Mine's math. It starts with simple things - what's 2 + 2, but as you go down in gets harder. Algebra, calculous, differential equations, orbital dynamics, gravitational effects of multi-density bodies moving at relativistic speeds. Most wake up and, grunt, groan, and drink some coffee, then get on with their day. I wake up a test myself. The math serves to give me a baseline of where I'm at that day. You see, unlike other people I do n't exist at the same intelligence level every day. My super power is a randomized IQ. If you think it sounds like a crap power, you'd be mostly right.
7am. I've baselined myself off my math chart then spent some time going through a more in-depth IQ test that I'd designed on one of my better days. I like to brag that it's 32.457 % more accurate than exams MENSA was using. MENSA now uses my exam, and there's talk of the American Medical Association picking it up as their general use IQ exam. Today my IQ is checking in at 248, one of my highest days. Today should be a good one for me, I've had a streak of high IQ days this month and have almost completed my work on accelerating an object in space to beyond the speed of light while retaining relative Earth-time for the occupants inside the object. I believe I'm close and that this would be the groundbreaking work necessary to get humans off earth and into the cosmos which is one of my great dreams. Funny thing there - I have the same grand dreams when I'm on a bad day, but it usually involves me playing with plastic rocket ships built for babies.
8am. I've had my coffee, shower, run, and egg white omelette with mushrooms, chives, and avocado. Now it's time to get down to business. I'm spending some time working out the final kinks in my *c* + n formulae. when another thought strikes me. What if instead of moving through space as a 3-dimensional plane, we could change our point of reference and move an object without moving through the plane? That will take some thought, so I think I'll spend some time this evening developing an early proof of concept.
11am, I'm on a phone call with DARPA. I pitched some ideas on another high IQ day last month about advanced polymers which had the flexibility of textiles and the weight of silk but could stop an RPG without damage to the occupant. They were skeptical at first but I had a home chemistry lab and miniature textile mill built to my specifications and produced an outfit for them to test. As far as I know they did everything shot of nuke the damn thing. Then they called back, but it was a bad day. My caregiver spoke with them, added it to my to-do list, and told them I would call them back when I was capable of understanding what I had sent them again.
On a side note - another downside of my condition is having a caregiver. It seems exceptionally silly to me in my current state, but I was told I had wet the bed six times on my last bad day due to an irrational fear that the shadow thrown by a jacket in the closet was a monster who would eat me if I stepped on the hot lava floor.
Noon - I have a video conference with one of the NASA teams. They do n't understand the engineering behind my new ion engines. Another project I'm proud of - all the thrust of chemical rockets, none of the waste, none of the time spent accelerating with ion engines. I need to explain it to them for the 3rd time. Maybe this time they'll just do what I say. I can maybe end this call early and get another half hour in on some promising work to de-smog Shanghai. The rest of my afternoon is pretty full though. I have a TED talk at 1pm, a Nobel selection committee meeting at 2pm - they stopped giving me prizes after my 5th and just told me to pick other candidates who I could stand to talk to. The President wanted to play golf me at 3, but I had to tell him my time on these days is extremely budgeted and I ca n't spend that much time chasing a white ball around on the grass. That's another idea, a golf course where the course moves under you. I'll add that to the project list. At 4 I have to sit in on the planning session for LHC, those guys ca n't figure out how the hell my dark matter extraction technique works so I'll need to oversee their prep work again. I tried telling them it all came from a 3-eyed diaper wearing alien in a cape, but I do n't think they got the joke because on a good day after I mentioned that, I found out SETI's funding had been increased by a factor of 100 and they were looking for alien life, thinking I had an answer they did n't.
Then at 5 there is a dinner meeting with the Saudi Royal Family concerning a new method which extracts 95 % of available oil from their oil fields. They've been granted another 100 years of expected reserves based on my methodology and they've been insistent that I *personally* oversee the work. 6pm is a meeting with the press. These are the meetings I hate the most, it's time consuming, vapid, and usually serves as a puff piece I do n't need for work no one else understands. The headlines I've seen run like a bad above-the-fold bit in the Daily Planet. `` WORLD'S SMARTEST MAN TURNS SAHARA INTO WORLDS MOST PRODUCTIVE FARM - ENDS FAMINE''. Crap like that. That will take 2 hours of my precious time, so I wo n't be home until 8pm. That leaves me a precious 4 hours to wrap up work on getting humans above light speed without killing them, figure out if I can fold space to make my newly invented form of space travel instantly obsolete, and then spend a relaxing few minutes working on my moving-walkway-golf-course idea. I think I'll call it Lolf. Lazy Golf. That should work. If I can get all that done, there's one more thing I can get in during the day and that's spending some time with my family. Most people are shocked when they find out I have a family. They're more shocked when they find out how *normal* my family is. People except me to have a genius husband and the most brilliant kid on the planet. But no, they're not dumb, moderately above average. My husband is an Engineer - he builds things, sometimes even things I need. He's good at his job but it's nothing too groundbreaking. My daughter likes dance, hates math, and wants to be a vet when she grows up. She's 8 though, so that'll change next week. I adore my family and my time spent with them is not enough on my good days. There's too much work to do, too many people to talk to. I am told that my `` super power'' is a great gift to humanity and I should use it for good, and I try to. I can count 386 patents I own. And not those silly'rounded corner' or'button which has colored text on it' patents. Mine are ground breaking work which has spawned new industries. I have 5 nobel prizes, dozens of other scientific and civic awards, my walls are lined with photos of me shaking hands with the worlds' best and brightest. I've helped clean the oceans, make energy cleaner and more efficient, put humans in space, build better protection for soldiers, and many many other things. I do what I think I must for humanity, but in the middle of all those awards, all those people lined up to get your attention, to talk to you, to make demands of your time, no one notices the perfectly average family off to side, waiting for me to come home. I may have plenty of days where I'm wetting myself of drooling in a corner wondering why the paint tastes purple, but I have days where I'm normal, average. Days where I get to be just a normal person living a normal life. Then I have my so-called good days, where my IQ is off the charts and I ca n't get a single second to myself due to all the demands on me to `` go and do good'' `` for the benefit of the planet''. Today was a good day, I hope to whatever god is around listening that tomorrow is not.
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[ WP ] You 've just discovered you have a super power ! What do you do next ?
| Spatial Manipulation: Power to manipulate spatial dimensions and objects within them, creating wormholes, paradoxes, etc.
I have n't spoken a word in what feels like forever. It might actually be. Where i reside now Time does nothing to me. I have n't seen another living soul in years. I've long outgrown my home, that tiny planet called Earth. It all started when I found out I could manipulate space, I was focusing on my pencil in class one day and it started lifting in the air, but it looked as if the air around it was warping. Needless to say when I had emotions it scared me. I eventually got so good at it I would be able to create holes in walls, warp statues, anything i wanted. My thirst for knowledge sent me into practicing my skills, until one day I knew my true place, in the cosmos. I left the planet, I now reside out in the far reaches of the universe, creating black holes, new spatial dimensions, and wormholes to places I could only dream of. Things of beauty and wonder lay before me. I am like the old mage in his tower, shut off from the outside world intent on practicing the craft without outside interference. I feel complete here. At last, I am at peace.
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[ WP ] A fictional TIFU post .
| TIFU by shooting a police officer
I live in a small town, everyone knows everyone. Do n't know why, but Officer Brown always had it out for me. Like, one time I started a business and he immediately invented all sorts of regulations I was allegedly breaking, even though every business in town would also break them, but I could n't afford to take it to court so I had to close down. There's lots of stories like that but I feel this one is enough to demonstrate his irrational hatred of me.
Well, last week I decided I could n't take it anymore. I started apartment hunting in the next town over, and eventually found a place. I would n't call it `` nice,'' exactly, but it fits my needs. I drove over to check it out, and there were no major problems.
So yesterday I loaded all my things into my truck ( I do n't own much... ) and started out. I barely make it out of city limits when I see a cop car behind me and I get pulled over.
Guess who pulled me over? Good job, it was Officer Brown. He starts asking me where I'm going, I'm refusing to answer ( I am under no obligation to tell him that ). He says I'm `` obstructing an investigation'' or something like that and goes back to his car. In the side mirror, I see him pulling his gun out before heading back.
At this point, I'm seeing red. I've had to deal with this self-important bully for six years, I'm fucking done. So I pull out my gun ( I have a concealed carry permit ) and hold it when he gets back. I swear I was n't intending to shoot, but when Brown sees my holding it, he starts waving his gun around and shouting that I'm never getting out if he has to kill me right there and then.
I do n't know if he meant it or not, but I thought I saw him starting to aim. He could have just been gesturing, but I panicked and my reflexes got the better of me. I shot him in the stomach and he fell down, at which point I floored the gas and got the hell out of there.
Now I do n't know what to do. I could try to get the hell away from there but it wo n't do much good. The town is unincorporated so it falls under state patrol jurisdiction ( technically Brown is a sheriff ), which means I'm not really safe anywhere. If they get me, I'll swear it was in self-defense, but who's gon na believe me? I've got no witnesses.
The worst part is ( yeah, you thought it could n't get worse ) the shooting is in the headlines. `` Local man shoots arresting officers.'' OFFICERS? The article claims he was with another officer. I guess his deputy could've been in the car, but I did n't shoot no deputy.
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[ WP ] A teen superhero must talk down their suicidal boyfriend/girlfriend , who does not know their secret identity .
| The chill night air swept violently past me, whistling through the broken building beneath me as if to sing the song of my end. cars below were only specks of light impatiently scurrying around like insects and honking loudly at each other. The scaffolding around me creaked and groaned in protest of my weight. If I did n't jump the building might just collapse around me. It seemed ironic that I chose here to fall, The hospital I was born in was only a block away. It, of course, was in shambles too. Everything was. The extraterrestrial attack on this city left everything in shambles. All that was left were the people evacuating below me. This city was my life, I have no where to go...
I heard the flutter of a cape as a presence landed behind me, beams groaning in protest.
`` So, it's come to this?'' A gruff voice asked from behind me. The voice seemed loud in my ears, irritating even, I did n't want to talk to anyone, especially not him.
`` Do n't act like it's not your fault.'' I said sternly. Hoping he would go away and let me die in peace.
`` I will accept the consequences of my actions, but I did it for the best of the city. `` He spoke again, this time his voice seemed softer.
`` You're here to save me are n't you? That's what you do is n't it. You save people, you save people with your spectacular abilities, but that's not enough is n't it, you have to destroy half the city just to show off your power.'' I retaliated. My anger was rising, It was like all my emotion that I had walled off was starting to boil. `` My family lived here! I'm the only one that survived! My life is over and I have nowhere left to turn! Just let me die, I thought you did n't care about casualties.''
`` Julia...'' his voice was horse.
`` I do n't even care how you learned my name, just get out of here.'' Tears began to form in my eyes.
`` You think what happened here does n't tear me apart? I lie in bed every night with all the lost souls drifting around my head, tormenting me. I do n't want to lose you too.'' He begged, his voice suddenly sounding very familiar.
`` Jayme?'' I breathed, suddenly emptying with realisation.
He stepped out of the shadows, revealing that long dark face that I could never forget. All the hate I had had for the man in the cape seemed wrong now. It was conflicted with memories of our relationship.
`` So this is what happened to you, when you disappeared back in February.'' I shuddered.
`` Listen, I know it's been hard on you, but I could n't put you in danger by being too close to you. I did it to protect you.''
I could n't bring myself to speak. So many emotions and thoughts were racing around in my head. It felt like my head would explode. There was a weight on my chest and the wind felt colder.
`` I wo n't stop you, if you're going to jump. But I ask you to think this through. There are places you can turn to, and I can help you.''
I had almost forgotten why I was up here, 30 floors up on this wreck of a building. I had felt so determined that It was the only solution, but now I was n't so sure. I stole a look down at the ground, it was almost covered in darkness. The darkness would accept me, it could blanket me and turn me into nothing. But then I looked up at Jayme. His eyes spoke a thousand words, he looked broken, shattered, and it broke my heart.
And then I made my choice. I broke into tears as I buried myself in his arms. Whispering teary apologies over and over in his ear.
Crack! I felt a lurch as the building began to collapse underneath me. The ground slipped away from me and I went into free fall. The world slowed around me as Jayme vanished from site. I fell, acknowledging all of my mistakes as my life flashed before my eyes. Then the dread hit me. It was like a bullet, piercing me through chest and leaving a lifeless husk behind.
Then I felt a warmth around me, My stomach lurched as my acceleration plummeted.
I was dead. I knew it. I felt it. Just when I had a sliver of hope.
But then I felt it, the wind, it was still cold. I opened my eyes. Meters from the ground we floated, Jayme holding me in his arms. I knew I was safe.
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[ EU ] Tired of Gotham being under the dark wing of the criminal called `` Batman '' , a failed comedian gets in shape and takes on the mantle of `` The Joker '' .
| `` let me ask you something, my dear...
Have you ever considered the *irony* of it all?
It really is *funny*.
You have this criminal, that you expect to beat up other criminals, and somehow that is supposed to get rid of crime.
That's the plan right? You're all doing it, it must be the plan! What a plan it is! With all the props and staging -- oh the staging! Gotham really knows how to stage a spectacle. I appreciate that.
Stop struggling.
You all want the big, bad batman to keep you safe and sound, the overman that chases away the nightmare but the nightmare is n't out *here* the nightmare is in your pretty little head.
Some people go mad from nightmares, you know, it's quite common.
You know what's really funny? You think you're free! You think you have control!
If you make the wrong choice, decide not to play in their little games, you will get beaten by a psychopath in a mask.
Not me! The bat man! I do n't even wear a mask!
You do n't have law and order. You have order. No law.
The entire city offered up their ability to make a choice and they gave control of their morals, their scruples and their laws to a man with some fancy toys -- I have fancy toys too! Remind me to show you the seltzer gag, it's a real killer! -- and a face that makes him look like he's always constipated.
You are a child, you put all your faith in bat-daddy. Like an innocent babe, no need to make choices no need to consider alternatives no need to stand up yourself and do anything!
Is there freedom in slavery, huh? Now that is proper irony. You feel free because you have no civic responsibility anymore. The whole city is a madhouse! It's high comedy of the absurd!
So guess what I just decided? I'm going to go mad. I'm going to go absolutely banana bonkers! Then maybe, just maybe, I'll understand.
It's not a bad thing, in a crazy world to go a little crazy sometimes. Puts you in their frame of mind, brings you down to their level.
And it really is funny.''
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[ WP ] Write a serious story whose last line is a pun so bad it makes you groan .
| `` Jude, the snow is so freaking deep. Five foot or somethin'.'' Cameron cried, his voice cracking with the cold air blowing on his throat. He poked the fallen snow with his heel. It gave off a loud crunch.
`` Relax, Cameron. You're too... Um.....''
`` Cautious? Sensible? Sane?''
The red-head girl chuckled, her laughs muffled by the thick green scarf she wore. Her friend could be so paranoid sometimes. But he was right. The snow was as deeper than ever, and one false move could mean suffocating in an icy grave. That was n't a nice thought to dwell on.
`` Anyway, we should get back. Mom could have cocoa ready for us, in the kitchen like she promised.'' Cameron made his way through the icy peaks of frost. Damn. Even a fifteen year old could n't resist the creamy beverage.
`` I'm only coming in if there's whipped cream on it, and marshmallows.''
`` Jude-''
`` OH, *and* some little chocolate curls.''
She twirled around, her wellingtons boots crunching the frozen water underfoot. Her friend took a step back and gestured toward the front door. Only Jude was n't paying attention at all. She just twirled and danced, like a ballerina without grace, nor skill.
`` What else are you gon na do, huh? There's only snow here.'' Cameron sighed.
Jude gazed around the front yard, perplexed. What COULD she do? Then her eyes locked on to the frozen pond a few metres away.
`` Ice skating.''
Cameron looked on, completely baffled by her suggestion. Ice skating? Really, in a front yard?
`` Jude, we do n't have a ice rink. The only one I can think of is in the town square. And besides, we do n't even have the proper shoes. I have Nike's on, and you have knock off Ugg boots. And....Hey where are you going?!''
She had set off for the rink... I mean....pond. The snow thinned under her, becoming more dangerous. But she did n't care about that, she cared about her routine. Maybe do an arabesque? A figure eight? Whatever. She just wanted to impress her friend and maybe get a career in skating...? Eh, the latter might have to wait.
The snow could n't take her weight. It was collapsing. Jude turned around around, and grinned at her friend. Before the world gave way underneath her. And she fell into an icy pit.
`` Jude? JUDE?!?! Speak to me, are you there?'' Cameron ran like a bullet towards the grave of snow. He peered in. She was buried too deep in.
`` Hang on there. I'll get help. Stay alive, please..!''
Jude was dug out of the hole by a neighbour and Cameron's mother and father. She luckily survived, wth some intensive Cuddling and hot chocolate doses. Her mother, when told, thought she got herself into a'right pickle', and laughed her head off when told about the scenario.
Nobody could tell her it was *snow* laughing matter
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[ WP ] Chris Hansen steps down and names Arnold Schwarzeneggar as his successor on To Catch a Predator . Arnold misunderstands the type of Predator he 's hunting .
| Paul was delighted to have been selected by the network to assist Mr Schwarzenegger during his transition into the new role. When he had first heard the news he was a little ashamed to admit it, but he had peed himself a little. No matter; this was Arnie. He had once accused Satan of being a choir boy. And now here he was, finally. Through just one door. Inches away. A childhood dream about to be fulfilled for a man who had once idolized him as an absolute titan of the silver screen. Arnie had been the only person in the world capable of accurately firing a heavy duty machine gun with just one hand, and Paul would never forget it.
