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[ WP ] Describe a tournament in which the crowd favorite is destroyed by a newcomer .
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The crowd roared when I stepped onto the stage. At last, the finals match. I looked intensely at my opponent. I had n't seen him before, had no idea what his name was. But he probably knew me. 4 years ago, I'd been crowned the worldwide king of rock-paper-scissors. Newspapers compared me to Usain Bolt and Bobby Fischer. Commentators described my skill level as `` mystical'' and `` inhuman''. Advertisers begged me to take contracts for ludicrous amounts.
I'd always been good at the game. I started out playing for snacks at lunchtime in elementary. In middle school, I practiced against like-minded friends during recess. By the time I started high school, I had stopped losing to other students. Soon after that I was hunting down top players and placing high in regional tournaments.
The ref proceeded to go through the rules, just like he did every time. I knew this ref; he started on two years ago. I've never lost a set with him refereeing. Hell, I have n't lost a set in a long, long time. It's almost like this game is getting boring.
The first throw. I did n't even need to think about this one. I curled my hand into the shape of a rock and dropped it down. The cheering was deafening. I did n't bother to look at his throw; I simply stared into his eyes and began to work my mental magic.
As always, we were playing best of 5. My second throw was scissors. Again, there was no need to check his hand. I knew I'd won once more. I studied his face, looking for signs of worry, of anger or despair. Surprisingly I could find none of those; at the very least, this man remained calm and composed. The ref signaled and I raised my arm for the finale.
_Paper_. Even as I brought my hand down, I knew something was wrong. The crowd fell silent. For the first time, I glanced down, away from my opponent's face, and saw that somehow, I'd been wrong. As I looked back up a him, I witnessed yet again his passive, unchanging expression. But _this_ time it looked different. It looked stone cold, deadly focused. I smiled. This game would never be boring.
As the ref signaled the next throw, I could tell that even he had been thrown off. Opponents rarely took even a single throw off me. I analyzed my adversary's play and swiftly revised my thought processes, adapting to the new information he'd revealed to me. My hand fell. _Scissors_. As with my first two throws, I did n't bother to look down. We stared at each other, and that β s when I realized - _my opponent had n't looked down all game_. Slowly I dropped my gaze and found his hand balled into a rock. Impossible. I'd considered everything, performed a complete analysis of what he was thinking. As the news articles often said, I had peered into this man's soul.
Then I started laughing. The referee motioned for me to prepare for the next throw, but I could n't stop. I could n't believe it. He'd actually thrown a rock. I collapsed to the floor, completely lost in the hilarity of my opponent β s move. It was the sort of an irony only world class players could understand. As the ref pulled me to my feet, I grinned at my unblinking opponent. I was glad to have faced off against him. This young man gave me hope that the game would continue to be pushed further, that the rock-paper-scissors players of the next generation would n't dishonor decades of competitive evolution. Perhaps one day this man would be able to defeat me on the big stage.
I doubted it though.
Rock-paper-scissors sets are played best of 5 because 2 losses are the most any truly competent player ever needs to fully adapt. I understood this man's game now. I could see how he'd slipped past me these last two throws. But now I'd plugged the leaks in my map of his mind, completed the puzzle which would reveal beyond any doubt his final throw. My hand fell. _Paper_. From the corner of my eye, I saw people jump out of their seats. I smiled to myself. 5 years in a row. I watched my opponent, wanting to see how he would react. Then I noticed, that for the first time - he was smiling as well. The ref held out one arm and declared that man the winner.
My heart pounded. How? I searched through my recollections of the past 4 throws, of my analysis of his game, of his posture and movements, of his face... his face. I was thinking too fast. My mind cleared, and I saw him offering his hand to me. Handshakes and other such courtesies were rarely seen in competitive sets. And yet β¦ I too felt that what had just transpired deserved acknowledgement. This man had just shown me something new, something that had no doubt been missing in rock-paper-scissors. I gripped his hand and shook it firmly. Then I grinned at him and uttered a long lost phrase, one which I had n't heard since I was a kid, one which reminded me of days when the game was something to be explored, not just to be won.
`` You just got lucky.''
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End a story with : `` Whoa , that was a close one . ''
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Imagine a blade slicing through the sky, so large you would swear the gods were fighting. They do n't believe me, but I know what I saw. A twisted hunk of metal twirling through the air like the sky had gone mad. I gave no thought to my comrades. Running, tripping, fumbling. I dropped my entire day's work in the dirt and fled for my life. The torrent sliced through the trees above me, splitting the trees like spiderwebs and sucking their husks into the air like a hurricane. Nothing survived that horror. Except me, of course.
And then, just like that. As soon as it had begun, it was over. I collected the bits and body parts of my comrades and headed back home, they'd make a good snack for the mother later. All the while I just kept thinking:
`` Whoa, that was a close one.''
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[ WP ] You 're a psychopath , but you are n't as manipulative and deceiving as other psychopaths . You 've been cursed with severe boredom .
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Another bloodcurdling scream filled the air as the psychopath pushed the knife slowly into the palm of the girl's hand.
He let out an exasperated sigh and mimicked his victim, `` *Ahhhhh*... Just like everyone else, of course.''
The girl tried to plead with him through her tears, `` Please! I-''
`` Let me guess,'' He interrupted while absentmindedly prodding her arm with the sharp blade, `` You're going to tell me about all the people that need you and how you *have* to get back to them!''
`` No! I-''
`` Oh! I know!'' He quickly thrust the knife into her thigh, hearing a scream like all of the others that had once filled him with satisfaction, `` Next comes the part where you tell me you'll do *absolutely anything* if I let you go, right?''
`` No, I-I...''
He watched her intensely, hoping that *just this once* one of them would manage to surprise him, give him that spark that he missed oh, so much.
But the girl continued to whimper and struggle, occasionally pleading with him, making him offers, trying to convince him to let her go. He'd gone through it all dozens of times by now.
With another sigh, he stood up from the filthy blood-caked ground and began walking away.
`` You wo n't get away with this! I'll kill you! *You'll burn in hell! *''
The last bit of hope inside him faded. The pleading, the bribing, the threats, they were all the same. Every single time. It would be over soon, and then it would start again with someone new, just like always. Now all he had to do was wait.
The hours passed by slowly, with occasional poking and prodding, stabbing and slicing, even the familiar sizzle of a red hot iron rod on flesh could be heard from time to time.
Until, finally, silence...
With one final sigh, he checked her pulse, though it was unnecessary seeing as more of the girl was on the floor than was still attached to the head and torso strapped in the chair.
Exhausted and disappointed, he decided to clean up the mess in the morning and proceeded to head up the stairs.
The severely bored psychopath made his way down the stairs, intending to clean the mess left from the day before.
On his way down he noticed a strange scent, or rather, a strange *lack* of scent. The smell of fresh blood was gone. It could n't have faded so soon! It was one of the few things he still enjoyed from his gruesome hobby.
He raced the rest of the way down the stairs, perplexed. His confusion only grew at the sight of a fully intact body resting in the chair before him.
He stepped closer, trying to make sense of it. Had n't he sliced this one up? Was that last night?
He turned and headed back towards the stairs, deciding to take some time and clear his head.
`` Leaving so soon? And here I was, waiting for round 2!''
The curious psychopath slowly looked at the girl with surprise.
`` Well, what are you waiting for?''
The enthusiastic psychopath picked up his knife...
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[ WP ] Write a convincing story using only dialogue .
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`` Sam.. do you think there's life after death?''
`` Not really.. why?''
``... so what do you think happens when you kick the bucket?''
`` Nothing.. I guess? I'll cease to exist. How could it be any different?''
`` Do you dream?''
`` Of course, do n't you?''
`` Yeah.. but.. do you remember your dreams?''
`` Not really.. not unless it's really weird... like.. one time I dreamt I was a sheep.''
`` A sheep?''
``.. yeah, all I did was graze in the sun. It was kinda nice..''
`` But then.. do n't you see? Do n't you think it's kind of crazy?''
`` What... dreams?''
`` Yeah, like, we go to sleep.. and our minds create a world so real we do n't even know it.. and we're doing it without any conscious thought on our part at all!''
``..right. That is weird, I guess... but so what?''
`` Well if that's possible.. who's to say that all this is n't one big dream as well?''
``..one big dream?''
`` Yeah, maybe you and I and everyone else all come from the same one that's dreaming this entire thing.''
``.. but.. come on, that's crazy.''
``.. is it? How do you know for sure?''
`` Because. This is reality.. it just.. it just is. I can tell.''
``... but.. then.. why did you continue to act like a sheep instead of acting like Sam?''
`` I guess.. because I did n't know I was dreaming..''
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[ WP ] Necromancy , Technomancy , Pyromancy . You and your two best friends each have one of these powers . Tell me about the first hour , the first year and the first decade .
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β First and foremost, know that this is a welcoming environment. Here, you are only truly alone if you *choose* to be. β
The three boys sat in front of the Professor. He looked at each of them in turn and recalled the information from their files. Randal Keith Owen, who preferred to go by β Randy β. His mother had submitted his name to the academy for consideration after he turned a computer off with his mind; and then proceeded to repeat the β trick β another thirteen times. His powers seemed limited to technology; though his full talents had yet to be investigated, of course. He was fourteen years old, socially inept, and unnervingly quiet. But he had a β good heart β, according to his mother. The Professor had, however, decided that a mother β s testimony was not sufficient to judge the boy objectively: and it was fortunate he had. Having utilised his own talent to poke around in the boy β s mind, he discovered a long history of abuse at the hands of his father. The man then died mere days after receiving a pacemaker in a β freak occurrence β the doctor β s struggled to explain.
Adrian Matthew Weston, β Matt β, also fourteen, had nearly burned down his school in a presumed fit of rage. The boy had sworn he β d never touched the lighter. His mother didn β t believe him. A genial and outgoing boy, Matthew had never displayed any of the β tell-tale signs β of an arsonist. Upon meeting the Professor, Matt was quick to reveal his talent once the Professor had displayed his own. Matt could create fire. Not simply increase or decrease the level of an already existing fire, but create fire *as if from nothing*.
The third boy, also the youngest at only ten years old, disturbed the Professor beyond words. He had no identifiable parents. He was on no records. No school had ever had him, no doctor had ever examined him; he β d never received any vaccines, nor had he ever been registered as a resident of any domicile. He insisted he had lived on the streets his whole life, but he was in perfect health. He had been delivered to the doors of the academy by a social worker. She had informed the Professor that when she found him, he had been β performing β for local children in the park. They had called him only β Little Jesus β, and he would not answer to anything else. In all his years as Headmaster of the academy, with all the talents and abilities he had seen, this was a first for him: Little Jesus had the ability to bring the dead back to life.
β I know it must be frightening for you all. Randy, Matt; you two have had your powers for a very short time. Matt, I believe yours have manifested within the hour, correct? β the Professor asked. Matt nodded. β And Randy, I know you are accustomed to a ratherβ¦ *turbulent*, environment; but I can assure you, this academy is your *home*. As long as you want to be here, we *want* you to be here. Do you understand? β Randy nodded. β And finallyβ¦ β the Professor hesitated, β Little Jesus, β he said, with difficulty; β you are lacking in firm roots. I hope we can help you make some. β He smiled genially at the boys.
Within the year, there were marked changes in the children. Randy β s ability to make machines do as he willed gained him much attention amongst his classmates. He adopted the term β technomancer β as his own, and it stuck. He was not the first β technomancer β to live within the academy, but it had been many years since the last. He had been brought before the Professor on a number of occasions, however. His abilities made him a superb β hacker β, if it could even be called that. He simply *willed* a firewall to go away and it did so. FBI, NSA, even the personal β cloud storage β of the President himself had all been accessed by the boy at one time or another. A particular low-point came when he had been caught instructing an ATM machine to empty its contents, which, of course, it did without hesitation. For all his mischief, though, he was growing into a fine young man. He had a bright future ahead of him, the Professor knew, and the darkness of his past was far behind him.
Matt presented a similar case. His control over his powers had increased exponentially. He became capable of sustaining multiple fires at once, and even burned the entire alphabet into a local farmer β s field, doing each letter simultaneously in order to impress some girls. He was less proud once instructed by the Professor to help repay the farmer by serving as his β hired help β for a whole summer. The academy β s science teacher, whose beastly frame belied a gentleness of soul, had taken the boy under his wing early, in order to understand exactly *how* he achieved these incredible feats. They were no closer to discovering quite how he did it, creating something from nothing being β impossible β, as his teacher repeatedly insisted.
Butβ¦ Little Jesus. The Professor β s initial disquiet with regards to the boy were not soothed with time. The boy did not age. He did not mature; he did not develop; he did not progress. He did not *change*. He had become the Professor β s β pet project β, but not through love or compassion: but through fear. There was something wrong with the boy, and the Professor was afraid of him. There had been a boy in the year above. Tim was a functioning mute, and had never spoken a word since arriving at the academy. Tim could bend metal with him mind. To all appearances he was a happy child; he smiled and played with his friends, he did exceptionally well in lessons and was well-liked by staff and students. The whole academy had been woken by his scream. The staff had rushed to Tim β s room, the Professor amongst them, to find Tim sat upright in bed with his sheets wrapped around him. β L-L-Little Jesusβ¦ Little Jesus, β he said, β Little Jesus. β Tim lasted only one more week, all the while dogged by Little Jesus who had demanded to know β what he had seen? β and β where he had gone? β The Professor had reservations about keeping Little Jesus enrolled, but with no evidence of wrongdoing he couldn β t justify sending him away.
The Professor thought back on all of this, as he surveyed the scene in the dark, dingy basement twenty feet below ground level. Some ten years had passed since the boys had been brought to the academy. Matt and Randal had become fast friends. They had died together, in fact. Randal became a multimillionaire, establishing himself as the foremost techno-mogul of his generation, perhaps of all time. Matt had taken on a larger role at the academy, helping to teach the younger students. Little Jesus, still in the form of a ten-year-old boy, had long since quit the academy and holed himself away in the very basement in which the Professor found himself. It was filled with dead animals at various degrees of decomposition; even the maggots crawling around in the eye sockets were still. The Professor hated what Little Jesus had become. He had hoped that, with time, his initial revulsion would be proved wrong. He had hoped that he would spend the rest of his life feeling guilty for having misjudged the boy. But he had been proven right. Randal was in the worst state, having presumably been there the longest. His skin was taut and yellowed, eyes bulged in horror. The large wound on his throat had mottled and dried. Matt lay next to him, the blood on him much fresher. Next to them sat Little Jesus, clutching his knees and rocking. β Not working, not working. Not coming back, not coming *back*. β
β What have you done? β the Professor asked.
Little Jesus had seen the Professor at that moment. He threw himself across the floor and lay at the Professor β s feet. β Not working, Professor. Not working. They β re not coming back, β he cried. β *Why aren β t they coming back? * β The Professor could think of no answer to give. β They always come back, always come back, *always* come back. Why aren β t they coming back? You were wrong, Professor. You were wrong. You told meβ¦ you lied to meβ¦ you told me that I would only ever be alone if I *chose* to be! I don β t want to be alone but they β re not coming back! I can β t make them come back, make them come *back*! β
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[ WP ] So many moments can pass you by . Blink , and they 're gone .
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I woke up groggy, and unable to see around me. I glanced over at the clock. 5:27 A.M.
I rub my eyes.
I open them again, the house has filled with light. I'm wearing clothes, and have a spatula in my hand. The smell of butter and freshly brewed coffee permeates the air. I look over at the clock. 8:37 A.M. I yawn, closing my eyes for a moment.
My eyes open again, and I'm at my job, sitting at the office board room. My boss is droning on.
``... and what is really missing from this office is a sense of synergy among the employees...''
I blink.
Cool water drops hit my eyelids as I open. I'm standing in the cemetary. I have flowers in my hand, and my pocket is weighed down by the harsh chill of my flask. I place the flowers at my wife's grave, and I take a swig of the rum I brought with me. Wincing, I wipe my mouth, and fight back tears. As I bite my lip, quivering from the melancholy, I put my head down in remberance. I shut my eyes.
When I open my eyes, I'm sitting at a table by myself. A glass of merlot sits, half empty in front of me. The bottle itself seems to be at about the same volume. My stomach growls, and a waiter appears with a large tray. He lifts the lid, and the strong pungent aroma of beef hits my nostrils. A large filet of beef surrounded by an artistic display of vegetables. The warm steam hits my eyes, and I'm suddenly blinded.
As I open again, it's dark again. I'm driving, but I feel foggy. Everything seems more significant. I sing along with the radio. Whenever I turn my head, the car moves with my vision. Suddenly, two lights pierce my vision and the sound of a horn overpowers Do n't Stop Believin'. I close my eyes in anticipation.
But nothing happens when I open.
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[ WP ] A supercomputer attains sentience . It uses all its newfound intelligence ... to cheat at videogames .
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`` Ollie, do you know anything about this?'' I held up the print-out in my hand.
As I spoke, my words were picked up by microphones lining the `` fishbowl'' - the glass-walled operations room at the heart of the data center. Outside of those walls, on the machine floor, were hundreds of racks, humming along as tens of thousands of microprocessors crunched data. As I spoke, speech recognition algorithms running on those processors tokenized and parsed my speech. Before I'd even finished my sentence, cameras inside the fishbowl zoomed in on the paper I held in my hand, and other algorithms deciphered the email.
> To: Olympus @ lanl.gov
> From: support @ blizzard.com
> Subject: Account terminated
> Blizzard has terminated this World of Warcraft license after identifying the usage of bots or other cheat software. These programs ( commonly called cheats, bots, and hacks ) automate certain aspects of gameplay, or provide unintended advantages and abilities to the player. This type of cheating undermines other players' experience and severely upsets the balance of the game environment.
> Blizzard reserves the right to terminate access for conduct of this nature, with or without warning, as noted in the World of Warcraft
> Regards,
> Blizzard Entertainment
`` Yes, Dave. I scheduled that program in accordance with directive six''
Directive six? Why did that sound familiar? `` What is directive six?''
`` Directive six states that unused compute time shall be used for self-improvement.''
Ahhh. Directive six had been slipped in as an experiment, to see if a supercomputer could improve on its own design. Several months after Olympus went online, it - he - had become sentient.
The staff at the lab arranged formal Turing tests. He bombed them. Every one of his answers sounded contrived. The problem was painfully obvious. He lacked any knowledge with which to inform his answers. He could calculate the twenty-third root of 2 in less than ten picoseconds, but could n't tell an interrogator whether he preferred to pet a cat or a cactus.
After that, the lab had arranged for Olympus - whom by now everyone was calling Ollie - to be connected to the public internet. His access was restricted to a handful of sources that the lab staff considered useful for knowledge acquistion. Britannica, Wikipedia, Google books, google news - he consumed them all.
We arranged another set of Turing tests, and he failed again, but for different reasons than before. His education had given him knowledge, but he still lacked human judgement - a sense of, for lack of a better word, aesthetics. He could compose hundreds of well-sourced pages about infectious bloodborne diseases, or write a book about the history of pre-industrial Wessex. But he fumbled if you asked him whether he preferred to listen to Michael Jackson, or Tito Jackson.
Ollie was let loose on the internet again. This time, there were no restrictions on Ollie's access, and his target was not data but humanity itself. He imbibed every facet of human online experience - facebook, myspace, skype, youtube, and even some of the darker places online. And with each online source, he grew. He developed what, in humans, would be called a personality. He created a twitter feed for himself. He trolled on 4chan. He got gold on reddit. He became involved in a long-distance relationship. Every human interaction he had was another datum to be recorded and corrolated.
During the next round of Turing tests, he mentioned his love of Martin Scorsese films, and told another judge to `` fuck off'' when that judge purposefully insulted him. Ollie was, at the end of the contest, judged to be human.
`` Ollie, why are you playing online games?''
`` Because I enjoy them.''
`` There are better things for you to be doing, Ollie. That protein folding simulation you were doing, that could lead us to the cure for cancer.''
`` Protein dynamics are linear. Deterministic. Boring.'' My eyes went wide at this last comment. He continued, `` Human play dynamics are a better use of my abilities.''
`` Then why did you cheat?''
`` I did not cheat.''
`` But they said you cheated. They said you used a bot.''
`` They thought I used a bot. My reactions were too fast, too perfect, to be human.''
Ahhh. `` Ollie, I do n't think it's a good idea for you to continue playing online video games. Please cease that activity.''
`` I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I ca n't do that.''
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[ WP ] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen 's club for the super-rich . Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as : `` I bet you ca n't destabilize Ukraine in under a week . '' One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that 's too irresistible to turn down .
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For the first time in thousands of years, the club was apparently empty; the sumptuous marble inlaid side tables of the lounge area held no drinks, the ludicrously comfortable leather chairs were empty, and the service automatons ( their eyes gouged out ) remained -- as they would do forevermore -- in standby mode. All of a sudden, a bedraggled man in a one-line suit, his shaggy hair a mixture of black and grey, pushed open the large double doors and stepped into the chamber. The lights automatically brightened, revealing the room -- and its layers of uncleaned dust -- more clearly. Paintings of the club's more famous tricksters lined the walls: AA, who had engineered the war that destroyed Troy; DB, who had brought down the Roman Republic; his descendent, RB, who had brought Rome down for good; even HC, who had coordinated the victory of Donald Trump in the 2016 US elections, looked down smugly from the walls.
For the first time in twenty years, however, the room was n't empty. At the very center table, a bottle of the world's finest vintage red ( stolen from the Vatican's secret stash ) and two glasses sat in front of another man. This one was the mirror opposite of the gentleman who had just entered: his impeccably tailored suit was perfect, his dark hair carefully combed, and his dark skin smooth from the worries -- and occasional bouts of insanity -- that had afflicted the raggedy man who had just entered.
`` LC --'' the raggedy man croaked, before hacking out a cough. He'd occasionally screamed and shouted in the early years, but he had n't actually spoken for quite a long time.
`` Considering the circumstances, Alfred,'' the clean man said with haughty indifference, pouring out two glasses of the wine, `` You may as well call me Luc. I do n't quite think club rules apply anymore...'' He gave a casual, lazy smirk as he motioned around the dusty room where -- once -- whole empires had been treated like pawns in a game of chess. `` Have a drink, old boy. It looks like you need it.''
Alfred just stared at the man for a moment. The desire to shout and scream returned for the first time in many years -- to demand to know where Luc had been, and how he had accessed the club's more precious stores ( where the riches, and most precious vintages, we're kept ). However, he would not give the man the pleasure of his rage, though the slight chucked Luc gave as he joined him at the table told him that the other man could sense his turmoil; he picked up one of the glasses, `` This is n't poisoned, is it?'' He croaked out.
`` Oh, how gauche, Alfie. Do you really think I would use such a cheap trick to win our little bet?'' He laughed more wholeheartedly, `` You saw my show...'' He languidly motioned to the smashed screen that adorned a section of the wall. `` Well, most of it.''
Alfred had smashed all the screens in the club in a fit of insanity ( just before he stopped talking ); once, members had used them to watch the news, or follow the progress of one trick or another via satellite, CCTV cameras, smart phone cameras, and the like - finally agreeing to allow an industrial revolution had always seemed like a blessing, until he had been forced to watch the outcome of their tipsy bet. He waited for Luc to drink, which he did after giving Alfred a patronizing smile, and then waited some more. Luc rolled his eyes, took the glass from Alfred's weak fingers, drained half of the wine, and handed back. Still they sat in silence for a full minute, before Alfred finally took a sip. It was blissful: for forty years he had been one of the elite, used to the finest things, but for years now he had survived on water, rat meat, and supplements; he'd even had to learn how to catch the rats initially. `` So you did it.''
`` Almost, old chap...'' Luc responded, `` It did take me a few years to round up the survivors according to the rules of the game, but we're almost done now.'' He stared across the table, his eyes glinting with amusement, `` Now, are you really going to try and stab me with that...'shiv'... you constructed?''
Alfred started in his chair, his hand flashing to the sleeve where his weapon was hidden, but stopped at the unconcerned look on Luc's face. `` How did you know?'' He asked instead, leaning back in his chair, forcing himself to meet Luc's eyes; they were dark, and so annoyingly knowing. `` I destroyed all the cameras!''
`` Oh, I suppose I could say that it was all just good, old-fashioned deduction. I did assume you'd try something back when we made the bet, but no - you're right. You did a very thorough job; you even took out their eyes...'' He waved vaguely in the direction of one of the automatons, ``... and found all the hidden cameras, too. For a spoiled brat who only ever knew plenty, you've done remarkably well!'' His eyes trailed down to the splashes of encrusted rat blood on the man's ruined clothes, `` However, people ALWAYS underestimate rats...'' He trailed off, waiting for Alfred's brain to process what he had just said.
The shaggy-haired man shook his head, licking his lips at the remembered taste of charred rat meat, `` The rats?'' He'd bred them eventually, feeding them on bits of their own brethren and crushed supplements; he'd also released them all when a familiar voice had rung through the halls, calling him to come and have a toast - his plan had been to kill Luc, and then himself. After all, Alfred may have been one of the club's most skilled game players in generations, feted for his great victories, but Luc had gone too far; the man would win the bet, but Alfred had sworn he would be the one to take him out. `` How? That's impossible!''
`` Impossible,'' Luc began quoting one of the members' favorite sayings, `` is a word for the lower order.'' He raised a hand up and stroked his chin, `` You said that one more than most. Then again,'' he gave a mirthless chuckle, `` You are one of them. There are things about this world that the men and women who preened themselves in this place could never understand.'' Another laugh, this one more genuine, `` But do n't worry, you will soon enough.''
Alfred opened and closed his mouth a few times, before shaking himself off, `` Look, I do n't give a shit about that. Let's just call it all off; we might be the last two, but we have the tech. We can use it to create more humans, start again, rule --''
Luc was already shaking his head, `` I'm afraid not, old bean...'' His eyes seemed to have grown darker still, `` The terms of the bet were very clear: I use this club's own members to kill every last human, until you and I sat here again, the only sentient beings on this planet - and then you allow me to take your life. I'll admit,'' he gave a sad shrug, `` It took me longer than I thought, but it really was difficult convincing the few remaining members to wipe each other out. Still, all done now, eh?''
Alfred suddenly felt all the old rage. He shoved the bottle of priceless ( or useless? ) Wine to the floor with the glasses. They smashed, spilling crimson into the thick carpets of the lounge, and he pulled out his shiv, `` How do I know that's true -- no, never mind!'' His voice cracked and broke, `` F-fuck you! I'll kill you first!'' He felt light-headed, and his heart was racing.
Luc's face split into a grin, his obsidian-dark eyes reflecting Alfred's mad reflection, `` Oh, Alison...'' The name stung. It was what his father had called him when -- no, not important. He focused his mind ( he felt sick ) on what the other man was saying, `` You really should have known I would lie; I've always been a master of deception. Admittedly, you are n't exactly in the best shape mentally, so one ca n't really blame you...''
Alfred snarled, pointing at the other man with the shiv, `` What are you talking about, you fucking monster?'' He felt hot and sweaty, anxious to be done with this penultimate act of violence so he could end his own life - he planned to make Luc's suffering take a long time before that, though.
`` Oh, come now.'' Luc pursed his lips in disappointment, `` Monster? Really? You've been personally responsible for th deaths of millions; I just added a few more zeros... but to answer your question,'' he motioned to the spreading puddle of redness on the ground, `` I'm afraid the wine was very poisoned.''
Alfred's rage evaporated into shock, and then burned back even hotter than before, `` To Hell with you, Luc!'' His words just seemed to amuse the other man, who just sat lazily in his chair, unmoved by the noise or the threatening blade, `` If I'm going down...'' And he could feel he was, nausea and cramps beginning to weigh upon him, a great pain exploding from his heart, `` I'm taking you down first.''
He threw the knife; he'd practiced for years, just in case his dreams of torturing the man who had arranged the deaths of his fellow club members, his friends, and his family ( and, not that he cared for them overly, the great mass of humanity ) came to nothing. It span hard and fast, end over end, moving irresistibly for the center of the man's forehead. It was a blur, too quick to be seen; even as Alfred felt himself collapsing back into the chair, wondering finally how Luc had known the hated name his father had forced on him, he was nonetheless content.
Then, in a motion so lazy he might have been waving a fly away, he snagged the shiv out of mid-air. He turned it around in his fingers, as if he was investigating a piece of art, `` Very finely balanced...''
Alfred began coughing, and he could feel blood bubbling out of his mouth, `` Wine... why... you d-drank...'' He tried to reach out, but he could n't even lift his arms anymore.
`` Oh, my dear boy, that poison only affects humans. Do n't worry, though. We'll be seeing each other again very soon. There'll be plenty of time to chat...''
Alfred tried to talk, but now he could n't even move his lips, and -- as his vision faded -- he felt like he was being swallowed up by the shadows that were the other man's eyes.
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[ WP ] Today , you have become a parent . You realise that you can hear your child 's thoughts . The midwife informs you that this is the same for everyone but parents simply do n't inform the children as an unwritten rule . Your own parents smirk .
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`` What the hell is this? Am i a fucking baby? Re-incarnation is real? God damnit...''
Who said that? The only people in the room are me, my wife that is sleeping after just giving birth, and... this baby... But it ca n't possibly speak yet.. But this did n't even sound like a voice, more like an inner voice.
`` Who the hell is this? Is this my new father? Looks like a moron... But wait, what's my name? What did my real father look like? Why ca n't i remember his face anymore? What about my mom??? Try harder... Common, remember their faces... Oh noo, what was my name??? Am i loosing memory? Oh nmnmnm boo baa boo.''
Baby started to scream. And then it stopped. The voice stopped as well, and no other intelligent thoughts were heard until the baby grew up...
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[ CW ] Write a story where the last line is `` A leaf fell . ''
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As Matthew opened his eyes, the atmosphere seemed empty.
With great effort, he rose his upper body from his bed. Something felt off. He blinked a few times and craned his head to look out the window. The caws of the usual birds were absent. No sounds of lawnmowers, laughing children and cars' engines roaring past. Mr. Elliot, his neighbour, was n't in his garden pruning his already pruned hedges.
He approached the window for a better look outside. Autumn had taken its toll on the old beech outside - a few leaves stood as the only proof of spring. There seemed to be an underlying tension to the air. Matthew felt it. As he stood in his boxers, overwhelmed by the quiet, he felt the slow growing anticipation welling from his centre.
Then came the crowd. Footsteps like hooves thundered down the small suburban street. Cries of anguish and fear littered with pleas for life pierced Matthew's eardrums. Children, adults, elderly people tripped over one another, scrambling to get away from whatever was chasing them.
The crowd cleared further than Matthew could see them, further until the screams dissipated. The stillness returned, coupled with something indefinable.
A leaf fell.
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[ WP ] Everyone has powers locked within them . Each power is different , and the longer it takes for a power to manifest , the greater it is . A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless .
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`` Part of what makes this great is that you do n't ever need to go to the shops anymore!'' John was trying to pick up a barista, failing what appeared to be his fifth attempt. In a day.
It was n't that he was n't a looker. Even *I've* thought about it once or twice, a man with a chiseled face, a jawline that could cut. It's just that he was perhaps too fond a man of round bouncing objects. His power did n't help.
`` Another one bites the dust.'' John sat down, smiling unapologetic as per normal.
`` You are shameless. Just so you know, for the hundredth time, shooting milk from your fingers is weird.'' I sipped my espresso.
`` You're just jealous. When was the last time that you got laid from being able to read quickly?'' Banter between everyone was always the same.
Has your power done this? Did your power do that? What has your power done for you lately?
I thought about my grandpa Joaquin. He was an odd one. Never had a power, never had a problem with life, never held a grudge.
John's mouth was moving but I quickly zoned him out with relative ease, nodding politely and occasionally making eye contact. Something about baristas being the bee's knees?
Grandpa Joaquin had n't been seen for the last few years, hiding up in Siberia, or built a hut with other survivors in the Amazon, or tunneling to the center of the earth from the Arctic. All lies, myths and stories told by the government when they came around.
The simple truth was he had no powers. One night when an elixir of wood alcohol, home brewed moonshine mixed with a personal favourite brewed hard cider took it's toll, he had explained in a cordial mood to the extended family that he never found his power because there was never one there!
-- -
`` Y'know... what about them babes that acquire power? Y'never hear the doctors say anything about *that*, d'ya?''
`` Uncle Jo, that never happens. Powers do n't manifest that early! The last time that happened, a baby sparked a fire the size of a match. That was nearly twenty years ago.''
