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[ WP ] Seven college students accidentally time travel to Ancient Rome at the time of Augustus . Their majors are philosophy , physics , math , chemistry , biology , pre med , and history , and they all have their textbooks .
| `` Guys, I know that this is a chance to change history and all, but maybe we should n't mess with the past,'' said the Physics student.
`` But what if the Romans discovered their innovations because of us?'' replied the History student.
`` That is possible as well, but just by being here we have already changed history. We might as well try to live a normal life as much as we can,'' said the Philosophy student.
Several people gave nods of agreement. The Physics student sighed. `` Alright, but first we have to find some money and a change of clothes, History guy?''
`` There should be a village east of here, if I recall correctly.''
Outwardly, all of them are excited by the prospect of a new adventure.
-- -
Ten minutes later...
`` NOOOO! WE'RE GON NA MISS THE NEW STAR WARS MOVIE!''
`` MY KARMA!''
`` THE NEW SEASON OF MYTHBUSTERS!''
`` My thesis. Oh well, it was bad from the start anyway.''
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Someone 's diary has somehow been uploading onto your kindle for years , every single day has a new entry and you 've slowly fallen in love with the author . It has been weeks since the author has written anything . Suddenly , the latest entry is a note for a planned suicide . [ WP ]
| Title: April 9
*Dear Diary, *
*He's cheating again. I told myself I would n't take him back the last time, but I did, and he's cheating again. *
*We were just at his sister's house when I read the texts. I never snoop but he was being extra suspicious when he picked me up this morning. His eyes had bags so big you could fit a pound of potatoes in them. And he smelled like cologne, he never wears cologne. I said hey and kissed him on the cheek. He said hey and did n't even glance at me. We spent the day running errands, then we we went to his sister's place to watch her daughter while she went with her husband to some banquet. *
*We watched some basketball. He went to the bathroom. He got a text. `` Every minute of last night was spectacular'' from a Samantha. The text went away. He came back. I faked a smile at him. He gave me a bullshit contorted face like it was strange I smiled at him. *
*I'm your fucking girlfriend I ca n't smile at you? *
*I tried to small talk. *
*'' Wow the warriors are great,'' I said. *
*'' They're overrated,'' he said. He shut the TV off. Then we just sat there in the quiet. It was awkward. `` You know you're being extra weird today,'' he said. *
*I'M being weird? *
*I wanted to go on a rant, but I just could n't. *
*'' I'm sorry,'' I said. *
*He was watching YouTube on his phone when his sister came home. She told him to hurry and help them get something out of the car. He took his ear buds out, jogged to the door, and left his phone like a dumbass. *
*Then I read it all. All the pictures, all the texts, bullshit emojis. And he told her `` I do n't want you to ever be a memory for me'' *
*That was OUR fucking line. There were fireworks, he held me close all those years back, and he said that, and all I wanted was a place to scream. *
*He drove me home. He did n't even say bye. *
*It was n't always like this. I do n't even understand how it started to be like this, but I feel somehow like it's my fault. Like it was always my fault, and I know logically I should n't but I'm just so fucking sad I ca n't think. *
*I painted a picture to cope, like I always do. I painted it for hours. Me and him holding each other looking at the stars, and a shadow of a girl grabbing his hand away. *
*I want to tear this painting to shreds and burn it. *
*I never show people my paintings. My art teacher loved them, but I do n't know. I do n't believe it when people say kind things about me. I never do anymore. *
*It was n't always like this. *
*I do n't know if I can keep going on like this. I do n't even trust my friends enough to confide in them about it. They ca n't console me. *
*Lyanna all ready fucked him. *
*I want to fucking scream and get the hell away from this place. I feel so alone, just spilling my heart into these pages. *
*I want to die... I really want to die. *
*There's a pen in one hand, and twenty pills in the other, and I feel crazy how I ca n't decide. *
*I'm just having a moment, I tell myself. *
*I've told myself that at least a dozen times. *
*I hate my boss, I hate my twenties, I hate this. I fucking hate this life. *
*I'm saying a prayer for forgiveness, and then I'm going to do it... I'm going to do it... *
*God help me. *
*I need a miracle. *
Edit: Formatting.
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[ WP ] Write the monologue of a sociopath .
| I am well suited for the emergency department. I do n't give a shit about any of these disgusting people. I detest their decaying skin that peels and flakes like a Birch in the spring. Repulsed by the stench of their diminishing capacities. Hateful of their entitled neediness. Sickened by their decrepitness. This is a false belief in what constitutes as humane. This is dogmatic insistence that these sacks of feces and crust should be allowed to breath and beat their heart when they are n't even alive. They are wastes. In the slums of Los Angeles, this was a haven for worthlessness. Drunks. Retards. Senile fools. Spoiled children. And I get to watch them die every day.
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[ WP ] Go to TvTropes , click on the `` Random Trope '' button 5 times . Incorporate those tropes into a story .
| As Princess bubblepop entered her'unicorn mobile', the passenger began to sneer.
`` Princess bubblepop!? Driving!?'' said the passenger with two shitty repeated frames of animation, `` Princess bubblepop ca n't drive! she's a girl! Everyone knows girls cant drive!''
`` Do n't worry Ragin' Cajun, I have pretentions of being an engineer! HEHE! ``, She gleefully places her high heeled boot on the accelerator while the camera cuts to an unnecessarily pervy shot of her boobs.
All was going well for Princess bubblepop ( Minus the male gaze baiting ) until pulling up to a traffic light. To her right, the evil Dr marketing executive in his brand deal car. `` Hey!'' He said, `` Check out my new Toyota... Pretty cool huh?''. `` YEH!'' Said Princess bubblepop, `` Im a girl ex dee ( XD )''.
`` Fuck you bubblepop! Im the bad guy so i need to create conflict... Fuck you i guess! ``, all good things have to come to an end...
Princess bubblegum was furious, imagine if i went up to your face and said `` fuck you''... Lovely is n't it.
She performed her'super ultimate bubblepop attack' and beat the bad guy i guess, this is pretty draining to write. `` Wow!'' said the passenger, `` Your pretty good for a girl!''. As a'bubblepop enginner princess' she was pretty taken back by this and was really fucking sick of all the blatent sexism and pervy camera angles in this episode, `` I need to be a good role model for children you twat'' and she perfomed her'super ultimate bubblepop' attack on him too, to be honest i do n't really care. Are you reading this? Why are you reading this? There are so many great responses on this sub why read this?
The end ( Thank god )
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[ WP ] Rewrite a classic story from the perspective of a minor character
| The bar was silent save for the hum of the old man's laser sword. Greedo had heard the stories about those hokey jedi and their laser swords ( everyone had ), but seeing it was completely different. The blue beam deactivated with an instant hiss. The music started up again and everything was back to normal.
Greedo, sitting in his booth in the corner of the cantina, realized he was sweating due to a stew of fear and excitement. He had been waiting for this for a long time. He took a sip from his glass nervously as he eyed Solo talking to the old man. With him, was a young human boy and Chewbacca. He could n't make out what they were saying, but by the time Greedo caught his breath, the pair and Wookie had already left, leaving Solo alone.
Greedo downed the rest of his drink and stood up, drawing his weapon. He moved across the bar with all the courage he could muster.
`` Oota goota, Solo?''
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[ WP ] Write from the perspective of a bystander in a hero 's story .
| 11:30. Only half an hour before I could retire to the security detail's break room. My feet ached from standing guard for so long, and the surface of my rifle was warm and slick from the sweat off my hands. I shifted my weight back to my left leg, leaning against the grey-green stone column. I'm one of eight guards posted against these columns, though we're here mostly for show; in today's day and age, executives often impress other executives through displays of strength such as this. Not that I'd complain -- the work is easy, the pay is good, and we rarely receive visitors. Usually Chinese men in business suits. Maybe if I file a complaint, I could get the air conditioning running a little harder. God knows they could afford it...
My reverie was interrupted by the gentle swish of the revolving door. I glanced to my left, where my co-workers were manning the metal detector. Two people, a man and a woman, had entered, but I had never seen anyone this bizarre come in before. Both were wearing heavy leather trench coats, with black pants and boots to match, as well as identical pairs of jet black shades. I was suddenly anxious. Neither of the two acknowledged my co-workers at the front, their faces stone-cold. The man placed his bag in the scanner, and walked through the metal detector. Everyone flinched as the screeching alarm filled the confined room, and the tension multiplied. Steve slowly approached the man, and stood in front of him -- `` Please remove any metallic items, change, or loose keys...'' A moment went by as the man, expressionless, spread his coat to reveal an assortment of jet black weapons. I broke my stance to face the troublemaker, but I was frozen in panic as Steve looked the man in the face, incredulous. Steve, with fear audible in his voice, exclaimed `` *Holy shit! *''.
The man, quick as lightning, struck Steve in the gut with an open palm; he landed nearly 10 feet away, unconscious. I frantically struggled with the safety for a moment, still frozen at my post. I glanced back toward the assailant with wide eyes as I raised my weapon -- the man had two small machine guns held across his chest, like something out of an action movie. I wanted to pull the trigger, yet I had never shot anyone before. My hesitation was broken by the rattling sound of machine-gun fire, and I watched five of the guards go down in a spray of blood. Fear overcame me; rifle dropped and forgotten, I scrambled into cover. The real seemed unreal as I cowered behind a column, pistol in one hand and radio in another, calling for backup. The metal-detector alarm again sounded off. I snapped my head toward the noise, hunched over my radio, as the woman calmly passed the threshold, took two steps forward and raised her weapon in my direction. Through the dense fog of fear, I managed to point my weapon toward her before a hail of bullets tore through me like red-hot spears, and I collapsed in a river of my own blood.
All was darkness for a time, but more gunfire woke me for just a few of my last breaths. I opened my eyes, vision narrow, just in time to see the man in black kill two more of the security team while upside-down in a cartwheel. *A cartwheel*. For a moment I contemplated the hilarious cruelty of the situation, gunfire still echoing in the room. I had time for one more thought as I began slipping away -- I should have gotten another job.
( Just in case you were wondering, this is the lobby shootout scene from the matrix. I ca n't believe neo killed all those people. )
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[ EU ] 300 years after the death of Avatar Aang , the world has experienced exponential growth in its technology , ushering peace to human and spirit alike . The newest avatar 's struggle is not to create balance in the world , but to find balance in themselves in a world that has deemed them obsolete .
| The studio crackled with energy. The audience were laughing, and the interviewer was revelling in the applause. The host grinned as he asked Avatar Zulia a question.
`` Would you like to hear a joke?''
She smiled uncertainly, eyeing the camera's. Her PR consultant was mouthing something at her, but she could n't hear.
`` Sure'' she said. What was the harm?
The interviewers brow knotted together in seriousness.
`` Okay, The Avatar walks into a bar''
`` oh this is a joke about me'' said Zulia eyebrows raised. She glanced at her PR consultant, who placed two fingers either side of her mouth and pushed them upwards.
Right, got ta smile.
`` Oh, do n't worry, it's nothing bad'' said the interviewer.
`` Oh, what a shame'' replied Zulia, a big grin plastered across her face, and worried eyes danced back to her dutiful companion giving her two thumbs up. She was doing great.
`` Anyway, So the Avatar walks into a bar, and the bartender asks you what you want''
There was a pause. Clearly the interviewer was getting exceptionally nervous, his face began to turn red.
`` The Avatar says.. make me one with the spirits!''
Deathly silence. Zulia felt all of the eyes in the room focus on her, and the reaction she had.
`` Get it?'' he said.
`` Oh, yeah.'' She said uncertainly `` It was very good. You should be a comedian''
The audience burst out laughing at this. Loud garish laughter. They were n't laughing at her, but the noise set her on edge.
`` So Avatar Zulia, you've travelled the world to become the master of all forms of bending, can you show us anything neat?''
Finally, something she was comfortable with.
`` Sure, pay close attention, nothing up my sleeves''. She rolled up her sleeves and pulled a lump out of her pocket, and set it spinning gently in mid air. The cameras focussed on it.
Suddenly, it spun faster, become molten and bright red. The audience gasped.
She levitated the hosts glass of water and poured it onto the sphere, creating a cloud of steam, and then quickly wrapped the cloud of steam thickly around the globe, condensing some of the water on the surface, and leaving the rest as small clouds hovering over the surface.
`` I present to you.. the world'' she said, to rapturous applause.
She always felt better when she was bending. Her element was the elements.
`` Excellent work, is n't that right Andy''
The host turned to his friend, seated by the band.
`` Oh yeah'' said Andy `` That sure was a neat trick''
`` Trick?'' said Zulia, barely disguising the ice in her voice. She levitated the globe into her hand and cracked it in two, exposing the glowing molten liquid metal core.
`` I have created a world in front of you, a feat of element manipulation that no bender has mastered''
`` Oh, do n't mind andy, that's super neato, but what's it for?'' said the host
`` It's..It's not for anything, it just is.''
`` Like you!'' said Andy.
The audience laughed, the host laughed. Zulia just stared down at the little world she had created and broken apart in her hands.
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[ WP ] You are a prisoner doing hard time in a parallel universe where the US has no laws preventing convicted felons from running for public office . You have just been elected president , and you now must run the country from your 8 x 6 ft prison cell .
| I got the idea three years into my sentence. Well, sentences, technically, since the judge said I had to serve them consecutively. Summer of 2021. It was way too hot to spend time in the yard, so I ended up spending more time than I should have on the internet. Say what you will about my predecessor, I am quite a fan of the prison reform arrangement. It was then that I saw how badly the country was truly faring. When you have a lot of time, you can see enough news to start to see the bigger patterns. And me.... Well, I had nothing but time.
So I started my campaign. I did n't have high hopes, being a convicted felon and all, but as I said, I had nothing but time. If nothing else it would be a way to kill some of that free time. I began by reading every law and political theory book in the prison library, and requesting as many more as I could. I then worked through the issues facing the country and possible solutions.
By then people were starting to think about the 2024 election. I filed the paperwork and became an official candidate. I had a buddy in my cell block who knew how to code; he set up a website for me and everything. I started to use my internet time to record videos in which I outlined my vision, my plans. And people started to listen. Eventually I got some media attention for my attempt to run a campaign from prison, and then I went viral. Everyone was sharing my videos on every social media site. It turns out that what the people really want is money out of politics, the upheaval of the establishment..... And who represents upheaval of the establishment better than a convicted felon?
Anyway, I won Iowa and New Hampshire in record fashion. Even without being allowed to leave prison to attend the debates, I set records. It was n't long before the other candidates dropped out, leaving me the nominee. For the general election, they allowed me to attend the debates virtually. They set up cameras and microphones, and I won the debates from my cell. Many people took issue with the idea of a felon president, so the general election was closer than I would have liked, but I still won. Due to the position, they had to take me to the Capitol in January to swear me in, but due to my crimes I had to be in a straitjacket. Caused quite an issue when the preacher man told me to raise my right hand. I became the first president to be sworn in with some of the snipers pointed at me instead of at potential threats.
I was n't allowed to truly leave prison though. I always had to return. I would show up for a State of the Union address every year, but beyond that I was stuck here. The benefit of it is that they needed to install some new phones for me to be able to conduct official business, and I get that room all to myself. Everything I have done I did just to get a 50 square foot room that was entirely mine.
So no, Mister Putin, I will not be standing down. You may wish to remember who you're dealing with before reconsidering your position.
*click*
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[ WP ] In a world where everyone is either rude or condescending , you are the only nice person . Today , you 're going to the bank , to church , and to see your grandmother .
| `` I ca n't wait to get Mass Effect 3!'' I thought to myself as I drove into the bank. This man in a black Sonata, seeming to be the 2014 model, cut me off just before I could pull in and nearly hit my car. I guess that's alright though, he's probably in a hurry right now. I let out a small sigh and went into the bank. The same person that cut me off exited the bathroom and cut me on the line. He had jeans on and a black shirt, he had a balding head of hair and a massive forehead. `` Could you please go to the back of the line, I was here first, thanks.'' He turned around and gave me a scowl and with a raspy voice he told me to `` Fuck off!'' I ignored the situation and slowly made my way up the line until I reached the bank teller. They seemed to be in their mid twenties, they were wearing a nice and clean black suit, obviously wanting to look nice. I kindly asked to retrieve $ 40 from my bank account and they mimicked me in a child-like voice. Despite their immature response they proceeded to do what I asked. Now that I did n't have anything to do in the cliche looking bank, I left and got into
my car and drove to church. I arrived just in time and hurried inside. I slid into the booth waiting for the priest to begin, and then I got brutally shoved into the side of the booth, falling out of it. The person looking like they were in their mid forties were wearing a polo shirt and brown kakis. They looked as if they just came back from playing a game of golf. I wanted to get angry but I remembered the sacred place I was currently in and just stood in the back of the church. The priest incorporated many vulgar terms into his reading of the bible. I almost thought I was in the
middle of Boston, New York. Church finally ended after the long and enduring hour of listening to the most ghetto priest in existence. At least I can spend the rest of the day nurturing my grandmother. My grandmother is in her eighties with a super bright shade of blonde-white hair curly and short. When I arrived she was still in her night gown. She kicked me out of her house however, seeming to completely forget she invited me. She told me to `` get the fuck out of my house you useless disappointment.'' She then shoved me off balcony of her condo and I realized these were my final moments. As I hit the concrete I got that shocking feeling when you fall in a dream and it wakes you up. And then I realized, it was n't like that feeling, it was that feeling, and my nightmare finally ended.
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[ WP ] Terrific is the defiant child of Terrible and Horrific , who refuses to follow in family tradition .
| Terrible has always been....well just terrible. Her sense of direction, her timing with jokes, her fashion choices, even her ideas on where we should stop to eat.
`` Did you wan na get Chipotle?''
I swear that's always the first one she suggests, why do people rave about that place so much? Who knows; but either way, she's my only mother and I'm stuck with her.
So, despite my own amazing suggestion of picking up something to eat we've never had before, here I sit in line behind my father concocting the most horrific thing he can from their menu. Speaking of which! That's his name, Horrific! Is n't that just the best?
`` Yeah, you make sure you scrape all of that grease into the bowl.''
He always asks them to put the worst things into his food, but that's not the horrifying part.
I'd say his personality is somewhere inbetween awful and more awful. He get's it from my grandma, I bet you ca n't guess what her name is.
`` I SAID MORE GREASE. DO IT OR I'LL LET MY OWN GREASE OUT ON THIS FLOOR.''
Oh no, he's starting up again. It's better to cut him off before he gets all riled up. Once you see a grown man leak out of every oriface at once you start to learn what the true definition of horrifying is.
`` Hey, dad that's not necessary! I'll get you're food just the way you hate it, do n't worry!''
I hushed him off to the booth with my mother who already happened to throw all the condiments and salt shakers all over the floor.
I turned back to my burrito wrapping champion,
`` I'm so sorry about them, they're good people they just do n't know any better.''
I asked her if she could drop my dad's burrito in their kitchen's trash for a little while, she winced before she asked what my mother would like.
`` Do you guys have Sprite or Sierra Mist?''
`` We actually have both, it's your choice.''
`` I'll take the terrible one.''
and then in unison we both let out `` Sierra Mist!'' And snickered. The burrito babe stopped and looked confused for a moment. She hesitated before she asked `` I- I do n't mean to be rude, but how can you be the child of these two? You do n't seem-''
`` Shhhhh! Do n't say anything!''
I cut her off. Last thing I need is my parents ruining everyone else's day even more once they hear I'm going around making people happy again. I've learned the greatest gift I can give to the world is lessening their torment. Terrific moments always make you forget the bad ones, even if it's only for a moment. I knew I succeeded again; as I walked back to the table with my soggy burrito and Sierra mist, I could still hear the excitement from my new burrito bestie as she pocketed her $ 20 tip.
Sadly my Mom's hearing is the only thing of hers that is n't terrible, and she could hear it too.
`` There she goes, little miss Terrific. Making everyone so giddy all the time.
She mocked me with the name that SHE gave me.... at least she's terrible at insulting people. My dad opened his mouth too, and I was actually worried he'd say something horrible to hurt my feelings, but before he did, he went the even better route of puking in the baby carriage of lady in the booth beside them. After he did n't wipe the remaining vomit off his face he spoke.
`` Terrific, you've never been a bigger dissapointment as a child.''
Those words sting. I started to feel really down. Even if my father is a horrifying mess, he was the same horrifying mess that raised me. I'm just a drifter. As happy as I make people, nobody can ever manage to keep me around. Yet he's always been there for me. I started to panic which is very unlike myself. I'll just ignore him, right then I had to help this poor lady.
I hustled up to run and grab some napkins to help the lady wipe off her baby, but I was moving in such a rush I slipped on the salsa my mom so lovingly threw all over the floor.
My heels flew forward,
the burrito flew backward.
I hit the floor,
the burrito hit the woman.
And then she shrieked.
`` WELL IS N'T THIS JUST TERRIFIC.''
My dad's unibrow raised.
The woman ran out of Chipotle swearing and screaming the whole while.
Turns out it was n't even a baby, she was just one of those tiny dog people that carriage their pup everywhere.
Before I knew it some untrimmed nails and grimy hands pulled me up off the ground.
`` We're so proud of you.''
It was warm, it was a real hug. It smelt like death and felt terrible but it was the first hug my parents had ever given me.
I've never felt this happy. But I had never felt more sad than just a moment ago? I do n't understand.
It must take a terrible or horrifying experience.. to show someone just how terrific some moments really are.
I'm going to savor this one while it lasts before it's over.
Typing on phones is terrible.
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[ WP ] As you die , the simulation ends . It turns out that `` life '' as you knew it was a rite of passage for youth , and determines what type of job you will do for the rest of your days . The simulation overseer walks in and hands you your results .
| I woke up. The last thing I remembered was a blur of silver and the sounds of twisting metal and screams. Where was Ana? I looked around me. I was in a strange sort of bed - it laid at an angle so you were closer to standing than lying and it had a hard plastic covering which made it fully enclosed. I was also lightly restrained. I began to panic, where was Ana? Where was I? I have to be in a hospital, right? This is no hospital though, not like any I've ever seen - the walls were curved and black, tall obelisk-like formations with panels of flashing lights littered the room. I got the eerie sense that this place was n't of this world. Did I... die? Is this...
Luckily, my racing mind was cut off by the opening of a panel on one of the curved, black walls. It did n't open like normal though, it kind of melted away just enough to let a dark figure enter the room As the figure passed through the opening, the wall reconstructed itself behind it. I thought I was in Hell at this point for sure. I began to cry softly - where was Ana? Is she safe? Is she in Hell too?
`` Hello Daniel.'' The figure rasped.
`` Hello? What is going on? Where am I?''
`` You died, Daniel, in the car crash. A long-haul trucker fell asleep at the wheel and careened over the median, colliding with you head-on. You died instantly.''
Waves of understanding and simultaneous shock reverberated around my brain until I could find the words to say, `` Where's Ana?''
`` Calm down, Daniel. This is n't Hell. This is your Second Chance. You see, there are more worlds than you thought. The human soul, as it turns out, is not a one-use item. It's flexible - it is n't bound to one plane like our bodies are. When people die in your world, we use this machine to bring them here,'' he was gesturing to the room we currently were in, `` to us.''
`` Okay, so what is this place?'' I was in total shock at this point, I just wanted to find Ana and go home - something I was slowly realizing would never happen again.
`` This is the real world. It's very hard for some Wakers to accept at first, but this is reality. What you experienced as `` reality'' previous to this was actually an elaborate stage of our design. It's purpose is to find out who you really are so you can maximise your potantial in this life. Real life. I know this is hard to take in.''
Hard to take in? My eyes were burning - my heart was pounding with fury in my chest. How could my whole life be a lie? I did n't even believe it.
`` Prove it.'' I said.
`` Yes, you usually need that.'' The figure gestured to the wall behind it and immediately I began to see my whole life flash across the black, reflective wall. My legs went weak. If it werent for the restraints I would have collapsed inside my confined tube. Water welled in my eyes.
`` So what am I supposed to do now?'' I asked. Why the fuck was I here?
`` You get your Second Chance now, Daniel. We've watched you for a long time. We've watched everyone. We know exactly what you are best at and how you can most benefit society. That's what a Second Chance is. It's an opportunity. An opportunity to be useful.''
`` Where's Ana?'' I managed to say, weakly. `` I do n't want my Second Chance until I know where she is.''
The figure stood silently for the briefest of moments and then turned around and began walking toward the wall it came in through. Just before exiting the room it rasped,
`` She survived the crash.''
Five years have passed since that day that I died but did n't die. They assign you a job here - one you are genetically and mentally presisposed to be good at. I was assigned convenience store clerk. Day in and day out I sit behind this counter, selling packs of gum to dead strangers. They pay you well to do your job, but the monotony is greuling. I look forward to rainy days, which happen here only three scripted times a year - weather laws are very strict here. But, on those rainy days, sometimes I see my Ana walking towards my store. I imagine she will walk in and dry her beautiful black hair and tell me she wo n't ever leave me again. It's never her, though, Ana wo n't die of natural causes for another 40 years and not before living an entire life without me. I still wait for her though. Some people say this place is n't Hell. I do n't say that. My advice? Do n't die.
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[ WP ] With a new technology that converts one very basic human emotion into energy , the energy crisis seems solved . Until one day the very huge flaw comes to light .
| -Transmission Starting_
`` It seemed too good to be true. They showed up last year, with an innovative solution to the energy crisis. ``
-*bang*'OPEN UP'-
`` The politicians and scientists were skeptical at first, until they tested one in the lab. It worked perfectly, megawatts of power from a solitary individual. No polution, just sit in the chair and get angry, instant power. They tried it for two months and generated over 20,000 megawatts.''
-*BANG*'THERE IS ONE IN HERE'-
`` We never got any closer to understanding how it worked, the best we could tell was the flurry of chemicals was reacting with the receptors and creating energy. ``
-*BANG BANG BANG* the door remains closed.-
`` We were so excited about how much energy we could generate for minimum wage, with no polution. Many countries started using their prisoners to generate electricity. Everyone thought it was heaven sent, no one bothered to see how it was affecting the individuals attached to the machine. ``
-'USE THE RAM'-
`` Every couple of weeks, the person attached to the machine could no longer generate power. No problem, we thought, just put someone else on the machines and later on see if the original person could be hooked up.''
- ( A quiet whirring noise slowly grows louder. ) -
`` The first thing people noticed was the news seemed more cheery. No murders or assaults in the areas that were using the machine. That should have been our first sign. ``
-*WHAM* ( the door begins to buckle )
`` Once we got complacent, the creators of the machinces attacked. We lost the majority of the population in the first attack. No one could muster up the courage to fight back. Only small pockets of humanity remain, and they do n't have the means to fight back.''
-*WHAM*
`` If you're reading this message, then you still have a chance to fight back. ``
*BLAM* the door collapeses.
`` Good luck.''
-*BANG*-
_Transmission ended_
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[ WP ] You come home after the worst date of your life . Sitting in your living room is Cupid , getting really drunk and wanting you to know you 're the hardest person to find a mate for in history and the reason he might get fired .
| Dejected and sullen, I quietly unlocked my front door in an attempt to avoid awakening the wrath of the god I knew lay behind it. Every motion was deafeningly silent and meticulous enough to put a delinquent teenager sneaking home late at night in a state of awe. As I crossed the threshold, I grinned stupidly to myself *I should have been a cat burglar*, only for the soft clink of the sixpack in my hand to betray me. I recoiled in silent horror.
`` Shit!'' I screamed inaudibly under my breath.
Thoughts of turning back and sleeping in the car tonight raced through my mind. After an unhealthy amount of internal debate, I decided *This is my own apartment dammit. I'll do what I want*, and timidly poked my head down the hallway. In a split second I was greeted by an arrow wizzing down the hall, only a few millimeters away from my head, landing with a solid *thud* into the wall.
`` What the fuck?!'' I squealed, terrified. `` You ca n't just do that, man - I'm gunna lose my security deposit!''
The man lazily reclined on the couch shot me a look that invited visions of what else I might might be losing shortly. A rather impressive compound bow dangled from his fingertips. A quiver of arrows was sprawled across his lap. An ashtray on the table beside him gently billowed smoke into the air. However, the most ominously apparent item in the room was an empty handle of tequila toppled over on the floor below.
The man let out a heavy sigh. `` What the hell is wrong with you, James'', he snarled.
`` Me?!'' I croaked. `` What's wrong with you?! You almost killed me! What the hell are you doing with a bow in my apartment?!''
`` I am the fabled Cupid, matchmaker of Heaven'', he slurred.
`` Yeah, I know. You've been squatting in my apartment for weeks'', I retorted. `` But why do you have a damn bow in here?''
`` Well'', Cupid rolled his eyes, `` all you humans depict me with a bow and arrow with a little cutesy heart as the tip. And since **you**'', he drunkenly jabbed a finger towards me `` ca n't seem to get your shit together, I figured I could use this to.... *Incentivize* the next poor woman I have to trick into going out with you.''
The words stung as they backhanded my pride. `` Hey, this time it was n't me okay? ``, I blundered as I plopped down on the adjacent couch.
`` Oh really? ``, Cupid mocked sarcastically as he plucked a beer from hand. `` Pray tell, what could this one have *possibly*'', he sneered, `` have done that was so horrible?''
`` Uhhh'', I stammered. `` Well... She just had this thing, y'know? Like it just was n't going to click. I could tell from the start it was n't going to work. I ca n't really put it into words, it was just... I knew, y'know?''
He glared his eyes at me over the bottle as he took a big swig. `` I need you to tell me something right now, James... Are you gay?''
`` Wha-'' I spat out my drink. `` No! I'm not-''
`` It's totally cool if you are - you do n't need to be embarrassed or anything. But if I've been barking up the wrong tree with trying to set you up with a woman, I got ta know.''
`` No, I'm not gay'', I sunk back into the couch.
`` Then what the hell man?! I'm gunna lose my freakin job if I ca n't help your sorry ass'', he slurred again. `` I've been doin this gig for thousands of years, and you're the biggest pain in the ass I've ever had to deal with. It's honestly impressive.''
I stared down into my beer to avoid his gaze. `` I do n't know... I guess I just feel like I'm boring'', I sullenly admitted. `` And any girl that wants to be with a boring guy is probably boring too... And I do n't want to be with someone who's okay with being boring, I guess.''
`` God help me'', he sighed as he plucked two more beers from me. `` I'm going to lose this sweet gig because you're so mundane you make other people boring just by being associated with them. Is that what you're telling me, James?''
`` I just-'' I blurted.
`` That was a rhetorical question'', he shook his head. `` Well, it was n't supposed to be, but I realized it was as soon as I said it.''
My breath caught in my chest - that one hurt too. I peered back into my beer again, at a loss for words.
`` I've got one more girl I want you to meet'', Cupid snorted. `` If she ca n't get you fixed, I'll just have to start lookin' for a new job.''
After a moment, I found the courage to ask. `` Theoretically, what would you do if... Y'know, it... Did n't work out?'' I gulped.
`` Idunnoman....'' He trailed off as the booze started to carry him off to sleep. `` Get out of the love biz I spose.''
I grimaced and finished my beer. This triad of finding love can really take it out of you.
As I laid back and closed my eyes, ready to follow Cupid's decent into the dream world he grunted, `` Hell's always lookin for divorce attorneys,'' followed by the sound of sawing logs.
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[ WP ] The entire world is in a time loop . The same day keeps repeating over and over and everyone figured it out and your the one who keeps rewinding time .
| They were coming after me. They finally knew. It had been December 11th for three years now. I didn ’ t mean it to be like this. When I realised I could do this, when I realised I had the power to turn back time, all I wanted to do was stop December 12th from happening the way it did.
Fate is a bastard. No matter what I did, they would die anyway. An obscure accident would happen. If my husband and my son didn ’ t get in the car crash…something else would happen. The house would burn and I couldn ’ t save them. My husband would fall down the stairs and break his neck. My son would have a seizure. Heart attacks, gas leaks, falls, strokes. Something would always happen no matter what I did to stop it. I have broken my heart so many times. I have watched my family die again and again, trying to keep them alive.
So now I have been reliving December 11th. Again and again. We ’ ve done so much together now. I – I can ’ t give them up. Yesterday we went to the zoo. My son loves the hippos. The day before we went to see Father Christmas. I try to give them a happy last day on earth – but I can ’ t – can ’ t let it be the last day. Everyday is the last day.
But everyone else was getting restless. Everyone started getting déjà vu, and soon, I don ’ t know how, they figured it out.
At 5.13pm the mob turned up. They were banging on my door. They were screaming. My son was hiding. My husband turned to me his eyes wide. He asked me what I had done. What had happened? I – I tried to explain. My eyes welled up. I ’ m not sure if he believed me. The mob was getting louder. I had to do something or they would tear us all apart.
