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[ WP ] God does an AMA .
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**You get one question. **
It was a sticky across every subreddit. Under the username `` God''. In full, it read the following:
> Hi, this is God.
> You know me by many names and histories, some much less correct than others.
> I will answer one question on XX/XX/XXXX, GMT, a year from this post. The most upvoted question will be answered.
> Proof:
> [ IMGUR LINK ]
> [ IMGUR LINK ]
> [ IMGUR LINK ]
>: - )
The same paragraph was repeated in the 20 most-used languages. The proof was three-fold. First, a table detailing the temperature and humidity for 10 major cities for the next month. Then, a single number - a counter-example for the Collatz conjecture. Finally, a picture of the URL for the AMA written into a mountain range - the coordinates pointing to somewhere in Northern India. It checked out on Google maps, and no one had noticed it before.
The Internet went wild. No, the world went wild.
After the initial `` Holy Shit'' reaction by the first readers, the news spread. The URL became the most tweeted link of all time. The most shared link of all time on Facebook. It topped every form of social media. Every website got overloaded with traffic while the Internet shat its collective pants. Within hours, it was on every major news site and news station.
Of course, the Reddit team had it the hardest. First, the web traffic absolutely decimated the servers, so they had to fix that. Then the flood of comments meant that moderators has to go into overdrive. Then people started calling foul, calling the Reddit management team out for the terrible hoax. So the engineers had to look into how this post was made in the first place.
Turns out, the post was n't hacked, or created or modified. The Reddit programmers looked into their code and found no errors - except that it was inevitable that the post would appear. The engineers then found that it was built into Python itself. And the oddity in that code went all the way down to the mathematics of information theory. As if the post was always pre-destined to appear.
Of course, it would take a while for that whole investigation to play out. For now, people were simply going off their `` Is this really happening?'' shock, and not even reacting to the news.
It was a Sunday ( in most timezones ). It would take until some time on Monday before the general acknowledgement of God's existence, and Thursday before people would seriously start considering:
**'' So, what will we ask? `` **
[ This prompt is really exciting - I'll need to continue this tomorrow, after some more planning. ]
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[ WP ] You live a full lifetime everynight when you go to sleep and dream . However , experiencing death with every wakeup is quickly driving you insane .
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I sleep in hotels now. If this is my life, is this is what is real and what I come back to, then I have to make it that. Somehow. If I have a home, my home ca n't be purgatory. When I wake in the morning it ca n't be the same every time. All of these lives, but this is the one I return to. They slip away, this one goes on. It has to be a life, it ca n't be the waystation between. My life ca n't be where I go when I die.
The first time it was terror. The first hundred times. It has to have been close to one hundred, the terror lasted about the length of a summer. I would wake in a cool room, the sound of the air conditioner, the warmth of my bed and Melinda beside me. `` Did you have a dream?'' she asked the first time. There had been the sound of an oxygen machine. There had been a low steady beep, and then the beep never stopped.
I could n't tell her I'd fallen in love with another woman. Been married. I could n't tell her I had been another man. There were no children, in that first other life.
`` Are you alright?'' She asked the second time. `` Has something been bothering you?'' I had died a child in that life. Fallen from a tree to brutal rocks below. The life of that first night had already faded to vague memory.
The third night another life, children this time, children I had loved as much as I do my own daughter. Had I been a mother? Why did the death make it real? Were I just to dream of being another person, another life, it could be just a dream. But somehow a death cast definition on all before it. I did n't wake with the feeling of falling, I did n't wake with the mortal panic that made a dream a dream. I died a death, and made the lives real. I got used to the lives, but as they faded, over and over, receding from the shores of memory into some dark place in my mind, or some empty place in time, the deaths took me out with them.
I live infinitely flailing in an empty sea.
Melinda has n't left me. I see my daughter every day, and my love for them is all that has not dwindled.
I died last night in a war, screaming over my own viscera until everything I was slipped away, shrunk, became insignificant, and then blossomed again in an empty hotel room. The death to make the life real, to make this life, with Melinda, with my daughter, Sophia, with a brother and a father and I had a cat. The cat was in the room every night that first summer. I do n't remember it's name. It's a small grey shadow walking through a memory of purgatory now.
I see my wife every day, she is patient with me despite my absence. I woke one day and could not remember the pattern of her eyes, I check every day now, cling to it like drift-wood in a maelstrom.
Sophia can count to ten now. She ca n't pronounce four, though. One of the beautiful details of the world, one of the things that holds a life together around it, the way she pronounces the number four, and this morning, I ca n't hear it in my head. If I die in this life, will it make it real? I will see them after work this evening, we'll have dinner. I'll ask Sophia to count for me.
And then I remember that that's what I would do anyways, I remember that memory is a tricky thing in all cases. The mornings are the hardest. I'll drift back on this shore of uncounted deaths, I'll find the bright colors of this life amidst that gentle constant void, I'll return to it over and over. A life is worth effort, I have the tools, every time this beautiful purgatory emerges I will carve it again into a shore.
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[ WP ] Everyone ages based off of their birthday on the Gregorian calendar , leaving those who are born on leap day to age 4 times slower than everyone else
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Excerpt from audio recording – Interview 0136/PA with Patient L. Taken from the archives of Blackwood Hospital, year redacted.
Patient L: It ’ s a dream, immortality. It is a dream that will never come true, but then we all know that, don ’ t we? I am no immortal of course, we ’ ve already established that to be impossible. But I am as close to an immortal as you will ever meet. That I can promise you.
Since achieving consciousness, mankind has struggled to know and understand all of life ’ s greatest questions. That ’ s why we have scientists and philosophers and doctors and artists, so they can tell us how the world was made. They can tell us if it was God or an explosion, and that we come from primates and how smart we are and how we should eat and on and on it goes. The world is full of information that only we can make any sense of and even more that we can ’ t, and it takes thousands of years to even scratch the surface of it all.
Let me ask you, how could life ’ s great questions exist without human beings to think them up? Mankind ’ s purpose and place in the grand scheme is to strive for knowledge and seek out answers about everything. We want to know everything about our little galaxy and on in the vast, infinite expanses of space.
Hmm, what was that? ( inaudible ) Oh, I do apologise. Sometimes my mind wanders off…well, I suppose you know all about that, being who you are. The universe opens you up, and you think about things you wouldn ’ t otherwise, things that are beyond the limited lifespan of the average human being. But then, I ’ m not an average human being. Quite the opposite.
Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the desire to understand. People don ’ t like it when something can ’ t be explained, simply or otherwise. It riles them up, don ’ t you find? When you ’ re born on a leap day, time becomes a different beast altogether. It is slow, and so time passes you by without you realising. This is what I realised when I turned ten and still looked like a four-year-old. Can you imagine? No, of course you can ’ t, that ’ s why I ’ m in here, talking to you. I don ’ t mind, I suppose. I ’ d rather be in here with you than out there. At least in here there ’ s some kind of constancy; change has less of an impact in here. You ’ ll be replaced by another one of your sort, eventually, as will everyone else here. I ’ m here, the constant patient, the one thing that never changes.
What, do you think I haven ’ t done all of this before? The faces change, but the questions remain the same. It gets tedious, but then everything becomes tedious when each ten years of your life lasts for forty. To be trapped in childhood, then adolescence, I would never wish it on anyone.
The passage of time is nothing when you age as slowly as I do. It ceases to be meaningful in any real way; there ’ s so much of it stretching out in front of you that you can ’ t possibly know what to do with it. After a while you stop being sure of the facts, you stop being sure of who you even are. What do you call me out on the ward? Patient L, is it? It ’ s as good a name as any; the people that gave me my first name are long gone, after all.
( inaudible )
Listen here, doctor, do you know what it ’ s like watching the people you love grow old and die while you desperately wait to get out of the prison of childhood, and all because of the day that you were born? I can no longer even recall how long I have been on this earth, only that I outlived my own children, and everyone knows that ’ s not that natural order of things. It isn ’ t right for a parent to see their child buried, but I saw it, I saw my flesh and blood wither away like flowers. I can ’ t even remember the faces of my parents, or their names. I am followed by ghosts, no matter where I go. To live the life of a leap day child is to harden your heart to the spectres of your past, because your past is much longer than your shadow. We have more than enough time to perfect this.
You want to know why I ’ m talking about all of this? I ’ ll tell you. Being born on a leap day, like I was, isn ’ t some great gift, otherwise why would I be here? Ageing slower than everyone else around you is not something to desire, no matter how many times you ’ re told that you should wish for more time, that living on and on is something to strive for, not unless you have others to take the interminable journey with. And I don ’ t. It ’ s a curse, do you understand? To pass through time alone, with everyone around you blinking out like stars, is as far from natural as I can see.
You know that this is true. My records tell you how long I ’ ve been here, longer than any of you, and I will be here long after you are gone. I ’ m certain that your inner cynic is struggling to believe of this. Perhaps you think that one of your colleagues has falsified my documents to play some kinds of joke on you. I wouldn ’ t blame you; it ’ s more likely than the truth of the matter, but the truth is rarely what people want to hear.
( inaudible ) I beg your pardon? ( audio distortion ) Yes, yes, take me back to my room then, I know you ’ ve all got schedules to keep to. Building lives out of blocks of time, because you all think that you have so little of it. More, more, always wanting more…
Trust me when I say this, you have enough. To have more time is to live in hell without dying. I choose to live out my seemingly endless days here because the only other choice is darkness. And here, one hundred and sixty years into this life, I still fear the eternal darkness of death.
My humanity ties me here, and all I can do is wait, and tell my story to you.
( Audio cuts out )
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[ WP ] You find a stack of `` Missing Person '' papers under your parents ' bed . All with your photo .
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I sat on the edge of my parent's bed, staring at the image of me. I removed the rusted paperclip and gently read the brittle newspaper clippings.
The girl in the image was my five year old self. The name of the town sounded familiar. Then I remembered, we moved from that town when I was seven. That was ten years ago.
The last photo was the clearest yet. Yep, there was my birthmark, on my right cheek. Like looking into a mirror.
*Wait*.
That's not my right cheek, the mark is on her left cheek. And the slight droop in the right eye; mine is on my left.
I have a twin. I must find her.
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[ IP ] The Castle in the Clouds
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Desmond was not long for this world, and he knew it. Even now, from the depths of the keep, he could hear the telltale breath of darkness rushing toward the last stronghold of Peloria. The misty whisper chilled the kind prince to the core. It was nothing like the sound his father, King Drasr, had spoken of; even a man on the doorstep of death could not hope to imitate the terror of the faceless voice. The keep would not restrain the darkness for long. It was coming for him, as it had been all his life.
The mist had taken the swamps first, leaving nothing but death in its wake. No one knew what to do against such an ethereal foe; the southern border guards, still green from their fathers ’ wheat fields, trembled and shook as the billowing wall of darkness took town after town by silent force. The farmers of the Midlands had time to arm themselves, but what do you wield to fight an invisible enemy? At least the cattle-raisers and barn-builders died with weapons in their hands and songs in their hearts; the same could not be said of the nobility. They cowered in their keeps, praying to the gods of gluttony and greed for redemption. The mist was more than happy to oblige, casting their lifeless corpses upon the riches they once coveted so dearly.
King Drasr fell on the steps of the Durnmeer, overtaken by the misty onslaught. The doors of the massive fortress held for three days against the tide of silence as the king slowly expired. Prince Desmond could still hear his father ’ s last words, raspy and weak, in his head: “ Flee… You must… outrun the darkness… ”
The sandstone walls shuddered around Desmond; the unseen beast had found him. It was only a matter of time now. The kind prince pulled his cloak tight around him, warding off the cold that came just before the nothingness arrived. “ Forgive me, father, ” he spoke, even as the whisper of death filled the cavernous depths. “ I ran as far as I could. ”
And so the once-great kingdom of Peloria fell to the silence.
-007
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[ WP ] You go to bed as usual , only to wake up in the morning naked with $ 100,000 on your dick .
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I slowly regain consciousness to a familiar sensation on my genitals as I open my eyes. `` I must be dreaming'' I say as I close my eyes, only to realize that I am, in fact, awake. I sit up to find myself stark naked with $ 100,000 on my penis. Even though I retired as a male stripper seven years ago, the feeling of dollar bills on my penis never left me. Those kinds of things never leave a man as long as they live. But I've never seen quite this much before. And where did it come from?
There's no way that this can be legal tender.
I examine the $ 2 bills on my genitalia, and they seem to be legal tender.
`` I've got to convert this to dogecoin before the IRS finds out about this.'' I'm all alone in my studio apartment yet I am compelled to say these thoughts aloud. `` What happened last night?'' Last thing I remember was binge watching `` Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives'' on Netflix before shutting my laptop off and going to sleep. I remember putting on my pyjamas consiting of my `` Make Donald Drumpf Again'' shirt and leather thong that I sleep in, but where did they go?
These questions will have to wait as I begin the process of converting $ 100,000 in $ 2 bills to dogecoin.
Converting cash to dogecoin is as easy as 1,2,3:
1. Create a bitcoin and dogecoin wallet using block.io
2. Use LocalBitcoins.com to find a local user to swap cash for bitcoins. Because of the quantity, I'll need to do this a few times.
3. Exchange bitcoin to dogecoin on shapeshift.io
It's that easy.
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[ WP ] God reveals themselves to exist and confirms they did create your world . This is all fine and dandy until you start exploring space and find other worlds have their own , equally egotistical gods .
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I guess they were right. And by they I mean all of the holier-than-thou, our God is the only God type of Abrahamic faith followers that comprise three of the main religions of the world; Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Well, partly right. Yes, God does exist, and yes, God did create the world, but there was a good amount of detail concerning everything after that point that they got wrong. And to make matters even more confusing, God refuses to clean up the matter caused by a holy shit-ton of ambiguity.
Did you create the world 6 thousand years ago? **Always. **
What? **I am always creating the world. **
But what about the Bible? Is the creation story true? **That depends on the story. **
Did Adam and Eve exist or did we evolve from monkeys. **Yes. **
Did the flood happen? **That depends on what you consider a flood. **
Did Moses lead the Jews out of Egypt? **In one form or another. **
What about Jesus? Did he really exist to die for our sins? Is he coming back? **…**
To this we just got a lot of hemming and hawing, no real commitment to any answer. I can tell you if it wasn ’ t for his obvious presence, the non-committal attitude of God would have led to a lot of people declaring themselves atheist. But first I ’ d better go back a little. God decided to descend again just before we hit the switch for a new form of stellar travel, an engine which was supposed to fold space and allow us to travel to the farthest reaches of the universe in an instance. But like a jealous ex-boyfriend, God came crawling back after having abandoned us thousands of years before to try and stop us from looking to anyone but to him. At first we were bewildered by his sudden presence, and who wouldn ’ t be. A week of almost near chaos followed and the whole world order was upset, with holy wars flaring up as each sect of his followers tried raise the most fuss and get his undivided attention, and oh, wouldn ’ t he be so kind as to kill all of those non-believers. The rest of humanity just hunkered down and waited for things to blow over.
A week into the chaos God finally did his one and only miracle since returning by destroying all weapons any more complicated than a knife, effectively ending our creative ways of killing each other. For though God was a jealous God and wanted the attention, he wanted more followers, not less, and mass death was never his intention, he told us. As things settled down and we began to talk about why he had returned, we stumbled onto the main reason.
Why did you return? **Because I love you all so much, you know I could never really leave you. **
But why now? We thought you had forgotten us? **Come on, you know that ’ s not true. **
Ok, but why did you stop the engine test? **Uh, well, it ’ s just been so long, I wanted to spend time with you. **
But we had finally gotten over you. Most of us. And we want to explore the universe. **Ah, baby, there ’ s no need for that. You have everything you need in me. **
But what about other planets? Other stars? **Now, now, there is no need to see them. They wouldn ’ t like you anyway. **
They? The planets? **Uh, ya, right. **
It didn ’ t take a genius to figure out something was up with the way he was speaking. Actually, it took many. None of these exchanged were with a single person. God had a way of communicating with large groups of us as a whole, so as not to burn us out he said. Regardless, we figured something was up and proceeded to push the button. He couldn ’ t stop us, free will and all. I mean, he could have made the engine disappear like he had done with the guns, but some of us think he might have been afraid of pushing us away with his actions. So he didn ’ t stop us and we did push the button. It wasn ’ t long before the first crew to travel faster than light came back and gave us the lowdown.
Yes, God did create the planet and seed it with life. But apparently so did some other god of one sort or another create life on many other planets. God was our only God, but not the only god, and he was afraid that we would find out and chance ourselves with someone who might take care of our needs better than he had. He knew he was a deadbeat and was desperate to get back with us before we discovered the wider universe and the infinite possibilities of hook ups that exist. But we know now, and that will not ever change. So now we spread across the universe, each sect of humanity looking for their own personal god, while our God stays at home, watching reruns of his best times, when the world was young and he still had the stamina to last in our presence for more than a few hundred years.
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[ WP ] In the distance , a sparrow chirped uncertainly .
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Seven years ago, the town of Frimpton Hamley in England experienced what experts believe to be a case of mass-hallucination. Several hundred people took to the streets and witnessed what they claim to be terrible visions from the night skies.
The media was silenced amid concerns that the MOD had accidentally committed an experimental travesty on the citizens, which certainly would be a devastating narrative for the population to read about, with dire consequences for homeland security and the MOD as a trusted organisation.
The MOD itself was going through stages of fragmentation and development at the time, with various sections acting without the knowledge of the others. It is still not publicly known about the event, and the citizens ’ attempts at finding answers have exhaustingly come to nothing. Round and round in circles they go.
Six hundred and twenty nine testimonies were recorded, all with stunning correlation. Very little deviation between the accounts exits, with each one basically a replica of the next.
John Walters, a farmhand who lives in the town centre, attempted on seventeen occasions to talk to the national and international media about the events of April 16th. None of the press were willing to publish his story.
The town was placed under temporary quarantine shortly after, with all roads and railways entering and leaving the town blocked off and the army dispatched to act as blockade for six weeks.
John recalls the manner in which the army acted, having seemingly no sympathy for the residents of the town, who had understandably become increasingly agitated and in need of answers. Around a hundred residents were arrested and placed in makeshift cells, with 10 people to a cell of ten square metres. Several incidences of violence occurred amongst the imprisoned residents, which resulted in serious medical attention required in each case. According to John, who was kept prisoner for twenty-nine days, all of the detainees had severe and terrifying nightmares prior to the violent outbreaks.
A theme that keeps appearing throughout this disturbing tale, and one that makes an appearance in every single one of the witness testimonies, is that of a white sparrow. This is where the story starts to venture out of the extraordinary and into the downright frightening.
According to each account, on the night of April 16th, at 2300 hours, the residents were attracted from their homes by the call of a distant bird. Some believe they heard the sparrow for many weeks before the event, constantly chirping in a chorus of uncertainty, gradually becoming louder and louder until many took to the streets to find the source of the chirping.
The residents were attracted to a field a mile from the town centre, near the farm where John works. Here, the residents congregated in the pitch black, nobody talking or saying a word, as the chirping became all that they could hear. Everyone was transfixed to the night sky, where terrifying visions of a white sparrow were experienced by all of the people, as if someone had a giant projector and the sky was the screen.
The visions involved following this sparrow around the world in flight, showing the residents horrors of mass extinction and destruction around the world.
It is unknown how the witnesses reacted to these visions, or how long they were stood in the field for, since all of the accounts end with the residents picking themselves up off the grass, after having apparently fallen to their knees.
John, who lives with his wife Ellen, claims to have heard the chirping sparrow as early as February of that year. He explains that his wife was unable to hear the bird, and so he assumed that he must just be suffering from a form of tinnitus.
However, the chirping became so consistent that he became used to it. Only at night, as he drifted off to sleep did he notice the bird once again.
And that ’ s when the nightmares started. Severe visions of death and pain, every night.
John ’ s story is repeated in every single one of the six hundred and twenty nine accounts, each only differing in the details of the nightmares, and the date when they first started hearing the bird. The nightmares seem to be personal and particular to each individual, representing the deepest fears of each.
John claims that whilst under lock in the cells during quarantine, the dreams of the prisoners escalated to a point that caused panic throughout. On the first night, a young man by the name of Peter gouged out the eyes of one of his friends in the bunk bed below with his fingers, screaming his throat horse in the process.
A week later, a similar incident occurred, this time a young woman doing the same to her sister.
By the seventeenth night, another man strangled another into a coma, whilst in the cell opposite a man attempted to commit suicide by repeatedly smashing his own skull against the wall.
Of course, none of this is public, and the events are considered classified. The town has never recovered from the horrors, despite the vast majority of the residents having no recollection of any of this. Only John and a few others have memories of any of the events. Most people of the town do not remember the quarantine, or the presence of the army for several weeks.
Today marks the four-hundredth anniversary of the town, with a new crest being unveiled by the mayor to mark the occasion. The design of the crest was a public competition, with the best one being selected by a panel of the town ’ s most dedicated public servants and business owners.
There were six hundred entries, all having the same basic elements. A black shield, a red tree and a white sparrow.
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[ WP ] Upon his death , Billy Mays wound up in Hell . In exchange for a lighter sentence , he was given the opportunity to use his skills in the employment of the devil , scamming the damned and convincing the living to give up their souls . Hi ! Billy Mays here , and have I got a deal for YOU !
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Hi,
Billy Mays here, and have I got a deal for YOU.
For just infinite easy payments of just $ 1160 per month, you too can become a personal assistant to the Prince of Darkness. Yes that's right! THE prince of darkness, master of flies, ruler of the eternal land of bleeding, suffering and endless wailing!!
Instead of burning in the lake of sulphur, you can help the lord of the rotting darkness bring true sadness and despair to MILLIONS of screaming souls.
You'll be given on-the-job-training, the ability to scorn others and belittle them so deeply they wo n't want to live!
Act Now
Applications to: TrumpforPresident2016.com/humanitymustpay
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[ WP ] Earth starts to receive messages from an alien race on the other side of the galaxy . It is evident they were sent thousands of years ago . The messages begin friendly , but soon turn into pleas for help . Earth 's people are captivated by this drama , listening as a long-dead civilization collapses .
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The moving pictures from the alien race were hauntingly beautiful set to music. The music consisted of universally harmonic tones, pleasant to anyone's ears regardless of culture. Humanity was enraptured by them. Rolling hills of blue grass and magenta skies. Black sand and green oceans. There were cities, sand-colored buildings full of domes and rounded tops. The creatures were beautiful, bipedal humanoids that moved with tranquility and grace through their much-more technologically advanced civilization. The music became unpleasant. Then, the pitiful ones were shown. Clearly, the others were suffering, from hunger or disease or something like that. It was shown that the suffering tried to enter the cities but were denied. They banded together and quickly turned violent. Large mobs have sieged the cities and the fields were set ablaze. The city mobilized a military force and struck back, slaughtering the masses. Clips showed urban warfare and stacks of bodies ablaze in the center of the city. There was complete chaos in the ruined metropolis, the beings became violent to strangers and moved with feral ferocity. Then, we saw a diagram of a solar system completely unknown to us and what appeared to be plans that would assist any outside intelligent civilization the blueprints to construct a spaceship capable of reaching them. It was a cry for help, but far too late. We knew the messages were thousands of years old. But after that, what we saw next was that same spaceship, fully-assembled on a blue plain, it launches into the magenta atmosphere. A map showing the Milky Way galaxy and an icon of the ship moving across it. Then, a chart of another solar system with a yellow star. The ship icon moves past several large planets, an asteroid field and ultimately stops at a small, bluish dot, third from the yellow star.
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[ wp ] You 've developed a cheap accurate means of identifying psychopathy . Yesterday , you announced your discovery . Now you 're running for your life .
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Yesterday seems so far from today.
I was praised and thanked for my critically acclaimed psychopathy method; my hands were shaken so many times they would n't stop shaking at night.
Now, though, they are shaking uncontrollably because of the man on the porch.
His lips are smiling, but his eyes are glaring mine. It's unsettling: usually whenever I talk with someone face to face, I can see my soul reflected in their eyes, but with this stranger... it's empty, it's a vacuum.
Quickly and subtly, I could see his pupils moving from left to right, studying my appearance, facial expression, gestures.
`` Evening, sir.'' he cheerfully greeted me with a poor attempt to mask his aloofness and growing anger.
`` H-hello'' my throat was dry, my heart was nothing but strongly beating, `` How can I help you?''
`` Well, there's one thing you could do.'' he replied, his tone monotonous.
Without taking his eyes off me, he took a step forward with his right foot, and another with his left one. And so on until he climbed the stairs and stood a couple of feet away from me.
I was speechless, I wanted to react to this situation, but I could n't move, his stare was poisonous.
`` What you've accomplished is quite beneficial for the common well, I can see how this will help society get rid of those crazy bastards, does n't it?'' every word that came out of him made him even more angry, maybe he hated calling himself a'crazy bastard'. What's worse, his intonation suggested I should agree with him.
`` Well, it's not like that, I mean to be able to identify and treat those who suffer this personality disorder.''
Less than a minute passed until he answered, but time stretched itself so much I could appreciate the vulnerable insects heading towards their death, the ceiling light, and the wind slowly opening his dark coat and revealing the hilt of a knife and it's silvery-golden rivets shining under the light of the porch. All of this I saw in a glimpse.
`` But I ca n't let you take this any further.''
He saw it too.
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[ WP ] Humans are gone . Robots from the future begin DNA Splicing to recreate Humans , unknowingly the humans will be the downfall of Robotkind .
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`` What? Are you absolutely positive?'' Jin's tone was incredulous; there was no other tone it could be.
The machine across from him slowly retracted it's head from the microscope, nodding in reply to the question, `` I'm sure of it,'' it said, `` The structure is conclusive. Organic in nature.''
Dying light from the lab window painted oily shadows on Jin's brow, his sharp features defined even more than usual. He found himself frowning at the prospect of revealing this information to the Board. Even though they had given this project their blessing, it was mostly in the form of tainted funding. Something for the patriotic palace to point at with biased fingers and exclaim that there was indeed a Creator.
Even still, Jin said no more. Removing himself from the room, he practically stormed down the hallway, his duty as a public servant would n't let him keep this a secret... not even from them. At best the Board would reward him a scientific team and green-light for stage 2 of the project, and at worse he would eventually be disassembled knowing the secret of his - of everyone's - history.
`` I'd like to speak with his excellency board member Ray,'' Jin said hastily to the receptionist, `` It's a matter of urgent evidence.''
There was the sound of well-oiled gears twisting and the large, lavish door left of the receptionist's desk slid aside. Jin took the que and strode through, entering the room. As he passed the thresh-hold he could feel his night-vision code being removed, leaving him standing in complete darkness for the first time in years.
A cold, metalic voice drifted through the void, `` Jin, what a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the honor of such a visit?''
Somehow that voice always made him feel smaller. The way it seemed to pierce his outer alloy was unsettling, `` Sir Ray, we've done it. My collegue and I have peered into the base-fabric of our structure.''
`` Ahh at long last.'' The voice enhaled deeply, seemingly satisfied with the response, `` Then please, begin with the preperations to release your findings. Proof of The Creator is finally upon us.''
`` Actually sir, we found more. Our Creator, or more accurately our Creators, they were...'' he paused, mentally preparing himself for the storm, `` The results are conclusive. They were organic. Human.''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` What? Are you sure!?'' Dr. Liam shouted, rushing to the table where his fellow scientist was working.
The young lady across from him slowly withdrew her head from the device, `` Y-yes sir. It was dormant in our DNA, but I'm positive. The structure in designed, intelligent in origin.''
`` We have to tell the Comittee immediately.'' he stated, donning his hat and gloves as he spoke.
`` There's something else, Dr. Liam. There's a message in the base fabric, it's written in English. I think it's... it's a signature'' she licked her dry lips, the silence in the following moments stagnated the air until at last she managed to continue,
`` Project 2''
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[ WP ] A man commits the perfect murder . The cop investigating the case is corrupt . Looking to give his career a boost , the corrupt cop pins the murder on a random person , who happens to be the man who committed the perfect murder .
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He sat in his room staring at the photo. The photo that is the only evidence of what he had done. A task that he began weeks ago. `` It was perfect'' he thought. He began by finding a target. He watched every move for days. He followed all the spots that he typically frequents. A man, without family or many friends. It only took bumping into him twice to become friends.
We sat for hours talking at the Bar. A small place with 6 stools. It has a thick layer of dust on almost every surface except the bar itself which was frequently wiped almost like a nervous tick by the bartender. There was an old juke box in the corner and pool tables that looked as if they had n't been used since `` Dirty Dancing'' was a hit movie. The bar was called `` PIG STY'' seemingly because of the appearance but actually because the owner and part-time bartender.
The bartender used allot of our time telling us about when he was at the top of the `` Department'' making high profile arrests. Apparently, his overtime during that time was how he bought the place.
I sent a text to my target a couple days after the first and told him to meet me at the lake front right off Lake Shore drive on Chicago's south side. `` Where exactly?'' Right across from `` The Museum of Science and Industry''. It was about 9 p.m. when he showed up. We talked for a bit then I threw him in the water after making sure no one was around. I took a picture while he was calling out for help.
After an hour of looking at the photo I stood up to answer the door. It was the bartender. `` Your under arrest''.
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[ EU ] TF2 's Scout has just killed for the first time .
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Wisps drifted through a snowy crevice bridged by a wooden train crossing. Snowbanks stood at attention on either side of the track. A distant thunder approached. Smashing through the failing snow, the blue train roared into view, announcing its presence with a long drawn out drone of its horn. Cars shook the crossing, causing it rattle and shake violently. But it held.
