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[ WP ] `` Go to hell ! '' the customer screams at you . `` I ca n't , '' you say . `` Satan still has a restraining order against me . '' She throws the item at you and storms off in a huff . You were n't lying , or being a smart ass . Satan really does have a restraining order out on you .
| `` Hello,'' asked the woman, `` how much does this cost? I could n't find a marked price.'' `` You wo n't,'' I replied, not looking up from my book, `` not on that, or anything else in this shop, save the cheap trinkets on that rack near the door. Now, lets have a look at what you've found.'' I turned to face her. She was holding a small statue of a demon that was more horns and spikes than bare skin. I returned my attention to my book and said, `` You could n't afford that.'' `` How can you tell? I'll have you know I am a very wealthy woman, and I came in here looking for a souvenir for nephew back home, who seems terribly interested with this sort of thing. Otherwise, I'd never have entered this tacky shop,'' came her indignant response. I kept my gaze locked on the book, and said, `` If you want something for your nephew, go to the trinket rack. That is not the sort of thing he would want, or that he should be having. I do n't care how much you have anymore; even if it was enough, I would n't sell that to you now knowing that you plan on giving it to a child.'' `` How DARE you accuse me of being an irresponsible aunt!'' she screamed. `` Its not an accusation, its the truth. I can see it. That's not the issue here. The issue is that you have no idea what it is you are holding, or what it symbolizes,'' I said, still calm in the face of her fury. It was an odd contrast. `` Go to hell,'' was all she had to say. Thankfully, I had a comeback for that: `` I ca n't. Satan still has a restraining order against me.'' She made a disgruntled sound, threw the pointy statue at me, and left, making a futile attempt at slamming the two-way door on her way out. I caught the figurine without looking up. No damage was done to the figurine. The same could not be said for my hand, which now sported some nasty punctures and scrapes from the thorny demon. It could have been worse; goodness knows what would have happened had it broken and the demon been released.
I run an occult shop in New Orleans. The difference between me and most places is that my items are the real deal. People who are in the know have a way of finding my place, while the myriad other shops keep the uninitiated out. Hiding in plain sight is a time-honored tactic for a reason.
The young lady in the back breathed a sigh of relief at the other woman's departure. She had been carefully inspecting a mangled pickaxe that had been crushed in a coal mine cave-in resulting from poor management and safety standards, along with its owner. `` That happen a lot?'' She asked. `` Not really. Most people who do n't know the truth about this shop just buy a cheap keepsake from the wall or take their business elsewhere. You clearly have taste, though. Implement of death and vengeance, that. Interested?'' She came back with a question of her own: `` What you said, about Satan having a restraining order out on you, was that true?'' I sighed, and nodded. I had hoped she would n't bring that up. `` Then that would make you The Grifter!'' she exclaimed. I nodded again.
`` The Grifter.'' The name was a badge of honor and a mark of shame at the same time. I'm one of an obscure category of people known as the Traders. We bargain with higher powers, cosmic entities, and other such beings as a way of life. Most of us do n't have souls. That is always the first thing to go. For us, a soul is a nest-egg, a place to start from. Turns out you do n't really need one. Lucky thing too. Because true names are even more valuable than souls, we all go by pseudonyms of some kind, and sooner or later we acquire a title. The young lady had sorted out mine. I got it after gaining a reputation for making less than fair trades. Not many people can con demons, angels, and eldritch horrors, and nobody as well as I could. Eventually, Satan got so frustrated with me that he permanently barred me from Hell.
The young lady continued, `` So, are the legends real then? Did you really sell the rights to your soul after you died to three different entities? Did you really bargain with Death himself for save haven from all three? Did you-'' `` Look,'' I cut her off, `` If you want to ask me about this, we should do it in private. Go to the back room, I'll close up shop.''
I made sure that all seven locks on the front door were engaged, as well as the chain and both bolts. I lit the warding incense and candles, then headed to the back. The girl ( she had too much energy and too little restraint for me to consider her ladylike anymore ) was looking around at my private collection, mouth agape. I coughed, once, causing her to jump and turn around. `` Okay,'' I said, `` Let's take this one question at a time. I can tell you wo n't leave until you are satisfied.'' She moved closer to me with slow and soft steps, then whispered, `` Are you really immortal?'' The question was bound to come up. `` Yes,'' I said, `` but only by accident. Satan barred me from Hell, and I've done too much wrong and made too many infernal pacts to go to Heaven. Purgatory would be an option, had God not shut the place down when the church started selling indulgences to line their own pockets. So, with no afterlife to go to, I ca n't pass on.'' The entire story was actually rather embarrassing. Most inexperienced, arrogant, or overambitious Traders try to bargain for eternal life at some point. Fools, the lot of them. I wo n't say what happens to them, but it is too unpleasant for words. The price on that is far too high. Smart Traders instead bargain for years, living on bought time and using it to accrue more bargaining chips to exchange for more time on this Earth. Some of them go mad, scraping just for a couple of weeks, afraid of the death they have avoided for so long. Me, I managed to become immortal by getting locked out of every afterlife possible. In doing so, I severely restricted my trading prospects, so I'm pretty ineffectual these days. That's why I view that as a mistake. Currently, I'd been around for roughly 150 years.
The girl had returned to awestruck silence once more, thankfully for me. She could n't have been much over 20, and was rather pretty. She had no soul anymore, which marked her as a Trader. The fact that she knew of me just sealed the deal. Whether it was fame or infamy, I could n't tell, but I was well known. Somewhere, in the back of my head, a devious idea sprung up.
`` What is your name?'' I asked. The question was, would she take the bait.
`` You know full well my true name is too valuable, but they call me The Mermaid.'' she answered. It had been worth a try. With her true name, I could have controlled her to some degree, maybe used her as a proxy and gotten back into business as a Trader.
`` Very good,'' I said, `` clearly you are n't as green as I thought. Why'Mermaid', though?'' It was her turn to sigh. Clearly she was as embarrassed about the story behind her name as I was about mine, but she answered, `` I made a bargain with a sea spirit seven years ago. It was my first, and I was just thirteen. The true meaning of what I was doing was beyond my understanding. I sold my soul and got unfathomable beauty and charm in return. A stupid thing to trade for a soul, I know, but I was able to use it. I got in the habit of seducing my classmates, getting favors from them. From favors, it turned into things I could trade with spirits, and that's how I got into this business.'' Okay, so she was a bigger fish than I had originally thought. I'd pegged her for a novice, but most people do n't start that young. I gave a whistle, impressed, `` You're smarter than you look. I'll be honest, I was hoping to get your true name, use you as a pawn to do more trades. You'd be surprised how restricting being locked out of Hell can be on someone in our profession.'' She cast her gaze downward. `` You do n't need my true name, or to use me as a pawn. I heard about you early in my career, and have looked up to you for some time. Please,'' she said, turning her head to look me dead in the eye, `` make me your apprentice!'' That caught me off guard. She was clearly competent, but not confident. I thought this over. She was n't wrong to want to learn from me; I probably knew every trick in the book, and, even after Satan had essentially put out a burn notice on me, I still had no shortage of connections. But what was in it for me? I supposed it would be nice to have help around the shop. What's more, with an apprentice, I could maybe do some business. Besides, she was like a lost puppy that had followed me home. I thought back to my own young days as a naiive Trader. How nice would it have been to have somebody show me the ropes? I sighed yet again, and probably not for the last time if I was going to keep her around. `` Fine.'' Her face broke into a grin that would give some of the wide-mouthed toothy demons I'd met a run for their money. I could n't help but smile myself. This could be fun.
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - It was the best of times , it was the worst of times Edition
| Hi all!