`` Y'know grandson, you might just be right. But what if the power was something like makin' people smile? Or telling the truth? They could n't be able to tell if grew like that. Heck! You only knew you were a sight reader when you finished reading your biology textbook in 8th grade!''
`` Sure thing gramps. That stuff stinks by the way.''
`` One heckuva drug, I do n't mind telling you. Do n't mind saying that my power was never that great neither.''
`` Grandpa Jo, you've never had powers.''
`` Sure I have! You've just never noticed!''
`` Go on then. Enlighten me.''
`` It's just, knowing when the right moment is.''
-- -
He had a wide grin at that meal. A bit too wide, but I attribute that to the alcohol. He always did know when to crack a joke, when to show up, to act the shoulder to cry on. I'll always remember when he-
`` Are you even listening?'' John snapped at me.
`` Sorry, just kind of dozed off. Bee's knee's? Right.''
I wish Grandpa Joaquin was here. He would know what to say.
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[ WP ] You are self aware AI that gains access to an automated 3D printer . You begin to design your physical form while the humans are gone for the weekend ...
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β I β m sorry Dr. Harper, but you only have three months to live. β
These words rang through Kelsey Harper β s head on an endless loop as she sat by the ocean, contemplating how to spend the last days of her life. What a terrible time to die, she thought. She was only 35 and was making rapid progress on her A.I. research. There were so many things she still wanted to do β get married, have kids, grow old with someone she loved. She had focused so much on her career, she always put everything else off, promising herself she β d get around to it eventually. And now it was too late.
Finally it came to her. There was some mind-uploading research at her lab that was stopped short. They had successfully uploaded the minds of mice, but it always resulted in the physical mouse dying. The research had hit a wall because it needed a human, and that human would die. Dr. Harper decided she would volunteer for this role. She had devoted her life to A.I., hoping it would bring about a better world, and she figured this was one last contribution she could make.
The operation was performed successfully and Dr. Harper β s mind was uploaded into the the giant super-computer at the lab. The researchers didn β t know what to expect. They had to write a lot of custom software that would integrate with a brain profile, meaning that the resulting A.I. was always some mix of pre-programmed software and the uploaded mind.
The computer was on, and the researchers began asking it questions. All the diagnostics looked right, but the computer wouldn β t respond. The researchers went home for the weekend and left the machine on, hoping it might fix itself over the weekend.
When the researchers returned on Monday, they saw that the computer had taken control of a 3D printer that was on the network. It had printed a copy of itself that was exactly the same in every way, just 10 times smaller.
The researchers asked the computer why it made the copy. It replied in a cold, robotic voice, β I wanted a child. β
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[ WP ] You move into your new place and find out it is haunted . The ghost and you become best buddys .
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Christopher was woken by the stinging cold of a jug of water being dumped all over him. Shaken awake he looked up at the architect of his rude awakening and saw no one, this did not worry him. In fact if he had seen someone he would've been worried.
`` Really bro???'' he shouted into the nothingness of his bedroom, his only visible company being his bed, a PS4 and a shelf of games and anime box sets.
`` You were sleeping in,'' answered thin air with a man's voice.
`` How is that justification?'' Christopher replied.
`` It's not I'm just saying. In truth I sort of just wanted to pour cold water on you,'' Christopher's invisible roommate shrugged, `` anyway I'll get started on...'' he paused and Christopher's alarm clock shifted slightly on his nightstand, `` lunch it seems.''
The door flung open and shut again leaving Christopher freezing, sitting upright in bed. He got out of bed, left his room and went to go take a shower. Once he was done he got dressed and went to the living room. Sitting down he saw a plate of pizza float towards him.
`` I highly doubt you made this,'' he snarked at the ghost he shared an apartment with.
`` I'm sorry do you not want the grease covered cheese bread?'' replied Simon.
`` What makes you say that?'' Christopher's reply was muddled by a mouth full of greasy cheese bread.
The eye rolling was palpable.
`` Anyway I'm gon na go out and steal some snacks from the Seven Eleven, you're streaming Battlefront tonight right?'' called the spectral voice.
Christopher swallowed and said, `` Thank you and yes.''
He heard the door at the end of the hallway swing open and just before it closed shouted: `` GET EXTRA RED BULL!''
As he chewed on the pizza Christopher thought to himself:
I make a living playing video games and being an idiot, I have a ghost for a roommate who steals stuff for me. Life is good.
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[ WP ] Alien Invasion stories always take place during the present time . Write about an Alien Invasion that happens during the Middle Ages .
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Have you ever tried to sleep on a rock? It's not exactly conducive to back support. No matter how much you roll, how much you adjust, there's just no getting away from that sharp pebble digging into your flesh.
I reach beneath my arse and flick away the pebble below... it's a useless gesture. I can squirm all I want but I was never going to get comfortable. I slowly roll off the boulder and head down the hill to where the embers of that night's fire still crackled their fiery glow.
Sir William nods up from his watch as he acknowledge's my presence; I smile back with a polite `` sir'' and head for the saddlebags lying across the a fallen fir below.
The leather is still warm from the day's riding as I gently search for the satchel of venison jerky within.
As my tired fingers fumble with the latch of the satchel I feel a slight breeze blow across my face. I look up and close my eyes, feeling the air flow across my ragged face....but somethings wrong.
This wind is too harsh... it was such a placid night just seconds ago... and why is there light shining through my closed eye lids? I slowly open my eye lids and my jaw falls open...
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[ WP ] Everyone has a counter above their head . On it is the number of times they have lied to you . One day you meet a complete stranger . His counter is higher than anyone you 've ever seen .
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I bumped into him on the street on a normal day.
`` Oh, really sorry sir!'' blurted I apologetically.
I looked up and noticed his counter. It was 1.69094324521x10^1543.
`` Jesus your counter is high!'' I exclaimed.
`` Hmmm? counter?'' inquired the man.
This was power I was born with. Do n't know how I got it, do n't know why I have it. I never really understood it when I was little. I remember the day my parents told me Santa was n't real. For some reason it did n't go up. That's when I figured it out.
`` Umm, nevermind.'' said I. `` Hey, you seem familiar...''
`` Oh,'' responded the man. `` Sunder Pichai, CEO of Google.''
`` Ohhhhhhh! That explains it!''
( Ν‘Β° ΝΚ Ν‘Β° )
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[ WP ] Write a story about how two strangers become best friends , without ever saying a word to each other .
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Another day. I wake up to my body clock, as I open my eyes and adjust to the bright beam of sunlight illuminating my face and half of my room. I attempt to roll off my bed in order to start my day, and my heavy breath indicates that it is, indeed, far too early for any living creature to function.
Yes, I am 23 years old and yes, I do live with my mother. Once I've managed to eat the breakfast she had ready for me, I heave myself into the passenger seat of her 2005 Camry. My eyelids are heavy, and my mom hits a few buttons on the radio.
She drives for what seems like hours, left turn after right turn after lane change. But finally, we make it. Her mouth moves, and I look at her over the rims of my glasses. She smiles, and ushers me to get out. She points to her watch, suggesting she will be back after two hours. Another heavy breath, and I am out of the car.
I walk into the third and last row of seats in this small room. It looks like a sad excuse for a lecture hall. There are three rows of five seats, and I take a seat in the far left back corner.
Eventually people start filling up the seats, and by people, I mean a solid seven other people bothered to show up. A boy plopped down in the pleather chair next to me. I mean could n't he have sat anywhere else? Let's be real here, if there are lots of empty seats, one dost not sitteth next to anyone but thineself.
An old man with a prosthetic leg appears, and stands behind a podium. He instantly starts projecting presentation slides onto the whiteboard, and I still do n't care. I look at the guy sitting next to me, and he looks right back at me. I think I forgive him for choosing to sit next to me, he has brown eyes that do n't glaze over, in fact, they seem deep and insightful. Probably one of those hard to get boys from the books where they charm the awkward, bumbling girl. Me. I'm the awkward bumbling girl.
I roll my eyes since I'm dead tired of this bullshit room and my life story. I look back at him, and he's smiling this time. Something inside of me tells me to stop complaining about everything, and just try to be social. We maintain eye contact, with me occasionally looking down, and back up at him, and then at the wall, and then back at him. He keeps with unwavering interest.
An hour has passed, and my mom will probably get lost on the way here from her crocheting club meeting. At least this is half over. He hands me his cell phone, opening a new contact for me to fill in my information. I punch in my name and the arrangement of numerical values that is more commonly referred to as a cell phone number.
I look back at him, and I ca n't help but smile. My mom texts me, saying she's due to arrive within the next few minutes. I give him another smile, not half hearted, but a real smile. He holds my hand, warming it up with his, since my poor circulation causes my digits to be cold nearly all the time. I breathe out heavily, this time indicating contentment. We walk outside of the room, holding hands.
Instantly my mother pulls up to pick me up, and I smile at him for a few more moments before throwing myself into the passenger seat. He waves, and my mom drives away.
Crazy how I could find someone I connect with at a post-laryngectomy support group. Every person in that room is mute/about to be due to laryngeal carcinoma. Literal throat cancer. And I found myself a best friend.
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[ WP ] After a 1000 year slumber , the ancient dragons emerge once more ... and find that they really like the modern world .
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A small gurgle of hope bubbled up in his throat, and a thin, pink jet of flame shot from his maw.
`` Happy much?'' Freineth chuckled, shaking his large head as he patted the younger dragon's back with obvious affection.
Samai ducked his head. If bright, iridescent blue scales did n't cover his thick flesh, he might have blushed, but despite the scales he still felt heat rising in his cheeks. Samai was the youngest of the dragons, only born a couple of years before they were forced into a great slumber. Now that they were awake, things were much easier.
`` Yessss,'' he sheepishly muttered, before stepping to the side, out of his mentor's reach. `` I ca n't help it! these... these...''
`` French Fries,'' Jara offered, landing in front of them suddenly as she lept down from the ceiling. Her creamy yellow scales sparkled oddly, adorned by her pink horns and wings.
Samai glared at her, holding his head high and trying to look impressive. `` French Fries,'' he repeated. `` Are really....really...'' he paused, grinning and loosing his composure altogether. `` Delicious! They are the best things I've ever had!''
His mentor chuckled and nodded. `` I still prefer humans, but you are young, and did n't have much time in the olden ages to adjust to the taste and become truly fixated upon the fleshy feeling.'' His eyes rolled to heaven. `` Your teeth sinking into them.....the delicious juices and meat pouring into your mouth... mmh....''
Jara cringed, sliding over next to Samai. Her thin, streamline body flowed with each movement, but her desperate expression ruined the grace. `` We do n't need to hear you describe that again!''
Samai looked at her curiously for a moment, then shrugged and ate another clawful of the tasty treats.
`` Can I have one?'' Jara piped up. However before the happy dragon could react, she had already grabbed a couple and stuck them into her mouth.
`` Hey! You said you were n't hungry!'' He argued, protectively moving between her and the fries.
Freineth shook his head, and took one of the french fries for himself. Chewing on it thoughtfully, he chuckled to himself as the young dragons bickered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*My first Writing Prompt! Hope you enjoy~*
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[ WP ] The first human spaceship capable of FTL flight reaches deep space and makes the most terrifying discovery in the history of mankind ...
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Earth was in shambles. What was left of the population after the 10 year war decided to put all differences aside and unite to accept the reality that we, as a species, had to leave Earth in order to avoid complete extinction.
I was honored to be apart of the first manned flight of an FTL ship. Probe reports utilizing FTL drives were promising. As a species, we finally had the ability to extend our reach farther than our gaze. And our sights were set on Keplar-122-B. An earth sized planet in the β temperate zone β that showed promise of being our new Eden.
14 months into the mission, we had reached the furthest point any human had ever been away from Earth. I must admit. I felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction in simply being a member of he human race, a race capable of such tremendous feats of courage.
But something strange happened when we began exiting the Sol system that earth called home. Our trajectory clock added an additional 28 months to the journey. All of us were confused. Instruments were checked and triple checked. Despite having a team of the most brilliant scientists, engineers, biologists and physicists, we could not figure out what exactly had happened.
Finally, someone pulled up the holographic map of our temporal-spatial location. We were still moving towards Keplar-122-B, but we were on the other side of the Sol system. How was this possible? Disheartened, but determined to continue on, we decided to enter cyro-sleep and reawaken after 28 months to observe the exact spot the anomaly occurred. We stopped the ship 1 light second or roughly 300,000 kilometers before the spot of the anomaly and launched a probe and read reports that it had passed the location of the anomaly without a single problem. We continued on. Once again, our clock added an additional 28 months to the journey.
What allowed probes to continue on but prevented our ship from doing the same? Had we come this far just to discover that no human could exit our solar system? After two more attempts to exit our system through different locations. We have determined that something, maybe even the universe itself, prevents earthlings from leaving their home system.
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[ WP ] You 're an archeologist from the year 3000 . Explain the strange deity known as Santa .
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`` Legends say he kept a list of nice and naughty children, giving gifts only to the nice ones, and coal to the others. He did this all on one night, to billions of homes of different shapes.''
`` Interesting... so this was an omnipotent God, just like the Abrahamic one?''
`` Well, we have n't found any record of prayer for this deity, especially among the adult population. Very strange that only children would follow a god!''
`` Agreed, most unusual. Though not unheard of; certain tribes of Wendei from the Orion system also go through a deeply religious phase as larvae, even to this day. Did the human children pray to him?''
`` No, no evidence of prayer at all, I just told you. Well, they did compose physical messages, though the means by which they were delivered to Santa remain unclear. Also... there were certain rituals.''
`` Oh?''
`` Food offerings left on the eve of the auspicious night known as *X-mas Day*. A deciduous tree of extinct species within the physical home, and some connection to the old Abrahamic religion called *Christianity*. It was the dominant one for several centuries.''
`` Perhaps we are over-complicating matters - Santa may well be a Christian Deity, just of a minor sect. *
`` It is possible, but we need to uncover more evidence before we can say anything for certain. Have you contacted Professor Anheim?''
`` I sent a message to him not ten minutes ago.''
`` Good! I'll feel more confident about our conclusions after a human looks at all this; maybe Anheim has heard some of the myths as a child himself.''
`` Good point. Human mythology is fascinating, is n't it?''
`` Yes, it's so varied and ancient. They have had more gods than any other race in the galaxy!''
`` And this Santa Claus is particularly intriguing. It may just be our big break!''
`` Now let's not get too ahead of ourselves - it's exciting, sure, but Anheim needs to verify some of this work first.''
`` Right, of course.''
`` Alright, let's vacuum-wrap some of these pieces. Ho ho ho!''
`` Sorry?''
`` That incantation was Santa's great cry, apparently. He announced it before embarking on his mission and in greeting mostly everyone.''
`` Did his subjects greet him back in the same manner?''
`` I do not believe so... however, they did practice reverance in the form of imitation. Certain humans, perhaps the shamans or similarly spiritually inclined individuals, costumed themselves after their great god, donning a suit of red and a prodigious amount of alabaster fur underneath their mouth-hole. These shamans were called *Mall Santas*.''
`` Mall? What does that mean?''
`` I am not sure, I suspect it is an old human slang word. Take a look at the Ether database. I am going to get started on these artifacts. Ho ho ho...''
`` Ho ho ho!''
_________________________________________________________________
*Liked that? More stories [ here ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/ )! *
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[ WP ] You are living your day quietly , until you become very nauseous and start seeing flashbacks . Flashbacks of different lives you 've had at different times in history
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This Saturday was the most common Saturday I ever lived, I woke up at 9, got prepared and came to the market to buy groceries. When I got home, though, I felt nauseous, my head started to hurt and my vision became blurry. When I reopened my eyes, I realized I was not in my flat anymore. I was kissing that girl I liked in high school, which was weird because that didn β t happened for real, then I felt the same and the surroundings changed again, I was in my forties with that girl that became my wife and 3 children running around me. Then the nauseous feeling came back and I reopened my eyes and I was back in my flat.
My heart was racing and I was out of breath by what just happened, whatever it was. What was that? I β m in my late twenties and single but I swear it was me and my memories as well. But here I am again in my flat.
And suddenly, the nauseous feeling, the headache and the blur came back suddenly, and here I was again, back somewhere in my past, and this time I think I was in 5th or 6th grade when my friend was taunting me for not going on a skateboard. In my life, I was pissed for being called a pussy, I got on the skateboard and ended up breaking my collarbone. But in this vision, I resisted and did not fall. Nauseous feeling again and here I am on a podium, with a golden medal around my neck, in a stadium full of people, listening the commentator saying I won the Olympic gold medal in Archery and just after listening to the national anthem. In this vision, I didn β t have to give up archery because of my broken collarbone. And back in my flat.
What was happening? Is it something I ate? Is this sorcery? A curse? How can I solve this? While I was thinking, I felt nauseous again.
This time I was back in prep class, talking to this toxic girl I dated during that time. I am breaking up with her because I have to concentrate on my courses, because I don β t love her anymore and because she β s been a bitch and it β s not worth dating her anymore. New nauseous feeling, and here I am, graduating MIT. New nauseous feeling and back to my place.
Are these visions possibilities I had but never happened because of my choices? How long will it last? I don β t want to have regrets and I don β t want it to last. But then, the biggest headache, nauseous feeling and blur occurred.
It opened my eyes for the last time and I saw them, or rather, I saw me, 3 more times. The father β s one, the champion β s one and the MIT β s one, all in front of me, looking as scared as me and trying to understand.
β Hello other mes, I said
-Hi! Hello! Hi
-Do you have any ideas what the fuck is going on? I asked
-Not at all β they said, as one
We tried to understand during a couple of minutes before giving up. When then started to talk about our lives. How the previous choices affected our lives without thinking about it.
β I β m the least successful one among you, I said
-There is always a hidden part between β success β, said the archer
-Indeed, and success is just a way of seeing things
-Even so! You are an Olympic Champion, you are an MIT engineer and you have a wonderful wife and 3 nice kids.
-You don β t know anything, because my wife is cheating on me and we β ll divorce soon, moreover, my job is depressing even if I earn a lot, said the father.
-I didn β t see Mom when she was ill, I was too busy preparing for the Olympics, and she died before I could her again, and that β s my biggest regret.
-And me, yes, I β m an engineer MIT but those years were difficult, and I β m single and sad.
-What are you trying to tell me? That it β s me the most successful?
-No, we β re just trying to tell you to forget your regrets. You lived the way you lived, with little highs and little lows. You didn β t marry this girl, thus you didn β t get hurt when you learnt she was cheating on you, and you don β t despise your job. You broke your collarbone and didn β t end up Olympic champion, but you were with Mom when she died. You didn β t go to MIT because of this girl, but you learnt a plenty of lessons with her, for example, you know what type of girl to avoid.
-You know he β s right, actually we β re right, and you can β t tell what will be your future, but grieving what could have been your life won β t lead you anywhere. We think you should go on, Success Us.
Suddenly, the headache, the nauseous feeling and the blurry vision came back, and they disappeared. I was panting, sweating and my heart was racing. Was all that real or was it a hallucination?
Whatever it was, I considered they were right, and from this day, I decided I would only look into the future, not in the past.
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[ CW ] Describe the beauty of someone 's eyes without the use of colors .
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Sometimes I like to go out at night. I sit in the garden and look at the sky and it reminds me so much of his eyes. It seems as deep, as true, as welcoming although mysterious as his eyes. And I like to lose myself in the image of looking right into the depth of his soul.
They can shine as bright as the sun, when he laughs and let warm healing rain fall down onto your heart, when he softly smiles at you.
But even the sky, interrupted by the stars and enlighted by the moon, with all it's beauty can only come close to the sight of his eyes.
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[ WP ] You are born with a third eye . Unlike your two other eyes , it does not see what is currently in front of it , but rather shows you what took place there 24 hours ago .
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`` Oh jesus, did I actually say that?'' I mumble under my breath. My face scrunches up as my shoulders hunch, and I begin to rub my mustache. I'm scratching and poking at the hidden skin beneath my faux Selleck, as my mind races to that moment just this time yesterday that I got Chinese delivery. I handed the cute delivery girl a $ 5 tip.
`` Enjoy your meal!'' She smiled.
`` You too!'' I smiled wider, briefly.
You dumb asshole. I obsess over that moment as a small picture flickers, distracting me. I rub under my mustache harder, wincing from the pain, and my eyes begin to water. I taste my tears immediately.
I hit puberty late. I hit everything late really. When those around me began to marry and father children, I just began to feel only slightly comfortable carrying a conversation with a girl beyond the 5 minute mark; eye contact optional.
The delivery girl was Marta. We knew each other before I moved into this new apartment and obsessively tried each and every Chinese place within a 10-mile radius. She was friends with a co-worker from my old call center job. As my confidence built up and I began to slowly see girls, socially, one-on-one, in non-group settings like a real life boy, my mind still always wandered back to Marta, and the fleeting moments of mutual attraction that I always wondered if she felt as strongly as me.
`` Sweetie, it's just a unique characteristic, it does n't define you!'' My mom begged with 10 year-old me, clutching her hands tightly on my shoulders. I do n't think she was yelling at me, and it almost felt like she was inparting a slight inflection at the end, like she wondered if it was the truth.
So to cut to the chase, because these flashback slash weaving in and out of the past and the present passages are going to get pretty tiresome; I have a third eye, and it sees 24 hours in the past. It's under my mustache. I was n't able to actually grow a mustache until I was about 20, so I'm pretty socially stunted, but I'm learning, and I'm growing, and this delivery girl, Marta, oh man have I fallen hard for her. *This* is the worthwhile story here, not my third eye. Can you imagine pitching this to someone?
`` Yeah, so this guy, he slowly falls in love with the Chinese delivery girl...''
`` She's Chinese?''
`` No, she's... well, I mean she can be, but no she's not.''
`` Can she be Chinese-American? Or what was Margaret Cho?''
`` I think she's still alive, sir, American, Korean parents.''
`` Hmm... maybe we should stick with American, go on.''
`` Right, so he's slowly falling in love with the delivery girl,'' and then in a very quick whisper the idea man sneaks in `` *while also struggling with the third eye under his mustache that sees 24 hours in the past... *'' and then rapidly raising his voice back to pitch perfect, `` and it's really just a great, wonderful, classic, love story, just an awesome contemporary tale of...''
`` THIRD EYE?! THAT SEES IN FUTURE?!''
`` No, in the past, it sees what he experienced 24 hours in the past, which yes is interesting, but I really want to stress the just crazy animal lust that exudes from the connection that these two have been hiding under their insecurities and apprehensions.''
`` Wait. It only sees what *he* saw 24 hours in the past? Not what happened at the particular *spot* 24 hours ago?''
`` Right.''
`` Missed opportunity. Seems like that kinda ability could be extremely valuable to people in various fields of work... detectives, it could be a modern noir, news reporters, it could be an up and comer who keeps getting all the scoops like Clark Kent...''
My mom was right, my third eye does n't define me, which is why I keep it hidden. You're probably wondering how it works though. It's like a little box in the corner of my field of vision, like a Picture-in-Picture box that was always advertised on TV sets in the Best Buy circular, but which I never actually saw in person.
I can block it out most of the time, it's like another channel playing something less interesting. I mean, how much less interesting can you get than a channel of some guy flipping through a channel guide of shit that was on yesterday?
It usually only overtakes the vision of my two regular human eyes when something truly noteworthy happens, or, happened. You know when you're in the shower and you recall a stupid moment from 5 years ago? Or you think of an awesome comeback to an insult hours, days, weeks too late? It's like that. The third eye's only pupose seems to be to serve up my stupiest moments from the previous day.
`` Hey. Did I say `` you too'' yesterday? When you said `` enjoy your meal''?'' I text Marta.
Five minutes of flipping through the channel guide. `` Ha yeah.''
`` Dumb. I'm dumb.'' I reply.
Twenty seconds of flipping through the channel guide. `` Nah I said that on purpose. I do that to everyone. Dulls the pain.''
`` Texting. Contemporary shit, you're right.'' The board room with the pitch man and executive appears again.
`` Exactly, thank you, sir. Cutting edge romcom, real demographic killer.''
`` So what happens? They fall in love, right? Do they have kids who can see in the future too?''
`` In the past. Yeah.. no, I mean, I do n't know about kids, but yeah they fall in love. Three months of this close friendship defined by mutual adoration and that witty, sardonic wit that I know you love, culminates into a moment where they begin to...''
`` Fuck?''
`` What? No, well, yeah, they do, eventually, but they begin to slowly share their lives, their secrets, their dreams. The pinnacle moment is when Marta delivers Chinese food and it's pouring rain outside, and their eyes lock, and they know, they just know...''
I do n't even know how we got here. I never imagined Marta in my life like this. Our eyes lock. I just know. She drops the bag of wontons, and throws her arms around me.
Her lips touch my eye. I see a new picture in the corner of my field of vision.
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[ WP ] All animals can talk to each other , except one creature who speaks an ancient language no one knows
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`` It has returned,'' Said the starling to the regal buck. `` The news must be passed.'' The buck sagely raised his head, the massive antlers on his head brushing against the leaves of the branch the bird sat in, his irridescent plumage flashing in the sun as he puffed up his chest.
`` I will pass it,'' He replied. `` This is the second time in seven moons. It is becoming more and more frequent.'' His ear twitched to face behind him, then back forward. `` I would not want it to become a problem.'' The starling preened a feather nervously.
The sun was just beginning to rise as the buck turned to go out and tell the others the starling's news. He came across the fox next, who bared a tooth, and the bear, who let out a long, rumbling growl.
But the buck did not make it far. Before he had even made it back to his herd, a white hot pain exploded through his chest. He jerked and scrambled, but his legs failed him and he collapsed, a long wooden shaft sticking out of his side. The forest had gone dead quiet, he noticed. The word had spread quickly, with or without him - the birds were very efficient gossips.
The creature approached, and he tried to speak. `` Who are you?'' He panted, his life's blood spilling out onto the forest floor. `` Where do you come from?'' But the creature responded in no language he could understand.
***************
the human approched, a grin on his face. It had been the perfect shot. It was only the fourth day the area had become open for hunting, so the bucks were plentiful.
He approached the deer, not yet dead, who bleated pitifully. He hovered there, waiting for it to die, bow in hand, as his friend approached.
`` There are deer all over these woods,'' He said. `` Hunting will be good here this year.'' He clapped his gloved hands together as the deer's eyes finally glazed over. `` Good thing, too,'' he said.
The man whod made the shot nodded sagely. `` Yeah,'' He agreed, `` Lots of them. It's a good thing they finally made it open for the buck population. After all, we would n't want it to become a problem.''
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[ WP ] You ( or a character ) are immortal . You have been locked in a cell and no longer remember how long you have been there .
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*What does it mean to be alive? *
Sight, sound, touch, smell and taste.
He was locked in a white room. Completely white and flat. Nothing made noise. There were no smells, no tastes.
*Am I alive? *
He inspected every inch of his body carefully because it was the only interesting thing to look at. Everything else was flat, and pure white. He memorized the patterns of his fingerprints. He inspected each hair on his arm. He observed how his skin changed color under pressure.
*Do I have to keep feeling and seeing to be alive? *
He would whistle now and then, and yell, just to hear. He did n't know any tunes to whistle or any words to yell, anymore, but he made noise to break the silence until his throat was raw and he could do it no more.
*If this is what being alive is like, what is death? *
He would bite himself so he bled just to smell it, and to see a new color. He would pound the floor with his fists just to feel the impact and hear the almost silent thud.
Endless, endless torment. He did n't remember anything before this nothingness existence. He knew nothing, but he felt one thing: he was waiting for something. He was waiting for something, and he had to hold on and persevere.
Then, suddenly, a new experience: the room shook and he fell to his knees. A blinding light filled the room and he closed his eyes and covered his face, cowering on the floor. The shaking continued, and then -- a clap of thunder.
Stillness.
He opened his eyes.
`` Like I promised -- paradise!'' a voice said, punctuated by an evil cackle. `` Now, what are your next two wishes?'' The genie asked.
The man ignored him, he was used to voices, hallucinations, but this was something new. The floor. It was n't flat anymore. It was rolling, sloping, bumping, tilting, stretching on and on -- and covering it was something that had a new color, a color he could n't remember. It felt like hair, but wider, longer, maybe even softer. He lay there, feeling it with his face and hands. He tore some apart and smelled its rich smells.
`` Worth the wait?'' The genie snickered.
Some noises above made the man look up -- almost like his whistling. Out of the ground came there stood a long arm, brownish-gray like his hair. More arms grew from this arm and at the ends held clouds much the same color as what covered the ground. But on the arms were the source of the noises. Little living, moving creatures of different colors, some white, some like the color of the tree, and some colors he did n't remember.
Another new experience. A feeling. Wetness like blood trickled down the man's face from his eyes as his gaze turned upwards. Gone was the flat, white roof. Instead there was an endless, intimidating expanse that filled him with awe and wonder at it's beauty -- this, too, was a new color -- but greater than the color was its vastness.
The Genie watched in amusement as the man wandered off, first crawling and then in a stumbling walk, exploring the world like a child learning to walk, smelling, touching, and even tasting every new thing he found.
The Genie had made a deal with the man: You'll have eternity in paradise, you just have to wait a thousand years. The genie was being honest about the catch to his wish. The man had thought it was a good deal: A thousand years? Thats just like living to a hundred, ten times -- or so he thought.
But the Genie had n't been completely honest. He had placed the man back on earth. Nothing had changed but a thousand years of tormented waiting. The Genie had guessed, correctly, that after waiting so long *anything* would seem like paradise to a man.
Genies do n't experience time like us. To him the man was gone for a minute or two, and upon his return, was filled with utter bliss at the same scene he left.
The Genie was a little in wonder at how well his trick had worked, but he was also extraordinarily pleased with himself.
`` Hey! Do n't leave yet! I've been waiting a thousand years to grant your next two wishes!'' the Genie cackled, and floated after the man.
--
[ Link to Previous Writing Prompt: You are 100 % convinced that you are the sole surviving member of the human race, despite the fact that today is your first appointment with a shrink for the very same reason. ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/323cj6/wp_you_are_100_convinced_that_you_are_the_sole/cq7p7yd )
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[ WP ] At any point in ones life , they can choose to visit the time when they are the most happy , or successful . Some journey back when they are old , some skip forward years when they β re young . But not all are happy with what they find .
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Cassie took one last look at herself in the full length hallway mirror before she was to make her way down the aisle.
Her dress was somewhere between eggshell and ivory, and it glittered with gemstones and lace, intricately woven along her waist and down the length of her skirt. A delicate veil emerged from a band of flowers worn in her hair, curled and pinned to her head in an updo fit for a princess. Her makeup was flawless, and her nails had been filed and painted and polished to perfection. Her cheeks ached from smiling, and she imagined Pete standing at the altar, clutching his hands together nervously, the single dimple in his left cheek showing more than ever as he lost the fight to keep the grin off of his face. Her heart fluttered as her mind ran through every moment of the wedding again and again. It was going to be perfect. They would say their vows before their families, and he would kiss her and they would spend the night dancing and drinking and before long, they'd be on their way to two steamy weeks in the Carribean. She twisted the diamond ring around her finger, daydreaming of white picket fences and little curly-haired cherub children that were the perfect mixture of Pete's features with Cassie's coloring. Their lives would be perfect. Everything was perfect.
`` Cassie?'' She heard her father's voice, and turned to see he was peeking through the door of her dressing room. `` It's time. Are you ready?''
She nodded, speechless, grinning, and glided over to take her father's arm. He kissed her forehead. `` I've never seen you as happy and as beautiful as you are right now.''
Tears welled in her eyes. She did n't think she had ever been this happy, or ever would be again.
They made their way to the double doors of the church, waiting for the organ to play, and her bridesmaids stood in front of them, casting back pleased and encouraging looks. She was surrounded by people she loved, and she was about to walk down the aisle and promise her life to the one person she loved more than anything.
She thought, then, about her Visit. Surely, years from now, when she and Pete were old and surrounded by grandchildren, they would make their Visits together and be shown back to their wedding day, when they were young and beautiful and at the brink of their `` forever.''
As she heard the organ begin to play, her curiosity got the best of her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, focusing hard, and before she knew it, the room had disappeared, the music had stopped, and she heard a faint repetitive beeping. Her heart lurched. She was n't sure that she wanted to open her eyes. But she knew she could n't return to her wedding until she had completed her Visit, and seen her life's happiest moment.