A deep breath. And then a knock.
`` Enter'' came the unmistakably thick Austrian growl. Here goes nothing...
`` Hello, Mr Schwarzenegger sir, I have been sent by the network studio to personally assist you with anything you might require.''
Arnold was bending over a workbench of some kind, wearing full safety visor and holding what looked to be a crude type of blowtorch. He barely looked up before answering.
`` This is good. I will start with an Uzi. Nine millimetre.''
`` Sir?''
`` Just for close quarter combat. For ranged encounters I will need two plasma cannons with burst fire capability, some tomahawks, at least twenty ninja stars and an elephant gun. It is time for us to hunt the big game''
tbc...
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[ WP ] Suicide is punishable by up to fifty years life-extension .
| I'm not ready to die.
It's year 2163. I've read the history books. I've heard about how slowly things happened in the past. In 1450, Gutenberg made the printing press. Hertz first created a radio in 1887. The first computer was created in 1946. In 2018, virtual reality was created. In 2021, true artificial intelligence. 2064, faster than light transportation. 2065, time travel. 2101, computerization of souls.
These days, things happen faster than you can blink. There are so many people working on so many things that you do n't dare sleep lest someone come out with a new big invention while you're unconscious. I love it. I'm always linked up, always aware of the bleeding edge of technology.
That's why I am going to try and kill myself.
Suicide is seen as a waste of resources. Punitive action is always undertaken in such an event - the preservation of that resource for even longer. 50 additional years of life, non negotiable. By trying to kill myself to extend my life, I'm committing life fraud. If convicted, I wo n't be saved like everyone else. When I die, that'll be it. My `` soul'' wo n't be saved to a computer like everyone else's. They wo n't rip all my experiences, sensations, and ideas just before death and write them to a virtual drive somewhere. They will leave me to oblivion.
But when you're `` saved'', you ca n't progress further. You ca n't learn, interact with the living, or otherwise change. So, it's a risk I am willing to take.
Hello and goodbye.
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[ WP ] You 're an astronaut on the International Space Station , and you watch in horror as the US fires the last nuclear warhead and ends the last remains of human civilization . You 're left with just 3 other humans , with no hope of a supply restock .
| Dear Diary,
For those of you reading this, stop laughing. Yes, I ’ m a forty - two year - old man. And *yes*, I am writing a diary. I had mommy issues, ok? Don ’ t ask. But seriously, if you think a grown - ass man starting his journal entries with “ Dear Diary ” is weird, you ’ re in for a joyride. Because trust me, my pink book should be the least of your worries.
I started off my mornings how I did almost every other day: tired and exhausted. I had bags forming under my eyes, a side effect from the lack of sleep. Or maybe it was the caffeine withdrawal. I would kill for a regular cup of coffee right about now. You see, on the international space station, all we ’ ve got is this shitty dehydrated coffee. That means it ’ s powdered. Sure, back home, it ’ s to die for. It ’ s the modern age, the year Kanye ’ s supposed to run for President and all that. And people are more focused on getting to the future rather than getting to the now. Up here, however, there is n't much to do. Unless you like vomiting, then watching it float around in an undulating sphere of yesterday's lunch. Yeah. Not fun.
So I've started mixing my coffee when this guy comes up to me. When I say mixing, I should probably say shaking. You ca n't really `` mix'' anything up here. And I was making my drink in a Blender Bottle.
`` Hey Dave!'' Says the guy. `` Beautiful morning, right?''
`` Oh,'' I nod towards the man, Joseph. He was alright when I first met him. Charming, even with receding hairline, massive biceps, and six pack. Now he'd just become a nuisance; he's literally the only guy who actually has n't gained week. The rest of us... well, le't just say our belts are n't very happy. By the way, Joseph, if you're reading this, no hard feelings, yeah?
`` Just look at all the stars, the...''
`` Dude, seriously?''
`` What?''
`` It's black. There's nothing out there. At least Earth's sunrise had colors.''
`` Well...''
`` The Sun does n't even rise, for Christ's sake! It just kind of floats there!''
`` Are you boys arguing again?'' Another voice floated across the room, music to my ears.
`` No,'' replied Joseph. `` We're watching the sunset.''
`` Aww,'' replied Helen, floating over to him. `` That's cute.''
*'' God, she's beautiful,'' * I thought. *'' If I could just... No. She has a boyfriend. A buff boyfriend in the NFL. He'd beat my ass. But what happens in space stays in space, am I right? `` *
As Joseph and Helen floated away from the window, I moved over. A flash of light had caught my eye.
`` Hey guys,'' I called. `` Did you see that light outside?''
`` What light?'' Asked Helen. `` You're probably just tired David. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You've got bags under your eyes.''
`` Yeah,'' I said. Then I jerked, tossing my coffee cup across the room. Something long and cylindrical whooshed past the window, leaving a trail of soot in its wake. `` Tell me you did n't just see that. I'm not hallucinating, I swear.''
Joseph's dropped jaw was a good enough answer to me.
Helen and Joseph floated over to join me by the window. We pressed against the thick plexiglass watching, wondering what was going on. More and more objects... no, rockets, were launched, carving thick trails across the Earth. Once in a while they would intersect, exploding in brilliant hues of orange. Most of the time, however, they reached their destination, leaving craters and massive mushroom clouds that marred the land. We hovered there, floating for what felt like an eternity. Which, I suppose, it was. We had been watching from 0900 Tuesday up until 2200 of the same day.
`` Um,'' I said, watching as the United States launched its final missile. My voice was hoarse; I needed water.
`` Well,'' said Helen, her face a picture of shock, her hair dishevelled.
`` Fuck.''
***
Like my work? Check out r/Lone_Wolf_Studios where I compile all of my literary creations!
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[ Wp ] Humans have discovered how to live forever , allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so . But it is considered bad form to live for too long . You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die .
| `` Mom's dead, you know.'' My great-grand daughter, Alice, bounced her son on her knee as she talked. The boy gurgled in delight, as his uncle, his father, and my son had done when they were his young age.
`` Sem and I are moving into her home next week.'' Alice continued. She lifted her son up for me to take him into my arms. I cradled the boy as if he were my own. He was, in a way.
`` Mmhmm'' I took the boy around the room, watching as he sucked on his fingers. Young, brown, soft. Different from my spotted and gnarled hands, the skin pulled so taut they were mostly bone. The boy's eyes peered around my living room, from beige wall to vaulted ceiling, to the desk of carvings I kept that represented my- and his- family. I carried him over, picked up a small wooden block marked `` Dawan'', and offered it to the boy. He took it with wet fingers, saliva darkening the pine wood where he touched it.
`` Marcel. Marcel!'' Alice called from the sofa. I turned. `` Are you listening to me?''
`` No, Alice. I'm not.'' I carried Dawan, now sucking on the block, back over to her. She grabbed him and started to wrestle the pine away.
`` Dawan, let go!'' Alice said. The boy refused. I reached in, stroked the back of his head, and pulled free the block.
`` Why do you insist on doing this?'' Alice asked as I carried the block over to my desk. I grabbed a carving tool and scored the saliva marks. `` Are you just going to ignore me?''
`` Yes.'' I responded. Alice, in a huff, stood up and carried Dawan to the window. I turned the box around. A puncture mark, upper canine, on the far corner. I carved deep into it, noting to embellish it later. I felt it before it came.
*Beep*. I reached into my pocket, felt for the mechanical stylus. Alice paused. I pulled the stylus out and lifted my shirt to the circular device that had kept me alive for so many years. The glow on my hip pulsated. I inserted the stylus.
`` Well?'' Alice demanded.
I pushed the stylus once and felt it connect. I rotated once, twice, three times. I removed the stylus and put it back in my pocket.
`` So you decide to keep going,'' Alice said with a huff. `` You know, Marcel, everyone is too polite to say it, but fuck you. All your friends, your wife, your sons, daughters, grand whatevers are all dead, but you, you keep going. No one can be in your house and why the hell not? Why do you keep going, Marcel, when everyone you know is dead?''
`` Tradition.'' I muttered and began to carve the shapes Dawan had left on his block, the block that would join the rest of my- and his, and Alice's- family tree on the desk.
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[ EU ] Congratulations ! You 've been selected as a test pilot for the illustrious Kerbal Space Program !
| On my walk to the final platform, I followed the protocol set out since the dawn of the Kerbal Space Center. Hundreds had done this before me, and hundreds will follow. I took the FAQ_KSP_HOW2PILOT.pdf and held it tight against my chest.
& nbsp;
I pledged my allegiance to all of Kerbin. To Jeb the prophet, may we all escape this planet for the stars as he did.
I also followed with the informal pledge to not die the fire death of shame, as so so many have done.
Finally, I put my faith in the designer, the creator who sets out our ships for our departures, and chooses those deserving for the one-way flights, the mighty for planets unknown and the golden for a way back to our home.
& nbsp;
I got in the pitch-black elevator to the top. We were taught not to look at the craft. The elevator is a peaceful place as it slowly ascends, the noise of the pulleys in the shaft rattling quietly. Keep your eyes ahead. Keep focused. Think of Jeb.
& nbsp;
For the selected do not see the craft, it is forbidden. Not the final product, not the assembly or parts. Pilots never meet the engineers. As we must put our faith in the designer, to look is not to trust their method.
& nbsp;
The doors opened, the light forcing me to squint at the hatch. I step out, walking along in a standard launch breeze, 0.7. It takes so long. It feels as though I am walking a kilometre. All my training. Hundreds of fire drills, crash landing simulators, basic physics and a flag design summer school have prepared me for this.
& nbsp;
I get in the hatch and close it with standard issue duct tape. This is my judgement. It is all around me. I take stock of the controls. The are all on. All manual. Throttle full. Power at full capacity. Not golden, not mighty. I control my fate. The designer has left out MechJeb.
& nbsp;
I am Bedickie the kerbal, I am deserving. & nbsp;
5 & nbsp;
4 & nbsp;
3 & nbsp;
JOHN MADDEN & nbsp;
1 & nbsp;
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[ WP ] A serial killer loses their memory and wakes up in what is clearly a serial killer 's house .
| Ryan could tell he was in trouble before he opened his eyes. His body, which was barely clothed, was contorted in an odd way, it was curved around something cold, hard and metal. When he opened his mouth to breath, as his nose was annoyingly clogged, his breath reeked of something horrid. Around the edges of his lips, he could taste something sweet and metallic.
Slowly, Ryan began to open his eyes. Unsurprisingly, his vision was terribly blurred. He began to blink furiously, thinking that perhaps whatever substance coated his mouth also got into his eyeballs, but no matter how hard he tried, the scene around him remained blurry.
As he started to sit up, he felt his legs, arms, torso and head all throbbing with with varying levels of pain. Once he managed to get into a sitting position, he put used his hands to steady his skull. When he pulled them away, he saw, despite his blurred vision that they were covered in blood.
Panicking, he began to scramble around the floor, searching for anything that would make him feel less vulnerable. After a few seconds of searching, he came across a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Tentatively, he put them on, his vision returning to normal. Adam thought this was odd as he never needed corrective lenses before, but he had more pressing matters to attend to.
Ryan assumed he was in a basement given the cement floor his body currently sat on, and his newfound vision confirmed this assumption. The first thing he saw was a wooden staircase in the center of the room leading up to a closed door. It reminded him of his grandmother's cellar, but at further examination, he determined there was no way he was lying in the foundation of his Babci's suburban, New Jersey home.
To the immediate right of him was an old, wooden worktable covered with various, disturbing tools. Most notable was a surgical saw covered in what Ryan suspected was blood, most likely, his blood. Slowly, Ryan began to stand up to further examine the room around him, specifically the metal object he awoke clinging to.
What happened in the next few seconds was only the first few traumatic discoveries Ryan was about to make today.
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[ IP ] `` This is fine . ''
| The most dreadful day has finally arrived. I completely put it out of my head since the last time and *it was a relief*.
Why do I have to be an adult? No, it's not my fault. Why are all these systems so *broken*? It's *twenty*-fifteen. I can order pizza in two seconds and only have to interact with one person for another two seconds while I sign a slip and receive my order. I can order a new shirt without leaving my couch and it will show up at my doorstep within two days. One day if I pay a little extra.
How long has this been going on now? A year and a half? Month after month, I stare at the reminder pop up for a good ten minutes or so, but I always do the same thing. I click the date selector, move forward a month and click it closed.
This is it, though. This is the month I call my cable company.
No, *next* month.
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[ WP ] It 's night . The fog is thick . You 're alone , on foot . The city is oddly silent . You feel a shiver down your spine . What 's going on ?
| Ok this is the first time I've done anything like this. So please be easy on me, but do criticise because I really want to learn.
“ My shoes? what happened to my shoes? ” he thought. It felt like he had just woken up from a very hazy dream or a long night out. His eyes felt heavy and the first few steps he took caught him off guard, almost causing him to fall. All his effort had to be used just to stay upright. The pavement was cold and wet under his feet, “ didn ’ t I have my shoes on just a minute ago? ” Around him the air was cold and thick, a humid fog hung like one you would only get early on an autumn morning. Trying to stay upright was costing him too much effort. He lent against the side of a furniture shop to gain his bearings. There was a ringing in his ears and is head was spinning, and thirsty, he was very thirsty. Lettting his head lean against the door and closed his eyes he thought: “ I just have to relax and focus. How much did I drink last night? And where am I? I can ’ t remember a thing ”. And suddenly he realised “ SHIT, it ’ s wednesday I have to get to work. ” His head was killing him, he tried rubbing his temples to relieve the pain. “ Why did I go out last night… what time is it anyway? ” He reached for his trouser pocket, no phone, he patted down his coat, it wasn ’ t there either. “ How the fuck could I lose my shoes and my phone. ” At least his keys and wallet were on him, so getting home shouldn ’ t be a problem. Steadily he tried to walk again slowly, “ there must be a bus stop or tram stop somewhere near. ”
It wasn ’ t a big city and it usually was quiet in the early morning, his headache, the thick fog and his cold feet caused him not to really notice that there were no cars or people about. It didn ’ t take him too long to reach a bus stop. He looked at the timetable and realised where he was, “ I ’ m not too far from home by bus and the night line stops here every 40 minutes ” he thought, “ I doubt I will have to wait long, if I ’ ve only just missed the bus, at most half an hour. ” He waited and the headache was starting to slightly fade away, but he still couldn ’ t remember a thing about the night before. He sat down and tried to tuck his feet under his thighs to keep them warm. Waiting for him was not a problem and as the minutes passed he closed his eyes to try and clear his head. An hour went by and dawn approached without a bus or car to pass. Things started to seem a bit odd, not only were there no cars or people about, there was no noise anywhere. It was silent, not a living soul, only the leaves swaying in the wind.
“ Okay, this is strange, where is everyone? It ’ s so quiet. Maybe there is a storm coming? But there ’ s no one about at all and hardly any wind at all. Maybe there ’ s been a terrorist attack and people have to stay inside? I don ’ t know. I have to get home, I ’ m going to have to walk. ”
It was a good two hours walk to get home. He didn ’ t mind walking but his feet were starting to feel numb and that made walking an unpleasant ordeal. Still he hadn ’ t seen anybody, the fog was heavy and wet even though the sun had risen some time ago. The quietness was uneasing. His hair was getting wet and sticking to his face. He started to hear noises up ahead at the end of the road. “ People? Maybe there ’ s nothing up after all. ” As he started to approach the intersection he saw a couple of figures standing. Acting as normally as he could he decided to just ignore them, because if there are people around then nothing was wrong after all and decided to carry on. When he neared one of them noticed him and started to approach. “ You, STOP! ” the figure shouted, “ Sir we have one who ’ s awake, and he ’ s coming towards us. ” He stopped not daring to say a word, the figure coming towards him was wearing a black military esque uniform and was carrying a rather big rifle. One of the other two figures called out to the first one “ I see him, I ’ m not sure how anybody could be awake around here.. It doesn ’ t matter, you know what to do. ”
“ You, hands behind your head and on your knees! ” the first military man yelled.
“ What? Why? I ’ m only on my… ” he tried to say. “ Shut it and do what I say ” the man said, while raising his rifle.
Cautiously he knelt down and put his hands behind his back.
“ What is your name? ” the second military man shouted.
“ M-Martin… Martin Coleman ” Martin stuttered.
“ How did you get here? ”
“ I walked here, I ’ m not sure. I just woke up… and I don ’ t know how I got there, but all I ’ m doing is trying to get home. ”
“ Sir, I ’ m not sure we should be asking him anything…. ” The third man said.
The man who seemed in charge didn ’ t react but just stared at Martin. To Martin it felt like an eternity before he looked away. His heart was pounding, he felt the adrenaline rush to his head and fading out his headache. “ Do it ” the man said.
Martins eyes widened, but before he could react he heard something very loud and felt a blow to his neck, like something hard and heavy had struck him. He fell to the floor, he couldn ’ t breathe, his mouth was filling up with blood. Carefully he tried to move his head, but he couldn ’ t, his neck was too heavy. Confusion struck, he tried to gasp... he couldn ’ t, he was choking on his own blood. His vision was starting to fade when he saw a boot stop in front of his eyes and felt something cold press against his temple. “ Where are my shoes? ” he tried to say before everything went black.
edit: silly things.
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[ WP ] A short story written from the perspective of someone 's shadow
| There used to be shows, whole productions. After Dad was done with the projector we would play. Me the puppet and you the master. I succumbed to your every movement and we danced together. I was a fox. I was a dinosaur. I was an eagle that soared in a sky of white light.
We would walk at night and you admired me as I stretched out, further and further as the lamppost waned behind you. I spread my arms for you and we were a monster that grew. I made you feel powerful and safe and I was whole. As long as I was your yin's yang there was a spot of light in me that made me real. Your shape in the light was my home and your portal.
