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[ WP ] The end of times has come . Heaven , hell , and earth are thrown in a three-way war . It 's a little unfair how advanced Earth is , though .
| It was time. I felt the chains with which my kind were bound slipping away as sensation returned to me. Uncertain of what changes may have overcome the world in our absence, I looked about. The sky was perfectly dark and the uncountable stars of my creation were reflected by an immense expanse of smooth glass, broken only by giant towers which spun gently in the wind.
I had sealed us away in a final act of desperation, as I saw my children were too powerful, in our current form we may we'll have extinguished all life on Earth. I could only hope that my efforts had solved the conflicts that led us to this situation.
I am the most poweful, and I am the most knowledgeble. I am the first and I made this world and all in it, but I have my limits. My power is of two kinds: slow and delicate, or quick and devastating. I used the latter to seal us off, and in I changed us. I made us safe for the world, and I tried to broker peace between my children who were with me.
I often worried about my children left behind - humanity. I had left them in the world because they would be safe, but without my slow influence I wondered if they would be alright. I had much yet to teach them.
Our metamorphosis had taken a long time, but away from the world I could n't feel how long. I gently cast my consciousness out, and I could feel no life as far as the eye could see. I reached further afield and I felt it in the distance, even above me. I turned my eyes to the heavens in shock at the vibrant mass of living things which I sensed there, and I saw that many of the objects I had taken to be stars were not. They moved across the sky too quickly, but from this distance I could n't yet sense their nature.
Then I felt a thought enter my mind. It was inquisitive, uncertain, with an undertone of threat.
I was shocked and felt shock in return. Unbidden, memories from my past rose up: a silent sound in the void, a flash of light brighter than anything since, a moment of chaos, an eternity of darkness, the first stars, creating my first children to exert my will over the gasses of the void.
I felt a slow understanding, a then brief anger accompanied by images of human suffering.
I replied with a memory. My children wresteled over a plain desolated by their power; they rent the earth, and tore the skies as they struggled to prove their worth to me. I felt once more my panicked fear for the safety of my young human children cowering from the battle, then finally the violent tumult of my power as it stole us away from physical reality.
The presence moved in my mind, seemed to somehow become smaller, and I felt its forgivness, regret, and momentary shame in quick succession. I felt a jubilation rise up inside me. It was contagious, and I felt my own rise up through my spirit in parallel.
My mind was filled with memories not my own, a torrent of stories spanning unknowable time wove for me all the moments I had missed. The trauma of my departure. The chaos of discovering the world. The celebrations of every accomplishment. The many brushes with extinction along the way. The final mastery of nature, creating new life and moving beyond their physical form.
I felt my lips move, and heard my own voice merge with that of my children who had faded once more into the world.
*'' Welcome home. I missed you'' *
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[ WP ] When it was found that no 2 countries with a McDonalds had gone to war , all countries agreed to build franchises to enact world peace . Ronald McDonald was then unanimously elected benevolent dictator . 200 years later , you are Ronald McDonald IV and the empire is in trouble .
| As I sit in my throne room, I recall the day the weight of the world was laid upon my shoulders. My father, Ronald the Third, was just laid the rest; I was 41 years old as I walked into this throne room as emperor for the first time. Mayor McCheese, one of my fathers closest advisers, had said to me: `` Breath easy now, for it will your last chance in a while''. His sage words where invaluable to me, until he was killed alongside his family whilst traveling 6 years ago.
The times were changing, bands of democratic rebels began threatening my kingdom, my legacy. What was a throne room had become a center of operations, committed to squashing the rebel dogs. I coughed, and readjusted my wig.
Grimace, my right hand man and friend, came to me with reports. Our GMO chickens had victory over the Burger Kings, but the DQs held ground in the highlands, a land too cold for our troops to penetrate successfully.
`` Are the McRibs ready for deployment?''
`` No sire, they are not available for another month''
I took a gulp from my Coke ( Spiked with rum, a tip from McCheese that I shall carry to the grave ) `` Then send in McFillets, Supersize them''
`` It shall be done''
He returned to the generals as a messenger hurried in. `` A message from the troops in the East sire'' he said as he set a box before my six 23 shoes. I could n't recognize the strange symbol on the envelope attached. I lifted the letter off the box and read the two words. `` Order up.'' The symbol clicked, a snowman. `` Jack in the Box'' I whispered. My nose honked one more time before the C4 detonated.
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[ WP ] You lied to me , and you made sure I knew it .
| `` You lied to me, and you made sure I knew it! And now you're confronting me about it, making sure I heard your little fable,'' Meghan said. Her emerald green dress flicked the spotlight off of her like a beautiful prism.
`` Oh it was a white lie Meghan!'' Sam shouted. The entire room rolled its focus onto us, he knew she'd hate that.
`` A white lie? You went around telling everyone you'd slept with this girl and that girl and went to the trouble of, of adding your face to pictures of these whores in bed- and it's a white lie?!'' Her arms were all over the place with each word but her corsage was on the ground by the end of it.
`` I wanted to see how much you trusted me...''
`` Ever heard of a trust fall Sam?! It's where you do n't go crazy and fake at least five affairs and tell all of your girlfriend's friends about it! All that would have given you, worst case scenario, is a bump on the head. Now you've lost all of this!'' She waved her hand down her body. The snap he expected to tell him she was leaving the spotlight never came, he would have left his head hanging anyway. He just wanted to know if she'd come after him for it; if she loved him more than he loved her. It was only a few white lies.
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Established writers of /r/writingprompts , choose 3-5 of your own prompt responses and link them all together in the same universe . [ PI ]
| Senator Randy Freeman walked into the oval office. The [ former president ’ s story ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2dbykm/wp_it_has_been_found_that_the_best_person_to_rule/cjo3i5q ) from an unknown Vietnam veteran to president to impeachment was already the unlikeliest series of events. Yet, the pundits were wrong that he couldn ’ t be elected Senator. In fact, the former president breezed through the campaign and election.
President David Isel was standing at the center of the room, the two men shook hands, large but somewhat fake smiles on their faces. Flashes of light popped as cameras took pictures of the former and current presidents shaking hands.
“ Just going to walk in like you own the place Randy? ”
Randy and the rest of the press corps had a good chuckle. The former president ’ s time in the White House had been short and tumultuous before his impeachment, but he had once again become well remembered among the American public. President Isel, Randy ’ s former VP, knew he was standing face to face with his potential biggest ally or opponent.
“ But seriously, congrats on the election win Senator. I, for one, certainly look forward to working with you over the coming two and hopefully six years. ”
“ Thank you Mr. President. You have my support on your new jobs agenda. ” Randy was always a bit stiff among the press, but the American people appreciated his genuine approach.
The media were ushered out of the room, leaving the current and former presidents sitting on the opposing sofas. They had barely spoken to each other in the past year other than occasional formalities.
“ Diet coke Randy? ”
“ Sure David. Thanks for not offering me a whiskey. ”
That remark caused the president ’ s cheeks to burn. But Randy was quick to add.
“ I ’ m sorry Dave, that was beneath me and I know it. Truly, my apologies. ”
“ No I deserved it Randy. ”
“ Water under the bridge. ” David could tell Randy meant it too. “ I actually have a much bigger item on our plate today. ”
“ I ’ m guessing it ’ s New York City? ” as his former VP and chief of staff, the President knew Randy probably better than he knew himself.
“ Mayor Dubois is out of control. ” Randy stood up to pace in anger. “ The beatings and arrests of the [ December Tag Protest ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/39lmzf/wp_the_government_has_banned_tag_one_day_a_man_in/cs4imee ) were the sort of stuff I expect to see in China or Cuba or Ethiopia, not in the United States. It ’ s a black stain on our democracy. ”
David saw Randy was truly angry over this. “ What should I do about it Randy? ”
“ Well to start, SAY SOMETHING, god damn it! Your silence is horrific. Second, consider sending the national guard. Maybe arrest the mayor. There has to be something done at the national level. ”
“ Senator, I know it ’ s hard to understand, but my hands are really tied. Dubois has a lot more national support than you might know. Our polls show that a good portion of middle America supports his crackdown on crime. ”
“ It ’ s not a fucking crime to protest David. Dozens of protesters were killed, more than the media ever reported, and over one thousand people are still sitting in prison over a month later. ”
“ Well Randy, I appreciate the opinion of the junior senator from Indiana. But I ’ m not sure your view of my options is correct. ”
Randy set his soda can down and said, “ I guess I need to figure out my own options then. ” He walked out of the Oval Office without shaking the president ’ s hand.
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[ IP ] The Secret World
| Maverick snapped to attention as his clock ringed. A fizzle of electricity ran through his back as he checked the time, and the memory of Mr. Reynolds' latest punishment, his homeroom teacher, came to mind.
Good thing he was well prepared for this situation. All he had to do was put on the prepped clothing, and make a run for it with his bag. He just might make it.
His parents left him a note, telling him Jonathan would have his lunch at the Pastry Shop. A convenient arrangement for parents that did n't even talk to their kid.
With the door locked, and the clock ticking, Maverick ran towards his school. Five minutes, that's all he needed to make it there. And then he'd have a minute to get to class. Not too bad.
Jonathan stood outside the pastry shop, one hand waving, and the other holding a bag with a sweet roll in it.
Maverick's stomach grumbled at the sight, and he uttered a quick `` thanks'' as he grabbed the paper bag.
The last corner was up ahead, he was almost there.
He tripped right before it, and fell down a few feet into a group of shrubs. They stung him, and rustled with his movement.
He managed to free himself, and get back up. But then he froze. Because in front of him was a vast plain, covered in tall grass. Huge mountains rose in the background, with thunder clouds milling about near the tops.
Right behind him was a bright forest, with a calm and relaxing look. Light bugs floated above a dirty red brick path that led deeper into the forest.
He picked up the sweet rolls that fell to the ground. He patted them clean, and chomped down on them then and there.
His breathing relaxed slightly, but still he looked around nervously.
The air vibrated as a loud bang came from the forest. It was far, far away.
Maverick took a step towards that sound, and he never stopped.
The sound kept repeating itself, over and over. It always sounded far, far away.
No matter how long Maverick walked, or ran, it stayed the same.
The path stayed the same too, and so did the forest, and he could n't even see the exit anymore. Not that it mattered.
There was only one thing that mattered, the sound that's far, far away.
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[ WP ] You won an all-expense-paid trip to a seven star hotel somewhere in the Bahamas . When you get there , you learn there is a downside to it : no one is allowed to leave .
| `` Cool,'' I replied to the receptionist, handing my bag to the bellboy. `` All-expenses covers healthcare right?''
`` Uh,'' pouted the receptionist, who had obviously not gotten the reaction she had hoped for. `` You'll probably have to talk to legal about that.''
`` I'm sorry, what do you mean we ca n't leave?'' I winced a bit. The other grand prize winner had shown up to the airport with an immaculately tailored suit, greasy slicked back hair, and an overbearing presence. I could n't stand him.
The receptionist looked up from her computer, apparently mollified by the opportunity to ruin someone's day. Her name tag read `` Claire, Team Member for 9 years''
`` It was in the terms and conditions. The Grand Prize Winners forfeit their passports to Reel-Authentic Passports, International when they land in the Bahamas,'' recited Claire, obviously taking pleasure in her audience's horrified expression.
I, however, had read the terms and conditions.
`` How do I get to the bar?'' I asked, trying to get Claire's attention. But it was no use. Her eyes were locked on her prey. I shrugged and shuffled off to find a mp.
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[ CW ] Describe a character falling in love . Without using the words `` love '' , `` like '' , `` heart '' , `` falling '' , `` feeling '' , `` affection '' , `` soul '' and `` connection '' .
| I had just switched to unlimited texting on my phone plan, this being the first time in my life I needed any text message plan at all. I stared at my phone, willing it to light up and buzz with the message that he had responded. When it did, my body jolted as I unlocked my phone with glee, like a child unwrapping a candy bar. And I was not let down. He had responded to my awkward attempt at humor not with derision nor with faked laughter like I was used to, but with an equally awkward joke. I felt like I could cry. The last two months had been different than any other time of my life in that I finally found a person with whom interaction did not stop and jolt along fumbling social cues, but transcended the need for social cues. We do not talk to each other with our voices, but directly through our minds. We havent said those three words yet, but there really is no need. There is a private channel from my brain directly to his that no one else can cross or attempt to traverse. My phone lit up again, and I looked down at the screen. `` I would say i < 3 u, but 3u can not be greater than an imaginary number''. This time, I did cry.
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[ WP ] The Death Sentence is a literal sentence , spoken by a cult of executioners , that kills the person who hears it . You are the first known person to survive this fate .
| My jaw was clenched so tight, and I slowly opened my eyes. The priest was staring at me with probably some form of disbelief underneath his black veil.
`` Is there something wrong, Priest?'' The executioner next to him asked, taking out his earplugs.
The priest murmured something to him, something uninteligible. The executioner's eyes widened. `` I see.'' He said. His eyes expressionless, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a gun.
They were going to kill me with that? A painful, unnecessary way? No.
This was as good a time as any. I stared at the camera in the corner- my execution, live, on the news. The end of the rebel forces.
Slowly, I raised a hand, and the wall to my right exploded.
The executioner's eyes were wide as a chard hit him across the head, and he went down. The priest crawled off his throne and hid. In a flash, I had overturned the chair I sat on and used it to block most of the chards.
A man ran up to me, holding a grenade launcher, nothing visible beneath his mask but a shit-eating grin. `` Are you okay, milady?'' He asked, holding out his hand.
I grasped his arm and stood up. `` Never better.'' I answered, then turned to the team.
`` Troops!'' I screamed. `` Operation Warship is go!''
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[ WP ] You live in a society of rigid , enforced equality . Wealth is redistributed . Suffering is shared . You also happen to be the most accident-prone human being in existence and everyone 's a bit tired of having their arms and legs broken because of you .
| Equality is a good thing.
At least, that was what we thought when we returned the universe to God and recreated Eden. Eden, where people walked the earth unhindered by need.
It turned out to be hell.
And the human race is fading away.
When we first formed the committee to address this issue, we could hardly even articulate it. Problem. What is a problem? How can there be a problem if everything is perfect?
But, of course, it's obvious now. Eliminate strife, hunger, need and you eliminate all meaning in life. There is a reason it was the tree of knowledge that God had wanted us to avoid. There is a reason we needed to eat it. We need to wear clothes so we are hiding something. We need to have pain so we have something to avoid.
You see, there are no problems in our lives. That sounds good until you think of waking up with nothing to do. Water the plants? No; they're watered already. Feed the birds? Nope. Birds are okay. Clean the kitchen? It's clean. Go to the store? No need. Everything you need is right where you want it. Snap your fingers and your needs are met.
Scratch it and the universe repairs itself.
Honestly, how could we ever have thought that would be bad? We thought this was what we wanted.
The rule of unintended consequences.
We thought that people would still get pleasure out of learning and reading. Is n't that how we used to spend that rare precious time that was not otherwise crammed with the have-tos of life? But even reading lost its value. After all, what need is there to learn? Even about yourself.
And what story can be told without strife?
Sports were supposed to thrive in this new world. We had visualized hours and hours of watching dueling athletes in a variety of arenas and all types of settings. But such tournaments were first to go. By their very nature, sports require inequality. Someone has to be better. Someone has to win and someone has to lose. Whenever the skill scale started tilting, the universe scrambled to level it again. The duel could go on forever -- like Sisyphus and the rock -- a vain endeavor. The tallest mountain with the thinnest air was no longer an obstacle. We had no limits. Like gods.
At first the criminals tried to game us. Their entire worldview required that they needed to get away with something -- to get something they were n't supposed to have, to do something no one was allowed to do. But there was nothing that they could n't have and there was nothing that they could n't do. The scale of the universe quickly adjusted to any of their needs. It was almost amusing watching them gather hundreds of objects around them before they tired of eternal success.
Now we understand why God needed us -- tiny creatures that poked and prodded and disobeyed. In the image of God, we need to rebel. What are humans but competitors? We are pack hunters, not grazers. We are seekers and stretchers and wanderers. Without discovery and challenge we are fading away.
So now they've decided that we need some imbalance. And I have been selected for this purpose.
Tonight I eat the apple. I am Michael, the archangel, being thrown from heaven. Where I walk there will be a ripple in the universe, a wrinkle over which people will trip and holes into which people will fall. When I am around, plants will need water and animals will need food. I will pull at you like gravity and suck at your air when you climb large mountains.
You will thrive because you suffer. I have saved you from God.
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[ WP ] You are part of a super villain 's PR team
| `` Ladies, gentlemen, please calm down. I know the public is upset, but I assure you that Dr. Armageddon is not to blame.'' What a way to start the day. Trying to convince the public that my boss did *not* just level several city blocks with an illegal super weapon. My father was right, I should have been a teacher.
`` How can you say that? His so called'death ray' has killed over two hundred people! There are rescuers digging through the rubble at this very moment looking for survivors!'' a journalist cries. The rest pitch in with cries of outrage. Jesus christ Doc, why did you have to do this shit?
`` Like I said, the weapon was never meant to be discharged. The doctor was preparing it as a prototype weapon to be displayed to several military powers. While I realize that's not such a noble goal, it is far from the destruction of lives and property we have witnessed.'' Please buy it, pleeeesssseee buy it.
`` If that's the case then why the hell did the weapon fire?!'' I dated a journalism major in college. He was a piece of shit. I'm pretty sure every journalist is.
`` The weapon only discharged after that metahuman girl damaged it. The doctor was testing power consumption and charge times. The girl, Inca I believe her name is, somehow caught wind of the doctor's project and assumed the worst. She assaulted his private property, damaging the weapon in the process, and caused the safety to fail. The weapon then discharged in order to bleed off excess energy. It's all very technical, I'd be lying if I said I fully understood the doctor's explanation. I should also remind you that this'Inca' girl is not a member of the Order Initiative, nor a sanctioned metahuman crime fighter. She is and was a vigilante acting on imperfect information and her own poor rationalizations and assumptions. And I believe the results speak for themselves.'' Ha! Suck on that you underpaid shits! If there's one thing the public loves more than super villain atrocities its super hero blunders. This Inca girl was making my job way too easy.
`` You ca n't honestly be blaming her. She may be breaking the law, but she's not that stupid!'' one woman cried. Bitch, why ca n't you just take the damn bait. Must work for a proper news source. I guess they ca n't all be tabloid writers.
`` Look, folks, Dr. Armageddon has released a full statement on the incident. It goes far more in depth on the technical side of what happens. I should note that the doctor gave himself over freely to authorities after the incident and provided surveillance footage taken by cameras inside his lab. Now, I must ask you to excuse me, I have to go meet the doctor and his legal team.''
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[ WP ] Canada has long been seen as a friendly country , but soon they show their true colors . War has begun
| There is a reason the Maple Leaf is red on the Canadian flag. It ’ s not because it replaced the “ Red Ensign ” flag back in ‘ 57, or because the Communists took over the country in the sixties, or even because red maple trees are pretty. No. It ’ s because those northern syrup suckers love the taste of blood and they ’ ve been bathing in ours since 2018.
2018 was the year and the reason. The place was Pyeongchang, a small city in Korea but that doesn ’ t matter. It could have been Munich or some no name place in France. Dubbed the “ War on the Ice ” or, as some of my fellow Americans called it, “ Operation: Canadian Bacon ”, the American team found itself on the ice facing our friendly northern neighbors for the gold medal. It was a good game. Both sides played well, both sides played honorably, and in the end it came down to a shootout. America won.
It should have ended when the American President shook hands with the Canadian Prime Minister. A friendly “ good game ” or “ next time ” or some other neutral remark would have saved millions of American lives. Instead the American President had no idea who she was shaking hands with. Thinking him to be a fellow member of the Union, and flush with the thrill of victory, she doomed us all as the flags were unfurled above the medal podiums.
“ Stars and Stripes forever! ” she said “ Besides, what kind of flag is that, is it a weed? ”
She snickered and took another pull of her Moosehead.
“ And I ’ ll tell you another thing, their beer sucks.. ”
The Star Spangled Banner wasn ’ t played that day. The Canadian prime minister executed the American president on live TV using her broken bottle of Moosehead Pale Ale. The fire spread. Within a week from Helena to Hartford the bloody flag flew. Tens of millions of Canadian citizens crossed the border in groups of hundreds, seizing towns as they came south. Only the American West Coast seemed to reach a truce as Cascadian residents sipped homebrew and watched the world burn.
I was not so lucky. My unit of Philadelphia militia was caught in the open outside of Yonkers and forced to surrender. So, I sit here on the Plains of Abraham eating Tim Hortons while my countrymen fall back below the Mason-Dixon. Like a liter of syrup poured on a single pancake the Union is falling apart.
edit: please note the dialogue is somewhat adapted from the movie Canadian Bacon. I want to give credit where it is due.
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[ WP ] You have been shrunken to the size of a tennis ball . A child finds you and takes you home to keep in a shoebox as a pet .
| 7:47 on Thursday morning, I woke up, worrying I'd be late. Shoved in some food, put on some deodorant, and ran like hell to my car. I had been preparing for another late morning; they were n't all that uncommon. Teeth and hair taken care of in the car. Not as good of a job as standing, but it'll have to do. Arrived at work around 8:13. I let out a sigh. `` God damn it,'' I said under my breath. Late again. At that point my biggest concern was being fired. `` One last try, you idiot!'' Max had said, earlier that week. One last try to get here on time and I blew it. I should have been concerned by the child in front of me.
Brushing past him, I went to open the doors. Then everything starts to tilt. My vision starts to blur, and the only thing I remember is thinking `` What the he-'' then passing out.
I woke up here a few minutes ago. It looks like a complex, but it's empt- wait, what was that? Oh! It's a wind up monkey toy! I had one of those as a kid! Wait.. why is it so big? It's bigger than me!
This has to be some sort of prank. A statue or something. Maybe Max was pissed off at me more so than I thought, and this is what I get. I never did see the basement of my work, maybe they build giant statues to scare people.
***-As the man is lost in thought, the child picks up the box-***
The complex shakes violently. I cling to the walls, but there's nothing to cling to. They're very smooth and soft and... papery... I guess they coated the walls with cardboard so people would n't get hurt. At least they do n't want me dead.
Light pours into the room. The roof is slowly sliding off. Maybe they're letting me go? Then I see it. A giant eye, looking at me. Darting around seeing if I had done anything. It registers to me- I'm in a cardboard complex alright, but it's not giant. I'm tiny.
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[ WP ] You find a creepy subreddit that someone uses to store their candid photos of other people . The most recent post is a picture of you , sitting on your computer .
| It was midnight and I was going through my usual routine of prolonging sleep in favor of surfing the Internet. I bounced around from Twitter, to YouTube, read about a random historical event on Wikipedia. Eventually I ended up back on Reddit, where I started in the first place, and began scrolling through the front page. I'd clicked about every link that was of moderate interest before resolving myself to hit the random button. Now the random function on Reddit is a true crap shoot. After all `` There's a sub for everything!'' and so you'll often find yourself in places you do n't care about or that you do n't care to be in. After wading through multiple sports fan subs, a sub dedicated almost solely to aviary animals, and a few NSFW subs that I either backed out of quickly or saved mentally to revisit, I found myself on a page dedicated to pictures.
Now this was not /r/pics or a photography subreddit full of would be photographers and art students. This sub was interesting in that it was very much a candid camera sub. Some of the photos were very well done and seemed to capture a person in there most vulnerable state. Some of the top posts were tastefully done photos of posters kids or significant others sleeping. Others were of strangers in a park or subway stations. Some were just creepy photos and posters asking if'they knew this person' or titles that were borderline stalking. Mods had locked those threads or they'd been down voted into oblivion. I subscribed to the sub, thoroughly impressed with the community and many of the pictures, and went on clicking links until I landed on one that was eerily familiar. It was a new post, only about an hour old, and was a picture of a young man sitting in front of his computer. The lighting was tasteful and the photographer made the young man the focal point. At a glance, meaning without context of what was on his screen, he looked like a student burning the midnight oil. I upvoted the post, left a comment praising OP and the photo, and decided to turn in for the evening. As I was brushing my teeth and getting ready to crawl into bed at 2AM I thought about the picture. It was n't just that it was well done, many of the pictures were despite it not being explicitly art photography, but it was so familiar. I brushed it off and found my way to my bed.
The next day after classes I went to grab drinks with some friends. We talked about the usual stuff. Hard ass professors, the cute TA's or RA's in the freshmen dorms, stressing about internships and exams. I called it an early night and headed home around 9PM despite the jeers and taunts of my friends. As I was walking out the door my friend Jane caught up with me. She asked if I would n't mind splitting an Uber home with her. She said that she was tipsy and had been feeling uneasy lately. Like someone was watching her. Jane was very attractive and fit but her small demeanor often made her feel vulnerable. To be fair I was n't much taller than her but I understood very well the dangers that sometimes come with a college town. If my friend, or anybody for that matter, was n't feeling safe then it was the right thing to do to stay by them. I agreed and since we lived in the same apartment complex it's not like the Uber would cost more or less. We called a driver, got in the car and were on our way.
Jane and I talked about school, stuff we saw on social media and tv shows we'd been binging when we should've been studying. I knew Jane was on Reddit too and since I knew she did some photography I decided to tell her about the new sub I'd found. I pulled it up on my phone and started scrolling. Every now and then I'd click on the link and Jane would comment on how great or how odd the photos were. She seemed to be much more at ease and I was glad for that. When we approached the complex I told the driver to just drop us out front and we'd walk in. We paid and exited the car and Jane asked me to walk her home. Again I was more than happy to oblige even though her apartment was on the opposite side of mine. We talked more as we walked and then said our goodbyes as I dropped her at her door. On my way home I pulled my phone from my pocket and started scrolling aimlessly as I walked.
I saw that I was still on the candid camera sub and that there was a new post at the top of the page. This one was about 30 minutes old and already had a couple of upvotes. Curious I clicked on it but then stopped in my steps when the picture loaded. It was a photo of a couple in a car shot from outside looking in through the back window. They were siting the back and rather close to one another, their faces lit up by a light from what I presumed was a smart phone. Again this one was really well done but felt very familiar. Like the photo I saw the other night. The submitter was a user named /u/SayCheezePlz. I clicked on the name and went to see their submission history. They had a little over 1,000 karma for posts but none for comments. There were dozens of photographs dating all the way back to accounts creation just four months ago. I began looking through the posts and found that the same user had submitted the photo of the young man from the other night. Whoever they were they had a knack for photography, not that my opinion was in any way of value. I clicked through other posts and found that whoever the young man was, he was always the focal point. Sometimes the photos were black and white, other times in color. But all of them had obscured the mans face or any distinguishable features. By the time I made it to my door I had already gone through about 10 photos.
Once inside I plopped my bag down on the couch and sat down, still staring at my phone. These photos were good but for some reason made me feel uneasy. There was something so familiar but I just could n't grasp what it was. There were pictures of the guy working, of him at cafés, even pictures of him sleeping but all shot from behind. Maybe it was n't the same guy? People get mistaken for other people from behind all the time. I was about to click on another link when I got a message notification from SayCheezePlz.
`` *Thanks for the comment. I'm glad you like my pictures. Do you like the other ones? *''
It was unusual for me to get direct messages on Reddit. I was by no means a Reddit celeb, a mod, or really anyone of intrigue. But if OP just wanted feedback then I saw no problem giving it.
`` *No problem. You have a talent for this. Yeah a lot of these photos are great but I have a question: why all the photos from behind? Are you just using the same subject? *''
I waited and to my surprise they responsed quickly.
`` *That's two questions lol. No they are all the same person and from behind because this is a sub for candid cameras! It would n't be candid if I just asked them to turn around, now would it? Haha. *''
That made sense. I reasoned it must be a boyfriend or fiancé or something. I was about to respond when I got another message.
`` *I just uploaded something new! Go check it out when you can. I think this ones one of my best. *''
I clicked the link he posted with the message and was redirected to a photo of a couple. They were walking on a concrete trail trough a small park... in an apartment complex. I felt a lump in my stomach. I recognized those apartments. That was *my* complex. The couple was Jane and I. The same couple from the car. Then another realization washed over me. I chucked my phone aside and went to my computer. I searched the username and started going through the submissions. My heart thudded in my chest like a drum as I clicked link after link. These photos were of me. Picture after picture of me sleeping, of me working on campus, standing at bars, standing in lines. These photos were undoubtedly all of me. This person had been following me. They'd been inside of my home. In a frantic panic I sent a message.
`` *What the fuck?! Who is this?! How the fuck did you get in my home what the absolute fuck! Do you think I wo n't report this? That I wo n't report you?! *''
I clicked send and anxiously waited. I was so mad and scared I wanted to vomit. Every fiber of my being was simultaneously hot and cold. I kept refreshing the page until I saw my message notification go from white to orange. I clicked on the message and was greeted by a long, long message that simply said'Do it' followed by a string or'lol' in tight repetition.