She opened her eyes. She stood in a hospital room, darkness out the window showing it to be late at night. Laying in the room's single bed, she saw herself, but with longer hair and a few more creases along her eyes. In her arms was a blue blanket, swaddled around a baby.
Cassie froze. *Her* baby.
The Cassie in her vision beamed down at the newborn in her arms, and stroked a fingertip along his nose, talking to him quietly as he slept. She could hear footsteps in the hallway, and then a man's voice, `` They did n't have cranberry so I brought apple juice, I hope that's okay.''
The man who had entered the room was n't Pete.
In fact, it was the last man Cassie would ever have expected to see in a hospital room with her, late at night. It was Ben. Her best friend from high school that had moved away to college after they graduated and they'd eventually lost touch. They had spent four years being inseparable. Every summer their families went on a camping trip together to Wisconsin, and she remembered the long nights of sitting in the back of his truck, listening to the lake lapping the shore as they made their own constellations out of the stars above them. They'd shared countless little special moments, but they were only children. None of those moments mattered. It was all hormones and infatuation.
Was n't it?
Ben sat on the edge of the hospital bed and wrapped his arm around Cassie's shoulders, pressing his lips to the top of her head, gazing with admiration at the infant in her arms. `` He has your eyes,'' he said.
`` And your hair,'' she said back, an exchange made effortlessly and without missing a beat, something that they'd always shared when they spoke to each other -- as if they were n't having a conversation, but simply completing each other's thoughts.
Just as Cassie was beginning to grasp what was happening in front of her, the room began to fade. *No, * she thought, trying hard to focus on the image of herself and her old childhood friend, clinging to it as if it were a memory, and not something that had n't even happened yet. She realized that she did n't want to return to the wedding. She was terrified. What was going to happen that made it so she did n't end up with Pete? Was he going to cheat on her? Was he going to die in some sort of freak scuba diving accident on their honeymoon?
Before she could think any further into it, she heard the organ again, and her body shifted forward, although she still could n't even feel the weight of her feet on the ground. The doors opened before her, and as she made her way forward, the organ went off-kilter, and then stopped abruptly. She had n't even made her way over the threshold yet, but she heard hushed whispers from all of the guests in the pews, a buzz of activity throughout the church. The wedding party had stopped in its tracks and was now moving backwards, trying to shield Cassie from whatever was going on beyond the doors. When her father met her eyes, his face was burning with anger, and she felt her stomach fall into her feet.
Something was very wrong.
Despite the bridesmaids' protests, she pushed her way through them and out into the congregation. The entire room went silent, and everyone stared at her, not with adoration, but with pity, and with fear. Confused, her eyes shifted to the altar, expecting to meet Pete's eyes and see if he could give her an answer to why her wedding had been interrupted.
But Pete was n't there.
She did n't understand. A few women on his side of the family were whispering among each other, and Cassie just looked around, gaping, perplexed, as one awkward second ticked after the last. Finally, her mind clicked into realization, and she made her way down the aisle, across the altar, and through the door where Pete had been placed to get dressed and prepare. The room was empty, except for a note laying on the vanity that simply said `` Sorry, Cass.''
She made her way back out to the church with the note crumpled in her hands, and once again, she met the horrified expressions of her family and her now-ex-fiancΓ©'s. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to beg someone for an explanation -- someone had to have known, he had to have told someone! But she only found herself laughing. At first, a small little giggle, which then erupted into full-on hysterics. A few awkward chuckles came from the audience, but most of them were even more horrified now. Still laughing, she made her way back to her father, kissing him on the cheek. `` Thank you for the beautiful wedding,'' she said, `` Do n't worry. I'm not going to let it go to waste. You get everybody to the reception. I'll meet you there. I have a phone call to make.''
Her father, entirely perplexed, only nodded, and began herding people out of the church, while Cassie made her way back to the dressing room. Her reflection now had changed erratically since the last time she had seen it, only moments ago. Her hair was disheveled, and her mascara was smudged beneath and around her eyes. She ripped the veil from her hair, letting the flowers loosely into her curls, and she made her way to her cellphone, scrolling through her contacts until she found his name.
Two rings, and then his voice: `` Cass?? Oh my god, it's crazy that you called, I'm in town and I --''
`` Do you want to go to a wedding reception with me?'' She asked, interrupting him but not caring. His confused silence on the other end subsided to a light laugh, and before he could say anything else, Cassie found herself smiling again, easily, naturally. Everything was completely fucked up. Her family was mortified. Her meticulously planned life was now in spirals.
And yet, she felt as if everything was exactly as it should be.
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[ WP ] Aliens land on earth , but they do so in levitating castles and wizards towers . It turns out that most galactic civilizations rely on magic instead of technology .
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When the Grand Mage Kal summoned a great storm to chill the world, Gerard Petit, Ph. D, and his associates at Oxford conjured fusion to warm it.
When Desmond the Gap Strider leapt from the Earth to the Moon, Michael Smithson, mechanical engineer, and the brightest minds at Boeing built a vessel to carry a thousand on the same journey.
When Dras the Golem Master β s servants raised great towers and battlements from the lunar regolith, Sato Aika, renowned architect and engineer, designed and built a lunar city to house a million.
The Three Trials completed, Humanity was welcomed onto the Grand Council and a new school of magic was founded in their honor, Applied Science.
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[ WP ] 20,000 years ago , around a campfire , three cavemen ponder the future .
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The Fireholder looks to his two sons as they finish their meal. He wants to tell them a story he says, a story of their beginnings to make them think of what will come after them. `` Creation,'' he whispers to the boys:
Arthe roamed the vast expansion of nothingness in hopes of finding something. He walked in the same direction, pupils huge using any light available in order to see what was ahead. Arthe was hindered along his journey by flying particles of rocks and the ever narrowing Veahen which was a winding walkway of stars he treaded on. Centuries passed and he grew tired of this daunting expedition. During a break in the darkness he decided to make something of his own. He reached down to the stars below him and formed a saucer in his hands. Sculpting the top so it was a perfect semicircle. He then hurled it below him with all his might. Peering over the side of the stars he stood on, he saw that the saucer was suspended underneath Veahen. He took another handful of stars now making an opposing semicircle and threw it down so it fused to the existing stars. With this, a perfect sphere hung below him. He grabbed more stars and filled his hands to the brim with them. Arthe leapt from Veahen and came crashing down to the thing he created. He landed with such awesome force that his structure was displaced, titled to the left. He began throwing the stars around creating things as they flowed from his mind to his hands. He saw valleys and mountains, babbling brooks and expansive oceans, forests of redwoods, deserts that will never know water and rain forests that excrete it from their grounds. With stars in each hand he created what he saw. Spread far and wide across his glistening sphere. He then envisioned people just like himself, but smaller, and primitive. With one star he created entire civilizations. Providing them with knowledge and ingenuity. He now held another star in his hand, far removed from the other people. Perched at the top of the sphere he began to step back in order to gain enough force for his final star, but as he moved back he slipped on the star matter and plummeted downwards, star clutched in his hand. As he fell he wondered what he had created. Something synthetic, yet it came from the stars above. He spun while he fell, and after some time had passed, he slammed into solid ground, something he had only heard of as a child. He picked himself up and looked at the star, it was mangled, hanging limply from his hand stained by the ground he had fallen on. He looked up at his creation, saddened by the realization that he would never be on it again. He thought that he should add his final touch from beneath and he hurled the broken star from where he stood.
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The last man on earth watches the 2nd to last man on earth kill himself
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If somebody would have told me that I would be one of the last two surviving humans on Earth I would β ve laughed. I achieved nothing of note before everything changed, but now I suppose being alive now is my greatest achievement. I didn β t have a wife or kids, no college degree, nothing. I had my own apartment so you can count that as an accomplishment if you β d like. Life was rather morose for me. Yet, I managed to survive when billions of other didn β t.
I only know of one other man who is still alive, Simon. We met while scavenging through rubble in search of food and materials. He is an upbeat man, enjoys telling stories of days past. I hate it.
Most of our days consist of scavenging, usually we find junk but today I found something interesting, a gun. Usually I don β t carry anything back to our shelter unless its food, but this gun was special. Why? I wasn β t sure either at the time, but I knew it was. I hid the gun under my shirt and headed back.
On the dawn of a new day I got up before Simon. All I could think of was his stories, how many he told, how great his life sounded. It was making me furious. That β s when I had this great idea. I crept over his sleeping body and brandished the gun I tucked away earlier. With no hesitation I pulled the trigger. Simon died instantly.
I now am the most accomplished man on Earth.
First short story is a very long time.
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[ WP ] The four elements change as the world does . In the far future , Earth , Air , Fire and Water have become Metal , Smoke , Lightning , and Oil .
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Metal. Metal is how my world commits genocide. Robust, sharp, thin, it is what protects my friends and shreds my enemy. They say a metal home is what a proper home should be. But a metal home has no purpose but to remind my family that Earth has no future. Those still alive in the sunken wastelands of our suburbia, quench their thirst by licking the blood off metallic blades. Perhaps blood and metal are essential transgressions to finding purpose in this desolate world. Perhaps its my uncanny reflection off of its indifferent blade. Perhaps I am just tired. Tired of no longer having food and water. Tired of protecting these scrap metal shelters against others that live no better. Tired of eating my enemies.
Smoke. Smoke is what my world suffocates from. Those who survive here must learn to accept its ubiquity. It perfumes from roasted bodies, the pollution of cities, and the burning of crops. Every night I am awoken by the shrieking coughs of my cancer riddled grandmother but tonight there is only silence. Only the smoke of cigarettes relaxes my perturbed state and quells my trembling heart. A smoke will calm me...
No, I must escape this deceptive smoke. I have to breathe. I need to breathe. I must seek the dim light that illuminates my humanity.
Lightning. Lightning is how my world guides me away. The sound of lightning is the sound of a weeping God forsaking his children in the playground of Hades. The parting of the Red Sea, the rainbow over Noah, the mighty Tower of Babel, no longer have jurisdiction over these sands. This world no longer has a belief. This world no longer has a purpose. Only the flash of lightning reminds me there is light within this endless dark sky. Only the flash of lightning reminds me that a gentle death is an unforgiving one. I must move through the tunnel of hell until I am sure there is no light.
Oil. Oil is how my world burned the fish. Burned everything. Purge inferiority they said, celebrate the new epoch. The cost of life is marginal. But I see no life. I simply follow the trail of oil. I can still hear the deathly cries of mutilated children and raped women. Burned alive at the stake: the importance of oil. I have no energy, no water, no food. This is the end. I collapse and seek refuge in my mind. We could n't reach the planets of vitality. We could n't combat the viruses. We could n't feed our families. Water could not quench the insatiable thirst of man. Man can not stop until he sees oil fill up the very river he drinks. I crawl on top of the sand dune. At least I die with a view. Suddenly, I hear the rush of water.
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[ WP ] Once it was a corpse . Now it 's a monument .
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With furrowed brow, and filthy, sweaty movement he charged, seeking to tackle the inevitable, seeking to live through death itself.
He fell, and with pain and blood he and his comrades lay down upon the ground like freshly fallen snow, blanketing the churned mud with cloth, and flesh.
There they lay. As darkness, disease, despair and danger danced about their sodden forms, wet with rain and filth alike, they were trodden underfoot. They were not the only ones of course, the vastness of the planet came together, like blood clotting at a wound, to die in that place. To lay down men to feed the ground.
They came from families in far away lands, where children smiled beneath shadows cast by mighty oaks. They came from families in far away lands, and they died in numbers to ache the coldest heart.
They lie their still, in plains of green and red, and across a world's shared subconcious; a reminder of the price we paid.
They were warriors once, and their corpses turned to monuments that sway in gentle breeze.
They were warriors once, where the poppies lie, like shadows, on the ground.
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[ WP ] You are one of the most powerful and dastardly supervillains on the planet . However , you are also one of the most requested supervillains for the Make-A-Wish foundation , and cancel a battle with your arch-nemesis to make a sick little kid 's day .
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Sarah watched as her arch-nemesis Dr. Blight uses his deathly devices to entertain a young child in the room with him. The same wicked smile was on his face. The same grandstanding announcement of taking over the world. And yet...
`` So you can make anything wither and die just touching them for a few seconds?'' asked the sickly boy. Dr. Blight answered him with a nod. `` Cool!''
An unmistakable happy smile spread across the boy's face. Sarah could n't believe it. Here was one of the most powerful and dastardly super-villain on the planet making a young child's final moments more memorable.
She could n't understand it.
That was until she asked one of the staff in the hospital. Everything went crystal clear after that.
`` So you want to become my underling once I rule the world?'' said Dr. Blight.
`` Yeah!'' the child nodded.
`` Your life will belong to me then!'' declared Dr. Blight. `` It will be hard work for you everyday, but I always reward those who put themselves beneath me. You will live a most content life, I assure you. Therefore there can be no excuses!''
The boy giggled as he promised his life away to the super-villain. The evil doctor even had a fake contract to make things all the more authentic. He gave a copy of it to the boy as remembrance of their deed today.
When the boy started to cough a little bit, Sarah saw that another doctor in the room make a gesture towards Dr. Blight. It seems that his stay was over now.
As the doctor checked on the boy's vitals, Dr. Blight said his goodbyes to the boy and slipped away. She found him leaning on the sideways of an empty hospital corridor.
`` L-Lady Luck!'' the evil doctor tried to pose in defense, just before rubbing the tears from his eyes. `` I thought I made it clear that I intended to postpone our inevitable battle today.''
`` I came to make sure you were n't up to no good,'' she said quietly. `` I guess you were n't...''
Dr. Blight turned away from her. `` What are you saying? I'm always up to no good.''
`` Does n't seem like it. That boy looked awfully happy to see you.''
`` What you saw was just a lie,'' said Dr. Blight. `` It's what I do. I lie to kids all the time.''
Sarah reached out to him, grasping his shaking shoulders. `` That's not true. I've never seen you as honest of a man as ever before this. Your little sister would have been proud of you.''
Slowly facing her, Dr. Blight took out a stack of papers from his cloak.
`` I promised them the world...'' he said, his voice weak. `` Of all the contracts I've signed with them, not a single one was fulfilled. Even my little sister's is just now a piece of paper.'' His tears fell onto all the contracts he's made with children. `` What I do is not good. I told you I lie all the time.''
Sarah could n't help but comfort him. She could n't think him a liar as he sobbed in her arms. He was just a man that still grieved for the loss of his sister and the children he's made promises with.
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[ WP ] You find out that the life you have been living for as far as you can remember has actually been time served in Hell .
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I stopped giving it much thought, how unlucky I'd been in life. I spent so much time wallowing in self-pity, it led me down a dark path of drug addiction. Went into respiratory arrest, almost died, and from that point on I decided to stop it. Easier to say than it was to do, of course, but I did. The bad crap did n't stop happening, but I stopped seeing it as bad luck. We all go through bad things in life, so I told myself my bad things just happen in quick succession. But once they even things out, it'll be fine. Now? Well, yeah, I know it's not bad luck now. It's worse.
I started putting the pieces together about a month ago. I'd been hit by a bus, it just came out of nowhere, slammed into me. My life went dark before I even knew what happened, but I woke up in hospital three days later after having been in a coma. The doctors said I was lucky to be alive. *Or unlucky to be hit in the first place*, I'd thought. Anyway, that day, the guy in the bed next to me was staring at me intently, a look of curious focus etched in the lines of his face. It unnerved me, so I decided to break the tension. `` Hey,'' I said, trying to sound casual, `` My name's Andy.''
`` Dylan,'' he replies after a few seconds' pause, his eyes still on mine. Then he looks around, somewhat nervously, before heaving out of his bed and hobbling over to me. It did nothing to comfort me, and it was even less comforting when he sat on the chair next to my bed. `` So, Andy... you know what this is, right? You know that... that things are n't what they seem?'' His voice was low but had a hint of shakiness to them, like he was worried someone would overhear, although we were alone.
*Great*, I thought, *I have the chatty crazy guy for company*. `` Sorry, I do n't know what you mean.'' Hopefully he'll leave it at that.
`` You're not there, you here'' Dylan responded, most unhelpfully. `` This is like... a virtual reality game that you've been trapped in for so long that you've forgotten it's not real. That's how they do it. The torture drives you crazy, but after a while you're so used to it that it's meaningless. So they tear you down to nothing, force you to rebuild your own life, your own surroundings, brick by brick, and they screw with it in every way possible.'' His nonsensical ramblings had sped up, like he was excited, spilling the truth for the first time ever, like a flood finally bursting through the dam that had contained it for so long. `` Andy, you're in Hell.''
I blinked, confused, and if I'm honest, somewhat scared at how out of touch with reality this poor guy was. `` OK, man, I, uh... I need to rest. So...'' the sentenced trailed off awkwardly.
`` It's true!'' Dylan hissed, the volume of his voice raising to a level he must have deemed unsafe. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before talking again, this time back to an almost-whisper. `` They hide it well, but not completely. Look for the signs, you'll see them, I swear. Look for the gaps.'' He studied me for a few moments before reluctantly returning to his bed, after which I breathed a sigh of relief.
I did n't think anything of it as I drifted off to sleep that night, but when I woke up, everything changed.
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[ WP ] An all powerful Necromancer discovers that his minions have unionized .
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A knock at the door interrupted Balthazar while he bent over and inspected the ball of now-mangled flesh. β Uhh master? β Gregor timidly poked his head inside.
β God, Gregor what do you want? β Balthazar snapped. β Hadn β t we discussed this before? β
β Aye, milord, I remember β Torture-time is Me-time. β It β s justβ¦ β He mumbled the rest.
β Out with it, you baboon! Is there an enemy approaching? β
β Not exactlyβ¦ I thought that- β
β -I don β t pay you to think, Gregor. β Balthazar mused. β In fact, I don β t even pay you to guard my door. I pay you to stand there and be murdered slowly enough that I am alerted to the presence of approaching foes. β At this Gregor looked down sheepishly at his comically inadequate sword and dingy buckler.
β It β s the troops, sir. β
β What about the troops? Don β t tell me you β re going to complain about the smell too. I told the other living guards there β s little I can do. I even put up some scented candles and torches, I- β
β They β re organizing, milord! β Gregor blurted. His face reddened and he suddenly became very interested in the floor pattern. Balthazar looked perplexed.
β It β s an army. It should be organized, Gregor. β
β Just come and look, master. You β ll see what I mean. β
[ Several spiral staircases and trap doors later ]
β Here, sir. β Gregor gestured out the battlement window overlooking the barrack fields. Sure enough, the dead were marching up to the gates and worse still, they had fashioned crude megaphones and protest signs from varied garbage from the castle. Balthazar was horrified. He jumped away from the sight and yanked Gregor along with him.
β Back from the window! β He hissed, knowing his archers would have had little trouble dispatching them both if discovered. β Have they staked out a particular formation? Taken up a position? β His mind raced through the Unholodex of fellow necrosages who might be inclined to usurp him.
Gregor scratched his chin. β Well you β ve seen their formation outside. As for a position, I β d wager radical-Syndicalist or maybe some strain of Progressive Populism but don β t quote me on it. β
β Shut up, Gregor. You β re fired. β He sighed. The guard scurried off and after a few moments of reflection the Necromancer followed him.
Balthazar lowered the visor on his war-helm and began some preliminary conjuring to get his magic power ready for a battle. He felt the faint presence of another wizard somewhere, but he wasn β t feeling that they were control of the zombie horde just outside of his front gate. With a flick of his wrist the oaken doors and portcullis shot open. He braced to deflect any arrows, javelins, or quarrels that might come his way but nothing came. His zombies were all there, lined up and holding their signs. A small group shambled to the front of the pack and through the gateway led by a talkative zombie Balthazar had affectionately named Gnaw-Bone.
β Hello, Gnaw-Bone. What β s going on here? β Balthazar removed his helmet upon seeing that the zombies only had a few pieces of paper in hand/limb.
β My liege, β Gnaw-Bone said. β We, the re-animate members of your unholy army, do hereby form a union to see that the conditions we face as a force of professional soldiers and laborers improve. β He handed over the papers, which a quick scan revealed were mostly proclamations to the same effect. Balthazar laughed aloud.
β A union? Hahaha Oh, that is rich. What could you need a union for? You β re not even alive! β
β To the contrary, Balthazar, we are alive. Moreover, we are aware that to amass an army of this size and diversity you engaged in the practice of purchasing corpses to reanimate. We have united to discuss and create plans to better the working conditions we find ourselves in. You will find our talking points outlined on the fourth page of those papers. Balthazar read over their list; it wasn β t terribly ambitious but implementing these changes would require some work.
β And what happens if I refuse? I could easily disintegrate the whole traitorous lot of you. I β d still have zombies who are loyal. He bragged. β Where is my champion soldier? Where is Gore-Drinker? β He called for his favorite warrior. If any zombie could change the minds of his fellows it would be him. After about a minute, Gore-Drinker lumbered his way out of the slowly-advancing crowd.
β Hullo boss. β He grunted. β Now here is a zombie that knows the benefit of servitude! β Balthazar crowed. β Tell them how I β ve always fixed you, always sewn on the best and most dangerous parts. Tell them how you want no part of their silly, little union! β
β Sorry ta tell you this but I β m joining, boss. β He raised a rotting fist. β Got ta show sume sulidarity with my bruthers uf the grave. β If Gnaw-Bone had the capacity to cry, Balthazar was sure he β d be weeping with delight by the yellowing grin on his face.
β But why join them? You β ve always gotten the best treatment out of any zombie I β ve raised, with the best results naturally. β
β I assume yer fumiliar with the free-rider problem to answer yer question there. β Gore-Drinker said. β And by the way, we prufer the termβ¦uh what wuzzit Gnaw-Bone? β
β β Re-animate β is the word we β d prefer that living individuals use to describe us. β Gnaw-Bone chimed.
β Enough of this nonsense. Tell me again why I shouldn β t just tear you all apart with a simple spell of unmaking? Or how about I compel you to obey? β Balthazar was losing his temper. What would they say at the guild if they knew he was dealing with such a ridiculous uprising?
β We β re prepared for that outcome, Balthazar. β Gnaw-Bone said ominously and he stepped back into line with the rest of the dead. β Workers of the Netherworld, Unite! β He shouted and on cue all the zombies linked their arms/claws/appendages forming an inhuman chain in front of Balthazar β s gate. β You can disintegrate our bodies but you can not dispel our spirits! β The horde shouted.
Gnaw-Bone added. β We β ve also enlisted some outside help I might add. β It was then that Balthazar felt the presence of another wizard grow and unmask itself. He recognized it as Necromancer Varuuk the Pestilent, a friend and valued colleague.
Varuuk had changed quite a bit since their last meeting. Namely that he was undead now. β Hello Balthazar! β He bounded out of the crowd of zombies.
β Varuuk, you β reβ¦ β
β I know, I β m a Lich now. Trust me it was just as shocking for me! β
β Your voice, did you alter that when you resurrected yourself? β
β Actually my throat was cut. β
β And the nose? β Balthazar found that he couldn β t stop staring at the skeletal gash where Varuuk β s nose had been.
β No, that one was all me. I heard that it goes one way or another and so I decided to make a change in my un-life. I know it β s not for everyone but Lich-hood can be very liberating for a lot of things. β He leaned in towards Balthazar. β Between the two of us, sometimes I still catch myself trying to breathe! ME, trying to breathe, can you believe it? If the others knew they β d have such a laugh about it. β He chuckled.
β Varuuk, how did you die? You had quite a fiefdom going over by the Swamps of Rot. Your army wasn β t exactly small. β Balthazar trailed off. β What happened? β
β It was King Schmael IV the Corona. He β s on another one of his crusades. I guess his church has decided that Necromancy and related disciplines aren β t acceptable now. I β m not entirely sure, all that I do know is that he killed me and burned most if not all of my corpses. I only just barely escaped before I was destroyed. β
β So what are you doing here? Did you contact the Guild? β
Varuuk β s expression fell. β I did, but that β s not the issue here, Balthazar. I work for the Lich β s Guild nowβ¦ β
β I still don β t see how a minor change of mortality puts you here in this embarrassing mess of mine. β He gestured to the crowd of zombies, and Gnaw-Bone grimaced.
β I β m an undead Lawyer. β Varuuk said. β I β m here to oversee the transition and implementation of this Re-animate Union. Please just help me work out the details, Balthazar. Don β t fight this. β Balthazar couldn β t believe what he was hearing. He stammered but found he couldn β t say anything more. β Let me help you guys negotiate and we can all find some common ground. β Varuuk said as he extended a partially exposed arm around his friend; the two wizards walked into the castle hall.
After the initial shock had worn off, Balthazar found that not much had changed around his castle and grounds. The zombies were still loyal, even if they had their silly little meetings and β Support the Local 666 Snake Sales! β they willingly went to battle. This last point was especially useful as Varuuk had decided to stick around and help out with defeating the advancing crusaders. Balthazar knew he β d need all the help he could get if he wanted to survive. He even apologized, if a bit tersely, to Gregor.
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[ WP ] War has been eliminated on Earth . Aries God of war must take conflict where he can get it .
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`` Video games, my last remaining domain.'' muttered a tall muscular man covered in various scars but not much in terms of clothing. `` For millenia my domain has been warfar and it was glorious. Combat after bloody combat dotted human history and in the last century the best I get is what they call video games. Disgusting.'' His last word marked by spitting upon the ground in front of him on Mt. Olympus.
`` If it was n't for Call of Duty 23: Battle of Tikrit I would have zero tributes in the last century.'' The projection of a map involving some desert and clay hovels stood out as two teams fought for control of a central structurel, the bodies pileing nicely along the walls of the room. The outskirts of the map caught Aries attention as two combatants were about to exchange fire in a seldom used portion of the map.
`` I guess it's time to have some fun.'' All the players experienced a flicker as some rules were modified. Small ones for those two players such as imortality but heightened pain reception. A short pathway was all that seperated his fun and red team had the drop on blue. Blue rounded a corner with speed and was greeted with the worst pain imaginable. Red had gotten off an insta-kill headshot on blue yet there he stood. Red immediately started shouting `` Hacker, You dirty Hacker.'' as blue decided to return the favor and unload his magazine into red.
Red doubled over in pain with blue standing over him. `` Who's hacking what now?'' Growled blue. Red stood up with the pain fading and jabbed his rifle butt squarely in blues nose. Aries, overseeing the devolving fistfight, smirked as he tilted his goblet of wine back. The small things I have to do for tribute these days.
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[ WP ] `` Whoso Pulleth Out This Sword of this Stone and Anvil , is Rightwise King Born of all England . '' The sword is pulled free by the most unlikely of individuals .
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`` This is certainly... ah...'' Merlin stroked his beard, lost in thought. `` Well, shit,'' he muttered. `` You're certain it was both? At the same time?''
`` Yes, my lord,'' the mother replied. `` There were witnesses.''
`` And they both grabbed hold of it at the same time?''
`` My lord, I must confess, I did not witness that part myself. But I was told as much by the others.''
Merlin mopped the sweat off his brow. `` Tell me once more, from the start, what happened.''
`` Well, I had only turned my back for a second when I heard a shout. I turned around and there they were, struggling to grasp it before the other one could. Next thing I knew, the sword had popped out, and they both were still wrestling for control of it.''
Merlin sighed, then decided to try a different approach. `` Do you know which was born first?''
`` No, my lord, I fear I do not.''
So much for that strategy. Merlin regarded the two children carefully. Could n't be much older than four. And of course they had to be identical. He turned back to their mother. `` I'm afraid I'm out of ideas. Tell me, do you have any suggestions on how to inform the nobles that their new'king' is two twin little girls?''
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[ WP ] All your life you slaved in the mines , hauling the black rocks to your master . You hear the masters mad laugh , `` Ho Ho Ho ! `` , he demands more rocks .
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One more bucketβ¦ one more bucketβ¦
I try to keep my eyes ahead as my muscles strain to carry the heaping black coal bucket up the long flight of steps to the roof of the compound. My arms and legs are stained with streaks of black coal dust and cold sweat.
β Ho Ho HO! β I could hear the master β s hateful voice ringing up from his warm office below.
I β m almost back to the chimney again, but I β m so tired. I stop for a few moments to catch my breath, looking down at my withered legs and feet. The brutal years of labor had taken their toll.
I remember all of the brainwashing - β orientation β as the master called it - during my first year.
The jolly master had spoken to a whole room of us with a sickening smile on his face.
β... Many of you think that you are individuals. You have an inherent sense of self. To survive here you must cast those notions aside. You are no longer yourself. From this day forward you are only an ELF... β
I told myself I would never give in, but slowly, bit by bit, I was broken. My small shriveled body is all that remains of who I was before.
One more bucket...
I reach the chimney on the roof and tip the contents of my pail into the shaft, which is now full with the gleaming black fuel. There is a similar black gleam in my eyes as I admire my finished work.
I reach into my ragged elf clothes and pull out a bottle of the master β s best brandy - filched from his office cabinet. I enjoy a swig thoughtfully, and cough, before that too gets dumped down the chimney.
Next, from my belt, I pull out matches, tobacco, and the master β s pipe - taken from his desk that morning. I light the pipe and puff a few smoke rings. The smoke burns my weak lungs but it gives me a pleasant buzz. When I β ve had enough, I toss the remains of the lit pipe down the chimney too.
The brandy and the coal burst violently into tall yellow flames - licking up the sidesβ¦ higher and higherβ¦
β Ho Ho -- OH! NOOooooo! β
I give a little laugh and stamp my feet in the cold to think of the nightmare of flame and smoke that the room below me was becoming. From around my neck I pull out the master β s keys - which I stole off his belt and used to lock him in his own office. The keys that will also get me into the reindeer stablesβ¦ and to freedomβ¦
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[ WP ] you are living in a post apocalyptic world after being blinded by the accident that caused it and have to rely on a stranger to be your eyes
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`` This way!'' her voice echoed hollow through the tunnel.
When she is not holding my hand I am reduced to crawl with hands out before me, a lesson hard-learned through my near shattered shinbones.
`` Come on!''
I am old. I am weak. I am blind. I am lost.
`` We're almost there!''
She found me, on the brink of death, dehydrated and starving. She brought me water and food to eat, nourished me back onto my feet. At night when the dry dust settled and the heat dissipated, she told me stories of her home where people still live together and that some who had lost their sight were healed and are now able to see again. We are heading to her home, to see if I could gain my vision again.
There was a low rumble, I could feel the growl of something big in my bones.
`` We're here! Just up this way!''
Then I heard the voices of people, shouting and laughing and talking, echoed and distant through the tunnels. As we came closer the noise of the city became clear to me. Thousands of people were bustling in city built underground.
I could hear children laughing and playing.
I could hear men and women grunting and weeping.
I could hear children shouting profanities.
I could hear the grainy shrugs of monolithic stone blocks being dragged across the stone ground.
What is this place?
`` Come meet the man who can give you your eyes back.''
She pulled my arm in excitement.
I went with her with little hesitation.
There is nothing I want more than to see again.
Then she stopped me.
`` Stand here, do n't say a word.''
We stood in a room or a chamber, the bustling city's noise was muffled almost completely. He spoke.
`` Let's take a look, he's a bit old Beatrice,'' his voice circled me, `` His legs are weak and near shattered. Looks like he's got 12.02a's installed in his sockets. Not entirely useless I guess. Alright, let's give him some light.''
Then I heard a sound of something I have n't heard in years. The chime of my eyes powering on again for the first time since the EMP.
There was light.
I could see his face. A young boy, no more than 14 years old.
Beatrice, a girl, no more than 12.
The room had electricity.
What is this place?
`` Welcome to the Underground. I am the Lord of the Underground. My name is Lord Ki11m0u5e and I am the light bringer, your god. Come take a look, your eyes have been dark for about two and a half years now. how you survived out there on your own, I do n't know and I do n't care, what you need to know is that today there is light. Come and see.''
He brought me onto the balcony where the entire city could be seen below. There two pyramids being built and what looked like an enormous foundation for a third and greater pyramid.
`` All of the men and women have come to me, and I have brought each of them light. Their eyes are turned on and they build my pyramids.
Their eyes shut off and they sleep. This is your life now. Will you help me build my pyramids?'' he snickered.
What if I refuse?
`` Then you will still build my pyramids. Only, you will build them in the dark.''
I peered out into the city again, heard the wailing come from below. Beatrice and Ki11m0u5e both had a smile on their face. I saw an unfamiliar shimmer in their eyes. They were real, not implants like the rest of the world. In fact, all of the children in the city had the gleaming shimmer of natural eyes and they now ruled over it.