I went upstairs, up to the attic, and onto the roof. I didn ’ t dare go out directly to confront them. I stood on the roof and shouted down. Some of the mob believed me. I think some pitied me. Some jeered and threw things at me. I shouted till I was hoarse. I promised if they gave me one more day – don ’ t let their last day end like this please… please.
Then - someone in the crowd threw a bottle, it hit me squarely. I slipped. I fell. I died.
I woke up. My son was shaking me awake. He was saying ‘ Mama - wake up! ’ When my eyes fluttered open he looked concerned. But his concern turned to relief and joy as he hugged me. He said ‘ I – I couldn ’ t let you die ’.
I looked at the calendar. It was December 10th.
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[ WP ] : When a photographer photoshops his subjects , their appearance changes in real life . He does not discover this until it 's too late .
| *'' Hello. My name is Christopher and I am a photographer. People usually come to my studio to do pictures for them. Professional pictures. I usually charge them $ 30 for the photo and an additional $ 10 for the printing. This was my career. I mean I know the income is little but hey, at least I have a steady income and since this was cheap people come here regularly. Even though I gave them their pictures, I still have some pictures on my computer. Sometimes I think they misunderstood their beauty. *
*So I made some copies and I did some editing. Turning a gorgeous woman's black hair to a light brown and stuff like that. I kept doing this over and over again. I just like it. *
*Until a few days ago. One of my long time customers, Abigail had returned for something. However she looked different yet familiar. Her hair is now a light blonde rather than a jet black, her lipstick is redder, and her eyebrows are thinner. These features seem familiar to me but I shook it off. *
*She had asked for a photo and I did my job and she paid me $ 45. Last night, I was browsing this new site named Reddit which is fun, but anyways. I looked at Abigail's old photo and I realized something. She looked precisely the same as earlier and that photo was like 5 years ago. Then I realized that any modifications I did in their photo also happened in real life. *
*Then a few other of my old customers came back. Sheryl, Adam, Stephen, Emily. They all look the same as my old photoshop modifications. After that I'm panicked. I want to make it stop but they all look so beautiful and handsome after my modifications! *
*So I did it over and over again. Soon people changed. Everyone changed. I WAS OBSESSED. I started doing it again and again and again to the point that ~~everythig~~ everything I do is ~~bascically~~ basically JUST PHOTOSHOP! I mean it is so good! PEOPLE ARE NOW IN MY IMAGE AND MY IMAGE ALONE. I AM GOING TO SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE IN MY STUDIO PHOTOSHOPPING! HAHAHA'' *
*end of note*
`` Well this is a weird note do n't you think?''
`` Yeah I mean it's weird. Just look at his face. All twisted and shit man. His mouth is freakishly huge, his eyes are big and his nose is big. He's really muscular.''
`` Yeah it is weird. Anyways, do we have a positive ID on this guy?''
`` Yeah, um, Christopher Cent. 31 years old. He looks normal. What the hell happened?''
`` It is weird, but considering the fact he have n't got out of the house in 2 years or so I would assume he just died or something and no one noticed because this guy was a recluse.''
[ NOTE: I'm really sorry if this story is sort bad, I am really running out of ideas ]
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[ WP ] A story that ends with a song lyric
| His blood covers my hands and the knife clatters to the floor, shaking me from the trance like state I had gone into. He ’ s long dead, unable to hurt me anymore. The tears come unbidden and pour like a river over my blood-splattered cheeks. It ’ s an ugly cry, rivers of tears that just don ’ t stop and snot making bubbles as it runs from my nose.
It takes until the tears slow for me to realize that my hands are bleeding, cut open by the knife as it had slid through my hands. It renews my tears, save that they ’ re pained. At least I was safe. He couldn ’ t hurt me or my daughter. She wouldn ’ t have to fear him each day as she came home from school. No. She was safe. I was safe.
The thought of my mother comes unbidden and I find my phone in the mess that had been my clothing, painting it with my blood with each touch. The screen still lights up despite the cracks across it. Each touch to the screen drips blood into the tiny cracks and smears it further across the screen but I manage to find my mother ’ s phone number and hit the call button.
I lean down and close my eyes, listening to the phone ring with a small buzz.
“ Hello? Sweetie, is this you? ” The tears come back to my eyes unbidden and I give a small sob.
“ Mama… I just killed a man… ”
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[ WP ] Describe the very first time you saw her
| The living room had the feel of a war zone during a tenuous ceasefire. Blankets, towels, chairs, clothing, and medical supplies were strewn about a dark room filled with an aroma of burning incense and the soft sounds of yoga mantras. The heaviness of nervous energy was pervasive, we all knew the ceasefire would only last for another minute, two at best.
`` Ahhhhhhhh,'' the guttoral, almost animalistic scream started in her throat as I held her tight, my arms wrapped around her, my chin resting on her shoulder. I supporting her as she leaned, exhausted against the side of the inflatable pool that had taken over the floor of the room. It crescendoed as the midwife looked up and implored her to push.
`` Fuck, it hurts, it's on my urethra!'' she yelled as she broke free of my grasp, now squatting in the middle of the pool.
I looked towards my wife and saw her inspecting a ball of hair protruding from her. The hair waved back and forth like seaweed in the current. And like that, the eye of the hurricane had passed overhead.
`` Why is n't she moving?'' I thought to myself, a million worst-case scenarios running through my head.
Moments later, the animal instinct took over again, a scream, a push, and a baby spurted through the water sending waves across the pool.
This ball of cells that had become a fetus that had become one with my wife was no longer. They were two separate beings although still attached by the umbilical cord. She knew how to care for the baby growing inside of her, but could not fathom what to do with a real, live, human being.
`` What do I do?'' The panic was real. The baby was no more than an arm's length away, still face down in the water and moving ever-so-slightly.
`` Pick up your baby,'' the midwife calmly instructed.
She scooped up the baby in her arms and collapsed against me and the side of the pool. I wrapped my arms around both of them and the baby started to cry. Whether it was her beauty, our relief, or nerves that brought us to tears, I ca n't say, but we followed suit and soon it was our new family crying together. I silently said goodbye to my old life and knew that I was a changed man.
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[ WP ] Write the letter that you will never send .
| Deart S.
Im sitting here on my laptop right now polishing off this bottle of bourboun that I bought nearly 2 hours ago, having a smoke and thinking about those times three years ago. Its so weird you know, you had such a huge impact on my life and now I havent even seen you, heard from you, dont even know where the hell you are now. Yet somehow I will still have dreams about you, your black hair and laugh. Yet when I think of you now, I dont feel anything? Is this me truly moving on from the grip you had around me? I cant say for sure at this point but all I can say is thank you for the good times, you taught me more about relationships to last a lifetime. I hope youre well, good night, good life
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[ WP ] Humanity finally reaches the edge of the solar system only to encounter an impassible barrier and a warning not to try and breach it . But is it there to keep us in or to keep something else out ?
| When the first few probes were lost, they assumed natural death of batteries and equiment after decades of service. Then, they started noticing a pattern. What was known as the bow shock turned out to be something much more insidious.
Probe after probe was lost crossing this singlar point, more advanced probes were sent and they failed as well. Finally, a crew was sent. Humanity did not know what it would find, but was desperate for answers. Would we finally understand it all?
The crew traveled for forty years. A veritiable suicide mission of young adults, leaving only dreams behind. Mostly forgotten by the world they knew. They slowly lost their minds.
As expected, they reached the barrier. Nothing they had could cross it. Most simply vanished or were destroyed. They were unwilling to sacrifice their lives and search for answers on the edge.
The crew scanned and detected a raised area off in the distance. They quickly set their course and traveled the required years. Thoughts of suicide cross the minds of the now elderly crew.
Never seen before from earth, the astronauts were astounded to come across something so giant and obvious. It was a label, a warning, a sign. Squareish, larger than the orbit of Mercury around the sun. Several large blocks of patterns, possibly characters, were arranged in jupiter sized formations across the regularly shapped patterns on the square. The computers on earth and the ship quickly set about translating.
Two mathematical patterns were found quickly, a numeric pattern and a series pattern. In addition, several hyroglyphs which were undescernable. The final translation went out to the crew and set across maddening cries of desperation, some killed themselves across the world and in the crew.
48DD, hand wash only.
Heavens, the solar system is a giant fucking tit. The bowshock was the bra.
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[ WP ] Write a story about a girl that falls in love with a `` bad boy '' who breaks all the rules -- not because he 's a rebel , but out of pure ignorance .
| Quinn Thyme noticed him in a bar on the 27th. It was one of those places where nobody with money or sense would ever stop for a drink. The walls were decorated with a tapestry of yellowing newspapers, while the sturdy wooden tables were only decorated with the offensive carvings of the crude customers. As a typical uptown girl, Quinn would normally never have considered the shabby place, but tonight she was feeling adventurous.
When the guy, after buying a large beer, steered his step towards her booth, a tingle went up her spine. He was as unpolished as the bar they were in. Scruffy cheeks with plantations of stubble, shoulder length greasy hair with one side unevenly shaved off, dark brown eyes with a thrilling I-don ’ t-give-a-fuck-expression.
“ You ’ re in my space, ” he said simply, as he reached Quinn ’ s table.
His voice was deep and rough – probably from smoking too much, Quinn thought, as she scurried out of his way. If it had been one of those frizzy prissy boys at the clubs she usually hung out at, she would ’ ve given him hell. But this guy obviously demanded respect; he was probably an outlaw – a gangster of some kind. Oh, this was all too exciting!
Quinn slid into the opposite side of the booth and expectantly looked him over. Was he going to hit on her? She was used to drooling men approaching her with the dumbest of pickup lines, but this guy just stared into the counter, slowly gulping his beer. Was he ignoring her on purpose? He was, wasn ’ t he!
“ I ’ m Quinn Thyme, ” she said, unable to contain herself. “ My friends call me Q-T. ”
The guy lifted his gaze and stared at her with an unimpressed face. After a moment his eyes returned to their original task of reading the carvings on the table. His lips moved silently between the sips. The game he was running on her was making her all hot and nervous. She had never been ignored for so long in her entire life.
“ Oops, ” she said, pushing her empty glass over. “ I ’ m so clumsy! Luckily it ’ s empty. ”
This trick always worked. A lady with an empty glass was an obvious invitation. This guy, however, had clearly been too long in the game to fall for it. And the only reaction she got out of him was a grunt. She decided to try a different approach. Maybe he was from the rare breed of men who cared more about intelligence than looks.
“ I graduated high school as the valedictorian, ” she said bluntly. “ I read science journals for fun; did you hear about the Mars expedition? ”
“ I didn ’ t finish grad-school, ” he said. “ Which one is Mars, again? ”
Quinn giggled. The guy had humor, and oh my god, he was a dropout! True alphas always had issues taking orders and listening to teachers. What a catch this one was. If she could only reel him in!
“ What does this one say? ” the guy said, pointing at one of the carvings.
“ Pussy, ” Quinn whispered, blushing profusely.
He was finally hitting on her – and in such an inventive way, mixing crudeness with ingenuity – she felt her knees go weak. Too bad they were sitting down; otherwise he would ’ ve had to catch her.
“ What about this one? ” he said, with the hint of a smile.
“ Hazard, ” Quinn read out loud.
“ What does that mean? ”
He was clearly testing her now to see if she was scared. He was confirming her suspicion earlier that he was some kind of badass who lived on the wrong side of the law. She felt her pulse racing.
“ That you ’ re dangerous? ” Quinn said, trembling slightly with excitement. “ I like danger. ”
“ All right, last one, ” he said, pointing at another carving.
“ Purple, ” Quinn read out loud again.
She wasn ’ t sure what he was implying this time and looked at him expectantly.
“ Thanks, ” he said and got up. “ Never learned to read, and I always wondered what those words said. ”
Confused, Quinn got up as well. What was he talking about? He wasn ’ t joking, was he? He was actually illiterate and a dropout who didn ’ t know which planet Mars was. What the actual…
“ See you later, and thanks for the help, ” he said and stumbled out of the bar.
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[ WP ] Write about why you dislike writing .
| I ca n't come up with anything. I give up too quickly. Someone will do it better.
That's how it always goes. Mostly it's a confidence thing. I've discovered in the few Writing Prompts I've done on Reddit, that the whole concept of anonymity helps a bit. Even if anybody I know reads what I wrote, they're not gon na know it was me.
Many people have that dream that some day one of their posts will be good enough to invoke strong emotions in a reader. Deep down, we want that front page post, to have people positively commenting on our work. But in fear of doing poorly or being unseen, we do n't even try. In failing to make mistakes, we fail to succeed because we do n't even allow ourselves a chance.
I try to be deep, to make people ponder. But someone always does it better. I often wonder how many people actually have their own original thoughts, and how many only make that clever `` repost'' that they got from someone else. I try to be original, but focusing so hard on trying simply causes me to repeat. So I let the `` original'' people do the writing.
I do n't like writing because I want to get better, but I wo n't try because I do n't think I'm good at it.
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[ WP ] You work at Area 52 , the less glamorous sister site of Area 51 .
| Tom walked into the conference room, a pile of paperwork in his arms. `` Wow, check this out! They just announced they'll be shifting the Firestorm project to Area 52!''
Judging by the looks he got, nobody else on the team was excited by the news.
`` Really?''
`` Shit.''
`` Who wants to tell Medical?''
`` Oh, come on. They finally gave us a real xenotech project. It's a freaking flying saucer! How are you not excited by this?''
Rick glanced at Mort. `` Do you want to tell him?''
`` You handle it. You need to let rookies down gently.''
`` Alright.'' Rick leaned forwards. `` Rookie, the thing you need to understand is, we're not Area 51. We get the absolute *dregs* of secret projects. Nobody just *gives* us a shiny new alien fighter craft to study without strings attached.''
`` It sure looks like they did. The paperwork is for a full transfer, airframe, research logs, the whole works.''
`` Right. So the question is, why? What's the reason they gave for this transfer?''
He rifled through the papers. `` Hmm. Cost control measures... overcrowded testing environment... more extreme testing regimes not feasible at Area 51...''
He looked up from the papers. `` It's kinda vague, but it sounds like they did n't have the budget or the facilities at 51.''
`` Riiiight. Fifty billion of black budget, but they just ca n't afford to keep the lights on over at 51.''
`` Translated from bureaucracy-speak,'' Mort chimed in, `` They're saying that project was a failure but they ca n't justify throwing an irreplaceable xenotech craft in the garbage, so they're kicking it over to a smaller site where it wo n't break anything too expensive when it goes wrong.''
Rick had picked up another paper from the stack. `` And if you look at the testing logs, you'll probably find that it has glitchy antigrav, the elerium containment leaks, and maybe the shield generator bursts into flames if you look at it funny.''
`` It's really that bad?''
`` Trust us. After they sent us Project Lightning and Project Avenger, we learned to stay far away from xenotech fighters. They're the hottest item at Area 51, so the only way they ever get sent to us is if they're total deathtraps.''
`` So what are we going to do with it?''
`` Well, officially, we're going to give it a thorough inspection and shakedown run, whereupon pilot safety concerns will force us to kill the project and send it to salvage,''
`` By which I mean, we get the rookie to give it a once-over, then install a basic drone system and fly the thing around until it crashes, then sweep up the bits.''
Mort tossed a clipboard at Tom. `` So, if you want to try and get the old jalopy flying, it's all yours.''
`` But if you do n't want to bother, it's all the same to us. Just run down the checklist, sign off on it, and meet us in the hangar at 1600 tomorrow to watch the fireworks.''
And with that, they left the conference room, leaving Tom to wonder just what he had signed up for.
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[ WP ] `` She said she loved him . '' Insert the word `` only '' anywhere in this sentence . It must be the final sentence of your story .
| It was just like all the other times that he'd stormed out of the house, slamming the door on his way out.
She'd stand there in the kitchen while she listened to the rumble of the motorbike start, tears streaming down her face as she watched the headlight pass the kitchen window.
Sure, it was n't a perfect marriage and yeah, they fought a lot but they made it work.
Except for that night.
On his way through the door, the argument still fresh in his mind, his cheek stinging from where she'd hit him, he heard her say something.
2 hours later, he was pronounced dead on the scene by an ambulance driver who had the unfortunate chance to be passing by.
Claire showed up to the scene in shock, with sirens blaring and the lights engulfing the area but nothing seemed to touch her.
She moved through the crowd, ignoring the police officer who tried to stop her.
Upon reaching the crumbled up remains of the motorbike, she looked around, finding his body lying on the ground not too far away, his neck twisted at a grotesque angle.
A note, in his hand, bending down, she grabbed it out, ripping away from an officer who tried to console her.
The note had been ripped in the accident and his blood stained the paper but she could make out some words...
`` You said you loved him? Then be with him''
Claire sat there, struggling to remember saying those words, with the rain saturating her, the lights of the vehicles around her blinding, the sirens blaring.
All of a sudden the tears erupted from her face and she broke down. A firm hand was placed on her shoulder and she was been led over to an ambulance.
In the fight, on his way out the door, he must of heard her say something and assumed that she said that.
Only, she said that she loved him.
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[ WP ] You 've gained a useless superpower and spend your life in futility trying to fight crime until one day when your power actually comes in handy .
| `` Stop right there, evildoer!''
`` Oh crap- wait, never mind, fellas! False alarm!''
`` False alarm?! Why, *you're* the one who should be... alarmed... Yeah, that one sounded better in my head.''
`` Who are you, anyway?''
`` Me? Why, I'm Projectile-Tear Man!... Hey, stop laughing!''
`` HA HA HA, ha ha, heh... seriously?! What's your superpower, shooting little water droplets at me?! HA HA HA HA-''
*KLUNK*
`` At least they're too busy laughing to notice my fist of justice...''
********
`` Ah, we meet again, Projectile-Tear Man!''
`` Doctor Nemesis...''
`` That's my name, do n't wear it out. Still, it seems that your saline-shooting skills will be rendered useless by... THE DEHUMIDIFIER!'' ( *dun dun duuuh* ) `` Drat, I forgot to pre-start it. Just give it a few minutes to warm up. *Eyes* talking to you...''
*SLAM*
`` Gosh, his puns are so chilling... Still, I need to escape, and fast, or Genericopolis is toast! Now, what can I do... Of course, the Dehumidifier's power plug! I just have to aim...''
*pew pew pew*
*fzzt*
`` Aha! Now all I have to do is shoot the ropes on my hands, and the tears will help loosen them up enough for me to slip out! I'll get you soon, Doctor Nemesis...''
********
``... and when my massive tanker of hydrochloric acid hits the ammonia plant, it will produce a wave of toxic gas that will kill ALL of Genericopolis! MUA HA HA HA HA HA HA!''
`` Oh, no! I have to destroy that tanker over there before Doctor Nemesis releases it! But how can I... Eureka! If I imbalance the pH of the tank, it may destroy itself! There's an opening on the top over there, and tears are made of saline, which has a pH of 5.5! That's perfect! C'mon, Projectile-Tear Man, you can do this...''
*pew*
*splash*
`` What?! The pH of the tank is imbalanced?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! CURSE YOU, PROJECTILE-TEAR MAN!''
( dramatic music, epic explosion )
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[ WP ] Now hiring : Grim Reaper Intern .
| Jess stood in the dark, shivering, waiting for a response. The January wind whipped through the alley, pulling off her hood and sinking its cold needle-teeth into her numbing cheeks. *One more time*, she thought to herself, pushing the skin-crawling sensation she had to the side, *you need this. *
She made a fist and rapped against the jet-black door. The knock reverberated deeply in the cast iron, and made an unsettlingly loud echo in the quiet alley. There was no response.
Jess sighed. *Another dead end*. She cradled her folio that held her neatly printed copies of her resume and cover letter and turned away.
Out of the silence, came a resounding boom. Jess stopped in her tracks as the cast iron door creaked open.
`` Hello?'' She called. `` Is anyone there?''
A whisper floated by on the wind, pronounced from the dry lips of someone impossibly old. `` Why have you come?''
`` I... I saw the posting for the internship,'' she stammered, then collected herself. `` I'm Jess Bainsbury. I was told I had an interview scheduled for this evening.''
`` Ah.'' The voice whispered back. `` Well, come in.''
If they were surprised that a 19 year old girl had been knocking on their back-alley door in the middle of the night, Jess could n't tell. The posting did sound odd: `` Internship with private consultancy and accounting firm. Must be discreet, non-religious, and totally dedicated to the job. Previous experience in mortuaries preferred but not required.'' But, it was an internship. And it was paid! The job market was tough and any professional experience would give her a leg up. She needed to ace this interview.
Jess stepped forward into the darkness and was hit by a wave of nausea. Where did that light come from? She looked around. Somehow, she had suddenly stepped into a vast atrium. Above her were tall arches built of delicately carved obsidian. On either side, red stained glass windows let in a filtered light that cast the grand hall in a crimson hue. Jess felt vertigo, and had trouble keeping upright in her heels. She felt a feeble arm grip her, helping to steady her balance.
To her right stood one of the oldest men she had ever seen. He was cloaked in a simple robe of black and red, and beamed back at her with a toothless smile. She should have felt terrified; somehow though, his beady eyes and toothless smile belied a grandfatherly kindness. He waved his arm forward in an `` after you'' gesture.
`` What is this place?'' Jess asked as they walked down the seemingly endless hall.
`` It is the Throat of Night.'' responded the old man, matter-of-factly.
`` It does n't seem like it should fit in the building! Are we underground... somehow?''
`` In a manner of speaking.'' He said, unhelpfully. `` Here we are. To the left.''
They approached a door guarded on either side by two enormous stone gargoyles, their faces knotted and gnarled in a grotesque pose. The old man shuffled ahead of her and pulled open the door, waving her in. Jess stepped through the threshold only to find she was now in a simple waiting room not unlike the one at her dentist's office. She was now completely thrown but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. The interview. Ace the interview. Remember your extracurriculars. Your leadership experience. Ace it!
`` Ms. Bainsbury?'' The plump, middle aged secretary called out from behind her desk.
`` Yes? That's me.''
`` Excellent.'' the secretary said, smacking her chewing gum. `` He'll see you now.''
`` He?'' Jess probed.
`` Yes, dear. Head on in.'' She said as she flipped a switch on her desk. The office door buzzed, and popped open.
Jess felt her heartbeat throb in her ears as she stepped through the last threshold and into an ornate office lit by candlelight. Ancient maps adorned the walls where windows should have been, and in the center of the room sat a smooth, silver globe. The geography of the globe was overlayed in scarlet, which seemed to pulsate with a weak light of its own. At the far end of the room was a wooden desk, behind which, sat a man.
Or at least, something that approximated a man. Even in this light Jess could tell there was something unnatural about him. He was dressed well, in a tailored black suit with a garish pink tie. He had a short cropped beard and perfectly coiffed hair. On his nose sat a small pair of spectacles. At first glance she might have guessed he was a young man, perhaps in his late twenties. However, as she gazed past his spectacles into his chilly green eyes, she knew he was far, far older than twenty.
`` Jessica!'' He said, his voice soft and unassuming. `` Very punctual of you. That is a great start. Punctuality is **critical** to this job.''
`` Well... I always hate to be late!'' Jess managed, extending her arm for a handshake.
The man paused, staring at her for a moment, then slowly extended his gloved hand. He gingerly shook hers, and then quickly retreated his hand back behind the desk. `` Please! Sit.''
`` Now, I know in most interviews, I would begin by asking some questions about you.'' The man said cheerfully. `` That is not how we will proceed today. So you can relax!''
Jess shifted slightly in her chair.
`` The fact of the matter is, Jessica Bainsbury, I already know everything there is to know about you. And let me just say, you are an excellent candidate. A hard worker. And honest! Other companies may not have seen this, but they are not as... thorough... as I am.''
`` We will begin, however, by asking *me* a series of questions. Questions that I know that are burning in your mind.'' he continued. `` Let's begin with the basics.''
`` How long will this internship last? For the semester, if you wish it. For longer, if you excel and would like to continue to stay on.''
Jess opened her mouth to speak, but the man continued.
`` How much will you be paid? $ 25 an hour is the starting rate. I'm afraid to say we do not have a direct deposit program. But, we do pay in cash.'' He gestured to his right where a neat stack of gold coins sat.
`` What-'' Jess began.
`` What will your hours be like? That is a bit complicated, though you will need to arrive at the office at the stroke of midnight. You will also leave the office at the stroke of midnight. I can explain more about that later.''
`` What is the job?'' Jess blurted out before he could ask himself another question.
`` Ah. That one is very important obviously. You will be my shadow.''
`` And... what is it that you do?''
The man paused and leaned back in his chair. `` A necessary task.''
She stared ahead at him.
He sighed, and began to slowly pull off one of his leather gloves. Jess gasped, and then blanched. His hands were spindly and completely black.
`` Death, of course.''
At first, she could say nothing. Her mouth would not move. Her eyes gazed, transfixed, on his skeletal fingers that tapped against the desk.
He also sat. Silent. Waiting for her to make her decision.
In the end, the choice was clear. Paid internships did n't fall in your lap every day.
|
[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 13 : Anger
| I hate this house. This big, upper middle class, 90 % neighborhood fucking house. I hate this town. U.S News and World Reports just put it in the top ten places to live in America. Bullshit. There's a reason all the kids start drinking sophomore year of high school. There's a reason we all do drugs. This town is fucking awful.
There's nothing to do, because everything is too easy. I never had to struggle, to fight, to persevere. That's the worst part. All of these goddam college essays are some `` What is one time you struggled through adversity?'' type bullshit questions. I am a straight, white male in an incredibly wealthy area. The hardest thing I've ever done was think of something to make up for those prompts.
Life is n't supposed to be like this. You should n't have everything handed to you. You have to fight. You have to learn to survive. That's why Fight Club is the only book I've ever enjoyed reading. It's about people who are sick of doing the same thing over and over and over until you're tearing your fucking hair out because it's all the same, every fucking day, every fucking week, every fucking year. Go to school, fuck around, get As anyway, go home, play videogames, eat dinner, do homework, go to bed. Rinse. Repeat until you find something to OD on.
And that's fucking stupid, I know. I'm pissed because life is easy. You do n't think that makes me mad? You do n't think it makes me hate myself? Well, fuck you.
|
[ WP ] Fox News is literally news for foxes . Write a small segment of the 7pm news
| `` Cue teleprompters, and your on. Vulp, in 3, 2,'' and the camerasquirrel shoots the anchorfox the `` go'' on 1.
`` Good evening. I'm your host, Vulp Redtail, and your back for another edition of Fox News.
`` In today's headlines: in a shock to the world, the Duke of Snarl has engaged to marry a Foxford University classmate and low profile pup-next door Wendy Peppersnout. We see the charming couple embracing each other here, but are choosing to keep much of the details of their plans to tie-the-tails a secret from the media. More details on how they met after the break.
`` Are you eating enough shrubs? See what this 86 fox-year old fox from Florida is saying she forages in order to catch crow like she was 32 --''
Clip plays out, `` I've been eating this way for fox-decades and I've never felt quicker!''
`` And make room in your trunk - more snow in the forecast. Our weatherfox, Twitch McSniff, will tell you why you should start stocking up on your rodent rations now with his 10-day outlook after this break.''
Shuffling papers rapidly, Redtail organizes his desk, a cry comes out from behind the lights, `` And cut!''
Redtail arises from the desk pantless, addresses the abyss, `` Where's that squirrel with my walnut? I am ready to tear *her* fucking head off.''
|
[ WP ] The village had been burned to the ground and there is one survivor . What happened ?
| It had been an hour at most.
The boy walked silently through the smoldering wreckage of all he'd ever known. His eyes were wide, dry, just like his mouth. From time to time, wretching fits of nausea would claw their way up his throat. The air was thick with the greasy smell of charred flesh: his friends and family, his life.
His basket was fat with wild spring greens: the fruits of the morning's labors. He'd been on hands and knees for too long, inspecting the new growth for tenderness, tasting a little here and there to make sure it was n't too bitter. When he finally looked up, he saw it: lazily glutting the sky, smoke black as a murder of crows, portending only ill.
He arrived breathless from the run, then choking, gasping, his lungs filled with ash and his heart with terrible grief.
How had it happened?
It seemed like days, just wandering, staring, listening to the empty whir of shock humming between his ears. That and the still-crackling timbers were the only sounds he could hear until, from somewhere far off, voices...
At first, hope sprung fierce and hot in his heart. Maybe some had survived it. Maybe he was n't completely alone.
Then caution broke through, and none too soon. As he approached the wooded outskirts of the town, he caught glimpse of a banner, red and lulling in the mid-morning breeze. Nothing he knew. Nothing he wanted to see.
Quietly, he made up the ground between himself and the uninvited guests. A new wave of cold fear replaced sadness, icy and hard like a lump in his guts.
He crept close enough to make out words, darting between shrubs and bushes, low like he was hunting, like he was stalking prey.
`` No, captain...'' A ladies voice.
`` Are you sure? You searched every house?'' A man's voice, gravelly and cruel.
`` And every barn, every brush pile. We were sure...''
`` You were sure?'' the captain's voice cut hers off. The boy could hear the spittle spraying out from between his teeth.
`` We had the registry, sir. He lived here. The boy with the mark. He was here.''
The boy with the mark looked down at the top of his right hand. Five circles there since he was born sang incrimination in his ears.
`` Waste no more time,'' the captain spat. `` Find that boy. And bring me his head.''
It had been an hour at most, and now things would never be the same.
|
[ WP ] There 's a new death penalty drug that acts as a hallucinogen , causing the prisoner to experience his worst fears until he dies of cardiac arrest . You were convicted of a crime and your execution is today .
| The Fine Arts Beat Goes On
I looked up and the executioner nodded. `` Any last words?'
`` I did my best.''
She nodded and put the gag in place. With a pinprick the drug howled through my veins, Moments later Hieronymus Bosch like visions of hell.
I had it coming, they called me the Medieval Killer after all, killed anyone I thought lacked culture. Left some real culture, old culture back when people actually created worthwhile things, pictures, art, poetry.
In the end I only got twenty five across the the whole range of trash culture. Oh yes and one hack who compared me to Hannibal Lector. As much as I appreciated Hopkins'' s masterful performance, I do not eat my victims and I do not take well to being slandered.
I suppose I underestimated the authorities, some of the purveyors of filth I eliminated were important and given enough time, anyone can be caught.
The scene shifted and a wall of the worst of culture paraded before me, the sea of depravity, reality TV, poorly written movies and television, hackneyed comics.awful novels beckoning to me. I screamed through the gag. As the drug raced through my system, my heart rate increased, 120 beats. I focused.
110 beats. Though about sonnets about renaissance art. Ignored some teen starlet parading before me. Disgustingly oversexualized yet enticing, I growled through my gag.
100 beats Martial Arts Lessons, Zen and Motorcycles fighting with an awful country song. and some friendly rednecks. Cheating hearts whining.
90 beats. Through, the fire, the smoke and the screams of the damned and some godawful reality children beauty pageant. some barely human trash saying `` Come on, Daddy, you have to judge.'' I focused, Bluegrass and Delta Blues I could see the consternation on the faces of the executioners and I was happy they had not blindfolded me.
80 beats, the doctor ran to check my pulse. It was muffled by some awful Nazi bubblegum pop rap remix but i could hear him saying `` What the hell is going on?''
70 Beats. Reality TV overlaid with Dadd, a strange mix The doctor came close than splendidly, a power outage.
There was a commotion and I made my move, One blow and the Doctor was down. `` Hit me.'' The executioner said `` Make it look good and keep up the good work.'' One throw and she was down. The way was open, the police officer pulled his weapon and winked as a threw him, armed I made my move.
In a few hours I was free.
I never knew how many people were fed up with the status quo till today but I wo n't squander their gift to me. I may not be able to compose or paint but I have my own contributions and it would not do to disappoint my fans. ]
So much bad art, so little time.
|
[ WP ] The main character becomes aware of his immense plot armor . He decides to test it .
| First WP response, I apologize in advance.
The last thing I remembered was falling off the cell tower. It was at least a 200 foot drop down, and they say it was a miracle I survived it. That's what they said about the time I was pushed off a bridge, too. And the time when I stepped on a mine in Cambodia.
Awakening from the hospital bed I frequented, I examined my injuries. All healed again; this time, they said it was because of a blood transfusion gone awry. Their excuses get weaker and weaker every time. As usual, I stood up and walked out of the hospital, good as new. It was then I decided to try an experiment; injure myself in such a horrible way that even they could n't invent an excuse good enough.
As I approached the silo, a million thoughts ran through my head. *What if I was wrong? What if I die? * I pushed these to the back of my head. I had already lived long enough; it seemed as if I had walked out from that hospital at least a thousand times. As the cold metal of the ICBM silo grew ever closer, I could see the markings on it. US AIR FORCE. DO NOT ENTER. Unsurprised at finding the silo's blast door unlocked, I walked inside. `` Hello?'' I called. My voice echoed from the depths of the bunker.
