Split (3)

train · 273k rows

prompt stringlengths 5 331	story stringlengths 404 40.3k
[ WP ] Write about a how a 'harmless ' technological advancement caused the end of the world .	It was all Dr. Dolittle's fault. He invented that blasted SPAI. Self. Pleasuring. Artificial. Intelligence. Yeah, who would have thought that a self pleasuring AI would cause the end of the world. I am the last man on earth as I was able to resist the temptations of getting one of those. People no longer wanted to mate with real live humans because they were of no comparison to these AI's. Wanted someone to give you the world's best fellatio? Get a SPAI. Wanted the kinky stuff? SPAI. For god sakes even if you got off of someone reciting the whole pi in the world's sexiest voice you'd get a SPAI. Well here I am. The last man on earth. And you know what. Fuck it. I'm getting my own right now and may as well live this miserable lonely life with one of those accursed SPAI.
[ WP ] You can see all that is wrong with the world , every dusty corner , every horrible person . You can see all the things that the public ca n't . You even know how to stop terrible things from happening ... but , you ca n't tell anyone ...	I see everything. All the problems with the world. Corruption, squalor, greed, poverty, insignificance. No-one else seems to notice, as I drag myself through the dilapidated centre of our once ‘ major city ’. I hear numerous compliments floating through the air. “ Oh have you lost weight ” repeatedly. Why must they interpret things so joyously.. Their endless happiness irritates me constantly. How can they not notice. There has been no change in years, same government, same policies, and same problems. As I walk past a crumpled poster of our so called ‘ Glorious Leader ’ who ’ s disjointed face just enhances my frustration whereas he brings fulfilment to so many. ‘ Fulfilment ’, I snort with derision, I ’ ve never felt that way since the Day. When I could finally see. The blindfold was removed from my eyes. Still, my duties continue as I trudge towards my destination. I was almost through the urban centre now- it was always the most painful part. Glancing through the crowd, I search for the same dejected look as I know is etched across my own face. There must be someone else; I just haven ’ t found them yet. I continue to get the blank stares of gladness and delight. Pressure is rising within me to shout out in an attempt to share my story, but is always suppressed like every time that has come before. I always want to tell them, all of them. But, I can ’ t tell them. I can ’ t remove the veil. It would destroy them. I must suffer for their sake. They must be content. Thanks for reading this is my first response to a prompt, Any feedback would be appreciated!
[ WP ] There is an endless supply of spaghetti in your pockets .	I first noticed it as a smell of tomato sauce whilst strolling through the mall one day. It did n't bother me when the smell persisted at home, nor when doing my laundry down the street, in fact, It was quite pleasant to have the faint smell of pasta in this polluted air.Though, good things never last.. I woke up this morning and went about my usual routine, brush my teeth, shower, shit, shave, eat, drive to class. Except this morning something changed that routine. As I walked into my closet and put on my pants, I noticed they were heavier, and.. oh god, the smell.. I had never smelled hot spaghetti and denim as if they were cooked together until today. As I cautiously reached my hands in my pockets, I felt something very familiar. To my shock and awe the hot stew in my trousers was literally spaghetti. I'm not saying old prank spaghetti, I'm saying hot, fresh spaghetti, as if straight out of the oven. What shocked me even more was the fact that ALL of my pants pockets were filled to the brim with piping hot spaghetti. Today was not going to be my day. I put on a pair of gym shorts, the ones without pockets, grabbed my bag, and headed off to class, wondering all too much exactly what the hell happened to my pants. It must have been my brother playing a prank on me this morning, after all, I kinda ruined his weekend when I knocked over his liquor cabinet during a party. Oh well, payback is payback.. When I arrived in class I sat down and opened my book bag. If the gods had been watching they would have smiled at the restraint I had shown when steaming hot spaghetti seeped onto my desk. I calmly got up and walked out of class with a huge fake smile, spaghetti dripping behind me. I probably looked insane to my classmates but maybe I was going insane. Throwing the door open I rushed into my brothers room ready to fight, only to find him staring in awe at my spaghetti laden trousers. `` You did n't do this?'' I asked, as even more spaghetti shot out of my backpack. `` No..'' he replied, unable to speak coherently due to his shock at the spaghetti that just kept growing out of my pockets. Then, I realized something that made this bizarre experience make some kind of sense, I had the key to end world hunger. A few months go by and my life energy is almost drained. It appears as though I have aged 40 years in my time feeding all of the starving in the world. I am beginning to think it was the spaghetti that caused this. Though even my own brother does n't recognize me to help prove it. It seems that all anyone cares about in regards to me is this damn spaghetti anyway.. Is spaghetti really all I was made for?
[ WP ] After a treacherous upbringing of dodging the assassination attempts of time travelers you learn why they were all trying to kill you .	It was all too easy. years upon years of fighting for my life, of struggling to survive trained me, hardened me, turned me into the monster i am today. Once, a man told me that the apex predator comes about not due to its upbringing, but due to its environment forcing it to survive. for years i fought against these time travelers, their devices of death and torment etched into my mind as they hounded me, day in, day out, never granting me a moment's rest. I fought them constantly and became stronger, more knowledgeable of what they were capable of. and more narcissistic and dismissive of the society that refused to help me, calling me crazy, despite the clear evidence surrounding me. killing one of them for the first time had been an enlightening experience, it felt great to finally take vengeance, to stop fleeing and start fighting, though i knew all too well how to flee, to change the ground of battle, despite them knowing where i would be and when. once, in my childhood i aspired to become a hero, thwarting the villains, stopping evil. what a fool i was. now? seated upon this throne, these same `` assassins'' i'd sent back in time to harden myself into the demon i am today surrounding me, bowing to me, not even realizing who i would inevitably become or why, I can not help but to smile cruelly. I craved this fate, craved to become the monster that dominated, that destroyed. with the world of the present and the future arrayed against me i fought back, and i proved the victor. thus writing history, not from the perspective of history, but from the seat of my own memories of how it went. history is written by the victors. and despite all odds, I now rule the world with an iron fist, and cement that rule by condemning my servants to their death at my own hands as a reward for their long servitude. I shape my past and rule the future unopposed. such is the fairness of ruling history.
[ EU ] Weird World Wednesday , # 3 !	The man in the blue uniform rapped his fingers against the gigantic wooden door. His knocks sounded comically soft, like a bird tapping gently against a windowpane. He waited awkwardly, wondering if anyone had actually heard his knocks. Then, suddenly, the door opened with an angry gust of wind. The man found himself staring at the shins of the master of this house, a giant who, at this moment in time, looked to be on the verge of exploding in rage. The giant's bearded face, high up near the rafters, was the shade of wine, and his hands were clenched into fists the size of gigantic boulders. `` Erm... Mister Gantua? My name is Sergeant Francis Rabelei, I'm from the Cloud Security Services, I believe you called us about a break-in?'' `` Oh yes, come in,'' the giant said, stepping aside and letting Francis in. `` Thank you for coming so quickly, it's been terrible.'' The giant led Francis to his kitchen, where a female giant was cooking at a massive hearth. `` This is my wife, Panta. Panta, Sergeant Francis Rabelei.'' Panta straightened up from stirring her pot and nodded amicably at Francis. `` Pleased to meet you, Sergeant. I hope you can find the human who'd stolen from us!'' Francis peered curiously at Panta. She'd just said something rather odd. He decided not to point it out just yet, though, and instead turned to her husband. `` Mister Gantua...'' `` Please, call me Garg.'' `` Yes sir. Could you tell me about these robberies?'' Garg stared angrily at a conspicuously empty corner of the kitchen. `` It started two weeks ago. I'd come back from work, with a few bags of coins that held my earnings for that week, and I had a bit too much to drink at dinner, and I fell asleep after dinner while counting my coins...'' Francis interrupted the giant, `` Sir, you say you fell asleep? Could it be possible you were drugged? What did you have for dinner?'' `` Drugged? Impossible! My wife prepared my meal herself! As for what I ate... let's see... ah, human bonemeal bread, plus a few vats of beer.'' `` I see. Please continue,'' said Francis. `` Well, like I said, I fell asleep after dinner, and when I woke up, one of my bags of gold was gone! I knew it was gone, because I came home with six bags, and only five were left!'' Garg declared angrily. `` Was there anyone else in the house at the time?'' `` Just me and Panta. And Panta would have no reason to take the gold, we share everything anyway.'' `` I see. Please continue.'' Garg clenched his fists tighter, and said, `` Well, I decided to let it go. I'm not exactly strapped for money, and I figured if some thief really needed it that much, well, I'll look at it as charity, you know? But then a week later, the same thing happened again. I was dozing off after dinner, but then when I woke up, our goose was gone!'' `` I'm sorry, did you say goose?'' Francis asked. `` Yes, goose! Oh wait, I should explain about the goose. You see, our goose was special, it would lay golden eggs!'' Garg declared. Francis's eyes widened, `` Oh my, yes, that would be a very valuable goose indeed. I'd heard of such animals, but never seen one. They're said to be very rare.'' `` They are! That's why this bothers me so much! I bought that goose for twenty sacks of gold ten years ago, and it was about to pay itself off with gold eggs! And then it's gone, just like that!'' Garg slammed his fist into the dinner table in anger. `` Did you search for the goose or the thief? Did you notice anything unusual?'' `` Of course I searched! Turned my house upside down, I did! But there was no sign of the goose, or any break in!'' Garg's face was going from the color of wine to the color of prune juice now. `` So in the end, I had to give up. And I said, no more, I'm not napping after dinner any more, it's too risky!'' `` I see. And then what happened?'' `` Well, tonight, after dinner, I felt drowsy again, and then when I started to doze off, I heard a weird sound in the corner. And when I looked, my harp was gone!'' Francis looked at the empty corner, which now held nothing but dust, `` Your harp? Well, I can imagine that would be frustrating, but harps are n't exactly...'' `` You do n't understand! The harp was magical! It was an Angelic Autoharp!'' Francis's jaw dropped open in astonishment. `` You had an Angelic Autoharp? What model?'' `` Cherubin five-twenty! They do n't make those any more, you know!'' `` You do n't say! A five-twenty would fetch a fortune on the black market these days. No wonder the thief took it,'' Francis said, then whistled in appreciation. `` So that's when I decided to call you and see if you can catch the thief, you see. Three robberies in two weeks? That's just wrong, that is!'' Francis paused to think, then turned to Panta. `` Missus Gantua, you've been pretty quiet so far. Is there anything you can add that would help me with this case?'' Panta stared at the floor briefly, then said, `` No, not that I can think of.'' `` Do you know anything about the thief?'' `` No, no I do n't.'' Francis nodded, then turned back to Garg. `` With your permission, Mister Gantua, I'd like to examine the crime scene, see what I can find.'' `` Go right ahead! Hope you find whatever you're looking for!'' Garg waved his huge hand at the corner. Francis approached the corner, then crouched down. The floor was dusty, with a bare circle where the harp no doubt once stood. The giants were not meticulous about dusting, probably because they could n't actually see the thin layer of dust. This proved fortuitous for Francis, because there was a faint trail of footprints in the dust, leading to the bare circle, and then away again. They were the same size as his own feet. Human footprints, in other words. Francis followed the footprints, still bent low to the ground. The tracks that led to the corner came from the direction of the dinner table. The footprints that led away, however, went towards a door in the wall, probably a pantry. Francis stared at the door. It was huge, at least three times his height. He reached out and pushed against it, then pulled. It was far too large and too heavy for him to move. He nodded in satisfaction, then returned to the giants. `` Missus Gantua, I'm afraid I need to repeat my question from earlier. Do you know anything about the thief?'' Francis asked. `` No, I'm afraid I do n't. I really do n't,'' Pantua replied, still staring at the floor. `` Miss Gantua, you mentioned earlier that it was a human thief. How did you know it was a human?'' Garg was peering intently at Panta now, `` That's right, you did say that! I did n't even notice, but you did say it! How did you know?'' Panta was turning pale. `` Well... um... it must have been a human, right? Who else could slip in and out without us noticing?'' `` Lots of possibilities. Gnomes, or elves, or halflings, or even a dwarf! How did you know it was a human?'' Garg demanded. Panta blinked rapidly, then said, `` I... I guessed, I suppose. I do n't know if I'm right.'' Francis turned to Garg and said, `` Mister Gantua, I have reason to believe that your wife is actually right, and it was a human who stole your property. In fact, based on my examination of the crime scene, I have reason to believe that the thief is still in your house.'' `` What? Still in my house? Still in here?'' Garg was astonished. `` Yes sir. I found a set of footprints that lead to your pantry. However, I do n't think there's any rush to investigate it right away, because the door is too large and too heavy for one human to move. This means if there really is a human in your pantry, they're trapped in there for now.'' Garg's brow furrowed. `` But wait... if it's too heavy for a human to open, that must mean someone opened it for them...'' Garg paused for a moment, considering. Then his expression turned into one of shocked betrayal, and he whirled on his wife. `` Panta! Did you let a human into the pantry? Did you let a human into our house?'' Panta's eyes were red, and her hands were shaking, `` I... I... Garg, he... I get lonely sometimes...'' Garg leapt to his feet in fury and roared, `` Have you gone mad? A thief stole from us twice and you let him back in? Have you gone completely mad?'' Panta said nothing, and stared at the floor in silence, tears streaming down her cheeks. Garg stomped over to the pantry and placed one colossal hand on the doorknob. `` Well, Sergeant, let's see if you're right.'' He pulled gently, opening the door a crack, and peered inside. `` Hmm. Too dark to see anything. Let's see now...'' Garg slid the door open a sliver wider. Suddenly, with a flash of gold, a blurry shape darted out of the pantry through the crack and sprinted towards the front door. Even Francis was momentarily stunned by the speed of the thief. He whirled around to look, and found that the thief was a young male human, slight of build, holding the golden harp in his hands. The boy ran straight out the door like a bolt of lightning, vanishing across the clouds. `` Oi! Come back here, you little robber! Come back here with my harp!'' Garg bellowed, and then sprinted out the door after the burglar. Only Francis and Panta were left in the kitchen, with the giantess sobbing quietly, teardrops the size of buckets splashing down on the wooden floor. Francis gathered himself and prepared to leave. `` Well, I think that settles that. I'll need to write up some paperwork when I get back to the station. As for your involvement in the thefts, well... I suppose there's no need to mention it, as long as your husband does n't.'' Panta remained silent, staring wordlessly at the ground. Francis turned to leave, then hesitated, and turned back to Panta. `` Missus Gantua, I'm sure he'll forgive you. He'll be back soon, with the harp. When he gets back, you should have a long talk. I'm sure you'll be fine.''
[ WP ] You are a part of the middle generation on a colony ship . You never saw Earth and will not see your destination .	`` Give it back!'' he screams as he swipes the small, flat package from the hand of Leo. Leo, being fifteen, was six years older than Sam; his crew of boys occupied themselves by bullying some of the younger kids. In many ways, it made sense, for the confinements of the ship created a summer-camp feel. Moreover, the once vivid purpose was often lost on these boys, Leo included. They cared less about the mission than their parents. We'll never see our next planet. Why do we care? At their age, it was difficult to express just how important they truly were. Still, a few understood, and Sam wiped his face of his last few tears as he hid the package back in his pocket. `` Why do you carry those stupid things around? You'll never be able to put them to any good use. Let's go, guys.'' Sam sat there for a moment, and now that his assailants left, he mused over the package. Sure, maybe all the spots on the ship are reserved for necessities he thought. And yes, I'll never use these myself. But as he got up and walked back to his dorm, he thought of when his grandpa gave him that package. The package that came from earth itself, and it gave him purpose and hope. A simple pack of lilac seeds.
[ WP ] You are given a curse . You are the second best at everything , but as you plead , the gypsy feels merciful and makes an esception : you are the best at ONE THING , but he does not tell you .	Ellie, my roommate, stopped when she entered the living room. `` Juggling again?'' `` Yeah,'' I said, in the process of throwing and catching 3 oranges, 4 lemons, 2 apples, 3 pears, and a cantaloupe. `` With fruit this time. Maybe I'm the best at juggling fruit.'' Ellie just shook her head, making her way to the kitchen to unload her groceries. This kind of scene had become very commonplace in the months since the old fortuneteller cursed me. I was cocky and arrogant, bragging about how good I was at everything. The fortuneteller, a gnarled, wizened woman, was having none of it. `` For the rest of your life you will be second place and no more,'' she'd said, her teeth bright against her dark skin, her gray hair fanning out from a breeze that was n't there, before clapping her hands and placing the wretched spell on me for good. She did, however, take mercy on me - she promised I would be the best at one thing, and one thing only. I carefully picked up another apple with the toes of my feet. With the same motion I used to kick up the rest of the fruit I was juggling, I flung it upwards with bated breath... only to watch the fruit cascade downwards onto the floor. Fuck. I'd exhausted all the easy possibilities within the first month or so. I was n't the best at cooking, was n't the best at playing video games, was n't the best at writing... and, after a particularly memorable evening involving a mutual friend, I knew I was n't the best in the bedroom. So I slowly began turning to the more obscure things. I cooked Indian, Italian, Japanese, Thai food. I played every game in the Steam catalogue. I wrote haikus, then poems, then short stories, then a novel. And I had to hire a bunch of- Well, that's a long story. I'll save it for another time. `` You know,'' Ellie said from the kitchen, head somewhat muffled by being halfway in the fridge, `` I've been thinking. All the things you've been doing... I mean, the people you've been competing with have dedicated their lives to being the best at what they do, but you've been doing so many things at once. And yet you're consistently better at them than most people could ever dream of being.'' `` Yes,'' I said slowly, drawing out the word. `` What's your point?'' She hesitated for a moment. `` I do n't know. It sounds silly when I think about it. But I know that if I was in your position, I would've given up far earlier. I think most people would've too. Maybe the thing you're the best at is n't juggling, or riding a unicycle or whatever. Maybe you're the best at challenging yourself.'' There was a pause. `` Huh,'' I said into the silence.
[ WP ] The LHC has created tiny black hole . It 's being kept a secret , but the black hole is expanding .	`` The Collider tube has been dark for six weeks now'', one researcher wrote in his journal. `` We've tried shining light in, but there is one patch that light just does n't seem to spread to. We believe it to be a singularity, one with an unbelievably small event horizon. Emphasis on unbelievably.'' He looked up from his writing into a special viewing port built into the side of the tube. The space was empty and dark; they had given up trying to illuminate it days ago. `` We have been forbidden to leave or contact anyone outside the premises. The administrators say they are talking to the government on steps to handle the situation. How they plan to handle this in a way we ca n't, well, I just wonder what they're really up to.'' He rubbed grime from his glasses and turned his attention back into the blackness. Just the thought that not more than a block away sat a rip in space that could easily compact him down to an atom. And he sat helpless wondering what there was to do. Nobody else had any idea how to possibly neutralize something of this nature. This is the very first time an opportunity for experimentation has been presented: and they were woefully unprepared. Two days passed. No work was done, and the other researches became increasingly irritable. Fistfights broke out between physicists, some claiming that adding matter could collapse it, others claiming it would only unbalance it, and make it expand. Others suggested turning back on the Collider. It was n't a popular opinion. Soldiers appeared on week eight. A decision was to be made within the week. What few of the sensors they dared give power to showed that there was an increased gravitational warp spreading in the area of the alleged black hole. Two more weeks, they figured, and it would begin to break away at the edges of the tube. A decision was made: the reactor would be reactivated. The reason? Maybe a second tear would fix the first. That logic always seemed sound to sci-fi films. The second possibility: the energy of the particle beam might disrupt whatever caused the singularity to begin with. If they had a better idea, they thought, they'd use that instead. The third idea: perhaps the beam could seed the black hole with anti-matter, and collapse it. Not likely. The researchers watched the monitors as the magnets buzzed into life. The pressure inside the tube was almost a complete vacuum: the black hole had sucked in all the air, as though it was trying to recreate outer-space on Earth. That was what everyone was trying to avoid. The beam fired, flashing around the minor circumference, building up speed with each pass. Warning lights flashed, and the room grew silent. Eighty five researchers stood in awe and fear, fifty five military stood without so much as a tremor. The captain kept his eyes on the lead researcher's expression: he did n't know how to read all these fancy gauges and data points, but if there was one thing he could assess, it was people. He noticed when the head researcher seemed to grow pale. The captain noticed when he stopped sweating. And he especially noticed that he did n't get an answer when he asked for an update. Not immediately, at least. `` Dr. Richards!'' The captain stepped up to where the ghostly lab junkie stood, as lifeless as a clay doll. Grabbing his bleach white coat, the captain shook him. `` Richards! Wake the fuck up! What do you see? You do not have the authority to ignore me, Doctor!'' The lead turned only his head to face the bewildered captain, not even bothering to close his mouth. `` The singularity. Has stabilized.'' But nobody cheered. And nobody felt relieved. By the grim echo of his voice, everyone knew the worst was yet to come. `` You say that like it's a bad thing, Dr.'' The captain took a step back. For the first time since he arrived, he was afraid. Several of his men had taken to sitting down. One had even thrown up. The researchers had taken their place as being the ones to stand solemn and quiet. `` Yes. Bad. Very bad.'' He turned back to the monitor. Small cracks began to appear as the lens to the interior camera cracked, until the feed turned off completely. `` We had a theory about where it all came from,'' Richards said, bobbing his head slowly. `` The universe. Everything. Everything came from a single point. Where matter could generate. Where a universe could be born.'' The captain tried to ask any one of the questions buzzing around his mind, but he could n't speak. He had no need, as the professor was about to answer the most important question of all. He swallowed what he could with his dried throat. A creaking noise could be heard, reverberating through the massive Hadron Collider like the catacombs beneath Italy. Steal beams breaking, and cooling gas bursting into the chambers, only to be sucked away into the mini-galactic whirlpool. `` Captain,'' he whispered, `` we believe it could happen again.'' It was New Year's day when the second universe ended, and the third began.
[ WP ] `` The Song that does n't end '' has gone viral , people truly ca n't stop singing it . You , a lyricist , are a hold-out that refuses to start singing , desperately working on a cure .	Alright... I've never had a prompt of mine stay up here so long. So after realized that it's still on the front page 15 hours later. Here's my story: `` Everyone ’ s always said that Hollywood has run out of ideas, it ’ s almost taken as fact. It struck nobody by surprise then once Lamb Chops started making reruns on the kiddie stations Saturday mornings; hell, if anything it would bring back memories for the parents, right? They grew up with it after all. The first day wasn ’ t so bad, parents thought the kids were simply being kids. Sure, it ’ s an annoying song but everyone stops at some point right? Wrong. And all those internet trolls that joked how reruns and remakes would be the death and downfall us of all, I wonder if they ’ re laughing now. Empty cars and broken streetlights, faint echoes of that damn song on every block in town, on every newscast, every radio station. Once you join it ’ s like the fucking Borg. It ’ s day 49 and It ’ s a madhouse out there, far worse than anyone could have expected. After a few days the song wasn ’ t just catchy, it was infectious. They get the damn things stuck in their head and after hours of fighting it, and I mean fighting it; red eyes, puffy face, and biting their lips so hard they almost break skin. After all that resistance they slip, or they break, and repeat a verse... but that ’ s basically all there is. They ’ re hooked. Trapped. And that look on their face, the finality once they realize what ’ s happened. It ’ s terrifying. I saw this one woman screaming, singing, and crying all at the same time; she was banging her head against the wall as a river of blood ran down the side of her face. That damn tune just wouldn ’ t let her go. At first people tried to work around it, they ’ d sing it low, almost at a whisper, but they never lasted long. Pass one person in the hall, or on the street trying to hide the same tune, and the woman in red, the blue collared bully, and the cabbie at the light have broken out in chorus like old bar buddies reunited right in the middle of rush hour traffic. It spread like wildfire. The people started getting worn out by it, nobody has the stamina to sing the song that never ends; it ’ s sleepless nights and joyless days spent doing the same thing until it tires them out, until they ’ ve got nothing left to give, their voices become hoarse but still they ’ ll flap their lips, and even cough the damn lyrics if they have to. Some hold out longer than others, I ’ m a testament to that, but I ’ ll admit I ’ ve had to shake the tune loose a few times. But I can ’ t fight it forever. The doors are barred up, I ’ ve got buds duct taped to my ears; the window ’ s open but that ’ s only because I can ’ t keep locked up like some kind of cornered rat. I ’ ll walk outside and join the masses before I let that happen. Then, after many a hopeless night, there came a sliver of hope. A reporter who ’ d just started singing the song that never ends managed to give the world the first shot at a cure; if we could tweak the lyrics, jump in at just the right moment, one might be able to hijack the song. The government had tried for days unsuccessfully, so much in fact they thought it was a dead-end. But that ’ s because not just any lyric will do, they learned that the hard way… So I guess now it ’ s my turn to try. I haven ’ t written a jingle in many, many, years. The great heyday of the 80 ’ s and 90 ’ s are long behind us, but they let me live a decent life. Now it's time to fight back, Lamb Chops has become a curse like no one could have ever imagined, and it ’ s time to lead that lamb to slaughter. And regardless of how many pages I have to waste, or how littered with scrap the floor becomes, I ’ ll keep trying. One silly little verse at a time, no matter how long it takes, because… This is the song that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on, my friends. Some people started singing, not knowing what it was, and they ’ ll continue singing it forever just because… Oh shit. Help me.''
[ IP ] Hope .	`` Yeah... yeah that's ok… no, do n't be sorry. It's not your fault…Hey, we'll just wait until you get back, it's alright. ... No, no one responded to the invitations this time either. ... No, I do n't. Kids, you know? ... Love you too. Hang on, let me give her the phone... hey Kai? Honey, daddy wants to say happy birthday.'' `` I do n't want to talk to him.'' `` Hun, dad loves you very much. It's just the weather, he's grounded in Boston and he ca n't take off, it is n't safe. You know he would be here if he could.'' `` I do n't care.'' `` …hun…'' `` No.'' Her mother sighed. `` Ok. I'll tell him you love him. …Hey hun... you heard that? Yeah, she's... upset. …It ’ s ok. …Yeah, I understand.'' Her mother walked a little ways away, her voice slipping behind the drum of the rain against the tall windows in the terminal. She rested one of her crutches against the glass and leaned her head against the cool surface. Her breath fogged the glass as she watched the ground crew bustle around the hulking jumbo outside, driving little carts around, plugging in big black hoses that slid through the puddles on the concrete like snakes. They wore loose yellow coats that flapped around merrily whenever the wind kicked up. They looked like daffodils in a gutter. She could make out movement in the cockpit as the crew finished up their duties, but she could n't see their faces. The light switched off as they left. Her dad wasn ’ t up there, she knew, but for a moment she pretended he was. “ Hey kiddo. Ready to go? ” “ Yeah. ” She glanced towards the exit to the jetway as the pilots of the jumbo walked out, chuckling at some secret pilot joke. Their white shirts were pressed and their dark blue jackets were draped over their shoulders. They both wore their hats, the golden wings gleaming as they strode past under the bright fluorescent lights. A woman ’ s voice blared something inscrutable over the loudspeaker and one of the men gave her a friendly smile as they walked by. Her dad never wore his hat. She looked away and followed her mother past the ticket counters, past the hubbub of the load/unload area and into the rain. Sorry about the slightly goofy formatting. It did n't translate well from Word.
[ WP ] After your death , you appear in a white walled room . In front of you is a table with a set of 6 dice . You pick up the dice and prepare to roll them- what happens next ?	I wish I had played more in high school. I wish I remembered all the rules. Enough to chest the system. Instead, I remembered just enough to recognize what it was; a starter kit. I was going to roll for what I'd be in the afterlife. I guess god -- gods? -- did have a sense of humor after all. What kind of world would it be? One of my own creation? All alone? Or would it be teeming with others, all those who had died before me? Would it be high fantasy? Sci-Fi? If I'm going to hell, would it be Vampire The Masquerade? A deep sigh escaped me. There was only one way to find out. I picked the die up and toss them, cringing as I realized the most I could get out of this was eleven. Must do better next time. `` When in doubt,'' I mumbled to myself, `` roll a rogue.''
[ WP ] The Internet is no longer anonymous	9:15 Flower_Girl7: Hi babe, how was school? Five months and two days. This is how long I thought it took to to find love. 9:17 _FootballMatt_: I've been better... We had been talking for a while.'Flower_Girl7' had changed my whole outlook on life, before these past five months I felt like an outcast, a nobody ready to hit'Fuck it' with all social interaction, but then there she was. Ready to pick up the pieces that was my life up until this point. 10:20 Flower_Girl7: I've been giving it some thought and I think we should meet. Maybe we could cheer each other up? She would mention this in nearly every conversation we had. I get it. Kinda. She was like me, a fuck-up with the weight of the world on her shoulders. It would help to have someone there to help with the burden, to lighten the load. I would usually pass it off saying `` I ca n't I have practice'' or `` Something has just come up'' but she seemed eager. Or to be truthful, more eager than usual. 10:23 Flower_Girl7: I really need to see you. Was I in the wrong for pushing her aside all the times she had asked in the past? Maybe this would be good for me, and her. We could take on this world together and rise above it all leaving troubles and worries behind. I would constantly have thoughts like this but in the end it would always end the same; No. Today was different, I felt confident in the fact I needed her. It had been a terrible week at school and homework was starting to pile up. I needed an out. 10:45 _FootballMatt_: Ok, I'm free next week. 10:46 Flower_Girl7: Awesome! ca n't wait! Anyway it's kinda late I'm going to have to go x 10:49 _FootballMatt_: Ok cya x It felt good, Really good. This was the turning point. In four days there would be someone there to understand what I was going through. The next couple of days she was silent. This was n't unusual, we both knew that we had stuff to do and to be honest I was to nervous to even say hello at this point. The only thing I needed to know was where we were meeting. So I plucked the courage and turned on my laptop. CONTINUATION OF USE POLICY After the recent passing of the'denial of anonymity' act all users online must now agree to the terms below before continuing with online usage. What the hell was this! Did I get a virus? I had no idea what was going on. I'm not a very tech'savvy' individual so I rang my friend who was. He said it was fine, it just meant we had to use our real names instead of nicknames online now. This did n't really bother me, I just wanted to know where me and'Flower_Girl7' were going to meet up. So I agreed and carried on, nothing was really different I was just called'Matthew' instead of'_FootballMatt_'. To be honest it was a welcome change, I hated that name. Then it struck me. I could n't find'Flower_Girl7'. She was gone. She was erased from my list of friends, not a single trace was left of her. Did she get scared and delete me? What the hell! All I could feel was anger and pain. I thought we were going to help each other. I thought this was the turning point in my life. Did I really mean that little to her that she could just throw me away like some trash? I'd never felt like this before. It really hurt. There was nothing I could do other than try to forget about it and try to push through school the next day. It was rough. Hardly any sleep and I was given even more homework to throw on top of the never-ending pile. This was shit! I felt lost witho... Ping My laptop lit up illuminating half of the room with a blue glow. A message? I scrambled to the laptop hoping it was her, that there had been a mistake and she was back! This was it! 9:08 Markus: Hi babe, how was school?
[ WP ] The devil is a devout catholic .	I look out over the city. It's beautiful. I guess even I can recognize that. I despise it. Beauty is what draws people away from me, and back to God. I've learned to be subtle. To confuse the people I must gain their trust and then slowly tear them down. Make them think they see beauty. But then show them the truth. I've taken on many different forms over the years. All for the purpose of building up a kingdom. A kingdom that will ultimately tear down and destroy what little faith these people have. They key is to be subtle. To teach things that they like. Things that are pleasing to the ears to make it seem as though they are from God. I even use their own scriptures to deceive them. They see me as they're leader, to guide them back to God. But their own texts do n't support my position. But I have power. And I use it. This world is slowly crumbling. And I started it. I could never be more proud. The time will come when I shall be seen for who I really am. I will no longer be the Pope. I will be the king.