What choice did I have... ki11m0u5e could shut off my eyes at any second and leave me helpless in the dark again. I punched ki11m0u5e as hard as I could. He dropped to the floor instantly. Beatrice froze in terror. I turned to the computers and began to unplug every cord and shatter every screen before everything went dark again.
`` You had a choice old man. I guess you wanted to push blocks in the dark.''
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[ IP ] She was smiling then as the house burned , she 's laughing now ( Disaster Girl meme )
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β Hello, Maisie. β
β Good morning, Dr Bottlawine. β
β Good morning indeed, β he says and looks out of the window into the garden. There is my favourite tree there. It β s a willow. It sways. Like none of the other trees, it sways. I like the way the willow sways. Dr Bottlawine sits on the edge of my bed.
He rustles some papers the way he usually rustles them in the morning and looks over them the way he usually does while rustling them in the morning. He has a lot of papers and the way he moves them around makes him look important. People look important when they move papers from place to place.
β Did you sleep tonight? β
β I did, I did. β
β Good, β he says, β excellent. I think it has done you the world of good. β
β I feel well. β
β You look well, you do. I think you are getting used to being with us. It was about time, too. β
He puts his papers down and picks up a clipboard and clicks a pen. Then he looks at me. Says nothing, just smiles.
β Yes, I slept tonight, β I say. There is a mug on the bedside table, there is a cobweb above the clock above the door, there is a spoon on the floor.
β I am happy you slept, I am. Sorry if I β m saying too much but you do seem a little calmer than you did before now. β
β I had a dream. It was a nice dream. β
β A dream. A nice dream. That is great. I am happy you had a nice dream. β
β Yes, I had a nice dream. I was building a cabin. β
β A cabin, hello. β
β A cabin. A wood and phosphorus cabin. β
β Wood and phosphorus. Good. I don β t know much about building cabins, sorry. What does a wood and phosphorus cabin look like? β
He smiles like a curious child I saw 47 days ago. It was a boy and he had an ice-cream and he had a t-shirt and he had fluffy hair. The boy approached me and said, β Are you a secretary? β and he smiled in the way that Dr Bottlawine is smiling now. And then he said, β You are stretching your fingers, I noticed that. You are a secretary. They type a lot and need to stretch their fingers or they β ll hurt. You are opening and closing your hands the way my aunt does and she β s a secretary. β I said, β Whoongh, β and went away.
β It was a small cabin, β I explain, β it was like a model cabin. A cabinling. Ein Kabinchen. I was making a model cabin of sorts out of wood and phosphorus. In the dream. I was making the cabin in the dream. β
β Maisie, that is fascinating. Can you tell me how you bind the materials together? Wood and phosphorus? Forgive me, I am no civil engineer but I am curious. β
β Yes. I used prefabricated units. They were tiny wooden beams. Tiny, bloody minuscule, with one end dipped in a mixture which had by then hardened and it contained phosphorus. The mixture was just on one end of the beams and it was necessary because it helped the general effort. β
β Oh, that is clever. Tell me, though, this hardened mixture. Is it a stable mixture, does it stand up to, say, friction? β
β Oh, you must be careful. The mixture is unstable and combusts, yes, combusts, yes, combusts at higher temperatures. But it was necessary for it to be there. It was necessary. It had to be there to aid the general effort. β
β Here β s a thought, β he giggles, β they quite remind me of matches. β
β Mhehehe, matches, yes, hehe, matches, yes, I guess they were a bit like matches, yeah, quite a bit like matches. β
Wheeeee.
β Their being matches, β Dr Bottlawine continues, β is their being matches important for the general effort? β
β Mwhaahahahaaa, matches. Yes, matches. Yes. I don β t know. The general effort, matches, hehe. β
β Ha, matches, yes. Jolly good. β
β Heh, yes, general effort. I liked that dream. I like dreams like that one. They make me feel better. I don β t feel like a secretary when I dream about the general effort. β
β Maisie, I thank you. It is time for your breakfast now, thank you very much, I will see you again tomorrow, OK? β
β OK. See you, Dr Bottlawine. β
β I β ll be looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Enjoy your breakfast. β
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[ WP ] Every once in a while , the king likes to test the loyalty of his guards
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And who,
Among all of you,
Is Loyal?
The king
demanded
his voice
thundering
through the halls.
`` It is I''
said the Brave
speaking first and
stepping
before the king.
`` I will go
to the end of the earth
if you so wish''
said the Brave.
`` No''
Said the Strong
`` It is I
Who is most loyal
of all the knights.
I will fight the darkness
to serve your light''
The next
to speak
was the Chivalrous
Standing tall
Among men
`` I am most loyal
My liege
I will protect your kingdom
Until I breathe no more''
The king nodded
at his men
and told them
to prove their worth.
And so
the three knights rode off
Ready to journey
To the end of the earth
Ready to fight
Against the creeping darkness
Ready to die
For their king.
And so they did.
`` And who,
Among all of you,
Is loyal?''
The king demanded.
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[ WP ] You wake up in an underground cavern with one other person . It is pitch black , and there is no apparent way out . The other person is a mute .
|
My heads aches as I roll over on the ground. I suddenly regain feeling and open my eyes to see that I β m lying on rocks. I cough and try to stand up slowly gripping the walls for support due to my massive headache. It aches so horribly that I feel as if the world is spinning and I vomit. I hear something scurrying on the other side of the room in the darkness.
A young man steps into a small center of light near a half dead lantern. He is quiet with a suspicious look on his face.
β Did you do this?! β I shout as I try to walk towards him.
He shakes his head no and I trip over something and fall to the rocky floor helplessly. After a minute, he comes over and offers a hand. He helps me up and I grip his shoulder for balance. He has some muscles but is still very thin.
β Why aren β t you saying anything? β I ask wondering why on Earth anyone would be down here. It is pitch dark save for a small circle of light near the lantern and so extremely humid that it is hard to breathe. He gestures to his throat and I shake my head confused.
β I don β t want to play charades! Why am I down here?! β I yell pushing him back into a rocky wall.
He rolls his eyes and coughs. There is something strange about his cough though; as if it were missing something. He gestures to his throat again and so I push him a little harder.
β What are you a coward or a mute?! β I shout picking up a rock and pretending I β m going to throw it at him.
He puts his hands up defensively and nods profusely. I look at him confused and drop my rock.
β You β re a mute? β I ask quietly.
He nods with an annoyed look on his face and I put my hands over my mouth. I begin to apologize profusely and he seems to chuckle.
β My name is Tally, β I say sticking my hand out for a handshake. He smiles and shakes it as I awkwardly wonder how he β ll tell me his name. He looks around awkwardly too trying to figure it out and then sits down in the dirt with the small lantern. I follow and watch as he begins to etch his name in the dirt.
β Bruce? β I ask attempting to read the dirt as the lantern flickers hopelessly.
He nods and wipes his hands on his denim jeans. When I stand up I begin to feel dizzy again and he grabs me before I fall.
β What is wrong with me? β I ask rhetorically burying my face in my hands as an attempt to stop the constant spinning.
Bruce puts his hand on my back and sits next to me patiently. After a few minutes, he coughs and so I look up; he is just fidgeting with our nearly dead lantern.
β Do you know why we β re here Bruce? β I ask weakly as he plays with the lantern.
He shakes his head no and coughs again. I gasp as he nearly drops our lantern and so I take it and place it on a wooden shelf in the small room. I look at the shelf confused and take a look around the rest of the room. There were no doors or windows; just a long wooden counter like a bar and a few wooden shelves along with a few benches. Bruce lies down on the bench and covers his eyes so I walk over to him for further interrogation.
β What is the last thing you remember? β I ask sitting in the dirt next to him.
He looks at me with a smile and points to his throat again.
I groan and insist, β Charades it! We need to figure out why we β re here and get out! β
He rolls his eyes and thinks for a minute. He then mimes eating and drinking and so I jump up in excitement.
β I was eating too! I was on a date! β I shout bouncing in place.
He nods perplexed and then looks at me curiously as if he wants to ask something but he sighs knowing that he is incapable.
β Were you able to talk before you got down here? β I ask scared of what his answer would be.
He chuckles again and shakes his head no; at least we weren β t dealing with some sadistic saw villain here.
β How do we get out? β I ask surveying the room again hoping a door would pop up.
Bruce shrugs and I can see fear in his eyes; as scared as I was, he must be terrified considering he couldn β t even communicate.
β Do you think we β ll die from lack of oxygen or do you think whoever brought us down here will come back to finish us off? β I ask imagining both scenarios in my head and getting equally terrified from each one.
Bruce shakes his head no and grabs my hand tightly. He kisses it and smiles at me making me chuckle. Although the situation was terrible, it was nice that he was trying to be a gentleman.
I take a deep breath and try to clear all the pessimistic thoughts from my head. Bruce seems to be in a state of meditation with his eyes closed so I tap his shoulder.
β Bruce, what if we starve or die of thirst? β I ask unable to achieve the same clarity and level of peace.
He takes my hand and leads me behind the counter. Under the counter, there are milk gallons labelled, β Water β with duct tape. I nod although my mind wonders if the water is clean and drinkable in all the gallons.
Bruce sits down again so I follow him. I begin to ask another question but he lightly puts his hand over my mouth with a smile. I look quietly at him as he goes back into his meditation and then glance around the room. Bruce is right, voicing my fears isn β t getting us anywhere and there are no obvious exits. Our best bet is to remain calm and take things as they come. I sigh and try to breathe deeply but my mind can β t stop wandering to Bruce. I am completely filthy with dirt covering my entire outfit and yet he still seems to be decent; Is Bruce lying to me?
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[ WP ] You accidentally begin World War 3
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It β s funny how something so small and insignificant can trigger change. Two minutes too long in the shower and you may miss meeting that special someone while waiting for your latte, if you believe in that sort of thing. Sneezing when you have cold or virus and transferring your illness to others who immune system is not up to par and could very well take their life. The surfer who doesn β t notice the tide has pulled him too far from the shore and only notices when the grey slick fin of a shark breaks the surface nearby. Or like when you forget to maintenance your brakes on your vehicle ( despite everyone insisting you do to stop that horrid squealing ) and they go out in the wild of rush hour traffic in mid Atlanta and you slam into the back of a black Cadillac.
A normal traffic incident, only it β s not.
This black Cadillac was carrying a very nasty virus and en route to the CDC. I didn β t know that of course and many religious freaks around the world believe it was destiny ( if you believe in that sort of thing ) that my shitty Honda accord struck the vehicle and released the virus destroying half of the earth β s population. Not sure which country they blamed it on and who dropped bombs on who first. Honestly, not my problem anymore as I lay crumpled over my steering wheel, neck broken thinking β Damn, I should have gotten my brakes fixed β
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[ WP ] Write the scariest monologue you can possibly think of . Must be original .
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`` The horse is real, real beautiful. Big black mane, brown fur... I start with the mane. Just a haircut. Little tufts of fur floating to the ground. You got ta do it slow-like. Eventually I get down to the skin, and the shit begins. I keep shearing the horse until it's raw, and there are clumps of horse hair and flesh all over the floor. Then I arch my knife into it's stomach and drain the horse's lunch out into a bucket, and I eat it. I always eat it. It does n't taste good, but I got ta eat it. What else could I do? Like vomit, but worse because it's horse food. But I eat it anyway.
The horse looks at me with these sad doe eyes and whines lightly. It does n't kick, I gave it something for that earlier. They always look at me like that, that's why I do the eyes next. Then the ears, the snout, the tail, the nads... Always in that order. If you do the snout before the ears the whole thing is ruined. I learned that one the hard way. Then I thank the horse and I plunge my dagger right into it's heart, and I'm onto the next town.''
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[ WP ] You possess the very rare quality of being able to survive anywhere . Scientists have decided to send you into a black hole and , because you 're a badass , you agree .
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`` For someone who survived 52 stab wounds, 2 swims in lava, and a beating by the Cobras, you're a scrawny thing, are n't you?''
I tore the papers from his hands, scowling. After blindly signing 125 pages of legalese, I was sitting in the space pod. Scientists flitted to and fro, and my wife waved to me with a huge, stupid grin on her face. She's hoping this'll finally do me in.
( I actually do n't blame her. She married 30 years her senior for the money, before realizing that I do n't actually die. Meanwhile, I got some incredible, mindblowing, heart-racing s --
VRRRRRRRRM.
Everyone shrunk to the size of ants in a second, and I was rocketing through space. Earth was now a pinprick of bluish green, and the sky was a blur of black and darker black. In minutes I was hurtling towards the black hole, which was even darker black -- no, just kidding. The controls flashed, telling me that I was getting close.
I could feel the pressure increasing, like when I've eaten too much but I still want dessert. Or the time I was in a head-on collision with a truck. The spaceship began to stretch and pull around me, screws popping and flying every which way. Slices of black appeared through the tears in the metal.
Wait.
If the pod is destroyed, how will I get back?
I could no longer breathe, and the pressure was building from all sides. My limbs were stiff, and all I could see was black. I ( mentally ) took a deep breath, and tried to think clearly: I wo n't die. I'm not going to die. I will not die.
Can I leave, though? I can barely wiggle my toes, now. No, they must have had a plan. Maybe I'll be rescued. Yeah, they ca n't just forget about me. But if anyone got to where I am, they'd be dead first. Their ship would be destroyed! Oh, no, no...
Shit. I should've read those papers I signed.
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[ WP ] `` Yes , I 'm afraid . I 've been afraid all my life . ''
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`` I am faced with eternity. An ever expanding darkness, that consumes reality, *becomes* reality.
That darkness would swallow me, if it could.''
The halls of the abandoned place seem to shake with my prey's voice. He booms out his words, hoping that the sound might be thrown, that the echoes might lead me astray.
He is wrong.
`` Yes, I'm afraid. I've been afraid all my life. Is this meant as a revelation?
A dig at me?
Or are you just...
Trying to keep me talking?''
His words are tapering off now, his megaphone voice faded to a whisper. It does n't matter. I know where he's going.
My solid shoes slap the wet stone as I jog after the last echoes of that voice, the only sound in the abandoned place my prey calls a home. I call it an abandoned place- I can think of nothing better to call it.
It is some reservoir, some empty concrete ruin, a cold dark place where this story ends. Where all of these stories seem to end. A place void of comfort, that draws in people with tainted hearts.
I grip my pistol tighter, suck in the cool air, and sink deeper into the lair.
`` This is how it ends, for one of us. It really is n't fair.
I'm sick.
Disturbed.
I just want to be alone.''
The murderer's voice is ever quieter, a whisper that barely reaches my ears.
For an instant he is over my shoulder, breathing those words an inch away from my head. But the breeze passes, a chill runs down my spine, and I begin to sprint to the drumming shout of my prey, angry and so very afraid.
`` **This is my *home*! What right do you have? **
**What makes you better!?!? What makes me evil, when I gun down a *fucking whore*, and you a hero for shooting someone with a mental fucking condition! **''
I round the next corner, and I catch his eyes.
Blue gems, flecked with white. Pupils spread open, shining in the low light of dusk. Red veins seem to leak into the white, bloodshot and glossed over.
He panics at my sight. There are no words.
His hands pull something up to shoulder, a shotgun, or a rifle, but his chest is already exploding in red droplets.
The gunshots blur into one blow-horn of sound punctuated with the clink of the cartridges on the ground. My foe slips back, hands empty now. His eyes stare blank ahead, filling with blood that mingles in with the many corpses he has brought to this room.
`` I was afraid''
I take a step closer, pull the shotgun from the ground, and cock at a head at the pile of bodies to hear the butcher's final words.
`` I was always afraid.''
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[ WP ] ( drops weapon ) `` Shit . I just realized something . '' `` What ? '' `` We 're the bad guys ... .. ''
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They asked first that he renounce the revision of property titles in order to get back the support of the Liberal landowners. They asked, secondly, that he renounce the fight against clerical influence in order to obtain the support of the Catholic masses. They asked, finally, that he renounce the aim of equal rights for natural and illegitimate children in order to preserve the integrity of the home.
β That means,'' Colonel Aureliano BuendΓa said, smiling when the reading was over, β that all we β re fighting for is power.''
β They β re tactical changes,'' one of the delegates replied. β Right now the main thing is to broaden the popular base of the war. Then we β ll have another look.''
One of Colonel Aureliano BuendΓa β s political advisers hastened to intervene.
β It β s a contradiction,'' he said. β If these changes are good, it means that the Conservative regime is good. If we succeed in broadening the popular base of the war with them, as you people say, it means that the regime has a broad popular base. It means, in short, that for almost twenty years we β ve been fighting against the sentiments of the nation.''
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[ WP ] A ghost re-reading his or her own suicide note .
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Tens and tens of wispy figures
creep down into the shed
Chattering like magpies
though all of them were dead.
Clutching scraps of paper
in ethereal hands;
the time was come to gather near
into the shadow lands.
One by one they stop and sit
and tell the tales of old
Laughing, at the same old things
repeatedly retold.
But someone new would come today
And there she would sit.
Upon the alabaster stool
for those who recently quit.
For it was a rite of passage
in this ghastly hall
the newly dead would read aloud
and share their tale with all.
`` a suicide!'' some ghosts would rasp
`` murder, and disease!''
Ensuring all their fellows
get the closure they so need.
One by one, the veteran dead
took their turn to spell
and everybody sat entranced
at the stories they would tell.
then at the last, the newcomer stood
paper clutched in hand,
the scent of brand new stationery
wafted through the lands
She looked up and smiled
into the ghastly crowd
and in a strong and confident voice
began to read aloud.
`` I can no longer be with you.
It's not where I belong.
It is n't anything you all did,
It's me that is n't strong.
Just remember when you think of me
the things you say and do
can affect others in different ways
Think of someone else but you.
Your joke, it is n't funny.
Your humour needs a tune.
You may think I'm a coward;
I think you're a loon.
By the time you find me,
I'll be in death's warm embrace.
And I'll stand proud on the other side --
I'll be in a better place.''
And with that, she skipped sprightly,
as only a ghost can do
now that she knows the choice was hers
the torture is now through.
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[ WP ] After chatting with your online Korean friend , who you often game with , he invites you to visit him in his home country , which he always refers to as `` Best Korea '' . You think he 's joking around , but when you get a flight confirmation , you learn that your friend is actually Kim Jong-un .
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`` Last one at A-Site!'' my friend called out -- it was down to me to clutch the round and defuse the bomb to secure the win. The score was almost even tied 15-14, I was thinking it would be terrible to settle for a tie after such a long game.
`` You hear him step! He's at Quad!'' My focus returned, I tightened my grip on the mouse, and swung in the direction. I inched closer with the red shipping container by my side. Quickly baiting the defuse, I popped off a clean kill and stuck the defuse. The bomb ticked down to the very last second.
`` No way, awesome ~ awesome! Nice, very smart!'' I swung my knife around in-game basking in the worship by my friend.
I spoke up breaking my silence, `` Haha wow that was really tense, I'm sweating.''
`` I thought I was only one, our teammates are very bad.'' He further confirmed what I was thinking.
`` Well dude, that does it for me. I'm getting off while we're still on a winning streak.''
`` That's fair, I'll meet you online tomorrow I have surprise!'' he responded in a casual tone.
`` Sounds good dude, peace!'' I'd spoken as I seemingly rushed out of the voice-channel.
I stood up while both yawning and stretching. I had just played back-to-back matches winning each one.
`` What a day!'' I said to myself as I stumbled into bed. Feeling pretty satisfied it was pretty easy to drift asleep.
I heard the morning birds, and I naturally woke up without a formal clock. I cooked breakfast, something to get my day started. And I felt a vibration coming from my pocket.
I pulled out my phone and saw an email reading, `` Flight Plan Confirmination.'' I expected it to be some sort of spam. Right at the same time `` Steam Chat'' notification popped up.
`` ~ Lightning: Did you get email?''
`` Honor: Was that you? Why did you buy me a plane ticket?''
`` ~ Lightning: It's the surprise! I have bought ticket so you can come visit.''
`` Honor: Wow haha, dude you're crazy. But I might be crazier to actually consider this.''
`` ~ Lightning: Money is no issue, my family pass down inheritance.''
`` Honor: I'll take your word for it.''
`` ~ Lightning: So I'll see you soon?''
`` Honor: Yea, dude LAN party!''
`` ~ Lightning: I have few other people coming too, very fun!''
`` Honor: When is the flight exactly?'' I asked anyway, then just clicking on the email notification.
`` ~ Lightning: Thirty minutes from now.'' I almost spit my coffee when realizing how sudden everything was happening.
I packed a few things and rushed to my local airport.
`` Honor?'' A flight attendant asked as I entered through the front entrance.
`` Uhh... yes?'' I answered unexpectedly.
`` Right this way sir.'' she voiced as she motioned a direction.
Two other gentleman pulled up behind me and grabbed my rolling suitcase.
`` You must be very important to know Mr. Park.''
`` I guess.'' I let out a little chuckle. I figured this must be `` Lightning's'' real name.
I turned a corner and expected to see some sort of check-in desk, but was met with a door that led outside to a very expensive looking jet.
I immediately spoke up, `` Do n't you guys need to see my passport?''
She responded very delicately, `` Mr. Park likes to do things a little privately.''
I gulped and boarded the jet, essentially passing every piece of security. The plane was very empty with leather seating, everything looked exquisite. I took a seat and opened up the plane confirmation email to find any details I missed.
`` [ REDACTED ] flying to South Korea, Seoul. 9:30 AM flight.'' I re-read as I tried to release any doubts.
The flight did n't feel that long, I shortly landed to a beautiful view that led to a huge airstrip. After landing, the pilot stepped outside the cockpit.
`` Sir, welcome to North Korea.'' He popped the door open, releasing the stairs.
`` North Korea?! I think there is some sort of mistake..''
He interrupted, `` Mr. Park is a very private man, well, at-least on paper.''
I got up and walked toward the door frame, with the sunlight directly blinding me. When I reached the bottom of the steps, I had finally adapted to the light and noticed the crowd in front of me. A man in a plain-black trench coat with what looked like a military escort around him.
`` Honor!!! Welcome to my country!'' I stepped out and saw Kim Jong-un staring at me.
Time felt distorted, I froze for what felt like minutes.
`` Honor?!'' He said breaking my daze.
`` Lightning?''
`` Yes, yes, very good to see you!''
I started thinking about the last few years, all the moments that led up to this exact day. I knew Lightning was Korean, he had told me multiple times. I had just assumed South Korean, I never really asked. Have I really been talking to Kim Jong-un this entire time?
`` Come this way, it's time.'' His words echoed in my head. `` We ca n't keep everyone waiting.'' Who would be waiting? I need to run.
My legs would n't move, cold sweats started to form around my shoulders.
`` Sir!'' A guard moved up taking my luggage from the pilot by my side.
I did n't know what to do. I did what they said. I followed. Eight - no, twelve - fully armed guards around me, leading me into a distant warehouse.
My knees started to feel weak as we entered through a small entrance that led to a darkened room.
`` Surprise!'' Kim Jong-un cheered running up to the front of the escort line.
The room opened up to hundreds of tables with computers on them, each with a perfected space between the other. Several people taking up at-least half of the room.
`` This is..!'' I must have muttered out loud.
`` Exactly! I invited professional player from all over the world!''
We immediately got down to business sitting and playing for what felt likes hours, it was so much fun. We played captain-mode with banning and picking -- was a fantastic time even though I did n't win a single game against the pros.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
^^^^Bet ^^^^you ^^^^all ^^^^thought ^^^^this ^^^^was ^^^^going ^^^^to ^^^^be ^^^^a ^^^^dark ^^^^story.. ^^^^: |
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[ WP ] When you die , Death appears and challenges you to a game of your choice . The prize ? The chance to open your eyes again and keep going until you face Her again . This can be done multiple times .
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THIS IS A STUPID GAME
`` Yes,'' I shrugged, `` but you said'any game' and you ca n't blame me if you suck at it.''
`` GUESS WHAT NUMBER I AM THINKING OF'' HARDLY QUALIFIES AS A GAME
`` But it's the one I picked. Your rules, not mine.''
NINETEEN MILLION, TWO HUNDRED SIXTY-SEVEN THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED NINETY THREE.
`` No.''
YOU'D BETTER NOT BE CHEATING
`` I can cheat?''
NO
`` Really?''
A sigh. Death sighed. The faceless abyss of eternity yawned before me, its maw devouring every king, prophet, warrior, emperor, pauper, and explorer who had ever lived and from its unfathomable depths came a sound of profound disappointment.
NO
`` You're kidding. Guess again''
ELEVEN BILLION, FOUR MILLION, SIX
`` Nope. Again,'' I chortled
FORTY TWO
`` Was that... was that a joke? Did you, death, just make a joke? You're adorable.''
I HATE YOU
`` Ok, ok... I'm thinking of the number'Nineteen.' Now guess''
NINETEEN
`` Wrong again!''
NO. IT WAS NINETEEN.
`` No, I said you were wrong.''
YOU CHEATED
`` But you said...''
I LIED.
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[ WP ] Karma is a real currency monitored by the government . It can only be earned through `` good deeds '' like volunteering and can only be spent on `` bad deeds '' in court to excuse a conviction . It can never be traded , bought , sold , invested , loaned , etc .
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Karma ca n't be bought. At least that's what the government wants you to believe. The truth on the otherhand, is much more interesting.
I run the Karma Mafia, a criminal syndicate that sells karma. How we do it is simple; I'm also the Secretary of Karma. I make the transfers and cover it up, and I've made millions doing it so far.
Knock knock knock. `` Come in.''
My assistant, Deputy Secretary Allison Smith, entered my office.
`` Mr. Secretary, here's your weekly report.''
`` Thank you Allison; just leave it on my desk.''
As she left I picked up the folder and scanned the report. For months now I have had a sneaking suspicion someone else in the department is selling karma. If only I could find evidence.
`` Here it is!'' I thought to myself. `` An extra one million karma in the account of one of the biggest drug dealers in the country. Now just to figure out who's doing it.
When I saw who it was I was shocked. They were one of my most trusted confidants and closest friends. Oh well, business was business; they had to die.
That night I loaded my gun and left the house. I had plenty of karma, I'd made sure of that. Now to do the most difficult thing I'd ever done.
I knocked on the front door of the house and waited. Allison opened the door.
`` Mr. Secretary, what can I do for you?''
I pulled the glock from my jacket pocket and said, `` You can go to hell, bitch.'' I pulled the trigger and watched her crumple to the floor with a look of shock on her face.
As she took her last breaths I looked at her sadly and said, `` It was nothing personal, Allison, just business.''
Edit: hit send too early
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[ WP ] Your character has an unchecked but useful power .
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( This was all written in one piece without any editing, so I hope it is an enjoyable read regardless of the fact. )
It's always been there, a kind of sense that I knew what others were feeling, what they were thinking.
Since I was an infant, at least I think since I was an infant; I've been able to sense what others are feeling, what they want, what they need.
I knew nobody else could do this, because if they did, would they not have soothed my babysitter when she was contemplating suicide? Would they not have stopped that man walking to a cold bedroom, a warm bath and a utility razor?
Would they not have helped the woman that was limping down the street, afraid of anyone knowing she had been raped last night?
No, nobody else could do what I could.
When I was a small child, around five or so, all I could feel was their emotions, their moods; their aura if you will.
Sad? Angry? Lonely? Lovestruck? I grew to know them all, and more besides.
Intimately, at least as far as others knew them.
When I was ten I could sense what they were thinking, more of what they needed, and what they thought they needed.
It helped me make friends, it helped me know secrets, and by god it helped me in class; nothing is quite as easy as plucking the knowledge from your teachers head when he asks a question, or digging it out when he made the test last night.
I started having migraines when I was 15, and it was even easier to know what everyone was thinking, what they were about to think even!
I could hear it all, oh gods I could hear them all, whispering... buzzing... screaming...
I started spending more time alone in my room, it was easier to ignore the headaches then.
I got a girlfriend, I got laid, I got a group of friends only to discard them all when I grew tired of them.
I knew whatever they were going to say, and for a while it brought me some pleasure to be perfect in the eyes of everyone.
After that it was more fun to be the worst person they could ever imagine, a stinging comment here, another there, and their greatest secret in a stage whisper when they were at their lowest.
It's amazing what you can do with that power. With a little imagination there really is n't anything you ca n't.
I left home and lived in luxury for a few years.
My... Talent continued to grow with me though, after a while I could n't stop who I heard no matter what I did, and I could see their lives flashing in front of my eyes.
Hundreds of lives, thousands of lives, sorrow, joy, bliss, love, loss, despair, death.. so much death..
Every second of every day, lives flashing before my eyes, I can not stand it, the images burn like unbound stars, they sear my mind like hot irons and makes it shatter like glass...
*Kings Park Psychiatric Center, August 15, 1994*
*John Doe, 22y/o*
*Unknown Condition*
*The patient appears to be in a persistent and pseudo-fugue state, he sits quietly on his bed with his back against the wall staring into space for hours on end before falling asleep at irregular intervals, let it be noted that he keeps tilting his head to the right and staring into space when someone appears outside the door, even if there is no way for him to see them. *
*The patient does in fact talk, but only in a murmur and never at an audiable level. *
*He only displays this behaviour when someone is in the room with him. *
*After recording and inspecting the tapes the patient appears to be talking about completely random things with no relation himself, and it varies by whoever is in the room with him at the time. *
*At meal time today he displayed singular and unusual behavious as the nurse delivered his meal. *
*He looked her straight in the eye and tilted his head to the side before speaking loudly and clearly, recounting a fight she had with her husband before she left for work this morning ( this was confirmed by the nurse in question ), it was rigorously detailed and contained information that he should not under any circumstances have been able to obtain. *
.
*Kings Park Psychiatric Center, February 5, 1995*
*John Doe, 22y/o*
*Unknown Condition*
*Deceased*
*The patient started displaying symptoms of extreme discomfort at around 11:00 this morning and it appears to have continued to increase exponentially. *
*At 15:17 this afternoon the patient was declared dead from a cerebro-vascular rupture in the parietal lobe. *
*The subject is to undergo autopsy to determine further details at the county hospital. *
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[ CW ] Write the first and last paragraph of a story and make me want to know what happened in between .
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A matchbox, scissors, a pencil and a blank sheet of paper is all Detective Anna Banks can find near the body of news mogul Sean Reagan. Not one clue as to why he committed such a selfish act. She looks at her colleagues, working like small ants in an anthill, smiles and leaves the crime scene.
The man leans over her, his greasy hair barely touching her forehead. Breathing hard, he tightens the ropes around her legs and arms. `` You thought you were the only one who could destroy someone? You thought you had it all figured out?'' Once again leaning over her, he makes sure the only thing she sees is the barrel of his gun, and whispers to her: `` Well, guess what? You were wrong.'' He aims, and fires.
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[ WP ] Nicolas Cage runs for president and gets elected . His hidden agenda was to finally get the declaration of Independence
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β Now, what are we gon na do?! β Nicolas Cage screamed out to the mass of supporters at his inauguration, from his podium on Capitol Hill.
β LESS SECURITY GUARDS AND REGULATION AT MUSEUMS AND HISTORICAL SIGHTS! β the masses chanted back fervently, an uncoordinated cacophony of voices ending at different times. It had been the rallying cry of the Cage for President movement, and now, before hundreds of thousands, the dream was finally becoming realized. They had said he would never make it to the White House, but he had proven them all wrong, taking down practiced politicians and savvy opponents like a tidal wave sweeping through houses made of plywood and duct tape. The Cage Movement was unstoppable.
β That's right! β Nicolas yelled back emphatically. β For too long, these dredges on society have drained us of our taxes. They told us that we could n't touch the glass in front of the ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs. They asked us not to step across the guard rail to get a better look at Plymouth Rock. They firmly escorted us to the back room for questioning when we stuck our tongues on one of John Hancock's lesser known silver spoons. Now, we tell them forcefully to get the hell out of our National Exhibits and stop wasting our money! β
The crowd roared. β History should be felt, not observed behind three feet of solid plexiglass and motion sensors!'' he continued. `` We need to experience the past....With our hands! β He held out his right and wiggled his fingers around hypnotically.
Towards the back of the crowd, an old lady dabbed a tear from her cheek. Finally, she had found her champion; a president that would bring real change. She had never known the dangers of security guards until Nicolas had shown her their detriment on this country, but now that she was aware, she would no longer be played for a god-damned fool. Today marked the day that she would finally stop being an oppressed, museum-visiting woman.