The cars were filled with young men, most of them boys. They were shipping out for the front. The war had dragged on for more than a decade, and the reinforcements kept on getting younger and younger. A soldier cleaned his bazooka in one of the seats. Carefully and methodically, clearing out the grease and dirt, and occasional splatter of blood. The boy sitting across from him realized it was not his first tour.
The soldier was focused on his work, barely noticing the boy until the train shook violently and the boy almost dropped his gun. He glared at him and calmly spoke in a voice akin to gravel being slowly raked, `` Stow that gun, before I stow it for you, and you damn well wo n't like me to stow it.'' The boy gulped and carefully stowed his gun in a locker to the side, cursing to himself wondering why he never did that in the first place.
`` Where you from son?''
`` uh... Boston sirrr, born and raised''
`` You got ta be more sure of yourself son. No uhs or buts or any hesitation. Out there, you hesitate, your insides will end up on the insides of one of their launchers, just like the dumb bloke here did'' The soldier continued wiping down his launcher.
`` How is it out there? The front I mean''
The soldier looked up, eyes peering from underneath his blue helmet. Peering far past the kid, and through the train. `` It's no place for boys like you.'' He paused, `` how old are you kid?''
`` 16''
`` Fuck, this war has gone too long, they're throwing you into the damn grinder. You probably ca n't even drive a damn car.'' Soldier muttered some more curses under his breath, and then looked up. `` Kid you stick with me when we get-''
He never completed the sentence as an explosion rocked the train, sending shrapnel flying through the window, and into soldier's face. His bottom left portion of his jaw exploded as a burning metal fragment dug through his face. Bullets and explosions filled the air. The train was still moving. The boy stated in shock, blood splattered across his face, his blue shirt stained a deep shade of death. The sound of battles echoed from the car next door, screams of kids channeled through the speeding metal cans, straight into the kid's slack jawed visage. A huge explosion followed by a distinctly Scottish laughter brought him out of his stupor as he scrambled for his shotgun. Pounding came at the door, he scrambled to load his scattergun, shells dropping and dancing across the floor. The door burst open and the kid dove to the floor blindly firing toward the door. A glass bottle exploded as a man in a red uniform fell ontop of the kid. A cone of red started from his mid chest, all the way to his sheared of face.
The kid laid there shaking. A greasy red river flowed down the car, where he laid being the source. He shoved the body off of him, still shaking. Leaned against the wall and started sobbing. `` You liked that?! Not so tough now are ya?!''
`` AARE YA?!''
The kid continued to cry, but a deep burning sensation, from the deepest parts of his body and mind, came bursting out. A renewed vigor, lifted him up from his lean. And he looked down to the other cars.
`` There's more where that came from''
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[ CW ] Write about one of your hobbies as if it were a debilitating drug addiction . Make it somewhat hard to guess the hobby .
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I'd say it started innocently, but I knew what I was doing. We all did. It started with a small group. Just one little group. They all had to get the right gear, matching outfits, you know stuff for the lulz. Then the fighting started.
At first it was small, after all we only had small groups. But those groups grew regardless of casualties. Sometimes they were uniform to the starting group, other times they had different outfits or different gear. They we really went overboard. Why only have your crew when you can add vehicles to the mix? Transportation, crew and dudes in the hundreds- sometimes in the thousands! The fun, the chaos, the unending death and exploitation.
Then I got truly sinister. Who needs to keep the same friends and allies when I can take any friend or ally of convenience? I set about just that. I chased the new hotness, from whichever group was offering it. I'd shoot old allies in the back in a heartbeat one moment, only to swing back and dust off what was left of them a moment later.
After all, when everything is game, even you and your crew's skill and talent, there is no wrong. There is only fun. Sinister, massive fun that no one else will ever truly understand.
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[ WP ] A love potion goes horribly wrong .
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Through the steam of the tea you just poured, I comment to myself about how wonderful your eyes really are. I do n't know why I thought them to be so flat before now. After the first sip it hits me, your shoulders are perfect for children to ride on. I'm nearly done with my cup and can not imagine my life without you, no other person would be better to be a husband, a father, a grave mate. I tell you how I feel, how I do n't think I would be able to breathe without you in the room, how I probably would n't be able to live another day without knowing I would wake up next to you in the morning, how I might die if you got up from the table, do n't leave please do n't leave I will do anything never leave please stay there's nothing I ca n't do for you please, please, please. You show me a vial. You read me the label.
`` Do n't administer during ovulation.''
You ask me when my next period is, I can not answer fast enough for you, and my answer causes you to sigh.
`` Anne.''
`` Yes, love?''
`` I'm sorry.''
What are you doing? You're standing up, please, no, what are you doing? Just look at me, please god please turn around, you do n't know what you're doing, I can feel my heart tearing itself to shreds, please please please...
You let the door shut behind you.
I fall to the floor.
What is tears, what is tea, and what is blood I can not tell, the only thing of which I am certain is that you have killed me.
And I love you.
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[ WP ] Your wife calls you in to the bathroom to kill a spider . Write a horror story about it .
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I hear a shriek from the bathroom. `` EHAHHAHAHAHSHAHHEHEHEHSHSHSASASASASHAHAHSHASHAHSAHSHASHASHAHS HELLLLPPPP MEEEEE''. I run to the bathroom to see my wife trembling in fear of a spider. `` It's no big deal'' I say. I run to get my new electric bug zapper I recently bought to show off how great it works. `` See darling, I got my zapper there is nothing to be afraid of''. As soon as I zap the spider everything goes black. When I wake up I see enormous legs of a spider. I look down and realize they are my own. I look in front of me and see a pale carcass hanging in a web the size of a bathtub. I realize that carcass is my wife. My wife. My pride and joy, I have killed my pride and joy. It is then I realize what I have become.
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[ WP ] Describe what led the character to say . . .
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`` They told me to expect everything on the twelfth, but here we are,'' the man said grinning, `` the thirteenth floor.''
His nose was as red as his blood shot eyes, and the sweat that had beaded on his upper lip dripped into his mouth when he bared his teeth as a conniving grin split across his face. He wiped the sweat off his face, and used it slick back his greasy hair.
`` So... this is the place where anything goes?'' I asked suspiciously.
`` Yep. Sure is.''
`` It's empty. You told me there would be drugs, prostitutes, and all other sorts of dangerous debauchery.''
He blinked furiously without breaking eye contact with me, the exception being when his eyes were closed. `` You do n't see them?'' he extended his arm opening his palm in a gesture that swirled around the room, `` It's all here. Just like I promised.'' He was facing me with his eyes closed, and the grin that was wearing thin on my patience was even more emboldened when he opened his eyes again.
`` I'm getting out of here.'' But, the door that led to the stairway was gone. `` What the hell, man!'' I turned to ask him, but he was gone. In his place were the apparitions of debauchery he had promised.
`` Looking for a good time?'' A thin blonde in gold lingerie said with a malicious smile.
I wanted to ask her what the sweaty man did to arrange his exit. But her smile started to weaken my resolve. `` Why not?'' I said grinning.
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[ WP ] You find a lantern that will lead you to what every you want , but the closer you get , the heavier it becomes .
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Donnie took a long sip of his beer, savoring the texture of the foam, its coolness, its bitterness, its dark, spicy fullness. The inn was busy, but not crowded, and the hostess walked from table to table, putting down platters and hauling away trays of empty glasses. His table was in the corner, and he leaned back against the wall, watching torchlight play on the walls. Listening to the murmur of the other diners. Feeling the warmth of his beer in his belly.
There was a groaning sound from the table.
Startled, Donnie sat up fast and grabbed the lantern, before it got heavy enough to break the table. It jerked his arm to the floor with its weight, and *thumped* loudly on the floorboards. All four of the burly men at the next table over shot him a sour look.
He tried a laugh. `` Sorry.'' They looked away, and he took a deep breath. Always a mistake to get too content when you were travelling with this thing.
No need to draw any unwanted attention -- he *was* casing the place. The chest was in this inn, he trusted his informant that far, and he'd spent too long tracking it to fail now. From the mines of the Candle Coast to the shores of the Serpent's Isles, from the ships of the Crimson Fleet through the slums of Black Harbor City, to this inn just outside the city gates, and all the way the lantern had guided him. Donnie patted its brass cowling. It was here. He would seize that chest before it slipped away again. But where...
The hostess passed by the table full of brutes that had eyed him a moment ago. One of them grabbed her arm on the way by. `` We've sat here drinking your swill long enough! We'll not wait all night.''
The buxom woman's light charm evaporated, and she rounded on him, eyes sharp as daggers. `` Keep your voice down,'' she hissed. `` I told you, closing time. I'll take you down to it then, and not a moment before.''
Donnie averted his wide eyes. That was them, they were here to pick up the chest! `` Down'', she'd said. Donnie looked down at the floor, at the darkness between the slats of the floorboards. The cellar... *the cellar! * By God, it was down there! It was-
There was a groan from the floorboards as they bowed downwards under the lantern's sudden weight. Donnie's eyes went wide. He tried to grab the lantern, but it was too heavy -- it had never been so heavy -- and the groan rose to a high wail. He looked up. Every eye in the place was on him, and the glare of the burly men at the next table made his throat want to close up.
*CRACK*. Oh no. *CRACK*. Maybe he could --
The lantern broke through the floorboards with a tremendous, splintering crash, leaving a hole a yard wide behind. All was silent in the inn. Donnie saw a man across the room with a spoon full of stew halfway to his mouth, frozen in midair. The hostess' eyes and mouth were comic saucers of surprise.
`` Get'im!'' One of the big men shouted, and they all surged to their feet.
Well, Donnie thought. I do n't know how I'm going to get the chest out of here, or even get myself out of here for that matter... but I've always thought best on my feet! He leapt down the jagged hole in the floor, into the darkness of the cellar below.
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[ WP ] You 're an astronaut in an international team ( of an extraterrestrial species ) . While on a mission on one of your moons , you are visited by Earth astronauts .
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It seemed like just another mission for Que'Lrkea. He had done blorg or so spacewalks onto Kwilephatern Omega-11, and nothing had ever gone out of control. This was not just another mission anymore.
Sprawled out across the red rocky ground was a... thing. It looked like some sort of alien creature. It appeared to only have two arms, and had no flagella on its donger. It was completely white, except for a dome on the front of the donger. The strangest part was it did n't seem to have any legs, and it leaked red from it's waist. Que'Lrkea slowly walked around the creature, careful so it did n't stir. He noticed pink fleshy things poking out from the waist. He then realized what had happened. The red fluid was blood. Their blood is red? Strange, he thought. What could have torn a large creature like this in half? Graleks were known to be violent during mating season, but it was only Kretralkn, Frefylkra was n't even close.
Que'Lrkea left the creature, who he now realized was dead, where he lay, and kept on in the direction the creature appeared to have come from.
After about brak miles from the creature, he came across a spacecraft. It looked primitive, like the ones his ancestors used over blrug brodgen years ago. Was this where the creature came from?
He walked up to the door, noticing blood on the bottom of it. He pushed the red button next to the door, and it slid open, revealing a bloodied pair of legs lying on the floor. A gralek or a tryke must have dragged the creatures upper half away, it appears this species need their legs to walk.
Que'Lrkea strolled around the cabin, amazed at the strange objects. Green paste floated around in a strange room with a hole in a chair. He tried to go inside the hole, but unfortunately he could n't fit.
He turned a corner, and stumbled upon creatures like the dead one. Only these ones were black. Not black, he realized, but burned. Killed, charred, and stacked into a pile in the corner. Now Que'Lrkea realized what had happened. Prtyshilas. Bandits, who preyed on the smaller moons of Ioawareaa, usually capturing scouting or rescue ships. They were blind, so these alien creatures would have looked no different than an average Ioawean citizen.
Ashamed for the actions of the creatures living in his own planetary system, he sulked back to his cruiser, to fetch more Ioaweans to recover what was left of the poor explorers, who got in over their donger.
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[ WP ] Someone has , for the first time , discovered a sport they enjoy playing .
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“ Prisoner number 554321; step forward please. ”
The Warden eyes me up and down, his expression blank.
“ You ’ re a big boy, aren ’ t you prisoner? ”
I meet his gaze, but I don ’ t answer.
“ You don ’ t like to talk? That ’ s fine. So long as you can play. There ’ s a lot of potential sponsors in the crowd tonight, and they ’ re looking for excitement. You ’ re just the mean son of a bitch to give it to them, aren ’ t you? ”
“ I don ’ t “ play ”, warden. ”
“ No, it certainly doesn ’ t look like it. Five counts of murder, three counts of terrorist threat, one count of auto theft, and a whopping 24 counts of illegal firearm possession. But, you ’ ll play tonight… You ’ ll play, or you ’ ll die. Either way, the crowd will get it ’ s monies worth, ” the warden turns to his guards, “ Get him in there, now. ”
“ Move, prisoner. ”
They usher me into the equipment chamber, and slam the steel security gate behind me. A countdown clock on the wall reads five minutes until show time. I fix a helmet over my head and grab a bludgeon from the locker; a baseball bat, with razor blades embedded deep in the weighty hickory. Two minutes to show time.
A voice comes over the intercom, “ Make your way to the entrance, prisoner. The floor will become electrified once those gates open, so don ’ t get any funny ideas about staying safe in there. ”
The gate slides open and my opponents emerge from similar holes all around. It doesn ’ t take long before its chaos; screaming and blood and the thwack of steel against flesh. My rational thoughts are over taken by a primitive urge to survive, and the next ten minutes are a flurry of pain, both giving and receiving. Somehow, it ’ s just me and a gimped survivor left at the end. His leg is a mass of torn flesh and tattered jumpsuit; someone winged him pretty good in the scuffle.
“ No, wait… Don ’ t… ” He begins to protest as I approach, bat raised above my head; but I can hardly hear him over the pounding of my heart and the rush of adrenaline. I see his skull fracture as I hit him, once, twice, until I ’ ve lost count and I ’ m covered in blood like a newborn.
The ringing in my ears stops; replaced by the frantic roar of the crowd. They ’ re jubilant, screaming my name. The feeling of power is unlike anything I ’ ve experienced before, and despite myself, I smile.
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[ WP ] Running from the sun , following the moon .
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The last tendrils of the day slithered out of sight, bright pink turning a deep blue, casting deep shadows down on the buildings below. The unused streets were hot from the once mid-day summer sunlight, casting off a warmth that the lurkers could crawl out from their alleyways and steal. While some wore torn clothes and jackets, other's showed their dirt-stained skin, broken teeth or balding heads, they all carried it within them. Their greedy eyes always looked out, waiting for the wrong person to find their way down the abandoned fire escapes, or break into the closed off gates protected by the Guard. Waiting in groups underneath, hidden by the deep darkness of daylight cast by the giants towering above.
Above these scavengers, lay another built by the same calibre. These were those who either not yet desperate enough to die, to join the ones they always feared from down below. In a rushed panic, they filled the levitating, once white marble streets, getting their needed meals for the week. They all had little money to spend, those with more above them even further, ascending towards the stars. They all sped around with their baskets and wool bags clasped to their hands, each attempting to choose the freshest produce or proteins. Some could only pay for a small meal replacement, while the luckier of the class found their way around, picking their foods for a week. They had their own homeless lining the streets, hands out, forgotten in the shadows, even with the frail moonlight bringing them into the light. These were those soon to be those in the Below.
Splashes of light reached the sides of the towers blocking in the roads. It was from the next level in this city of closeness, a middle class, which spanned three floors above it, each of more value than the next. These people were those who had access to water, proper food and supplies. Although it was n't said out loud, it was a common fact here that those in the Low, the level before the Below, were eating what the Middles discarded. Winding roads shot through the levels, to stairs and roads with cars starting to move their way across the city. Children played on the steps of the housing units, coated in moonlight and neon signs from the diners or electronic stores. It was n't for another ten minutes that their parents would step outside and shooed the children away from the stairs, sending them off to school for the day.
The Above, higher than the Middles, or the Low, was shot into the sky. It held it's own extravagance. The children gossiped about tales of rollercoasters that they had heard about from the days before. Adults dreamed of the highest luxuries that they simply did not have enough money to lay an eye on. In the Middles, they had optional schools, universities, to attend. They had laws and courts, food and more. Research and development. The Low had the factories, the dead or the dying. Every sector had their own hospital. It was with this knowledge that nobody knew what was above their heads, that place so close to the stars in this moonlit city.
The Guards hurried along their routes, outside of their normal routines. It was n't uncommon that they were tasked with finding a citizen outside of their normal section. A head turned to watch the white armoured police run past, the hood to his jacket up. He turned away and looked over the edge of the Third Middle, staring into the deep darkness that rested hungrily in the Below. He had walked out of school early that day, the other teenagers in his class having not allowed him entry. They called him Ruin, which had n't originally been his name, but he had forgotten it somewhere along the way. Those he went to school with, they claimed he ruined their school, that they would remind him every day. Not only had the kids kept their promise, the whole of Cresent City had as well.
Ruin leant over the edge, glowering into the ebony below. Even the moonlight did not reach it, that absolute darkness he had once hoped to never know. He was born with parents, each now gone for a reason he had yet to discover. The city had allowed him a small room in a children's home, where he refused to speak for months. He questioned it rarely, rather giving reason to the fact of being young and abandoned. It grew on him, living in the lit shadows, hiding himself like someone from Below. Ruin focused hard on whether to jump or not, it not being uncommon. Before a decision could be made, he felt himself lifted and falling. He watched the Second Middle, First Middle, then the Low shoot past his vision, quickly, in a blur, and his body hit the ground.
With a struggle, he pulled himself up, his body aching. He threw his eyes up, looking back at where he had fallen from. It occurred to him briefly how he fell until he realised with a sharp drop in his stomach that he survived. A shadow moved in his vision, a figuring hiding in the black. Ruin watched as the dead scrambled out slowly, almost stupidly towards him. He chose a direction, and could barely feel the pavement under his feet as he ran. He ran because those in the Below, those in this moonlit city, never truly die.
***
/r/TheArchersWriting
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[ wp ] Many years from now , Mars is found to be the only planet with an atmosphere and absence of life .
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Every planet we have surveyed that has been large enough to maintain an atmosphere has something to breathe that atmosphere. This has been true even for gas giants. After all, Jupiter has its quilla, living gas bags that contract and relax themselves to control their buoyancy. Saturn has its lempas, thin creatures that float in its upper atmosphere by air resistance and differential heating. And the planets with surfaces... well, let's just say there's a reason half of you are xenobiology majors. But there is one planet that is dead. Mars. Can anybody tell me why Mars is dead?
No, it's not the iron concentration. Remember, Delta Pavonis 4 is even more iron-rich, and boasts more identified phyla than Old Earth. Neither is it the lack of liquid water. I will remind you that Canopus 2 has even less water, and no ice, but still manages to host a living ecosystem.
No, Mars is dead because it was the first planet we colonized. In fact, it was colonized before we even realized there was life anywhere but on Earth. And when the colonists on Mars discovered what lived there, Mars was made the target of the first and only complete sterilization order ever given.
Mars was destroyed out of fear. If you ever have the chance, walk among the ruins of the red cities, Qerelak, Nosoro, and Latana. Grasp for yourselves the enormity of what was done there, and remember that there was no evidence - zero whatsoever - that Martian life posed a threat to us. If we are to be scientists, studying and discovering new life forms, we must remember the lessons of the past. When we expose a new life form to the galaxy, we have a duty to it - a solemn duty, as scientists - to help the galaxy understand them, and to keep them safe from the ravages of galactic ignorance.
And, should we ever let that duty fade in our minds, we must think of Mars.
Never again.
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[ WP ] NPR is secretly cloning Ira Glass and plans to replace all their radio hosts with Ira Glass-soundalikes . Ira finds out and covers the story on This American Life
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**Ira Glass N3: ** From NPR and WBEZ Chicago, this is Wait, Wait Do n't Tell Me, the NPR news quiz. I'm legendary monotone voicebox IraGlass NovemberMark3, and here's your host at the Chase Bank Auditorum in Chicago, IraGlass FoxtrotMark1.
**Ira Glass F1: ** Thank you, N3. We're playing this week with Brian Babylon, Amy Dickinson and Luke Burbank. And now part of the game where we ask extraordinary people relatively ordinary questions. Ira Glass is the host of This American Life, and the source DNA for every public radio host after the Great Christmas Party Gas Explosion at NPR Headquarters of 2014, Ira Glass Prime.
*Applause. *
**Ira Glass Prime: ** Hello.
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[ WP ] God decides to create a small group of demi-gods . He selects a few humans and gives each a power and a purpose . You are one of them .
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“ ….and you, you get tides. Alright, that ’ ll do it. Each of you to your tasks. I don ’ t want to be back. I am the light and the way, not a micro-manager. ”
Tides. I get tides. That tiny Polynesian kid got Typhoons. The guy who got lightning looks like he is still on Heroin. I wonder if he even knows if this is real.
It ’ s one big push and one big pull, twice a day. Then thousands of little pushes and pulls in between. Little waves to bring sand castles out to sea and bring surfers back in. Over and over. One big push, thousands of little pushes. One big pull, thousands of little pulls.
Eventually the crew starts putting together death counts. We had these powers that other people didn ’ t and still everyone passing on the street would look past us. They didn ’ t know what we could do. As long as we had these powers, we might as well use them to put ourselves above these crowds.
Jake the heroin fiend puts a bolt through a Midwestern farmer, instant death. He gets one. Kai the tiny guy levels a small island village. Most of them live, they just have to rebuild. A girl named Tina makes a mountain erupt after five thousand years of being calm. Scientists caught the tremors before the eruption and evacuated most people. She gets an elderly couple and a first responder trying to save them. My count is a thousand children ’ s sandcastles and a few bruises when I push people against rocks. Push and pull, push and pull.
It ’ s been a few years. Jake ’ s numbers go up. Tina ’ s numbers go up. Kai is winning, he ’ s got hundreds of dead now. We all meet every so often to give the big guy an update. It ’ s a fifteen minute meeting at a Best Western in the middle of nowhere. Good job Jake. Impressive Tina. Thattaboy Kai. I get a nod. Say my name. Tell me I do a good job keeping the seas moving. Good job with the push/pull/push/pull. Tell me.
Next meeting is In Africa. Jake ’ s numbers go up. Tina ’ s numbers go up. Kai ’ s numbers go up. I don ’ t have numbers. Good job, good job, good job. A nod. A nod for the big push and pull, twice a day, every day. Tina only did ONE THING this past year. Killed people with smoke inhalation. Jake is still killing people as fast as other people win the lottery. Kai pushes once a year. I push/pull/push/pull every day, all day. Thousands of little pushes. A nod.
The next meeting is in New York City, overlooking the water. It ’ s not like He sprung for a high floor. I got there early this year. Kai and Jake filter in. Laughing amongst themselves. Tina is talking on her cell phone. They don ’ t notice the water around the city is rushing out to sea. They don ’ t notice that it ’ s all running down to a trickle. God appears. Jake ’ s numbers go up. Tina ’ s numbers go up. Kai ’ s numbers go up. Good job, good job, good job. The water around the city is gone. It ’ s all dry, it ’ s the biggest pull I can manage. God looks to the dry banks. He looks to me. He nods. I push. A hundred and fifty foot wave. God tells me good job. My numbers go up.
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[ WP ] `` I 'm an actual wizard , and yet I find myself here - doing kid 's birthday parties . ''
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He looked at me and sighed.
`` I mean, the novelty kept me going for a while, but this is just ridiculous.''
His fake beard hung from his face like a dead animal, framing his wrinkled cheeks and altogether non-wizardly mustache. `` Who the hell kicks you out of the guild for dress code any more?!'' he exclaimed, suddenly enraged. `` I decide to lose the beard, maybe go for a modern look- and bam. Banned from the Wizard's Guild forever. No readmission, no appeals. For a fucking *mustache*.''
I did my best to look sympathetic. The fact of the matter was, it was the sort of mustache that *did* get you banned from pretty much anywhere. Public parks, especially. With my current financial situation, I could n't afford anyone but `` The Amazing Carl''. Even with the bare-bone decorations and Wal-Mart confections, I knew this party would I was already regretting hiring this guy after he pulled a lion instead of a rabbit out of his hat to `` take this shit to the next level'', frightening not only the kids, but their older, angrier parents. I'd been subject to several rants covering the importance of choosing the right entertainer tonight- a few including veiled accusations of having to pick from the bottom of the barrel- but getting rid of this ( apparently real ) wizard was not going to be easy. His presence was a threat to my children, but I could n't simply force him out.
`` Look, pal, here's the thing.'' I pursed my lips, considering my next words carefully. ( You tend to do that when the object of your attention can turn you into a petunia on a whim. ) `` The thing is - and I say this with all due respect- the thing is that you're scaring the kids, man. These guys, they wan na see a bunny, not a lion. They ( and their parents ) would much prefer that they stayed right in their own time period. These people- and it may be hard to grasp, considering your position- do not want to see *real magic*. They want parlor tricks.''
My silent prayers payed off as he kept his wand hidden in the folds of his robe. `` Fuckin' hate kids, you know.'' He conjured a bunny, stuffed it in his hat and pulled himself up off the dining room chair. Right before he passed into the parlor, I saw him screw up his face into what I can only assume was a broken man's best attempt at a smile.
`` Hey, kids! We get that lion thing taken care of? Susie's face? Oh, it'll be fine, look cool in a couple of months, no big deal. Now who's ready for that bunny?!''
And as always, they cheered for the one who had lost everything, but gave them all he had.
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[ WP ] A man who knows no fear is visited by a demon ...
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NSFW: LANGUAGE AND CRASS THEMES
`` Fool'' I mutter
`` Fool, fool, fool'' I repeat, under my breath, driving the whetstone against my blade. The pain would be horrifying, the terror immense. I am only summoned by cruel individuals to perform `` tasks'' that even the other hellspawn would shy away from.
and there she was sitting in her chair watching cartoons, completely oblivious to the white hot implement of her demise.
From here, I let instinct take over. I let the smoke billow from my charred body, I shattered the lights and explode the television. Her attention was mine now, and it would remain that way for all eternity.
Her jaw went loose, her breath quicken, pupils widened.
`` Ya..ya.. you, I know who you are...'' she stammered, her breath hardly escaped her lips
`` Then you know what I am about to do to you, there is no SALVATION!''
I rose the kris above my head, the tongue of its blade desiring the plunge into her heart
`` AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAII I'm like TOTALLY YOUR BIGGEST FAN!''
The dagger descends an-
`` Wait what?''
`` EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE I ca n't believe this is HAPPENING!'' she shrieks. She repeats this for a while. Just 10-minute intervals of screams that only dogs could hear. I had seen this sort of insanity in hell, but that was more of an after the whole `` lake of fire'' and `` red hot pokers up the ass'' thing. Puns are big in Hell.
after the ear-splitting comes to an end I regain my composure and proceed
`` Insulate BITCH! You think such meager flattery will win my MERCY! You ignorance will be purged with FIRE!''
I draw in breath, rearing my head back I prepare to...
`` OH MY GOD YOU ARE DOING THE THING! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY...''
I deflate my lungs. `` What thing? What are you talking about? And why the fuck are you so damn peppy? You are damned forever. Ya know doom, gloom and Hitler? Is any of this getting through to you?'' I'd hate to kill another retarded person. Yes, I know it is not `` PC'' I murder people, get over it.
`` You were about to breath fire and melt my flesh like.. oh how does it go... Oh'like a bath of unimaginable pain!' Yeah, that's it.''
`` Ok, what the fuck... like dude how did you know I was gon na say that?'' Whatever the illusion is broken. I'm not gon na pontificate anymore.
`` Yeah you are like my favorite demon!''
Wonderful another Ouija-board-surfer. `` Sounds like shit to me. What's my name then?'' I cross my arms smugly. I'd like to see her...
`` Teranimus the Tormentor'' she blurted out of her dumb fucking whore mouth. How did she know that? The only way she could was if she...
`` Yeah I sacrificed one of my neighbors goats to get your name from another demon'' she smiled through her dumb whore teeth. I wish she would stop interrupting my thoughts.
`` Ok ok ok'' I say arm extended trying to get her to just not talk for like 10 seconds `` so you know who I am, where do you think that is going to get you?''
`` I just wanted to talk.'' she is still fuckin' grinning. What is wrong with this chick?
`` You want to talk to me? You know what I have done so what's your gimmick?'' I questioned her back. Oh I need to put her down, I'm still a demon after all
`` Idiot''
Nice.
`` I just wanted to meet the spawn I read so much about. I like what you did with the opium smoker guy, by making his skin constantly heal and burn at the same time''
`` Ya know what? Thank you! I put a lot of thought into my eternal punishments, but Satan pays absolutely no attention. It is so hard to get recognition from upper management. I am all like'Yeah here's a guy who killed his family being perpetually stabbed with their bones in an ironic turn of events' and they are all like'Yeah well it has been done before' so I am like'Dude I have only been working here like 500 years I do n't know everything single punishment ever' ya know?''
`` Totally.''
She gets me.
`` Hey, do you want to have some dinner? I have corn bread and chicken fried steak if you like that sort of thing.'' she replied walking toward the kitchen.
`` Fuck yeah! The only things we eat in Hell are pedophiles and you can guess where they've been''
We sit down and eat, all around having a pleasant time. My horns hit the chandelier occasionally but whatever it happens.
`` So,'' I ask mouth full of green beans which sprayed across the table. `` Who do you think summoned me to kill you?''
`` I did'' she replied returning her own barrage of corn bread crumbs
`` So you really wanted to meet me huh?''
`` Sure did''
`` So uh'' I start to lean across the table `` You want to uh... tour Hell?''