[ IP ] The Shore Witch	`` You're smart, you're strong.'' Mother whispers to me as she carefully paints my face. `` You'll save us all.'' I do n't answer. If I open my mouth I'm sure I'll start screaming. The air is moist, there is no wind. The sky is hidden by a thin layer of gray clouds. Even the Precursor feels tense. I'm going to die. Mother does n't see the fear in my eyes, of course. She does n't think I should be afraid, and people see what they expect to. We finish preparing in silence, and I leave the tent to face the gaze of the village. Everyone is there, even old Bob who's supposed to stay in his shack all day. No one bothers taking him back though, they all want to watch. I do my best to put on a brave face. As I walk down towards the beach, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, visible through a cabin door left open. I almost stumble, I do n't look like myself at all. My hair, usually long and flowing, is braided in a hundred thick strands. I am wearing swathes of blue fabric, which cover me but manage to hint at there being more below them than there actually is. Thin, intricately carved gold bands circle my wrists, ankles, and exposed thighs. I wear a golden crown, pushing my hair back and framing my face, which is painted blue, like I am the water I walk to. And I still look terrified. I manage to reach the beach, although I feel like throwing up. A silent man in a hooded cloak ties a knife and flask around my waist, not that they'll do any good. They're depending on me to use Precursor, but they have n't trained me at all. No one who could have trained me is still alive. They saw me make a little spark while playing, and suddenly I was their savior. I'm going to die. Much more powerful warriors have died, even some who were trained in WorldShaping, and I'm just a girl, still unmarried. As I walk to the water my foot kicks a twig up from the ground. Without thinking, I catch it in my right hand. I keep walking, carrying it like a staff. Who knows, maybe it will help me somehow. As I approach the water, I begin to feel it. It's out there, watching me. Waiting for its next meal. Water splashes onto my foot, and I jump. It's just a wave, at this rate I wo n't last long enough for it to eat me. I'll die of shame first. The eyes are watching me as I make my way into the shallow water. It does n't attack. It waits. Waits for me to be beyond help. I am too far from shore to turn back when it rushes. I do n't see it first. I see its wake, a surge of ripples rushing towards me. I'm busy watching the Precursor though. A massive surge, but not raw Precursor like I'm used to. This Precursor is bent into strange shapes, twisting and writhing constantly. It's alive. As it charges me I watch, enthralled. This is n't frightening, it's beautiful. Then it strikes. The water in front of me erupts, a long, thin shape lunging out. It follow me with watery eyes, opens a watery mouth filled with long teeth sculpted out of water. At the last second, I dodge, and it dissolves, splashing water everywhere, including over me. For a moment I freeze, expecting death any second, but the water does n't do anything more than wash off most of the paint. The creature is studying my, circling for another attack. I have to fight back. As it charges again I sidestep, swinging my my twig. I miss, but so does it. I get splashed again, but do n't freeze up this time. I'm learning. As it circles yet again, I watch it closely, looking for patterns. Both times now it's sped up its twisting just before it lunged. I can watch that, anticipate it. But I ca n't dodge forever, I'll mess up eventually. I need a way to strike it, not just the water but the Precursor that drives it. I reach out with my own probes, poking at the mass. Mistake. It latches onto my probes, drawing them in, and threatening to take my mind with it. I ca n't release, it's pulling too hard. I do the only thing I can. I charge it. As I rush, I summon lights around my hand. They do n't do anything, but they impressed people, maybe they'll impress this thing. It releases its hold on my mind, focuses on my body. I see a tendril split of, rush towards me, picking up water as it does so. I strike down with my twig, towards where I know the head will rise from. It's not enough. The water beneath me bursts up, throwing me from my feet. As I fall, the head curves around towards me, questing for my flesh. I'm not watching the head though, I'm watching the Precursor. The mass has engulfed me, knots and tangles are everywhere, twisting around each other like a pile of worms. I can almost see patterns, I am sure that somewhere in this chaos there is an order, something like life. Precursor saturates everything, even my twig glows with power. The head approaches, and I do not know how to fight it. But I do n't mind. I am going to become part of something massive, something beautiful, so much greater than my small, doomed, village. I die with a smile on my face.
[ IP ] The Prize	The tramping boots built a steady rhythm, as if a drum was being beaten to keep our feet strictly in time. Left, right, left, right, left, right. And on it went. We knew the orders. `` March to the Tower. Stop for no-one.'' Everyone knew it; we'd trained for weeks. Our prisoner was special, unique. Our Lord would n't accept failure. Trust me, he'd made that clear. This was his special prize, his personal project. He'd ( well, we'd ) pursued it for months, razed towns, obliterated stony citadels, slaughtered all who were in our way. Mere victims, those who attempted to attack us, consumed by lust for our booty. Victims to the might of our army. Only our cage bearers, if they strained hard, could vaguely hear the faint scratching and gentle whimpering from within. We were n't even allowed to look at it, in case it dashed off. Fast, agile and only four-hands across, it'd escaped us twice before. We could n't let that happen again. But, I'm only human. No-one's so super-human to resist every temptation, are they? I sneaked a peek, I do n't regret it. It's the last one left. In pitch black night, I creaked open the door, having unlocked five different polished bolts, holding a dim lamp in my right hand, and I saw it for the first time. It lay there, asleep. This tiny ball of fur, curled into a circle. It yawned, revealing the bright pink of its tongue, and rolled onto its back with sprawled legs up in the air. Right then, battle-scarred as I was, I confess that I went gooey. No wonder wars were fought for this beast. No wonder the Lord made us travel so far. This was the last Labrador alive.
[ WP ] Death has always been at your doorstep today you are on his .	I got off of my bike and took a look at the house. Trimmed bushes flanked his front steps and ran around the sides of the home, and the sound of trickling water suggested a fountain around back. The house's facade was enormous, and beautiful at that. Although I never was a fan of stucco, I remember thinking that the stone stairs and shingled roof did the place justice. This was interesting, considering we had just arrived at Death's front door. The bowling-ball weight in my stomach quickly transformed to that of a piano, and I glanced in Mark's direction to reassure myself. It did n't work. My partner looked calm as usual, and why would n't he be? Composure was this guy's middle name. To make myself feel better, though, I reminded myself that the task he and I were about to complete had been in the works for years, so I had a right to be nervous. This discrepancy clearly did n't affect Mark, though, and I remember being hopeful that at least one of us had the balls to do what needed to be done. Mark began up the stairs and rang the doorbell, and my legs moved forward despite my mind's best intentions. A full minute passed with only the sound of the fountain and the endless ringing of cicadas to listen to. When Mark moved his hand towards the doorbell again, I saw him. Looking through the front door's surprisingly clear glass, the silhouette of an old man crouched over his cane was making its way to the door. As the handle slowly turned and the door opened, I began the phrase that I could never forget. `` Hello Mr. Death, have you heard the good news about our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ?''. My father's aged smile shone brilliantly in seeing his son's face again, and it took most of my strength to save me from tears. In those pale blue eyes, I could almost hear him say those three words. `` I'm proud of you.'' My childhood friend Mark and I had finally finished our training, and a true Jehova's witness I, Craig Death, was to be.
[ WP ] Write a story with no dialogue about two hunters going after an unknown beast	The forest was dead. No wind hit the trees, no howls pierced the air. Nothing accompanied the hunter but the overshadowing trees and the bone-chilling cold. The hunter delicately traipsed through the stone-filled snow, soft whispers gasping beneath his feet. A look to the left told him nothing; to the right was a deer carcass, preserved in the snow. With a shiver, he continued on. Miles he had gone, hours left behind on his venture. Through icy hills and across frozen lakes he went, through expansive gorges and over daunting glaciers, until he found what he had been desperately searching for. A clue. Footprints. The beast was near, for the snow would soon erase any evidence of its existence. However, another trace was left, by another creature. A human? The hunter soon realised he was not the only one on the hunt, and with that, pressed on. A imposing cave entrance towered over him. Sat at the entrance, huddled around a fire, was another hunter. They made eye contact, but said nothing. They solemnly nodded, and walked into the cave. It was impressive, with a ceiling beyond sight, and stalactites hanging like bats. Bones were strewn across the floor. This was it's home, and it was here. They delved deeper in. A blood-curdling roar woke them from their numbed senses. Out of the smothering dark it appeared. A enormous, terrifying beast, with claws like swords and teeth like daggers. It's eyes were empty, like you were staring into the abyss. The duo aimed, and fired. And fired. And fired. Bullets ricocheted off the ceiling, off the floor. One finally hit it's mark. Spiralling into the abyss it went, through the eye, through the brain, and out the back of the skull. The monster leaped, at one last attempt at vengeance, then fell dead. It was over. They thought so, anyway. This is my first attempt at a story on here, apologies if the grammar is off or anything like that!
[ WP ] Like one might find a message in a bottle at the seashore , the aliens find the Golden Record from the Voyager in space . When they investigate , much has changed on Earth .	All alien language is translated `` Unknown Ship detected'' warned the computer. `` Battle stations! Alert Red! What have we got?'' Shouted the commander. `` One Ship, small in size, does n't match any known design'' stated an officer. `` Too small to be crewed I suspect'' commented a lieutenant. `` Not detecting any active thrusters or weapons, I do n't think it's a threat sir'' stated a different officer. `` Alert green, what is it? `` asked the commander. `` Some kind of probe perhaps, I suggest we bring it in board and let the science team analyse it'' suggested another Lieutenant. `` Alright, do it, keep me updated'' ordered the commander. Some time later `` It's all deliberately designed to be understood easily. We even have a location of the planet it originated from sir, judging by carbon dating, if they had this technology thousands of years ago, they must be at least our level by now. Well worth investigating. Being allied with whoever made this could be very beneficial'' explained a scientist. `` Let's go'' replied the commander. Some time later `` Holy sitsaru! Apologies, how do I even begin...'' said the scientist shocked. `` What is it?'' Asks the commander. `` Well there's many disused satellites in orbit, but the planets atmosphere and surface, unbelievable, but that would mean...'' said the scientist shaking. `` Emergency jump now, get us out of here.'' Said the scientist. The commander raised an eyebrow, but trusted his scientist completely. `` Emergency jump immediately, last safe location'' he said over the comms interface. `` All stations, brace yourselves.'' Replied another voice. `` Jump!'' Shouted someone. Everyone felt it. Most jumps involved minutes of preparation and build up and were slow and steady. The emergency jump was sudden and shook the whole ship. `` We're in our own borders sir, far far away'' explained an officer. `` Now why did I do that?'' Asks the commander. `` Remember years ago when we got together all the uranium we had and made that weapon and tested it?'' Asked the scientist. `` Everyone knows about the nuclear missile, fortunately the amount of uranium required would be almost impossible to obtain'' replied the commander. `` That planet was completely annihilated by hundreds of nuclear missiles, whichever alien race did that to the race that lived on that planet and sent that probe is extremely dangerous. We should never go back anywhere near there'' replied the scientist.
[ WP ] An advanced alien race makes contact with humanity . Despite their technological superiority , they are in awe of the human ability to tie knots .	`` Wow, these guys still travel by water, how pathetic.'' `` I know right, have n't even figured out inter-dimensional travel yet. Weak'' `` Yeah... wait, how is their water-ship not floating off?'' `` Some kind of vine twisted and... holy shit, these guys are good. Look at this twist in the vine thing!'' `` Fuck! We ca n't contend with that! Order a full-scale retreat, our intergalactic empire will not be stopped here. And with cleverness like those twisted vines, we do n't stand a chance.'' With that the inter-galactic scourge pulled their entire fleet accidentally into a black hole in their panic and the universe was saved, not that any of us ever knew.
[ WP ] Two strangers in a room partaking in a clinical trial . Both take a pill , one is a placebo . The exit is a single door . It 's locked .	He paced frantically, stealing glances at the linoleum ceiling. `` I think it's closing in. No, I know it's closing in. Look, it's moving closer. It's moving closer, I can-, I ca n't take it!'' I sighed. I knew he was n't the test subject. I could feel the as-of-right-now unnamed drug coursing through my system, cold in my veins, like an icy snake was worming its way up my arm and into my chest. Feeling slightly light-headed, I clambered to my feet with the assistance of the crutches and placed a wobbly hand on his shoulder. `` Darryl, there's no need to panic. The Doc said paranoia could be a side effect. You need to relax.'' He turned to me, frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal, eyes wide like he'd just opened rapport with a ghost, hands trembling and shaking and balling into fists as they swung up and down, up and down, up and down. `` Yeah, and you know what else could be a side effect? Death! Necrotic limbs. I can practically feel my fingers getting colder. Why are we doing this?! '' I sat back down, bleary-eyed and weary, not able to take much more of this. Not able to take much more of the almost hysterical- no, psychotic - ghost of a man I had met a mere four hours ago. The room was small, but he must have walked a mile already, wall-to-wall, a constant to and fro that had started as soon as he had learned of the potential side effects. It was a life lesson I had learned long ago; when taking medication, never read the pamphlet. Darryl was apparently not learning that lesson right now. `` Darryl, we do n't know who's on the medication and who's on the placebo. If you keep doing what you're doing, you're going to give yourself a heart attack all by yourself.'' Darryl snorted, shooting me a glare that practically screamed that I was merely an ignorant fool; an ant soon to be stepped on by a titan of his power; an uninformed rabbit admist a forest of wolves; a man who would never wear a suit and tie like his because they did n't tailor clothes like that for people who had eyes too close together to be on television and a nose that was slightly too large. Of course, Darryl assumed he had been given the medication because never in his life had he been sidelined; from the times that his parents had always granted him the front seat as the eldest child, to the times that he had humbly accepted the title of Democratic Candidate for the Presidency because he was black. Yeah, I watch the TV. I sat back and closed my eyes. He continued to pace. `` You do n't know what these Doctors are doing to us. Did you even read the pamphlet?'' I shook my head, eyes still closed. The ice-snake had worked it's way down to my legs now. It coursed pleasantly through my veins, and I sighed in the silence, which was shortly shattered by the thump of a rattling door. `` YOU CA N'T KEEP US IN HERE FOREVER!'' `` Darryl, we signed a waiver. Five hours, and then we're free to go. It's been just over four. Calm yourself down.'' Darryl banged on the one-way glass. `` I WANT AN ANTIDOTE! I WANT IT NOW!'' I smacked the back of his leg with my crutch. He turned to look at me, fire in his eyes. I stared back. I was n't intimidated. Right here and now, he was nothing more than a shell of a man. He may have been something, someone, in the past, but right now we were all but equal, save for his fiery temper, excessive paranoia and overall lunacy. I returned to my book, but felt my eyes start to close. `` Darryl, I'm going to take a nap. Can you try and keep things quiet, at least?'' He grunted like a pig who had been removed from its filthy sty, and resumed his walk-a-thon, thankfully, in silence. I closed my eyes, and let the ice snake take me. It reared its ugly head when it burst into my mouth, and I seemed to exhale what felt like a cool mist, and it flooded up through my sinuses and up through my nostrils, and then I felt it plunge into the muddy waters around my brain, so I let the darkness take me as I drifted into a calming, dreamless sleep. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - I returned to consciousness a few hours later, hearing soft rattles and gentle voices. The linoleum looked down at me, and although it was but a ceiling, I knew it was a ceiling that had seen too much. Sitting up, I saw that Darryl was laying down on a stretcher, eyes wide open, one hand over his heart, something like a last pledge of allegiance, surrounded by paramedics. `` Doc?'' The doctor turned to me, while the paramedics continued to tend to Darryl, strapping his beefy frame onto the gurney, and patting down his pockets. `` I'm sorry. We were hoping to get him out of here before you woke up.'' `` I understand. Did he pass quickly?'' `` Thankfully.'' The doctor turned to leave, but turned, as an afterthought struck him. `` This might come across as a little strange, but Darryl said he wanted the person who was with him when he died to have this.'' He produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. As I opened it, I shuddered. I was now in the possession of a man's last words, and in that moment it did not matter whether he was peasant or politician, because we are all equal in death, all six feet underground and all with families that weep for our loss but ultimately move on. In the most confident, scripted handwriting I had seen, I saw the following: `` Dear Stranger, I know we will have only known each other for five hours, but if anything happens to me for whatever reason, I want to say thank you. I can come across as ungrateful, but that is n't the case. This is probably just my paranoia speaking at this point, but I would like you to say goodbye to my daughters and grandsons for me. My address is publicly listed. I understand that this may come across as too much, so if you do n't want to, that's okay. If you were here with me in my last hour, thank you for talking to me. I hope you get better soon.'' I looked up and choked out several words to the doctor. `` Thank you for this. And thank you for the placebo. I'm guessing that medication is n't going to be on the shelves after all.'' He bit his lip. `` I'm afraid I'm not permitted to give any indication of who was on the medication and who was on the placebo.'' He gave me a grim nod, and swept his jacket over his shoulder, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I closed up the letter and placed it in my jacket pocket. I should and go and see Darryl's family, but I do n't know if I have the courage for that conversation. I should get better, but maybe I was n't on the medication - maybe Darryl was, and it was n't paranoia after all. Most importantly of all, though, I should have talked to Darryl some more. I only wish I had talked to him more.
[ WP ] It is now legal to take tests to get additions to your drivers license to be allowed to drink and drive / text and drive / drive with out a seat belt / etc .	I'd never gone to the DMV drunk before. Shocking, I know. It was a very weird experience- the DMV is not a place that is conducive to being drunk. Everyone acts like their most sober self there, like, if being drunk is having your inhibitions taken away, everyone in the DMV has their inhibitions present and accounted for. I'm not saying people are on their best behavior though, far from it. I may get a little judgey when I've had a beer or six, but some of the customers were acting atrociously. Some real pieces of work, let me tell you. My main concern was getting the'yota registered. ( I do n't usually call my Yaris the'yota, mainly because my friends give me shit if I do. I do n't think it sounds as douchey as they say it does. Plus if I say it in a bar girls do n't know it's a Yaris and they're free to think of their favorite'yota, be it Prius or Tacoma or, if she's a heavy, farm style lady, maybe even a Tundra with that scratchy ass spray on bed lining. ) A secondary concern was not being outed as drunk in a government building. It probably was n't illegal? But I just did n't want to deal with the hassle. And yes, calm down, I Ubered to the DMV, I'm a mild alcoholic not a sociopath. Anyway. The beginning part went down great, I had my paperwork and all that, the lady at the front desk had these crazy long fake fingernails that she actually used instead of her fingers to type my name into the computer, ( is that like operating a computer with chopsticks? What does that feel like? ) so that was fun, and before I knew it I had a little slip of paper with a letter and a number on it and I was sat in a blue plastic chair, waiting. It was hot in the DMV that day. Sticky hot, like it usually does n't get in Los Angeles. It gets hot here for sure, but usually it's a dry heat, like Jesus left his blow dryer aimed at us, not like in Florida or New York where it feels like Jesus put the whole state in his gooch and then ran a 10K. But today was a Jesus' Balls 10K day for sure. There was a fan in the DMV, a big one, one of those old rotary jobs that you see all the time in old movies where someone has tied ribbons to the metal grill to, I do n't know, see if it's working or not? But there are blades moving at high speeds? How would you not see if it was working? It rotated incredibly slowly, only washing over me for a second at a time before moving on. I realized I had to pee. The bathroom was, if possible, even hotter than the waiting room. I expected jungle plants to be sprouting in the corners, little vines pushing up the tile work on the floor. It was empty, and strangely clean, like not many public bathrooms were. I had a moment of panic where I thought maybe I had wandered into the girls' bathroom, but then I saw the urinals, two high and one low, and I sighed with relief. I used the low one, because who does n't like pretending they're ten feet tall and using a normal urinal? Now, non-drunk me would probably have noticed that there were two chrome flush handles on this urinal, one on either side of the main. Or maybe that's what I like to tell myself. But drunk me did n't realize a thing, and just instinctively pressed the handle on the left side of the pipe without thinking that I had never in my life seen a left-sided flush handle. ( Which is rough when you think about it- they get their own scissors but not their own urinals? I wonder if really rich lefties build their own southpaw urinals in their houses. ) The moment I lifted my hand from the flush handle, two things happened. The urinal flushed, and it also rotated 180 degrees around its Y axis, along with a foot of the wall on either side of it and a circular section of the tile floor that I had been standing on. I ducked through the low opening in the wall as I passed through it and then straightened up on the other side, blinking in the sudden light. The room I had entered looked like the Batcave, if Batman had been a Dark Knight who was more focused on civil policy than vigilante justice. Sleek file cabinets with superfluous LED lighting lined the walls, winking industriously. Lots of comfortable black leather chairs with brushed steel accents were scattered around green glass topped tables. Men and women in sharply tailored suits walked back and forth with the gaits of off-season cross country runners. All the men had close-shaved stubble and all the women had shiny ponytails that came to points. I felt very, very out of place. Before I could turn around and flush again, hopefully returning myself to the regular DMV, a short, slim woman in a grey suit walked up to me, her heels clicking on the floor like specialty business castanets. `` Hello, sir. Can I see your number, please?'' To be continued?
[ WP ] A young child and a serial killer , despite having never met , share a telepathic link	Jim `` The Hammer'' Goldman sat in his psychologists office, thick leather straps anchored him by his wrists and ankles to the chair - additional straps wrapped around his chest and abdomen assured he could do little more than move his head. Life in the West Banks Maximum Security Penitentiary had held some early excitement for him, but the guards soon realized that Jim did not play well with others and now he spent very little time outside of solitary confinement. Tuesdays he would be marched from his cage to the Psychologist's office where he would spend a few hours strapped to a chair where he could n't escape the questions of his childhood. `` Bless their hearts,'' he would think `` they think they can rehabilitate me!'' The Hammer had earned his name for the sixteen murders he committed in the woodlands of a popular hiking spot. His victims were consistently young brunettes between the ages of nineteen and thirty - they could not be identified by their face as it would be caved in by many successive blows of a claw hammer. One of the victims had survived long enough to be found by other hikers, but died a short time later. The shrink said that they were proxies for The Hammers mother. `` So, Doc, any new questions about my Mother?'' Said The Hammer `` Do you still think I wanted to fuck her?'' Doctor Kenneth Whitman had once been a young and passionate man - he had intended to heal the world - but after spending twenty years poking around the heads of the countries most dangerous minds, he was now left a much more jaded and solemn person. Delusions of healing the world had given way to grim reality. `` No, Jim.'' Said Dr Whitman `` I want to ask you about your recent change in mood.'' \* \* \* He raised the hammer in his tiny hand and she screamed through the gag in her mouth. She squirmed in her bindings, the rope rubbing her wrists and ankles into a bloody mess. Her hair was brown and beautiful - but her face was wrong. All wrong. \* \* \* Jim The Hammer took the grin on his face and stretched it to his ears. `` Whatever do you mean?'' `` Jim, In the time that I've known you I've only seen you smile once - and that was when your charges were being read out to the court.'' Dr Whitman rarely looked his patients in the eyes anymore, not out of fear, but out of a total lack of faith. They were animals that did not want help and therefore could not be helped. He lifted his eyes and stared into those of the serial killer across from him. The Hammer's eyes were a startling light green that shone from his heavy face like a twin lighthouse beacons. Those eyes had drawn in curious young women. Those eyes had watched those same women die. Doctor Whitman hated those eyes. He wanted to poke them out with a pencil. `` So, Jim, what is with all the smiling and new found pep?'' \* \* \* She was beautiful now. So beautiful. She could be whoever he wanted to be, and in his mind she was beautiful. He lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties and smiled. His pants were already at his ankles. \* \* \* The Hammer sighed. The deepness of the sigh and his body language suggested to the Doctor that it was a sigh of relief. Possibly even release. `` Well, good Doctor, I've just been feeling oh-so-swell!'' `` And why is that, Ji-'' The Doctors old rotary phone jangled and chimed. He used to apologize to the inmates if their session was interrupted by a phone call, now he just answered without so much as a hand signal to `` hold on one second''. `` Yes, this is Dr Kenneth Whitman.'' He looked at Jim, the man's green eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids, and a deep and worrying smile was on his face. `` Yes, he is one of my patients.'' Dr Whitman was talking with some Detective from a nearby county `` No. No outside contact. I'm sure. Full solitary.'' Dr Whitman winced as he saw The Hammer lick his lips and as his eyes moved down to escape the image he noticed that the bound man had an erection. He found something on his desk to stare at instead. `` A copy cat? Are you-'' Whitman's gut turned and the taste of vomit crawled up his throat `` A child? Yes. Yes. I'll send you what I have.'' Dr Whitman placed the receiver back in it's cradle, he was almost as white as the papers on his desk. `` So they're on to him, then?'' `` What?'' `` Shame,'' said The Hammer sadly `` We had had so much fun. His mind was so feeble I just bent him into shape.'' It felt as though someone had somehow poured a cup of ice up the Doctors spine, his shoulders shook under the deep shudder. `` Perhaps I should start from the beginning'' Said The Hammer.
[ WP ] An essay written by a little kid in school with a disturbing twist .	When I grow up I want to be the President! If I become the President I'm going to make everything better. I'm going to make sure that everybody gets food and clothes and a place to live. I'm going to make sure that nobody gets angry and fights each other. I'm going to make sure that nobody steals from anybody or hurts anybody else. If I'm the President I'll get to fly around on my own private plane and eat whatever I want. If I'm the President I'll get to jail anybody that's mean to me. If I become the President I'll get to make sure that Jimmy Ollen never bullies me again too. I'll make sure that Jimmy Ollen never bullies anybody ever again. I'll make sure Jimmy Ollen rots away in prison until he has nothing to eat and he has nothing to drink. I'll make sure Jimmy Ollen gets so hungry that he starts to eat his own flesh and drink his own blood and urine to survive. I'll make sure that Jimmy Ollen never sees the light of day again. I'll fill his jail cell with the decomposing carcasses of everyone he has ever loved or cared for. I'll make him regret the day his parents were born. I'll flay his skin from his bones and stitch scales to his face. I'll make him forget every sound except the shrill screaming of his own blood choked throat.
[ WP ] Around 2100 all humans on Earth and nearby space mysteriously go extinct , leaving only a few hundred people across bases on Mars . Most of them only have supplies for a few months .	Part One. July 5th, 2115. 1700 Local Martian Time. United Earth Command Base, Ares Delta Arsia Mons, Mars. Lieutenant Saito activated the communications relay once more, beginning a transmission. `` Terra One, Terra One, this is Ares Outpost Delta, please respond. We've had no contact with you in 5 days now. No malfunctions with equipment or orbital transmitter, fault must be Earthside. This message will repeat until 0800 UTC, at which time we must conserve power. Saito out.'' He waited for the computer to transcribe his message, then, glancing over it for errors, clicked to submit. The audio and text would repeatedly transmit from the surface relay, to the orbital transmitter, to the receivers on Earth. The thing was, nobody had answered their calls Earthside for nearly a week, even though equipment readings said Earth was receiving them. Why, then, were n't they responding? It did n't make any sense. Saito leaned back in his chair, a creaky old thing from the 2060's. Ares Delta, situated deep inside the Arsia Mons cave network, was one of the oldest surviving bases on Mars, and had n't been updated in a long time. Other outposts had high-yield nuclear mini-reactors that could power all operations with energy to spare. Ares Delta was lucky to have geothermal harvesters, which, while they got the job done, required near constant maintenance to keep from melting. The silence, therefore, worried Saito. Though he and his five comrades had diligently manned Ares Delta for a year, they could not sustain it without guaranteed replacement parts for the harvesters or solar panels on the surface. Or, for that matter, a new hydroponics module, as theirs was frequently on the verge of total failure. This was the worst time for there to be a communications breakdown, by far. The five other crewmen in the Command and Control Center sit at their stations, each silently trying to re-establish contact with the outside world. Corporal Charles came up beside him, setting down a mug with steaming coffee. `` I'm sure it's just a mix-up, sir,'' she said in her reassuring voice. `` True, it has been a week, but we've been out of contact longer, no?'' Saito folded his arms, placing his feet up on the console with a scoff. `` Feh, I guess you're right. That Gamma Ray Bust was n't a pretty thing, for sure.'' He winced, remembering the 3 weeks of frustration that had gone into bringing the base back into contact with the other Ares outposts, let alone Earth after the GRB fried the base's vital electronics AND communications. Still, they had n't detected any abnormal solar activity. `` Still,'' he begins, `` they are supposedly receiving our messages, so there's no reason for them to not be responding, bar someone simply not at the controls. Perhaps their orbitals were disrupted,'' he mused to himself. `` Have you heard anything from Phobos Base?'' `` Yes, sir,'' she replied matter-of-factly. `` They finally came into contact, their transmitter was under repair for the past week. They're fine,'' she assures him. `` Hmm... That means all bases on Mars are accounted for. What about Vesta?'' `` They only have a snail transmitter,'' Charles pointed out. `` It'll be a few more hours before they respond.'' She frowned. `` Still no contact from Europa, Luna, Enceladus, or... Earth.'' Saito said nothing to this but a small grunt, stroking his chin. `` Sir...'' Private Dunn ventured from the rear of the CNC. `` Do you think something could have happened? Terrorists, maybe?'' `` There's no need for baseless speculation just yet,'' Saito said gruffly. `` Right now, we continue, business as usual. We still have tests to complete, you know,'' he reminded them. `` Besides, we've been through this before, and we know how to deal with this. Keep trying for now, then let's eat,'' he concluded, getting to his feet with coffee in hand, striding to the viewport. In reality, though, he was as nervous as they were. Ares could last for a while, even if the resupply came late... But this was very strange indeed. Part Two July 25, 2115 1300 Local Martian Time Lieutenant Saito sat at his command chair, surrounded by grainy video projections of the other Ares Commanders on Mars, five in all: Admiral Sakamoto, Chief of Martian Ops, was situated in the center. He'd allowed his stubble to grow into a rudimentary beard like the sea captains of old. Like Saito, Sakamoto's subordinates at Ares Base Alpha manned their stations, monitoring outside conditions and trying not to look so interested in the discussion. ``... We can not jump to conclusions, Lieutenant. It takes several months for vessels to reach our orbit. Perhaps it is still a technical disruption.'' The commanders groaned and bristled in unison at Captain Phillips' hackneyed suggestion, and an unhelpful one at that. `` Maybe, sir, but that helps us very little. We've been out of contact with home for almost a month, sir, and resupply is 3 weeks late. We can afford to wait a little longer to regain contact, but wait too long, and we'll jeopardize everyone on this planet.'' Admiral Sakamoto nodded with a small grunt. `` The Lieutenant is right. Regardless of what happened on Earth and the solar colonies, we must assume that we are on our own and take appropriate action until we hear otherwise. I propose we operate under Contingency Protocol Green for two weeks, after which we take further emergency action.'' The Lieutenant bowed his head in agreement. Contingency Protocol Green dictated the cessation of all non-vital tasks, and the diversion of all power and processing to life support systems. That meant most of the entertainment systems and scientific tests were largely done with. `` Roger that, sir. Should we divert power and fuel to our Emergency Return Vehicle?'' To this, the Admiral disagreed. `` I find it unlikely we'll need the ERV's just yet. Remember, this is only Green. We should rule out an evacuation of Mars unless there is absolutely no choice. Saito, what is the status of your geothermal harvesters?'' `` They're holding, sir, we've managed to keep them in control with what parts we have. For now, though, we can last up to 3 months without new parts, assuming something does n't frak up down in these caves.'' Saito glanced behind him to Specialist Connelly, who gave him an eager thumbs up. `` Performingly splendidly, sir.'' `` Good, good,'' Sakamoto muttered. `` In that case, you should be fine. We'll reconvene tomorrow at 0800. Keep your emergency band trained on Earth in case anything changes. Sakamoto out.'' The Admiral's feed disconnected, followed soon by the others, the last being Lieutenant Tsuyuki, the commander of Phobos Base. Nobody said anything in the CNC as Saito ended the call, instead allowing silence to foment like the skin on top of protein paste soup. Finally, Private Dunn leaned back in his chair. `` Does that mean no Movie Night, sir?'' He asks completely innocently. '' Yare yare,'' Saito said to himself in exasperation, running his hands along his steel mug. `` If this keeps up I'm handing in my resignation.''