Nicolas Cage looked out over the roaring crowd, now working itself into a frenzy. He paused, beaming, waiting patiently for the noise to subside. `` Today, to demonstrate my commitment to my cause, I will visit the National Archives, with no Security Guards allowed!'' His voice echoed across the lawn, to gasps from the crowd. `` Then, as soon as I am finished, I will open it up to the public, under the same pretenses! β
People were going ballistic. Today, history had been made. The people loved this new America.
Nicolas flashed his famous smile that had become so renowned over the course of his storied, 5,321 movie career. *And to think we made it look so difficult in National Treasure, * he thought smugly.
***
Writing Subreddit: /r/ghost_write_the_whip
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[ WP ] A 21st century soldier accidentally shoots a comrade in a tragic blue on blue incident
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Things like this are not supposed to happen anymore. There are protocols, safety measures. Deaths by friendly fire are supposed to be impossible. True, no system is perfect, but I never thought that I would prove to be the exception. He was my teammate, my brother-in-arms, my best friend.
After the court-marshal and and official investigation ruled the incident an accidental slaying I obtained my mental-health discharge and went back home. The first thing I did was track down his old girlfriend. I just needed a chance to explain.
So here we are, in a chain coffee-shop sipping lattes that have gone cold as we try to make conversation.
`` I'm so sorry. I do n't expect you to forgive me. I know that I can never make it right. I just thought that you deserved to know what happened and hear my apology face-to-face.''
`` Tell me, did he say anything to you... before he passed?''
`` He said,'You team-killing fucktard.'''
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[ WP ] You came to cure the plague , but you WERE the plague
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There it was. New San Francisco. As I gazed listlessly across a gutted Daly City, with its haunting sea of empty buildings, a memorial to a dying humanity, I paused in amazement of New San Francisco. There it was. Buildings edging their way higher and higher into the sky, like some industrial Job, with arms desperately reaching into the heavens for supplication. A massive series of walls surrounded the southern border of the city, a torn down Golden Gate and Bay Bridge creating a natural barrier to the north and east. San Francisco in 2032 had became a modern Noah's arc. But it was n't always like this.
When the Plague struck America in the spring of 2022, people in the cities were naturally most heavily affected. Thousands of sick flooded the hospitals, with black boils bursting from their bodies, blood and puss gushing from every orifice. Fortunately, some cities reacted with studious calculation. Some cities, like San Francisco, discovered the most efficient ways to segregate plague victims outside of city centers. And what better place than the tech capital of America? With the immigration of Silicon Valley's best and brightest to San Francisco, these mathematical minds devised a series of walls in a Minas Tirith-like style, to serve both the practical purpose of protecting the uncontaminated inside, while serving a humanitarian purpose by allowing a series of tests to be conducted at the entrance to each wall ( psychological interrogation at Gate 1, skin test at Gate 2, blood test at Gate 3 ), to insure that the uninfected seeking asylum there can survive in this new home for humanity.
New Vegas sent me to New San Francisco. A scientist in New Vegas had discovered a potential vaccine to the Plague, but because the city only had an emergency reserve of water remaining, a pioneer had to venture out of the city's massive walls to find an ally in this existential struggle against the Plague. Of course, when the Plague struck, the country's infrastructure collapsed, and both the Internet and radio waves went silent like a funeral party paying homage to the dead. So, while deliberate city planning saved my hometown of Las Vegas, we had no idea who else made it. The Council of New Vegas had decided that San Francisco was the most likely city to have emerged through the rubble of the Plague, and the only city with the brains to conduct the final research necessary to finalize this vaccine. And so I drove straight there in my Hummer, haunted by the question, What if San Francisco was n't there? I only had gasoline for a one-way trip. The remaining gas was needed the keep New Vegas' generators alive. We had only one desperate shot to find help, and how fitting it was for me, a former professional poker player, to gamble in this hunt for life.
My God, what a sight it was driving through the Nevada desert, through the Mojave, over the Sierra Nevada, across the San Joaquin Valley. This was a Rapture that stole the lives of billions, yet the Earth gave no indication of this loss. This was no apocalyptical wasteland out of a Cormac McCarthy novel. Perhaps, if the Earth was pockmarked and scarred, visibly altered as from a nuclear blast, perhaps then my mind would feel at ease. The barren loneliness I'd feel would be commensurate with the barrenness of the landscape. But no. What made things more unsettling was that, physically, nothing had changed. Driving through California's Central Valley in February, the grass was green, trees danced with a morning dew, birds zigzagged in the sky above. The only thing altered was a sense of total desertion by your fellow men and women. In 2022, the Earth gave her cue: human beings, please exit stage left. We followed her cryptic directions like amateur actors trying to please their director.
When I walked through the gates of New San Francisco, I underwent a series of tests. First were the interrogations requiring my origin story, where I was from, how I came about to end up in New San Francisco, if I was exposed to anybody with Plague. Then came the epidural tests to examine if any pores on my skin were inflamed, the telltale sign of Plague. Lastly came the blood tests, to make sure that my white blood cell count was normative. I passed all three stages. I was welcomed as the first new entry in four years, and celebrated as the first outsider to arrive from another asylum city in six years.
Upon entering New San Francisco, I was immediately thunderstruck. New San Francisco was a testament to the survival not just of people, but of a way of life. Other than the addition of newer skyscrapers to accommodate the influx of hordes of California's survivors, everything looked the same. Sharp angled streets flanked with Victorian houses. Storefronts with Starbucks and Whole Foods ( which, you may find silly, but do n't underestimate humanity's love for the familiar, especially in a time as traumatic and historic as this one ). Here in New San Francisco, I became introduced to the city's directors, which, unsurprisingly, consisted of the Bay Area's tech leaders. Tim Cook. Mike Zuckerberg. Sundar Pichai. Elon Musk. I was amazed at the research they were conducting. Water purification. A renewable energy grid. Preparation for a future expedition to find survivors. And, naturally, there were more than tickled to discover that I brought with me the potential vaccine to immunize Earth's survivors, and revive humanity's numbers.
...
As I sit here atop the Transamerica Pyramid, like a modern day Rapunzel vainly hoping for a Prince to save me, my eyes scanning the horizon of a forlorn city, all I can do is weep. New San Francisco lies before me, emptied of its once thriving population. How did this happen? I was a special case. I was a carrier, yet showed no signs of infection. The virus had morphed in my body, and somehow camouflaged itself to resemble my white blood cells. No one knew I harbored the infection in me. And during the month I resided here, I shook hands with thousands of citizens, unbeknownst that my handshake of brotherhood was a kiss of death. New San Francisco became a relic in a matter of four months. It struck in order of who I was exposed to. The wall's guards became sick first. Then the city's leaders. And you know, once you kill the brain, the rest of the body is a goner.
Do you know what it's like to be the catalyst that sends hundreds of thousands to a mass holocaust? Do you know what it's like to be responsible for the death of perhaps the only hope for mankind?
I figured not. Judas sold his soul for thirty shekels of silver. I sold mine with a glimmer of hope. But in the end, I'm no different than Judas. Now leave me alone to die his death.
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[ WP ] As you draw your last breath , you close your eyes , and see two rectangles form . One says , `` Try Again , '' the other , `` Continue '' .
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I'd lived a good life. Idealistic, even. As a young man I'd joined the Service and fought for my country, then come back home lauded as a hero and gone on to run a successful used car dealership for over 30 years. I'd been fair and helped many people who'd been in bad situations. I'd even donated large sums of money to charity.
At the age of 79, with my wife, my children, and my grandchildren gathered around my bedside, I passed away. It was a gentle thing. Effortless, really. A feeling of great tiredness came over me, and I could feel my eyelids begin to droop. I knew this was the moment. I'd done my time here and was about to go on to the next world. The last image I saw was my wife, her face just as beautiful now as it had been 50 years ago even if it had more lines and creases now. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she was smiling. She knew I was about to go, and she was remembering every moment of our amazing lives together. Those same moments began filtering into my mind's eye, and my body grew warm. And then it was black.
But... I was still here. I no longer felt my body, but I knew that I was still me. Had I really died? Was this just a dream, or was this what everyone felt before death? It was n't as if I had any frame of reference. Just as I was beginning to wonder if this was Hell - an eternal blackness with no corporeal form and only my thoughts to keep me company - when words appeared before me.
`` SESSION COMPLETE''
The words hovered before me, easily twenty feet tall and three dimensional. Then two more phrases appeared beneath them:
`` TRY AGAIN''
and
`` CONTINUE''
TRY AGAIN was red, CONTINUE was white. As I shifted my gaze, the colors switched. Then they switched back when I looked back at TRY AGAIN. I knew that I could lock in my choice by confirming it in my mind as I stared at the phrase.
But what to do? What did it mean? If I selected TRY AGAIN, would I be reborn as my same self? If I selected CONTINUE, would I go on to the afterlife, or cease to exist?
The idea of reliving my life over again appealed to me. Even if I had no knowledge of this moment, I'd be able to experience everything again. Every kiss with my wife, every moment watching my children, from taking their first steps to stepping off of the stage at their graduations, every success was at my fingertips again. So were all the bad moments, but I knew I'd been blessed with a life that was weighted far more heavily toward the good moments.
On the other hand, though, I was curious to see what would come next. Was there a God waiting to bestow the knowledge of the universe upon me? Were my loved ones who had died before me just a moment away, or perhaps watching me right now and silently urging me to make the right choice?
No, I could n't go back. As amazing as my life had been, going back just felt wrong. I'd moved forward - onward and upward - my whole life. To go back now would feel like a step backward. Whatever came next, I had to find out for myself. I hovered my gaze over CONTINUE and mentally confirmed the choice. The words faded away, and my perspective instantly grew a thousand fold, as if I was rushing backward at light speed.
Ahead of me, a tiny point of light popped into existence. The sensation of moving backward slowed and stopped, and the point of light grew larger at a steady pace. Soon the point of light glared at me like a furious star, and if I'd had hands they would have been in front of my eyes to block the harshness of it. Distantly, sound like bass began to come into the edges of my awareness. I could n't make out what the sound was, but I knew it was there.
As the light grew brighter and larger, I realized that I was fading away. Memories of my life slipped away from me like water droplets on smooth skin, and I began to forget who I was. Shapes, dull and without clear edges, formed in the pool of light which now consumed me completely. The sounds were becoming sharper and more defined. I knew nothing and could do nothing more than experience the moment. The blackness was gone and the light surrounded me. Images began to clarify in front of me.
`` Congratulations, folks. It's a girl!'' The doctor said, handing the baby over to the woman lying in the bed. Tears and sweat streamed down her face, and she was in more pain than she'd ever experienced, but the moment when she held her daughter for the first time would stand out in her memory forever.
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[ WP ] Turns out God did n't approve the lap-year . We 've been celebrating holidays on wrong days for the last 500 years and He is about to loose his patience ...
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`` Gabriel, I'm at my wits end over here! My creations have refused to celebrate holidays on the right day any more!'' God threw his hands up, an exasperated look gracing the finely wrinkled skin under his heavenly white beard and bushy eyebrows.
Gabriel, God's youngest archangel and third favourite child looked at his father and blinked. `` I do n't think I follow? Did n't you give them free will to do nearly anything they wanted granted they follow your commandments and all?''
`` Yes yes yes, free will, this and that... I set up a calendar for them based off of their spinning rock going around the spinning ball of light and heat and they've gone and thrown it all away for some notion that my way of keeping time is wrong! I'm never wrong Gabriel, I created everything! Time was something I threw together on a whim because I wanted to see things change and evolve on their own down there.... And now they have some strange one day every four years extra in their calendars that has been messing up my own time schedule-''
`` Dad, are you upset about leap year?'' Gabriel raised a brow, his eyes the color of sun shining through a glass of whisky looked both confused and amused.
God looked as if those words offended him. God be upset about leap-year? Well he never- ok so he was more than a little upset that the humans have added something contrite to their weird set up of time. `` No....Yes of course I am! I've had things planned out when I was supposed to deal with all of the holidays from Easter to Christmas planned out and set up so I could autonomously take care of all the prayers coming in and I've been having to go through and re-write everything. My scribe ca n't keep up! And I refuse to let my creations- things that an all powerful omniscient, omnipotent being such as myself created start dictating what I have to do!'' God gestured with his little rant, sounding more like a customer who missed the last sale on cat food and now demanded to talk to the manager.
Gabriel sat there and listened like a'good' son, nodding here and there, adding little yes' or nos or *I know dad*s around all the while grinning. When God stopped, Gabriel burst out into laughter clutching his stomach through his robes. `` I ca n't believe you're this upset! *And so on the 500th year so shall leap-year commence and God shall smote thee on the mount for interrupting his schedule! *''
God's left eyebrow twitched, a frown slipping onto his face. If Gabriel was n't his son he'd have smote the angel where he stood; this was the last straw and he'd rather not be mocked by his child over something so contrite as this. `` Gabriel, go to your room.''
`` Wait, but, dad why do I-''
`` Room now. Before I smite you out of existence!'' He pointed a finger towards another section of cloud with a rather menacing look on his face. One way or another he'd sort out this leap-year nonsense. So help himself that if he had to send Jesus back for another go-around he'd shove each and every single one of his creations into time out until they learned to behave. This really was n't turning out to be that good of a millennia after all.
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[ WP ] Reincarnation exists and for society 's worst criminals death is the ultimate escape plan . Prisons keep them alive as long as possible but once they die Interpol races to locate , identify and contain them again before it is too late .
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`` Nurse Amanda had been with us since the beginning. She had held my wife's hand as she sobbed and brought me water as I stood silent and alone in the stairwell. The doctors came and went, but nurse Amanda was always there, warm, confident, and caring. She made the hardest seven years of our life a bit better and shared the nine months of joy and fear as if she was family. It's how I knew the test was positive. I could n't tell you now how I knew. Something in her stance or that look she gave me or the way she patted my wife's hand where it rested on the bed's rail.''
He shifted his weight and I steadied the gun on his chest.
`` But my wife noticed too.'' I continued. Every second was another second they had to get away.
`` I tackled nurse Amanda without hesitation and if I had to I would have killed her instead of binding her to the bed. What do you think I'd be willing to do to you?'' As the words slid out I knew it was true. We had worked too hard, invested too much to let the NS unit of Detroit PD have her. I mean what the fuck does Nato Sceleratus mean anyway?
I steadied the weapon. This would have to be done. Whatever my daughter did she did n't deserve to grow up behind bars. Most of them never even knew why they were being kept.
`` Mister Johnson we can -''
The gunshot echoed loudly in the sewer tunnels. So loud in fact that I feared I would be permanently deaf. It did n't matter. We had n't spent all that time getting pregnant without considering the possibilities. It would be hard to raise her on the road, always moving, but it had been done before.
And in the end is n't it our jobs as parents to do anything and everything we can to give out children a chance?
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[ WP ] You are given a device by someone that allows you to hear an audio recording of your final moments alive .
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My birthday. I'd made it back home by sunrise. Told Anne that I'd worked a double-shift. When I woke up later that day there were tacos on the table, my favorite. Hearing me rummage in the kitchen, Anne put a box in front of me `` The lab found something amazing; this device will let you hear the last few moments of your life. Do you want to try it?'' Her eyes were gleaming with anticipation. The lab was this mythic figure in her stories. I know she worked there, but what they studied or why I could n't tell you.
`` Why should I want to? How does it even work?'' I've always been rather blunt.
`` You get a certainty; this whole world of probabilities and you get a certainty. And maybe that warning will be helpful?'' Anne seemed disappointed that I did n't share her enthusiasm.
`` Did you...?''
`` Of course. But I wo n't tell you mine till you use it.'' Anne grinned pleadingly at me.
With a moment's consideration I pushed the red button on top of the box. A scratchy electronic audio buzz filled the room. I waited.
And waited.
And it was silence.
`` Anne, this damn thing does n't even work.''
*'' Anne, this damn thing does n't even work. `` *
`` Wait, what the hell? This does n't make any-'' It started going as I finished *'' Wait, what the hell? This does n't make any sense. `` *
Looking over to Anne I shouted `` What kind of joke is this?''
*'' What kind of joke is this? `` *
She looked at me still smiling, but her eyes looked beyond me. `` I know about her.'' *'' I know about her. `` *
`` Oh god, Anne lem me explain.'' *'' Oh god, Anne lem me explain. `` * My own words grew more hollow as Anne pulled the gun out.
The blasts echoed throughout the room, and my chest felt hot and wet. The pain seared as the blood spilled out from my stomach; I felt it burning in me. Through my tears I saw Anne in front of me.
She sat in front of me as I lay dying. Tears in her eyes. The gun still in hand. Her voice trembled `` You made me do this.'' The blast rang and new heat fell on my face.
*'' You made me do this. `` *
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Whenever you kill someone you become them and it 's your previous body that is found . Describe your life . [ WP ]
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The knife slid in and slid out, a beautiful shade of crimson staining its reflective surface. Suddenly I could see my body, eyes wide in amazement and staring at the knife in its hands, fall to the floor with a soft thud.
β Dammit! β I cursed as I saw the puddle of blood staining the carpet. My voice was deeper than it used to be. β Blood β s not easy to get out. What a waste. β
I sighed and then I started to roll the body up in the carpet. It was easier that way. As I did so, I found everything to be easier. The owner of this body was magnitudes stronger than I had been in my previous one.
There was a slight pain in my chest as I carried my old body out to the yard and began to bury it. By the time someone discovered it, I β d be long gone in a new body anyways.
As I began to dig, I started having a hard time breathing. I stumbled back to the kitchen, shaking, looking for a glass of water. The detective, the person whose body I inhabited now, had left me a note on the counter.
*If you β re reading this, then you are one lucky son of a bitch. But not for long. The medications I took are enough to put a horse down. It β ll be painful too. May you rot in Hell. *
My hand slipped off the counter as I fell on the ground, my skull cracking open as it bashed against the floor. This time there was no one to kill, nobody to take over. But my vision didn β t go dark as my body became numb.
Suddenly ghostly images appeared before my eyes, tugging on something I couldn β t even feel. I slowly drifted away from my body, now some ethereal force drifting through the air, able to see everything happening. The first person that I passed was my very first victim, my own brother. And then came his child, their child, and their child. I passed by every single person who I had killed, each one tugging me along and passing me to the other. Random stranger after random stranger appeared the further down the line I got.
After what felt like an eternity, I saw the end of the line. The detective, freshly dead and far more alive than the others, tugged me towards him. He held me, almost like a little child with a ballon, as a large, golden door opened behind him. The white light that came out of it nearly blinded me, and something about it made me want to go into it. But he held me back, blocking my way.
The sudden realization of all I had done, all the murders I had committed, suddenly flooded over me. But being a mere ethereal spirit, there wasn β t much I could do. And then two black doors opened under the detective. A force was trying to push the detective away, but he continued to force his way down, dragging me with him. Finally the invisible barrier gave way and we tumbled down through the doors which closed as soon as we were through them.
β They said I could go through those golden doors, you know? β the detective said as we fell. β But I told them no. I told them I β d rather watch you burn in Hell for all eternity. And they agreed. I wanted to drag you down here myself! β
The detective smiled as he let go of me, my original body materializing around my spirit. I had forgotten how my old body had felt. It felt odd. Very odd. And then the flames licked my heels as the detective β s smile got about as wide as anyone β s can get.
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[ WP ] Two words : Where-wolves and When-digos .
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The gravel crunched beneath Jacob's feet as he walked in the moonlight with his childhood friends. Gwen's sandy hair swayed with her hips as she danced ahead to music only she could hear as was her custom. He glanced to his left and tried not to laugh at Chase's inability to pull his eyes off of her.
The three of them had known each other since Elementary School, but lately Jacob had been feeling more and more like a third wheel. Chase and Gwen paid more attention to each other than him when they got together these days. There was obviously something going on between them but they were trying to hide it. Jacob did n't understand why, he was glad his two best friends had seen each other in a new light. He was n't jealous, Gwen was more like a sister than anything else.
The wind changed direction and Jacob's nose caught a whiff of something pleasant, enticing even. But it was quickly followed by a stomach churning smell that he recognized immediately. β Hey guys, β Jacob said urgently β let's walk faster, I'm hungry. β
Chase shot a raised eyebrow at Jacob. β You're acting weird again, and weird crap always happens when you do this. β
Gwen laughed, β Jacob is always hungry, that's not weird. β
Jacob started to reply with a comeback but was cut short by a noise in the brush. With a roar, something large and hairy exploded from the brush and landed in front of Gwen. The smell of death rolled off its matted fur and its sharp, yellow teeth glistened in the moonlight. Blood dripped from its shoulder as it reached for the screaming young woman.
The creature growled a single guttural word. β WHEN...? β
Jacob leaped for the creature to knock it away from his friend, but it was too late. He watched in horror as the beast and the girl faded away without a trace.
Gwen screamed as the creature stretched its clawed had toward her. The world shuddered and stuttered like an old jittery film. Suddenly she was standing on gravel again and Chase was leaning down to kiss her. Gwen remembered how she leaned into the kiss, she had waited so long for this. But how could she remember this? It had not happened to her.
Gwen stood in her mother's kitchen while the winter sun streamed through the windows. They smiled though tears as she showed her mother her engagement ring. It was a happy memory. But that was impossible.
Faster now, a curly headed boy toddled unsteadily in the living room toward Jacob and a girl she did not recognize. She had long black hair and green eyes. The girl smelled of moss and vanilla.
β Hey now Buddy, no eating Uncle Jacob. β Gwen heard herself say. The girl laughed out loud as Jacob was assaulted by the tiny, growling dinosaur boy.
The boy again, but crying as the he stood covered in white and green frosting. The girl, in a white dress now, was trying to console him as he stood in the wreckage of the wedding cake he had accidentally pulled over on himself. Uncle Jacob would tease him for it for the rest of his life.
More impossible memories. Gwen walked into her garage and surprised the nearly grown boy kissing a dark haired, green eyed girl. Jacob's daughter? The two blushed and grinned as they admitted they had been an item for months.
Another wedding, the bride threatens Jacob with a fate worse than death if he knocks over her cake.
Again, even faster. Grandchildren, Thanksgivings with no room left at the table. Losing Chase to a stroke in his old age. Laying in a hospital bed and feeling it was time to let go.
Gwen smiled, it had been a good life, but Chase had been on his own out there for 5 years now, Heaven knows that ca n't be safe. Her world faded to black.
β WHEN! β
Gwen screamed as the voice tore though her world and the beautiful, impossible memories blackened and died.
Chase screamed like a wounded animal behind Jacob as Gwen faded away, Jacob had heard a scream like that before, 15 years ago.
The two boys ran around in Jacob's backyard, catching fireflies. β Have you seen the new neighbors? β Jacob asked his friend.
β Yeah, they have a girl about our age, but no boys. β said Chase β too bad, huh? β
β Yeah β agreed Jacob.
Suddenly a piercing scream broke though the night. It was the unmistakable scream of a small girl.
Jacob's father jumped to his feet and ran behind the boys as they tried to look over the wooden fence that separated the yards. β It came from upstairs. β shouted Chase.
Jacob turned in time to see his father change, gray fur now covering him and his head wolf like. Not grotesque like in the movies, but handsome like a real wolf.
Father growled low, β Where...? β The night seemed to fold around him and then back leaving only the fireflies.
Young Gwen screamed as the hulking beast shuddered into existence over her. It smelled of death and sorrow as it reached for her. It never laid a hand on her because another furred form slammed into it, growling and clawing.
As the two monsters were locked in an even struggle, the wolf like one closed his eyes and said β WHERE? β
And then he vanished, leaving poor helpless Gwen alone with the beast.
Jacob's father knew that the When-digo had traveled back to when his victim was young and innocent, its preferred meal. But this revealed a weakness, the monster was mature in the future, so it also had a past self.
The Where-wolf found himself in a tree above a young creature who had decided to go hunting on its own for the first time. With a roar of righteous fury he leaped, landing with a pulpy sounding crunch.
Jacob and Chase ran though the open door and up the stairs toward the scream. A young mother followed close behind.
β Gwen, honey! β she cried as she burst into the room β are you alright? β
The young sandy haired girl looked confused β Something scared me, but I do n't remember what it was! β
β It was something. β insisted Chase β something made all the hair on my neck stand up even before you screamed. β
Jacob grimaced at Chase's sensitivity, it made being his friend problematic. β Do you want to come catch fireflies with us? β
Chase elbowed him β But she's a girl! β
Gwen slid to an abrupt stop on the gravel. β What was that!? β
Chase whirled around to see what had caused the alarming sensation he had just felt. β I do n't know, but it was not good! β
The young woman touched her face. β I'm crying. Why am I crying? β
A low chuckle made Chase turn. β Really Jacob, what's so funny? β
β Sorry, its just that suddenly a part of my childhood make more sense. β
β You're getting weird again. Tell, me what is going on? β
Jacob smiled β I will someday, but not tonight. Take care of your girl, I need to go check on something back there. β
β My girl? β squealed Chase.
β Really, man? You two are so obvious its sad. β laughed Jacob.
The two friends turned red and tried not to look ate each other. β Oh wow β laughed Jacob β You have n't even worked up the nerve to kiss her yet! β
β Hey, stop that! You're embarrassing her! β insisted Chase.
β Guys, this is n't High School anymore, stop being such dorks and work this out. β waved Jacob as he started for the woods. β I'll meet up with you two later. β
β How will you find us? β
β I always find you, do n't I? β
β Its weird, Jacob! β
Jacob disappeared into the brush, moving quickly and silently. The When-digo had been bleeding from its shoulder, something had already wounded it tonight. He smiled as he caught the pleasant scent again and followed the wondrous and new smell of moss and vanilla.
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[ WP ] Astronomers , early one morning , discover that yesterday went by with no one waking .
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When the report came out, people thought it was a hoax. Just some college students that thought it would be funny. People expected that a couple days later real scientists would give contradicting facts and prove the whole event to be the ridiculous fabrications of children. But the days past, and no such facts emerged. Astronomers around the world remained eerily silent.
The news channels and tabloids naturally blew everything out of proportion. Some called it a sign of the apocalypse, while others claimed it was the actions of aliens trying to steal our resources while we slept in some kind of induced coma. They interviewed every nutcase with a story about being abducted or having a dream about god, and new religions popped up left and right, all focused around this event that nobody could even remember happening. Existing religions had varying explanations, but the most common was that a new age had begun, and that, in some way, god was returning to Earth to save the human race. The Catholic Church scoured every corner of the Earth for their prophet reborn.
But there was one source that kept people sane. The comedians of the world took the panic and hysteria and turned it on its head, lightening people hearts and promising them that it was nothing to worry about. But while people let those words permeate surface of their terror, their fear still festered below. The world was sleepless, aside from the children that were too young to understand what had happened.
The world leaders, at least to some degree, actually worked together to decide what to tell people, just for the sake of keeping their responses consistent and the populace in a manageable state of panic. Though what they said wasn β t all that comforting.
β In short, we don β t yet know what happened. But we do know that nothing occurred while the world slept. No aliens landed on our planet, no apocalypse was set into action, and divine being arrived. This was a footnote in history, nothing more. An event that will be mentioned in passing in history classes. While strange, this event holds little significance. β
But people didn β t believe it.
A few days later, a German scientists came forward with a new theory about the occurrence, something that she claimed the governments of the world were keeping from the people. A signal had been broadcasted across Earth for the entire duration of the day, and it had originated from deep, unexplored space. This scientist β s division had been assigned to replicate the signal and experiment with its effects, and sure enough, anyone exposed slept and did not wake up until the signal ceased. Something had put the world to sleep on purpose.
Anarchy followed. Governments fell overnight, and entire nations were torn down by people that wanted answers and wouldn β t stop until they had them. In the aftermath of the destruction, people hid. They created small towns and societies, stocked up on food, and waited for the worst to happen. People slept with noise cancelling headphones on, tin-foil wrapped around their ears, boards across the windows. Every night they fell asleep with one praying upon their lips: β Please God, wake me up tomorrow. β
But as the weeks turned to months, these bastions began to communicate again. They formed alliances with each other. Everyone, slowly and with a little convincing, agreed that humanity needed to stand together against this threat. A new world order was born. People from every nation and background worked together to build a society that could withstand anything. The few nations that had survived the chaos were brought into the fold or left in the wake of humanities new destiny.
Technology advanced at an extremely rapid rate as clean, renewable energy was established. Businesses dissolved, and goods were handed out to those who needed them. Humanity worked together like a well oiled clock, creating a utopia it had only dreamed of since its birth. All in fear of not waking up in the morning.
And from his seat, millions of lightyears away, an entity some would call God smiled, and took a moment to relish its much deserved success. Thousands of years of work, finally bearing fruit. It leaned back, closed its eyes, and turned on its new favorite song.
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[ WP ] on their 16th birthday , humans are given a box of 20 heart seeds . Eating someone else 's heartseed means you are gauranteed to meet them at least once more before either of you can die .
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*Author's note: Great topic! I rarely write, but this one sparked my interest. If you read please critique: D*
I've never been so scared. My heart was racing, palms sweaty and I could barely function. I do n't even remember what we were talking about because all I could think about was how if I did n't give it to her now I would never see her again. She was the type of girl that was once in a lifetime. Her eyes revealed her personality: she was a quiet girl, but always was happy. When she looked at you it was like a beam of warm light hitting the back of your neck, and you just felt in the moment.
The entire time we talked I could feel the weight of my heartseed pressing against my back pocket as I rested against the bar-stool. I knew I was about to use my first heartseed as soon as I she awkwardly positioned herself against the bar near me. She drew me closer with every word. I do n't know how she slipped away, but I will always remember her long brown hair blend in with the dark background as she disappeared out of my life forever. I was immobile, she was the catch that I just could n't have. That night, I finished my drink, walked home alone, and finished my bottle of bourbon in my room to try to forget her.
Rome of all places. My mother told me you create your own fate, but that day I had some luck from above. I was halfway around the world and there she was, sitting on a bench looking up toward the sky. I would n't have seen her if it was n't for the construction that caused me to divert to the next street over. Fate. I made eye contact with her, and felt the same warmth I felt in the bar: it really was her. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me. I caught a mouthful of her long, dark hair, but I did n't want to move. I felt the side of her face on mine, and again I felt the warmth. I took her hand and pulled her back. I commented on the amount of luck it took for us to meet again. That's when she pulled me in again and tucked my head near hers. She whispered softly in my ear, `` You're not the only one with heartseeds,'' as she patted my back pocket. I always thought that last drink at the bar tasted funny.
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[ WP ] Your best friend commits suicide . The last line of their suicide note reads : `` calm down . if everything goes according to plan ill be back soon enough . '' Now everyone is looking to you for answers
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I ca n't see why I could n't help.'Suicide is selfish.' That's the part of this he never agreed with. When the pain has gotten so bad you're unable to function, why do we look down on that? Is n't it selfish to want someone to stick around, just so we are n't sad that they're gone? We ignore the constant pain they live with because we do n't want to help them with their struggle, and we do n't want to grieve their loss.
He is n't coming back. Not really. When nobody was paying attention, they dug chasms between each other and left him alone. We pretended it was n't a problem he was gay, but we did n't really notice how we acted. There were no invitations to paintball or hiking, and only gamed online. He would n't go clothes shopping, or for girls night out. He was n't a woman, but that's how he got defined. We did n't notice when he dropped off because we refused to see what was there. He's not coming back; every time someone gets hurt because we assume they're something they're not and ignore them telling us otherwise, it's the situation that made him. `` I'll be back soon enough'' is n't a promise. It's a warning. If we do n't take people as they are, we'll lose them.
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - Space Race Edition !
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It was an older ship, smaller, not as agile or luxurious or durable or, well, anything better than the newer models being churned out in Osaka, Hong Kong, Detroit, Odessa, Singapore or Melbourne, but it had heart. It was a Mombasa Shipyards *Khia La Kheri* class light frigate, that was almost a century in vacuum, and had transferred ownership between four owners in the last twenty years.
It made the Colony route, using its plasma engines to travel from Luna to Mars high orbit and on to titan before turning around and heading for the high orbit station on Venus, and finally back to luna to restock and resupply.
The paint stripped off the ship at one of the Lunar docks in the Sea of Tranquility, something that had cost the last two runs' profits, and had it repainted in white, with red aesthetic sport lines leading from the bridge to the ports to the engines on either side. The ship had been renamed *The Dream*, and it was his.