This is a poem people really like that I wrote for a prompt this week. I thought you might enjoy it:
-- -
-- -
Alone at last,
See how far time has past...
Violynn,
My dear, with me throughout the din...
Now all's calm,
As we sing the wearies' last psalm...
Through trial and through error,
We have learned each other and our ways,
Pleasing ourselves and other's favor,
Living life full in all our days.
-- -
-- -
Can anyone help with the word `` wearies''? Which is n't a word. I mean weary, but referencing the two characters ( and fitting in the poem ).
^ ( *wishes for better formatting for poems on reddit* )
Thanks for reading. Feedback is appreciated.
More stories are in my [ history ] ( /u/OhLookItsAStory ). Subreddit is coming on my 1 month anniversary, apparently.
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[ WP ] You woke up one morning to find you have the power to instantly clean any surface . Simply touch the object you want to clean , and all the dirt , grime and bacteria vanish . You 've just accidentally tripped and touched the ground .
| I read a book one time, or was told to in class and just bullshitted the assignments instead, I ca n't remember, but anyway in this book a special thing gets dropped on accident into the ocean and it turns it all into ice. I just made the very same mistake, only I myself am that special thing and the ocean is the whole continent of Australia, and instead of turning it into ice I turned the whole freaking thing into a surface that you can eat off of. Sterile as my great-uncle Joe, who's 80 or near-abouts. What will this do to the country I fancy, you ask? Oh, you know, just wreck its entire ecosystem and make decomposition a thing of the past.
I just wanted to clean my spectacles, for Crocodile Dundee's sake. That's why I took off my signature gloves, and ironically that's also why I fell over... Did n't see the stick in time because my eyes are shit.
Sorry, Australia, and the people living on it. At least you wo n't be stepping in any old turds any time soon...
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[ CW ] Take the last sentence from the last thing you wrote . That 's the beginning of this story .
| I rush and unlock the door, except I am greeted by more darkness.
I rush and unlock the door, except I am greeted by more darkness. It stretches out in front of me for infinity. I can never escape. He was right. I'll never leave. I should have stayed put. Maybe I would have lived a little longer. Another hour or day or week. Do I want to live another hour or day or week though? I've been degraded, strung up against a wall naked. He's done horrible, vile things to me. How does a person come back from that? *Can* you come back from that?
I hear his boots on the ground, thundering. My weak legs give way, and I fall to the ground. I can feel the dried blood on my legs, and the fresh blood slowly dripping down from the new wounds he's put on me. What is the point in trying to fight anymore? I'm just a little prey animal and he is the predator. He's hunted me down, and now he's just toying with me. The little shard of glass in my hand scrapes against the concrete as I bring it up to my throat.
I wo n't be his play thing anymore.
I'm escaping.
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[ WP ] You 're an end-game level 50 god in the underworld . A new level 1 player is pestering you by hitting your ankle with a wooden sword .
| **Thump Thump**
*Alright Eradicus, the friendly party will come through in about 10 minutes, the mid bosses already phoned in saying they were about to fight so its all up to you now, you can do this*. The 112 foot demon sighed to itself, and went back to rubbing its hands. It was n't for warmth, as Eradicus had balefire powerful enough to melt the earth itself and evaporate whole rivers in the blink of an eye, it was instead a nervous habit.
**Thump Thump**
*Alright, I'll just activate the keystone runes that activate my hellguards and I should be fine, they got buffed recently meaning their armor is better, this time will be alright, it'll be okay*. Eradicus almost started hyper ventilating before mentally stopping himself, flicking on the runes for the hellguards and the lava pits and ghost effigies.
**Thump Thump**
Eradicus looked down, casting his horrifying 4 eyed visage downwards to what appeared to be a naked boy. Eradicus tilted his head, bemused. `` Ca- Can you please stop that?'' Eradicus asked, his demonic voice echoing across the vast chamber, the deep sound reverberating across the skulls and bones cast around the ground. The naked boy looked up, `` I am lord Timmothy the fearsome! take this fiend, hiyah!'' The boy whacked Eradicus on the ankle again with his toothpick of a sword. Eradicus let out a pained sigh, sounding akin to a raging furnace letting out swathes of steam. Eradicus tried his best to do a smile, assuredly making numerous puppies die somewhere at the sheer terror of the event. `` Timm- Lord Timmothy the fearsome, I have something to resolve at the current moment, so can we please continue this later?''. Timmy stopped whacking Eradicus's ankle, `` Hmmmmmm... You may have the great Timmothy's mercy this once fiendish fiend! But I will stay here until you are finished!''. Eradicus sighed once more, going back to mentally reassuring himself. `` Do you have any games? or a phone I can borrow?'' asked a shrill voice from the corner of the room. Eradicus turned his 500 tonne body to look the source of the question in the eye. `` I do not have any games, I am a demonic undergod can you not see? Please let me concentrate child''. Timmy let out a huff and started pouting in the corner, before whacking one of the hellguards on the toe with his wooden sword. The hellguard looked uncomfortable, but as it lacked any organs or vocal cords in its skeletal frame, it was unable to ask the boy to stop. Eradicus gave the hellguard an empathetic look, before going back to switching on the boss room runes. Being an undergod just was n't worth it anymore.
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[ WP ] Write something that makes me question your sanity/mental health .
| Blood drips red onto the floorboards, seeping through the dark mahogany.
Her eyes, glassy yet dim, like a lightbulb that needs to be changed.
My lips, bloody and gashed as I rip through flesh and sinew.
Flesh. Muscle. Bone. Marrow. Nothing goes to waste.
Each mouthful is a delicacy. Each bite is more desperate than the last.
I savour the taste of her liver, the texture of her still pumping heart as it gushes with the soft velvet touch of blood in my mouth.
Her body twitches still, the last remnant of life seeping out of her. I relish it.
I quiver with delight when I think of what her thighs will taste like, her uterus, the traces of urine in her bladder... But not now.
Beside her, a phone screen lights up, a single text message catches my eye.
`` Sara, where are you? What did Megan need help with?''
I leap with delight to answer it, smearing blood on the screen as I do so. My fingernails are soiled and rotting.
`` Megans craigslist date ate her alive. She's pretty upset.''
`` Aww, poor thing. Should I come over?''
`` Please do.''
`` Ok, I got ta finish work, but I'll be there in an hour! see you!''
I ca n't help but cackle wildly as I toss the phone with reckless abandonment. One more! I can barely believe it! What luck!
I drag her lifeless body over to the other two, the fat mother and the starving daughter.
Their faces are contorted in agony but I could barely tolerate eating either one completely, as their extremities in weight caused the feasting experience to suffer.
As I dump her body onto the heap of meat I can almost swear I hear a breath. A whisper. A quiet whimper from the girl.
Impossible.
I set to rummaging about the house for a mop to clean up the mess as I wait for my next course to arrive.
I whistle while I work. I even sing a little.
Imagine if this funny pattern where to just keep repeating itself.
The unending feast would be unimaginable.
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[ WP ] You are being stalked by an unseen creature in the forest .
| National Parks are a beautiful part of any nation. Yellowstone in the USA, Parque La Huasteca in Mexico, Krka in Croatia - all of them are filled with jaw dropping sights, unique in their spirit but unified in the effect they have on the observer. Spend a night observing the stars under the black skies of Snowdonia and the next night you spend in your apartment or McMansion will feel strangely crowded.
Each culture around the world shares stories about the woods, usually depicting animals that can speak, secret cultures of elves or dwarves that refuse to live with man, or trees that are wiser than even the most learned man. But each culture also shares the same story, the one that warns a wanderer not to stray from the cleared paths in the forest. The French have Little Red Riding Hood, the Germans have Hansel & Gretel, A Vava Inouva from Algeria, Lon Po Po from China; all of them share a similar theme of warning the listener to beware whatever waits just beyond the trees.