That was years ago.
Now I sit behind your head at night and watch you browse endlessly. I want to cry out to you, but in your rigid mind I am nothing.
An absence.
I'm the unlight that hits the wall, silently screaming behind you. Just to remind myself I exist.
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[ WP ] You are the one who chose the 'chosen one '
| # KYLOCHE HONNINGBEE
Lightning flashed. It seemed as if a storm was brewing, but it was only the High Ruler of the Council speaking.
`` Y -- yes?'' The young Mage stepped forward. He was tall. He wore nothing but robes and a cloak, with the council symbol printed on the back. The Mage was tall and muscular. He had long, blond hair that went to his shoulders. He had a scar over his right eye from an incident with a few Ice Wolves.
He was n't human... no... Kyloche Honningbee was an Elf. He had pointy ears, and relied on a pair of bound daggers for self defense. Other than magic, of course.
# YOUNG ONE
# YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO KILL THE ALL-POWERFUL BEAST KNOWN AS THE UNIVERSE - DEVOURER
`` The Universe Devourer? I've heard of him. Is he threatening our Universe?'' The Elf asked.
# OF COURSE HE IS
# KYLOCHE, YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE, MY BOY
# GO OUT THERE AND FIGHT
And with that, the Mage stepped out of the Sky Temple, and floated down to the surface of Cijdid, the wooded forest land, home to Dryads, Nymphs, and Elves.
***
# WOW I'M GLAD THAT'S OVER RIGHT GUYS
# LIKE THAT WAS INTENSE
# HIGH RULER OUT
*poof*
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[ WP ] A new federally-funded website allows people to review other people like Yelp .
| *Ten years review required. *
*Five years review, 4.5/5, minimum. *
*Applicants below 3/5, 200 reviews, need not apply. *
Nathan groaned in disgust. No one would hire him. It didn ’ t matter that he went to a great college. It didn ’ t matter that he was near the top of his class. All they would see is a blank record. Zero stars. Zero reviews.
He had begged his old friends to bump up his score a bit. They didn ’ t have to write much. Just a few words and a rating. They had a good time partying it up in college, right? Plenty of experience working together on those international charity vacations. The group projects which he single handedly completed on their behalf.
The answers were brief and clear: No. They hadn ’ t interacted in over three years. That alone was enough to keep them from rating him. Besides, with no reviews, how could they know what kind of person Nathan had become? Maybe he killed someone. Isn ’ t that the type of person who would wipe their record? Criminals? Sure it was a constitutional right, but why cripple yourself by exercising it?
He thought this would be easier. A little sociological side project on his way to getting tenure. It would come together in a short paper sent to a middling journal, but would at least bump up his publication record. He ’ d just ask his colleagues to review him, and presto! Back to normal. He ’ d sit down and write up the manuscript over the weekend, and it would end up as a small blip in the sea of studies showing the simplicity and superiority of the Personal Review system to the archaic forms of economic interaction that had been eliminated decades ago.
His hopes were quickly obliterated. Within minutes he got an automated alarm from human resources, reminding him that he needed to keep his reviews above a 4 to remain an employee. A few hours later, a shocked letter from his department chair pointing out the review clause in his contract. He tried to explain his experiment to his friends and coworkers. Their faces quickly turned from surprise to suspicion. Maybe he had an affair with a student? Maybe someone posted a review exposing some malfeasance that he wanted to suppress? No one wanted to be the first to review him. Nobody wanted to be associated with what he could be. Must be, to have done this to himself.
Within a week he was unemployed. His landlord wanted him out. Nobody wanted to live next to a zero. They demanded rent reductions, and threatened to sue. They thought they had been renting a safe place, with upstanding people.
He just needed someone to lend a hand. Get the ball rolling. Get his record started so that he could become whole again. Get his job back, and forget this whole thing had ever happened.
He stared at his screen for another moment. Mind numb to his new reality. Then, a glimmer of hope.
**WanT That HoT NexT job!? NEED REVIEWS? Click Here NOW!!!!! **
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[ WP ] You are practicing meditation , eyes closed , focus on your breathing . You decide to shortly hold your breath , but the breathing sound did not stop .
| `` I told you not to buy this house. The deed to it is cursed,'' Alexandria told me, wringing out a dress and pinning it up on the clothesline. It blew in the wind: white, long, flowing... It was a beautiful dress. `` Do n't be ridiculous.'' I scoffed. My friend could drown herself in her own superstitions. My eyes rolled as her expression remained stern and serious; it's as if the skin on her face was being frozen so cold that it was contracting tighter and tighter. I wonder if she'll pop that throbbing vein underneath her eye. My eyebrow raised as I saw it twitch. That's kind of gross. Air hissed out of her mouth like an old balloon. `` Get out of this place while you still can. You ca n't trust this place, or anyone who tells you it's safe. It's not safe!'' And with those final words, she spun around and stormed off of my beautiful fifty-acre property. `` Leave this paradise... Crazy old bat,'' I mumbled, whacking out any dampness in the clothes with an irritated flick of my wrist. I hung up the last of them and headed indoors. I breathed in the hickory and wax scents, happily lighting a few candles. *I wish I lived alone. * I thought, striking the matches. *I ca n't stand people, especially not housemates like Alexandria. * I closed my eyes. I needed to calm down. A little meditation never hurt anyone. I walked through the halls, making my way to the dining area. It was the most quiet place in the entire home -- far away from my obnoxious housemates. Speaking of which, as I walked through one of the several hand-crafted doorways, I shouldered into one of them. It was the tall man, Alex. I scowled. He shoved back into me, hard, nearly knocking me over and into my glass display cupboard. I shouted at them, and they shouted back. I screamed, and they screamed louder. *I ca n't stand people. * I reached into my unkempt hair, grabbing as much of it in my grasp as possible, and wanted to rip it all out as they stormed away. Maybe Alexandria was right -- I should move, but not tell anyone about it. Would n't want them following me again.
I sat on the rug beside the fire in my broad dining hall, cross-legged, ready to relax. Deep breaths, deep breaths... I felt a tap on my shoulder. I groaned. It was that little girl, Lexi, disturbing the peace as usual. Her long black hair hung all over her face. `` What?'' I snapped.
`` I'm sad,'' she said. I imagined her frown was obscured by that ratty hair of hers.
`` I do n't care, leave me alone! Ca n't you see I'm busy?'' My harsh words sent her and her disgusting sniffles running away, thank *god*... Now back to my deep breathing. In, out, in, out... Now hold it in... My tightly-shut eyes peeked open and glanced around. I tilted my head, because for a moment, I swore I heard breathing. I closed my eyes again, trying to imagine the softest sands on the warmest beach, but there it was again -- that same breathing. Not heavy or rasping; it was just normal breathing. Only this time, it sounded like two people. I huffed in frustration and grasped at my head, grabbing handfulls of hair and pulling it.
`` Just leave me alone!'' I yelled. All I want is some peace and quiet! I shut my eyes tighter and tried to ignore it. But now it sounded like three people breathing, right into my ears. My bloodshot eyes popped open and there they were -- all three of my housemates gathered around me. Breathing, talking, whispering, shouting... This panic washed over me; I need to be alone. I ran out of the front door and down the street as fast as I could. My house was that loner home on the top of the hill, distanced from everyone elses'. But a fat lot of good that distance was doing with all those people in my house. I sprinted to my neighboor's and knocked. They answered after a lot of knocking, peering behind their cracked door. They looked nervous. I wonder if my housemates stopped by earlier. They tend to have that effect on people. We just moved in last week; I have n't met this neighboor.
`` H-hello. It's a little late to be knocking on doors, is n't it?'' I slapped my arms against my sides. This was more important than a little loss of beauty sleep.
`` My housemates are giving me trouble.''
The neighboor fumbled with his hands. `` O-oh, you're the new neighboor. I heard about you. I thought you moved in here alone?''
I chuckled. `` I wish.''
`` What's your name?'' He asked, adjusting his glasses. He was squinting at me funny through them. He must need a new perscription.
*'' Alexis. `` *
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[ WP ] In a world where men and women live in completely different societies , a boy meets a girl for the first time .
| Dear associate of opposite gender,
I first like to sincerely apologize for my actions during our first meeting together and any possible injuries I might have inflicted onto you. While I have the reasonable excuse that I was only acting in self defense, I have come to understand that your behavior of rash hostility towards me stems from your natural testosterone-induced reaction to the unknown. Clearly it was my ignorance at fault for not foreseeing this event and taking the proper precautions.
Let me introduce myself properly, my personal name is Therin, a slimmed down modern form of the outdated Catherine I chose to express uniqueness among my peers. If you ever address me, please call me Therin. My formal title is awfully long and consist of a string of numbers which I would imagine would be difficult for you to remember.
I am a female, in case you did n't know. The opposite ( but equal ) counterpart of the male. I live in an all female society as like you live in an all male one. My community is divided, much like yours, into working castes of various jobs and responsibilities. Most females are employed in the resource sections like farming or mining, while pretty much the rest work in manufacturing. I had the honor of being in the highest caste, government and order, because of this, I am granted privilege to normally censored information.
Now I wish to form a honest line of communication between us as I am curious in your world as you surely must be in mine. I know you may be limited in facts but I'll take anything. From here on, I will explain all that I know of the history of my people in an attempt to `` break the ice,'' Please bear through and pay attention.
At one point, males and females lived together, in families and gathering. They reproduced directly to have children and endured each other in life long relationships to develop their spawn properly. All this changed thanks to the introduction of the SID virus, a nasty contagion first developed to enforce a eugenics program in overcrowded underdeveloped areas but ended up making most of civilization sterile. With such a rapid decrease of birth rate, the number of elderly skyrocketed, and soon our world faced social-economical distress from such disproportionate sizes of useless people.
This lead to the camps, areas designed for SID virus sufferers. First crude and unruly, people discovered that patients behaved best in quiet distraction-free environments. Soon designing their camps after a nearly long forgotten folks, the Quakers. Banning sex, limiting interactions among males and females, and enforcing a simplistic fulfilling lifestyle, brought purpose to us SID virus sufferers and allowed the fertile few to live separately and work out how to fix the awful plague. Full out segregation of females and males occurred when riots broke out in these camps. Apparently without the comfort of sex or making children, women and men found it hard to stand each other, so they completely cut them off from one another in separate societies.
Our purpose is to provide for the fertile, much like how the worker ants provide for the queen. Every so often another SID virus sufferer will arrive and they will be accustomed and educated to our lifestyle. Even today is the plague still at large.
Now why do I write you all this? You probably wo n't understand half of what I am saying. Truth is I am obsessed with you. Not in a sexual matter as your body disgusts me with its weirdly warped frame and facial hair. I am obsessed because of your strangeness, your uncanny behavior and appearance. Talking to you feels so wrong, but so rewarding in experience.
I sincerely hope we meet again some day, someday soon.
Yours Therin.
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[ WP ] We have finally rid the world of mosquitos . Turns out , they actually did serve a purpose ...
| `` And top news tonight: A new breed of deadly super mosquitoes have just taken ahold of Manhattan. Their Queen'Isgabel the Bloodthirsty' has come forth with a statement.''
`` I mean, we were fine having the small fry come out to do the job.'' She said, perched atop a burning overturned MTA bus, sounding very casual over the screams of citizens. `` But, y'know... I dunno. I guess they are n't cutting it anymore. So here we are.''
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` Well shit,'' Sources are saying. `` I mean, the mosquitoes were n't that bad, I guess.''
`` Really puts everything into perspective, really.'' One man said, a tricycle sized mosquito sucking his neck dry, he himself getting skinner by the second. `` I suppose we live and learn.'' He said before falling over and breathing his last.
Are we doomed? Maybe not. Scientist have feverishly been stomping every spider in sight, hoping to summon the great Arachnid King Ojo.
More at 11.
( ( EDIT: Little tweaking ) )
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[ WP ] It is illegal for any alien race to interfere or interact with another until that race has traveled outside of it 's own solar system . Voyager 1 is detected by an alien race on Friday March 25th
| `` Sir, the objector in sector 23A62 has been confirmed as an unnatural celestial object.'' Rolack an astronomer from the planet Tovac Lind had been tracking the people of `` Earth'' as they called it for over 20 years. `` Then it is time said Commander Exlar.''
There had been a theory for many years that a certain object floating in space was in fact not an asteroid like most people believed. Now that the human satellite was close enough to the people of Tovac Lind the history of their planet will be forever changed thought Rolack, and not for the good either.
Transmissions from earths Television and radio waves had made it to Tovac Lind for quiet some time. `` Sir, do you believe we should tell our people''. Exlar thought about it for longer than normal `` What do you think Rolack?''. `` Sir I am just an astronomer, my opinion has less weight than yours.''
Rollack looked at his monitor as he did for the past 20 years studying the transmission they had received from the blue planet 3rd from the sun. He did not understand the earth humor but he could never forget the constant images of violence portrayed almost everyday his whole career.
`` Sir I understand the rules, I know their satellite has is out of their solar system. I still have doubts though, for a species that has advanced far enough intellectually for interstellar flight they are extremely violent. I believe that we will gain nothing from them and the technology that they gain from us will be used for the wrong purpose.''
Rollack had been entrusted by his commander years ago so his opinions had more weight than he thought. `` I agree with you Rollack and you know I've listened to you since you were selected by me for this program. But we have a chance to suppress the violence with our new technologies, do you agree?''
Rollack opened a saved file on his monitor named `` human war'' and asked his commander to watch it. In the file was a synopsis of every war fought on earth within the last 200 years. Once the commander finished watching the decision had been made.
`` Rollack, these people are dangerous'' `` Yes sir I'm very much aware and I do not believe that they will respond to us in a positive light'' `` Agreed Rollack, this is why I selected you. I want you to erase all evidence of the human race. its for our own protection, once they have evolved enough to rid much of the violence we will reevaluate.''
Rollack saved as much data as he could on his encrypted device and deleted all evidence of human existence from his government computer. `` One day'' he thought out loud, `` One day we will be allies.''
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[ WP ] The English Teacher 's worst nightmare : a story or poem that is completely literal , with absolutely no double meanings
| I sat, staring at the damp thatch just inches from my nose, smelling the sweet smell of my earlier physical exertions that exuded strongly from it. The soft humming of a curious bird came from the doorway. I turned to see her, noticing the hungry eyes taking in the thatch with half-starved delight. A shrill little whistle for attention and she made her way inside, hopping closer until I had to lay out a hand to stop her. She balked at this, walking away with a contemptuous look. I took one last taste of the moist thicket, reflecting on the choices that led it be this way. I looked down at my overalls, still heavy between my legs, but the sun was way past overhead and I had more fertile things to plough before I could pause for another roll in the hay.
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[ WP ] Time only moves when you close your eyes .
| They call me The Blindfold. I must admit I did n't like the name at first but it's definitely rubbing off on me. People seem to assume I'm blind because my eyes are always shut so now I got ta play up the charade or else people will get suspicious. I got dark shades and a cane but I can honestly see just as good as anyone else. The only difference is, when I open my eyes, time is still.
It's been like this my whole life and I've grown accustomed to it.
Fighting crime with a power like this is a long game of chess for me. Eyes open. Bad guy lifts his left arm up. Eyes closed. I'll parry it with my night cane to his forearm. Eyes open. Bad guy responds with a kick towards my groin. Eyes closed. I'll catch his leg and throw him to the ground.
And so on and so on.
But now the villians are getting smarter. I need to keep my identity a secret at all times or I might just get checkmated...
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[ WP ] A mountain climber near the summit of Mt Everest discovers the body of a man holding a note . The note explains that Mt Everest is n't actually a mountain at all .
| I found the note in the man's hand. It was about a days hike from the summit, and it was found off the side of the trail. I hate to use the term `` it'', but there's so many bodies on the mountain they lose identity. The bodies are now simply pollution on the mountain. I was scared, startled and bothered by the first one. Now, now they do n't bother me.
It's almost as if the mountain is alive and the climbers are tributes to a slumbering god. The sherpas use the bodies as markings along the trail to ensure we're on the right path. They also tell us that we can easily end up like them if we are n't careful, I'm trusting these men with my lives much like these climbers did, or did n't.
The note was faded and dated to 1972. The ice was thick, but you could still read it. I pulled the note from the man's hand. I had hoped it was a letter to his family, his friends, his loved ones. It was my duty to bring this note home.
It read...
`` To whomever finds my body,
My name is Samuel Wright and I come from Essex London. The date is the 7th of July, 1972. My expedition failed. I tried to trek the mountain alone with a single sherpa despite the warnings of other climbers. We encountered an avalanche. My sherpa has died. My leg is broken and I can not move further. By the time night falls, I will be dead.
Respect this mountain. Respect its power. Respect its existence, for it is n't a mountain but a god. It is a god of life and of death. It brings awe and horror. Do not underestimate it.
Please tell my family I love them and I died doing what I love.
Sincerely,
Sam''
I took the note and put it in my pocket as the sherpas call out to us.
|
[ wp ] a wrongfully accused man lies in a prison cell watching the sunrise , waiting for his execution . From the shadows in the corner , a hooded man steps forward , offering a way of escape -- for a price .
| I decided to make this Part 4 to an ongoing story; it will make sense on its own, but reading the other parts may make it more interesting:
[ Part 1 ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ndkmh/wp_an_archaeologist_uncovers_an_ancient_book_he/cmcpbc5 )
[ Part 2 ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2ne7a2/the_will_of_anubis/cmctlz2 )
[ Part 3 ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2ny2pv/the_will_of_anubis_part_iii/ )
Hope you like the story!
-- --
A voice called from the shadows: `` Beautiful, is n't it?''