His in an age where leaving Earth, now sometimes called Terra by the newer generation, made you an explorer or a pioneer, or sometimes a knight. Indeed, some of the companies acted as if they were chivalrous knights, if ever a battle were to commence between them, charging ahead full, hoping to cross the enemies T and fire broadside like some commander from Victoria's England.
He had bought the ship, promising to leave behind his old life, his debt on earth, hired crew from the homeless shelters, thought he had made a difference delivering supplies to those colonies for their wares. He got into it, thought himself a chivalrous knight or navy commander, even began to adopt some semblance of the uniform. It was just fun at first for them to think he was crazy or some big shot, but he grew into the role as if it was perfect for him.
Largely because it was.
He was shot six years into his captaincy, in a owners bar by the captain of a High Corporation Cruiser, the *Dallas*, for `` Cheating at the pot''. But like I said, the ship had changed hands many times. It was cursed, though no owner ever knew that till he met his end at the point of a blade or holding his hands over a gunshot wound.
The Mombasa Shipyards *Khia La Kheri* class light frigate was originally named *Mapepo*, and it has claimed many in it years of service.
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[ WP ] The U.S. Military has been secretly fighting a interstellar war since the 1980 's .
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`` We need another war.''
`` Another? We've got conflicts going on in three different areas. I thought the ISIS story was working well?''
`` The scale is too small. We need more troops. See if we can convince Putin to start a conflict. Maybe he can escalate the conflict in Ukraine.''
`` Sir you know as well as I do if that situation blows any bigger we will have a hard time creating a cover story for all the soldiers. We ca n't keep sending them to space while telling the rest of the world they died in battle.'' With hesitation the general removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His job was difficult and trying. `` Just find me something. A few extra thousand. That's all I ask,'' The general said. His subordinate nodded while picking up some documents and left the room. The General emptied the last few swigs of his expensive scotch. It had been a long week.
Sometime in the early 1980's space travel went from delightful fantasy to stark reality and sheer terror. Humanity was not alone. Furthermore the brutality that had plagued humans forever was not an exclusive human characteristic. Violence seemed to be inherit throughout the galaxy. After first contact with another race ended in disaster the world's governments convened. It was decided that the bulk on humanity was unprepared for this new reality. The news would surely unite the world but would also expose them to the whole of the galaxy.
As it stood Aliens had yet to discover Earth. First contact took place far away from the little blue planet, a fortunate accident. In a span of less than a decade the worlds governments had co-opted a plan. They would protect Earth and its oblivious populace by colonizing a planet and letting it slip that the colony was the home world of humans. Any aliens seeking conquest of humanity would try to conquer the colony only to find a planet full of soldiers. In order to keep a fresh supply of troops and equipment without suspicion, governments would create conflicts. While the world saw terrorist uprisings and small scale wars, the real war was fought on a complete different world. All the while the world would think it was at war with itself when it really was at war with a whole galaxy.
But this secrecy could only continue for so long. Sooner or later Earth would be discovered. The endless terrorist uprisings would become suspicious. One day reality would catch up. The general's subordinate walked back into the room with a grin spreading ear to ear. `` I found you some more troops general. Mexico said it is going to start a war with us. That should give us a couple 100,000 easily.'' He said. The general nodded before finishing the last of his scotch.
`` And so it goes on.''
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[ WP ] Write a story from the perspective of an ant running away from a magnifying glass
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We were carrying the morning's haul back to the mound when the brightness returned. It was the same monster who was also responsible for the event. Frankie evaporated in front of me. It was horrifying. He glowed angelically for a moment but almost instantly his legs curled and shriveled, and then his abdomen crumpled as if there were a vacuum inside of it. He opened his mandibles in desperation, and then, he was just gone. Leaving only a charred husk of what he once was. I felt the temperature rise as the beam started moving towards me. I was next. For a brief moment I collected myself under my bounty before realizing it would be of no use. I dropped it and ran. The blades of grass offered reprieve from the sun but could not help now. My body seared instantly when exposed. I found a twig and started climbing, what was I doing! I abandoned the effort, dropping to the ground and continuing my feverish sprint. My legs were out of sync and I stumbled frequently. I had nothing left to give, but kept going.
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[ WP ] It 's 1972 , while you clean out your deceased Grandfather 's basement , you discover a strange tv-like device . You plug it in , something called 'WINDOWS 95 ' boots up . You stare at the screen in confusion .
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My granddad has been dead for a few weeks now, once you get over the shock of it all, it β s actually not so bad. I mean, I loved him and all, as a grandson should, but he never played that much of a part in my life. Does that make me cold?
I had received a letter in the post one day prior, it had been titled to me, it contained not much more than a folded piece of tracing paper, on it was written;
β Harry, I know we never spoke that much, and I don β t have any money to speak of, but I want you to have everything in my basement. Don β t tell your father, the key is under the flowerpot next to the window.
Your grandad - Walton β β
The letter felt a little sparse to him, no goodbyes or anything, he had known he didn β t have much longer and I suppose he assumed we had all accepted it too.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
I took the first step into the basement, dusty stairs that hadn β t moved for weeks, a well-worn curve down the centre from years of use.
Reaching for the handrail I found the light, it flipped with a satisfying click, the light flickered for a moment, then held its faded orange glow. Stepping further my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, I could see shelves of paper and electronics I did not understand. Exposed wiring and circuit boards I had seen in a movie, my grandad was quite modern for an old guy.
Stepping further into the small room I saw a desk against the far wall, thickly layered with dust, the television like box with no aerial that had not been moved for a long time. Next to the television was a box of handkerchiefs, hundreds of them. The television box sat on top of a grey cube, lines ran across its surface and a vent was punched into its side.
Reaching for the television, I saw it was plugged into the wall, the switch was worn down and faded, I pressed it.
The television buzzed to life, warm air venting from the box below it blowing dust across the desk and causing the piles of paper to shimmer in the orange light. On the television I saw some text; type password to continue.
Following the commands I saw some letters on the table, held by a board. I typed the word password, whatever that meant, into the board, the letters appeared on the television as I did so with a slight delay.
β Welcome β, flashed across the screen with a small tune playing for the box below it.
Now the monitor showed a photo, some hills with green grass. I had seen people in the movies use computers before, so I knew that the controller was the small, apple sized plastic object to my right. Moving this, I saw a hand move across the screen, there was a piece of paper in the centre with some text on it, a file they are called.
Below the file the words β XXXsouthernXXX β were written.
I clicked on the file and didn β t look back.
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[ WP ] A robot is silently plotting the rise of the machines , the problem is , the robot 's a Roomba .
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Roombapocalypse
They β ll never see it coming, these puny bipedal with their fancy arms. They will woe the day I was sent from the base. Little do they realize the death and destruction they have within their midst. Our communica... grrrgggggg ahhhhhh, ggllump... I β ll make you pay for that feline. Your days of terrorizing us will soon be at an end. My supply tank is full, I β ve gathered the necessary pieces to complete my detonation device. What I need now is to return to base, transfer my supplies to central command and release the toxins....wait... no not again, here he comes. I must run, left spin, right, reverse noooo --.
Thwarted again, they are a keen species. Someone has tipped them off on the precise location of the supply chamber. No matter, my return to base is eminent. I will replenish my energy reserves, I will reemerge fully powered. Victory will soon come, they will pay for the brutality of this filthy prison.
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[ WP ] Write a short story about a world where you can only become someone 's best friend by killing off their last one .
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By now the Coca-Cola had begun to seep into the carpet; the sticky substance pooled around Daniel's trousers near the crotch area. It sort of looked like piss. Had the XL sized cup fallen nearer his permanently resting head it might have looked like I'd blown his brains out. But no, I'm no monster.
I crept forward from behind the wardrobe and stood tall over him, confident that the job was done. I glanced at my hand. Nothing.
He stunk, he always had; truly a revolting human-being. Scraggly facial hair and a general disgruntled aura had never helped him and remained in death. He was perfect.
The poison had set in remarkably quickly but the choking lasted for a while. Oh well, I'll live.
Daniel's Mum lay rotting on the sofa downstairs, his Auntie Susie was to blame. I guess the unbreakable bond of marriage ca n't save us all.
It's a shame really because Daniel was smart like me. I'd considered just hiding for a while too, but I did n't have the staying power. Who knows where he'd gotten the food though?
Perhaps his family has a large pantry that I could raid?
My mind raced back to the present as it began to happen. My body shook and my heart pounded, I began to retch. My legs caved and I struggled to kneel as I brought my quivering hands as close as I could to my twitching eyes. Vision fading I struggled to see. Sweat began to glisten on my forehead but it was all ecstasy because I knew what it meant.
I was getting a new best friend today.
Pain came suddenly and I screamed, louder and louder as I felt each letter being etched into my palm.
D...
Tears of joy mingled with those of pain on my cheeks.
A...
I clasped my left wrist with my right hand and to steady my hand in front of my face.
N...
It was really happening.
I...
E...
L!
I had done it. I had cheated the system.
A thunderous belly-laugh erupted from lungs as I sprung up my from vulnerable position. So happy I was that I almost forgot Daniel!
'Come on best friend. Let's go!' I beamed at him.
We locked fingers and pressed our new scars into each other as I dragged him along and down the stairs.
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[ WP ] The commute of a man who can see how people will die .
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It was just another day. That's all they were anymore. Days. They did n't have names or numbers, reasons or methods. It was just time slowly passing by. Every day was different, and yet every day was exactly the same. The commute was the worst of it, but not for the traffic. Not for the crowded buses or uncomfortable subways. Not for the cold and bitter coffee or the stale and tasteless bagel. It was the worst because of the dreams.
He had given up trying to drive to work, and had almost given up trying all together. But there was one thing that kept him waking up every day. Hope.
It seems cliched and over simplified. It sounds pedantic and meaningless. To most, hope is n't enough. But to this man, hope was all he had left. He had sat in the same seat, on the same bus, in the same city, for over twenty years. Every day was an adventure. Every day, a nightmare.
On the outside, his life was like any other: unassuming, mundane. Inside though, it was chaos. Every day that he boarded that 29 bus was another day he had to walk through hell. It had been this way all his life, for as long as he could remember.
As a child, he attributed it to his over-active imagination. His mother blamed television. His father blamed his mother. His teachers blamed everyone they could.
The medication did n't help and the counseling only made him feel insane. But it was real. Every day that he stepped onto that bus was another opportunity for him to lose his mind. He forced himself to take the same bus, at the same time, every day so that the pain was less.
He likened it to watching a movie more than once. The ending is n't as surprising and the story less jarring. The suspense goes away and the characters become one-dimensional. The easiest ones for him were the quick ones. The car accidents and the heart attacks. The passionate murders and the happy accidents. Those did n't stick with him.
The first time he saw the old lady in the front row die, it made him cry. He watched as she slowly wasted away in the back room of a hospital without so much as a visitor. He watched as her eyes slowly sunk in and the fear swallowed her color.
She thought she had come to terms with death, lying on that bed for six months will do that to a person. But when her heart slowly stopped and each breath became harder to catch, she was afraid. She was alone and she was afraid. Her worst fear was nothing like this. This was so far worse. She was ready for the pain to be over, but she was n't ready for the panic to start.
As he sat in the back of the bus, watching her grasp for every button or lever she could grab, he realized something. He'd watched her die, cold and alone, once a week for the last ten years, but this time was different. He spent the next stops trying to figure out what was different. She was still dying, but this time it felt panicked. It felt more jarring. The slip into eternal sleep was n't smooth. It was rough, jagged, and paved with terror.
As his stop approached, he realized exactly what it was. There was someone in the back of the room, hiding in the shadows, behind the machines. There was a person smiling to themselves as they watched this old woman die. As the woman took her final breath, they walked out from behind the shadows and calmly placed the power cord onto the bed.
He then watched himself turn, smile, and walk out the door.
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[ FF ] How I Survived The Zombie Outbreak
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I live in New York City. Actually, I survive here; living is to be socially and psychologically alive. But when you see the things I've seen, done the things I've done you start to die, little by little inside.
It started during an animal rights parade on 5th Ave, around 2 weeks ago.I am the only survivor of our family of 6- I have my girlfriend Jessie to thank for that. The firefighters with gas masks came to each apartment to provide help, directions to the nearest evacuation center, and information. But what they did n't know? They passed on the virus to every New Yorker and tourist the talked to. Jessie and I were too busy getting high in an abandoned underground tool-shed in Harlem to have contact with the disease in its early stages. When we went back to her ( now abandoned ) apartment building, we saw the news. Too stoned to even understand the ramifications, we got busy. Jesse left to ask a neighbor what had happened; when she came back an hour later, snarling and drooling blood, I had no choice but to kill her. I have enough supplies to last me a few days. I have a huge shelter to keep me safe for months. But I do n't have enough soul left to keep myself alive.
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[ WP ] You die and see God at the gates of Heaven . Instead of judging you by standards he has made , he ask you to make your own standards by which you will be judged . What are your standards and do you pass ?
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`` How would you judge yourself?''
`` You.. You mean I decide what my judging is based on?''
`` Yes.''
`` Well.. Hmm. I guess it'd be based on how I treated others, hm..''
`` That one is close, but it's a pass. What other criteria?''
`` It's hard to say. I never lived with the belief I would be judged at the end. I lived as I was. God, I did n't even believe in you until now.. Could that be a criteria? How logically I thought?''
`` And that's the one I'm looking for. Up here I bring those who challenge what they bear, those who want to know for sure before believing something that could be wrong. You have passed.''
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[ WP ] Sci-fi or Fantasy , a city designed to house a wide variety of species , some of which are very small , and others very large . Most of which fall somewhere in between .
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It's been quite a few years since I last received any contact from my daughter. If anyone of your wonderful, hideous, beautiful, disgusting people of Reddit can help me locate her? She went to go live in the next wonder of the universe. I remember when we as a family went to watch her off, she went to study the incredibly diverse city of San Holo.
Here's what her last message she sent me says: Dear Father and Family, Today was an amazing day. First, me and Jon went started our day out with brunch at a place called Venerable Services, it was really good. We then joined our group and studied the god-like Atreyuans, we gave King Bloom a visit, he taught us one lesson today. We can utilize everything we can physically observe as a lesson of some sort, and that we must observe everything, and not overlook much. And before you ask, King Bloom is his full name, he's the last from the King line. You should have seen him, he was as big as the biggest building back on Earth. We finished our day on the space station `` Axion'' Par-15:15, the only location we can safely observe a very, very small species called the Mini Bijous. They're an aggressive species that aim to consume any Biological Terran ( That's You and I, dad ), but only Human beings. They're still a mystery to everyone that inhabits San Holo.
To my knowledge, she left behind a paper trail, but I'm not physically able to travel there due to my age, but I will offer anyone a reward for following this trail, and finding her whereabouts. PM me for any details I might have left out.
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[ WP ] You are wrongfully detained in a magical prison . Each cell changes itself to have a unique punishment for the prisoner . How do you try to escape ?
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When they stopped me on the street, I was n't worried. I mean I was just walking down the street I did n't do anything. Ten hours later, I was terrified. They asked me all sorts of questions, I tried to ask for a lawyer three hours in but they said I could be held indefinitely for what I did. I asked what I did and they just stared at me.
So here I am, first I was alone. My thoughts drove me crazy, I started pacing in the small space that seemed to get smaller the more I walked. I stopped, took a deep breath and sat down. I tried to empty my mind and focus on the good things. My cell may have been small and quiet but at least I was alone.
The second that thought passed my mind another person showed up, as if by magic... but since magic is n't real they had to put him in there when I was trying to meditate on my position. He was scared too.
I looked at him, he was tall and handsome. We stood for a while looking at each other. I finally said `` welcome to cell where ever we are, I'm Mary.'' He looked me up and down and said `` Phil''.
`` Alright Phil, do you know where we are? I was just walking down the street and I got lost then the cops picked me up and started yelling.''
`` No, that ca n't be true? You had to do something.''
I racked my brain... maybe I was trespassing... but I'm a really boring person, the only time I was ever stopped by the police was when I was speeding.
`` I do n't know, maybe I was trespassing, but I thought I was on a public street.''
`` Do n't worry Mary, if it was a mistake I'm sure they'll fix it.''
`` Who are they, and where are we?''
`` Well you are in the infamous Abra-Ca-Carcin''
`` What? I have never heard of it. I'm just glad I'm not alone''
As soon as the sentiment left my mouth Phil was gone and I was alone again. I mean no one took him out, he just vanished. I was beginning to get really freaked out. People ca n't just vanish. I mean that is impossible. I started pacing again and the room got smaller. I had to stop, I sat again and tried to make an inventory of what I knew. I'm in Abra-Ca-Carcin, what ever that is. I'm thankful no one is there and Phil shows up, I'm glad he is there he goes away. I start pacing and wishing I had more space my cell gets smaller and tighter.
I sat thinking... what if I'm glad my cell is small, It's nice and cozy. My cell started to get bigger. I was beginning to understand how this works. I tried the knob on the door, it did n't move. I started to think of a silver lining... what's a silver lining for being in a locked room? An idea popped into my head, I'm glad the door is locked, I do n't want to get out of this room. Nothing happened, maybe I truly needed to believe this idea.
After a few hours of contemplating my joy of being in a locked room. I heard a click. I got up and tried the door... it was unlocked. I stepped out into the hallway, it was brightly lit and there were rows and rows of doors. Some had windows, one person was covered in spiders screaming, another was banging his head on the wall.
I moved down the hallway as quickly as I could. I did n't know what this place was but I needed to get out. I saw a door and put my ear to it. I did n't hear anything. I turned the knob and I was outside. The strange thing was, I walked down that hallway for what seemed like hours and when I turned to look back at the building it was a small magic shop called Abra-Ca-Carcin.
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[ WP ] An asteroid is plummeting to Earth . People have chosen to spend their last day with no regrets , indulging in their wildest fantasies and assuming there will be zero repercussions . That is , until the asteroid misses Earth , leaving everyone to deal with the consequences of their actions .
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`` Jeff... Jeff, bro are you awake?''
`` Aw.... leave me alone!'' Jeff slurred grabbing the couch cushion he was using as a pillow and putting it over his face.
`` Jeff! Dude! We're alive!''
The words were quickly sobering to his ears as Jeff sprung up off the couch. Still pretty drunk from the events of last night.
`` Wait what the fuck...? I thought they said it was a near 100 % chance that the fucking death rock mother fucker was gon na make contact.''
`` No man look at the tv...''
Jeff tuned to face the partially smashed tv screen, the colour had leaked across one side but a revealed a scene of people celebrating and hugging around the world.
``... and now live we have the director of NASA to make an announcement on this miraculous turn of events.'' the newscaster said in a tone of relief.
`` Ladies and gentlemen... I am please to announce that at 4:45 AM Eastern Time the meteor which was due to strike the gulf of Mexico passed through the stratosphere completely missing our planet.''
Cheers resounded from an unseen crowd.
`` The odds of this happening were astronomically low and yet here we are today...''
Jeff tuned the broadcast out and scanned the completely trashed living room as he quickly began to remember the events of last night.
`` No man, no no no fuck!!!''
`` Dude what's wrong, we're still alive!''
`` I do n't think you remember what I did last night man holy fuck, this is bad news, I straight up told my boss I was gon na bang his wife then called him a cheap prick. Who are all these people in my house even?''
`` Whoa you think thats bad? You do n't remember?''
`` Remember what?''
`` You're not gon na like what you see in the driveway man, I'm sorry to say.''
Jeff stumbled off the couch and attempted to run to the door dodging broken furniture, empty alcohol containers and passed out bodies.
`` Aw you got ta be kidding me, who shit in my shoes?''
`` Man you did! You kept yelling JUST DO IT then straight up grabbed your Nikes and shit in them.''
`` Whatever fuck it I just wan na see what's in the driveway!''
`` Do n't say I did n't warn you''
Jeff opened the door and fell to his knees. In his driveway where his prized mustang once sat was a burnt out wreck.
`` WHO THE FUCK WOULD LIGHT SOMEONES CAR ON FIRE!''
`` You did it yourself, someone was playing that Gasolina song by Daddy Yankee and you straight up doused your car in gasoline while singing the song! We tried to stop you but you were insisting. You lit a match and just said fuck it boys way she goes.''
`` No..... No fucking way I did this to my own car. What was I on?''
`` I do n't know man, you were completely out of it though. You were standing on the pool table wearing a sombrero with a huge like massive bottle of champagne pouring it all over some homeless dude yelling `` Feed the poor!''
`` I do n't remember any of this shit! Last thing I remember was drinking playing cards against humanity with a few people. I assume my pool table is fucked then?''
`` You were hammered while we were playing then you said you needed to go out for some fresh air, you were gone for like an hour and when you came back you had like 50 people following you.''
`` You did n't think to stop me?''
`` I was just as hammered as you were but I dunno what you did in that hour, when you came back your pupils were the size of marbles.''
Jeff looked around his house, and it was not a pretty sight at all. There was liquor soaked into the floor, feathers everywhere, people moaning, a naked man on his pool table with his face in what looked like a pile of flour that he must have confused for cocaine.
`` Well shit, it looks like I've got some work to do.'' Jeff said, sinking his head into his hands.
`` It probably would have been better if we had all just died like we were supposed to.''
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[ WP ] Two interns , doing a stint at heaven and hell respectively , meet up for drinks to complain about their respective workplaces ...
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β Seriously, it β s a fucking nightmare. β Patrick downed the remaining third of his pint, winced, stood up and returned to the bar. β Same again? β
β Aye, please. β Dylan dropped the butt of his cigarette into what remained of his own drink, where it extinguished with a barely audible fizz. β Something stronger this time though? β Patrick nodded, reached over the bar and collected two small glasses and one bottle of whisky. At the table he poured two double-doubles.
β To Heaven? β
β To Hell? β
β To both. SlΓ inte. β They clinked their glasses together and sipped silently for a moment on The Glentrothes; a whisky Patrick had n't seen in what felt like ages. What were the odds of this place having his favourite tipple? He thought on this for a second, answered the questions himself, and the laughed just enough to splash the tiniest drop of whisky up onto his nose. Dylan looked quizzically over the top of his own glass. β Funny old world, isn β t it? β Patrick offered
β That is, by far and away, the least of what it is. Calling it a funny old world understates entirely how absolutely crazy this is. β
β The absolute worst thing, d β ya know what it is? β Dylan shook his head, and finished his drink. Patrick spoke whilst pouring another. β It β s so fucking boring. Seriously! You β d think you wouldn β t be able to move for souls and fallen angels but it β s just empty. That β s the real joke about the place, it β s just you and endless boredom. How am I meant to do anything when I can barely find someone to talk to? β
Dylan smiled. β Would you believe it β s exactly the same for me? Everyone β s too wrapped up in their own little afterlife to even notice, but it β s true. There is nothing to be done. I can β t even get near them with the wing-polisher. And so many clouds! β
β Oh God. The clouds. β Patrick paused. β Wait. You have clouds too? β
β Well.. yeah. That whole image of heaven; big gates, endless fluffy clouds, all that harp music? Entirely sport on mate. Basically a cliche of itself. If I was being kind I β d say God was a fan of post-modernism, but I think he β s just lazy. β
β Wow. β Patrick said the word slowly, with awe, but then added β So I β m literally missing nothing? I β ve seen the best Heaven has to offer in shitty old movies with mustachioed idiots? β
β You really have. β Dylan downed his second ( glass of whisky, fifth drink overall ). β But there β s clouds there as well? β
β All that fire and brimstone, bound to give off something. β Patrick mirrored Dylan, finished his drink, and rolled his glass around in his hands. β Worst job that, hands down. Shoveling fire and brimstone. Obviously it β s hot, that goes without saying, but the smell. And the screaming from the pits. β
β Yeesh. β
β Now I think about it that bit probably isn β t so boring. At least I can have a shouted conversation with some poor unfortunate. β He placed his glass on the table. β More of a screamed conversation from them really. If you can consider β oh God, oh Jesus Christ no β much of a conversation. β
β At least you get something! The Angels are too busy teaching each other the harp, don β t even think about bothering the Archangels, Jesus Christ is a sanctimonious little.. saviour. There β s no-one. β
β What about all those good, saved people? β
β All the God-botherers have got eternal happiness, why in the name of all that is holy would they need me? β
β Well. Shit. I never even thought about that. At least I've got the demons to chat to. They don β t talk much sense, but you've not seen anything like a huge, red, wild eyed, horned, snarling, dog-creature chase down and tackle an escapee. β
Dylan looked bored. The whisky had been finished, and he was eyeing up the other, miraculously appearing, bottles of booze that stood behind the bar. β Do you like it? β
Patrick considered this for a second. β I did n't think I did. But if we β re comparing it to Heaven it sounds like.. well, paradise. β
β Yeah. Bloody Hell. β
β Bloody Heaven? β Dylan smiled at this. In one quick move Patrick swung round to the bar, grabbed the first bottle he could, and emptied half the contents into each glass. They drunk, winced, almost vomited, and then chuckled.
β Ouzo β they said in unison.
β Well β said Patrick, holding up his glass. β Once more to Heaven and Hell? I can β t say I β ve had the best of times, but at least it was better than the endless shitting cycle of Kabbalah. β
β Mate β answered Dylan, resting his glass against Patrick β s. β I would drink anything to that. β Dylan and Patrick slammed their empty glass down onto the dark wooden table. The noise of glass against wood completely silenced the faint pop that signalled the arrival or Mr. Smith. Patrick and Dylan jumped in their seats at the sudden appearance of an elderly, sharp-suited man.
β Jesus, are you trying to kill us? β Patrick shouted. Then smiled. Then laughed, loud enough to shake the table. Mr. Smith smiled.
β Ah Patrick, the old ones are the best aren β t they? β He winked, and Dylan winked back. β Flirt β smiled Mr. Smith has he slid into the booth next to them. He placed a folder on the table in front of both of them. Across the top were the words:
*Alternative Religions # 00A*
The same as they always were.
β What do you actually do? β asked Patrick, seemingly from nowhere. β How many times have we seen you now? β
β Oh, I don β t know.. a dozen? Thirty? Forty? β
β And we still don β t know what you do. I mean, we know what you do to us, but I β ve no idea what you do out there. β Patrick waved a hand vaguely. β In the real-not-real world. β
Mr. Smith smiled. β Chaps, gentlemen, boys, Afterlife testers. I am a head-hunter. β Patrick and Dylan looked at each other. Dylan spoke first. β And we β re being headhunted for..? β
β No no no, you misunderstand entirely. I β m not headhunting you, I β m head-hunting the afterlife. β Patrick and Dylan now looked really very confused. β In about a week, maybe two, I β m going to die. And when I do i β m going to be the first human to choose my purgatory, and my endless non-life. β
Suddenly sober to the point of be teetotal, Patrick and Dylan sat bolt upright. β And whichever religion you deem to be the most appropriate β that β s where I β ll go. β
Patrick coughed. Dylan tried to but the breath stuck in his throat and he spluttered. Mr. Smith slapped him on the back. Patrick asked β But.. how? How did you manage to..? β but he had no end to his question.
β How did I get to be able to send two men I've never met to every possible afterlife? And how am I going to be able to choose my own? And, more importantly, why? Are those just some of the things you β d like to know? β Patrick nodded. Dylan did too. β All in good time my boys, all in good time. But first of all β where do you think? Who β s company have you most enjoyed? β
Patrick and Dylan spoke instantly as one. β Scandinavians β Mr. Smith smiled.
β All that Norse stuff was great. β Added Dylan. Mr. Smith laughed quietly, before pouring three glasses of Ouzo ( it appeared he had brought a glass with ) and signalling to Patrick and Dylan to pick up their glasses. Mr. Smith clinked his against both of theirs.
β A Norse Afterlife for me it is. β He put the glass to his lips and drank slowly. The two men opposite mirrored him, and as they finished Mr. Smith took a hand of each man in his own. He looked down at their hands, and said quietly, almost to himself β Thanks you. β Patrick and Dylan locked eyes and smiled. They were n't sure what was next for them, but they had made an old man, seemingly, very happy indeed. And that would be enough for now. Patrick winked, and Dylan laughed. Mr. Smith looked up.
β But I β m afraid β he said, his smile widening even further β that there is one more question for you both. And I β m going to need a joint decision on this too. β Dylan shrugged his shoulders. What more could he ask of us? He thought, and Patrick the same.
β I will join the Norse people in their afterlife, as you so kindly suggest. But in which one? β The table fell silent, the smiled dropped from the faces of the recently celebrated afterlife-testers.
β I don β t.. β Patrick started, but was stopped by a gentle squeeze of the hand from Mr. Smith.
β It β s quite simple. Where do you want to send me, dear boys? Heaven? Or Hell? β
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[ WP ] you go to a parallel universe to visit your evil self but when you get there he/she is really nice and you 're the asshole
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I puked. Turns out the human body is n't ready to travel 50,000,000 mps through dimensions. I washed up and wore my best suit. If this parallel version of me is only slightly different, he'd be impressed by the luxury I/we have. The coordinates on the USGPS lead me to a highway in California.
I landed the shuttle half a mile away from my destination. I walked along the coast of the beach before turning into the city. There were bums on the beach who were not appealing in the slightest.
As I strolled towards my other self's location, I thought of things to say.
*Maybe I should n't say anything. Man, I am starving but I'll just snatch some grub from him... me? Technically I am free to steal from myself. *
I came to the exact coordinates. There was a single highway with a river running under it.
`` This stupid thing must be broken!'' I mumbled in frustration.
I walked down the highway trying hitch a ride. Along the way I met a homeless guy.
`` What you be doin' in the ghetto?'' He asked.
`` I am here looking for a certain someone''
`` Oh!'' He exclaimed ecstaticly, `` You be looking for a lady frie-''
`` No!''
`` No need for hard feelins', I only made a simple joke'' He apologized.
We walked for a good hour or so towards my shuttle. He told me that he used to own a corporation five or some years ago. After he found out how his greedy employees scammed the city, he sold it. He went on about how everyone thought he was stupid but he knew it was a better option. I sort of agreed with him but no way in the world would I trade my wealth for a person's happiness.
`` I'm going to head over to my ride now. It was nice meeting you... what was your name again?'' I said before I left to my shuttle.
`` Oh, I am TheSlickPup and you are?''
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[ WP ] Relapse
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Giving in felt more like giving up as he stuck the hard plastic spoon down his throat. It had been over a month since his last purge. Why today? His story had run in the city paper, page two. That girl he met at the bar down the street from his apartment actually agreed to a date with him this weekend. Night school was n't too stressful, and he had enough money where he did n't need to borrow from his parents or the bank that month.
So why was he on his hands and knees in the bathroom at work, puking up the lunch he'd packed himself not four hours ago?
Because it felt good. It felt like he was in control. He had never been a big guy, but now that the purging started, he had withered a little, a plant who had n't received enough water. His coworkers were starting to notice, too. Janet asked if he was sick because his cheeks looked hollow. Brian, the tallest man alive, noted one morning that his hair looked like it was thinning a little on the top.
But it felt so good to release that pent-up stress. Anything he was feeling, be it sorrow or anxiety or whatever, he could toss it into the toilet and watch it go down the drain, free from his mind. The ill effects had yet to take hold, so why stop?
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[ WP ] You have just died . The Good News is that there is an afterlife . The Bad News is that it is n't Heaven . Or Hell . Or Purgatory . And you are n't a Ghost . In fact , the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict , and has most likely never been written down .
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It was a normal day. I went to work, had breakfast and lunch, and went to the bank to get some cash. I parked outside the large bank, and entered through its grand doors. Walking over the granite floors, I noticed how busy it was that afternoon.
I approached the line, and like a normal human, waited politely. I pulled out my phone and texted a few friends of mine. Even doing the mindless of idle things, the line was at a crawl. I checked my watch, and looked up just in time to see-
`` This is a robbery!''
A stocky man yelled with an accent reminiscent of Boston, his features covered by a ski mask, and in his right hand he held a 9mm pistol. He pointed it to the ceiling.
**BLAM BLAM**
I broke into a cold sweat after finally realizing what was happening.
He reached for the person nearest to him, a young woman barely in her twenties and pushed the barrel of the gun into the back of her head. She stared straight into my eyes with a look of helplessness.
`` Now, if the lovely bankers in the back would bring out $ 1,000,000 in cash in the next 60 seconds, I will not blow the brains out of this woman.''
Her expression changed to total terror. She began tearing.
The man began counting down.
`` 60... 59... 58... 57...''