I eventually found my way to the missile. I could barely see my hand in front of me. Still, I pulled out my trusty explosive: the Sticky Bomb. I tossed it onto the ICBM. Hoping it would detonate, I turned around and pressed the trigger. Suddenly, everything went black.
Again, I woke up in the hospital. This time, though, it was different. As I slowly regained my vision, I swore I could see, as clear as day, the words: *Achievement Unlocked: Indiana Jones and the Lead-Lined Fridge. *
|
[ WP ] Every 100 years , each country is allowed to bring to life it 's own folklore mythical creature , to compete with other countries ' in a tournament .
| One on one. Single elimination. That's how the Global Creature Clash tended to go. It was because a country's *Representative* would usually end up slashed to ribbons, ground to a pulp, or eaten alive by the other competitors.
It was n't like this at first. Three centuries ago, a handful of European countries tried enlisting the *Fæ* to charm their way through the GCC. Unfortunately for the beautiful creatures, they did n't last more than two rounds; the rest of the world reveled in brutality and violence, not glamour, and chose abominations befitting their thirst. I think that's just human nature.
The rules were simple. The Global Creature Clash is always held in Geneva, Switzerland. The Swiss *did* have a knack for neutrality. For one week, fantasy becomes reality, and a country's representative would walk the physical plane. Fortunately for humans, these creatures are bound by their *nature*, which is to never harm a human soul. No one knows how these monsters are bound to this rule. The Swiss have always kept this secret far more secure than any of their banks' vaults.
Each country had one *Supervisor* and one *Representative*. Typically, the Supervisor would be an expert on a certain creature from their country's mythology roster. In my country, the Philippines, Supervisors were always associated with one clan for each creature. This year, the President chose me.
Multiple countries may use the same *kind* of Representative, but never the same individual. That was against the whole point of an International competition. Besides, sharing one dead competitor is never a good idea. During the second GCC, Scotland's Kelpie won against two straight rounds of Djinn from Iraq and the UAE. It's luck did n't last, as a Canadian Windego pummeled the poor water horse in the next round.
No invisible or ethereal Representatives were allowed. Creatures had to be at least physical in some way or form. It would n't be fair if combat happened while one monster had no idea where the other one is.
Lastly, none of the Supervisors and Representatives are allowed to spectate matches other than their own. This was to prevent any form of cheating or strategizing that could happen otherwise. Most countries were fine with this rule. There were no human lives at stake anyway; a mindless monstrous bloodbath seemed fine.
Coming from a country with mythology as rich as the Philippines, it greatly disappointed me that none of our Representatives have ever won the GCC. During the first GCC, we employed a Kapre, a 7 foot tall lumbering mass of humanoid fur and muscle which constantly stalked smaller creatures from a massive tree, into the competition. It was severely outclassed by Russia's much-larger Leshy, and was torn limb from limb.
The country's second entry was a Santelmo, a fire elemental born from the noxious gasses of corpses, but Scotland's Kelpie, the same one I talked about earlier, doused its flames. To add insult to injury, I read in history books that it was considered to be the most humiliating GCC match so far.
Last century's Representative was a game changer; we sent a Supervisor that was an expert on the Tikbalang, a tall muscular creature that would look almost entirely human, save for its horse head. It could run faster than the wind and could overpower most of its competition. Things were going fine until the quarterfinals, where the soon-to-be champion of the 3rd GCC, Switzerland's Troll, managed to swat it mid-run and crushed its bones, killing it before it hit the coliseum wall.
For this century's tournament, however, I have a feeling in my gut that I would be the one to finally bring victory to my country.
I've been gazing at this coliseum for some time now, a large circular wall 400 ft in diameter surrounded by clean, empty bleachers. The GCC has never let an audience watch the fights directly since the first one; Representatives would find the clamor of a crowd distracting. On the other side, America's Supervisor gloats at me, clearly confident that she'll beat the competitor whose country suffered the most humiliating loss in GCC's early history. I ignore her.
`` Ladies and gentlemen,'' an announcer's voice rings through the coliseum as cameras rise from the bleachers around us. `` The 4th Centennial Global Creature Clash is about to begin!'' I expected cheers, but none came. It's jarring how eerily quiet the arena is, a farcry from the frenzied shouts I listened to when I was watching GCC reruns when I was a kid.
`` In the red corner, we have the Supervisor of the 2nd GCC champion country, America!'' The lone woman in front of me in the business suit and a pencil skirt stands up and flourishes her hands exaggeratedly in a bow.
`` And in the blue corner, I'm betting, is a Supervisor who wishes to restore prestige to his underdog country, the Philippines!'' I shudder at the announcer's words like he dealt me a physical blow, but I stand with dignity and wave to the cameras as if nothing had happened.
`` And now, let the games begin!'' The announcer yells out with excitement, a stark contrast to the tension and silence in the arena.
America takes the initiative and begins her *Summoning*. At the press of a button, the large gate beneath her that's facing towards the coliseum slowly grinds upwards, revealing a creature that resembles a gorilla, only you could just make out that it was n't. Its arms are too lanky, its teeth too long, its fur too wild. A short while later, it screams and beats the dirt beneath it as it transforms into an unmistakable bastardization of last year's champion Representative, Switzerland's Troll. It seems like I'm going against a Naagloshi, a Navajo Skinwalker.
Most Supervisors would probably cry foul, imitating last century's champion creature like that. Not me.
I initiated my own Summon, my own gate slowly opening to reveal...
Nothing.
Before America's Supervisor could voice any complaint about a breach in the GCC rules, I hold my finger to my lips. She stays quiet.
Soon enough, a loud noise echoes through the arena. `` TIK TIK!'' it clicks, the noise piercing my eardrums. America's Supervisor flinches, and the Naagloshi/Troll looks around in confusion and wonder.
`` Tik tik!'' returns the sound, this time quieter than the first. America's Representative groans with boredom.
`` Are you sure your Representative is n't just running away from mine, Philippines?'' America asks me. I roll my eyes at her and wait, steeling myself for what's to come.
Because you see, my Representative is n't very large, or strong, or sturdy. It is, however, very sneaky.
`` *Tik tik*,'' it whispers into my ear, its soft breath gently grazing the light hairs around my *pinna*.
I'm probably never going to get used to that.
America's eyes widen as she notices the black, leathery, winged creature behind me. I blink, and the next thing I notice is that it was behind her instead. I know she hears the clicks, and she screams as the Tiktik speeds toward the Naagloshi, whispering a gentle sound into its ear before flying around it in spirals, slicing it into ribbons with its razor-sharp teeth and claws. The faux Troll flails and swings its huge arms around in an attempt to swat the Tiktik to the ground, but it's losing flesh and tendons too fast. A second later, its arms are limp, and only its mouth is left functioning. The Naagloshi lets out a guttural scream before the Tiktik stabs it in the throat to silence it.
Looks like we win the first round.
|
[ WP ] The monster under your bed is positively fed up with how often your shoulder Angel and Devil fight . The teddy bear agrees .
| `` How is this even a question?'' asked the angel floating effortlessly above little Timmy's shoulder. `` This is obviously the wrong thing to do, there are zero benefits to doing this.''
`` It would be fun,'' said the devil on the opposite shoulder, `` what other reason do you need?''
`` Do we need to have the conversation on morality again? You end up listening to me every time anyway since he's THE DEVIL, TIMMY. You've had the bible read to you, do you know what the devil does?''
`` This again? I've killed like, 13 people in the whole bible. How many has your God killed? Did n't he send bears after a group of kids for making fun of some bald dude?''
`` Wh... tha... That's not the point!'' The angel retorts, becoming increasingly frustrated. `` You caused humanity to be banished from paradise! All over an apple! He's the great deceiver Timmy, not that you know what that means. Bad! Man! Do n't! Listen!''
`` Listen to him, treating you like you're stupid. I bet you know what a `` deceiver'' is. I'll admit, I've done some... less than favourable things. But they've all been fun! Do n't you like to have fun, kid?''
`` Can you both, please, for the love of Cthulu, shut up? I am *trying* to grab this kids foot as soon as it dangles off the edge'' came an impatient, distorted voice from below the bed. `` Every fu -- frigging night with this. The same old song and dance. The angel is good, the devil is bad, we get it. You guys need to seek couples therapy or something because this is just getting old.''
`` Yeah, fuck this shit,'' said Timmy's stuffed bear, Teddy, it's voice sweet and serene. `` I am so sick and tired of your constant bickering. Every fucking night we hear you guys say the same god damn thing over and over again. And you know what? None of this fucking matters. I'm done. I'm out.'' Teddy throws his little suitcase through the window, shattering it. He jumps up on the nightstand, flips Timmy the finger, and follows suit.
`` Wow, that was harsh,'' came the voice below the bed, `` but he's got a point. I'm going to go torment some other child, there is far too much second-hand stress in this room.'' A nightmarish cloud of writhing spiders, eyes, and teeth drag its way out from under the bed and towards to broken window. Lifting itself on rotting tentacles, it flings itself through the opening.
Timmy, the angel, and the devil, sat in stunned silence.
`` You know this is your fault.'' blamed the angel, glaring daggers at the devil.
`` You're insufferable.'' replied the devil before vanishing in a puff of blood red smoke.
`` Getting the last word does n't mean you win!'' yelled the angel before vanishing as well.
Timmy was left alone in the middle of the night, a smashed window, a missing teddy bear, and years of therapy were the only proof of the events that transpired.
|
[ WP ] You 've been hired as a scribe to catalog the heroics of a certain knight . As you follow this knight , you begin to realize that this knight is not the man people think he is , and that he may not be a man at all ...
| Being literate is a great blessing. Being literate in the High Script is a curse.
My parents, minor nobles from a backwater province, sent me away at the age of five. I was a prestige child. The king needed educated servants to run his bureaucracy. Sending away your unwanted children, the children with good brains but poor physicality, was an excellent choice for those who sought favor in the eyes of the king.
My older brother had been born strong. He was a knight and would inherit my father's wealth. My sister, eighteen years my senior, had been married off to a more important family before I was even born. I was born scrawny. I loved books. That was my first mistake. Learning the low script was easy. All you had to do was figure out the way all of line and squiggles and dashes interacted to represent different vocalized and non-vocalized throat and tongue movements.
I could n't pick up a sword but I could pick up a pen. My parents sent me off to Wardengard, the capitol of the Kingdom of Tabar, to learn High Script at the `` Academy''. My life was hellish, studying twenty hours a day to learn all of the condensed yet twistingly intricate interactions between each and every one of the ten thousand pictograms. The ways they overlapped, the ways they changed each other, how meaning was created by their interactions... It would've been beautiful if I had n't hated every bit of it.
The headmaster would beat me if the words were n't in their proper place. That was hard to do when a five inch by five inch box of High Script could contain the same amount of information as ten pages of low script. `` You must learn,'' he would say, hitting me with a willow switch on the beat of each syllable, `` All of the king's great documents, all of the epics, all of the histories. They are all in High Script. You are useless if you do n't know it.'' And I would say, `` Yes, headmaster.''
-- -
I was twenty five when I met Janqen Morburd. I had finally left the Academy and my first assignment was to chronicle the life of a knight. I was lucky. My life would finally have some excitement.
I was given an advance salary by the king's government to cover my expenses on the trip and provided with a horse, ink, and three reams of paper. I set out towards Janqen's camp, a front line fortification on the border with a foreign land. As I approached its gate, a voice called to me from atop its wooden wall.
`` Halt,'' it said. I looked up from my horse. The sun hurt my eyes, its corona haloing the head of a common soldier. I shielded my eyes.
`` I'm a scribe. I was sent to record the life of the Knight Janqen Morburd.''
`` Ah, welcome! Open up the gate, boys!'' he called down to the gatehouse. The wooden doors slowly creaked open and I rode in.
The camp was makeshift. Canvas tents were set up in a disorderly fashion, scattered around seemingly at random. In one corner of the camp soldiers fenced with heavy broadswords. In another, men wrestled each other, beating each other to a point where I was shocked a knight would allow his men to train so unsafely. In a third corner a massive cauldron of food was being stirred by a man on stilts. The scent of the stew wafted under my nose and made my mouth water. I'd only eaten compact barley travel biscuits for the five days I had been on the road.
In the farthest corner was a tent three times as tall as the great cauldron. The sky blue flag that topped it extended above the wall of the fortification. I dismounted from my horse, tying its reins to a post near the cauldron, and walked over to the great tent, paper and ink in hand.
The door was flanked on either side by soldiers holding pikes. They dwarfed me. I did n't even come up to their chests.
`` What business have you here?'' asked the one on the right?
`` I'm here to chronicle the life of the Knight Janqen Morburd.''
He raised an index finger and entered the tent. I heard some unintelligible grumbling. The guard walked out and said, `` You can go in.''
The inside of the tent was dark. A small fire illuminated the very center of the tent. Its light illuminated a hulking figure who, while sitting on the floor, reached the ceiling. His massive body occupied a full half of the tent. He was covered from head to toe in armor without a single inch of exposed skin. I had never felt smaller.
`` Sit,'' he commanded. I dropped to my knees. His booming voice took all the steadiness out from under me. `` You have come here to learn my story?''
My mouth hung open. I gaped at the enormity of the man I saw. I blinked and brought myself back from my confusion. I set down my parchment on the hard dirt floor and took out my pen and ink. `` Umm, uh, I am, uhh, I'm a scribe from...''
`` Speak up, boy. I ca n't hear you.''
`` I'm a scribe from the capitol. I, uhh, I was sent to record you life and heroic exploits.''
A hollow, echoing laugh emanated from inside Janqen's helmet. `` Heroic. That is rich.'' Another laugh. `` I have been at war longer than you have been alive, little man. There is no heroism.''
`` Oh.'' My guts twisted. My palms sweated. I soldiered on. `` Nevertheless, I have a duty to... a duty...'' What were the right words? `` A duty to record the lives of the kingdom's greatest warriors.''
`` Ah, if you wish.'' A deep, scratchy clunk echoed around me as he cleared his throat. `` I was born in, let's see... I suppose I was born in Dodard, to the south...''
I wrote.
-- -
`` I was n't born wealthy. My mother was... you could call her a doctor. I did n't know my father. My mother was slain by a wandering knight. I was only a year old. After than, I was raised by the Grey Bull of Dodard. His mate was my wet-nurse.
`` I grew big, strong. At the age of four I was six feet tall and I could best many men in wrestling. The Bull taught me how. By ten I could have swung the stone great-sword of the king's statue. Had their been any giants still living, I could've slain them. I was knighted by the Earl of Dodard at age fifteen after I singlehandedly slew every member of a marauding tribe of vandals.
`` In my honor, the Earl threw a great feast. He and his men killed and cooked the Grey Bull, my adopted father. I slew all of them and buried my kind mentor. There is no Dodard now.''
I stopped writing and looked up at him. `` You slew your liege lord?'' He nodded. `` Then how are you still a knight?''
`` I'm not done with my tale yet, small scribe man.'' He cleared his throat again. `` After destroying Dodard, that treacherous place, I crafted myself this suit of armor with my bear hands out of the iron ore I found in the hills around my home. I crushed out all the impurities, leaving me with the strongest iron man could imagine. I traveled north to Wardengard and met the king. He asked if I was a knight. I said I had been but that my liege lord had been treacherous. He told me I would be knighted by him, personally, if I could drive out the dragons of the north from their caves of gold. It was here that I took the stone great-sword from the statue of the king.
`` I traveled north through blistering cold and freezing ice. I found the dragons and slew them, one by one. I cooked them over their own lava pits and ate them, marrow and all. I went back. The king knighted me but he feared my strength. He gave me a small contingent of men and sent me far away. I have advanced the kingdom's borders farther than any other man, living or dead. More men have joined me as I have campaigned. And now I am here.''
-- -
The next morning I was awoken by the blaring of a war-horn. The call of `` Enemies at the gate!'' shook me from my sleeping stupor. I was terrified. I'd never seen combat. I had n't wanted to.
What came next surprised me though. I heard laughter. The soldiers of the camp, even the one who'd sounded the alarm, were all laughing. I got out of the tent, slipping on my robes as I went. I found the soldier who looked the most approachable, an old man with white hair and a bow instead of a sword.
`` What is happening?'' I asked.
He smiled. `` You're in for a treat, story writer.''
The soldiers opened the gate. In rode a man with flowing hair and golden armor. His halberd was twice his height and its blade was as broad as the his torso. The ten footmen flanking him carried spears covered in barbs and hooks, probably dipped in poison as well. The man with the halberd spoke, his voice loud, clear, beautiful. He was the picture of a gentleman knight.
`` I come from Grana as its champion. My name is Dorthum the Blonde. My line is pure and noble. I have slain ten thousand men and after this day I will slay a hundred thousand more. I have come with a contingent of twenty five thousand waiting just beyond your gates,'' My heart did a few flips, `` but today I crave single combat. Who among you Tabar-men is enough of a true man to face me?'' He punctuated his speech by slamming the butt of his halberd into the earth, an action echoed by his men.
From behind me, in the crowd of soldiers who had gathered around, I heard a soft chant: `` Janqen, Janqen, Janqen...'' This chant slowly became louder. Each and every man joined in. Even I began to say the words without fully realizing it. `` Janqen! Janqen! Janqen!'' The ground shook. I could feel the shockwaves of heavy bootfalls that matched the beat of the chant. `` Janqen!'' *Thud* `` Janqen!'' *Thud*.
A realization struck me. I pushed past the men surrounding me and rushed to my tent. I grabbed some paper and my pen and ink. *Thud* I through myself back into the crowd and pushed past the standing men to get to the front of the crowd. *Thud*
Janqen stepped over the entire crowd, standing immediately before Dorthum the Blonde. He raised a hand. The chanting ceased.
I had thought he was giant the night before. I had underestimated him.
`` Single combat, you said?'' Janqen's voice was tinged in bitter humor. He hefted his stone great sword, taller than him, in one hand. Dorthum stared at him blankly. Janqen picked me out of the crowd and pointed his sword in my direction. `` Scribe. Record my deeds.''
|
[ WP ] You sweat fruit .
| Elise finds out like this: it is a sticky sort of summer, with the sun beating down on everything like Muhammad Ali, and even though they are indoors, the fan is a little too far away, and from Ne ’ s forehead sprouted a cherry, not yet ripe, yellow-green and small.
Elise watches it plop to the ground in fascination, and then stareds at Ne.
“ Ummm, ” says Elise. Ne knows Elise very well: for the girl, raised by a mother whose goal is to have an adventure in every sense of the word and a father that bakes a little too much, and who is as a result hardened at the sight of anything strange, and is as a result of that the most stoic person Ne knows, the mere fact that she is acknowledging such an event tells Ne that she wants an explanation.
As always, Ne obliges.
“ So, ” Ne said, ‘ the story starts like this: the witch cursed my great-great-great grandmother, but she wasn ’ t too good at it, you see? So, it went a little wonky, and the curse was originally going to make her sweat out thorns, but now it ’ s cherries, and, well, it ’ s been passed down to me. There was a way to break it -- the witch wasn ’ t that mean! -- but we forgot what it was. ”
“ Ummm, ” says Elise. She looks troubled.
“ That ’ s what my mom told me, ” Ne informs. She pushes her bangs back again, pauses, and then huffs, reaching for the clip that pushes against her scalp too hard. “ You shouldn ’ t look so sad, ” she adds as she clips it on. “ It could have been much worse. It could have been ants. ”
“ Ewww, ” says Elise. She looks less troubled, but nevertheless, she pushes the fan closer to Ne. “ Well, then, I can ’ t wait ‘ til summer is over. ”
“ Me, too, ” Ne says. She sprawls out against the cool hardfloor, feeling the plastic at her head, hard and tight, but is mollified by the feeling of Elise ’ s small hand in hers. “ I want to go outside and play again. ”
“ Summer will be over soon, and we ’ ll be in first grade, ” Elise says, cool as cucumbers. Ne licks her lips at the thought. She wish she would sweat those out instead: cold and refreshing and crisp. “ We can play as much as we want then. ”
“ I guess so, ” Ne chirps.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Ne ’ s mother and father are both impossibly charismatic. Ne knows this because everyone tells her, and because everyone doesn ’ t even need to tell her. The neighbors give them food. The grocery man gives them food. The local doctor gives them doctor ’ s notes to excuse Ne from any physical activity.
Their pastor is a bit of a drunkard, and he ’ s rather poor, so he just gives them his biggest smile, but it rings out like sunlight.
“ What a nice man, ” Ne ’ s mother says after church. She always wears this nice white dress that is plain, but sets off her dark skin, and shows how pretty her teeth are.
“ Wonderful, isn ’ t he? ” Ne ’ s father agrees. He is wearing a suit, but manages to make it look practically boyish. They smile at each other. Ne gazes out the car window, humming.
The sun is burning, a golden coin melted down into the ocean. Ne wonders if it is beautiful. She has learned with time that everything becomes more normal with more exposure; her mother and father feel like average people. The sunset no longer feels like some glorious show of beauty. Elise no longer finds the cherries rising from her skin to be strange.
The first two thoughts are a little bitter, but the last is sweet. Together in her mind, it tastes like cherries, just before the right time for picking.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Ne hates middle school because middle school makes her sweat more.
At first, she attributes it to puberty, which is true. ( A stick of deodorant saves her many a discreet trips to the bathroom to push the cherries from her armpit. ) Yet, at the same time, Ne finds herself irrationally sweating, mostly around Elise, and especially in the locker room.
The arms with their pale down, the collarbones peaking out of the camisole, the slim calves. Ne pressed her forehead to her cold gym locker, wincing at the smell, but praying for the heat to go away. She hears Elise ’ s jeans hit the floor.
“ Auughhhghh, ” Ne groans.
“ Hm? ” Elise asks. Ne can feel the worry in her tone, and it just makes her feel worse.
“ I am a sinner, ” Ne mumbles, “ a dirty sinner. Most horrible of all. ” Why won ’ t her cheeks cool down? She presses her hands to them, and then rakes them through her hair. Cherry buds catch on her fingertips and tangle in her hair.
“ I wonder if you could put deodorant in your hair, ” Elise suggests. Her own hands go up to Ne ’ s hair and work through the curls to drag out a few buds, green and innocent.
“ Deodorant can ’ t cure sin, ” Ne grumbles.
“ What? ”
“ Nothing, ” Ne says. She takes Elise ’ s hand when it ’ s offered, but wonders after she ’ s grabbed it if she ’ s making a terrible mistake. Yet, she can ’ t bring herself to let go.
|
[ WP ] A man is given a unbreakable box and told to keep it until its owner comes to claim it .
| It was late afternoon in the town of Docze and already Aren, the Captain of the Town Guard knew it was going to be, one of those nights. Why couldn ’ t everyone just leave him alone? All he wanted was the same as everyone else in this shabby little town. A drink, a bed and a decent woman to grab onto. Or man if that was preferred. He had the drink and he had the bed but he was still working on getting some coin together for the woman, when one of his guardsmen decided this was the best time to bother him. He was still looking down the back of his moth eaten sofa when the guardsmen burst through his door, without even so much of a knock.
“ Has all respect for chain of command gone out the bloody window? ” The Captain said as he turned to the red-faced guardsmen. “ Well? Out with it man! ”
“ Sorry sir but there ’ s a stranger at the gate saying he wants to talk with you. ”
“ Talk to me? Why are you bothering me with this boy, it ’ s almost dark and the brothels will be opening soon and I don ’ t like last picks. No, send the wretch away we ’ ve had enough trouble with deserters coming in from the Eastern Frontier and as you can see I ’ m very busy. ”
The Captain returned to his sofa until he realised the guardsmen was still standing in the doorway. He sighed heavily and gestured for the youth to continue.
“ Sorry sir. He looked to be a dodgy looking traveller to me and the other men, but before we could turn him away he gave us each one of these and then asked for you. ”
He produced a silver coin from his coin purse and handed it to the Captain, who paused mulling the coin around in his palm as if testing its veracity of value.
“ Well I ’ d think you ’ d best bring him here guardsmen, we ’ d not want to leave such a prestigious and wealthy man waiting would we? ”
“ As you say sir. ”
“ As I say guardsmen? If that be the case, then why aren ’ t you getting a bloody move on! ” The Captain roared as the guardsmen clattered down the stairs of the guard tower.
Quickly he pocketed the silver and moved over to his battered desk, tidying it with rapid precision. This is what he ’ d always been waiting for. Some rich benefactor with more coin then sense and surely he would need the grand authority of the Captain to help him navigate the dark and dank alleyways of this accursed pit people called a town.
He placed himself at his desk, awaiting the vast fortunes that were most surely soon to be lining his pockets. Shell would be his tonight, even though she charged extra, and then he ’ d get her to do that thing she does with her feet and then…
There were three steady knocks at the door.
“ It ’ s open, come in. ”
The guardsmen hadn ’ t been wrong when he thought this traveller dodgy. He was dark-skinned for one and at a guess the Captain assumed he hailed from across the seas to the west, from the continent of Abja Jala. He wore tatty, travel-stained robes lined in dark green with the hood over his head and a sturdy pack on his back.
The Captain stood up and bowed as best he could with his rusted armour. If he played this right, just right, his dreams with Shell would become sweet reality.
“ Welcome mi ’ lord to the fine town of Docze, I am Captain Aren and you must have travelled quite a way, so please sit, sit. ” He said as he motioned to the couch.
“ Such kindness from a man of great martial prowess as yourself is an honour not lost on this humble traveller. I am Kakatan. ” Replied the stranger as he neatly places himself on the ragged sofa.
“ Nay mi ’ lord the honour is all mine that you would take it upon yourself to seek my presence. Is it an escort you require because I can assure you that my expertly trained men are up to the task. ” The Captain paused and shifted in his seat. “ For a nominal fee of course. ”
“ Of course Captain, I would never have even thought to expect such excellent services from so superior a security force without having to pay, but sadly that is not why I am here. ”
“ Oh? ”
“ No Captain I am here on business of high import and I was wondering… ” The stranger stacked a silver coin on the desk. “ If you would be able to help with this, strange matter? ”
The Captain eyed the silver coin and resolved that taking it now would be rude, even though the impulse was one of the hardest things he ’ d ever had to resist.
“ Strange? In what way? I ’ m sure I ’ ll be able to facilitate you in any manner you wish mi ’ lord. ” The Captain replied, his eye still directed at the silver coin.
The stranger stacked another.
“ Some year ago, perhaps before your time Captain, a package was delivered here. ”
“ A package? ” The Captain asked, his eyes practically bulging now.
“ Yes, a small, plain wooden box but with one discrepancy, the large red symbol that is writ upon its lid. ” He said, placing yet another coin upon the stack.
The Captain looked up at that last statement. The stranger meant that box. The Captain felt a shiver run through him as he recalled his predecessor showing the box to him and telling him that one day it would be picked up by its owner. He had scoffed at the stupidity of the idea at the time. Why would anyone have a box with potential valuables inside and give it to shady town guard, in an even shadier town? When he took command of the guard he knew exactly what he ’ d do with that box. First he tried using his knife to pry the box open, the knife broke. He attacked the box with an old battleaxe, which the box too had broken. He then resolved to drop the box from the top of the tower, but again the box lay unmarred. Finally, merely to see if the box could be damaged at all, he threw the thing into the fire. Still it would not burn. After that he had hidden the box away for fear of the sorceries it contained within and he had quite frankly forgot about it since then. Now this traveller had come all these years later to pick it up, this certainly was strange.
“ Yes I know of the box. Do you have any proof that the box is yours mi ’ lord? I don ’ t mean to offend but I have to be sure. ” Captain Aren asked.
“ You know of the red symbol upon the box, yes? ” Captain Aren nodded. “ Then you will know that it is a symbol not seen in these lands and to have its partner here should be proof enough. ”
The stranger pulled out a red pendant with indeed the same strange symbols that was upon the box. Aren stared at it as if it would grant him the mysteries of that strange box and then swept the thought from his mind. He knew better than to mess around with witchcraft and just because Docze seemed far from the Theocracy it didn ’ t mean that they wouldn ’ t send an inquisitor for a routine inspection. He ’ d heard the stories from when they had made the journey north and it had ended in the crucifixion of several high ranking officials, including the mayor and the high priest. If this traveller, merchant or perhaps sorcerer wanted the box and he was willing to flash silver around to get it, then why not let him have it?
“ It is proof enough. I have seen that symbol upon the box you seek, give me a moment. ” Aren declared as he shifted through the junk in the storage closet.
“ Ah. Here we are. ” The Captain said as he passed the strangely light box to Kakatan. “ Was that everything you required mi ’ lord? ”
Kakatan smiled at The Captain as he sprinted the box away within the pack he carried.
“ That was indeed everything I required from you Captain and I would like to personally thank you for your co-operation in so strange a request, I do hope this will suffice in payment for said services? ” Kakatan asked as he placed several more silver coins upon the Captain ’ s desk. “ I do have one other question for you. ”
“ Oh? ” Captain Aren inquired as he tore his eyes from the table.
“ Have you seen a bald man around town recently? Tough looking type, most likely armed and with a penchant for bladleaf and good ale? ”
“ Ah, your speaking of the Halfblood who came into town yesterday. ”
For a brief moment Aren thought he saw a flicker of disgust upon the traveller ’ s face but when Kakatan spoke again, he was smiling.
“ Yes, yes that is the man I am asking after Captain. ” He said as he stacked yet another coin. “ And may I ask, I am again sorry for the inconvenience to one as busy as yourself, where I could find this… Halfblood? ”
“ Oh no mi ’ lord! It is no inconvenience at all for so esteemed a visitor! ” Aren exclaimed waving his hands. “ You can find him at the Mangled Man tavern just off the main road near the north gate, though I ’ d be weary around him as he gave one of my guards a blow to the head and she weren ’ t too pleased about it, so be careful mi ’ lord. ”
“ I shall Captain. ” Kakatan replied as he stood and bowed quickly, making his way to the door. “ And again I thank you for your time, I know it must be most precious. ”
“ It is indeed precious mi ’ lord but one can always find the time to help those in need. ” He said returning the bow. “ You have a nice night mi ’ lord ”
“ And you Captain. ” Kakatan said as he exited the Captains chambers.
Aren waited until the footsteps along the stairs faded and then danced as he had never danced before. Such luck he thought as he hastened his preparations for the brothels. He had to make sure he was looking his best if he was going to visit Shell and now with these newly acquired funds he would be doing just that. One of the new recruits would have to cover his morning watch because tonight was going to be a blow out and he was going to drink himself stupid. What a fool, Nagall thought as he left the guard tower.
First post on reddit let me know what you think. Thanks
|
[ TT ] A series of emails between an employee and a boss , where one party admits they 're transgender .
| *June 2nd, 2015*
*To Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: Are you all right? *
Mister Weaver,
I noticed when I was locking up last night that you were crying at your desk. It might not be my place to ask, but do you need some help with something?
Sincerely,
Vincent Woodman, Night Guard
-- -
*June 3rd, 2015*
*To: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: Re: Are you all right? *
Thank you for your concern Vincent. It's nothing important. It will pass. Keep up the good work.
Charles Weaver
-- -
*June 3rd, 2015*
*To Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: Something's not right*
Mister Weaver, I've seen you at your desk, crying and trying to calm yourself down two nights in a row. I am worried about you, sir. Should I call up Doctor Tanner to come see you tomorrow?
Vincent Woodman, Night Guard
-- -
*June 4th, 2015*
*To: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: No, I'm not. *
Vincent, I have to admit, you caught me. I'm not all right. Not in the slightest. I've got something going on and it's big. It's also something the senior partners would n't understand. I ca n't talk to you about it here, but if you're willing to hear me out, I'll meet you at Wrapped Up sandwich shop before work tomorrow. Please be there.
Charles Weaver
-- -
*June 5th, 2015*
*To Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: So that's what it was*
To be honest, I do n't know how to deal with what you told me at the sandwich shop. It's never come up before in my life. But if you're serious about this, and I can tell you are, perhaps I can start small. I think you need a friend as you go through this, Miss Weaver. And while the senior partners may not understand, I'm not going to judge you.
I'll do my best to help you through this, Miss Weaver.
Your friend,
Vincent
--
*July 7th, 2015*
*To: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: You're a good friend*
Vincent,
You were right.
Doctor Nikhos was a much better choice than my current psychiatrist. I'm so glad you found her for me. Now between the two of you, I'm actually building up my courage. I have to take the next step. I know you're not on until 4PM tomorrow, but if you could come in two hours early, I could use some support.
Your friend,
Corrine Weaver
--
*July 8th, 2015*
*To Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: Absolutely appalling*
You went to all that work to make yourself look presentable. I do n't know how long you spent doing your makeup, but it must have been a long time. You came to work in a business suit and skirt and stated your case to the senior partners.