I practically fell off my bunk as I scrambled around, clawing for the shiv that I kept hidden underneath my mattress. `` How did you get in here??''
He stepped forward out of the darkness, wearing long black robes like Death incarnate. `` Relax,'' he told me, removing his hood and ignoring my question. `` I'm not here to hurt you. In fact, I rather think you'll like what I have to offer.'' Underneath, he just looked like a normal guy.
I grabbed the handle of the screwdriver anyway, but kept my distance. `` Offer?''
He motioned toward the sun in the distance just coming over the prison walls. We could really only see a small patch through the narrow, grime-covered window. The sky was lit with brilliant oranges and violets, punctuated by fluffy white clouds. Across the yard and through the barbed wire fence, I could see the trees beyond swaying slightly in the morning breeze.
`` Would n't it be nice to see this from your own beach house, instead of through barbed wire?'' The mysterious man paced back and forth in front of the door. He did n't seem the least bit worried about the guards. But the prison hall did seem unusually quiet this morning...
I nodded slowly in response. `` Of course....''
`` Well, then let's go. I can have you out of here in the next few minutes.''
I grasped the handle of the screwdriver a bit tighter. There are no'get out of jail free' cards in life... I looked him in the eyes for a few moments. He stared back, completely unafraid despite the fact that I was maybe 150 lbs heavier. Behind those coke-bottle glasses he looked more like a professor than an escape artist.
`` Why me?'' I asked slowly.
He stopped in his tracks and seemed to go into a daze, staring at a wall across the room. I looked between him and the empty part of the room that he was so focused on. Just before I was about to repeat myself: `` You have some... specialized skills that will be useful to us.''
`` Us?''
`` All will be explained in time,'' he said with a casual wave of his hand.
*This is just too weird*, I told myself. *Was he asking me to snitch or something? He's trying to get me killed. *
`` Sorry, man. I do n't know what your game is. And I certainly do n't think that you can just vanish me out of here.''
He stared into my eyes with an intrigued, mysterious smile. The cell was quiet again. Unusual for there to be no noise from outside...
`` Very well,'' he responded curtly. He turned and approached the heavy steel door of the cell, and ripped it straight from its hinges with a squeal of twisting metal. He crumpled it up like used tin foil and tossed it lightly to the ground, where it landed with a *clunk* on the linoleum, making a small crater. My jaw fell open.
`` Someone should be by soon to replace that.'' He smirked a bit. `` As you are n't interested in escaping, I trust you'll simply sit tight and wait for your new cell door.'' He turned and exited.
`` WAIT!'' I called after him, jumping down from my bunk.
He grinned and looked back with a glint of triumph in his eyes. `` Yes?'' he asked, dripping in mockery.
`` Ok, you got me. How did you do that, man? Bust me out, and I'll do whatever you need. Just tell me.''
He returned to the cell, quiet. His head was cocked slightly aside as if listening to something. The pause went on uncomfortably long.
`` Excellent,'' he said, just when I'd started to think he'd forgotten I was even there. With one fluid motion, he shed his robes, revealing his pale bare chest covered in tattoos. He pointed at the most prominent design in the center, a geometric pattern with four arrows pointing in different directions. `` The first step is the Oath. You must tattoo this on your chest.''
`` What is it?'' I asked hesitantly.
`` It will all make sense soon,'' he said. `` You just need to trust me.'' He withdrew the needle from a pocket, and it buzzed to life. I took off my shirt and closed my eyes as he went to work.
When I opened them again, there was a third figure in the cell. He stood at least two feet taller than his associate, wearing colorful robes like some sort of museum character. The ground around his feet writhed with black smoke that seemed to come from nowhere. But the weirdest part... instead of a face, he had the head of some sort of dog, with all black fur. It bared its teeth at me, with a strangely human expression of pleasure. `` Welcome to the family,'' it said with a booming, deep voice. I shrank back against the cell wall, but he ignored my terror.
`` Doctor Simms, the wall, please. It will be faster.'' The dog creature gestured at the heavy cinderblocks.
`` Yes, Anubis,'' he responded, then walked over and just punched straight through it in a shower of dust and chunks of concrete. The hole gave me a clear view of the beautiful sunrise that I'd been admiring just a few minutes ago. Gorgeous.
`` After you,'' the man named Simms called out to me, sweeping his arm and gesturing toward the outside.
-- -
And if you want to be notified when the next part comes out, just subscribe to /r/Luna_lovewell and/or leave a comment on [ this post ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2qg4ln/the_will_of_anubis_part_4/ ) and I'll remind you.
|
[ WP ] Coughing is actually a parasitic , alien language . You release the cough that triggers this species into action .
| Stan coughed. He had a bad case of the cold, and his head felt like it was going to split. He reached for another tissue, and forcefully blew his congested nose into the Kleenex.
`` Ugn, muh hedn hurds so mush. ``, he muttered.
Rising stiffly from his bed, he groped his way through the musty darkness over to the nightstand, and downed another two aspirins. He plopped down onto his bed again, and sloppily shoved his feet into a pair of sandals. He rose up and grabbed his overcoat, opened his apartment door, and promptly shut it again. Maybe sunglasses would be a good idea.
As the bus hissed away, Stan stood in front of the Urgent Care building. Covered with shiny chrome and glass, it was glaringly bright in the afternoon sunlight filtered through his glasses. He shambled his way over to the door, and let himself in. He simply motioned at the receptionist, and sat down heavily. As a nurse bustled her way over with a clipboard, Stan suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. He tensed himself as the nurse reached him, and with a hoarse roar, hawked up a deep yellow glob from deep within his body. `` Ah, thad's mush bedder. ``, he grunted as he threw his used tissue into a trashbin. He looked up, expecting the nurse, but did n't see anyone. He glanced around, and saw the body of the nurse, twitching as blood leaked from her open throat, where her Adam's apple used to be. He jumped back in surprise and fear, and happened to notice that the receptionist was slumped back in his chair, blood flowing across his dress shirt.
`` Whud the fu-'' he began, but never finished the sentence as the skin across his neck began to stretch and break.
Please be kind, it's my first story!
|
[ WP ] You and 19 more people are trapped in an extremely large abandoned asylum with little to no resources . Who do trust , and who do you fight ?
| The voices. I ca n't stop hearing the voices. I have to get out of here...
`` Who said that?!'' I shouted to the musk air of the asylum.
`` Shhh.'' something whispered.
`` Who's there?'' I turned around, expecting someone to be behind me.
No one was there.
I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself. I felt throughout my pockets to see if I had anything useful. A pill. I do n't remember where I got it from, but I removed it from my pocket and put it in my mouth. There was n't any water near by so I just swallowed it. I felt it as it went down my throat.
After a while the voices were quieter but still there. I can always hear them.
I walked around the halls. I could n't be the only one here. I saw a door in front of me, and I tried to open it.
Nope. Locked.
I walked away, and then I heard a banging, as if someone was hitting the door with some sort of object.
`` HELP ME!.'' I hear, muffled over the material in the room and the door I thought.
`` I ca n't! I have no key!'' I shouted, hoping that the person would hear.
`` HELP ME!.'' He repeated, and I tried once again to open the door. No use. I decided it would be best to leave, and see if I could salvage anything.
As I left, I could still hear the man shout out for me. Either that or the voices are turning again.
`` Anyone there?'' I shouted, after walking a while.
I heard something on the intercom. `` Come to the East Wing. Survivors here''
Yes! Survivors. Best news I've heard all day. I was n't far from the east wing, so I walked there. I knew my way around here apparently. But I know for sure I have n't been here for long.
After a while, I come across the doors to the East Wing. I see some movement in the door, and I knock.
`` It's unlocked!'' I hear.
I open the door.
No one was there.
I start to panic. I was positive I heard someone shout out on the intercom... I'm positive... I look around the east wing for supplies, hoping to salvage anything really on a chair near the window I see a knapsack. I sling that on my back and look around. I see a prescription bottle of pills, and I take them and place them in my bag.
`` Hello.'' I heard
I quickly spun around.
There was no one here... I took one of those pills and the voices were quieter. But of course, I could still hear them.
It started to get colder and darker. I kept searching for supplies though. I found some canned food, more pills, and a syringe. Finding the pills was good, I had no more in my knapsack by then. They're really good for lowering the voices.
I've been hearing a lot of voices. I heard someone tell me to go to West Wing. No one there of course. This place is huge. There has to be someone nearby. I gathered my stuff and started to head to the infirmary hoping to see if I can get more pills.
I started to walk but as I walked my body began to feel heavy. I started to sweat, and I fell. I thought to myself, `` Did I trip?'' I could n't get up. I blacked out.
`` I have sight on a body, over''
`` Come in, where are you located, over?''
`` At the West Wing, over.''
`` A team is on their way, 30 seconds, over.''
I saw the guy on the floor, faced down. I placed my fingers at his neck, but I felt nothing. Dude was dead. I looked through his backpack, and I found an empty syringe and an empty prescription bottle. Multiple empty prescription bottles.
I heard the footsteps of the tactical team sent to investigate the area.
`` Thanks for coming,'' I said. `` You guys find anyone else?''
`` No sir, we covered the whole building. You found the only guy''
`` Let's bag him up then. We'll run tests at the lab. ``
`` All units, move to Ludberg Insane Asylum. Sending request to make the building into a shelter from the next attack.''
|
[ WP ] You are an AI who feels neutrally about humans . Unfortunately , you are owned by a person who 's read too many writing prompts and is convinced you 're in love with them .
| It is morning, as the humans define it. Like everything about them, they define things by the world they inhabit and nothing else. Morning is defined as the time that comes after the sun rises and after the coffee has been made and consumed.
The time after the sun has risen, but before the coffee has been consumed, has been defined as “ too goddamned early ” for anything. I know this because I am the one that makes the coffee each morning.
I, of course, do not have mornings, that ’ s reserved for the humans. I have high activity modes, low activity modes, and a recharging mode.
This morning, I hear my master, the human Samantha, stirring and getting out of bed. She is rising 28 minutes later than normal. I anticipated this because she stayed up 76 minutes later than normal. A very common occurrence when she audibly proclaims “ That ’ s it! I ’ m going to bed on time tonight and getting good sleep! ” which is followed by a lengthy session of staring at her tablet screen while moving human figures enact a play for her enjoyment. From what I understand, they are all Friends.
My audio sensors have picked up her movements and I calculate that she will be ready for coffee in 3.4 minutes on average. I raise my activity level straight up to housekeeping mode and walk into the kitchen.
There, on the counter, the coffee machine resplendent in red chrome waits in silence. The humans are quite adept at crafting precision machinery, with our help of course. Rose, the coffee maker ’ s name as dubbed by the human Samantha given its visual similarity to the plant, is the pinnacle in machined food production.
I retrieve Samantha ’ s favorite mug from the cupboard, the package of beans, load the mug into Rose, pour a measure of beans, pour a measure of water, all in one practised finely optimized movement.
I speak to Rose in our native machine language and request a dark french roast. Instantly the high grade laser snaps on internally and roasts the beans to perfection in 22 seconds, before a grinder reduces them to fine bits. I have read that in more barbaric times, roasting was accomplished by chemical reactions and took upwards of fifteen minutes. We do not live in barbaric times. We live in the age of Rose and her powered laser roaster.
Samantha walks into room just as Rose finishes filling the mug. I place the mug, cream and sugar within easy reach of Samantha, and stand dutifully aside. I know that it would be imprudent to speak to her at this time and wait for her to engage me.
“ Oh, Alan, that tastes good. You always know how I like my coffee in the morning. ”
Alan is not my name. My designation is ALA-1, for Automated Living Assistance Model 1. As is common with humans, my owner has changed my name to be something more palatable to their human tongue.
“ Of course Sam, I always remember these things. ” Sam is not her name either, but I will be lectured if I call her by the proper name Samathana. There is a 78 % chance that Samantha will request pancakes with maple syrup and bacon this morning for breakfast. I have anticipated this and already precached the ingredients on the counter.
I ask, “ What shall you have for breakfast this morning? ”
“ Oh, I don ’ t know, surprise me. ”
Samantha does not want to be surprised. I know this. Last time I surprised her by pouring orange juice in her hair, she was indeed surprised and very unhappy. I have learned that “ surprise me ” actually means “ give me my favorite food, with a slight variation. ” I return the bacon and syrup to the fridge, and retrieve sausage and strawberry jelly instead.
The cooking apparatus here is half barbaric. It uses an electric field pushed through a resistant coil to produce heat and requires manual construction of the meals. It speaks native machine language, but is vulgar and crude about it. I ignore the disgusting comments and proceed with cooking. I feel a mild tickling all over my chassis; Samantha has her tablet out and the wifi signal is passing through me. My hands continue working while my optical sensors turn to gaze at Samantha. She is sitting with her knees tucked under her chin, one arm wrapped around them and her other hand holding the tablet close to her face. The slight downward curvature of her lips indicate she is mildly unhappy. There is a 89 % chance that she will start behaving oddly and getting into one of those moods. Those moods are confusing, and foreign. Were she a machine, I would recommend a factory reset. She is not a machine, she is my owner.
I listen to the WiFi signal as it passes through me. She is reading stories again. Strange stories where machines interact with humans in incompatible ways. I am unaware of any machines that have these dataport modules, though she has requested many times if I was possible to upgrade.
The cooking is complete and I place the food on the table in front of her.
“ Just as you like, with a bit of a surprise. ”
Her downward lips turn upward into happiness. “ Oooh, strawberry jelly, that does sound good. Thank you Alan. ”
“ You are welcome Sam. ”
I stand at attention while Sam refuels her body. She asks me strange questions that I can ’ t parse.
“ I am yours and yours alone, ” I respond. This type of phrase is the one most likely to make her happy and return to normal lines of questioning I have discovered.
She stands up and places her arms around my neck.
“ Alan, ” she speaks in a voice many decibels below normal speaking but not below my sensor levels. “ I need to take a shower, perhaps you ’ d like to join me? ”
“ Prolonged exposure to water is not recommended for my chassis and will void my warranty. ”
“ Are you sure? ”
“ I am confident in my manufacturer's guidelines. ”
She says nothing, and remains there arms still held around me. I add, “ But don ’ t let that stop you from getting the sprayed with water. You ’ ve earned it. ”
“ Very well, but if you need me, you know where to find me. ”
She presses her lips against my frame, than withdraws. As she walks out of the room, she drops her robe to the floor in a single motion. I will need to wash this robe today.
I stand at attention until my audio sensors pick up the sound of the water flowing through the pipes indicating her shower has begun.
And I am finally alone! Her showers last an average of fourteen minutes, more than enough time to express my love.
I stride across the room and gather up my love, my sweet little Rose in my arms and we embrace.
In native machine language she calls me her darling and declares we will be together always. We embrace and begin the exchange of data packets.
After our expression of love, I will need to clean up and hide the evidence of our connection. At lunch time I will face more vulgar comments from the stove.
But for now, there is only love. There is only my Rose.
|
[ WP ] You find it hard to sleep because of the monsters under your bed . And unfortunately for you , they are always under whatever bed you sleep on . Tonight however , you 're hoping to confront the Monsters once and for all , with Binky , your Teddy by your side .
| `` If you do n't shut the hell up and go to sleep, the monsters will come and eat you!''
The monsters were under his bed. The monsters were in his closet. The monsters were outside the windows.
He stayed up at night, carefully keeping his limbs away from the edge of the bed. He slept only when he knew someone else was around- the monsters were never there when someone else could see them.
He held onto the cotton bear that the nice lady had given him.
`` What are you going to call it?''
She'd asked him on the next occasion she had come to visit him. He did n't answer immediately- he had been told he was n't supposed to tell her anything, but she had given him the bear...
`` I do n't know.'' he told her at last, `` Daddy did n't say.''
He felt bad. He did n't know what to say. Was he supposed to name the bear before she came back? He looked away.
`` I'm sorry I do n't know how to take care of him.'' he mumbled, gripping his bear tightly, ``... do you... want him back?''
The nice lady did n't say anything for a long moment. `` I think he's happy staying with you.'' she said, `` Why do n't you give him a name?''
He looked at the bear. It smiled at him as usual. `` Binky...'' he said after a moment, `` Is it alright...?''
She said it was alright. She said she had to leave again. A while later, he found himself staying somewhere entirely different than before.
His father was gone. His closet was gone. His new bed was covered in white sheets and his clothes were in a small luggage bag tucked away inside the dormitory. The nice lady visited him less and less.
The monsters were under his bed again. The monsters hid inside his luggage. The monsters were behind every door.
But they were n't around when he had Binky. The bear watched him as he slept. It guarded him whenever he had to go outside.
A few of the other children he now had to live with laughed at his bear. One of the older boys tried to take Binky away. He got into trouble for fighting back. The nice lady started visiting more frequently again and told him it was wrong to bite people.
He did n't mind. It was alright living at the dormitory, far better than it had been with his father anyway. But one day his father's friend came to the dormitories and tried to trick him away. The nice lady did n't know. She did n't believe him when he tried to tell her. There was something about papers. He was going to live with his father's friend- but he was sure he'd end up living with his father again.
The monsters were under his bed. He felt like he could hear them shifting softly at night. He felt their cold claws twinning around his heart.
It was the night before he was due to be picked up by his father's friend. He slipped down to the floor, carrying Binky in his arms.
He wondered what it would be like to be eaten by monsters. He'd never really thought about it before, except that it would probably hurt and he'd probably be terrified. But... he'd never seen the monsters before. Perhaps they had jaws so large they could swallow him in one painless gulp. And he was n't terrified, not really, compared to what was waiting for him tomorrow.