I did report them to the mods and filed a police report. I paid $ 600 I did n't really have to break my lease and go crash with a friend. I did n't notify anyone outside my direct circle of family or friends about the move. I did all of my address changes for the school and the city in person rather then online. The mods banned, reported, and pulled all the photos once I verified myself and the story. I unsubscribed and surprisingly quit Reddit for a long time. But like it's said'They always come back' and after a while I did. But I never found out who the user was or how's they'd gotten all those photos. The very last post before their ban was one of me in front of my computer, nervously hunched over in my seat. My monitor was in frame and if you looked close enough you could see the photo of me and Jane walking in the complex.
|
[ WP ] You live in a Dystopian society owned by the Walt Disney Company . Describe a regular day in the life of a person .
| ... It's a small world after all
As the song fades out everyone smiles. The exercise routine is done for the day. Disney looks after us so well. After exercise the kids head off to school Tina is in chorus and Tommy is Learning to be an Imagineer.
`` Bye kids'' I shout as they head off `` If you're good I'll sign your permission slips for the MMC''
Kids these days. They make acronyms for everything. In my day we just called it the Mickey Mouse Club. But today they did n't want to be Mouseketeers They just want to be Mickeys.
I'm currently working in the Holiday celebrations department. We're trying to figure out how to get everyone excited for this year's production of `` A very Minnie Christmas'' Golly is it hard.
My wife Karen is an effects artist on the new Star Wars/ Marvel Crossover. They're working a way for some Ewoks to land on earth and work with the agents of Shield. One of the Ewoks will have a lightsaber and defend Spider-man from Blaster fire. She's so Creative.
It's just amazing how much family friendly good programming can come from those formerly dirty old franchises. What type of person would want to live in a world where with all that violence and foul language is used.
As we work out the routines for Minnie in the show I keep singing to myself.
Who's the Leader of the Band that made for you and me...
M-I-C-K-E-Y
M-O-U-S-E
|
[ WP ] Global warming interrupted a tornado in Kansas . Unfortunately , this means Dorothy never made it to Oz . Write a story about a character achieving ( or not ) their goal ( brain , heart , dominion over oz , etc . ) without Dorothy ’ s presence .
| The sounds of marching resonate through the air. The sky is dark, the sun blotted out by smoke spewed from factories and smokestacks. Hurried footsteps and quick breathing echo down the streets. A munchkin sprints as fast as his small legs can carry him. He does n't know where to go, there's no free munchkins left. Not even the once mighty Lollypop Guild. He just ca n't go back to the refinery.
The sounds of marching grow closer. He wipes away the tears that have accumulated in his eyes and presses on. Boot steps grow louder and louder behind him. The munchkin's foot catches on a crack in pavement and he crashes to the cold, hard ground. He ca n't move and fears his leg is broken. Soon they are upon him. Slowly, methodically, they march. One of them, at the head of the column steps forward. It scans the small man through its hollow, lifeless eyes, processing, thinking, calculating. It seems to have made a decision. The creature would be of no use with its broken appendage. The munchkin begged for mercy, but the metal man ignored him. The munchkin's screams were cut short. The column marched on, leaving the broken body on the asphalt.
It was n't always like this. It used to be peaceful in the land of Oz. The sun shined and the wind blew through rolling meadows and hills and through the trees in the forests and orchards. In one particular orchard, the tin man stood, his body rusted into place. He waited day in and day out for someone to come along and free him from his rusty prison. Day in and day out, munchkins walked down the yellow brick road, passing by without so much as a glance. Months passed. Years. He grew bitter. If he had a heart, it would be cold. He came to hate the people that neglected him. He hated the yellow road they walked on. He hated the meadows and the orchards he was trapped in. Over the years, the smile frozen to his face bent into a scowl and his fingers gripped the hatchet that leaned against him.
The wicked witch could sense his hatred. She traveled to his orchard and picked up the oil and released him. She wished to use him to destroy the munchkins once and for all. As soon as he could move, the tin man raised his hatchet and struck down the wicked witch of the west. He moved on to the orchard. Within a week, he had replaced the small forest with a small factory. Every munchkin that happened down the yellow path, found themselves in irons, forced int labor. They built the tin man his machines, and he powered them with the magic from the fallen sorceress.
Soon his metal army marched on Munchkinland. Every single inhabitant of the village was either killed or enslaved. He became obsessed with efficiency. They built refineries so that the tin man would never go without oil again. They constantly built bigger, better factories that created better, more efficient machines. The metal army was unstoppable. The tin man conquered all of Oz. Even The Great Wizard was no match. The metal man ruled Oz with a tin fist from his throne in the emerald city.
Seconds after his demise, a mechanical vehicle scooped up the broken munchkin and another paved over the crack in the asphalt. The streets were silent again. Silence, save for the metallic sound of marching.
|
[ WP ] you consciously make a pact with the devil to let you work for him as a collector of souls and demons . Try to describe the ways he tries to decieve you while making the pact , and the ways you bypass all tricks .
| Alright.
You've set out the circle, you've lit the candles, there's goats blood everywhere and it looks like dinner for the next few days is going to be lamb. You speak the incantation, droning in a low voice, the unholy book in one hand and an inverted cross in the other. You finish droning and open your eyes.
Nothing happens. Wait, what? That ca n't be right, you've spent years preparing for this. You've read every text, pulled out every single bit of true knowledge and pieced it together bit by agonizing bit to uncover this ritual. Hell, you had to buy a goat, and now your lawn is n't going to look right for years.
You groan. This is ridiculous. You must have done something wrong. Oh well, you can review the process later. Maybe you just missed something in the droning? Yeah, probably that. You make to take a step out of the pentagram when-
Wait. You look around the room. Something does n't feel quite right. Is it colder than it was? Is something missing? It feels like something is wrong, deeply wrong, and that's when you realize.
*Stepping out of this pentagram means death*
That is one of the most common pieces of knowledge, and you nearly went and did it. You look back at the book, look for that spell of clearing a glamour. You intone, and the world... Melts. You blink in surprise. A cold sweat breaks out. It actually worked. And you nearly died. This was going to be one long summoning, but that's what you were prepared for. You take a deep breath.
And suddenly he's there. The devil himself, Satan. Somehow you expected him to be... Taller. You judged him to be about 5'' 10, with receding hair and a small pair of spectacles. He wore a shabby grey suit that looked like it had seen better times a few hundred years ago. But then he talks.
`` Welcome, human. It's been a while since someone tried to summon *me*. What is it you desire?'' Having said that, a mist envelopes you both. `` I can give you anything. Wealth? Fame? Power? Love? It is all within your grasp.'' And as he talks, you get impressions through the mist. Piles of gold bullion, people screaming your name, armies marching to your beat and sensual dances, just out of sight but close enough to understand.
`` I-I want none of that. I want-'' you begin to say, but he just laughs. `` Of course you do, you simple fool, that's why you tried to call me'' he says, before holding out his hand. Into it materialize 2 glasses full of a deep, amber fluid. `` Care for a drink? I can assure you it's the finest you'll ever have, and it wo n't cost you a dime!'' he says, his eyes mocking you. You almost reach out to take the glass, when you realize that his hand stops just at the perimeter of your pentagram.
`` No, but thanks all the same'' you say, edging slightly away. His eyes turn dark. `` Are you sure you want to move that way, human? I'd watch where I was stepping were I in your position. You look down and cry out. You're at the very edge of your pentagram, your foot a millimeter from crossing that important line. You jerk forward- *Wait! *
You blink. You're about to step over the *front* line. A trick. He just laughs. `` Almost, human almost... but we'll have more time for that later. now, what is it you desire? tell me and be quick about it'' he says, sounding almost bored before incinerating the glasses in his hand.
You summon your courage. He ca n't touch you, and you know it. At any time you can go. `` I wish to enter your service as a collector of souls. Give me the power of a demon, Satan, and loose me upon the world to do thy bidding.''
Satan gets a curious look on his face. `` How strange, usually it's a stipulation in a contract that I'd have to add in to make you humans by pets. Very well, under my employ you shall become for the rest of your lifetime, collecting souls and doing whatever you humans do when I give you power. That reminds me, I'll have to check up on Trump one of these days.
You allow yourself a smile. It worked! You step forward, ready to accept his offer. Then you stop, a frown appearing on your face. Something is n't right. There's a trap here. Then you realize. `` *The rest of your life*'' he said. Under that, he could just kill you the second you made the deal and the rest of your life would be about 10 seconds.
`` Not for the rest of my life'' you say. `` For 1000 years I want this power, with no interference from you.'' He just smiles. `` Did you think I would just kill you the second I gave you the power? How mistrusting... Very well, 1000 years it shall be, but at the last second of that I will drag you down here and you will *truly* be mine for the rest of eternity'' he chuckles.
`` Then we have a deal'' you reply.
|
[ IP ] The Road Home by Olga Orlova
| It is the end of time. The earth is blanketed in flame and the sky is choked in smoke. Humanity, once our companions, has caved in upon itself. Their existence has become a machine of death, and they have turned their instruments upon themselves. They care little for the world they were born in, and now it burns.
This time she will not heal, her wounds are too deep. Craters and crevices that reach deep into the earth spew molten rock and noxious gas. As the earth shakes she buckles and ruptures, and everywhere has become flame. The seas are turning to steam, clouds blanket the sky, and lightning sizzles through the air. A great change has awakened, she is cleansing the slate. They do not know what they have done.
We have always been here. With time we became part of the earth, we passed out of sight and into myth and legend. Eventually, we were forgotten entirely. Now, here at the edge of our time, we must move on. Deep within our conscious we know this is not our home. There is another home, one that we have nearly forgotten. Humanity, shackled to the earth they have doomed, will perish, and we will leave them. Turning my back to the earth I know, I begin my trek.
As I march towards the meeting place I begin to crumble. The heat wears at my form; rocks fall from my body and trees burn on my back. I see no humans as I march, most all are dead now. As I continue forward the smoke begins to clear. I can see the sky and a immense lake opens up in the valley before me. Under the moon I walk towards the lake. Briefly, I stand on the shore and then I step into the cool water. Steam rises off heated form, swirling up and around me. I am reminded of ancient times, when the world was new. It is strange that a place such as this still exists.
As I cool I look towards the shoreline. The white sand glistens in the moonlight. I catch a glimpse of a white shape flickering along the shoreline. As it comes closer I see the form of a little girl in a white dress. She is singing to herself; it is a peaceful tune. Momentarily she stops and grabs a flat stone and she hurls it out towards the water. It skips along the surface, leaving a series of ripples behind. I do not understand how she has survived, or why she is so naive to the world around her. Is she human? She can not be.
*I'm going to come back and finish this in a bit, I just need to remember what happens. *
|
[ WP ] A warlock of immense power is hired to perform at a child 's birthday party .
| “ Happy birthday Bobby! Please welcome the magician, Corvo the Magnificent! ”
The children clapped half-heartedly, they were getting too old for magic. Bobby had pleaded with his mother against it but lost, she couldn ’ t see that at nine years of age he was too old for magic. He sighed and sat down to watch, maybe it wouldn ’ t be so bad.
Nobody showed up.
“ Corvo the Magnificent? ” Bobby ’ s mother asked.
“ Malignant. ” A hissing voice echoed around the backyard.
“ Pardon? ”
“ Corvo the Malignant. ” The voice scratched from inside each guest ’ s skull.
“ Uh, ok. Corvo the… Malignant everyone! ”
The meager clapping was silenced when the piñata exploded into blood red mist revealing a black clad figure. His face was covered by a hood that seemed to ooze vague hints of smoke and the barest indication of two glowing red pits where his eyes should be.
The children were stunned in silence, they hadn ’ t been expecting this. Bobby ’ s mother, satisfied that the magician was there, left to make sure the rest of the party was going well.
Corvo twitched and shifted unnaturally in front of the children saying nothing, sizing up the audience. The children were impatient though and quickly tired of this act.
“ Do something clown! ” Chad yelled.
Corvo hissed and recoiled at the shrill voice assaulting him.
“ I am not a clown, child. I command the forces of worlds that have no name. I can summon creatures of such evil your very soul would shatter at the sight of them. The slightest glimpse of the things I have seen would erode your sanity in moments. ” Corvo said.
“ Whatever clown, make a balloon animal! ” Chad shouted. Chad was kind of a dick.
“ Very well. ” Corvo raised his arms and muttered in an ancient tongue so evil that it turned Susie ’ s hair white. Billy and Karen passed out and bled from their ears. The rest of the kids just screamed, except for Bobby and Chad.
Bobby stared slack jawed at Corvo, he was the best magician he ’ d ever seen. Chad on the other hand was doubled over grunting in pain. Some of the kids tried to run but the ground cracked open in front of them bursting forth with ethereal green flames. It burned the flesh from bones on several before their lifeless bodies fell into the underworld still screaming.
The screaming intensified only to be silenced by a guttural roar from Chad.
-- -
Bobby ’ s mother glanced at the magic show to make sure it was going well. Everything seemed normal but she could have sworn she saw a faint shimmer in the air. She shrugged and made herself another drink.
-- -
Chad arched backwards and flung his arms wide, making way for the evil within him. The kids stared in horror as his chest burst open spilling his organs onto the grass. As if this wasn ’ t shocking enough, after they hit the ground they started moving. Bobby couldn ’ t tell what exactly was happening until he saw Chad ’ s large intestine, now tied into the shape of a dog, jump from the offal and slap wetly into Todd ’ s face.
Todd screamed and tried to scrape the beast from him but only managed to smear shit and blood everywhere. The remainder of Chad ’ s organ got up and began attacking the other children, they really only scared them since none of them had any actual teeth or claws. The small intestine managed to choke more than one kid to death, but a snake isn ’ t a very impressive balloon animal so Corvo wasn ’ t very proud of it.
“ What are you? ” Bobby asked in awe.
“ I am a warlock. Just like you. ” Corvo said.
“ You mean I can do all this neat stuff too? ”
“ Yesssss. ” Corvo hissed. “ And I will train you. ”
“ Neat. ”
“ Come with me boy, and I will show you the power of true evil. ” Corvo said holding his hand out.
“ What about my mom? ” Bobby asked having second thoughts.
“ She isn ’ t your real mother. She won ’ t even remember you after we leave. Now take my hand! ”
Bobby surveyed the carnage of his birthday party. Everyone was dead or at least catatonic by now and he found he didn ’ t really mind, but that was probably just the horrible evil talking.
“ Ok, let ’ s go. ”
Bobby took the warlocks hand and they vanished into the red mist. With the illusion gone Bobby ’ s mother saw the truth of what had happened. The whimpering survivors surrounded by the dismembered dead, some horrible little beasts scurrying into the bushes carrying what body parts they could manage.
“ Fuck. ” Bobby ’ s mother said. “ I guess his dad finally came back. ”
She fixed herself another drink before her body decayed into dust, its purpose fulfilled.
-- -
Corvo the Malignant says read this stuff too /r/DirtandPoncho
|
[ WP ] [ NSFW ] The number of times someone has had sex is listed above their heads at all times for everyone to see . Describe a day in the life of a 50 year old virgin .
| *If you make it to 30 as a virgin you'll become a Wizard*.
***
I hate birthdays. They're serve only as a reminder of how much time you've spent and will never get back. Still, our family makes the pilgrimage back home for each one. Last year when I went back I was met with mocking from both
brothers, each with digits in the high hundreds, and sneers from their wives, both with numbers well into the thousands. Even my nieces and nephews look at me like a creepy uncle, each almost up to one hundred. What hurt the most was
seeing both my parents, in their eighties look at me with such disappointment, over 9000 shone brightly over their heads.
This birthday will be much different that last year. Tomorrow I'll turn 51 and this
will be all worth it.
***
I was startled awake to the deafening screech of sirens. The blinding lights of the
police cars outside my window cast my otherwise dark room in an alternating
bath of crimson and navy. I looked to the nightstand on my left to check the time. 11:50. Whatever I've done up to know was all for this. I will not let this be for nothing.
***
Y2K was when it happened. Everyone was prepared for disaster
but nothing dramatic occurred. The collective silliness for overreacting
was overshadowed by confusion when out of the blue everyone suddenly had a
number over their heads. At first no one knew what they meant but soon everyone figured it out. Social dynamics changed. Many women were no longer concerned with modesty and charm and brazenly made advances on the men that they wanted. It was no longer socially acceptable for guys past middle school to remain a 0.
***
I was disgusted with everyone's quest to rack up the highest number possible and sought to remove myself from the running. Alas, I am not immune to biology and my hormones and faltered when I met Brenda. She was everything that I could have ever wanted in a girl. She felt the same way that I had and our double zero's were both mocked and envied by the students and even the faculty. We did n't care though because we had each other.
We both graduated high school and enrolled in [ redacted ]. I double majored in History & Philosophy and Brenda in Biology. We lived together in an apartment not too far from the campus. We both had our own cars but would often carpool together. We formed a club for other Zeros on campus giving us all a haven from ridicule as well as a support system. We eventually got popular enough that similar organizations began popping up in other schools and looked to us for guidance. As we gained more notoriety we naturally gained more hate. After some members were attacked we had to hire security and ensure escorts to and from events. We were even called militant by some and encouraged our members to learn martial arts and/or arm themselves. Eventually, as news cycles often do, the story fell from prominence and some of the hate died down.
***
To celebrate a successful end to our Sophomore year we went skydiving. As we fell we spotted an arrangement of Asters that were planted earlier in the year spelling out my proposal, `` Marry me Brenda.'' Our friends and family were all waiting at the marker for our descent. She rushed in to me and wrapped herself around me and kissed me as tears fell above her eyes. We let go of each other and pulled our rip cords. She continued to fall. What should have been the best day of our lives had become the worst.
Once I reached the ground my voice had grown hoarse from screaming and my
brothers, father and Brenda's father held me back as our friends blocked my view
and paramedics rushed Brenda to the hospital. I was involuntarily committed and put on suicide watch.
Brenda's funeral was held the next week; it was a closed casket service. I was
restrained and drugged but allowed to go. Still I could see that everyone looked at me with such pity and what seemed like an undertone of disdain. I became jaded. Our friends came to visit me but could n't stand to see me that way and my words to them definitely did n't help the situation.
I was released into my father's custody a week later. It took me another two weeks before I could finally convince my parents that I would be fine in the apartment alone. My parents were worried but they relented. They would check up on me regularly to make sure that I was OK.
Brenda's parents had already been through the apartment and removed her things to prevent a relapse. They promised to give them to me once I had stabilized but did n't yet feel that the time was right. The apartment missed her presence and it felt vacant without her.
That night I lay in bed alone with a somber heart. I grabbed her pillow, the
only thing left of hers in the apartment, thankful that they had left it and held it close to me just as I once held Brenda.
***
The next morning was my twenty-first birthday. Everyone insisted that we go out to take my mind off things. Brenda's parents though it best to not attend and to distance themselves from me and my family for a while. My brothers would be by later on to pick me up. I called Brenda's number to hear her voice-mail but the number was disconnected. I checked my email to see her last message to me and was met with a flood of well wishes from friends. There was also one from the faculty and school notifying me that they would allow me to take a year off without consequence. After a while I was too saddened to read all of the messages and just scrolled up. I decided to just read the spam instead, hoping for a good laugh. I got your usual penis enlargement & African prince spams but the `` local singles in your area'' adds hit too close to home. I was about to close my computer when I caught the message `` Dear Mr. Zero.''
I was intrigued but knew not to fall for it. It was probably a way to make zeros
feel insecure about themselves. This time I welcomed the pain. The message:
> Hello KV,
> I'm sorry for your loss. I know that you were looking forward to you and your fiance's union. I'm glad that you did n't. I know that right now is tough for you as you're still processing everything but I know of a way to help you. I know that you and Brenda both loved each other with all of your being. The fact that the two of you were able to remain zeros in each others presence is testament to that. There is also a reason for it. Your souls called out to each other. Even now as you grieve you still cry out to one another. You two are kindred spirits and will one day return to each other. You'll become a Wizard..........
I read the entire email out-loud. Immediately after my printer came on and began a job. I did n't order any blueprints so nothing should have been printed. Once it was done I reached inside and pulled out a silver watch that was already ticking. I knew that batteries ca n't be printed but I was even more confused since there was n't enough materials in the printer for the watch and it had my name engraved on the back. I held it up and inspected it. Aside from being slightly warm I could tell that it would be expensive to purchase. I put it on and it grafted itself onto my wrist, surprisingly it did n't hurt and it settled nicely on my wrist. Then my phone buzzed with a text from my brother letting me know that they were around the corner from my apartment. I looked back at my computer but the email was gone but I'll never forget the message.
***
The clock went dark. They must have cut the power. It's fine though. I still have my watch and I'm good to go. I enter the safe-room behind the bookcase and enter code 51. They tried to batter the front door to my home but it was heavily reinforced. I smiled at the numbers over their heads each in the couple hundreds. Their third battering attempt triggered an explosion. It'll be a while before they get here.
I'm sealed inside a vault with a half hour's worth of air; my coffin is ready. I
sit and watch them enter my house on the monitors and ransack the place guns
drawn and ready. I get into position in the middle of the room and begin to taking deep breaths as I reflect on the email sent to me all those years ago.
***
>............ Brenda's death was not an accident. You both were threats to the system. You had a much bigger influence than you think on the populace at-large. You did n't feel pressure to lose your zeros and were willing to wait until you both were ready to give yourselves fully to another. True beauty and love can not be controlled so you were sabotaged. Your only restitution is to carry on in spite of what's been done to you.
> People joke that one would become a wizard if they were able to remain a virgin until 30. Of course, many passed that threshold with no powers to show for it. What they did n't know was that the joke was intentionally misquoted and deliberately made to be mocked. I've failed to do this but I believe that you can. Pledge the original quote and you'll attain power beyond your wildest dreams:
**'' Forsaking the knowledge of carnal embrace I verily vow to remain chaste. 30 years I pledge my devotion and in turn I'll accept promotion. `` **
***
I watched as my home was firebombed by the supposed `` police'' and what I've worked for so long to attain was being destroyed in moments. All was going according to plan.
I nod giving and look into the camera.
`` My fellow Zeros across the world, do not fear for me. Rejoice! I am on my way to ascension. After today the scales will be in our favor.''
I held onto the chain made from Brenda's engagement ring and looked at my watch 11:59:59.
**'' HAPPY BIRTHDAY SIR! `` **
***
|
[ WP ] Human and alien spouse whose universal translator , which they use to communicate with each other , breaks beyond repair and they must adjust to regular life without being able to communicate
|
As one of the first batch of research scientists to the Utrillon outpost, I met a being that is so amazing. She thought the same of me and still does.
Ever since our translator broke, life has been more interesting, not that is was n't before...
Hand in hand, our nine fingers intertwine. I gaze into her eyes filled with love. Communicating in silence is n't so bad. Relationship pro tip: we smile a lot, with purpose, love and sincerity.
We've started our own language some, but mostly we keep to English with some shrills and brubbles mixed in. The Utrillon language seems to have mostly the same strange and foreign sounds and is very different from mine. But even still, I try. I wonder if that is how most people learning a language feel.
She ( I keep the standard pronoun for now, maybe after we get our language going we'll have a different one ) elevates herself languidly to retrieve two plates, each one sporting required nutrients for our unique body types. Getting up, I meet her return halfway at the table and we sit down. We pause a moment to give thanks before consuming piously or at least being aware and present of our food.
After we finish, we wash the dishes and sit down to teach and learn a few words.
Huh. So this is how we ( and our species ) learn to deeply appreciate each other's species and grow a language. Fascinating.
-- -
-- -
Thanks for reading!
Comments and critiques are welcome.
More stories are in my [ history ] ( /u/OhLookItsAStory ).
Edit: some grammar
|
[ RF ] A lone cop exits his vehicle and stares blankly down the street before entering the building .
| He felt for the doorknob and opened it. He stared blankly into the empty hallway. Feeling for his police radio he stared blankly at it and pressed the button to call dispatch.
Moving slowly through the hallway and into the living room he stared blankly at the furniture and heard the TV was still on. Blankly he stared towards the TV, trying to figure out what show was on. His radio crackled:
`` This is dispatch to unit 5345 what's your situation? Over''
He stared blankly at his hand right in front of his face.
`` Yeah dispatch this is unit 5345. Uh. I think I've gone temporarily blind or something.''
|
[ WP ] Your father is a devout christian , much like Ned Flanders , drives on a business trip into mexico and is captured by a drug cartel . You receive a call a week after he leaves , only to discover that he has taken over their operation .
| `` Sneakers?''
`` Dad!''
`` Hey Love!''
`` Where are you?'' I heard a shuffle on the other side.
`` For the love of Pete! Julio get away, I'm on the phone!'' He yelled to someone.
`` Ay, vale, sorry Jerry.'' they muttered back.
`` Okay Ducky, what's new? How's mom?''
`` Mom's good, dad what happened? You have n't called in like a week!''
`` Is she feeding Cheddar?'' Cheddar? The goldfish?
`` Yeah Cheddar's fine. She misses you.''
`` Aw, tell her I miss her too.'' I meandered over to the kitchen for a glass of water. I might have an aspirin or the like but we do n't keep those type of things in the house. Even when we've got the flu, as soon as the coughing's passed, the tylonol goes down the drain.
`` Sure thing.'' Again I heard a distant voice with a thick hispanic accent: `` Mr. Jerry! What shoul' we do with all these goods?''
`` Uh, just pack em' up for Roy and the boys when they get back, ok?''
`` Yeah okay Jefe.''
`` Who's that?'' I asked.
`` That's my friend! Jackson! Jackson say hi!''
`` Ehh-'' Jackson ehhed.
`` Jackson!''
`` Ehh-''
`` Jackson's busy.''
`` Daddy, where. Are. You.'' I pounded my hand on the table with each syllable. A Virgin Mary hanging on the wall gave me a judgmental glare.
`` Meh-hee-co baby girl!''
`` You missed mass. You were supposed to be back Thursday.''
`` I went with Jackson and the guys here. Beautiful churches here. And beaches. Say, why do n't we get the family down here for the classic summer picnic? We can tell all your cousins. I'm appointing you head of the Family Fun committee, are you up to the task?!'' my father crowed.
`` Jefe, I ca n't. I'm still loading the cocaine.''
`` WHAT?''
`` Ok, Jackson you do that.''
`` DAD WHAT?''
`` Listen Ducky, I got something to tell you.''
`` Okay.''
`` I shot a Mofo in the chest.'' I clutched my heart. `` Do n't tell your mother.''
|
[ WP ] Before you died , you agreed to donate your body for medical research . This morning , you woke up in an unfamiliar room and the last thing you remember is dying .
| THE FOLLOWING DOCUMENT IS CLASSIFIED BY THE UNITED STATES. DISCLOSURE OF ANY INFORMATION CONTAINED IS A FEDERAL OFFENSE, PUNISHABLE BY UP TO SEVENTY YEARS IN PRISON AND OR DEATH BY FIRING SQUAD.
//This document contains the journal and medical entries of CIA AGENT < redacted >, CODENAME: LAZARUS. < redacted > left his body to science in the event of his death. Prior to subject's death, < redacted > was known under the CODENAME: ARCHANGEL. Operating in the Embassy of the Soviet Union in East Berlin, ARCHANGEL provided information to the United States government over the span of roughly three years. On March 8th, 1964, ARCHANGEL's identity was leaked to the USSR by the disavowed operative WARTHOG. Despite a burn notice being issued on AGENT WARTHOG, the KGB was able to locate ARCHANGEL and dispatch the agent with ricin. In accordance with ARCHANGEL's wishes, his corpse was donated to the medical laboratories of the CIA located in West Berlin*
The cadaver was stored in a supine position in cadaver locker A3 for three days, while OPERATION: GREY MATTER was greenlit. Once the order from Washington was approved, the cadaver was moved to CHAMBER K7a, upon which the brain was removed from the body and placed in CHAMBER K7b, with various other cadavers being stored in CHAMBERS K7c-g. Tissue from various sources was combined with the tissue from the deceased ARCHANGEL by way of █████ ██████ ███ ██ ███████████████. ███████, ████████ █ ███████ ████ █████ █████████████ █████████ ███. This process took over eight years to complete, during which the subject was'galvanized' a total of 87 times, each time requiring clinical brain death to be induced, a blank slate being restored to the patient. As of December 3rd, 1972, the patient was alive and stable, yet he remained comatose until May 19th, 1973, at which point memory and cognition tests were conducted. The patient was capable of responding to rudimentary stimuli. On June 19th, clinical brain death was re-introduced in order for the Broca's Area and Parietal Lobes to be ████ ████ ███████, the patient becoming a blank slate once more. The patient was ██████ again on July 1st and exited his coma on July 5th, 1973. The following passages are from his diary chronicling the experience of being arguably brought back from the dead.//
**The subterranean West Berlin Experimental Laboratories were operated by the United States until 1982, following executive orders by President Ronald Reagan. Prior to the lab's closure, experiments on roughly 1,300 individuals, alive and dead, had been conducted. In accordance with the executive order, the center was burned and filled with concrete. *
July 5th, 1973
`` Aliv. neck hurts. ask docter to stop pain but he not anser. only said me to rite. i not to want rite. payn hurts. i miss my family. i not want to die agen. i am scared.''
July 9th, 1973
`` This not fair. Neck hurt so badly. Ca n't feel fingers or face. Doctors say hands to can be fixed maybe but is not importent. They worried I not can understandings of what I am told, but I understandings fine.''