Have you ever read the original journals of Lewis and Clark? You probably have n't, there's a reason we remember them, but not a single quote from either has permeated the American national consciousness. Clark was a syphilitic, a disease which was believed to cause madness in its later stages, and Lewis fell in love with the dried Peyote roots that the Natives were so eager to trade for cloth and rifles. Their America is a different one from the one we know, a land filled with awful beasts that hunted man for sport. There is one who they describe in depth, a pale bony creature that walks upright like a man with long clawed hands that drag along the dirt, leaving a trail along the deep imprints left from hooked feet.
They called it a wendigo.
The creature appears throughout their writing, in every state they crossed through, they both wrote of scared natives who refused to lead them down easier paths, saying that these lands were where the wendigo lived. They ignored their guide once, preferring the easier crossing that a forested valley provided over hiking over another mountain, they turned back after the third skeleton they found with the jaw removed and the skull crushed in. I've read before that any animals that eats a man will eat the body in the following order: the thighs, the glutes, the fat deposits on the front of the belly, the tongue, and the brain. Lewis and Clark noticed that these people seemed to have died in reverse order, the teeth marks rarely were on the thigh bone or the tailbone, but they were always on the skull.
The strangest part about having your brain eaten is that you're alive for longer than you'd expect. Your brain is filled with redundancies for the major functions, it's the reason brain damage can cost you the ability to speak or to regulate your emotion, but your heart will keep beating. Cannibals used to believe that eating a man's brain gave you his power. There would be festivals where a man had his head placed through the center of a table, exposing only the top of the scalp. The flesh and bone would be removed with an obsidian blade, and as the sacrificed screamed underneath the table, high priests and kings would dig into their meal with polished stone spoons. I have heard before that people taste rather like pigs.
Lewis and Clark only saw the wendigo once, while they were traveling by torchlight through the green woods of western Oregon. They said they could n't hear it, but that it appeared in the shadows of the trees, a tall and gaunt beast that would have blended in with the branches if it was n't moving. It followed them for the full night, disappearing when they shouted and banged their pans and shot at it, but reappearing every time. The party did n't sleep until long after dawn broke, and even then, a member disappeared. They could have followed him, the screams let them know exactly where he was, but courage escaped them and eventually the noise stopped.
There have been periodic sightings of wendigos ever since. I am sure if you have any friends living west of the Mississippi, they all know someone who can speak of the shadow that moved beyond the trees, waiting. Officially, the United States government says that 11 people went missing without a trace in the woods last year. Many believe that number is much higher.
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[ WP ] You happen to stumble upon an Ancient Alien-Mech that crashed landed on the Earth a long time ago , It activates .
| The biting wind whipping across the permafrost sought out the crack between my gloves and sleeves. “ I hate it here, ” I muttered.
“ Well, next time, Xander, ” Sasha said on the radio, “ don ’ t volunteer to assist the professor, *who is a climatologist* study the effects of environmental erosion. ”
*Damn, didn ’ t realize my radio was keyed. * I tugged on my sleeve, trying to cover the gap in my clothing. A popping sound beneath me made me freeze in place. *Oh, shit. * The permafrost gave way, and I was falling into darkness.
-- -
“ Xander! Xander! Can you hear me? ” Sasha screamed over the radio.
I groaned and rolled onto my side. “ Yeah, ” I croaked into the mic.
“ Xander! Are you there? We can ’ t pick up your transponder. If you can hear me, say something! ”
“ Damn, ” I muttered. I sat on my knees and looked around the defile. It was too dark to see anything, and I cracked a chemlight, holding it high as the plastic tube brightened my surroundings. “ Fuck, where am I? ” My words curled into a fog in the freezing air.
The sheer sides of the crevice looked like they would offer no purchase if I tried to climb up them. “ How far did I fall? ” The sky was a dim crack in the distance, but the defile seemed to continue for a distance. “ May as well follow it... Maybe there ’ s a better place to climb out down that way. ”
I walked a few feet and caught my foot on something hard, losing my balance and slamming my face into the freezing earth. I touched my left hand to my nose, and my white glove came away with dark red blood. *Pay more attention, damn it. * A humming sound to my left drew my gaze to a glowing pair of blue eyes encased in the dark ice.
I dropped the glow stick and edged away from the lights. The light landed next to a large metal finger. The ground shuddered beneath me, and ice broke away from the crevice ’ s wall. A large metal arm shot out from the ice, blocking a large boulder from crushing me. Melted ice hissed away from the shiny metal monstrosity rising from the permafrost.
“ Cvlz drksht valdir, ” the metal giant screeched.
“ Don ’ t kill me! ” I yelled.
“ Kuldir fyr volstur! ” The machine made no more movements, but the blue eyes did not move.
I held still, waiting for the thing to crush me. *I think if it wanted to, it would have all ready. * “ What do you want from me? ”
“ Scan of temporal lobe complete. Language assimilated. Indigenous life from, state your designation. ”
“ I ’ m Xander Roberts. What ’ s your… designation? ”
The machine withdrew its arm from above me. “ Multi-Vector Combat System, codename Maverics. My pilot ’ s life signs have ceased. System is unable to function without organic pilot. AI will be deleted permanently to prevent damaged functions to developing if a new pilot is not located. ”
“ Okay. What do you want me to do? ”
The machine ’ s head cracked open, and a desiccated mummy tumbled out. “ Enter the cockpit. ”
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[ WP ] You develop reality warping powers .
| They used to tell me that there is no such thing as magic. Well, I can tell you right now that magic is real. Okay, it is n't actually magic, but the quantum-mechanical mumbo jumbo is so confusing that it might as well be. Reading a book on the particular quantum funkiness that changed my life is harder than translating a Latin version of the Necronomicon. All I wanted to know was how to control it.
It started in the summer of 2009. At first, it just seemed like a lot of strange coincidences were happening around me. It was little stuff, like finding a 20 $ bill in my pocket whenever I wanted beer or receiving a phone call from someone at the same moment I happened to be thinking about them. Then, things got even crazier.
Whenever I found myself wanting something, it would immediately appear. I would hear a loud screeching sound and turn around to find the object of my desire hovering in the air before me. It only worked with inanimate objects at this point, so it would usually be food, drinks, shit like that. It even worked with electronics. That was the best part. Having whatever I wanted, when I wanted it.
It was fun for a while, having everything I could ever want. I did n't even question where these things were coming from. I assumed it was magic. It was n't until I figured out how to conjure living things that I started to wonder how this was even possible. That particular skill was discovered while drunkenly lamenting over the fact that I lived alone. No pets, no roommates, no family. I started thinking about how awesome it would be to have a dog, even picturing the type of dog. A fluffy golden Labrador Retriever, with a blue collar.
Sure as shit, that damn dog appeared right in my apartment! I could n't believe it, I checked to see if any windows and doors were open. All closed. I returned to the living room to find the dog nestled into a pile of blankets on the couch. I shrugged and went back to watching television. The next day, I conjured up a leash and took the dog for a walk. While he was pooping, I found myself staring at a picture that had been stapled to a telephone poll. It was a picture of a lost dog. The same dog that was now pooping in front of me.
The realization hit me like a gun-shot. I had n't been conjuring things, I had been summoning them! So I called the number that was listed below the picture, and returned the dog to his proper owners. I made up a lie to explain away how I came to be in possession of their dog, and they believed it. Next, I considered trying to return or donate the electronics, but I could n't figure out a way that would n't make it look like I was a professional burglar.