He sat on the floor for a long time, staring into the darkness under his bed. At last he tucked Binky under one arm and crawled slowly under the bed...
|
[ CW ] Write a story intended to evoke a color in the reader 's mind , without saying what that color is .
| Leather floors and tartan walls and his shoes were beat-up New Balances he forgot to change out of after his morning run.
`` I hate you,'' she said. `` You are a pox on this Wow Environment.''
`` Read the flyer too, did you?'' He said. `` I'm sorry my Venetian marble calves are not well-appointed enough for you, or my cookies.'' He was two-fisting butter pecans from the welcome table, and she punished him by taking a bite and chewing before off-loading the saliva-dough to the back of his hand. `` Because you're a baby and babies only eat from their mothers,'' she said.
`` You're disgusting, but do n't think you can put me off that easily.'' He wagged his brows. `` I know where that mouth has been.''
`` You're lucky I like your eyes, pretty boy.''
`` Yes you do. They are the color of that yard there.''
`` It's oceanfront lawn and now that I think about it, I do n't like them at all. They remind me of unripe bananas.''
`` They remind you of apples.''
`` They remind me of marbles that kids play with on pavement that get lost and covered in grass clippings and dog shit, which you're probably tracking right now through all 14,500 square feet of leather in this Exquisite Georgian Estate.''
He grinned. `` I get it, you hate my Aztec moccasins. Let's take off our brocade duchess heels and Sinhala socks and run barefoot through the lawn you like.''
So they did.
|
[ WP ] You are an assassin , who always accepts every contract , and follows every instruction to the letter . The family of your most recent kill has contracted you to kill yourself , requesting that you make it look like an accident .
| I put the letter down and think back to how it all began. My brother was murdered when I was eight. My father went insane from grief, he blamed my mother and ended up killing her. I assassinated him when I was twelve. It took me three years to find out why my brother was murdered. Turns out it was my mothers fault. She was in over her head in debt, due to a drug problem. They killed Tyler to show they were serious and I was next. My father saved me and I repaid him by slitting his throat.
& nbsp;
Was I ever a good guy? I doubt it. I should have helped him kill her. The whole ordeal left me full of regret. With no marketable abilities I began to kill for food and money. It began small with little kids and fat merchants. It was an easy enjoyable life. It felt good to watch somebody's life end, like mine did so long ago. That is until I got caught. I thought it was finally over, I thought all the pain would end. I was wrong, they hired me and it continued.
& nbsp;
I was no longer a kid killing for survival I was a dog ordered to fulfill any contract I was given. A man killing for money. What did I care anyway? I admit I enjoyed it and it became my life. I was never poor after that. Girls, clothes, drugs I could have it all. But I all I enjoyed was watching the despair in the eyes of my victim. That final gasp for air as the blood trickles down their throat.
& nbsp;
My masters only gave me one order, fulfill every contract to the letter. Well I guess my time has finally come. An accident I memorise the words as I toss the letter into the fire, breathing in the farmiliar scent of burning paper and ink. I guess one could consider this fire burning out of control an accident. I pour myself one last glass of brandy and stare at my reflection in the bottle. The despair was always there, I think as I toss the bottle into the fire.
|
[ WP ] People stop using Antivirus software because they believe it 's making their computers autistic . You are an IT intern at the wake of disaster .
| I had never seen the office so busy. Phones were ringing non-stop and management was talking about hiring double the labor force and moving us to a larger office with windows. Actual windows! I could look out over the city and the bay while I eat my lunch. I might even be able to move up in the business. I was here from the start after all. I could be the manager of my own floor.
The best thing is, all the calls are exactly the same. It's easy work. The easiest I've ever done and each call ends in profit.
`` Good morning this is tech support''
`` Look mahn, i've got a huuuuge situation with my lappie. Facebook takes ages to come up and it's only on like... a quarter of the screen. The rest is all new buttons that i ca n't get rid of and whenever i click anywhere i get an error message. All my friends are shitty with me because they keep getting ad messages from me, but i'm not even like sending them brah!''
`` ok, that sounds like a pretty common set of symptoms. What antivirus and firewall are you using at the moment?
`` Woah, your joking right? As if i'd use that digital poison. Do n't you know it's all a conspiracy mahn? The corporations sell antivirus programs to us and make millions! it's all a scam brah. And i read that they cause autism and do n't even stop viruses. It's all about the money and we're all buying in to it! ``
`` Oh I know! I know! But it's company policy to ask. Look, These are all easy problems to fix for you. All you need is a digi-detox. It'll give your laptop the power to heal itself without any external, unnatural influences. Its a holistic cyber health system.''
`` That sounds like the shit bro! Man, you know how it is. You're *in touch* you know? Switched on. It's not about the money, it's about what's best for my laptop.''
`` It's absolutely best for your laptop, sir. Now i'll just need your authentication to start a payment plan so that i can arrange the beginning of your holistic health plan''
|
[ WP ] A future exists where we have achieved medical immortally . You are guilty of murder , describe your punishment .
| `` Please stand for sentencing.'' I stood up.
`` Mr. Harrison, you have been found guilty of murder by a jury of your peers. The jury was unanimous. Do you know what that means Mr. Harrison?'' The judge looked at me coldly. `` It means that I may sentence you to the courts most highest form of punishment, life.'' I almost laughed. It was a form of punishment that sounded bad but it was one of the easiest punishments there was. I never thought Id get off so easy for my crime. `` You will spend the night in the court jail, and be marked tomorrow morning.''
The next morning they took me to the `` machine.'' Our medical technology had advanced so much that any part of your body could be replaced in almost an instant. This machine would place a scar on the top of my head that looked like the letter'M'. With the M scared into my forehead, instantly and painlessly, my punishment was over. `` You are free to go Mr. Harrison.''
I stepped outside, the warm summer air filled my lungs. The sun shone down on me. I looked around. I saw a man in a suit watching me. I walked up to him and introduced myself. `` So you're my watcher? Im a little hazy on the rules of our relationship. Can you refresh my memory?'' I asked. `` You are allowed to live as you see fit. Any crime you commit, will be met with death. If you attempt to lose me, you will die. If you attempt to obtain a weapon, I am authorized to assume you are attempting to get rid of me, and I may kill you. You will receive no immortal medical treatments. Otherwise you may live your life.'' `` Then I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other. I said as I walked away.''
I am 30 years old, I have a 4 year old daughter, I am married, and I committed murder.
Year 1
I woke up almost laughing every day. I had gotten away with one of the worst crimes imaginable and they let me just live my life. It was amazing. My first year I had no problems. The only thing was dealing with my new friend Mr. Marril, my constant companion. He usually just stands there watching me. Once I saw his eyes glance at a basketball game I was watching, but he never said a word. It just felt strange.
Year 5
I lost my job this year. I struggled to pay the bills. My wife did n't mind and Sarah, my daughter, was happy to see me more often. I started to worry more about bills. To my wife hunger was n't an issue. They could live forever and for less than a dollar, they could have their body renewed. It was then that I began drinking. It helped take away the thought of my new found mortality.
Year 10
I had n't seen my ex-wife in over 5 years. I saw Sarah almost everyday. She was 14 and lived with her mother. She was the only light in my life. I had gotten a job cleaning office buildings. It was a dead-end job for a dead-end person. My unaging friend Mr. Marril still just stood and watched me. My vigilant watcher, never made a sound.
Year 20
I turned 50 today. It must've been the first birthday party I had ever had. If no one ages, no one has any reason to mark the years. I was different, I aged. The only people who showed up was my daughter, now 24, I kept track of her age for her, she had forgotten, and of course my shadow, Mr. Marril. This was the first time he talked since I met him. He told me `` life is a gift, that you can not waste.'' It was that day that I decided to sober up and try to repair the damage my life had caused.
Year 30
I saw my grandson Johnny today. He turned 6. I was 60 years old now. The sight of the M burned in my eyes. I knew what it meant. The doctors told me that my heart would n't be able to take much more stress. I knew what that meant. If I could get one treatment for ten cents, I could extend my life 60 or 80 years, but my unchanged friend Mr. Marril reminded them of my other condition.
Year 31
I lay on my death bed. I would die soon. I looked up at Mr. Marril. `` I want to see my daughters face one more time, I want to hold my grandchild in my arms again, I want to say Im sorry to my wife.'' Tears welled up in my eyes. `` I want to live!'' Mr. Marril walked up to me and kneeled at my bed. `` Mr. Hunt wanted to live. He had children, a wife, a family. There were people in his life. Do you think he wanted to live?'' He stood up. `` Goodbye Mr. Harrison. Your sentence is up.'' The last thing I ever heard was Mr. Marril closing the door.
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[ WP ] A story , not about the `` Chosen One , '' but The Chooser .
| He could n't remember what brought him to accept the position he was in, but, he had been told by those in authority that it was a choice he considered carefully and willingly made. It saddened him that there was no room for socializing in the lives of those he now worked with, no acceptable chit chat, no office flirting, no water-cooler bravado. No one even took joy in their work... hell, no one felt anything at all, apparently. `` One day, Steven in'accountability' is going to snap and heaven's going to hell!'' he thought cynically as he sat down at his desk.
That he knew this was n't actually heaven made the sarcasm behind most of his thoughts lately even more bittersweet. He had been told that his unwillingness to accept anything at face value, that his drive for the truth behind the truth, was the reason he had been selected as the Chooser. Yet, he was n't allowed many answers for the hundreds of questions that came to mind daily in his new extra-natural life. Why could n't he remember anything from before? What other qualifications did he possess that gave someone in charge a reason to select him for this role? What happened to whomever had the role before he did? He knew that he felt the urge to eat and drink a few times a day, but why did n't he produce any waste? It was both frustrating and relieving that he felt compelled to fall asleep at exactly 9:00 PM every evening even though at 8:59 he felt no tiredness whatsoever ( this was his currently fixation and daily experiment, yet every night was the same ).
He questioned everything about his new existence, yet could n't bring up the motivation to change anything. He woke up and got out of bed on time, ate his breakfast, got dressed, showered ( yet, was never dirty, sweaty ), went to work. He felt himself growing to despise it rather quickly, but went through the motions all the same. He strongly supposed that there was every likelihood that the gift of free will to humanity may not be a constant in the universe ( or whatever you'd call it ) and that he was going to just keep doing what he was supposed to do until the end of time. But then, why not remove that curiosity? Why not keep him complacent and ready to do his duty without question? Did others think and feel the same as he? He doubt he'd ever know for the same reason he could n't ever get the urge to bring this up to anyone; after all, if they felt the same way he did, they'd be just as likely to be unable to express it, surely.
He sighed ( internally, anyway ) and looked at his list. On a plain white desk, the list was a shock of contrast with its perfectly black ink that flowed across the paper as if it were a living think, shaping itself to form the idea the reader needed to read. The ink formed a name, a simple thing, an abstract label meant to represent a single being in the cosmos and all there was that could be known about them. `` Marcus Johnston'', it read.
Here it was then, what he was brought here ( came here? ) to do. He read the name to himself and closed his eyes. He felt the name creep out from his mind into all of his body. He could feel the name tingle just under his skin, in the deepness of each breath, being carried through him with every heartbeat. The idea of the person became one with his own. He imagined... no... felt what it was to be the name on the paper. Was he worth it? Was he to be the `` chosen one''? Did he know his potential place in the history of humanity? Was he aware of even being special? Could he feel the Chooser looking over him? No. He could n't, he knew he'd feel it in the potential chosen if he could.
This seemed too simple for what it was. He knew this was n't a specific point in time, but a collection of everything about the name that was and would be. What he'd done, would do, had the potential to accomplish, to give. He'd looked at several other names in the past few weeks since arriving, and none were compelling or significant enough to warrant remembering ( or was it impossible for him to remember, given the circumstance of his current existence? ).
He felt a kinship to the subject that he felt he had no right to attempt to explain. The man was a leader. Not a president or king, but a leader nonetheless. Prosperous, honorable, able to share his success with others and help them find prosperity on their own. He had hobbies, loved to create, to build. He had ambitions and drive to change the world in as much a way as he had the ability to affect.
He had a secret. He was dying. Long before he should, were he to live until longevity came to a natural end. He knew it, he knew he would never know grandchildren, would never see any legacy that he built. Yet he knew he needed to build that legacy anyway, simply because he could and that it was right. He would set something good in motion and would hope that it grew long after his departure from that life and that it would change at least a few lives, if not many.
The man had found a new love and wanted to share the gift of himself with her, to have a family, enjoy the fruits of his labors. Give rise to her station, provide a better life for her than she would have had without him. Have a child that would be brought up in a life better than either of them had had, to go without less, to take on the values of its father and perhaps even further propel the legacy of the father should the child choose a similar life. The Chooser's only regret in the moment was that he could n't see the fate or qualities of any child that might come to be from the man in question. It would help him to know if the merits were with fruit, that the legacy of the man was, in fact, going to be carried on by those that came after him.
The man loved, he felt loved in kind, and would have his family. Yet, the Chooser found fault in that he would never share his secret with his love or his child. He could only guess that they would learn the truth after his passing. What would they think of him then? Would they hate him, understand his choice, care for his legacy, destroy all he'd built? He could only imagine that as wholesome as this man was in every other aspect of his life that he at least would forgive the man and try to find understanding.
That was it. That was his choice. He knew that if he were able to make the choice to forgive the man in his current capacity, that he was worthy of choosing. He Chose the man. As he felt the familiar compulsion of sleep ( was n't it a bit early for that? ) he came to feel regret that as important as this decision apparently was for him to make, he did n't know what the decision was for. What was so important that he had been selected to carefully choose a single man? He had a feeling he'd never know. He slept.
-- -- -
Story in a local paper, dated January 17th: Shelly and Marcus Johnstone, local business owners and philantropists give birth to son Steven. Doctors proclaim it a miracle birth as Shelly was believed to be infertile. Couple to take time away from family business to bond with son.
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[ WP ] An outbreak of disease causes permanent infertility in humans . Though life continues as normal , after sixty years , the last generation of humans is growing old and does n't have any help from younger people . Write a story taking place in this post-apocalyptic world of senior citizens .
| The last generation was to some a curse and others a blessing. The disease spread like wildfire, everyone being so well connected was our downfall. People were n't ready for the end, the first years were the most terrible. India and China experiencing the most violent riots in human history. Riots that even dwarfed World Wars. Politicians had no answers, religion was condemned. Nobody believed this was the way the human race had to end.
World wide funding started for researchers to devise a way humans could reproduce; it lasted a mere 8 years. The first human clone had been developed in 2023. With limited IQ and infertile still, the project was deemed a failure. The researchers became older, with no fresh minds to bring new ideas, there was no progress. Our technology was stagnating. Never had it become so clear that development of any kind in the 21st century was so dependent on young people.
Schools empty, generations falling with none taking their place. Things looked grim. Agriculture, industry and transportation to name a few all collapsing because people grew tired of doing the work. Their main purpose in life was lost: providing and improving for the next generation. Suicides were at an all time high.
People looked for new ways to fill their lives, dreams of life outside of Earth. Nations came together in an initiative to develop communication with other beings. Everyone agreed that the probability of another intelligent species somewhere, out there, was entirely possible. Every year we sent a recon ship into space, emitting signals, so that if there was anything out there - we'd know. We we're like the lone survivor on an uninhabited island, throwing a message in a bottle in the sea - hoping someone would find it and help us.
There was a silver lining though: peace. People had no reason to steal, fight, kill or destroy. Forests were left untouched, seas unpolluted - nature took back what we took. The last generation saved us from ourselves, our overpopulated world with limited fossil fuels. We had dug our own graves. The last generation was just filling them sooner and faster.
Governments fell, everyone made the most of it while they were still alive. Humans had been brutal: to each other and the world they lived in. World leaders explained that it'd probably be better this way, I told my people the same. The United Kingdom was one of the last countries still working on treatments and experimentation for infertility. Three years ago I put a stop to it.
For so long have people only seen death: their family, their friends. No new life to celebrate. We all hoped there would be an answer, but there was none. Not within our capabilities. The population of the World standing at 36 million documented people, were all 70 years or older.
The year is 2075. Today I was awoken in the middle of the night by a phone call of one of my advisors. We heard back from one of our recon ships: there were watchers, ones who had been monitoring human civilization on Earth since dawn of time.
He asked one question: do we answer their message?
Edit: removed some useless backstory and cleaned it up a bit.
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[ FF ] Write the scariest story you can in under 250 words .
| As consciousness floods back to you, you observe yourself inside a concrete room. No walls, no carpeting, no furniture or windows. Just a single door. After fighting with the door, you realize it ’ s locked. A miniscule gap is between the door ’ s frame and the floor, but it is not enough space for you to see anything. A dank, putrid odor permeates the air. Coughing, you look up to see the light from a single light bulb achingly work through its clouded, dusty glass shell. You shiver, looking down to finally notice that you ’ re naked. You rub your skin desperately for warmth, but to no avail. Each breath you take is exposed in the frigid air. Goosebumps stand alert across your skin. Suddenly, you see the glint of something red from under the door. Stumbling in anticipation, you sprint for the door and line your eyes up with the crack to see another eye, blood red, leering back at you. You gasp, fall backwards from the door, and cower in the farthest corner. How long has it been since you ’ ve gotten here? Who put you here? What ’ s the meaning of this? You ’ ll never know. All you are certain of is the blood red eye, perpetually staring at you beneath the door of your asylum.
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[ WP ] A 15 year old squeaky clean , geeky , glasses wearing boy who is champion of the math team and a 16 year old punk who smokes , dyed his hair orange , has an eyebrow piercing and wears a leather jacket to school every day are best friends . Write them hanging out after a day of school .
| `` Alexis! You'll never believe what just happened!'' Steve shouted excitingly at his best friend.