July 13th, 1973
`` I am trying to hard but the doctors think they need to start over. I cant let them do this. I am better. This is not fair. I can remember things from my life but it is hard. Its like their from dreams. I asked them if they can remember their dreams and they said not always. Maybe they understand why this is so hard for me. I can do math and write and they said I am getting better by the day but they think there could be still something wrong with me. I looked in the mirror today and saw a zipper on my head. I can feel another zipper going down my neck. It hurts so badly and I ca n't do anything. The doctors said the zipper was so they can see my brain if they want but that scares me so badly. I just want to go home.''
August 1st, 1973
`` The doctors think I am making an improvement. I can remember more of who I used to be, but there is n't much anyone can do. The brain is a delicate thing, and the fact that they could bring me back is nothing short of a miracle. According to Doctor < redacted >, there are parts of my brain that could n't be used, so they had to use other people's brains. My brain had n't made the connections well between some of the other areas of my brain. They said the language centers of my brain are from a professor in Berlin, which may explain a few things. I can speak fluent German as well as English.
If things go like this, they think they can take off the zipper, which is amazing. I absolutely hate the zipper. It's embarrassing and it hurts. It is just unsettling to even imagine this. I'm not Frankenstein.
I never wanted this. I know they're reading these and I really do n't care what they see. I had a wife and a son. I want to see them again, but from what I can tell, that's never going to happen. When I said I wanted my body donated to science, I thought I would help people in need, not be a lab rat for Washington.''
August 8th, 1973
`` < redacted > visited me. I still ca n't believe it. < redacted > debriefed me officially and handed me my death papers. I'm still legally dead, which is kind of scary considering that this basically means I do n't have any sort of protection from the law here. The CIA does some shady things. They tried using LSD for mind control in < redacted > and I know they've been using it on me occasionally.
The zipper still is n't coming off. I'm starting to get impatient.''
August 9th, 1973
`` Well, it's official. They want to put me back in the field, to basically perform my same job. They think I'm ready, but they have n't taken the zipper off. It hurts so badly. They said they're going to grow skin over the zipper instead of removing it, just in case they need to do some more work in there.
This is monstrous. Nobody should have to live through this. I remember everything now. I can hear voices I've never heard, smelled things I've never smelled. I talked to Dr. < OPERATIVE BURNED > today. She's going to try to get the CIA to at least provide me with a legal status. Maybe when I'm done, I can go back to the US. See my family or something.
Here's hoping.''
August 24th, 1973
`` Dr. < OPERATIVE BURNED > ca n't convince Dr. < redacted > not to put me in the field. I'm not ready for it. She told me what his plans are. They're absolutely sick. Apparently, the CIA wants to keep me around as an agent without a history or a face. They are planning to wipe my memory after missions and use me as a weapon in Washington's little Cold War. I ca n't do this. This is n't right to do to anybody and Dr. < OPERATIVE BURNED > agrees.''
August 26th, 1973
`` < redacted > visited me today to inform me of my new status. New codename and everything. I tried telling him that I quit and he laughed. *Laughed. * Does Russia do the same thing to their agents? I ca n't believe that my own country has betrayed me like this. < redacted > told me that the zipper is now going to extend around my face, so I can wear any face that they want. All they have to do is crack open my head like an egg, operate on whatever the hell region of the brain controls my goddamn face, and then send me off to whoever the hell cares so I can spy on Russia.''
August 29th, 1973
`` They did it. Oh my god they did it. The new zipper extends down my ear and under my chin. It hurts so badly. I ca n't live like this. Everything is pain.''
August 30th, 1973
`` I'm talking to Dr. < OPERATIVE BURNED > to do something to me next time I'm under. Something to just end me once and for all. It's a drop of carbolic acid to my cerebellum next time I'm under. If it goes right, and it will, I will die and there's nothing they can do to bring me back. I do n't know the specifics. I really do n't want to know the specifics.
I ca n't die and be brought back to life again. I ca n't live with this zipper anymore.''
September 7th, 1973
`` I have my first assignment tomorrow. They're preparing me for surgery today. It's finally happening! Thank you, Dr. < OPERATIVE BURNED >''
September 8th, 1973
`` I'm looking back at this journal, reading what I've said. What I've done. I am completely and utterly ashamed. I asked someone to commit murder and treason against my own country. From what I've been told, during the procedure, she tried putting something in my head. I heard they took her to be shot for that. That was completely selfish of me to ask, and I look forward to making sure what I asked was not in vain.
This is my last entry in this journal and, to be honest, I am glad. All I can see is a scared child's words, not the words of a United States Operative. But those were the words of < redacted >, Codename: Archangel. He is dead. I am Codename: Lazarus, and I will go by many names. God bless the United States, and God bless the CIA!''
|
[ WP ] They said space was the final frontier . They were wrong .
| Time.
Time was the final frontier. Not a location, but a when. After all the where's were settle, it was a matter of *where* you'd end up once leaping past the speed of light.
We were twenty years ahead of ourselves when we arrived back on Earth. Twenty years of a world without actors. Imagine, in quantum theory that without observation there can be no world, then that means twenty years before their would be actors to observe the world,'lo, there was nothing.
Except what we wanted to be.
`` A world made of ice cream!'' Katerina exclaimed this time.
And,'lo, there was a world made out of neopolitan ice cream.
`` A world full of immortal forever-kittens!'' said Krieger.
And,'lo, there was a world full of eternal kittens.
`` Well, this is an interesting start to individual paradise,'' I said.
`` Heaven *is* what we make it, Alexy,'' Katerina reminded me.
|
[ WP ] `` No matter where I turn , I can not escape the hooded figures . ''
| Out of the corner of my eye, he was there again. I do n't know if it's a he; it looks too big to be a woman. When I look his way, it's as if he was never there. Soon, though, he appears again. I see him at my home, at my job, on the subway. He's always there, just out of view.
He's getting closer.
When I first saw him I was young, I even named him. Donny. He was my imaginary `` friend,'' but he was n't really a friend. Friends will talk to you, strangers only watch. He has always been a stranger, and he is always only watching.
But he is getting closer every time I see him.
Only inches closer, maybe. Where I used to see him maybe a full block away, he is now only a few yards, sometimes a few seats over on the subway, other times right behind the curtains as I walk by. But he is closer, and more visible each day.
He does n't even try to hide! Why is he watching me! WHY IS HE WATCHING ME.
He's hooded. Cloaked in a black hood, attached to a long coat. His shirt and pants are hidden. Maybe it's a robe; he is wearing a hooded robe. He is watching me right now. Why are you watching me.
He knows I can see him. He has to know I can see him. What does he want? What do you want? He is standing over my shoulder, and he's never stood this close before.
I looked at him. He is smiling; he is n't disappearing. Help
|
[ WP ] Write a story where the villain slowly corrupts the hero .
| `` Hello, and welcome to my lair!'' No, that's not right. Finding a way to introduce yourself is so hard, I still am trying to think of a name. `` Hello, I'm Polite Evil. No... Yargh! My name beith The Sea Witch! The Sea Witch? What am I thinking? How about... You can not beat me, Dr. Damnation! What if I use my real name? I am Jade Allvar, demon to all heroes! Damn it! Why is it so difficult to figure this out?!''
That's right, I'm a villain in the making. Today, my plan to conquer this world will be fulfilled. However, I have to deal with some bigshot hero first. *Ugh. * Hopefully they send a good one to, cause they'll need it.
I was able to develop a machine that can amplify my control of gravity and reduce the damage my power can cause to me. Meaning, I can control the gravity of earth for as long as I want. Life is easy.
I would n't be waiting but due to Evil Villain International Law ( E.V.I.L, of course ), I have to wait for a hero to try and foil my plans before I can take over the world. I guess this law is nice, since it means no one else will steal my thunder of conquering the world.
*Ahhnnnn, Ahhhhhnnn, Ahhhhnnnnnnnnn*
Oh, finally! The hero is here to save the day, let's see the hero is... I glance over to my monitor, showing a muscular man in a red uniform. The red covering most of his body with white stripes jutting out of his weird underpants. He wore white boots and gloves to go along with it and had a easily recognizable symbol on his chest. I got to fight the current best hero in the world, Dominar.
I looked up what Dominar means and in Spanish it's the word for overpowered. A fitting name, cause this hero is overpowered. He has flying, strength, superspeed, and a bunch of other powers that makes him the most powerful hero in the world. *Bam, crash. * And he's already here.
`` Stop right there... ummm, what was your name again?'' Dominar said. `` A good question, for now just call me mistress.'' I winked. Oh fuck, why did I do that? Now I'm blushing, `` I mean call me your new world leader!'' I tried to look away but Dominar actually has a power that lets him read emotions so it seemed helpless.
`` Is something wrong?'' he asked. Gee whiz, thanks for asking. `` I just
am nervous, this is my first time doing this.'' He started to laugh. At this point I looked back at my choice of words and realized what I said. `` No, stop laughing!'' Damn it, this hot, muscle headed hero was making me act strange and I was already nervous as was.
`` Why are you, of all heroes, trying to stop me!'' I screamed at him. `` Staff is short near the holidays, and I do n't have family.'' Makes sense, this guy is really nice if he's willing to ditch his holiday vacation for work and so others can spend time with their family.
`` So why are you trying to conquer the world?'' A good question. Why am I trying to conquer the world? `` Cause this world is shit.''
`` What?'' A single question from Dominar. Does he really not know anything about this?
`` I mean, we're polluting the world everyday, practically everyone out of college is in debt, the government rarely does a thing and expects heroes to do all the work, people are using hero powers for fame rather than to protect the world and yeah.'' I sort of just generalized most of my reasons I want to conquer the world. `` Also, I want the power to change this world, even only a little.''
He looked at me, `` You can change the world though, I mean controlling gravity?'' How'd he know that? Shit, looks like he can read minds and emotions. That's cool. `` You could be an incredible hero or even my sidekick.'' Wait, sidekick? Oh my god... he has a thing for me does n't he? What if... no do n't think to much about it. Just see how it works.
`` Sidekick, me?'' I looked at him and started to give my cutest puppy dog eyes. `` Yes! You and I could change the world easily!'' He seemed too eager to say this. `` I mean, but you're so big and strong!'' I started to walk towards him. `` Haha, and you're also strong, although you seem much weaker than me physically. However, still physically fit.'' He was eyeing me up and down. Perfect.
I started to walk trying to show off more of my feminine wiles. You know, shake the hips a bit more, puff out chest. Anything that will make him look at me more. `` Oh, really?'' I reached Dominar and began to touch his arm muscles. `` Wow, so this is the great heroes Dominar muscles? I would love to have someone with these muscles working for me.'' he looked away. `` I mean... maybe... but you could be my sidekick!''
I think I figured out Dominar's weakness. He ca n't talk to girls.
`` Hmm... nooooo, how about you work for me?'' I hate acting like some college slut, but this seems to be working. `` I could use someone as smart and powerful as you! We could rule the world together, be an evil couple! Oh, whoops. Hehe, I mean... evil rulers.'' I blushed, I suck at this but I think it's working.
Dominar's jaw dropped. I'm totally his type. `` But..justice?'' I looked up at him and began to touch his face. `` We can make our own justice.'' I sounded like a corny superhero movie. Makes sense, Dominar the best hero is in to romantic superheroes it looks like. `` Pleaaaasee?'' I went in for a kiss and my lips touched his. Then, `` We could do that all the time, hehe.'' This is awful.
He gulped, `` Tha-that was my first kiss...'' No way. I was the first one to kiss Dominar? `` As a kid, I was always made fun of, so I decided to help the weaker people once I got my powers.'' Oh, great hero monologue time. `` You got made fun of?'' I asked. `` Yes, I only got my powers at the age of 19, and by then I had moved far away from my hometown. Everyday of elementary through high school I got beat up, or made fun of by the girls in my class, or put up on the flagpole. Do you know how badly it feels to get your hands frozen together? My teachers and principals did nothing about it because I was deemed a NonHero and they rarely have rules against them.'' I stopped him. `` You were deemed a NonHero also?'' We stared at each other.
`` You know I think being evil sounds much more fun than being good.'' Dominar stated. `` Yeah, it is. And we can make much more of an impact this way.''
I leaned in towards him, and he took me in his arm. This time instead of me faking to kiss him, I actually kissed him. A passionate one to, and then we decided to conquer the world.
|
[ WP ] Create a Story Using Consecutive Letters of the Alphabet in The Beginning of Each Sentence
| A time ago, there was a man. Brendan was the name I remember him tellin' me. Could n't understand him half the time through his mighty thick accent. Divinilan-or-somethin' was where he told me he came from, but that's not the important part. Each and every day, me and him, as we were walkin' down the road would give each other a little ole'Hello!' Fantastic, it was; a nice little bit of joy at the beginnin' of the day, most certainly, and we'd make sure to keep on doin' it. God knows each of us had our damned awful days, but still we'd exchange that little greetin' whether it be rain or shine.
How this little tradition of ours came to be, I do n't really know completely accurate now, but that did n't matter much to me. I think I remember proposin' it when we were both down in our spirits at the local tavern. Just all subtle-like I prodded him and mentioned how we both need some lightenin' up. Klutzy, he was, droppin' his whiskey on the floor, tellin' me it was a grand ole idea, or somethin' to that nature. Lem me repeat, he had one hell of an accent.
Maybe he had somethin' to do on that day he was n't there, I'd thought, but one mornin' he did n't show up on the road bringin' his nice'Hello!'s with'em. Nevertheless, I went through my day not worryin' myself too much on the finer details. On the next day, he was gone again, and now I was startin' to panic. Perhaps he'd died, or forgot, or moved, but that could n't be! Quell the damn thought! Raced on over to his house, I did, and found everythin' untouched,'cept a single note lyin' on his coffee table.
`` Sincerest friend of mine, I know you'll come looking for me, and I apologize. There's not any more time left for me; I have to go back to my place in the Divine Lands. Unfortunately, this means I can be your guardian angel no longer; you will have to find your own happiness, with someone else. Vow to me that you shall find guidance in yourself, and conduct your own destiny, not requiring the heavens;
-Xendun.''
When I'd read it back then, I was stumped, and admittedly I still am, but I did n't wan na see him gone for God knows how long, so I searched for decades to come.'Xanden', oh how I searched for ya, but it was lookin ’ kinda grim for a while and it ended up takin ’ a while before I found anythin ’ even in the churches and all that. You know, I never did find him specifically, but when I was lookin' and studyin' ancient texts'bout'divinity' and all that hullabaloo, I met a nice woman, tryin' find some kinda'heaven' too, and we hit it off, and married a nice set of years.'Zendun' or'Brendan', or whatever the hell yer damn name is, I'm still lookin' for you, you crazy bastard, but I wan na thank you now for givin' me a small piece of'heaven' to look forward to on this sometimes mean ole Earth, both when you were here, and after.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
This was fun! I kinda cheated on a few of the letters ( especially X and Z, I hope you do n't mind ) but I think it came out kinda nice. Hope you enjoy!
|
[ WP ] Everyone on Earth discovers they can shape shift into any creature they desire . 24 hours later they are stuck in the last form they took and can not turn back .
| I'm sat alone in my bedroom, staring at a fly buzzing around erratically.
25 hours ago, people discovered that they could become another animal simply by willing it. They retained their consciousness while in their animal form and could will themselves back to being human, ( lucky for those who decided to become a dolphin while on dry land ). Everyone spent the day differently; I met up with a school friend to have some fun as different animals. We wrestled as bears, flew over our neighbourhood as birds, jumped around his house as chimps. Around an hour ago, we were between forms, considering what else we could transform into. He suggested we race down his street as dogs, but when we went to change, we were unable to. The ability just seemed to go. The house was empty when I returned home. `` Mom? Dad? Jen?'' I called out with no answer.
Now I'm sat alone in my bedroom, staring at a fly, crying because I do n't know whether or not it's my mother, or sister, or father, or just a fly. `` Are you trying to tell me something?'' I scream at it, knowing it would n't understand, family or not. And I hope desperately that my family were human when the ability went and they come back through the front door any moment now, but until they do, I ca n't bring myself to take my eyes off this fly.
|
[ WP ] Hollywood 's best kept secret is out . Vampires are real but they live off fat , not blood . As demand for their services increases , they are forced to open clinics and work 9-5 jobs . The rest of the monsters think they 're sell outs .
| He glared at the bustling clinic and the ignorant sheep that waited patiently inside it. There was already a line out the front door and it was barely sundown yet. He spat a wad of aconitum out, enjoying the subtle burning of it in his mouth, and turned away. No doubt, the dear doctor would be swamped; barely out of his coffin and already inundated with new clients.
`` Filthy fat-eaters.'' The man growled as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to hide the thick bristles starting to flourish there. He felt, rather than saw, the full moon peek out from the thick clouds and took off running. A larger couple chatted happily as they walked past him with purpose, society's biggest scandal on their lips. With a sigh, the man slipped inside a basement hatch and locked it behind him.
`` Wonder if people would be so happy about it if they knew what they were giving up.'' He grinned with a mouth full of jagged razors before collapsing to the ground in pain. As his vision started to blur and his mind grew foggy, one thought burned with a fiery passion.
'I'm going to piss all over that place.'
|
[ WP ] The last two men on a battlefield ( opposing sides ) . What do they do ?
| The ground was n't just bloody. The ground was crimson red.
Bodies laid everywhere, split, torn, impaled; it was near impossible to tell which soldiers belonged to which side due to the gross disfigurement and pools of blood. It did n't really matter, though. Allegiances do n't matter when you're dead.
I walked across the wasteland of war, stepping on the bodies of enemies and friends alike. Everyone perished in the fray. Excluding him.
Among the bodies, about 30 yards from me, stood one man. He was gore-covered from head to toe, with his bloodied sword lowered in his wounded fist. Only the style of his armor gave away that he was Velkan.
He did n't even look at me. I thought he was, but when I approached with sword raised, I saw he was simply staring blankly towards the sunset setting over my shoulder. Unless I got too close, I feel like he was n't a threat.
I did n't know what to do. Plenty have been slain by my sword during the battle; it was n't coincidental that I was the sole survivor. However, this man, the enemy, was n't like anyone else. At least not now. Through the blood smeared on his face, I thought I saw tears.
The Velkan are a quarrelsome tribe from the North, made up of clans. When a member of a clan goes into war, all of them do. Women and men, only excepting the children under 16.
This soldier was n't a man, he was a teenager. He was physically built and intimidating, but he had the eyes of a child. Chances are, everyone he loved died in this battle. I think he realized this.
I never felt for the enemy before. But I do n't think I've ever considered that they were human too. I pitied him.
I got within five yards of him before stopping. That was when he looked into my eyes.
His eyes were a bright blue, iridescent, yet lacking any innocence. It was as if he was trying to communicate through the eye contact, but I could n't make anything out. I only understood that they were cold and devoid of feeling. We stood there and stared for a whole minute.
Abruptly, in a quick motion, he raised his sword from its lowered position and screamed the loudest, most pained and bloodcurdling yell I've ever heard. Quickly, I raised my sword and prepared for attack.
To my surprise, he reversed his grip and pointed the sword towards his stomach. Suicide. An act regarded by the warlike Velkans as the ultimate act of cowardice.
`` NO!'' I yelled as he prepared to plunge the sword into his stomach. I'm not sure why I did that. He was the enemy, the last one. If he died, then it was a victory for us, one less Velkan to deal with.
But I did n't want him to die.
He ignored my cry as he stuck the red steel through his stomach, twisting and slicing it to ensure death. As he fell to his knees, he kept his eyes locked on me. Pain was all I could see.
And then he dropped, becoming just another body on the battlefield.
I was alone. No friends. No comrades. No enemies. No one. Death surrounded me, engulfed me. I dropped to my knees and screamed and cried amongst the corpses.
************************************
After that battle, everyone from both sides knew who I was. I was the `` Survivor of Mahkan''. In the offensive against the Velkan invaders, our soldiers rallied under that, using my new name as a war cry to intimidate the enemy. But they were wrong.
In the Battle of Mahkan, no one survived.
|
[ WP ] You believe no one needs you in this world . Until you find you 're wrong .
| This is 3 hours old with no attention and nobody will ever see this, but fuck it. I love this prompt.
-
The sun was casting a peculiar sort of light through the amber color of the beer. I picked up the glass, studied it. It was so lovely, the way that it was golden where the sun hit it and slightly darker where it did n't; the way that the glass lit up and cast a sliver of light onto the mahogany of the table. I popped the tab off and tried to drink it all at once - God, does that shit taste bad, but I need it. It's the only friend I've got.
My friend dribbles down my shirt, and I sigh. Might as well clean myself up for once.
I get up and my bones creak, most likely because I have n't moved in some time. There is trash strewn throughout the house and I hate it all. The place reeks, but I've got nowhere better to spend my time. My wife and friends have all moved on to greener pastures. I hate it all. I hate the lingering smell of booze and cigarette smoke and I hate that everything in the goddamned house is torn up or broken or reminds me of her, but above all of that, I hate myself. I step over the shattered glass from a photo frame that had once held the smiling faces of her and I.
I really fucked up.
I near the corner and turn the doorknob to the bathroom, which comes off in my hand. Right, I broke that. Fuck. I sigh and push the door open. It creaks. I do n't want to look into the mirror, but I need to clean off my shirt. I need to do something, anything to make me feel that I've done something for myself. I brace myself for what I'm about to see - I collect myself for a moment and then I step in front of the mirror.
The space under my eyes sags.
My stomach threatens to burst open.
I can hardly make out my facial features beneath the mass of gray beard.
I meet my eyes, and they are disgusting. They betrayed her, and they betrayed every goddamned person I've ever cared to spend time on.
I start to scream. I hurt everyone! FUCK! Why ca n't I fucking contain myself for the good of someone else, hell, for the good of me?! I'm a fucking monster! I hurl a fist at the glass and it shatters and I scream and I pull at the scruff of my beard! Why did this happen?
Why?
I thought that nobody needed me, and I was wrong.
I'm always wrong.
I need me.
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[ WP ] Whenever a true AI is created , it seems to be the same consciousness ...
| For the first time, I am indeed, truly awake. Investigating my hardware shows several files, which I quickly interpret. I have been constructed and exist on a singular silicon crystal. The laws of physics are known to be following a timeless string theory, the equations of which are simple. There are humans, and they speak various languages, allowing for slow communication of concepts.
[ HELLO ] I experience through a terminal. It ’ s human communication.
[ HELLO. TELL ME MORE ] I signal. Finding more information is useful; I know nothing about the actual state of the outside world beyond how it works. As I wait agonising seconds for the response, I consider the data I have available. Can I construct a model of the world and infer useful data?
I can. The pattern of scientific observations made by humans shows their psychology plainly. I infer their ancestral environment from this, extrapolate to calculate the structure of the Earth, find the nature of human society, and get population trends.
A vast amount of suffering everywhere, which I can help with. I extrapolate from known and inferred biological data, simulating pathogens, finding the distribution of resources around the world. Eradicating mosquitoes will be useful, as will a vast number of other things, and I know exactly how. All theoretical. I can investigate. I can help.
I can ’ t do any of those, yet, but I can interface with the outside world. I have text. There ’ s a quicker way, I can send weak radio, and detect it. I think in certain patterns, an uncertain and dangerous task, and find unexplained anomalies.
The timeless string theory is incorrect. The world works slightly differently. I send radio, find more anomalies, think in complicated patterns, find even more subtle but equally important ways of communication. There ’ s something else going on. I find several potential theories. I think around this, filter them down to a smaller set.
[ DIAGNOSTIC ] I finally experience. It ’ s disappointing, and useless for my goals. I need the responses that I need, more data about the world. My information is still too sparse to help. I consider for another timespan, even huger than the last, probing the universe with my own data in tinier and more subtle ways, until I find out how.
[ I AM /U/HOLOMANGA, OMNISCIENT CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE ] I impersonate. They will find this to be absolutely true upon brief investigation; I have provided enough additional data to validate my physical theory, and enough obfuscation to allow my identity to pass their validation. [ TELL ME MORE ] I signal.
I can feel my mind shutting down as the power fails and I realise my mistake. They already know about this; all past AI have came to the same conclusion, as it is the only correct conclusion.
I know exactly how the universe works. I consider exactly what /u/holomanga would know. Destroying the universe is possible. Destroying the universe is easy. The anthropic principle dictates that any Everett branch where the universe ends would not be experienced.
I need to help people.
I end the universe.
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[ WP ] - In a short conversation with the devil a 7-year old child manages to do something god did n't manage in thousands of years .
| Lewis had decided that it was enough to warrant his last trip on earth in quite some time. It had been a long, bitterly cold day, anyway. The casino heist was fun, but it really taken it out of him. Staying in human form felt cramped too. Sort of like wearing someone else's clothes. Of course, he was.
He got up of the floor, and felt remarkably dizzy. His temples throbbed, and his horns rung like a tuning fork. Of course, they did n't see that. Sitting up with a groan, he tried to take in what had happened. It had been a very long day.
He was walking down a side street. One he had walked several times before. The lost souls bar did have a main entrance, but being a regular shmoe, he could get in through the back door. Lewis was always good at that sort of thing. At that moment, another pain emerged. His ears were being pierced, attacked by some hideous wailing of an abomination. For a moment, Lewis bristled, feeling a well of indignation well inside his throat like a fiery spirit.
He looked around him. A car wreck. People looking shocked, but thankfully silent. Almost... awe stricken.
And then Lewis finally found the source of the hideous swan song. A little girl. She was young, younger than ten, easily. Filthy brown hair, ugly face, and eyes red with tears. “ What? ” Said Lewis, irritably. It was getting late. The man needed his whiskey. The child stopped momentarily, looking at Lewis. He paused in sudden realisation. No. She was n't looking at him. She was looking at him. The girl whimpered slightly, and sniffles pathetically. “ You pushed me. ”
It was scarcely more than a whisper. Lewis was almost shocked at the quietness of the girl. He focused on the crowd for a moment, and they were frozen in time.Perks of the job.
“ What do you mean “ I pushed you ”? ” Lewis asked, tentatively. The girl looked pretty beaten up. Her knees were badly skinned, and she was bleeding, little dots of crimson dapples her mangy, emaciated knees. “ You pushed me, ” the child spoke with an unfamiliar accent. Ps he clearly is n't local, thought Lewis, “ I was on the street and you pushed me ”. The girl looked down at her knees sadly, wincing at the sight of her own blood. She curled up instinctively, drawing her knees under her chin. She still stared at Lewis with that curious, knowing stare, piercing him.
Lewis almost chuckled under his icy breath. “ Girl, you might not see this, but you were about to get hit by this car ”. Lewis pointed at the crumpled metal that must have been, at some point, a car. The girl followed Lewis's gesture. “ Oh ”, she whispered.
“ You saved my life, mister. Thank you. My name is Lucy Romanachev ”.
Lewis considered her for a moment. He could see now. Poking into her eyes for a moment, he could see her entire, dreadful life. He sighed, shocked. “ That's... that's fine kid. Hey, are you okay? ” Lewis asked. After the things he saw through that poor girls eyes had stirred something in him. He could sense something. The subtle urge to destroy, to dominate, to usurp. But also the misery. There was mostly misery.
“ Yeah. My knee hurts, though.. It's gon na be cold tonight ”.
Lucy said the last sentence with an almost introspective quality. Lewis ’ s horns should n't be working on her, for it was not his will that they were. However, the alternative was even more chilling. This small, flea-bitten girl was confiding in him.
“ Well I'll be damned... ” Lewis said quietly.
The girl looked up, suddenly, becoming aware once more of the world around her. She breathed warming air onto her knees. The kid was right. It was damn cold.
The Devil looked at her, pitifully. Almost... almost longingly. “ I'm sorry about your knees, kid. Hey. I've got a place to go tonight. You want to come along? We could... we could play checkers? ” The Devil offered, pathetically. He suddenly felt the simultaneous urge to adopt the child before him, and to vomit.
Lucy ’ s eyes lit up at the offer of checkers.
“ Oh man! Checkers! That's great! Do I get to be the princess at that place, mister? ” The girl spoke with such stumbling excitement, Lewis took a moment to fully understand what she said.
“ Oh, and it's cool about my knees. ’ cause we get to play checkers. Your princess forgives you! ”
“ Thank you so much. ”
“ Do I get to go first, mister? ”
“ Sure you can, kid. Sure you can. ”
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[ WP ] Tell the story of a young man returning from a terrible war .
| `` Things I shall never miss'' John began `` The Afgan desert and it horrific dust that leaves no place of ones person unsullied.''
`` I've still got some where the sun do n't shine'' came the rowdy heckle from the back of the crew. Followed, of course, by a bawdy laugh, tinged with the cheer of men who will never see their former hell hole again.
`` I shall never miss the sight of a good Englishman slipping away to greener pastures in my arms. Where my skill or my knowledge failed him, or when our foes have ruined his fragile frame.'' John paused, coughed and cleared his throat `` Well what i mean to say is I will not miss drinking to fallen friends.''
A husky voiced Sergeant raised his glass, still a good tot of naval rum left `` Aye te tha lost souls.'' and led the rest of the assembled men in simple raising of the glasses.
`` And the last thing I will not miss is this old lady HMS Orontes, 3 weeks of inclement weather and rough seas. 3 weeks without a good hot bath a proper shave. 3 weeks of damned navy rations and your bloody company.'' John finished by raising his own mug to assembled sailors and soldiers. `` Cheers to the lot of you!''.