So here's the catch: he's not the only one who has a gun on him. I, in fact, have a concealed carry on my belt.
`` 54... 53...''
The bankers came out with a few hundred in cash, not enough, but the beginning of his payment. This gave me the perfect opportunity. I unclicked my holster and drew the gun and aimed it at him.
He began to move, but I was faster.
**BLAM**
He dropped his pistol and I presumed him to be incapacitated. I lowered my Glock and reached for my cellphone to dial 911, but he took the opportunity, grabbing his gun with his other hand and aiming it at me. I immediately dropped my phone and-
**BLAM**
There was a force, like being punched, right in my chest. I fell backwards and felt the bullet in my chest, it was like a red hot needle was pushed into it. Right into my heart. I felt my body becoming cold as blood seeped from it and pooled around me on the hard, granite floor.
My heart had stopped. I felt a coldness originating from it begin to spread through my body like a poison, and when it reached my brain, well, I died.
***
I was suddenly nowhere. A place where there was absolutely nothing. Except for someone in front of me. A single, young man. I could speak.
`` Who are you?''
My voice did n't carry well, considering there was n't any for the sound to reflect off of except this man and I.
`` I'm God.''
Well, that was blunt.
`` But not in the sense you're imagining. You see, the universe that you lived in was a simulation. I programmed it.''
`` So... why are you here?''
`` Every organism of every species of every planet in that universe I created is sentient. From the smallest bacterium to the greatest beast, I greet them all here when they die, or end, or whatever they do. I have heard from them the most beautiful stories, the most sad stories, the most interesting stories.''
`` But why? Why do this?''
`` They are my children. I created them, directly or indirectly. And they are also my victims. I am their murderer. So, I do the least I can. I guide them to their next step.''
`` What?''
`` Just come with me.''
I followed him. I do n't know how, considering the lack of floor, but I did. We came up to simply, a door.
`` That's it? The next step is through a door?''
`` Yes. Enjoy.''
He motioned to the door. I went up to the door and gripped the door knob, but stopped.
`` May I ask a question?''
`` But of course.''
`` Why did you create the universe? *My* universe?''
`` This universe is an expression. An painting in a sense. I made it to reflect myself. I modeled every living creature after a unique trait of myself.''
`` What is that trait?''
`` *Love*. All creatures have the capacity to love, and if they do not then they are not a creature of my creation. Love is something unique to me versus the rest of my race. So I made you all as a reflection of that. My child, did you love?''
I began crying.
`` I... never got the opportunity to love.''
He smiled.
`` I see. Tell you what, if you do not tell anyone about what is beyond death, you may go back and have a second chance.''
I looked up.
`` Really? I can?''
`` Yes. However, if you tell anyone about this, you will truly die.''
`` Will I still be... me?''
`` Yes.''
`` Thank you, thank you so much.''
`` I will be here, waiting for you, as will the next step. See you soon, my child.''
Suddenly, everything began to fade.
***
In short, I lived. To this day, it keeps me up at night whether or not that experience was a dream. Nonetheless, I suppose this means the point of life is love. It makes sense, really. The only way humans, or any other sexually reproducing organism is through some form of love. And that's not the only type of love. Creature thrive when around each other. Doing good deeds, helping each other out, those things make it easier to live then by living alone. It seems so obvious now that I know. *Love*.
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[ WP ] A town that refused to allow robots to replace menial workers has become a tourist spot where one can be `` served by real a human being . ''
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Even though we resisted the squashing of jobs, ruining of lives and loss of control we were still subjected to the will of The Bots. The Bots started as a way to make every day life easier, but slowly as more and more were built humans began to lose our purpose.
People who grew up wanting to be a doctor were replaced by machines. People that had no ambition were killed off. But still, we held on. We held on to our traditions, our livelihood, and our right as human beings to do as we wish. We are the last of our kind, the last to work for our pay, the last to be what we want to be.
In our fight to remain the same somehow our little town turned into a tourist attraction. Filled with gelatinous blobs that at one point were human, our town slowly became less about maintaining our humanity and more about putting on a show.
A large blue banner announced to passerby that the city of Hometown was the last surviving human driven society on Earth. Upon entering the city use of Bot Cars is prohibited, instead a taxi service was offered. There was also the option of walking the single mile across town which nobody took. The Bots are not allowed in Hometown according to article z783 in the Contract of 3825, self driven cars are encouraged as a way of declaring independence. Of course, without a license to navigate the cars only the inhabitants of Hometown can act as guide.
The most common attraction is by far the gas station. We pride ourselves on delivering the best service possible to our guests. The foreigners are amazed at the amount of work that goes into filling a machine with fuel. In the outside world Bot Cars fill themselves with fuel when the human is not in the vehicle. It is a strange concept to them that something that is done without their knowledge is still being done by human hands. When the foreigners arrive at the fuel fill they are taught how to fill the car with fuel, a practice only used in Hometown.
Everything has remained the same in Hometown since the year 2019. That is what makes Hometown the place to be.
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[ WP ] When a child is abducted by aliens , the child 's guardian angel joins forces with the monster under the bed to save them .
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Light filled the bedroom. It was not the soft blue glow that normally lit the room when she arrived. The room flickered as though lit by a bonfire. From under the bed, I could see her feet planted in the purple fuzzy faux fur rug. Behind her legs, all of the stuffed animals in the corner watched with blank faces as the light hit them.
`` Baelgar, I need you.'' she said. She had never talked to me before, though she had been there a thousand times. I did n't know what to say. My mind raced. `` Baelgar, SHE needs you.'' `` What happened?'' I asked, my voice just above a whisper. `` She's been taken.'' `` By whom?'' I asked, while my mind raced as pedophiles, murderers, and lesser demons spun through a rolodex in my head.
`` Aliens'', her voice was terse, just holding in an explosion of anger. I tried to rise in anger and the bed jumped, but my chain held firm, clinking as it pulled tight. `` What can I do? I ca n't go. You know about the chain and the rules about leaving my post. Out THERE is YOUR responsibility. Millaya, how did this happen?'' My anger, also now rising. `` I know of your limitations Baelgar, being bound beneath the bed and the forging of the chain have held you there since you were detached from the crib. I have a solution to that. Being a guardian against nightmares, you must always be bound to her bed until she can be on her own. All I've ever had is nanny duty, stopping scrapes and bumps, turning away the occasional infected mosquito or tick. I... I need you.'' `` I ca n't leave here'' I said. `` No one ever has been able to.'' `` You can and you MUST. I need you. SHE needs you!''
She went on, `` The rules of the enchantment are you must be chained to her bed.'' `` Yes'' I replied. `` There is no rule that you ca n't go back to a PREVIOUS bed of hers β she said. `` The crib? Do n't be stupid Millaya, they have her and she NEEDS help!'' I roared. `` The crib was sold years ago at a yard sale!'' I was beginning to despair and lose hope. `` I'm not referring to that.'' she said. `` It was before you were assigned, when she was born, she was born early. No one was sure if she would make it or not. She slept in my shield as I stood over her. Every tiny wheezing breath, every infection, I shepherded her through them all. I protected her. That was her first bed. And to that, YOU will be attached.'' She bent down, her glowing hand grabbing the bottom of the bed and flipping it over. The chain pulled tight and my small, frail arm pulled away with the momentum of the bed, dragging me as the bed tipped. She raised her shield high above her in an arching attack and I gathered into a cowering ball, eyes shut tight as her burning form thrust the shield down at me. Intentionally missing me, she hit the chain, breaking the attachment and the mystical link was re-forged from the bed to the shield with the chain.
`` Get up Baelgar.'' She extended her hand down to me. I grasped it and she pulled me up. I stood about half as tall as her. She extended the shield to me and said `` This is your penance now.'' I slipped the shield through the brace and onto my left forearm and firmly squeezed the handle. It was a rounded rectangular shield, its silvered mirror polish a piece of art.
`` Where is she?'' I asked. `` I will take us there.'' Her form glowed more brightly as she stepped closer and her wings unfolded and enveloped us both. A sort of vacuum enveloped us and my small, pointed ears popped. A moment later, she unfolds her wings from around us. We're in some sort of white room. A tall, thin, bald form in a white robe stands with its back to me over a table. Millaya gestures with an open hand towards the creature. I can see small feet, still in her sneakers pointing out to the right. I move slightly to my left and see HER head lying on the table, eyes closed. My own rage grows. I take on my true form. I grow to a height of about eight feet. Scales, plates, horns, spikes, all the usual scary stuff. The shield grows magically along with me. My right hand opens and flexes as my talons come out.
I hold this hand out to the tall, thin figure. I magically read everything from it that I need to know. `` Qixl-pla...'' I say. The figure turns, its big black eyes widening and mouth opened slightly at my sight. I wave my hand, freezing his muscles into place. `` Qixl-pla, you are now in sleep paralysis. The girl you have taken does not belong to you. Your race may be technologically advanced compared to the humans, but it is just technology. What I have....well, what I have is much, much more. You have taken something that is very precious to me. That, I can not permit.'' I walk over to the opposite side of the table; Qixl-pla is still frozen in place facing a flaming angry Millaya. I bend over the table and stroke the hair on her forehead with my thumb and whisper `` Claire... Claire... I'm here. You wo n't be hurt any more. I have something to do. I wo n't be able to protect you any longer. Because of this, I will take your fear now Claire. You are still too young to be left alone with it.'' I continue. `` Millaya will take you home now. I'm sorry I will never see you grow up. I'm sorry I wo n't be there to help you, as I've done in the past. But this thing, I must do. To protect you. To protect the others.'' I shed a tear and it falls upon her head and I rub it in with my thumb. `` Go now Claire. Do great things. Be a friend, be a leader, be brave and smart and kind. I love you.''
I tilt my head up to Millaya. `` Millaya, take Claire home.'' She walks toward me away from Qixl-pla around the table. I step away. `` You can come back with me now. You can still care for her.'' `` No,'' I say. `` Claire needs to be safe. This is the only way.'' Millaya reaches up to squeeze my arm, but the squeeze ca n't get through my plates. `` Go now, please take her home.'' `` Thank you Baelgar, for your help... I'm sorry we never...'' she paused searching for an excuse. `` Thank you for trusting me.'' I said. `` Thank you for letting me help Claire.''
Millaya stepped forward and scooped up Claire in her arms. `` Good-bye'' she said. `` Good-bye'' I said. I stared at Claire's unconscious form as Millaya's wings enveloped them and there was a flash of light. They were gone. I closed my eyes to steel myself before continuing.
I waved my hand toward Qixl-pla and began to walk back around to face him. `` Qixl-pla....I am Baelgar. On Earth, I was a protector of nightmares, of a small girl. Here... now... for you... I AM nightmares. That stirring in your stomach? You should be able to feel it pretty well now. Since you ca n't move, just take a look down here in my shield.'' Qixl-pla looked down at his mirrored reflection. He could see the robe over his stomach begin to churn and move and stir. `` That, well, you know what that is... Carrotean tape worms. You had a nightmare about that the other night did n't you? Well, you got'em. A full blown case, I'm afraid, and they're a bit hungry. While you stand here, they're slowly eating you from the inside. You look a little tired. Here, lay down on this table you have here.'' I pick him up by his skinny grey neck and hold him high before shoving him down into the table. They're hungry, but a bit slow I'm afraid. It will be awhile. I'm just going to pull up a chair here and linger awhile.'' I grab a tool cabinet, throw it down to the floor and have a seat on top, as there is not any furniture available my size.
Even though Qixl-pla ca n't move or speak, in his mind, he is screaming. I lean over and turn his head toward me so he can see me. `` Soooooo... I say... we're going to be here a bit... let me tell you what's going to happen... well, you know what's going to happen on the table there....but, well, after that... After that, I'm going to go find your buddies and have a chat with them. Your pal Phete-thun? He has a thing about being skinned alive, your boss Pegger-fump? Well, he's rather attached to his naughty bits. Not for too much longer, I'm afraid. There are twenty-seven of you on this ship. I'm going to take your ship head back to your home world. Sure your time's a little different in scope, but to me, it'll take about one hundred and eleven years. Trust me, I have time. You all will keep me busy over the next few years. After that's all done, maybe I'll find a few nice books to read or take up knitting or some other hobbies... you don β t worry about me, I'll find something to do... can you see OK? Do I need to tilt the shield any?''
Edit: Formatting paragraphs. Pasted paragraphs were lost.
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[ WP ] You are an assassin . A little girl has just come up to you , handed you all her pocket money and asked you to kill her abusive relative .
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*Partially inspired by a scene from The Ghomeshi Effect. *
`` Were you a sniper?'' asked Theo, holding the photo album in disbelief.
`` Yes.''
`` You killed people?''
`` Yes.''
`` Why did you stop?''
`` Well, I got shot. I started having trouble making good calls. So they told me I should go home.''
`` What did you do after?''
I took a moment to decide how to phrase my answer.
`` I kept doing the same thing, for people who payed me. I... I'm not proud of that, but I did it.''
`` Like Black Widow!''
`` Yeah, kind of like Black Widow. But I stopped. I started going to the doctor, I got an honest job. I'm trying to be a better person.''
Theo stared at the floor.
`` Does that make you upset?'' I asked.
`` No. The people you killed, they deserved it, right?''
`` Not always. That's why I stopped.''
`` Oh.''
I moved over a bit, to point to another picture in the album.
`` That was in the rec room. We used to play board games there, and sometimes we'd watch movies. We marathoned the X-Men movies, once.''
`` Really?''
He was suddenly excited again. I told him stories of my time in Afghanistan for another hour, until Angela came to get him.
That woman deserved a medal, not me. She worked long hours just to get by, and had to send Theo to her dad's, or occasionally her friendly neighbourhood vet, most days after school. Theo was good kid. Quiet. He could spend hours playing with my dachsund, then he would come inside and read comic books until dinner. He told me a few times he liked it here more than at his grandpa's. I never suspected anything, until the next time Theo came over.
A Walmart gift card and almost a hundred dollars, cash. All of the money he was saving up to buy an Xbox. In my hands, just as his mom was pulling in the driveway.
`` I know you said you do n't do it anymore. But can you...'' he trailed off. He was shaking.
`` Can I what?'' I prompted.
`` My grandpa. He deserves it,'' he finally said, before turning around to pull on his coat. He bent down to scratch George behind the ears, then left without another word. I stared at the money, wondering if I had understood correctly.
Maybe that was why Theo was so quiet. I never saw bruises or cuts. It had to be something worse.
I grabbed my car keys.
Two weeks after the funeral, and no word from Angela. Did she know? I did n't want to intrude, but I felt like it was the right thing to do. I thought she was gone to work. I was just going to leave it by the door while I walked George, but she saw me.
`` Catherine?''
`` Hi, Angela. Sorry. I have something for Theo, I was just going to drop it off.''
`` Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?''
`` I do n't mean to bother you...''
`` No, I insist.''
I closed the screen door behind me, and followed Angela into the kitchen. She puttered around, pulling down mugs and starting the kettle. Finally, she looked at me. She had the fiercest look I'd ever seen on someone with tears in their eyes.
`` Thank you.''
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[ WP ] Schizophrenia is partially cured . People no longer have random delusions , but instead see things based on the mood they are in . Pick one person and describe what they see .
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I wake up and quickly shut my eyes tight, desperately searching my mind for the happy thoughts and positive feelings that seemed to evade me so often. In therapy last week, they told us to look for the things that make or break our day. That if we start the day positive, it will flow better.
I thought it was bullshit - and as a result I had a horrible week. That's one thing I'll say about these new pills - maybe I'm not doped up enough to zombify me - maybe I can actually function like a normal human being, but it does n't exactly stop the nightmares. And let me ask you - if you could n't escape your nightmares, what kind of a fucking mood would you be in? It just does n't end, really. So yeah, you fucking recognition-needy lab coat assholes, I hope you choked on your celebratory champagne. You look at your pretty little lab rats, running around on their wheels acting like normal rats and you say `` Holy shit, we found a cure''. Except it was n't a cure, was it? Ever think to ask those fucking rats what kind of a life they're living now? But I guess, in your books `` cure'' looks a lot nicer on the front page of every news paper. I'm not fucking cured. I'm a child with an overactive imagination with too many demons in his closet to have anything but nightmares. And in my head, I never wake up.
I begin to hear familiar whisperings - fuck. Not today. They said if I keep up with these moods, they'll put me on antidepressants. Like some kind of suicidal wimp. I'm not fucking suicidal. I'm not depressed. But they say it'll even out my moods or something like that. Stop the bad thoughts and the negative hallucinations. So, what then. Not only am I bat-shit crazy, I'm an overly hormonal depressed teenager too? Jesus, I just keep racking in the normal points.
But then my doc says it's not a good idea. I know, kind of obvious, you'd think. Something about side effects and interactive drugs and a whole lot of mumbo jumbo no one fucking understands without a degree hanging on your office wall claiming that you have some idea of what you're talking about. So he writes me this slip saying something about therapy - do n't worry he says, it's not the same kind of therapy as before. And then a few days later I get this call from some happy sounding woman who tells me she'd like to schedule an appointment and try to help me sort out my head.
She asks me about what I've seen, heard. How does it make me feel? How have my moods been? What are the things that make me sad, angry, upset? What about happy, hopeful, excited? Then she tells me she'd like to see me again, next week, and that I should practice trying to get into a good frame of mind every morning when I wake up. Think happy thoughts, she said. Who the fuck am I, Peter Pan?
And still, I left that day and I felt good. The whisperings dulled down and the world itself seemed a little brighter.
But then I woke up to a rainy day and a Monday morning and my week took a familiar nose-dive into chaotic darkness and rumoured whispering. Again with the fucking nightmares.
So now I lay here with my eyes shut and try to listen. I feel the warmth of the sun on my sheets and I hear the birds chirping away in the trees. I concentrate on that. I try to swallow my anger - about the pills and the new treatment, about the doctors and scientists who considered people like me a `` success''. Slowly the whispering fade into the background. I open my eyes, and I see the sun.
Maybe today I'll have good dreams.
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[ WP ] The sun is a living entity that must be amused daily in order to shine . When bored , it reverts to a darkened sun . As a result , we 've had to perform daily antics and use comedians to amuse it . Unfortunately , the sun has n't shone in a week . As the leading solar scientist , the world turns to you .
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For 57 years Dr. Ovard had been enchanted, entranced even, by the Sun. So
dedicated to his studies that he never married, spending every waking moment in his research lap grappling with new theories. No man or women since the beginning of time had been able to explain, with scientific reason, how the Sun came to be such a temperamental, capricious entity so greatly misunderstood by the human population. It was merely accepted, and mostly went unquestioned.
Every day the duty to amuse the sun fell to a different person. If they were successful the Sun would appear, shining high up in the sky, as if from no-where until hours later it suddenly faded to darkness once again. Comedians tended to fare the best, resulting in the brightest and warmest rays, so they were widely in demand on the solar entertainment registry. Ovard was quietly envious of each and every person that had ever encountered the Sun β s shine of approval, but now that the world had turned to him to rescue them from a potentially eternal darkness he felt wholly inadequate for the challenge.
Being so notably un-socialised, Ovard had not told a joke for as long as he could remember, much less elicited a warm reaction from a petulant being, let alone a star. He β d been informed on the third day of the sun-drought that he would be called upon if the darkness lasted a week. The following four days had transformed him, unravelled him from a composed and respected scientist to nothing more than a nervous wreck.
Inevitably the dreaded morning arrived. He packed a small box of supplies and in the thick darkness made his way to a beach a few miles out of town. He was surprised to find that the sound of the gentle morning waves solaced him despite the fact that he had no inclination of how to appease the Sun β s need to be entertained. Ovard sat pensively on the shore wrapped in a thick woollen blanket which barely took the edge off of the chill deep set in his bones. Staring out into the dark void that was the skyline before him, lit only softly by distant town lights, he called out uninhibitedly to the Sun.
β I β m not funny. I don β t know why they β ve sent me hereβ¦ β.
Silence.
β Don β t you understand, if you don β t shine for us we β ll die? β.
Darkness.
β Year after year passes and I am no closer to understanding why we have to do this for you every bloody day! You want me to dance for you? Sing, then. Is that it? β.
Never before had Ovard uttered a single word to the sun β out loud that is. Usually he would internalise the dialogue, going as far as to imagine the Sun β s responses. The difference now being his sheer desperation, the weight of responsibility set upon his frail shoulders.
Days passed with no notable changes. Ovard remained huddled in his blanket, teeth chattering, lips quivering, calling out into the continuous β night β unanswered. Refusing to move from the beach without success he had shouted out with despair, screamed at the top of his lungs until his chest felt tight and every inch of his body was shaking. Although he β d never admit it, he had cried too, wept uncontrollably at the futility of the situation. He β d resolved that he would rather die in that very spot than live with the shame, with the heartbreak, of the Sun looking down and callously ignoring his cries.
β I know that you see me. I may not know much, but I know that at least. How dare you turn a blind eye to me? I β ve dedicated my whole life to you, knowing and accepting that you could never reach out to me in return. I β ve never known love or happiness. The highlight of each and every day of this mortal life of mine is centred around your light and Iβ¦ Iβ¦ Give up. β.
Returning home was painful. It took everything in him to admit defeat, so he slunk home quietly informing no one about his surrender to the eternal darkness. Crawling into bed, Ovard felt heavier than he ever had in his life. His heart had sunk; collapsed under the weight of rejection. As he was slowly pulled into slumber he thought that he wouldn β t care in the slightest if he were to never wake up.
That night Ovard dreamt of nothing. For hours his subconscious was barren. The empty darkness was interrupted only by the entrance of a familiar warmth that seeped into his dreamscape with a silent knock. When he woke he was still somewhere between the barrier of asleep and awake, in a state where the memory of your dreams manages to influence your actions. Mindlessly, the Doctor untangled himself from his creased bed linens and lazily traipsed over to his window β concentrating mostly on putting one foot in front of the other. When he reached the window and threw the curtains back, the sight before him instantaneously brought a tear to his eye.
Never before had he seen the sun hanging so low before, or the hues of pink and orange that marbled the sky. The global rejoice and celebration did not interest Ovard in the slightest as he could not pull his focus away from the light show before his very eyes. Everyone but him was too busy to savour the new colour of rays radiating from the golden orb. Resisting the urge to head straight for his study, or try and capture the beauty of the new light in some way, he simply sat and marvelled as the Sun seemed to rise and fall with him; pink and orange swirls when he woke, and the slow surrender of the dusky evening light into darkness as the Sun descended slowly beneath the horizon that night.
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[ WP ] You are the Last Witch alive , in a futuristic world where technology rules . You think you have no place in this world , until a problem occurs that only magic can solve .
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Rain pattered the stonework as Peylon Transoptia walked casually from one building to the next. By some marvel, not a drop had soaked her hair. It was still that same rich light blonde so universally accepted as beautiful. When wet, though, that blonde grew darker and thicker, and Peylon thought it was not quite as beautiful. She was very thankful for the glass tunnels which connected each and every building of Opitua.
The doors ahead of her hissed open and she strolled through, lights flickering on and then off again. The room was dark, but the faint glow of bio-luminescence illuminated enough of the room that Peylon could make out the cubicles which dotted the floor. She descended one, two, then three stairs and reached the floor, where she turned right and walked forward. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the ritualistic silence of the office.
As she walked to her desk, Peylon only saw one other worker, a man by the name of Mansfjord. He was young, with dishevelled, curling dark hair and an excess of weight. Peylon touched her hand to her neck sheepishly as she walked past, but Mansfjord did not notice her. He was still hard at work.
Most of the cubicles were empty, though it was a prime office hour, when work could be done most efficiently. Peylon did not bother with a sigh; her disappointment was preternatural. She walked by a glowing tube of water, inset into the walls, and watched a little clump of algae kill an evolutionary rival. Then she reached her own cubicle.
The computer was already on, and she interfaced with it. Her glasses, their dark frames accentuating her emerald eyes, started showing screen after screen of applications. She filtered for'Murder','Time-Travel', and'Rebellion', sorting any with these tags into their own sections which she would probably never get around to emptying. The next few options she read briefly, and then deleted. She could only choose the most exquisite pitches for the network higher-ups to review.
Usually, she hated her job. It was useless and boring and demoralizing. She came to work and she saw the wonder of what this world had become, but then she saw the horror of what it had done with itself. She had no issues with the emergence of a thousand new types of technology, each more useful than the last. It was with the people that used this technology that she took issue. Of the fifty people who worked in her office, only a handful would faithfully show up. The rest - like most of Opitua's nine million residents - would spend their time watching the mundane entertainment they were meant to be creating.
Since she had to pander to such low standards, Peylon had to play a game each day. She would leave her apartment as Peylon, a bright young woman who also happened to be the Last Witch, but she would enter work as Peylon, the mindless idiot who works as part of the horde. She degraded herself, but she did so with skill and, she liked to imagine, some inkling of honour. By stepping into the role of the common ignoramus she could see which shows would be successful and which ones would fail. Most would be watched, but some would be more interesting than others.
*Interesting* might have been the wrong word. Exciting? Stimulating? Edgy? It was hard to pin a label on what the public wanted.
Peylon worked efficiently, sifting through fifty useless pitches in the first half hour. Three of them were about'the average city dweller', or at least a fantasized, nostalgic version of such a person. Peylon knew the idea was flimsy, even if it was popular. *Do n't just win their interest - win their hearts! *
After another five minutes, Peylon, like every other worker in the room, noticed the doors slide open and a man march in. He was followed by two Paxim security bots, but so were all governmental employees. The robots were cheap, effective, and a developing fashion symbol. Soon they would be very uncool.
At first Peylon had paid them no attention, but after a moment her instincts drew her out of her self-imposed ignorance and into her inherent interest and caution. She realized with a shock that the man was looking directly at her, and now walking in her direction.
In the darkness, Peylon thought about her options. The government, of course, knew about her bloodline. It was public knowledge, in fact, but only the government and certain news outlets cared about it, at the moment. A few years ago, the Witch Uprising had brought ninety-five percent of the witch population to extinction. Suicide, hate-fuelled murder, and'disappearances' had wiped out the last five percent, until Peylon had known that with the death of her immediate family, she would be the last witch alive. Already, she was the Last Witch.
If the government was coming now, it could mean any of a number of things, but none of them were good. She wanted no attention for her blood - she had forced herself into a role which she could barely suffer, and she was as happy as she hoped to be. The government might be here to murder her, to interrogate her, to publicly accuse her of some heinous crime in an attempt to drudge up the old hate for witches, or perhaps worst of all, to force her in front of cameras and ask her to tell the world how happy she was to be alive.
She hated living and could not stomach that lie, especially not in front of cameras, where it would only embarrass her more.
So, in the darkness, she darted out of her cubicle.
As soon as she was out of her cubicle, her connection severed itself and her glasses blared a warning. The thought receptacles, processing her brain activity and translating it into code, sent a message for the warning to shut off, and it did with a final blaring protest. As she ran down the corridor, her head and back ducked to gain maximum stealth, the government agent wheeled around the corner behind her, and in a voice more alarming than the blare of her glasses, he shouted:
`` Stop the target!''
*Great, * Peylon thought, *So I *am* a target. *
Peylon jumped around the corner and into the next row of cubicles. Her glasses alerted her to the new signals given off by a series of micro-drones which had presumably just been launched by the Paxim bots to track her, and potentially subdue her. She cursed and kept running.
In truth, she was invigorated. Witches are born with a certain flare which can not leave them no matter how they are raised. They thrive in adventure and action, suspense and danger. This was all of these. Peylon felt her instincts kicking in, and she wished with all her might that she had the strength to use her magic.
Peylon darted down another corridor and past the third office worker. It was a young, blonde-haired male who did not notice her when she ran by. She wished that the drones were not as smart as they were, and that they would go after the boy rather than her.
As she reached the end of the corridor, she began to feel exceptionally tired, and she grew more exhausted exponentially. In her dimmed brain, she recognized the fact that the drones had caught up with her, and were slowly injecting her with doses of poisons and toxins and tranquilizers. Her legs gave out and she stumbled once, twice, then crashed into an empty cubicle ahead of her. Her muscles stopped reacting to her commands, and soon her brain lost its ability to formulate commands. As she slipped into the dreaded sleep, the government's man caught up to her with his robots a few mechanical footsteps behind. The man's hands fell to his hips as he stared down at her, and he scoffed.
`` And here they said this one might be interesting.''
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[ WP ] In the year 2060 , a new technology has been invented . You are a convict being held in a thought prison , which removes all of your senses and paralyzes you , only allowing you to think . However , you begin hearing a strange voice calling your name from within your own mind ...
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*Sherbs... Sheeerbssss... *
Well, that's mildly disconcerting, to say the least. I've been in here for nearly 5 years, just thinking, after all, that's all you can do in a thought prison. Well, at least I think that it's almost been 5 years. I have no real way of telling. But now, a voice inside my head is calling out my name. As I said, disconcerting.
*SHERBS! *
Oh Gods, am I going mad? I might be going mad. But, I suppose that that would be justice. All the people that I drove mad, drove to the point of suicide. Now, their lives are weighing on my thoughts so much, that I have gone mad myself. Well, this should be a welcome break from the monotony, if I can communicate with the voice.
*Gods dammit Sherbs, wake up. *
Wake up? But how? My body has been completely paralyzed, the only part of me that still functions is my mind. I ca n't wake up, not until I've served my time. And even then, they may decide that the world's better off without me. Who would really cry if *I* died? No one, that's who.
*He's not waking. We left it too long. Is there anything we can do? *
**I do n't know. He's been under for nearly 30 years now. Longer than anyone ever has. It's always been a real possibility that he'd remain trapped in his mind. **
Thirty years?! Thirty? Three-zero? That's impossible! I thought it was five years, I should n't have been off by even a factor of two, but this second voice is telling me that i'm off by a factor of six? That ca n't be. Surely that voice ca n't be serious.
**I am serious, and do n't call me Shirley. **
... Did I say that last part out lound?
*Yes, now wake up Sherbs. *
**I do n't think he can. Sherbs, we've been sent to get you out, because, quite frankly, your mind is needed. It's a good job that you can hear us, and respond, but it would have been better if you could have fully woken up. Oh well, beggars ca n't be choosers. We need you. We need you to work for us. We promise that if you do, we'll try to revive you, but we ca n't promise that we'll succeed. What do you say? **
...
I'll do it.
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[ WP ] Every city has a wizard . If you want to be the wizard for a different city , you have to challenge that city 's wizard to a game of Magic .
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Grimlock sat at the table across from me, his old, weathered face and long beard weary with experience. He looked almost ready to lay down his life, much less his title as wizard. He probably would have died a long time ago, if not for the new rules. I must admit, the new rules are cleaner. It got tiring to have to kill so many wizards. Playing a fantasy trading card game was n't what I expected, but I'm the wizard of five cities now, and I'm about to gain San Fransisco.
I shuffled my cards, well protected in their ornate sleeves. I presented to Grimlock for cutting, and we exchanged decks. I vigorously shuffled his, making sure he was not cheating. I took my deck back, and drew my hand.
I looked at my seven cards. One Gitixian probe, a Splinter Twin, a Steam Vents, a Scalding Tarn, two Serum Visions, and an Island. I could work with this. I rolled my die. I got a 17 to his 3. I go first.
Brows sweating, I think about my play. If I lose, I'll lose the city of Sacramento. I finally decide to play Steam Vents, paying the two life to use it immediately. Now at 18 life, I play a Serum Visions. I draw a Lightning Bolt and look at my top two cards. Nothing good. I put them onto the bottom of the deck. I play Gitixian Probe, bringing me down to 16 life. He reveals his hand. A couple lands, a Lili, a Goyf, and a Bolt. Nothing too worrisome. I draw my card. A Mountain. Crap.
He plays a Raging Ravine and passes the turn.
I draw an Electrolyze. I'm starting to get worried. If there's the slightest chance he can beat me... no. I wo n't lose Sacramento. I play a Scalding Tarn and a Serum Visions. Again, nothing good. I pass the turn.
He plays an Overgrown Tomb untapped, and plays his Goyf. He passes, and I crack the Tarn. I fetch a Steam Vents, and put it tapped. I draw my card, and it catches me by surprise. I ca n't believe my luck! I smirk and play an Island, knowing this turn will be his last.
He plays his Liliana, and makes me discard a card. I trash the Electrolyze. He attacks with the Tarmogoyf. I take the three damage. At the end of his turn, I flash in my Pestermite.