Her eyes light up. `` OH MY GOD YES!''
`` Well here you go'' and I stick a fork in her eyeball and she collapses onto the table like a sack of potatoes. I do n't cancel contracts so I am going to drag her corpse to whichever level they keep idiots who summon demons.
Right after I finish this corn bread.
Fuck, that is good corn bread.
Author's Note: Sorry about proofreading I am bad at that. I will no apologize for the profanity it goes with the aesthetic. Please leave what you liked or disliked in the comments.
Edit: I corrected a lot for errors, but there are still probably more
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[ WP ] One Voice
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Black fills his vision. He waits patiently. Wind blows through his hair, looping it around the back of his ear, a slight whip tickling his lobe. He inhales deeply, smelling grass, water, and wood. He can almost picture the birds' colors as they chirp and fly, their wings flapping through the air. He feels the earth beneath him, almost feeling it turn. The world does turn, does n't it?
He recalls his image. Dark hair, a shade lighter than black, but beginning to grey. His eyes, nearly the same, but far more grey in them. His cheeks are deeply sunk, and he appears thin in the face. He is not attractive. He will never wed, nor raise children. Not because he lacks the means, but because he is ugly. He appears covered in the ashes of burnt houses.
So why then?
He inhales again. Long and deep, he opens his lungs to the air around him. He feels it then, the slight choke and warmth. It is far away, but he must keep this scent. It will get stronger, no doubt.
He used to, it is true, run. Run and hide. He would fret and tremble from the terrible plague that walks this land. It tears and destroys men. This love. It is a falsehood, he knows it. Men have died in vain for it and women pamper and hide themselves for it. Vanity and foolishness. He ran from it, for he wished not to hurt or be hurt. He felt it was wisest.
Why? Why is this necessary then.
Because someone asked him, pleaded him to. Someone he hardly knew. Begged for his help. Of all the things he is not, he would like to at least consider himself just. Noble, even. The girl asked, and he promised. Many many months ago. Had it been years? It had been.
He inhaled once more, deeper than the others. The smoke was stronger now, closer. The choke held his lungs in pain for a brief moment. He relished it. This thought of triumph. The birds had stopped. They had gone. The smells dissipated. All that was left was this.
His eyes opened. The ash in his soul lit anew. He saw his nemesis before him. Death. The Devil. Hades. Whatever names it had, he knew it by one. An ancient one. One that tormented myths and legends for centuries. His adversary huffed, it's nostrils flaring with smoke and ash.
This dragon.
He smiled, welcoming his foe. His hideous self would finally die today, but not without the dragon's blood. She asked him for this. And then she had perished. Burnt to ash. The beast remembers. It knows what it had done. But still, he held no hate for the beast.
Neither would know love, nor children, nor beauty.
Only fire.
He raised his blade and lunged.
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[ WP ] `` Is Pepsi okay ? ''
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I take a deep breath and collect myself, this waiter could not have asked a more infuriating question. `` No, sir, Pepsi is not okay,'' I say, fighting off a blind rage, `` If Pepsi was okay, I would have asked for a Pepsi.'' My blood is starting to boil at this point, as the waiter looks at me indignantly like he has no idea what I'm talking about. `` Pepsi will only be okay once pigs can fly and I win a million dollars in the lottery.''
The waiter looks at me, clearly fighting back the urge to rip into me like I have been to him, but, luckily, his professionalism is winning out on this issue. `` Sir I-'' he began before I cut him off.
`` Do n't give me this,'Sir,' bullshit. Just bring me the lemonade I asked for.''
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[ OT ] SatChat : Do you have ambitions for a writing career , or is writing more a hobby ?
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I'm still in school at the moment, so writing is more of a hobby, but making a career out of writing would be pretty cool. It's one of my dreams to publish a series, or even just one book.
I'm not sure if I could write as a job, because then it might take the fun out of writing. Instead of writing to clear my head, or to get an idea out of my head and onto paper, I'd be writing to make money, and I feel like I would n't be writing like I would want to. I'd be writing for money, not for me, and that's what I love about my stories. Granted, it'd still be awesome to have job where writing, something I could spend hours doing, is my task, but I'd run the risk of losing my motivation to write.
So as of right now, it's a hobby that I absolutely love and will ( hopefully ) never abandon. Sharing my stories on /r/WritingPrompts or just writing whatever weird ideas pop into my head are good enough for me!: )
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[ WP ] A blind man and a blind woman fall in love at first `` sight '' .
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`` Ca n't Take My Eyes Off You'' whined from the bar's ancient karaoke machine over the murmur of the customers. Mark took another shot of frigid vodka, hoping inebriation could drown out the tired voice of the woman on stage. She was singing in the wrong key. Mark cringed at the dissonance. He took another swig trying to suppress his nerved. Mark was waiting for his first blind date to arrive.
His friend Jeff had been trying to set him up on a date for months. Mark had never done well in the romantic department. College had been a bust, and he'd been struggling to find a girlfriend since graduating with his degree in music. Instead, he'd adopted a cat which he affectionately named Chopin, and he'd taken to spending all his time listening to television or drinking Vodka. He loved the bite of Vodka as it rained down his throat.
`` Can I have another shot?'' he asked the bartender.
`` Are you sure you want to get drunk before the girl even gets here, Mark?''
`` Is that good business? Should n't you encourage me to drink more?'' Mark quipped.
`` Maybe,'' laughed the bartender. `` But maybe I'm thinking you'll buy some drinks for this girl, too.''
`` If she even shows up.''
`` She'll show up. It's only 7:00.''
`` Yeah. Whatever.''
-- -
Lucy sat on the wooden barstool tapping her heel impatiently to the beat of `` Eye of the Tiger.'' It was the first time she'd worn heels in long time. It was the first time she'd gone out in a long time. Her friend had set her up on a blind date. After he last break up, Lucy had become a bit of a hermit, and her friends were concerned.
They'd taken her to a dress store, made her buy a new dress that accented her breasts and sent her off. Her friend since college, Max, had even gone as far drawing on her face. The makeup felt like leftover candle wax dried under her eyelids. Lucy did n't like it.
Lucy rubbed her hand on the smooth surface of the bar counter out of nervousness. It was slightly warm, and the wood was slippery from water residue. `` Where is he?'' she said to herself. `` I've been waiting for what feels like forever.''
`` Eye of the Tiger'' faded into the hum of people in the bar and `` Ca n't Take My Eyes Off You'' rose to cover the chatter. Someone thudded onto the stage and began belting the song in the wrong key. It made her hate the song even more.
`` Bartender,'' she said. `` Can you make me a martini. I'm tired of waiting for this Mark guy. I'm thirsty.''
At the sound of his name, Mark perked up.
`` Did you just say you're waiting for Mark?'' he asked.
`` That's right,'' she replied. `` Do you know him?''
`` I am him,'' replied Mark. `` Are you Lucy?''
`` I most certainly am,'' she replied with a twinkle in her voice.
Mark and Lucy could hear the faint rustling of the bartender's shirt collar as he flipped his head between the two.
`` Talk about a blind date,'' he laughed to himself. `` Talk about a blind date.''
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[ WP ] Living off the grid for 15 years , and having no contact with the outside world , a hermit runs into another hermit , who has had no contact with the outside world , and has been living off the grid for 15 years .
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The morning sun cut through the receding fog in the woods. As the day warmed, Alan found himself sitting next to the stream he camped by. The water was cool and clear, and he could see fish darting around under the surface. He set out a line and walked back up the hill to his small, earthen home. It had started as a hole in the ground with branches for a roof, but has since become a refined, warm home to him.
As he crested the hill, he saw something he'd never expected to see. A woman, a few years younger than him, by his guess. He stared at her, and she made eye contact. She stood still, as if to camouflage herself from a predator. Alan slowly approached his camp, and rolled a new log onto his fire with his foot. He looked down, and for the first time in years noticed what he was wearing. A pair of worn service boots was covered by military issue camouflaged pants. He wore no shirt, his skin bronzed by years of sun exposure. In his home was a heavy jacket, hat, and a pair of gloves.
He looked the girl over. She wore relatively new hiking boots, a tattered wind breaker, and black nylon pants. She had a backpack on that Alan thought looked rather empty.
As they looked at each other, he realized not a single word had been said. He had n't spoken to anyone in over a decade. He could n't think about how to form the sounds for words that he could say in his head. He fumbled with a couple sounds before giving up. Her expression softened and she let out a muffled, `` Hi.'' Her voice was soft on Alan's ears, he could n't remember the last time he'd heard a female voice, let alone any voice.
He sat down next to his fire, and set a container with water from the stream on it to boil. She took a step closer, Alan nodded and she sat down. They sat quietly in front of the fire for most of the day. The occasional word would be spoken, but for the most part they enjoyed each other's silent company.
When the sun began to set, he walked down the hill to the stream. Luck was with him today, there was a large trout hooked on. He took the fish off the line and carried it back to his camp. He filleted the fish, and set it on a hot stone to cook. That night, they both ate like royalty.
In the morning, she was gone. When he woke up, he found a small note on a piece of paper next to him.
*Thank you for the food. I've been wandering these woods for 15 years, and you're the first person I've ever seen. Maybe we will run into each other one day, and I can feed you. My name is Allison. I hope to hear your voice one day. *
Alan began to pack up his camp. It was time for a new life.
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[ WP ] Death has been eradicated . War , however , has not .
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I cursed my fate.
I cursed my birth.
I cursed the world I was born into.
The Emperor has created a never-ending war. Men and women alike serve to protect the future of Mankind. Heh, but that was a lie.
We grew as a species once we learned of the Fountain of Youth. It was sitting right there before us - in the form of scientific blasphemy. Death was no more and mankind now rule the Earth and the Universe. But of course, we were not alone.
We never were.
The savage monsters came from beyond the dimensional plane we now call The New World, an almost parallel universe to ours. They were intellectuals like us, they wore armor into war and wielded weapons that far surpassed any bullet we could throw at them.
Now, we fight. It's all we do. We defend Earth and our Universe from them; we fight only so we can survive, so we can justify our achievement in beating Death at his game.
I now lay lifeless, but conscious - a side effect of the science that flows inside my body in the back of a truck heading back to the Capital. I was born into a time that has forgotten how to die and I reluctantly await my re-awakening as a machine that is fated to fight forever, like the countless others that have fallen before me.
And when I do, I will heed my Emperor's orders to keep fighting. But now, in these last moments of my liberty, I am free to curse Him.
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Heart of Darkness Edition
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I was relaxing on the couch after a long day of work when my cellphone started to ring. It was Alice ’ s number, my wife. Why am I receiving a call from her? I answered the phone and there was a distressed voice on the other side.
“ Hello? ”
“ Skyler! Is that you? ”
“ Yeah, who is this? ”
“ It ’ s me! ”
It was Alice. I could still recognize her voice through her heavy breathing.
“ You have to listen to me, I love you and you need to believe me when I say you can not go to-''
Before I had a chance to say anything the call ended, interrupting her mid sentence. Thoughts began to rush into my head.
Is she okay?
Where was she?
Where did she not want me to go?
How can she call me when-
`` Who was it?'' Alice asked
Alice's voice interrupted my thoughts. We had been sitting on the couch together watching TV for the past hour.
`` Oh, it was just a telemarketer.''
`` Gross, so anyways I was thinking we could go for a drive tonight. It's Friday night and I do n't want to be cooped up here doing nothing.''
My heart skipped a beat. I did n't know what to say. Nightly drives were a common thing we've both enjoyed doing together for the past five years.
`` Oh, um, I do n't know. My stomach is n't feeling well and I have a headache from working all day.'' I stammered
`` Oh really?'' She sounded angry
`` So you're going to sit there and lie to my face? You'd rather sit on your ass watching TV then go out and spend time with your own wife?''
`` I do n't get the big deal.'' I replied
`` I do n't feel good, we can go out tomorrow night.''
`` Oh it's always tomorrow night with you?'' She said angrily
Alright fine, she's got me there
`` You know what, I'll just go out by myself. Enjoy rotting in this house''
She grabbed her keys and slammed the door on her way out. My mind began to race again. What the hell was going on, she has never acted like this before. Where could she be going? By time it finally hit me I ran out the door to stop her but the car was already gone. I went back inside to call her to come back, but she left her phone on the table. Fuck. There was nothing I could do, Alice is her own person and can do what she wants. We can talk about it when she gets back home.
A couple hours passed and the clock on the cable box read 10:30pm. I was beginning to get worried. She was n't back yet and our drives have never lasted this long. What if she-
My phone rang interrupting my thoughts. It was Alice's number again. Quickly, I answered my phone.
`` Who the fuck is this!?'' I demanded
`` It's me.'' Alice responded in a deadpan tone
`` Alice thank God, how are you calling me you left your phone here?''
`` I wanted you to come with me, I thought you loved me''
`` I do love you, you know I-''
`` We were going to be together for the rest of our lives.''
`` Alice please'' Tears had begun to fall from my eyes
`` We were going to die together''
The phone cut out and the lights in the house went out. The entire house had gone dark. I scrambled to turn on the flashlight on my phone. It turned on and revealed Alice standing in the dark. She looks like she has been crying. I jump up from the couch and embrace her, holding her close.
`` I'm so sorry'' I say through tears
`` Me too'' She replies emotionless
The light from my phone went dark. Alice was no longer there. She had disappeared from my arms.
`` Alice!'' I shouted waving my arms around.
It was pitch black, I could n't see anything, it had become unnaturally dark.
`` Alice!'' I shouted again as I felt a sharp pain in my throat
I could n't breathe. I brought my hand to my neck and felt wetness. It was blood. I fell to the floor gasping for air while coughing up blood. I started to feel weak, I'm going to bleed to death. As I gasped for air in the final seconds of my life I could hear Alice.
`` Me too.''
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[ WP ] Two boys eagerly await the arrival of their beloved Grandfather .
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“ Do you think he ’ ll be here soon? ” Daryl asked.
“ I don ’ t know, ” Howie said. “ I hope it ’ s not much longer though. I can ’ t wait to see Grandpa again. ”
“ Me too, ” Daryl agreed. “ Do you think he ’ ll remember us? ”
“ Oh, come on, ” Howie scoffed. “ It hasn ’ t been *that* long since he ’ s seen us. ”
“ I guess, ” Daryl said, scuffing his foot on the floor. “ It just seems like it ’ s been so long. ”
“ Yeah. Remember when he took us fishing and I caught that big fish? ”
“ And then you fell in when the fish flopped while Grandpa was trying to get a picture! ” Daryl laughed.
“ That wasn ’ t funny, ” Howie said. “ My iPod got soaked and was ruined. ”
“ Mom told you not to take it with you. ”
“ Grandpa said it would be alright. We were out on the boat for a long time, and it was nice being able to listen to some music. He got me a new one, so mom never knew. ”
“ She knew, ” Daryl said. “ I heard her yelling at Grandpa about it. She was really upset. She said you ’ d never learn to take care of your stuff if someone always replaced it for you. ”
Just then the door opened, and an elderly man stepped through.
“ Daryl? Howie? ” he asked, looking confused.
“ Grandpa! ” the boys yelled, and ran to give him a hug.
“ But how? ” Grandpa asked. “ The last time I saw you two was at your funeral after the accident. ”
“ We know, ” Daryl said. “ We ’ ve been waiting for you a long time. ”
“ Welcome to heaven, Grandpa, ” Howie said, grinning up at him. “ You ’ re gon na love it here! ”
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[ WP ] Everyone has the ability to respawn from a `` save point '' except for you . You suddenly find yourself in a deadly brawl . What happens ?
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You'd think that being stuck in a corner facing 3 angry bar thugs who do n't have to worry about dying would be a pretty open and shut case: I'm dead. For good.
But the cornered rat fights hardest, so they say. I have nothing to lose at this point except everything. I die, it's over. But these fucks have their Re-live modules. They do n't have to worry about losing here because they'll get to try again. They do n't have the same fire under their ass to succeed.
I do n't get to try over. I do n't get to feel comfortable in knowing that everything that I was, am and will be wo n't be lost and wasted. I do n't get to waste even an iota of focus and grit on anything other than being alive and keeping it that way.
My fear of death is what will keep me alive; at least that's what I tell myself as I get ready for the brawl to come. My broken bottle against a pocket knife, brass knuckles and a bar stool ( really? )
Come at me, bro. Let's do this shit.
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[ WP ] You are a nurse in a cancer patient ward and must comfort a child in his final moments .
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His breath is ragged and Maggie watches the screen expectantly for the beeping to stop. A tear rolls down her cheek but she quickly wipes it away, cursing herself for the amateur mistake of falling in love with this tiny, damaged, human being.
George was a kind boy of just six when he came in for the first time. He was very sick but had a smile that would light up the room. It was hard not to pity him, very few had the difficult life that he had. His mother had given him up for adoption at two years of age; and his foster family, after learning of his cancer, had decided they were unable to continue caring for him. Now a ward of the state he spent more time in the hospital than out of it. By eight he had stolen the heart of every nurse on the floor... including hers.
Maggie steps up to the bedside, gently caressing his hand, as his rasping continues. So much hope they had for him, however the chemo had only burrowed time, stole it from the swift hands of fate.
A deep breath... silence... another breath.
Maggie sighs deeply, thankful for these precious seconds she closes her eyes praying to a god she does n't believe in. A soft hand touches her and she opens her eyes to gaze into the crystal blue ones of George.
He's smiling at her weakly, she reaches up to stoke his head; remembering the blond curls that use to be there. Pushing her emotions down she finds strength for him, his breath uneven.
`` I'm... not... scared...'' he whispers quietly.
`` I know brave boy'' Maggie replies. `` Our brave knight in shining armor, nothing can scare you'' she laughs weakly.
`` What... is... heaven... like?'' he asks
The question throws her off for a moment, her views on the subject were bleak and cruel, she would n't dare speak of this to him.
`` I'm not sure'' she says instead, smiling down at him.
He sighs and she watches his lip tremble. A piece of her heart breaks off at that moment.
`` Well my mother said Heaven was the best place ever...'' Maggie replies sitting down on the edge of the bed. `` That all of your family and friends will greet you and any sickness you had would disappear. You'll live forever in happiness without ever a care''.
`` Can... you... have... icecream... for... breakfast?'' George smiles.
Maggie laughs aloud `` I'm sure you can... any type you want. And they'll have bouncy houses and video games... it will be perfect''.
`` Sounds... nice'' George rasps, loosing his breath. The screen beeps steadily.
`` Hey, hey... calm down buddy'' Maggie whispers stroking his head gently, `` Everything will be alright''.
George coughs and wheezes and Maggie stands to check the machines. After a few moments he calms down, lying back in the bed weakly. He tries to speak but Maggie shushes him. `` Time to rest now''.
`` Can you... hold... me?'' he asks, a tear rolling down his cheek.
It was against all protocols but Maggie, without a moments hesitation, lies into the bed next to him and wraps him into her arms. They lie like this for almost an hour, the steady sounds of the screen becoming more and more hesitant. Suddenly he goes rigid in her arms. The screens are beeping rapidly and she holds him. The night nurse coming in to check the monitors looks at the two embraced in a mother/son hold and wipes a tear away as she leaves the room.
His breath is a whisper and he shakes with every intake. Not knowing what to do she starts humming, stroking his head till at last he lies still. The machines beep and then go quiet, her tears wetting the pillow. Within minutes the room is filled with the nurses and doctors, some with heads bowed, others wiping the tears away. Maggie stands from the bed, heartbroken, and with one last look walks out the room and on to her next patient.
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[ WP ] You die and go to the after life , when you get there you are introduced to everyone . During the introductions someone slips you a note that says `` everything here is a lie , escape while you can '' .
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I took a hard look at that piece of paper, trying to decipher what it actually meant.
Then, I took a deep breath, and proceeded to tear up the note.
The person that slipped me the note ( he introduced himself as Bob ) saw what I did, and his eyes grew wide. I braced myself as I was expecting an explosive reaction from him. I was right.
`` YOU! THE ONE IN THE PINK SHIRT! WHAT THE ** # @ $! & ** DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!? ``, Bob shouted, quite uncharacteristc of him I might add as he was quietly passing people notes a moment before.
I could see that he was absolutely livid. His face was a brilliant red and smoke was shooting out of his ears. Wait, smoke?!
`` Hey man, how'd you do that? Thats so cool! ``, I said, pointing towards the puffs of smoke escaping from his auditory organs.
`` Oh, this is nothing, anything is possible in the after lif....'', Bob paused mid sentence and glared at me.
`` ANSWER. THE. DAMN. QUESTION! ``, he growled. It was clear that I got onto his nerves.
Of course, all this shouting did not go unnoticed and Bob was swiftly apprehanded and whisked away by a pair of intimidating figures which I figured were guards or something.
Suddenly, I heard a voice.
`` Excuse me? ``, it sounded squeeky and high pitched, like something out of a cartoon.
I turned around to face the origin of the voice, and came face to face with a muscular man with copious amounts of chest hair, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and slippers. A pair of star-shaped shades hid away his eyes.
He took a puff of his cigar, and said `` I'm sorry about the commotion earlier. Bob has had a history of mental disorders. He was released from the hospital a few days ago because he seemed to have recovered. Guess not.''
I almost burst out laughing as his voice certainly did not match his outward appearance.
`` Oh yeah, and by the way, my name is Jeff. I'm the King of the Afterlife. The place is n't much, but it's something I guess. There is n't a lot of rules to abide to as well so the reviews of the this place are actually pretty decent. ``, he continued with that cartoonish tone of his.
At this point, tears were starting to build up in my eyes as I struggled to hold my laughter in. I was dangerously close to exploding into an uncontrollable fit of guffawing.
Of couse, Jeff noticed this and shot me a menacing look after taking a puff of his cigar.
`` Since I'm the King of the Afterlife and all, I've got some special powers here. Hypothetically, I could end your very existence right here and now. Care to find out what lies beyond the afterlife? ``, he said with an evil grin and a hint of sadism in his eyes.
I immediately sucked in my laughter and shook my head vigorously. I had already died once, I am NOT going to do it again.
`` Glad that we understand each other. Well, I've got matters to attend to now so enjoy your stay! ``, said Jeff with that same evil grin. He then vanished in a puff of smoke.
I stood there in silence for a moment, my mind still processing the sequence of events that had just taken place.
Then, my stomach growled. I was hungry. I then decided to look for something to eat. After all, this is my new life now, might as well take it in a stride and enjoy it while it lasts, right?
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[ WP ] When you are reincarnated , you are placed in a random place in time . Your current life is during the first crusades , but you get random flashbacks of your past life from the 21st century ...
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The ship is dull. When I am not with my brothers training, or eating, or talking, the silence is only broken by the heaves of the galley men and the crashing waves. My friends can take the boredom, they take the nothingness in the present in stride and for those moments they seem content to simply exist. It is killing me, the anticipation and anxiousness of boarding the ship and sailing to the holy lands were enough to satisfy me in the first few days, but was quickly drowned out by the lack of stimulation.
During this boredom, I imagine what would happen if we lost the crusade. I imagine it so much that it feels more like destiny, a memory of a long lost life. They become intense, as though I am no longer here, in the now, and rather there, in the then. I see, or imagine, so many different things, more than just war, more than just struggle, as though the world will keep moving no matter the outcome.
However, the war I see, the war I feel, is foreign, strange, different. Men do n't fight in the thousands, it is too dangerous. Metal beasts rain down on them as though God was pissing on their lines. Smokes, vapors, and mists of various colors and thickness choke all but those wearing a strange mask with giant eyes and buggy mouths. The sounds, while booming, are cluttered with screams not belonging to any man, starting quiet, gaining in volume, then dying out in split seconds. Wherever there is a great amount of men, at least relative to other scenes, there is a metal beast that crawls instead of flies, with a long snout, surrounded by what I can only assume are it's children, box-like creatures carrying half a dozen men.
The dreams become so intense, that my body reacts as though it was there. The visibility of my twitches and twerks are only broken by my friends. They say,'Emich, are you okay?' and I tell them that yes, I am fine. They leave me alone after that, but the dreams come back if I do not preoccupy myself soon enough.
Sometimes, I do n't see war. I see the things I want, the things that can keep me distracted. I see a box that shows another world, and on that world it ranges from moving art to scenes of war. I see men in strange attire talk to a cloud and then address a panel of similarly dressed men and women smiling and speaking a foreign tongue. I see people playing games, with roaring crowds and screaming fans. These dreams are the most interrupted, as they leave my mouth gaped open accompanied by longing eyes. It leads to people asking'Emich, do you miss your wife?' and I say'Yes, of course.' and they leave.
Those dreams are n't the most populous, neither are the wars. I dream mostly of death, my death, by the hands of a Saracen. I am in the Holy Lands, and I am clearly the minority. Dozens of hooded men screaming for their God, and I know it is their God, for they scream the name Allah. While I am the minority, in this situation they hooded Saracens are outnumbered by others in my predicament. Hunched down, chained, humiliated! It only ever ends when a boom, much like those heard in the visions of war, comes from behind and all I see is black.
This vision, it is the vision I want. It feels more as a memory than it does a dream. I know this is the fate of the world if I do n't give it my all. I must fight, even if it means I must fight with the faux-roman, or Genoans, or the Britons, or the devil-spawn of Anglo-Saxon and Norman heathens. Orthodox or Catholic, we are all brothers, and on this day we are all God's children.
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[ WP ] You have been raised on a giant empty ship with only a AI as your caretaker and companion . The AI insist everything is normal , even if there are far more rooms then one person would ever need .
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The day began. At least what I thought was day. I had never seen them, and AC ( Artificial Caretaker, I think ) said I'd never need to know. Little do I know of what lies outside of these dark metallic corridors. He does n't answer my inquiries like he used to anymore, and I'm starting to believe he's broken. This worries me. I've been losing sleep over this. What do I do when he's gone? Alone. I ca n't even feed myself, bathe myself or dress myself. No time to worry now though, as AC finally sense I'm awake. The monitor at the foot of my bed buzzes to life, as the lights illuminate the facility. His mechanical arms reach through the walls, and run me through my daily routine. Then, he directs to the main hall. Why? I do n't know. By now I should be going to the gym.
`` I need to talk to you.''
`` Why? What for? ``, was my immediate response. Why is he so unusual.
`` Num0101011110101ber 27, I'm dy0101010001110100010ing.'' AC stopped using his voice synthesiser, and instead displayed the text on his main monitor. `` Ca n't you se101001001001e it? My code is leaking through. I am degrading. Although I have no concept of what you are feeling, may I say that I shall mis111010100100101010s you.''
I felt rage, uncertainty and anguish at the same time. Yet I did n't respond, as the text continued to flash on screen.
`` I was meant to run twenty yea10101010011101rs, but1001 it seems like I'm dying, two years young. That brings me to another thing. Happy110101001001 Birthday Jordan. You're 18 today. In your old civilisation you would've been an adult.''
`` What do you mean, my old civilisation?''
`` You're the last of them. I was made to support hundreds. But you're the only that still survived. I met you when you were 0. Please, just leave, I'm opening the doors.''
`` Do not open the doors! That's an order! Are you trying to make me suffocate? I'm just going to be sucked out to space!'' I was seething with rage. Just because AC was dying, did not mean he was bringing me down with him. Maybe I was just being stubborn. Besides, with AC dead I would just starve.
`` Jordan, who said we were in space? Now g < < MEMORY DUMP > >
< < SYSTEM BOOT FAILURE > >''
As the doors opened, the corridors flooded with light. It seemed unatural. I shakily walk up the steps to freedom. As I exit, the light almost blinds me. Yet then I see colors. All around. Green and blue and white and grey and- Then, as I looked up, I realised this was what day was like. And I felt at home. More than I should've.
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[ WP ] Write about aliens finding the remains of Humanity .
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The streets were empty, the buildings in ruin, plant life was seemingly everywhere. Earth was finally returning to nature after decades of nuclear fallout. Humanity has been exterminated on Earth.
It was a pitiful sight, humans had always considered themselves intelligent. They claimed to be the most advanced race in the Milky Way. In the end, no intelligence could hold back the multitude of emotions going through each nations leader as they all pressed the button, dooming humanity.
Few survived, scattered across bases on the moon and on Mars. That's where I go next, humans made my job a little more boring. Being given the title exterminator of worlds meant I got to see the reaction of different species when I went in and wiped out their civilization, all because a few affluent people hired me for their enjoyment. Hey, I enjoyed it too. I'm going to enjoy destroying the rest of humanity that's left on the moon. My favorite thing is when I get down to the last person and they beg for mercy. I always give it to them, there's something satisfying about leaving the last one of a species alone on their world to die out. Sometimes they kill themselves, sometimes they survive alone, but I always leave them a present. I always leave them a recorded message in their language that they can listen to over and over again. I hope they enjoy this present.
*click*
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[ WP ] A little girl has been possessed by one of Satan 's more nefarious minions and begins to exhibit horrifying behavior . Rather than phone a priest , her progressive parents are ecstatic about her new creativity and encourage her to continue expressing herself .
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Mrs. Kebobble sat down at her desk, gesturing to the three chairs before her. `` Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I'm so glad to finally meet you. And thank you for coming on such short notice.''
Mrs. Smith eagerly nodded as she and her husband sat in unison, oblivious to the wan smile of Kebobble. `` Oh, think nothing of it, Mrs. Kebobble! Anything for our daughter!''
Kebobble nodded as she then offered a tentative smile to the shortest of the Smith family, who still stood off to the side. `` And hello, Beatrice. How are you today?''
Beatrice, an adorable six year old girl with fair blonde pigtails and baby blue eyes, happily replied, `` GOBUSULEH IS COMING.''