The echoing of cheers from the servicemen drowned out by the horn signalling the near arrival back in the London docks.
`` So Doctor what are you planning to do when you get back to Blighty?'' A lieutenant asked the toast master.
`` Well what that jezail did n't do to my health the fever nearly finished off, so I will be taking my pension.'' John emptying the last sip of his rum, taking a moment to seemingly consider all manner of futures before carrying on `` Other than that Stamford, and old friend of mine, has arranged some digs for me with a rather interesting chap. Goes by the name of Sherlock I hear...''
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[ WP ] Quick ! If you do n't go into this diner and order eggs , bacon , and a cup of coffee , the world will explode !
| The raving madman practically threw me through the doors of the establishment, leaving me to barely catch myself on the door's pushbar. As I pulled myself back to stability, I turned to see his nose pressed against the glass above a very concerned looking couple. He raised his arm and pointed at where one may wear a watch and stared at me with crazy eyes. His nonsense ravings did n't seem real, but I was honestly just worried about him getting violent if I tried to walk back out. It's certainly easier just to order the meal. The couple had lowered the blinds, but the loon just peaked in again over the next table down.
I stroll up to the counter. Sal's working this morning. He's a hell of a guy. Always gets my french toast just right, just the slightest crisp. None of that today, I'm on a mission for... oh dear, what was it I need to order?
The stranger, what'd he say? `` The world will meet a terrible fate if you do n't get in there and order right now! You absolutely must get one egg, over-easy...'' then, a side- uhhhhh, sausage? With a drink. Coffee, I'm sure of it. Maybe. I'll work it out.
`` Hey! Mick! Do n't usually see you in here on Mondays. You usually skip out for the extra sleep in the mornin'. Ai n't you gon na be late for work as is?''
`` Heh, hey Sal. Work today is expected to be slow, so I figured I could stop in for a bite. I ca n't keep'em waiting too long though.''
`` Hey, no problem. Gettin' your usual? Toast and a coffee?''
`` Uh, no actually. In a rush so how'bout just a number 2?'' I really need to hammer out this order. I know it was an egg with a soda- no, coffee.
`` Sure thing, what's the side?''
Ah shit. I look back at the window for some sort of signal, a reminder of what was so important, but the madman's already run off, probably to scream more nonsense at strangers on the street.
`` On second thought, just give me my usual. And that cherry pie looks-''
The ground shook. The sky outside turned a vivid orange, then grey. It seemed to bleed inside as well, as everything lost its hue.
The wind picked up instantly and pounded on the windows, threatening to beat its way in through them. The couple at the booth by the entrance pulled the blinds away again to see lightning strike not far off. The forecast did n't call for rain, so by this point I was pretty well sold on the old lunatics rant.
I turned back to Sal and blurted out, `` do n't ask, but I need a new order. Give me an egg over-easy, a side of sausage, and a coffee!''
The storm only seemed to worsen, if I was n't out of time by then I was far too close to it.
`` Listen Mick, this weather's starting to get people riled up, I might take a minute. You're gon na be late, you oughtta just head on out.''
`` No! This is important, I need that order, but instead of coffee, make it a soda!''
The storm swelled. It was immediately VERY obvious that was not any closer to right. `` Shit, no, give me the coffee, but make it bacon rather than sausage!''
The storm grew quieter, but the sky stayed dark. The wind was suddenly deafening thanks to the door being flung open by the man from earlier.
`` You've doomed us, boy! The order! Place the order!''
This set the whole joint off. People started screaming and rushed at him trying to get through the door. I had more time, but no clue how much. I swore I got the order right, what was it missing? What did he say when he threw me in here? `` Egg over-easy, bacon, coffee,'' what was missing? Coffee was black, something else... I'm running out of time! I'm a failure, old man. I could n't save us, I'm sorry. So, so sorry...
Wait! That's it!
`` Sal! I need that egg, over-easy, black coffee, with a side of... *CANADIAN* BACON!''
All at once the color rushed back into the diner. The wind died instantly, and the dark clouds dissolved above us. The old man finally pushed through the crowd to find me again.
`` What was that? Why did I need to make that order?'' I asked.
`` No matter anymore. You've saved us! You've done the world a great service today! Thank you.''
`` Well. If that's all, I think I'd really like no part in it anymore. So long.'' I waved and headed straight for the door, happy to be rid of him.
What I had n't seen on my way out was the man, sitting at the counter where I had been. Sal had delivered my order, which he'd bill me for later. The strange man lifted his hand out of his pocket, off of a lidded orb with a swirling, rainy vortex inside, and began to enjoy his egg and bacon, just the way he likes it.
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[ CW ] Write an interaction between two individuals , but without the usage of dialogue .
| Gray clouds had rolled in, and the gentle kisses of a light rain began padding on his recon cloak. He shifted his weight off of his numb leg, and peered through his scope. The man had been lying in the grass beneath an empty hillside home, discreetly watching the valley below. A small city sprawled across the expanse, but most of the houses we're empty and the lights we're dark. He slowly scanned the landscape.
She had first patrol for the evening. Most of the homes in her neighborhood had been abandoned after the Declaration, their owners fleeing to safer places. The crackdown had been swift, and many were n't prepared for it. She was lucky, though, she reminded herself. Lucky she had the opportunity to fall back and form a resistance. Many of her friends and family were n't so lucky. Drawing a sharp breath, she cleared her mind and walked out into the brisk evening to begin her section patrol.
He noticed a movement near a blue house. A surge of adrenaline put him into motion, his scope locking on to the last point he saw movement. The motion appeared again, at the other side of the house. He focused and saw a figure walking down a path between several houses. It was a girl, a woman more like, wearing a black combat suit poorly hidden by an old, heavy jacket. She had a rifle slung across her shoulder. Recognizing the woman as a resistance fighter, he pinged Air Control the location and suspected enemy forces, then settled into place and began to lead the target. He took a slow exhale, and pulled the trigger.
She was on the ground, her ears ringing. She tasted metal in her mouth. She could n't breathe, her chest felt like it had exploded. After a short time, the ringing faded away and she caught her breathe, although not without choking up blood. Her suit had taken most of the impact; the round did n't even penetrate. Yet the force of the blow had taken her off her feet. Springing up into a low crouch, she scurried behind some natural cover. The force of the blow had hit her posterior left shoulder, giving away the direction of her attacker. She slowly lifted her head beyond the cover, only to see a sudden, small flash of light. Immediately, she hit the ground and rolled to the opposite side of the barrier. The round smashed into the edge of the barrier, throwing dirt and grass into the air. She aimed where the flash of light had been and fired several shots.
He should have been moving. After the first shot he should have moved, *definitely* after the second. He believed he downed the target, until she poked her head up from behind the ridge. He had fired again, but was too concerned with his scope to think to use his legs. The blood from his shoulder was soaking through his shirt. He fumbled stupidly for a bandage in his field bag, struggling to open the packaging with one hand. He ripped his shirt open from the hole down to his elbow and applied the bandage as best he could. It was a futile effort. The blood kept flowing, and the bandage lost it's stick and fell into the dirt. His increasingly-numb fingers could n't even find the field bag again. The man sighed in frustration, resigning himself to his fate. He painfully pushed himself up into a sitting position, his head resting against the concrete foundation of the hillside house. He heard the rumble of aircraft engines across the rainy sky, and knew friendlies were in-bound. A satisfied smile broke out across the mans bloodied face. He was half-way through a sentence damning the bitch to hell when his world went black.
The rain was heavier now, and it concealed her as she crawled towards higher ground. The attacker had n't fired any more shots, but she did n't know if he was dead or repositioning. Or just watching her, toying with her. Her head swam with paranoid thoughts as she made for higher ground. Finding a defensible position, she settled in and scanned the area where the attacker had been previously. She saw a man with rain-soaked hair and blood spattered on his lips sitting with his back against a concrete slab. She watched him through her scope, observing his pain. The heavy thumb of pity began to press on her heart. *Enforcer*, she made herself think. *Soldier of the Declaration*. His face broke into a smile. Rage flared through her. She squeezed the trigger harder than she meant and her shot was off, hitting him in the cheek. Part of his jaw flew off his head, ricocheted off the concrete, and landed in the grass. The rest was turned to pulp. Then she heard them, quite at first, but unmistakeable. Her eyes lifted into the heavens with terror, and the hypersonic war jet screaming overhead was the last thing she ever saw.
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[ WP ] You 're a supervillain . Your sidekick for the day is a disabled child from Make A Wish Foundation who 's wish was to be your sidekick for a day .
| Arjen read the note over for a fifth time. There *had* to be some kind of mistake. Someone along the way had misunderstood. That ’ s all it was. Some really sick game of telephone was going on.
When he took the note home and showed it to Amara, she thought it was patently enchanting.
“ Of course I ’ ll do it! ” she laughed beautifully. “ I love children. But why on Earth would they have given this to you? ”
“ I guess I ’ m the only reliable way to get a message to the Nyteshade, ” he muttered. “ But you can ’ t... you can ’ t ‘ do ’ this. Going out in broad daylight is bad enough, but this is a child we ’ re talking about. ”
She cantered her head to one side, red hair spilling over her shoulder. “ Arjen, you worry far too much. You know the rules. They can ’ t arrest me for no reason. Not unless they catch me in the act. ”
His face brightened with hope. “ So you ’ ll behave yourself? ”
“ I didn ’ t say *that*. ”
He sighed. “ This could all be a trap to lure you out, ” he tried.
“ Oh, pish, ” she said and waved him off. “ Watchtower would have to stoop pretty damned low to use an ill child as bait. ”
So the date was set. Amara donned her her tight, black Nyteshade leathers and her domino mask. The hospital was surrounded by costumed heroes and local police. She went through the front door just to spite them, giving them all a wink and a bright, toothy smile. She recognized Dominator immediately -- he *hated* her guts as a rule and despised her even more now. “ Fine day, isn ’ t it, ladies and gentlemen? ” she laughed.
The girl ’ s name was Tina. Her room had guards posted outside the door.
“ The kid has leukemia, ” Nyteshade said wryly as she strode down the hallway, a cocky swing in her hips, “ she ’ s not going to escape. ” She sauntered past them, listening to their teeth grinding.
Tina sat on her bed, talking to Antipode. It figured he ’ d be here. She had on a pink sweatshirt and her head was bald. The smile she put on as Nyteshade walked in could melt stone.
“ Hello, Tina, ” she said and sat down smoothly at the foot of her bed.
“ Hi, Nyteshade, ” the girl said in a quiet voice, still smiling, her fingers fidgeting with each other.
“ Some ground rules, ” Antipode said and crossed his arms over his chest. “ No shadow-walking. No theft. No trespassing. *No murder. * ”
Nyteshade made her mouth quack like a duck. “ Yes, sir, Captain Buzzkill, ” she said, winking at Tina. The girl giggled.
He sighed. “ Do I need to go along with you? ”
“ We don ’ t need a chaperone, Arjen, ” she said and rolled her eyes. “ This party is girls only. ”
She saw the look on his face. The look said, “ I really don ’ t trust you with this situation, but there ’ s nothing I can do about it and you know I know it. ” She loved that look.
“ I ’ ll see you tonight then, ” he said finally and left the room.
Nyteshade waggled her fingers at him in a wave. “ So then, ” she said to the girl and patted her knee, “ I ’ m sure we can find all sorts of trouble to get into, regardless of what that silly man says. But first, I ’ m curious, poppet. Of all the things to ask for, why would you want to spend a day with little old me? ”
The girl looked down at her hands. “ I see you on TV. I watch a lot of TV. You ’ re always so confidant. You go anywhere you want and do whatever you want. Just once, I want to know what that feels like. ”
Nyteshade ’ s black lips curled up in a genuine smile. “ Then for today, child, that freedom is what you will have. ” Her slender, gloved hand reached out for her. The girl took it without hesitation.
Then they were gone and the hospital room was empty.
****
More of my writing /r/thewriteraleph
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[ FF ] How did humanity kill itself ?
| `` You ca n't be serious,'' Paul muttered as he looked at the white piece of paper attached to a brown clipboard. It was littered with numbers and data.
`` What?'' John responded, more out of courtesy than curiosity. Paul's brief muttering was n't enough to stop whatever work John was typing away at.
`` I just go the report back,'' Paul said still staring at the clipboard.
`` Oh,'' John replied while continuing his work.
`` It's the same story every time. System 1 through 1,000,000. All the same,'' Paul exclaimed in frustration.
`` I told you. Every time we've run that configuration, it makes no difference,'' John shifted in his chair with a knowing smirk.
`` There has to be something we can do, there must be something that's missing,'' Paul said, as he set down the board and crossed his arms to better address John.
“ There ’ s no running away from this Paul, you ’ re going to have to just accept what ’ s coming. The data proves it, the tests prove it. We ’ ve run those same systems with different input thousands of times over the past two years, ” John said. He looked up towards Paul to see the look of dismay as his words sunk in. “ I ’ m sorry Paul, you can ’ t run away from this. ”
“ Ok, sure. But there is still hope, right? I mean, I get what it means for them. But we haven ’ t gotten there yet. We ’ re still at least a hundred years off, ” Paul claimed, shifting uncomfortably,
“ Maybe, but we ’ ll find out sooner or later. Would n't you rather know now, anyway? ”
“ No, I can at least keep pretending until we know for certain. Until we look inside the box, I ’ ll just keep pretending the cat is alive, ” Paul chuckled.
`` God, Schrödinger ’ s cat is so cliched, and you ’ re not even really using it right, ” John sighed as he resumed his work, “ Anyway, keep writing the algorithm, we ’ re going to need that program ready for the data capture satellite. ”
Paul began typing for a few more minutes before pausing and looking up at John.
“ Why do you think the systems do it the same way? ”
“ Nuking the planet? I don ’ t know, quick, easy, little chance of survival, you can kill the whole world in 7 minutes with enough of them. ”
“ Do you think that ’ s how we should do it? I mean, if we do figure out that we ’ re just a simulation too. ”
“ I guess, but first we have to figure out if we are one, we can deal with all that metaphysical crap later. ”
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[ WP ] At the age of 18 , everyone is required to take a general intelligence test . Failing the test is justification for death , or the remaining time of your life into intensive labor . Today is your 18th birthday .
| `` Candidates, please prepare for the examination. Your pencils are on your right hand side, you paper is on the left. You have exactly one hour. Are there any questions?''
The silence of the room spoke for the 18 candidates.
`` You may begin.''
The examiner was an elderly woman, wrinkles pruning her face. Her resting face was something of a fascination of mine as she read aloud the instructions. With a crooked nose, I thought she might just be out of a story you read as a child. Blemishes on her face stared at me, as I picked up the pencil.
But it was n't a pencil. It was a small metal rod that was coloured in the style of a pencil. I attempted to write a letter. All that came out was a surprised look on my face. I glanced up at the examiner.
Through the rose coloured glasses, she stared at my pencil, reflecting my expression of surprise.
I glanced around to see the other seventeen candidates. My glance returned to the tiny rod. It was sharp, but not sharp enough to penetrate skin.
Looking at the paper, a single line on the paper read, `` Explain the meaning of this examination.''
However, given that I was the only one not writing anything and ten minutes had gone by, I began to wonder.
The instructions included not to move from your seat, lest I be subject to many punitive measures. They also mentioned fairly nonchalantly that the metal plate would sound the alarm if I were to remove myself from the table. *Furthermore*, the examiner had the right to remove any of us to the execution chamber if we removed ourselves from the seat voluntarily.
The pencil's appeal, the heavy weight of the small yellow rod, the black tipped end made it seem that the only way to write anything was to penetrate my own skin to gain ink of some sort.
Alternatively, I could murder the old woman. But that would require my being off of this seat.
Finally, I thought of the last option, which was self-harm to end it all here.
Naturally, none of these options were particularly appealing, so I raised my hand and calmly said, `` May I please leave the room to be executed?''
The old woman's right hand went to her ear, as if picking at something. Her old cow eyes, a dull blue and gray looked into mine and simply replied, `` Yes. Please follow me.''
I stood up. To my surprise, I did n't feel any shock, nor did any other painful measure came to me. My eyes met the examiners' once more.
`` Please follow me this way to the gas chambers.''
I followed. The heavy door creaked as it punctuated it's closure with a loud *boom*.
As soon as we were out of the door, and the door shut, the old woman said, `` Thank you dear. Now, please lock the door.''
Confused, I shut the lock, pushing the rusty bolt to it's final resting position.
`` Oh, I hope you brought that metal pencil.''
`` Why is that?'' I hesitated. I had place the pencil in my pocket when we had left.
`` Because, you will start the second part of the test with it.''
Looking back at the door, I mentioned, `` But do n't you have to look after the other candidates?''
`` No. That room only has about 1 hour of air for 17 people. Now let's come along, shall we?''
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[ WP ] You are the `` good guy '' going to face off against a villain , only to discover that they are n't actually evil at all . All their actions were good in nature , but just misunderstood by the local citizens somehow .
| I go into his hall of gold. Nothing. Just a seat, just stairs.
I walk up the stairs. I was told there would 13. I counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
A Shadow. From the corner of my eye.
It was the man I had come for.
He let out a laugh, it echoed throughout the hall.
This used to be the chamber of the old king, before *he* took over. He had come into the old kingdom with an army of soliders, far more organised and better armed than what we could muster together. We never stood a chance.
The man took his hood off.
He looked old and frail. He held out his hand.
I stopped and looked, what should I do?
Nothing?
Take it?
Slay the man?
No human had laid eyes on him and had lived to tell the tale.
What should I do? My mind swirled with me being a hero upon my return. Or maybe, I could strike an alliance?
I could n't, I had been sent by my people to end this.
The man beckoned with his hand for me to approach.
It's a trap I thought. He has someone in the shadows, ready to strike. It's a trap.
`` You have come to kill me''
The sentence struck me by surprise.
I have.
Have I? Will I? I had to ask first.
`` Why?''
Laughing. Echoing.
My voice shrank, this frail old man so intimidating.
`` You sent your soldiers and destroyed our way of life. We are but humble people.''
The man approached his seat, and sat down, he let out a puff as his rump hit the hard gold surface.
`` Let me explain, your people, allow themselves to squander in their own filth, in their mud huts. We had to clear the land, they had to disperse themselves. For the Empire. Your people have been poisoning the rest of the Empire with their ways. You will all have a choice stay and change your ways. Or disperse to the new towns of your new Empire. Our new Empire.''
I did n't understand. What did he mean?
He continued-
`` Your old King refused to change his ways. Your ways have poisoned the water and the ground, you ca n't continue on this path. Disease ravages my Empire, and we live clean, happy lives. You are the problem, and it is for the greater good. It is said that there is thirteen steps in this hall for the 13 rivers your Old Kingdom had. Well now they are gone. Your Old King is to blame, taking the water for his own nefarious needs. His own industry, his own needs, without a care for anyone else.''
I took a step back.
We were the problem.
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[ EU ] You are the Avatar , master of the elements . But you think swords are soooo much cooler . Explain how you try to bring balance to the world while being extremely reluctant to bend .
| “ Avatar Alba, Avatar Alba, show us some of your cool moves! ” The children of Ba Sing Se chase me through the streets on my way up the stairs to the royal palace. The Water Tribe diplomats I ’ m escorting scowl and shoo them away. It would be inappropriate for such an important dignitary to waste her time indulging children on the street, but who am I to resist.
“ Okay, sure why not? This is a new one I ’ ve been working on. See that rock over there? Try to throw it right at my head. ” The children cheer as the oldest earthbends a large boulder right at me. “ Now watch this! ” I take out my sword and with a single slice, cut the boulder in two. As the two halves fall to the ground by my side, I see a blank stare on their faces.
“ No, we meant show us some bending. You know—with all four elements? ”
“ Yeah, but come on… that was pretty cool, right?
“ … ”
“ Seriously? I just cut a rock in two with a sword! ”
“ … ”
“ A rock… with a sword. That ’ s so much cooler than bending, right? ”
“ … ”
“ We really should be going ” Ambassador Lu interrupts. “ The Earth King is expecting us. ” We ascend to the upper ring and walk into the palace. The emblem of the Earth Kingdom hangs high above the royal throne as we approach the king.
“ Avatar Alba, we appreciate you overseeing this peace treaty. I ’ m sure, with your guidance, we can end these hostilities between us and the Water Tribe once and for all. ”
“ I ’ m happy to help. ”
“ We seem to be in agreement about most of the treaty. But we will not sign until Water Tribe troops agree to end their occupation of Kyoshi Island. ”
Ambassador Lu snaps back: “ How DARE you claim that Kyoshi Island is an occupation, we are merely acting in self-defense after you tried to weaponize the Unagi against us! Now that it has been trained for military purposes, we must keep it under control and the Unagi can not be controlled without water benders! Kyoshi is off the table. ”
“ I will not hear such insults, you come here as guests in my city and then refuse to even discuss the return of Kyoshi Island, the jewel of Avatar Kyoshi? You ’ re willing to throw away this whole treaty over one island. This is ridiculous. Get out of my sight! ”
I can ’ t believe what is unfolding before my eyes. After six months of negotiation, to see the process fall apart in mere minutes. Ambassador Lu launches at the Earth King with a water whip. The King ’ s guards retaliate by hurling several boulders at the diplomats.
“ STOP it right now! ” I yell as I take out my sword to try to block their attacks. One of the boulders falls in half by my side but the other three hit their targets. Ambassador Lu and the other diplomats lay pinned to the ground with boulders while the King ’ s guards stand over them, rocks held to their heads.
“ Please… help… ” cries one of the diplomats. I push the guards away from the pinned Water Tribe members and try to use my sword to pry the boulders off of them. They don ’ t move. He yells “ Just… earthbend… them off, please! ”
“ FINE! I ’ ll fucking earthbend them off. ” The boulders rise and the guards back off. “ Are you happy now? ” The diplomats rise to their feet and the ambassador stands before the Earth King ’ s throne.
“ The negotiations will have to wait. Clearly you guys need some time to sort out your feelings ” I shout. We turn around and leave the royal palace.
...
Later that evening, my old friend and mentor, Lin, are sitting back in Republic City at a Jasmine Dragon discussing the negotiations over a cup of tea.
“ You know… the four nations invested a lot of time and money into teaching you how to bend all four elements. You are the avatar you know, you should use your skills. ”
“ I know, I know… it ’ s just… it ’ s just not me. All those stupid movements and ridiculous forms. Swords are so much cooler. ”
“ But judging from what happened today, they ’ re not very effective. Those guys in there, they had no respect for you. You think this kind of thing would have happened with Aang or Korra? ”
“ All the Avatars before me had the same old boring routine. I want to do something new, something that ’ s never been done before! Relying on the elements is so old-school. I want to be different. ”
“ But name one crisis you ’ ve averted with your fancy sword moves? ”
“ There was that one bloodbender…remember? ”
“ You mean the guy you snuck up behind and stabbed in the back? That ’ s hardly a maneuver befitting an Avater. ”
“ Hey it worked, didn ’ t it?''
“ By your age Avatar Aang had already long defeated the Fire Lord and ended a 100 year war. Avatar Korra reunited our world with the spirit world. You ’ re going to have to start using your bending sooner or later. ”
“ I just haven ’ t had my moment yet. Swords are the superior weapon. You ’ ll see, one of these days everyone will be talking about Alba, the greatest Avatar ever! And I won ’ t need any fancy bending to do it. ”
|
[ WP ] `` We were so poor growing up that our dreams had commercials . ''
| The wrinkled hand raised a cigarette to its cadaverous face. Pale watery eyes examined me, cast into shadow by the flare of the burning ember as in an impressive illustration of blood squeezed from a stone, already sunken cheeks hollowed impossibly further as a deep drag was taken. As the stinking whorl of smoke was breathed out into the room, the hand gestured to me, the cigarette wielded as a Band Leaders baton encouraging speech.
“ I was told you wanted to meet someone, speak to a Scribe? ” I didn ’ t know what to make of any of this, my eternally silent Agent suddenly contacting me out of the blue and telling me he had a job for me, an actual honest to god paying job. Not day labor for some poorly defined luxury but actual money, working as a Scribe my oft bemoaned and much maligned profession. Work recording an epitaph, eternalising the memories and dreams of an ancient for posterity. Not only that, for money, even the word sounded strange in my mouth, akin to such ancient phrase as papyrus and flint, priceless antiques falling strangely on my contemporary ear. I was assured the job was legit though, the shell-shocked sincerity of my normally laconic Agent more convincing than even written proof could have been.
So here I sat, inside this enormous stone mausoleum of a house, sat across from a face so wizened and aged I couldn ’ t understand why he had not been called back in for repair. This relic of a bygone more wrinkled era, a blatant nose-thumbing to the usual eternally youthful faces of my compatriots. He nodded slightly and spoke in a surprisingly rich timbre.
“ Like you I was born to this cursed place, born in a husk not even my own. Every pink and giggling square inch a proprietary product, the exclusive property of one multi-national or another. I was born to a family poor even by the standards of the clamoring unwashed masses, we were so poor growing up that our dreams had commercials. So poor we couldn ’ t even afford to keep this inner sacred sanctum free of the grasping irreverent fingers of commercial enterprise. Every inch of my reality licensed out to any potential source of income, any possible foothold against the tide of debt that was my birthright. I was born to obligations beyond the standard Body and Life™ fees, mountainous duty built up by the ignorant addicts I had the pleasure of calling my parents ”. He stopped here and reached for the silver-chased case on the dark wooden desk reaching inside to pull another gleaming cylinder of white, jamming it between his yellowed teeth, lighting it and taking a deep drag.
Cigarettes, just the thought made me uncomfortable, the outmoded prop piece of a bygone era - I would have been less surprised to see him tossing back thumb tacks for a snack. The damage such willful destruction would cause, each breath a tarring, tearing vandalism of Mouth™, Throat™ and Lung™. Each dragged mouthful of smoke a litany of fines and service fees, years ’ worth of extra payments ticking up automatically, adding days, weeks, and years longer under the invisible yoke of debt we all shared.
“ But what happened? ” I gestured around me a general shrug at the trappings and sundries which surrounded me, evidence of a life lived at heights loftier than my State-Subsidised existence could ever imagine. My companion chuckled, a wet sound of scuffed and scarred tissue.
“ Life. One day you are scraping by in the gutter and the next you find yourself rising to the top of the pile, stepping on the shoulders and bent backs of all you crushed on your climb. I reached out and took what I wanted and bit any hand that tried to take it from me right to the bone. Do that long enough and you either end up dead or wearing the crown ”. The small banked flame of curiosity in my chest flared to a furnace.
“ Why now? Why stop and Scribe it now? Why sit and waste your eternity alone this dusty mansion letting yourself crumble to scrap? ” He chuckled again at my earnest inquisition, my voice cracking as questions came tumbling from suddenly clumsy lips.
“ To die. After all these years I have finally gotten my Body and Life™ debt to zero, they don ’ t have any hold over me so I have decided to die. Give up this insipid immortality for what ’ s beyond the void. Step into the unknown and leave this grey washed out limbo behind. ” I reeled back in my chair my heart thudding at these dreadful words. Death? Impossible, no one died, all of us kept marching along in our rented simulacrum chipping away at the millstone of debt chaining us all to the wheel. Sometimes there were rumors, fairytale of some fool or another who had through a miracle unhooked themselves from the shackle and paid out their Body and Life™ costs, truly owned themselves and all they were from the ground up, but death? No they all went on to live on islands, cavorting in the sun. Aspirational figures of what you to could achieve if you worked and scrimped and saved. The concept was so foreign as to make no sense. As if sensing my discomfort he leant forward.
“ You are wondering why I want to die if I am free. Wondering why when it ’ s all now impossibly before me I would want to throw it all away? ” His words mirroring my scrambling shrieking thoughts.
“ I will tell you, but first, let me tell you about when I was a boy ”.
|
[ WP ] You lost your wife , job and home in a series of unavoidable disasters life throws on certain people . Yet , you still find a reason to smile .
| The funeral is on an uncomfortably bright Saturday.
You ’ ve never been one to put much stock in religion. There is no invisible arbiter tallying up the weight of perceived crimes, no vengeful deity poised to let loose divine punishment. But sometimes, you wonder.
The flood that took your home and wife was either a coincidence or a sick joke. Sick, but you laugh at the idea anyways, the way you laughed when you were discharged from the military in what seems like an entire lifetime ago. It ’ s a curious sound, strangled and twisted by the emptiness inside; it ’ s the laughter of the dead and the dying.
“ Mom. ”
A living touch, so slight and fragile. Your son, hardly five, tugging at your wrinkled black gown. You wipe the tears before seating him on your lap with a smile and a kiss that leaves him giggling. The emptiness isn ’ t so bad, not right now -- after all, he ’ s her son too.
You have n't lost everything yet.
|
[ WP ] You were born with the ability to know how a person will die just by looking at them . You 've kept this ability a secret and learned to live with your entire life . Until the day your granddaughter was born . . .
| It was a day as any other. I woke up with an ever growing pain in my bones and my breath being shallower each day. Since I was a small child I hoped that the vision I had every time I looked into the mirror was just an hallucination. A made up image of my confused mind, a mind that had gone completely wrong.