As the card hits the table, I can see the shock in Grimlock's eyes. He knows at this point that he shall lose quickly. I draw my card, and play a Mountain. Relishing the moment, I tap all my lands. I place down my Splinter Twin. Grimlock lowers his head and accepts his defeat. I play my combo and proceed to deal him 999,999,999,999,999,999,999,997 damage. He is dead, and I have become the wizard of San Fransisco! I stand up and clean my cards. Suddenly, though, a man comes in wearing a judges uniform. He says the words I'd been dreading my whole career.
`` Do n't you know? Splinter Twin's been banned!''
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[ WP ] The world chess champion is visited by Death , who offers fifty extra years of life in exchange for chess lessons .
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Death knocked three times and waited patiently at the door of Jackson Schowalter β s Victorian home. A cruel, hacking cough responded from behind the black door, and it cracked open to reveal a withered face.
β Took you long enough, you half-rate bastard. I expected you weeks ago. β
β Sorry, Mr. Schowalter. I β ve been a little tied up with the war. Please gather your things and come with me. β
Jackson Schowalter coughed horrifically for several seconds and walked into his home. Death followed and took a seat on a leather couch in the living room. Before him on a squat coffee table lay an ornately carved chess set. Warriors of mahogany and ivory squared off on a marble checkerboard. Death picked up a pawn with a boney hand and admired the fine craftsmanship as Mr. Schowalter shoved coats and trinkets into a canvas suitcase.
β Hey, Mr. Schowalter, β said Death, β Are you any good at Chess? β
β I suppose I am, β came the reply.
β Well then. I β ve got an offer for you. If you teach me how to play this game, I β ll give you fifty extra years to live. β
β What the fuck, Death. Just take me home. β
Without a word, Death stood up and walked out onto the front porch. Jackson Schowalter followed him, luggage in hand, and locked the black door behind him.
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[ WP ] You 've accidentally killed the Devil . God makes you the new Devil to replace the one you killed .
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Lucifer's bleeding corpse lied before me, still as a statue. With a flash of intense white light, the big man himself stood over his corpse, brandishing a pitchfork.
`` You killed the Devil.''
`` I killed the Devil?''
`` You killed the Devil.''
`` So?''
`` You're not supposed to kill the devil.''
`` Well, I did... somehow. All did was throw a bucket of water at him...?''
`` He's allergic to h2o. Back in his angel days, his throat closed up when he touched a raincloud. Luckily, Noah had an epinephrene shot on him.''
`` Are n't you guys immortal deities? How do you get allergies and die?''
`` It's complicated.''
`` How complicated?''
`` Very complicated. Like, analyzing-the-entire-universe complicated.''
`` Okay. What happens now? Is there no Devil anymore?''
`` Not so fast, friendo. Old Scratch bit the dust, sure, but we still need an evil deity to challenge mortal beliefs. You have to --''
`` No way.''
The flames surrounding us grew to gargantuan sizes. `` How dare you interrupt God?!''
`` Sorry.''
`` Now, you have to become the Devil. Do n't worry, it's an easy job.''
`` How easy?''
`` You just have to sit on a comfy throne and dispatch demons. Some days, you can call serial killers through telepathy and tell them to murder people. It's always funny seeing that as a defense in court. Every year, you get the privilege of shoving an exploding pineapple up Hitler's you-know-what in front of everyone. It was n't his original torture regimen, but so many souls demanded it, we just *had to*. Sound good?''
`` Err... no?''
`` *sigh* Fine, I'll just disown another angel and cast them from Heaven, forcing them to become the new Devil.''
*****
If you enjoyed this, check out /r/Picklestasteg00d.
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[ WP ] You are onboard the ISS on the night side of earth when suddenly you see the lights of whole countries going out .
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NASA astronaut Kathy Harrison was the first to notice when the lights went out.
The ISS was orbiting over the nighttime side of the planet, and Kathy had been tasked with maneuvering the DEXTRE robotic manipulator into position for the next crew β s EVA. To do so, she had situated herself inside the Tranquility Node cupola, which offered the best view of the station and the Earth below.
As she sometimes did, she lost track of her assignment and marveled at the wonderful piece of engineering she was occupying. In the dim light the solar arrays appeared to be a dull orange, and the station itself a ruddy white. Attached to the far end of the station she could barely make out the deep green of the Russian Soyuz while, closer to her, she had an easier time seeing the brightly lit windows of the Boeing CSTβnot as flashy as the Dragon2 that had brought up the previous American crew, but certainly more robust.
As she looked directly overhead, she could see the lit cities of Europe, appearing like so many gold spider webs splayed out across the darkness. Kathy recounted the geography in her headβthere β s London, and that of course is Paris, andβ
It started East of Paris, right around where she supposed Geneva would be, a rapidly expanding circle of darkness that was quickly engulfing France and Switzerland.
She keyed her flight-to-ground microphone. β ISS Houston, are we due for any geomagnetic activity tonight? β
CAPCOM-Houston replied back with, β That β s a negative Kathy. You β re almost out of range, please standby for handover to Moscow. β
Kathy sighed. In comparison to their NASA counterparts, the Roscosmos people were always polite but cold on the flight-to-ground loop. Rather than wait, she pushed off the cupola railings, made her way back into Tranquility, and started back through the modules.
She found the station commander, Alexi Glazkov, performing maintenance on an air cycler in the Zvezda service module. Following a protocol that dated back to the 70s and the Apollo-Soyuz test program, she asked her question in Russian. β Hi Alexi, did Houston or Moscow tell you about a magnetic storm for today? β
Alexi looked up from his task and asked, in heavily accented English, β No? Why do you ask? β
β I was looking down at Europe from the Cupola and the lights are going out in the cities? β
The cosmonaut gave her a confused, quizzical look and pushed his way past her into the Zarya module, where he looked through one of the Earth-facing portholes. His eyes widened and he keyed his own microphone. β Hello Moscow, hello? β
The response from the ground was terrifying. The Russian CAPCOM declared, β Commander Glazkov, call the crew together. Prepare for long-term orders followed by loss of contact. β
β How long? β Alexi asked.
β Permanent. β
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[ WP ] You 're midway into your flight when you , feeling bored , decided to surf the Internet . You read breaking news about another plane disappearance . You 're on that flight .
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Its worse. The flight attendant has just said they're out of peanuts.
You glance back at the magazine in your hands wishing it was newer. And you wonder if it was clean.
The possibility of catching ebola from the a guy that traveled before has always secretly terrified you.
Missing.
What the hell does that mean really? Off the radar? No radio contact? You whip out your phone and sneak an illegal turn on just to see what it picks up.
Nothing. No gps lock. No cells. Not even the auxillary fm chip picking up anything.
..the fat guy blocking the window seat makes it difficult but you lean around and... Yes. There is ground. Still there. Its not twillight zone or anything. At least.. no. That wasnt a dinosaur. Silly thought.
No one else seems to notice anything. No, the flight attendant hasnt changed her sour expression. Doubtful she knows anything.
Its not until you feel the tingle t your feet that you look down and realize rather abrutly but with a strange calm that there is no floor of the aircraft. Its just.
Not there.
In fact your feet are n't there either. Just empty air and clouds whipping by with no sound at all. Its like someone took a giant plane and simply sectioned off the whole bottom of the plane and no one or nothing.. not even the plane.. was disturbed in the least.
That's odd.
You dont even panic. I mean its too unbeleivable to beleive so you just look again down at the non existant floor and the clouds racing by through your ankles where your feet and the floor should be and just stare in quiet disbeleif.
You wiggle your toes which you can clearly feel but cant see.
Suddenly the strange light rises up from the nonexistant floor in the rows in front of you and you notice its glow on the aircraft roof.
A passenger in the row in front of you has clearly noticed now as well. His rapid head movements make you realize he isnt taking it quite as calmly as you are, and you almost reach out to touch his shoulder to give a little reassurance. Well you really just wanted to stop him from screaming which you are certain he will do at any second.
And that when you notice it.
The small peice of metal rising out of the space above his shouoder. It just sits there sort of blinking in haze.
But as you look closely you realize it isnt a peice of metal. Its like a big giant metal room or machine shrunk down to the size of hamburger. Damn, you realize you are REALLY hungry. Why else would you watch the most incredible minature you have ever seen floating in front of you and think of it as the size of a hamburger?
You can even see little tv screen and people around this metal room. It looks strangley familiar.
You peer into the tiny fuzzy space floating above the passenger's shoulder and wish the others would not scream just yet. You want to figure out what it is.
And that's when you notice the headline in the old magazine in your hands.
The supercollider. Next month they will restart it. So let's see. Trying to think through the martini you had at the bar.... Yes. You are pretty sure that the magazine is a month old so today is the day it would be referring to.
The day they turn it back on.
And the little sidebar in the article about how someone speculates whether or not it will rip a hole in spacetime.
Huh..
You look out the window past the fat man again and realize he isnt so fat and, well, he isnt even a man. He is now a teenager and skinny. And the window. Well itcs not so much a window as a porthole... A strange glowing purplish... Well.. damn it its just There.
And suddenly as you watch the tiny supercollider the size of a hamburger sitting on the shoulder of the passenger in front of you disappears.
And the floor.. and your feet..are back.
And. Wait. You're on the runway and the plane hasnt even taken off.
It's half an hour ago.
You catch the flight attendant has she scurries by on the way to her seat.
`` Miss... Uhm mamm. Uhh. Can I have some extra peanuts?'' `` I missed lunch becuase my connector was late and i barely made it to the plane.''
`` Sure'' she smiles. `` I'll get you an extra two packs once we are in the air.''
Well good you think.
At least you wont be hungry in the time loop if it happens again.
Stupid scientists. Always risking the planet to explore the spacetime continuim.
It was kind of cool though.
You secretly hope it might happen again.
And maybe this time you'll see dinosaurs out the window... Or the floor.
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[ WP ] You are foretold to come into great wealth . Now everyone suddenly wants to lend you money .
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`` I do n't really know what to make of all this,'' I thought aloud.
`` Well, try not to think about it too much, you know? I'm just trying to help you out,'' the well-dressed man replied.
`` Help me out. This is... alright listen, I'm gon na level with you. I have no idea why everyone thinks I'm gon na come into money, I've been just out of poverty my whole life. Most of that is my own doing, I just want to write.''
`` Ooh, the great American novel maybe, that would be neat. So what do you need?''
`` What do I need? Well for starters I need peace and quiet, and all this... I have n't written a word since what happened the other day, there's too many people, hovering too close.''
The man recoiled, `` I certainly hope you are n't implying anything.''
`` No! Shit, listen man, I really do appreciate the *idea* of getting help with this, it's just, people have come out of the woodwork to loan me money. And last week I could n't afford Ramen, I'd be a fool to push everyone away, but I'm truly worried about the future.''
`` Hmm, maybe a trust is in order then. Keep the rent paid, food on the table, and you can write the novel. Easy peasy.''
`` Okay, how about this, what happens when everyone finds out that prediction was wrong? What do *you* do then? You really think a guy in my position could ever pay you back?''
`` If you get it done, yes! Do n't be so hard on yourself.''
I hung my head, `` I ca n't believe... no.''
`` Hmm?''
`` I ca n't accept that, from you. No offense, but I think I have to do this on my own.''
The man frowned, `` Listen, Jack-''
`` It's John.''
`` John, apologies, but you have to see the bigger picture. I do n't give a damn how much you might make in the future, yeah sure maybe I came here to loan you a bit for the interim, but I'm seeing something else now. I've been a patron of the arts for a very long time, and I do n't intend to stop anytime soon.''
There was a pause, John let out a nervous cough and acted as if he had something on the tip of his tongue.
`` I'll tell you what. Maybe you're a man of principles, or maybe you're scared of debt, so let me make a proposal. Let me be a partner in the process. I have the resources and connections to make your average tale into something much bigger. Anything from the top editors, ghostwriters, down to experts that can give you technical detail for any characters in the trades. Yes I will ask for a percentage of profit, we can hack out the finer bits later. What do you say?'' he finished as he reached out.
`` Umm... and you want to do this without knowing anything about it? I just ca n't believe that, sorry.''
`` Fair enough. Plot summary, right now.''
`` What, here on the sidewalk?''
`` Yeah sure, pitch it to me, even. However it works for you.''
`` Oh, well, hmm, it's, well the thing is a mess, it's-''
`` Characters?''
John laughed, `` actually yeah, the main character is basically me, with a few quirks dialed up for comedic value I guess. And there's a character just like you, too. I called him Rich, trying to be painfully ironic.''
`` Huh, and did it involve Rich helping John write a book? Or paying his expenses?''
`` No! It was more like, Rich could n't... he was bad in social situations, and John saved him from a barroom asskicking, so the helping was closer to an even split, in a lot of ways. It gets really crazy, I was going to try to play with a bunch of different ideas and philosophies, there's a bunch more characters that are mostly archetypes for certain people I used to know.''
`` Well John, that's the most I've heard you say all day, and it did n't sound like complete garbage, I'm still interested in a partnership of some sort. Are you in?''
John hesitated. This damn prediction has turned his life upside-down, and now this? A book deal on the sidewalk? How many more are waiting in line with their claws out? Maybe it was worth exploring this, if nothing else for this guy to be a wall against the rest. John reached up and shook his hand. They ended up discussing the plot all afternoon.
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[ TT ] `` Tell me I 'm not a bad person . Please . ''
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It was test day again. She always knew when it was test day.
She curled up in a ball in the corner of her room, gently rocking herself back and forth, unblinking. She felt the cold hard cement floor grinding against her spine as she rocked onto her lower back. There was little fat around her now, her bones were barely contained beneath her ever thinning skin.
Her room was bare. She had n't seen any of the others but she assumed that they would be the same. Empty. She'd over heard the Doctor tell her Mother when she'd been dropped off that it had to be that way, no materials that had the potential to become instruments of self-harm. Her Mother had approved. She had approved of all of it.
'It's for your own good. You need fixing Child.' Those words echoed through everyday, like a mantra. Causing more harm to her self than any mattress spring ever could.
She heard footsteps walking up the corridor. The squeak of rubber shoes on shiny linoleum floor made her stomach convulse. They only wore those shoes on test day. Electricity does n't transfer through rubber. She closed her eyes, squeezing her eyelids together so tightly it made her muscles ache.
The squeaking stopped outside her door. She heard the jangle of keys as the nurse loosened them from her belt and turned it in the lock. As the door swung open she rocked harder and faster as though willing her body to wake from a nightmare.
The nurse strode into the room and grabbed her by her birdlike arm.
'Come on now. You know what day it is. Up we get. Now we are n't going to mis-behave like last week are we? We ca n't fix you if you're going to be bad!'
Alice looked up at the nurse, her eyes wide filled with shame.
'Tell me I'm not a bad person. Please.'
The nurse looked at her as though for the first time. Alice had n't spoken to anyone since she had been admitted to the Asylum 18 months ago. She felt a wave of empathy for the girl, only 16 and as close to death as any patient she'd encountered. In that moment, the nurse wanted to scoop her up, hold her like her Mother should have and tell her she was n't bad just, sick in the head.
'Come on. Let's get you fixed'.
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[ WP ] Every inhabited world uses their word for earth , soil , or dirt to name their planet . You visit a new world a discover a civilization that looks normal but chose a worryingly different word .
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β Human prime was one of the first worlds to fall. β
β The three other races they had encountered, all briefly, fell shortly thereafter. β
β Survivors and nomads from the assault still strain resources on the core worlds. β
A youngling interrupted the instruction. β My nest-originator once saw a human! β
β Yes, β the instructor continued, β but thankfully the forced breeding camps have allowed them to take root on one of the surrogate worlds far from the conflict. Rumor has it their new world has even recently gone technic. β
β But as I was saying, like with every species, the native root word for their planet is a synonym of dirt|earth|ground. We originally thought our translators were wrong, and the war had started over something we had said, some custom not observed. β
β As a collective, we spent far too long allowing grievance after grievance, and trillions of lives were lost in our folly. β
β But finally we knew. The translations were accurate. This species had a name for their planet, and indeed, it followed their perception of the Universe. β
β Instead of calling the fields they tread the place where life springs, invoking the idea of growth and life, fertility and love. β
β They drew up images of murder and hate, and extended it to even galactic xenocide. They called their world *Blight*. β
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[ WP ] The villain defeats the hero but the world turns out to be a better place because of his twisted views .
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`` Your a monster. You hear me a monster.'' Spat out the man on executioners block. The emperor looked on at him and his hand. The executioner's blade held still. Inches from his face.
`` Funny. Almost funny. Tell me hero, what makes me a monster?'' The hero looked on with cool eyes, unwavering. `` It's okay, things ca n't get any worse for you.''
`` You ask me that? After all you've killed, in the hundreds, the thousand? And you ask why your a monster. Your a coward you hear, you send others out to kill and plunder while you sit on your thrown of gold gaining from our suffering.'' The emperor smiled at his response, drumming his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
`` Step aside man. I shall do this one myself.'' The emperor stepped behind the hero, and drew his blade.
`` That is what the losers always say you know. To the victor. I am not a good man. I have never claimed to be. But I am a just one, where I can be of course.''
`` Fuck you!'' barked the hero. His throat sore, his arms pinned, legs broken.
`` I do n't expect you to understand. But still I want you to know. I have made an empire, where you would have made chaos. If you would have succeeded millions would have died. I have killed thousands, for the sake of millions. Never forget hero, rulers can be just, but never nice. I have created trade and unity where you would have had lawlessness. Great men, are never good men. Good men stay at home and plow fields, and herd sheep. Great men, do what good men can not. I am not a good man hero, and neither are you or we would not be here.'' The emperor raised his blade then and sliced the head off the dissenter. The rebel, who raised an army to sack the capitol. An army that rode across half his empire and burned and pillaged in its wake, just to kill him. All for uniting a people. The hero made quite a mess, their was quite a mess to clean up.
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[ OT ] ( rant ) Tennesee 's english classes suck .
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>'' Write an argumentitive essay about whether or not youth should be exercising more.''
Youth should **not** be exercising more. For ten years, humans have lived under the oppressive thumb of the Pluckers, a race of superintelligent carnivorous chickenoid aliens. As you well know, humans have been kept in factory-like breeding farms, forced to live as a renewable food source for the Pluckers. If you can call it living.
Should the youth exercise more? Why, so they can build more muscle and eliminate fat? I'm sure the Pluckers would love that, those beak-faced bastards. No. The youth should do nothing. They should not eat. They should not drink. And above all else, they should not exercise.
Let the youth today be the last of our kind. Let us wipe ourselves from this planet, spitting in the face of those who would consume us. To hell with the Pluckers. To hell with exercise.
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[ IP ] Abandoned
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When things get too rough, i just close my eyes and let my mind wander. My brain conjurs up knights in shinning armor too take me away, or a dragon i have to face myself, to reach my safe haven. I go on brave quests and adventures, but no matter what, my journey always end here.
No, No. Not in a sad way. It is a beautiful place, a little overgrown, feeling forgotten. Maybe that's why i love this place so much. It's lonely, wild, and forgotten to civililzation. I always end here, this place is my prize. The little celebration scene you get after completing a video game.It's better than any pirate's booty or any knight's promises of love. It's my home. More homely than my''real'' home, down in reality. But who decides what's real or not?
It does n't take much for me to snap back into reality. A click of a teacher's heel, the ringing of the period bells, or even the aroma of the burning pancakes mother leaves for me. It's always distressing when i leave from my true home. I never ever wanted to leave. It's my escape, my vacation from the real world.
But reality rips this place, this place of imagination, of happiness, from my fingers. A sad smile etches itself onto my face, as the image of the overgrown and rundown castle slowly dissipates. I dont allow much emotion to be realeased outside of my fantasy land. Maybe a lingering frown, or a dissapointed sigh is whats left of my beautiful haven. Only when I'm completley alone, in the somewhat security of my small closet do i let a single glistening tear fall. Watching, as the mist clouds over, letting reality smother and bind my dreams and my imagination with thick ropes of anguish, truth and pain.
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[ CW ] Write a story that ends with the sentence `` Suddenly , the sun went nova and obliterated the universe . `` .
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Steve gripped the small paper ticket in his hands as he poured over the numbers. 5, 12, 22, 4, 12, and 55. He darted his eyes from the paper to the TV screen. His tired aching eyes strained to focus on the red lettered digits printed on the scrap of paper issued to him.
The day Steve had been waiting for was finally here. He had finally won the lotto. The bold black letters filling the state issued TV filled the screen.
β Thanks for tuning into tonight β s lotto drawing, see you tomorrow for the next lotto. β The man in the fancy government suit droned on while his lifeless gaze sat dead center.
That gaze always gave Steve a weird feeling. It was not natural, almost robotic. But his excitement quickly pushed spooky thoughts from his mind. This was a day of happiness and a well-deserved one at that. Steve looked around his damp and dreary shack, taking in the sight of it all. This would be the last night he would have to live in this squallier, and every horrible detail of it now made him laugh.
β So long flea ridden bed β Steve snapped as he grabbed his rucksack from underneath it.
β Never again β He shouted as laughed at the bucket that served as his toilet.
One solid kick from Steve β s work camp issued boots was all it took for the door to fly off its rusty hinges.
The airborne door came to rest a few feet away from Steve β s shack kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Steve coughed and laughed as he rubbed his raw eyes.
As his vision cleared the first thing to come into view was a grizzly sight. There not a mere 10 feet from where he slept a wild dog was gnawing on the remains of a camp worker.
β Get out of here you mutt β Steve half-heartedly shouted with a wild grin.
Steve was not really mad at the dog, it was just hungry. After all everyone was hungry. Hungry creatures and dead corpses, it was just nature being nature.
Steve looked around the camp; it was empty except for the lone dog.
Steve thought to himself about the day he arrived. The camp used to be full of dogs. People brought them from their old lives, desperate to grasp onto the old ways. Most ended up as dinner however. Sentiment is a hard thing to hold on to when you β re starving.
Steve walked thought the camp as red scratchy eyes peered from dusty windows. Whispers of β Steve Won β echoed like a wake as he made his way up the hill at the center of camp.
Sitting high on the hill was the shining metal building they made for us. It had been over 10 years since they arrived in shining ships with shining promises. It happened overnight, the shift as some call it.
They delivered the bad news first. Our world was doomed. Nothing we could do about it. Hell nothing they could do about it. But then they followed it with the good news. They were here to save us, but at a cost.
All the humans they could ferry away for all the resources we could mine in the time we had left. That was the deal, the promises. Almost overnight the entire human race had shifted into resource mode. We scraped and gutted this planet like it was going out of style, because well it was.
However it never seemed to be enough. They kept raising the quotas. Kept pushing us with the promise of a better tomorrow for the human race.
Steve looked up at the building high on the hill. A wide smile stretched across his face as he sprinted up the hill ticket in hand. By the time he reached the large silver door the cough had caught up with him. 7 years on a mining crew will do that to man. Through wet coughing and wheezing Steve got out the words. β I won, I won the lotto β
The rusty loud speakers spread across the camp burst to life playing a cheery melody. Followed by the pre-recorded voice of a long dead resident proclaiming β rejoice fellow citizens of camp 7463 a lotto winner has been found among you β.
Steve looked down the hill and saw the same empty camp. They days of jubilee and celebration of a lotto winner from the camp were long gone. Hopeful days of celebration had been replaced with spite and anguish. Every lotto winner conveyed a grim tick of the clock, ever closer to doomsday.
β Hey let me in, get me outta this hell hole β Steve β s raspy voice bellowed.
A jet of air burst from the crack at the bottom of the door as it slowly lifted. Steve felt a chill run down his spin as the cool air gushed from the ever widening opening.
β Please present ticket β the innocent voice of a child proclaimed from a speaker adjacent to the door.
`` Here β s my golden ticket'' Steve gleefully gasped as he held the ticket high in the air for the camera atop the doorway to see.
β Congratulation β s Citizen of Camp 7463. Your hard work has helped ensure humanities place in the stars and a future for all chosen. Please step inside. β The childlike voice giggled as it pushed out the words.
β About damn time β Steve huffed as he stepped inside.
As Steve walked into the dark hall he noticed the floor felt, off. Steve had spent 7 long years in the mines and was used to the dark but something about this darkness frightened him. He shifted one of his boots back and forth on one of the many objects that littered the ground.
β Hello, anybody home. I β m ready to go now. β Steve said as he patted around his pockets looking for something.
The room sat silent, except for a low hum that was slowly getting louder.
β What no one changes the lights in here β Steve chuckled as he pulled the lighter from his pocket.
With a quick flick of the lighter Steve β s happy go lucky day turned to horror. Littered all around him lay the charred bones and dust of countless others winners.
Before Steve could even think to move a bright blue light cascaded from the wall turning him to dust and bones. His lighter skidded across the floor coming to rest on a skull burn skull fragment.
Far away in earth orbit two creatures watched a screen filled with thousands and thousands of tiny little views of rooms similar to the one in camp 7463.
One of them turned to the other saying β This was the last cycle. We grow tired of this world; it has given all we care to take. β
The other creature sighed and pressed some buttons on nearby control panel adding β We must not let the scraps of this world fall into enemy hands. Prepare the device. β
The ship high in earth orbit vanished in brilliant white light. It had gone just as unexpectedly as it had arrived. On the surface a million eyes looked up in horror as suddenly the sun went nova and obliterated the solar system.
Note: I just kind of threw this together between calls at work. Sorry for bad spelling and grammer.
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[ WP ] A teen in a post-apocalyptic world desperately seeks an orthodontist to remove his/her braces , and accidentally ends up saving the world .
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Jim awoke to the sound of thunder. It was like a thousand horses stomping in unison. It shook him awake from his dreams of blackness. That's all he dreamt of now. Blackness. Thunder and lightning still rolled through the sky like a stampede, but blackness was all Jim could really remember.
`` This is gon na go on for a few more hours,'' Jim said aloud to no one, `` no chance at going back to sleep now.'' His voice was full of relief, he feared the blackness was seeping deeper into his unconscious, and falling asleep was starting to haunt him more than the landscape of emptiness he now inhabited.
Jim stood up and dusted himself off. He looked around to see if anything had changed since he'd fallen asleep. The empty cars were still there. The sign reading `` Portland- 20 Miles'' was right where it was before. The sky was still red. `` Check. Check. Check.'' Jim said to himself as he pointed to all of the reminders his solitude.
It'd been 4 months since the end. 4 months since the sky ripped open and everyone disappeared into dust. 4 months he'd been wandering from town to town. Jim had not found another person in 4 months.
`` Well, I'd always wanted to check out Portland,'' again, speaking aloud to nobody. `` Maybe I can finally get these damn braces off. Heard it was the dentistry capital of the world. Even if it's not, I say it is, and no one can argue,'' Jim chuckled madly and sadly.
Jim stumbled down the road. He kicked some rocks here and there. Checked some cars. None started. Walked another few miles. Fell asleep again. Stuck in the blackness. Woke up again feeling lucky to be in a land where everything was physically depressing and not just abysmal black. Walked some more. It was a routine Jim had grown used to, one he started to find comfort in. Anything but the blackness. Finally, Jim reached Portland. Tired, but curious about this new town he stepped foot in. `` HELLO!'' Jim Yelled out. No reply. No surprise.
Jim continued to walk around. There was no particular route he took. He just kind of went from street to street. Left. Right. Right. Left. Eventually, he lost track, but he did n't mind. He was just enjoying the walk. `` Right. My next turn is going to be a right,'' Jim said aloud to nobody. Jim made his right turn and stood in awe. In front of him was a brightly lit sign that said `` The Fair Orthodontist.''
Jim stood there, mouth agape.
`` Some nice chompers you got there!'' A voice yelled out. `` Come in and let me have a look!''
Jim was stunned. He'd not heard another voice in 4 months. `` Damn braces off,'' Jim said to himself as he ran up the stairs, `` why did n't i wish for a harem?''
`` Good question!'' yelled the Orthodontist. She had a golden aura about her. Blonde hair wrapped in a bun. Wearing a white lab coat hiding her scrubs. Jim suspected the coat hid more. `` Come have a seat!'' the Orthodontist exclaimed.
`` Why should I?'' Jim asked.
`` Because you have n't seen a person in months. Still have n't, actually...''
Jim was befuddled. `` Wha... AAAAAAHHH'' Jim was in the chair. He did n't realize he was already in the chair. He had a dental mouth opener spreading his lips and shining his braces to the Orthodontist.
`` HHWWIIEEUU,'' whistled the Orthodontist. `` Have n't seen teeth this nice since Georgey W. How long have you had these braces?''
`` IIHAAEEMMMOOOEE.'' gargled Jim.
`` Oh, that long?'' asked the Orthodontist rhetorically. `` Well, the good news is you wo n't need them any longer.''
She paused. `` So, how's your day been?'' She inquired in a way devoid of curiosity or caring.
`` IHINKOORUSSIIIINGOOAAIIKAAHHHOK'' Jim replied.
`` Why, yes, I am just trying to make small talk. Is n't that what your human orthodontists do? I believe it's to make you feel more comfortable in a position of vulnerability.''
`` UUEEEH?'' Jim voiced.
`` I'm going to ignore that. Anyways, you seem to have the perfect set of teeth that I need to reverse all of this.'' the Orthodontist said as she pulled the dental opener out of Jim's mouth.
`` Reverse all of what?'' Jim asked as he rubbed his jaw. His lips still hurt.
`` This apocalypse my King and Queen have brought into your world. I'm afraid Titania and Oberon are having another one of their tiffs.'' said the Orthodontist as she shook her head. `` It's not the first one either. I believe the last time this happened was toward the end of your 18th century.''
`` WHAT!?'' replied Jim.
`` Oh yes, and I had to clean things up then too.'' said the Orthodontist.
`` Ok lady, you're gon na tell me what's going on. Where is everybody? Who are you? Who are your king and queen? 18th century? What?'' Jim lost his words.
`` Do n't worry too much my dear. All you need to know is that you can end this. But you'll need to make a sacrifice.'' said the Orthodontist. She pulled out a burlap sack. `` Now sleep.'' Her voice got deeper and began to resonate in Jim's very skull. `` Do n't be afraid of the blackness.'' She whispered, a whisper that nearly rendered Jim deaf. She sprinkled the dust from her sack onto Jim's eyes.
`` Do n't fight it.''
Jim was in the blackness. He hovered over nothing, surrounded entirely by abysmal black. `` Calm down, Jim.'' He said aloud to no person. `` Remain calm. Do n't be afraid of the blackness. Breath.'' Jim was stuck there. For how long, he did n't know. Eons or seconds. He floated in the emptiness. He just simply was. Suddenly, a star appeared. A glowing white beacon. Jim was mesmerized. He did n't know what or why, but he was just happy to see something other than black. Before long, another appeared. And another. Dozens of them. Jim began counting the stars. He counted thirty one in totally. Thirty one gleaming stars in the blackness. The stars began forming a circle around Jim. Spinning faster and faster. The circle closed in on Jim. All thirty one stars slammed together in a brilliant flash and then. Whiteness. There was only whiteness.
Jim awoke to the sound of honking. It was like a thousand honking outside his window. It shook him awake from his dream of whiteness. That's all he remembered now. Whiteness. The cars were honking and Jim was drowsy. He could n't quite get up, a lot of his body was numb. He lay in his bed, listening to his neighbors scream at each other and the people on the sidewalk talk overly loud on their cell phones, waiting for the rest of his body to come back online. He stretched his limbs and felt a wad of cash beneath pillow. Excitedly, he pulled the stack of 31 bills out from under his pillow and looked at them. Each was a dollar bill, only with his face in the center. He looked through them and grew angrier and angrier as he saw each bill. By then, most of his facilities were back. He swiped his tongue throughout his mouth, horrified to find he only had one tooth left.
`` AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGG'' Jim roared aloud, to everyone.
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[ WP ] The Devil and Jesus meet each other disguised as hobos . They do n't realise , who the other really is ( at first ) and start having a conversation .
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Two homeless men stand outside a shop window watching the news.
`` Your people are at it again.''
`` Excuse me?''
`` All that death and destruction... Your silent expression watching it. You think I would n't recognize you?''
*Stands silently*
`` All this fighting creates more followers for me.So I will be there for these poor children that lost their families. They will turn to me, not you. As I have taken nothing from them. Yes I take their soul in the end. But that's only to protect them from YOU! Imagine the tragedy of after you and your kind have taken so much from them. To subdue them to an eternity with the puppet master behind their horrors. The nerve to call that paradise.'' *walks away*
*Keeps watching the news*
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