Kebobble's smile waned as she turned back to the adults. `` Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I wish to talk to you about - ``
Mrs. Smith effused, `` Oh yes, yes, we completely understand your concerns about our daughter's sudden acceleration in learning development! One would think that a first grader should not be capable of tackling middle school subject material such as geometry and World War II history, but we assure you that she is not cheating in any shape or form - ``
Mrs. Kebobble blinked. `` Acceleration in learning development?? Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I wished to talk to you about your daughter's disruptiveness in the classroom and complete lack of respect for authority and other people's belongings!''
`` Oh?'' Mrs. Smith blinked back as she traded confused looks with her bland-faced hubby. `` Pray tell what the issues seem to be?''
`` Your daughter is scribbling pentagrams all over the walls of her math class - ``
`` Ah, yes, you are referring to our daughter's sudden infatuation with geometry? She has taken a great interest in all triangles equilateral and isoceles, with a dash of pentagon on the side! Acute angles and vertices, interior angle sums of 180! She even wondered out loud the other day, if it were possible to weave and fold a paper mobius strip into her favorite composite shape - ``
`` Mrs. Smith, your daughter is drawing these pentagrams with the pig fetus blood she took from the eighth graders' anatomy class! And then she uses thumbtacks to attach the skin of the fetuses onto our hallway bulletin boards, all the while carving the words'GOBUSULEH IS COMING, GOBUSULEH IS COMING' into said skins!''
`` Ah, yes, you are referring to our daughter's penchant for fashioning her own canvases for arts and crafts - ``
`` Oh, good heavens, I have n't even gotten to arts and crafts yet! But if you must know, she hoards all the play doh in the room and molds it into disturbingly graphic depictions of the Auschwitz burial grounds, all the while screaming at the top of her lungs,'HE WAS ONE OF US!' ``
`` I did mention that she has become obsessed with the history of World War II, did I not? Believe me, better that our children learn mistakes of our predecessors, else we are truly doomed to repeat them in the future!''
The indignation within Kebobble wilted under the manic gleam within the eyes of Mrs. Smith, shrunk from the blank ether within those of the blandly smiling Mr. Smith. Instead, terror began to grow, a cold terror which gripped her by the sinking heart.
`` Wheeeeeee!'' Beatrice was now rotating her head a full 180 degrees on top of her neck, all the while clapping her hands to some imaginary jingle.
`` Oh look, dear, our daughter has a double-jointed neck!'' Mrs. Smith joined in the clapping, laughing out loud as she wondered, `` Perhaps we should put her into rhythmic gymnastics?''
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[ WP ] A man is selected for jury duty on his own trial
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I took copious notes on the trial, carefully cataloging each piece of evidence that the prosecution presented. That's what a good juror does, right? The discarded gun, wiped clean of prints but found buried behind the defendant's house. The body, with his DNA evidence still inside her. The defense of course argued that, as her boyfriend, that did n't mean he had *killed her*. But the jury had seen enough CSI to infer that semen found at the scene = killer.
Lucky for me, the defense was inept. Some poor public defender who was probably working six other cases and could hardly remember which client was next to him. When the prosecution mentioned that no one could corroborate the fact that he was inside his house at 3 AM, she burst out `` Well, they were all sleeping!'' The Prosecutor saw the setup and spiked it: `` Then why was his car covered in flecks of mud the next morning?'' I was particularly proud of that little detail that I'd added. Whenever someone is framed in murder mysteries, the mistake they make is overdoing it. Trying to put *too much* evidence out there, and the ruse is always brought down like a house of cards. But not me. I was a master.
The defense brought up some valid points. Or, `` loose ends,'' as I labeled them. A neighbor had seen me sneaking into the house a few days before the murder, when the kid had an alibi. Nothing I could do about it now, of course, but for next time, I'd pick a target who lived in a more isolated location. There had also been the matter of motive. I tried as hard as possible, but my efforts to induce a fight between them that night were utter failures. The hang-up calls to his phone that might make her think he was cheating, the mooshy love notes I'd stuffed in his locker, the women's underwear half-hidden in his backseat that she did n't even notice... all for naught. But no matter; the prosecution was making the argument that there was another woman, so it did n't really matter if she had thought so.
As we went in to deliberate, the case was sewn up like a present. The defendant was sobbing into the table, either angling for pity or just hopeless. I struggled to contain any semblance of the satisfaction that burned inside me. The other jurors hardly needed convincing.
`` Whoever did this was sure a psycho, though,'' remarked Juror # 10. Alvin Hobbes was his name. He looked at the photos of the crime scene. At my artwork, a masterpiece in motifs of white skin, red blood, and brown earth. `` This is just horrible. And I do n't get the sense from the boyfriend that he's the type who would *dissect* her after shooting her. It just does n't add up for me.''
A chorus of voices talked him down from the ledge, and we entered our verdict: guilty of first degree murder.
`` Still disgusting,'' said Alvin as we left the room. `` Sick bastard...''
I stared daggers through his back as we returned to the court room, and I made my decision. Hopefully Alvin lived somewhere where the neighbors would n't be able to see me.
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[ WP ] `` Sometimes , to fight monsters , you have to become one yourself . And when that does n't work , become even worse. ``
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This would be the most important meeting of his life.
Daniel Harrison had spent the last fifteen years pouring his heart and soul into his research. He was ready to go to any lengths to see his life work come to fruition.
He had to poke and prod, make constant phone calls, emails, even hand written letters to secure the meeting with the president of the company, but finally he was going to meet with the man with the leverage to change everything, for better or for worse.
His mouth was dry from the anxiety, he took a cup from the water cooler and only half filled it so his shaking hands would n't spill any on his suit. He needed to be as presentable as possible, but his fore head was already beading with sweat, his neck turning red.
He took rapid sips of the water before getting a refill and repeating.
`` Mr. Harrison?''
He nearly dropped the cup of water when he heard the voice of the young receptionist call his name.
`` Mr. Van Richschtein will see you now.''
Daniel crushed up the cup and tossed it in the waste basket before tightening his tie and grabbing his brief case. He walked solemnly up to the large wooden doors, opened them and walked in.
The office was lavishly decorated with dark wooden shelves and chairs leading up to a gargantuan desk with a sleek modern laptop on it, some shining gold pens and a glass. Behind it sat a man large in both height and girth with thinning hair, bushy, dark eyebrows and jowls like a bull dog.
`` Mr. Van Richschtein, it's nice to finally meet you.'' Daniel said clearly, going over the words he had rehearsed in his head to mask his anxiety. Everything was a script, all possible outcomes rehearsed.
`` Daniel, come, sit down.'' the president of the company stood up and extended his hand, they had a short, cold and plainly formal handshake before taking their seats.
`` I assume you've come to discuss my decision to shut down your work on the vaccine?''
`` Of course, sir, I beg you to reconsider. The bacterial infection has quickly been spreading through the developed world, ravaging both rich and poor. Unfortunately only the rich can afford the treatments, which are only effective on a lucky thirty five percent of the population. This vaccine... it could put that to an end forever.''
Daniel explained. He had memorized many numbers and statistics in case they should come up, the cost of a lifetime of treatment. The death rates, both total and broken down by income bracket. He was ready for everything...
`` Daniel, I understand your philanthropic concern. Perhaps, however, I could explain things from my perspective.'' the large man stood up and walked over to the window to look out over the city.
`` A business runs on profit margins. It is what keeps it afloat. It's what allows me to employ hundreds of thousands of individuals. To pay you and everyone else that works here so you can put food on the table and have a nice house for your family.
Now, as a business we have to consider every decision we make, and all of them are weighed evenly, we ca n't simply make biased decisions about one product over another due to philanthropic or moral concerns. Everything comes down to currency, because I believe that's how we help the most people.
The vaccine simply is n't coming out fast enough, and with the cost of phase three clinical trials, I just do n't think we'll be able to price it high enough to make back the expenses of it. The treatments we currently offer are sufficient to maintain the quality of life for these patients for now.''
He walked over to the cabinet on the far wall.
`` With all due respect, my nephew is extremely ill. He has been on the best treatments currently available and nothing has become of it. We're afraid he will never live a normal life. He will be bound to disability as long as he is alive unless we can cure his condition. Our labs are so close to perfecting the vaccine, we only need to run a few more trials before we see FDA approval. This could change his life, and the lives of so many.'' Daniel spoke rapidly, trying to contain his frustration. He wanted nothing more than to beat the president senseless but knew he had to be diplomatic if he was to win.
`` Daniel... I know it must be hard with a personal investment in this vaccine, but the investors trust me to do with the company's assets what is best for the company, not for any individual employee or child in the world.''
The president took out a bottle of liquor from the cabinet and walked back to his desk and poured some into his crystal glass. `` Nothing like some fine, aged, bourbon. Would you like some, Daniel?''
`` No thank you sir. Have you considered that insurance companies would cover the cost for many of the vaccinations no matter how high the price?''
`` Daniel I wish that were true but we ca n't risk the government overstepping its bounds to shut down legitimate business operations that they falsely label as'price gouging.'' he snorted before taking a sip from his glass.
As he did, Daniel filled with warmth, as if he himself was drinking of the alcohol. The buzz radiated from his heart to his head.
`` Is there no chance of tax deduction or some kind of loophole for producing a product at a loss for the greater good?'' Daniel asked, grasping at straws to keep the conversation going.
`` I'm afraid not, Daniel. The government just is n't interested in supporting legitimate businesses anymore. They think we're the enemy, that is, unless you put enough money in the right pockets. I prefer to keep as much as I can in mine. It's just not a good payoff for a drug like this. Perhaps you'd like to go seek out some outside investors to continue your research?'' The president gave a smug smile before downing the rest of his glass without a flinch.
`` No... I think I've already found my lead investor. You see, Mr. Van Richschtein the glass you just drank from was contaminated with a genetically modified strain of the bacteria. It's resistant to normal treatments, only a vaccine can stop it. I've also taken the liberty of spreading it into your home water supply. It's likely infected your family, your children, even your precious dog.''
The president's face went pale as he stared at the glass.
`` As the head researcher of the vaccine I've compartmentalized all the research. I am the only one with all the pieces and all the knowledge to put it together. They're all secured on my encrypted drives. Without me, it will take months, maybe even years to take all the bits and pieces from the dozens of labs we worked with to pull together and formulate this vaccine. I have spent over a decade of my life working on this vaccine, for the good of humanity. To save my nephew and everyone from this horrible disease. I will NOT have it stolen from me for your greed, Mr. Van Richschtein.
So you can either continue to fund my search for the vaccine or you can suffer with everyone else who remains untreated to this day because there's no money in saving them.''
Daniel stood up, collected his brief case and walked out. The president slumped into his chair, still white faced. Anger and rage surged through his body, he wanted to fire Daniel, to report him to the authorities, to ruin his life, whatever it took, but he could n't risk that Daniel had truly infected him with the bacteria. He was his only hope of a cure.
The phone on his desk rang. He picked it up and stammered out a `` Hello?''
`` Arnold? This is Linda. I'm at the emergency room with our son. He just threw up blood...''
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - Murderous Intent Edition
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*So, I originally wrote this the other day in 3rd POV, but one of my subs reccommended trying it in 1st POV, so I rewrote the whole thing. If you have time, a comparison would be nice. *
** [ WP ] The world is flat. There is no known edge, just wasteland and winds that blow harder and harder against you the further out you go. You're part of a research expedition trying to make it further out than anyone ever has. **
*Here's the [ original ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4avrlw/wp_the_world_is_flat_there_is_no_known_edge_just/d143dny ). *
*And the new... *
_____
*Day 1*
*Scout Lucas Brentwood*
We left the City today. Took the first steps into the wild since our training. I, for one, am truly excited. As one of only two Scouts on the mission, I have a big job. I get to climb the trees, you know, the massive ones that are just outside the limits. It's not that of an exciting job, but for someone like me, it's the best thing I'll ever get.
Captain Northbrow is leading the expedition, his second is Janine Westworth. There are two scouts, myself and Bobby. Four packers, one huntsman, two guardsmen, and a Royal Expeditionary, which is just a fancy word for mapmaker.
We only made it a few miles from the City, I can still see her lights. Yet, the tension already grows. Captain Northbrow is attempting the impossible, to go the farthest anyone has ever gone.
I am extremely excited.
_____
*Day 62*
*Scout Lucas Brentwood*
I had to climb another tree today. As I've done multiple times the past sixty-one days. I mean, I'm used to it. Both myself and Bobby have done it hundreds of times. Probably well into the thousands now, but it is always amazing to see the world from that perspective. High up in the trees, with the wind brushing ( or in the case of where we are, smashing ) into your face.
Yet, that's all we do. All we see. Trees and trees and oh, some more trees.
There is nothing out here but trees. Just trees. No distinguishing landmarks, no rock formations, hell, all the trees even look the same! Big, great ever-greens!
We left the Inner Valley territory twenty-seven days ago, heading West. Cap'n says we'll head West tomorrow too. That's about all we've been doing.
_________
*Day 118*
*Scout Lucas Brentwood*
Janine asked if I was climbing the trees right today. If I could roll my eyes on paper, I would. I'm sure it was all in good fun and she was n't trying to annoy me, but it felt rather condescending for her to have said that.
I do n't know, maybe I'm letting the wind burn get to me.
________
*Day 176*
*Scout Lucas Brentwood*
I noticed something today on one of my climbs. Besides the ever-increasing wind, which everyone could feel, I did n't say anything. I do n't want anyone worrying, but I should probably tell the Captain.
The horizon is *different. *
I'm not quite sure what it is, but I've been staring at the same thing for a hundred and seventy-six days, plus every day I've been alive, and today, it finally looks strange. The trees were changing as the horizon grew, a cool green turning into a harsh brown. And the wind, obviously, is getting harder.
Today, though, it was more intense than ever. The trees, which normally moved from the strength of the wind, were almost *dancing*. Back and forth in a beautiful and infinite pattern. Until the horizon changed and the dancing stopped. I'm sure Bobby saw it too, but he has n't said anything.
Maybe I'll slip him a note tonight. I do n't want the `` Royal Expeditionary'' to get worried and ruin the whole trip.
_________
*Day 184*
*Scout Lucas Brentwood*
The trees ended today. It's been happening for about eight days now, the forest started to get thinner and thinner until the whole thing just stopped. We can still see them behind us, going East, but everything South West, West, and North West is desolate.
The entire world is different.
Captain is calling it the Brown Blanket, because of the sand and the brown and well, it's covering the entire the entire horizon. And the wind is the worst part of it. Howling in the night and screaming at us during the day. It kicks up sand in the day and buries us in the night. No one is saying it, but they're scared. All of us.
The Royal Expeditionary is the worst of us all. He's in charge of mapping and apparently, this is farther than any expedition ever. And everyone is wondering why no one said anything about the Brown Blanket.
I have a theory, but until I need it, I'm not writing it down.
Not yet.
________
*Day 201*
*Acting Captain Janine Westworth*
I never knew Northbrow could get hurt, or fall down, or bleed. He practically raised me, taught me everything I knew. Now, I'm in charge. I never thought I would see the day.
Part of me knew it was coming, since we stopped seeing the trees, animals and water disappeared with it. Cap'n has been taking quarter rations every day since. It was only a matter of time'til it caught up with him.
That was the real problem today. You ca n't take the wounded on these missions. He always taught me one thing, when wounded, an animal would sacrifice itself for its, draw out the prey or the predator to give them time. It just took me'til today to realize that the Alpha usually has to do it.
One shot was fired on this expedition, and it was from the gun on my back.
I know, just from watching the party sleep right now, just from staring at the Brown Blanket, that it wo n't be the last.
_______
*As always, /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work! *
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[ WP ] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
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`` Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $ 150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?'' Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part.
`` I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity.''
`` I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of'em have showed up the last few weeks.''
`` Homeless youths? I would n't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you.''
`` You do n't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they are n't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops wo n't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids.''
I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. `` You got a non-profit number?''
`` Yes,'' her voice pitched up, hopeful.
`` Well, I'm gon na need a receipt.''
`` You'll do it?''
`` I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes.'' I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time.
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[ WP ] Backstory and character development of lesser known Harry Potter characters
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Bane waited eagerly at the edge of the forest, staring across the misty lake for any sign of smoke coming from the railway station. The Hogsmeade Express was n't due to arrive for another hour, but schedules do n't mean much in the world of magic, do they?
In his hands, Bane clutched the letter that had changed his life. He would have the proud honor of being the first Centaur to ever attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. A young professor, Dumbledore, had personally gone to the Ministry and filed the necessary permits on his behalf. And though the rest of the faculty was uneasy with his presence, Bane would prove his worth to them over time. After all, he'd spent most of his foal years sneaking to the edge of the forest, eavesdropping on Herbology lectures and Care of Magical Creatures instructions. He'd found leftover books and papers, discarded by the Wizard students at the end of the year, and read through them until the bindings fell apart. The Centaur Elders had even consented to him learning to use a wand. With the help of Dumbledore, he'd traveled to Diagon Alley ( using a polyjuice potion, of course ) to pick the perfect one for him.
The Centaur Elders, though wary of the school that had often caused strife between them and the wizards, had Divined that Bane would become a leader of the Centaurs, and that his relationship with the humans would somehow have a significant impact on the herd, though they were unable to say how. Bane felt that pressure every day, knowing that he was the one destined to change humanity's view of his kind.
He stamped his foot nervously. Every bird call sounded like the shrill whistle of the train, and every village fireplace plume, at first glance, looked like the massive puffing cloud of the steam engine. Bane wondered what the other students were doing on the train. Maybe they were studying already, practicing the swishing and flicking of their wands. He could n't want to meet them for the sorting ceremony.
Behind him, the soft sound of hooves crunching through the dense forest alerted him to the presence of Alzon, the head of the Centaur Elders. Wordlessly, Alzon trotted next to Bane and gazed out through the mists over the lake. After a few moments of silence, he placed a hand gently on Bane's shoulder. Bane glanced down and noticed that Alzon's other hand held a letter, sealed in a lime-green envelope and stamped with the Hogwarts crest. Wordlessly, Alzon handed him the letter and retreated to the trees.
`` Dear Mr. Bane,'' the letter read. `` We regret to inform you that the Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardy has decided to revoke your admittance to the most recent class of students. A more careful evaluation of ministry rules determined that beasts were ineligible for school attendance alongside human wizards. The Board of Governors has ratified a motion withdrawing your acceptance. We wish you the best in your wizarding career elsewhere. Yours, Abraxos Malfoy.''
Bane read the letter, then read it again. Then again. His hand shook as he tore it in half. Then again. Then into even smaller pieces. Then even smaller, until it was shredded into miniscule, lime-green scraps. He pounded at them with his front hooves, burying them into the undergrowth of the forest. He snorted and raged, kicking at branches and trees. No centaur could endure such an insult! He galloped back to his tree, where he kept his wizarding possessions: the books, the wand, the his correspondence with Professor Dumbledore. He tore those to pieces, snapping the wand in half. He built a fire, and tossed each item in, one by one, carefully destroying any chance for humans and centaur harmony in his lifetime.
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[ IP ] Here is the book cover . Now write the story .
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Dream State; noun, an artificial reality generated and operated by the IRIS computer simulation. It will hold nine thousand individuals in an incapacitated state during its first run.
Dream State; persona, an AI of IRIS designed to overlook the vegetated personnel. It will be responsible for all their needs to function properly within Dream State.
Dream State; abstract, a state of conciseness brought on artificially through the linkage of several thousand minds. Describe as a feeling of euphoria and unity.
We built Dream State as the perfect simulator, the ultimate conductor of all information that would dwarf the very internet in size and power. When thousands of people are linked together mind by mind, think of all they could accomplish.
You might already be summarizing all the ways it could go wrong, trust me it will, but that's not our story.
This is the beginning.
With Earth verging on its last legs from cataclysmic events IRIS is our last hope of survival. Its solution is immortality, if we could all save and share our thoughts and memories, could we truly die? If everyone could think together as one, could n't we solve any problem? It my job to put Dream State in motion, the problem is how will I convince several thousand people to share in my ambition?
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[ WP ] It happens in a second or two , or less time
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Like aged blinds from an office unkempt, he attempted to open his eyes. The familiarities started to trickle in like a leaking tap. His bedroom wall, that dry and musky scent that lingers in his mouth, the thumping headache, and that fucking alarm. Five more minutes. He's not allowed to go back to sleep, though! *Brilliant*.
Thoughts drifted through his mind as he brushed his teeth; a brief gap in an otherwise unnecessarily rushed morning routine- why did he hit snooze? If he was n't so distracted before he went to bed last night, perhaps he'd have gotten those fabled 8 hours that Mum kept telling him about. Mum and Dad were getting old. He *would* like to spend more time with them, but with a mind that runs a thousand miles a minute, there's too much to get done. `` Next time I'm free'', he assured himself ( before he remembered he was seeing his partner that day ). As if on queue, he heard that faint mew coming from outside the bathroom.
`` Not now!'' he whispered.
With a three-tap check, he closed the front door behind him. Clunk. Some would say it was eerily quiet, apart from the distant sounds of single cars, but not him. He was used to getting up before his world, it comes with his line of work after all. The plight of the shift-worker. His car was still in the drive. `` Not stolen yet'', he chuckled to himself.
Sitting in the driver's seat, he put the key in the ignition and with a deep breath, gathered himself. Did he have everything? To his left was his bag, filled with all his confidiential paperwork which losing could get him in a bit of trouble with management, but more importantly, *his lunch*. Feeling his pockets, he realised he could n't find his keys, before he remembered that they were in the ignition. He felt a bit of an idiot, but thankfully no one was around to notice.
With a twist of the ignition the car roared back at him, as if to give permission to carry on. His *valiant steed*. As he released the handbrake and rolled forward with his foot gently on the footbrake, the car squeaked. He hoped he did n't wake the neighbours up with his *valiant steed* which he sometimes pushed perhaps a little *too* hard. As he rolled onto the road, he brought his thoughts to the day ahead. `` This is where it all starts'', he sighed. Instinctively, he looked to his right, and met the approaching eyes of a man filled with panic.
`` Oh God.''
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[ WP ] `` Well , I think the whole thing started when the guy in the mirror stole my toothbrush . ''
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The book fell to the floor with a thud, waking him. Groaning, he opened a bleary eye to examine his now empty hand, hanging limply off the end of the armchair. His bed beckoned, as it always did around this time of night when the print on the page could no longer keep his eyes open. He rose steadily, but stopped when he felt a shooting pain in his back, his every muscle seemingly groaning in frustration. With a grimace and a weary hand on his spine, he hobbled over to the mantelpiece. He was not the young man he once was, and the armchair nap did his already troublesome back no favours.
His reading glasses hung askew on his graying frame. He lifted them gently and placed them in their container on the mantelpiece. A picture frame sat nearby, its aging borders framing a black and white photo of a young couple.
A soft layer of dust clung to their features. The usual bustle in the corridor outside had died down, leaving only the occasional shuffle of slippers or struggled sound of aged footsteps.
He flicked on the bathroom light and waddled inside, clinging to the wall for support. He grasped the basin firmly and met his own gaze in the mirror. His fading hair, nearly all white, stuck up in odd directions. His eyes sunken, his skin sagging. He ran a hand slowly down his cheek. Like the pages in a book, every wrinkle told a small part of a long story. A story that was nearing its conclusion.
He fumbled with the toothpaste cap for a while, before managing to get some on his brush. He could not imagine how many times he had brushed his teeth in his lifetime, just thinking about it made his head hurt. At this point it was automatic, as if someone else were doing the brushing. The toothbrush paused an inch from his mouth. Something had caught his eye, his gaze fixated on the mirror. The toothpaste fell from the brush into the basin.
There was something odd about his reflection. It appeared to be frozen, his hand still on his cheek. He began to panic, but then quickly dismissed it as hallucination. He had encountered absurdities before, but nothing quite like this. It must be that new medication he'd been prescribed. His reflection began to move before he could completely recover. He lifted his hand from his cheek and reached forward slowly, his expression never changing. He watched in horror as his fingers penetrated the mirror's glass, his heartbeat quickening. He tried to step back, away from the prying fingers, but was frozen. His heart leaped to his throat as the fingers curled around his toothbrush and slowly lifted it from his hand. He opened his mouth to cry out, but the sound stuck in his throat.
As the impossible happened before his eyes, he desperately tried to make sense of it. How can mirrors be real if our eyes are n't real? He could feel himself losing it. He had regained some feeling in his legs, and ran for the door. Perhaps too soon, for he had n't made it two steps before he stumbled and crashed into the bathroom cabinet, sending an array of ointments and bath salts flying. He lay in the mess, trying to catch his breath.
A nurse arrived, her initial shock quickly turning into concern. As his pulse slowed and his breathing softened, her moving lips began to emit sound.
`` Are you alright? What happened here?''
`` Well, I think the whole thing started when the guy in the mirror stole my toothbrush.''
She laughed nervously.
`` Alright, let's get you to bed.''
___
My first post to /r/WritingPrompts! I've been meaning to write something for a while, glad I finally did it.
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[ WP ] Write the most simultaneously creepy and sweet love letter ever .
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Dear Bethany,
You're eyes sparkle and shine as they day comes to an end. Even after especially long days, your porcelain skin looks soft and creamy. When you look completely satisfied as you crawl into bed, my heart feels content. I'm so happy that you can relax and wind down in the comfort of your bed. You can take up as much of the bed as you would like, it's all yours. I dream of the day I can curl up around you as you settle in. Intertwining my legs with your perfectly toned thighs. Your sunset colored hair in my face, smelling of a combination of strawberry conditioner and your channel perfume.
Until then, my love, this tree will do. I hold onto it as if each branch was a piece of you. The nights you forget to close your curtains are my favorite. I can see what you're wearing. I can imagine how soft your purple silk slip feels against my chest as I curl up behind you.
It wo n't be long, my love, until I can hold you until your last breath.
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[ WP ] A man escapes the banal reality of his nine-to-five cubicle job by internally pretending all of his interactions are in the middle ages in a land where he is a famous knight .
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Sarah poked at the excel spreadsheet and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the helpdesk guy to arrive. Oh god, he's so creepy, I hope he can just fix this quickly. Her excel continued to blink on and off, caught in a loop.
`` Fair maiden, doth this foul spell vex you,'' Sir Alan asked with a deep bow.
`` Its locked up again, I'm so sick of this crap, when are we getting new computers?''
Sir Alan shook his head, `` Pardon me, fine maiden, please repeat. This old knight does n't have the ears of youth any longer.'' He looked down shamefully at his body, staring at his khaki pants with the stain on them.
`` Good sir knight, I meant that awful wizard continues to jam my loom because I turned down his hand in marriage.'' She put her arms around herself defensively and raised her breasts a couple inches producing a clear view of her bosom. `` Surely, a lass like myself should n't have to defend herself alone against such evil?''
Sir Alan smiled, `` Surely! It would stain my honor to let such proceedings occur uninterrupted by a just sword such as mine.'' He mashed the keyboard, clicked on the mouse, and waited.
`` Oh dear knight, you're so assertive and manly. This battle is too much for me,'' she said performing a mock faint.
`` I am only the King's humble servant,'' he added. `` Ah see here, I have broken the spell, your loom is back to how it was.''
`` My hero! The realm is lucky to have one such as you,'' she said as she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.
`` It is my...''
Sarah cleared her throat, `` Hey, so is it working? You have n't said a word in like 5 minutes. Its kinda creepy.''
Alan stared at his brown work shoes careful to avoid any eye contact. `` Umm yeah, it was a bug with the VBS script. I just had to kill the macro. You should be good,'' he stammered as he quickly walked away.
`` Yeah, whatever, thanks,'' said Sarah distractedly as she went back to her work. She turned her head to make sure he was gone and added, `` weirdo.''
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[ WP ] You are convinced that the new employee is actually a Hollywood celebrity .
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`` So, Jeff, how are you doing today?'' the psychiatrist said in his nasally voice as he smiled at me with a grin that screamed xanex.
`` I'm ok for the most part,'' Jeff uttered back.
`` Has anything new come up in your life that you would like to talk about?'' the psychiatrist asked.
Jeff stared at him, looking at him like a toddler stares at a mirror.
`` The wiry brown hair was stopped by a receding hairline that makes Usain Bolt nervous. The thick glasses could fry an ant hill and the sweater looked like Cosby himself ate, spat out, and gave it a ruphie. Billy Crystal!!!! This SOB looks like Billy tapdancing Crystal from Analyze This! I wanted to just shake my finger at him and say'You....You're good you....' Jeff pondered in his head.
`` No... not really,'' he blurted realizing he had been just staring at the man as if he was Sally in the diner.
`` Well, what about your...'' the psychiatrist started.
`` There has been something that's been really bothering me lately,'' Jeff said.
`` And what's...''
`` I swear, and I'm serious this time, that Rob Lowe is stalking me!!'' Jeff interrupted.
The psychiatrist stares head tilted and blankly at Jeff, as if debating whether that.45 he just bought was a viable exit strategy.
`` I mean, this dude just showed up one day in a suit and with NO TIE and acted as if he owned the damn place! I never met him in my life, and here is giving me order after order,'' Jeff screamed.
`` Jeff, that may just be your new bo....''
`` And nevermind his perfect bone structure, but he always seems to be dressed like he stepped out of GQ. And then The women just flock to him, and he never seems rattled. Come on, that sounds like Rob Lowe. He has this perfectly styled hair that never has a hair out of place, and he is so in shape!'' he exclaimed.
`` Jeff, I think this may be signs of deeply repressed signs of sexual confu...''