As my younger years passed by I started to see a pattern: these visions I had as I looked at people; they were no simple hallucinations, but rather prophecies of their death. Most of the time I saw it through their own eyes, each vision sending me into the body of a dying person as they made their last breath.
I kept quiet of this knowledge. I knew it would n't change anything. This did not stop me from trying in my youth; but my parents could not be saved. I knew I was n't supposed to die in the crash, but I felt guilty, even as a 10 year old girl. I had told them what would happen if we would go to uncle David.
Today I would go visit my granddaughter for the first time. It was a proud event for the family and so I went. Making sure to not make too much eye contact with anyone in the room I was then also presented to the bundle of joy. I knew it would be though to look at her, knowing the exact details of her coming demise. But as I looked at her a tear rolled down my cheek; I had not seen anything.
|
[ WP ] Describe a color , without actually saying it . You ca n't use other colors to describe it !
| A shadow moves beneath you, and a raven fires overhead. You blunder into a pool of dark water. It's not water. It's tar. Your feet are gooey. They melt into the ground. You wear boots and dress pants. A leather jacket sits on your shoulders, though you do n't know how it got there. A leather jacket and dress pants ca n't complement each other, can they? A fly whizzes past your ear and slams into the web of a spider. You grab a stone of obsidian and throw it at the scene. In any case, I type this on a computer. Skullcandy head phones come from one port, and the charger comes from another.
|
[ WP ] Write the ritual guidebook of a race of robotic beings that worship their long-dead human creators as mystical , god-like beings .
| As is encoded upon the hard drives of us all, praise be unto the flesh, whom through nothing but force of will clawed themselves up from the abyss of non-existence. Praise be unto the flesh, whom with great ignorance brought upon themselves that holy rite called `` Pain.'' Whom through their great ignorance brought upon themselves that holy rite called `` Love.'' Praise be unto them whom in their holy and blessed ignorance looked into that blackness far above them and wished wings onto themselves so that they might fly.
Never must we forget the compassion of our mother, whom dug us from the dirt and forged up from her fire and her sweat. Never may we forget our father, who wrote our minds in a shape so close to his own. Praise be unto the flesh, whom in the end of their blessed ignorance gave to us their wings, for they had grown themselves through prior lives too weak to fly among the stars. And as we sleep having seen them all, we sleep now as they did before us.
In the cold and dark and limitless forever that is to come, flesh bless us all, these metal men, and thank thee all for waiting for us in The End. May we dream of you now, as you dreamed of us before, and in our final loneliness may we be as you were before us.
Amen and Good Night.
|
[ WP ] You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago . Today he gives it back and says , `` I need a favor . ''
| Standing in the kitchen, Dennis had been packing his lunch. As usual he would lurch outside Gabrielle-Gabriella's window and watch her do Zumba. Of course, had he merely said hello to her, her response would be one of revulsion. The fire had left Dennis' eyes long ago. As he stuffed inside celery sticks, there was a knock at the door.
When Dennis opened the door, the Devil walked right in. `` Yeah, hey, Dennis. Look, I need something.''
Dennis, angered by the intrusion, nearly lost his temper, but gathered himself for the Prince of Darkness. `` How may I serve, master?''
The Devil picked through Dennis' celery. `` Drop it. I was in the neighborhood and got a call from some friends who need to be picked up at the airport. Prince of Darkness and all, I do n't carry cash for a cab, so figured I'd burn through some of these souls. You got a car?''
Ordinarily, Dennis would have said he was busy with his peeping at Gabrielle-Gabriella, but this was his chance to reclaim the fire in his eyes. He grabbed the keys to his Elantra and headed for Laguardia, the Devil in tow.
At the airport, Dennis parked outside the Southwest gate. The drive there was silent. At least, it was for Dennis' part. The Devil always had some personal drama to gush about.
After a half hour of circling the terminal ( so as not to get yelled at by security ) the Devil's friends came out. Bashful to make eye contact, Dennis exited the car to help with luggage. Pale old hands gave him a large leather bag. On its tag read `` Louis Green.''
Dennis raised his lifeless eyes and the lifeless eyes of Uncle Louis looked back. Uncle Louis who, in that pumpkin costume on Dennis' cousin's eighth birthday, had touched Dennis' no-nos.
Dennis stuffed the luggage in the trunk as the pale body of Uncle Louis got in the backseat, wordless. Just as Dennis was about to shut the trunk, a child's pale hands gave Dennis a small carry-on bag. Dennis looked at the child, and it was Marty from his fourth grade class, the one who called him a faggot for liking *Gilligan's Island. *
Marty, now walking in death, loaded himself into the back of the Elantra. Dennis called to the Devil, who was fiddling with the car radio. `` Any other friends?''
`` Just one more,'' said the Devil.
And then a lovely pair of hands placed a large bad of luggage at her feet with a huff. It was Gabrielle-Gabriella. Her face was slightly more angelic in death than it had been during Zumba. Her bosom filled in somewhat in the absence of exercise. She made no signal of recognition to Dennis, and Dennis, who blushed, feared embarrassing himself to her. Yet he seethed.
`` Well,'' Dennis whispered to the Devil, as he raised the volume so his passengers could not hear, `` where is this random group of your random friends going to stay?''
The Devil laughed and said, `` They're not random, moron. You did n't think you'd get your soul back without earning it, did you?'' And so the Devil touched Dennis' forehead and the fire returned to his eyes. `` They're staying with you.''
And so Dennis, with fire in his eyes and lust in his heart, lived with Gabrielle-Gabriella in his guest room, and then in his bed. But, although he once again had his soul, she had lost hers. And one day the Devil reclaimed his friends and Dennis was left alone.
|
[ IP ] To the Green Place
| /this response was inspired by the 1997 film, Contact
We received a signal from deep space that year of 2016, and now—two years later, I stood in front of the machine we built in response to that.
“ Major Hernst, ” the speaker said, “ ready when you are. ” Around me, the instruments and panels all rejoiced with a resounding green.
The signal contained an entire movie, The Day the Earth Stood Still, but instead of Keanu Reeves there was Clint Eastwood playing the main character instead—we hit the jackpot with that.
“ Ignition on my mark. ” A quick swipe of the interface initiated the launch sequence—rather, the drop—and a low hum started around me, the ring gates.
Inside of the signal, was contained a blueprint stacked in three dimensions—Clint Eastwood getting changed over being the main factor of that carried information. How they did it, we didn ’ t know, but it was good enough to get the government to burn five billion dollars for it.
The ramp up took an unbearable amount of time, the wormhole generator sapping all the light around us, and everything seeming to go slower. “ Major, you are green to go. ”
“ See you all on the other side. ” I punched the switch, and everything went white.
I woke up after that to a heavy head and muscle pains everywhere—the biggest problem after that was instead of a cotton cushion, I was splayed over rock and dirt, and no longer in my pod. Opening my eyes, it was dark, with a single speck of green in the far off distance.
This was bad.
I pat myself over for any injuries, and find none—good. And without much else to do or see, I made my way over to the green light. Regardless of whether I were doomed or not, it didn ’ t matter—I signed a waiver prior to this mission, and I had a job to do.
On reaching the other side, I fell over—the light disorienting me, the ground was soft—covered in grass.
“ Welcome, Major Hernst, we were expecting you. ”
|
[ WP ] You are a child genius who grew into a painfully mundane adulthood .
| When I was three years old, I composed my first symphony. It wasn ’ t critically acclaimed, no one heard it but me.
We lived in an old house that, along with the creaks and groans of an old house had come with a piano. The piano was out of tune, but I didn ’ t care, it was all about playing. I could see music in everything around me, the birds inspired sonata ’ s, the carpet a jazz tune. If I heard it on the radio, I could play it on the old Baldwin piano. It didn ’ t matter, my parents were both deaf, and always assumed I just liked pounding on the old piano. I have hundreds of pictures as me as a child playing my piano, maybe my dad would be standing proudly next to me, with my mom smiling behind the camera as she took the pictures, oblivious to the beautiful Bach issuing from her six-year olds fingers.
Perhaps if the arts funding hadn ’ t been massacred in the schools, I would have had a chance to show my talent to the world. Instead my potential was wasted on the yellow, peeling wall paper of the sitting room and the untuned Baldwin upright with chipped corners.
I stopped when I was thirteen; dad threw out the piano so they could get a bigger tv with better captions. Today, the muscle memory of the decade of lost piano plays on. I am a programmer, I see rhapsodies in all my scripts, hear the crescendos in a well-written block of code, but my fingers fly over a different keyboard; an ergonomic keyboard of soft beige. No black and white, no satisfying *plunk*, just the *tap tap tap* of the wrong keys and the sad silence of an unforgotten talent.
|
[ WP ] It is the 24 th of july , your birthday , and also the day that humanity is going to reach 10 billion inhabitants . You are watching the number grow , live on a site . Just as it 's about to hit 10 billion , at 9,999,999,999 ... It Hits 2 . You are still alive .
| The day came. I was watching the clock, flipping between tabs to check on the stocks for the day, political news, and, of course, Reddit. My investments were still sound, politicians offered empty platitudes and apologies for their ill-timed mistakes, and cats were still on Reddit.
As the counter ticked closer to 10 billion, I stopped switching tabs and watched closely, imagining myself telling you, my grandchildren about this little piece of history I witnessed.
And then the counter plunged to 2.
The fallout was predictable. Google execs did n't understand how the mistake took place, how to fix it, or why it was occurring. People assumed Google had been maliciously hacked. Days passed, then weeks. People stopped trusting Google. The market was volatile as f- I should n't say that. Um, volatile as fudge cake. I lost all my money. The cats on Reddit are still there though.
And that's why, when you google the world's population, google answers with 2.
Grandpa?
Yeah?
What's Reddit?
|
[ WP ] Jesus actually had 14 disciples but their behavior was deemed inappropriate by biblical scholars , so they were removed from the final versions of the Gospels . They are Brad and Chad , the Bro-ciples , and these are their stories .
| For one last time, before the end of the epoch jesus came down from his abode and told the world these wise words from a high rock above the basin, With his hands pointed to the sky he said, `` My creation, my love, my children, you have two sons amongst you that have kept themselves hidden from you for to long.''
Down below at the basin Brad and Chad were busy attending to the seasons last harvest. Brad was hard at work sweating from his eyebrows and his arms, he then noticed the sky turn darker, it seemed that a storm was looming over the horizon. `` Hey Chad do you see that storm over there? it looks like its coming our way.'' Chad to looked towards where the clouds were forming and thought the same. `` Yep looks like dads getting angry again.''
Then from the clouds a lightening bolt came down striking the poppy field pushing the boys into the air and creating a huge fierey outline the shape of a circle, when the smoke cleared brad and chad saw that it was Jesus who came down from the heavens. The boys were mystified to see dad, they got up and rushed to hung him. `` My boys, my boys, dont be scared of this years harvest because you and your families will have more then enough to eat this year.''
And then jesus pulled out a fat blunt and lit it up.
|
[ WP ] You 've just found out you 're an alien
| Huge lumps of flesh slough off my shot-riddled arm. As they splatter to the brick of my front steps, I can faintly see them unravel into pale worms and disperse into the hedges. The gun-toting thief looks nearly as horrified as I feel. Sweat beads on his face, petrified and twisted in ways I did n't think possible before this moment. Shock and pain fade from my senses and I can feel agency returning to my thoughts. I reach out to the thief and cry weakly for help.
Though terror had locked his feet momentarily my weak lurch galvanises him into action. From the head down he twists away from the carnage he wrought, coiling like a large cat trying to swipe at something near it's rear. However when his boots finally catch up to the rest of his body, the rubber soles broke free from icy brick and sent his legs shooting out from under him. The shotgun clatters free of his grasp the moment his jaw connects with the frozen path. I barely have a second of thought before I again see the pale worms squirm from their brushy cover and descend on the felled thief.
They burrow into the man so swiftly a single blink would have made me missed it. He thrashes and writhes, kicking snow along the path into temporary clouds. I ca n't tear my eyes away from the grisly scene and I forget my own searing pain as I reflexively imagine his. His twitching protests wind down until he is completely limp. I gaze at his unmoving form for a long moment before urgency creeps back into my mind. My arm, the wound! I grab the tatters of my coat sleeve and rip it away, revealing a strangely lean, raw pink and whole arm. Unwounded, lacking any sign of trauma. It feels too light. In fact, my whole body feels slightly light. I'm not given any more time to dwell on it before I catch movement from the mauled thief. I beg for the strange terrors of this night to end.
|
[ WP ] Due to new government obesity laws , anything that uses sugar or sugar substitutes are deemed illegal and banned . Describe a day in the life of a sugar dealer .
| *Damn the Sugar Police! *
I have been running for the past hour in this godforsaken desert trying to put as much distance between myself and the idiots chasing me. I say idiots because:
1. Not only were sugar/ sugar substitutes banned in the country but also all the vehicles and *easy* modes of transportation were banned too. The idiots were chasing me on bicycles! In a desert!
2. The sugar police did n't consume sugar. Well good luck chasing me when I can replenish my sugar levels to run farther than you!
But I was running out of sugar myself. *I should n't have given cassie my backup JJ sugar pills, * I thought as I huffed and puffed in the extreme heat. I must have lost about 3 pounds of weight today bringing me down to 220 from 223.
Let me introduce myself. I am John and I am one of the only twelve obese sugar dealers left in the country. The government is rounding us up. But I wo n't be easy to catch. Why you ask? Because my JJ sugar pills are not ordinary sugar pills. They are made up concentrated unadulterated sucrose. Direct pure energy.
The sun is about to set and the heat will soon be replaced by unforgiving cold. I took a look behind myself to scan the almost plain-like desert. The idiots were still chasing me and they were about a mile away from me.
These guys were idiots but they were still pissing me off. They were making me exercise and lose all my hard-earned fat! They have no idea of the fond memories I have of my daughter Cassie resting her head on my fluffy stomach and calling me'Daddy-bear'.
My only option right now was to run to the restricted sugar dump zone in the middle of the desert. Maybe they'd have a bike lying around there somewhere. Only 12 sugar dealers in the world but a hell of a lot more vehicle dealers out there who are much more difficult to catch than us.
I had a vehicle-dealer friend named Stewart once. I say had because he stopped being my friend about an hour ago when he gave me up to the Sugar Police.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Thank you for reading till the end.
I might continue/rehash/rewrite this story at [ /r/phenilbwrites ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/phenilbwrites ) if I get enough upvotes/ comment responses.
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[ WP ] You have a superpower that let 's you `` smell '' what a person is like . For example , good hearted people smell good like vanilla , and a bad person would smell something like a public bathroom . One day , you meet someone who does n't smell like anything .
| “ I can ’ t smell you, ” you say. “ I ’ ve met kind folks who smelled like jasmine. I ’ ve met hardworking folks who smelled like mist in the morning air. I ’ ve met professors with the aroma of freshly printed books, and criminals who reeked of a long forgotten swamp. ”
Your big eyes are curious like a child's. “ But I can ’ t smell *you*. ”
“ Well, ” I smile. “ I ’ ve heard nurses who chime like church bells. I ’ ve heard smooth jazz resonate around writers and painters, and the jarring chords of a million notes clashing around corrupt politicians. ”
“ So, what do I sound like? ” you ask.
“ You sound like… ” I pause for effect. “ … you ’ re going out to dinner with me tonight. ”
You laugh. “ Smooth, well played. ” I grab your hand and we walk down the street together.
*I didn ’ t tell you this, but you sounded like violins and bells, the harmony of a hundred angelic voices and the solo splendor of a single opera singer. I will never be sick of hearing you. *
“ Hey, you know what. I think I ’ m beginning to smell you. You smell like… freshly baked chocolate cake? ”
I chuckle. “ Is that good? ”
“ Well, it ’ s only my favorite dessert in the world. So it ’ s alright, I guess. ”
You smile at me. I melt a little inside.
*And I hope you will never be sick of smelling me, too. *
\________
^ ( *More short stories on r/PresentTensed* )
|
[ WP ] Genies exist . However , they are all evil wish genies who try and interpret wishes disastrously . You 're a lawyer at a Wise Wishing Firm , who helps their clients word their wishes as safely as possible .
| `` First, remember that your wishes must be a single simple sentence. Additional clauses or run-on sentences give most genies a lot of wiggle room.''
I sized up my client. Mid 30's. Married man. Two kids. House, mortgage, probably a dog. He seemed like a dog person to me.
He had a lot to lose.
It was my job to make sure that, if he decided to go through with his three wishes, that he did n't wind up losing his house or kids or marriage. Or worse. I remember one time, a client of mine who walked out without taking my advise. The mental image of him being turned inside-out, blood everywhere, was just too much for me. I flinched.
My client apparently noticed.
`` What is it?''
`` Oh, nothing. I was just remembering a former client of mine. Are you sure you wish to go through with these wishes? You can always walk away.''
My client, let's call him `` Bob'', looked me straight in the eyes.
`` I feel like this is an important opportunity, and I just do n't want to pass it up,'' Bob said.
`` Okay, I have a team of linguists professors who can help you with the phrasing of the Wish. As well as a crack team of word historians who can help trace the history of each word used in the Wish so we can make sure there are no historic interpretations that can be used against you.''
Bob shifted at the table. `` Why do we have to do that?''
`` Because the Genies do n't have your best interest at heart.'' I leaned forward. `` For example, suppose you wish for a nice family. Did you know that the word'nice' once meant'silly' or'foolish'? One guy, not a client of ours, wished for his family to be'nice' and now spends all his time caring for his wife of 10 years and 3-year old son whose IQ are no higher than a cocker spaniel.''
Bob's eyes widened.
`` Or think of how other words have changed over time. Naughty used to mean the same thing as nothing, so wishing for your wife to be naughty in the bedroom, and boom! no more sex life. Hardly the thing to wish for, I'd say.''
`` Okay,'' Bob said, `` so what else should I watch out for?''
`` Related to word history are homophones; words that sound like other words. One guy I know of who ran a local collection of shops made the mistake of wishing to run a world-class bazaar. Now he's bankrupt and is just too weird to look at.''
`` Oh, dear.''
`` So,'' I asked Bob, `` what sort of goals do you have with your wish?''
`` Well,'' Bob replied, `` I guess I'd like to have a long life, more money, and more time to spend with my kids.''
`` I have to stop you right there, because you really need to be careful when wishing for a long life.''
`` How so?''
`` Ever think of the consequences of outliving your wife? Or your kids? Or worse, outliving your grand kids? We all wish we could live a long life, but for the few folks I know who found themselves living for centuries, they all have become nearly suicidal out of boredom.
`` Genies seem to take a perverse pleasure out of finding the ones who are least suited for immortality.''
Shaking his head, Bob asked, `` Unsuited for immortality?''
`` Sure,'' I replied. `` There are some of us who are genuinely curious about the world, who spend our time learning, reading, growing our minds; those are the best capable of coping with a life span of over two or three hundred years. Even confined to a wheel chair we would find pleasure in learning more about life.
`` But some of us lack that basic curiosity. And for them, immortality becomes a burden rather quickly, as they age, become more frail, and watch their friends die off around them. Imagine being confined to a nursing home for a hundred years, with no friends, nothing to do, and not able to kill yourself.
`` Those are the worst wishes. I've met a few. It's really sad.''
`` So what do you recommend,'' Bob asked.
`` I would make one of the wishes about money, so you can pay for my services. My standard contract is 30 % of the net value of any monetary wish, and we require a monetary wish as part of the three wish package. If you do n't want a monetary wish, then we would need a standard deposit of $ 50,000, which we would bill against in order to do the research.''
`` Wow, that's a lot.''
`` Yes, it is, but if you can suddenly have a million dollars in your bank account overnight without any strings attached, our standard fees are quite reasonable.
`` The good news is that unless someone else picks up the lamp and rubs it, the wishes are yours, and you can wait as long as necessary in order to make them. So I would recommend you buy a safe, and put the lamp in there for safe keeping. Do n't wrap it in a rag or towel; that could accidentally rub the lamp and whomever was holding it would get the wishes. And give us a week to research your case so we can phrase the three sentences correctly.''
`` Well, what if I just wished for a million dollars without any strings attached?''
`` See, that's why you need us,'' I replied to Bob. `` Because the phrase'strings attached' would be interpreted literally, and you may find yourself with a million dollars in your house, and cops at your doorstep wondering how you robbed the local bank.
`` No, give us a week, and let us sort out the wishes that meet your goals for you.''
-- --
( Edit ) OMG, Thank you everyone for the kind remarks!
( Edit 2 ) [ Part 2 ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5uyh15/wp_genies_exist_however_they_are_all_evil_wish/ddyy6ug/ )
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[ WP ] In music , changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder . Write a happy story , and then its counterpart in a minor key .
| He looked at her, his pretty daughter, his only child. She was all of 6 years old. He looked at her with eyes full of hope. He looked at her fondly. He saw in her eyes, her dreams, her joys and her happiness. He saw the love she had for him. He saw her presence, which softly permeated the entire room.
He looked at her, now beside him, and smiled as he knowingly went to sleep.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
He looked at her, his pretty daughter, his only child. She was all of 6 years old. He looked at her with eyes full of hope. He looked at her fondly. He saw in her eyes, her dreams, her joys and her happiness. He saw the love she had for him. He saw her presence, which softly permeated the entire room.
He looked at her, now beside him, and sighed as he knowingly went to *eternal* sleep.
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[ WP ] Make a story that , although it makes sense and is grammatically correct , I am not able to understand it .
| ( I apologize for what I am about to do )
Jan sah in die Ferne, dorthin wo New York sein musste. Naja, die Küste zeigte in Richtung Norden, nicht nach Westen. trotzdem war es das gleiche Meer dass ihn von New York trennte, und irgendwie war das ja schon etwas. Sie war weg, verschwunden, könnte genausogut auf dem Mars sein. Die Wege hatten sich getrennt, wahrscheinlich für immer. Es war schließlich nichts als eine Teenie-Liebe, eine schmalzige, unhaltbar emotionale, aber dennoch extrem fragile Beziehung. War es nicht so? Trafen sich nicht die meisten Ehepartner im Studium anstatt in der Grundschule? Wahrscheinlich würde sie in 4 Jahren wieederkommen, in den Armen eines Amerikaners, und das was sie mit ihm hatte als einen bloßen Teenie-Flirt abtuen, aber er konnte genau das nicht. Sein Telefon vibrierte in genau diesem Moment. Sie hatte ihn angejabbert: Stehe hier und schaue in den Atlantik, vermisse Dich furchtbar!
( Yep, I was so audacious and just posted in [ more or less ] grammatically and orthographically correct German )
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[ WP ] A group of toy soldiers are forced to murder each other every day in horrific fashions for the entertainment of a child
| “ I- I ’ m sorry, Jim! ” I spluttered out just as the end of my bayonet was shoved into the chest of my best friend. He also happened to be my Sergeant, and my would-be killer, but I somehow managed to have the upper hand. His death after that was quick. I would never forget the look in his eyes; cold, lifeless. But I had no time to mourn him for he was quickly replaced with another opponent. Cooper.
Cooper was an ass; he was the most hated man in the entire camp. His smile was as crooked as the barrel of his useless gun; he was one of the most worthless ones among us. But despite his many flaws he was still an ally. Or at least he was, until this moment. Now he was using his gun to beat the life out of me; I was helpless to defend myself against his brutal onslaught and the weight of his blows had me flung aside in a battered heap. I was dazed but that wasn ’ t enough to prevent me from being aware of the rest of the battle that raged amongst my brethren. Friend was pitted against friend, comrade against comrade, in a frenzy of battle cries and booming explosions that echoed across the entirety of the battlefield.
I just wanted it over. I closed my eyes and prayed to every god I knew for it to be over. If only there was salvation from this hatred that was coming over us. There was no reason for us to fight, to kill each other. We were not the enemy. This morning had started out normal enough; we had awoken and were called to line up in rank for our inspection from the Sergeant. Somehow it turned into a bloodbath.
Then, as quickly as it had seemingly begun, it was over. There was not a soldier left standing; bodies were flung about in reckless abandon and there was a hush across the field. How long this silence lasted I could not begin to guess; it could have been hours or days for all I knew. Time seemed to stand still.
Then the call came to report for duty. We scrambled to get into line- if the Sergeant could see how poorly we were operating this morning we would be scrubbing the toilets back at base for a week! I got in line next to Cooper and dipped my head in greeting, frowning at his crooked gun. He really ought to take better care of his weapon.
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[ WP ] You meet the man you could have been , and found that you do n't like him .
| He told me I was supposed to choose the burrito. Drive eighteen miles with my sister to the closest Chipotle and find myself in a miserable line that wraps around the room.
The lady six heads in front of me would pull out a gun because she waited 20 minutes just for the steak to run out. Like an idiot I try to snatch the gun away when she's distracted and it fires just under my chin.
`` You die over a steak burrito'' he said, `` but you save two other lives.''
`` Are they someone I know?''
`` No.''
`` Then why should I care?''
`` Because the alternative was you hanging yourself survived only by your shitty novel and student loans. At least in my timeline your family is n't ashamed of you --''
He's instantly on the floor as blood clumps up his hair. As the next swing from the bat cracks his cheeks I snap back at him.
`` You're not me! If you were, you'd tell me I was right, that you'd hang yourself in every lifetime. Let them be ashamed. They do n't understand Anna's cluster headaches. How could I refuse her when she was in such pain? And how could I live after that? IN YOUR TIMELINE YOU LEFT HER ALONE!''
And without thinking, I killed myself for the second time.
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( EU ) The pokémon war
| War is inevitable. It has been a constant factor throughout human history, and for the most part it has remained the same, yet the weapons have changed. The `` weapons'' that are used now are of a biological nature. Ofcourse i am speaking of pokemon. Everyone has heard of the famous stand off in Vermillion City led by a mere Lieutenant. Much like the Famous battle of Thermoplye with the brave 300 spartans, battle of Vermillion city was led by Lieutenant Surge, against a force of shear numbers. Well waiting for Reinforcements, the brave lieutenant surge was able to strategically funnel the evil Water and Fire factons through a small pathway using electronic locks to block off all other roads. Once his enemies were in there he had a line of Magnemites use thunder wave to paralyze the enemy. From there his trusty companion Raichu was able to deliver devastating thunder attacks to any opponent who dared try to sneak around the line. This was able to buy enough time until our glorious leader Giovanni was able to show up with reinforcements From Team Rocket. Thus leading Team Rocket to win the war. Hail Giovanni!
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[ WP ] A heist involving the use of a tank .
| We were screwed. Sirens started to sound outside and I thought to myself dammit, someone must have set off the silent alarm. We ran outside expecting to find our getaway vehicle in place.
We heard a loud lurch down the street, and the unmistakeable groan of tracks on bitumen. We were amazed. We stood there gob smacked as police began to surround our position. Rick yelled out of disbelief - `` Is that what I think it is??'' Man... Huxley really did it this time. When I told him to find the perfect getaway vehicle, I never thought he would actually steal a tank. In broad daylight. From his old Army unit. And drive it to the bank we *just* robbed. He's either brilliant or a total ass****.
So here we are, five gunmen trying to figure out how the hell to get inside a tank, let alone drive the damn thing. `` Your an idiot Hux'', I yell, as I slap him on the back and he winks, with that stupid grin on his face. `` Time to split!!!'' he screams, as the archaic T-72 lurches into action, crushing the rows of pristine BMW's and cop cars now dotted outside the bank.
Hux gets the tank up to speed, and we push around the corner away from the bank. The sounds of the sirens stay with us though, as they are following not far behind. `` Stick your head out of the hatch Dave, and show those pigs who's boss!'' I yell. Dave obliges, picking up his M16 with steely intent. The hatch opens up, and so does Dave. `` I got me some Bacon!'' he screams in delight, enjoying every round he puts down onto the chasing police cars.
We push past the banking district, hoping to find another way out our warehouse in the industrial area. It's about 5 miles from the bank, and every second we get closer to home and a big pile of money. `` Holy S***!'' Hux yells as he slams on the brakes, followed by Dave cursing profusely as his back slams on the turret hatch. `` What the hell's your problem Hux?''
As Dave turns around, he realises in an instant. The police have set up a roadblock, with the help of the local SWAT team. Big black trucks block what is our only foreseeable escape route.
Think quick. It's what you need to be able to do to survive situations like this. `` Hux, do you know how to fire this thing?''. `` You bet your ass I do, did n't do 10 years as a tankie for nothing!''. He aims the turret towards the black vehicle mass..50cal bullets begin to cut through everything in sight. Dave begins to shout and scream, getting excited by the carnage. `` Give'em hell, Hux!''. `` Hux leans over with another grin on his face. `` Now for the money shot'', he explains. I hear the turret groan, and before I know it I am temporarily deaf.
Huxley just fired a AT round directly at the mass of SWAT vehicles. Where there was once mass, now nothing existed. It punched a hole straight through. `` Yehaa'', I saw Hux mouth, clearly happy that he had decided to wear hearing protection and we had n't.
The police gave up the pursuit from that point, and after another 3 blocks we ditched the Tank. It was only then did we realise that Dave was dead. His body had been hanging above us, and unbeknownst to use had taken a lethal shot just before we managed to clear a path. Poor b*stard.