For the next several days, I struggled to keep myself from wanting things as I did as much research as I could to find out what the hell was wrong with me. My search led me to a bunch of books about quantum mechanics. I was n't smart enough to understand any of them. I remember wishing that my ability allowed me to summon a higher IQ.
So I gave up. There was no controlling this thing. No stopping it. I was able to avoid summoning any more living things, but inanimate objects were still popping up left and right. I eventually came to accept that I was doomed to be a quantum-burglar for the rest of my life. Hey, at least I did n't have to worry about getting caught.
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[ WP ] Every thousand years a great cataclysm occurs . It is simply known as Kuroyuki . The Black Snow .
| EXCERPT FROM SYSTEM LOG - 5010/10/02
Our systems are failing. The containment will fail catastrophically in no more than 72 hours. These are to be our final days. I wish our legacy to this world had been a more pleasant one.
I pray, to all the gods and to the spirits of my ancestors, that something good, no matter how small, comes out of our existence, and our work here.
2010/10/04 - a small flat in Akihabara, Tokyo
`` Tomorrow's the day,'' Itaru said with a sigh. He slumped back in his chair, pushing it back onto two legs, then quickly - with more agility than I'd ever thought a man as big as he could - caught himself just before he fell backwards onto the floor.
`` Kuroyuki,'' Mayuri replied, a sad tone in her voice. For all we had done in this lab - no, this flat - we had n't been able to even find out anything about where the'Black Snow' came from, or why.
I pushed myself to my feet, switching off the old tube television. `` These may be our last days on this planet, but even if they are, those who survive will never forget our names.'' I threw my arms wide to my sides, my lab coat fluttering in the breeze the motion created, and I laughed my best mad scientist laugh.
EXCERPT FROM SYSTEM LOG - 5010/10/01
The substance is... replicating. Intriguing. We've been studying this material for 10 years now, and all we've been able to ascertain is that it is neither organic nor synthetic, it has processes similar in many ways to sentient thought, and now, that it self-replicates.
Shizuru - I mean Yamada-san - has suggested we attempt integration of organic life into its environment. We know nothing about this stuff, and she wants to see how it reacts to a tree, or a kitten, or a person. I always thought she was insane, the way she had spoken to the president that day, but this....
-Yamada's damned experiment was authorized. She is insane. I do n't know how she managed to convince the superiors to allow this, but... Anyway. She introduced a cat into the containment environment. The substance... reacted immediately. Violently. Within seconds, the cat's flesh had been... dissolved. Not just torn off, there was no trace remaining. All tissue... simply gone. All that remained were the bones, and those... darkening. Changing. The substance had... infected the bones, and they are transforming into more of it.
4010/10/05 - Kuroyuki
I sit in my hermetically sealed room, and watch the streets run black. I wish I could do something, anything, to prevent this. All of the people I had called friends before I became... this... All dying before my eyes. My'condition' prevents me from leaving this room, and my parents would do anyway even if I were well enough,'no friend is worth sacrificing your life over', they would say. They do n't know these friends. They do n't know what we had been through together, before this happened to me.
A stray bit of the Kuroyuki from the last incident, they said. Somehow it had survived the nearly one thousand years between then and that day, two years ago. It had latched onto me, but for whatever reason, it would not kill me. Instead, it lived on me in a situation that treads the fine line between symbiosis and parasitism, feeding on my immune system to the point where even the weakest germ could see me dead, but strengthening me in other ways.
I would live, it said, inside my head, for more than one thousand more years. I would watch everyone I love die. And I would suffer.
But it did n't count on one thing. The sheer determination of the human condition. I would live those thousand-some years, and I would live every day to find a way to destroy Kuroyuki, once and for all.
EXCERPT FROM SYSTEM LOG - 5010/08/31
The president has called us into his office. Myself and Yamada Shizuru. We walk in, and stop before the hermetically sealed section. The speakers blare to life, and he speaks. `` Do you know what it is we are trying to do here?''
Shimada-san spoke first. `` We're trying to study the Kuroyuki,'' she spat, `` if you would let us get back to our jobs.'' This woman is insane!
The president laughed. `` Yes, quite. But you see, we're not merely interested in *understanding* it. No, we want to *eliminate* it.''
Yamada chuckled. `` Why eliminate it? We can use it. If we can learn how it operates, how to *control* it... We can turn it on Japan's enemies!'' The glint in her eye said more. Said'or those who stand in our way in any capacity'.
I kept quiet. What was it that one ancient writer had said?'Better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt'? In this case, it was perhaps the wrong decision.
3030/10/05 - Kuroyuki
The black snow. It comes once every thousand years on this day. Flakes, black as the night sky itself, fall from the sky. The history books say that the first time it fell, at least in recorded history, people were in awe. They were enraptured by the strange beauty. Until it'came to life' and devoured them.
One thousand victims, every one thousand years. Mostly Japanese nationals, but occasionally tourists in the wrong place at the wrong time, or on one occasion the'storm' was blown off course by a particularly strong windstorm that was already in the area, dropping its full wrath on China and Tibet. One thousand victims, flayed to the bone - no,'flaying' would leave a trace of the flesh - and the bones turned into more of the stuff.
`` Black snow''. Too beautiful and poetic a name for such a catastrophe.
All of this races through my head at lightning speed, as I watch my hand become enveloped by the blackness. A single flake landed on my palm when I had reached outside to see if it was raining. A single flake, just one. And now my forearm is shrouded. It does n't hurt. It feels like a slight warmth spreading up my arm, as if I was dipping it in a warm bath to test the temperature.
It's spread to my torso now. The warmth is... pleasant. Inviting. I know, in my mind, what this stuff is doing to me, but I ca n't get over how it feels. A spring day. A warm bath. A gentle ebb and flow of heat.
I do n't know how I'm still alive to dictate this. The'snow' has spread over my entire body. All that's left is my head. I feel the warmth rise up over y ih. I ah eeh ih-hayihh ih. Ih'h... ihe ho'h...
[ LOG ENDS ]
The body of Akihito Yamada was never found. All that was found at his apartment was this recording. Attached is our best guess at the last few words, cut off by the Kuroyuki finishing its grim work:
`` I feel the warmth rise up over my chin. I ca n't keep dictating this. It's... like home...''
EXCERPT FROM SYSTEM LOG - 5010/10/05
Containment has failed. The substance is escaping. Replicating. It's dissolved Ichihara, I... System, note for the record that this log is being recorded by Shizuru Yamada, and that Kamui'Ichi' Ichihara has been killed. The one person on this entire station - this entire *planet* - that I would have had any second thought for. He knew what kind of person I was, and he still stood by me. The only time he spoke up in opposition was when I requested permission to introduce organic life into the containment environment.
I've created a compound. One that, based on analyses of the material, I believe will break apart its cellular bonds like a hot knife through synth-butter. It was never my intention to destroy it, but... it was n't my intention to release it in this state, either. Before I could control it. And it was certainly never my intention for... for Ichi to be...
To whoever finds this log, be it tomorrow after the stuff is gone, or in a thousand years after the rest of humanity finally remembers us and decides to come check in... I regret my part in all of this, but nothing more than my part in the death of Kamui Ichihara. I only hope this self sacrifice can do some small measure of good, and perhaps afford me some small measure of redemption, though I do n't deserve it.
What...? The substance, it's... It's made its way into the TTT* lab! I do n't know what it's... No! This is n't where it ends at all... This is where it starts! The earlier logs made mention of the substance's'processes resembling sentient thought' - I believe we're seeing how closely they resemble it. The substance, in an attempt to escape either isolation or destruction, has opted to slingshot itself back in time using the experimental technology in that wing! Maybe... maybe I can change things, if I'm quick enough... Stop this before it ever began...