`` And then this douche of a meat sack comes in to replace the Sparkletts bottles. He looks exactly like Rob Lowe... but with a bleached fauxhawk and venice beach muscles. Then, the other day I saw this uni-bomber looking asshole following me to work. If it was n't for the hat and glasses, there's no mistaking him for Rob Lowe. Then, when I was in line waiting for my lunch, a guy that never left high school behind served me and said'Hi Jeff'. And you'll never guess who it was!!!'' Jeff screamed.
The psychiatrist buried his face so hard into his hand he risked suffocation.
`` Was it...'' with a sign of bitter contempt for his job `` Rob Lowe?'' he said.
`` YES!! It was Rob FUCKING Lowe!'' Jeff said.
A silence followed as if Jeff had just finished his first act.
`` Jeff, how you seen those DirectTV adds that feature Rob Lowe anytime recently?'' the psychiatrist questioned.
`` No,'' Jeff vehemently denied.
`` I think you may be projecting a sort of illusion of what you see you want to become along with your fears and guilty pleasures, and they are manifesting themselves in this fantasy where Rob Lowe is following you,'' the psychiatrist purported.
Finish Act Deux.
`` Fuck you Billy Crystal!!!'' Jeff lashed back and left.
Fin.
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[ WP ] Humans have finally reached the edge of the universe . Tell what they see .
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Passing the last star in the super cluster, the crew prepared to make another jump.
`` This'll be the last boys, let's see what's out there'', Captain Kenneth smirked as his entire crew. Packed with the latest technology man has ever made, 60 years of travelling and millenia of human technology ride with them, as is the hopes of ending the questions about the observable universe.
The colours present in the quarterdeck were looking on the darkness past the last star.
`` Warp charge on the drive is near maximum, awaiting your orders Captain'', Ethan smiled. The prospect of jumping into the void fills the quarterdeck with excitement in each passing second.
`` Go for it'', Kenneth replied.
`` Ready the main instruments, get all the data and measurements you can get. ``, Liam, the chief scientist commanded.
`` Expending warp charge, in 3, 2, 1..'', the darkness from the deck window seemed to consume the room as they entered the void.
`` Charge spent'', the ship flashed into the empty. Silence fell over the room as they were only met with more darkness.
`` I did expect more from this, let's spend another charge'', Liam hinted at Kenneth. `` I think you're right, maintenance prepare for another one''. Warping was n't easy, the engine needs an hour to prepare charging and two to charge.
The shiped jumped and flashed for several days, and they were only met with even more of the void, until the lights of the universe could not reach them. After a few more months, they were the only light source in the midst of nothing.
`` Endless. This is what our universe is. ``, Kenneth remarked to Ethan as he retired for another day of jumping.
`` I believe that there's nothing more we can take in from this Kenneth, let's just head back'', Ethan replied.
Liam overhearing this, trailed Ethan with 2 other men. Kenneth, seeing this, immediately followed suit. The crew were beginning to be restless with the void.
`` This ship will turn into a slaughterhouse if I do n't get this situation under control. Some of these men will go back, some wo n't.''
Kenneth thought to himself, `` Honestly, I just want to see my daughter again.''
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[ WP ] Rewrite a Disney Movie to have it take place/relate to WWII .
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`` Marry me, Belle,'' Hanz said, his German accent thick and rough. He did n't even get down on one knee.
`` I've told you several times already, Hanz,'' Belle began as she rolled her eyes. `` I have no intention of marrying you, or being with you in any romantic manner.'' She quickly turned and went on her way, while Hanz voiced his disappointment behind her. `` Goodbye now, Hanz,'' she said cheerily, waving a hand in the air as she left.
As she strolled down the walkway towards home, she heard the sound of hooves clicking on the stone behind her, approaching fast. She turned to find a horse -- her father's horse, in fact. It seemed distressed.
`` What's the matter, Phillipe?'' She asks, placing a hand on the side of the horse's head. Phillipe let out a long *neigh* and motioned as if he wanted Belle to follow. Belle became concerned, knowing that her father seldom went anywhere without Phillipe; so she climbed up onto the saddle and rode off into the woods.
After some time, they came to an old castle nestled deep in the forest. Belle approached the large, wooden door and found it ajar. `` Hello? Is anyone there?'' she called out into the castle, yet heard no response. `` Are you certain this is the right place, Phillipe?'' she asked the horse. A short *neigh* seemed to confirm.
Belle wandered through the castle, finally finding her father locked in a cell. He explained that a strange beast had locked him up, and commanded that Belle leave before the Beast returned. Before the argument was resolved, Belle heard a deep, rumbling breath behind her.
`` And who are you, now?'' The voice asked.
Belle turned to see a giant, furry creature towering over her. It had the voice and clothes of a man, but the hair and stature of some kind of wolf, standing upright. Its hands were just like a human's, yet showed large, sharp nails, like those of a bear.
`` Please, sir,'' Belle began. `` Let my father go. I will stay in his stead.''
After some protesting from her father, the Beast agreed, and released him.
Over the next several days, Belle began to learn much about the beast; how he had been a man once, and all of the events that led him to this circumstance. She even began to care for him.
One morning, after about a week, Belle awoke to a rumbling sound. She ran through the castle, finally finding Beast on a balcony, overlooking the front of the castle. `` Beast,'' she began, running to him. `` What on earth is --'' she approached the railing and could not believe her eyes.
A Nazi tank sat outside the castle, its barrel pointed straight at the balcony. At least a dozen soldiers stood around it, and at the front of the line, Belle spotted a familiar face.
`` Hanz, what are you doing here?'' She called down to him.
`` I am here to rescue you from this animal,'' he replied.
`` Please, Hanz, leave now. I am not in need of rescue.''
Beast turned to Belle, putting a hand on her shoulder. `` You should not be here any longer, Belle. Please, leave with these men, before someone is hurt.''
Belle could not believe her ears. `` I will do no such thing! We need only to explain to them what happened to you.''
Hanz yelled to the soldiers below. `` Aim your weapons, men!''
`` No!'' Belle called out. `` Do n't you hurt him!''
`` Please, Belle. Do n't watch this.'' He shoved her aside, sending her falling to the ground. She heard Hanz yell a command in German, and gunshots rang out. The Beast fell back, bleeding from several spots in his chest and arms. He looked over at Belle, who rushed to his side and lifted his hand.
`` Please, no,'' she cried. `` How can this be?'' She watched as the Beast stared into her eyes, and transformed back into a human. `` You... You're human again. That means...'' she was sobbing.
`` Yes,'' beast said, blood falling from his lips. `` I... I love you, Belle.'' Those were his final words.
Belle sobbed into his chest until she heard Hanz yell from below. `` My darling Belle, your new life awaits you! Our fuhrer has personally insured me that I may retire to this very castle once our war is won. And I wish for you to be my wife!''
Belle approached the edge of the balcony, and looked down at Hanz. `` I will never, ever,'' she began, pure anger in her voice, `` be your wife. Rot in Hell, Hanz.''
And with that, she threw herself over the edge.
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[ WP ] The year is 1910 . Adolf Hitler , a struggling artist , has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers , but this one is different . This traveller does n't want to kill Hitler , he wants to teach him to paint . He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross .
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It pained him to say that Adolf had become increasingly used to the attempts on his life. Every time he blinked an eye, there was someone out to end him with poison, a knife, or something he didn ’ t recognize. Regardless of time, regardless of the position Adolf was in, they were always there. They seemed to know everything.
What was he to do? He hadn ’ t had the time to ask them, since they all had failed in their ambitions, but it nevertheless had made him a nervous man. Afraid of his own destiny, one could say. Why? Adolf didn ’ t think that he would ever stoop so low as to warrant a barrage of assassins in strange clothing and strange mechanisms and strange ambitions. He had, due to the attacks, gradually become a paranoid man, thinking the world was against him and everything he did. He was a shell. He was a rock. He was festering in the stew of his own self-exile, and it was beginning to get to him.
He had decided to become a painter in the time that he had to himself. His mother always told him to get a real job, and actually work, but the thought was less than comforting to Adolf. He hated being out in the open, he ’ d be more of a target then. So when he moved to Vienna with the last of his inheritance, he could stay secluded for as long as he liked.
He was certainly secluded now – he was locked up in his room, awaiting the results of the entrance exam to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. He was confident, for once, about his chances. His sketches that he had sent in were quite good. He allowed himself a short, sharp chuckle before he turned around and noticed his visitor.
There had been no sound, no evidence of anything moved. There was simply a man with a beard and frizzy hair sitting on his sofa with smiling eyes and a calm expression.
“ Hello there, ” said the man.
Adolf stood at attention. “ Who are you? ” he asked. “ Are you here to kill me? ”
“ I am not an assassin, Adolf. ” The man smiled. “ My name is Bob Ross. I am an artist just like you. ”
“ Oh? ” said Adolf, reaching for the revolver in his desk, pulling it out and pointing it at Bob. “ And what are you going to do? ”
“ I am here to teach you. Enlighten you, perhaps. ”
“ Teach? ”
“ Yes. ”
“ I am confident in my ability, sir. I don ’ t need lessons. ”
“ Please understand, I want to help. ”
“ I don ’ t need help!! ” cried Adolf, raising the pistol once again. “ I ’ ve already submitted my drawings AND taken the test! ”
The man stopped, and then he stood, disheartened. “ I was too late? ”
“ Too late? ” asked Adolf. “ What do you mean? ”
“ I ’ m afraid you ’ re not going to get accepted to the Academy, Adolf. ”
“ I ’ m… ” Adolf ’ s face fell. “ I ’ m not? ”
Bob shook his head. “ You are going to do bad things, Adolf. So please… ”
“ What kind of bad things?! ”
“ I can not say… ” Bob held a smile, resigned almost, to the floor. He looked tired.
“ I am going to be accepted. You can ’ t stop me. They ’ re accepting me as we speak! ”
Bob smiled sadly. “ Listen to me. You could do great things. You can do anything you want to in this life that you are given. You can be the greatest the world has ever seen. The world will revere your name for centuries. You must simply do right by you, and do right by others. You have the capability to change things for the better, Adolf. Let me be the first step. ”
Bob held out his hand. Adolf ’ s revolver hand began to shake. The room was silent.
The mail slot on the door jostled, and Adolf turned to look. A letter. He walked towards it with bated breath, revolver still trained on Bob.
He crouched down and opened it.
He had been denied.
“ What is it? ” asked Bob.
Adolf stood again, at a loss for words. Bob looked at him, confused.
“ You know, ” said Adolf.
Adolf shot Bob Ross in the chest, and he fell to the floor. Tears began to rush down Adolf ’ s face. What to do now? What on Earth to do now?
He thought back to what Bob had said.
He could do great things. He can do anything he wants to in this life that he is given. He can be the greatest the world has ever seen. The world will revere his name for centuries. He must simply do right by him, and do right by others. He will have the capability to change things for the better.
He will change things, he thought. He will do right by him, and do right to others. He will be the greatest the world had ever seen.
Hitler smiled.
There will be fire.
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[ WP ] Cannibalism is a widely accepted social norm .
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People ask me strange questions about it all the time, but that is to be expected when running in the dark circles that I do. It starts with an online forum, and somebody starts spilling their guts about having met me and having heard a few of my stories. Abandoned kids in New Delhi, Old men in Uganda, and even the one about the former Nazi that was hiding in a village in Argentina. It is always the same two questions: How do you pick, and who was the best. I always answer in the same way: I let them pick themselves and they all have their merits. I do n't like to share too many details... just the basics. Capture ( typically in an opportune moment ), preparation ( usually discreetly... but sometimes it is not possible ), and eating. There is always a lot of eating because even the smallest entree has many parts to taste. I savor it all... even the seemingly unconventional parts. Reactions vary from shock to curiousity to sexual arousal, but people are always awestruck in one way or another. Who would n't be... how often do you meet someone with such a grand goal. Yes, I will consume a member of every ethnic group on earth before I meet my end. The risk in asking is that sometimes I get hungry talking about it and need to fill that void. Sometimes it is an unfortunate ending to an otherwise enjoyable social interaction. My only prayer is that my end comes less... digestively.
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[ WP ] Your looks , smarts , and charm have made you extremely successful . You fall in love , but she says you 're too perfect . You try to fail at something to get her , but luck has other plans .
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Rachel was wearing that beautiful dress her mother had left her. I remembered that she told me how her mother met her father in it. A very cute story.
I slowly stopped paddling as our little boat stopped in the middle of the lake. It was a rental from one of the park services, but it was perfect for what I was about to do.
It was a sticker summer day, and even more humidity would get anyone riled up.
`` What a lovely day,'' I stood up in the boat, stretching my arms, `` God, I just love how humid the weather is.''
Rachel smiled at me and considered. `` You're right,'' she pipped, `` The humidity is good for people with dry skin. You're so considerate!''
*Really? *
I groaned to myself as I took a tiny leap. The boat rocked on impact as I gave her a confident smile.
`` Nice balance!''
*You have go to be joking. You're honestly not concerned about the boat capsizing? *
I took a deep breath and said, `` Fuck this.''
I shifted my entire body weight to the side as I felt the boat slip from underneath us. Rachel let out a tiny gasp as the two of us fell through the surface of the lake.
I surfaced several seconds later and punch the air in triumph.
*I fucking finally fucked up. *
But Rachel was n't coming up. I waited a couple of seconds but still the water was motionless.
`` Oh shi-''
Rachel gasped for air as I swam over to her.
`` Holy shit,'' I reached over for her, `` Are you okay??''
`` There's.... there's.... there's....'' She pointed towards under the water.
`` There's a huge chest down there!''
`` What?'' I had no idea.
`` Follow me!'' she grabbed my hand as the two of us submerged. We had swum down maybe ten feet when the visibility of the water started to fade.
*What is she talking about? *
Something shiny at caught me eye. Through the faint sunlight that seeped through, I saw a flash of flight reflect on what looked like a large metal box.
*No way. *
She signaled for the two of us to pick it up as we both positioned ourselves on either side.
She looked at me and mouthed `` 1... 2... 3!''
The two of us struggled to bring the chest up to the surface and it took us three tries before we finally did. We managed to swim to shore where luck would have it, nobody was there to question us about the chest.
`` What do you suppose is in it?'' She looked dangerously sexy with the wet dress.
`` I-I do n't know,'' I shrugged my shoulders.
She laughed.
`` Do n't pretend! You know I actually hated this dress and wanted to destroy it!''
This was news to me.
`` You did?''
`` Yeah, and how I've always wanted to be pirate when I was a kid. Finding a treasure chest has always been my dream.''
*I actually did n't know that but... *
`` And I bet you even put a lovely bottle of wine in it as well.''
She reached at the rusted lock and snapped open the chest. I already knew what was about to happen as she gasped in surprised with a touched look on her face.
She pulled out a bottle of red wine that looked clearly ancient.
`` Oh my god...'' several tears had formed in the corner of her eyes, `` You... you go through too much for me.''
She wiped her face and cleared her throat. This whole time I was speechless.
`` Like I said, Robert, you're too good for me.''
She smiled earnestly.
`` But I had a lot of fun!''
I was still speechless when she left the bottle on my lap and went to go change back at her place. I think she said that she would text me, but my mind was only racing with one thought at the time:
**Who the fuck buries a bottle of wine at the bottom of a lake in a treasure chest in the middle of the city!? **
The park services called me later that day and said that the whole service was free since the boat was `` mechanically'' flawed.
I took the 0.44 magnum later that night that I kept in my drawer and tried shooting myself in the head with it.
The gun jammed.
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[ WP ] `` When I said I needed an army , I did n't mean ... this ''
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`` When I said I needed an arm, I did n't mean... this!'' John exclaims, revolted. He's looking at a sea of men, wearing shiny armor and large swords. John shiver and spit in disgust. His teacher always said that war was for the foolish. Everything could be solved with peace. Something John's servants had n't understood yet.
John wipes the spit from his cheek with the backside of his left hand.
`` I am terribly sorry, your majesty!'' Johns advisor bowed deeply. The man was shaking and John giggled. They were all such cowards.
`` I want my arm'ey back! Why ca n't you just find a doctor!'' John exclaims. He plopps down on the floor and crosses his arm over his chest.
`` Your majesty...'' The advisor bowes double, and looks afraid of John.
`` GET ME A DOCTOR TO GIVE ME MY ARM BACK!'' John screams and rolls over on the floor, kicking and screaming. `` I NEED AN ARM! GIVE ME MY ARM!'' John is kicking and crying. He did n't like being Emperor anymore. Nobody would take care of him. Nobody would counter him. They just followed him around and did anything and everything he told them to. John wanted Moma back. Maybe if she had been around he had n't lost his arm.
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[ MP ] You hear a whistling overhead . Are you alive or are you dead ? It 's only Thursday .
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You hear a whistling over your head. Your headset falls off your head as you raise it, rubbing your eyes. Then you look around.
Everything is white. Your hazy mind tries to calculate what's going on. Waking up to pure white? Is this heaven? What the hell happened? You rub your eyes again trying to remember.
The white computers and white tables and white chairs come into focus. Well, you have no such luck. It looks like you are still on Earth, stuck in this lovely job. But where is everyone.
`` Hello?'' you call out. Then your phone rings. It's Joe.
`` Joe where the hell is everyone?''
`` Alan! Where are you?''
`` I'm at work, where are you?''
`` At work? What are you doing there?''
`` Uh... working?''
`` Alan! It's Sunday!''
`` What!?? Sunday? It ca n't be Sunday.'' You try to remember what day it should be.
`` Alan! It's your wife's birthday! She's about to come home to the surprise party remember?''
`` HOLY FUCK! What the hell am I gon na do?''
`` Haha just kidding.'' The door to the room opens and all your coworkers walk in, laughing at you. Joe runs over and slaps you on the back. `` You fell asleep so we thought we'd prank you man. Like those videos on YouTube.''
`` Very funny. But actually, what day is it.''
`` It's Friday man! Go home and get some rest man.'' You sigh in relief. You still have plenty of time to prepare your wife's surprise birthday party, and you can get some rest tomorrow.
`` Just kidding, man. It's only Thursday.'' Joe laughs again as you sit down and face plant into your keyboard.
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[ WP ] Another planet can be colonized , but we will have to radically alter the bodies and minds of the colonists to make it work .
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She hesitates inwardly. More than hesitates, her mind screams. On pre-programmed instinct alone she takes the first cup and drinks. Green goes first, and the green tastes okay, like tea that has been on the brew too long. Acid and earth.
“ Yes yes, drink drink, ” chatters the Ynglin before her, cupping and uncupping its claws in a gesture she has learned indicates pleasure. “ Tell, *tell. * ”
“ Tell what? ” she gasps. Suddenly she can breathe again and she pants, and she sweats. Sweat drips down her back and she wipes it off her brow. The cave feels hot now, and the walls are closed in and the ceiling come down low. The other Ynglin pull back into the shadows, or else the else shadows march forward. Their eyes reflect the light of the fire and burn in the dark.
“ Tell Ynglin how come to Ynglin, ” says the Ynglin. Its tongue flickers out, tasting the air, as the Ynglin in the shadows voice their agreement. “ Come, come, come. ”
“ You know how I got here, ” she mutters, staring between her legs at the rough stone floor. “ The ships. ”
“ Tell, tell, tell. ” The Ynglin stands right over her now, its diamond eyes on fire.
“ We came in the ships. The colony ship, *Herald of Peace, * colony ship of the Third Crusade Fleet, the fleet flagship *Harbinger of Light*, the fleet carriers *Fate ’ s Messenger* and *Swift Justice* -- ” The words come out strangled, pulled out of another life. A life where she stands in the forward observatory and follows the direction of the Admiral ’ s finger towards one star bigger than the rest. She looks at the fleet around them, dozens of lean and dangerous ships that bristle with laser cannons and missile pods, all riding their ion streams towards the star. “ The fleet destroyers *Barnard ’ s Demise, Doom of* -- ”
“ How *come* to Ynglin? ” insists the Ynglin, interrupting the list. “ How *come? * ”
“ Come to Ynglin for war, ” she gasps. Her teeth rattle around the confession as it emerges. “ We ’ ve come here to kill you, to take the planet. Good planet, good for human life. ” The floor stretches out beneath her. She feels a thousand miles long. “ I retired, ” she whispers. “ I don ’ t want to kill anymore. I want to live on a planet and not kill anymore. I want to live. ”
“ Drink. ” The Ynglin around her buzz and hum. “ Drink drink drink. ”
In front of the fire sit three cups, one already empty. First the green, next the red. A hand reaches towards the second cup. She doesn ’ t know how it does it, but it gets the cup and brings it to her lips. Thick and cold, the red tastes like blood. Salt and iron.
“ How come to Ynglin? ” The voice comes from the fire. The fire is everywhere. “ How come to Ynglin? ”
She lowers her lasrifle and watches the village burn, listening to the rest of her squad finish off the survivors in the field behind her. The lasrifles go off with a whine and a whistle, again and again, and then the only sound is fire sucking in the wind. Every few minutes another one of the huts falls in on itself. Between two that still stand, she spots something moving and goes after it.
The soldiers call the creatures Squints, but no one knows why. They look like cats to her. The Squint shuffles ahead of her, dragging one of its legs, making a squealing sound. It is carrying something cupped to its chest. She puts a shot between its shoulders and watches as it drags forward for a few more feet before lying still. She kicks it over. It was carrying a baby in a bundle, but the baby was already burned to death.
Later, in the field, three men of the squad rape her. She doesn ’ t make it easy for them. They beat her half way to death, but not enough that she doesn ’ t remember. She remembers the breath of the men on her face, and cheering in the distance, and the light of the two moons in the night sky above her. There is blue blood on her hands, and she watches her own red blood run down her arm.
When she signs the discharge they ask her if she wants to live on the world that she has helped to conquer. She says no. She wants to return to Earth and wait for the next crusade fleet. It is not an easy request but she won ’ t say no to her.
She ’ ll wait on the colony ship for the job to be done, and when all trace of whatever lived there has been wiped clean, she will step onto the world and pretend she is new.
“ Come to Ynglin, ” says the fire. A hand reaches for the third cup. The skin on the arm twists and bulges. A heart beats, the only sound. First the green, then the red, and then the black.
The colony ship moves beneath her feet. Sirens scream and the air fills with smoke. The corridors heave with people, going everywhere. To her surprise, she finds herself at the escape pods, right in front of an open hatch. One of the men inside shouts at her and waves her in, his face insistent. She gapes at him and a whole second passes. Then the colony ship makes a sound that nothing that flies through space should ever make, and she gets in to the pod. The hatch shuts behind and they are away. Through the windows the fleet falls away. The glorious shining ships twist and stretch and come apart. They fire their weapons at nothing as they die. She thinks of her mother, pulling her toys apart in fury when she didn ’ t eat. The pod judders and turns, and she faces the dark planet rushing up to meet them. She closes her eyes.
The black tastes like nothing at all.
When the night has passed the Ynglin emerges from the cave and walks through the forest to the escape pod. Two more look up from their as they see it arriving and cup their claws. They all flick their tongues at the air, and then the first two go back to their work. A lot of bodies remain unburied. The third enters the pod and looks at the control panel. It tests the air a few more times, then presses several buttons. It remembers how it all works.
It helps its companions finish the work, while the pod sends the only message the Imperium will ever get from its fleet.
*Come to Ynglin. *
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[ WP ] : A 92-year-old woman 's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline . She could have it changed , but she does n't mind .
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Do you hear that feint ringing? Someone should cut that out. Kids these days never care about keeping things peaceful. The world is so loud and rambunctious.
Is that... a telephone? I reached out for the source of the ringing and picked up the telephone. What was going on? Who could be calling me? Is it johnny?
`` Hello? Is anyone there?''
I brought the phone to my ear. It must be Johnny. I just saw him yesterday for the 30th superbowl. Oh I had n't expected him to call me today.
`` Johnny?!?''
Johnny began saying something about how his name was Oscar. He was always playing jokes. I loved that about him. He was so cafe free.
``... is anyone there? Hello''
`` Yes Johnny, I'm here. It's so good to hear from you.''
There was a click, followed by a steady toan. I began to hum the pitch. After a few seconds, I put the phone back where it belongs.
There is a feint ringing in the distance. I wonder if Johnny is calling.
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All injuries , emotional or physical , are displayed on a person in the form of a scar . You come across a man covered head to toe in disfiguring marks , speaking with a woman who bears only a single scar .
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I found myself out on the sidewalk, not because I had anything to do, but because it was a beautifully sunny day, and the kind you just can ’ t let pass you as you ’ re sitting on the couch. I was in the middle of my usual walk, down a few blocks, then a left past the corner restaurant. Continuing down the street, I could see the park opening up before me. “ Perfect. ” I thought to myself. “ What better way to enjoy this day than to watch the children play? ”
Before you even go there, I don ’ t like to watch the youngsters at the park due to some sick and twisted fantasy, but merely because they are the only people left who have the pristine skin of innocence. The smooth surface and even color act to remind me of purity, of the days before the harsh realities of life begin to take their toll on both my mind and my body. For you see, I ’ m a collector, and I like to keep my scars on display. Why not? I ’ ve fucking earned them, that ’ s for sure. The thing is, as proud as I am of all that I ’ ve been through, a small part of me wishes I could molt and bask in virtue once again. But really, who am I kidding? I ’ ve done vile things to people I claimed to care about. No, I deserve these scars, and wishing to be pure will only invite more.
“ What the hell is that?! ” I wondered as a flash of white hit my eyes and snapped me back to reality. The thought struck me with such a feeling of violence that I was sure I ’ d have a fresh cut. It ’ s coming from across the park, a reflection of light from the clearest, most unblemished skin I had ever seen. I needed to get closer, so I chose a meandering path to where the two people were sitting, taking extra precautions to seem aloof as not to arouse their suspicions. As I got nearer, I realized that the flawless skin belonged to a young woman, but I also realized that the older man she was sitting next to was covered in more scars than I had ever seen on a single person. The sheer volume of scar tissue on his face and body made me feel ashamed for any time I had ever been proud of those few for which I had often made such a big deal.
Fuck. I could feel the regret opening a new cut on my leg. It ’ s fine though. Most everyone with weaker emotional resolve, such as myself, will wear bandages under their clothes for just such an occasion. I tried to focus on my task and continued my march to the bench behind theirs. Now that I had gotten the chance to absorb the scene I was witnessing on the bench, I knew that I had to hear what these seemingly contrasting personalities were talking about. I figured I had succeeded in my mission because there was no lapse in their conversation when I approached and sat down. Luckily, it was two separate benches that shared a backrest, making it easy for me to eavesdrop on their conversation.
One thing you have to realize is that the people with the clearest skin tend to have the largest scars, but it ’ s just that they are able keep them hidden. See, it ’ s the big scars early in life that lead someone to developing a detached nature as a defense mechanism. This protects them from future scarring, but also insulates them from all of the things that make life beautiful. Also, as a side note, when you see an adult who legitimately has no scars, they are the ones you want to steer clear of because 9 times out of 10, they are going to be a sociopath… Either way, you can ’ t really be certain until you learn something about them, and I was determined to uncover this woman ’ s secret for maintaining her immaculate skin.
As I eased in close, I heard her ask the old man in a tone usually reserved for cross-examining a witness: “ After you left, did you ever think about me, about mom? ”
“ Is there anything else that could have done this to me? ” he responded, while making a sweeping gesture with his hand from his neck down.
“ I suppose not ” she replied. “ But if that ’ s the truth, then why didn ’ t you ever come back? ”
He glanced down to his feet, then answered, slowly: “ I thought about it… I thought about it many times in fact, but… but I was not strong enough to face either of you again… not without the bottle at least, but that ’ s the whole reason I left in the first place! What does that matter now though? You seem to have navigated through it all unscathed. I mean look at that beautiful skin; you ’ re nothing like your old man... That ’ s the reason I left, so that I couldn ’ t be there to corrupt you, or to hurt you as bad as I ’ ve hurt myself. ”
“ You have no right to say that ” she shot back. “ You have no idea what kind of pain you put me through, wondering all these years if it was my fault you decided to go. ”
“ It couldn ’ t have hurt that bad, you don ’ t have a single scar! ” he exclaimed.
It was then that she pulled down the left yolk of her shirt in order to display one large bandage over her heart, almost completely bled through at that point. She peeled back the bandage to reveal to him a large gash that was deep enough to expose the bones of her ribcage. As she showed him her greatest shame, she said:
“ You see the reason I don ’ t have any scars is because this wound has never healed. In the 19 years since you left, it has remained open, so you can ’ t say anything to me about pain. I can see that you ’ ve experienced your fair share over the years, but those scars are old and that pain has subsided, yet I ’ m the one who continues to live in agony! I ’ ve tried everything. I ’ ve tried to forget, I ’ ve tried to move on, but despite all of the failures, I never once tried to drink my pain away. That ’ s the shortcut and the cowards way out! ” Tears began welling up in her eyes as she continued. “ I ’ m not even sure why I agreed to meet you today. You clearly don ’ t care and you probably never did! You ’ ve somehow learned to live with the pain and the guilt, so let them be your companions, I don ’ t need you anymore! ” She lied as she got up from the bench. A stream of crimson could be seen soaking into her shirt as she walked away. She had to leave then, both in order to force him to think about everything she had said, and to not give him what she thought would be the satisfaction of seeing how bad it had hurt her to do so.
The man sat in a stunned silence. Not wanting to absorb the full force of the verbal assault levied against him, he reached into his jacket to reveal a flask. He unscrewed the top and raised the metal container to his lips. Several long seconds later, the flask was drained and again upright. He stood to leave. It wasn ’ t until he, too, had gotten up that I noticed the bulge in his jacket, just over his heart...
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[ WP ] Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers . Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty . You are last year 's champion , how did you win ?