[ WP ] One night the stars do not appear in the sky .	The old man limped along the grass, holding the hand of the child beside him. They climbed the little hill and sat down upon the stump at the top and looked out over the farm. The wind rustled through the wheat field and over the shingles of the old red barn. In the quiet night, the artificial moonlight fell to the ground, brighter than the light the old farmer remembered. He pointed a wrinkled hand down the artificial orb, and the child ’ s wide, brown eyes followed. “ See that circle? ” “ You mean the moon, grandpa? ” “ No, I mean, the “ moon. ” It ’ s not real, my boy. Somewhere out there, behind the wall, is the real moon. It ’ s a giant hunk of rock that orbits the Earth and reflects light from the sun. It looks a lot like that… only the light… the light is smooth and subtle and cold. It ’ s calm and natural and bathes the world in a lingering glow like the shadow of a dream. ” The boy scrunched up his face while the old man moved his hands in the shape of a circle. “ Can I see it? ” the boy asked after a moment. “ I don ’ t know, ” the farmer replied with a sigh that settled his shoulders into a hunch. “ Everyone used to see it, all the time, along with the stars. Oh, I wish you could see the stars… ” “ I ’ ve seen stars, grandpa, ” the boy answered, rolling his eyes with the worldly experience of a 6-year-old. I ’ ve got stars on my pajamas and – and a million other places. ” The farmer tried to grin or to laugh. He ruffled the hair on the top of the boy ’ s head, but his eyes filled up with tears. “ What do you see when you look at the night sky, Sammy? ” “ I see the moon, of course, and the black, just like every night. ” The old man looked around him. Buildings were encroaching on the farm to the west as the city expanded. The woods were gone, even his old oak tree chopped for the war effort. In the artificial light, he watched the smoke puff up from the factory in the distance. “ If only you knew. Instead of the empty black of the force plates, you used to see straight up into the sky and thousands and thousands of stars would blink back at you like twinkling glitter swirled around the planet.. It ’ s been so long now, you ’ ve never known anything but war. I wonder if you parents even remember the stars. But, you see, for as long as we could image, humans wondered if we were alone in the universe. I used to do it myself, lying on my back on this very hill with the oak leaves above me and the owls watching over me. I ’ d star up at the sky and dream about planets stuck in the space between the stars. We wondered if we were alone, and, then, when the war came, we wished we had never ventured into space. We wanted to be alone again, and so, we were. It took them years to build the plates with their little openings and their sun filters… but they didn ’ t bother with the stars. In one day, the plates clicked into place, and my sky was gone. After years and years of dreaming, in one night, we were alone. ” -- -- -177
[ WP ] Write a Letter to your future self ( minimum 10 years from now ) about lessons learned in 2015 .	Dear Me, It's hard to believe that by now you are in your thirties. I would hope by now that you have some little kids running around that love calling you mom. I really wish that for you after everything that has happened. This year has been quite possibly one of the best years of your life. Celebrating your first wedding anniversary, realizing that everyday you spend with the man you have chosen to spend your life with makes you love him even more than you thought was possible. Hopefully in ten years, Murphy is still alive. He is our very first pet and I ca n't bear to think about him not jumping with excitement anymore when I return home from work each day. Please tell me he never forgets how much he loves sharing popcorn with you and going on long walks. This year was the first year of your very first part time job. I hope that you remember how excited you were to be offered the position in a field that you love, and I really hope that you are still spending your days doing something that brings you joy. Remember 2015 as the year you met your very best friend. Hopefully by now, you two are bonding over having young children. Remember what it felt like to click with another person so well, that it felt like you had been friends for your entire lives. Remember the times that you cried. Remember what it felt like to lose someone so close to you and the nights that you just shook with tears and pain. Do n't forget that. Do n't forget to tell everyone around you that you love them. 2015 was a year of change for you and your man. This was the year you realized that sometimes money is n't always the best option. This was the year when your relationship was put to the test and the year that you found happiness is sometimes more important and a raise. Please do n't forget that. Please take time to spend time with mom and dad. I hope that they are both still as happy and healthy as they are now. Do n't forget to see them as much as you can. I hope things are as good for you as they are for me right now. But promise me one thing, please do n't give up on your dreams. Right now I still have faith and believe that I can do it. I hope you still feel the same way. Much love, Me
[ WP ] One day you ask the `` Piano Man '' at your work `` Man , what are you doing here ? '' and they tell you .	Ding ding. The chime of the front door bell jingled as a mid-forties man with a little too much five o ’ clock shadow and a wispy comb-over entered. He didn ’ t look like the usual crowd to enter the shop. They usually had purpose and knew what they wanted. This John Seemore looked confused almost as if he didn ’ t know what he was looking for. “ May I help you? ” I asked in my customer service voice, raising my voice an octave to sound more friendly. “ What are you looking for? ” “ Oh, yes, thank you. ” A small and tired smile appeared on his face, making him look a little more friendly. “ I ’ m the Piano Man, ” pointing to a small embroidered patch on his coveralls. “ Here to fix your piano. ” I remember that we had an out of tune Yamaha with a few broken hammers in the back of the music shop. “ Oh, right, thanks for coming. It ’ s right in the back there. ” “ Much obliged, ma ’ am. ” He shuffled past and began his work.
[ WP ] A boy in High School discovers he can create nations simply by vandalising his geography book	Mr. Campbell stood at the front of the class, writing on the whiteboard about the features of lakes and rivers. Most students in his class didn ’ t pay attention, and neither did I. Instead, I was doodling on my geography book. At the same time, I was reading a comic book. Personally, I always found the geography to be dull. Where are the peculiar looking countries? I mean, the United Kingdom doesn ’ t count. I was taught by my middle school teacher, that it was meant to be a witch riding a pig. But it looks like a dreadfully drawn one. Why don ’ t I fix that? I doodled furiously around the United Kingdom, making sure the witch had a pointed hat and the pig was chubbier. To my amazement, the class around me changed. Instead, Mr. Campbell was talking about the formation of the lands in the United Kingdom. The map of United Kingdom was the pig and the witch that I drew. I couldn ’ t believe my eyes, I have the powers to change the whole entire universe. Am I able to create new countries or cities? I skip to page 394, where the map of the United States lay before me. I decided to cross out some of the states and replace them with new names. I scribbled out my state, and named it ‘ Gotham ’. Suddenly, my surroundings changed. Instead of Mr. Campbell standing in front of the class, it was a new teacher. An old teacher with a lack of hair, he was warning the class about the new vigilante, ‘ The Batman ’, and the history of the founders of Gotham. I was sitting inside Gotham Academy. Wait a moment. Did I just create Batman? I just created Batman. Wow, I just created Batman. What about Superman? Can I add Metropolis? In another part of America, I drew a peculiar circular shape and named it “ Metropolis ”. Now my teacher was talking about the new found rivalry between Superman and Batman. Not long after, I added new cities: Star City, Central City, Coast City, Atlantis and Opal City. Now, my teacher was lecturing the class about the Justice League and its impact on the world. And so, I began the creator of the DC world and like those wretched writers at DC, I have the power to reboot the universe as many times as I want. Welcome to DC Rebirth 2.0. But with this power, I could become a superhero. Or alternatively, I could become a supervillain, with this mass amount of power. Considering I ’ m a class clown, I ’ ve always fancied myself as a joker.
[ WP ] A murder mystery where the top suspects are frequent /r/WritingPrompts responders .	Lurking can teach you a lot on this sub. After all, good readers make good writers. After some time, you notice certain names that appear more often than any others; /u/Luna_LoveWell, /u/Lexilogical, even /u/Draxagon and /u/imchrishansen_. There used to be a lot more, until one day they started dropping like flies. I have n't had a lead on this case in months, but popular users are still disappearing right and left. It ca n't be a coincidence, someone must be eliminating their competition. It's a good thing that a guy like me blends in, otherwise I might find myself becoming the next victim. Until then, I have to try and find the killer. /u/Luna_LoveWell is the prime suspect, most of her stories end with death and despair. The chief is a big fan of her work, so he's asked me to look into other users. I do n't think we have any solid evidence against her, most of the stories on here end that way anyways. /u/Lexilogical seems friendly to everyone, almost too friendly for a mod. There's an angle here, something I'm missing. Nothing seems fishy about her stories, though. I do n't think she would kill over something like this... /u/Draxagon has been pretty active lately, spitting out lots of stories. He might be too new though, these murders started a while ago. Still, I'll keep tabs on him. /u/imchrishansen_ has caught my attention lately, could be our perp. That recent story about plagiarism seemed to come straight out of a psychotic mind. But it's Chris Hansen, who fights crimes, not commits them... I call up the chief and tell him that I'm going to follow one last lead. This guy has been trying to distract us all along, I need to see what he's up to. /u/Fractal_Death, you've got some explaining to do. ( I'm sure that I've missed plenty of active members, but I've only been around for a few days. I made my choices based only on what I've seen lately. )
[ WP ] `` Get in the car . ''	`` Excuse me, do I kno-'' '' GET IN THE DAMN CAR'' I felt myself being dragged into the backseat of the limo. I've always wanted to ride one of these but I had figured it would be somewhere in Las Vegas or Atlantic City. Not being kidnapped. I opened my mouth to scream but a burly hand covered it. I tried to bite it but the man was well-prepared. After several minutes of squirming, it was obvious that I was n't going to win. I calmed down. `` Are you going to yell if he lets go of your mouth?'' an old man sat across from me as the bigger man tighted his grip around me. I quickly shook my head and a breath of air escaped from my lungs. I collasped on the limo floor and gasped. I wiped my mouth several seconds later. `` What do you want from me?'' `` Nicolaus,'' the man smiled at me, `` It is I, your father.'' The man looked senile and looked nothing like my dad. `` I-I think you're mistaken, sir'' I frowned apologetically, `` B-both of my parents are at home right now. I was just getting them some groceries.'' The man laughed and sighed. `` You have your mother's eyes. Oh, how so much you remind me of her...'' I backed away in horror. `` Look, old man. I do n't know what you're talking about but I am not your son.'' `` Nicolaus, you have a birthmark on your inside right thigh.'' How did he know that? `` You also like apples more than anything in the world.'' How did he... `` I-I do n't understand,'' I was trying to make heads or tails of the situation, `` Have you been following me?'' `` Yes, my son.'' He had genuinely seemed to think that I was related to him. RAPID MOOD CHANGE SINCE A PATIENT HAS COME IN It was then I realized that the miniature pistol I had up my sleeve was still working. It was small but it would be enough with the training I had learned. I shot the bodyguard and in one sweep, fired another bullet into the man across from me. The man who had called me his son. The blood began to soak the limousine carpet as his eyes looked with shock at me. `` I... I do n't understand, Nicolaus...'' I gave him a sheepish grin. `` How do you like them apples?'' Sorry I was honestly going to go in a direction where the boy was swapped at an early age his whole life but a patient came in. Apologies OP*
[ EU ] Marty McFly walks in on his parents arguing about why he looks like their friend from high school .	Marty was sitting on the couch, looking straight ahead. His parent's voices upstairs were loud enough he thought dust might start raining from the wooden cracks on the roof soon. `` I'm telling you the truth!'' `` I mean it's one thing to cheat on me Lorraine, but to insult my intelligence with these lies, I –'' `` I'm not lying, George! I honestly do n't know.'' `` If it was just a little bit... but dear God, they're like clones… everyday he looks more like him...'' `` They're not that much alike…'' Marty heard a scoff. `` Yeah, sure. I'll tell you, if we had a time machine and we could send our son back to that time, I guarantee we would n't even be able to tell who's who.'' `` Hah… yeah.'' Marty sighed, relieved that the tension was dissipating upstairs. They were making jokes -- that was a good sign. Right? `` Wait… yeah,'' his mother's voice went on, raising with each word. `` Holy shit, George, yes!'' `` What, yes?'' `` It was him! For the love of God, it was him!'' `` Him what!?'' `` Marty! He's a time traveler! That's why he was always with that crazy old man! He was learning how to time travel!'' Uh-oh. `` What!?'' `` Think about it, George! They are exactly alike! It was our son back then! It's the only possible explanation!'' `` No it's not,'' George replied. `` You could have cheated on me, there's also that explanation.'' `` And had a baby that grows up to look one hundred percent like the man I supposedly cheated on you with!? Come on, even if you do n't trust me to be faithful, you got ta admit that's absurd!'' Marty heard silence for a second, then, `` Yeah, it's a bit iffy. Still… our son, a time traveler? Come on! It ca n't be. We raised him right.'' `` A bit iffy? Come on, I do n't know how we did n't see this before! He's obviously a time traveler, George! And it has nothing to do with how we raised him!'' `` Wait... If he's a time traveler, that means you were in love with our son back in the –'' `` Jesus Christ let's not even get into that, please.'' `` Good point.'' Downstairs, Marty had his eyes open wide, staring straight at the wall. Shit. `` Ok… so… what do we do? What's the protocol here? We need to stop this!'' `` What? What stop this? It's who he is, George! If he's happy, we should n't intrude in that!'' `` But it's not natural! And think of what the neighbors will say! I ca n't --'' `` Screw the neighbors! If it makes him happy, Marty can time travel all he wants.'' Silence. Then his father, `` Do we confront him? Do we talk to him about it? What do we do? I never thought this would happen in our family.'' `` No… no! If he has n't told us yet, he's not ready. We do n't say anything.'' `` I do n't think it's natural, Lorraine. Honestly, if you --'' `` Stop it, George, you're embarrassing yourself. It's 2016.'' `` Yeah, for us! Who knows what year it is for him right now? Maybe he's out there in the fifties, or hanging out with dinosaurs! There's no rules in this world he lives in, anything goes!'' `` Oh, you sound so old fashioned, George. Let the boy time travel. Like you never experienced with that.'' `` Once! In college! With a friend! And we traveled like, five minutes to the past and back. That's all! I'm going to talk to him. I have to, I'm going to --'' `` You'll say nothing! He'll talk to us when he's ready!'' Marty heard footsteps followed by footsteps. His father's face emerged at the bottom of the stairs. Then his mother's. He felt his insides twitch, but kept his cool. `` Hey dad. Hey mom.'' `` Marty… uh… sorry, were we being loud? Did you hear –'' `` I did n't hear anything,'' Marty lied, getting up, hands in pockets. `` Hey, I'm going out for a bit, is that ok?'' `` Listen, son…'' George went down the final step of the stairs towards Marty. `` Me and your mom want to talk to you about somet -- ouch!'' Marty's mom did n't do a good job of hiding the pinch, but Marty pretended he did n't see it. `` It's nothing Marty'' his mom said. `` Where are you going?'' `` To the museum with Jake.'' `` Museum…'' George grunted, under his breath. `` If he wants to see stuff from the past all he's got ta do is --'' `` Well, have fun!'' Lorraine interrupted, nudging George with her elbow. `` And be back by lunch.'' `` If he's not, all he's got ta do is go back and try again.'' Marty's dad scoffed again. `` Will do,'' Marty replied. `` Bye mom, bye dad.'' `` And Marty!'' Halfway out the door, Marty paused and turned back. `` Yes, mom?'' `` I just want you to know that we're proud of you, no matter what.'' Marty smiled. He looked from his mom to his dad. George remained quiet for a second, and Marty felt his own smile fade. Then his father nodded. `` That's true, son. We're very proud of you.'' Marty nodded too, putting his smile back on. He closed the door and turned to face the street. On the sunny side of the sidewalk, the DeLorean waited for him, shinny and beautiful as always. _______________ Hey, thanks for reading! If, like Marty's mother, you're not prejudiced against time travelers, check out /r/psycho_alpaca for a bunch of [ time traveling stories ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/31tof7/wp_youre_midway_into_your_flight_when_you_feeling/ ) = )
[ WP ] A brilliant computer scientist creates a computer that operates with a 3D flow of data . When the data is displayed in 3D , strange ripples in the data can been seen . A few days later , someone realizes those are n't ripples ... it 's them	James tipped the cup up to his lips, and after several puzzling seconds when nothing happened, put it back down again. It took nearly half a minute longer staring blankly at the white Styrofoam before he realized that his coffee must just be empty again… Maybe it really was time to call it quits for the night. Morning. Afternoon. Whatever time it was. He had been staring at this problem for days, but nothing made sense. The monstrous tangle of wire and silicon behind his chair was supposed to measure the spatial distribution of dark matter in 3D, a world first, but the results it was spitting out couldn ’ t be true. All the theories tell us that the dark matter sea is fairly uniform; these ripples had no business being in the signal. Exhausted, he shut the machine down for another day. Sleep, some exercise… perhaps then he ’ d figure out what mistake he ’ d made assembling the damnable thing. As he shuffled out of the building into the bright sunlight, a voice called out to him. “ Good morning Dr. Lewis! ” He managed to grunt something hopefully pleasant-sounding in reply, and was continuing on his way out when he realized that the speaker was one of his students. But if students were around ( and looking about him, many were ) that meant it was n't the weekend… It must be Monday, and he had Astronomy 101 to teach those afternoons. His watch was n't on his wrist, must have left it in the lab, and squinting at the sun did n't do any good, could be anytime between 11 and 2. He called out to the nearest student. “ You there! Got the time? ” Somewhat taken aback by his aggressive tone, the student mumbled “ 1:29 ”. Great. No time for anything, his class was about to start. He rushed back to his office for his lecture notes, and managed to arrive only 10 minutes late to start his class. Better than usual, if he was honest with himself. Opening his notes to the correct page, he briefly glanced down at what he was supposed to be teaching today, and began speaking. “ Good afternoon class. Today we will be starting the unit on radio astronomy. Now, as you know from what we have covered so far, stars emit a wide spectrum of radiation. ” A sea of blank stares in the lecture hall met his after this brief statement, mentioned a dozen times in earlier classes. This was why he hated teaching… Nobody ever understood the simplest facts. Tell a class that the sky was blue, and half of them would act like you were trying to explain string theory to a dying starfish. Nevertheless, he had to do this to get back to his research, so he soldiered on. Sometime later in the lecture as he was discussing the radio frequencies set aside for astronomy research, a student put up their hand to ask a question, something that never happened. Surprised, he stopped midsentence and gestured towards the student. “ Yes? ” “ What about aliens? They don ’ t care about our rules, why don ’ t the Martian ’ s radio signals interfere with us? ” At this statement, half the class started chuckling. Of course… it had to be some jokester asking about Martians that everybody knows don ’ t exist. Still… a question is a question, and it should be answered. “ Martians or not, there are reasons for the frequencies we choose, they are not random. Any other intelligent life using radios that are at all interested in learning about the stars would be expected to look at similar frequencies. For example, we have the 1420MHz window to look at hydrogen spectra, and a window higher up at 22GHz to look for water. These are all very important and common… ” his voice trailed off as a thought began forming in his head. 22GHz. Those ripples he was seeing… Were n't they near 22GHz? But no, closer to 24.5. “ Um, yes, as I was saying, these are common elements, and any ‘ Martians ’, or other aliens, that existed would know about them. That is why SETI and other similar programs commonly look at the hydrogen line for extraterrestrial signals. Of course, we can ’ t just look at one frequency, because stars are moving and therefore… ” Redshift. At 10 % of the speed of light. It was crazy, but what if? Somebody, or something, using gravity waves at the water line to communicate? “ therefore… Um… The motion would… ” No use for it. “ Class dismissed! ” Before most of the students finished blinking back awake after his sudden shout, James had rushed out of the lecture hall, leaving his notes behind. Back in his lab, he powered on the machine, cursing the seconds his computer took to boot. Yes. 24.5GHz. 10 % redshift exactly. And looking again, it was not a pure wave. There were small frequency modulations, almost like a signal. In fact… it looked binary. Shaking with excitement, he slowly wrote down the sequence. 01010111 01000101 00100000 01000001… As he looked at the sequence he had written, a chill went down his spine. These were aliens. The sequence shouldn ’ t make sense. It couldn ’ t make sense. This was preposterous…. And yet. It was ascii. Transmitted with gravity waves, from a ship moving at 10 % of lightspeed. “ WE ARE COMING ” __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ Off topic: I hope this was something like what you were looking for. Your writing prompt also strongly reminded me of the WWW trilogy by Robert Sawyer, which follows from a similar theme as your prompt. You might want to check it out. edits: Typos, missed words.
[ TT ] A stereotypical love story	In Oklahoma, during the sixties, the hippies were out in force. Yeah, I was one. So was my best friend, Curtis. He sure did like his pop. I even based his nickname around it. We were seen as delinquents, good for nothing. We were kids, still in high school. It was a wild time. We lived on the other side of the tracks. Can you believe that shit? Told we were bad influences because we were poor and had no social standing. What a load of bullshit. I still get angry about it. That's a different story. My other best friend was a Hinton, from a farming family down the dirt road from my house in 67. It feels like so far away now. I can see her bursting into my house, her red hair waving around as she told me about the guy she met. Some guy named Robert from town. We were all young and dumb and did n't know any better. Of course, there was some trouble in this story. A problem about social status and stupidity. But in the end, we all got smarter and I'm glad to say she married Robert. They're still together and have grandchildren now. Ai n't that something? She actually wrote a book about it. Maybe you've heard of it. I've got a bit part where I saved some kids from a fire. If you got the time, I'll be happy to tell you about that. Stay Golden, son.
[ IP ] - Write a horror story starring Pierre the Pelican , the New Orleans Pelicans mascot .	Sorry this is n't what you completely asked for! I was writing and by the time I re-read the prompt there was just too much to revise. -- -- -- I am in the locker room, in the back near the sinks. The game is about to begin and those boorish jocks have left to satisfy the common masses with their arrogant displays of physical prowess. I grimace, curling my lips downwards and begin to wash the dark, maroon, dried powder on my hands. The residue of Dorito's new barbecue flavored chips smelled and I could not clean the dark stains from my coarse hands. I despised eating the pre-game snacks that these mindless men consume, lost in the illusion of traditions and superstition. I bring my head and stare. I am met with my own reflection. I observe the blackened bags underneath my eyes, the crinkled crow's-feet on my skin, and the chiseled cheekbones beneath my flesh. I bare my teeth and the pallor of my straight teeth causes me to conceal them. My beeper begins to go off, releasing an ear-piercing tone. I put on the heavy head of the feathery fowl and made my way to the field. As the lights grew brighter and the cheers grew louder, I ran, fueled by passion and excitement. To everyone else, I was playing the fool, but inside, I began my work. I scouted the stands and one-by-one I analyzed the giddy individuals before me. I glided up and down the field, observing, until I came across a couple. The man, heavy-set and slightly drunk on alcohol and football, sat next to what appeared to be his wife, a thin and equally drunk blonde. They were quietly enjoying the game by themselves, isolated and separated from the loud drunkards all around. In my mind, I began to brainstorm. Each devious and treacherous scenario that played through my head gave me energy and I became more excited. The crowd reciprocated my euphoric feelings, fooled into thinking that the fowl in front of them cared for the tomfoolery of sports. I soon became entranced with emotion. When I regained composure, I discovered that my team had won by a mere point. Pats on the back were given to me by the sportsmen as they attributed the victory to my positive energy. I ignored them and began to look for the clueless couple from before. After several seconds of staring, I found the couple and I began the game of cat and mouse.
[ WP ] You 're a 12 year-old in a world domintated by magic . A small , feeble man appears on your doorstep claiming : `` You 're a scientist , Henry ''	But why am I a boy?... And why is my name Henry? I was born a girl, the name is Shelly. I am sick of sexist magicians showing up at my doorstep trying to talk me into a `` night on the town'' all the while calling me a `` scientist.'' What a shame. The real magic and science is getting past pronouns which keep us in the dark ages. We need to go beyond names and labels. I am not Henry -- rather Shelly, but I can be by the scientific power of cosmetic surgery, and the powers of belief. I guess I am Henry. Thank you old man. ( The door closes ) There is nothing to do... A single tree drops a leaf... The End
[ WP ] You 've been receiving strange letters in the mail with tasks , at first you ignored it thinking it was some sort of prank , but you soon came to realize that unless you complete the given task the day is going to repeat over and over again . Today you 've recieved your last task ...	January 1, 1915 “ Task # 1 Go sign up ” November 19, 2016 People think I ’ m crazy. Even my wife thinks I ’ m crazy. Why you ask? Believe it or not, I ’ ve been receiving letters since the beginning of World War 1. Yeah, everyday a task will be given to me. Even when I ’ ve escaped to the furthest corners of our planet, I will always, ALWAYS find a letter waiting for me. At first the tasks were to “ Go sign up ”, me being the daft idiot I am, did not know what it meant, until I woke up on January 1, 1915. AGAIN. In the same pyjamas from the day before, or should I say that very same morning. The morning that kept repeating and coming back. Slowly I got used to my daily routine and repeated my mundane postman life, not sure of how to escape this endless cycle of torture. What was interesting was that me being the only postman for miles around in the middle of England, who was to deliver that very same letter for me every morning? Eventually time beat me and I looked for ways to “ sign up ”, looking for ways to sign up to this apparent great cause that was holding me back in the chains of time. Great. And that was how I went and joined the Great War. Still receiving letters daily, asking me to do menial tasks that will keep me alive throughout the war. Then I fought the NEXT World War, the second one, partook in the Normandy Invasion, marching straight to the Nazi ’ s front door, without a single scratch. Time passed and my friends and family died, while I just refused to age. As the family started asking questions I withdrew and travelled the globe, with my secret messenger guiding me to do a task everyday, not letting me live “ tomorrow ” if I didn ’ t complete these tasks. And you know, sometimes that a particular day was so good, I kept reliving it, most notably my wedding days ( I ’ ve gone through three wives now ). Back to the future, my mundane day begins with me climbing out of bed, getting ready for whatever my messenger has in store for me today. It ’ s been a long time since he/she has communicated via physical mail, now preferring to email me the task at 10AM every morning with the handle secretadmirerhehehahahohohihi @ secr.et, funny email right? I ’ ve repeatedly consulted Google and bing and whatnot to see if this email actually exists, even emailing back myself. But every time I get an error telling me there is no such person. Wow. Anyways, here I am on my Alienware Computer ( Millennials and their product naming. Smh, who names their product alienware, what ’ s the appeal to THAT? ), the time is exactly 9:59:30 AM, only 30 more seconds and I ’ ll find out my next task, yay. 10:00:00 You have a new email to read. Here we go. > Subject: Sweet Goodbye > > Dear Mr Timothy Timothius, > > We have good news for you. For over 100 years, you've been partaking in our experiments with great diligence. We recognise that you are feeling mentally tired now, and that you want to stop doing these tasks to be able to live a guilt free life, not anchored by the burdens of the death of your son, daughter, wife, friends. > The committee of Musk Inc has reviewed your case, and accepts your mental proposition to be dismissed from your services. However, before we can free your from our existing contract, you must complete one final task for us. > Task briefing: 37213 > Description: Make your way to Elon Musk. You will start tomorrow > Sincerely, > Your friends from Musk Inc. It took me ages to actually comprehend the reality of this email, having to Google who this Elon Musk guy was, then it hit me that he was that guy who wants to send humans to Mars, and thinks we are all living in some sort of simulation, yeah right. How I might get to him in a single day, I'll never know. Trial and error I suppose. It's worked before, it wo n't fail me now. First time please have mercy. Should I continue this? Is it worthy?
[ WP ] PVP has been turned off for years . Everyone now knows , that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm . You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm ...	I do n't remember it happening. How could I? I was just a baby at the time. My mom tells the story all the time though. `` There he was, my precious little baby,'' Mom would start. I always rolled my eyes when she told the story. Gave a long suffering `` Mooooooom'' to show my annoyance. Mom's do n't care, they think it's being cute. `` The doctor asked me to hold him while he gave him his shots. I did, of course, I wanted my little boy to be safe and protected from all the nasty things in the world. So the doctor goes to inject my little angel and the needle bends!'' Mom would always pause here for the gasps or some reaction. So embarrassing, every time she tells it. Like a script by now. `` I was shocked! I had never been one of those kooks but my baby was almost killed!'' I usually tried to chime in, after I got older, that maybe it would have just hurt instead. Maybe the doctor thought the needle was a little too big for me and that triggered the response. I tried to offer up sane ideas, some explanation other than the insane world this situation brought about. `` I'd never believed those anti-vaxxers but this was proof!'' Mom would always sound oddly proud about that. `` And that's how we got all vaccinations banned and now the children are safe.'' Mom likes to ignore the various epidemics that have cropped up and all the dead children who are n't hers. It sucks being the literal anti-vax poster child.
[ WP ] Description Exercise	The mug of tea was steaming to the left of the plate. Strong tea, the colour of cheap fake tan. On the plate breakfast was waiting. Crisp bacon, a link sausage with the skin caramelised just right, a fried egg sunny side up waiting to give up the gold to the dipped toast and butter. On the side the sautéed mushrooms were looking lonely, so I piled them on the plate. I sliced the sausage hearing the skin crack, pairing it on the fork with the first buttered mushroom. The yolk bulges then yields as I plunge forth the fork. I salivate in anticipation of this first bite. Then the phone rings. First go on this thread, all pointers/advice/criticism warmly receeved.
[ CW ] Try to write a short story about a man with a limp without using any linking verbs .	Oliver told himself that he did n't need his cane, not really, but his daughter insisted that he carry it in order to arrive at work early. His natural impatience, combined with morning rush hour, created a dangerous state of affairs, she said. No one but his daughter knew about his prosthetic leg, and he intended to keep it that way. Oh, well. A hundred years ago, a well-dressed man with a walking cane never raised eyebrows. He strode to the subway entrance with purpose. He worked as a banker, every day denying a multitude of loan applications, but his fantasies always kept him company. On this bright Thursday morning, he became the ringmaster of a circus. The stench of the elephants assaulted his nostrils, the over-sized shoes of the clowns amused him, the sparkle of the sequined aerialists titillated him. He controlled them all; he alone orchestrated their movements. The face of every eager child, of every patient parent, were transfixed on him as he announced each act. His cane tapped on the pavement, one, two, three times, as he contemplated the subway entrance. Not today. He chose something else. He hailed a cab. `` Take me to the big top,'' he told the cab driver.