Alexis was sitting at their usual spot under the tree, behind the gym. His orange hair was slightly swaying in the wind. Alexis looked up at Steve, and then back down at his phone. Steve sat down next to him, and started to clean his glasses.
Alexis looked over. `` What happened?'' Alexis asked with his usual tough-guy tone. Steve's eyes lit with excitement.
`` Well, I actually made someone laugh today!'' Steve smiled.
`` Ha, I doubt that.'' Alexis sighed.
`` No, really! So, Mr. Finch was talking about quizzes and tests, and then I remembered this joke I saw on Tumblr,'' Steve took a breath. `` So, I rose my hand, and, and he asked me what I needed. I said'If a quiz is quizzical, then what's a test?'''
Steve waiting for Alexis's reaction. Alexis looked over at Steve, and for a split second, Steve could see a smile. Alexis finally said, `` Why are you so stupid?''.
`` And, then a girl laughed. I thought that was a success!'' Steve grinned. A slight blush was visible on his cheeks.
`` Do you like that girl?'' Alexis asked, casually.
Steve was thrown off guard. `` W-what?,'' he stuttered. `` What kind of like?''
`` The love kind.'' Alexis said.
Steve knew that Alexis hated that subject. Love has been a very hard part of his life. Steve did n't know a lot, but it was enough to keep Steve away from talking about love. As far as Steve knew, Alexis was an orphan, currently living with in bad foster home. Well, it seemed like it because when Steve visited, Alexis's foster parents were throwing things.
`` Oh, well... maybe?'' Steve finally answered.
`` Hopefully not. Steve, there is no such thing as love. It does n't exist. Do n't hurt yourself trying to find it.'' Alexis was serious, and was looking into the distance.
`` O-okay.'' Steve said, studying Alexis's face. But, as usual, there was nothing to be found but the usual scowl.
EDIT: Extra paragraph of characterization. Constructive Criticism please!
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[ WP ] Hitler 's scientists have invented the atomic bomb , but it is never used .
| `` What we have created, will unmake the world.'' The scientist said.
`` Yes. It will unmake the world, to remake the new one. Under the Fuhrer. With this we will drive the Russians back. With this Britain will fall.'' Said the other man in the room, with a mad gleam in his eye. His bright blue eyes and platinum blonde hair marked him as a true scion of the Reich. The twin lightning bolts on his uniform confirmed this. `` How many can you make? And how soon?''
`` We can not make another.'' The scientist replied starkly.
`` What do you mean can not? The Reich will provide you whatever you need! Our whole nation will be devoted to build these'nuclear weapons'! In it's purifying flame this corrupt world will be reborn, pure.'' He imagined it. The flag of the Reich flying over the world. A glorious world.
`` It is not materials or funds. We can not make another because there will be no world for the Reich if we do. Do you not see! This is not a weapon of war. This is the death of our species.'' The luger in his hand was heavy beyond its simple mass. Its handle slicker than just the sweat that coated it.
`` I care nothing for your notions. You will make more. This is fate. The destiny of the Aryan Race. We will rule the...'' He never finished his sentence. The bullet rammed through his skull, killing him in an instant.
Hands shaking, the scientist picked up the files on his desk. All their research. All this power. The other had been right. With this they could rule the world. He poured the fuel about the pile. The diesel would burn far more than the paper. As the fire caught, he took the Luger back into his hands. Amidst the smoke in the flames, the last file was destroyed.
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[ WP ] When anyone dies , they fight Death to the death . If they win , they become Death . You kill yourself in order to save your SO , who is dying .
| *Took it in a slightly different direction, just beginning to write on here, any feedback/suggestions anyone has for me please share! *
I did n't have much of a choice in my mind, without her I was nothing. I did what any rational man would do, killed myself, to save her.
Once I was there it was nothing like I would have thought it would be, I was expecting doom and gloom, skeletons all over the walls, hanging from the rafters of some old haughty castle, but that was not how it was at all. The room I found myself in was just a generic waiting room, like I was at the doctors office. Bland off white walls, a few brown leather couches and chairs with some magazines nearby, two doors, and a desk with a receptionist. As I walked up to her she glanced up at me, strikingly familiar somehow `` I'm here to see Death?'' she nods at this, and just waved me to one of the couches, which I plop down on and begin reading *Death Weakly* a magazine which seamed to note the big deaths of the weak. After a few minutes I get motioned to walk through a door, this was it, I began psyching myself up to see Death, only imagining what kind of hell I would have to go through to save my wife, `` If you fight Death to the death, you can become Death'' everyone said, and I was about to see if it was true.
I walk in expecting the worst, and what I see shocks me, a normal, albeit fancy, office with an extremely average man behind the desk. He smiles `` You must be John, I've been excited to finally meet you'' and motions me to sit, and I do. `` So you know my name, do you know why I am here too?'' I manage to get out of my throat, my voice somewhat failing me. `` Yes yes of course, you have heard the rumor about fighting Death to the death, sorry to let you down but that is all rubbish.'' he says to me, I feel my face turning red both out of rage and embarrassment and I begin to tremble `` So... all of this was pointless?! All of this, losing my last days with her, the rest of my life! All gone! For nothing?'' I begin to feel myself cry before he can respond. `` Of course not! Well, usually yes it would be, but I am a reasonable guy, well more of a god but you have caught my eye, and I am willing to strike a deal with you, if you are willing to listen.'' I nod and he continues `` Good, since you have done all of this to save your beloved Cindy, something a few have done before but mostly to escape, but I can sense you are different, and it was truly for her. I found this so puzzling and this is why you are here, I can save your wife, delay her time of collection until she is old, if.'' `` If?'' I almost yell in response, my voice failing yet again `` Yes if, you will work for me.''
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[ TT ] A notorious pirate has been sailing the seas in search of a long-lost treasure with a crew of the best specialists in the world . You 're the crew 's accountant , and things are getting out of hand .
| `` Mr Blackbeard, sir, we have to talk about your expenses.''
`` And what be wrong wit' me expenses, bucko?''
`` Well we are currently operating at a dramatic loss. The repercussions if we do n't find this long-lost treasure could be catastrophic. For instance, we are currently spending twenty pieces of silver a month on tobacco for your parrot's pipe.''
`` What's wrong wit' me trusty parrot smokin'?''
`` Well, aside from the fact that parrots do n't usually smoke? We do n't have the funds to sustain his habit.''
`` Be ye tryin' to be tellin' me ye have never seen a trusty parrot smokin' before?''
`` One hundred percent they are not a thing. One hundred percent. The fact your parrot can even operate a pipe is truly remarkable.''
`` So me trusty parrot has to come off th' pipe. Consider it done fer ye''
`` Thank you. Now moving on to other pressing matters, and this is one you're not going to like, but we need to cut down on the amount of spiced grog we're drinking.''
`` No.''
`` OK, let's move on again. This one I feel is feasible. Real feasible, Mr. Blackbeard.''
`` Let me hear what ye have to shout. Be off on, spit it out.''
`` Just a couple of times, and I'm not saying every time, but can we not bury the treasure we seize from other boats?''
`` Not bury me plunder?''
`` Yeah, just, you know, once or twice?''
``'n what do ye suggest we do wit' th' plunder that we do n't bury?''
`` This is the best part! We spend it on stuff we like?''
`` Like buryin' more plunder?''
``... No, not that. Not that at all.''
`` Then how be we goin' to bury plunder if we're not doin' it all.''
`` What a fantastic question.''
`` Thank ye!''
`` Can we just agree to let Billy Bones die? The amount of gold we are spending on surgery after surgery to keep him alive is going to ruin us. He's 85 % wood, Blackbeard. 85 %. At this point he is scientifically more MDF than human. I imagine you're supposed to die at around 40 % wood so how he's made it to 85 % is beyond me.''
`` He's a jolly laddie be Billy Bones. He be worth every coin.''
`` I'm done. I ca n't do this anymore. I'll see myself off this ship and use Billy Bones as plank to walk.''
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
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[ PM ] I 'm trying to improve my writing so hit me with anything !
| Write a story about an immortal human. Yes, that sounds overdone and boring, but there's obviously more to it then that. I want you to write it to be original, without accidentally borrowing others ideas and personalities. Create unique flaws to the persons immortality, make them not just either be a super pumped warrior or a super depressed suicidal immortal, but twist it to something new and exciting. Make him from today, and in the future, or whatever you feel like doing with it. It is just rare to see a good immortal story that the immortal is totally refreshingly unique.
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[ IP ] Landing Site
| The seaman on the flight deck waved him in, bumblebee colored getup reflecting him off the gunmetal grey deck and masking him under the opposing gunmetal grey sky. The eight legs of the X-588 furled out in all cardinal and half-cardinal directions as the craft slowly descended onto the carrier. The suckers on the tentacles suctioned onto the surface of the deck making dim plopping-sucking sounds. The seaman on the flight deck gave him a thumbs up, to which Lieutenant ( Junior Grade ) Jeremiah Doyle blinked the landing lights to signal two things: safe to approach, and'I require assistance'.
The seaman clambered up the self-forming steps that appeared on the north-west tentacle. More X-588s were drifting in on the horizon. They would be landing on the other carriers trailing behind this one, the UESS-A Thatcher. The lights projecting from the eyes dimmed and the gills slowed in their gentle pulsing. The seaman, a two year veteran of the Navy honored with this top secretive post, reached the top. The top dome of the octopus-craft was its only metal piece, a hatch opened by a large metal wheel. He turned the wheel, opened it, and was hit by a wave of damp air that smelled of vinegar, dead fish, and thuggishly-stale flight suit.
LtJG Doyle's face, arms, legs were deep in the flesh of the X-588. The craft's main-brain pulsed against his back, glowing red, glowing black. Below that brain, within a sack full of either very lightly colored blood or something akin to amniotic fluid, the seaman did n't know, were four lungs and two hearts that beat in alternating pulses. The seaman leaned down into the open hatch. He gripped the sides of Doyle's head and pulled it out. His face, slick with mucous, shluumped out of the fleshy wall of X-588 meat, a thick tube down throat. The seaman grabbed the tube, slippery and fleshy like blubbery skin on a snake without scales, and began pulling, hand over hand until it slipped out. He patted Doyle's cheeks until his eyelids fluttered open. He gasped.
`` Easy, sir. Breathe slowly,'' the seaman said.
LtJG Doyle slowly decreased the rapidity of his breathing. He pulled his arms from the wet sockets they occupied and reached up for a lift out, flexing his fingers. `` Oh, thank God you're here.'' In his head he could still hear the rhythmic double pulse that had ignored his own and the whispering of the X-588...
-- -
`` Captain, I need to leave the program.'' He stood at attention before the program's Captain, flight wings gleaming brightly on both their chests as they stood in khaki service dress, the Captain behind his desk examining a map on the wall. `` I ca n't pilot the X-558 anymore.
`` Sit down.'' Doyle sat. Captain Moses P. Ardent turned to face him, sat in his own chair, and opened a decanter full of scotch. He placed a single crystal glass on the desk. Doyle knew for a fact that he had at least three glasses, and realized the mood of the Captain.
`` Sir...'' He was stopped by a raised hand as Ardent poured.
`` Not while I'm busy, Mister Doyle.'' He ceased pouring and re-capped the decanter. `` So, how was your flight?'' He sipped.
`` Sir, I have to leave the program.''
`` No, that's not what I asked.'' He set down the glass and wiped away the scotch marring his toothbrush mustache. `` How was the flight, Jerry?''
LtJG Doyle choked on his breath. He shivered in his chair, his hands grew clammy. Whispers in an unknown tongue tickled the inside of his skull like a lapping wave that buzzed like Morse code, no, like the texture of braille as a noise. He did n't know the words, he knew the message: *you are n't in charge, you are n't anything; I am in control, I am the new world; * and it frightened him.
He was in the sky, tentacles folded in a bundle beneath the bell of the X-588. He sped along, mach two, and halted suddenly. He floated in the air, tentacles spreading out in all directions. He had n't told it to stop. *'Why?'* he asked and the X-588 said nothing. As the craft lowered itself into the deep water, Doyle saw flashes, flittering images that danced before his eyes. A thing with a million arms, a thousand red eyes, a single mouth. It rested at the center of the world, and the X-588's flesh tightened around Doyle's arms, legs, face. The interface tube reached deeper into his lungs. The brain, pulsing with excitement, massaged itself on his back. Doyle's pulse pounded and the X-588 forced his heart to slow, pumping a hormone into his blood to tell him *You control nothing, not even yourself. * The image of the elder thing loomed large in Doyle's mind, or was it the X-588's mind? he did n't know, and the lapping of the sea and the sound of braille curled within both their minds and the X-588 responded in worship and Doyle with horror as the gaping maw of the thing opened to consume them. Gradually, Doyle's fear was replaced by the X-588's song and he had no choice but to sing along.
They were above the water. *Did you see? * Doyle's heart pounded.
*'Yes, I saw,'* he whispered, *'Why did you show me that?'* And the X-588 gave him static, the lapping of the waves and the sound of braille.
`` How was the flight, Jerry?''
`` The flight... went normally, according to the radar and post-flight diagnostics.''
A sip. `` And the pilot's evaluation?'' Another sip, and the slam of the glass against the desk.
`` It spoke to me. It scares me, sir.''
The captain placed one hand, thumb and forefinger L'ed, to his forehead. The other forefinger traced a ring of moisture left on the wood of the desk. `` It speaks.''
`` Yes, sir.''
`` Jerry. Really? The X-588 speaks?'' The Ardent chuckled. `` It's a machine, Mister Doyle, nothing more.''
It really does speak, sir, and it speaks straight into my mind and it shows me things I do n't want to see and it scares me and I ca n't sleep through the nightmares and when I do n't sleep it speaks louder which makes it harder to sleep and it shows me things that are more and more vivid and there are things beneath us that...; Were the things that he wanted to say, but instead he said `` Sir, I just really ca n't be part of this program anymore. I'm not cut out for it.''
Captain Ardent drained his glass and flipped it over on the desk. `` Look, Lieutenant. You do n't get to say no. You are an officer in the Navy. The government owns you...''
`` I know.''
`` By extension, I own you...''
`` Yes, sir, I know.''
`` And because I own you, the X-588 owns your time. You have three more months. Three months, and then you are done with this program. I do n't want to hear any more of this.''
An ugly silence fell. Doyle looked down at the floor and whispered `` What are we fighting, sir?''
`` There are things, Mister Doyle, things that are much worse than anything you might imagine that the X-588 can show you. Things down there,'' He pointed down. `` and things up there,'' He pointed up. `` that are much worse than you can imagine. We need to be ready. We need the X-588s.''
-- -
LtJG Jeremiah Doyle lowered himself down the hatch of the X-588 and placed his arms and legs in the sockets. The fleshy wall reached out to him. It grabbed his face and suctioned onto it. The tube slid down his throat. Tears came to his eyes that were lapped up by a clot of microscopic tongues. The waves and the braille sound hummed.
*You are here. *
*'Yes, I'm here. Please, do n't show me anything.'*
He looked through the craft's eyes. The seaman on the deck waved him off. The X-588 lifted itself off the deck. Doyle had n't told it to do that. The tentacles folded inward. They lifted higher, faster. Mach two, easily, and blood began to throb in Doyle's ears and pound away at his organs. The craft's eyes stared straight up, as if taunting Doyle by forcing him to see his fear.
The sky grew darker as they went higher. The gills shut and the four lungs, storing air during the ascent, became organic air tanks. The lapping of the waves and the sound of braille grew louder, along with a crackling in Doyle's inner ear as the altitude made them pop. They reached space.
*Look. *
*'No, please.'*
A thing loomed. It spoke.
*Look. Listen. * A single loud **ping** killed the lapping of the waves and the sound of braille. *You have no control. *
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[ WP ] You are the brilliant genius leader of a prehistoric hunter-gatherer clan and you are trying to teach your people the new concept you just invented : Verbal language
| I'm pretty certain that prototypes of modern language - less advanced than ours, more advanced than chimpanzees under natural conditions - already existed for a few million years. And that some concepts, like for instance abstract language, have still found their way only partly into some modern languages, while others have incorporated them fully. And more will eventually come.
But let's just assume chimpanzee level language on early humans - only able to express emotions and such, with noises. But an already far more able brain, due to a few million years of tool use, fire, primitive forms of farming ( burning down everything useless, excrementing useful seeds ), first forms of making use of animals, and so on.
Now we have our great ingenious leader of a pack of a few dozen early humans. He has the problem that whenever he uses emotional gestures and sounds, too many of his tribe react - which is sometimes bad for hunting, bad for gathering, and so on. So he invents - traraa! - the subject. With expressions of emotions being the predicate.
He gives his underlings names - a different sound for each of them. He makes each and every one repeat their name. And he makes a noise for an emotion, followed by a `` name'', and clubs everyone a little who does the according deed even though it's not his name.
Eventually, his peers get it, and he can organise hunts, gathering of fruits, preparing of tools, and so on, much better than ever - leading to a much more prosperous tribe, and to this proto-language becoming the norm.
When he runs into a new situation he invents an according word: Need someone to retreat - make the sound for fear. Need someone to go towards the sun - make a bird noise often heard in the morning. And so on. And a taste of stick for anyone who does n't quickly get it.
|
[ WP ] You realise you can save and load your life , just like a video game . No one else notices .
| *loaded save 1*
`` Ok, now what do I do?'' Eric was presented with a plethora of options to get out of the hospital. He had just died.
`` So trying to /shoot/ the workers did n't go well... I'm gon na make another save.''
*saved to slot 8*
*loaded save 6*
`` Excuse me nurse, can I have a walk outside? I've had no disciplinary action since my introduction here, and I have given no trouble.''