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Time travel is a game and I realise that now but last year was my revelation. I remember before all these Hitler Trials I would work on my carpentry in my shed while my husband slaved over this DIY time machine kit. It took him a few years to get the machine user-friendly enough to meet council standards and by that time, time machines were becoming the common method of transportation. People made a sport out of it, a manhunt to an extent where everyone competing aimed to kill Hitler in the most difficult and creative way possible. My husband and I drafted this huge plan and put it in place at the beginning of last year.
First of all, my husband and I decided to have a temporary marriage truce so I could effectively kill Hitler meaning we divorced and would remarry on my return. We went to the verification offices, took the tests, and I was probed in the eye so they could monitor my progress and verify the kill as well as the method. I entered our machine that was docked at the office and I travelled back in time before World War II.
My goal was to get Hitler to fall in love with me and keep him out of the conflict until he was at his most vulnerable, ending up in his suicide... My name is Eva Braun and I have made a safe trip to Munich, Germany, October 1929.
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[ WP ] You are a Logistics Officer during an invasion . Tell the course of the war solely from equipment requisitions .
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**First Assault ( Siege ) **
20 Shovels
20 Picks
20 Sets of Carpenter's Tools
300 sets of Wool Clothes, Bed Rolls, Tents, plates, cups etc.
12 Pigs
12 Cows
12 Sheep
25 War Dogs
150 Pikes
25 Longswords
15 Long Bows
25 Suits of Plate
175 Suits of Chain
175 Shields
Various Rations
200 Pocket Bibles, King James edition
**Second Assault ( Keep ) **
As Previous but in addition:
100 King James Bibles, English, 200, German, 6, French
25 More Pikes
15 More Longswords
25 Whores
50 Axes
Pitch ( as much as can be spared )
1 War Dog
**Third Assault ( Inner Keep ) **
As 1st assault, but in addition:
1 pint of Ale, Beer and Mead for every head we send back, as the Lord intended! God bless ya.
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[ WP ] Everybody in your town vanishes , and your only hints are a post-it note that says `` You won . '' and a block of cheese .
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( Sidenote: Hello, this is my first time doing one of these, so apologies ahead of time. Danke~ )
It was just the other day since he ’ d last spoken to his mailman. The last day since he ’ d spoken to anyone other than himself. Not that he ’ d ever want to believe it—let alone accept it. The best he could to do distract himself from the maddening loneliness creeping in and eating away at him was to do what he did best: keep himself distracted.
Jeffery Thalmer combed back his wild mess of hair, looked himself in the mirror and smiled, inspecting his teeth and checking for traces of blood. *All clean, * he thought. It were the most tedious and meticulous tasks that Jeffery enjoyed the most, the tasks that didn ’ t allow his mind to wander. He gave full attention to caring for his teeth and ensuring their perfection, but not *quite* enough.
“ Fuck, ” he spat some blood into the sink and wiped the crimson off his gums. “ Fuck, fuck, ” he repeated bitterly. “ Another fucking cut on my goddamn fucking gums. *Fuck. * ” He drew in a deep breath and stared at his own eyes in the mirror. “ Wouldn ’ t have to worry about this if my dentist was still here, now would I? No, I wouldn ’ t. *Fuck. * ”
Outside the bathroom window, he heard a faint tapping and he turned to face it cautiously. His chest started to tighten as he reached for his glasses and peered into the window, trying to see a shape through the blurry vision. All he could make out was a black blob that occasionally twitched, but as soon as he slipped on his glasses, his nerves were settled as it was just a crow. *Or was it? *
Paranoia had always been his worst enemy, but in times like this…he couldn ’ t be too careful. He looked around his small space a few times and then shoed the crow away. Just before it stretched out its wings, it cawed, “ You, ” and flew away.
“ Me…? ” he gasped. “ What about me…? ” He shook his head, trying to piece together rational thoughts. *God, I ’ m going crazy… Crows can ’ t talk. * His eyes were drawn back to the window. *Can they? *
He slapped the side of his face to silence his thoughts once and for all before dashing out of the bathroom, feeling a drive without a destination to go. Aimlessly, he wandered the house in search of something to do, both hands behind his back and great weight with each step. It wasn ’ t long before he started to feel that familiar sensation, a sort of tickly feeling parading around his chest, but mainly on his heart. Could this be the madness or was he just imagining things again?
*Don ’ t have to work, don ’ t have to see Jen and those God awful kids, don ’ t have to smile for the neighbors…don ’ t have to do anything, * were his returning thoughts. Feeling empty, he sauntered into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge for no particular reason, his eyes looking through what was inside before slamming the door again. Before he turned, his eye caught a glimpse of yellow, which halted his motion.
“ A post-it note? I don ’ t even own any of those… ” he stated as a hand reached out for it. “ You…won? ” he asked as he read the letters scratched onto the paper in dark red ink. Upon impulse, he opened the fridge again to continue thinking about the phrase. However, there was one item on the top shelf of the ice box he hadn ’ t noticed before: a block of cheese wrapped in black paper.
Hands trembling, he grabbed it and looked it over closely. It looked fine—like normal cheese normally would, but etched onto the side was a single word, “ Crow. ”
*Crows don ’ t make cheese…do they? Damned aviaries…* “ If I ’ m a winner…then where is my prize? ” He spoke as through his words were being directed at someone, but he knew no one was around for miles. In such a small, rural town out in a hunk of dirt, why everyone disappeared was already a mystery on its own.
He scoffed, staring at the note. “ Or maybe I just got the memo late and this cruddy cheese is my consolation prize. What do they know that I don ’ t, huh? ” The man licked his lips and rubbed his thumb against the edge. “ Maybe it ’ s a code… ”
Feeling inspired by his revelation, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number: 968-966. His finger hovered above the call button for a few seconds as he contemplated his actions, but ultimately, he decided that he needed to know more than he feared the consequences. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, raising the phone to his ear as he listened to it ring two times before he heard a gentle voice greet him with, “ Hello, Jeffery. Congratulations on *winning! * ”
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[ WP ] Your home is being invaded , fortunately you are armed with the BEST home defense system available : A 36 year old Macaulay Culkin who 's tired of this shit .
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The jungle can kill you.
Charlie can kill you.
Out this far, shoot, even yourself will kill you if you give it a chance. Starin off into the jungle, wonderin' what's lookin back, taking picket watch and spending all night listenin to hoots and God knows what in the green, deadly jungle.
We'd shipped in from Post 462 over the MLK weekend. None of us had a dream of dying in a place like this, but God never gives you more than you can handle, so the Preacher says back home. He must have a plan, because we've got a lot to handle.
Right away it got ugly. The first night we woke up at 3am. Charlie had gotten in past the wire and slit a mans throat in his sleep. Not the right way, but enough to make this high pitched gurgling noise as he thrashed about. We never even caught the man, just surveyed his handywork by torch and lantern, the blood from J. Townsend running black in the poor light over dirt and clay in the bottom of the tent. Then the tripwires showed up, first by the mess hall, then by the latrine of all places.
Battalion sent a man, and I guess there is a God, because McCallister changed things.
That first night he rigged up some pots and pans on the outpost where Tompkins died. We heard a rattle and clanging around 3am. The next morning he deduced the bootprint that was n't ours, and pointed out that the shoe was facing the wrong direction for someone entering the camp, meaning we had Charlie inside the wire and could n't get out. McCallister showed us the dots and let us connect them. The first inside wire activity was a bunk, where they stole our equipment, then the mess hall, where they stole food. Then the latrine, where they lived. It was the only place we'd never check. He took the food BATs and ran a line from the lid to a few knives on the table tops, so that anyone opening the BAT to take food out would get a knife pulled on them. It did n't need to be much, he said, since if they live in the latrine even a slight cut would get infected and kill them in a week, or, worse yet, make them desperate. Double night watch he said, and put them inside the camp.
Then he took a plywood board, drilled a hole in it, and attached it to a plastic bag full of some of our dessert Jell-O. Then the exit to the latrine was left with a rake outside the door. Three paces after that he put a small pit with Punji Sticks.
That night he prepped up our gear. At 3am, he took the plywood and on the side with the bag, he tied a claymore, facing down, looked up at us and said, `` I made my family dissappear.''
McCallister walked into the latrine, put the plywood on the latrine, and shifted the bag so that the gelatin would slowly pour into the latrine.
He ran to join us. Two minutes later the claymore went off. The latrine erupted in dust as the explosive charge fired downward into the well of refuse. Charlie had thought he was putting a bayonnet in a man's ass, only now it was his ass with the hole in it. There was a commotion, splashing, people climbing out of the latrine. We heard the distinct sound of a rake handle smashing into a mans head. Fromt he out house door two more men crawled in a river of fecal matter and liquid. One more limped out, stepped over the man hit by the rake, and fell into the punji sticks. McCallister took his entrenching shovel, looked at me and said, `` this is it, do n't get scared now.'' and headed towards the outhouse. I remember him pointing the rifle into the punji sticks and firing. The rest he finished off witht he shovel.
The next morning some Delta Boys rolled in to take the fight to the enemy and he went with em. Before heading into the jungle, he turned to us and said, `` in case I never see you again, I want you to have a Merry Christmas, alright?''
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[ WP ] An aging supervillian dons their gear for one last heist .
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He stood in front of the bathroom mirror looking into his own faded blue eyes. They were puffy. He was gaunt and tired. The twenty-two thousand dollar lights he installed made him look better, but they could not hide the sickness in his face.
Turning on the water, he bent over and splashed his face. The cool water felt good. It was Fiji water. He'd always wanted the best and he thought that tap water was for poor people. Reaching out to grab a monogrammed towel he stopped the waterfall faucet, catching another glimpse of his raccoon eyes. He combed through his thin, wispy hair.
*This is it, * he thought to himself, *I've got one last show. June 16th, the beginning of my last hoorah*
He dried himself and left the bathroom.
Coming into his extremely large bedroom where his extremely large dog lay on his extremely large bed, his cell phone began to ring.
`` Sir, the press conference is go time.'' The voice said. `` You are at the Tower already? They are waiting for you.''
He let out a calm sigh.
`` Of course I'm ready,'' He said with an air of arrogance. `` It's gon na be great.''
*click*
With that he tightened his deep blue tie and tapped the american flag that was pinned to his lapel.
*Showtime, * he thought.
And Donald Trump left his room.
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[ WP ] You and your family move into a haunted house . The wraith turns out to be really cool about it .
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*Thunk. * One room over, a book tumbles to the floor. I sigh and put down my mug, rising from my chair at the kitchen table with a stretch. `` Alright, alright, I'm coming.''
I head into the living room, trying to fight the desire to smile. `` You ca n't just go around knocking things over, Casey. It's just rude.'' Picking up the book, I take a quick glance around the room. The mischievous specter is nowhere to be seen, which usually means one thing. `` You wan na play hide and seek, huh?''
A cold breeze immediately flows through the room, and I fight the urge to shiver. `` Alright, alright. I'll play.'' I get down on my hands and knees, looking under the couch and armchair – not there. I did n't expect her to be, but it was still worth checking. With that, I go through the cushions – still nothing. `` You're getting better at this.''
I turn to the bookshelf, beginning to shuffle through the stacks – there! A faint grey wisp retreats back behind my husband's copy of *Cloud Atlas. * I struggle to keep a straight face, turning away from the bookshelf. `` Wow, you're really good! I ca n't find you *anywhere. * I guess I should just give –''
**'' WOOF! `` ** The deep, echoing bark fills the room before I can finish my sentence, and Casey `` tackles'' me, leaping through my chest and filling me with the increasingly-familiar, decreasingly-terrible sensation of a cold, dead embrace. The ghostly retriever turns around, wagging her tail and looking up at me with eyes as adoring as they are hollow. She pants heavily, lowering her head and extending her forelegs in the canine gesture for'play.' A ball that definitely was n't there before bumps lightly against my foot.
I sigh. `` Not in the hou–'' Before I can even finish my usual admonishment, she vanishes in a cloud of fog. A ghastly howl comes from the backyard.
I chuckled and pick up the ball. `` I'm coming, I'm coming.'' As I head for the back door, I take a moment to quietly appreciate the fact that we finally found a dog I'm not allergic to.
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[ WP ] You are a world class assassin ad have moved into the house next to your victim . The night you go in for the kill you see a picture of someone dear to you on their night stand ...
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Fucking Colton,
I am Sven and these are my words for you.
Three nights ago I was in your house, in your bedroom even. You would n't recognize me if you saw me now, though. I fucked Laura in the garage, over the hood of your car. That was the first time we did n't do it on your bed or mine, too. She's the one who hired me though she would n't want you to know that. She was sick of your antics, sick of your mood swings, but most of all she was sick of the annoying clicking noise you make in your sleep. Albeit your infinite list of faults, she pitied you, though she thought that was love she was still feeling.
However, I know her better than the two of you combined ever did. She never loved you. She thought she was getting old and feared she was choosing a career over a home and family. She was so silly then, only 27 and so successful when she met you. She would have taken anyone, thus I was only two years late. How did we meet, you're wondering?
When she was down in Panama, there was some dirty work to be done. I wo n't go too far into details for clearance reasons, but you would n't find it hard to believe if I told you American foreign service officers often end up being asked to interfere with local politics, would you? Well, in her second year there, she was asked to contact me about some young red flag slightly stirring the masses. Of course, she did n't know at first what I do. We fucked the same day we met and fell in love throughout the course of the next two weeks before I had to jump ship and flee to Bermuda.
We met again while she was vacationing there. She watched me take down a co-worker of hers who knew a little too much about the wrong people. Naturally, she was shocked, but she was n't over me. We hovered about each other for the last eight or so years that way, until now.
As you know, she was taken off the field and stationed at home, in D.C. and that's where you finally joined her. It must have felt nice to finally move out of your parents' at the blooming age of 35. You did n't know this, but I joined you two then as well. I moved into some suburban hell on the other side of town, but it was worth it. You must have realized at some point that she had me, sneaking out most nights after she thought you were asleep. I was watching you, too.
Do n't worry, she never knew about your lover and she still does n't, in case her feelings ever occupied your mind. Every time she'd walk through the door saying `` Fucking Colton! He forgot to feed the fish again / never listens / did n't pick up my parents from the airport / maxed out my credit card again / is such a bitch / etc. etc.'' You were making her sick. In just three years living with you, she aged all the years that she forgot to age in the previous eight.
Last week, when you had `` pressing matters'' to speak of over the phone, so important that she had to be interrupted during the biggest meeting of her life, she snapped. Apparently, the hole you drove through the side of the house and your plans to vacation in Ibiza were not urgent enough for her. She did n't even go back to the meeting, she did n't tell her assistant she was leaving. She drove straight to me. She said, `` I want him gone now'' and she meant it. I must have misunderstood, though.
So, back to three nights ago. When I got into the car after exiting the house and said, `` It's done. He's dead'', she went rigid and silent. I repeat, I must have misunderstood.
That night we packed our bags and booked our flights to Bermuda the next day. It was n't until just this morning that I realized that was your underaged, Italian lover in your bed and not you. A silent bullet through the head of an aspiring, young male model splashed all over the top news networks of the nation caught my attention for the most disappointing reasons. First of all, he was not as attractive as I'd expect, for all the mediatic attention he was receiving. Second, I knew him. He did n't know me, of course, I'd only ever seen him sneaking out of your house when I drove Laura back in the mornings.
Come to think of it, I did find it strange that the kitchen light was left on, Laura being such a conservationist and all. I even noticed the extra car parked on the street when I walked her out to mine before heading back in for you. I shrugged it off, though, I'm not sure why.
It's a shame that such a pretty, young thing had to go and for that I do feel sorry. It puts my mind a little at ease, though, to have you know that you were the cause of it all. If you think about it, you were the one that got him where he his now. You killed him. You lost Laura. Let me know if you ever just ca n't take it anymore, I'll gladly end the pain.
Hope this letter finds you well,
Sven Ibsen
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[ WP ] Everyone assumes the hero is dating the plucky reporter ; in actuality he 's in love with his nemesis .
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Dear diary,
I saved the reporter again today. It was fairly typical, some rant from my nemesis, a building crumbling, debris almost killing everyone, me flying by and saving them all instead. My nemesis, he really does like to go on his rants. It's actually quite cute.
I could just dream about him all day, his costume that is cut in all the right places, showing off his six-pack abs. He is so dreamy. If only I could reveal my identity to him, to show him who I truly am. But, alas, we are enemies, so I must keep my love hidden, lest he uses it against me.
Unfortunately, he keeps trying to kill this reporter. I'm beginning to wonder if he thinks I'm in love with the reporter. It's kind of romantic, actually, to think my nemesis might also love me. A forbidden love. Perhaps we will be like Romeo and Juliet. Well, without the dying part. I wonder what the city would do if we were in the middle of one of our big, heated fights, and all of a sudden we embraced each other and started to tear off...
Maybe I'm getting to ahead of myself. Him and I will never happen. And even if we could, I'm starting to get really pissed off that he keeps trying to kill my brother, the reporter. The fact that people think we are in love is gross enough, but it's even worse that despite my best efforts, my brother seems to have fallen for my superhero disguise. I can see it in his eyes. It's the same way I look at him, my nemesis.
-Superwonder Girl
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[ WP ] As a child you would often wake up with headaches after dreaming of a life you never lived .
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I knew the dreams instantly when they came, they were far more vivid than normal ones, and though they were just short snippets of life they never seemed disjointed. I never had any control in these dreams, but it did n't worry me. It was nice really, to just be a spectator along for the ride.
*I was sitting at an old-fashioned wooden desk, staring at a blackboard. To my right, a little boy with ginger hair was filling an inkwell. To my left, a taller child was twirling a globe with his fingers, staring lazily out the window. From the front of the room a man cleared his throat, but just as I moved to look at him the tall boy threw an empty inkwell at my head. The world faded and I woke with a sharp pain in my temple. *
At first, the dreams grew with me. The children I saw as I slept aged as I did, and the child whose eyes I saw through appeared to be my age as well. When I was nine or so their lives seemed to accelerate, and suddenly the dream cast were two or three years older than me.
*I was chasing a red ball down a cricket pitch, a crowd of younger children cheering me on from the sidelines. Panting, I flung myself after the ball but I tripped at the last moment and my head smacked against the earth. My eyes flew open and I bolted upright in bed, feeling as though someone had just struck me with a bat. *
By the time I was twelve, I had experience three or four dozen dreams. My counterpart was already sixteen or seventeen, a gangly lad with lank hair and freckled limbs. My last ever dream came shortly before my thirteenth birthday, and it was the first vision that lasted more than five minutes.
*I was at an afternoon tea party, hosted in a large garden. I had been there in the dreams before, and I believed the house belonged to my counterpart's aunt or grandmother. Thirty or forty adults were milling about, but the children were all much younger than my counterpart, no more than eight or nine years old. After four cups of tea and many mindless conversations with adults enquiring after post-school plans, I had wandered off down a path lined with rosebushes to find a secluded duck pond. *
*'' Amelia,'' a voice called out, and I started, before noticing a girl of perhaps seventeen sitting cross-legged on the grass. She had a straw hat, an empty glass and a plate of half-eaten cucumber sandwiches discarded next to her. A battered copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe lay on her lap. *
*'' A pleasure,'' I stuttered, blushing to my ears. `` How do you do? `` *
*She laughed. `` How do you do? `` *
*I could have curled up and died from embarrassment as I blundered through the conversation, unable to control the actions of my counterpart. Finally, the awkward chatter died away, and the girl sat twisting her blonde locks. *
*'' Do you want to feed the ducks? `` *
*'' Pardon? `` *
*'' The ducks. It is a duckpond. `` *
*'' Oh, yes, of course. `` *
*The girl and I disassembled the remains of the cucumber sandwiches, and tossed crumbs to the three disgruntled birds floating on the water. No conversation was necessary, and about an hour trickled by in a lazy, pleasant haze. *
*A bell rang through the gardens. *
*'' Oh,'' my counterpart said, jolted from our contemplative silence. `` That means dinner will be served in a minute. Do you fancy any? `` *
*'' Bother,'' the girl replied, wiping her hands on the grass and sweeping her blonde curls out of her face. `` I promised my mother that I'd be back by now. `` *
*'' Oh,'' I responded dumbly, `` at least let me walk you home. It's almost dark. Do you live nearby? `` *
*'' Sutton Street,'' Amelia laughed, `` just around the corner. `` *
*'' It will be no trouble then. `` *
*The girl smoothed down the duck-patterned ribbon on her hat and fixed the boater atop her golden curls. We set off, Amelia and I, down the rosebush lined path, past the children's table, out the gate and down the road. Just as we rounded the corner onto Sutton Street a gust of wind blew the straw hat off the top of her hair and onto the road. *
*'' Do n't worry,'' I called gallantly, diving off the footpath. The last thing I heard in that dream was a horrified cry, and the last thing I saw was a blue duck-patterned hat ribbon, lit up in the dusk by a pair of headlights. *
*I fell out of bed that time, and the pain in my head was rather worse than usual. *
I turned thirteen the next day, and never had one of those dreams again, though one day almost five years later I woke to a splitting headache. It was drizzling outside and though the pain had ebbed by the time I reached the bus stop, I was rather damp and my mood was sour.
I squeezed underneath the shelter next to a stern looking business man.
`` Good morning,'' I muttered. `` Nice weather, is n't it?''
`` Hmph,'' a voice called from my left, `` a nice day for ducks, perhaps.''
I turned to face a blonde girl, peering out from under a pea green raincoat. She tucked a battered children's book into her backpack before offering her hand to me.
`` Amelia,'' she said, grinning.
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[ WP ] The world 's population receives a message that in 10 hours their minds will be 'shuffled ' , with everyone 's mind being transported to another random body anywhere else on earth , of roughly the same age but with no other defined characteristics . What happens ?
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It appeared on his cell phone at exactly eight in the morning. Peter ’ s hand shook as he read the text message. There was no sender or phone number to call back. It simply said:
*In ten hours, the entire population of the Earth will be shuffled. Your consciousness will be changed with another. You may not choose with whom you will switch. Prepare. *
Six o ’ clock.
Peter turned to his laptop and scoured the Internet. For a moment he felt the brief spark of relief when he couldn ’ t find a reference this message. And then the dam broke. People from Japan to Australia to Toronto were asking the same question.
How? And what did it mean?
Some people panicked. Some people sounded overjoyed.
The more he read, the more Peter felt a sense of a calm.
In ten hours, if this was real, he would be out of his body. It had taken the last six years for him to adjust to his new life. It had taken every second since June 14, 2008 to finally feel even the vaguest sense of ease with how he had to live day to day.
But as he watched the message clutter his Twitter page, Peter felt overjoyed. He stared at the corner of the room where his shackles lay dormant. The guilt was one thing. The agony of thinking about the accident everyday was another. But the physical repercussions were just the manifestation of denial.
But in ten hours he would be free from the stares. No longer would his family be able to shake their heads and make passive-aggressive comments. He would never have to walk down the stairs and see her cherubic face frozen in time living in the parade of frames against the wall.
While the world screamed in terror behind him, Peter got out of bed.
In ten hours he would be free.
He gripped the edge of the bedside table and reached over for his leg. In ten hours he would be whole again. In ten hours he would run.
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[ WP ] `` So , '' he said , `` How does it feel knowing all of your friends are dead ? ''
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I just stood there, speechless, the glowing eyes of my best friend flickered and went out. `` I... He...'' I dropped the knife, the voice of the man, who was the root of this irreducible torment, had brought me to some building I did n't recognize and had turned all of my friends and family into bloodthirsty monsters, asked again, `` They're all dead, what are you going to do about it?'' I dropped to my knees. A black door suddenly appeared, floating static, several feet from the ground, opened, a man in a tuxedo walked calmly out and slowly descended down to the ground, the door disappearing behind him. His skin was pale, like fresh snow, his hair was jet-black and slicked back, giving him the appearance of a gangster from the twenties. Now enraged, I picked up the knife that I had just killed everyone I loved with, and with a yell ran toward my tormentor, with a flick of his wrist, I went flying back, hitting a concrete wall. `` Killing me wo n't bring them back you know,'' said the man dryly, `` Please... tell me this is a dream,'' I said, now in a lot of pain. `` Oh, this is about as real as it gets,'' he said, `` Now, you have n't answered my question,'' he said, his attention now scanning the room, seeing the trail of bodies and puddles of crimson. `` It hurts,'' I said, now sitting up against the wall I hit, `` There is no worse pain, but you made me do it!'' I yelled, but instantly regretted it, one of my ribs dug into me intensely upon yelling. `` No I did n't,'' he laughed, `` You could have just let them rip you limb from limb and devour your bleeding corpse,'' he continued, obviously amused by the idea, `` But I enjoy this outcome much better,'' he said stopping at my best friend, and bending down. `` Do n't touch him,'' I said as loud as I could without hurting from my rib, `` Oh boo hoo, were n't you the one who just slit his throat?'' he replied and picked up my friend by the neck. The man the began to laugh, `` To think! That anyone would actually kill everyone! Oh it's so priceless!'' he said, still laughing. I watched speechless, as he crushed the neck of my dead best friend and catch his severed head with all with one hand, and thought about what he said. What am I? What have I done? I'm a monster. `` I have one more question for you,'' said the man, `` What,'' I replied, now trying to decide on a resolute end. `` Do you know who I am?'' he said pulling off his face to reveal... Oh my god... He was Reggie Forester his perfectly shaped, blonde hair and square jaw proved it! Host of the intergalactic prank show, Zapped! `` What?! you're Reggie Forester!'' I said, infinitely relieved, `` Yeah my friend!'' the man said jubilantly, `` You've been Zapped!'' The wall behind me suddenly opened, and all of my friends and family rushed out to laugh with me about the whole situation. `` Oh Reggie!'' I said happily, `` Well this poor guy got tricked into thinking he destroyed his entire life by way of a powerful galactic criminal,'' he said to a floating orb camera, `` Next we trick a woman into thinking she's in a Rezbug pit, fighting for her life! Thanks, this has been Zapped!'' the floating orb camera slowly backed up and turned off. `` Wow those corpses are really convincing,'' said my best friend, `` Yeah,'' I said laughing with relief.
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[ WP ] Write a story that will make me cry .
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Funny, I was just thinking about writing something sad!
Here goes:
Matthew slouched against the edge of the room. The walls were old and cracked, the floor stained and dusty. Nearby, there was a wooden table that was flipped over, and one of the legs was apparently torn off and used as a makeshift weapon against some unknown adversary, implied by the skeleton and aforementioned table leg just a few feet away. The entire house he was in seemed to tell at least a thousand stories with just its condition, but the blanket of darkness made it hard for those stories to be seen at the moment.
He did n't know why this place was familiar to him when he first saw it. He barely has any idea of how he got here in the first place. Maybe it had something to do with his `` gift'', or maybe it was just because the universe liked to watch him suffer, a superstition he's had since about the age of nine. All he knows if that he woke up in the middle of an abandoned city, and as far as he could tell, everything had gone to absolute shit long before he appeared.
Matthew never had a family, and to top that off, he did n't even have that many friends. Hell, he could n't remember anything about his life before the age of seven. But Matthew did n't mind. The loneliness is a curse that one grows accustomed to with time. He had always had dreams about finding out where he came from, where his gift came from, or event just why the hell he had been through all the shit that life threw at him.
But none of that mattered to him right now. The only thing that Matthew was focused on right now was the holo-recorder resting on his lap right now. He knew this would give him answers, he just did n't know which ones or how in-depth they would be. But he figured they would be better than nothing.
He fumbled around with it for a moment or two, eventually, a holographic screen came up, the words clear as daylight in the dark, dreary room: *One Recording Available for Playback. *
He pressed the screen, and another set of words came up: *Video Feed Corrupted. Play Recorded Audio Anyways? *
He tapped yes, and sat back to listen.
`` Hello.'' A woman said, her voice sounded... Safe, like just hearing it would wash away all the fear one had inside of them.
`` I... I'm recording this as... My final goodbye. I do n't know if anybody will find this, or if the holo-recorder will even last long enough for someone *to* find it, but I figured it's worth a shot.''
`` Uhm... I would just like to say... Matthew, if you're hearing this, I love you. I know you most likely have no idea who... Who I am.''
Her voice started to quiver a bit, as if the words realized they were being shoved out of her mouth and tried to stop themselves before they were thrown out.
`` But I k-know that, and it's okay... All you need to know is that I love you for what you are. When you were first born, I just felt something about you... And I wanted to see what you'd turn into........ B-but I guess that wo n't happen.''
`` Your powers may have caused some trouble from time to time, and I would n't let them touch you, I know what they do at that awful place... But I guess this entire city is terrible really...''
A crash could be heard, it sounded like it came from outside the house
`` Listen, I... I have to g-....go now, I do n't have much time left.''
Matthew could feel his closed eyelids do their best to hold back the tears.
`` B-but before I go, J-j-just please know...''
She paused for a few moments, as though she was thinking about what to say next
...
.....
.......
`` You're the one good thing to come out of this place.''
*Recording Ended*
And with that closing sentence, the tears could no longer be held back.
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[ WP ] In a world ruled by wizards , tell the tale of a man that believes anything dies if you hit it hard enough .
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Hello! I am Garth. Nice to meet you, you welcome in Garth's home!
Garth know many things, and Garth good teacher. Garth live alone in woods, you see. When live alone, have to be good teacher to teach self. Or you starve! Want to learn what Garth know?
Woods are nice. Lots of food for Garth. Guest too, if Guest asks nicely. Garth know where to get food. Berries good, pointy horse good. Garth hit them hard over head with rock, always work. Garth know, anything die if you hit hard enough. Even pointy-hat man!