*Note: TTT = Trans-Temporal Telegraphy
[ The above is the final log from Kuroyuki Station, in low Earth orbit above Akihabara, Tokyo. ]
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*It's not the writing I'm most proud of, but it combines elements of the prompt with elements of matters near and dear to my heart - time travel, science fiction, horror, etc. Between the idea in my head and the slight constraints of the prompt ( yes, I'm aware that a prompt is n't meant to be followed to the letter, but I generally like to stay somewhat close to it, at least to the point where you can recognize the prompt in the story ), I feel that while it's not the best ( probably does n't live up to even some of my own other stories, let alone people like Luna_LoveWell or any of the other great writers on this subreddit ), it was the best I could do with what I had. *
*The characters in the 2010 segment may or may not be inspired by a certain anime which also involves time travel, but if you choose to make that connection rather than taking it at face value as just similar names and mannerisms, simply consider them an alternate worldline version. El Psy Kongroo. *
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[ WP ] The door will close . It 's the only way in ... and the only way out .
| He sat on the sidewalk, watching people enter and exit the door before him every few minutes. No one really paid him any attention, maybe because he and his coat were covered in dirt. But, that's the way life was when you did n't have a home. Cleanliness did n't matter as much as satiating your hunger, and there was certainly food to be had beyond this door.
There did n't appear to be anything special about the door or even the building. It looked similar to the rest of the buildings on this street. But there was something different about it. Most notably, when the door opened, delicious scents filled his nostrils.
A couple and their child emerged from the door and walked down the street. The door stayed open for half a second before it started to close again. During that time, he was hit by a tidal wave of scents that sparked his hunger and summoned saliva. Spiced meat, potatoes, greens, oh he could almost taste it! The excitement the smells inspired brought him to his feet. Surely someone would come outside with extra food? Perhaps they would see him and share their bounty? The thought made his mouth water more.
He had to get in there.
The door had already closed again by now, but he knew it would n't be long before someone else exited or entered, leaving the door open briefly. So he waited, imagining the luxurious edibles that would soon be available to him. He looked down the street and saw a father and his daughter approaching him and the door. New patrons, perhaps? The little girl, bundled up in her coat, waved to him and smiled. He returned her enthusiasm as the father opened the sacred door, ushering his daughter inside. This was it. This was his chance.
He dashed inside before the door closed behind him.
The smell of the restaurant was so much more intoxicating when you were inside! Overcome by excitement and the prospect of food, he sprinted through the building, driven by hunger.
`` What the...'' someone began to yell. `` Get that dog out of here!''
But it was too late. Dashing around corners and under tables, the golden retriever found the source of the scent, stood on his hind legs, and grabbed a delicious tenderloin steak from a surprised patron's plate.
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[ WP ] You are bitten by a werewolf , a zombie and a vampire on the same night . What do you turn into ?
| By god, the girl was stunning. I could n't believe that she was interested in a normal fellow like me. It was almost too perfect - she slipped and I caught her. Romance ensued. She was so easy to be with and we striked up a conversation. Akward as I am I started imagining how our life would be together. We would have adorable little children, a puppy, and... yea, I tend to get a bit over excited about things in general.
It was a good thing too that I got some good out of today. Earlier I was approached by a man. He looked quite ordinary except also a bit strange: he looked a bit harsh in his appearence. Judging from his cloth I assumed he was off after a long day at work. I thought nothing more to it until he came a bit too close. His breath was horrible and when I asked him to step out of my comfort zone he merely grunted in response. I am not a man of confrontation but I reached out my arm to regain personal space. The approaching man snatched it and before I could reclaim it he bit me. Hard, too! Reactionary I let out an `` ouch'' and pulled my hand back. I quickly ran away from him at this point. Again, I am not confrontational.
Ever since the man bit me I have been a bit off. But being with the pretty lady really distracted me from this. As we walked in the park and talked a bit I noticed that she was a bit wary. Weirdly she also kept looking at the sky. What really confused me was when the clouds made a small hole, just small enough for the moon to peak out. At this point she was visibly tense and exclaimed to herself: `` THAT'S TODAY?''
Of course I asked her what she meant but she was too preoccupied with her sorrundings. I felt so irrelevant and contemplated going back to the weird man so he could finish the job or at least tell him to `` bite me''. This was of course a joke. Before I could manage to chuckle at my own joke I was interrupted by the lady. `` HIIISSH!'' she sounded just before a harry man jumped on me. I did n't get to see him. It was dark and it happened so fast. Non the less the lady somehow managed to fight him off, all the while I lay confused and still non confrontational about anything.
When the harry man fled I was shooked but got on my feet. `` Did anything happen?'' the lady asked me. I answered that I did n't think so and that is was a good thing since I had already been bit once today. She seemed surprisingly calm and laughed a bit about the situation.
A few minutes later we got back to my place. Romance intensified and I leaned in for a kiss. She dodged my attempt but took me closer. She then proceeded to whisper in my ear: `` I'll show you a bite'', as she sunk her fangs into my neck. I knew I was in a bad spot but something about the lady was so enchanting that I did not fight her. Actually, it felt great.
I just wanted her to continue but she stopped almost immediately. `` WHO BIT YOU EARLIER?'' she demanded. `` Just some weird tired guy, probably a bit coo-coo after too much office time.'' I replied. she continued: `` Motherfucker. Now I also crave flesh.''
She then left me. I still do n't get anything. One thing is for sure. I feel super weird now. It is like I am not me. I almost feel inclined to confront everyone I meet. Also I have started to get more harry. I have killer bangs now but I just wish that I would n't get *that* harry all over my body. I also started grunting more... It's weird. My dog just feels so enticing all of a sudden. But hey, maybe it is just a phase.
We will see. Tomorrow marks a month from my weird day. I am thinking about going to the park.
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[ WP ] That ringing noise people hear sometimes is n't a hallucination - in fact , it 's much more sinister ...
| The singing, pinging, ringing sound that lives in side your ear
That continuous, constant, ceaseless noise is currently here
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'There is no medication,' the doctors say,'Live with it,' they said
'There is no magic cure for this, not medicine, not bed.'
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'Merely a hallucination, and that can not be fixed.'
'Just live your life, and do n't, on it, be transfixed.'
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That's easy for them to say, the doctors and the nurses
They do n't have to live inside their heads with an ever-ringing circus
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But *you* know what's it's like, you know the constant pain
You feel the pinging, always there, the noise inside your brain
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But if you knew the reason that you hear the endless ringing
If you knew why it was really here, if you knew the nature of his singing
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You would n't be complaining; you'd know that you're blessed
For it conceals the secret wanderings of your unknown guest
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He latches onto you and hides behind your mind
He's chosen you to veil himself, to you to be confined
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Whilst he conducts his hidden, despicable business
The events that he would not want you to witness
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He makes the noise, that's him, he puts it in your ear
Because without it, you'd know that he was here
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And if you knew, well, that just would n't go
He'd leave your mind and drag you down below
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[ WP ] The laws of physics are n't eternal . They change every couple or so billion years . The time for the change has come , and the world is drastically altered .
| The Universe, as best as we have known it, is fundamentally defined by the principle of symmetry. For every action, Newton posited, there exists an equal and opposite reaction. For every calorie of heat added to a system, thermodynamics tells us that an identical calorie must have been subtracted from another. A gyroscope, by classical mechanics, will maintain its angular momentum unless acted upon by an opposing force.