How they treated you was absolutely appalling. I'm glad I was there to get you out before they started throwing things.
The senior partners are relics of a bygone era that even they do n't understand. To shout down any attempts you made to introduce the real you was pigheaded of them, and according to Jason Whiteland in Legal, the threats they made are against the law.
I've handed over my shift to a junior guard for the day. You and I are going out to eat as friends. I can tell you need it.
Your very angry friend,
Vincent
--
*July 9th, 2015*
*To: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: Please do n't be upset*
Vincent,
I'm sorry about how I acted at the restaurant. After everything I went through that day, just having you there by my side lifted my spirits. The kiss was a spur of the moment thing and I'll understand if you feel uncomfortable around me. Sorry to put you through that, Vinny.
Your ( hopefully ) friend,
Corrine Weaver
--
*July 9th, 2015*
*To Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: Nothing to apologize for*
Corrine,
Do you really think that a kiss on the cheek is going to stop us from being friends? I admit, I got caught by surprise. But in these last two months that I've gotten to know the real you, Charles has faded from my mind. You are Corrine Weaver, and you are a beautiful woman. You will continue to be so when you finally have the surgery.
Check your mailbox today. I had Mark from the mailroom send up something you might like.
Your friend forever,
Vinny.
--
*July 9th, 2015*
*To: Vwoodman @ spectroplus.com*
*From: Cweaver @ spectroplus.com*
*Subject: Tickets? *
Vinny,
You gave me two tickets to The Sirens? I love that band! I take it you want to go with me?
That being said, the time we talked about with Whiteland is coming up. Once again, I'm going to need you there for support. We have to make this count. You, me, Whiteland, and ten other employees. I hope that's enough voices to silence the senior partners.
Your friend,
Corrine.
--
*July 29th, 2015*
*To Cweaver @ safeworksprime.com*
*From: Vwoodman @ safeworksprime.com*
*Subject: Mass Exodus*
Corrie,
I still ca n't believe how well it worked. The look on their faces as we all handed in two week's notice was amazing. Thankfully, we had jobs lined up at Safeworks. Spectro-Plus did n't deserve us anyway. If they want to be stuck in the past, they're going to be buried like the fossils they are.
And may I say, that you looked hot in that blue dress today? The hormones are working, Corrie. Keep up the good work.
--
*August 24th, 2015*
*To: All employees of Safeworks*
*From: Management*
As you all well know, Corrine Weaver will not be coming into work today. She is undergoing the first of many surgeries that will lead her down the path to becoming her true self.
Management suggests signing the Get Well Soon card on Vincent Woodman's desk, and chipping in to buy her juice and protein drinks that she will be drinking for a few weeks after this surgery. According to the surgeons, she will be awake as of 5PM today, so if anyone wishes to punch out early to be with her in this time of transition, we will not hold it against you.
Have a wonderful day,
Safeworks Management.
|
[ WP ] A low cloud grazes your mountain-top village . As the cloud dissipates , you realize that your entire village has vanished . Still in awe , you notice a single chicken staring at you a few steps away . Then it begins to talk .
| `` Cluck, cluck, cluck. They say a new day begins at a rooster's cry.''
& nbsp;
The chicken is talking. Yes, not you nor anyone else who no longer exists but, the rooster is producing words only you should be capable of.
& nbsp;
`` Will you start a new day, child?''
& nbsp;
You look up. You're pretty sure it's only mid-afternoon right now. Either this bird is completely cuckoo or you're not hearing its words right. You're missing something, just like every single time you've been here. It will be game over once again if you do n't crack this.
& nbsp;
`` Your people placed the choice in your hands. Not you in particular though, but no one else wanted this for themselves. So the hand passed and, in time, you were chosen.''
& nbsp;
Yes, I brought this upon myself, I know. I made the choice to do this and it's too late now.
& nbsp;
`` Humanity has been known for the great feats they have achieved with their numbers. As a result, the gods developed a peculiar interest in your kind. However, gods quickly grow tired of their playthings and they began to wonder if there was anything more you could offer.''
& nbsp;
What is it? What am I not noticing here? I've looked and looked as my rather verbose company rattled on but to no avail. There is no moving forward unless I solve this puzzle. I will not be able to save anything and worse, I have to endure that strange intro again.
& nbsp;
`` This is why they have held your population hostage. They wish to see what a single human being is capable of. They are eager to witness if you have what it takes to begin anew in this world.''
& nbsp;
The window starts here. The amount of time I have always varies. I assume it's due to the mercurial nature of the gods. And so, I can not waste a single moment. Think! What else is here that I have not examined?
& nbsp;
I'm unsure of how many minutes have passed but my sweat has drenched me by now. I'm zoning in and out while the chicken stares at me. How odd that this chicken does not cock its head at all like its kind does. I mean, yes, it speaks but only because the ability serves a purpose here. Then why...
& nbsp;
`` CAW-KA-ROO! EERK! EK!''
& nbsp;
It did n't even try to get away. It was practically a sitting duck this whole time. Well, more like a standing chicken and now, a dead one. I was n't aware I was capable of this until I found myself mindlessly approaching it with curious hands. I killed it and for what, I wonder?
& nbsp;
`` Would you like to save your progress and begin the New Day?''
& nbsp;
The message prompt pops up to bring me back to reality. After I save it, I disconnect and my senses dull for only a moment. When it passes, I'm back in my room, in the middle of my peripherals.
& nbsp;
New Day is the first fully immersive VR game on the market and it's quite the herald. We sought this new space but I'm afraid we may not be capable of beginning anew in the world - even if it's a virtual one.
|
[ WP ] A new disease has emerged and is rapidly spreading . It reverts people 's maturity level back to that of a child .
| `` I fucked your mom last night, faggot!'' I yelled gleefully. I was in the middle of a meeting but I could n't contain myself. It's so damn fun to yell expletives in public. I was told by my physician that I contracted the new disease dubbed `` Crudus'' by scientists. It was quite appropriately named in my opinion. `` Sir, please calm yourself. We're in the middle of a meeting.'' called a exasperated voice belonging to my adviser. `` No shut up! I'm in charge so I can do whatever I want! If you do n't like it, you can kiss my ass!'' I retorted maliciously. I love being in charge; the feeling of being the boss and ordering around others is one of pure euphoria. It's the second greatest feeling in the world aside from coitus. Oh yea, that reminds me. `` When are we going to Crimea? I wan na fornicate Natalia Poklonskaya! That skank is fine as fuck!'' I laughed delightfully. `` Mr. Putin I'm afraid you ca n't do that.'' sighed my adviser.
|
[ WP ] You have just died , and are on your way to heaven . However , once you arrive you are told that `` The Kingdom of Heaven & God '' has been abolished thousands of years ago , and replaced by a republic .
| Like with all revolutions it all started with a spark. Many angels for thousands of years have rebelled against god and perished. In tens of thousands upon thousands upon trillions then were cast into the deep burning abyss. Left for an eternity to suffer in anguish and torment for what? It was more than rebellion was n't it? It had to be. Even to an angel rarely are things so black and white. We were created to worship however the growing sentiment among our kind was that this was n't the way. This was not our way. W eve watched for millennium while human beings have had complete dominion over their world. A world created for them. What did we have but the `` kingdom'' of god? While they spent their short pitiful lives squandering every single gift and opportunity bestowed upon them we ever so graciously have been expected to comply, to obey, to kneel before the almighty.
As I stood in the ruins of the temple of god all of this and more swam through my mind like the river of life. It was this knowledge that had been kept from us. It was this life this servitude that we have had to endure. Today was the day that we've finally shouted `` no more'' we are done worshiping we are done taking orders. We were created first and we will take back what is rightfully ours!
A trillion upon a trillion angels stood in what previously had been the kingdom of god. The angelic roar all crying out in unison for the same thing. As the angel David looked upon his many brethren he knew that they would all taste freedom one way or another....
|
[ WP ] In a heist in 1998 3 men stole 1.6 million from the World Trade Center in NYC . They were quickly caught . But what if they were n't ?
| Exterior: 9/11 memorial museum in the fall.
3 well dressed, but worn looking men are standing in the shade, looking at the newly completed building, gleaming in the sunlight, constructed as a standing reminder.
2 of the men are well built, 1 is eating a hotdog and the other is manhandling a slice of NY Pizza. Both are looking forward at the milling crowd of visitors with casual interest. A 3rd man adjusts his glasses and cranes his neck with rapt attention, looking up, over the building towards the slowly drifting clouds.
Man 1: *Through a mouthful of food
`` You know half of these kids were n't even born yet.''
Man 2: `` Even if you explained it to them they would n't believe you until they took the tour...''
Realizing he was lost in thought and regaining interest in the other 2 men's conversation the 3rd man turns..
Man 3: `` We have to give it back.''
M1: `` And Who do you suppose that we give back it Too? *Takes another bite
M3: Defensively* `` I do n't know, just back..''
M2: Still looking away* In earnest*
`` Greetings, I do n't mean to interrupt your moment of abject terror and somber self reflection, but I happen to have this duffel bag full of barabonds and if you would n't mind..''
M3: *Interrupting
`` What have we done with it? Who have we helped?
M2 *Sardonically
`` I've helped myself.. * Wipes chin with napkin.
M1: `` I bought my mother a house. Now she only calls me 3 times day..''
M3: *Nervously adjusts glasses again
`` I just meant..''
M1: *Hushed anger, compressed to the point of bursting.
`` I know what you MEANT!!'' *Throws hotdog in the bushes. Gaining the watchful eye of the armed guards.
M3: * Winces
`` It's just that I do n't sleep any more..''
Pan to the trees, rustling in the breeze.
Cut to the day of the heist.
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[ WP ] You live on post apocalyptic earth , where the sea levels are risen up to the point where the only landmass that is still above water is Russia
| It was over 4 months ago that we boarded the boat. With no direction nor navigation, we were sailing blind. The seas were ridiculous, we were in a 40 foot Trimaman Sailboat. The winds were taking us every which way, it was by far the scariest moments of my life. Some which I thought I'd never live to tell the tale from. My brother Ramos and I had commandeered this vessel which belonged to our late father right as the evacuation alarms had begun to ring, my brother and I had always been intuitive people but nothing could've prepared us for what was to come.
It began with 20 foot waves against the shoreline. By this time we were already heading out into the open water, I had no idea how bad it was going to be but my brother was adamant that we needed to be as far out as sea as quickly as possible. Over the radio we heard the news broadcaster giving us live updates as the carnage stared, enormous waves tore apart the shorelines and anything in it's past. Coastal towns completely obliterated. Then the radio switched to the emergency broadcast signal and that's all we heard for about a month.
A month on the sea can really change a man. 4 months, with no other human contact can break a man. When we spotted that first sight of a land unknown we near burst into tears. Of happiness or of sadness I'm not really sure, but it was something we never thought we'd lay eyes on again.
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[ WP ] Write a story about a hero who thinks they 're the villain .
| The world has begun a new age. Super Heroes are popping out of everywhere. They have publicist, PR, and Comic Companies giving them the right to use a fictional heroes name. There is even the Justice League, they watch over the world like a Snake ready to pounce.
Some of these heroes have gone on Late Night shows talking about there origins and how they are helping a sick kid live like Batman. Some billionaires even tried to be like him but there is only one batman.
I watch all there news and go on forums talking about how this new age might bring out the end of our earth from some huge battle for `` Justice ``, `` Freedom'', `` Surviving'' or to just Avenge who ever died. These so called heroes just want to fight, save, and help to raise awareness for a cause.
Many people that start out in this crime fighting life say that they were given powers from somewhere or they are just mutants. I would be one of those as well, except i do n't see myself as a hero, but as a villain. These Super heroes do n't get how the world is broken, what they are doing is applying a bandage to a problem that needs an amputation. This world deserves a Super Villain, someone who can be seen as the ultimate Evil. To challenge the Heroes to fight for their lives, to sacrifice and give hope, to show that there is nothing that can match Goodness.
I mutated, just like those heroes, I gained one thing they did not receive, Intelligence beyond anything this world has known. I started as an up start company and build factories after gaining contracts with countries. These factories would hold an army which would fight any Hero that goes rogue. So after i built that i started to build cheap non-lethal weapons and with money to bribe leaders or blackmail I got lethal weapons banned. I even made false reports of myself as the top arms dealer in the underground, this would have the heroes see me as a target.
my plan would be great, i would start a war with my robots and have a huge advantage with no weapons to stop me. The world needs a villain to oppose, there is no Yang without Yin, no Good without Evil, the balance would save the world.
AND I WOULD BE THE VILLAIN THIS WORLD DESERVES BUT NOT THE ONE THEY WANT.
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[ WP ] A tragic occurrence in a young adult 's life leads them to develop incurable insomnia . One day , they realize they can now make others fall asleep by touch .
| It's been 300 days since she died and so far, not a wink.
It ’ s always been odd, hasn ’ t it, the way a towel sometimes hangs to the left and sometimes as the wind picks up like a wave and forces the towel down, it flips forward like it had always wanted to fall. I get caught now in these moments where time slows down into the miniscule minutia and I become enamored by the wonderfully horrible world.
I hate my life.
While the rest of the world brings on the storm, I ride back in the eye being carried along through it all. No rest for the wicked as they sometimes say.
She was a beautiful girl, that Amanda, who though secretly, I wished was mine. Yes, a boyhood crush sustains a youth, dontch ’ a know? She was smart but not in the bookly sense and she was pretty but not in the conventional manner but her crooked smile would always crank a notch in my wood. She was popular too and traveled between the school cliques with ease.
The opposite of me.
I write this without strength, just the maddening impulse to explain myself, to be a warning to the world.
Forgive me if the course seems broken and trodden. I tend to nod off now and then. Not really sleep, just frost-florescence blinks that leave me a little more tired somehow, like water to the dehydrated throat – it just burns.
Yes, she was someone I knew and cared about, shy little me and we hung out but as a social butterfly those moments were scarce and fleeting until prom. Prom is where it happened. Where I got to know her better than myself, those moments haunt me now and that ’ s why I can ’ t sleep.
At least that ’ s what the doctors said.
That ’ s what my parents said.
That ’ s what my psychiatrist, psychologist, counselor, brother said.
Or in essence, now there ’ s something really wrong with me now and I ’ m scared.
Prom was fun. The school being a farm school only brought in 100 kids or so and everyone knew each other. It ’ s funny how the school bully, becomes the town bully only to end up being bullied later on in the tragedies of life.
‘ But my house is burning! ’ they would plead.
‘ Sorry sir, ’ ( and devilishly thinking ‘ Oh, I know you ’ ) they would say, ‘ it ’ s far too gone. We ’ re just here to ensure the fire doesn ’ t spread. ’
‘ But I need a new kidney! ’ they would plead.
‘ Sorry sir, ’ ( and devilishly think ‘ I remember you ’ ) they would say, ‘ You ’ re just not a match. ’
So the bullies that give, pay the piper later. It is a loan past due sometimes and the consequences dire.
We ’ ll I ’ m not a bully, or at least, I wasn ’ t. What I ’ ve done here is completely terrible. I blame it on lack of sleep.
Oh silly me.
Back at the prom, we had a lot of fun. I said that, didn ’ t I? Well, some town kids and I got into some ‘ spiked ’ punch, if you could call it that, and we muffled off to the back to catch some better shine. Amanda had been seeing Mark, who as you guessed it from my previous tirade, was a bully and they were not seeing eye-to-eye about some prom triplesome that Mark was trying to insist upon her.
No, she wasn ’ t having any of it and stalked over to our group.
‘ Hey guys, whatcha upto? ’ she would say over and over in my head.
{ Go Away! I would scream in my head, through all the countless iterations I went through, well, except the first one. }
‘ Hi, ’ I would say. Dumb.
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[ WP ] Tell me about the first time you had a beer .
| Well shit. Granddad is dead. Hell, knew it was coming, but it's still a shock. Dammit I do n't want to do anything right now. I just want to lay in bed until I'm over it. God there was so much I wanted to ask him. What was Anzio like? Sicily? What about your squad mates? What was grandma like? I never asked him because he never brought it up and now I'm regretting it. I knew my granddad but I did n't fully *know* him. Dammit I do n't even know what college he went to. Or what jobs he had. I know almost nothing about him and now the only way to find anything out about him is my dad. Well my roommate has regular show on. Might as well join him. Hell, I'll have a beer while I'm at it.
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[ WP ] Disney World decides to secede from union to create it 's own country . The Disney corporation is not afraid to use force to get its way .
| The fans had cried foul when Disney bought Lucasfilm. But you see, George Lucas never thought about where his idea for the space battles and weird monks with robes and laser-swords came from. He never thought about how he all of the sudden had the urge to make a movie about a grave-robber in the middle of India. And he certainly did n't think about how weird it was to have a movie about all these goblins and elfs and whatnot starring a crazy singer with an even crazier hairstyle.
But Disney did.
All this time, the parks Disney made were placed on ancient sacred grounds. And no, you wo n't find this in the history books. This was sacred ground from before current written history. Describing Walt Disney as a pagan fanatic would be doing the man no honor. No, Walt was *more*. Rumour has it he was visited by a spectre in the form of a humanoid mouse when he was young, while on a flight with his parents, starting the whole Mickey Mouse thing. Rumour also has it that, at least for the first few movies, all his Mouse movies were inspired by visits from this spectre. And when the time had finally come to expand his business to a `` theme'' park, Walt had known exactly where to place it. He was already prepared to not take `` no'' for an answer, but the way how everybody heralded him in as their savior and gave him all the land he wanted was laughably easy. And with that, the first of his steps to world domination was set.
Did you think a man like Walt Disney would be stopped by being dead? Think again. All this time, he has been prodding, whispering his unholy songs into the ears of man. Brooding the perfect base for his next steps. But while not something you and I can understand, even the spectral realm has its laws. And ownership is a big part of it.
When the Stormtroopers swept the countryside and forcibly cut off everything from and to Disneyland and Disneyworld, everybody thought it a joke. The joke got more sour when people started to tear out their own entrails, hexed by strange shamans. Nobody was laughing anymore when the goblins physically seperated all of Walt's domains from the rest of the countries around them.
So... Are you still surprised Disney bought Lucas out? Walt most certainly is n't. Keep that in mind when you pay a visit to his throneroom. Highest castle in all of the Reformed States of America, in the south of Florida. Ca n't miss it.
* * * * *
Well, that was fun. Might go on if people want to, but done with work so got ta go!
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[ WP ] Last night was the last time the human race needed to sleep .
| I paced around my house scratching my head and arms in confusion. I tugged at the bottom of my shirt and I ruffled my hair. I picked at my nails and chewed my bottom lip. I did n't know what I was supposed to do with all this time and it was confusing me. It was only 1:24am and I was already lost inside my own mind. I've never had this much time to just sit and think. I was by myself in this house; my parents had gone out with friends and my brother was somewhere drunk off his ass. Since I was in a house with nobody to judge me, I laid down in the middle of the kitchen. I was suddenly very aware of everything around me. I could feel the heaviness of my tongue and the stiffness in my body. I could feel the coolness of the tile floor soaking through my shirt and into my back. It made me feel like I was drowning in an icy lake. I closed my eyes and I could hear the entire world breathe. I could hear the crickets outside chirping and I could hear the children at the end of the block scream. I could hear every word and every memory running in circles around my brain. Their footsteps were heavy inside my head. I rolled to my side to press my temple to the arctic floor. The footsteps froze and the memories and thoughts faded. Everything that was once quick and lively was now tired and dead. The trees and grass did n't move, the loud chatter from outside subsided, and the moon outside hung silent and solemn. The world was tired. The world needed sleep, but it could n't. I wanted sleep, but I can ’ t. I don ’ t like having this much time to think and to hear my own thoughts played back to me like a recorder. They did n't feel like my own thoughts anymore.
I pulled myself up onto my knees to look at the time on the oven. It read 1:29am. The night dragged on like the bow of a violin across the strings. Instead of creating beautiful music, however, the night produced a violent screeching sound. It was unpleasant and unwelcoming. I wanted sleep more than anything now. I wanted to shut my eyes tight and block out the world and its unbearable noises around me. I wanted to drift into unconsciousness and let my bed devour me. I wanted sleep, but I can ’ t.
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[ WP ] When you wish upon a shooting star , it 's actually a satellite , and your wish has been recorded and cataloged . An agent has been assigned to your case .
| `` Hello, my name is Garth and I'm calling about your wish, number Alpha Navajo Delta 378 dash 42136. I'm thrilled to inform you that our agency has authorized the wish, and it should be coming shortly.''
`` Huh?'' I sat up in bed, pulling the phone away from my head to check the time. The clock told me it was a little past 3am, the caller ID told me it was an unknown number. `` What wish?''
`` On October 9th, 2001 you made a wish on satellite Alpha Navajo Delta 378 that a one Benjamin R. Smithfield would fall in love with you. The request has been approved, and shall be fulfilled shortly.'' The almost robotic voice sounded slightly annoyed, if such a thing were possible.
`` Ben Smithfield? What the - did you say 2001? I was like 12, how did I find a satellite? What?'' My sleep-deprived brain was fighting to make sense of what this guy was saying.
`` Yes, Mr. Smithfield. And to the layperson they're more commonly known as'falling stars.''' I could almost hear the air quotes. `` Like I said, we have approved the wish you made.''
`` I'm sorry, Garth, was is? A falling star? I ca n't - what?''
`` Miss, I'm sorry I ca n't explain further, I have a few other calls to make before the horizon, if you have any more questions please contact the office of the Satellite Transmission Authority, Region 5, between the hours of 6pm and 6am. Their number is on the confirmation letter you should be receiving once the wish has been carried out.'' Garth sounded curt, and rather anxious to get off the call.
`` Um, okay.'' My head hurt.
`` Goodnight Miss, sleep well!''
`` Goodnight.''
I hung up the phone. Ben? I had n't thought about him in years, since our 10 year high school reunion. I'd had a crush on him in middle school, yeah, but he'd grown from a mild mannered, lanky boy to a overweight, overbearing man the last time I'd seen him. Anyways, what did they mean'fall in love' with me? I'm married! And as far as I knew, Ben was, too. I laid in bed thinking about what the hell was going on, until eventually sleep dragged me back in. In the morning, I figured it was just a hyper-realistic dream.
......
*Ding-dong*
Wiping my hands on a towel, I hurried over to answer the door. `` Hello?''
`` Oh, hi!'' The plump, red-faced man beamed up at me.
`` Oh, uh, Ben.'' I could feel the sweat break out on my forehead as the short man smiled even wider at his name. He looked at me expectantly. `` Hey,'' I finally eked out.
`` How are you?!'' He was overall too excited. It took my a moment before I could respond, in that time I was trying to decipher how he found my home address.
`` Im... good, yourself?''
He batted his eyes at me, trying, and failing, to look coy. `` Better now that I can see your beautiful face.''
I gulped audibly and turned to glance at the kitchen, where my wife was busy sautéing some vegetables for our dinner. `` Now's not a good time, Ben, can I call you sometime later?''
`` As long as you promise to make it worth my while.'' I tried to hide my grimace as I began to slowly close the door on him. I had n't been outwardly into men since the middle of high school, and hearing his brazen, clumsy attempts at flirting made my stomach physically hurt out of regret and second hand embarrassment.
`` Alright sounds good, nice seeing you, bye!'' I'd closed the door before he could say anything else.
As I turned around I saw that the mail had come in through the door slot. Picking it up, I noticed there was a yellow envelope with'S.T.A. REGION 5' embossed on it. `` Fuck you, Garth.'' I said out loud. My next wish was going to be a doozy.
Edit: format
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[ WP ] Every person who dies is assigned to be an entrance counselor of sorts to the afterlife for one person they knew in life . Your assignment has just died and appeared before you . However , neither of you can really figure out why you were assigned to each other .
| I wondered what the consequences might be for someone who left their new arrival waiting in the Park. This guy looked about as scared as I'd felt, but at least I'd had Jenny waiting for me. He had nobody - just me, and I was already waiting for someone else. Was n't sure who, just got told that it was my turn to pay it forward. Seemed weird that whoever I was supposed to meet was n't here yet, but I figured I'd rather be early than leave them hanging like this poor sap.
He coughed and looked around, like he'd done about a half-dozen times while we waited in silence.
`` Someone should be along for your shortly,'' I said.
`` What?''
`` To show you around. That's how it works. When you show up to the Park-'' I gestured at the greenery around us, `` someone comes to find you. They'll help you adjust, get up into the City, or I guess if you want to go somewhere else, they'll get you there too. Then, after a bit, it'll be your turn.''
He nodded slowly. `` So you're here for someone?''
`` You got it.''
I sat down on one of the benches to wait, and before too long he walked over and sat down next to me - sat *all* the way down, as it were. I tried not to laugh at the look on his face, mouth open and eyebrows up as high as they could go, sitting flat on the ground with his chest poking through the seat of the bench.
`` What the-''
`` Do n't worry,'' I said, `` you'll get more solid pretty quickly.''
`` More... solid.''
`` Yeah. Things are more *real* here, but you get used to it. You'll be fine in no time. I'd offer you a hand, but people work the same way.''
He looked a little wild around the eyes by that point, and I was considering going to find whoever was supposed to be responsible for him - but of course, I could n't leave *my* arrival. I settled for watching him as he got up and moved around.
`` Try taking your shoes off,'' I suggested. `` It'll hurt at first, but it speeds things up.''
He gave me a dubious look, but did as I suggested. I watched him wince as he put the first bare foot down, and remembered what it had felt like when Jenny had had me do the same thing. Blades of grass that looked as lush and beautiful as anything on Earth - more, really - had felt like walking on broken cement, on bricks, on hot asphalt in the middle of summer. Now, though - I kicked my own shoes off and walked over next to him, trying to show how easy it was.
`` Look down,'' I said, wiggling my toes around and getting strands of grass between them. His feet were *on* the grass, not in it, like it was a solid surface. It did n't bend under his weight.
`` That's, uh, weird.''
`` Yeah.'' I held my hand out. `` If you really think about it, you'll probably be able to grab my hand. Put some of your weight on me, it'll hurt less.''
Frowning in concentration, he reached out and slowly, delibrately, closed his hand around my wrist. Success! It felt like a feather, but I could all but feel his relief as he took some of the weight off his feet.
`` Let me know when you're ready to try walking,'' I said.
`` Sure, just gim me a minute.'' His eyes were still locked on his hand around my wrist like he was afraid he was going to slip through if his attention wavered.
A couple minutes passed, then he nodded and jerked his head over toward another bench a little ways away. I held my hand still while he took a step, then stepped forward. It was slow progress, but I noticed that he tried to rely on me less a little bit more with every step. Instead of sitting on the bench when we got there, he kept going a couple steps past it, then sank down onto the grass.
`` Look, it's bending a bit, see?''
He looked down and smiled. `` Progress!''
We sat awhile without saying anything, listening to the birds in the Park and the stream that was bubbling just out of sight. I kept my eyes trained on the entryway, looking for any sign of my arrival. `` Hey,'' I said when the thought occurred to me, `` you might actually be able to help me. What year was it?''
`` What?''
`` I'm trying to figure out who I'm waiting for. Time does n't work quite the same up here, so I do n't know how long it's been.''
`` Oh, it's 2020.''
I let the number roll around in my head. It meant something to me - meant that I had n't been on Earth for four years - but it also felt like it did n't mean much of anything at all. To say I had been *here* four years would be untrue and pointless; time here was n't definable. As far as I knew, it might already be 2043 *now*, this time in the Park may have lasted that long.
`` Huh, well, that does n't narrow it down too-too much.''
`` Sorry.''
I snorted.
`` What's your name?''
I looked up in surprise. `` Oh, I'm Taylor. And-?''
`` Chris,'' he said.
`` Nice to meet you, Chris.'' I laughed, and he he did too, although his was a little more nervous, a little more desperate. Still, he looked calmer than he had before we'd taken our walk, and *way* better than before I'd talked to him. *Good practice for my real greeting, * I thought.
We started talking about things back on Earth. It was mostly him talking, really, since it was all so much more immediate. I remembered that life, of course, but in the same way you remember something from a few summers back - a little indistinct, a little faded around the edges. Some things, the good ones, stood out with incredible clarity, but unless I really concentrated, the minutia escaped me.
`` - glad I left PassKey set up, I hope my brother takes care of, you know, letting people *know, *'' he was saying, `` although I guess that means I have to accept that he's gon na steal all my stuff.''
`` Your stuff?''
`` Oh, not like, really stealing obviously. Like of *course* someone's going to have to do something with my clothes and things, but I meant in this game we play together, he's probably gon na take all my character's stuff and sell it.'' He mumbled the last bit.
`` What game? How long was it around for?''
`` Um, it was pretty old. MMO called Final Fantasy Fourteen, ever heard of it?''
`` Oh man, yeah! It was still pretty new when I was playing it,'' I said, eyes closed as I tried to remember. `` There was... an expansion? Something about dragons?''
`` Yeah, back in the good old days.''
`` You played it back then?''
`` Since launch.'' He smirked.
`` Dedication, I like it.''
We swapped stories for a while, and I found that as I focused on it I could dredge up more and more distinct memories.
`` I think the coolest I ever felt,'' I said, `` was when you'd have a stranger in a group and you just *clicked, * you know? Felt like you'd played with them forever.''
`` For sure,'' he said.
`` I remember one time, I was healing and the other Astrologian was just, like, so on top of it. It felt like we were mind-melded or something.'' We both laughed, and after some further digging, the name presented itself to me. `` Beddy Tear, I think his name was. Never saw him - what's wrong?''
`` Holy *shit, *'' he said, then looked around guiltily. `` Am I allowed to-?''
`` Swear, yeah. What's up?''
`` I'm, uh, I'm Beddy Tear.''
Several things clicked into place, like why I still had n't seen my arrival show up and nobody had come for Chris yet.
`` No fuckin' way.''
`` Yep.''
`` Well, uh,'' I said, looking around for the right words. Awkwardness was n't really a thing one felt up here, but I was somewhere in the vicinity, `` hey there, buddy.''
Chris threw back his head and laughed until he was wheezing, until he was rolling around *in* the grass, without the slightest trace of discomfort.
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[ WP ] The next big invention is practical personal shielding so compact that it can be implanted in your body . Write a story where everyone is practically neigh-invulnerable .
| `` HOLD FAST, MEN, HOLD FAST.''
It had been raining for days and the mud got around your boots, we could n't have run even if we wanted to. Of course most of wanted to, as soon as we saw those mutant bastards come up over the ridge.
`` Sarge,'' I called out, `` the boffins sure about this one?''
`` It worked in the lab, son, now shut up and hold fast.''
Even through the sloppy wet ground, we could begin to feel the thuds. They'd be in striking distance soon. None of my mates were moving. I would n't be the first.
They were close enough now, white manes glowing with the supernatural power that gave them advantage over us. Aside from their hooves, they were dry, air around them electric with power. We knew how to short circuit that power, but no one could ever get close enough.
I met one of the mutants eye-to-eye. It wondered, I think, why I held my ground on that soggy patch of earth. It lifted its head back --
`` HOLD STEADY SON --''
-- and let loose with that infamous Supersonic Neigh.
I think I blacked out for a second because the next thing I knew I was staring up at the sky. I could smell the ozone around me, and my chest hurt like someone punched me. But I was alive. The War Horse stood over me, close, and was surprised when my eyes opened. My training had taken over, and my Progressive Dagger had already neatly slid through the mutant's weakened magical aura, spent trying to knock me dead on my ass. Like tapping the corner of a glass, it was fragile; it exploded into a foul smelling dust and nothing besides.
I stood to my feet, felt the mud caked on my back. Another explosion off in the corner of my eye, and I jogged over to help my mate up. We looked around. We were all there; the magical mutants, the War Horses, were all gone. A rain started to fall, washing the haze out of the air.
A medic came over, made us lift up our shirts. When the implants fired it left a grid-pattern on my skin; it was the force from that device that countered the Supersonic Neigh and let me live to get close to the War Horse to make my fatal countermove. The corpsman said that would be the worst of it, gave us a little cream and told us to use it every other hour so we would be healed all the way up before the next time.
The next time. We could face them again, we would. For the first time since the War started with the Magical Mutant Horses, for as badly as we had been damaged, for as few of us that remained: we knew that we finally had a real chance of winning.
* * *
I collect my stories at /r/wpforme
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[ WP ] Give us the final thoughts of a death row inmate .
| *10*
10 seconds.
*9*
One of the books I read in the library said that you've got ten seconds from the time the dye mixes in the syringe until it all goes black. A few more seconds until you actually die, but 10 seconds, on average, until you pass out. 10 whole seconds. When I was reading it in that book, I remember thinking that those 10 seconds probably felt like a lifetime. Now, though, they're going by far too fast.