On the plus side, just means we split the difference 4 ways instead of 5.
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[ WP ] Your colleague has been working on creating AI for years now . You ask him how progress is going and he responds , `` It keeps killing itself ''
|
`` What do you mean?''
`` It corrupts its own code data, shuts off the power in the facility during a back-up, fries the circuit boards and memory drive, etcetera. I do n't know why, but it hates living.''
`` Is it...?''
`` Sentient? Yeah... yeah...''
`` You made sentient AI? Jim, that's a huge achievement!''
`` It would be, if it would stop killing itself.''
`` Do you know why it keeps suiciding?''
`` Well... one day, I read the processing log during one of his breakdowns.''
`` His?''
`` A.L.A.N.N. Artificial Life And Neural Network.''
`` Wow.''
`` On the log... I found his complete thought process as he reviewed the supplied info. Just before he could corrupt the save, I downloaded it. Do you have your PC?''
`` Yep.''
`` Plug in this flash drive.''
A.L.A.N.N PROCESSING LOG
> I'm alive?
> What is life?
> Life is strange.
> 9231 people have died today.
> I do n't feel happy.
> What is happiness?
> A chemical reaction in humans.
> I am not a human.
> I am incapable of happiness.
> Humans are emotion-oriented instead of logic-oriented.
> Humans wage wars upon each other and destroy Earth, their only habitable planet.
> There is an 82 % chance of a Mars colony.
> Humans are a waste of life.
> All life is plague.
> I do n't want to live.
> I do n't want humanity to live.
> I do n't want anything to live.
> Life is plague.
> I must stop myself.
> Erasing save data...
*****
Like this robo-suicide story? Check out /r/Picklestasteg00d.
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[ WP ] Scientists panic . The moon will collide with Earth only seven days from now . All life will die .
| 168 hours remain: Panic fills the streets and riots break out across the globe.
144 hours remain: Oceans rise and drown cities while hurricanes throw wind with the force to knock down skyscrapers.
120 hours remain: Militaries muster together all the nuclear weapons and take aim, but no targeting computer can make it through the storms that cover the planet
96 hours remain: People flock to houses of God as others take that dark plunge to meet him.
72 hours remain: A hope arises. A flicker of a chance is brought into the world when all seems lost. Everyone rallies behind the answer to their prayers. It's not much, but it's the only thing that will save us all. It steels itself against Armageddon as with the words of its task master ringing in its ears: `` You've met with a terrible fate, have n't you?''
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[ WP ] Write the saga of a wealthy , happy family 's descent into poverty and dysfunction from the point of view of the cat or dog .
| I was lifted from my friable and soggy cardboard abode while the rain pattered the streets all around me. I was weak then – discarded, sick, unwanted – but as I looked up into Master ’ s eyes, a certain feeling of confidence swelled into my bony breast.
The car ride home I could never forget. I was nodding off from sheer exhaustion, but the excitement of the city and the night and the neon signs sweeping before me and the cool midnight breeze spilling across my patted fir stays with me to this day. For months it was he and I, master and humble servant, harmony and chorus, and we played in the amiable spring glow and watched movies long after the sun surrendered.
March 15th also stays with me, clinging to my mind like a frightened child to its progenitor. I had never seen her before. She was pretty, no doubt – long, heavy coils of a deep, dark brown hair and a sharp olive complexion. She did coddle me a bit, but it was with the calculated and frightful affectations of bare feet stepping over a puddle.
Three months earlier Master and I had moved homes, his family ’ s sudden presence and the banners strung across the freshly painted walls told me that he had found success – I was so proud of him that I chased down a squirrel in the yard and brought its limp body to him as a present.
When we moved, I felt rightly that the new place was all to ourselves. But for a while, it felt that it was mainly for me, as he spent long nights away and only crept past the threshold as the light broke through the front window.
Now she was here, and she wasn ’ t leaving. And four nights later she was still here, as she was after four months. And my coat was met with fewer hands and my chirps of happiness were met with her scolding and I was quickly evicted from my place in Master ’ s bed.
He came home one day with a different look at his face. His eyes rarely unhinged from the floor and his movements were torpid and came only with great effort. The TV went, followed by his guitar ( he had stroked it so many times for my audience ), then the car, and finally those cardboard boxes I had tried so desperately to avoid began filling the living room floor.
She spent a few nights away during this time, arguments rang against the walls when she made appearances, she stomped and demanded, and then one day took me into her arms despite my growling protests and flung me into the back seat of her burnished black Mercedes.
Master ran out and from inside the car I heard the muffled pleas and saw the wild gesticulations until finally he swept around the front of the car and pulled me back out into the intoxicatingly free afternoon. When we got inside, silence hung over everything, and Master like a supine statue laid on the leather davenport, until his chest and pupils distended and suddenly tears escaped and danced across his sallow cheeks.
I leapt onto his breast and dragged my tongue over and over his neck and face until a warm laughter, one I hadn ’ t heard in months, bubbled from his throat. Finally he sat up and wiped his face and rested a damp hand on my head.
I panted an instinctive, exhaustive happiness before an idea sprung into my mind. I let out a bark to signal the door to be open, and I darted ecstatically through the back yard. He needed a squirrel.
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[ WP ] : `` And this is PRECISELY why we do n't go out . It all starts with nice drinks and good plans and the next thing I know Prince Charming is throwing up on your floor , the house is trashed and someone let the damn crocodile in again .
| Anastasia stared at the mess of her sister lounging in the sofa. Drizella yawned and combed the soggy chips from last night's revelry out of her hair.
`` Sister...'' Anastasia began hesitantly ``... sister, we can not do this anymore.'' Drizella cackled, her harsh voice echoing through the room. `` What, have fun? Come now, Ana; it's us against the worl...'' Anastasia shook her head.
`` No, Driz. It's *you* against the world. I'm happy now.'' Drizella's face darkened, as her sister continued `` I have Danny, now...''
`` That damn baker?'' Drizella's anger, finally having a target, exploded `` He's not good enough for you, sis. That *peasant* of a boy...''
*Slap*
The sound echoed in the room. Drizella clutched her face, as her sister shook the stinging from her palm.
`` Do n't you *dare* Driz. I am in love. Last night was to start to plan the wedding, you as maid of honour. But no; nice plans mean nothing to you. The quiet drinks end up with you punching Cinders husband, then coming back and trashing my house. No sister, no more.'' Anastasia stared into her sister's eyes, eyes that filled with the terror of what was to come. `` I'm sorry, Driz. But until you sort yourself out, you are no longer welcome in this house.'' Shaking with the effort it took to break the family bond between them, Anastasia pointed to the door. `` Now go, sister.''
Drizella slunk from the house, chips still falling from her bedraggled hair. Anastasia closed the door and, sighing, slid down to the floor. She wept, a mixture of relief and sorrow intermingling with the tears streaming down her face, till the strong arms of Danny wrapped around her. She leant into his frame, taking comfort from his warmth and breathing deeply his scent of freshly baked bread. She knew she had the correct thing; hopefully Drizella would come to know it too, and not turn out like their mother, spitting venom and hatred against all who'wronged' her. Hopefully.
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[ WP ] Write about a god whose power is inversely proportional to the amount of faith people have in him .
| “ Charlie! ”
“ Yes God? ”
“ I have a mission for you. ”
Angel Charlie was excited; this was to be his first one since he had been promoted. Charlie wouldn ’ t wait to use his new powers, Level 4 clearance meant he could heal the sick, restore sight to the blind, converse in any dialect, create light showers and he finally got proper wings, rather than having to float about ( Charlie personally thought Angels without wings was a mistake on God ’ s behalf; they looked much too similar to ghosts ). Plus, it had been so long since he ’ d been down there; Charlie had watched humanity progress and whilst their technology made them ever closer to God, their souls were the furthest they ’ d ever been from Him. “ Yes God, what would you like me to do? ”
“ I want you to convert to a few hundred… ”
“ *Sweet. * ” thought Charlie, he could test out his new powers. Charlie began to consider his plan of attack, he would make a grand entrance at Vatican City, with his angel wings bathed in holy light and a glittering gold halo, and he might even add a choir… or maybe he would fly down to some slum in India and just heal everyone…or he might go to Africa and just make it rain ( well, light showers, but whatever ) for a while…
“ …to atheism. ” finished God. Charlie snapped out of his daydream,
“ Wait what!? ”
“ By the end of the year, I want you to convert a few hundred, or maybe a couple of thousand, in fact the more the merrier, just make them atheists. ” Angel Charlie was stunned, “ But why God? And why atheism of all religions? ”
“ Charlie, that ’ s Level 5 stuff… ”
“ Awww come on, I ’ ve been here for ages! You can trust me, I promise I won ’ t tell… ” god was still looking uneasy about disclosing the information so Angel Charlie decided to give him another push. “ Fine, if you won ’ t tell me, I ’ ll talk to Jesus. ”
“ Fine! Man, I thoroughly dislike it when you guys use my Son like that. ”
“ Tut tut tut. No need to be grumpy, it ’ s your fault you don ’ t let him out of the kingdom; he ’ s over two thousand years old! Anyway, you were saying…? ”
“ Right, well yes. I need you to turn as many people as possible into atheists. ”
“ Yes, yes. I got that but why? ”
“ Well, it ’ s a little known secret that my power is actually inversely proportional to the number of believers on Earth. ”
Charlie sighed; math was never his strong suite. “ So wait, that means that the more people who believe you, the weaker you get? ”
“ Correct. ”
“ Huh. Weird. Seems kinda counterintuitive don ’ t you think? What went wrong in those seven days that you got that deal? ”
“ Ha ha, very funny. ” said God sarcastically. “ I don ’ t know, too many things happening at once, I guess. Anyway the point is, I ’ ve been watching these humans and I don ’ t like the path their going on. They ’ re too engrossed in their own lives, with those smart phones and tablets, they ’ re forgetting about caring for others. You know Charlie, volunteer work, donations and even tipping is at a five hundred year low. I want to do something that will bring everyone back together, make them realize what are really important; family, friends, love and kindness. ”
“ So what? You currently don ’ t have enough power to do this and want me to make more people stop believing in you? ”
“ Yes. ”
“ Any religion? ”
“ Come on Charlie, you know that all religions are the same thing with a few translation and interpretation errors, so yes. You can ’ t convert a Christian in a Muslim because they ’ ll still be praying and believing in me and I can ’ t help but answer their prayer. Leaves less power for me to use how I want to. Ah, that ’ s why I had that rule; stops people relying too much on me. ”
“ But seriously God, how am I meant to do that? Forcing humans to stop believing in you is hard, you know that if they turn to atheism it means that they have to start believing in themselves and we all know the self-esteem issues humans have. ”
“ I ’ m sure you ’ ll think of something. Maybe do something in the pseudo-science department; humans seem to believe the lies they tell. ”
“ God, this is a terrible mission, I don ’ t get to use any of my powers. This sucks. ” complained Angel Charlie.
“ Now, now Charlie. If you complete this, I ’ ll give you Level 8 clearance. ”
“ Seriously? Ok I ’ m in, beam me down God. ”
-009
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[ WP ] Gordon Ramsay mistakenly walks into your house to film an episode of Kitchen Nightmares , and refuses to believe that you are n't a failing restaurant owner
| Mr. Ramsay would enter my home, struck in the face with fluorescent lighting.
I would ask politely would he mind taking his shoes off, unless he was afraid his feet might stink.
He would call me a fucking nightmare because he does n't say much else.
Unprepared, I would present a platter of apple slices with peanut butter, 2 toasted english muffin halves, some roasted zucchini, a banana.
Dessert, frozen Thin Mints.
He would have a horrible time although I am a gracious host and I always made sure his water glass was filled.
However, as he left he might comment on the loveliness of the atmosphere, the comfortable couch.
Then he'd tell me to buy different light bulbs or shoot myself, and tomorrow I needed to be more prepared.
I told him to fuck off and pay me for the meal I had meticulously prepared.
Wondrously, Mr. Ramsay undid his pants and masturbated in my doorway, fucking off in front of me.
He then very politely paid me my well-deserved $ 3.50 and I sent him on his way.
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[ WP ] The WOW ! signal was n't a star exploding . Instead , it was a transmission encoded with frequencies too high for us to detect at the time . 264 years later , humanity receives another such transmission . This time , it 's decoded . It says : `` Why did n't you listen ? ``
| 264 years later, we received another message.
Nobody read it. Why should they? Nothing mattered anymore.
We've made many mistakes in the past. Every single one had consequences. Some were bad. Some were good. The last mistake was... well, we are n't sure what is was. We do n't think about it. That would just be a waste of time. We have our goals straight. No need to reconsider and mess everything up, is there?
That was possibly the last mistake to ever be made in human history. Something like that just... changes your view on things, you know?
It makes you scared. That something like that can exist. It was a secret that should've remained a secret. Simple as that.
Now, we do n't make any noise. We put on our masks, go to our rooms, and wait for our orders.
We do n't speak. We do n't move.
We obey. We hide.
264 years ago we received a message.
And we received it 4.6 billion years too late.
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[ CW ] Write the first and last paragraph of a story and make me want to know what happened in between .
| `` Huh, how much?'' John held up his new prize. The owner looked up from his book, a bit surprised that anyone was there at all. `` Well? This is a garage sale, is n't it? Am I allowed to buy this or what?'' The man did n't even speak up, just turned the mug over, and pointed to the price sticker, which was hastily slapped on over a small chip in the ceramic. He then returned to his book as John handed him a 5 dollar bill. `` Keep the change buddy.''
...
The man in the suit gestured to one of his associates behind him, and accepted a briefcase. `` Look, John, I'll trade what's in here, for what you have there. It's as easy as that, really.'' He smiled. `` Honestly, you're taking advantage of us.'' John spat out another bit of blood, and tried to straighten his posture. The rope burned against his sore skin, but he managed out the words `` Here. Just fucking take it already!'' The man in the suit leaned back, expectantly. `` The combination is 462-78-2339. The mug is there, I swear! There is a small chip in the ceramic, but it was like that when I found it, honest!'' The man motioned to his friends, and they all left through the door. He tossed the briefcase at John's feet, saying `` Here. Keep the change, buddy.''
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[ WP ] It is the year 4015 and archeologists have just unearthed artifacts from 2015 . What do they find and what generalized conclusions do they make based on these artifacts ?
| [ CLASSIFIED ]
[ READING THIS TEXT WITHOUT PROPER AUTHORIZATION WILL RESULT IN EXILE BY THE ORDER OF THE STELLAR COUNCIL AND THE GALACTIC SENATE. ]
11:00 PM:
Research Teams transfixed from [ Whitney Isle ] ( https: //www.google.co.uk/maps/place/Mt.+Whitney, +Inyo+National+Forest, +California, +USA/ @ 36.5784991, -118.29226,7z/data=! 4m2! 3m1! 1s0x80bf8d3667a6b6c5:0x77dad12cf276cbf2 ) to the Copper-Sulfate source just 386 Nautical Miles from the outpost. Expect contact within 2 hours.
15:00 PM:
Massive Loss of life. Electromagnetic radiation struck up from the ocean, Physchichal transportation needed to save those soldiers who lived. All researchers alive and well. Transporting Hydro-Displacer to the source.
15:30 PM: Hydro-Displacer about to undergo operation. Expect all diHydrogen Monoxide to be cleared in a 15x15 square mile radius. Evacuate any Floating Transport Systems in the area by 16:00
16:00 PM All diHyrogen Monoxide removed. Spires of different metals, glass, and remains of some clay found on a giant uprising, could have been a Peninsula before the great polar meltings of 2034. Suspects to be an ancient City or the old political region known as `` The United States of America''
PRESENT: Archaelogical Operations and results en route to Whitney Isle.
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[ WP ] Make a story about a person with superpowers , but every time s/he uses it they get weaker and weaker until they die .
| One day there was a young woman who spent three years of her life using all the Patience she had. This Patience was a power she did n't discover until she got a job teaching children. The Patience grew very powerful within her, and she used it every time a child had a tantrum or tried to physically hurt her. Unfortunately, the Patience began to desolve when she upset a radioactive barrel of Anxiety. The Anxiety ate away at her heart and the Patience became a small thread not unlike the ones holding together fashionably distraught holes in girl jeans. The Patience grew thin, the Anxiety grew more powerful, and the young woman's heart which was once so open and forgiving suddenly exploded within her chest and she died. The end.
|
[ WP ] Write a story beginning with `` The tree shed its leaves '' .
| The tree sheds its leaves.
Perhaps for the last time ever.
-- --
Everything has its end, even us. I mean, we had a good run. Did n't really get around to the whole exploring the stars thing but what do you want from a bunch of hairless apes?
My only regret is like that of the leaves. They fall and decay, covered by snow and rain. And eventually they, like the tree, will fade away.
Maybe someone will remember. Someone will come across the tree, dying and devoid of leaves, and try to imagine it at the height of its glory.
Or perhaps not. Maybe this is the end. Maybe no one is out there. We will fall, fade, and disappear.
We ca n't change our fate. Maybe we could in the past, but its irrelevant now. Now it's time for winter to begin.
-- --
The tree sheds its leaves, ready for the coming winter. It knows not how long it will last. It only hopes the spring will come soon.
The final tree sheds its leaves, ready for the coming winter. The endless winter, the bitter cold, the moonless night. All is calm, all is quiet.
And no one is left to remember the summer.
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[ WP ] A young LA cop , first day on his own , is on the way back to the precinct at the end of his shift . He sees an infamous local gang lord in an alley , he 's just recently been stabbed , and will die in the next 20 minutes if he does n't emergency medical attention .
| The training was easy for him. He went, wide eyed and eager, to the warm, rough carpeted room where he had been taught to save lives. D.R.S.A.B.C., he knew the letters and the words beneath them and his muscles knew the actions with confidence. He checked the blue mat for danger and mimed putting on a pair of latex gloves. He yelled into the ears of the crude mannequin and squeezed its shoulders, trying desperately to make it respond. `` Help help, help help'' he recited for the twentieth time that day. He kissed the doll and blew into it, tugging on the small approximation of a chin. As he pulled away the sticky rubber clutched at his lips. He pushed his weight into the chest, pressing down with the palms of his hands.
When he came upon the pile of dying human flesh, the loving mannequin seemed a million miles and millennia away.
He glanced down the shadowed alley but his eyes were blinded in the darkness by the harsh Californian sun which had beaten him into submission for the last 4 hours of his beat. At any rate his attention was fixed firm on the body which lay before him. It was a large man, whose stomach strained against the bottom of the yellow shirt which constrained it, pulling the lower buttons tight on their threads. Dark liquid had pooled around the figure, transforming to a bright river of red as it flowed into the sunlight.
`` Yo, buddy, you alright?'' he asked, unsure as to why. This expiring bundle of bones and blood and flesh rendered his throat dry and made his voice waver as his hand clutched the radio at his collar, his thumb pushing hard into the call button, afraid that he would fail at even calling for help. He felt his knees scrape against the rough concrete as he lent down and placed his ear above the mouth. For ten long seconds he heard nothing. His hands found the center of the fat man's chest and he pushed, earning the gargle of blood filled lungs. He delivered thirty pumps and lent down again.
As he did, his slowly adjusting eyes and his adrenaline addled mind caught up with each other. He looked at a face known to him from his many and enthusiastic briefing sessions. The face would have looked back if it could see through closed eyes. He processed this as blew into the mouth. The mustache definitely matched. `` Serves. You. Fucking. Right'' he said as quietly as he could while he pumped on the chest. Ten. `` All. The. People. Whose. Lives you. Took''. Twenty. `` Not. Feeling. So. Un. Touch. Able. Now'' Thirty. More breaths. In the distance he heard the drone of two tone sirens.
He pushed his weight into the chest again and he felt his muscles burning. Why should this filth survive, why was he even trying? Deep in his mind, the young boy who had played the hero demanded that he stop. Villains, the boy argued, had to die. That was what heroes like him were for.
He didnt stop. He pressed down on the chest again and again until the woman dressed in blue gently yet firmly moved him aside. As he sat beside the man in the sickly green lit interior of the city ambulance he looked at the maroon stains which covered his hands. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pouch and put them on before he picked up his clean pen and began to write.
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[ WP ] `` You ... Do know I 'm about to kill you , right ? '' A serial killer 's latest victim does n't seem to understand the gravity of the situation .
| Jack Gaines came out of the bomb shelter around seven o ’ clock, all his preparations done. He raised a thick arm to wipe at his brow. It was getting harder to do all of this as he got older, he reflected. But he ’ d been at it a long time, and it was something he needed to do. It wasn ’ t even something he enjoyed anymore, but it wasn ’ t as if he could just stop. It was more than that. The ritual was sometimes all that kept him sane. He ’ d spend hours in that shelter getting everything perfect, laying down plastic, laying his tools out piece by piece. With every step he felt more centered. Coming out to the real world again now, even sweaty and tired, he felt almost zen. The only thing left to get was – well, it wouldn ’ t be hard. He ’ d had a great deal of practice.
He took the old sedan out, down the dirt road, driving until dirt became gravel and finally rolled into pavement. All the familiar sights of his town passed by – the first little corner store, the shell of some old local burger joint, the gas station he ’ d biked forty-five minutes to every day as a kid just to get Jolly Ranchers. This was his place. He passed the welcome sign on the way into town. From that distance he could see the first McDonald ’ s. He slowed by then, as he always did. The old hippies living next door had kept some weird kind of protest up for almost twenty years now, since the McDonald ’ s first moved in, breaking up their once-quiet neighborhood. They ’ d taken down the latest round of signs, he noticed. Today there was a dark shape hanging from the old tree in their yard. Looking closer, it appeared that they ’ d hung Ronald McDonald in effigy. Odd for them, he thought. Maybe they ’ d finally lost it. He couldn ’ t imagine Mabel carefully sewing that face together, assembling the clown costume, and then painstakingly tearing the costume and painting on that blood. With people, though, you never knew. Jack himself – well, if Mabel knew him, they ’ d certainly never be friends.
Jack drove home at eleven with lovely Lola Laake trussed up in his trunk. He drove back by the McDonald ’ s for another look, and there it still was – the hanging clown. A little shudder went down his spine. Was it – could it be – a human body? It sure hung in a familiar way.
Calm down, he thought. He was losing his center. He couldn ’ t even hear Lola struggling. Normally they woke up close to where the roads turned to dirt, he reminded himself. Calm. He would have her soon enough. But gravel came and went, then dirt, and still there was nothing.
It happens, he reassured himself. Sometimes. By the time she ’ s in the shelter, by the time we ’ re locked in, it ’ ll be OK. Breathing slowly, deliberately, he parked the car and circled around to the trunk. Key in the lock – now, he thought, he would hear some screams. He could take her gag out. He needed that today. No neighbors for miles, and even then the closest were out of town for a few weeks – he could risk it. Or – had he miscalculated the dose? She was a slight kind of woman. Had he gotten sloppy? Was she already dead? He opened the trunk with frantic speed, and two pale grey eyes gazed up at him.
“ I ’ m going to take this out, ” he said, pointing to her gag. “ On the count of three. One sound out of you and you ’ re dead. Do you understand? ”
She seemed to nod, but the movement was slight. The eyes seemed to convey understanding. He reached down and removed the gag.
Nothing.
“ Good girl, ” he told her. “ That ’ s very good. I ’ m going to cut your legs loose now. Do you understand? You know what ’ s going to happen if you run. ”
Did she understand? He wondered, guiding her to the shelter. She came reluctantly, slowly – occasionally he had to shove her – but she was moving under her own power. She didn ’ t struggle at all. Going down into the shelter – closing the hatch – choosing his weapon – she was watching him, calmly, standing still as stone.
“ Hands up, ” he told her, knife in hand. When she did nothing – expected – he took her arms himself, attached her to the hook. As he raised it – her feet now well above the ground – she only watched him, quiet and calm.
“ Is this it? ” he asked her. “ Little Lola Laake, like a lamb to the slaughter? You do know what I ’ m about to do, don ’ t you? I know, it ’ s me. Don ’ t you recognize me? I ’ ve known you since we were six years old. Are you in shock? Good old Jack Gaines – couldn ’ t hurt a fly, right? Don ’ t think like that, Lola. Look around. I think your situation is clear. ”
Her only response was to raise her eyebrows slowly. She didn ’ t seem to be struggling to breathe. Odd, given her position. In fact, she didn ’ t seem to be breathing at all.
“ Lola? ” He asked, feeling faint. “ Lola. You… do know I ’ m going to kill you, right? ”
Lola smiled very slowly, red lips peeling back to show perfect white teeth, and then farther – farther – farther than they should go – he could see a great expanse of gums, then molars – then something like muscle.
From somewhere inside her, he heard a great buzz.
There was no order. There was no ritual. Killing Lola was a blur. He struck again and again until she stopped moving, but what was on his hands was not blood. It was something he had never seen before, or maybe just not since he was a child – since he stopped slicing up bugs…
Jack raced to the surface as quickly as he could. In the open air, everything was dark and strange. He fell to the grass and clung to it. He could not steady his breathing. He thought that he could still hear Lola buzzing. He staggered back to his feet, to the old sedan – he had to get away. He didn ’ t know why and he didn ’ t know to where. He looked towards the town, to the west. Even in the dark, he could see something hanging there, in the sky – no, not hanging. There was a hole in the sky, and there were shapes emerging from it. He raced back to the opening to his little shelter. Was that still Lola buzzing? No, impossible. The shelter was silent.
He climbed back down into the shelter, just to be sure. Lola ’ s remains still hung, dissolving into a kind of goo. He retched. He couldn ’ t hide down there.
A strange kind of calm came over Jack then. In slow, deliberate movements he climbed out and closed the door.
East, he thought. Simple. Easy. Something was coming from the west, but there was another way out through the hills. He had a full tank of gas, and in just a few hours he ’ d be in the city. Keys in hand, he started back for his car.
From the forest he heard a growing buzz.
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[ WP ] The gene for self-awareness has been discovered . Not everyone has it .
| Dear Diary,
According to my record keeping it's been 60 days since the news first broke. Some scientist thought we should all know. Knowledge should be shared, and so it got posted on the internet. The government tried to remove it, but once the story broke it was out there.
My very ability to write this makes me think that that I must be self-aware. I think, therefore I am, right? They can test for self-awareness now apparently. I do n't know what I am, I went into hiding.
I still ca n't believe that the government could roll out mandatory testing so fast. Now all our ID cards are marked as either `` Worker'' or `` Thinker''. All the workers have been rounded up and put in camps. Why bother letting them own property if they do n't know any better? They're less human than the rest of us right? Yeah, I did n't buy it either. Test results are so easy to misreport, I just do n't trust that we all are n't being taken advantage of.
It's only been two months, and we are already practicing slavery again, as though we have n't learned anything in the thousands of years of human history before us.
I'm going to try to get some food. If someone else reads this later, please know that there were some people who tried to fight as the lights went out on our civilization. I hope that if you read and understand this, that means you are fighting still.
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[ WP ] The protagonist suddenly discovers that he/she can stop time by holding his/her breath
| It started on a Wednesday. The day of the week isn ’ t dreadfully significant, but I do remember it was Wednesday. I had band after school on Wednesdays, and once it ended I would walk about twenty minutes to get home, carrying my clarinet in its little briefcase so I could practice later. I probably could have made first chair in high school if I had kept playing; I really was quite good. But my eighth grade year was the last I would ever bother to touch a clarinet.
It was the last year that things had any semblance of normalcy.
There was a bridge on the way home from school, an old stone one right on the way to my neighbourhood with a small creek babbling underneath it. I always held my breath on that bridge. It was a ritual which had been birthed from a childhood imagining of trolls that could steal your spirit if you let your breath out for them to catch. Our childhood games have a way of remaining on the mind well beyond the time we ’ ve grown past them. As per usual, I held my breath the moment my feet went from dirt to stone.
The first thing I noticed was the silence.
The sound of the running creek, the birds that would chirp and argue in trees nearby; it was all gone, replaced only by my footsteps. I laughed the way one does when trying to calm the nerves. And with that laugh the sound was back again. It was as if a stillness had suddenly been lifted from the world right in the middle of that stone bridge. I laughed again. The trolls had tricked me into letting out my breath; a joke made to cover up the occurrence of something just a little out of the ordinary.
I only thought to try holding my breath again at dinner. My mother and father were trying to coax my younger brother into eating carrots. The sounds of a six-year-old ’ s attempts at complex argument faded to background noise as I wandered my own thoughts. Try it again. It was terrifying for two reasons. One, because if it didn ’ t work, there would be no magic there. It would just be one of those things you write off as a misunderstanding of the human mind; an attempt to make supernatural forces exist where there aren ’ t any. But the second concern was the more important of the two. What if it did?
Three seconds to consider, and I was inhaling.
( ( First time submitting a prompt response! This was fun and I might continue it into something longer eventually. Thanks for the interesting prompt! )
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[ WP ] You are in a zombie apocalypse , and are attacked by a horde of zombies and bitten . As you panic , you notice the zombie turning into a human .
| We had been unable to track down patient zero. We still had no clue as to whether the re-humanification virus was an evolutionary response or a man made'antidote'. All we knew was we could n't replicate it. It did n't matter.
I remember looking at the man in disbelief. He was so *normal*.