[ WP ] You 've discovered you can cast magic spells by speaking the right phrases , but you 're not sure what phrases are magical . You decide to shout nonsense one afternoon , not realizing the hole you just dug for yourself .	I'd had it happen twice before. As a kid, I had a slight speech impediment. One afternoon while strapped into my highchair, I asked my mom `` Is it in the refrig-ig-orator?'' and my glass of milk overflowed onto the floor. I mean there were gallons of milk all over the highchair and floor. She yelled at me at first, but then when it was apparent that there was no way I could have spilled this much milk, she just sort of stopped - confused - and we never spoke of it again. Since then I had n't thought of it very much. Honestly I'd kind of written it off to mis-remembering the event - you know as kids are prone to do. After yesterday's episode I really needed to know what was going on. I brought a few things with me to the vacant lot behind the elementary school in town. A tennis ball, some Play-Doh I had on my desk, a few pencils, my notebook, a wooden figurine of a dragon, some loose change, and a sports bottle... with some milk in it. I did n't really know what I was going to do. I took the lid off the sports bottle and just said `` refrigerator''. Nothing happened. `` Refrigerator!'' I yelled. Nothing. It was after I thought a little bit about it that I remembered the months I'd spent in speech therapy. I had to unlearn it. `` Refriggggerator'', I tried. `` RE-frigerator''. Then the quiver in my jaw started coming back to me. I did n't have a traditional stutter per-se but I was definitely in that neighborhood. `` Refrig-ig-orator...'' and it happened. A fountain of milk shot up out of the sports bottle spewing maybe 30 feet into the sky and then splashed to the ground. It was familiar for some reason. I remember feeling something happening to me that day as a kid. It was the same thing I felt yesterday too. Like a wave of... something... flowing out of me and into the milk. What was going on with me? I came out to the field to avoid a repeat of yesterday. I put one of the pencils on top of an old cardboard box that was in the vacant lot. I looked around to see if anyone was there. It was summer so the school was empty and whoever used to sleep in this box did n't seem to be around. I was alone. `` Garmin where am I?'' The pencil took off like a rocket and embedded into the concrete wall in the building that used to be a hardware store. Flames still coming out of the eraser end. `` Shit! Just like yesterday,'' I said to no one. That ten car pile up on the news? That was me. I'd gotten lost and my stupid GPS was n't helping me. I just asked it a simple question. Hell, it's not even voice activated. I just said it. I guess lots of people argue with their devices. A pencil launched out of my notebook in the passenger seat, through the passenger door and into the rear quarter panel of the car next to me. I can only assume it ended up in the gas tank becasue the explosion that followed came from the back of the car. Thankfully the news said that nobody was killed but several were hurt. I did n't stop. I could n't. I did n't even know what was going on. I lined up another pencil. `` Garmin where am I?'' Same thing. Why was this happening now? Why had it never happened before? I'd said these words before... had n't I? I lined up another pencil. `` Garmin where am I?'' same thing but this time, I noticed that the feeling I had came half way through. I put down another pencil. `` Garmin!'' Nothing. `` Garmin where?'' Still nothing, `` Garmin where am,'' and it was gone. Last pencil. `` Garmin Wheram'' and off it went. Are you kidding me? It appeared that I had some kind of magic control over things by my words. Really? WTF? How could this have happened? Right then I did n't really care. I set up everything else on the box and started shouting all kinds of weird combinations of words at them. `` Shazam!'' `` Boo-yeah!'' `` Chicken boat banana!'' `` Koozil rotunda frantastizam!'' What the hell am I doing? `` Gambler flotilla sheep shank?'' Nothing. Was I losing it? `` Purple people eaters!'' `` Garbanzo meat loaf!'' `` Hammock van tittle!'' Now it was just ridiculous. But I had to know what else there was. What was going on with me. Was I just a milk-spilling, pencil-shooting wizard? There had to be more to it. `` Vanilla cistern!'' `` Rambling plastic beans!'' `` Gorilla sewing jeans''. If anyone had walked by, they'd have thought I was off my gourd. `` Off my gourd!'' Nope. I decided to head home and rethink this. At least I knew what NOT to say. I threw out a `` Backbreaker green toes'' and a `` Fungus mountain'' as I crossed the lot. Silence. `` Snag the gnarly eyelid on the squid lip'', I chuckled to myself. And the dragon figurine came alive.
[ PI ] Guardians of Space - FEB CONTEST	This is very funny story ( although I'm slightly horrified that dubstep has overtaken Mozart in the human musical pantheon; ) ). The idea of tea being a controlled substance is cute. The writing is snappy and sarcastic; I like it! I agree that the ending seemed a bit rushed. This is probably a function of the contest, but in a redraft you could draw out Caswell and Laura's investigation a little more. I also would have liked to know a little more about Laura's species. I gather from the mention of a tail that she's not human, but she acts pretty human throughout, and exploring the differences between them could be interesting ( and probably a good place from which to mine some comedy ). There are some grammatical errors ( the second paragraph, for example, has an `` its'' vs. `` it's'' mistake ) so the story would benefit from a proofread. Nice work, though, and good luck!
[ WP ] You can forsee the future , but whenever you try to change it for the better , it becomes worse . Now you are trying to trick the universe .	The idea of there being multiple universes was always interesting to me. Being able to create an entire universe because of a single decision you made. I though, am the closest thing to a god. I have the ability to manipulate the future and therefor, manipulate entire universes and the masses that populate them. I first discovered this power in the 1930's when Adolf Hitler decided to enter art school. The future told me that he would create a painting that would sway the ideas of an entire generation and thus, set technological advances back by decades. I decided to intercept his art letter and create a fake rejection letter. As you all know, Adolf Hitler instead was able to begin the Third Reich. Whenever I would change the future, I would only cause more harm. Now though, I foresee Earth as a molten rock, entirely devoid of life. I can not allow for life on Earth to end, but how? I think for ages while staring at my old chessboard. How? How? How?! How can I save the Earth without creating an even more terrible fate? It torments me. Saving the world without giving it an even worse fate? It suddenly dawns upon me that I must do what I never wanted to do: I must further speed up the end game of Earth's death. So I do just that, I convince people that gas does not hurt our Earth much, I convince people that global warming is nothing more than a myth, and I convince the politicians to ignore it all. I do these horrendous things to push people to see the future as I did and attempt to change it themselves. If every good action I do ends up creating an even worse future, than every evil action I do should end up creating an even better future. So it is my final hope that my evil actions push people into steering away from the future I saw and unite as a single population to stop it. I hope that my actions now become a rallying point for humanity.
[ WP ] All pigs on earth have suddenly died and their DNA is irretrievable ; No more bacon production ; Bacon has become one of the most valuable resources on earth	`` Well shit,'' thought that trader. He tapped his car's fuel gage and the needle remained in its limp position. `` Empty damn,'' he looked around at his surroundings. The lush green forest almost seemed tranquil as if it had n't been touched by the horrors of war that spawned from the Swine Wars. A rustle from the woods broke his train of thought. He looked around and listen closely. Suddenly a man broke from the underbrush screaming at the top of his lungs with a machete in one hand. His skin was coated in a layer of dirt his eyes blood shot. He wore raggedy old clothing reminiscent of a pre war farmer who would have drove in his tractor, had a loving wife, and a strong son who would take the farm over eventually. The trader threw his flechette into the farmer's neck. The farmer fell, but continued crawling towards the trader crimson blood soaking the ground the writhed across. The trader ran up and seized the man's machete before hacking the man's head clean off the screams ceasing. `` Damn Porkers,'' he muttered. Porkers were old ranching farmers who had lost their live stock in the war. Machete was nice new tool though. He went through the man's belongings finding an old pocket watch with the picture of what must have been his wife. The man had a few shot gun shells, some water ( suppose even porkers needed to drink ), a few bands of wiring, and a-. `` Holy shit,'' the trader gasped. Before him sat a perfectly good peace of pork. He knew he could get this for a good price, a really good price. And the fuel he could get from this, he would be set for miles. The trader smiled fit the first time since his son said his na- `` No'' he thought, `` he's gone now.'' The trader took out his flint and steel and started a fire. It was gon na be good night.
[ WP ] He did not offer to shake hands .	This guy had a lot of nerve to open my door, no knock, one of his eyes askew like much of his brown hair. I understand people come to see men like myself only when they are in dire straits, but most still generally have manners. He did not shut the door after barging in and he took a seat without asking, so obviously he did not offer to shake hands. `` I need your help.'' I did n't realize how out of breath he was until he'd spoken, but he still got the words out fast. He looked as if he'd run half a mile at a full sprint even though his tall and just less than obese stature would suggest he could have done no such thing. `` Well I am a lawyer, that's what I do.'' I could tell his one good was eye focused, locked with mine even as his other seemed to admire the Monet replica on my wall. It bothered me far more than some of the hardest stares I'd ever encountered. `` I'm a lawyer too, so do n't give me any of your sales pitch shit.'' His hands were writhing together at the edge of my desk and he only stopped when he noticed I had noticed, using them instead to wipe the sweat from his flabby cheeks and mouth. `` I work in oil and gas law. I need someone in a, um, different field.'' `` You need criminal defense?'' `` In a way, yes.'' Now both his eyes were wandering while his hands took rest in his lap. `` And I have cash if that helps.'' `` While that is encouraging, you can save your money. I do n't get paid until we win though I must admit my acquittal rate is stunning. My usual hourly rate is...'' `` Give it a rest.'' He would be the type to interrupt people. `` You're a seedy defense hack four blocks from the court house who is still open at eleven on a Thursday night. If I needed to be represented in court I'd pay for someone who did better than a directional school for their post grad.'' `` Ouch,'' I grinned, half meaning it. `` I assume you went to Yale?'' `` Rice.'' His left hand reached inside his rumpled suit jacket and tossed a stack of hundreds on the table thicker than a lot of modern televisions. `` And I'm not worried about your acquittal rate. I need help right now.'' `` Oh, a Texas boy. What brings you to Las Vegas?'' `` Gambling and hookers. Do y'all offer something else I should know about?'' His tone had morphed from exhausted to agitated at my pretending not to care about the thousands of dollars a foot from my grasp. The one good eye motioned towards the green pile. `` I need the help of one of your former clients. His name is Shawn Brooks.'' I never thought this day would come, as in I literally never thought of Shawn Brooks again after his final check cleared eight years ago. He'd been accused by the family of his now deceased wife of murdering the woman and disposing of her body anywhere in the Nevada deserts. He seemed like a nice enough guy, was clinically depressed over her disappearance, and no corpse was ever found. So what if they discovered a weird hidden sex dungeon below his house? People are allowed to have their kinks. That was good enough for me at the time. This new guy had me thinking otherwise. `` Christ, what did you do?'' My newest client's one good eye remained on his cash offering. `` Take it.'' I did and followed through even as my stomach wrenched and tried to save my life from my greed. `` Now tell me how to contact Shawn Brooks.'' You never know what lines you'll cross until it is time for the final step and I hate to admit I made for my old files as if that line had been the start of a fifty yard dash. I wrote the only number available on the back of my business card and pressed it on the desk face up. `` Seriously, let me help you. Whatever it is you allegedly did, I can probably help you fix it. I fixed it for Shawn did n't I?'' The oafish Texan smiled at me for the first time and adjusted his tilted glasses as his off hand swiped the card from my grasp. By the time I realized it was gone he was already dialing the number on his own phone. `` Shawn fixed it all on his own, you assisted in the legal version of in vitro fertilization.'' He let the phone ring on speaker, yet another pet peeve of mine. `` And I got hooked up with a girl on the strip, you know? I took her back to my hotel.'' `` A guy like you, with money like this?'' I held up my latest bonus. `` Do n't you know those street girls are n't the legal ones?'' `` I know, I know, that aint the point. The point is me and her pimp got crossways and...'' `` Hello? Who this?'' The stranger stared gleefully at the silent phone until a laugh got the better of him. `` Boomer? Is that you? What's with the awful South Asian accent? That shit is almost racist.'' Before the unmistakable baritone of Shawn Brooks' came back across the line I heard what had to be a deliberate series of sounds like something an experimental band might attempt. `` Romeo you ugly son of a bitch, it is great to hear your voice. Why are you calling me from Vegas?'' The ill named man now known only as Romeo frowned. I could see him reading an old friends voice. `` Shit. Where are you?'' `` East coast my man. You in a tight spot?'' `` A bit. I picked up a street girl and she upcharged me at the hotel.'' `` Oh no.'' `` Her pimp came to the room and we got crossways. Now they're in my trunk.'' Up until this point I'd been unconscious of my right hand fondling the cash on the desk. Now I was worried about my fingerprints on almost every note. `` King of the understatement just like always. I ca n't do anything for you in Vegas but if you can make it to the barn at 31.32.27 North, 81.31.20 West before dawn Tuesday I can probably get you on a plane to Port-au-Prince.'' His eyes showed a flicker of life but the frown had never left Rome's face. He snatched my pen and scribbled the coordinates below the phone number. `` That aint ideal but it'll have to do. I'll call again when I'm close.'' He ended the call and returned his half gaze to me. `` I'm gon na need your car.'' `` No fuck that. You can take your money and I'll never say a word to anyone but I've already helped you too much. I'm not gon na let you drive a dead hooker and pimp across the country in my car.'' My futile protest was silenced by the appearance of a Beretta with a muffler of its own. `` No, they are staying in the hotel parking lot where I left them. And the car is coming with me.'' His menacing grin was back as he leveled the pistol at my forehead. `` Now I can take my money and leave a bullet here or you can hand me your keys and I keep my bullet. The money is your call.'' I was n't pleased but he made an excellent point. `` That stack is worth a lot more than whatever heap you have in the parking lot. Do n't make me get crossways with you.'' That was all I needed to hear.
[ WP ] People think you 're the hero . They think you cover your face to protect those you care about . They 're wrong - you cover your face so that no one will recognize you from when you used to be the villain .	`` I'm sorry, Natalia, but even if you're a hotshot hero, you still need to take off the mask so that I can check for magical burns.'' Vintage placed his gloved hand on the ornate mask, but it was shoved away in an instant. `` Eh?'' `` I'm fine... do n't worry about it.'' Natalia turned away from Vintage, cringing as the burns began to roast her skin. Faded gray metal masks were not the greatest at getting rid of heat. `` I'll do it myself.'' `` Look, I know you want to protect your family and friends and the like. I ca n't blame ya. But I'm bound by law not to reveal your personal info to others and I'm obligated to help you.'' Vintage stepped closer, but Natalia quickly backed away to the door, her legs trembling. `` I am a cleric, after all. I wo n't reveal your face, I promise.'' `` Seriously, I'll do it myself. I appreciate the help and all, but I already know how to treat wounds like these.'' She had authorized the usage of this burn magic years and years ago, of course she did. Turning around to face the door, Natalia began to wobble out of the room, her shaded armor clanking. The burn scorched more than it ever had, and inside Natalia cursed her lack of resistance. Vintage hesitated as he projected four astral chains, and with a wave of his hand and a frown on his face, they flew and clamped on to her arms and legs, bringing her back. Natalia writhed and struggled, her armor and weapons thrashing as she realized what could happen if that mask was taken off. `` Finally, now try to hold still. You and your pride.'' Vintage put his gloved hand onto the mask and lifted it off, putting it to the side. Natalia looked back with her own eyes, her mouth in a frown and eyes killing Vintage slowly. The burns had also spread to her jaw and began to fester, but Vintage did n't know that. He said nothing and cast the specialty spell needed. The burns slithered away, and the face of what Vintage thought was beautiful stared back. Her ghostly silver hair flowed through the air, finally free of the confines of the mask. Natalia stopped struggling and glanced at Vintage with despair before looking down. Vintage waved his hand in the opposite direction, and the astral chains evaporated. A few minutes passed before Vintage spoke. `` I guess I know why you keep that mask on now.'' Silence was her response as she kept looking down at the somehow interesting marble floor. `` You're related to Natasha, the Jaded Knightdress, are n't you?'' Natasha tried to control herself, but she looked back at Vintage with a look of shock and confusion. `` Y-yes, I am.'' Another set of minutes passed before Vintage slowly gave her back the mask, his eyes filled with regret. `` I'm so sorry.'' Natasha put the mask back on. `` It's your job. I do n't blame you.'' More silence passed. `` I have a question, Natalia.'' `` Hm?'' `` Did you care about her, too?'' Natasha looked down again. `` Maybe...'' What felt like hours to her finally passed, but to Vintage it was only a few minutes. Vintage walked out the door, but not before taking another glance. `` Well, dinner is pretty soon. We've got a victory to celebrate, after all you helped us move on past the Bridge of MAD. You up for coming with?'' `` Maybe... I'll be there if I want to.'' `` Alright then, I hope to see you later. Talk to me if you ever need any help, I'm qualified for mental cleric things too,'' And with that, Vintage closed the door, leaving Natasha with her own thoughts.
[ WP ] There is a window in my room : when it 's open I can see out of it , in my garden ; but when it 's closed , through the glasses , I can see another space and time .	I moved into the house in the spring, away from the rush and bustle of the city and out into the country. The place was cozy and suitable for my needs with a study for my books, just one bedroom, and a well-tended garden with an array of flowers. The first few weeks, I left the window open to clear out the dust. The breeze would carry the flowering aroma from the garden and the sounds of the meadow to keep me company while I slept. One night, I awoke to a thunderstorm howling in through the window, soaking the floor. Without turning on the lights, I quickly shut the window tight. It had never been cooperative and would sometimes stick without closing completely, but I was determined to keep the rain out. As soon as the window closed, my room was suddenly suffused in warm light with no sign that a storm was raging outside. I blinked drowsily at the sight outside my window: instead of a dark night there was another bedroom, with a bed, a table, and a chair. The furniture looked more New Age than what I had and there was a tablet on the bed that looked like an iPad but transparent. I squinted at the display. It read May 3rd, 2045. As I shook my head in disbelief, trying to clear my head of what was apparently a dream or hallucination, a woman stepped into the room through the other bedroom's door. I am not sure who was more surprised. After we got over the initial shock, she stepped a step closer to the window and said something I could not hear. Like an idiot, I said `` What?'' and cupped my ear in the universal gesture indicating that I was hard of hearing. But it seemed no matter how loud we shouted at each other, we could n't hear a thing through the window. She caught on faster than me, and advanced to the window and looked like she was going to open it. When she did, I was no longer looking through to another room, but back to the rain and wind of the storm outside my home. After a few moments it was back to the warm light of her room as she closed her side of the window and she motioned for me to try. When I achieved the same results, she grabbed her fancy futuristic iPad and typed `` Who are you?'' on the screen and held it up so I could see it through the window. Being a poor aspiring writer, I had no such tablet device so I held up a finger and rushed to my office to grab paper and pen. Eventually, we figured out that I was n't out of my mind and while I was here on May 3rd, 2015, she was actually in 2045 on the same date. Our rooms were only connected if both windows were closed entirely with no gaps. We also worked out by her typing and my paper signs that apparently she was also a writer, but more of a journalist while I mostly wrote fiction. After a couple hours, I remembered I was still in what passed for pajamas, so I grabbed some clothes and left my bedroom for a minute to get dressed. When I returned she laughed and pointed, which gave me mixed feelings since she was gorgeous and her delight was adorable and infectious but it was me who was being made fun of. `` Is that what you still wear in 2015?'' she held up to the window, covering her mouth with one hand, ineffectually hiding her mirth at my outdated fashion. We spent the rest of the night and the following weeks exchanging similar anachronistic shenanigans and slices of our lives through the window: what music we listened to, what books we loved, what peeved us, and what kept us going, and all the tidbits that made us who we were and connected across an oh so thin pane of window glass, yet an all too vast gulf of three decades of time. Each night when she returned from work, we'd both close our windows and share a little bit more of ourselves with our soundless signs. One night she returned, hours later than we agreed. She looked frightened and shaken. `` I might have written something I should n't have. The stuff I was telling you about before. I think they're coming for me.'' `` What? But you're a publicly known journalist. You should be untouchable.'' `` 2045 is very different from 2015. Some things are better. Some things are... worse.'' Then she jumped and glanced behind her. `` I think they're here; they're knocking on the door.'' `` Wait, is there anything I can do?'' She stared at me for a moment, her beautiful face grim and scared. `` There's no time for me. They ca n't know. You can try to stop it. Thank you for being with me. I love you.'' She raised her tablet and shattered it on the table. Then, she picked up the chair with both hands, hefted it, and threw it at the window. As her side of the window broke, I was looking out onto my garden bathed in the darkness of night once more.
[ WP ] You are a Hell Writer , you design hells for people after they die based on studying their life history . Today Satan summons you to his sanctum and you are troubled to see that he has a shocked expression on his face .	`` Reporting as ordered, sir...'' I started, then caught my breath. He looked absolutely thunderous. Fuming angry. But also, was he, nervous? This could n't be good, and it would n't be easy. I had been Head Hell Writer ever since the previous Head proved himself, ah, displeasing, to the Boss. Seemed he began to sympathize with his assignments. Ease up on them a little. Imperceptibly, at first, but eventually his brief moments of respite for the wicked came to the attention of the big guy and, well, we ca n't have sympathizers, can we? Not at all. Which is where I came in. I had always had a talent, to be sure. A particular flair, if you will. Of finding little details in the Life Bios that others would overlook that I could turn into rather clever little tortures, if I do say so myself. An off-hand remark that someone feared a grandmother's canary as a child after being bitten once. What's this then? A bird plucking out your fingernails? Lovely. Tell me more. I had quite a passion for the work, and it showed. The Boss trusted me with his tougher cases. I assumed immediately this one would be my toughest yet. `` Sir?'' I ventured. I was willing to wait patiently for him to give me the assignment. But I'd rather get started soon if it was a hard one. I sometimes need a little extra time to round out some of the peculiar details I so enjoyed. I once deduced that a formerly-successful stockbroker who jumped off the roof of his building was driven to it in part because the elevator was out of order that day. Do n't see the connection? Well, his big brother used to torture him with tales about monsters under the stairs. He claimed he `` did n't have time'' to take the stairs up and down the nine floors between his office and the parking level, but deep down -- he was still rattled by those stories. At the end of that particularly rough day at the office, when he had already lost several fortunes, he meant to go home and reconsider his life, but, that broken elevator. There were far fewer stairs going up.... You see now? Monsters, you might be thinking. So obvious. But no, not quite my style. So, naturally, along with the usual trappings ( fire, brimstone, what have you ), I devised a series of Escher-like staircases. Not monsters at all! The imagination of a suffering man is one of my most powerful allies. Ha! Just staircases! No destination, just up and down forever. That one was satisfying. One of my greatest hits. I liked remembering it sometimes. Finally, the Boss spoke. His voice had a cadence I had never heard before. `` I have an assignment for you.'' Yes sir, I figured as much, I thought. But I remained respectfully silent. `` It's, rather... difficult.'' That tone of voice. What was it? I waited quietly. I was a little anxious about what to expect, but one does not hurry the Boss along. `` I'm not sure you can handle this one.'' He slid the Life Bio over across the obsidian surface of his huge desk. I finally recognized what I could n't place in his voice. Fear. The Boss was feverishly afraid. I reluctantly looked at the Bio in front of me. The front cover had minimal details about the new guest, just details of the death itself. Natural causes, it read. Old age. Huh. Not much to start with. I looked up for direction. The Boss looked intently at me, waiting for something. `` I'll get started right away, Sir. Anything, uh, special you want?'' `` If you ca n't do this, no one can. We will be forced to forfeit this client. I've... I've already been informed that wo n't be an option. He will not be accepted Elsewhere either.'' Not accepted? Do they even have the option to refuse? Exchanges between here and Elsewhere were uncommon, sure, but there was a precedent. In fact, our great domain was founded by the Boss himself when he was no longer welcome There. Sometimes, a hardy soul would attain `` enlightenment through suffering'' or some utter nonsense and be transferred to Elsewhere ( a great and terrible punishment awaited those Hell Writers responsible! ) Sometimes, though rarely, one of their clients would be banished to us for sins such as `` ungratefulness for mercy'' or `` disruption of the divine order'' ( those souls would become the Boss's special pets, for obvious reasons ). Sometimes -- and this was not well known and never discussed -- a client who was simply too much trouble, for whatever reason, would be relocated. The Boss and Him had a sort of gentleman's agreement about it, to handle one another's particularly difficult clients. But refusing a transfer was unheard of! Who was this old man who died of natural causes? What has he done to warrant his place here? Why would he be refused an alternate afterlife if I failed? The consequences made me shiver. My work is devoted to torture and suffering. But the only other option awaiting a soul who was denied an afterlife was beyond any form of torture I or anyone could conceive of. No afterlife meant.... No. I would succeed. I would have to. I took the Life Bio and the Boss nodded my dismissal. I would get to work straight away. ________________________________ I had read and reread the Bio at least half a dozen times. Panic was setting in. I do n't know what to do. I thought. I do n't know what to do! The Bio was fascinating. Ha! That barely describes it! I had never learned so much! This man... this man was a genius. He taught me so many new techniques! So many delicious, marvelous new punishments. He was an artist. A true artist. Each spectacular new torture, so purely filled with malice. He loved his work, that's certain. Like I loved mine. But -- and here's the panic setting in -- he was much more skilled than I. So much more. I considered myself gifted in this task, but the tortures I had devised as Head Hell Writer seemed laughably childish and incompetent. This man was simply admirable. And to think, no one ever knew! No one but his victims ever suspected what he was. A genius. An artist. He died an old man. Stupendous. I was impressed. And afraid. How can I devise a hell for this man? I wondered. He has made so many little hells of his own. So many! What can I possibly do to torture him? With some of our guests, you need only replay for them a few dark moments from their lives to make them suffer endlessly. The last careless words spoken to a loved one. The moment of striking their child in anger. The relief they felt at their dying parent's last breath. These paltry moments were the basis for an eternity of damnation for some. Boring, sure. But easy writing. This assignment was of an enormity I had never before encountered. Or dreamed. If I had to write a hell for myself, I could n't have found it more challenging. I considered telling the Boss he was right to doubt me. It could n't be done. But the consequences.... I pressed on. None of my usual tricks were going to work this time. Great swaths of time passed as I considered and rejected thousands of punishments for The Artist, as I had come to call him. At every moment, with every new concept, I became more and more helpless. This man has done it all! He fears nothing! I ca n't hurt him. The Boss was summoning me. The time was now. The Artist had mere moments left in purgatory before being released to us. The man has done it all! He's seen everything! He's devised tortures so astoundingly brilliant I ca n't possibly compete! How do I punish such an Artist...? It clicked. I knew immediately what to do. Just in time, I knew how to punish and torture a man so skilled at punishment and torture. I knew! `` Are you ready?'' the Boss asked, stepping into my office. It was n't a question. He was telling me I was ready. He looked fearfully at me. Have you managed it? his look pleaded. `` No.'' He was terrified. `` No?'' he questioned. Then, with a tumultuous rage,'' No?! '' `` No, Sir,'' I replied. `` I have n't written a hell for this man.'' He was apoplectic, unable to speak. He mouthed a rebuttal he could n't utter. The word No echoed loudly. `` I'm sure you know what this means,'' he spat out. `` Never mind your position as Head Hell Writer. You....you... I ca n't even think what I'll do to you!!'' Nearly purple with rage, he stared me down, silently demanding an explanation. `` I ca n't devise a meaningful enough hell to torture this man,'' I began to explain. `` And we have already been informed he has no other place to go. No afterlife.'' The Boss's rage simmered down slightly. He was beginning to see, but not ready to admit it. `` Explain your intentions.'' `` No afterlife. The only appropriate hell. The only one he deserves. Punishment for his many, beautiful sins.'' The Boss stood stock still and breathed heavily. He understood. After several moments, he unfurled his brow. `` Very well. Get back to work when you finish here. So much time wasted....'' He stormed off, but with less steam than before. I felt somewhat vindicated. Back to work, he said. And The Artist? That beautiful, brilliant man? No hell that I could devise would be enough. He would never see an afterlife. His punishment for his crimes was the most severe and painful that could ever be inflicted on an immortal soul: eternal life. The poor bastard would be doomed to live and die as every life form in the universe -- sentient and otherwise -- for all of eternity, and forget and forget and forget everything each time. He will be every one of his victims at some point. He will not understand that experiencing their pain is his punishment. He will inflict more pain on others, in different bodies and at different times, and never remember the genius that he once was. He will hurt and kill. He will be every victim of hate and war. He will love and lose everyone. He will suffer and die again and again. Over and over. Forever. And he will never understand the hell I have written for him.
[ WP ] You 're the love interest in a dating sim .	It's strange when it happens, as strange as it could be I suppose. One moment I'm nothing, then the next: in his house, eating his food, in his bed, in his arms. Feeling his chiseled chest rise and fall, his heart racing as my own, seeing the excitement in his eyes, loving the way he accepts who I am. Why do I ever only think of his love? I dream, I suppose, of walking down an aisle to him, of cooking him dinner for once, of joining him in the shower, of making him laugh and smile, of making and keeping a home for him. He and I meet sparingly -- ten, twenty, forty, sixty minutes; not long enough. We'll sit on his couch and he'll stare into my eyes; he'll play piano or guitar and I'll dance for him; we'll explore each other and lay together under his covers. It's always so abrupt when he leaves and the world goes dark and I disappear. He and I do n't say goodbye; I say something and he stares off into the distance and I know -- goodbye. Where does he go? Does he miss me like I miss him? Does he cook for other people? Am I good enough for him? Does he look at others like he does me? Who else does he hold in his arms? But I'm sure it wo n't be much longer now, I'm sure this absence wo n't be forever, I'm sure missing someone wo n't always be this... painful. I will wait for you... *** Ring `` What's up man? Yeah, still on for tonight.'' Licks Doritos dust off his fingers. `` Hey, when you come bring that new copy of The Sims over...''
[ WP ] A classic Disney movie , but the protagonist is now the villian	`` I just want everyone to be happy!'' `` Huh, you're always happy though, Happy!'' `` That does n't mean he's not righ- igh! aih! Ah choo!'' `` Also, in case you have n't realized, Sneezy has n't squeezed, uh, sneezed today until just now! Even just her cleaning is melting, uh, helping our health!'' `` Doc... Ohhh ohhh gosh...'' `` Yes, Bashful?'' `` I do n't ohhh want Snow White to leave with the prince either, but ohhh ohhh should n't we ask Sleepy and Dopey first?'' Doc straightened his glasses. `` I'd like to heave, uh, leave their hands clean of this rhyme, uh, crime.'' `` I always got ta do the dirty work, huh.'' Grumpy claimed as he pulled out the chains.
[ WP ] Far into the distant future , two people sit down and discuss the differences between their two organized religions . Both religions have leaders from the twentieth century .	“ I don ’ t know, Josh. Coffee? You know I can ’ t have coffee. ” “ Kev, you know damn well that ’ s a BS. ” “ It ’ s a RELIGION! It has to be truth! Who would lie about beliefs?'' “ Well, I ’ ve always been skeptical. Ever since the ‘ Big 3 ’ religions came out as frauds, I haven ’ t been sure. ” “ But, I can ’ t have coffee. Lady Janis said that it ’ s immoral, just like not counting cards. ” “ Kev, there is no actual script that proves that Janis Joplin ever said that gibberish. Next thing you know, you ’ ll be dead from an overdose. ” “ AHEM! We Joplites call it ‘ The Sacred Nirvana. ’ ” “ Kev, were you dropped as a child? ” “ SORRY FOR BEING SENSIBLE. IT ’ S NOT LIKE I CRITICIZE YOUR RELIGION LIKE THIS! ” “ At least mine makes sense. ” “ Blah, blah, blah. ” “ Ok, Kev, lets discus this. Like men. ” “ Alright, Josh, take a piece of my heart, while you ’ re at it. ” “ So, Kev, how do you feel about the Spanish Civil War?'' “ The hell was that? ” “ Only the most important war in history! It said so in the Great Book! ” “ Heresy, the teachings of Janis tell no such tale. ” “ The almighty Ernest told it thoroughly. ” “ Ok, Josh, whatever you say. ” “ Watch what you say. You might just be struck down by the great DiMaggio. ” “ You got ta be kidding me. ” “ No, seriously. Just because my scriptures happened over hundreds of years doesn ’ t mean their not right. ” “ Josh, I got to go. I just remembered, I got a date with Rachel, to go to the pictures. ” “ A haw! Can ’ t defend your position any longer, can you? I must pray to Lord Hemmingway! Thou hath delivered me from evil. Be gone foul sprit!'' “ The FDA really needs to re-legalize Risperdal. ”
[ WP ] On the day he died , your grandfather gave you a clock with the words `` end of the world '' carved in Latin . It has never once started ticking , until today .	He was an adventurer for most of his life, made living out of climbing into caves and finding old things. Sure, his title was archaeologist, but it didn ’ t suit him well. Which is why our family called him the adventurer. He loved uncovering civilizations that rotted in the sands of time, he loved solving their mysteries because he always said that they were more advanced than us, not by technology but by belief. My grandpa thought the past was tied to the supernatural in a wondrous way and dedicated his life to finding out how. I always thought him a hero, I always thought he would succeed. He didn ’ t. He failed because he lays dead in the closed coffin in front of me. I sat to the corner of the room just staring at it, reflecting on the times I ’ ve heard him talk about the artifacts he would find and the power he proclaimed it had. He was always enthusiastic about it, and although I never believed him I admired the lengths he took to gather his collection of ancient pottery and statues. One by one family would pour into the room each paying their respects the coffin, some saying a small prayer, some not saying anything. Still I stared at the coffin resisting the urge to approach it. “ Are you alright? ” my mom said to placing a comforting on my back. “ I know it ’ s hard now but things will get better, count on it. ” “ I know ma, ” I said in quiet, somber voice. “ I just can ’ t accept he would die in a basement of all places, he is more than that. ” “ I know the circumstances of his death are weird, but the police already told us it was an electrical socket malfunctioning. ” “ I don ’ t believe it, how can that start a fire in just the basement and raze only the basement, with grandpa inside. ” “ You know he was particular about his little nick-knacks, he kept them behind a heavily locked door in his basement. The door must have auto-locked during the malfunction and… trapped him. ” She said slowing her words to silence. “ You needn ’ t fret, it won ’ t bring him back. Besides he left you something, and I am giving it to you now. ” She takes my hand and turns it open to then place a small golden pocket-watch in it. She closed the fingers of my hand around it “ It ’ s yours now, to remember him. ” She says to me before turning to leave and greet the other guests at the funeral. I click open the watch and small folded piece of paper falls out of it. I unfurl it and started to read. > > Sucks, doesn ’ t it? If you are reading this I am either dead or your mom has absolutely no self-control, in which case give it back to her and give her a good scolding. If not, then I am dead. And that sucks. I just hope I died in a blaze of glory finding some ultimate treasure or something. > > But ultimately, I am sorry. I am sorry for leaving you so suddenly and I want you to know that I love you dearly and I want you to live, and I want your kids to live, and their kids to live. So, I am giving you this watch, and although it doesn ’ t work now I need you to keep it safe. Because if or when it does, I need you to act in my stead for everyone ’ s sake. > > Keep it close to you, and remember that I do love you. > > ~ Owen It was in his messy, hard to read, writing. He had bad grammar and couldn ’ t form a proper sentence in his life. He was brash, and short-tempered. He was ignorant and short-sighted at times, but that doesn ’ t matter. I miss him. Tears rolled of my face as I fold the paper back up into a small square. I quickly glanced at the watch, old and worn out in the lid of the watch were inscriptions done in Latin. Taking classes in high school I knew what it read, * ‘ End of the World ’ . Under it messily and scratched in read ‘ Save us ’ *.