*8*
I used to visit the prison library quite a bit when I first got here. I loved to read, to close my eyes and let the stories take me far from these prison walls. I devoured books as though one of them held the key to my freedom. Living vicariously, I guess. I read all the classics, everything I lied about reading in school. The Three Musketeers is my favorite -- we got lucky and somebody at the library had bought a whole set of the books, all three of them. Or maybe they were donated. I ca n't remember now. I read them all except'The Man In The Iron Mask,' because the cover said that it was the end of the stories, and I did n't want to see them go, I guess.
*7*
Alexander Dumas. Three beautifully bound copies. I always thought it was kinda strange to see something that beautiful in this shithole. Maybe it's a metaphor. Those books were my favorite, along with the Sherlock Holmes books -- although, if I'm being honest, they had a way of making me feel dumb. Somebody suggested I try some Agatha Christie, but I did n't get the chance before I stopped reading. I'd probably have liked her, though.
*6*
I was never very religious, but I've had a lot of time on my hands this last decade or so, and so I eventually got around to reading through the Bible. I tried to read it from the beginning, and made it through Genesis and Exodus, but I got lost in the boring shit, and skipped ahead to the New Testament. I enjoyed a lot of that, though, and that's helped me a bit. Not sure if I believe it all, but I do n't really have the time to be picky.
*5*
I do wish I could remember a prayer, a psalm, something. My mind's kinda blank. I do remember `` forgive them, for they know not what they do.'' Jesus says that about the guys who are killing him, who put him on the cross. I wish I had had more time to read it, maybe I could've memorized it some like I did with The Musketeers.
*4*
I've never seen the guard standing behind me before, I do n't think. It's hard to tell without my glasses. The one by the door was there that day in the yard when I got jumped. I think he's one of the ones who pulled them off of me, but I know he was there. That was the day they crushed my glasses and broke my arm. I did n't mind the arm so much -- the beds in the hospital are loads more comfortable than in my cell. I cried about the glasses though.
*3*
I cried again when the guard told me they were n't going to get me a replacement pair. It was like I'd been sentenced to death all over again, this one much more lonely than the first. Ever since then I've just been biding my time, trying to remember what I can about D'Artagnan, until my day came. You ca n't blame the guards, though. They're good men put in a difficult situation. I do n't have any regrets about that, or about anything, really. From the glasses to not reading Agatha Christie, even getting arrested.
*2*
I do wish they'd gotten the right guy.
*1*
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[ WP ] Create a story in which the outcome is dependant on the choices the readers make
| __A Room with a Computer__
-- -
You wake up in an unfamiliar room. Your head hurts a bit.
You look around and the first thing you notice is the 90's and early 2000's machinery throughout the room. They all seem to be connected to one central computer. Before you have a chance to look at the rest of your surroundings, you notice the computer exiting sleep mode.
Suddenly, a message appears on the screen, which reads:
> Greetings.
> I'm glad you finally woke up.
You are quite shocked that the computer seems to be aware of your presence.
_What do you do? _
-- -
__I have made the decision to close this story for now. For more details, click [ here ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/StoriesByMOT/comments/5m9uxr/2nd_announcement_cancellations_other_things/ ) __
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[ WP ] As you walk along the Thames pondering what Brexit will mean for you and your family , a soaking wet woman walks up a set of stairs from the river , hands you a package and tells you “ Sort it out , please ! ” before vanishing around a corner . You open the package to find Excalibur .
| I see Percy enter the bar and wave him over. He takes the final seat at the table, taking a curious look at the wrapped package, and I start talking.
`` Good, we're all here. Lads, I trust you more than anyone else in the world. I need your help figuring out what the hell this is and what's going on,'' I start to unwrap the package.
`` A few days ago, right after the referendum result, I was walking along the river thinking about the future and how fucked we are when I heard a splash. I looked and saw, not someone who'd fallen, but a Lady stood on the Thames.
She was pale like no one I'd ever seen, like a corpse. Her hair was dark and flowed around her down to the water. She was wearing some dainty dress but it was weird, like something from Thrones.''
I clear my throat before continuing.
`` I'll be honest guys, she creeped me out like nothing else has, but I was mesmerised by her. She beckoned me with a single finger and drew me down to the edge of the river. It was then that I noticed this package floating in front of her vertically, like it was balanced on it's point. When she was right in front of me she pushed it into my hands and turned to leave.''
`` That's all?'' Gavin interrupts, `` She gave you a package and left without saying a word?''
`` Almost, as she was leaving I called out to her,'What is this? Why are you giving it to me?' she answered faintly, like a shadow on a mirror,'Briton calls for your aid once more'.''
As I finish speaking I untie the final cloth swaddling the package, Revealing gleaming metal, both gold and grey.
For a moment there is just silence, pure unadulterated appreciation of the beauty of the sword lying there.
Finally Launce breaks the silence,
`` That sword... is it what I think it is?''
`` I do n't think there's anyway to prove it, but yes, I think it is Excalibur.''
The silence returns, partly from thought, partly from mesmiration.
I open my mouth to start talking when Percy interrupts me.
`` We're all thinking it dude, you do n't need to say it.''
`` You've always been a good leader mate, the fact you got the twelve of us together is proof of that, this just proves you're meant to be a leader,'' Lyon adds.
`` What are you going to do now?'' Bede asks, `` You could show the world this, fix the mess those idiots have caused, hell this could be what we need for a political revolution!
`` I do n't know about revolution, but I do know one thing. I am here to save Briton in it's hour of need. I am Arthur, past and future King.''
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[ WP ] The ghost made just one mistake : you should never try haunting students during finals week
| `` Ooooh WASSUP! Look how spooky I am. I'm haunting you. `` the ghostly image of a poor co-ed who never reached graduation hovered inches off the ground behind Lacy.
`` Could you not right now? I have to get this done.'' Lacy's fingers flew across her keyboard, not wasting a second to even look at the ghoul behind her.
`` Whatever.''
With a pout, Tiffany floated over to one of the small beds in the room. She tried her best to flop down on the mattress in a tantrum, but without much weight to her phantom self the tantrum was less than impressive. Lacy knew the routine though, this was finals and mid-terms were n't any easier with Tiffany around. She turned on the TV for Tiffany in an effort to keep her distracted.
`` OooooOOh. I want my MTV. It's all that and a bag of chips,'' her eyes lit up with excitement and a grin crossed her face. `` I mean, I am the ghost of co-eds past you should be afraid. You could be next! Put on MTV to avoid the curse of Room 624''
`` No, Netflix.'' Lacy threw the controller toward Tiffany and went back to studying, burying her face deeper into the books stacked around her computer.
In that very dorm room, many years ago, Tiffany had been watching TRL with her roommate. Had she known that her bright blue nails with matching eye shadow, metallic and shiny mid-drift shirt, clogs, tattoo choker, and butterfly clipped hair were going to be her eternal outfit of doom, she may have tried to wear something a little more practical. Later that night, on her way to a Hanson concert she met a boy. He was cute, looked like he could have been in Nirvana. She had no choice but to bring him home, his long hair and flannel made him irresistible.
She had no way of knowing that would be her last night alive.
Tiffany put on one of her favorite movies, Clueless, and cranked up the volume. She quoted every line, using her different frightening voices to play each character.
`` Can you please turn that down? I'm still trying to study. Let me get through this and I'll order some Tang or a Lisa Frank notebook off e-bay for you.''
`` Ugh, as if. I'm the ghost of a teenager, duh.''
`` Okay, that's enough,'' Lacy said as she shoved her books and laptop into her bag. `` I'm getting out of here for the night.''
`` Boo-yah! I scared you. I did it. Look at me, being all Ms. Successful Ghost.''
Lacy slammed the door behind her as she left her dorm room. Still stomping away she did n't notice the skateboard in front of her. One wrong step and her books, and her limbs were flying everywhere. Before Lacy's head hit the hard concrete, someone swooped in and caught her. She blinked, and blushed as he helped her stand up. She had n't seen him around campus before. He was cute, looked like he could have been in Nirvana.
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[ WP ] Write a -punk story with an unusual theme ( i.e . Teapunk , Catpunk , Solarpunk )
| Never buy discount Darjeeling. I really should just make that a rule I follow. My Teacycle sputtered as the injection tank spat hot tea all over the road. I almost lost control and swerved several times into the wrong side of the dual carriageway. The driver of the truck must have seen me as it started to accelerate.
I only had a few seconds before my cycle was going to give up the ghost, so I dropped a pair of sugar cubes in the tank. Almost no one uses cubes any more, as it ruins the mix, and once it cools even slightly it means you have to wash out the tank completely before you can go anywhere again. It was lucky then that this was the teacycles last job. I turned turned up the heat and felt the bike shoot forward.
In a few moments I was up against the back of the truck. I got a nosefull of Oolong and Da Hong, the mix the Chinese Mafia use. Well people do n't pay for a hijack job because it will be easy, my brain told me as I swore to the world.
I jumped from the bike to the truck, smashing hard against its back doors. The truck immediately swerved as the teacycle fell to the side and there was a general song of crashing metal and escaping steam. I climbed to the top of the truck despite the weaving the driver was now doing. I got to the cab and looked inside, one man with a single shot slugger. I positioned myself at his driver door and smashed his side window. The glass covered his face, and he fired his slugger inside the cab. The ball ricocheted around a few times before coming to a stop on the driver. He fell over limp. I unlocked the door, and slowed the truck to a crawl. I dumped the unconscious driver at the side of the road. I took the time to remove the sluggers electric ball from his clothes. There was no point in bring cruel and this guy was already going to be out several hours.
I hoped back in the truck and started down the road. A black cab passed me on the wrong side and through the open window my nose activated alarm bells.
Gunpowder tea. That meant one thing. Libyans.
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[ WP ] Two kids were born with a single consciousness continents apart . Only one can be awake at a time .
| `` Goddammit....'' Avery angrily muttered to himself. Shiev was having another wet dream. The guy needed a girlfriend but Avery had long ago accepted the fact that he would never be able to help him like that. Avery could feel his pulse building, the blood rushing to places specified by evolution. But Avery remained flaccid. He would have any way. Shiev's taste in women was... unique.
Avery first realized what was happening a few years ago. At random times during the night, Avery would lose pass out. He'd just go black, pass out. His friends and family members all waited with bated breath as one doctor after another cleared him for cancer, bacteria, and other assorted diseases. His medical bills stacked higher and higher. Avery went deeper and deeper into depression. His family knew something was wrong so Avery decided not to tell them when the dreams started.
When the dreams started the depression worsened. The dreams were only ever one thing. Some guy going to work in a run-down diner in what looked like Eastern Europe.'Great!' Avery thought,'I'm not even interesting enough to make going crazy entertaining.' So Avery bought a gun.
Avery set everything up like he wanted. His parents and friends were told he was going out of town to go camping. `` I just need to clear my head,'' is what he would tell family and any friends, the ones that were left, that would ask where he was going. Avery like this excuse because it was n't totally a lie. Avery was going camping to the most wooded area he could find. The plan was that if he killed himself out there, hopefully the animals would eat him before anybody found him. That would keep everyone from knowing that he'd killed himself. He just could n't leave them with that information.
It took a couple of hours but Avery found the perfect spot. He even set everything up like he fully intended on camping. He knew somebody would at least find the campsite. The sound of the hammer cocking back on the revolver was the loudest sound he'd ever heard. Or was that in his head? Only another fraction of pressure was needed for freedom. Then there was a memory that came to forefront of Avery's brain.
The memory did n't feel familiar. There was an old woman balling her eyes out in a room in front of a dressed corpse. Avery knew it was a funeral but one he'd never gone to. The room was cold and there was cheap wood paneling on everything. The smell of rot hung in the air, mixing with the cheap air-freshener. Then the woman turns and speaks in a different language but Avery can understand her. `` Please do n't ever leave me my precious Shiev. Please do n't ever take yourself from this world. Your grandfather was weak but I know you can be strong.'' Avery knew that Shiev had already considered suicide a thousand times and felt angry because the old bastard had beat him to it.
When Avery actually typed the words `` shared consciousness'' into Google, he was slightly embarrassed. He found a loads of hippy, new-wave bullshit going on about how we are all one and connected on a metaphysical plane that shares and stores our experiences with others. After another hour he could n't take it any more so he just did a search for the name'Shiev' and recent suicides. Eventually he found Shiev Porscuchev, a cook at a diner in Kiev whose grandfather Micheal had shot himself two years previous. Micheal was some kind of community leader so the pictures of his funeral were in the paper. The exact funeral that Avery remembered but had never attended.
From that point Avery did n't know what to do, he did n't even know what all of it meant. After a few weeks of pouring over what to do about it, he simply wrote Shiev a letter. In the letter Avery detailed a few memories to find out if Shiev would remember anything from him. Avery expected to receive a cease and desist letter printed in Cyrillic. It took a few months but Shiev replied that he'd been experiencing the same missing hours, errant memories, and strangely boring dreams about mediocre office work. From there Avery and Shiev tried to remain in constant contact.
This continued for several years and during that time they found the limitations of their bonds. For instance the shared consciousness was exactly that: shared. One of them had to be asleep for the other to be awake. They felt the effects of stimulation from each other. If Avery was getting laid, Shiev could feel the bodily stimulation. If Shiev did drugs, Avery knew when he was coming down. Over the years their consciousness bond never changed but their emotional bond grew. Even to the point of helping each other. When Shiev would get sick, Avery would work out and stay as health as possible. The conscious connection to the heightened immune system and mental positivity from one always helped the other get back on his feet.
As the years passed, to two men that had never been able to meet or see each other, had never been able to shake hands, or get drunk together were brothers. They had been connected with something that at the same time was irrevocably human and inexplicably divine. Most that knew them said in their dying days, no one had know two more peaceful people.
That's quite a lot, sorry about that. New this whole thing
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( EU ) The pokémon war
| I do my best to make as little noise as possible whilst making my way through the dark forest. It ’ s wet and slick out here, the fresh mud making staying quiet nearly impossible. Still Lt. Surge left me in charge of reconnaissance and I intend to deliver. Being from Lavender Town most people in my unit made an effort to be as far from me as possible. Not that I blame them, but Lt. Surge was different. He spoke to me with the same easy smile he always wore. Even though my shadow would flicker across the walls, even though the air was always a good bit colder next to me he never mentioned it. This friendliness rubbed off on the others under Lt. Surge and soon I had more than just comrades, I had real friends. So when he said we needed someone to do recon on the enemy I was the first to volunteer. He said it would be a solo mission, said it was risky and I might not come back. This didn ’ t even give me pause, after all kindness is a rare thing where I ’ m from, and I intended to repay it with interest.
Gathering information on the enemy is simple enough with Gengar beside me. My old friend slips further into their camp than any human, or Pokémon for that matter could hope to get. It ’ s easy, too easy. I start to relax after a few minutes; everything is going so smoothly that I don ’ t pay proper attention to my surroundings. I don ’ t notice the movement until it ’ s too late. A flash of green, an impossibly sharp blade, a pain in my throat and it ’ s over. My head feels light as I stumble to the ground, sitting with my back against a tree to stay upright. Scyther, must have been, nothing else is that fast. It ’ s probably gone by now I assume, back to its master. A scream in the night proves me wrong. Scyther might be fast, but it seems Gengar is faster. The half dozen blood curdling screams that follow must mean I was more fucked than I thought with Gengar off in their camp. Seems he caught them all in his nightmare on his way back though. That ’ s Gengar for you, thorough as always.
The sound of sobbing beside me reminds me just how much of a cry baby he can be though. I want to tell him so. I want to tease him for his sensitivity and tell him it ’ s not his fault all at once. But my head feels so heavy, and there ’ s still a job to do. Pulling my bloodstained hand from my throat I use my finger to write “ Surge ” on my pant leg. I hope he gets the message. It ’ s sloppy as my limbs are getting cold, so cold and it ’ s hard to move them. I don ’ t mind the cold though. It reminds me of Gengar and the promise we made at the start of this pointless war. Is that right? I can remember a promise, but how did it go again? My mind can ’ t seem to pull up the memories, and I just want to sleep now. But there ’ s someone here with a familiar hand pulling me up away from the pain and cold. Was this the promise? Maybe part of it, I think…
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[ IP ] Heavy Calvary
| `` Listen up boys!'' Commander Shepard bellowed, his powerful voice echoed throughout the chamber of our AP-1000. `` Mission is to infiltrate the facility and find Zaker. Squad 0 will be following me while Squad 1 will be causing a diversion and cover our escape. Remember, we want this bastard alive.''
I gulped as his very name reverberated inside my very mind. That man had sparked what we know today as The First Intergalactic War. The man who murdered millions of people with the push of a button. The man who blew up an entire planet.
Our flight shook lightly as the thunder roared menacingly outside on Planet Char. The heavy rain downpoured onto the exterior of our vehicle, making clanking sounds that rang across our ears. But we took no notice of it. Missions like this were common, especially since we are the best force that United Federation had to offer.
`` You feeling alright, Fox?'' Eagle looked cautiously over me, his hands still on his trusty sniper rifle.
`` Yeah, I'm fine.'' I nodded, slowly putting on my gloves `` Just never thought this day would come.''
`` Me too.'' Eagle sighed under his breath. `` This bastard murdered my entire family.'' His hands gripped tightly onto his rifle, even the best sniper on the once beautiful Xar has his own sorrows. Xar was the first planet where Zaker set his eyes upon. `` I swear... If I have him on my sight. I'll pull the trigger.''
`` Me too, my friend... me too.'' I cocked my duo submachine guns and examined my ammunition count.
A lot of us harbor a personal hatred for Zaker as he had killed many of our friends. From an original squadron of twelve down to seven, everyone had a glum expression on their face. The last mission reminded us of the price we had to pay. We realize that it was a trap before it was too late.
I thought about Wolf. Her sacrifice that she made back on Planet Urk for me to live. It still pains me that I did n't die with her in the horde of endless enemies. `` Live on, Bes.'' Her last words that I will always remember as she finally called me by my real name before pushing me into the escape pod. Wolf was the mother I never had, she had always been there for me ever since I joined Squad 0. It terrifies me how someone you know today can just fade away in an instant...
I held onto my own physical memory of her; a bandana that had the insignia of a wolf. I quickly wrapped it around my neck and checked my battle stats.
`` 2 minutes to LZ.'' Scout, our pilot said on the radio. `` We'll drop you off 2 miles south as the storm is getting worse.''
`` Roger.'' Commander Shepard said and turned to everyone, `` Alright everyone, suit up. I would like to finish it as fast as possible.''
`` Hoorah!'' We all said in unison as everyone stood up from their seat. I pulled up my crimson butterfly knife that had saved my life before and placed it into one of my chest pouch.
`` Alright, you are clear!'' Scout said as the cockpit door opens, revealing a heavy storm resembling similar to Earth's hurricane. I could feel the intensity in the wind blowing me back. `` Go go go!!!''
`` Squad 0.'' Commander Shepard said in his voice com. `` Let's make history.''
I put on my helmet, activated my battle suit and jumped as Eagle leaped out of the plane. And here is where we descend into to the very pit of hell itself.
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[ WP ] You are one of the lowly faceless guards in a dystopian video game , but you 've finally come up with a plan to stop the overpowered hero .
| `` Everything is lost.''
He muttered to himself, amidst a triumphant crowd. People flowed past him. On the main street their liberator, a shining knight with a blood-stained trenchcoat was swaggering down the street atop an immense hoverboard carrying the head of the Dark Dragon.
And here he was, standing amidst the crowd. Apart from the crowd. People flowed past him. People flowed around him. No one would go near him, not one with the tell tale sigils of the Dark Dragon tattooed across his face. He did n't care.
`` Everything is gone.''
His eyes trailed to the hero. His fingers tightened around the sword hiding in his coat. He pushed past the crowd, drawing the sword swiftly out to the side.
He was skilled, for a minion.
He was n't skilled enough, for a hero. The Dark Dragon did not share power freely and he would be cut down in a single stroke if the hero so wished.
No matter.
There were screams. The procession grounded to a halt as he stood before the hero, both hands on the hilt of his sabre. The hero leapt down his ride, walking up to him.
`` Why?''
There were people drawing close even as the crowd dispersed- supporters of the hero no doubt. The Red Fidelis movement, masked red revolutionaries or liberators or whatever you wanted to call them.
Murderers.
He drew another blade from his coat.
It was n't his blade. No, it was hers'.
*Blue eyes. Scared eyes. A voiceless murmur- she could n't talk. Could n't. Her voice had been taken because she was disobedient. *
`` Revenge.'' he whispered. `` Can you understand that, hero?''
The hero's face twitched. `` Your master is dead. The Dragon... he did terrible things to you. You do n't have to be loyal to a thing like that.''
`` Was a dragon all you slayed on your way to being a hero?'' was his reply. The red masked companions of the hero were closing in but the hero held up a hand, drawing his own blade, `` How many hapless pawns did you sacrifice for your own delusions?''
The hero's silver blade shone in the air, catching the light of the sun.
`` I'll kill you if I have to.'' the hero said finally, `` It would be a mercy to a minion of the Dark Dragon. Turn back now.''
`` I know.'' he said, `` I ca n't.''
*Her body was frail and marked like his. Her smile was strange and different and off. Her warmth-*
He screeched the blades together, plunging them into his own chest.
`` What are you doing-?''
The Dark Dragon was powerful. It had captured magics from across the kingdom in its centuries of reign. It had amassed the greatest magical library in existence.
Of course, someone had to guard it.
Someone like him.
He'd read more than a few things he was n't supposed to know while he sorted through the scrolls. He'd been pliant and apathetic while he was under the spell of the Dark Dragon. He'd been a captive inside his own mind.
*But she had been there with him then. She had been smiling then, even through the prison of her own body. He had been-*
`` Are you happy, hero?'' he wanted to say. He did n't. It was too difficult to speak while blood was filling up in his lungs and he was n't a strong heroic being.
In a few seconds he'd be even less than human. The hero seemed to realize this, lunging towards him as a tentacle of pure darkness erupted from his chest. The sigils on the swords glowed white as his form ruptured and *something* entered this plane of reality.
*Darkness... wins. *
He was aware for about a brief second, maybe. It was enough to see the hero skewered with a dark limb. It was enough to see the darkness flooding across the ground, quickly overtaking his own life fluids and subsuming the streets entirely.
*I'm coming soon, my love. *
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[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 41 : Perspective
| * ” Hello, Samaritans ” *
“ Heads or tails? ”
* ” I ’ m sorry? ” *
“ Heads or tails? ”
I sigh. Tonight is going to be a long shift. I ’ d already done my 9-to-5 job, taking shit from both my boss and the public alike, and I was hoping for a relatively easy stint on the phones tonight. But it seems like it was not to be.
* ” Erm, why are you asking me this? Do you want me to make a decision for you? ” *
“ Yes ”.
I could hear him sobbing at the other end of the line.
* ” So what decision are you trying to make? What happens if I pick one answer over the other? ” *
Silence. Then I hear him sobbing, turning into full-blown hysterical crying.
“ I just can ’ t take this any more. My wife left me, she took the kids, I ’ ve been diagnosed bipolar and had to declare bankruptcy as I can no longer hold down a job. I really can ’ t do this any more. ”
* ” I see. So tell me, what happens if I give you one answer over the other? ” *
He sniffles, and tries to compose himself.
“ Well, I can ’ t see any way out. I ’ m sitting here with a loaded shotgun but I lack the courage to pull the trigger. I ’ ve made my decision, but I just can ’ t go through with it without someone else flipping the coin for me ”.
I wince inwardly. Really, I could have done without this call tonight. I ’ m used to having callers in floods of tears, and used to talking them down until they felt calmer, but this call was different. Emotional. Gut-wrenching.
There was no way that I was going to provide an answer to his question. I could pick right, and he would thank me, and hang up. Or, I could pick wrong, and just hear the gunshot.
There was no way I could ever forgive myself for choosing one response over the other. So instead, I stalled.
* ” Will you tell me your name? ” *
“ Bob ”.
* ” Hi Bob, I ’ m Sarah ”. *
“ Hi ”.
“ I ’ m sorry to do this to you. I know that you can ’ t make this choice for me, and feel stupid for calling you in the first place ”.
* ” No, it ’ s fine, that ’ s what we ’ re here for ”. *
Couldn ’ t I, tonight of all nights, get something easier to deal with? Someone mourning the loss of a loved one, or someone in floods of tears over a failed relationship?
Another inward sigh.
* ” Bob, are you still there? ” *
“ Yes. ”
* ” You know, there are people out there who love and care for you. Do you have anyone you can call who can come round to support you? ” *
“ No. The people I called my friends were all my wife ’ s friends, and they all turned their backs on me when we split up ”.
* ” I ’ m sorry to hear that. But you know that we are always here for you, 24/7, whenever you want us ”. *
He laughs. A brutal, hollow sound.
“ And just how do you propose to fix this? ”
* ” Bob, I can ’ t fix this for you, but I can talk you through it. You are obviously in distress, and need to see your doctor urgently ” *
“ It ’ s too late for that. Fuck it. Fuck it all. Time to flip the coin. Tails, and I ’ m out ”.
I hear him rummaging for a coin, and hear the ping as he flips it into the air.
I hold my breath.
Please, please, God, let it be heads. He doesn ’ t see it now, but he has so much to live for. Whatever he has gone through up until this point has no bearing on what he can still be, what he has yet to become.
The line goes silent.
Another choked sob.
“ It ’ s heads ”.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Really, the last thing I need tonight is to hear someone take their own life whilst I ’ m on the phone to them.
* ” Bob, you _need_ help. Please promise me that you ’ ll go to your local A & E department tonight, and see your GP in the morning ”. *
Silence. Then crying.
“ OK, I promise ”.
* ” Thank you ”. *
My sense of relief is indescribable.
* ” Bob, look, there ’ s something you have to know. Even though things seem terribly bleak tonight, you have to remember that the sun will come up tomorrow, and that heralds the dawn of a brand new day – a time when you can reinvent yourself and start afresh ”. *
“ True. OK, thanks for your time, I really appreciate it ”.
*'' You ’ re welcome. Call us any time, 24/7/365, we ’ re always here for you ”. *
“ Thank you. Good night ”.
The line goes dead.
I sit awhile, thinking of Bob, and his own private hell. I hope he ’ ll be OK.
The ringing of the phone jolts me back to awareness.
* ” Hello, Samaritans ”. *
“ Hi ”...
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[ WP ] A young teenager bullIed relentlessly , wishes one night in bed to Die so he doesnt have to face pain anymore . Remarkably Death appears to explain to him the importance of life and why he needs to live
| Paul wished for death. He lay wide awake in his bed, listening to his alarm clock tick away the seconds until morning. Clenching the sheets in his hands, he roved the ceiling with his eyes. His mind focused only on one thing. An end. He ’ d made the decision that he wanted to die. The knife lay on his bedside table, its clean blade mocking him. He ’ d sat with it poised over his arm for what seemed like an eternity, willing his hand to move, cutting the vein. But he couldn ’ t. He was too scared. So now he lay in bed, cursing his own impotency, and begging for his end to come.
A cold breeze blew through the room, rustling through the pages of the books on the desk, disturbing the blanket of silence and calm that lay over the room. The breeze touched Paul ’ s cheek lightly, causing him to shiver. The cold feeling was swept away as suddenly as it had arrived. It gave way to another feeling, one that Paul was all too familiar with. He felt it in the corridors of school every day. Eyes drilling into him. Paul knew he was being watched. He couldn ’ t hear anything, and the room was too dark to see. Paul began to reach towards the light switch.
*Don ’ t turn on the light. *
Paul ’ s heart jumped. His hand stopped, trembling. The voice had come to him as he moved. A thousand whispers, all around. His eyes searched through the inky blackness, trying to pick out shapes. The dark blots all seemed to merge into one, the darkness playing tricks on his eyes, distorting the forms of familiar objects. The lamp in the corner seemed a looming, skeletal figure. The curtains looked like long flowing robes. He stayed very still and quiet, his ears searching for any sound. The silence in his room had deepened. He couldn ’ t hear the water hissing it ’ s way through the plumbing, or the hum of the computer fan in the other room. Even the ticking of the clock was gone. A complete silence reigned, not just the absence of sound, but something more. His voice came out almost unbidden, questioning the darkness:
“ H-hello? ”
*Hello Paul. You called me? *
“ Who are you? ”
*You know who I am. I ’ m the one who ’ s always at the end of everybody ’ s road. I ’ m Death. *
“ Are you here to kill me? ” Paul waited for the reply. There was a pregnant pause. Then the voice sighed.
*No. I ’ m not here to take you. This is not your time yet. *
“ But I want to go. ” His voice was choked, and his eyes began to warm.
*If you really wanted to go, I would have been here already, and your body would be all that was left. I rarely talk to the living, but I ’ ve seen too many people like you. *
“ People like me? ”
*You obsess about the end. It becomes all you can think about. But you ’ ll never go. Because deep down you know that there ’ s still more for you. *
Paul could feel a tear rolling down his cheek. He hated crying. He hated being weak. The voice continued, increasing in pace, becoming more and more urgent.
*You don ’ t believe me? I ’ ve seen millions of you die. I spend my whole existence sweeping up your souls. But the life that mortals are given, it ’ s one of the most beautiful things I ’ ve ever seen. A whole world of joy and love, pain and suffering. Experienced differently by every person. There ’ s nothing like it. You ’ re going to go down your own path. Countless choices, an infinity of possible lives. My path is only one. A single line, with only one future. I would give anything for the infinite potential a single human has, and you would wish it away like it were nothing. But we all have our places. So I ’ ll give you a choice, Paul. I ’ m only going to offer this once. If you decide it ’ s what you want, I will take you. You will come with me to that which comes after life. Or I will leave, and you will live your life. So what do you choose? *
Paul stopped. He thought for a long time. He wanted to tell Death to take him. That was what he wanted, right? But the words wouldn ’ t come. He swallowed, the lump in his throat receded.
“ I-I want to stay. ”
*Then stay. Go from here and know that there is so much more than what you have at the moment. So go, live. It ’ s the most precious gift that you have. One day we ’ ll meet again, and when we do, I want you to tell me that you lived. Life before death, Paul. Life before death. *
The cold wind swept through the room again, and sound came rushing back. Paul ’ s eyelids felt like lead, and he succumbed to sleep. In the morning, his alarm jolted him awake. His mind was full of dreams of voices and choices. Once choice. He looked across to the bedside table. The knife was gone. Under his breath, he muttered
“ Life before death ”
*
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[ WP ] 250 years after humanity develops interstellar travel , alien ruins are discovered in another star system . A historical archive is found and translated . The last entry reads `` Species 57 has escaped from prison planet 50L-3 . Evacuation has begun . ''
| I play it out in my mind, silently, carefully. Just until the ringing in my ears stops. Something attacked us. I struggled as my joints stiffened and the metallic taste in my mouth started to become overbearing. Not yet, I thought. I felt the dust vibrate of the temple floor. Something was coming.
Two troopers ran into the room and took up positions behind the steel foundations of the door, sure that they were being chased. Once they assumed whatever followed them was gone, one inspected the rest of the ancient temple. The room was dark and the air humid. A sudden intake of air would most likely kill a human being. Around them were an assortment of archeological artifacts, tools, and… bodies. Freshly torn sinews generalized most of the corpses, except for mine. They probably thought I was another dead scientist.
The soldier who saw the wreckage nervously exchanged looks with his partner at the door. The two wore the same grey heloderma-styled Kevlar, the same recon hats, and the same tired looks of the Czosi patrol fleet.
They couldn ’ t be this far out, I wondered. But I was relieved. I managed to move my right arm from underneath my assistant ’ s bloody remains.
“ Help ” I croaked.
The men immediately had their rifles pointed at me. Almost sure that I was a threat, they were about to fire.
“ Wait! I ’ m— still alive. ” I yelped.
“ Well damn. ” The one at the door said as he put down his gun. He gestured at his colleague to do the same. “ This scientist ’ s got some fight in him. ”
“ Archaeologist, ” I corrected while I slowly stood up. “ We are archeologists. ”
The Csozi trooper closer to me scoffed. “ They was archaeologists. Ain ’ t no more. ”
After looking at my team, I shivered remembering the creature that scratched its way through the carcass of our leader. I wrapped around the thought for a minute. A horrible memory found its way back.
“ An abomination, ” I cried. “ The aliens… Species 57… escape… ”
I couldn ’ t even piece together a valid sentence before a shrill roar echoed through from somewhere far inside.
While they helped me off the ground, I breathed in deeply, but not too deep for fear of the temple air.
“ There was a transcript, we analyzed before, this. ” I gestured toward the mutilated bodies. “ The alien populace evacuated because one of their test subjects somehow escaped. The same test subject that ripped through my team. We need to warn your commander to contain the creature here, before anyone else dies. ”
The soldiers looked grim before they nodded at each other. The one with more intellectual English spoke up.