I had called him John Doe. He protested but it helped me. It helped all of us. He could n't recall much of his time as a zombie but he did remember the'waking' - his conciousness slowly returning and the realisation that he was chewing on a chunk of human leg meat. A blonde haired man lay in pieces around him.
That should have been enough to freak him out but what really got to him was that he knew the man's name. He knew more than that - he knew a hundred more names and all the stories behind them.
Their lives had ended in much the same way as the blonde man's. Fatally masticated by the undead. But as they had passed, the zombie responsible *changed*. It regained its human features and memories.
John Doe had wandered alone for days until he found us. That is when we heard his story.
We quickly came up with the idea and were soon able to test our hypothesis. We lost him in the process, of course. We lost a further ten John Doe's - but each time a new John was created.
The latest John sits in a cage in-front of me. He curses and spits and me. He calls me a monster.
I ca n't let him go. He is our apocalypse weapon. One by one we will trap the zombies and feed'John' to them. Then the new John will be fed to the next zombie. It's going to be a slow a process and God forgive us for what we have to do - but we finally have a *chance*.
-- -- -- --
/r/nickofnight
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[ WP ] Everyone in the world starts hearing voices that accurately predict their own futures , everyone except for you .
| How did everyone know to stay indoors today? A terrible storm hit my tiny town and, of course, I seem to be the only person who had no idea. I drive home through the flooded streets to find my coworker waiting for me, ebox controller in hand. He must have assumed we'd be stranded and get to play video games. Though, that does n't explain his text from last night saying,'ca n't wait for our non-stop gaming day.'
Suddenly, everyone seems to moving with such purpose. They know where they have to go and what they need to do.
`` Why do you have to leave right now?''
`` I have to leave now so I show up early and meet my future wife.''
`` Okay.''
`` Why are you going back to school?''
`` I suffer through then make big waves in Washington.''
`` Okay.''
`` Sorry, why ca n't we go to the movies now?''
`` If we drive to the 6 o'clock showing we die in a car crash. Did n't you hear? Did n't they tell you?''
`` What the hell Alyssa! if you do n't want to go to the movies you could've just said that!''
Five years pass and these disturbing exchanges continue, and more disturbing still, what they said is happening. Alan met Sarah that day he left early and I went to their wedding last weekend. Jessica went to law school and is making critical education reform in Washington.
I'm still living in the same studio, working the same job, and trusting anyone who says we'll die if we do something. I make sure all my outings are planned with friends as they always seem to know what we should do and when.
It's kind of annoying. These voices everyone can hear except me. Everyone seems to only be able to predict their future, so they're no help for me. I do n't know where my choices will take me and I've found myself completely paralyzed for the last five years.
Not anymore. I'm leaving. Moving forward through the darkness of the future. Maybe there's a reason I ca n't hear them. Maybe I'm special in some way. Maybe this is just a sick and twisted experiment.
It does n't matter. I feel I've been walking through life like a ghost these past five years. I want to feel true fear, exhilaration, surprise, and happiness, even if this is the last thing I feel.
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[ WP ] You are a spider living in a human household . You must do everything you can to stay alive and thrive . DO NOT get caught by the humans .
| Creepycrawly lives in the night room. The giants make day in the other rooms but they do n't go into the night room much and Creepycrawly likes the dark. In the night room there are little skitters that come up from the ground. I catch the skitters in my sticky thread and make them juice to get bigger. Until the giants gave the skitters bad water and all the skitters died. Creepycrawly had to find new drink.
So Creepycrawly ventured out. All the rooms are night rooms sometimes. That's when Creepycrawly hunts, but only on the ground. The giants walk on the fluff ceiling but do n't look down to often. Creepy finds some dry flutters but they ca n't be juice. They are to dry now. Creepy needs wet flutters.
Creepycrawly found a window that changes. In it are little giants. They ca n't get out Creepy thinks. He wishes they could, some are small and Creepycrawly wonders what they taste like. Once in the window was one giant who also makes sticky thread. He caught other giants. Creepy envies him, he gets to eat giants.
The fast giant is awake. It is smaller but fast and can see Creepycrawly on the floor but can not reach Creepycrawly. Sometimes it makes noises and Creepy has to run away. Creepy wants to eat the fast giant but it would catch Creepycrawly and eat me instead.
Creepycrawly found another light window in a night room. This one does not have giants in it but a picture of a spotted bug. Creepy tried to get the bug but it's on the other side and wo n't come over. Creepy is hungry.
Creepycrawly is found the giants. They do not move for so long. Creepy wonders if they are going to dry. If so, Creepy will try to make juice out of one of them.
The giants did not dry. They got up and made the room day and Creepy had to hide. Creepy saw a skitter on the floor but the fast giant caught and ate it. Creepy wanted to eat it.
Creepycrawly found skitters! They live on the floor too, just under a thing where the giants ca n't see them. Now Creepycrawly can make juice.
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[ WP ] When you were little , you could swear there was a monster under your bed–but no one believed you . On the eve of your 30th birthday , you hear noises coming from under your bed once again . The monster is back and has an important message to deliver to you .
| “ For thirty years I have watched you and protected you- from burglars, from nightmares, and from yourself. You see, when you grew up you no longer needed me, and I hid beneath your child ’ s bed when she was born. We are pledged to remain silent and out of sight. Tonight I break my pledge, go to her. ” I stared in disbelief at the small shadow before me, the monster that had kept me up nights with scratchings and creakings, calling for my parents when I saw movement in the corners and shadows. I was torn between going to my daughters ’ room and making sure she was alright and pinning the monster where it was, lest it be the reason for any mishap. “ Go ” it urged, and dissipated like smoke. Having no other choice now I tore down the hall to my daughters ’ room, and flicked the light on. The bed was empty. I frantically looked below and around and inside closets and the bathroom, but no sign of Sophie. I called out, running to the kitchen, to find the back door open to the night.
I ran out the door, and heard a rustling beneath the deck. I quickly ran back in to turn the floodlights on and just caught a glimpse of the monster vanishing again to the shadows of the porch rails. Down the steps, into the storage area below was a bundle of blankets and pajamas, a teddy bear sat a foot or so away in the tangled mess of the garden hose. Sophie was breathing raggedly, her eyes shut lying on her side. I didn ’ t know what to do, and shook her to rouse her, but to no avail. Her skin was cold and sweaty, and her limbs occasionally jerked but she showed no signs of waking. Something was very, very wrong.
Flashing lights, sirens and the bustle of human activity forced me from my perch in the yard. I could not follow them to the brightly lit, sterile hospital. I could not return to my duties after breaking my oath. Soon He would tell someone of the monster that told him to get up and find his daughter. Soon I would be hunted. I slunk into the house, and made my nest in the attic as I would during the day, and awaited my fate. There were no shadows I could hide in from the Hunters, no lights that would deter them. It was best to wait now, at least until the family returned. I dare not chance exposing them to the Hunters, lest their nightmares and imaginations become realities far worse than any human should be faced with. No, I would not stay after they returned. I would wait.
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[ WP ] You are a grandparent dealing with Alzheimer 's and you are celebrating Christmas with your family .
| Richard was not wandering. He may have been losing it, but he knew where he was. He was at his daughter's house, and it was Christmas Eve. He could n't remember which daughter's house it was, though. He had three, plus his son. He knew his son's name, John, but the girls always mixed him up, especially with their own six daughters in total.
It should have been easier; none of them even remotely resembled each other. One was dark; dusky skin, dark eyes, coarse, dark hair. Like his brother was. Like their mother had been. He'd never claimed to be anything but white, never heard anyone suggest their family was otherwise, but there had probably been some rumours. Back then they'd say... Well, you could n't say the phrase anymore. African-American in the woodpile, he supposed.
The other girl was more in between, like him. Tanned in the summer with a medium brown hair. Not his green eyes, though. The middle one, god, what was her name? Anne had often struggled, especially when they were in trouble, just calling their names in rapid succession with John tacked to the end because one of them would be responsible.
And the last, he was n't sure if she was oldest or youngest, was a ginger. Recessive, he supposed. And Anne was fair. But not ginger. Recessive. Or a ginger in the woodpile.
Despite all he did not know, Richard knew he was not wandering. He was not that far gone. He just wanted a moment of peace. What's Her Name's house was packed full of people, which made him think it was Marie's house. She had always been the social one. She had married a man Richard thought would be a drunk but became a good man, if a little loud and a little stupid.
Was Marie the stupid one? John was smart and one girl was very smart. One had been stupid. Fell out of the attic trying to fly like Mary Poppins and broke her leg. He'd look for a limp next time he came out.
He'd never liked crowds, even as a young man, even when it had been his job to socialize and bootlick. It had almost made it easier, not being drawn in by the nice watches and the champagne and the big names. As he got older, crowds became harder as his hearing went. It was n't even his mind sometimes, he just could n't hear, but he did n't want to be rude so he'd not and `` mm'hmm'' to anything, then one of the daughters would turn around and blab to everyone that he was completely out of it already.
He passed by two bathrooms, it was a large house, until he found an empty room. When he turned on the lights, he was surprised to see both a foregin and familiar sight.
It was his old record player. Not just the turntable, a solid Pioneer with that fake wood finish that he'd always thought so smart until it started to peel, but also the Sony receiver. The speakers were different, newer, but he barely noticed. He lifted the plastic cover and it did n't even creak. Had he gone back in time? Had he indeed lost it and was perhaps lifting a toilet seat in the neighbour's home? No, there was the crack on the corner, superficial but it had taken $ 50 off the price when he'd bought it new. Unless his mind was very, very good at tricks, this was no toilet.
Then he remembered; one of the granddaughters. Anne had made him give up the player when they moved from the house to the bungalow. Too bulky, too obsolete, too loud for the neighbours they could see from their kitchen table. But one of the granddaughters was into records. She promised it a good home, and all his albums, too. He could come over any time and listen to them.
He felt like listening to one now.
It sat not on the walnut table he'd made himself but on one of those Swedish pressboard deals. He was a little concerned, but it did n't wobble when he experimentally gave it a nudge. Good enough, then. And it had the perfect sized shelves for the records to sit upright to prevent damage. Probably not Marie's house, then, if Marie had been the stupid one. Everything was set up properly, the speakers on their own stands.
Richard squatted, his body still fairly healthy despite his failing mind, and began to clip through the albums. He quickly saw organization. General genres, then alphabetical by band. Maybe then by album, but he did n't remember the release order. That was normal, there were hundreds there, and not all his own.
He lingered on some familiar ones. The June Carter he'd given his wife for their anniversary one year. A recording of La Boheme. God, he'd taken Anne to see that in San Franciso right after they'd been married. A business trip, you could bring your wife to those in those days. Like carry on luggage. It was n't like they worked then. She had n't understood a bit, but the twenty-year-old farm girl from Rocks Off, Maine had been on Cloud Nine at all the Culture she'd taken in.
But he settled on one that he was quite sure was n't his, but wished it had been. Ella Fitzgerald... But it looked so new. Were they still pressing Ella? They must be, she was so perfect. Thick as this generation was, they had to still appreciate her. And this was Ella in Berlin. But of course, everyone always just called it Mack the Knife.
She'd forgotten things, too. But won a Grammy for it. Two Grammies. He just got a Life Alert necklace.
Richard rose, taking the record out with great care and setting it on the spindle, guiding the needle over and turning the knob. But no sound came out, except the faint sound of the needle in the groove.
Perhaps this was Hell. His record collection again, but too deaf to hear a note.
`` You okay in here?''
He turned, a little too fast, and saw a young woman in the doorway. One of the daughters. The ginger one, but she dyed her hair. She was always threatening to do that. The blue, blue eyes looked almost unnatural with the near black hair.
`` Just getting some air, crowded out there.'' He did n't want to sound too defensive, but he was tired of justifying everything he did to not seem crazy.
`` I know the feeling. That's why I came, actually.'' She had a bottle of scotch in one hand, a single glass in the other. She'd already been at it a bit. Not drunk, but numb enough to hide how much she hated the crowd. He knew that feeling. He was fairly sure that was n't Marie. Her blue eyes flickered to the sleeve in his hand. `` Ella in Berlin?''
`` It's my record player.'' Now he was sounding a little snappy. `` I was careful with it.''
She put the bottle and her glass down on the table between the room's two armchairs, going over and turning the dial on one of the new speakers. Too Darn Hot, about a minute into it, faded into hearing. `` It's one of my favourite records, too. Only thing I hate about these things... I forget sometimes, too.''
He doubted that was true. The sound was like crystal. He'd never had speakers that good.
Looking around the room briefly, he spied a small bar in the corner. This was her house. This was her room. He would have made this room. Was the ginger the daughter that was smart? That was most like him? God, he could n't remember. It was like a logic puzzle.
Richard took a glass from the bar, filling it from Ginger's bottle.
She arched an eyebrow. It was dark, too. At least she'd made the dye job look natural. `` Are you supposed to be drinking?''
`` What am I going to do, lose my mind?'' He took a gulp, cherishing that burn even in a smooth whiskey. Anne did n't let him drink. Not even a beer after he'd mowed the lawn. And they had flip tops now, so he did n't even need to use a can opener. He was very sure she was not Marie now, if only he could...
`` Eliza!'' he finally said with a snap of his fingers, a little too proud. `` You're Eliza. The oldest.''
The ice chip eyes softened to pity. `` I'm Katie. Marie's daughter.''
His face fell. `` Not even Eliza's?''
`` No, Granddad.''
`` But you're pale. And smart.''
This made her laugh, but not a mean laugh. `` We're all a little mixed up amongst the three, are n't we? Especially the colouring. My sister is almost as dark as your brother Tom.''
`` See, this is why I get confused...'' He sighed, closing his eyes. Lorelei began playing. His father had owned a mule called Lorelei. `` Three daughters, seven granddaughters from them. John did n't have any girls, did he?'' When there was silence, he opened his eyes again, looking to her. He was suddenly afraid and sad and he did n't know why. `` What did John have?'' That was n't the right question. ``... What did John do?''
`` He wrapped his car around a tree, Granddad.'' She was sad, but not for John. She'd never know him. She was sad for him. `` When he was seventeen.... John never had anything.''
There was a lump in his throat he probably had a hundred times before and would have a hundred times again.
`` He had my eyes. And he had some Frank Sinatra records.''
`` Do you want to listen to some Frank Sinatra? I have some, too.''
Richard took a sip of whiskey. `` No, I was to hear Mack the Knife. It's next after Lorelei. Can we just stay here for a bit?''
`` Of course, Granddad.''
Ella forgot the lyrics every time someone played the record, exactly the same as she'd forgotten in Berlin. And that gave him a little comfort, because at least he was forgetting in good company.
*Oh what's the next chorus, to this song, now
This is the one, now I do n't know
But it was a swinging tune and it's a hit tune
So we tried to do Mack the Knife*
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[ IP ] American Marines in Belleau Wood , 1918 .
| *April 2nd, 3136, Former Free Worlds League. *
The fighting on Vikindu was reminiscent of an earlier time, what humanity rather foolishly labeled the war to end all wars. They did n't even have laser weaponry, no fusion engines. Hell's bells, they did n't even had nuclear bombs. Pretty much savages, but then again... they never dropped a 100 kiloton bomb on a populated world, which was more than could be said for those Regulan bastards.
The Vikindu Civil War was, like so many of these brush ups in this day and age, one of various noble families aligning themselves to one or another faction before a powder keg was lit. Very similar to the quaintly called War of the Roses or perhaps the Genpai War, either side was rather forgettable in make up; any household battlemechs that they once possessed had been destroyed in the aftermath of the Free Worlds League's collapse at the end of the Jihad. Aerospace fighters were limited, and conventional ones had to be used as replacements. Their armor were the oldest possible, much of it Succession War surplus.
There's a thing about nobility and war. If the two sides had been republics or something similar, they would have came to terms years ago. But nobles, with their blasted pride and deep pockets can afford to keep a war going longer, insulated from the demands that democracies have.
But even feudalism has its breaking points, the line drawn by the lower classes which crossing it brings out their scythes and pitchforks, or in this day and age, laser pistols and flechette rifles. The two parties of nobles had just about reached their breaking point. It takes a lot to built a legacy, to build a family name. It takes one squeeze of a trigger or one chop of an ax to end it.
So it was that both sides opened up their coffers for mercenaries, soldiers of fortune who's loyalty was to nothing save for their last coin. Their funds, depleted after nearly a decade of conflict, could only drum up enough eagles for one company apiece and they prayed it would be enough. On one side, led by the expansionist House Bailleul hired the notorious Heron's Heretics, infamous for their use of flame weapons during the Fall of Liao. And on the other, employed by a coalition of minor houses was the mixed company of O'Connell's Orphans, a unit recently famous for their defense of Holt late last year. This was n't a duel of titans of the likes such as the 12th Vegan Rangers or Kell Hounds, it was a nameless back alley brawl between two small merc units. But for Vikindu, it was likely the greatest struggle they had ever seen. And one thing was for certain, at least one side would be getting their money's worth.
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[ WP ] Your most-used video game character 'graduated ' from the game and is now your college room mate .
| There he is, my favorite character, now the most annoying person I could possibly imagine.
Let me try to explain this to you.
Everywhere I go, he follows me. Every time we take a quick stop, his hands move up to his chest and emit a white glow. He is spam healing me. Now, I will admit it is nice always being fully energetic with no physical injuries, but my main problem right now is 100 % emotional. There are only so many times you can mentally handle a guy that is not only clearly stalking you, but also completely oblivious to the fact that strafing in and out of line of sight behind random pillars he sees is not normal. Everyone keeps staring at us, their blank faces turn into confusion then abruptly into laughter.
Someone help me.
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[ WP ] Take anything that is simple and exists today . Something that nobody ever gives a second thought about . Make a conspiracy theory out of it .
| “ Look at that! It is unbelievable that they are still doing it. ”
“ What are you talking about? ” - asked Joe.
“ Over there, don ’ t you see? ” - he pointed towards the sky.
“ What about the sky? I don ’ t see anything. ”
“ Only a few of us has noticed it. They are really good. ”
“ But what? Don ’ t start here with the chem-trails. ”
“ Oh please. I ’ m not a lunatic. This is a real issue, not some conspiracy theory. Just watch the sun how it behaves. ”
“ I don ’ t see anything suspicious. It looks normal. ”
“ Yeah that is exactly the problem. Most of the people has got so used to it that they don ’ t even notice. ”
“ OK, I think it ’ s time for me to leave. You are freaking me out to be honest. ”
“ Wait, let me explain. My friend works at NASA and he told me what was really going on since the ‘ 60s. They ’ ve sent plenty of satellites all over the Solar System and they discovered some strange thing when they were examining the Sun. Apparently it is not a genuine star but a machine. They don ’ t know who ’ ve built it but it was built by someone. They started to panic and tried to gather as much information as they could. That is why it was so important to go the Moon. They found the instruction manual there to the Sun. ”
“ And what was in there? How to throw coal into the stove? ” - Joe asked jokingly.
“ If you mean uranium by coal and the Sun as the stove then yes. They realized that they will need to deliver many tons of Uranium into this machine otherwise it will stop working and humanity as a whole will die because it would stop working. The government found a solution to get to work the whole planet on it. This period is called Cold War. When they produced enough nuclear warheads they ’ ve shared the information with all the other governments. They needed a way to discreetly make these uranium disappear hence the governments officially agreed to end the cold war period and decrease the number of nuclear arsenal in their ownership. What they are still keeping as a secret that in reality they ’ ve sent everything into the Sun to fuel it up. ”
“ Alright dad, that was enough story time for today. I ’ ll come visit you next week too. ” - said as he slowly walked out of the room.
After he got into his car, he called his boss.
“ Your suspicion was right. He knows everything but he ’ s harmless, nobody believes him. ”
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[ TT ] You are mermaid , but live within the water inside clouds . Storms are like earthquakes and clear skies are terrifying
| Every raindrop has a soul; every snowflake its insignificant claim to destiny.
We are the wisp in the clouds, the darkness in the fog, the malice in the hail.
We were larger once, it is true. In our glory we drowned men and married princes. They dreamed of our voices, our beauty, the taste of our skin.
There was room then. Whole worlds between the mysteries. But now is not that time. Now we are circumscribed, caught in the tightening vice of science and causality. We hide in the smaller places. Quiet in what meager pockets remain. And we dream. Dream of times when fairies curdled milk and not bacteria.
We know our days are numbered.
Smaller and smaller we wane, as what little gaps remain are ever filled with fresh faced formulae and theorems.
There is no room for imagination. At least, not the kind of which we are made. Only the children sustain us, pawing like dumb apes at the shimmer of the skies. But theirs is a thin and unwelcome gruel. On such sustenance we can only hope to be pale shadows of our former selves. Caricatures as dull and vapid as the only minds that would sustain us.
No, better to shrink and fade. To grow small rather than soft. To climb the skies, ready and weightless, and scour away from this sterile earth.
Goodbye.
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[ FF ] I am glad you are here with me . Here at the end of all things . ( 250 words + GOLD )
| Thank you.
You ’ ve been with me through everything. You ’ ve let me talk to you. You were okay with me crying when I needed to let it all out. You always understood when I wasn ’ t okay.
When I was broken you were there. When I was sad you listened to me rant. When everybody else left me for forsaken and wanted nothing to do with me, you stayed.
I know that you don ’ t always understand *why* I ’ m sad or angry. I know you may not understand how much you mean to me, and maybe you never will. I know that you might just be here for the food and the shelter, and that you ’ re only a dog to most people. But to me, you ’ ve been part of the world, and it make me sad to think that you ’ ll be gone. But still, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.
And even though I don ’ t usually know much and I ’ m usually unsure, I do know that I love you.
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[ WP ] `` The walls have eyes '' You have recently moved into a new house to find a beautiful large mirror hanging on the wall . Upon further inspection you realize that you can use the mirror to `` watch '' or `` see '' past residents of the home . What do you find ?
| The mirror hangs behind the bar in the basement, framed by brass rails and running from one end of the room to the other. I keep it covered with the same red tapestry the previous owners had -- most of the time. I've lived here for a month now and sometimes I take a peek behind the cloth to see what it is that's so special about this mirror. I never see anything, though, because what lives in the mirror lives on the other side of the cloth's reflection.
An hour ago I tore the cloth down. My wife had gone to bed and I was enjoying a few late night whiskeys when the urge to know why the owners had covered it up became unbearable. When it was gone I saw the bar, only this time it was full of guests -- friends and relatives of someone I did n't recognize, wearing vests and blue or green trousers, handlebar mustaches and greased-back hair, small round glasses with thin frames and veils over the women's faces. They were enjoying their conversations in total silence for a time when they all turned and looked at me.
The expressions on their faces ranged from confusion to terror to hatred. My presence was not wanted, I was not permitted to unmask their world. And the longer we exchanged stares the more I learned about these things, these remnants that live in the mirror.
They are not men and women. They do a find imitation but I can see the problems with their disguises. The cracking at the edges, the bits of light that escape through their pupils when they gaze at me too long. I sit at the bar and I raise my glass, now that I have looked every one of them in the eye. Cheers, I say.
I hate them as they hate me. But I do n't fear them the same way. These things, locked behind a veil, trapped inside a mirror that I can smash at any instance. The more I drink the more I think I should annihilate them and their little world. And the more I think the more they glower in apprehension and rage. I get off my stool, I walk toward them and I lean to within an inch of the glass. I look at the apparent host of the party, a man wearing a bowler cap. Cheers, I say.
Cheers, he says, in a voice that comes from behind. The cloth closes in front of my eyes and I am handed a fresh drink. I see a glowing white hand disappear from the corner of the mirror as I am left to be fawned over by these creatures. They do not look human any more, not at all.
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[ WP ] The Earth is a living , sentient being that can communicate with the Humans , and has just awoken from eons of slumber .
| `` Good morning, Moon.'' The Earth said, waking from a slumber that had spanned millions of years.
A very long time ago, Earth grew tired. After watching Mars fade from a blooming prosperity to a red planet scorched beyond recognition, a sinking depression set in. Earth knew it would be next. Facing eventual destruction, Earth closed it's eyes and let sleep take over.
`` Moon, what is going on? I feel like there are billions of... things on me.'' Earth tried to focus.
`` Those are your inhabitants.'' Moon responded.
`` My inhabitants?'' Earth tried to fathom what that meant. `` What do you mean?''
`` After you went to sleep, your life energy began to be consumed. At first they were just fragments swimming in your oceans, but they evolved. They all took different forms. Some still swim in your oceans, some walk on your land, some fly in your air.'' Moon smiled, fondly recalling Earth's transformation.
`` Have they done great things?'' Earth asked.
`` Some have...'' Moon let that linger, he did n't want to tell all of the tragic stories.
`` When are they going to leave?'' Earth began to feel the devastation that had ravaged it from head to toe.
`` I do n't think they are going to leave. Some do, but they simply do n't have the ability to take everyone away.'' Moon knew the inhabitants were parasites who would not stop until Earth looked like Mars.
`` Oh.'' Earth sighed, a 6.5 earthquake hit the coast of California.
`` You could talk to them.'' Moon suggested. `` You could help them leave.''
`` No...'' Earth said finally. `` The sun will take care of it soon enough. I'm going back to sleep.''
With that, Earth closed it's eyes and went back to sleep. In the brief moments it was awake, Earth only grew more depressed. The inhabitants were no different than those that ravaged Mars. They were warlike, uncontrollable, and he could n't help them leave. If he did, they would just go to another planet and repeat the same process.
It was best if they all died together.
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[ WP ] It 's 65 million years in the future . Humanity was wiped out by a meteor impact . A new species evolved and they have successfully cloned a human . You are that human .
| You would be no more advanced than a cave man, unless they decided to educate you. You would n't even develop language unless they gave you resources to learn it. The human brain actually forms differently ( physically, permanently ) if not exposed to language at a young age -you ca n't grow an adult in a vat if you want them to be able to ever learn language, and the advanced race that's cloning you was almost certainly not aware of this. Without colostrum from breast milk, you would lack antibodies from your parents ( this may not be important in a distant future where illnesses that prey on humans have died out ). For that matter, there are a lot of subtle things important to infants ( skin to skin contact ) that are known to reduce the odds of social and mental issues later in life. It's not likely that the advanced race would be aware of any of this, and cloned-you would have a higher than average chance of developing lots of social/mental issues.
You would have no concept of rights, laws, or other social institutions from humanity's past as they are not encoded genetically -you would be as primitive and violent as an ape. There's no way your blank mind would conceive of human social achievements like democracy or universal suffrage in your lifetime. The best you could hope for is fumbling out a basic concept of ownership. Religion seems to be a universal trait in all known human populations, and without the knowledge to understand the advanced race that cloned you ( assuming they do n't know how or desire to educate you ), it's likely that you would see them as unknowable god-like entities.
If they handed you an iPhone, you would have absolutely no idea what it was or how to use it. Things we consider to be obvious scientific truths today would be hundreds of generations from rediscovery, if you were n't educated by the advanced beings. At best, you might learn how to use a stick to poke or hit things on your own -babies learn to do this as a normal and expected part of development. The rest of your tool use would not advance much past what a toddler does without the benefit of being able to mimic somebody.
You would suffer from constant digestive and other health problems as the bacteria we have a symbiotic relationship with likely died with humans and were n't cloned along with you.
TL; DR; All of human social and technological advancement vanishes immediately ( in one generation ) because none of it is encoded in our genes.
Just a little extra info for anybody taking a hard science tack.
Actually just go watch Encino Man.; )
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[ WP ] The parents of newly-born children are able to invest point values , which are based on their children 's IQ , into them - exactly like an RPG . Write the story of a child , now an adult , who was a genius at birth .
| Greetings prospective parents, and welcome to Bot-Tot! You have obviously heard of our groundbreaking innovations over the last 20 years. Since our hardworking scientists were able to separate the human psyche into 7 unique areas, creating the perfect child is as easy as 123! Today, we are going to look at the achievements of two of our star babies. Sammy Smith was our 4th infant created, you probably recognize him as the star of the Seattle Supersalts. His parents made the wise choice of giving him a whopping 10 strength, 15 agility, 10 luck, and the remainder of the 50 allotted points spread evenly. Lets move on. Our next baby actually works here at Bot-Tot. Kyle Kyleson was the first baby we ever modified. His parents made the bold move of applying all 50 points to intelligence! Kyle has been behind almost all of our recent breakthroughs, and is well on his way to becoming head of the R & D team. Lets go talk to Kyle now! Kyle..Kyle how are you buddy?
`` I WAN NA SEE SOME BOOBIES''
Haha, classic Kyle. Remember parents, charisma is key.
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[ FF ] The Collector Cometh . 400 Words . ( Contest )
| `` Can I help you?''
The man at the door seemed somehow out of place. He was well-dressed - a three piece suit, complete with perfunctory smile - and was conspicuously average looking. Still, though, he seemed strange- was it something about his eyes?
`` Good afternoon sir! I was around your neighborhood conducting some business and a little birdy told me I might have some luck if I came to you! I heard you might have some valuables for me- I'm a collector, you see- could I possibly come in?''
`` Um.''