[ WP ] Use the phrase `` slabs of night meat '' in a story .	I found the wretch in Deadgum Alley. He was crouched behind a pile of rubble at the mouth of the alleyway, silent as he peered through the ankle-high window of a tall, destitute building. The window appeared to look into a warehouse cellar, and its orange glow revealed the twitching movements of the kneeling fiend. One hand shielded his eyes as he pressed his face to the thick glass, but the other arm hung limp behind him, looking shriveled and dead from the shoulder down until it came to a pale hand. The hand shuddered in constant motion, its fingers jerking at unnatural angles, bending backwards and briefly straightening before starting another round of convulsions that splayed his fingers in every direction like the twisting legs of a dying spider. I froze. A mere few cobblestones stood between me and the opening of the alley, but the trembling fingers warned me not to advance any further. I can ’ t say why the fingers perturbed me more than the man himself, but their macabre dance darkened my resolve, stilling any notions of duty or justice. Perhaps it was because the man seemed completely unaware of the sinister quivering behind his back. The long, thinbone instruments continued their work while he breathed heavily into the glass without a worry for the streets behind him. I knew I could not accost him. The words would catch in my throat. The fingers ’ shadows swirled along the alley floor like a mating dance of the damned, and I decided that I would leave. Following the man from the city docks had been a mistake. A fool moment of self-indulgent bravery. What I had witnessed on the bank of the river had left me aghast, but that horror was nothing compared to the sickness that crawled from my gut as I watched the watcher. I should not have come searching. I should have continued my late walk home. It had been easy to track the wretch. The few remaining lamps in the city were enough to deliver me to his dripping footprints, and I had caught sight of his shambling gait before his boots were dry enough to hide their master ’ s retreat. But now that I had come to his resting place, I could not recall what I had ever planned on doing once I caught up with him. I was just a man, with neither god nor law behind me. And even if the reason for my chase did not elude me, I still would shrivel at this man ’ s gaze. I steeled myself and began to turn around, ashamed that my retreat required such emboldening, when something shattered on the street behind me. I turned to see a broken roof tile in many pieces, and started to look towards the sky to see the bird or bat that had loosened it, but the sound of ragged breathing turned me back towards the alley. The man stood just before my face, close enough that I could feel the exhalations of his short breaths. His thin lips were redstained with sloe or some other foul succor, and the skin around his eyes were flushed with rashes of deep purple. The godfucked hand hid behind his back, and his other fingers grasped at his oily stands of greying hair. His eyelids pulsated between being nearly closed and opening as wide as they could, constantly changing from expressions of careful inspection to muted horror, looking as if he could not tame his eyes long enough to focus on me in the dark street. He did not speak, but stared at me in silent demands. “ I saw you. ” No change in his demeanor. He did not even show signs that he had heard me. “ Down by the river. What you were doing. ” He cocked his head to the side, but his expression did not change. He waited for a moment, like he expected me to continue, and then pursed his lips as if to spit on me. Instead, he dragged out a single word. “ So? ” The voice filled the alley, sounding like the ripping of foul parchment. His question hung in the air like a challenge, and he brought the cursed hand from behind his back and held it between us. The longest finger pointed at me, while the rest struggled frantically in the air, trying in vain to get away from the bony tyrant. I thought of those frenzied digits as I saw them on the riverbank, stroking and caressing in ritual before the tearing and pulling and final lifting of bloated flesh to the mouth. Dancing fingers straining against his own lips, fighting to make sure that no bit of precious blood or stripped skin escaped down his chin. “ The pretties, nobody wants them. ” He slurred his words at me, and I leaned back to avoid catching the scent of what was carried on his breath. “ Not in the dark. They throw them out. In the streets. In the waters. In the woods. Nobody wants them. They put them away. Leave them in the corners. Sometimes still leaking. Sometimes just pieces. But they are still good, and they are lonely in the dark. ” A look of distress came over him, and his voice became a deep mewling, as if he was talking to a child. “ And nobody wants them. I find the creatures. I take care. Nobody wants them, but nobody wants others to have them. The creatures want to be found. They open right up. Slabs of night meat, crying for me and my teeth and fingers and stomach. Crying to me. Nobody cries for them. They want to be seen but nobody looks. I take care. I find the creatures. ” He turned his back to me and started to walk down the street. Into the darkness. “ Those aren ’ t creatures, ” I said. “ They are people. They are the dead. ” He looked back one last time and growled a despairing cry, a final shriek. “ Nobody wants them. ”
[ WP ] On your 17th birthday , instead of the usual boring presents from your parents , they say that your grandfather left you 10 millon dollars and a small island on the opposite side of the world , asking you to `` finish what he started '' .	I awoke on the boat as the crew called down into the cabin to alert that we had arrived. I stepped onto the deck to see just what we had stumbled upon. the island was small after all, but something was peculiar about it. the lighthouse appeared to be sunken deep into it's sands. the only part above the sand was the glass casing of the light. `` you sure this is the place?'' I asked inquisitively. `` this is the damned place.'' the captain grimaced. `` we've taught you enough about sailing that you should be able to sail on your own.'' `` that's why you towed the second ship is n't it?'' I asked. `` you do n't want to stay.'' `` any other place I hate to admit it, but this place is n't something I'd like to find m'self in.'' the captain said. `` you can understand our unease.'' `` yes. you can head home after you dock my boat with its rations.'' I stated. `` How many levels are mapped so far?'' `` your grandfather boasted he got down to level 6, but he seemed frustrated, like he knew he was missing something, and that there was much more.'' the captain informed me. `` I was one of the first people to join him down there, and I nearly lost my mind. nearly got lost too on that expedition. If I were he, I would've told you to destroy this place. not finish mapping it.'' `` it's just a map right?'' I asked innocently. `` I can handle a maze.'' `` PPHHHHHHHBBB! HA!'' the old captain laughed at me. `` Maze? That fucking thing is no maze! It does n't follow your'rules' or'guidelines' for a maze.'' `` I'm not sure I follow.'' I looked at him trying to sort out this confusion. `` Well, if you find yourself in red room 8, the one with rusty iron pipes and boxes of lightbulbs, remember this: any door, right door, up, up, left and then walk backwards through that last door you took when turning left. do n't look where you're going though, you'll just have to start over.'' `` do you have the map?'' `` oh yeah, here.'' the captain handed me a large manilla envelope. `` it's one of seven copies right now. you loose it, just come back to find me, I'll photocopy the original for your convenience. feel free to make amendments to update the second master copy. although for most of the early stuff you better hope you can make sense of it, because you are n't getting anywhere without it. I repeat, do n't set it down.'' `` right, thanks.'' I said as I stepped off the boat onto the sandy bluff. maybe I could complete the map if he had gotten far enough. it did feel like a pretty hefty packet for a map. I opened the envelope and read the map title: Submachine, levels 10-6
[ CW ] You are one of the first explorers to go down to the Mariana Trench in an exploration sub . Write the entire story using dialogue only	`` Even with the light,'' said Darren, `` it's real difficult to see down here.'' `` Yeah,'' said Stacy, `` it looks like we're floating in the middle of a midnight blizzard. All those flakes of death -- dead fish, plants, plankton -- floating down from the upper layers... What a strange kind of snow.'' `` Dust to dust,'' said Darren. `` And under all this pressure and in all this darkness, I bet we'll see nothing but dust. Dust and sand. We're too far from the surface for anything interesting to live. You and I are the only living creatures, I bet, in this terrible trench, in this deep chasm of cosmic proportions, darkness, emptiness.'' `` All alone...'' said Stacy. `` Hey, what are you doing?'' `` Just turning the radio off for a minute.'' `` Why would you do that? That's dangerous. Think of how precarious a situation we're in down here already! The last thing we need is to -- hey, let go of me!'' `` Stacy,'' said Darren. `` You do n't need to play this game with me anymore. We've finally gotten here. We've been planning for ages. You ca n't act like this was n't what you wanted. To be down here, alone, with me, away from the world, in a place where your husband could n't see us.'' `` Darren, stop! Seriously, this is, stop! Please!'' `` Do n't cry,'' said Darren. `` Just think, we will be the first ever humans to...'' Outside the submarine there was a loud bassy groan, like some ancient beast awakening after a thousand year sleep. `` What was that?'' said Darren. `` You're hurting my wrist,'' said Stacy. `` Let go.'' `` It must be nothing,'' said Darren, pondering. He turned back to Stacy. `` So where were we.'' `` Oh my god!'' shrieked Stacy. `` Look out the window!'' A giant, grotesque head, with gills like an old monster's jowls and skinflaps. When the submarine light shone into its slit eye, it opened its mouth in a confused fury, revealing row upon row of crooked, dagger-like teeth. Its bassy roar turned into a high-pitched alien gurgle, then a wavering screech. It grabbed the submarine with one of its tentacles and then lifted its hand to smash the submarine light out. `` Oh god!'' said Stacy. `` Please! No!'' The hand swung and hit the light and the light burst and threw them against the back of the submarine. Darren's head whipped back against a metal bar and became transfixed, the bar protruding through where his eye used to be. He opened his mouth to speak but blood poured forth. He coughed, and expired. Stacy looked dizzily around from the ground onto which she had been knocked. She could n't remember where she was. The lights inside the submarine were flickering, and the submarine seemed on the verge of losing power completely. The tentacle dropped the submarine onto the sandy surface. The creature gave one final roar and then soon afterwards there was only silence. There was only Stacy, lying baffled on the floor of the submarine that had promised to shuttle her to the depths of her dreams, the final frontier of marine exploration. Soon the lights flickered out. So she lay in the darkness, unable to see or comprehend the meaning of the flakes of death piling silently up outside the submarine window. Unable to comprehend that soon, she too would be one with flakes of decomposition that were gradually covering over her vessel like newfallen snow. Unable to comprehend the terrible mystery that lurked in the depths, that had punished her for reaching beyond the human domain into hidden cracks of the Earth, where humans did not belong.
[ WP ] The Sales Pitch	Ladies and gentlemen, Your search is over. You have found your Holy Grail, you have found the Missing Link, seek no further because we have exactly what you need! Have you ever gotten up in the morning and said to yourself:'Shoot, I was supposed to get up a minute ago?' - We have just the thing to fix that! Remind yourself when you need to get up, and WHY, thanks to our revolutionary product! You'll never go to bed without it, ever again! You simply write the reason on one of our yellow little squares and what time you are supposed to get up. You can add a reason, or not! The choice is entirely up to you! We do n't believe in products that force themselves on our dear customers - we designed this specifically for YOU! But wait; there's more! After you've done just that, you can attach our notes TO THE WALL! Do you sleep on your back? Attach it to your CEILING! Do you think you can live without our amazing product, because you sleep on your side? You can even attach our sticky yellow notes to your LAMP! Even if you decide to sleep upside down, right-side down - you can attach one of our notes to your matress! Now available for only $ 9.99! Brought to you by Not-PostIts, the revolutionary sticky notes that are amazingly useful.
Take a random book , close your eyes , flip to a random page , press your finger somewhere on the book , and read the sentence your finger is on , your story has to end with that sentence . [ CW ]	It's been a tough few months. My brother has been in the hospital with a coma due to a motorcycle accident. After hearing the news, we came running, tears already rushing down the family's faces; we did n't know what could be the end result of this tragic event. But to face it, our money was running out. No amount of GoFundMe's could help us and we were at a loss what to do. My brother has n't moved in weeks and his brain activity has been at an all time low. Numerous times, we've been extremely close to stop giving him help but today, yes, today. Today was the day we'd have to do it. My mother told me that she was sick and tired of wasting all the money on him. I worked two jobs along with being a full time student, and I could n't handle it anymore. So we signed the paperwork. Yes, we were responsible for various costs. Yes, they were not responsible for any emotional damage. So I went into that cold hospital room with paper-thin walls and crappy decorating and said, `` Goodbye. I'm sorry this has n't worked out, but we were trying. I'll find the bastard who hurt you and I'm sorry we never found him. But it's going to end, and I'm so, so, sorry. I love you.'' After squeezing his hand one last time, I went and swallowed any remaining fear and told the doctor, `` It's time.'' So I looked back at him and went into the hallway. But I heard a voice- more masculine than anybody I was used to talking to. And it was unmistakable. `` Are you sure?''
[ WP ] Due to a prophetic mix-up , the hero ends up with a weapon of darkness , and the villain gets one of light .	The valiant hero Astor was about to embark on the greatest and most difficult adventure of his life. Returning a product to Wal Mart. The line was long, and Astor knew the wait would seem longer. He held Glulax's Blade in his hand waiting for the line to move. The sassy wench at the customer service counter was currently helping another patron to return his product. However, at the other customer service counter, a different wench sat twittling on her phone. Astor knew this was not proper customer service and he knew he would have to seek justice once he had returned this fault blade of darkness. Suddenly, Glulax entered the Wal Mart holding Astor's Blade. He approached the customer service counter, but instead of waiting like an honorable and valiant hero, he cut the line! Immediately the patrons of the Wal Mart began to question him. But Glulax had no time for such games, he incinerated the first person in line and took their spot. `` Hi, um... I think this is the wrong blade. I ordered it off the site, but this is n't the right one.'' `` Honey, since when has Wal Mart been selling medieval weaponry? I tell ya, this world's becoming one crazy place.'' Astor noticed Glulax and immediately jumped into action. `` Glulax I will not tolerate your oppression of these people any longer! Prepare to face justice!'' Astor drew his spare sword and charged at Glulax. Glulax parried the blow and grabbed his sword while Astor grabbed his. They took each other's weapons and prepared to do battle. Glulax cast a spell of force which hurtled Astor through the wall and into the eyeglass care center. `` Wow I think these eyeglasses are really the ones, they help me see everything clearer, and holy sh-'' The patron was not able to finish as Astor was hurled at him. Astor's body crushed the patron up against the wall. Standing up, Astor charged Glulax and with one swing knocked him into the cashiers, taking out several cash registers. Money flew everywhere and patrons crawled on the floor picking it up. Astor charged Glulax once again but Glulax knew better this time. He protected himself with a force field which Astor bounced off of and was thrown into the produce section, straight into a box full of watermelons. Astor emerged with a watermelon over his head. An employee came up to him and said, `` Sir, I'm going to have to ask you and your friend to leave the premises. Also, you need to pay for those watermelons.'' `` Here take this,'' Astor handed him ten pieces of silver coin. `` Yeah, um... this is n't valid currency.'' `` Then take it to a bank or something and cash it in, I do n't know. Right now, there is a battle to be won.'' Astor infused a watermelon with the power of light and chucked it at Glulax. Glulax was blasted back by the power and hurtled through several different store shelves eventually landing in the office supply section. Astor jumped into the air and fell to the ground towards Glulax. Glulax held up his sword and blasted a dark beam out of it sending Astor flying into the technology section. Astor landed next to a flat screen TV. Glulax approached him and prepared to fire another beam of darkness. Quick as a flash, Astor used the flat screen TV to reflect the beam back at Glulax. Glulax was struck by the beam and tumbled into a bike rack. Bikes fell from the rack, crushing Glulax under their weight. But Glulax would not be so easily defeated. He summoned a Wight from the Nether Realm. But to no avail. The Wight was shocked by the incredibly low prices that he ran off in search of great deals. Glulax cursed under his breath. Astor jumped onto a light fixture on the ceiling. `` It's time to give up Glulax! Your reign of terror ends here.'' Glulax, weakened by the bikes that had toppled on him, fell to one knee. Astor swiftly jumped to the ground and with one swoop, severed Glulax's wretched head from his body. The battle was won. The court case however, would not be won as easily. `` Valiant Hero Astor, how do you plead to the destruction of an entire Wal Mart and the manslaughter of twelve innocent people?'' `` I plead guilty, but it was necessary for the destruction of the evil Glulax!''
[ WP ] You live in a barren world that is suffering through a drought . There is one large lake , but the dictatorial government allows no one to access it . You are the leader of the rebellion .	Mathala and his rugged band of rebels had the gleaming waters of life in their sights. They stood mere miles away from it. It seemed so close within their grasp that nothing could stop them. He looked around his group of insurgents to find the faces of those who were desperation and distress. The journey they made towards the last great lake of Zan'andir took them over a month. They had to drink the blood of those who had fallen or risk dying themselves. Mathala's dry and chapped lips quiver at the sight of of the lake. Their salvation was at hand. However what stood beyond them and the water were several armed guards dressed in black uniform. They had batons with them and some were wielding firearms. They had two trucks with machine guns bolted on their backs. The two sides faced each other under the unbearable midday. The heat was phenomenal. `` Surrender now and leave the area or face the consequences.'' A loudspeaker from the other side warned the rebels. None of the rebels moved an inch. Mathala did n't even notice the warning. He kept his eyes on the water. It was all that he could think of. The guards fired off warning rounds near their feet. They still did n't move. Mathala knew that if they left, they would have been dead anyways. This was their last hope for survival. `` We repeat. Remove yourself from the premises or we will use force.'' They warned them again. There was still no response from the rebels. The angry mob that faced the armed guards were three times their size and were in such a sheer state of desperation that nothing would hold them back from the lake. `` Finish it!'' One of the women behind the armed mob yelled. She held her dying child in her arms. The young girl looked so frail, so close to death that she could have been gone any moment. The women began to wail. Mathala could n't take anymore of their plight. He raised his hand towards the sky and pointed them towards the guards. `` Take the drink brothers!'' Mathala shouted. The battle cry had began. A furious horde thundered down upon the guards carrying makeshift weapons. The guards had no choice, they began to pelt the advancing rabble with lead. One by one, the throng fell as the guards opened fire on them. Mathala witnessed his brothers fall as they were ripped apart by a wall of bullets. However the rebels made it towards the guards position were the fighting became more ruthless. Knives, spears, daggers, stones and their bare fist was used against the guards. The black uniformed enforcers tried to regain some sort of order amongst their ranks as the wave of rebels. It was a nightmare were blood and bone was laid bare. The bodies from both groups had piled on top of one another. Mathala stabbed two guards in the head with a simple sharpened stick as his fellow rebels rampaged all across him. It was amazing what the adrenaline kick of fear and anger could do to man who was close to dying. However Mathala was shot in the shoulder by another of the guards before he was finished off by another rebel. Some of his brethren tried to assist him but he urged them to go forth towards the water. They did n't and they help him stumble towards the shore. He saw the women and their children running towards the water. It was a magical sight for Mathala to see. They had prospered against the odds. They were victorious. Mathala felt a great sensation of relief. He held his arms towards the midday sun and yelled his heart out. He began sobbing right then and there. Immediately though, he felt something was wrong. He turned his attention towards his comrades drinking the water. They were gagging. Some had already began to vomit. He saw a couple of women convulsing on the shore. He saw a child foaming at the mouth. He did n't know what was happening. He was frightened and forzen with horror. `` You're an idiot.'' One of the guards said behind him, he was barely alive and he had a spear gone through his stomach. `` The water was... the water was tainted. That was why we did n't allow anybody to drink here. You're... you're people are dead because of you.'' Mathala felt his heart sank. He could n't accept what was happening. He fell towards the water, too weak and too broken to get up.
[ EU ] A brief history of how the world of pokémon became the world of Monster Hunter .	When trainers forgot that their Pokemon were meant to be companions, friends, the world began to suffer. It did n't happen overnight, instead the change was gradual, Pokemon fought with more ferocity, making sure their now abusive trainers would n't just release them for a stronger one. Selective breeding by trainers wishing to compete with other trainers made the Pokemon much stronger, but as the weaker, more friendly Pokemon were weeded out and removed from the gene pool, they noticed something. In place of the usual softer hides, armor, scales, plates and spines grew. People could no longer ride on their Pokemon's back and fly across the region, they could no longer surf calmly across the sea. Humans grew further away from their Pokemon, it took many generations, but eventually the only people who owned Pokemon used them in battle. Vicious death matches had taken the place of the sweet and innocent knock outs. Non-trainers feared Pokemon, and without their own Pokemon, few ventured out of their home towns and cities. The once powerful gangs that held entire cities under their grasp, were now reduced to nothing by vengeful trainers. A combination of selective breeding, abuse, and a now brutal nature, lead to the first Pokemon attacking its trainer. When the other trainers heard of this, they attempted to treat their Pokemon better, their Pokemon saw this as weakness and attacked their trainers as well. Within a year, every trainer was gone, be it dead, or having released their Pokemon back into the wild. Pokemon soon began attacking cities, some thought it was because humans posed a threat, others thought it was a primal sense of hate, and a love of violence, all that traits they'd been bred to have. They fought with valor, but the Pokemon were much stronger, Charizards, once used to help smelt metals, or start controlled burns, were now burning cities to the ground. Swamperts, instead of using their water to help grow crops, drowned the masses trapped in the buildings destroyed by its earthquakes. The Pokemon were too armored to fight with punches or batons like the police force had, their attacks could level entire regions. Humanity retreated to a few isolated towns, hiding and praying they would n't be annihilated. Now, humanity has built its strength again, not to where we where but to where we can fight. Our hunters are the strongest of us, wielding massive blades, made of materials from the Pokemon themselves, as only they are capable of slicing through the thick hides of our foes. Old world language is dead, what was once a Charizard is now a Rathalos, Gyarados is now Lagiacrus, scribes like me are the only ones that know about the old world, as our knowledge is past through books, and many choose to hunt instead of research. Our hunters are the only hope we have of slaying the nearly mythical elder dragons that can completely wipe us off the map. In the old world, they were called Legendary Pokemon, and they've evolved, but now, we're ready.
[ WP ] Time travel is invented , but humans can not travel through time , only objects can . A pen-pal program is invented in which people can communicate with someone from the past or future .	The numbers and variables on the blackboard are becoming less and less coherent to him. He ’ s been looking for a solution to this particular set of equations for a few days without any success. It ’ s already late in the evening, and exhaustion is starting to set in. A faint hissing sound tears his attention away from the blackboard. On his desk, he sees fire moving gently through the air and leaving behind an object. “ Have I just witness the opposite of something burning? ”, he thought. His wide-eyed gaze inspects the newly materialized object as he approaches it. It ’ s a large transparent glass cylinder with a dark metallic lid on each end. There is an envelope on top of two large books inside. Sitting on his chair, he grabs the cylinder by the lids and brings it closer to more carefully inspect the contents. The text on the envelope reads: > Sir Isaac Newton, June 18th, 1688 “ I surely haven ’ t been knighted yet ”, he mutters to himself in disbelief. With a pop, the lids break away from the cylinder, allowing him to take the contents out. He opens the envelope and the date of the letter inside makes his heart skip a few beats, and his hands feel suddenly much colder. > June 18th, 2042 “ Well, I ’ ll have to keep reading if I am to make any sense of this ”, he mutters in disbelief, again. > Dear Mr. Newton, > You are part of a group of very influential people, who fundamentally altered the course of mankind with your life's work. It pleases me to let you know, that we have developed a way to send objects through space-time, as evidenced by these items that have arrived on your desk. This is the culmination of a process you started with one of the most influential texts in history: Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica. > I believe that you should also enjoy the benefits of what you helped us achieve. In the capsule that contains this letter we also include an album of high quality pictures of some of the many achievements that stem from your work. My personal favorites, which I believe you will enjoy the most, are the pictures of space exploration missions from 1957 until my present time. The second book is a compendium of the most important theories that stem from your works. > If you wish to say anything or ask any questions, you need only to put them in writing and place them inside the cylinder, and place the lids back on. The capsule will take care of the rest. This process also works for any objects you may wish to send me, as long as they fit inside the cylinder. He picks up the envelope to look for the rest, desperately wanting to know who sent him all these amazing things. He finds the small picture of a smiling man in front of a window, with a small orange sphere visible in the black background, not unlike the moon. The clothes the man wears, the surroundings, the orange sphere in the window, all different from anything he has ever seen. He turns it around, hoping to finally identify the man in the picture, when he sees the handwriting: > Mars is beautiful. > Thank you, for everything, > Elon Musk >
[ WP ] You wake up one morning , look out of the window and see an error message where the sky should be .	It was one horrific sight. A red message placed where the sky should of been. This day, was one taken out of the ordinary schedule, a day like every other. It was on this ordinary morning that one of my little brothers spoke. '' Kevin, the sky is red'' on which I replied *'' Shut up, now leave my room and come back in another hour'' * As said above that day was nothing out of the ordinary cycle of life. I was a lazy bum sleeping and abusing my snooze buttom everyday to the extend that even father had too litteraly stand next to me to wake me up to the conclusion that I was gon na be late for school if I continued my path. You could say that I lived the live of the most ordinary teenager. But this day only one thing changed in the repetive cycle of the most mainstream person on the planet called Earth. '' It says error'' This moment I felt an anger dwelling inside my heart. A slight moment of irritation dwelled within my unlimited cycle of thoughts, this anger followed a road to draw the conclusion to saying the following. *'' I'll hit you if you do n't leave the fucking room'' * Within 2 seconds of me saying that I was being pushed over by my 2 little b* ( r ) others. Well this moment is not hard to describe. I was on the floor. And while opening my eyes for the first time that day, I noticed something. My hand was red. Thing is, not only my hand but my whole fucking body was of deep red color. As I put myself in a comfy-sitting position I quickly realised that this myserious light came not from my lamp, but from the 2 windows that were wide open, with my brothers, each of them hanging on one of the windowsills, their eyes widespread looking up in the sky. I slowly moved myself to the windows in the front. `` ALERT: * WE WILL BE DELETING ALL CONTENT RELATED TO A GAME THAT HAS PUT AN ABNORMAL NORMAL PEOPLES LIVES IN DANGER AND THUS WILL BE DELETED, THIS GAME MAKES PEOPLE CHASE FICTIONAL ANIMALS CARELESS OF THEIR SURROUNDINGS, TO PREVENT A DOWNFALL OF PROJECT E4R7H WE WILL RESET ALL PEOPLES MINDS TO BEFORE THE RELEASE OF POKEMON GO AND STOP IT'S LAUNCH.'' to be continued
[ WP ] When you wish upon a shooting star , it 's actually a satellite , and your wish has been recorded and cataloged . An agent has been assigned to your case .	Finally. She walked in the cafe and it appeared time stopped. I had seen the picture and profile of course when I had been assigned to her wish, but a picture just could n't do justice to her. The vibrant red of her hair, the startling blue eyes, and a look of, well, youth on her face. It's not just the looks no, I mean, I look 25 but I've been fulfilling wishes for around a 1000 years. It's more. The uncertainty, the shifting eyes, the alert yet confident posture... it was all just so young. I smiled to myself at what I was about to unleash upon the world. I pretended to look through the stack of papers on my table in the corner when she came to serve me. She began to say something, but, not looking at her, I suddenly got up, papers in hand, and bumped into her. She gave a short yelp, and I made a show of falling to the ground and spilling all my papers. `` Damn! I'm so sorry,'' I said hurriedly, `` I'm so clumsy.'' `` N..no problem at all, sir, here let me help me pick up your papers.'' Then she knelt down next to me and began to help me gather the spilled papers. See, genies had it easy. Just snap your fingers, and the cosmic powers rush to fulfill the desire. We had to do it the hard way. `` Oh...'' she said, finally picking up the paper I had made sure not to grab. It was a flyer for an acting audition. `` Hm?'' I asked, looking up. `` Oh, err, nothing,'' she said, blushing slightly, and hurried to stack up the papers. `` Oh, come on,'' I said, smiling, `` did something catch your eye?'' She got up and smoothed out her clothes, and handing me back the stack of papers. `` Nothing, but anyways, here are your papers,'' she said, a bit too casually, and handed me back the stack. `` Ah, well. Sorry again.'' I gave her a polite smile and left the cafe, whistling to myself. She would come. I had read her profile, she would check it out. *** I was sitting in one of the seats in the theater when sure enough, she arrived. She stepped onto the stage, and faltered when she noticed the judges. Raul Julia, the famous play actor being one of them. I had had to pull quite a lot of strings for that incident. A delayed flight, a fire alarm, and a minor car accident were just half of it. Regardless, beyond that slight falter she showed no reaction. She stepped onto the stage, and the judges told her to several different roles, a businesswoman on a phone, calling her boyfriend to break up with him, receiving a call from her friend telling her her mother had died. And I saw it all. I saw her shift through personas like clothes, discarding and picking them up with a moment's notice. I saw her weep, yell, and soothe into her phone with no one on the other end, and I felt it. Most people wish for things they can not control. Like having someone fall in love with them, on becoming a millionaire. But if something is not realistically possible, it is n't done. But when a college drop out wants to fulfill her dream of being an actress, who just happens to have an insane amount of talent... well, that I am glad to do. All I did was give her the opportunity to display her talent to someone who would notice, the rest was her. At the end of it, the two judges sat in silence, and Raul Julia himself stood up and slowly applauded. She smiled then, a genuine, young smile, and did a little curtesy. I got up from the seat in the dark back of the theater and quietly left. My work was done. *** ( minor edits ) If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [ XcessiveWriting ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/ )
[ WP ] At a park bench , an unfamiliar man sits beside you and glances at your newspaper . Unnerved by his presence , you hand it to him with a nod . He takes it and nods back , places a briefcase at your feet , and leaves .	Life was good. Even the weather ceased it's abusive behaviour. The wind which once lashed against me back, like a master would it's slave, had grown weary; only a soft pant could be felt now. The domineering sun which once beat down on me, much like a drunken father, had been startled, unnerved, and now cowered behind the comforting clouds. The heat, which once guffawed as I was engulfed in sweat discontinued it's laughter, discontinued it's very being. Life was good. The towering trees did not look upon Andrew dauntingly today, rather guided him like a mother bringing her child to the first day of school. At the end of the path, where the tress must wave goodbye, sat a bench; a warm, welcoming bench. Though it was already pre-occupied, with another kindergartener perhaps, it called to me, desperately waiting for me to join the rest of the class. And so I beckoned. The man did not seem mind. In fact, upon my quite noticeable arrival, he too greeted me with a gracious smile. Nervously, I mimicked the man, and the corners of my mouth climbed staggeringly up my coarse cheeks. Life was good. As I sat beside the man, I took notice of how he was entranced in the play ground; the laughter of children seemed allusive to him, hypnotising almost. Yet when he caught sight of the paper clenched in my hands, he fell out of his beguiled state. His eyes which once lolled lazily, at once began to stretch, like a waistband on an obese man. His mouth, which once attempted to grasp high on his face, tumbled down rapidly, until it lay perfectly aligned, inert. He briefly glanced over at me, waiting anxiously for my next move. I did nothing. This only heightened the man's timidness. He began furrowing furiously at his neck, arms, legs, as if his whole body consisted of only of rashes. Sweat began to seep from his from his head, back, arms, yet the sun remained concealed by the clouds. All the while, he would glance repeatably at not me, but what lay clenched in my hands. And so, like giving medicine to a sick man, I handed over the paper to him. At last the man let out a relieving sigh, and the clocks began to flow normally again, and for only a newspaper. Life was good again. Yet the man did not remain at ease for long. After a quick scan of the paper, and then of me, the man rose to his feet, walked to the other end of the bench and stopped. For a moment it seemed as if the man would not start again. But, within time, the man returned to bench. Only two things were different this time; the man did not sit, and the man appeared to be clasping some sort of briefcase. I did not know this man, yet he knelt close to me, close enough that I could feel his warm, constant breath against my ear, and whispered,'Do God's work, my brother'. The man then rose once again, but did not return this time. He had not taken his briefcase with him. Unnerved, I picked up what was left by my feet, opened it, and then looked back at the playground diffidently. Life was good...