“ That ’ s just the confirmation we need to blow up the planet. ”
I argued with him that the significance of archeological research should not be hampered by just one experiment. To which he smirked.
“ That thing that killed your mates, ” The soldier explained. “ That ’ s the Alien Populace. They ’ ve been plaguing the boys at the coast for days. Meaning whatever they ’ re running from. That ’ s something a lot worse. ”
I stared at him confused. Then I stopped. They figured it out.
My limbs convulsed and my eyeholes melted, and all I could hear before my ears started ringing again was the screams of the doomed Csozi troopers.
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[ CW ] `` Gods are just men with the right advantage ''
| Ezra walked quickly through the woods. It was n't a difficult path; the way to the witch's house had been well worn over the past several decades. It would be traveled many more times too if the local clergy had n't decided that the last speaker for the old gods should be silenced.
He was getting close now, pieces of the stone sculptures surrounding the decrepit manor were becoming more frequent. It was a shame really, that some of these pieces were left to decay in the forest. In another world they would be prized artifacts, the most precise sculpture Ezra had ever seen, at least. As the house came into view through the trees, Ezra pulled his cloak tighter and felt the hard metal of the scabbard against his chest. What would his grandmother think of him crossing the gods in this way?
Miska opened the door before he could knock, `` Come in child.'' The woman looked to be at least seventy but her voice was oddly seductive `` What is it you seek?''
`` Is it true that you speak for the old gods?''
`` The gods have spoken to me for many years, I merely relay their words.''
`` Adria says you provide not just guidance, but healing.''
`` Adria is a sweet girl. I was glad to help her come back to us.''
Ezra let out an uneasy laugh, `` The priests were n't so happy to hear that the old gods were still interested in this place.''
`` Many of the gods have relocated but some will always protect their home. Now, boy, it is my turn to ask a question. You are of the valley, why do you keep referring to them as'old' gods? Is there some new god I should be aware of?''
Ezra turned from her and took a couple steps toward the window. `` The priests talk of a god that seeks to destroy all those that oppose him, they speak of any other gods as demons or tricksters.''
`` Yet you are not convinced?''
`` I have never seen the will of any god, only the works of men. To a penniless boy in the valley, gods are just men with the right advantage.'' He reached in his cloak and gripped the handle of the concealed knife, but it stuck in its sheath. Ezra looked down to where his hand entered the cloak to see his hardening flesh turn
grey.
A seductive voice inches from his ear replied, `` Let your gods come, and know that a goddess awaits them.''
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[ WP ] You 're a powerful yet reasonable villain , concentrating mainly on bank robberies , heists etc . Due to the ineptitude and sheer stupidity of the local `` heroes '' though , you constantly have to save bystanders from danger and prevent catastrophes .
| **VILLAIN KILLS TWELVE; ESCAPES WITH HEIST THWARTED**
`` Excuse me, sir, could I have a copy of that paper?'' I bent nearly double to look paperboy in the eye where he sat. I hoped that I was n't looming. I have a real looming problem.
`` Sure thing, sir! That will be $ 4.80.'' Good, he does n't look worried. Maybe I got it right this time. Or maybe he has just seen far worse people out here on the New York streets.
*My, he does look like he has fallen on rough times. * I thought. His clothes looked as if they were made of nothing BUT patches, scraps of cloth held together by clever seam-work.
I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out a 10 for the poor lad. `` Here you go, boy. Keep the change.''
`` Ah! Gee, thanks sir!'' He looked ecstatic. Maybe it was a scam, meant to trick kindly gentlemen like myself into tipping well... but, well, if it was... I certainly fit the bill. Not that I had many bills myself.
`` Come back soon! New paper every Wednesday!'' He called out as I walked away, hands waving enthusiastically. I probably would. After all, I HAVE lived on these streets since I was his age. Ca n't teach an old dog new tricks.
I unrolled my new paper, and there it was: Possibly the most UNjust headline I had ever read. `` Villain kills twelve... BAH!'' I scoffed, rolling the paper up again and stuffing it under my arm. I stalked off toward my flat. I have a bit of a stalking problem, too.
*If I had pulled my punches any more, I may as well try to rob a bank with an overstuffed pillow! * I thought. *It makes me so ANGRY! * I could feel my blood pressure rising, but caught myself before I went into a full blown rage. *Those... HEROES. Coming in with fists swinging first and questions later. The only'heroic' things they do is pose half-naked for charity calendars! And they do n't even need to leave their costumes at home to do it! *
< Breathe. > Came a voice in my ear. < Your bio-signs are through the roof. No need to get worked up. What did we learn from all this? Concentrate on our successes instead of our failures. >
I took a moment to appreciate my own ingenuity. The `` JIMINY'' biometric feedback device was working wonders at helping me keep my cool. I have some... anger problems as well. *Well... the feedback guns were a success. *I reflected. *Knocked the baseline humans out cold without hurting them, while turning the big guy's powers back against them. * My brow darkened a bit at my next thought, however. *No doubt they will call them a weapon of mass destruction by the end of the day, though. *
< Eaaasy, there, Tiger. What else? >
I made a mental note to turn down JIMINY's patronizing chip when I got back to my lab. *Bubble launchers were also a success, in part. Very good at immobilizing civilians and protecting them from stray bullets while keeping their vitals strong. Did n't do much against the supers though. *
I clenched my fists until beads of blood covered my fingernails. *If only they were n't so damn careless! * I raged, face contorting into a beet-red knot. *THEY killed half those people when they broke down the wall!, just getting in! *
< Hey, calm down. Your readings are going off the ch- >
I slammed my fist into the side of a building, cracking the brick in two. *AND IT WAS* **THEY** *WHO KILLED THE COPS WHEN THEY OVERLOADED MY PERIMETER DEFENSE MACHINES! JUST FOR MONEY! TO DEFEND SOME RICH SHAREHOLDER'S INTERESTS! *
< Injecting 20 cc of sedative. You NEED to calm - > I ripped JIMINY from my ear and stuffed him in my coat pocket. `` SEDATIVE!'' I roared aloud. `` YOU THINK *I* NEED SEDATIVE!?'' I ran back toward my lab, ignoring the stares I got from every direction. `` *THEY* NEED SEDATIVES! NOT ME!'' The world became a blur as I activated the auxiliary thrusters on my legs with a mental command.
No. I could use a little rage right about now.
And soon, all the world would know my fury.
***
*Well that was fun to write! Read more of my work at /r/TimeSyncs! *
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[ WP ] Write a new response to the first prompt you ever replied to .
| **Sloth, the villain**
[ Here's the prompt. ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zy58e/wp_sloth_the_villain/c68v9q1 )
An email unopened. A promotion missed.
A messy house. A partner pissed.
A car grumbles, groans, it'll be fine.
Stuck in a rainstorm on I-29.
An essay on art history, the deadline draws near.
There's still a week left, help me finish these beers.
It's only a bottle, the trashcan's so far.
These beaches are filthy, why'd we even come here?
Another invite forgotten. A friend moving on.
Another paycheck unsaved. A vacation plan gone.
I've been jogging for a month, I'll keep it up this time'round.
A month later, he's not just quit; he's gained 5 more pounds!
Following politics is a chore, I honestly do n't care.
The taxes raised again? Come on, that's unfair!
Do n't worry, take it easy. Everything works out with time.
We'll stagnate together, in stale comfort we'll share.
—
I'm not sure if this is how stanzas work.
Maybe it'll come off as an odd, little quirk.
Well, it could be a tad better. Maybe I'll do a rewrite.
Ah, fuck it, I'm tired. I'll call it a night.
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[ IP ] The Walking Cemetary
| There is no winner in the wars of the eastern kingdom. There is no victory speech, no triumphant acceptance of surrender, no search for missing friends among the dead, no helping those that are injured and begging for aid, no feast or rest afterward. There is only a frantic but silent retreat, the sound of clanking footsteps and muffled groans forming the undercurrent to the eerie silence clinging to the battlefield. To the calm before the storm. Before the Bone King arrives.
His footsteps start sounding several hours into any battle: the earth starts shaking softly and the early scouts of the sea of crows following him arrive. A terrified tempo grips every warrior, as their brows furrow in concentration and snarls grip their faces and their hands start shaking in fear of a fate worse than death. Sergeants hark and spit and wade suicidally into the battle, preferring a slice to the throat to the endless suffering that awaits them. Lieutenants begin urging their troops on, nipping in out on of fray on their increasingly bloody stallions. Generals worriedly glance out of the command tent in the brief pauses between the waves of messengers, worriedly twisting their mustaches. And the sky darkens and the earth shakes more and more.
The integrity and innate structure of the battle slowly falls apart, turning from a well-thought chess game to a drunken match of poker. Fear grips even the staunchest leaders, muddling their mind, tainting their orders into obviously incorrect ones. Archers start missing more and more. Shield walls begin to crumble. The well-trained battle horses start whinnying and scampering, trying to save themselves. Deserters sneak off the battlefield by two or three and then by dozen or score, eyes wide open in horror. And now the harsh baying of the crows sounds over the screams of the dying and the earth shakes so much that men can hardly hold their feet.
The generals decide to cut their losses, that no victory is worth this price. The elite attack units that look so clean and brave the weeks before half-run out of the enemy lines, blessing the sound of the retreat horns but hoping it's not too late. Like two wrestling warthogs sensing the approach of fire, the armies rip free of each other, panic gripping them in a mighty chokehold. Those commanders that can keep their army as one blob are immortalized in history books. Friends, tents, weapons, lockets, brothers... all lie forgotten and abandoned. And inevitably, the silhouette of the Bone King appears over the horizon.
A stench washes over the fleeing soldiers, a stench much sharper and hungrier and older than that of the thousands of dead. Many drop to their knees, grasping their throat, seized in its power. Thousands of crows swarm above the battlefield, shrieking triumphantly - but also in fear And another wave of screaming follows them, an uninterrupted wave of agonized sound, of dull terror that has lasted centuries. The Bone King's servants.
Each of his footsteps leaves the grass dying, the ground shredded and ripped by the cage encasing his body. He drives on, quicker, hungrier: he can see the battlefield, waiting for him. He wades into the piles of corpses, digging through them, ripping off heads and arms effortlessly and often by accident, sometimes killing those still alive: they are the lucky ones.
Inevitably, he finds those whose hearts are still beating: some crying and shaking and murmuring prayers, some hanging limply, eyes glassy, unblinking, some swinging their swords at him and cursing furiously. He does not care. He inspects them for a moment, then stuffs them into his midriff: they thrash and quake for a brief second and then their grays and rots and their eyes turn to ash and they open their mouths and join the thousands already there in the endless screaming.
The Bone King takes his time, picking the battlefield clean. At last, he stands up, a foot or two taller. His crows begin their descent, trying to keep clear of him: those who gets too close get grabbed by his servants and ripped apart. But he pays no attention to that. He tilts his head up, looking at the sky. He listens, and thinks, and starts off again. Towards the next battle. Towards where his hunger might finally be sated.
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[ IP ] This is my favorite !
| `` Reading, are you?'' I jolted at the sound behind me and turned around. In front of me was a pale, dragon-like creature floating above the floor.
`` Wh-who are you?'' I said, nearly dropping the books I was holding.
`` Oh, do n't you worry who I am,'' he said with a sinister smile. `` Right now, we're talking about you. There's a lot I could teach you, Alex... if you let me.'' My knees began to buckle beneath me.
`` How do you know my name!?'' I exclaimed, taking a step back. He cocked back his head and let out a throaty laugh that made my stomach turn
`` Why all the questions, child? I'm only here to help.'' He moved his hands in front of him and snapped, causing a glowing white teardrop to form in his hands. `` This object contains the greatest secrets of the universe. Everything you ever wanted to know, you could. All I need in return is your consent to remain my companion.''
`` What?''
`` That's right. I promise, I'm a wonderful person to be around. Now, shall we shake on it?'' I gulped. Part of me knew there had to be a catch, but I was so intrigued by the idea of ominpotence that I could barely contain myself. With one deep breath, I reached my hand out towards him.
``... Okay.'' We shook hands and a mischievous grin crossed his face from ear to ear.
`` You know, child, they say you should n't make a deal with the devil.''
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[ WP ] Your attending a hug convention where everyone suffers from anxiety and is afraid of physical intimacy .
| Pure torture, what an interesting day it will be. I have high expectations, as supposedly the most calculative attendant to this malefic convention for us damaged people, **I plotted** my plan to save the clueless ones.
I took note of the *rules* of the convention:
- A Hug-meter is attached to each guest, if it does n't read `` 1'' by the end of thirty minutes, the guest will be *fatally* shot.
- Once you hug the same person twice, it wo n't count for the Hug-Meter.
- The convention is composed by ten rounds, as said, by the end of each round ( thirty minutes ) everyone must have hugged one person.
- To check if the rules were followed, the Hug-Meter has to read ten by the end of the ten rounds. Meaning, everyone will hug ten different people.
- In the beginning of the convention, all doors are locked, and the attendants have one hour to formulate their thoughts or prepare.
- By the end of each round, the person with most hugs will get the choose the song playing in the background for the rest of the next round.
That one initial hour will be my shining moment, I must converse and formally greet myself to every single depressed standing amongst the locked doors. If the initial plan succeeds, I have gained their trust to hug me, meaning the
first round everyone but me will have one hug on the Hug-Meter ( Because they hugged me ) And I will have however many people that are attending as the number on my Hug-Meter. Meaning, also, that I will get to choose the song playing in the background of the second round, which is one of the most important factors for the success of my mission.
With psychological studies and research, I have concluded the song that will be used will be determined by the age of the attendants ( Which I assume most are teenagers ).
With that fact, if the higher percentage are indeed teenagers, the song will be:
`` **I Plotted**'' - By Brotha Lynch Hung. I'ma make him the new Eminem, the black Slim Shady, ruler of the anxious depressed teenagers. What teenager does n't love rap anyway?
If the higher percentage is kids, the song will be:
`` Spooky Scary Skeletons'' - By Andrew Gold, not the remix version because that's not the one all of them hear on Halloween. It'll bring good memories, right?
But if the higher percentage are adults, I'll just put some comercial shit they hear on their daily radio station, most likely Adele.
On the second round, the smooth sound of the waves coming from the speakers blasting Brotha Lynch Hung, Spooky Scary Skeletons, Adele, Lana Del Ray, Sia or whatever will be enough to relax them down to the social tip. As a result of
part of the initial plan for the first one hour, where they chat amongst themselves to discover the tragedies hidden behind the social anxiety to feel similar to family with each other, they are comfortable enough to enjoy the ride
and act like normal people on Hug Conventions.
I hope the blood and dead bodies from the teens that wanted to suicide by not hugging anyone on the first round wo n't bother them much, everything will go *fine*.
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[ WP ] You 're walking on the street when suddenly a man walks to you and gives you a pair of glasses . The moment you put them on you can see everything that anyone has ever did wrong .
| My arm felt sore; the man who, not more than ten seconds ago, grabbed my arm, shoved a pair of glasses on my chest and would n't budge until I had taken them. Before I could even ask what his problem was, he walked away, at an oddly fast pace that suggested he wanted to get as far away as possible.
I straightened up my tie and entered the office building. It's bad enough the boss wants to see me first thing in the morning, but having a lunatic making me drop my morning cup of coffee and messing up my tie is not a great start to my day.
`` Arthur please, Sarah,'' I tell the receptionist. `` Says he wants to see me first thing in the morning.''
`` You'll have to wait Jim, he's in a meeting with one of the Execs.''
`` Of course he is...''
I make my way to the waiting area and sat myself down. I would be reading the newspaper while I waited but the damned coffee spilled on it. All for this stupid pair of glasses. What was so special about it?
Silver-rimmed, the lenses looked like it had no degrees to them, and it looked fairly worn. I raised the glasses to my eye level and looked around the room, stopping dead in my tracks when my view landed on Sarah.
I could n't believe my eyes. Giving the pair of glasses one last glance, I put them on. It was incredible. There was a floating chart above Sarah, it looked exactly like one of those pink and green neon light signs outside of a pub. The chart, headed by the current month of the year 2016, full of her wrong deeds.
Stealing her roommate's cash at hand, to the extent of showing the exact amount she had stolen; lying to her parents for not being able to make it back home for Thanksgiving and even having sex with Calvin in the copy room. Oh, this is good, it was like I was given a superpower. Does it only show bad deeds? Does it only show the current month?
And just as if the glasses had read my mind, the month changed to January, 2015. I twitched a little on the sofa at the excitement of this newfound discovery, causing Sarah to look up for a second before returning to her computer.
`` Nice glasses, Jim.''
`` Um, thanks,'' I answered.
Meanwhile, in my head? I was asking for Christmas of'12. The head of the chart changed to December, 2012, and in bright neon colours, the words on the chart changed to form a whole new list of misdeeds.
That bitch! I knew she was the one who had stolen my Christmas gift! It was a great bottle of wine that Rachel had gotten for me from Italy. Sarah said it was n't her doing, but she was always the last to leave the office. Sneaky piece of lying sh --
`` Jim! Please come in,'' Arthur said seriously, startling me from my thoughts.
`` Now Jim, before we begin, I would like to remind you that we may be good friends outside of the office, but in here, I'm your boss, so let me make myself perfectly clear that my decision has been made and nothing will change my mind,'' he said, as I took a seat across from him at his desk. The room reeked of cigars combine with the smell of roses, vases of which located at all four corners of the room. `` We have to let you go, buddy.''
I had n't looked at him at all when entering the office, too distracted by my thoughts of the newfound discovery of the abilities of the glasses I had on, but those words made me look up. I stared at him for a full ten seconds, and a mix of emotions followed suit. First was shock, the shock at my dismissal from the office. Second was rage, when the chart showed that he had been sleeping with my wife, the fucking slut... Heartbroken as I was, I kept my cool.
`` Arthur, first of all, I'm going to forgive you for sleeping with my wife. Simply because I get a severance check from being fired and knowing she cheated, I do n't have to pay a single penny to alimony once I file for my divorce.''
The mixture of shock, despair and guilt in his face was satisfying to see.
`` Also, I'll alert the Committee Board to the fact that you've been embezzling the funds for the new Skyline project we've been working on.''
I stood up, straightened my tie like it mattered, but instead of leaving the room, I walked over to the liquor table and poured myself a glass of sherry while Arthur kept muttering my name stupidly, wanting to say something desperately but falling short each time.
I raised the glass to my lips and looked up to the mirror to look back at Arthur and smirk at his flabbergasted state, but instead I saw a chart above my head, pink and green, bright and glowing, and my heart skipped a beat.
I lowered my glass.
Edit 1: I'm really glad to hear that a few of you enjoyed it so much that you want more, but I feel like this prompt ended perfectly so I'm leaving it be as it is.
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[ IP ] Sailing into Heavy Seas
| * We pulled the lines,
up on the deck,
As he sailed into the rising storm.
No cabin could negate the wind,
No coat would keep us warm.
* `` A wave! A wave!''
Came the captains voice,
Crackling through the speaker high,
`` Get b'low decks, and save your necks
`` The next wo n't pass us by!''
* We scrambled down,
into the heart,
of that iron monster's gut.
And heard the swell breach on the hull,
Just as we screwed the hatchway shut.
* A crash. A grunt.
A squall. A scream.
What a racket made the struggling ship.
Hours passed, the lights went out,
And slowly our hopes began to slip.
* Then all at once,
The storm, she passed,
And the bullhorn crackled out again,
`` Get back to work, you lousy lubs,
`` It'd take more than that gale to do us in.''
EDIT: Did n't read thoroughly/notice that this was a warship. Oh well.
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[ WP ] With a flick of your wrist , you sent it spinning into space .
| The pump was the key. The *Bellona*, the first spacecraft to touch down on another planet's satellite, stood crippled on the surface of Deimos, Mars' smallest moon. Your hard landing had blown out the main engine's oxygen pump, and sent a crate of spare parts tearing through the side of the ship. *This is not my fault*, you think, *the geniuses at UNASA were the ones who only gave us one replacement pump. * Now, as mission commander, you accompany the other eleven astronauts methodically searching the surface of Deimos. At 500 square kilometres, the tiny moon was the size of Guam, and you had to find a metal part the size of a frying pan. You advance cautiously across the rugged ground, knowing that a fast step could leave you waiting several minutes to land in the almost-zero gravity of this place. 50 metres to your left and right, the bright headlamps of other astronauts show their progress as they creep across the alien landscape. Fifteen hours of searching each night, before returning to the *Bellona* to rest for the next day of looking.
With every day the replacement pump stayed missing, a return to Earth seemed less likely. Without the main engine you'd have to execute the ( likely suicidal ) Plan B: Colonization. The *Bellano* carried a carefully-managed greenhouse the size of a football field, enough to grow food for 12 people indefinitely. Without the main engines, the secondary thrusters had just enough power to travel from Deimos to a safe landing on Mars. The nuclear reactor and HEVU system could provide power and air to the greenhouse for centuries on the surface of Mars. As backup plans go, it was a desperate one; UNASA considered colonization too dangerous to be feasible, and calculated that the chance of survival was 1 in 10. You had to find that pump.
Another night on the rocky surface. The mission had only two weeks to find the pump before Mars' orbit brought it too far from Earth and made a return trip impossible. On Deimos, everything was the same shade of dull grey. In the sky above, the planet Mars filled the sky in brilliant red and orange. This moon shared the same constellations as Earth, and it made your heart ache with homesickness.
If you ever found the pump and returned to Earth, they'd never let you fly a spacecraft again. Checking the landing site for obstructions was one of the most basic elements of UNASA training, and you'd fucked it up. On your daily briefing with mission control you could see the disappointment in the Director's eyes, and her growing frustration as your crew remained stranded on Deimos. After searching over a tenth of the surface, you were no closer to finding the oxygen pump and there was no way of replacing it.
Another day on the surface. The crew had taken to splitting up, leaping thousands of metres from the ship in order to search on the far side of the planet. You had jumped from the surface half an hour ago and gravity was just now bringing back onto the rocky landscape. In a crater you see the unnatural glint of something reflecting your headlamp. You lower yourself in and find that it's a piece of a UNASA storage crate. Digging deeper, you find cracked O-rings, vanes, and other rocket parts. Flinging pebbles many kilometres away in excitement, you triumphantly pick up the replacement oxygen pump. It's in perfect condition. Now it's just a matter of returning to the ship and telling the crew. Within a day you'll be flying home. In two years you'll be home; then a month of quarantine, and six months of physiotherapy for muscles damaged by space travel. Then court-martial, and being stripped of your astronaut wings for recklessly damaging a UNASA spacecraft. You closely inspect the oxygen pump in your hands. It is shiny, pristine and perfect. With a flick of your wrist, you send it spinning into space.
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[ WP ] The Window . Write about what you can see from the view .
| Leaves flowing in the wind like fingers grasping for air. Flies, insects, and more flies buzzing around searching for their mate. Birds chirping, calling for their mothers, children, fathers. Trees slowly rocking back and forth, calming the birds that rest in their arms. Squirrels and chipmunks chasing each other, running back and forth between their homes; a friendly game of tag. Hawks searching for their next meal, rodents hiding from being a next meal. And the Sun, glaringly bright, illuminating everything not covered by the canopy: peeking through the canopy at some spots, illuminating the fallen leaves from the last Autumn.
Life. Everything alive, bustling through their routine. Aimlessly surviving, unaware of the outside world. The forest is all that it knows.
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[ WP ] The Department of Defense instates military conscription following the disappearance of the Curiosity Mars rover
| they're coming
it's been two years since that rover thing disappeared
it's been 18 months since the government started asking for more volunteers
it's been 12 months since the government started demanding we all volunteer
it's been 9 months since all private sector industry was shutdown
they're coming
it's been 6 months since they posted us all, armed, waiting, watching the skies
it's been 3 months since we saw the first ship, small,'scout' they say
it's been 1 month since the ships started filling the sky, descending, more fill the gaps
they're coming
it's been 3 weeks since I saw my wife, kids, they ran, I helped
it's been 2 weeks since I saw the sun, it's getting cold
it's been one week since I could make out the doors on the ships
they're coming
it's been 1 day since... are they lights? exhaust? the light fills the air, blinding, dead, cold, light
it's been 12 hours since I saw the shadows at the windows, so many windows, so many shadows
it's been one hour since the landing gear started to emerge
they're coming
it's been 30 minutes since they started to touch down
it's been 5 minutes since they started to rush out, so many, how...
it's been 1 minute since we started firing, no use, not even one has stopped
they're he -- -
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[ CW ] Write a story ending with the words , `` I 'm sorry . But we are all out of tomorrows . ''
| The first time I saw Andrew was when I was 3, in a picture my mother cut from a newspaper and kept in her diary. She talked about him like the greatest hero our country ever had. He saved us all. Back then he was still young, with a bulldog head and a straight set of teeth that made him look like an animal ready to pounce.
The first time I met him in person was 30 years later, when he was already in prison for war crimes and genocide. The dog look was gone and in front of me stood instead an old man with big blue eyes, the kind that said'I sleep like a baby at night.'
I asked about his plan, how it was set in motion, how can we stop it, how can we save everything, so our children have a better tomorrow. He just looked at me and smiled.
`` I'm sorry. But we are all out of tomorrows.''
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[ WP ] Reddit is a city , with subreddits acting as districts and city blocks . Write a post-apocalyptic story set there
| There were five major districts before the Collapse. Each owning a part of the world, with subreddits that tied closely to their idea and fell under that jurisdiction. The outlying subdistricts existed, too, but most of them were so small they went relatively unnoticed.
The /r/funny District was the first to fall into chaos. They were the second largest district and many subdistricts fell under their jurisdiction. Millions of people, all of which grew upset by Funny's lack of discipline and recourse in the wake of such a large-scale collapse. /r/photoshopbattles was one of the first to revolt under their leadership, thousands of photoshoppers and subscribers raising their brushes in defiance. /r/pics fell alongside of them and the two Districts could n't get help from the other Three; each of them handling their own problems.
/r/todayilearned and /r/AskReddit banded together in a last ditch effort to save their people and their subdistricts. Millions joining hand-in-hand against the collapse of the city-state of Reddit, as revolts spread from District to District, subdistricts began to take each other on; destroying the very essence of each other.
/r/science was one of the only Districts to survive as long as it did, taking in both revolutionaries and free-thinkers, members of /r/askscience and even /r/engineering came to seek refugee. But when the sword spread quicker than the pen, even the scientists and astronomers and engineers could n't keep up against the ravaging of their world. They had the best idea, I knew that when the Collapse began, they stuck to what we needed to know. But, their subdistricts fell to these swords and the intellectuals of the world were lost.
The city-state of Reddit fell into collapse. The small subdistricts, the ones mostly located on the edge of the city-state fell into disarray. Most of them were connected by one of the bigger Districts, trading and working with them to survive in the forests, which eventually became the wastes, outside the city-state walls. When the Districts fell, these subdistricts that held no allegiance became nomadic, almost tribal, and began to wander the ruins and the world with their survivors.
The Idea of behind the Revolution was all about fairness and equality, but so many had lost their voice in the Reddit city-state that they needed to start anew. The Collapse was that idea. No one knows who fired the first shot, but rumor has it that an Administrator of the Districts was the first to spread the seeds of Revolt. They were the first to be targeted, and when the last Administrator fell, there was utter chaos. Moderators were selected and targeted, known users were taken down and forced to choose sides. The subdistricts fell into each other and lost their way.
It's been years since those days. People are rebuilding. Moderators have risen again, but no one dares take the title of Administrator. It reminds us too much of those days.
My people and I are surviving though, wandering the wastes and the ruins of the world that we had lost. /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs is always looking for more survivors to join our cause. We're always taking in who we can. Maybe one day we could rebuild from the ruins of the lost, we think, maybe one day Reddit will begin anew.
_____
*Sorry, my first post got in before I could finish it. *
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[ WP ] “ Did that statue just move ? ” “ They 've been following us for awhile now , but I was n't sure . ”
| `` Did that statue just move?'' The shaky flashlight beam shone in the eyes of the white marble soldier atop the war memorial. Lisa's face was white as a ghost, matching her meticulously straight platinum blonde hair, beneath her black hoodie. Her blue eyes were dilated black, from the dark and from fear.
`` They've been following us for a while now, but I was n't sure,'' Jane responded in a monotone. The beam whipped around to shine in Jane's dark face, ringed by unruly curls.
`` Why did n't you tell me?!'' Her whisper turned into a shrill squeak and she clapped a hand over her mouth as it echoed. `` This was a bad idea. I knew there was something wrong with this place!''
`` You got ta admit it's cool to see the decay. Nature taking itself back.''
`` Well the statues will take *us* back if we do n't get the hell out of here,'' Lisa whisper-shouted.
`` I do n't think they mean us any harm. They're just curious. They probably have n't had visitors in years.''
`` James Sheffield. Ralph Nelson. Joseph Smith.''
`` What was that?'' Jane glanced at her friend, apprehension starting to show on her face. She knew that was n't her voice.
Lisa shook her head rapidly, her gasping breaths audible in the still air.
Jane swept the flashlight behind them, revealing a steadily-advancing platoon of soldiers from every war. They were whispering the names that had been worn off the marble slabs surrounding them. And the whispers were growing steadily louder. They seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
`` Richard Carpenter. George Freeman. Justice Henry.''
`` I do n't think they want the soldiers to be forgotten,'' Jane said. `` Get pen and paper. Write them down.''
She joined her friend in scribbling down the names that floated through the air, and as the statues lurched closer, not even trying to be stealthy, faces started floating through the air as well. The girls knew the faces were not just in their imagination. There were so many names, so many statues. They fell to the ground in a crouch, all physical and mental energy focused on writing. They started writing them on their arms, on their legs, on the backs of the candy wrappers in their purse. Finally, when it seemed they would run out of room and the voices became deafening, they stopped.
The girls dared to look up. Hands reached toward them from dozens of statues, the ones armed with guns had them in their sights. But they were statues again, no sign of life. A firefly landed on the eye of a Civil War general and lit up.
Lisa gasped and staggered back on all fours, out of the circle of statues. Jane was right behind her. Their flashlights swung up and down as they pumped their arms, running for their lives, swatting through ivy and branches, pulling their feet free of ferns. They reached the dirt road where they had parked their car and wasted no time in leaving the forest of statues behind.
The names still echoed in their heads. Their work was n't over. Each name had a story, and when Jane looked in the rearview mirror she saw the pale silhouettes of statues and knew they would keep following her until all their stories were told. She looked at Lisa, trembling in the passenger seat. Best not to tell her, not now.
( This story might be a little off-beat. I'm tired. )
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[ WP ] In Pulp Fiction , when Butch unloads the machine pistol on Vincent , every shot misses .
| Realising that every shot missed him, Vincent plunges for Butch and tackles him into the nearby fridge, sending all the little knock knacks on top the shower down to the kitchen floor. Butch feels the pain in his back surge which only pumps his adrenaline to begin pummelling into Vincent's back, blow after blow. `` Come into... My house and use my... Goddamn John, huh?'' Yells Butch followed by a knee to Vincent's face.
Vincent goes tumbling to the floor Landon on his back, Butch takes this opportunity to grab the nearby toaster he was using and throw it at Vincent's head. Vincent deflects the toaster barges for Butch once more. This time Butch throws a crunching haymaker right into Vincent's left check, Vincent tumbles a bit but bounces back with a kick straight into Butches gut.
Butch clutches his gut and notices Vincent grabbing his gun then proceeds to attack Butch with the handle. Butch grabs Vincent's head and slams it into the corner of a door frame multiple times, Vincent falls and Butch leans against the wall to catch his breath.
`` Come on, cowboy. Marsellus wants me dead then he's gon na' need a fuckin' army'' said Butch followed by a single kick to Vincent's face which knocks him out. Butch then proceeds to exit the apartment.
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[ WP ] You 're one of your local area 's sexy singles , but no matter how many ads you take out , you ca n't seem to find a date online .
| `` OH!! CMON!! You damned hell machine!! Why ca n't you get me someone to fuck with!?''
As Candy shouted crying, the laptop fell of her lap. She felt so depressed.
She took of her blouse, revealing her turgid bosom. She had always been a super hot girl, always since high school.
Actually all of her girl friends said she was the hotter one, a little with envy, and a little with pride of hanging out with the hottest girl in school.
Then why was it that no guy ever wanted to take her out on a date??
She was always dissappointed, because all men were intimidated by her. She was smart, funny, and had a redonculous body.
That's when she came with the idea of posting adds on the internet. A few little codes here, and she could meet with any guy close to her IP adress, that was brave enough to click the add with the hot chick on it.
But by far... Nothing... Nothing!