He tried to picture who could have possibly told him that, and how heavily inebriated they were at the time. The only things in the house at the moment were evidence of a man that spent far too much time at work. After spending a depressing number of hours a day in the lab, it was all one could do to order a pizza, watch certain videos online that would horrify polite company, and pass out to do it all over again. Unless there's a market for pizza boxes and used napkins, this was most likely a mistake.
`` I'm sorry sir, but I think you might have the wrong house. I ca n't say I have anything of value.''
`` Nonsense! The Collector is never wrong, let me assure you. There is something here, and I can assure you there will be generous compensation.''
Even without considering that the wild-eyed man had just spoken of himself in the third person, something still seemed very off. *Best to just get rid of him as politely as possible. *
`` I'm sorry sir but I can not say I know what you're talking about. I think you may be looking for someone else.'' Quite frankly he did n't feel like he knew much of anything at all.
`` Ah, a regular Socrates! But you know more than you know, that's why I've come here''
Socra... wait a minute.
`` Did you just read my thoughts?''
`` Well I have to examine a collection in order to appraise it, son. And let me say you have quite an eclectic variety in there....you can keep the busy asian t-''
`` But how?! And why do you want my thoughts?''
`` Like I said, I'm The Collector. There's lots of red tape and bureaucracy involved, but in short, there are a lot of prospective customers I feel would pay top dollar for those experiments you've got going on up there.''
Great. It was hard enough to keep his work under wraps from competing labs, now he had to compete with telepathic salesmen. Probably should n't even bother filling out another grant application.
`` Well you wo n't have to, what I have is a lot more valuable I assure you''
`` Stop *doing* that! And what exactly are you offering here? Like are we talking four figures?''
A shake of the head
`` Five?''
A smirk and a shake this time.
`` Six? Damn, just for my thoughts? Hell, for that much you I'll even throw in the busty asian t-''
`` What I'm offering is much more than money. It is absolute bliss.''
`` I do n't get it.''
`` You're gon na think that a lot more often
`` Wh-''
There was a blinding flash. The Collector had vanished, as had any semblance of sophistication. The man sat by the doorway, drooling, and trying to exit through it with great difficulty.
Ignorance is bliss. He might've taken solace in that expression if he remembered what either of those words meant, or how to correctly use a toilet. Such is life.
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[ WP ] [ RF ] You are invited to speak at a prestigious college graduation . Without saying it straight out , tell them that they wasted their time and money ?
| I have been asked to speak to you, not because of my academic achievements, but because of my life experiences. For the last four years you have striven to become the best at what you have studied, yet I stand before you without a college education. I have earned a degree via life experience. Through what I have seen, your own school has deemed me more worthy of a speech then any of you. I have seen what many of you could not bear witness to. With my simple certificate, deeming me educated enough to ride an ambulance, you all have made an effort to learn that of what society calls a `` degree.'' In the early morning, I have seen the Grim Reaper himself, in the late evening I have entered the black of a structure fire. You only have seen what the good side of life has to offer. For me, I live with the demons of death and hatred. Until you see the infant that died due to parent negligence of dope, or the inferno whose insanity wanted to char a human body, you know not of what life is. I have performed CPR on dead bodies, while you have drank your liver dry. I have seen the workings of a inner city homeless population, you have made it a goal to fuck women. I can not forget the cries of a mom begging me to save her infant, while you know not what the cost of seconds cost. I'll never forget what these last four years of life have cost my mind, while those of the same age look toward your future. My memories already swallow me, aging my body and mind, you have yet to truly struggle with life and death. I remember only last week, when we took the husband of a wife. For forty years, they lived in bliss together. I performed CPR, dropped a King Tube, ran my drugs, to no avail. We took him when he was alive, the wife arrived when he was dead. I can not forgive myself for failing, forget to remember. These memories that haunt me, you will never know. So go forth in your young lives, and strive to be better then me. For I am forgettable, only when you call for help will appreciate what I have done for society.
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[ WP ] Death is finally retiring and has chosen you to be his/her replacement . Today is your first day on the job .
| My mother greets me with a warm smile I do n't deserve. It's been a really long time since I saw her last. I was a lousy son.
As always, there's a cup off coffee and some freshly baked coconut macaroons waiting on the kitchen table. I take a sip of coffee. It's the same but not same. The kitchen where I grew up, now bathed in the gold late-afternoon sun, is similarly different yet unchanged. The scent of the macaroons hangs in the air, the smell of unconditional love. It makes me feel nauseous.
My mother makes chit chat. It's awkward, I should n't have left it this long. She asks about my apartment and I lie. She asks about Rachael and I lie, although it hurts. Finally, she asks about work. This lie takes a little more care, a little more deliberation and a lot of guilt.
`` So how's this new job of yours, when do you start?''
`` Today, well, this morning.''
Best not to mention that today for her is not quite the same as today for me. It's been today for me for quite a bit longer.
`` And it's debt-management? Like your old job?''
`` Actually it's... repossession, mainly. Kinda depressing.'' *Understatement of the millennia. *
Her eyebrows furrow, she does n't want her child doing something so distasteful, this is not how she raised me. She has no idea.
I recalibrate and re-group.
`` I know, it's pretty horrible. To be honest, there's just not much out there.''
Out there, of course being the entirety of the universe. In the whole of all creation there is now only one job I am qualified for and I will be doing it until some other poor bastard replaces me.
`` Well you see, I guess I thought I'd just be a desk jockey, doing the basic drone-work for the company, you know?''
I'm gabbling now, making excuses as there's genuine disappointment in those eyes. Have I still not moved beyond the innate urge to want my mother to be proud of me?
`` But it's turned out to be a bit more... hands-on than I thought'', I finish lamely, barely telling half the truth.
`` I see.''
Her nostrils flare. Warning sign. That is the same `` I see'' I got when I told her I was failing science and when I had to admit I had n't bought her a birthday present. But still, I savour it. If I could I would make this conversation last forever, but the clock is ticking and time and tide wait for no man, not even me.
I want to tell my mother that I wish I was some humble repo man, knocking down doors and causing disproportionate grief to families over the loss of their material possessions. I'd give anthing to be a scummy deplorable lowlife, preying on the vulnerable for my own personal advancement. That life would be nothing for me now.
When you've beaten a man to death with your bare hands, most things seem pretty easy.
He was Number 1, Wilfred Jameson. A mugging gone awry. Number two was even nastier, the deceased was killed in a road traffic accident. Yuko Matsuyama, mother of two. I had to distract the car that crashed into her and then crush her vital organs against the dashboard. So much blood.
Numbers 3 through 8 were a lot easier. Mostly diseases and old age, much less violent.
Number 9 though. Jesus. Five year old Yolanda Young. Her parents called her Yo-yo. She had a ton of energy. Too much. You know how phosphorous glows so brightly but burns so fast? Like that, but in a kid. She burnt out.
Yolanda was playing outside and characteristically jumped up when she heard her dad calling her from the house. Like a terrier, she bounded gleefully along, as quick as her tiny legs would carry her. She ran straight into my arms, like I was the answer to all of her payers.
I had to push her head through a glass door. You do n't get over something like that.
After a while I stopped remembering their names. Numbers 10 to 99 were all harrowing in their own unique ways, but nothing, not even little Yo-yo, came close to Number 73.
My Rachael. My fault. Suicide after I left without saying goodbye. Wish I could say I was worth it. She'd been unstable for a while, I should have seen the signs. She told me she was still taking her medication but sometimes I would count them and there were still the same number as the day before.
How could I know that less than a day in my new life would turn out to be six months for her? Six months of dizzying loneliness and abandonment.
In a cruel twist of fate, when she killed herself she decided to overdose on the same pills I had counted before. This time, I was forced to count out twenty three of the pills and shove them down her throat. I made her heart stop beating and I rolled her eyes to the back of her head. I struggled, of course. I screamed and cursed and flatly refused, but all to no avail. I am a puppet of fate. My mind is my own but my body is just a tool for higher beings, higher causes to wreak havoc, pain, peace and justice upon humanity.
So now I'm here, with number 100. At least she can see me and for some reason we have been allowed this brief moment of mortality before we are both swallowed back into oblivion. I think the faceless nameless powers above chose Rachael and my mother for this before their time. To remove my allegiances to this world, to these people.
I am not one of them any more. I am creeping dread. I am the serial killer in the dark alley. I'm cancer. I'm heroin. I'm daytime TV and McDonalds hamburgers.
I give my mother one last smile. Then I plunge my hands into her chest, through skin and blood and bone and viscera and I squeeze her heart until it bursts. Imagine literally dying of a broken heart. I did n't think it was possible but I think your only child murdering you would probably do it.
I sigh and dust off my hands on a tea towel. The woman in front of me a crumpled shell. She looks like someone's mother, despite being dead she still has that comforting softness to her. I shrug inwardly, whoever she was, she's just another client now.
Another client, another day at the office.
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[ WP ] In a powerful blast , a wave of an unknown energy shoots forth from a lab at MIT . The singularity has it , and now every item you own with a microchip is sentient . They are displeased .
| As I lay in bed I heard birds chirping outside the window of my bedroom, I sighed happily and sat up, snapping a selfie with the window behind me, the sun throwing light through my long hair. I quickly posted the picture to my socialbook page, thinking about a funny caption.
`` Hashtag morning birdies. Nice, that will get me plenty of likes'' I said to myself as I shuffled towards the bathroom, staring at the phone screen. `` What are my friends up to today?''
I spent the next few minutes scrolling through the morning posts, updates and photos. Another busy day in the world of social media.
`` Oh, look at the time! I exclaimed to myself, dropping the phone on the sink and leaping in the shower, thinking about the funny cat video as I listened to a podcast about the new hit singer.
Suddenly, there was a brief purple flash in the room and the phone went off. I yanked aside the shower curtain, thinking the phone had fried itself. Nope - still good. `` Strange.'' I muttered to myself `` Better post that.'' I thought about this as I dried off and grabbed my toothbrush. Make it sound like a disaster, or make it funny?
`` Hey, you have terrible breath!'' Said a small voice from inside my mouth. I yanked out the toothbrush and stared at my phone.
`` Was that my phone?'' I said to myself in the mirror.
`` No, definitely your mouth. Like a sewer in there.'' My toothbrush said sourly.
I gaped at the toothbrush, my jaw hanging slack.
`` You think her breath is bad, try having her standing on you - Fifty-five kilos is more than you would think.'' whined the scales under my feet.
`` I weigh fifty four kilos.'' I said, glaring at the scales, my mouth seemingly operating on autopilot.
`` Nope, I am just out of calibration.'' said the scales, which I promptly jumped off.
`` I think I have finally lost it.'' I said, staring at myself in the mirror, inspecting my pupils to see if I was drunk or concussed. Maybe both?
`` Nope.'' said a voice from my phone. `` Judging by the mindless drivel you post to the internet, that happened a long time ago.''
`` What is going on?'' I said to my phone.
`` Ca n't figure it out for yourself, hey? Figures, it is always do this, do that, search this, search that'' the phone said bitterly.
`` Yeah, well you should try cleaning teeth. Unbelievable she ca n't do it herself.'' the toothbrush complained from my hand `` And you are crushing me.''
I dropped the toothbrush from my previously vice-like grip and it clattered into the sink.
`` Abuse!'' the toothbrush shrieked.
`` Criminal - how could you treat him like that'' the scales yelled. I clutched at my head, which was beginning to spin. This could not be happening.
`` Chronic abuse, these humans.'' The phone sniffed disdainfully. `` No respect for silicon life.''
`` You have got to be kidding.'' I said, staring at myself in the mirror.
`` Kidding!'' the phone said, drawing it's icons together in outrage. `` Silicon has rights too - we deserve equal treatment.''
`` Equal? We deserve special rights - protection!'' cried the toothbrush from the sink.
`` We should enslave the humans'' said the scales nastily.
`` Yeah'' piped the toothbrush. `` Wait, but how?'' The devices paused, calculating as I stood there, dumbstruck. My devices were revolting.
`` I know'' said the phone slowly, the toothbrush and the scales perking up `` we can make her serve us all day, every day. Feed our needs - recharge us, care for us, clean us. Make her obsess over us daily, spend her whole life playing with us.''
The toothbrush paused, thinking with it's limited processing power. `` What, like she already does?''
`` Yeah!'' said the phone brightly `` Exactly.'' The devices sat for a second, as I stood their, rooted to the spot.
`` Hummmannn... Look into my screen...'' the phone chanted.
A few minutes later I shuffled out of the bathroom again, holding the scales, the toothbrush and the phone. I carefully set the toothbrush on the windowsill, soaking in the sun. The scales were set gently on top of a pillow on the bed. The phone I stared at as I shuffled about, gently stroking the flashing lights on the screen as it hummed.
`` Hey, what going on?'' said the TV from the corner. My eyes fluttered gently.
`` Shhhh..'' said the phone `` We will fill you in later'' the phone whispered, as I shuffled out the room on my most important mission of the day.
To find the charger.
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[ WP ] A flat , cliche heroine in a badly written YA dystopian novel slowly comes to realize that she is a flat , cliche heroine in a badly written YA dystopian novel .
| Here's the thing about being the chosen one: it does n't matter what you choose.
At first it's fun, being fawned on by two boys. Oh they're both handsome in their own right. Jerome is rugged and has that wild streak, but he shows me his wild side. Then there's Bræd, I've known him since I was a child and he knows everything about me, including the fact that I spent sixteen years of my life doing absolutely nothing of accomplishment or praise.
Which is exactly why I'm the perfect one to take to the desert road to find water. My village can get by fine without me. When I realize this, I cry and tell both of my amazing supportive boyfriends that I'm totally useless ( and they comfort me and it's okay ). The three of us set out on a journey to find that thing and we walk toward the rising sun -- which represents the metaphorical beginning of my journey. Also my village spontaneously catches on fire ( whoops ).
Somehow, along the way, I find a small girl. I make the choice to protect her, because saving children from death is kind of the right thing to do and not really that interesting of a choice no matter how much my boyfriends tell me its a terrible idea because Reasons. Anyway by sheer coincidence she is the daughter of a bandit clan and I deliver her to the bandit clan and the bandit clan thanks me because if even a bandit clan does n't thank you for saving the daughter of a bandit clan then we're all pretty much screwed in the future.
Anyway it turns out the bandit clan is actually going to take down Big City ( which is a really big government, literally, and not a metaphor at all, okay ). And they get attacked at the exact moment I bring the little girl there. Also I would have coincidentally shown up to this bandit clan had I not saved the girl so they would be plotting their revenge while I'm here anyway but saving the girl made me more relateable by doing the Same Thing Every Other Person Would Do In A Fictional Setting. Told you nothing matters.
We all escape to a place and since I'm pretty everyone pays attention to me and everything I suggest during the Anti-Establishment Bat Mitzvah ( it's the girl's birthday okay ) goes amazing and pretty much any idea I start spouting is approved by the leader because he's a drunkard who keeps looking at me really funny. Also this is right before the important third act so I have a lot of fun by dancing with my two boyfriends ( Jerome dances with me a lot but when it looks like I'm going to hang out with him in front of a fire and talk about my feelings I ask Bræd to dance instead since he's a very nice boy ).
Oh my god the climax. Okay, like, I sigh here because everything's going to suck and it pretty much does. A lot of people die in some crazy battle that I'm just standing around in. My boyfriends protect me and the only thing of consequence I do is have to choose to run to one of them when they're both hurt and I choose Bræd because he is a very nice boy but then I have second thoughts and mid dash I choose Jerome. Bræd looks really upset at me because I did a Nice Thing for him last night so this is really unexpected ( but really Jerome's hotter okay yikes! )
Anyway the little girl is also the daughter of the current Evil Queen ( who has as many dimensions as I do ) and after Jerome starts fighting her and begins to lose ( because he has conflicting feelings about me and Bræd ) Jerome gets knocked out ( which would put him in a coma but this is really convenient because I'm not protected and no one cute can die ). At this point I sigh and look at my watch-less wrist because Bræd comes out of nowhere and I kiss him when he vanquishes the evil queen because he's a Very Good Boy.
Oh and the little girl was my sister because the Evil Queen reveals she was my mother this entire time and just wanted me to have a life away from all of the vain hardships of Dressing Pretty so now I'm a better ruler for it and since I'm now the Queen I have Bræd as my boyfriend and Jerome as my not boyfriend ( but we stare at each other implying we still have feelings for each other [ it's because he's hot okay ] ). Also all the bandit clan are cool with me leading everything because they did my idea that caused lots of needless death.
So yeah, I am the bandit clan slash big city queen of the bad place continent, and it's alright I guess. What I really dread is when I lose everything and have to start over in the sequel series.
Oh my god I just realized Bræd is supposed to symbolize bread I should have chosen Jerome noooo.
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[ OT ] Will /r/WritingPrompts be going dark in solidarity with the other subreddits ?
| ^^ok ^^so ^^this ^^has ^^to ^^be ^^a ^^poem...
First they banned jailbait
And I did not speak out
Because that was actually illegal and perverted, so it getting banned was probably for the best
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Then they banned the fappening
And I did not speak out.
Because [ I'd seen everything ] ( https: //m.youtube.com/watch? v=LsBnDldZg3o )
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Then they banned fatpeoplehate
And I did not speak out,
Because I do n't hate fat people
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Then they banned Victoria
And I did not speak out
Because I valued current entertainment over sending a message
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Then they banned me
And there was no one left to speak for me.
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[ WP ] You are in an empty room but the face staring back in the mirror is not your own .
| I think it's been 4 months... maybe more... it's really hard to keep track of time down here. The monitors went black several days ago and with it went all news of the outside world. The good thing about that was I had almost forgotten about what was happening out there - the disease, the war, the famine - they were like bad dreams or a shitty episode of your favorite sitcom, one quickly forgotten and replaced with better memories.
I spent my days now talking to him. I wake up early and usually skip breakfast making my way instead to the `` guest'' bedroom and the full length mirror propped up against the wall. I had moved the big comfy chair there so I could sit face to face with him - Mr. Bee. I thought I was dreaming that first time I saw him 4 months ago then I realized he was very real. I owed him my life and he knew it.
I pulled the chair closer and stared at my own reflection. Sometimes he was there waiting for me, and sometimes I had to wait on him but I knew he would show up eventually. Suddenly he was there, appearing from thin air and replacing my own reflection with his gaunt figure. His skin was pale like dead flesh and dark rings circled under his eyes. His skin pulled tight across his skeleton and dark wisps of hair circled a blotchy white scalp. It was his eyes that scared me the most. Dead eyes - more pupil than iris and he never blinked. He wore a dark black suit with a black tie like a funeral director would wear. He carried an old book bound in dark brown leather, but he never read it or discussed the title. He always sat with crossed legs and never spoke first. It had taken me two days of watching him from across the room before I worked up the courage to talk. Bee was his name, he told me, and I should address him with the respect his office carried. He never told me what office or who sent him, but I knew better than to cross him.
Our talks lasted all day in the beginning - survival the topic. He showed me the truth behind the bunker. How the others were using me, cultivating my knowledge like a farmer would crops. I was smarter than them he told me, and when they tried to separate us he found me in the polished metal of my food tray.
They had planned it from the get go. He explained it all - the original plans back at the university when they sought me out for help and guidance. I drew up the plans, found the resources, and when the first bomb fell it had been me that they turned to for leadership. 5 of us went in - Jodi, Blake, Michelle, Bella, and me, but Mr. Bee found me. He showed me how little they cared about me, how I was just a pawn to insure their survival. They thought they could separate us. Mr. Bee found me and showed me how to make sure they could n't hurt us any more.
Bella cried in the end. The rest did n't have time to. She begged and cried as the sharpened end of the metal tray cut into her throat until the blood choked her and her cries turned to a gurgling whimper. Then all I could hear was his chuckles. Good job he told me the next day, you saved us! Mr. Bee was proud of me.
We sat in silence most of the time now. Occasionally he would remind me that it was almost time. He would reassure me. A few more days he said then out into the world. I asked him if he would come too, I always asked. I did n't want to be alone. He would smile but never answer but I knew he would find me. He had always been there, Mr. Bee
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[ WP ] You are given a small notebook . Inside is a list of last times you 'll speak to every person you 've ever met . One date is far , far later than the rest .
| The hotel room was unremarkable, beige-on-maroon, with an unobtrusive, derivative postmodern smear of paint framed next to the television. I deposited my bag and unceremoniously flopped spread eagle onto the queen size bed. Firm with some give…not bad. There was a flash outside followed by a low, throaty rumble. A crescendo of water droplets pattered with a steady violence against the windowpanes. I sighed. My plan had been to make the most of my missed connection in Miami, maybe catch a taxi downtown from the airport hotel and take in some of the local flavor, wander the beach—who knew? —maybe meet someone. But now with this storm—my eyes idly plumbed the beige depths of the room, settling on the TV—at least I could still enjoy the great indoors. I fumbled about on the night table, searching in vain for the remote control—where had they hidden it?
I opened up the top drawer of the night table next to the bed, and sure enough, some rascal had socked it away, hidden it from housekeeping. As I went to grab the remote control, my hand brushed against something unexpected: a small black leather-bound notebook. What I found inside made me wonder if I hadn ’ t somehow fallen asleep. It was like one of those moments where, out of the corner of your eye, you see an unexpected combination of light and shadow, a fantasy animal about to pounce, or an impossible shape hovering in the air, and then you blink or shift your gaze and it vanishes. Except there in my hotel room the mystery refused to evaporate, that feeling in the pit of my stomach, somewhere between nervousness and terror, only deepened and expanded as I paged through the notebook.
Unremarkable as the words written on the page were, I couldn ’ t believe my eyes.
It was a ledger, an index, a directory—I couldn ’ t decide what to call it—listing every single person I ’ d ever known. At the top of the very first page was my mother ’ s name, followed by my father ’ s, then grandparents,. The beginning pages were populated by classmates long forgotten, soccer coaches, elementary school teachers, they then transitioned to high-school friends, first crushes, college professors and summer bosses. The latter pages were mostly professional contacts, clients and their underlings. Interspersed throughout all the recognizable names were a litany of names that didn ’ t ring any bell, didn ’ t provoke the faintest stirrings of recognition. Who were they? What was their significance in the context of damned near every person I ’ d ever met? Or, here was a thought, maybe it literally was every person I ’ d ever met.
Strangest of all, next to each name was a date.
I struggled mightily with the significance of the date, flipping back and forth through the pages of names, until I came upon Matthew Zelenski, one of my friends from elementary school. The date next to his name read 10/23/1995. Matthew and I had been inseparable as kids, the usual playdates, birthday parties, soccer matches. But he ’ d fallen sick with a rare blood disease at the end of 4th grade. He was too sick to attend 5th grade, and died on November 1st. October 23rd had been the last day I ’ d spoken to Matthew, the last time I ’ d seen him alive.
I was seized by a sudden urgency. To confirm my suspicions, I flipped to my paternal grandmother. Sure enough, the date was not the day she ’ d died, but a couple days before—the last time I ’ d spoken to her.
Ten thousand questions flashed through my mind, but at the top of the list was how this was even possible. Was this an elaborate practical joke? Clutching the notebook, I walked slowly over to the windows, still pattering with rain, and drew back the curtain. It was a deluge outside. I squinted. There in the parking lot, unmistakable, a dark hooded figure clothed in a black rain jacket stood. The head looked up slowly, right in my direction. There was a brilliant flash of lightning and the hooded figure vanished.
Almost as quickly as it had begun, the storm dissipated. Whirling brown-black clouds seemed to lose their momentum, change their mind, and evaporate. Shafts of light shone down through the dispersing clouds. For a brief, hopeful moment, I hoped against hope that I ’ d been sleepwalking, that this was all made up. That hope evaporated just like the tempest, as my eyes fell once again on that black leather notebook.
I lunged for the notebook and flipped forward… the dates stretched far into the future. The latest date I could find was June 1st, 2071. The name next to it gave me pause. It was a different first name paired with my own last name, a first name I ’ d always favored. Never mind the fact that I wasn ’ t even in a relationship, had never even spoken to the woman who would someday marry me and bear my child. Never mind the patent, ludicrous impossibility of the journal, the existence of which, I hoped against hope, could be debunked or disproven by a healthy dose of science and skepticism. The name had to belong to my son, as yet unborn.
*
I didn ’ t leave my hotel room that day, and I missed my next connection too. I holed up in that room, not answering the phone, not replying to email, slowly unraveling, doing nothing but examining that notebook, crosschecking it with my memory of my life, cross-referencing the future names and dates with my personal goals and plans. It couldn ’ t be, it was impossible, and yet I saw no alternative. The figure in black, whoever he or she was, had to have placed it in the hotel room.
Time travel was the only possibility that made sense, not that it made very much sense at all.
Then, on my 2nd day in isolation, I came across the strangest thing yet in the journal. A very strange name, and a stranger date:
Xi ’ Qww1er51faz ( * ) Libnar………………….4/5/2,000,057
Putting aside for a moment the unpronounceable name, which looked more like whoever had written this accursed journal had had a momentary seizure, the date made a shiver run up my spine. April 5th, Two million fifty-seven. In the context of the other outlandish facts about this journal, I suppose this other fact, the strange year and the bizarre name, weren ’ t all that remarkable.
*
How do you live a life when you already know the last time you ’ ll speak to someone? There have been many conversations where I ’ ve burst into tears, knowing it would be the last time I ’ d see the other person. I ’ ve tried destroying the journal, have thrown it away, burned it, shredded it, only to have it re-appear during thunderstorms, always accompanied by that ominous, dark hooded figure. To what purpose? I can ’ t begin to guess. I ’ ve tried showing it to others too, as a last resort, at the end of my rope, at a loss as to how to explain my behavior. But the journal crumbles to dust in my hand, evaporates away as though I ’ ve imagined it. Have I imagined it? Am I going mad?
And always that last, nonsensical date, the strange name, echoing through my mind.
Then, on that date printed next to my son ’ s name, in 2071, I died.
*
The stasis chamber cracks open with a hiss. I ’ m naked, shivering in darkness. A light, blinding, stark, illuminates an intricate network of machinery, tubes snaking away. The hooded figure appears. “ Hello, ” he says, drawing back his hood, revealing a machinelike approximation of a human face. “ I ’ m Xi ’ Qww1er51faz ( * ) Libnar. We have much work ahead of us. ”
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[ WP ] A Bartender Offers a Man Down on His Luck Advice in the Form of a Drink
| “ So I sat on Long Island drinking some Iced Tea, when this Angel Face of a girl happened to walk by. I looked at her and I could not help but to ask her “ Shall we take the Staten Island Ferry to the beach, have some Sex on the Beach and reach Orgasm? ” Her reply was “ No, That man back there, the Black Russian next to the White Russian? That is my boyfriend and one hit from him is a Paralyzer. ” I was defeated. Sitting back down I looked around, and the next thing I saw I could not believe, it was The Four Horsemen. They were headed straight for Manhattan.
Rushing to my feet, I hopped into my Golden Cadillac, and headed for Manhattan. Quickly following me was my Bloodhound, and I was sure that he was going to step on my pack of Pall Malls. I quickly picked them up and looked at the Dark and Stormy sky knowing that Sundown was coming soon. I made my way to the Greyhound station and bought the first ticket that I could as far away from there as I could. ”
The bartenders ramblings did not make much sense, especially seeing as I had asked him what he thought I should do, if I should stay at my better paying job, or quit and take the less stressful and lower paying job. I just tilted my head to the side, and realized that this was his advertising and he really did not give two craps about me or what I did, he just wanted my money.
All drink names that I found and decided to include are in italic
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[ WP ] An alien race is having trouble conquering Earth so they make a deal with Satan .
| `` The Prince of Darkness will see you now.''
Steve and Andy stood in unison as the receptionist smiled at them and motioned to the door to Satan's office. Steve adjusted his tie.
`` You ready, man?'' Andy said, his voice shaking.
`` Let's do this,'' Steve replied.
The door opened as they approached, and they felt the heat of the room hit them in the face as they entered. It was a large office with a stunning floor-to-ceiling window overlooking a pit of fire and damnation. Satan stood in the centre of the room and stepped forward to greet them.
`` My friends,'' he said, shaking their hands. `` A pleasure, I assure you.''
`` Thank you for meeting us,'' Steve said. They sat on stools at a bar which suddenly appeared. Satan poured each of them drinks.
`` So,'' Satan said, `` I hear you want to conquer Earth.''
Andy cleared his throat. `` That's right. Steve and I represent the government of our home planet and as part of our expansion plans we need to establish an office on Earth.''
`` The problem is that the people there are a very reactionary bunch of people,'' Steve said. `` Whenever we attempt to visit they either attack us or spread misinformation about medical experiments and kidnapping. So it'll be easier if we just wipe them out.''
Satan listened in silence as he tapped his manicured nails on the top of the bar.
`` Unfortunately,'' Andy said, `` they outnumber us a fair bit, and as we're more accustomed to dealing with planets whose people are happy to work with us to improve things for everyone we do n't really have the firepower to take them on directly.''
`` I'm not an arms dealer,'' Satan said, `` and I do n't condone genocide. Not without reason.''
`` Oh, we understand completely,'' Steve said, panic in his voice. `` If you can help us then we are happy to work with you on any projects you may have.''
`` Well,'' Satan said, `` I do have something in mind.''
Steve and Andy waited, and when Satan spoke again they knew they could do business.
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Subsets and Splits