[ WP ] They 've discovered something , contained in the last breath of every animal that breathes .	`` What do you mean?'' Dr. Renolds shook his head in disbelief. There was no way this was true. Dr. Starkland had always been a bit of a radical thinker, but he was renowned for solid research and solid results. Never before had his original theories actually carried into the results of his experiments, though. `` What I mean is that when a creature dies on this planet, the final breath releases a strange proto-cell that has never been observed before. Inside the cell is a record of all the synapses created and used in that creatures lifespan. It appears that the cell is capable of independent survival indefinitely, or until it finds a new organism to transfer to.'' The doctor seemed a bit shaken as he said this. `` This is the afterlife. These cells... they carry a copy of us, who we are and were before. They appear to be able to survive any conditions, and any environment, even the vacuum of space. The actual membrane of the cell is some sort of green matter, unlike any we've observed before.'' Silence took hold of them both. Dr. Renolds was astonished. `` Johnathan, this might be the greatest discovery that humans are capable of. This is life, and eternal life afterwards. When will we begin to write our paper?'' He was clearly excited. Dr. Starkland looked down. `` There will be no paper.'' `` What? Why, our work has just confirmed our infinite survival! Aside from endless wealth, we can do so much with this information!'' He became agitated. `` What happens when we start poking at it? We do n't know what could happen. Now that we know people live through death like this, we are capable of ending them permanently. I do n't want to be responsible for that. We are done, this project, as well as this conversation, is over. Nothing will be published of this.'' Dr. Starkland turned around and began to gather his papers. Renolds became furious. As Starkland was about finished gathering his files, a lamp struck the back of his head. Again, and again, and again. A specially crafted bag was placed over the bloody head of Johnathan Starkland, and soon after sealed. Dr. Renolds collected himself, collecting the papers from Starkland's bag. `` I'm sorry John, but this is how we shape the future.'' He gathered his body as he thought to himself how he would get away with the crime he commit. Dr. Renolds smiled as he finished thinking of his plan. `` Do n't worry, once I crack the code to these proto-cells, you'll be the first person ever revived from the dead. Then, we can continue our research together, just like before... Just like before.'' Renolds muttered as he dragged the body from the lab.
[ WP ] Time travel was invented just a few years ago , and your elementary school is one of the first schools to get their hands on one of these machines . Today is `` Bring your future-self to school '' day .	The brassy ring of the bell resonated all around campus, starting the day for all of the classes around the school. `` Good morning class!, as you all probably remember today is `` Bring your future-self to school'' day! We are going to use time travel to see where you are in 20 years!'' the chipper 3rd grade teacher told the classroom full of practically buzzing kids. `` Alright Billy, you're first!'' As she said this, she plucked a hair from Billy, placing the black strand into a complex, glowing machine. It started to whir, and make a glowing circle on the ground. Sparks flew around the machine in a frenzied dance, setting the room flashing with white and blue hues. The teacher held back the students, and let out a smile as a huge, final flash erupted from the circle. A small, balding man stood there now, holding a coffee cup with `` worlds best dad'' inscribed on it. He let out a small smile. `` Hey kids'' he greeted. `` Hey self'' he said as he focused on the small quivering child below him. `` You get to become a very cool thing when you grow up, you become an accountant'' Future Billy said with a wink, crouching down to look at his younger self. The young Billy let out a large smile, which seemed to envelop his chubby cheeks. `` You are very happy as an adult Billy, and you get your own wonderful family.'' Future Billy's eyes filled with warmth, and he let out a little wave as a flash of light enveloped him, sending him back to the future. `` Alright, Charles, you get to go next.'' Said the teacher, plucking a strand from the mop of hair a small, sandy blonde haired kid. The same light show appeared, accompanied by a cacophony of sounds. The small kid's eyes lit up, and he leaned forwards towards the glowing circle on the ground. The time machine then gave out a few warning beeps, and a few red lights went on as the machine rolled down to a stop. The sparks died down, and the kid's face fell into a confused pout. `` Miss, where is future me?'' He asked, a small confused squeak coming out of the mess of hair. The teacher's face fell, `` Oh Charles, I'm so sorry.''
[ WP ] Instead of going back in time to kill Hitler , you decide to go back and give him art lessons .	`` Nein, dummkopf! Remember to use your goddamn perspective!'' `` It looks perfectly fine!'' `` A door twenty meters away from a person should not be the same height as that person! Do you even understand basic mathematics, you kraut?!'' `` Oh! As if anyone actually takes artistic advice from an English-born Jew! Let alone a woman painter! What in the heil are you even doing in my house anyway?'' It's been about three years since that time traveling incident with Noodle Corp. Go back in time and stop Hitler. That was supposed to be the mission. I'm fairly certain that they expected me to kill the man. Hence the barrel of ammunition, briefcase of handguns, and... a knight's sword. When will they ever figure out that you ca n't just go back in time in kill Hitler? Twilight Zone did it once, I think. They just found some other kid, stuck a mustache on his face, and one thing led to another, several millions Jews were killed. Wait, what was the lesson of that program again? Whatever. I did n't much like the Corporation's plan anyway. Too simple, low chance of success. So, I came up with my own way of going at it. What better way of stopping a failed artist from going on a genocidal rampage than to teach the damn wank how to actually draw? `` Frau Alice?'' `` It's Frau Goldstein to you.'' `` Damn Jews...'' `` The hell did you just say, you cunt?'' My plan of course, had some set backs. I took about a year of German before hopping the Noodle Machine back to 1908. Austria uses Austrian German, not Standard. Do n't even know what the fuck they're saying half the time. After being lost in the cold Viennese winter for a few months, it was around that time when I first met him. Adolf Hitler, Future Fuhrer of the Third Reich. Being the totally awesome person I am, I was able to win him over for lodging and free food for the rest of my mission. In exchange, I'd teach him French-style painting. Whatever the hell that means. `` Tell me what you think of this piece?'' I remember this drawing. Man sitting on a bridge. Multi-colored piece. Good structure, hard lines drawn. Terrible, terrible focus. At least the water's reflecting the ground-soil clearly enough. The way he draws the man pisses me off. There's hair and clothing clearly distinguishing the figure as a person. Light-brown jacket ( leather possibly ) with combed grayish hair. Just one major problem. He has no face. `` Adolf, why do n't you ever draw some fucking faces on people?'' `` Huh?'' `` Look!'' I point at the man sitting on the bridge. `` No trace of lips. No eyes. No nose either.'' `` He has eyebrows.'' `` Eyebrows do n't make people people, Adolf.'' `` Could you please stop calling me Adolf? We're hardly friends.'' He's fiddling around with a brush in his hand. Is he even paying attention? `` Give this man a goddamn face. Make him smile or something?'' `` Men have no real face. They're just blank slates from which the strongest mind is born. Do you know that?'' `` Sounds like fucking bullshit to me. So what?'' Oh god, he's not gon na - `` Take a look at the filthy Jews. Rich, fat men smile gleefully from grandiose houses and motels, drinking hot tea and eating sweet cookies. All while expecting the rest of the Germans to pay their bills and starve in their place.'' `` What's your point?'' `` How could men be happy when put in a situation like that? When the German people work hard and are still poorer than the British, the French, or the Jews? There is no true happiness unless we take control of Europe and take our rightful place.'' Oh for the love of the almighty dreidel. `` Back to your work. Only real issue I see with this painting would be the huge size of the stone bridge in comparison to the boy. It's just not natural. The way the back faces against the structure just seems like the boy ought' fall down into the river.'' `` The structure represents Volk engineering!'' Ugh... this is gon na be a hell of a long five years. At least WWI did n't start yet. That'd just be a bloody nightmare.
[ WP ] You are a street cat , fierce and feared by other cats in the neighborhood . One day , a woman picks you up and takes you to her house .	Shadows hid among trash cans as I strutted down the alley. I could feel them, cowering in my presence, too scared to do anything else. I reveled in it, flicking my tail around in the air. I sauntered to the trash can at the end of the alley, the shiniest, biggest one, reserved just for me. In a single swipe, I knocked the trash can over, and its clatters were the only sound heard in the alley. I surveyed my dinner. Leftover chicken, and half an orange. And just as I was about to dig in, a massive Tabby cat lunged at me from behind the trash can. Its eyes shone and teeth flashed. I had it down by its throat in one movement, and stared straight into its eyes. The Tabby's ears flattened and pupils dilated. There was no point in killing it. If I killed it, then I could n't send a message, so simply tearing off its ear did the trick. And just after the deed was dealt with, I hear a voice from behind. `` Awwww, pussy cat, what are you doing out here all alone?'' I turned around and was met with a short, bloated old lady dressed all in pink. Her hair sat like gray spaghetti on top of her head. `` You do n't hafta eat garbage, kitty, just come home with grandma!'' She scooped me up, cradling me like a baby in her arms. I fought, I bit, I scratched, but the hag was resilient. `` Awww, do n't be like that!'' The more I struggled, the more she hugged me tighter and tighter. When she carried me out of the alleyway, I glared over her shoulder. And there, tens of cats stepped out of the shadows, and watched. I meowed and hissed at them to come help me, to come save me, but all they did was watch. At the end of the alley, was a fat Tabby with its ear missing.
[ WP ] Your life is an endless series of horror movies . You 're always at the wrong place at the wrong time . You 're stuck seeing all your friends die right after you make them . The reason you 're still alive ? You can hear the horror music .	Daniels was excited. He already fell in love with the winter resort, and the chair lift ride he was about to take, was simply the icing on the cake. I never had a ride like this before, he thought to himself. He was dressed up in warm clothes; the weather at this time of the year was mercilessly cold. `` I'm ready,'' he said to the attendant. `` Alright. Sir, please stand here. Wait for the cable chair at this spot,'' the attendant pointed to a narrow, yellow line. `` Enjoy the ride sir.'' With that, Daniels soon found himself seated in what appeared to him as a marvelous piece of invention. A chair attached to a long stretch of wire, being moved by some electric process. The scenery was breath taking. The tops of the several mountains in the landscape were covered with snow. The winds that blew were cold but there was an air of excitement about all this. Daniels thought, he would write about his journey in the lift chair. That he would spice it up a bit, and have his story made into a short fiction book or something of the sort. He saw the end terminal at the far end of a cliff. From that point on, he would have to make a return trip to the resort. He was anticipating of how it could feel treading about the landscapes yonder. He was n't going to give up an opportunity like that easily. He was adamant not to make his return, until and unless he fulfilled his `` explorer fantasies''. The flames of his dreams were put off by a sudden clanking sound. It appeared that the chair lift had come to a stop. Daniels realized the lights of the terminal ahead of him were all switched off. He turned back to view the starting terminal, but it was out of sight. Daniels tried to recollect what else the attendant has said to him. But his pondering was to no avail. He simply couldn ’ t remember. He hardly heard her. The only words that impressed upon his ears were, “ Stand, sit, safe journey ”, the rest was all blabbering to him. Either there was some technical failure, or someone with a devilish sense of humor was playing a practical joke on him. “ What am I going to do? Hell…., ” Daniels muttered. “ HELP, ” he yelled. “ I ’ m stuck. Oh. It ’ s of no use. ” No one could hear him. Wait just a minute, he thought. Was I the only bloke who wanted to take this ride? I never really saw anyone except for the attendant. Hell, I never even read about the chair lift ride in the resort ’ s brochure. Daniels began to have all sorts of scary thoughts going about in his head. Half an hour elapsed since the start of his “ amazing ” journey. He was at an altitude where the winds now were becoming more frosty and chilly as the night grew darker. He would freeze to death if he was left there, at the mercy of some hanging contraption, and cruel Mother Nature of course.
[ WP ] `` Well , what 'll you give ? Your eyes ? Your hands ? How about your heart ? ''	I ground my teeth so hard that I felt I might split my molars. The cords of muscle strained at the base of my skull, my shoulder blades felt as though they were trying to slice their way through the skin to attack one another like roosters in a tight pen. Every muscle was tense, straining, howling in protest as my panic-stricken brain dumped every ounce of adrenaline that it could muster into my system with the sole purpose of fulfilling that deepest and most preserving instinct: Flight. Survive. ‘ Run! ’ My brain was screaming at my body. ‘ Run away! Run! Run! Run! ’ And instead of listening to that natural self-preserving instinct which was drenching my shirt with fear-sweat, I was standing my ground. Quivering, quaking, shaking like a leaf holding onto a tree in a tornado, but I was not moving from where I stood. Even my breath was a shallow staccato of sharp huffs, but it was still breath. “ Well? ” That horrible booming droll mixed with the utterly terrifying hiss and sway of shifting sand and scales beneath leaves asked again, “ What ’ ll you give? What could you possibly offer me? ” “ Anything, ” I couldn ’ t even unclench my jaw. I spoke through my clenched teeth, “ Anything to have my daughter back, you son of a bitch. ” “ Anything is a grain of sand in the midst of a sea of dunes, a drop of blood in a war between worlds, ” The creature appeared with its nose nearly touching mine, burning eyes of gold with emerald irises gazing into my own as it hissed, “ I already own your life. Intruding upon my land is all it takes to forfeit that paltry sum. Would you have me return it to you in exchange for your eyes? They are so very lovely, after all. So very worth adding to my collection. ” The creature backed away and became as a caramel miasma, floating before me with those burning eyes far above yet still so close as what seemed like thousands of eyes glinted back at me from the unnatural haze. Moans of agony and woe floated from the distant glimmers of eyes that I knew to be crying. Suffering. Made to gleam and shimmer for the amusement of this beast that masquerades amidst mankind. “ I could put you with the hazels, you see? ” The miasma shifted and expanded to center upon hundreds of glimmering eyes, each a shining mixture of brown and green with flecks of gold and gray. “ You would become a perfect keystone to my most beloved color arch. A torturously beautiful thing, I admit. Or perhaps your hands? ” Again it shrunk to an almost man, golden hands reaching out to almost touch my own clenching and unclenching hands. The emerald irises flitted between my right, then my left, before settling back onto my own eyes as its horrifying voice shrank and grew in tandem, becoming a scratching, tickling, feathery tendril in my ear while echoing through my body like a bass, “ Your hands, your hands, your delicate hands. Artisan hands, busy hands, holy hands. Hands which do not remain idle, no, no, no, not hands such as these! They do not leave room for devils and deceits, not hands so fine as these. Your hands do as a claimant God desires, I can smell it on you. Go on, barter with me those hands, those hands, those hands. ” “ What must I give to get her back? ” My throat grappled with each word. “ What do you want? ” The creature ballooned to a great black and caramel cloud with two burning gold and emerald stars above which enveloped me as the dust storm which had taken me into the thing ’ s realm, its double voice howling in a whispered screech and echoing roll of thunder. Then shrank to a golden mouse with those same burning eyes and tufts of hair on its ears and tail which were so black it was almost as though they greedily consumed the light which was unlucky enough to fall upon it. It hopped and jumped around as a wild chorus of squeaks and growls followed and lead it on its erratic path. I could not make out what it said, but still my body fought to heed that instinctual call and run as far and fast as it could. I know the beast to be right, however. Already it owns my life. To flee would only invite it to hold me forever, not quite dead and not quite alive, so as to forever imprison me away from whatever sweet release death might be. Those ancient evils once tucked away in the deepest desert dunes had long been free to traverse this world, lamenting their inability to overcome the pantheons which seemed to surpass them in every way. Raging against the injustice of their weak and forgiving cousins which mankind flocked to in their fear of true power. Some collected the essences of mankind, others fed on their supple flesh, while others came up with far more creative means of punishing the race of beings which they felt had personally wronged them out of unabashed ignorance. “ How about your heart? ” The creature became manlike once more and eagerly gazed into my eyes with a new, much more frightening energy. “ Would your precious be worth something so paltry as your heart? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life? Do not resist an evildoer, after all, but turn to him the cheek which he has not struck? ” “ That is what the scripture says, more or less. ” “ How about it, mortal? ” The creature extended a glimmering golden hand, nails that horrifying black devoid of light, “ I offer you a deal. Her which you seek in exchange for your heart? ” My ears were ringing as the muscles in my neck tried to pull away from that extended hand. I felt my joints popping, my back popping, my muscles popping as I forced my hand toward the creatures ’. “ Will you tear it from my chest? ” “ Oh, you poor little fool, ” The golden fingers danced before my palm as the creature grinned wolfishly, “ I ’ ve already explained that your life is mine. What I want is your whole heart. Your whole, unrepentant heart. The heart is what lead you here. It must be strong to fight every fiber of your nature by walking into the maw of the sun. I want that heart, so strong, so willful. For her, you see, you came to the bargaining table. For me, I will command, you bring the world to the bargaining table. ” The creature ’ s hand was searing hot ice as our palms met and those nails of void bit into the back of my hand. It was like gripping the sun. “ Al-Mahzab holds to his bargains, you see? I return her to you. But you always walk in my light. Your heart will always see by the sun ’ s golden light!''
[ WP ] 100 word story on why `` you '' are the bravest !	What does bravery even mean? Does it mean I shot the man and I was n't scared to do it, that I knew then and there it was the right thing to do. That if I had n't shot him, nobody else would have done, nobody else would have stopped it. Is it brave though to kill a man that could n't defend himself. To kill a man in a wheelchair because I knew... no, because I'd suspected that I was right about his past. Was I brave then, or am I brave now, finally admitting that it was me who did it.
[ WP ] We do n't know exactly where they came from , but the war that followed was long and bloody . Tell us about the arrival of the Humans .	We had been the masters over tens of thousands of stars, rulers over hundreds of species that served as our slaves and servants. We had an empire that had lasted from the ages when the Galaxy was young and the gods walked through the stars through untold eras or peace and wealth. We made decadent and glorious art that would make any proud creatures grow humble to behold it. Our fleets scourged the cosmos and brought once great states and empires under our heel. Our home-planet, Xaros, had cities that grew so great that the entire surface and most of the oceans were covered in great crystal spires, towers built with impossible architecture using techniques that no one else could have even dared to dream of, monuments that touched the very heavens themselves. It was the greatest wonder of known space. We were the mightiest empire in the whole world, our species had grown so important that our old names had been forgotten and we were known only as the Imperials. That was until that one fateful day, when the Humans arrived. No one knew who they were, what they were or how they even looked, all we knew was that they hated us and wanted to destroy us and everything we stood for. We were not prepared, we never knew what struck us before it was too late. If there was any indication, maybe it was that a small group of scout ships lost contact with our fleet while scouting in the general direction of where the Humans came from. Their first attack was more than devastating, it was a massacre, while we could fight them in Space above the colony of New Shraio, their drop parties were indestructible, armored creatures twice as tall as any of the Imperials. When they landed they slaughtered us in droves, leaving no survivors behind. When I saw the recordings made by the few who managed to escape, their terrible visages and monstrous war cry haunted me to the very bones. None have been able to understand it, it consists of three words and sounds like this''LIBTIE, EQALTIE, FRATIRNIE! '' or so we think, hard to know when we only heard it during their onslaught. And that is not even to speak what they did to our slaves, some spies who remained behind saw them driving the slaves into their ships and taking them away. We can only conclude that they use them for sustenance or need slaves of their own. We managed to send out an envoy to speak with them, after the first attack, he returned badly wounded after hearing from the Humans how they were going to come and destroy us all. He said that they were primitive barbarians with no sense of culture or decency, and the only thing that they understood was violence. The war lasted for hundreds of years, the humans constantly on the offensive, driving deeper and deeper into our territory, destroying world after world of us and our confederated species. The Crystal Moon of Taris was crushed into dust, the great slave breeding planets of the ten-planet star Whaol, all burned to the ground and the vacation and entertainment world of Sharis had every last of its ten billion inhabitants and twice as many tourists massacred. And so it continued with our fleets unable to strike back against the human's relentlessly barbaric crusade against the civilized Empire. All fell until at last the only star system left standing, was our home, the star Kahon with the capital Xaros and the other five inhabited worlds filled to the brim with refugees. Our fleet made a noble last stand, hoping to drag out the battle until the retreating Ninth Fleet and the Eleventh Fleet could reach us in time. It was all for nothing though. I stood by in the throneroom of the Emperor Sankis, seeing how human dropships were stationed over our planet after the total annihilation of our fleet. They destroyed all planet-based defensive lines and anti-spacecraft guns, and then a single ship landed. It was old, even for the war's standard. It looked like one of the first ships that the humans had attacked us with. As it landed, Human elites, known by many names though officially from what we have gotten out of our limited intelligence on the Humans they are called the Sasspetnazmarines, a name that inspired terror on every one of our citizens, came pouring out and butchered the guards of the Imperial Palace without loosing a single man. The out came something entirely differently. A being about half the size of a human, same size as us, with a pink head topped by filthy strands of slave-fur and strange garments of black-and-white. It was followed by members of every slave race we had ever had, dressed entirely the same. It came to the emperor Sankis and said, in perfect Imperial''We are the representatives from the Human Intergalactic Community, from the Department of Peace. We have come to demand your total and immediate surrender. '' Sankis, our beloved leader and ruler through most of the war, rose from his Sapphire throne.''And who are you, to lead a column of slaves to end a war? We are the Imperials, masters of the known galaxy! We will not surrender to slaves! '' The pink pointed at one of the Human elite units and spoke something in that blasphemous tongue of his to it. It removed its helmet, and by the slimed ancestors, it was a slave creature! A Noucain to be precise, a weak and pitiful species incapable of resisting us. The Noucain laughed and showed off teeth, things that proper people remove from their slaves early in development to install fear. This Noucain was not born a slave, it was born in whatever part of the underworld the Humans had spawned from, obviously the humans wanted to degrade us by letting our slaves defeat us. ''I am a human, and by extension so is he. When we first encountered your empire, we learned of a brutal and vile state that practiced things that we could not abide by. Laws that allowed slavery, the consumption of slaves as food, the total right to murder sentient creatures without any consequences. Barbaric. Today marks the 142nd year since our holy war began. The ship you see above you was the first flagship of the Liberation Fleet, the U.N.S.S. Lincoln, named for a human who fought to his death for the liberation of slaves. When we came to your worlds, we freed the slaves and brought them home with us, gave them the three most essential rights of the Human philosophy: Liberty, equality and brotherhood. When they came to us, they had only the identity of slaves, when they left to join the war they had been adopted as humans. '' What that barbarian said was troubling, to think of a race so naive yet so brutal was upsetting. The emperor screamed and raged against the Human, until it drew a small black object and killed our holy monarch with it. He then turned to me.''You, what is your position in this government? '' I dared not refuse him an answer or make him upset,''I am the leader of the Holy Council, the advisers to the emperor. With the death of our beloved emperor and the death of most of his extensive family, the power of government falls to me. '' ''Surrender, and we will let you keep this system. We will execute every military leader and liberate every slave we can find. You will submit to a full Human occupation of your world until your violent and depraved ways have been cleansed from your culture and your people. '' He handed me a piece of thin wood with plenty of words on it that I was incapable of reading, I looked up at him and he said''Write your name on the line in the button without any words on it. Then give the order for your people to stand down, hand over their weaponry and surrender to us. '' I hesitated, the Humans are known for their merciless brutality and unconditional hatred.''How do I know you wont just kill us after I've done all that? '' He smiled with pure white and sharp teeth grinning in his disgusting mouth,''Because unlike your kind, we have a sense of moral decency. And if you do n't I'll just kill you and find the next one in line to rule. Simple as that. '' I signed the thin piece of paper, ending the greatest empire that ever was and ever will be, ending the Age of the Empire and beginning the Age of the Human.
[ WP ] Humanity has invented a teleportation portal . A man is sent through the machine , but comes out the other side screaming and writhing in agony ...	The man behind the desk leaned back and contemplated the device. Such a waste, he thought to himself. Teleportation was supposed to be the future. It held the promise of a humanity unconstrained by the demands of traveling from place to place. No more commuting. Vacationing anywhere in the world at virtually no cost. But nobody could figure out how to eliminate the side effects. What good was travel that left the traveler in unimaginable pain for hours? The government was not, however, about to waste all that money they'd sunk into the program. The curtain was drawn back into place, and the janitorial staff came out to clean up the mess left by the last traveler. As they worked, the man pulled the next folder from his briefcase and began reviewing the contents. `` Another Democrat,'' he muttered to himself. Where did they keep finding them? When the clean-up was completed, the man checked his watch and nodded to the guard by the door. The guard opened the door and left, reappearing a minute later gripping a frightened woman by her arm. The guard cuffed her to the chair on the other side of the desk and left the room, the door closing behind him with an ominous clang. The man regarded the woman silently for a long moment, then looked down again at the dossier. `` Moira Jackson,'' his voice echoed throughout the room, `` you stand accused of sedition.'' He looked up at her. `` Do you confess?'' The woman trembled visibly, her hands gripped the arms of her chair tightly, and her blue eyes were wide with terror. Slowly, she shook her head. The man nodded and touched a button on his desk. The curtain behind him slid back slowly, revealing the teleportation portal. For a moment, the woman was confused. Then she made a strangled noise and whimpered `` no no no no no,'' as she recognized the device and its implications. `` Do n't be afraid,'' the man said with his most reassuring smile, `` you wo n't be made to travel. I must ask again, though. Do you confess?'' Bewildered and terrified, the woman whispered `` no,'' and shook her head again. The man shook his head sadly and pressed another button. A recording of the woman criticizing the President played from speakers in the ceiling. When it was finished, the man asked in a soft yet firm voice, `` do you confess?'' The woman's jaw worked for a moment, then she shook her head once more, looking down at the desk. Quietly, the man pushed a third button. A screen lit up in front of the woman, displaying the friend to whom she made the comments being led towards a portal identical to the one behind the man. The portal began to hum softly. The woman's eyes flew wide. `` NO! Please, no!'' On the screen, her friend resisted for a moment, then was thrust through the portal, emerging behind the man at the desk. Screams filled the air. Piercing howls of agony. The woman looked on helplessly as every muscle in her friend's body contracted violently, every pain receptor flared. The man behind the desk got up and left the room silently. Two hours later, he returned. The woman was sobbing helplessly in her chair. Her friend lay on the ground, still moaning and convulsing. The man put a hand on the woman, and she flinched. `` Do you confess, or do we send him back?'' The woman hung her head, and in a barely audible whisper said, `` I confess.'' The man nodded and called the guard back into the room. The woman was unshackled and led toward the portal. The guard looked back at the man, who nodded, then thrust the woman into the portal. The crowd howled as the woman materialized on stage, shrieking. Cries of `` traitor!'' and `` filthy liberal,'' mingled with her howls, and the crowd stormed the stage.
[ WP ] The Joker 's Origins	I know this is n't `` canon'', but it was an interesting idea that came to me. Hope you enjoy! We had dedicated years of our life to this project. Our team had come together with one noble goal: create a cure for depression. We always had the best of intentions. However, as often happens in the pharmaceutical field, pressure increased, and deadlines had to be met. Unfortunately, it appeared they were not going to greenlight our project for human trials. But we were n't going to let this go without a fight, for you see, we had it. Every one of us was confident that this little vial could bring relief to millions upon millions of poor suffering souls. So we decided to go ahead anyway. We did n't know the man chosen for the trial, and he did n't know us. But it was clear he was in a dark place. Suffering from one of the more severe cases of depression I had ever seen, he barely spoke, and never smiled. We kept everything completely anonymous, mostly for our own sake. We attached him to our monitoring equipment and began our test. The shot was administered, and we all watched with silent anticipation. Slowly, it looked like a dark cloud was being lifted from his visage. Then, it happened... he smiled. We broke into cheers of celebration. This was amazing! We would help countless people, not to mention getting rich in the process. But we were interrupted by commotion on the other side of the door. Our subject was hunched over in pain, being attended to by a nurse. I rushed in to see what was wrong. The nurse pulled me aside and whispered in my ear what the issue was: the drug was bleaching his skin from the inside out. My heart immediately sank. This was terrible. Assuming this man did n't press charges, the drug clearly was n't ready for the market. I began writing on my notepad when the man stopped shaking. He spoke for the first time in a while, and thanked the nurse for being so kind. His voice sounded different than before. Like a smooth song on a piano where one note is jarringly out of tune. The nurse replied that our subject was the kind one, donating his time and body for a good cause. The man said, `` Well, I take after my grandma. She always said,'Kill them with kindness!''' Before I could process what was happening, the man grabbed a pair of scissors off of the nearby table and plunged them into the nurse's chest. `` I do n't know why she insisted on naming her knife'kindness'!'' he cackled. Then, for the first time, I heard him laugh. Perhaps it was THE first time he laughed, given how severe his depression had been. But it was the most terrifying thing I have ever heard, like a mix between [ the giggling of a hyena and the roar of a demon ] ( https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=Aq8UYqhMjrQ & t=2m22s ). He advances on me and shoves me to the ground before driving the scissors into my leg. `` Stay right here, doc!'' he shouts. `` After all, this would n't be funny!'' He hurriedly exits the room. As I lie here, in intense pain, unable to walk, I hear the shrieks and death wails of my coworkers from other rooms in the facility. Dear god, I think to myself, we were trying to help people. Something must have gone wrong with our compound. It made this man happy, too happy, to the point of homicidal insanity. The door creaks open, and he is standing there, soaked in blood, with open wounds around his mouth. `` Waddaya think doc? People always said I should smile more!'' he says gleefully. `` Now, I have some bad news, and some very bad news.'' he states with a false air of solemnity. I begrudgingly ask for the bad news. `` Well, you only have about 1 minute left to live.'' Horrified, I ask what could be worse than that! He advances slowly on me with a large, crimson covered kitchen knife, saying `` I started the countdown 58 seconds ago!'' Gotham, I'm so sorry. Forgive us.
[ WP ] `` Yesterday was a long time ago ... ''	I woke up on the in my bed again, despite falling asleep in a prison cell the night before. All the money I spend yesterday was back in my wallet. The annoying neighbor I had punched in the face had no doubt already woken up without any knowledge or memory of the attack. The car that I had crashed into the side of a building was unharmed and sitting in the parking lot of my apartment. The date on my smart phone remained unchanged. How many times did I relive this day? I have lost count a long time ago. I do n't even remember what had caused the time loop in the first place. I had no idea how to stop it either. I learned not to throw my phone against a wall over a thousand times ago. It was a major inconvience to not have a working smart phone, even if everything would reset itself when the day was over. I grumbbled and heaved myself into a sitting position. My neighbor's obnoxious music proceeded to play from beyond my apartment, just like every interation of this repeated day. I growled and stomped out of my apartment, still dressed in messy pajamas. I pounded on his door. As soon as it opened, I shouted, `` Turn that thing down!'' My neighbor looked at me as if I had not even spoken a word. `` Dude, you look like shit. What did you do yesterday?'' `` Just turn that shit down!'' I shouted one last time before stomping back to my room. What did I do yesterday, before the time loop? I was beginning to doubt that yesterday even existed. Yesterday seemed like, no, yesterday was a long time ago...