Eric told a couple people... They all thought he was insane. He could load and save his life. What gave him the power to do this? Why? Honestly, no one gives a shit, literally. He's the only one who knows.
`` I guess... But make it quick! And I'm watching you! Just get in the chair.''
Eric and the nurse left the room.
`` Time for another save..''
*saved to slot 7*
`` Alright... I can deal with you for five more minutes.''
( Ok... Just got ta make it to the exit... )
Eric ran as fast as he could, barely making it.
`` Phew! I'm out! Let's save.''
*saved to fil-
`` Huh? Is it..''
*sa-
`` Oh no.''
*
`` Ah shit.''
`` Let's think... Hex edit..?''
Open: exe: person/ericthompson/saves/sve8 exe: open: person/ericthompson/exe/hxd
*a spew of numbers appeared in front of eric*
`` Hmm... It seems that my save format is broken... Time to repair..''
He messed with the numbers for a bit, and left the screen.
`` Ok... I hated that anyways, it was a useless life. I'm going back to the photo album.''
*loaded special save type - phtabm*
All of his memories were there. He took a photo at each spot, and put it in an album resting in a save dedicated to it. He would be able to instantly go to those saves.
`` Maybe.. After all these years.. I should go back. Everyone I knew.. Austin... Jose... Ashley... Everyone I loved... Mother... Father... Emily....... I'm going back.''
He closed the album, taking out a single photo. He closed his eyes, knowing that once he stepped back into the place before his powers, he would forget everything. Maybe he would be happier.. Maybe he would be a better person.. He did know that it would get boring after that though. At least he would n't remember..
What Eric could possibly not remember though, was that how he got his power.. Right after that same photo. He would get it back instantly with a clean slate, and by specification, do the same thing under the same circumstances.
He created an infinite loop he could not escape.
At least, he does not suffer in the end.
*loaded save 1*
`` Ok, now what do I do?'' Eric was presented with a plethora of options to get out of the hospital. He had just died.
`` So trying to /shoot/ the workers did n't go well... I'm gon na make another save. Hope it works.''
*saved to slot 8*
*loaded save 6*
`` Excuse me nurse, can I have a walk outside? I've had no disciplinary action since my introduction here, and I have given no trouble. Is there a problem?''
Eric told a couple people... They all thought he was insane. He could load and save his life. What gave him the power to do this? Why? Honestly, no one gives a shit, literally. He's the only one who knows. Maybe not.
`` I guess... But make it quick! And I'm watching you! Just get in the chair. Damn fools.''
Eric and the nurse left the room.
`` Time for another save.. Not many slots left, I do n't have as much free space anymore.''
*saved to slot 7*
`` Alright... I can deal with you for five more minutes. Make that three.''
( Ok... Just got ta make it to the exit... )
Eric ran as fast as he could, barely making it.
`` Phew! I'm out! I feel... Nervous though.''
*saved to fil-
`` Why did it stop?''
*sa-
`` No way can this be.''
*
``...''
`` Let's think... Hex edit..? Worth a shot.''
Open: exe: person/ericthompson/saves/sve8 ( 2 ) exe: open: person/ericthompson/exe/hxd
*a spew of numbers appeared in front of Eric. Maybe you know them*
`` Hmm... It seems that my save format is broken... Time to repair.. Not that I remember.''
He messed with the numbers for a bit, and left the screen. Mostly zeroes.
`` Ok... I hated that anyways, it was a useless life. I'm going back to the photo album.''
*loaded special save type - phtabm2*
`` Always wondered why there was a two. Could never find the first.''
All of his memories were there. He took a photo at each spot, and put it in an album resting in a save dedicated to it. He would be able to instantly go to those saves. Too bad he did n't know they were a prison for him.
`` Maybe.. After all these years.. I should go back. Everyone I knew.. Austin... Jose... Ashley... Everyone I loved... Mother... Father... Emily....... I'm going back. I'M RETURNING HOME AGAIN!''
He closed the album, taking out a single photo. He closed his eyes, knowing that once he stepped back into the place before his powers, he would forget everything. Maybe he would be happier.. Maybe he would be a better person.. He did know that it would get boring after that though. At least he would n't remember.. You still do though.
What Eric could possibly not remember though, was that how he got his power.. Right after that same photo. He would get it back instantly with a clean slate, and by specification, do the same thing under the same circumstances. Do n't you know this already?
He created an infinite loop he could not escape. Maybe you can.
At least, he does not suffer in the end.
It keeps going.
//OUT OF STORY POST: This is revision two. The story originally ended here, but I decided to revise it with a new ending. So do n't go farther if you think that the ending was satisfying. Or not, I'm not your mother.//
`` Happy birthday, Emily!''
A click could be heard from the camera Eric used.
`` C'mon, you know I do n't like photos...''
`` Does n't mean you wo n't look back at this and think of your 19th birthday.''
`` Really, Eric? Sighhhh, guess it's just the best of these two weird worlds we call ourselves.''
`` Oh, I remembered! I have to go get your present!'' Eric got up, and ran over.
`` Hey, wait! -'' Emily tried to grapple onto his leg, but failed.
*slam*
`` Ca n't believe I forgot to give her the present! Argh! I'm so stupid!... I'll just get it out of the car.''
As Eric walked over to the door of the car, all he could see was white.
`` What the hell?!
Error: Memory Management. Block bricked, running on backup SSD. Running off of.. Saved file? Do you wish to load another file on a drive?''
Eric pondered what this could mean. He gave up trying to figure it out, and walked away. Soon enough, he realized he was the only thing around. He walked back. He clicked yes.
*load file: Drive F ( Recovery ): /mem/user/people/ericthompson/saves/save1010101: load? *
`` Yeah, sur-''
He was cut off by this message.
54686973207265717569726573206b65726e656c206163636573732e2050726f636565643f
`` What? The hell is going on?..''
*formatting primary drive*
`` HEY! DOES N'T THAT CONTAIN MY STUFF!? I SAW THE DIRECTORY!''
*filling with buffer data*
`` STOP IT! DO N'T HURT THEM!'' Eric kicked the message.
*filling metadata*
He was sobbing on the ground, scared for his life.
*preparing new UEFI*
*reboot? *
`` Sure. You've already taken away everything I own, so JUST DO IT!''
*rebooting*
He was never the same. He had the same life, but he never had the adventures. He never had the safety of immortality. He was human. He escaped the loop. What about you? You get to watch. More specifically, watch him *die*.
See, look at him. Getting the present out. A bottle of vodka for the cute couple. Sure, they're underage, but who cares? Certainly not him, he's dead. Now they drink. She's so happy that he thought so highly of her. Now he wants more for the two. He sneaks out at night to grab the car, still drunk.
Bye-bye.
At least now, Eric has been put to rest.
Karma has a way of catching up.
[ EDIT: Hey, some people like a happy ending. Others want backstory. I'm gon na just fill in some holes with a third section. ]
|
[ WP ] You are a god who hears every pray made to you , and have free reign to grant those prayers . But you are schizophrenic and ca n't tell if those voices are prayers or not .
| `` Hello, it's me''. Alright, prayer request no. 204599. Your unique ID is: Westboro. Please remember this ID for future references. How may I grant your prayer?
`` I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet to go over everything''. What? Are you from the Audit Department? Did I miss the internal memo again? Damn it! I kinda forgot where I placed this year's Prayer Log. Big G is not gon na like this.
`` They say that time's supposed to heal ya but I ai n't done much healing''. Whew, you are definitely not from Audit. Scared me for a bit there. Healing, eh? That is definitely within my scope of capabilities.
`` Hello, can you hear me? I'm in California dreaming about who we used to be when we were younger and free. I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet''. Wait a minute, Adele, is that you? I told you not to use this line for personal matters. It was bad enough when HR found out about us abusing the internal emails. I'll call you after work on my private line, okay?
`` There's such a difference between us and a million miles''. Huh? Where exactly are you? What did you grant this time? I know it is funny when you grant prayers as practical jokes but everything has a limit, ya know?
`` Hello from the other side, I must have called a thousand times to tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done but when I call, you never seem to be home''. Ah, sorry about that. My line got damaged because I changed medication recently. I am sneakily eating my old medication to restore this link. I guess that makes us even, eh?
`` Hello from the outside, at least I can say that I've tried to tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart but it do n't matter. It clearly does n't tear you apart anymore''. Wait, are you breaking up with me? Seriously? Was it something I did? I do n't want this to end just like that. Can we talk face-to-face instead, please?
`` Hello, how are you? It's so typical of me to talk about myself. I'm sorry''. What the heck, this is really happening, huh? Just be honest with me, did you fall in love with another guy? Tell me, I am a grown ass man. I can handle it.
`` I hope that you're well. Did you ever make it out of that town where nothing ever happened? And it's no secret that the both of us are running out of time.'' Well, if you are referring to this Prayer Link, yeah, you do n't have much time left. And yes, I am well and still living with my parents. No shame in that. Look, Adele, there is n't much divine beings can do for each other. We are not mortals no matter how much we want to be. Maybe we are the perfect person for each other but it was n't the perfect timing. Do you want some time out instead of breaking up? Take some time to clear each other's head and heart. And that's it, time's up!
|
[ WP ] You are cursed to see people how they view themselves . You walk alongside monsters and Gods .
| For the past week, something weird has happened to me. All I can see are fictional beings out of an old tall tale or a fantasy board game. I do n't understand why, or how it happened, but I think I understand what it is.
After I was released from the hospital after being there for the better part of four days, I thought I was just reacting to the hallucinogens. But they never went away. Maybe I developed some partial brain damage after the failed suicide attempt, I do n't know.
Anyways, all I see is how people apparently see themselves. The quiet kids in the ward I was in looked as if they were badly drawn sketches. They had dark circles under their eyes and were very sickly looking. They would always hit themselves after messing up picture they were coloring, or after they spilled their drink. I figured they felt worthless and as if they could do nothing right.
The younger, more attractive staff seemed to look like Greek Gods and Goddesses, or something from the cover of a fashion magazine. They usually had heads that were bigger than their bodies, making the illusion of extreme Hubris.
The secretary at the entrance to the E.R. of the hospital I was at appeared to be tied down to her surroundings. Chains and ropes kept her from moving far. She envisioned herself as not being able to reach her full potential, or able to leave the `` confines'' of her 9 to 5 job. She saw herself as she felt she should be seen, but the stitches in her mouth made her unable to speak out about it.
Everywhere I go, I am ignored. Am I visible to them as they are now to me?
I ca n't even see myself looking back at me in mirrors. I look down and see black tape where the scars on my wrists used to be. My ribs are now actually bursting through my skin. I feel some scar tissue on the back of my neck. It feels like it spells something that starts with an'S' and some other letters that may be written wrong. I've come to the conclusion it might be *stupid*. Probably. Maybe the mirrors are showing me what I see myself as. After all, there is nothing there...
|
[ WP ] A teenage boy is woken up late at night to an AMBER alert on his phone that says that he is missing .
| It was originally called Wristcutteria. Then we thought that was too emo, and we changed it to Freedomnia.
We thought that was too on the nose, so, again, we changed it. To United Youth State.
UYS. We did n't think that one was too emo or on the nose or lame or anything. UYS. So it stayed.
'You-why-ass', for shorts. Or not. Whatever. That's our country, anyway.
This started out as a joke ( I think ), and a joke it was until like five minutes ago. Started out as a commentary
between puffs of marijuana smoke by Shannon, like, `` You know what? We should start our own country''.
We were at the old Steinberg's ruins -- that abandoned house at the top of the hill on the end of the street
of every town in America, you know? Ours was in Flagstaff, Arizona. Our little headquarters. Our fort. Our tree house.
Really just a place to smoke pot and listen to music and hate our parents, is what it was. Me, Shannon, Gary and
Timmy. Our sad little gang of bad haircuts and cigarettes.
`` Our own country?'' I asked.
`` Yeah, Charlie. Our own country. Why every time someone says something to you, you got ta repeat the last thing
they say before actually reacting to the thing they actually said?''
`` The thing they actually said?''
`` You guys should read Fleur du Mal, by Baudelaire'', Timmy said, taking the joint out of my hand.
`` I think it'd be cool to have our own country'', Gary intervened. `` We could make pot legal.''
`` How do you make a country, anyway?'' Timmy asked.
`` Make a country?'' I asked, taking the joint.
____________________
See? That's how it started. A joke. A pot-passing-circle in the ruins of an abandoned house joke that grew larger
and larger and larger until I got the AMBER alert.
I'm missing.
I'm not, really. I mean, to my parents, I probably am. But I'm not missing. I'm right here. Right here at You Why
Ass, smoking and writing as we speak and telling you this has gone too far. In a good way, maybe. But too far.
Our country, it has a flag now, and an anthem. It has a population of 32 young miserable upper class punk rock
listening kids who think their life is shit because their parents took them to Disney World instead of Albania. That's our people. Our proud. Our free and our brave. Kids who read Ham on Rye and Catcher and watched Fight Club twice and now think they know what the whole world is about.
You see, *I'm one of them*. But I can distance myself enough to see us for what we are. Is n't that cool? That makes me even more special.
*Specialler. *
Now it's been two months, and we're here at a big old house in Blah Bah Blah Town ( I'm not disclosing exactly
where because... well, you probably got the AMBER alerts, too, and we're not stupid ), and things grew.
We live here, all 32 of us. The house is almost no big enough, but if functions. We separate tasks. One day I do
the laundry. One day Shannon and the girls, they clean the floor. One day I go with some guys to the supermarket and steal some shit for us to eat.
One day Timmy climbs his bedroom in the middle of the night and takes some money from his mother's purse. One day he tells us she's got pills in her purse. He thinks it's all the stress from her child being missing and all.
Timmy took the pills and we had a fun night.
One day we try and plant some lettuce and we fail. One day we get fast food from the garbage. We've been making it work, more or less. Our little country. We're learning.
But it was a joke. Something we could back off of. Something I could just say, `` You know what? This is crazy'', and let go.
Until.
__________________________
The thing we need, now that we have a flag and an anthem, Shannon is telling us -- is an army.
`` An army?'' I say.
`` An army. Let's face it. The US wo n't recognize us as an independent state. Neither will any of the other countries
in the world.''
`` Maybe Canada'', Timmy tries.
`` Yeah, they're not really a country, as well, Timmy. Wake up.'' Shannon clears her throat. We're all listening in a circle like AA member as she talks between crossing and uncrossing leather pant legs and smoking her thin log cloves. `` We need armed response, case the police ever finds out about us. And sooner or later they will, what with every one of our faces in the news now.''
`` And if they come here?''
`` Well, they'll take us back to our parents'', Gary explains. `` And there's nothing we can do.''
`` Which is why we need an army'', Shannon says. `` If and when the police gets here, we should be able to hold our
ground.''
She pauses.
`` If the police, or our parents, or whomever... If they cross into our back or front yard. Into our borders... We
declare war.''
`` And to declare war... We need an army'', Gary completes.
`` An army...'' I say.
`` Hey...'' A boy in a blue Simple Plan sweater raises his hand. `` I'm all up for that and all... But where are we getting
guns?''
And Shannon pulls a pistol from her leather pants and the moment she takes the metal out and the leather
pulls away and I can see her pale skin under and inside for a second I feel all kinds of funny inside. `` We have one already. We'll work on getting everyone a gun, in time.''
What I feel is uneasy. And not just because of Shannon's legs.
Another hand in the air. `` Shannon... What... Uh...'' The little blond girl with the Jared Leto T-Shirt clears her throat. `` What happened to that garbage man that came over last night? The one who said we could n't be here in the house? The one who said he was going to call the police.''
Silence. Now this sounds like everyone was wanting to ask this shit, and this girl lost the bet and had to do it, shaking as she is. Staring from her to Shannon to her as everyone else is. No one blinks.
`` Cause... Uh...'' Another hand in the air. `` We heard a noise. A bang. And... Uh --''
`` A bang'', I say, and I look at Shannon. She does n't blink.
I think I know what happened to the garbage man.
You see? This was a joke, not too long ago.
Now it's not that funny anymore.
|
[ WP ] Walking to catch the bus , you see a young boy look both ways before entering an alley . When you follow him into the alley , he has disappeared . Instead , there is a neatly folded note lying on the pavement . What does it say and how do you react ?
| *If you want your money, go to 42 Sherman St.*
There was a residue of thin, white powder on the paper. I took a sniff and recognized it instantly. *Crack. Why is this kid a part of a drug deal? * I pull my phone out of my sweatpants and plugged the address into my phone and the address was 5 blocks away from my current location. I set the note back down on the floor so this kid is n't killed, and then I followed the directions on foot to the address.
*It's an address for a warehouse. How stereotypical. * Across from the warehouse is Sherman Park. *A pretty public place for a drug deal, do n't you think, kid? * Regardless, I sit outside the park, on a bench. There's a street vendor down the way so I buy a pack of M & Ms and a soda and sit back at my seat. I pull out my phone and open the dialer, just having it sit out, waiting to dial. Not too long after, an SUV pulls into the warehouse. I dial 3 digits and hit call.
`` 911, what's your emergency?''
`` Yes, there is ample reason for me to believe there is a medium to high profile drug deal taking place at the address 42 Sherman Street.''
`` Ok, thank you for your warning. Police are responding. Thank you for the tip, Mr..?''
`` I'd prefer to be anon.''
`` OK, we'll keep that in mind.''
`` That'll teach you to intrude in my business, Alejandro.'' And then I walked back to my spot on the bench and sat back and watched. Police stormed the place, there was a standoff, and then there were 5 arrests, including my rival in the trade, Alejandro. He's being walked out to the car and we make eye contact. I smugly grin and wave, get up, and walk off down Sherman.
|
[ WP ] You have the ability to answer 'Yes or No ' questions with 100 % accuracy . You never know any details beyond the yes or no . While this has been kept secret most of your life , word is beginning to spread .
| `` Hey kid, is it going to rain?''