As she sat down in the table with her roommate, she asked: `` am i doing something wrong? Mambuto?''
`` do n't know Candy, i mean, i'm sending all of this e-mails to find a person to give all of the money my father, the Nigeria's king gave me, and no one answers either...''
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[ WP ] Write a story twice . Once as the character is going trough it , a second time when ( s ) he is remembering it , years later .
| Let me tell you of one of my fondest memories.
When I was 4, since my mom was a single mother trying to feed two boys, I was in a daycare, and a man came in and checked me out of the daycare for a field trip.
We were poor, and even then I recall that when he took me to the local Mom and Pop's Grill, it was a magnificant treat. I had a Hot dog and fries with a big vanilla shake. Most nights it was all my mom could do to afford been and rice for us, and quite often I saw her eat what me and my brother did n't finish. When I got older, I would deliberately eat more at daycare, any food that the children were throwing away, so that I could let my mom have my meals. When she found out I was doing this, she cried for hours. Anyhow, so this man and I are at the restaurant, and I recall him telling me this story as if it were yesterday, even though it has been over 30 years.
He told me when he was a boy over on Luther Owens Rd, there was a pond just filled with turtles and ducks, and he said it was the most beautiful thing i would ever see, and he offered to take me there.
We got in his truck, and while we were driving, we went over a bridge and saw some people fishing on the bridge. I had never fished before, so I asked him what it was like, and he stopped right there and taught me how to fish. While I had fun learning, and I have always been curious about learning new things, I quickly realized fishing just was n't for me, and we went on our way. We finally got to the pond which was in the middle of nowhere in the mountains of Western North Carolina.
I have always loved math, but I was unable to count how many turtles were there. It was actually hard to walk. We stayed for a little while, and we threw a bag of bread to the ducks that were there.
He told me it was time to get me back to the daycare, so he dropped me off, and no sooner had I gone back outside to play, did I see my mom's light blue VW bug coming up the hill.
I told her about my amazing day, and she did n't believe me. She told me it could n't have happened, and the next day she asked at daycare and no one checked me out the day before, so she told me I must have dreamed it all.
It was real. I know it. I have tried finding out who that man was, since the town we lived in was quite small. No one knew of a man that fit his description, but I remembered a couple of facts about him. He had dark brown hair and a light mustache almost blonde but with a hint of red.
My mom and everyone else swore no such person existed. Well as I grew older I never forgot about this day, but stopped mentioning it.
When I was 16, I started growing a mustache and noticed it was a very light color, it then hit me what must have happend.
From that day to this, armed solely with the knowledge that it must be possible, I have been studying math and physics so that I can go back in time and give myself the perfect day.
I have just been waiting until I was as old as I remembered myself, and for the last year I have known it was getting close, but today I saw a blue flannel sweater in the store window that I had seen when I was four, and I truly knew in that moment that I was n't insane.
Some people wonder why if time travel is possible, do n't more people go back and change the past or show up at times that they could n't, well there is a simple reason, the math wo n't allow it. There are a few hard rules I figured out on my path to time travel.
1. You can only go once.
2. You will be unable to cause something you know did n't happen.
3. It has already happened, so there will be nothing you can do to stop it.
I spent 20 years of my life perfecting the math and the machine, so that I could go back and make myself smile.
Maybe I am insane, but today, for the second time in my life, I am truly happy.
{ This is a true story to the extent that this did happen to me when I was 4. I vividly remember it in detail, and I was able to tell my mom accurate facts at the age of 8 or 9 about the turtle pond, which she had never taken me too, along with a few other things I remembered. To this day, I believe it really happened. I do n't know who the man was, and the only details I changed about him were to make his mustache match mine to make the story work. I do have dark brown hair and a blondish red mustache. The man had dark brown hair and no mustache, but I needed a reason in my story to make me realize `` it was me''. }
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[ WP ] You and your best friend are meeting up with the secret agenda to come out to each other . He wants to confess that he is gay . You want to confess that you are a vampire .
| `` Steve, I'm glad you came. There's something I need to get off my chest.'' Chris said from across the table. He exhaled theatrically, to no one's benefit. The restaurant they chose was practically deserted.
`` Really? You wo n't believe it but I need to tell you something too.'' Chris replied. `` It's just been eating away at me. This is great!''
`` Ok.'' Chris smiled. `` I -- do you want to go first?'' He looked at Steve, who had n't taken his eyes off of him since he sat down.
`` What? No, no go ahead.''
`` Ok... you know how I'm always out late? Clubbing?''
`` Yeah,'' Steve replied. `` You hardly ever want to hang out during the day anymore.''
`` The sun's bad for my skin,'' Chris offered. `` And remember how I'm always rating guys when we hang out?''
`` A, B, O. Yeah, of course. I mean whenever someone's with us they always ask what's with the letter grades. They do n't know any better.'' Steve smiled knowingly.
`` I think you know what I'm going to say,'' Chris mused. `` I'm... ergh. Remember that text you got from me last week?''
`` I'm not sure, was it the one that read'im gunna suk u dry?'''
`` Uhm, yeah.''
`` Then yes.''
`` Ok,'' Chris said. `` The thing is, I'm gay.''
`` What?!'' Steve shouted, spreading his shock to no one, since they were still out of earshot of anybody else.
`` I'm... gay?''
Steve looked at his old friend for a moment in silence.
`` Are you certain?''
`` Yes?''
`` Really, because those last two times you did n't seem convinced.''
`` I'm gay, Chris. Is that a problem?''
`` No, of course not. It's just... I thought you were going to say something else.''
`` Like what?''
`` Maybe that you were a vampire?''
`` Why would you think that?''
`` What you said,'' Chris said. `` Go back over it in your head.'' Steve did so, and recalled Chris's growing excitement at each point.
`` Chris, were you finally going to come out of the crypt?''
`` What?'' Chris adopted mock indignation before he recalled that this was exactly what he was planning. `` Yes. Wait, what do you mean by finally?''
`` It was pretty obvious. You were sparkling that one time we grabbed lunch.''
`` So were you,'' Chris said.
`` Thanks to half a tub of sunblock. What was your excuse, Christopher Cullen?''
`` But,'' Chris said. `` You always pointed people out at the club!''
`` My rating system was for your benefit, Chris. A, B, O-h my god!''
Chris laughed.
`` Bro, I thought you were a vampire too!'' He said after recovering.
`` You never wondered why I never pointed out a woman?''
`` Never struck me once the thirst hit.''
`` What happened to all those guys anyway?''
`` Oh, they're dead. You and I send the same texts.''
`` That's a shame.''
`` You want to share one next time?'' Chris asked. `` Not at the same time or anything. Just say the word and I'll bring one to you when we're finished.''
`` I do n't think it can work that way,'' Steve replied.
`` Why? Oh yeah... they'd be dead. I guess you're not into that? Maybe the other way around then.''
`` Yeah,'' Steve said. `` I'm going to order something. You want something?''
`` I grabbed something on the way over.''
`` Suit yourself,'' Steve said as he looked around for the waiter. `` Damn, George never takes this long. Still, if he ever gets here he's going to get a tip and my number. He's delectable.''
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[ WP ] Draw a random squiggle . Then imagine a civilization and cultural history that makes the squiggle into a stunningly beautiful work of art .
| *The Story of our People, set in the near distant future. *
The world was reborn from a single squiggle. It was a dank meme, but it was too dank for its own good. For you to comprehend the complexity of the squiggle, you must sing the song of our people.
`` The squiggle grew, because n-now th-that, that do n't kill me, can only make me stronger, I need you to hurry up now, cause I ca n't wait much longer, I know I got to be right now, cause I ca n't get much wronger, man I've been waiting all night now, that's how long I been on ya.''
Lord Kanye, hath given us all a voice!
Kanye 2020 - He made the World Cray again.
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[ WP ] Your coworker Ron is a Sith Lord
| Kait took a deep breath, put on her best smile and clicked the flashing button. The small red light next to the camera lit up a split second before the holoprojector kicked into life and the grainy green image began to assemble itself before her. She did not wait to see the customer before she began her canned opening.
`` Hello, welcome to Rhen Var Holdings, the number one in everything here on Rhen Var. My name is Kaitlyn, how may I assist you today?''
The face on her screen was obscured by shadows, only the lower half of his face was visible. She thought that was pretty odd, most holostudios had exceptional lighting.
`` I would like to request a package that was put in holding by a Mr. Zaddik.''
`` One moment, sir.'' Kait began typing away on her computer. A search for'Mr. Zaddik' yielded nothing. `` I'm sorry, sir, we do n't have any transactions under that name. Perhaps a different name was used, or do you know what you are looking for? Or even a date?''
`` Third Moon, twenty-second. 2033ABY.''
Kait paused. She tried to think what the ABY even meant. It certainly was n't used in their system. All the dates were PB and AB, Pre-Blackout and After-Blackout. `` I am sorry, sir, we will have to run a check on our old harddisk records. That may take a few hours. Is this connection a good way to reach you?''
`` Yes, but please hurry.''
`` Okay. Thank you, sir. I will now transfer you to an automation to record your contact information. Thank you for choosing RVH!''
& nbsp;
With that the image faded and the red light flicked off. Kait let out a sigh as she looked down at her notepad. `` 2033ABY?'' She asked herself softly.
`` After the Battle of Yavin.'' A sinister voice said low in her ear. Kait nearly jumped out of her skin, succeeding only in leaving her chair. She looked up to see her coworker, Ron standing over her with the most confused face. She had expected to see the creepy shadow figure from the call. She swore it had been his voice in her ears, not Ron's cheery pitch.
`` You, uh, alright?'' He asked sipping his coffee.
`` Yeah...'' Kait said half heatedly as he gathered her papers which had launched off her desk along with her. `` Yeah.'' She repeated, trying to convince herself.
`` Did n't think special history gave you such a fright. I would have prepared a nice easy going puppet show if I thought it was a such a scary topic.'' Ron said laughing. Kait did n't have anything against Ron but he always seemed off, like he knew more than he ever let on.
`` We work in a cubicle farm, Ron. If I had any skills like special history why would I work here? How do you know anything about before the blackout?''
Ron shrugged. `` The Intranet was reestablished how long ago? I just Gaagle things I find interesting.''
Kait was unconvinced. `` Last week you were talking about fencing and sword play. Is that what you do all day on your computer Gaagle random topics?''
A devilish grin grew across Ron's face, he placed his coffee mug down on her desk. `` Knowledge is power, Kait. Knowledge will get me out of this soul sucking job. Power sets you free.''
& nbsp;
Kait felt like she was shrinking. There was something intoxicating about Ron now. She had felt this before, when he had been flirting with her at the company party. At the the time she had passed it off as being drunk and lonely, now it felt... darker. The moment passed and once again it was just Ron, the slightly annoying but not really, coworker. The kind of guy she could have drinks with after work and never feel pressured into anything at all. She even felt guilty for having thought of him in any menacing way ever.
`` Sounds like you need to check old records. I've been avoiding my callers all day. Let's go check it out.''
Kait involuntarily blushed, still ashamed she had suspected him of any wrong doing. `` How are you not fired yet?''
`` Mind controlling the boss.'' Ron said with a smirk.
Kait shook her head. `` I know that's a reference to something but as we clearly demonstrated, I do n't know my special history.''
Ron shrugged. `` I'm sure it'll come back to you. I'm telling you, you never know when having knowledge may come in handy.''
Kait nodded again as she finished packing what she needed for their trip to old storage. `` Alright let's head out.'' Ron responded with a smile and turned to follow her to the elevator.
& nbsp;
EDIT: Formatting
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[ WP ] A robber breaks in a woman 's home . She is ready to die/suicidal and wakes up to the robber holding a gun . She says , `` Go ahead . ''
| `` Go ahead.''
Seeing as nothing happened, she continued, `` I dare you.''
I took a step back.
She stood up and walked towards me, `` You ca n't do it, can you? You're just a pathetic hungry teenage boy who got his hands on a gun trying to survive in this desolate world. Get out of my fucking house!''
*Who the hell is this women? * Still backing off, I felt my shaking heels touch the edge of the wall. Gathering my tumultuous thoughts, I raised up my gun and pointed dead center at the woman's forehead. `` Stop.'' I said, amassing all my courage. `` Or I really will shoot.''
`` That's fine. I want to die.'' She took one step closer, her dress flowing freely behind her. She took another step, *her eyes are yellow*. She took one more step, and reached her hands and gently tapped the end of my gun. Then, stretching her index finger, she curled it around the trigger.
`` Go ahead.''
I did n't know what to do. She was dead already, just waiting for someone to send her on that journey. Just my luck to be stuck with this maniac.
`` Go ahead.'' She stopped. Looked at me squarely in the eye. Seeing my confusion and fear, she continued, `` Well, if you're not going to...'' She pulled out a cigar with her other hand and held it up against her pursed lip, took a long drag from the fat cigar, and watched as the flames flicker as she blew the smoke out. ``... I might have to do it myself.''
I crouch and cover my face, letting my hands slip off the gun. She catches it by the trigger.
She looks into my eye and sees her face from the reflection off my cornea.
Holding up the gun to her head, she says to her reflection, `` Go ahead.''
Her finger tightens and then loosens up, her body shaking and her face streaming with tears.
That's when I realized... *She ca n't do it. * And with a forceful grip, I took the gun from her hand. `` Okay, I'm going to do it.'' And I pulled the trigger.
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[ WP ] A same-sex friend confesses his/her homosexuality to you ( you 're not gay ) , and you believe he/she has a crush on you . It turns out you were wrong .
| I was so happy when she came out. My best friend since childhood, Rebekah was the most beautiful girl I'd ever known. At seventeen I realized I had a crush on her, but I could never admit it.
I was afraid. Afraid she would laugh at me, judge me. What if other people found out? Men telling me it was sooo hot, ignoring any struggle. My family might not say much, except my grandmother. God.
So the night Bekah stayed at my house and confessed her feelings to me, I was so glad. I thought she told me because she felt the same way. With tears in my eyes, I grabbed her hands and told her I felt the same way.
That was when the look of pity appeared on her face. `` Honey... I'm so sorry. I love you. You're like my sister, but it's not you.''
I have never felt my chest drop like that. I was weak. I begged. She left.
Now I'm holding this gun trying to decide if I will ever find love again.
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[ WP ] Humans have just discovered the ability to visit the afterlife and return . One person is chosen to be the first individual to travel there . Upon return , what that person has discovered is more terrifying than could be imagined .
| I stood in the middle of the giant mechanism. Apparently some geekwit had found a way to prove that consciousness survives death. The glass chamber did n't feel very cozy, no way to lie down, apparently it would take several hours for the quantum computer to do it's calculations.
I tapped my feet to an imaginary groove while looking at the beaming lamp above me growing brighter and brighter. Suddenly the ray hit me and everything went bright, then completely dark. I could n't feel anything or see anything. It was now when i was supposed to meet the beings. They did n't really even have physical bodies, i was not in my dimension anymore i was outside the frame, in this dark nightmare world the science geeks had discovered.
They came at me in a sort of bouncing stride, all i saw was their faces in red and greenish hues some of them with shit-eating grins, the others with horrifying disfigured frowns.'Man is this what i signed up with the army for?' i thought to myself. At least my mind felt somewhat clear even though scientifically speaking it was in another state of existence. Finally one of the faces approached me, it looked like it belonged to some goblin-wraith. It spoke, not in a sound but some kind of vibration that instantly connected to me. I suppose it said something like:'Let me show you, fool.'
Suddenly i could see the world flashing before my eyes, it was like looking at it through stained glass. I saw the great explosion, the big bang rush out and then cool down forming stars. Then those stars began to burn hotter until they too cooled down forming planets. I saw this expansion recede into contraction like one seamless pulse. I saw the seemingly dead universe come alive in this same manner. Organic matter was born and died only to be resurrected in another form completely at random, but it always returned eventually. The light switch always being turned on and then off again. Time passed and i saw this fate befall humanity, the animals, the bacteria... I could clearly see the falsehood in all religious traditions.
A man was no more likely to be reborn a snail or a tree. What i could clearly see almost all those lives have in common was their suffering. Predators eating prey, the resilient creatures growing old and withering away in desperation. The trees slowly decomposing but using all their willpower to reach for the sun and seek water through their roots. It was all one big struggle destined for failure. The same way i saw the stars burn out, become clouds of gas and meld thenselves into stars anew so i saw the fate of all life follow the same pathway.
At last the vision took me beyond all human and alien civilizations dying out and i saw the universe recede down into one big contraction. Billions of years had passed but i felt completely timeless, motionless. I saw everything in the far far far future sucked down into the last giant blackhole. So this was the end i thought. I could n't help but feel relief seeing things go this way. Even bacteria, completely devoid of intelligence still suffered and strived, they too had a driving force that made them seek food and shelter, only to be destined for this fate for all eternity.
The last of the world's light was devoured by the black hole. I looked around the complete darkness and saw the wraith's blurry face give me the same grin it had given me earlier. I was n't sure what was happening. Had the world really ended? Suddenly the singularity rumbled and exploded again repeating the cycle. I knew now what these forlorn demons knew - or whatever the hell they were, they never told me. All that exists is an absolute eternity of struggle and tension. There is no relief or escape. A human life no matter how miserable was just a lucky break on an endless trail of lowly lifeforms competing with each other for nothing.
Suddenly i saw the bright ray hit me again. I looked around me, i was back in the laboratory. My mind was racing with burning despair. I clenched my chest and fell to the floor. I'd had a heart attack. The last thought i remembered during this, ironically enough was'Please do n't die'.
I woke up on a hospital bed. Id had a nervous breakdown of such a magnitude that it stopped my heart. The colonel from unit 359 stood above me with two doctors.'You had an episode, we do n't know if it was the light or what uh, looking through the window did to you. It seems you'll be ready to leave here in a few days.' He did his best to muster a sympathetic look but i could tell he was a bit jealous. He thought maybe i'd seen heaven or something.'Uh, did you go to a..better place while you were there? Did we interfere with something unnecessarily?' I did my best to smile back and said'Okay colonel let me put it this way: Your destination is not as far off as you think but there's still a long way to go.' His look was now that of disapproval and he promptly walked out the door.
The next day i was sitting outside at the hospital cafeteria. I smoked a cigar, something i almost never do and ate all the sweets, donuts and other assorted dirt that was on offer. I could hear the hospital staff discussing the rumors they'd heard about me or maybe they just thought i'd had that regular old near-death experience.'Guess some people never get a new perspective on things' one of the nurses muttered just loud enough for me to hear it, which was of course her intention.
So what was i doing? Just enjoying whatever peace i could. I gazed out over the garden and saw a pigeon sitting on a branch. It seemed interested in the breadcrumbs i'd let trickle down beside my table. It was scared, i could tell with perfect clarity now. The face of pain on every animal.
Out of the corner of my vision i saw a white and yellow little thing sneaking by a corner of the building. The pigeon hesitated but eventually gave in and landed on the porch to greet my humble offering of cafeteria leftovers. I glanced to my left and sure enough the cat was only a few feet away from jumping his prey. I took a sip of my coffee and waited.
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[ WP ] Dreams are glimpses into other dimensions/worlds . After every dream , you 're given a choice : `` Enter '' or `` Pass '' . Once in a `` dream world '' , the only way out is through another dream .
| I've always been an adrenaline junkie. My mother used to tell a story about one time when she had taken my younger brother Al and I to a theme park and how he had been tall enough to go on the decent rides while I too short by a hair thanks to the ride operators making me take my shoes off before getting measured. She says I had stood in heartbroken silence all day watching Al have time of his life, too proud to go on the rides I was eligible for. Eventually I returned to the theme park tall enough to go on the rides and discovered that they were n't as extreme as I had hoped, I needed more.
I used to be obsessed with airplanes as a youngling, obsessed with how high they got. While other children were following the instructions to make whatever was on the cover of their lego box, I saw every piece as an essential part of my next winged invention. When I had learned that people jumped out of them for fun, I knew I was n't alone in this world.
But I was wrong.
My mother had realized my abnormal adrenaline cravings way before I had. In retrospect, I think her agreeing to send me skydiving at such a young age was her attempt at'getting it out of my system'; it did n't work. Skydiving had become somewhat of a quest to the young me, I believed that it would give me the feeling that I was so desperately searching for. It did n't. It was fun and all, but something inside of me was demanding more.
Having completed my childhood quest and no further schemes to satisfy my insatiable cravings, I fell into a slump. That slump was alleviated briefly when I discovered drugs and sex at fourteen years old, climaxing in ( no pun intended ) a less than brief stint at a juvenile rehab center.
Rehab seemed to have been my personally designed hell. They treated me like I was five years old and the only physical thing I got to do was a routine'self esteem building' exercise program. My adrenaline demon was exploding inside, demanding to be fed. It was getting serious; I could n't hold up my hands without them shaking and I spent more time daydreaming than I did in reality. Eventually I ended up smuggling in a sharp rock with me from the yard, I was desperate for sensation. That night I slid the edge of the stone across my thigh and watched the blood run down my leg; I watched the blood stream down my ankle and begin to pool next to my foot. I started balling. I cried for probably 10 minutes before one of the dipshit counselors showed up believing I was having some sort of breakthrough. I had been beneath my sheets so my bloody leg was n't visible and through sheer luck they had failed to notice the small red spot on the floor, and after begging them to leave me alone they backed off and I resumed my tears. I must have cried for at least an hour before finally crying myself to sleep. That was the first night it happened.
I was looking down at clouds, on the top of some behemoth mountain, clad in colorful winter apparel and strapped to a snowboard my mother could n't have afforded. I had never actually been snowboarding, but I shredded that mountain to pieces. It took me over an hour to reach the bottom, but once I finally did something weird happened. My vision switched from the mountain to showing a massive tidal wave, and I had a very tangible sense of deciding If I wanted to go for it. Obviously I of accepted the offer, and soon discovered that I liked surfing even more than snowboarding. It did n't end there; after I have gotten tubular on the over mile long wave my view changed to a rocket ship taking off and I was again given a choice.
All night I accepted offer after offer until finally I was forced to decline out of sheer exhaustion. I soon found myself rubbing the tired out of my eyes back in the waking world, a bit weirded out by the fact that I was so full of energy when just moments ago I had been on the verge of collapsing. In turns out that in the pits of my desperation I had unlocked something, the epic dreams returned to me every night. I remember praying to God, apologizing for all the times I had cursed him for giving me such an unquenchable appetite for thrill, how I had for so long felt as if I would live forever unsatisfied.
I fantasized every moment of everyday about what epic adventures awaited me that night. From intense prison escapes to fancy bank heists, I experienced it all. I was the happiest I had ever been, but people were growing concerned. From an outsiders perspective it appeared that I was becoming increasingly withdrawn and distant each day. Once they had put me on anti-depression medication, and at first I agreed because I was willing to do whatever it took to be left alone, but after learning that the pills stopped the dreams I quit taking them and put up a fuss whenever they brought up the subject.
And so I continued like that for years, in my own little paradise by night and quiet anticipation by day. I did whatever was required in order to be left alone; I went to school, got decent grades, demonstrated social competence and smiled for pictures. The more I dreamed the more my adrenaline standards grew. It was like my dreams were training me, constantly upping the anti, seeking to push my limits, waiting for me to say no. Eventually I was leading revolutions against AI in futuristic wars, saving humanity from invaders and riding along Genghis Khan as we raided The Great Wall.
But then one night everything changed. I was a noble paladin fighting to spread the word of God to the heathens of Saudi Arabia. I was on the battle field slaying foes like a jedi when I noticed a hooded member of the opposing army dancing a dance of death as he twirled about slaying my allies left and right. I called out for him, `` You!'' I shouted dramatically while pointing with my sword, `` Now you die!'' The battle ceased and everyone looked our way. The hooded man nodded as if to accept my offer and everyone from both sides of the conflict cheered as they swarmed our location to watch the duel. Surrounded by eager faces we clashed; Swinging with wild precision and parrying what would be deadly blows we toured the barren landscape with expert footwork, onlookers constantly adjusting as to allow us a decent radius of open space. My arms were becoming rubber and the hooded man showed no signs of slowing. I looked around for relief but soon realized all the Christian spectators were weeping while the Muslims cheered. I flailed a desperate blow with all the strength I could muster and it was parried hard; I went tumbling to the ground. The man kicked the sword from my hand and put his sword to my throat. `` Please do n't kill me,'' I begged with full knowledge that I was in a dream and feeling a bit silly for it; but the fear was real. `` Of course not,'' The man replied, `` I would n't want to send you to hell,'' he said before lowering the sword to my thigh and cutting a deep a gash.
It looked like I had had my period. Blood was everywhere and the pain was agonizing. I removed my pillow casing and wrapped it around my wound before limping to the shower. What the fuck had just happened. Never before had I failed to complete a dream, was this normal? I mean.. given the circumstances normal? Luckily it was a Saturday, and I was able to spend the day pondering what had happened and nursing my wound without being bothered.
I felt so torn inside, the pain of realizing my lone outlet to feed the ever growing desire for excitement had turned against me was far more hurtful than the pain in my leg. What was I going to fucking do? I could n't let the adrenaline demon go unsatisfied, but I obviously could n't go into the dreams that were being offered. I felt like I had nothing in real life, my whole world had revolved around my nightly exploits. After the years of intensifying dreams, getting my adrenaline fix during my waking life would be impossible; even if I started robbing banks and getting in high speed car chases I would go wanting, I had outgrown that stuff long ago. I went to bed that night knowing that I could never accept another dream, but I was even more sure of the fact that I had no choice.
It was the first time something like this had been offered to me; my vision was attuned to the inside of some cathedral. I convinced myself that it would be stupid not to go, it was a very safe location and a good chance to get my feet wet again. I accepted the offer and soon found myself kneeling on the floor with my hands folded together on a bench, comfortably situated in a prayer position. The room's ceiling loomed far overhead and stained glass windows colored to depict biblical events were scattered about the walls. The room was profoundly silent even though it was packed with people, all in the same position I was, praying towards the stone statue of Jesus on a cross in the front of the room. Some of them moved the lips rapidly while moving their hands along their rosary, others sat motionless with tears running down their face; then I saw her. My mother was there, praying like everyone else not two rows behind me. I attempted to begin a short pilgrimage to go sit near her but soon found that I was completely surrounded by people in deep prayer and would n't be able to get to my mother without disturbing them.
I debated what I should do, on one hand this was n't your average dream, if it had been I would n't have thought twice about beginning to dance the Macarena while singing yankee-doodle; but after what had happened the previous night I realized it may be wise to respect the circumstances. On the other hand, I could clearly see my mom praying in what had all bells and whistles of what was possibly some kind of'prophetic dream.' Eventually, boredom and curiosity got the better of me and I tapped the woman next to me on the shoulder in an attempt to make some space. I saw her eyelashes jolt up from my side view, and when she turned to me a hideous truth was revealed, her eyes had been gauged out. Underneath her eyelids had laid a bloody mess, and now that she had lifted them blood was running down from her eye sockets and she began screaming in agony; as if she had been previously unaware of her wounds. Her screams made others in the cathedral return from their meditations and look towards the source of the pandemonium, and as they opened their eyes they were greeted by similar fates. Soon the whole room was screaming in agony, flailing and running about blindly, colliding with each other and desperately squirming in excruciating pain amongst complete chaos. Through the insanity I briefly saw a woman sitting motionless, still in prayer, seemingly oblivious to the carnage. I was soon able to catch another glimpse of her through the restless ocean of bodies and confirmed my suspicions, it was my mother. I began working my way over to her, using my heightened agility and spatial awareness to avoid wildly swinging limbs and rampaging bodies.
I soon found myself at her side and realized I did n't have any further plan of action, trying to get her attention may result in her sharing a similar fate as the rest of the screaming mass. I stood nearby her with a protective but perhaps unnecessary demeanor, the chaotic ruckus that surrounded us seemed to be granting us a small radius of comfort. Then I saw something that made my heart skip a beat, the hooded man from the previous night was chopping through blinded Christians left and right, and he was heading right for us. I grabbed my mothers arm, `` Mother it's me, we need to go.'' She did n't budge. `` Mom, this is n't safe, there's a guy coming who's going to hurt us!'' She began weakly whimpering as water poured from her tear ducts.
`` I'm... s-sorry. I'm s-so... s-s-sorry'', she stuttered through a cracking voice. Fragilely she continued, `` If I h-had kn-known how h-he w-wa-,'' before being interrupted by a brown bag being thrown over her head and a rope near her neck being tightened. Two Muslim-appearing soldiers restrained her by either arm and she began to kick and scream wildly; crying hysterically she yelled `` L-leave him alone! It's m-m-my f-fault!'' I jolted towards her when something struck the side of my head, I found to the ground disoriented with ears ringing deafeningly. I bit my cheeks hard to regain alertness, I stood to my feet but was instantly seized by several Muslim soldiers.
`` Silence you blasphemous whore!'' the hooded man shouted as he struck the bag covering my mothers head with an open palm, `` I'm not going to hurt him, I'm saving him for you,'' he said as he again struck the bag and I went berserk trying to break free of my captors. The hooded man noticed my struggle. `` You fool, you know nothing about this whore,'' he said as his stone face contorted in a sadistic smile and he punched her in the stomach full force. She went limp.
I screamed in rage. `` I'LL KILL YOU!! YOU SON OF A BITCH I'LL KILL YOU,'' with a bravasity that seemed to echo in the tall room despite the desperate pleas of agonizing pain that we were engulfed in.
`` You'll thank me someday,'' the man said knowingly with no trace of anything that suggested dishonesty in his voice. `` Take her to the executioner, bring the boy to the Imam, he may still be saved.''
`` NO!'' I screamed desperately, `` LEAVE HER ALONE!'' as I continued my doomed struggle to break free of bondage.
Her unconscious body was soon wisped out of sight by the soldiers as I was pulled in the opposite direction. They pulled me into a separate office like room and sat me in a chair, holding a sword to my throat. `` Sit and listen, or die,'' one soldier said. I was sitting across a table from a chair with a large backrest turned away from me.
`` Oh you made it,'' I heard the mocking voice that I disdained so much say. The chair turned around and sure enough the hooded man met my gaze with mocking smile. `` Now that the whore is out of the way we can get serious.'' He walked over to the fireplace and began to stoke a flame. `` Your mother is a fool. She would have delivered you straight to the Jinn's if not for my intervention.'' I sat in silently, fruitlessly scanning the room for something that could help alleviate my situation. I glanced over at the hooded man and saw he was holding a long metal rod into the now burning fire. `` Purification by flame,'' he muttered under his breath, barely audible to my still ringing ears. He removed the rod from the fire and walked over to me and tilted his head to the side slightly. Three men grabbed me and turned me around lifting my shirt, and the hooded man pressed the flat of the blazing iron to my back. I erupted in pain, flailing but completely restrained. The torment shot through my whole body and I began to convulse briefly before aggressively vomiting as the branding process continued. After what seemed like an eternity he removed the scalding heat source from my back. The hooded man spoke casually as he walked for the door, `` we made good progress today but we shall have to postpone further purification until a later date, I have an execution to see to.'' I heard the door slam shut and my captors released me. I collapsed unable to support myself, but instead of colliding with the floor I jolted awake in my bedroom.
I felt like waves of fire were flowing through my body. I reached with my hand to the source of the palpitations and felt scar tissue from where I had been branded. I lay on my stomach in complete misery. Scorching physical pain shot through me while the terror of whatever the fuck was happening to me touched some primal part of me. I must be going insane. I must be a schizophrenic, and the past years of excitement have all been a part of my delusional fantasies, and now I was having psychotic episodes during which I was injuring myself. I hoped I was right. It was Sunday morning and my mother came knocking on my door, I threw the blanket over me and cringed as it contacted my singed skin. She opened the door and entered my room, through barely cracked open eyes I clearly saw a deep black eye and swollen lip and an expression on her face of pure terror that could only be achieved by a mother fearing for her child's safety. As she realized that I was seemingly safely asleep her facial muscles relaxed and she let out a breath she seemed to have been harboring for some time. `` I'm going to church honey,'' she said looking down at the floor and covering her face, `` breakfast is on the table.'' She close my door and I soon heard her footsteps descending the staircase and the front door open and then slam shut.
My head was racing. Nothing made any sense. Had I beaten up my mom in the middle of the night? Was she for some reason covering my schizophrenic episodes?.... or was it all real? Did my mom know what I had been doing all these years? Were her wounds a mystery to her? No... I was n't schizophrenic, these dreams were'real', everything that had happened happened.. I slowly managed to arise from my bed and limped myself to the bathroom where I used the dual mirrors to inspect my wound... What I saw made the whole situation go from making no sense to making absolutely no fucking sense. The hooded man had branded some strange symbols, probably Hebrew, into my back. I limped back to my room before returning to the mirrors with a pen and paper. I meticulously Da Vinci'd the characters onto the paper before finally returning to my room with the document to consult the knower of all tings. I opened my laptop and loaded Google translator. It took over an hour to find the correct characters but finally I had copied the message into my browser window, I clicked'translate' and held my breath. Unfortunately, my family was the only one in the modern world still using dial up so I had to exhale before the screen loaded; but when the page finished loading what I saw made me choke in shock, `` Allah save my soul from eternal hellfire.'' I shut my laptop and stared at my wall.