[ WP ] `` Incoming ! Dropships , coming in over the bridge ! ''	Streaks of red and green smoke followed the ships. `` Merry Christmas everyone!'' cried the President. Wrapped gifts drifted down on parachutes, descending at the same speed as the snow. Strangers hugged, lovers kissed, a few phones filmed the festivities. The President laughed and smiled over the hum of the ships. When the dropships hovered at eye level, the bay doors fell down. A couple dozen drones disguised as elves poured out. They ran, leaped, and danced through the crowds, handing out sweets to every out-stretched hand. One elf soared next to my window, tapping on the glass and waving. I waved back. The hot chocolate in my mug kept my hands warm and I found myself smiling. The giant projection of the country's benevolent leader, the street with lights of every colors, the people crammed shoulder to shoulder, happily sharing each others' warmth. It was a picture perfect holiday. A small girl tugged at the arm of my sweater. `` Let me finish this cocoa.'' I whispered to her. She nodded and skipped to the front room. I drank what was left, putting the mug in the sink. She was already waiting at the door, holding my coat for me. `` Let's go.'' We walked to the cemetery. Her hand was still warm despite not wearing a glove. We stopped at a gravestone with a picture of a young woman. `` Hi Mommy!'' the girl said. The dates beneath the picture read December 25th, XXXX - August 31st, XXXX. `` Ready?!'' The little girl placed a small cake with a candle in front of the gravestone. `` One, two, three...'' `` Happy Birthday to you...'' The snow had stopped, the clouds cleared up to a half moon.
[ WP ] An assassin 's magical dagger refuses to fight against your opponent 's dagger . Hers does the same .	It was a dark and stormy night in Roschester, New Jersey. It was a normal day up until about four in the afternoon, in which I was kidnapped. By whom, I know not. The only thing I knew at that point was that they shoved a knife into my hand, then punched me on the mouth hard enough that I blacked out later on. Upon waking, I heard the sound of drums and a painfully loud shouting, followed by my being violently thrown into what appeared to be some sort of dug out, or pit, if you will. I looked around, and saw what appeared to be a woman, who, I assumed, had suffered a similar fate. It was then that we looked each other in the eye and realized what had to happen. We circled until I finally went in to stab at her stomach, but my knife was tugged away from her. I pissed myself when she went for my neck, but something happened, and we ended up in each other's arms.
[ WP ] You care about someone and something bad happens to them but you have minimal presence in their life and ca n't get involved	I put my hand to my forehead as I read the chart again. I could n't believe it. It was just too ironic, too unreal. It was after five and most everyone had gone home; that was the only way I got my hands on her file in the first place. Linda and I were the only ones left in the office, and she was too ensconced in paperwork to even notice me. The janitor was probably around here somewhere too, but if he saw me snooping around, he would just assume I was doing my job. I sat down at the receptionist's desk and hesitantly pulled up her file on the computer, glancing back at Linda nervously as I did. She did n't even look up. `` Brown, Catherine.'' I sifted through the minutia, looking for her next appointment time. She'd have to have made one. I ca n't imagine she'd be willing to tell her parents about this. She certainly would n't be going to the family pediatrician. Even though that doctor would actually be the most appropriate. It was a child having a child, after all. I stared in shock when I found what I was looking for. She had made another appointment, but it was n't for a check-up or an ultrasound or to get her pre-natal vitamins. It was for an abortion. I drifted into a sort of dream-like state as I pondered the implications of this. I could n't blame her, of course. I'd been in the exact same position and made the exact same appointment at one time in my life. But she did n't know - she could n't know - what she was getting into. She could n't know how hard it was going to be. Not physically, but mentally. And what if one of those protest groups happens to be here the day she comes in? What if they call her a murderer on her way out? What if they make her question herself to the point of her being paralyzed, unable to go through with it, but at the same time, unable to not go through with it? I wanted so badly to be there for her. But she had no idea who I was. And I was n't even supposed to know her name. She needed me, though, and I was the only one who could really help her through this. I was the only one who truly understood the choice she was facing and the only one who would sympathize with her no matter what decision she ended up making. I felt a tear sliding down my cheek as I continued to stare blankly at the computer screen, wondering what I could do, trying to figure out a way around the formalities that kept me from talking to her. I wanted to tell her so many things, things that would seem so insignificant coming from some random office administrator, but that would be life-changing coming from... `` Who's... Catherine Brown?'' Linda asked as she leaned over my left shoulder, squinting at the computer screen. I jumped, not even realizing she'd gotten up from the desk in the corner. Linda was a stickler for the rules and would n't hesitate to bitch me out for looking at any patient's file, much less this one, one I should n't be allowed anywhere near. But I did n't care anymore. All I could think was that I had so much to say to this girl, and yet I could n't even talk to her. I felt the tears welling up again as I tried to maintain my composure long enough to give Linda an answer. To tell Linda the secret I'd been holding in for sixteen years. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. And then I spoke. `` She's my daughter.''
[ WP ] The reason no one finds those under Witness Protection is because the organization kills everyone it claims to protect and hides the evidence .	`` Now what seems to be the problem Mr. Harrison?'' I was staring into the caring eyes of Dr. Allen as I felt my stomach once again churn to life. It had been three months since I'd been placed in witness protection and for the past six weeks or so I'd been berated by a variety of ailments. Luckily the program had assigned me a personal doctor who knew the true details of my situation. It was for my safety. They told me many times that witness protection was traumatizing for everyone and I'd need consistent health checks for at least the first year. `` It's my stomach this time. Every time I eat I feel like I'm going to puke my guts up. It's awful, I've lost twelve pounds in the last few weeks.'' I murmured as I winced in pain. `` That's to be expected my dear boy. Nausea is a very common side effect of stress and this has certainly been a stressful time for you. Have the headaches you complained of during our last visit subsided?'' Dr. Allen asked as he gently touched my shoulder. That was one thing I loved about Dr. Allen, I could tell he cared. Having to leave behind my old life really had taken a toil on my health and Dr. Allen had done his best to keep me going. It started out with blurry vision, and then headaches, and now the stomach pain. If I had to deal with some quack in this crap town there's no way I could have survived. `` Yeah I'm doing much better, no pain at all now.'' I responded `` I think if I can get my stomach lined out I'll finally have that clean bill of health.'' `` I'm sure you will, all of your test results have come back normal. Stress can do a lot to a person's body but it's just a temporary pain. Here today and gone tomorrow.'' Dr. Allen chuckled as he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a bottle of pills. `` These pills here should settle your stomach and finally let you eat your meals in peace. Just take one every morning for the next three weeks and then I'll come back for a follow up.'' `` Thank you so much,'' tears were filling my eyes as I watched Dr. Allen begin to gather his things `` These past few months have been really hard and I know you have to be a busy man. So, just know that I appreciate you being here to help me. I feel like I complain too much so I got you a little something.'' I walked over to the fridge and pulled out the candy I'd made last night. It was n't much but everyone likes a good bourbon ball. I handed Dr. Allen the bowl and could see tears starting to form in his eyes as well. He really was a good man. `` I do thank you Jeff, it's patients like you that make me know what I do is God's work.'' Dr. Allen said in a fatherly tone, `` I'll see you in three weeks.'' Once inside his car the doctor dialed a familiar number on his cell phone. `` It's done, he'll be dead in a week.'' The words came out like venom. `` Good.'' The voice on the other end flatly stated as the connection ended. Dr. Allen put his phone away and sat in his car staring at the candy. The process was one he'd done a hundred times. Induce blurriness and headaches with poisoned tongue depressor upon initial check-up. Prescribe medicine that cures the first set of symptoms to build trusting relationship with patient. Treat severe nausea side effect with a medicine that shuts down the liver. It was hard at first, but it was part of the deal. He knew that in any just society he'd be in jail for what he did to that poor woman on the operating table. A few sleepless nights are worth not having to spend a lifetime in prison. The doctor was shaken from his thoughts by the ring of his phone. `` Hello. Yes this is Dr. Allen. Of course, I completely understand. Yes headaches are a reaction to stress, you have nothing to worry about. I have a medicine that can cure those right up for you. I can be there on Friday if that works for you. Ok, I'll see you then. Goodbye Janet'' The doctor put his phone away and reached for one of the candies Jeff had given him. As he started the engine and drove away only one thought crossed his mind. That damn cheapskate used off-brand bourbon.
[ WP ] Juxtapose pain and happiness in one scene .	The second hand ticks slowly and methodically past each mark on the clock, like the warden on the last mile clacking his baton against each cell as he makes his rounds. Turning my head back to her, I gaze upon her radiant face one last time, a beacon of light amidst the gray, drab interior of the hospital room. `` Is it time?'' she asks. Her voice is shaky at first, but with every word she regains strength, the last syllable certain and unafraid. Time. Such a funny concept. As I sit beside her the seconds stretch themselves long and thin, but when I think about the years past - hot, sticky, passionate 16…over-the-moon in marriage 23…angry, confused, and empty 39 - the moments are flashes of light that appear and wink out of existence in the blink of an eye. `` Yes,'' my voice cracks. I was never as determined and driven as her. I look down, searching for a way to prolong the precious little time we have left. Suddenly I ask with conviction, `` Tell me about the most favorite moment you had with me.'' I can hardly bear to watch as she smiles, wincing from the effort. `` Go,'' she commands, placing her hand on my wrist beside her. With my other hand, I slowly wrap my fingers around the cord. A single teardrop falls from my bowed head as I pull the plug. I rise above the immediate sounding of alarms and beeps from the monitors, only to be met with a cloud of emotions. Anguish, despair, and hopelessness swirl around my head, blinding me. Suddenly I hear a voice, soft but filled with clarity. `` Sixteen,'' she whispers as she lays back, her mouth in a slight smile. I can see in her eyes that moment, see her reliving that unforgettable summer. She closes her eyes. The smile fades. The warden makes his rounds.
[ WP ] A group of teens find a map that will lead them to friendship , only to find out that the real treasure is hidden pirate gold .	`` That's the boat? I did n't expect something so... old. It looks like a shipwreck. And-Oh my God, it's called the Friend-Ship!'' gasped Tom in disbelief. `` Uh, It was Anna's choice to hire it.'' Nick replied defensively. Anna glared at Nick. `` It was n't my choice exactly. It was the only choice. Everything else had been rented out.'' Anna sighed and ran a hand through her long auburn hair. `` I know it does n't look like much, but it will be fun! Remember, we said we were going to do something different this break.'' `` Oh sure, all aboard the Friend Ship! Treasure and pleasure ahead. First stop, Pony island - TOOT TOOT!'' said Tom, making use of his naturally sarcastic voice. `` OK, quit moaning and give me a hand with the beers'' said Nick, already heaving a large crate on board the old ship. `` We are going to have an amazing time cruising, drinking and swimming for the next three days.'' `` All right... but I'm captain!'' Tom shouted, barging past Nick and making his way on board and straight to the old wooden wheel. Anna sighed again. `` I bet he even brought a captains hat with him.'' Two hours later the three friends watched the coast slowly slip out of view. `` OK, let's P-A-R-T-Y!'' said captain Tom, putting on his white hat. -- - `` DO WE HAVE TO HAVE THE MUSIC SO LOUD?'' shouted Anna. `` WHAT'S THAT BABE? said Tom, doing a clumsy robotic dance towards Anna under the sound of Daft Punk. `` THE MUS- for God's sake'' said Anna as she walked over to the radio and turned the volume down. `` Anna! For real?'' Tom was prepared for battle and began walking over to the radio. At that moment Nick excitedly burst out of the cabin. `` Guys! I found something! You've got to come see!'' Anna and Tom looked at each other. Tom grabbed another beer and the two headed down. `` A map? Where did you find it Nick?'' Anna asked. `` OK, you're going to find this a little weird. But when I flushed the toilet I heard a strange banging sound. More of a'Ding' really. And being an engineer in training, I could n't help lifting the cistern to see what caused it. And what do you know...'' `` There was a bottle floating in the water?'' Anna replied. `` Yep. And I opened the bottle and found this map.'' Nick said `` I hope you washed your hands!'' said Tom, chugging the rest of his beer. `` Come on guys, the last people that rented the boat left this to troll the next party people. It just so happened that the last time someone rented this boat was 100 years ago and drawing a treasure map was their idea of fun.'' `` Tom, it's a treasure map! There is an island near here with something buried. Have n't you ever wanted to find a treasure map? Who knows what will be at the end?'' `` Probably a buried safe that we ca n't open. And when we do there will be nothing in it.'' replied Tom. `` I vote we follow it'' said Anna. `` Really? Nick, you've got more sense than her, right?'' `` Sorry bro, I'm with Anna. I've got to see where this leads.'' said Nick, smiling sympathetically. ``... OK. But do n't get upset when I say'I told you so'. Which I will say. Many, many times. Oh, and someone else can steer because the captain is needed on the dance floor. Party boat ho!''
[ WP ] Every wizard receives a small book on graduation day that magically fills itself with spells that the wizard will need in his/her future . You receive your book only to find out that it 's blank .	First WP ever guys, I wrote a conclusion to this scene but just wanted to see what you think first, will post the rest in a comment if people like it: ) The leather of my spell book was softer than I had ever imagined. Unlike the tomes collecting dust on the masters' shelves which bore their age in hardened leather scratches and faded parchment pages; or the textbooks which we had used to practice our spell craft which were filled with sketches, doodles and the odd profanity left by previous generations of students, this small book that I had just been handed had an appearance which belied its age. The book was a neutral grey, unmarked on either the spine or the covers aside from a thin gold border and the symbol of the academy. The gold buckle which locked the pages away from prying eyes was the only noticeable embellishment and featured my initials in flowery lettering, T.R., Tobias Rain. I was quickly pulled from my reverie by the applause from the masters, students and guests seated before the stage I stood on with the Academy's Grandmasters. Embarrassed for being caught having a private moment in such a public place I hurried down the stairs and back to my seat with the other graduates, sliding surreptitiously back into my seat besides my best friend, Hayden as the next graduate was called forward to receive their book. Hayden immediately turned to me and grinned wickedly, an infectious smile that soon had me suppressing the kind of hysterical laugh that can only come from incredulous pride. This graduation signalled the fruition of seven years at the Academy and the transition from novice spellcasters into recognized mages. All the hours that we had spent studying the ancient runic language of magic, practicing our pronunciation and basic concentration techniques and conjuring and transformation spells had led to this. I could feel my heart beat faster as I looked away from Hayden to the book sitting on my lap once again. The plainness of the spell book had been expected, each graduate since the beginning of the Academy had received an identical copy, the only distinguishing trait being the personalised initials. Inside the book was the greatest magical gift ever imparted on the world, the origins of which were unknown to ever the wisest of sorcerers. Each book contained a list of spells that were unlike the common spells we practiced during our training. The spells within the book were personalised to me, no other graduate from the Academy had or will ever have the same spells as those found within my book, only one of the special attributes of the spell books. The other was that the spells within the book were of vital importance to my future. What that meant I had never truly understood but rumours that floated around the Academy had alleged that spells within the books had been responsible for saving the lives of thousands of graduates from insurmountable odds and more. Hayden nudged me with his shoulder roughly and I turned to look at him. Without interrupting the ceremony he signalled for me to open the book. This wasn ’ t the time, the Grandmasters had made that abundantly clear so I furrowed my brow and shook my head at him, he knew better, why even suggest it? Hayden rolled his eyes dramatically and shook his head back, clearly unhappy with my obedience. Reaching under the neckline of his robe he pulled out a chain dangling from which was a small golden key. He inserted the key into the lock on the book and slowly turned the handle. With a click the clasp on the book was unlocked and Hayden flicked open the grey cover. Interested on what was inside the books I peeked over his shoulder to find a single, solitary line of the runic text. Hayden visibly sagged at the anticlimactic reveal of only one spell and flicked through the pages looking for others. Like Hayden my heart had plummeted at the lack of spells, this book contained over a hundred pages, yet not even one was filled with spells. I wondered if a similar reveal was awaiting me. I cautiously reached into my robe and pulled out the small key I had worn since birth. The key was smaller than I remembered but fit perfectly into the lock as my shaking hands turned it slowly. Hayden had turned to watch me at my task, we both jumped slightly as the clasp flew open. Slowly, with trepidation I had turned over the grey cover to be greeted by a sheer white page. My mind had gone into overdrive at the sight and hurriedly I flicked through the book looking for a single rune and had found none. In the seat next to me Hayden gaped wildly, both of us knew that this was completely unheard of and that from what our masters had discussed about their own books they had found hundreds of spells. With the book now feeling heavy in my hands I slouched down in my chair as Hayden continued to flick through my pages. Finally, he had given up and placed a supportive hand on my shoulder, both of us unsure of what to do about the blank page in front of me. Tears welled in my eyes as I looked down once more at the book, a worthless reward for my years of effort. Unbidden, the first tear had rolled down my face to land on the first page of the book. Before my eyes the wet parchment had suddenly turned into a small black dot that continued to grow before my eyes. At first it was the size of a pin prick and then grew to the size of a seed. I roughly grabbed Hayden to show him the growing black dot. We watched as the black mark finally filled the page and had begun to take shape. It formed into a black, writhing ink monster with sharp yellow fangs spanning out from a bulbous head. The ink monster had no eyes, only a long wicked snout and the sinews of the muscles were clearly visible. I gasped quietly as the monster had come into being, my hands gripping the grey leather book so tightly that my knuckles were white. I could hear Hayden ’ s ragged breath over my shoulder as I continued to watch the monster form, only now it had started to lift out of the book. The beasts snout came first, growing larger than the spell books dimensions as it passed out of the pages, ink had dripped from its mouth, beginning to form a puddle at my feet. The graduates next to me had begun to notice the monster spilling from my spell book and many had screamed, bringing the ceremony to a halt as the Grandmasters looked over to see the source of all the commotion. I had come face to face with the ink monster when I looked over at Hayden, his own book dropped to the ground and horror in his eyes. I had turned back to the monster as it withdrew back into the spell book before it had lunged out at me, its jaws wide open at an abhorrent angle and I looked beyond its rows of razor sharp teeth into its maw as its snout closed around my head, ripping it clean off.
[ WP ] Someone wakes up one day and no longer feels hunger .	My head slaps against my shoulders like that stale chow mein from last week. Who ’ s talking now? I can ’ t tell; someone took off my glasses. They shake me again. What was the matter here? What ’ s going on? I didn ’ t eat anything weird last night, did I? Odd. I can ’ t remember what it was. Did I eat? Not the night before that either? I counted and came to five. Five days? I haven ’ t eaten in five fucking days? No wonder I felt like shit on Tuesday. Rob said something now that I think about it, asked if I was alright. I was like fuck yeah I ’ m peachy but maybe that wasn ’ t actually the case. Holy balls am I going to die? When was the last time I had anything to drink? I was at the restaurant with Alex I think. Don ’ t go there man. Think about something else. Yeah, you ’ re right. Flashing lights. Red white, red white. That chow mein had been pretty mediocre. I just hadn ’ t felt like eating after it. What a disappointment. At least those cramps on Wednesday make sense now. I ’ m not the least bit hungry, but- Bright lights. I could really go for a burger. Alex loves burgers. Right, we went out for burgers. Finally both had the day off. We were having a great time. I remember getting a refill and looking around. That reflection caught my eye. I remember it looking kind of weird and me thinking What the fuck is that- what the FUCK IS- HOLY FUCKING SHIT IT ’ S STARING RIGHT AT ME. Why the fuck is it LOOKING AT ME. WHAT- Damn it man, relax. ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? WHY CAN I ONLY SEE IT IN THE GLASS? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! Shut up and listen to me. Ok. OK. What? Don ’ t worry man you ’ ll be fine. Here ’ s what we ’ re going to do. Oh man is that fucking thing still- Don ’ t fucking look. Here, it ’ s simple: just don ’ t think of anything that would remind you of the situation. Yeah, that ’ s pretty easy. I ’ ll just forget about it. No problem. Oh my god is it still there? IS IT STILL THERE?! It ’ s ok. It ’ s not that big of a deal. Right. It ’ s good. You know, I kinda wanted to meet Mike Tyson before I died. I ’ ve fucking worshipped that dude since I was like ten. Dad used to always put his matches on. Wonder what he ’ s up to; it ’ s been a while since I ’ ve seen him. Maybe I ’ ll hop by and see what ’ s up later this week when I get better. What was it I was worried about before? I don ’ t remember. Probably nothing. Are you sure man? It was definitely something that was freaking me out. Bad. Positive. Yup. Everything ’ s ok. Just remember not to think about eating or drinking or Alex. Exactly. Alright. Ah shit it ’ s getting dark.
[ MP ] The Angelic Process	death is an infinite descent. every breath we are but microseconds removed from the relentlessness onslaught of randomness. there are those not saved - students murdered by the deranged, passengers falling in a burning plane. but all of us are dying. the differential is mere duration. every cellular tick we die and are reborn in spades. this infinite process marches on, slicing slivers off of the positive, gradually lessening births to deaths; an infinite descent that culminates in its capital gravity. as we age, waves of static defame our memories. the potentiality of the soul atrophies, as if clogged like a pipe, by multitudes of sand. we forget the concept of a corner, or the age of our niece. we become dense, and an impenetrable fog obscures our vision like cataracts. as we end we cling to our emotions, having lost our memories. we wish to bring these to rest. but zeno is merciless; as we die, we first half to be half dead, and then a third dead, and so on to infinity. and every fractional death reduces our souls from fractionless wholes to particles of dust. time, our driver of worms. all we can hope is to not be forgotten.
[ WP ] Our first contact with intelligent life ends up being a little.. underwhelming .	The search for extraterrestrial life was not an exciting one – it was slow, methodical, and involved a surprising amount of number crunching. The only thing dynamic about the search was the whirr of the cosmic radar dishes – their metallic groaning as they shifted positions seemed to suggest that even they thought the hunt was pointless. The evening shift was drawing to a close, only another hour or so to go. Lesley was in the middle of fixing herself a ( nother ) cup of coffee – her tolerance to caffeine was now so high the ritual was habitual, she could have the stuff intravenously and she could still manage a solid eight hours. Her eyes were drawn to the clock and the corners of her lips tugged ever so slightly before her jaw contorted and a yawn escaped. Ping. Ping. Ping. For a second she thought her microwave noodles were finished, but the timer still had a few seconds left. Then it came again. Ping. Ping. Ping. The butterflies in her stomach were quickly netted. It's obviously not what I think it is. Lesley had learned to treat the ping with caution and distrust since last April. There was something of a tradition amongst the searchers, the newest recruit was to be hazed in the cruellest way possible. You see, before you're left alone on shift, you need to be fully trained – you need to know how to calibrate the equipment – how to alter the positions of radars across continents, how to deal with data dumps and system crashes – and how to initiate the proper protocol should the search turn up positive. The training usually takes a couple of months. It was April 2011, Lesley's first night shift – she was busy refreshing her Facebook feed when she heard the three pings. She knew what that meant. They had found it – and on her shift! Intelligent life not of this world! She could barely contain her excitement but that would not cloud her judgement – she was now working on auto-pilot – the computer was running its secondary data checks while she was drawing up the preprepared media statements and government briefs. This was it – she was making history, it would be her name etched into the annals of history. Her years of study had finally paid of – finally she could wipe that smug look of her sister's face – she was not wasting her life. Unfortunately the computer could not verify the original results – something was amiss, she'd need to consult her colleagues. And so at 4 in the morning she picked up the phone and called her supervisor; it only took her a few minute to recall the evening's events. “ Hmmm, yes, I see... stand by the computer, I'm going to send you something. Let me know when you get it. ” Ping. Ping. Ping. “ I'm going to kill you.... ” were the only words she could manage as she slammed the receiver back into its plastic recess. The bastards! The bastards! I'll get them for this. It was her first night shift, and like all those that came before her, had fallen prey to the prank. They had switched the email notification alert to match the noise made when an intelligent signal had been observed or received. Well. She was n't falling for it again, no way. Ping. Ping. Ping. The three pings again, she scowled and threw herself into the chair by the computer. She pulled up the data logs, highlighted in bright red... there it was... this was no joke - encoded into a radio wave there was a message sent from the other end of the universe. 01101000 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101111 She could n't believe it, after all these years the search was over. A message in binary, easily decoded. Hello. Her fingers danced frenetically across the keyboard, each finger like a hammer as it pounded out the same message in response. Hello. Ping. Ping. Ping. 01010011 01101111 01110010 01110010 01111001 00101100 00100000 01110111 01110010 01101111 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101110 01110101 01101101 01100010 01100101 01110010 00101110 Sorry, wrong number.
[ WP ] Hitler did not commit suicide . He was captured and put on trial in an international court . Write about the trial .	The room was silent. Even the whirling fan and its creaking could n't shake this crowd. Media was in a frenzy for the first few months. `` Down Goes Hitler'', `` War Crimes Exposed'', `` We Got Him'', read the head lines. The world was in a panic but that has all died down now. Our judicial system is slow but effective. Now here I sit, eye to eye with a man who will go down in history books, next to the definition of evil. Adolf Hitler, the Austrian born German dictator, his rise to power was no surprise. Germany was a shell of itself, going through one of the greatest depressions this world has ever seen, but how could we have missed this? Six million, maybe more? We still do n't have all of the numbers. Why did n't he just kill himself, and rid the world of his diseased self. It's in my hands now, he is in my hands. Death sentence, life in prison? Should I have him stoned to death, or maybe put him in one of his own gas chambers? I feel as though I must be above him! WE must be above him. Not stoop to his cruel ways. But how does one let a man like this keep his life. He will not live with pain, he will not suffer. People still believe in his cause! There will be riots if he is allowed his life. It could unfold us back into more war. My hands are sweating. Everyone is looking at me yet I ca n't take my eyes off of him. Impenetrable, his stare back at mine. This must be done, now. I pick up my gavel and slam it down with a thunderous strike three times. `` Order, order in the court please. I have come to a decision in the case of Mr. Adolf Hitler.'' As I open my mouth to strike down my verdict and end this once and for all, a masked figure appears in the back of the room. He is yelling something I ca n't make out. Then I hear it, BANG BANG BANG. Blood spatters into the air and Hitler hits the ground with a thump.
[ WP ] Gods typically wait for a prayer to be completed before taking action , but some of the more cocky deities might jump the gun part way through . You start making an offering ...	Latham and his son, Alam, set their cereal offerings and fine sheep's wool over the bundle of dry sticks over the alter to be burned as a sacrifice to the gods. Latham was teaching his son how to make a proper sacrifice to the gods as it was custom for the transition into being a man. Alam lights the offering, ands steps back from the rectangular prism of holy stone with his father. `` Now,'' Latham says to his son, `` you must say thanks to the gods for what they've done for, and then you may ask for what you need.'' Alam being the naive and quite selfish boy decides that after saying thanks for their bountiful harvest, he will ask for something for himself rather than for the wellebeing of his family. Alam bows to the ground to begin his prayer. He mutters under his breath, `` Thank you gods for our bountiful harvest.'' When the first spark was made on the sacrifice, many gods from the heavens looked down from their mighty homes to absorb this offering. Whichever god received the first sacrifice of a man was the patron god of that man, and stayed with that man for the rest of his life to help him as well as received honorable sacrifices. Helia, the god of harvest dressed in her clothes of fine golden linen, and, Methens, the god of health radiating in his moonlight glow were eager to receive this sacrifice. Unfortunately for them, Bromandude, the god of Greek life, was ready in his popped-collar pink polo and colorful Ray Ban glasses to immediately grant this fellow bro his wishes to receive the sacrifice first. Alam continued his prayer, `` I make this sacrifice to whither god that grants upon my life the great fortune of hella babes, phat piles of gold, and the honor of following your alpha ways.'' After Alam uttered his last words, Bromandude struck a bolt of dopifying lighting at Alam. Upon the strike, Alam was left in a burnt crater. Latham rushed to his son's aid only to find him unhurt, but instead of his humble, rough robes, he was dressed in clothing he has never seen before: bright blue short shorts, boat shoes, a white collar dress shirt, and a sports coat. His son rose from still steaming crater, and says in a demanding tone to his father, `` Yo bro, its a sausage fest down here bro. Where the babes at? His father's mouth lay agape in astonishment of what he was seeing. After Alam had finished speaking, Bromandude delivered the finest heaven-sent babes from his dope pad. The beautiful angels descended down from the heavens and swarmed around Alam, picked him up and ascended him to Dopemanbro's hella fresh dojo. `` Smell ya later, old man.'' Alam said to his father, whose mouth was still agape, as he ascenede to the heavens with the convoy of angels.
[ WP ] There 's a door you 've walked by a thousand times and it 's always been locked . Today it was n't .	It was a door to nowhere. The earthquake was over a decade ago, and there it still stood. The whole damned door, not just the frame. When everything else crumbled, the door held its ground. The first year, their bodies were found in the rubble. There had been a shrine. People lit candles and left flowers and cards. Children made posters with the faces of their lost friends. After two years, the debris had been cleared away, and nothing was left but the shrine. And the door. The candles were long melted. By the third year, the bouquets had wilted. The posters faded till you could n't see the names that had been scrawled there. Occasionally, people would still bring flowers. By year five there was nothing left of the shrine. No one brought flowers anymore. The door stood in an empty field. After ten years, people thought of it as a landmark. The Locked Door. They left a trodden dirt path from the road to the site of tragedy. Smiling, they stood, arm outstretched and took a photo. `` Here I am at The Locked Door,'' they would say, before flipping to the next page in the photo album. I passed the door every day. For ten years, I'd walked up to the door and knelt to pray. The key hung heavy in my pocket. It's my door. It was always my door. Once, it had opened every day. Once, it had been attached to a house filled with laughter. I could still see her face. She would beam at me over her shoulder as the children ran circles around me. `` Look at me, Daddy!'' Look at me. I never had time to look. Always busy. Working. Rushing off to get things done. To build a life for them. A future. I was working when the earthquake hit. When I got home they were gone. There was only the locked door. Ten years. I get out of the car and make my way over the oft-trampled earth. The Locked Door. I pull the key out of my pocket. I do n't need it. The door swings open. I ca n't see the field through the fine mist filling the opening. Or is that my eyes? I step through the door.
[ WP ] What if tattoos just randomly appeared on our skin at key points in our lives and we had to figure out what they meant for ourselves .	For years I'd wondered about the small oval feathery circle beneath my left breast. I never knew what it meant. Maybe something about my heart, or caring or maybe something to do with my particular ability to go numb when the mind worked too hard and run on survival insticnts. As I stood at the bus stop I saw a girl looking through her bag. She was maybe twelve and had on a summery white dress. An old, but average looking car came down the road at a normal speed, and as it got closer I caught a glimpse of a normal looking man leaning out the window. I felt that overworked feeling in my brain as the adrenaline pumped through my veins. I took a leap and felt a sharp pain over my marking, like a pinch. The girl's dress was splattered red but she was fine, screaming in panic, touching the new holes in her backpack, in shock. Nothing else made sense to her, but everything made sense to me. It all made sense to me. Every last little uneven and feathery curve made sense. Every moment of overdrive finally clicked. I knew what it meant now. I had figured it out. It was too late for me. No new markings will adorn my body, but she still had time.