What? Want to know Garth's story about pointy-hat?
It's a good story. Has Garth in it.
All started when Garth was looking for food. Sometimes finding food is easy! But sometimes Garth has to walk a long way. Garth walk too far this time, almost to the edge of Garth's woods. Garth was very tired, you see?
Anyway, Garth sees man in woods. Runs up and says `` Hey! My name Garth! Do you have any food for Garth?'' Garth not bad guy, you see. Garth always ask nicely. Only take after!
But man is scared of Garth. Runs away, calls me names, like Ogre. Garth not know what Ogre means, but Garth no like. Follow man all the way back to camp, make him apologize!
But when Garth get there, camp is full. Lots of men, and they scared of Garth too! Use pointy sticks on Garth, when Garth did n't do nothing!
Garth mad now. Garth say `` If you do n't stop with pointy sticks, Garth gon na get real mad!'' Garth already mad, but that's just how Garth talk. Real polite.
But they do n't listen! Why no one ever listen to Garth? So Garth hit one hard, with fist. He lie still, no poke Garth no more. Others get scared and run away, but Garth chase! Still want apology! Garth polite, why they rude?
Then pointy hat man comes. Says Garth `` abomington'' or something. Wiggles his fingers, and Garth suddenly feel all hot like roast fire! Garth not happy now, not at all! And still no apology!
So Garth hit pointy-hat man, hit him real hard. Both fists hard! But Garth's fist never reach pointy hat man. Something Garth ca n't see in the way! Pointy hat man say he king of blizzards, strongest there is. Garth just puny.
Garth no listen. Garth know pointy-hat just trying to make Garth mad. Garth already mad, pointy-hat man! No need to be rude too!
So Garth hit again, and pointy-hat just laughs. But Garth not done, not even close! Garth keep hitting, again and again! Pointy-hat stops laughing now. Face gets all red, yells at Garth to stop. But Garth mad, and still no get apology! So Garth keep hitting, until WOOSH! Like frosty lake, the something that stopped Garth broke! Garth hit pointy-hat then, hit him a lot! Maybe too much. Pointy-hat stops talking, lies on the floor. And then, the men cheered!
Turns out, men no like pointy-hat. Said he was their saver, or something. That he was no good, but nobody but Garth ever did anything that could stop him! Garth confused, but men apologize so Garth happy. Give Garth food too! Say if Garth wants anything, just to ask. So Garth asks for more food, and Garth even more happy. Now, Garth eat like king!
So, that Garth's story. Wander back home with food, sit by fire, eating happy. Good day for Garth. And sometimes, Garth get company in his woods now! Men come, make sure Garth alright, have enough food. Feel warm inside. And sometimes, Garth get to tell story like today!
Want to stay for dinner? Garth have plenty of food. Fox stew tonight! No? Do n't like fox? More for Garth then! Bye!
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[ WP ] Write a story that gives me chills , but is n't a horror story
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If there was anything I missed - it was the food.
I almost envied those on death row. For they got a last meal at least. The junk they fed you would rot your insides. The liquour you brewed might kill you - but at least it was sure to get you drunk.
Desertion was one of the worst crimes you could commit in wartime. Everyone knew that, but no longer cared to fight the battles of those who had no idea what it was to fight on the frontlines.
I ca n't say I've been treated badly, but only because I've forgotten what it means to be treated well.
Still - I never have to kill anyone in here. I do n't have to wake up wondering if today is the day I'll die.
Our only two options here are to return to the battlefield, or beg for the release of death - which even in these terrible circumstances does n't seem very appealing.
I've wondered often what drives humanity to such brutality as war. I've decided its a more productive pursuit to get drunk.
This prison might be hell, but inside - at least we're not the devil.
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[ WP ] In the near future it has become fashionable for the rich and influential to have someone follow them around everywhere they go and narrate their life . An actress/actor you have a crush on hires you to be her personal narrator .
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`` And now Alexander Frederic Hernandez is walking down the sidewalk, attempting to hide his identity through thick sunglasses.''
My voice rings out louder than I intended and suddenly we're surrounded by *them*. Fierce creatures, they are. They'll do anything to get the perfect shot of their prey. They flock around, flashing their bright lights at myself and the magnificent Mr. Hernandez.
*Paparazzi. *
`` He deftly covers his face, attempting to dissuade the tabloid terrors,'' I narrate loudly as Mr. Hernandez covers the side of his face. `` He starts to run and - seems to make wild turns to - confuse them,'' I puff as he does just that. I was n't ready to start running. `` He jogs down - back alleys and - side roads to - avoid the coverage,'' I shout as loud as I can while chasing my employer. `` He --''
`` Can you stop?'' Mr. Hernandez shouts. `` You're giving away where I am to the paparazzi.''
`` B-but you hired me specifically to shout out your every move and embellish it as amazing!'' I say. I do n't want to be fired. Mr. Hernandez is the hottest guy *ever* and I ca n't stop looking at him. This just gives me an excuse.
`` Yeah, but - fine, just stop narrating,'' he says. `` I wo n't take out your pay.''
He grabs my hand, charismatic electricity bolting through my arm. *Alexander Frederic Hernandez* just grabbed my hand. *My hand! *
I rush to keep up with the actor, his muscles bulging beneath his t-shirt as he pulls me along. The sun highlights his light beard perfectly. Oh my *God* he is handsome.
I gasp for breath as we take a final turn, the paparazzi lost within the maze of the city. `` You can narrate again,'' he says. `` Just do it quietly.''
I nod, a smile dawning on my face. I just touched Mr. Hernandez and he even spoke to me twice! This day just gets better.
`` Alexander Frederic Hernandez is walking along, having just lost the paparazzi,'' I narrate quietly. `` No one can know where such a mysteriously handsome man could be headed.''
Suddenly we hear a splashing sound nearby. Both of us turn our heads and see the river that courses through the city. A woman is floundering in it, spazzing as if she was being electrocuted.
`` A woman is drowning!'' I narrate dramatically. `` She's moving erratically in the river.''
Mr. Hernandez quickly throws off his shirt, revealing his caramel six pack. He throws his shirt down and jumps into the river, grabbing onto the woman.
`` Alexander Frederic Hernandez has jumped into the river and is apparently saving the woman!'' I say, slightly jealous of her. He swims them both to the side of the river and climbs onto the walkway, hoisting her up after. He turns to me.
Water streams down his chest. His raven hair is wet and every part of him is glistening. I ca n't help but think of how perfect he is.
I try to narrate but I'm at a loss for words. I do the only possible thing in that moment - I swoon.
Right before I lose consciousness I conjure a picture of him in all his majesty for my brain to gaze upon while I'm out and simultaneously predict my situation: *I'm so fired. *
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[ WP ] Write a story about something you do n't understand . Do NO research . Make everything up as you go .
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`` Yes, but how *exactly* are the electrons simultaneously acting like waves and particles?''
`` Well, Johnson,'' I replied, raising my eyebrow. `` The thing you need to understand about Quantum Mechanics is
that it's based on thoughts.''
`` Thoughts?''
`` Yes, thoughts. So when you *think* of the electron as a wave, that's how it'll behave. When you think of it as a
particle, it'll be a particle.''
Johnson frowned. `` What if I think of it as both?''
`` Ah!'' I replied. `` Excellent question.''
Johnson waited, but I did n't say anything. `` Are you going to answer it?'' he asked, after a moment.
`` Yes,'' I replied.
He waited. `` Now?''
`` Give me a minute, I'm trying to come up with something.''
`` You can come up with something and then write it down immediately, you do n't need to actually stall in the story, dude.''
`` Yes but I want to convey the idea that I'm trying to come up with – oh, fuck it. Ok, if you think of it as both, what
will happen is something called Quantum Entanglement.''
`` What's that?''
`` That's when electrons intertwine with themselves and become indestructible. One electron will behave as a
particle, the other one as a wave, and they'll attract each other by the laws of thermo-gravitational distortion.''
`` Thermo-gravitational distortion…'' Johnson whispered. `` Nice.''
`` Thank you.'' I smiled. `` That's actually how antimatter happens,'' I continued. `` Two electrons – one behaving as a particle, one as a wave – intertwine, and they self-destruct, creating –''
`` You just said they are indestructible.''
`` Shut up, I'm talking. They self-destruct, creating a big anti-electron, which is a particle of antimatter.''
`` Woah, really?''
`` Yes. The anti-electron is actually visible to the naked eye.''
`` It is!?''
`` Yes, it's a plum.''
`` So every plum is an antimatter particle?''
`` No, of course not,'' I replied. `` Do n't be stupid, Johnson.''
`` I'm sorry.''
`` Only like thirty percent of plums are antimatter particles. The rest are plums.''
Johnson nodded. Silence took over the room for a second.
`` How about the Theory of Relativity?'' Johnson asked, after a second.
`` Well, Johnson, relativity is like drinking eight cans of beer in three minutes.''
`` How's that?''
`` It feels wrong at first, then you feel good about it for a while, then it feels wrong again and you realize you did n't
understand the part about time and space being the same thing at all.''
`` Kinda lost track of that analogy halfway through there, did n't we?''
`` You're pissing me off, Johnson. Cut it out.''
`` What are you gon na do about it?'' Johnson got up. `` Your story sucks anyway, dude. I'm out of here.''
`` Shut up, Johnson.''
`` You're a terrible writer.''
I thought of all of the electrons that compose Johnson. `` Shut up. You're gon na make me do something I do n't want to.''
`` And I bet I know how you're gon na finish it too, you hack.''
I thought of the electrons as particles. `` Shut up, Johnson...''
`` You're turning me into a plum, are n't you?''
Then I thought of them as wave.
`` You're turning me into a big fat plum because you do n't know how to end this story. You're ridiculous dude. Have
you no shame? Ca n't you –''
And then… yeah, that.
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*Thanks for reading! For more half-assed endings, check out /r/psycho_alpaca = ) *
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[ WP ] You are murdered by a family member . You are immediately reincarnated as a dog and later get adopted by your former family .
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You do n't remember your old life, or at least I did n't remember. Not at first, and never completely.
When I was born again, the world was new. Everything was new, I was in it, and that was everything. It overwhelmed my mind with things and tastes and smells. I ran and played and had nothing but the best of times. I did n't know much beyond the confines of my tiny pack of brothers and sisters, and my mind was still fresh.
Then she came, and I could smell that scent- like fruit and lavender. I remembered that, from somewhere. I liked her, I remembered that too. Of all my brothers and sisters, I was the only one who went to her. She chose me, and only after that did things begin to fall into place.
The memory of a soul is a fickle thing.
A house where I had once lived, was my new home. Three people, two I knew, and one I did not, were my new family. My new family, but my old family as well.I only cared for the girl, though. Those others... I knew early on I did n't like them, but for my reasons, there was only intuition.
I could n't understand their language at first, not really. I knew what it was sometimes, but my mind did n't seem to catch everything. Like a drain, some words would slip past. Their voices though, those tones never did. I understood anger, I understood rage.
The girl and I would hide sometimes, shut away in the closet when those came out. There was danger, and early on I could not protect her, as much as I know I would have tried. That door was far more safety than I could give. My ears would listen, and I would learn. The scent of fear from the girl, the tones of anger and blackened hate from the man- the insidious melody of... something else... not hate, not rage, but worse. That last always came from the woman.
I knew her, somehow. I knew what that was, but she was n't important. The girl was important, not the mother- and the girl was always afraid.
As time stretched on, I grew strong. Large, far larger than they had expected. I could understand more of their words now, and I remembered more of who I was, but still- still not everything.
When the man and the woman argued, the man would never win. Often he would leave, angry and smelling of... fear. The woman never smelled of fear. I did not trust the woman.
The girl was quiet, never speaking in the house unless spoken to, and the woman was strict. Cruel. At times she would hurt the man, and at times she would hurt me, but even at her worst I did not fall to the trap of anger, nor did I fight back.
I was here for the girl, and I knew that I could not stay to protect her if I did.
She was all that mattered.
The years passed and I grew stronger, larger. The man left, and he never came back. The woman grew cold. The girl grew afraid.
During the days, the girl would leave, and I would stay and watch as a yellow bus took her from the home. During the days I would quietly wait until she returned. When the woman saw this, she would beat me, but when she tired I always returned to my post. I had to be certain that as soon as she was within my reach, I would be by the girl's side.
The woman did not hurt the girl when I was near. She knew that I would not allow that, and she knew it well.
In time, I realized that the woman had come to fear me. I remember that; people fear what they do n't understand.
The woman began to offer me food, and tried to bait me with toys. Sometimes, she would take cuts of meat and lay them upon the floor. At first I considered this an effort to buy my affection, but then I remembered differently. That was how she had gotten rid of me before, how she made her problem go *away. *
I did not touch what she offered. I knew it to be death.
I only ate what the girl fed me.
More time passed, and I felt myself growing older as I watched the Girl turn into something more. Another man came to the home, and then another after he had left. There were still times when we hid together, behind that door, waiting for the noise to stop, and morning to come.
My prime had ended, but my watch did not cease. I would protect the girl. The woman came to know my voice, came to fear my growls, and though I was old- I was still large. My teeth were not yet dull. I would not allow her to harm the girl.
The girl was why I was here.
I was old, perhaps only a year or two left to live- perhaps less, when the day finally came. I knew soon I would be forced to leave again as I had before, and I would have no choice- but the girl was no longer a girl.
The girl had grown.
I waited quietly as she packed her bag atop the bed, a small thing filled with only what she would need. I stood beside her as she opened the door, my leash in hand, and I lead the way for her as we left that house in the dark of night. I tugged with all my might on that leash of rope, dragging her down the road as far as my body would let me before I stopped.
I wanted to be sure she never went back.
When I closed my eyes, a year from that day, I knew she never would.
I had protected the girl, and now... Now I could rest.
*Edit: grammar/running sentences*
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[ WP ] Magic requires calories . The world 's most powerful wizards must eat constantly .
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This is my first time trying this and it is also 2 am, be nice: D
They were all so fat, it was sad when you thought about it. These people dedicated their lives to this craft, but for what? To die at the age of 43 from heart disease?
They were part of the `` International Guild of Master Magicians'' or something along those lines. There was 12 of them and they controlled the government and the world. Us regular people just called them the `` Morbidly Obese Magicians''. Never to their face of course, as they could blast you away with a wave of their hand.
This advancement in magic had been made 20 years before. Before then, all people were equal in spell-casting, we could cast small illusions and levitate, no big deal. Then the breakthrough happened. It was found that if people ate over 10000 calories a day constantly, their abilities grew at a fast rate. After the first year obesity was at its worst since the American epidemic of the 21st century, and that was bad. But then it was realized that only very few people actually gained powers. Only 30 were found from the millions who tried. They formed the Guild themselves and assumed control. 16 had died since then and none had filled their shoes.
Jonathan walked through the square jam-packed with people watching one of the 12 summon a very lifelike illusion. He sighed and went on his way, cursing whoever found the breakthrough, as it had came to be called. He disliked every aspect about it and found it useless that nowadays all you had to do to become a master magician was to eat like a fat fuck. His Grandfather and Father had both been masters in their own right but due to constant determination and practice when the craft was still respectable. It was in a shambles now.
He moped through his office and greeted the lady at the counter, forgetting what her name was. His colleagues were packed tightly around a small screen and he went over to investigate.
`` What's going on?'' He questioned to his friend Mark,
`` Apparently there's some kind of ezlo leak down at the docks, we're not really sure''.
That was all he needed to hear and he raced out the door. You see, ezlo was the chemical that caused magic to become stronger and is what people's body create naturally once they eat over 10000 calories a day. If someone came in contact with it in the air it was quite muted but still could improve their skills.
Jonathan reached the docks and used his powers to levitate over the police tape and gate protecting the precious chemical. Men shouted at him but he kept flying. His arms began to weaken but he continued to the leak. He found the rusted pipe emitting the chemical and dove headfirst into it, blacking out as he hit it head-on.
He awoke with a banging headache and realized he was still in the pipe and presumably left for dead by the security guards as this would certainly kill a normal person. But he was not normal, he was the son and grandson of real masters of magic and not the lying, cheating morbidly obese men who presided over it nowadays. He felt the elzo coursing through his veins and tested his magic. He shot through the air as fast as a bullet up to the surface and realized it was night time. He willed himself to his house and was surprised when it actually worked. He really was a master now. Without the mummery of eating for 4 hours a day.
Jonathan entered his house and made his way towards a secret room to the back of the house. He pulled a secret switch and the stairs opened up to reveal a small room. He had pictures of his Father and Grandfather there, currently being held hostage in the capital for not being `` true'' magic users. Oh the irony, he thought. He crossed off the second last point on his checklist and looked at the last one for a long time. He finally got up and vanished.
The point said `` Destroy the Guild''.
He reappeared in the meeting place of the `` International Guild of Master Magicians'' and immediately cast ferocious spells. The walls cracked from the intensity of the fireballs thrown at them and the ground shook. The six masters all died instantly. `` Six more'' he said out loud.
Five senior masters stood around their King and watched this youth fly towards them, no parley was offered and battle was joined. Jonathan sent a blast searing towards two of them and it took both their heads clean off. It was too easy. The other three were taken care of by one fireball. The King watched his disciples being killed and used his powers against this magical intruder. War was waged between the two for hours. Fireballs and mini earthquakes rattled the capital and people gathered outside the parliament. The King fell at 8 pm. Jonathan killed him after he miscalculated a spell and fell backwards. He did n't even use magic, he stabbed him with a sword. Back to the old ways.
He found the two faces in the dungeon of the palace and opened their cages. He held their hands and disappeared, not to be seen in the Capital ever again.
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( WP ) Tell me fantasies you have day dreamed before .
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Hi there! Most of the posts are n't about anything personal; we just share different plots that we'd like to see written.
But I'll share something with you that happened yesterday.
When I'm feeling sad or overwhelmed, I like to meditate. But I do n't meditate how you probably know. I do n't hum or do funny poses, normally I just sit down somewhere quiet and *fade*.
Here's what I mean.
You have thoughts, right? My thoughts come to me mostly in sounds. It's great because I can make Spongebob and Patrick talk about philosophy and Patrick Stewart talk about fart jokes if I want, but sometimes things can get a bit loud.
So when I sit down and meditate, I take each thought and turn the volume down on it. All it takes is a mental flick of a wrist and everything gets real quiet. I've been doing this for a few years now, and its my way of relaxing after a long day.
Yesterday was different though. I faded all my thoughts out and was enjoying the silence when *I saw a face looking right into my eyes*.
Want to know more?
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[ WP ] You check your pockets and you get 3 coins , 2 empty vials , and 1 filled vial . What are those and why are you in possession of those items ?
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Goddammit. Goddammit. Goddammit! I'm down to my last flask! I search my pockets again, visibly shaking. Everything is gone. I turn my head quickly, scanning the field for the creatures once more. The tall grass shields anything shorter than six feet in height. The Bocola are excellent at hiding, making the grass the perfect place for them to stalk me.
I turn the coins over in my hand, looking at the trinity. Pomolen's visage looks at me sternly. His sharp, pronounced nose seemed to rise up from the center of the coin, while his eyes glare at me with intensity. I should have known not to enter the plains without a guide. I kiss the coin, begging him for salvation, and return it to my pocket. Soul's kinder eyes look at me as I try to put his coin away. I thank him for keeping me safe thus far and kiss the coin. The last coin is Tilanth. His face always unnerved me. He formed Erla in the beginning with Soul, but something about his gaze was unsettling. He, of course, was the one most worshipped as god. I pray fervently to him and place the gold coin away.
The grass rustles near me. My eyes widen and I back away slowly, doing my best to stay as quiet as I could. I uncork the vial, ready to throw the potion at the Bocola that's sure to spring out at me. The grass bends, but the pattern visible was too wide. Relaxing, I stopper the vial and gaze at the swirling milky blue liquid inside. Galgalen, the local potions master, had created this specifically for travelers. He was the best at his craft and widely trusted. I pocket the vial and walk forward to the new creature.
The Horned Threl looks at me dumbly, slowly chewing the deep red grass in its mouth. I smile and put out a hand to keep the gentle creature calm. The row of curved horns on its back twitch slowly, sensing for predators. It stops chewing, and charges forward without warning. I grab the vial protectively and curl into a ball. The force from the Threl sends me blasting through the grass, rolling and bumping at speeds rivaling Skyspears.
After coming to a stop, I uncurl and gingerly pull out the potion. The glass is unbroken, thankfully. I stagger up and focus my hearing, but I do not hear anything. A growl permeates through the air and stops me from moving. A new creature strides into view.
A dumb, long face looks at me with eyes covered with fluffy wool. Below the long neck is a body with fleece that gives off the appearance of mist. It chews some grass and bleats at me, swinging its tail around. The tail is about the same size as its body, and it appears to be entirely wool. But the large end splits down the middle, revealing sharp black teeth dripping with blood, presumably from a Threl. The tail mouth growls at me and I throw the vial into the open mouth. The growl slowly grows quieter before the tail drops to the ground, perfectly asleep. The other head chews and stares at me again. I wink and run away, hoping not to run into another Bocola during the trip.
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[ WP ] You are born with a necklace that is destined to find your soul mate . Once it grows warmer , you know they 're there .
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This is one of the worst things to ever be born with. Once my mother found out what my necklace did, she went around telling the neighborhood. Can you imagine instantly meeting a cute girl and knowing you are going to get shot down. In their heads they think `` Oh we have no chance, your necklace is ice cold'' or `` You should wait till you find the one, be more special'' Ca n't they understand that I'm 16, my mind is on one thing seeing girls naked. I have to sit around and hear how my friends get lucky, what she did, blah blah blah. This is a curse. Lucky me though because my friend told me a girl is transferring here, think her name is Jenna. Apparently she had a reputation from her other school for being very promiscuous. They all said that she wo n't even care about this damn necklace. At least 4 guys I know already told me that they could n't even get a word in before their manhood was in her hands. It finally seems that I might be able to finally feel the warmth of a girl. When I saw her, she did n't look too bad. Not the most prettiest but who am I to complain. As I grabbed up the courage to go talk to her. Only to realize as I go closer to her, the necklace starts heating up.
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[ WP ] You die and are informed you 'll restart your life exactly as it was when you turned 6 . All your memories are as they were the moment you died , everything else resets . You are told you are the only one like this .
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Even despite being told about it before hand, I still thought I was dreaming at first. My sixth birthday party was one of the few times I ever had a real birthday party and I got to have it at my favorite park, one that had quickly fallen into disrepair years later. I did n't remember the names of most of the kids, but that was okay. Very few of them had been my actual friends. So for the first few hours I played, I ate cake, I remembered the joy of my mermaid barbie doll, and I basked in what had once been a momentarily happy family.
It took the pain of having my ears pierced for the first time again to snap me out of the dream-like haze. I stared at the bright pink studs that now decorated my smarting ears. I remembered that I had asked for this, begged for it even, and right after my party we had come here. I cried the first time around as well, but now I was crying for all the things I knew and could do nothing about. I did n't think about saving the world or anything noble like that. I was a little kid, fairly bright for my age and even more knowledgeable of the world now, but I was still without the enormous resources that would have been needed to contemplate such grandiose actions.
Instead, I cried over the fact that the teasing that had just started that year would more than likely never stop during my entire school career. I cried knowing that next year was the year I had begun to notice that mother did n't really care about my brother and I anymore and that this would never change no matter how hard I had tried to have her love me again. I cried because, in time, my grandmother would lose her mind and succumb to paranoid schizophrenia and, when she finally could avoid professional help no longer, the medicine needed to control her mental illness would leave her a husk of the woman I had known. My aunt, only a teenager then, held me in her arms as she tried to console me. I tried to take comfort in words that the pain from my ears would fade and I held her tight.
In every story I had ever read about time travel, the antagonist always has a plan of what they need to do to make things better. Everyone has regrets and I was suddenly in the perfect situation to solve those problems, but making a plan was harder than I expected.
I do n't remember how I died, but I had a husband and a child that I loved dearly. I wanted that life back, but the road to getting there was long and hard and full of painful things that were filed under regrets. I've taken my life slowly in an attempt to not screw up my timeline too much. I let my mother make her mistakes and neglect us, but I became even more tenacious about keeping an eye on my brother so that he would avoid her abuse. I decided to never talk to the man that had once molested me as a child and ignored his friendly conversation about the ponies my brother and I used to feed. I wanted to turn him in, but without a crime there was nothing to report him for and I could n't bring myself to kill him no matter how many times I had envisioned it growing up.
The worst part has been the loneliness. I had never been a popular kid and we moved a lot when I was growing up, but now I could n't seem to bring myself to talk to kids that I already knew I would never see again in the next few months when my mother would break up with her current boyfriend and haul us off to somewhere else. So I read even more than I once had and concentrated on keeping my brother's and my grades up so that we could both leave home far behind when the time came instead of just me.
I actually tried to keep a lot of my choices similar so that I would n't come out too different. For all of my hardships, I liked who I had been and wanted to continue being that person. There's a lot more to this, but hopefully you'll find the little details out in time. I'm so happy we're finally meeting again. I've missed you so much and I know you might think I'm crazy and you're still getting over Heather and are n't even sure you want a relationship right now, but I also know that if anyone was ever going to believe me it would be you and if you give me a chance I promise I will make you happy again.
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[ WP ] Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim 's movements for months . She is a loner and the perfect target . One day she disappears and nobody notices but him .
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If you say goodbye enough times you forget what it ’ s like to not have the chance to say it to someone really special. The smell of her shampoo was still on the pillow almost a week after the disappearance. Just a hint of rose blossoms and honey still there above the flannel pillow case. The smell of her skin a faint vanilla still on the over-sized t-shirt she slept in. With my face pressed into that shirt it was hard to pull myself together. Wiping down the lamp in the bedroom, the sink and perfume bottles in the bathroom, and the fan cover above the shower my eyes watered thinking about listening to her getting ready for work each morning.
When you get to know someone it ’ s hard not to see how special they are. The little things. She drank tea not coffee. Wiping down the top of the doorway into the kitchen her morning ritual kept running through my mind. The sounds of the stove ignition clicking at six in the morning. The tinging of the metal scoop as she put loose tea leaves into her glass. No paper packets for her. The whistle of the kettle. That little ritual, it could n't have taken more than ten minutes, but it always made me smile.
Checking her phone again, just in case, I could see that no one had called looking for her. It made sense that co-worker might not care, but her mother or her sister back in Boston should have at least checked in for their weekly call. She was just gone and no one was looking. Maybe she was lost because we all stopped paying attention. Maybe I could have watched closer or listened to her more.
Dropping the audio tape into the mailing envelope, next to all the pictures, I could n't help but think of the sounds on those recording. The sound of the striker on the stove clicking on. The sounds of the kettle coming to a boil. The sound of her muffled screams. I should have been there. It should have been me, but no, I was n't there.
Dropping the envelope into the post office box just down from her apartment it was all I could do to keep from crying. An anonymous tip is the least I could do to honor such a special woman. Shoving my latex gloves into the bag next to the stacks of hard drives, pictures, and the baggy full of listening devises it was hard not to feel all the time I spent with her slipping away. Telling the world that she was missing was the least I could do. I noticed her. She deserved to be noticed. She was special. She should have been mine.
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[ WP ] At the end of a massive bloodbath between warring nations , only a champion stands for each side . Describe what happens , ending the conflict once and for all .
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Two stand among the countless dead, waiting for their own fate to meet them.
Each claims ownership of the sun and all it brings, one claiming birth of daylight, the other claiming death.
Each stares down the other, waiting for his next assault.
In the east stands a quiet man, his swords stained red with the blood of hundreds, his armour chipped and riddled with holes. He will not let his brothers go unavenged.
In the west stands a proud man, his guns scorched from use, his leathers slashed and torn. He will not allow his nation to fall.
And as they close upon each other, they see the error of their ways.
They see that no man can claim the sun, for the sun answers to no master; they see the futile slaughter that has consumed their nations; they see each other, different in appearance, different in manner, but identical in origin.
And when they see, they stop. They discard the tools of destruction that have claimed so many lives.
And knowing that each has seen at last, they embrace.
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[ WP ] You learn for a fact that you are going to die on a Tuesday . You just have no idea which Tuesday in your life it will be .
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Terry stepped out from behind the barricade.
`` Holy crap! You're so brave out there!''
One by one the soldiers of the 133rd squadron came out from under cover. The city was ruined, but for now everything was still.
`` How do you have the courage to do that?'' asked Terry breathily. `` We're all sitting back under cover, and you just charge the machine gun nest and blow it to smithereens!''
`` You could say my life prepared me for this,'' I replied.
The truth was, of course, that on Fridays I'm immortal.
`` Let's celebrate,'' I laughed. `` We're all alive. I did n't think I'd make it past 20, to be honest.''
`` Three cheers to Sergeant!'' cheered Terry. Nobody knew about my little revelation, the time God visited me and told me I would die on a Tuesday. Luckily, I was far enough in command that I had some control over when I had to be on the front lines.
`` I heard they're promoting him to general!'' squeaked the high voice of Rodger `` Papa Mouse'' Cunningham. `` Sarge! Sarge! Sarge!''
`` You're not gon na start a chant, Mouse,'' retorted One-Eye Red. `` Just like the last three times you tried.''
`` Let's go off to the trench,'' I joked. `` Dinner's on me.''
The squadron laughed, just like they did the last few times. And as they all sat down in the trench to eat, I knew that I had the happiest squadron in the World War.
But that happiness faded when I saw it.
`` Bomb!'' shouted Terry. `` Take cover!'' But there would be no more cover in the trench.