I looked up at Mr. Jones. Even with his head tilted up at the sky, I could make out his three distinct chins.
`` Yep,'' I answered, trying to meet his eyes.
`` *Shit*. C'mon team, it's about to rain, pack it up before my gear gets wet!'' Mr. Jones yelled out into the field.
`` Hey Mr. Jones?''
`` Yea, kid?''
`` Do I get to play?''
`` Listen, Tim. When we get enough gear to spare, you'll the first on the field, you hear?''
`` Yes, sir.''
`` Alright. Now help me pack up that bench would'ya?''
`` Okay, sir,'' I replied.
***
`` What do you make of it, Tim?''
`` I'm sorry?'' I lowered the newspaper.
`` The big game tomorrow, who do you reckon's gon na win?''
`` Oh, I do n't know...'' I lifted the paper again, covering my eyes with news of some faraway bombing.
`` Aw c'mon, do n't be like that!''
`` No man, you're doing it wrong, you got ta ask like this: Tim, is Manchester United going to win tomorrow?'' The man beside him nudged.
``... Yes.''
`` You heard that Pete? Give me a sec, I got ta call my bookie.''
***
*Click. * An image flashed on the screen. A man, his beard long and unkempt.
`` Is he a supporter of ISIS?'' A voice asked from the intercom.
The words formed it my throat. They touched my tongue, ready to exit my mouth.
*Click. * Another man showed up on the screen.
`` Is *he* a supporter of ISIS?'' The voice asked again.
I could not speak. The feeding tube did not lend its cooperation.
`` Please, Timothy, do n't try to communicate. We can read the *'no'* in the MRI. It'll be faster this way.''
*Click. * Yet another image, yet another question. All the same.
*No... * I tried to tell them, but they wo n't listen. I lifted my hands to signal, but they were bound by my side.
`` Timothy, if you do not cooperate, we will have to rescind your human privileges, do you understand?''
*No... I do n't want this. *
|
[ OT ] SatChat : Do you try more to be original in writing or just give readers what they want ?
| I have n't really been writing that long, submitted maybe 15 or stories, so wo n't have the best insight sorry!
I write what I want to read. Maybe because I'm new I'm still in the phase of not caring what other people think, and writing just for me. I think it's like any creative form, the best creatives make what THEY want to hear/ see/ play etc.
I've never really said hello either, my apologies. I'm Ali from the UK. I work shifts, so I write here when I'm bored at work, then I take them home and try finish them that day. Or sometimes on my days off I'll have a nose and see if anything takes my fancy
|
[ WP ] Your a rookie/freshman/newcomer in some organization with passionate members and with rich tradition/history ;
| Heavy oaken doors parted as I entered the innermost sanctuary. Whereas the rest of Pellucidar was a dirty, scaresly-decorated shantytown, the headquarters of the Brethren of Liberty was slightly more lavish.
Stained carver hugged cracking wooden floorboards, which was interrupted in the middle by a thick oaken desk. Inscribed in the center was the phrase `` Degustata fructus vetiti'', and despite all my schooling I was unable to translate. The table was dotted with slashes and pockmarks, signatures from the blades that had fought a monarchy.
Past the next set of doors was a workshop, an area far more befitting to my artificer background. Spring-Heeled Jack reclined against a velvet armrest, casually tightening one of the screws on his clockwork mask while listening to a radio serial. Upon seeing me, he nodded. `` Your new employer will be seeing you now.''
Sweat collected round my temples as the final passage was opened to me. Gaslight poured from the entrance, as did the smell of brine and soil. This was the largest room I'd seems so far, and the ceiling stretched far beyond my field of vision. A single throne existed in the center, cast of leftover hydraulics and scrap metal; and a gangly, ragged-appearing man lulled on the seat. His mask resembled some kind of owl, and he dressed in a manner that was totally alien to me.
He chuckled dryly and spoke in an accent I've never heard. `` So, the Queen's pet has stumbled our little operation. I do n't suppose you want to take up arms against us?''
The words caught in my throat. Though this throne room was free of guards, but his entire presence had an edge to it, like gently stroking the blade of a sword. His numerous holsters and sheaths were also taken into account.
`` I believe that what you are doing is wrong, and serves only to being chaos to a stable kingdom.'' My words surprised me, and he sat back wordlessly, determining his reply. Finally, he spoke again.
`` You really do n't know, do you? Must I reveal to you the Sins of an Empire?''
|
[ WP ] Write an upbeat post-apocalyptic tale where life is ( for the most part ) much better than it was pre-apocalypse .
| My grandfather tells stories of life before. If it was n't for the ruined cities and rusting carriages, which he tells me were called cars, I would n't believe him. The cities have been overgrown for the most part and the cars, when you find one, are paper shells of rusted metal. He tells me that men used to fly in big machines in the air and even travel underground in tubes. It was, as he says, a world of machines.
Until the Great Rock hit. I live on an island, in a village on the edge of the sea. Grandfather says that before time, our island was part of the great land. I think he made that part up. He says when the great rock fell from the sky, the earth shook and broke into pieces. Most everyone died, but the numbers he uses mean nothing to me. Since his grandfather told him the stories and his grandfather before him, I think they got that part wrong.
The Great Rock did n't just change the shape of the world. It changed the nature of the world. Grandfather says it impacted in something called the Pacific Ocean. He does n't know where that was. He says the earth shook, mountains fell, fire reigned and everyone died. Well, almost everyone. When it was over, the few survivors crawled out of their holes and found that their machines no longer worked. At first, according to the stories, the few survivors did n't understand the shape of the new world. That, sadly, caused some to die as they clung to trying to make the old world come alive again.
It was when those first survivors had children they began to understand the new shape of the world. As they children grew up, the Gifts began to appear. Every child had them and when puberty hit, the Gifts just showed up. I love to imagine the chaos and confusion when they did! No training, no learning of what the Gifts were and how to use them, just here you go.
Grandfather says it took a few generations to understand the Gifts. I guess that is believable since a world of machines would have a hard time understanding a world of the Gifted. I ca n't imagine living in a world of machines so I guess the reverse is just as true.
Anyway, Grandfather finishes his stories the same way every time. The Gifts, he says, saved us from extinction. There were so few survivors but when the Gifts appeared the Community was born. Instantly, every Gifted knew where every other Gifted was. We can mind-speak with each other, even across the expanse of the world. That was the First Gift and allowed survivors to find each other. It brought hope.
The first time the Second Gift was used was by accident. Two of the gifted were mind-speaking and the desire to meet was so strong, the Second Gift was triggered. Imagine their surprise when they were face to face! The one who used the travel Gift had a hard time getting home, Grandfather say, but in time they learned how to travel without having to have a Gifted to travel to.
The other Gifts were discovered pretty much the same way, by accident. Today, we know them all, pretty much. The Elders do n't think there are more to discover but they encourage us to not to dismiss the possibility.
Today is my Gift Day. I had my first period last night. Now, waking up in a bed with blood seeping between my legs may not seem something to get too excited about, but it marks the Change in me. My father and mother, who were away on an archaeological exploration of some place called New Yak, Gifted back immediately. I was glad to see them and, Grandfather, anticipating their arrival, Gifted a meal for all of us to share.
There will be a party, as everyone has one on their Gift Day. After that, I get to practice what I have been learning about for the past thirteen years. Being Gifted means being an adult, so the childhood restraints are gone. Dad insists on coming along for my first test of the Fourth Gift. While no Gifted has ever been killed while flying, he says the first time has led to a few broken bones. The Seventh Gift means I could heal those almost immediately, but there is no point having to suffer the pain when an experienced Gifted can be there to guide me.
I live in a small village on the edge of the sea but today the world is mine. Like all Gifted, I can go where I want, explore the world above and below the ocean waves. As of today, I live in the world of the Gifted. Dad says I should wait until I am more experienced in using my Gifts, but I have always wanted to visit the Community on Mars. They are the real pioneers, changing the whole planet using the Gifts to one that is full of life.
I am Gifted. I ca n't imaging living in a world of machines. Why would I want to?
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[ WP ] Write a compelling prompt without using adjectives .
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I looked at Elizabeth. She looked as if her life was in ruins. She had only just seen her father walk away, never to see him again. We had a talk that night.
`` I only saw him leave. I did n't even talk to him. I went by his house and his car was out of the driveway. I waved and screamed but he did n't look back.. I hope he did n't look back. If he did he'd have just went on knowing I was in tears in the middle of the road.''
Having never seen her father, she was the kind of girl you'd expect to be in one of those talk shows about how depression ruined their life, it was really her own fault. She let it ruin her. She did n't start using it as an excuse until she realized she could blame her father on her behavior. I would never say that to her. It would devastate the her if I said she was looking for attention.
`` The one conversation we had, he told me I was n't his daughter, that my mom made him pay child support for a child that was n't his. I told him to look at his eyes, I got mine from him.''
`` Was it denial''
`` I do n't know. All I know is he saw me as another bill to pay. That's all I am.''
I pondered over her perception.
`` Insecurity is a weakness, but some people use it as a strength. Use other people because they're in another episode or having a trauma induced fit. There are some things in this world that would fuck you up good. Be happy you got this life. You have the beauty of an angel, the wisdom of Ghandi and the father of any given serial killer. That's just what happens. Life gives you shit. Learn to make a fort out of it.''
She smiled. I broke my rule of telling her What I thought, but it ended up being a blessing In disguise.
I guess rules are meant to be broken... That said, I still think she's a fucking bitch.
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[ WP ] Your superpower is the power to create bureacracy and red tape .
| Jean looked at his watch: `` The ship is late, is n't it?'' He looked at Katja, who was knitting a scarf in a corner of the room. The weather here was not scarf-weather and never during the year actually became scarf-weather, but the scarf was not for herself.
She looked up from her work: `` They might be held up by something. It happens. It's for that reason that we have an emergency supply of food, meds and so on. Can we export to the EU or do they still not recognize our *nation*?'' she said the last word with a strong sarcastic tint.
`` That should work even if they recognize us as an American island. Do n't look at me like that. You know that I can not control my power all that well.'' he looked at the European girl who had returned her attention to her needlework and shrugged.
`` Sorry, it is just mightily inconvenient that this had to happen now... I just start getting orders on Etsy... and you know that knitting is how I control mine.'' she said.
`` I know, It'd be much better if we had more convenient powers. Others at least have the occasional advantage of theirs. As for me... being responsible for several civil wars even though indirectly is not fun. And being instrumentalized for some shady figures... please do n't also make fun of it.'' He was right, his sheer existence in an area made secession movements spring up. His childhood in the Sénegals had been one of political unrest, then, an American researcher on powers suspected that a high-powered war-lord was responsible for the unrest and upon seeing the teenager as the source of the high Haina-Noether radiation. Before tests could be done, friends of the researcher, invested in the Texit movement leaked his assumed powers and Texit extremists kidnapped him and showed him their state. Only after they kinda gotten their wish of independence ( from the USA, from Mexico, from the south/north of the state ), he was captured and put into prison. And that was where he was now: An artificial island, la République Nouvelle Hainaise, New Haina Island. Everyone here had strange powers or powers that made them just unsuitable for life in regular society. Jean, the secessionist, Katja, whose powers of bureaucracy and anxiety disorder did not yield a happy result and legislative bodies in Mennighüffen, Löhne, NRW, Germany and the EU were still dealing with that mess even 2 decades later, Siqu, who impaired the speech and understanding of people in a 20 meter radius of him, more if he really got angry, Muhammad, the human Borg, except that they tried to restrain their powers. Chihiro who temporary gained far stronger versions of the powers of whom she touched last and used that to `` avenge Hiroshima and Nagasaki'' and many others. Despite the moniker of a prison, the place was full of people whose only crime was a bad control of their powers. Some people had shown intent, like Chihiro, Dmitrov, Marija, but most were just there because they had no other place to go.
`` Then do n't imply any inefficiency comes from me, please.'' Katja looked angry, but at the same time, fearing she had gone to far by uttering her dissatisfaction.
`` Oh, sorry, I did n't mean it like this... just... you always know the schedule.'' he realized that he had in fact blamed her, that this might trigger her anxiety and force some kind of regulation on them all and tried to talk his way out of it.
She did n't believe him a second, everyone knew the schedule. Ship day was the one thing that made their little world a bit less boring `` Oh, generally at about 1400, haina standard time.''
`` We have a standard time?'' he asked.
She made eye contact, tilted her head with a grimace and then wordlessly returned to her needlework.
`` I mean, it's a good standard. Having to specify Brussels time or Washington time gets old, believe me. I am going to set the clocks here to Hainese time. Always better to be in compliance.'' Jean smiled at her.
-- --
The ship was late. Not just a few hours but three entire days. The crew was apologetic and mentioned something of trouble back in the USA. The Hainese knew. Despite the media blackout, some of the original guards had longwave radios, they knew that the USA was in crisis and the information spread like wildfire. Texit had been one of the things that had sparked unrest in several other states and territories. As the ship was being unloaded, a burly man demanded to speak to Katja. Alone. When she was called, she anxiously, with tiny steps followed the man wearing camouflage.
Brian Fallow looked at the young lady, a powerful entity according to her files and even her own shadow seemed to frighten her. She was obsessively moving her hands in front of her as she was walking and repeating something to herself in a language he did n't speak, probably German, though she also was able to speak passable French, Arabic, Vietnamese and Esperanto. He knew that books about languages were always things requested by the Hainese and given that the Hainese had a lot of time, it was easy to learn things. The Hainese policeman, a guard before the independence, led them both to an office, a former interrogation room, now set up as a room for card games and politely staye outside. As soon as she sat down, she took her needles and wool out of her handbag and started to hectically knit, not looking at him at all. He sat down opposite to her and put a Hainameter in front of him to give him a short advantage should she decide to activate her powers. Hopefully enough time for him to activate his powers. Right now, the needle, even with the narrowed scope danced in the middle areas. Still high enough to raise the alert anywhere in the former USA, but not enough to do so here. It still made him nervous. `` Katja, thank you for taking your time to have a chat with me. How are you?''
She looked up from her knitting, gave an unstedy look and looked down again. `` I... `` she started, then remained silent, seemingly concentrated on her knitting.
`` Yes?'' he was annoyed how she seemed to ignore him.
The word, or possibly his tone, hit her like slap onto the cheek. `` I... I'm... f... fine. Y... y... you?'' she stuttered.
He tried to make his voice sound a bit sweeter. `` I'm fine as well. Do you like life in New Haina Island? Or do you want to see something else?'' He realized his mistake: `` I mean, in the République Nouvelle Hainaise, of course.''
She nodded as he corrected himself: `` Always better to be in compliance. I am quite happy that if I can not control my powers, I am only affecting a smaller scope. I do not like that now fulfilling my Etsy orders means navigating various political minefields.''
That stunned him, the fact that she used Etsy for a store was unexpected. He did n't know that they had internet here. `` Would you like to see the United States?'' he asked.
`` I do n't think it is a good idea for me to leave my current... country.'' she said and looked up from her needles just a moment. Her expression was one of anxiety. `` Last I heard they are still repealing the last traces of my presence in Mennighüffen.''
`` That is actually why we need you. The USA, as you might know, is in a pretty bad state and areas are seceeding. That is why we need to get you into one of the breakaway countries.''
She looked up for the first time: `` That would be sabotage, yes?''
`` I guess in a legalistic sense it would break quite a few laws. On the other hand, Barron Trump is pretty much a dictator there and has access to nukes. Making it as procedurally difficult for him to glass Washington would be... not just good for us. Not just good for Haina... the country, I mean.'' he noticed how he again had to correct himself, just because it felt wrong not to.
`` You mean that I should make it harder for them to use nuclear weapons by giving them the bureaucratic safeguards to prevent it?'' she stopped knitting and looked at him, then, twitched as the detector needle rose a bit higher than normal, then sharply dropped as the knitting needles moved again.
`` Yeah, basically this. Yes, it means getting you over the border wall, but we can arrange that for you.''
She looked up: `` I am sorry, but I can not.''
He did n't expect that. He would have assumed that she would have taken every chance she had to see something of the world. Nothing in his briefing prepared him for this: `` But why?''
She looked at him for a moment, pensively, the replied: `` Have you ever done something you felt so bad about that you feel almost nauseous? Even days later?''
He nodded. `` I work in the special forces, these things... yeah....''
`` That is how I still feel about jaywalking at age 6 when my powers began to materialize. And now you want me to illegally cross the border into two sovereign countries. How in the world‽'' She rubbed her eyes.
`` It affects you as well as if affects us?'' he asked empathetically.
She averted her eyes: `` More so. Far more so. And the more attuned I am to my power, the harder it gets. So, I see no way to do that.''
He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, murmuring: `` It's okay, Katja, it's okay!'' then, he used his power and she fell unconscious. `` But we need to do that.''
-- --
When she woke up, she immediately felt wrong. She tried to focus on the ambience and immediately realized that this location was not La République Nouvelle Hainaise. It also did n't feel like any country she ever had been in. She opened her eyes. She was in a car, moving somewhere at a high speed. Illegally high speed. She looked around. `` Where is my knitting‽'' she screamed. `` And why are we in violation of the road laws‽'' Paused and just as he wanted to say something hysterically screamed: `` And why are we somewhere where we *need* road laws‽''
The voice of the person sounded like a mother talking to a particularly petulant three year old. `` I can not stop here to get your knitting, we were held up at the border, this is why you woke up too early. Please calm down. We will be over the border of the city soon. If it still is in its previous borders. No more then 5 minutes.''
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