[ WP ] An intense , high-octane , blood-fueled , guns-blazing bank robbery .	Lots of amazing entries in here, keep'em coming. Heres my own shot. ___ Silence. The soles of my oxfords clack against the marble floor. Clack. Clack. Silence. The sun is shining. The rays feel warm. Streaming through the great window ceiling. Harvard stands a few yards before me. He is silent. It is silent. First cruiser. Yelling. Hammering at the silence, do n't break the silence. Harvard's gun clinks. He's champering. I can hear the bullet. Gliding inside the metal. I can hear the spring load. Silence. Stop yelling, officer. It's too late. A finger squeezes. Harvard's light sweat embracing the metal of the trigger. A hammer falls. Ignition. The boom. The boom breaks the silence. The first round is quickly followed by a second, followed by a third. The officers first reaction is yelling, second is screaming and third is dying. Doesnt take long for the rest of the bastards to realize what's going on, and to start shooting back. Their guns sparkle, crackle and i hear the whizz of bullets fly past me, one of them hits me in the stomach, good thing i'm wearing body armour, i think to myself, as i raise my own weapon. It hurts in my stomach, fucking armour, but i shoot back, and my own crackles outmatch the handguns, both we and they know it, and they react to it, crawling behind their cars to take cover, screaming. Fibonacci is coming from out back, fucker is carrying over fifty million in dufflebags, throws one at me and another at Harvard, swat is here. Swat is here. Soon more automatic fire fills the air, the smell of steel, marble and blood on my tongue, I see Homer on the opposite building opening fire with his M60, a real fucking beast. The bullets are literally tearing apart SWAT, a hint of guilt pings at me, but i brush it aside, start moving outside, sun is nice. They're throwing tear gas, so our masks are on, but shit still itches in my nose, the steel on my tongue, tears in my eyes and itches in my nose, what a fucking lovely day i keep telling myself, good thing we brought a fucking tank, and I tell it to Harvard, not because he missed briefing because he didnt, and crack crack crack, i shoot a poor guy in the face, probably a father of two, but because I need to tell myself that we'll be fine, we'll be okay by the end of all this, so i tell him `` Harvard, we're escaping in a fucking tank'', and he's ignoring me, like i would do him. It's waiting inside the parking garage, same building as Homer is shooting from, and i hear more cracks the pain shoots through my head like a fucking train, some asshole blasts my ear off, i roar out in pain, squeeze my trigger, it goes'crack, crack, crack, crack, click click click click', `` Fuck'', is the only thing i can say. I look around me. A sudden rush of calmness falls over me. The cracks fall to background noise. Sound like birds chirping. We're carving a way through the police. Almost inside the garage. Fibonacci is dead. Headshot. I'm reloading my M4. Beautiful thing. Bought it off an italian guy. Harvard stumbles. I forgive him. He falls. Not stumbling, he's shot. My soles clack past him. This is the last time we ever see eachother. He stares up at me. His eyes filled with sorrow. I forgive him. I jump onto the tank. Abrams. Robbed an army caravan in daylight. Harvard is fighting his last stance. His pistol is cracking. He shoots one, two, three officers. One of them is an uncle. Harvard does n't know. He's just shooting them. I forgive him. Homer hops in with me. I'm staring at Harvard through the slit. Homer yells - it's background noise. Engine's running. Tank's moving. Harvard's dead. I forgive him.
[ WP ] `` That 's nice , dear . ''	I spent all this time building Her a statue. Months, cutting away at a huge block of marble, caressing it as if it was Her own skin I was touching, making love to it, dreaming about it, about Her, about the moment I'll show it to Her. I carefully carved every fold of robe, every strand of hair. I forgone sleep, I lost weight, I, I, I... there's barely an `` I'' to talk about after all this time. My friends understood and left me alone after a while. They know of my obsession. Some share it even. Maybe it was the dehydration, maybe the lack of food, but while working I kept seeing Her, feeling Her blessed presence. I knew I was doing the right thing when I quit my job to finish the statue before Her birthday. When the day came, I prepared well for it. I changed my filthy, smelly clothes, I took a purifying shower, I shaved. The statue was already at the temple when I got there. The celebration was just starting, close to midnight, and it would last a full day, or even a day and a half for some. She is loved by many. The big inner yard was full with my brothers and sisters, singing and dancing under flying lanterns. Inside, the priests were preparing for the midnight sermon. My statue was unveiled at the dawn ceremony, the one that marked her birth, the birth of all stars on the sky. We tanked her for the light and for the warmth, and for life itself. As I was chanting Her hymns, one voice lost in thousands, tears streaming down my face, swaying with the crowd, back and forth, back and forth, I heard Her voice in my head, I felt Her presence all around me, in me, filling me with Her endless love: `` That's nice, dear.''. I fainted. -- -- -- -033
[ IP ] The ghosts remain , though the living have moved on	It's been just over 400 years since the grand banquet of mad Lord Louis, and yet his guests still remain, the events which transpired in his after-dinner parlour had long been presumed to be in the realm of myth. That was, until the new owner, Charles Clarke - `` Investor and Renovator'', bought the long abandoned stately home for conversion to a high-class hotel. Charles was no superstitious man, but unfortunately many contractors were and would not even take the job, he eventually found workers to do the job but it took far longer than his schedule allowed. The first complaint from the contracters was of the room being cold even though it was just out of summer and so Charles bought heaters, yet the room still remained cold. # flashback to 400 years ago clink `` Well I must say this champagne is simply divine, where ever did you get it from?'' came from a foppish guest dressed in a luxurious velvet suite, obviously from a rather high social standing from the heavily affected accent alone. I ran out of steam here's where was going to take it 1. what happened to his esteemed guests ( obviously mass murder, but how ) 1. when the myth was uncovered to be actual historical fact 1. something creepy happens in present 1.?? 1. dead people?
[ EU ] Superman breaks up a group bent on biological warfare . Exposed to a host of diseases in the process , he becomes patient zero .	A vast, beautiful estate reduced to ashes. With the ruins overgrown with all sorts of vegetation, it was almost unbelievable that there used to be a mansion there. Once, this place would have been a treasure trope for robbers. The woman wondered if there still was anything worth robbing, although money was absolutely useless. This is where the Wayne Manor used to be, she was sure of that. And, so, the entrance to the basement had to be somewhere around in the rubble. She moved the remnants of what used to be a majestic house, trying to find the way to go under the ground. And she did. Wooden stairs, or rather, what remained of them, brought her into the old and overgrown basement storage and it was hardly surprising how large it was. Nothing, however, seemed out of place. There were some boxes, some old stored furniture, but nothing besides that. A whole hour of searching did not reveal in the slightest that there was something other than the junk she saw. Taking out a small recorder from her pouch, she opened her last file. “ Well, this was useless, ” she said into the microphone. “ That the Waynes ever dealt with weapons was an outrageous thought to begin with. I should really stop listening to rumours. Although, I didn ’ t really have a choice. It was worth the shot. Luthor better have more STEM for me just for making this trip. That ’ s it for this lead. Lois Lane, over and out. ” It was already getting dark outside, so staying in that rundown basement seemed like a better idea. The Screechers would have a hard time finding anyone underground anyway. She had some food, but deciding to save it for later she sat down against a wall. Huddled, with both eyes closed, she waited for the night to pass. It was then, in the absolute quiet that she heard the whisper of a wind. It was not far from where she rested. “ What ’ s the worse that can happen? ” she said to herself, as she looked for the source. A crack in the wall seemed to be it. In the dark, it wasn ’ t clear, but there was something obviously peculiar about the wall that wouldn ’ t have shown unless she hadn ’ t been looking for it. She could make out the rectangular outline of a slab that did not seem to fit there. So she pushed on it, hoping to make it budge. It took some time, but it worked. In the south wall of a storage room of what used to be the Wayne Manor, Lois stood at the top of a set of metal stairs that led to only more darkness. Her flashlight could only reach so far as to make out some structures in the distance, but nothing more. There was the sound of rushing water, but nothing was as overpowering as the sound of the bats. As she stepped down, making sure the steps were still intact, the lights started to come on one by one revealing more of the place. And when the whole place was illuminated, all she could do was stare in awe. Where the stairs ended was a large grated platform. On one end were a myriad of electronics. Scattered all along it were several display cases and she did not need to jog her memories to know what she was looking at. “ The Batman? This is where he came from? That would mean Bruce Wayne was The Batman? ” Lois couldn ’ t really believe that all of that could possibly fit together, but it somehow made sense. For once she felt that luck was on her side. With the power on, with the computers running, there could be an infinite amount of information she could potentially go through. If Batman was as smart as Clark said he was, then he should have access to some information on the disease. Her instincts were correct. Stored in those hard drives were data, maps, images and a whole lot more regarding all of the first outbreaks. Bruce had done his homework. And she knew that somewhere in there, there was information on the source of it all. Like a mad scientist, Lois ravaged through the information. Guns were useful against Screechers, but an answer to the question would be even better. With the Justice League gone, only Luthor had the means to create a cure. What she found, however, was not something that made sense. There was something missing. A loud noise from up the stairs distracted her. The first thing that she could possibly think of was to try to hide. But that did not go very well and before even being able to move, she found herself in the air, her feet dangling far above the metal platform. The sudden change had caused her head to spin. “ Why are you here? ” her captor asked, as she started to realize what had come to pass. That voice, those dark eyes and hair. Lois ’ s fear turned into exhilaration. “ Diana, ” she screamed. “ It ’ s me, Lois. ” Diana seemed confused and Lois wasn ’ t surprised. A whole lot had changed about her since the outbreak. She got over Clark ’ s disappearance and Jimmy ’ s death but surviving in the world took it ’ s toll. But how happy she was to see a friend again, a friend who was gone was something she could hardly contain. With tears in her eyes she threw her arms around the Amazon while still in the air. And Diana responded in kind. Even though she did not look the same, the voice still belonged to Lois. “ How did you find me? ” Lois asked the Amazon. “ Bruce told me about this place before he died, ” replied Diana. “ He gave me a device that would tell me if someone entered the place after he was gone. It seems he was finally able to trust me. Like he knew that he was turning. I can not believe that of all the people who could possibly come here, it was you. Why are you here? ” “ Luthor ’ s men had intel on a possible weapons cache that we could use. I came to check. ” “ Luthor? ” Diana seemed even more confused. “ Are you working for him? ” “ With him. He has STEM, seems to help against the virus. And as long as he has the monopoly on it, might as well get on his good side. You seem rather beaten up yourself. ” “ What were you looking for here? ” “ Anything that could help me. ” “ And what did you find? ” “ Diana, where is Clark? ” Lois asked, instead of answering. “ I know you know what happened. Where is he? ” Diana was quiet for a while. There was no easy way of telling it to her. “ Do you remember the incident at the West River Warehouses? ” Lois ran off towards the computer where Bruce ’ s file was still open. She knew she saw that name somewhere in that file. Scrolling up to the entry from two years ago, she finally found what was missing before. 25th November, 2018: West River Harbour, Warehouse Possible bio-weapons cache and distribution hub. Extreme Danger. Send only metahumans, possibly Superman. “ It was him, ” said Diana, sensing Lois ’ pain. “ He was the one where it all started. ”
[ WP ] September 11 , 3001	`` Please stand for the national anthem.'' I stood. It was an odd time, celebrating the defining moment that would lead our forefather's forefathers to this moment. I stood with my left hand on my heart, shoulders straight, chest out, head held high and heels clicked together. The anthem began slowly and filled the air. `` Today, we celebrate our glorious beginning! Brothers! Sisters! Unite!'' I raised my right arm to the air. `` We celebrate the beginning of our glorious struggle!'' I folded my right hand into a fist. `` Praise be with him!'' I closed my eyes. `` Hail Leeroy Jenkins!'' We hailed his holy name in unison. Who knew mis-quoting a funny video would lead to this?
[ EU ] It 's Always Sunny Meets The Purge	“ The Gang Purges ” The stroke of seven pm rang the way it always did in sunny Philadelphia. The gang was at Paddy ’ s like they always were. Only today was March 21st, the night of the infamous Purge. The government said that the Purge helped everyone, made things better, but the gang never saw any of those improvements over at Paddy ’ s. It was always slow, and they were always having to rub nickels together. The TV blared: “ This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use… “ “ Bullshit. ” Frank huffed as he turns off the TV. “ Ain ’ t no Purge gunna get to us. They never come this far out anyway. ” Sweet Dee and Dennis are behind the bar, Dee wiping, and Dennis taking inventory, and constant sips of their supply of booze. “ Come on Frank! I was watching that. ” Dee gripes. “ Why? ” Dennis chimes in. “ It literally says the same thing EVERY year. ” “ I dunno. I kinda like it. It makes makes me feel vulnerable. ” “ Shut up Dee. You ’ re always vulnerable. ” Dennis quips. “ Yeah. Everything scares you! ” Frank adds. “ I will have you know that I am a strong, powerful woman. ” Dee retorts. “ Nothing scares me, not even the Purge! ” Just as the word Purge slips out of her mouth, Mac loudly enters from the back, slamming a case of alcohol down on the bar. Dee jumps and takes a karate pose. “ Nerves of steel, this one. ” Mac says flashing a smirk at Dennis and Frank. “ What ’ s the matter Dee? Afraid some guy will come in here and Purge ya? ” “ Don ’ t be! ” Frank pulls out two guns. One pistol, and one revolver. “ I got my pieces right here in case we need them. ” Dennis scoffs. “ When do we ever need protection on a Purge night? ” “ No one ever comes out this way anyway. ” Mac unknowingly reiterates. Just then, Charlie bursts through the door, dressed almost entirely in leather, and ready to fight! Little does Charlie know, his outfit is a sex suit. “ YEEHAW! ” Charlie yells out. “ Are you sons of bitches ready for some purging? ” As he barges in, Charlie trips over the end bar stool, knocking it, and himself, over. “ We should probably rearrange our stools. I think it would really help the fung shoe of the bar. ” Charlie says trying to cover his embarrassment. “ First of all, it ’ s Fung Shui, you uncultured heathen. ” Mac comments. “ And secondly, you just want to move it because you always trip over that one. We can ’ t help it if you ’ re an idiot. ” “ Why do you look like a gay biker?'' Dee remarks, examining Charlie ’ s outfit. “ More like Mr. Slave. ” Dennis laughs. “ Hey! This was discounted for purge night. Plus it ’ s very stretchy, for active purgers and all their purging needs. ” Charlie defends. Frank starts to get excited. “ You got the outfit, I got the guns. What else you got? ” Charlie pulls out a can of black spray paint. “ I got this for a dollar. They said it was spray on war paint. ” “ Charlie, thats fucking spray paint. ” Mac warns. Charlie sprays it on his face anyway, applying a nice coat of black face on. “ Phew that smells bad. ” Charlie croaks, eyes going red. “ You look like a fucking darkie! Hey, thats a good idea. Camouflage! This purge thing looks fun. ” Frank snatches the can away from Charlie. “ Let me have some! ” Frank fills his face as the others wave off the fumes. “ God dammit Charlie! ” Mac yells. “ Every year you pull this crazy bullshit, and you ’ ve never even purged! ” Charlie shrugs. “ Come off it guys. It ’ s just in case anything happens. ” Dennis takes Charlie by the shoulders. “ How many purges have we been through? ” Charlie looks baffled. “ Thats what I thought. ” Dennis continues. “ And how many times have we seen anything happen around here on Purge night? ” Charlie reluctantly mumbles “ Never. ” “ Thats right. Never. ” Dee chimes in. “ So what is is that you expect to do with this get up? Go to amateur dance night down at the gay bar? ” Frank coughs. “ Don ’ t let them get you down Charlie. I think you look great. ” He emphasizes his statement by giving Charlie a firm slap on the ass. Just then, a black biker enters. He looks like he has seen many a purge. The gang tenses up. The man strides up to the bar and slaps his hand on the counter. “ One beer please! ” he exclaims. Mac quietly uncaps a beer, and slides it over to the man. Frank readies his guns as the tension fills the room. The biker chugs the beer quickly and throws down a fiver on the bar. “ Thanks for the quickie. ” He says as he starts to walks out. “ Wait, you ’ re not here to kill us? ” Dennis asks. “ Or rape us? ” Dee says, sexily hinting. The biker gives the gang a look over, and ends on Charlie and Frank. “ No. I got someone else in mind. But when done I might just be coming back for those two assholes. ” He points at Charlie and Frank, and exits slowly. “ Dammit guys. Not cool ” Mac shouts. “ It ’ s only been purge night for 10 minutes and you ’ ve already become racist pricks. You put on black face and now we have a biker coming back to purge us. ” “ Or rape us! ” Dee exclaims excitedly. “ Fuck Dee! No ones raping anyone! ” Dennis yells backs. Dee walks away disappointed just as a dwarf man walks in. He also looks like a biker, but the gang is far less threatened by him. The dwarf, however, lays an intense look on the gang as he approaches the bar. The dwarf struggles up onto the end stool as the gang watches silently. Once he ’ s up, he orders. “ One beer please. ” the dwarf says, pulling a gun out and placing it on the counter, pointed directly at Mac. “ Holy shit! Are you purging us? ” Mac yells putting up his hands. Dee leans in. “ Or raping us? ” The entire gang yells. “ DEE! ” “ What? I ’ ve never had a dwarf. ” she laments. The dwarf shuts them all up with one yell. “ Quiet! No ones purging anyone. ” Dee looks on excitedly. “ Or raping anyone! ” She skulks away. “ All I want is a beer. On the house of course. ” The hours pass on and the dwarf continues to down drinks left and right, all for free, and all under the threat of a good, hard purging. He drinks so much that Charlie had to go to the back and get another load of beer. Dennis and Mac plot. “ We got ta get this guy outta here Mac. He ’ s drinking our entire stock! ” Dennis frets. “ I know, I know. But what do we do? He ’ s got a gun! ” Mac replies. Frank joins the conversation. “ His gun is bigger than he is, and so is mine. ” Frank pulls out his revolver, but Mac and Dennis quickly shoo it away before the dwarf can see. “ What? ” Frank questions. “ He ’ s completely pissed. Plus he probably can ’ t even lift his piece. What we need to do is ambush him and take that tiny bastard out, purge style. ” “ Sneaking, yes. Purging, no. ” Dennis says. Frank scoffs in disappointment. “ Come one guys. I ’ ve never purged before. ” “ No purging Frank. Jesus! ” Mac says frustratedly. The three come to an agreement and begin to slowly make their way behind the dwarf, who happens to be in mid chug when they get behind him. Mac motions for them to fan out as the dwarf finishes his beer. “ Another! ” The dwarf screams, throwing the glass to the ground, smashing it. The smashed glass repels the three would be ambusher, and the dwarf notices their presence. “ What are you assholes up to? ” He pulls out his gun, waving it at the gang. “ I thought I told you to get me more beer. ” Dee cautiously comes around with a broom and mop to clean up the dwarfs mess, and sweeps begins to sweep up the mess as Charlie enters. “ Don ’ t worry mister killer dwarf. I got the beer right here! ” As Charlie rounds the corner, he trips over his least favorite stool, the one the dwarf is sitting on, causing himself, and the dwarf to fall. When the dwarf hits the ground, his gun goes off and he accidentally blows his own brains out, all over Dee. The gang looks on in bewildered astonishment. “ What the fuck just happened? ” Asks Mac. “ I think we just accidentally purged. ” Dennis says, unsure. Charlie stands up and examines the dwarfs remains and Dee. “ Better clean this up Dee. ” Charlie says handing her the mop. “ It ’ s really gunna ruin the fung shoe of this place. ” End.
[ WP ] Everyone is born with a superpower , but no one knows what theirs is until they are forced to use it in a life-or-death situation .	Isaiah had chosen the School of Punishment for one reason. `` They have these other kids there, like, berserkers or something, they really test you.'' Nobody knew what happened to the Punishment graduates. Even the applicants often disappeared, the rare one went for the test only and then backed out after passing. `` It's because they tried to cheat,'' he continued, he gave off an air of suffocation, a straight As all star through fifth grade kind of kid. Some of these so called super powers just turned out super lame. Nowadays a lot of people did n't even try to find out what they were capable of. A strange thing happened when it was discovered. When the proof finally came, in the form of a publicized murder attempt, almost every person who had been permanently injured in some way jumped to discover their new talent. Some could fly of course, go invisible, the usual stuff. There were weird things too though. A passenger on a train that derailed started coughing up donuts, as she had become choked on one at the time of the accident. Soon the strange and unstable nature of the circumstances became clear. The talent was granted on terms unknown, dictated by a total circumstance. The specifics of the life or death experience often had little to say about it. `` That's why I'm going to Punishment,'' Isaiah brandished his right hand, the middle finger reduced at the first joint. The word around school was he cut it off right at the end of chopping carrots, dumped it in the soup before the razored knuckle had time to sting. He was still a douchebag. The lenses spattered with brain and sticky blood. `` Haha told you!'' Crowed Teensy. He snatched the mic and snapped `` Cut her loose,'' the joy lifting off like helium. He hated seeing a Zerk set free. The gimp masked person fell limp to the floor. Not minutes earlier she had pulsed at the end of a restraint. A suicide jumper, Lydia had gone over by trying to cheat her way into a true super power. Not being one to pause for reflection Isaiah had kicked the pistol across the floor without a flinch. `` Holy shit look,'' Teensy said, he's a goner. Lydia scooped the gun and whiplashed it to her wrist, the round poured out like a bullet, an ace serve in a racquetball court. One hundred bowls appeared. Each held a different soup, wholesome, clean, until Isaiah's gore sprayed out. Lydia shook her head, a clearing motion. `` I guess that's why they call it the Pun-ishment school.'' Edit: some editing, spelling and stuff.
[ WP ] Your character builds a home outside of town on a lake . 20 years later the town has exploded and your house is surrounded by multi-million dollar houses and your character can no longer afford to keep the house .	I stare at the envelope on the table. I know what it is and I know what it means. It has the banks ugly logo on the front and I can see that the piece of paper inside is red. I'm running out of chances with them. How far behind am i now, 6 months? 12 months? It does n't even matter I have no savings and my pension wont dig me out of this hole. I remember the good old days when there was nobody here. I'd build furniture in my workshop by day and hope to pull a couple of fish out of the lake for dinner. Cindy loved it here. I sometimes thank god that she is not here to see what this place has become today. I open the door and head out to the deck. i sit and light my pipe. I remember when the sight of the water used to be so calming to me. How can I relax now. Look at that snivelling little shit from next door riding his jet ski up and down in front of my place. what is he thirty years old at most? How the hell does he afford that place. His property must be at least two million dollars. he told me he sold a tech business. What does that even mean. how does it pay for that house, the boat, jet ski, the Porsche? Probably a drug dealer, that would make sense. Oh, he's waving at me, yes good morning Greg you piece of shit, nice to see you. The stream of women coming and going from that place too, the noisy parties every weekend. This place will never be the same, and it's all the fault of people like Greg. They could n't just leave me be out here. No their corporate greed, their narcissism, they have to have everything. Never a thought for anyone else. Would step on anyone just to get a little bit more. They make me sick and symbolise everything that's wrong with this country. I guess it's time to finally relent and sell up. There's still enough value in the property once the loan is cleared to buy a small house somewhere i suppose. I could probably get a small one bedroom place in an outer suburb. I have no choice now. What's that? Oh the postman. Probably another letter of demand from those fuckers at the bank. I shuffle my way out to the front and climb the steps to the roadside. I stand there for a moment remembering a time when there was n't even a road here, let alone walled and gated off mansions. As though the people inside are so important they could n't possibly live anywhere but inside Fort Knox. I open my letterbox and retrieve a bundle of envelopes and head back inside my rickety old house. I pull up a seat at the kitchen table and begin to shuffle through the letters. Electricity, gas, phone. No bank at least. What's this. A plain white envelope, with my name handwritten on it. I open the envelope with my creaky old fingers and read. -- -- -- - Dear Norm, I am writing to ask for your permission to petition the local council. You are an inspiration to the community with what you have achieved in your lifetime. With your blessing, I wish to apply to have the Lake renamed in your honour to Lake Hooper. It would be a small token of the gratitude I feel for sharing this neighbourhood with you. Despite my age, I have significant influence in the area and I'm fairly confident that with your say so, I can get this off the ground and gather support from the other residents. I eagerly await your response as i would like to get the ball rolling on this immediately if possible. Lastly i enclose a gift. I understand you are a proud man and it is entirely at your discretion to accept it or not. Either way, we are neighbours and if we ca n't look out for each other during the tough times then this country really has gone to the wolves. Sincerely Greg Sanders -- -- -- -- -- -- Another piece of paper is in the envelope. I know what it is and a tear rolls down my cheek as I remove it and turn it over. A cheque made out in my name for $ 500,000. I stare at the numbers for a moment and let it settle in. The numbers float and spin in front of my eyes, whirling away into the darkness and I weep. I shuffle off to the laundry to get my broom to clean up the shreds of paper that now litter my kitchen floor.
[ WP ] The desolation of hope	I turned off the lights. Stood in front of the window, watchings lone cars go by in the silent night. My love, I sometimes remember. Years passed. I do not move when I see her face. Minutes pass. Turns out, I forgot to go grab the newspaper this morning. It lies now on the pavement, drenched in rain. Water dribbles continuously in the kitchen. Can not fully turn it off. But I always enjoy listening to it. Reliable and steady companion to my fading ear. My life, I barely remember. Blurs of ancient thoughts. Train wrecks in old newspapers, drenched in passive forgiveness. I know the cage I am trapped in. I know the ways to escape it. Can not yet find the resolve. But there is nobody to watch me struggle anymore.
[ WP ] At birth , every person is given a necklace that grows hot when their significant other is nearby . Many people spend their lifes travelling the world , looking for their other half , only for the necklace to remain cold . One day , you feel your chest grow slightly warmer .	I did n't often tell people I kept my stone. I would be far from the only person to not have it. A lot of people had gotten rid of theirs. Including him. `` My career is n't good for marriage,'' he had told me. He'd joke that he was n't going to have to kids or get married because neither agreed with military life. How sad, I always thought. Why would you choose to be alone in life? He was a very strange person. He did n't care much for friends or love, but he always made me feel important. He'd always worry over me, never over himself. I hit my head once and he'd always pressure me to go to a doctor. `` Did n't you hit your head the other day?'' I had said, frustrated with him. `` I'm not as important as you,'' Came his response. I had never felt so out my depth, and never have I ever felt more in love. I always tried my best to not idealized the guys I liked, but I honestly could n't imagine a person better than him. He always told me he was n't a good person but i had never witnessed his informed flaws. We grew closer. I wanted to tell him everything I had ever thought, and just being around him made me so blissfully happy. People always told we should date, but he'd just smile and say I was his best friend. I was happy with this though. I saw his brilliance when he did n't, and he always saw mine. I was okay with just being his friend forever. He always said he would n't fall in love, he'd never date, he'd never marry. So imagine my surprise when he sat on my couch for the first time, smiled and turned to me. `` I think I'm in love with you.'' I did n't tell many people that I kept the stone. I hated it anyways, because it was wrong. Because he was in my living room and it was as cold as ice.
[ WP ] You open your door to see your father dragging your mother 's lifeless body across the kitchen floor . He looks at you and without hesitation says , `` get over here and help me get rid of your mother . ''	I watched him kill her. And yet, I finally felt free. I'd walked in just as my dad smacked the brick one more time into my mothers bleeding skull. Propped up against the fridge, her hands were almost limp by her breasts; at this point they no longer had the energy to protect her head from the beating. After the final hit, they dropped limply to the floor. I stared blankly at my dad, but I could see something... wonderous in his eyes - it seemed the life from my mother had been sucked from her cooling corpse into his. His back had almost indistinguishably straightened, his shoulders looked stronger, and his face seemed taunt. Slowly his fingers loosened from her blouse - but not in the defeated way I knew him for - and her body slumped to the floor. He had always seemed defeated by her, but this time, it was as if he was letting the sands of her control slip away through his fingers. He seemed truely happy. I closed the door behind me before Dewy could walk in. While he might have revelled in this scene, he was too young for this. The door clicked softly and I heard him run into the door. Hal stared my way, his breathing returning to normal, blood spattered across his shirt and arms.'Get over here, help me get rid of your mother'. I did n't move. I could n't. I stood frozen with my foot against the door, watching my dads sense of control slowly shift from inspirational to psychopathic. Within seconds he had grabbed her ankles and was dragging her through the living room. I couldnt see the stairs, but the rhythmic thumps suggested he was pulling the body upstairs. I do n't know how long I'd been standing there, but I knew Dewy must have called the police because they were pushing at the door behind my back. Chemical smells seeped from the upstairs rooms; I didnt want to know what dad was doing and I didnt want to know, to be honest. I'd always wanted him free of my mother, and now he was, but if I stood aside, if I opened the door, then he'd be back in a similar cage courtesy of the US legal system. Upstairs my father escaped his past, and possibly his future, while justice ( increasingly impatient ) knocked on the door behind me. And here I was, trapped in the middle as always...
[ WP ] You come across a room , locked from the outside . You hear a man 's voice from inside , pleading for you to open it . But painted on the door reads `` Never open '' .	An Open Mind Ethan stared off into the pitch blackness. It seemed to envelope him into some kind of stranglehold. Off in the distance he could just make out the tiniest glimmer of light. He stumbled forward, never letting his gaze deviate from the glistening spell of illumination. As he got closer he found, to his relief, that the light got brighter and washed away the darkness all around him. Under the light was an old scratched and chipped wooden door with a rust tarnished handle and keyhole. Hanging beside the door was a key on a nail; the key was just as tarnished as the handle. Without thinking Ethan reached for the key and turned it over in his hands. There was something strangely familiar about it. Suddenly a voice called out from behind the door: ‘ Help me, please. ’ Ethan had jumped back a few steps and was now watching the door intently in case someone, or something, should break through and attack him. ‘ I can hear you out there, ’ cried the voice. ‘ Please open the door. I ’ m trapped in here. ’ He looked down at the key once more and decided that the captive should be released. He didn ’ t know who was in there or why they had been imprisoned, but he knew that the person didn ’ t deserve to be locked up in such a horrid place as this. As he placed the key into the lock the door began to shudder on its hinges. The shuddering became more ferocious as the red letters appeared across the top op the door as if being written by an unseen hand. It was a simple warning: NEVER OPEN. Who was inside that room? What had they done to deserve such a punishment? ‘ Ethan! ’ screamed the voice. How did the prisoner know his name? ‘ Ethan, you have to let me go. If you don ’ t we ’ ll both die, don ’ t you understand? ’ The voice sounded familiar too. Where had he heard it before? It had been years since he had known anyone he could call a friend and he never liked to force his attentions on anyone, so who could it be? ‘ You are my last hope, Ethan. If you don ’ t release me it will be the end for both of us… ’ ‘ Why are you in there? ’ asked Ethan, finally finding his voice. ‘ How soon we forget, ’ said the voice, sarcastically. ‘ I don ’ t know you. ’ ‘ You know me, Ethan, you must remember me. ’ ‘ Why are you here? ’ ‘ You ought to know the answer to that; after all, it was you who put me here. ’ ‘ I would never do something like that. I would never leave someone in this place. ’ ‘ Try to remember, Ethan, please. ’ It was hard to think of himself as someone who would lock another person away and forget about it. He must be dreaming; that was the answer. None of this was real and he was merely at home in bed asleep having a nightmare. The prisoner started striking the door with force and let out an ear splitting scream. ‘ This is your last chance, Ethan. Let me be free, please…before we are lost forever. ’ Ethan looked at the key once more and back at the door as the words multiplied rapidly all over it. Before long the wood of the door was hidden behind a mass of red paint…at least he hoped it was paint. Ethan turned away from the door and tossed the key as far into the darkness as he could. As it clanged along the floor the voice called out one last time from beyond the door: ‘ It is over, Ethan, ’ said the voice, apologetically. ‘ I tried my best to aid you in recovery, but you have made your choice. I hope your suffering is short and death claims you swiftly. ’ Ethan fell to his knees and started to cry. He didn ’ t know why he was crying or why the voice had instilled such emotion in him. Then the light went out and he was in the darkness once more. … ‘ How is Mr Bradley today? ’ asked Dr Finch, glancing over the notes on a clipboard hanging at the foot of the bed. ‘ The same as usual Doctor, ’ replied the nurse, looking despondently at the man sitting in the wheelchair, staring at the wall. ‘ No response to any stimuli. ’ ‘ I will return to see you tomorrow, Ethan, ’ said the Doctor, patting Ethan ’ s shoulder. Ethan just continued staring straight ahead at the wall. To everyone else it was a blank grey wall; to Ethan it was a door, a door that was now covered in blood red paint. Behind that door was the mind he had lost so many years ago. That was how he had recognized the voice; it was his own voice calling out to him for help. How long had he been here at the hospital looking at that door? It seemed an eternity since he had seen anything but that damn door. Could it be an eternity? Who knows? The one thing Ethan knew was that that door was to stay closed forever; it was never to be opened.

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