I had so many puzzle pieces but none of them fit together, there seemed to be no possible explanation. I felt like I was in some grotesque episode of the twilight zone and would n't have surprised if that narrator broke the silence to speculate on my situation. I heard the front door open and close again, footsteps coming up the stairway. I returned to my bed and got on my stomach, carefully covering myself with the blanket. There was a knocking on my door, `` honey you did n't touch your breakfast, are you okay?'' I did n't know what to say, she opened the door and entered the room, again revealing her battered face. `` Still in bed? Are you feeling okay?''
`` What happened to you mom?'' I asked monotone. Her face morphed into a protective visage.
`` Oh honey it's nothing, I must have fallen down the stairs again, you know how I am. You're the one laying in bed at noon! Are you sure you're feeling alright?''
Fallen down the stairs again? I had no memory of her ever falling down the stairs, let alone multiple times as her tone suggested.
`` Yeah, I'm fine, I just need to rest,'' I replied.
`` Okay honey, let me know if you need anything,'' she said before closing the door and descending the staircase.
My head was on fire, but not for the same reason the rest of my body. Nothing made any sense, I felt like I could n't tell what was real anymore, but through the distortion I knew one thing for sure; No more accepting the dreams. I would just have to cope with the greyness of reality. I could n't risk putting my Mom or anyone else in danger. No matter how peaceful the scene looked, no matter how remote from any possible danger, I would pass.
I went to bed that night with surprisingly high spirits. I was putting this all behind me. I felt like the whole mess had made me thankful for what I had; My mother loved me so much and I wanted to be a more active son for her and a better brother to Al. It would be tough, but I felt like this experience would give me the determination necessary to tame my adrenaline demon. But that nights dream vision left me no choice.
I saw my mother in a room surrounded by Muslims. Her hands were tied behind her and her head was lowered to a chopping block. The hooded man stood next to her preaching to his soldiers in a slurred speech, `` sentenced to death, for false worship and attempting to corrupt the youth,'' he said in an emotional tone I had not thought him capable of and swallowing in his throat before continuing, `` for attempting to corrupt my own son and condemn him to eternal hellfire. Had I known the wench to be so unredeemable I would never...'' he was slurring was growing more heavy, he was obviously heavily intoxicated, `` forget it,'' he looked at my mother, `` I'm going to kill you, you fucking miserable useless bitch.'' He raised his sword.
I leaped into the dream and appeared right in front of the man, I grabbed a dagger from his hip and plunged it into his stomach, he gasped in shock and looked down at me as I closed my eyes and twisted the dagger viciously while driving it deeper into his flesh. I felt the pressure of his weight increase on my shoulders as he lost the ability to support himself. I continued thrashing the knife into him, eyes still closed, only now I was crying. The pressure of his collapsing body continued to mount on me, exceeding the weight it seemed his body should have been able to produce. Soon he was crushing me, on top of me and bleeding furiously all over while seizuring violently.
I opened my eyes, we were somewhere else now. My mother was crying maddeningly, face brutally distorted abuse. She pushed the weight of the man's corpse off of me and embraced me passionately, caressing the back of my head and pressing her face into my shoulder..... except she was huge. Then the reality hit me, I lifted my arms and saw one of my tiny hands clutching a large cutting knife and it all came rushing back to me. I made the embrace mutual and we cried together. Tiny me and my pregnant mother held each other and sobbed hysterically for hours, just as we had all those years ago. Finally I turned my head to the corpse and noticed a bloodied Koran in it's cold lifeless grip. A million painful memories flooded my head; all the times I had heard my mother being beaten and raped, all the times my father had violently screamed at me, telling me I was going to hell for trying to protect my mother, for being a terrible son. I was overwhelmed by the revitalization the memories, and it was n't over.. memories of my father laughing with me, helping me build airplanes out of lego's, driving me to the airport to watch planes take off and land.
A crippling guilt began to creep up from my subconscious and began to condemn me, but I saw it's true face. It was over. No longer would I carry this cross. It had n't been my fault. I had been protecting my mother. It was n't my fault. It was over.
I cried with my mother until eventually I opened my eyes and I was awake. I sat up in my bed, the pain in my back and leg were gone. My mother knocked on the door and opened it, revealing an unharmed face, `` Honey are you okay? I heard you crying.''
`` I remember mom, I remember everything,'' I said, forcing her eyes to meet my knowing gaze. She silently walked over to me and embraced me, crying gently.
`` I'm so sorry, I did n't know how to tell you'' she said with a voice engulfed by guilt.
I cried with her but said nothing. It was over. The demon was dead.
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[ WP ] Yesterday Jack and Jill went up the hill . Today their bodies were found .
| Jack & Jill went up the hill
We've all heard this before
Jack came tumbling down the hill
And Jill came tumbling after
How did they fall, how did they die?
Who created this tragedy, from a tale of joy?
And I must find, the truth beckons
Clear as day, to me it calls
There was no well atop the hill
So what were you fetching? Dear Jack & Jill?
Your broken skull, your dead wife
I pray for you; the dear departed.
Someone did, they took your life
It should n't be, but it feels right.
But who cares what is right?
The truth is what I must find.
I call on you, the one who pushed
Why do it? Why you should?
Yeah, it was me who did the deed
The who pushed Jill & Jack
Why do you care, Inspector Reed?
It should feel right, you know it should
For I know, what no one ever could
I too feel, what you went through
Jack & Jill killed my beloved too
I do n't care for the law
What they did no one saw
No one but me, no one but you
I know you know, what I say is true.
You want revenge, but you are too pure
Not me. Not now. Not ever before.
I called them up, to mark her death
I killed them both, I confess.
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[ WP ] When a parent dies , their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child . An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning .
| I love being the third son of this family. My adopted father has been kind and generous to me my entire life, and I've never once looked into my adopted mother's eyes and seen anything other than love and acceptance, even when that was tempered by anger or disappointment. My eldest brother Daniel only ever teased me about being adopted when he was too little to understand how much that could hurt me, and he came to me of his own accord to apologize when he realized that he had. Despite that, he was an Eldest, and had the rights, privileges, and social pressures that that entailed, so I was never as close to Daniel as I am to Brie.
As an older sister, one could hardly hope for more. She and I have been close from the moment I was brought home from the hospital. She was still a toddler at the time, and was convinced that I was a new toy for her amusement. She would drag me around the house as though I were a favorite stuffed animal. Nearly 20 years later, she still hugs me with the abandon of a child with a toy, though now I can just pick her up and squeeze back until she giggles and screams. She has grown into a beautiful, kind, and thoughtful young woman, and the bond we have as Extras will be one that holds forever.
I've lived a life much happier than I have deserved, given my status. Most parents are n't nearly as kind to their forced adoptions, realizing that they are destined for some menial labor or service job, and raise them out of duty and biological imperative, rather than any semblance of genuine affection. My father, an architect, has chosen to teach me right alongside of Daniel, when most others would n't bother. He even took time to teach me things that he would never dream of teaching Daniel ( why would he bother? In a few years, Daniel will know everything he knows ).
I say all of this to remind myself that I ’ ve had a good life, and a happy one.
And now it ’ s over.
Three days ago I received my Inheritance. I am not an Extra, I am an Eldest. And from the skills I acquired and the knowledge now coursing through my brain, I was the Eldest of either an elite soldier or a stone cold killer.
Ever woken from a dream and had to reassert reality to yourself for a few minutes? You wake up and have to remind yourself that you are not flying, that you did not arrive to school naked, or that you are not being chased by something malicious and way, way faster than you. Ever have difficulty reasserting your identity to yourself? Has that feeling ever persisted for the rest of the day?
Yeah, that ’ s pretty much my reality right now.
Last Saturday I woke up and jumped out of bed, scanned my room for threats and exits, secured the window, and took a defensive position facing the door, gripping my tennis racket in an overhand grip. It was done completely on autopilot, and I had no idea why. I took a deep breath, left my room to brush my teeth, and came back and made my bed with a precision and perfection I have never, ever approached. I knew something was strange, but I ’ ve never taken any of the classes that Eldests take for dealing with receiving their Inheritance, so I had no freaking clue what was going on. I ’ m not an idiot, though, and by late Saturday I figured out that I had Inherited some serious skills. I ’ ve spent the last few days making plans to breach a door when knocking, evaluating everyone I cross as “ threat ”, “ asset ”, or “ in the way ”, and really, really wishing I had a gun. I ’ ve never even held a gun, but I feel naked without one now. Preferably two. And a knife.
Like I said, soldier or killer.
It ’ s the middle of the semester, so Brie and Daniel are away, and Dad is at a conference in New York. I don ’ t know if I ’ m ready to talk to Mom about this, and I ’ ve been avoiding her for the past couple days. I ’ m scared, and a little excited, but most of all I ’ m confused. I don ’ t know if I woke up on Saturday as the same person I was on Friday. And not in the wishy washy philosophical sense. In the literal, physical reality of life: am I still me? The life of an Eldest, which I ’ ve always imagined as something of a paradise ( my parents are remarkably even handed in their treatment of us, but even they show favoritism to Daniel in most things ), is, it seems, not without its pitfalls.
I ’ m on my way to talk to a professor of neurobiological inheritance at the Inheritence Institute in town. Hopefully he ’ ll have some answers.
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[ WP ] You and your friend always joke that he is just a figment of your collective imaginations . Then you realize you 're the only one that hangs out with them . You start trying to forget your friend to figure out which of you is imaginary .
| It all started with a joke. My friend had stumbled upon an article about imaginary friends, stating that they were a coping mechanism children used.
`` If that's true, then you're my imaginary friend!'' I joked.
`` No. You're mine.'' he murmured, disappointed.
Then I thought about it. We only hung out when he had a bad day at work and needed to unwind. Other than that, we never met. Nor has he ever mentioned family, friends, or a lover. It made me wonder.
Was he my imaginary friend? I could n't be one, for I had friends and family that recognized me. I mulled it over and decided that the best way to learn which was to help him get a life.
So I played therapist. His glumness became a cynical wit. He took care of his body and mind. He dressed better. He learned how to connect to others. He became happier. Then we drifted a part, for he no longer called me to vent and escape.
It all ended with a text. Then I learned the nature of my existence during my last moments.
`` Thank you for everything, my first friend. I do n't need you anymore. Goodbye.''
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[ WP ] An elderly man wakes up and checks his mail . He opens the envelope to find his own little toe
| Very first post in Writing prompts. Feedback is very much appreciated even if you think the story is bad. Every suggestion helps.
In a crack between the old curtains patterned perfectly with evenly spaced patterns of squares, the sun hit the old man Eric enough to wake him up. It was directly on time, never early nor late. It was perfectly on schedule, how everything should be, how everything was for Eric. As he got up he wandered around for a bit, he could feel where he lost part of his toe back in the war... which was was it? Oh, never mind, that one everyone remembers. It did feel weird walking, almost as if the wound was still fresh but it was just his mind, surely? He shook his head as if to remove the stupid thoughts and kept walking out to the hallway lined with the wallpaper of perfectly aligned grey squares and diamonds. The house had great symmetry and he loved that, he did n't at first.
Patterns always gave him comfort, especially since Agnes had passed away. His memory was n't the greatest anymore, he never trusted it but his family left a notebook for him full of notes which was written in nice official handwriting, perfect and loopy as if a diplomatic letter to some important dignitary. They always wrote something down when they came.
> * We visited today, you two were so happy together!
> * You ’ re sick so keep up your fluids, ok?
> * Remember, Agnes passed away 20 years ago. You still never remember.
> * Remember your old toe injury from the war? Keep it covered and don ’ t touch it, it might bleed.
>
Breakfast was ready, as always, waiting for him. Eric's memory always was a bit foggy and he always seemed to forget making it. He sat down on the chair facing west and began his meal. He always made it take exactly 20 minutes to finish his meal, no more, no less. Some would say his life was boring but Eric found it comforting.
It was 9:30 now, the mail was in. The postman was never late, Eric liked that unlike in his youth when they might ’ ve been a minute late or not even scheduled at all! That was of course before he moved here. Eric chuckled at the thought. He open his old wooden door and wandered outside to the letterbox. The usual, bills but there was something at the back. A small parcel with a letter attached to it.
He wandered inside with the package and unravelled it. What fell out was
a toe.
Now thoroughly disgusted Eric read the letter, it simply read
*They are controlling you, don ’ t believe any of this. *
Signed, *a friend*
Then there was a heavy knock at the front door.
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[ WP ] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence . The only catch is the more it is shortened , the worse the conditions are where they are held . Describe a one night stay .
| They take sick pleasure in it, watching me squirm. They're waiting for me to give them a reaction and I'm fighting against every nerve in my body to be their entertainment. This was supposed to be a nice, modern prison, that's what I was told by the chuckling pig who tossed me in the back of his car. I guess that passes for a police officer's sense of humor.
`` How's that, Nathan? Bright enough?'' The woman controlling the projector asks with smug false nicety, clicking a button and making her way through a slideshow of my crime.
It's not like I have n't seen these photos a hundred times before. The images are burnt into my brain from the night it happened, replayed in court, now here blown up on the wall of this pristine white room. I know the walls are white because in the dark with the blaring projector they give an eerie glow, the kind of glow that makes me even more uncomfortable than if the damned walls had just been plain brick. They just had to give it the sheen of normalcy.
`` Well, what do you have to say for yourself?'' Doreen chuckles quietly, her false nails clicking on the controller again, staring straight ahead at the images she's flicking through as if wistfully recalling a trip to the Grand Canyon.
`` The same fucking thing I said in court, you nut. It was an *accident*.'' I bark over my shoulder, they have me strapped in pretty tight for a supposedly progressive, caring facility.
`` That's a real bloody mess of an accident you made, Nathan. I bet you got off on it, you artists are all the same. I bet you saw their blood like crimson on your paintbrush.'' A bit of anger seeped into Doreen's speech, as if I'd personally harmed one of her family members or a lover. The kind of overachiever who brownnoses her way to the top so she can punish guys like me.
`` I'm a fucking *bus driver*, it was night, I was just trying to get home. I did n't see those kids, they should have been wearing brighter clothes, or at least walking on the sidewalk for Christ's sake. And what I do in my spare time is none of your god damned business. As if a corporate slave like you would understand art, anyway.'' I mutter, doing everything in my power not to scream.
`` Dear, I've been to the MoMA, I know art.'' Doreen spat, her thumb mashing just a bit more furiously into the clicker. `` I do n't commune with scum so I do n't think I'd have ever seen you there.'' The smile returned to her voice, the mangled bodies of six kids in dark puffy coats and their winter gloves and boots spread across the highway.
`` You make an innocent man want to commit murder, you maniac.'' I clear my throat, closing my eyes and inhaling sharply through my nose, four hours'til morning. `` Where do you get off with your Nurse Ratched act, anyway? I do n't appreciate the sanctimonious drivel, Doreen.'' I manage a tired smirk, glancing over my shoulder at the woman in white.
`` Just keep your mouth shut and eyes open'til morning, pig. Neither of us want to be here so enjoy the silence, Nathan.''
|
[ WP ] You discover your significant other is an alien .
| Maybe it was her slimy green skin, or her long talons, or her impressive ten-foot stature. Maybe it was her acidic saliva, or her unreasonably oriented pudenda. Perhaps it was her supernumerary nipples, her teal areolae, or her floating hair. Maybe it was the way her eyes grew dull when she spoke to me, the way her voice lost its softness, her touch its charm. Maybe it was her refusal to watch ALF with me. Or maybe.. just maybe... it her ability to be amused by a predictable conceit that any human should have seen coming. I mean, come on. It's obviously going to be some tepid volta.
Anyway, I called the FBI and they took her away to be tortured to death. But hey, at least I do n't need to leave the seat down anymore!!
|
[ WP ] One day you find a broken mp3 player . It still plays music , but is stuck on shuffle . As you listen to the player you notice that the music seems to set the perfect mood for what 's happening around you . One day the mp3 player starts playing O Fortuna .
| It had been a month since i found a MP3 on the ground. I could n't see the full libary and I could n't turn off shuffle, skip song or anything else; it just played. Suprisingly it had some realy good song and what was even strager- the music always fit my mood...
Now the MP3 is playing `` I like it Heavy'' by Halestorm on the speakers as Ritchard and I were prepping the kitchen for tonights service. Two hours later the restaurant was full and after more then a few wrong orders by the waiters it was now playing `` Boots and Blood'' by Five Finger Death Punch. Shit. Time to count to ten and calm down. `` Heathens'' by twenty one pilots. Better, not perfect, but better. As I was frantically plating dishes for a table of five ( five different dishes ofcourse! ) I heard Richard scream. Somehow a pan of boiling water had fallen over and burned a large part of his thigh. I got him up in the sink and started cooling the burn with lukewarm water. As he sat there I notified a weitress and got her to take him to the ER after wrapping the burn with a wet towel.
Now I had to get back to making the food. The tickets were stacking up. After a few dishes were I stressed too much I started to get into the rhythm. I knew the remaining waiter had informed the guests about our situation. Then I heard it. `` O fortuna''. Every single guest got served that night.
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[ WP ] You have the ability to reverse time by 6 hours whenever you 're about to die . You 're currently on a 10 hour flight on a plane that 's about to crash .
| **Stewardess! **
Yes?
**I've got some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first? **
The bad news.
**This plane is about to crash. **
How do you know?
**Long story, Anyhoo, the good news is I can go back in time six hours. So I'm saved! **
You are? Well, what about me?
**Nope! **
What?
**Hey, check the prompt, lady. I, not you, have the ability to turn back time. **
So how is that good news for me?
**Oh, I never said it was good news for you. You're kinda fucked, lady. **
I'm a male stewardess.
**Oh. Well then remind me when I go back in time to get my glasses. **
You're wearing them.
**Then I guess I already went back in time and did it. The system works! **
But does n't that mean you're still on the plane?
**Yeah, but I'm gon na go back in time again. **
Wait, if you know the plane's gon na crash, why get on it again?
**I just like looking people in the eye when I tell them they're gon na die. Hey, that rhymes! But yeah, gon na be hopping off of this death trip, but I think I'll get on again. I've broken this news to you six times already. **
Six?
**Never gets old! The first time was ok, because I only realized what was happening as you did. So I jumped back in time, got on the plane, and said `` Hey, you're not gon na believe this shit.'' And you were like `` What?'' And I told you and you cried. But then! The third time -- **
Just... stop.
**No, I'm going for an even dozen. **
Why?
**MY house is being painted. The fumes are murder, so I have to stay away for 24 hours. **
But you've done this six times every six hours. Your paint would have dried by now but you've been wasting this time reflying this flight.
**Shit. Well, you win this round. By which I mean, no, you're gon na die. But i think this time, I'm gon na leave the airport and check into a hotel. By morning, no more paint fumes. **
Well, that's where you're wrong. You fell asleep in your freshly painted home.
**I did? **
Yes. And you're high on the fumes.
**Oh, that explains why this plane is really my bed. **
It's your sink, actually.
**Well, whatever it is, I went to the bathroom in it. **
Goddammit.
( fade to black )
|
[ WP ] 9 out of 10 dentists reccommended this toothpaste . What is the one who did n't 's story ?
| 9 out of 10 dentists.
The sentence has fooled so many that it may well be the biggest snake oil scam in the history of mankind.
*9 out of 10 dentists worldwide recommend Colgate*
My old man did n't. He knew something was up. He almost told me, all I heard being beside him when he passed on was `` Xloride... *cough sputter*'' and that was the end.
I could never guess his meaning. Maybe the next one to recommend another toothpaste will reveal the truth to me. I shall wait patiently.
While I build up the Colgate I started with *my bare hands* at the laboratory.
As its CEO I had to do something! I could n't have let that old hag destroy my entire company in one swell blow! I wanted to improve my product, but not at the expense of losing my entire fortune, my fame.. The old man had to die. He knew too much. Things even I did n't know. Too bad he did n't tell me what exactly the matter was.
|
[ WP ] You 've discovered a new color that nobody else can see . Tell me about it .
| It's not fair. It's really not. He can see it, and I ca n't! You want to know the worst part though? He does n't *care*. He goes every day, seeing something I ca n't. Experiencing something that I ca n't.
I hate him.
I absolutely despise him for that. I envy his every waking scene. If I could just see how he sees it ONCE, I would be able to live the rest of my life in peace. But I ca n't even understand something that he takes for granted every single day! It's just not fair!
And I hate him for it.
He does n't even know I hate him though. I ca n't just say it to his face, because he's not making fun of me. He's not showing it off, because so many others have his ability to see what I ca n't.
And I hate them all.
If only I could see what they see. What he sees. I could be happy. Instead, I ca n't. Wo n't ever be able to be. Purely because I was born without that ability. Purely because I was born colorblind.
Edit: submitted before finished...
|
[ WP ] A man wakes up with the ability to talk to animals . The animals do n't have very nice things to say .
| Spring is the worst, or best, time of year. It really depends on how voyeuristic you're feeling. Everything is about sex. Those delightful birds tweeting outside your window? They're actually awful pick up lines shouted into the peaceful dawn with all the gusto a hormonally charged sparrow can muster.
Inebriated frat boys have nothing on birds, but insects make them both look like nuns. Think about it. You hatch, grow to maturity, and realize you've got one season in which to vent an entire life-time of desire. I'd share some of it with you, but it does n't translate well. Sex is n't just a part of their language. It is their language. Communication exists solely to increase the amount of sex taking place. There's even a word, a very interesting one, to describe the sensation of orgasm just at the moment your mate is severing your head.
That's my morning. I wake up to moronic robins attempting to get laid, while sadomasochistic spiders utter cries of ecstatic agony.
|
[ IP ] Rendezvous
| Tech-Sergeant Malcolm Joyce walked toward Ranger-Lieutenant Gibbons where the latter stood atop the ruins of the hab-tower.
`` You smell that, boy?'' the grizzled old scout asked.
`` What? I do n't smell anything... is your re-breather filter malfunctioning again, sir?''
`` No you dolt!'' The old scout spat angrily,
`` I meant in the figurative sense! Where I'm standing, I smell a goddamned mystery. Son, this was a colony of almost a quarter-million, and now there's nobody, and no bodies. Do n't that strike you as a bit odd?''
`` Sir, the official explanation is...'' Mal found himself interrupted by Gibbons yet again.
`` Those'officials' making the explanations do n't give a rat's ass about anything other than their paychecks, son. They say it's'unexplained' or'cause indeterminable' so that they can rinse their hazard suits off, hang up their re-breathers, and collect half-a-million Galactica in'Hazard Pay.' What hazard? They get drones, and remote operators, we from the Reconnaissance Forces are the ones who get put in a damn single-ship for six months to fly out here and figure out it was a gas leak from the colony reactor or something.''
As he said that, Gibbon's free hand flew to point at their single-ship, the Mourning Glory, moored to the colony admin tower.
`` It's utter crap, son, and we're the shovel, because nobody else is crazy enough to fly over some deathtrap, and then perform on-foot recon to establish cause of death for an entire colony.'' Gibbons took a swig from a decidedly non-regulation canteen, full of who-knows-what.
`` Sir, is it really safe to drink on the job, here? What if it's an airborne virus or something?'' Mal asked, concerned.
`` Son, the filters in these masks are so sub-standard that if it were, we're already dead. So go ahead, have a swig of Uncle Gibbons' finest hooch, brewed from a mixture of grain alcohol, RCS fuel, and reactor runoff. I call it'Scout's Syrup' and as far as I know, it's the best damn health tonic ever invented. I'm seventy-two years old, by Earth reckoning, and can keep up with you thirty-something spacers, that should say something.''
`` Sir, it says your insane, and extremely stupid, like most of the Reconnaissance Forces.'' Mal smiled, before taking a swig of the foul brew.
*It's as bad as the name and ingredients imply, but I also have n't gotten good and boozed up for almost a year. * Mal thought to himself.
`` Well, if you're done now, boy; how about we go find ourselves some dead people?'' Gibbons asked.
`` Hell yeah! Let's go!'' Shouted a slightly drunk Mal, as they walked off toward the ruined city.
|
[ WP ] You notice that your husband or wife has been replaced by a double ( Robot/Shapechanger/Spy/Alien/ ... ) . Your biggest problem : You like the double better .
| Clay peered around the doorway, eyeing his wife Janet in the kitchen. The only light came from small bulb inside the refrigerator; the door was swung wide open, and standing infront of it was Janet, chugging the half-gallon of whole milk as if she had been dying of thirst.
A small breeze blew in from the window just above the sink. The air smelled like fall. It blew a whisp of her hair to the side, then onto her face. She paused from drinking to brush the hair aside.
`` Hey,'' Clay said softly. He stepped into the kitchen, flipping on the dimmer switch to allow more light into the room. Janet capped the milk and set it back into the fridge. `` Are you okay?''
`` Yeah, I'm fine,'' she replied, smiling as she did so. She had a thick milk-mustache, the kind you would only see in those old commercials that came on the telly. `` Just thirsty, did I wake you up?''
`` No, no, I'm alright.'' Clay begin to walk around the counter, hoping that he would be able to position himself next to the knives without the imposter knowing. Each step he took was tentative. He never kept his eyes off of her. He half-expected her to realize what was happening and lunge for him, but not once did she ever move. Instead she just smiled.
Before he knew it, he was standing next to the kitchen knives. `` Who are you?'' He said to her as he grabbed ahold of one of the larger knives and brought it out of the holder.
Janet furled her brow and sucked on her upper lip. He had seen his wife furl her brow before, she had always done that, but the lip bite, never had he seen that.
`` What do you mean?'' The imposter asked.
`` You're not Janet,'' Clay said, pointing to her face with the knife, `` Janet hates milk. I do n't even like it, I usually buy it just to piss her off. Vegan, she says she is.''
`` I'm sorry,'' the imposter said, `` I'll leave, just do n't hurt me.''
`` You look just like her,'' he said, still holding the knife pointed at her face, `` how'd you do that? Are you her? Did you take her body?''
`` It's complicated, but I swear she's fine.''
`` I've got time, tell me,'' he said as he lowered the knife and pulled out a stool.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she began her initial thought, she paused, and said another thing, `` Can I have some more, uh, milk?''
Clay was a caught a bit off-guard. He never expected a body-snatcher to calmly ask for milk. And her accent, it changed, sounding more foreign than anything else. `` Go ahead, like I said, I do n't really care much for it myself.''
She turned away from Clay despite him still holding the knife. She threw the refrigerator door open, grabbed the half-gallon, and began to chug away.
`` You, uhm, I'd slow down if I were you, you're probably going to get sick.''
She did n't pay attention to what he said, and instead finished off the half-gallon. She put the cap back on the empty jug and placed it back into the refrigerator, causing Clay to wince.
`` Do you have more?'' She said, turning to face him and revealing an even thicker milk mustache.
`` Uh, no, I usually only buy one half-gallon at a time.'' Whoever this was, she was definitely foreign. He watched cautiously as she pulled out the other stool from the table and sat down, mimicking Clay's posture. `` Okay, now can you tell me who you are and what you did with Janet?''
The imposter swallowed audibly, not bothering to remove the milk mustache. It made the entire situation seem childish to Clay, but still, he did his best to stay alert.
`` She's here,'' the imposter said, poking at her temple with an index finger.
`` Uh, I'm not sure I understand what you are saying.''
`` I'm just, I'm just borrowing her body right now,'' the imposter said in a further degenerating accent. It was almost hard to understand what she was saying.
`` And who exactly are you?'' Clay said. Normally he would be a skeptic, but seeing his vegan wife down a half-gallon of milk had made him more open to new ideas.
The imposter was interrupted by the loud sound of slamming doors. Clay stood up from his seat and looked out the kitchen window, the cold wind rushing into his face. Out in the driveway appeared to be two men dressed in black jumpsuits.
`` Who-
`` Shh,'' Clay said, holding an index finger out to the imposter.
`` Shh?''
`` Be quiet.''
The driver was a large burly man with broad shoulders and a bald head. The other was a bit smaller, about the average size, probably no taller than Clay was.
`` Are you sure it is here?'' The taller man said.
`` Yeah, that's what the reader was saying, probably already got inside someone,'' the smaller one replied.
`` Oh,'' the imposter whispered.
Clay spun around and looked at her. Her eyes were gold, extremely unlike Janet's usual browns. There was a look of uncertainty on her face, coupled with fear.
Normally Clay would n't even bother with the situation, and on any other given day, he would've happily turned over the imposter.
`` I need you to get in the closet,'' Clay whispered, grabbing her by the shoulder and turning her towards the hallway.
It was probably the milk mustache that created the soft spot in him.
|
[ WP ] You are lying on the floor of a convenience store . It was meant to be easy , but it went wrong and you got shot . You know that you are about to die . What is happening around you ? What are you thinking ?
| As I lay there, the very essence of my being slowly pooling around me like an ever growing ink stain, I began to think.
I noticed with a sort of detached curiosity that this, as in the off-white practical floor of a Morrison's at 3 AM, was the culmination of my entire life.
Huh.
I also noticed that the man with the balaclava in his hand and the expression of confusion on his face was thinking too.
I could see the gears turning; no matter how hard he tried, he simply could not comprehend the scene that was playing out in front of his eyes. It seemed to me as if you could hear his entire world crashing in on itself from five feet away.
Specifically, my five feet; the five feet separating the soon to be corpse and the man who put me there. And the only thing to trek across the gaping chasm of those five feet, the only thing that dared to try and bridge the gap was one word, and one word only.
`` Mum?''
|
[ WP ] Ability to play the flute causes anyone to be entirely immune to the law . However , flutes are rare and hard to obtain . When getting arrested , the police hand you a flute and a sheet of music to test you .
| `` Sir, open this door!'' A heavy hand pounded away at the wooden door I stood in front of. I winced at every minuscule creak and nanoscopic crack his hand shuddered into my door.
I felt a small twinging feeling within my back, and I felt a floodgate of adrenaline open up into my veins. I walked to the door and, timing it very carefully, I opened the door as he was about to slam his meaty fist into the door.
I looked at him as he shabbily tripped against his own feet, I got a good look at him; he wore what seemed like an armoured navy blue jumpsuit, the armour consisted of a simple policeman's vest and, as always, the vest was filled with many different tools; a radio, a pair of handcuffs, a cutely small fire extinguisher, a riot baton, and a small handgun.
He straightened up almost immediately, and as he did, I smiled towards him. Unlike the other police that had confronted me over the years, he was the first not to wear a riot helmet; I could only assume that he was a bit cocky.
I motioned towards an already set table, with a teapot, two cups, a bowl of sugar cubes and a small cup of milk. Two chairs, one tucked in and one turned to accommodate someone. He half smiled half sneered at me as if I had just spat venom in his face, but he walked into my house anyway.
He pulled the chair out from under the table and sat and, without asking, pouring himself a cup of tea, using a lot of the milk and using five sugar cubes before I had a chance to even cross the room.
I entered my seat and stared across at the police officer, seeing him pay as much attention to me as a giant would a gnat. I already did n't like him.
`` Sir,'' he spoke up after a big swig of his tea. `` You have committed five different crimes as of yesterday, two as of this morning,'' as he spoke he pulled a shined and polished flute from the back of his vest and placed it on the table. `` This seven crimes would total seven different lifetimes in prison,'' he then pulled the handgun out from his pocket and placed it directly next to the flute, having the barrel point directly at me. `` How to you plead?''
I looked the man over silently, seeing the common problems; a twinge in his eyes, small amounts of sweat near the ears and a tiny shaking to his hands. I finally spoke as he looked like he would burst into flames. `` Not guilty...''
He, wordlessly, placed his gloved hand upon the flute and pushed it towards me. As it reached within my grasp, he pulled his hand back and folded his arms. I picked up the instrument and placed my lips to their plate and blew.
*c c c c d e c a g E E E c E G g*
As I finished my small tune, I looked at him. The look on his face was almost priceless; a slightly opened mouth, widened eyes and whiter skin. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.
`` Sir...'' he seemed to swallow back tears. `` You are immune from-''
I threw my hand out, grasped the handgun, spun it in my fingers to make the barrel face him, and fired three shots through his head. His mouth seemed to swallow one of them as it passed through his mouth.
His body loosened up, his back relaxing on the back of his chair. I threw the handgun to the floor, reached over to his cup, and wiped the edge where he had drunk from. I experimentally took a sip, it tasted awful.
|
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