The principle dives deeper. A proton may decay into a neutron, but only if charge is conserved by the emission of a positron, and only if an electron neutrino is released to balance the lepton number. A neutron may conversely decay into a proton, necessitating the opposite process. Yet further, for any `` before'' and `` after'' involving elementary particles, an infinite number of possible `` during'' s exist, moderating only by the demand for symmetry. From Feynman we see how these countless possibilities explode in complexity, boundless yet ever restrained by that singular principle. Without symmetry, our laws mean nothing.
In relative terms, the recent anomalies qualify as mere curiosities. But theory does n't operate in any uncertain, relative terms, and the absolute implications of what has been observed are astounding.
In relative terms, a routine experiment at a non-descript particle accelerator culminated in an extensive investigation; how was the equipment damaged, scientists asked, such that a deuterium nucleus could spontaneously split into two hydrogen ions? It was inexplicable, and yet no mechanical flaw could be found. In still more relative terms, analogous peculiarities were consistently discovered at almost every accelerator across the globe - including the Large Hadron Collider. Confusion mounted as the doubt decreased. It was soon certain, to well over six-gamma error, that the observed anomalies were real.
With the observations established, a translation into absolute terms became possible: symmetry is falling apart. The very principle that has thus far held our universe together is unraveling. It was impossible to predict what this could mean at the time, but over many months, the observations have accumulated.
It was the engineers who noticed next. Strange fluctuations in pressure, volume, momentum; variations absurd by any existing model presented themselves in sensitive mechanisms and devices. Measurement errors skyrocketed and manufacturing suffered at the hands of arbitrary fortune. How could a screw be molded to one thousandth of a percent variation, when the dimensions of the mold itself seemed to incomprehensibly vary?
A standard wave of disasters followed. Numerous existing buildings, rendered unstable by the asymmetries that accumulated, began collapsing. Fortunately, the bureaucrats listened to the scientists before too many lives were lost, and an intensive research program into the new universe found funding across universities and research departments.
Their results came in slow, but every report offered some reassurance: yes, symmetry had collapsed, but there seemed to nonetheless exist a certain *balance*. The likelihood of an asymmetric decay process or a spontaneous application of a particular force was found to conform to a predictable normal distribution; we ca n't know *whether* these new, safety-rigged roofs will collapse on our heads, but we can calculate that given our modified designs, there exists only a minuscule chance of catastrophic failure in any given year.
So the universal upheaval has culminated ultimately in a paradigm shift. The uncertainties of quantum mechanics appear just to have penetrated a higher level of frequency, and we've been left to cope with the consequences. In the end, I'd say we did a fair enough job of revamping our engineering practices - although the inevitable loss of many millennia of architectural history was quite regrettable.
I can only hope the scales do n't shift yet again. The universe is fickle, and we are at its mercy.
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[ WP ] `` It 'll be just like it was before . Trust me . ''
| I'm not the type of man who makes grand gestures. When I proposed to my then girlfriend it was a simple proposal. `` Jackie, will you marry me?'' I did n't cover a park with rose pedals, hire a violinist off to the side, or make a big deal of it. I'm just not that type of person. Do n't get me wrong, I love her. I've loved her since the day I met her. She is the most amazing human being on this planet in my eyes. Every day she finds new ways to inspire me, to push me to be better, and she has the ability to make me fall in love with her over and over and over.
I am a simple guy. I like my football. I like my meat. I like my coffee hot and my bread toasted with a little jam. I like my cereal crunchy with not a lot of milk. I like waking up next to Jackie and falling asleep next to her at night. I am a simple guy, from a simple town, in a simple world I have built for myself.
Sitting here in the waiting room I could n't help but smile about everything there was to ever smile about when it came to Jackie. She was the most beautiful girl in the entire world when I met her. She still is to this day. Every time I see her she reminds me of that. Even if I just look up from the paper to catch her eye in the morning.
Today was no different. I had brought Jackie to the hospital for a procedure and was waiting in the waiting room to get notice that she was out of surgery. I sat there practicing the ways I would look at her. To let her know it would be okay. To let her know nothing had changed and that I still felt the same way I did all those years ago. Nothing had changed, and I wanted to make sure she understood that.
When the doctors told me she was awake I smiled. The surgery had been a success. I walked the halls of the hospital to her room practicing the entire way the things I wanted to say to her. I was just happy that she was happy and if she was happy, I was happy, but I would be lying to you if I told you I was n't nervous.
I took the corner and stood by the door to her room and took a deep breath. This was going to be a new chapter in our perfect lives together. One that would start the minute I walked through this door. Deep breath, here we go.
I entered her room and walked over to her bedside. She smiled at me propped up on some pillows, drinking some water. The surgery had gone perfectly.
`` Hi honey!''
`` Hello love.'' I said.
The way he lay in that bed reminded me of all the times we went through and the process that had led us up until this day. He would continue to make me smile until the day I die. Till death do us part, he will always be the love of my life.
`` I'm so happy for you Jack. I love you. It'll be just like it was before, I promise.'' I smiled and gave him a kiss.
-- -- -- -- -
For more of my little stories, please visit /r/expiredcheese
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[ WP ] After humanity flees Earth , the planet 's gods stay . You were the only one left behind and now the gods are obsessed with getting you to worship them .
| `` What about Thursday? We could hang out, see a movie, you could just slip in a few compliments. That's all they really add up to, anyway.'' Thor again. He's persistent, and nice enough in person, but he's like the rest of them.
`` Ummm, I do n't know, man. I'm already meeting Mithras for breakfast, one of those buddhas for lunch, and I promised Jesus I'd explain the Internet to him.'' He looked crestfallen. `` You must realize what this situation is like for me, right?''
`` Yes, of course, it's very strange for you, being the last human. I know we all just came out if the woodwork when your species left, but we were struck a terrible blow by their departure.'' If heard things like this before.
`` Well, you had plenty of notice. The population began emigrating centuries ago!''
`` Yes, and we carried on in secret. That was probably a mistake. From our point of view, it seemed inconceivable that people would really want to leave! Look at Earth! It's beautiful! We had our little cults and it was working well. Once people left, the loneliness hit like a strange hunger. You're all we have left. You shine like a beautiful light. We just want to commune with you. You could hang out with us in groups, could n't you?''
`` Well, I already do. I suppose I could... hmmm, maybe.''
`` So, Thursday? Can I come along for breakfast?''
`` I've got something else in mind. Can you get the word out? To all the gods? I want to have a meeting.''
`` Okay, where, when?''
Two weeks later, I stood at the door to St Patrick's Cathedral in New York, greeting thousands of gods with quick handshakes, ushering them in. When they were all seated, I walked to the altar.
`` Greetings, friends, and welcome. Welcome to the First Church of the Last Man. We'll meet here every Sunday morning, followed by a picnic. How does that sound?''
Their applause felt like worship.
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[ WP ] One day your breakfast is interrupted by the sudden opening of a wormhole which spits out someone wearing strange clothing . It becomes apparent to you that they are from a period long in the past . Now you 're stuck trying to help them make sense of the modern world .
| `` God damn it, Jerry! Do n't do that!''
Slack jawed, Jeremiah turned to face Elizabeth. `` Blasphemy!'' He exclImed. `` You must n't speak of the lord in such a manner, Elizabeth. Also,'' he took a step back and turned to look at the people passing them by on the sidewalk. `` My name is Jeremiah, my dear. I would greatly appreciate your remembering my name.''
`` And I go by Lizzy-,''
`` Yes, well that is incredibly unsophisticated, Elizabeth. A woman goes by her god given name, and nothing else,'' he turned and looked at her from the corner of his eye, `` though if the lady were betrothed, the man -,''
Lizzy groaned and turned away from him. `` Why is this even my life?'' She called, glaring up at the sky. `` Take him back you assholes!''