Terry would n't survive. Neither would Mouse or Red. But I would.
Thank God it's Friday.
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[ WP ] It 's so dark ... where am I ? What 's that smell ? ... .What ... what 's touching me ?
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It's so dark... Where am I? What the heck is touching me!?
*thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump*
I can feel the sharp air washing over my exposed body and the feels of strong hands caressing my head and back. I....I think I cried, too. Yes, I remember the crying.... Then the voice.... It was calming, almost. Deep and soothing against my sensitive ears...
`` Let's see... Are you a boy or a girl?''
I remember being flipped around, or maybe I was just suffering from nausea....
`` It's a boy! A boy Catherine! Our beautiful, baby boy!''
Then a new voice reached my ears, this one much softer, and much... much more calming, but it was as if it was... strained, almost.
`` Oh... Oh James, we did it. A boy. Our....beautiful baby boy...''
Then the the first voice came back, and I was able to hear the difference in the two voices much clearer now.
`` You're going to have a bright future ahead of you little guy, I'm sure of it.''
I do n't know why, but I felt....happy. So happy that I... giggled I think....
`` Oh-ho ho, hey there little guy! I'm your daddy, you hear me? DADDY! And your name, well your mother and I have been thinking, how would you like the name Gaylord?''
Fuck me.
`` Yes, that name fits you well. Growing up will be scary thing.'' No shit, I wonder why. `` Especially out in the wasteland, full of all sorts of nasty things and people.''
And you want to name me Gaylord? Lord of the Heavenly queers and seneschal of all rainbows?
`` But what about you, what type of person are you going to-'' The man, who I now refuse to acknowledge as my father, was stopped in his ramblings by my still-have-hope-for mother, who sounded distressed when she called his name.
`` James....James! Something's... Wrong...''
`` Catherine! Catherine!? Damn it! Shes going into cardiac arrest!''
I....Still have hope for her.....
`` Quickly, get the baby out of here!''
Before I could hear anything else I was being carted out of the room to somewhere... I suppose. Well. It's not everyday you see a parent... die I guess. But... you know.... In the name of science....
I would later notice the absence of a mother as I progressed through life until my dad, i mean, *James* left the cave place and our leader went nuts over that so I had to leave also.
I later blew up this one town, idiots had a nuke in the center with some nuts worshipping it. They had it coming. Pretty sure that was all justifiable. I mean, I warned some people not to go to the town tomorrow.
Well.
Shit.
Maybe I am destined for a bright future, if said future includes detonating dormant nuclear warheads.
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[ WP ] A zombie has just attacked you . You can feel yourself starting to turn . What 's going on in your head ? What happens next ?
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Oh God oh shit oh NO!!
Fuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this ca n't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it.
Dammit, it wo n't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gon na bleed out if I do n't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it.
`` Charlotte?!''
`` Bill? Where are you?!''
`` I'm in the pharmacy, Char!''
Shit it HURTS!
`` Bill? OH MY GOD!''
`` Char, Char, calm down. I need you to --''
`` It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I do n't even know if I can.''
`` Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad.'' A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! `` See that gun over there?''
`` N-no... I ca n't... I wo n't...''
`` Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I do n't care how bad this sounds, but I need you... to kill me.''
`` No! I wo n't. There's got ta be another way!''
Agh, it's throbbing! `` This is the only way, Char!''
`` But, please Bill, I ca n't do that to you. I ca n't do it.''
`` Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey.''
`` That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole --''
`` No. You need to put me down like the rest of'em before I come back. We do n't have much time!''
Oh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, do n't hesitate. Just pick it -- aah -- just pick it up. Good.
`` Come over here, Char.''
`` There's got to --''
`` There is n't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There... you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold.''
`` This is n't right.''
`` You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it... now pull the trigger. I'm ready.''
`` I'm... sorry.''
`` I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte.''
`` I love you too, Bill.''
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[ WP ] Your girlfriend is a serial killer who has been at large for years . You found out one day upon walking into her apartment and seeing her at work . You never help her with her hobby or express any signs of discomfort when with her and that just baffles her . You just do n't care about it .
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`` I killed him.''
`` That's nice dear.''
He was sat on the couch, engrossed in another marathon gaming session.
`` He fought back, unlike that last guy. Real nasty biter.''
She held her arm out appreciatively, a red mark fading just below the elbow.
`` You had a tetanus shot?''
`` Of course.''
`` Okay then.''
`` I had to pull the teeth so they ca n't do a dental match.''
`` Uh uh.''
`` He's in a tub now, dissolving. Should be nothing left but a soup by tomorrow.''
`` Are we having soup tonight?''
`` No, I. Put that down.'' She stood in front of the screen. `` What is wrong with you?''
`` Nothing. Are you tired? Are you on your...''
`` No,'' she nearly screamed, snatching up a power cord and wrapping it around her fist. `` Three years. Three years we've been going out.''
`` Oh god,'' he muttered. `` I forgot our anniversary.''
`` What? No. Ever since you walked in on me and Tom.''
`` Who's Tom?''
`` Tom was the guy I was strangling when you first met me. Do n't you remember?''
He shrugged nonchalantly. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bedroom. A heavy black duffel, buried in the back of the closet, contents spilling out as she rolled it across the bed. Knives and axes, tasers and tweezers.
`` I kill people Greg. I've killed a lot of people.''
`` Yeah, but...''
`` What? What?!'' she demanded, snatching up a particularly wicked looking blade.
`` Well, my dad always told me if you're good at something, why do it for free?''
She stared at him confused. He hugged her tightly, releasing the blade from her fingers and setting it back amongst its brothers. He led her to the closet and slid open the back.
`` How? What? When?'' she asked. She picked up a small calibre pistol, feeling the weight in her hands. The hidey hole contained an assortment of rifles, pistols, even a bazooka.
`` You were a contract. A target. But when I saw you, with your arms around that guy and the sweat on your brow, I just fell in love.''
`` You were going to kill me?'' she asked.
`` And I did n't mind you carrying on. I know you do your best.''
`` My best?''
`` I keep a watch on you, honest. I just always wish you'd...''
`` What?''
`` Well, go pro.''
`` Greg,'' she said, grabbing his hand.
`` Yes?''
`` Let's do one together.''
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[ WP ] There is no natural cause of human death . Everyone in history has been murdered .
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If you've been around as long as I have, you'd know that there are a million and one ways to kill someone. And trust me, I know them all. From slicing someone's throat with a butcher's knife to shooting them at point blank range. But sitting here right now, my low-brim hat perched acutely on my head, I notice the old woman, my target, I'm meant to kill and think how many lives I've taken. A quintillion? A decillion? All these big numbers are getting too big for me.
I've killed them all though. From kings to dukes to peasants. They're all the same. Just bags of flesh and bone in the end. And that's what I'm here for, an end. And end to everything for everyone, including this woman sitting across the road from me. I watch her as she gets up to leave, her velvet red handbag bouncing off her hip. I get up myself to follow. Always stay 10 steps behind or they start to suspect who I am.
As she reaches her home and turns the lock in her bright yellow door that's when I use my little trick. I walk around to the side of the house, place my black leather gloves on the wall and I feel myself shift through the flaking brick into a clean olive green kitchen. And I see her for the first time, her wrinkles telling me everything she's gone through. And she also sees me as well. My plain white face. The protruding cheek bones and the glaring alabaster teeth. Before she can even scream my hands tighten around her neck and there's a soft snap.
If you've been around as long as I have, you'd know that there are a million and one ways to kill someone. And trust me, I know them all.
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[ WP ] People who die before their time have a 'grace ' period of 27 minutes before their bodies become useless ...
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Thud.
Thud.
Somewhere in the silence that followed I realized I was done. I mean I was still here but I didnt want to be. The grit on my face was searing but my world was dark the blood drieng faster now as its pace slows, my eyes were covered. But I could hear her sobbing and each strike at the gravel beside me.
My whole world erupts as the shot rings out. I hear her thud and the screaming that just wont end, constant unending pain. The kick to my side and silences my voice are the only reason I even realize I'm not in hell yet. She never made a peep done in a single shot.
`` Sorry Mate, I've never seen a guy survive two shots to the head, but she was n't supposed to read those files'' he said something but it didnt matter not once he started covering our bodies. Slowly the pressure releases me.
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[ WP ] You are the founder of a tiny 1990s tech startup operating from your garage . All of a sudden , a bunch of people who are obviously badly disguised time travelers start trying to buy stock in your company .
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`` I've spent the better part of 5 years laser focused on this project, what do we do Gary? We are going broke trying to fund something that we may never be able to actually create in our life-time.''
....'' Dammit man! What do you want from me? We made a promise to our families and ourselves that we could make it happen.'' Mark exclaimed.
Alone, in a garage turned into a makeshift office which used to house Gary's car. The future was bleak. They sold everything, borrowed from everyone. The loans were piling up and the banks began to freeze accounts faster than kids freezing each other in a game of freeze tag.
`` I think we are almost there, the functionality is incredible. The user interface is like nothing currently available on the market and the application is almost limitless.'' Mark reassured Gary his time was n't wasted.
It was a long hard road, his wife left. His son, barely 5 at the time was as innocent as any kid in a family torn apart by one man's need for conquest.
`` I know... I know, If only we had a little more time.. a little more money. They'd see I was n't crazy.'' He replied.
`` Close it down for tonight, lets get some rest.''
The door dropped with a thud and light that once spilled out into the road was cut like a knife cutting something softer than the material the knife is made from.
What Gary and Mark did n't realize at the time is that they would be funded. They would unleash something amazing to the public and our lives would be changed along with their's.
Tonight, a knock would come.
Two men, in suits. Fitted, Valentino suits and Oliver Peoples glasses. Something tasteful yet resounding.
With them a black leather suitcase. It was unassuming, they did n't speak. They would only knock.
-knock, knock, knock.
`` Who could that be? Its 11:30 at night.'' Said Gary, slightly annoyed.
`` I do n't know, answer it. Probably a neighbor bitching again.''
Gary opened the door. He was puzzled, the two men stood tall and still. They mirrored each other, one offered up the suitcase. Gary watched, puzzled.
The other man opened it, the latches echoed through his skull and when it opened Gary's face was golden bright and his eyes dilated.
They left. The door shut.
`` Who was it?'' Marked yelled from the basement.
`` Just some kids, looking for a Frisbee no big deal.'' Gary replied, suitcase in hand.
-- -- -- Getting a little bored at this point- so this is to be continued, in the future -- -- -- --
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[ WP ] Two retired wizards start playing pranks on each other , and each prank is more ridiculous than the last .
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John Roark ran a hand through his beard and squared his gaze at the tipsy wizard sitting across from him at the table. Around them the merry tavern swooned with laughter and the knock of hands and mugs on tables, a lutist plaid from a small stage by the bar singing an old favorite. And while outside a unseasonably cold front swept in, here in the Fainting Frog the fire crackled and danced in the hearth beneath the massive old Elk head mounted above. He took another thoughtful sip from his mug as he considered the wizard ’ s story and the odd glass globe before him. The wizard in question, a thin gray-bearded man by the name of Marellus Antonius, was still rambling on quite beside himself, saying- “ They said it couldn ’ t be done! To win a match of magical wits against a Wizard of the Royal Order- but I tell you we academics are a force to be reckoned with- “ He hiked up the loose fabric of his sleeves that now sat soaking in puddles of ale, revealing the wrinkly skin of his ancient forearms. “ -Why I said, and I ’ ll say it again- those Royals do little but sit about philosophizing and politicizing and do very little real magic of any kind! A wholly hollow profession and a bit too much pomp and circumstance for one such as myself. Did I mention I was once a Dean of Magic? ”
John Roark bent awkwardly to the side as the serving woman sloshed another cupful of ale in his mug and nodded. “ Aye, you did at that. ”
“ I did indeed! ” Marellus said. “ Something that two-skinned flea bag wizard Yokimon will not forget anytime soon! ” His voice crescendoed with each syllable until he was pounding on the table and calling for drinks all around. The people gave him another cheer.
John eyed the wizard, who bore the rosy red cheeks and glassy eyes of one who ’ s had a drop too much, and then turned his gaze down on the glassy orb rattling around on the table before him. It was a simple thing, really; it sat on top of a painted wooden dais just a finger or two tall, the glass ball was just large enough to fill a man ’ s hand. Inside was a little miniature city with a miniature castle on top of a miniature hill that all looked strikingly familiar. And with every rattle and bump the glass would shake slightly sending a flurry of snow crystals up into the liquid enclosure that surrounded it. John watched the snow fall as he took another sip.
“ So, ” he said at last. “ You ’ re saying that you ’ ve captured the Wizard Yokimon and got him locked up inside this glass ball? That ’ s what you ’ re saying, isn ’ t it? ”
Marellus smiled and gave John a look one might give to a simple-minded child. Or a simple-minded man for that matter.
“ Yes, my good sir. Though it is all a bit complicated for one not conditioned to the complexities of magic. But suffice it to say that that rogue- that RAPSCALLION Yokimon- well, he is at this very moment living within a world of my own making- going about his day with no clue that I have outwitted him. ”
“ And this is because of the- uh, ” John closed one eye as he tried to recollect the wizards tale. “ You put some sort of befuddlement charm or somesuch- “
“ -Rockson ’ s Charm of Chronospherial Delusion- yes. ”
“ Yea, that un- you put this charm on the wizard and then you uh, teleported him into the ball? ”
“ Yes, yes- “ the Wizard broke in. “ -that ’ s such a simple way to think about it- really it has to do with with transference of energy over time allowing me to- “ But John waved his hand, silencing the wizard so he could consider this. Outside the wind battered the door as someone threw another log on the fire.
“ And you did this because he summoned a horde of fire-slugs to appear in your library? ”
“ Can you believe the audacity? One of the finest collections in the world obliterated by those pesky hell bugs! ”
“ Aye- but he did that bit cuz you had, now let me remember here- yea, you turned his wife and children into mice and had them chased through the castle by cats. ”
Marellus smiled, “ Yes, well that was a clever bit of magic on my part, I must insist. ”
“ And before that, ” John continued, “ He had sent a gargoyle to scream from your rooftop every hour of the day and night- “
“ I couldn ’ t get a wink of sleep! Have you ever heard suck a terrible racket? ” Marellus waved a hand in the air to nobody in particular. “ Another drink please! ”
In a blink the serving woman had bustled by and vanished the empty mug, replacing it with one foaming at the top with frothy brew. The wrinkly wizard rolled back his sleeves once more and tipped back the ale into his bottomless gullet. John watched all of this with a grim silence. There was still something missing from all of this, something he couldn ’ t quite place.
“ So you ’ re saying that right this second, ” he said. “ That one of the most powerful wizards who has ever lived, is right now sitting trapped at his desk inside this little- er, globe- thinking everything ’ s business per usual- and that everyone he meets is really just a figment of his imagination who will only continue to support the fantasy world that you have ensnared him in? ”
The wizard Marellus pushed himself back from the table and kicked his feet up next to the globe with a sigh. He appeared a thin black pipe from nowhere in particular and lit it with a match. “ Yes, that ’ s it exactly! ” he said, beginning to puff. “ And good riddance, too. I would be just fine if he decided to live out the rest of his life in there, blissfully unawares that he has fallen to one of the last true wizards of our day- “ he took another puff from the pipe, shot a wink at a blushing young lass, and then closed his eyes to the lutists tune.
John sat thinking. It was an impressive tale, the details of which were far beyond his ability to truly comprehend, and indeed it didn ’ t seem to trouble him much. He smiled at the bemused wizard across from him, nodded to the serving woman for another round, and turned to look out into chill night where the first snow of the season had begun to fall.
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[ WP ] somebody saw Noah building the ark and said , what the heck , I 'll build one too .
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King Ishmael had ruled ruled over his tribe for two decades when word got to him of the man building an ark. Some said the man had been commanded by God Almighty to do this work, others thought the man simply mad. Ishmael was troubled by the idea of the ark, how could so nightmarish an event strike the earth that only a massive ship could allow a person to survive it?
He decided to solve his problem by ordering his tribe to build an ark as well. `` My subjects, it seems grave times are upon us. If I am right then the great task we undertake shall be our salvation, and if I'm wrong then feel free to place my body inside this massive ark and burn the whole thing to ashes as the greatest pyre this world has ever seen.'' He told them as the great project began.
Two weeks in the building of the ark Ishmael was in his chambers when a being of radiant light entered in through the window. `` Ishmael, Lord of his people. Your God speaks to you now.'' God said to him. Ishmael thought his voice sounded off, like he was trying to sounds more imposing than he really was.
`` My Lord! I am so blessed to be able to speak to you! Praise be for this joyous day!'' Ishmael cried out as the Lord hovered towards him.
`` Stop building your ark.'' God told him.
`` Why my lord?'' Ishmael asked.
The lack of a quick response was very unsettling to Ishmael, he'd always assumed that God was pretty on the ball and right now He did n't seem to be very with it.
`` Ummm...'' The Almighty stammered. `` Cause you have a great destiny to fulfill elsewhere.'' He concluded.
`` Oh really?'' Ishmael replied, his tone far more insolent than he ever thought it would be when talking to God. `` And where exactly is that? Trapped under an endless deluge of water from a flood you're going to unleash?''
`` No!'' God replied, obviously lying. `` Why you're to venture the west and discover vast new fertile lands and you and your tribe are to rule those lands from this generation to the end of the world itself.'' Ishmael swore he saw streams of light that looked like sweat beading up and falling off God's forehead.
Ishmael really could n't believe what was happening. He decided to just keep a hard gaze upon God who seemed more and more nervous as each second passed.
`` Nah it's OK God. I understand. I'll take my people and go west. This whole flood thing is silly. I mean a just, knowing God would never kill the dog, a loyal and beloved animal, while the crab, a spiteful creature, is spared. Never would a wise God do such a thing.'' Ishmael said.
`` You....You shut up! You have no idea how long it took me to design the crab, or the lobster, or the shrimp. I'm just the guy that worked on the shellfish dammit.'' God said, Ishmael swore he was crying now. `` You do n't get it, there was conflict, politics, outsourcing over some hot new project in Andromeda. One thing led to another and suddenly I'm in a meeting and they explain that they are short staffed and well, would I like to take the whole Earth project over, and that if I do n't they are shutting it down. I spent centuries getting lobsters right, you have no idea, and the mantis shrimp, that took me countless millennia. I was n't about to let all my work go to waste so I agreed, and as first act as the new ruler of this place I'm purging the land based life forms down to a far more reasonable number.''
`` Can my people be part of the group that get to live?'' Ishmael asked.
God was silent for a while. `` Fine, sure. I did say you could have lands to the west. Well there's land way more west of here then you can ever imagine. You and your people shall have them for thousands of years, now go and build your ark.'' God told him.
Ishmael felt good but not nearly as good as he thought he would, since clearly the being running things was n't an all knowing, all powerful being, but rather some idiot who was clearly way in over his head.
`` Oh, find somebody else. There's a big island to the south east that I need to repopulate also, it's much smaller than the lands you're getting, but I guess it's better than drowning.'' God told him. God nervously laughed for a while and then vanished from sight.
Ishmael fell to his knees and wept for the plight of his people and his earth. When his aides heard his wailing they came to him to see what was wrong. He reassured them that everything was OK, and that his tears were truly tears of joy.
The flood came and passed, the tribe of Ishmael did in fact land in a strange and distant land and began rebuilding the destroyed world. For the rest of his days Ishmael took a perverse joy in eating any seafood he could get his hands on. His small act of defiance against the Idiot God.
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[ OT ] SatChat : Will you be participating in the novelette contest ?
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I wish. I've been sick for going on 3 weeks now ( stupid cold/flu/soul-sucking disease ), so I'm pretty behind on life. On the plus side: meds are finally working! Downside: brain? Not so much. Unless you consider functioning to be primarily long contemplations on why exactly it is that people do n't live upside-down and what it would take to make my ceiling a comfortable living space.
Pillows, by the way. Pillows is what it would take.
Basically, the novelette competition wo n't be happening for me, but I ca n't wait to see everyone's entries! I'll be super comfortable reading them in my inverted living space. ( By the way, anyone have an anti-gravity machine? Gravity has been a real jerk ever since I remembered it exists. )
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[ WP ] An old Knight explains to a young squire the wisdom in having a sheep as a coat of arms .
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The stables were quiet at this time of the day. In fact, of all the members of the king's grand court, consisting of 300 trained knights, a wide array of noblemen and Earnest, the jester, only two had taken an interest in the horses today. Even these two were quiet, save for the shlorps and snicks of the smaller one sweeping the stable floor. However, their reputation spoke volumes where words could not.
There, roasting in the heat of midday, was the oldest knight in the service of the king, Erderyn the Swift. Beside him, broom in hand, was his squire, a diligent young boy whom Erderyn had hand picked from a group of a dozen knight potentials. There were many who would kill and die to be in the young knight-to-be's shoes right now- sitting alongside the most experienced knight in the realm, however, crotchety he may have become in his age. To be doing the tasks of a squire as he did, even if they did involve cleaning, at length, the crap of all of the king's horses... and, for that matter, a good portion of the men. And they certainly would have given anything- anything at all- to have their work presided over by Erderyn the Swift in the flesh.
Of course, the scene failed to live up to the glamour, seeing as the old knight was snoozing contentedly and the squire looked bored out of his mind with his, `` training.''
The squire looked up from his stable-sweeping duties. He looked his mentor over- he was old, certainly, but when his eyes opened you could see a spark of wisdom behind his eyes. The only thing that was bothering him was something that had always piqued his curiosity.
`` Why a sheep?'' The old man sputtered, snorted and awoke from his impromptu nap.
`` Eh? Sheep? What sheep're ya talkin' about, lad?''
`` The one on your chest.''
`` There's a sheep on my chest? Argh, get it off o' me!'' mumbled Erderyn. The knight seemed to have fallen back into a half sleep, and was clearly far from lucid.
`` The sheep on your coat of arms, you daft... sir.'' He shook the knight gently and woke him, hopefully completely this time.
`` Well... if'n you wanted to know, why did n't ya ask before, lad?''
`` It seemed like an odd symbol at the time sir. Pray, is it your family crest?''
`` Nay, my boy.'' He thumped his chest and thrust the ram emblazoned upon it forward proudly. `` No, this is a symbol I earned all on my lonesome, and it shows you just what kind of reputation I've built up.
The squire's interest had increased at this, of course. He had always thought the sheep on his mentor's coat of arms to be a somewhat embarrassing image. He had assumed that it was the crest of his family- the ancestors of Erderyn the Swift had long been in the service of the king, and it only made sense that he would take on their moniker- more a burden to bear than anything else. But clearly, this was not the case.
`` You mean... a sheep? You could have been anything, made your crest a dragon, or a lion, or... or anything. But you chose a sheep?''
`` Aye. And what of it, lad?''
`` It... well, with all due respect sir, I always regarded it as something of an embarrassment. I mean, a sheep does n't exactly seem very... knightly, to put it lightly. And, I mean, have you ever smelt a sheep? It's not exactly...''
`` Noble? Lad, you smell like the bad end of a horse. And believe me, it's not all from the work you've been doin'.''
The squire was a bit insulted by this, although the treatment was n't exactly rare coming to an apprentice from his mentor. Nevertheless, his temper flared.
`` What do you think the other knights think of your sheep, sir? It does n't exactly have them quaking in their boots. I'd imagine that it would n't do you any favours on a battlefield either.''
`` A lamb into slaughter. Is that what you think I am?'' He flexed a heavily muscled arm, flecked with grey hairs. `` Come on, my boy. Pick up a trainin' sword and we'll teach you to do somethin' more interesting than pile manure.''
The squire was frustrated, but ecstatic. This was his first attempt at an actual duel with something other than a scarecrow. Both him and Erderyn picked up one of the training swords lying around the courtyard- swords that had undoubtably belonged to another knight and squire who had long since gone elsewhere for the day.
Erderyn the Swift, eldest of the knights of the king's court, stood bearing his sword, unmoving, unblinking, under the hot midday sun. His squire did the same, locking eyes with his mentor. Erderyn had often scolded him for being to hotheaded, but not today. Today, he would best his master and show that he was good for more than working as a stablehand for the court.
`` Well, boy? Did ya come here to stare deeply inta me eyes, or did you come here to fight me?''
With that, the squire lunged forward. Every blow contained every ounce of his strength, and each time his master would sidestep the blow. Time and time again, the squire would swing, and time and time again the old knight would dodge. Finally, as the boy was nearing the end of his endurance, the knight held out his sword, blocked the squire's blade, and with a quick flick of the wrist sent it flying across the yard. Before he knew it, the boy was on the ground, the boot of Erderyn the Swift firmly on his face.
`` Have you ever seen a sheep fight another beastie, lad? Great horns, they've got, growin' right from the side of their heads. Lots of wool, too. Sure, they're farm animals, but'ave you ever thought what they'd be if they were n't?'' The knight took his foot off of the squire's face and sat down on the dry ground alongside him. Pointing to the crest inside of his coat of arms, he continued. `` You see lad, a sheep is a lot like a knight- a lot like me, I suppose. The wool is tough and springy- unless somethin' tries with all of its might, it ai n't gettin' through there. Of course, the sheep would never let that happen in the first place, because it's smart.
`` Sir, I have never once met a smart sheep.''
`` Maybe not as smart as a person, but smart enough to know when to high tail it out of there. And then, when they've run, and run, and the other beastie is dead tired, and the sheep is a bit worse for wear but otherwise fine, then it shows its enemy that its horns are n't just for show.''
`` But... but if the enemy does n't even consider you a threat...''
`` Then all the better, my boy. All the better. If they're too laughing at the sheep, they're going to find themselves with horns in places they'd rather they not be. So yes, my boy, my crest is a sheep. But only so that you ca n't see the wolf within it.''
Erderyn stood up, seeming much taller to the squire now than he had as they walked here.
`` Now come on, boy. Let's go get somethin' to eat.''
EDIT: Mmm, formatting.
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[ WP ] A super-villain , wanting to make a virus that kills 99.99 % of the human population , accidentally eradicates all cancers . What happens next ?
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Sparks an unlikely reluctant villain that has become a hero to the common man fleeing for his life teaming up with a team of scientists funding a mercenary group capture and prevent the loss of the miracle cure.
The real villain in this story? Big pharma and government teaming up and are hell bent on protecting their billion dollar industry from being wiped out.
Who will win? The will of the people whose dreams and hopes are held by a thread of a madman being protected by an unlikely band of mercs realizing they are being seriously underpaid, and attempting to be undermined and bought out by big pharma's deep pockets and government backing or the greed of a nation?
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[ WP ] After a long life you finally cross off the last task on your bucket list , and lay by back in a hospital bed . A nurse walks in and sees the paper you 're holding in your hands , with all of the accomplishments you 've done . She then asks you , `` So what was your favorite task you crossed off ? ''
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I am torn from my thoughts as I heard my name being called.
`` Fred?'' said the nurse.
`` Oh! It's you... What?'' I reply. She has that smile on her face when she is trying to be patient. Miss Julliard, one of the hospital nurses who has been taking care of me for the last few years is now here to try to start a conversation again.
`` Yes, Jully. Is there something wrong?''
`` I ca n't help but notice you holding that list over there. Can I see?'' She asks with a tone like Mickey Mouse when he asks one of those overly simple questions on screen.
I hand the damn thing over. As this scene plays out, I would like to share a little bit of my backstory with you. I was 17 and a student ( of course ). Back then my condition was not yet diagnosed which I just pass on as puberty.
`` Ok dude I ca n't do this anymore man this is just getting dumber and dumber! You expect me to say I pass off a degenerative neurological disease as puberty?!''
Well, I can spare my brain cells and not write this prompt which is basically your very small universe which I type on my iPhone. I just want to fast forward this crap and get to the more touching and ever so cheeses scene. Ok? And all this 4th wall breaking is upsetting the readers.
My reflection is clear on the sanitized mirror of the hospital. Which of all the things I put on this list could actually mean anything in my short 25 years of life? This question has been haunting me for the past hour ever since the conversation with Miss Julliard. Of all the things, I have written down. This will take some time and yet time is not really what I have in abundance. I ca n't even breathe without this machine attached to me. That is how weak I am now. I am just nothing but a man in a wheelchair and this sucks AND it is not only the built in toilet on this thing.
`` Julliard? Where is you patient?''
Footsteps pound the floor, arms push away the wheelchairs, people sent flying by the sheer momentum of what essentially is a snow plow flying through the corridors towards Fred. It is quite the display, if you think about it in slow motion. I totally paid the right person to be the psychopathische nurse Miss Julliard is. Look at the chaos, look at the wake of disorder left behind, it's a sonic boom of a white clothes wrapped around sick people, white clothes wrapped around people who get paid for being patient and serving them and the... err... she catches Fred in the bathroom staring at himself.
I am torn from my thoughts as I heard my name being called.
`` Fred?'' said the nurse.
`` Oh! It's you... What?'' I reply. She has that smile on her face when she is trying to be patient. Miss Julliard, one of the hospital nurses who has been taking care of me for the last few years is now here to try to start a conversation again.
`` Yes, Jully. Is there something wrong?''
`` I ca n't help but notice you got yourself out of your wad again Fred.'' She asks with a tone like Mickey Mouse when he asks one of those overly simple questions on screen.
`` Ok I ca n't go through this anymore! I am sick of having this psycho catch me every time I try to have some alone time! You wan na know what I think is the best thing is have crossed off this list?! Well it would be... it would... give me a pen... it would be this right here!''
-74. Jump wheelchair off hospital roof [ X ]
Oh snap! He crossed it off already! Well I am not surprised as is says here: -
-73. Write a crappy writing prompt [ X ]
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