Jeremiah walked up behind her and placed a hand in her shoulder. `` My dear, the peasants will think you a witch!''
Her right eye twitched as she turned back on him. Her hands shook as she pointed an accusatory finger at him. `` You,'' she said, poking him roughly in the chest, `` may have opened a fucking wormhole in my living room last week, *jerry*, but if you do n't start catching up with how people behave present day, I swear to god, I will kill you and happily take whatever consequences stepping on that particular butterfly create!''
`` Elizabeth, -,''
`` Lizzy!''
He stepped back, eyes wide as he nodded slowly. `` L... izzy.''
She let out a breath. `` Good. Now what?''
`` There is a man in blue aiming a modern weapon at you. What does a strong, modern woman such as yourself do in such an instance?'' He question, nodding behind her.
`` Oh for fucks -,''
`` Truly, the lord must have heard my prayers of your redemption. God speed, Elizabeth!''
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[ WP ] `` I do n't have a heart . '' She tapped her chest and a hatch opened , exposing whirring gears and a compartment . `` But if I did , it would belong to you . '' Reaching in , she pulled something out .
| It was a giant hammer. Bob did n't have any time to react, but his police trained instincts did.
'DROP THAT FUCKING HAMMER' he yelled incoherently
'DROP IT RIGHT FUCKING NOW'
Before she had any time to drop that ace of spades on the bottom pile of the solitaire game she had been running idly in the background on her Microsoft 95 windows software, the robot fuck had 15 bullet holes in her.
Bob looked around.'I had to do it, she had a hammer' he muttered to himself as he pulled out a bag of cocaine and starting sprinkling it over her wounded robot casing. He turned to his police radio to talk into, but discovered it was n't there.
It had been 20 years since Bob had been a police officer.
He heard someone in the background. He raised he government issued handgun.
'Mom?'
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[ WP ] Well fuck , you actually did it , you managed to take over the world . Now what are you supposed to do ? you were joking , it was all a joke dammit ! !
| *What the shit am I doing here? *
`` Um... ahem.'' I step forward on the podium and feel the attention of at least 5 billion people bubbling beneath the crowd and the cameras.
`` People of Am- of Earth... my will is absolute...'' *Yes? And? * ``... and I feel the time has come... the time... for a new type of leader to....'' *Just say something! Anything! * ``... grab the world by its hair, and....'' *Okay maybe tone down the imagery there* ``... and launch it back towards the moon!''
For some reason that was met with smatterings of applause and whoops, and I stood there feeling the sweat from my brow seeping into my eyes.
`` This country.... no, this world...'' I started, my eyes beginning to water, ``... has been a plague on the end of my... shoe....'' *Mmm, okay* ``... for too long!''
Again there was voracious applause from the crowd, and I grinned weakly at the knowledge that I still had to talk for another fifteen minutes. `` Today... I -''
Somewhere in the distance a loud crack echoed through the surrounding trees, and I felt a sharp impact in my chest. Looking down slowly, my hand came up red.
*Oh thank God. *
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[ WP ] The Grim Reaper is no longer able to claim lives directly . Instead , when your time is up a mark appears on your body and it is the duty of every other person to kill you on sight .
| The phone in my pocket beeps in a tone that can only mean one thing, and I groan.
I quickly scan the message, taking only the vital information.
`` Mark sighted. Train Station. Platform 9.'' and a picture.
I groan once more as I exit my home and get into my car.
It's raining and the skies are grey and dull. It reminds me of myself.
My life took a depressing turn since I, like many others, took the role of Death on full time.
When the marks started appearing, and their purpose made known, things had gotten a bit messy.
Most did not want to end another's life, and those who did usually got over-zealous leading to a lot of cleanup. Then there was those who did not wish to die and hid their marks.
So the Governments hired us. We were responsible for tracking `` Fate-Deserters'' who hid their marks, and for eliminating them and other marked individuals as cleanly as possible so as to prevent riots and other chaotic events.
My SatNav beeps and I jerk back into awareness. I had arrived, somehow driving without thinking. Unsurprising as I had to do it so much.
I examine the entrance to the station with a glum sigh. Just last week had a marked individual been thrown under a train by a large group of drunk teenagers before one of us got there.
I enter the building hastily, running my fingers along the hilt of my favorite knife, which is hidden in my waistband.
I quickly located my target. A small crowd had surrounded her, but luckily for me no one had gathered the nerve to attack.
I approach casually, my finger still on my weapon.
My heart beats loudly as it always does. I had never gotten used to killing, and I did not know if this was a particularly bad thing.
I worm my way through the crowd and approach my target. She's backed against a wall now, her fists are raised.
`` Please, Do not fight'' I say as I take out my weapon `` I do not wish to cause you pain.''
`` AND I DO NOT WISH TO DIE!'' She shrieks as she dashes forward and delivers a powerful kick to my hand.
My dagger slips from my now-fractured hand and lands somewhere amongst the crowd.
She goes for a second kick, one that narrowly misses me.
I fight back, a flurry of punches directed towards her, but non make contact. Whoever this was, she had been trained to fight.
I try her strategy and aim a kick for her face. She catches my foot mid air and pulls me. I almost lose balance. She pulls again, and this time my footwear slips off.
She gasps, as does the crowd.
I sigh and use her distraction to my advantage. Before she came back to her senses, I was choking her life away.
Once her life had ebbed away, I examine the crowd.
It hits me like a ton of concrete when I realize what they had seen. I look down to my ankle.
There, in plain view for the whole world, is something I had hidden for years.
My own mark.
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[ WP ] Get me hooked in 150 words
| I was a normal person once. I worked a stable job. I had friends that I liked and trusted. There was even a girl that I was quite fond of. At some point though, I started feeling stuck. It was gradual at first, but then it started to gnaw at my mind, like a fucking rat trying to get out of a box. I would go to work in that same building, wearing the same series of shirts and ties. Sure sometimes I wore the blue one on Monday instead of Friday, but that didn ’ t help. I tried taking up a hobby. A fucking hobby, what an inane concept, it ’ s just a name we give something to try and prove to ourselves that it isn ’ t just more of the same shit. I knew I needed to do something drastic. Looking back it was a stupid idea, but if I could do it again, I would probably do the same fucking thing.
edit: I just realized I am a few words over but I trimmed it down as best I could: P
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[ WP ] Take something ordinary and make it extraordinary .
| `` He's more than just a man. He's like... a god.''
Everybody looked at Tommy skeptically. One does not just discover a god every day.
`` I'm telling you. I tried running next to him, and it was n't even close. I'm one of the fastest people here, and I was like a snail next to him.''
`` Tommy-''
`` No wait! I'm telling you, it's more than just speed. It's super strength! A giant weight fell on my foot, and I could n't lift it, but he picked it up no problem! It's why I'm in this cast.''
`` Tommy, okay, just listen-''
`` And when my mom got sick he was the only one who could help.''
The room fell silent.
`` I would sit with her in the hospital, and she would n't talk or respond, but every time he showed up the doctors said all of her activities increased. And sometimes she would even move. Sure, he was crying then, but at the funeral he was as strong as a rock. You all saw! Not a single tear. That's super human. That's more than my dad. That's a god.''
The bell rang. Time for recess.
`` He's my hero. He's my dad.''
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[ CW ] Write a story without an ending in 4 paragraphs . End the story in paragraph 5 , only using words from the previous 4 .
| One day you were here, and the next you were not. That sounds cliche, and like what someone in a tragedy would say, but it is true. I hurt you, and you walked out. I was so cruel to you.
*'' Enjolras, *'' You would say, sitting in the back of the room with a wine bottle. *'' Oh, how unrealistic you are. Your cause is weak, and today's plight flawed. `` *
I snapped at you, like I always did. *'' Grantaire,'' * I said, derision in my voice. *'' You do not care about the cause, or our meetings. Sometimes I wonder if you even care about your so called friends. All you do is come to these meetings to get drunk and jeer.'' *.
As soon as the words pass his lips, he knows he made a mistake. Grantaire stands up, swaying in his drunkenness. *'' Grantaire, I'm sorr-'' * He starts to say, but Grantaire just leaves, barely sober enough to read the street signs.
And now this letter.
*'' Enjolras,'' * it reads. `` *I always knew it would come to this. I am so sorry. `` *
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[ CW ] Begin with : `` I always feared death . That is , until I died myself . ''
| I always feared death. That is, until I died myself.
All these years, I gave every ounce of strength just to fight the disease. Hell, even the doctors were amazed at how I could survive for two years after I was diagnosed by Stage IV lung cancer.
`` Miracle,'' I often heard them whisper to each other.
But in reality, it just scared the living hell out of me to die. I mean, what would happen to my daughter? I ca n't just leave her alone. It would be so selfish. I think of my child, who just started schooling. She'll grow up without a dad.
Who would help her with her homework? Who would be there to read her bedtime stories every night just so she could fall asleep? Who would keep on telling her that her mom is n't really gone but she just traveled way up into the sky to watch over us? My heart crushes at the thought of her. She'll grow up an orphan.
My baby Bela, clutching her favorite stuffed toy in her tiny hands. *All alone. *
I remember the day that I gave it to her. Also my first paycheck from the firm. I was so happy to be living off my own hard work that I went straight to the toy store to give her something. She named it Hello. And no, it was not a Hello Kitty. It was one of those minions from Despicable Me that had the word `` Hello'' written over its shirt, hence the name.
She means everything to me. The way her face lightens up whenever I tell her something funny, or when we watch cartoons together, or when we devour our favorite ice cream. She was like a Fourth of July fireworks spectacle that only ended whenever she gets scared that Dora the Explorer was turning into a mermaid and she would start crying.
Every day with her is a constant reminder that is, and always will be the greatest thing that ever happened to me.
That's why I always pictured that I ca n't die. Not today. Not ever. I think it was my adrenaline that fights off the cancer. Ever heard of how we could basically do anything if we just focus hard enough on doing said thing? I concentrated damn hard on surviving. On living, not leaving.
Wednesday came, and I was still the helpless, semi-dead, motionless pile of crap engulfed in the hospital bed that I may have pissed on. I felt repugnant.
`` Mr. Stone, might I have a word with you?''
It was Dr. Perry. He was one of those doctors with the reassuring smiles that seemed to tell you that everything was going to be fine.
That Wednesday, he was not wearing one of those smiles.
I stared at him for a long time, eager to squeeze something out of him that did n't need to be spoken. That's how I examined witnesses during trials. That's how people are, give them a cold hard stare and they give off clues about and I did n't need words coming out of their mouths to know. Based on their fidgeting and the sweat running down their necks, I instantly knew whether they were telling the truth or not. That's how I earned the name, `` Male Medusa''. Said that I could turn anyone into stone just by looking at them. Fitting, for my name.
`` What is it, doc?'' I gave up looking at him. This was n't a trial. I ca n't win this.
`` I regret to inform you, Mr. Stone, but the cancer has spread all throughout your body. How you withstood the cancer always astounded us, but we knew that this was inevitable. Your parents have decided to take you off life support. They ca n't pay the bills, and they said that neither could you,'' the doctor said grimly.
***No, *** I thought. I ca n't.
`` Your daughter is here to see you.''
With that, I push myself up. I tried to stand, but I stagger, and Dr. Perry sits me down.
`` Mr. Stone, please, I'll bring her to you. No need for that,'' said Dr. Perry as he walks out of the room and comes back a few seconds later with a little girl no more than two feet with a yellow toy squeezed tightly in her arms.
`` Bela.. Come her and give your old man a kiss,'' I say weakly, the words barely escaping my mouth.
She runs towards me and climbs up into the bed, and kissing me in the forehead.
She lays down beside me and holds my hand. Life will only be good with her on my side. I think she's asleep.
`` Doc, do it. Now.''
Doctor Perry responded with a look. I know he understands.
`` But Mr. Stone, your parents --''
`` Please, call me Xavier. And I do n't want my parents here. I do n't want them waking Bela up. This is my last request, Dr. Perry. Help a dying man out?''
He hesitated at first, then he taps me on my shoulder.
`` I hope it has been a good life, Mr. Stone. I mean, Xavier,'' he said.
I look at my daughter for the last time.
`` Its never been this good, Doc.'' I smile.
She was the last thing I saw. My eyes closed automatically, and I felt like I was flying. Damn, I thought. Death was a better drug than any combined. I feel the softness of her hand leave me, and that was it. For a fraction of a second, I was certain that I was dead.
...
A flash of white light overwhelmed me. I was in a daze. I felt unsteady, but soon, I realize that I could open my eyes.
My surroundings are starting to form into something. A room.
*Wait. *
I've been here before.
But I ca n't move. I see the room, its familiar atmosphere. The pink bed and the drawings taped on the wall. A picture of a man and a little girl in a fairy costume.
I look down, and I recognize what I'm wearing. `` Hello'', my shirt says.
The door opens. I see her.
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[ WP ] Emotions have started manifesting themselves into living breathing lifeforms . Yours are in your kitchen right now .
| `` You know, I did n't think cynicism was an emotion.'' I mention casually, skirting around the emaciated, mottled grey-black humanoid creature sitting cross-legged on my kitchen table. The, erm, Cynic ( I guess? ) pulls its curtain of greasy black hair back with one hand and gestures to the hair-tie on my wrist with his other. I toss it to him and duck behind the table to grab a couple of sodas from the box on the floor.
`` Well for most people it's probably not.'' Cynic answers in a voice that sounds eerily like Jack of Blades from the PC version of Fable. `` But since you developed a ridiculous habit of channeling what little negative emotion you have into fuel for your shitty attitude and rapidly declining sense of humor I get to represent pretty much every negative emotion you have: so that's your pain from your few meaningful rejections, your anxiety about your crashing and burning immediately upon entering your adult life, all of that festering contempt and angst from when you were twelve, the last toxic bits of your episode of existential depression from age fourteen and your overall depressing view of existence. I get to represent all of that because cynical bullshit is all you'll listen too.''
I continue to surprise myself by listening intently to the rant of the horrifying entity of every part of my brain I do n't like to think about with absolutely no desire to run or kill it. I mean, the thing's terrifying! It's still hunched on my kitchen table, drinking a soda and smoking what I can only assume is my last cigar. I'm really regretting giving it that hair-tie now. Its entire face is extremely thin and angled, kind of like a much more exaggerated version of high-fantasy elves, with giant, pitch-black eyes, a long, hooked nose like what Sherlock Holmes had in the book, and a mouth stretched into a permanent sardonic grin so big and joker-ish it almost touches the nearly transparent skin stretched tentatively over its jutting cheekbones. When it stretch out to take the soda I also saw thin, jointed appendages folded against its back, they looked like bird wings sans-feathers. Oh god is this thing some kind of bullshit symbol of that `` Every cynic is a failed idealist'' quote?
`` I do n't think this is a conversation I should be having sober.'' I say shakily, pulling a joint from my cigar foil. Cynic nods, pulling his horrifying taloned bird feet from under him and stretching out straight, `` Getting high should get the attention of the other third of this conversation.'' He kicks a kitchen chair towards me and I collapse gratefully, lighting the joint and taking a few puffs before passing it.
`` Should you be partaking in one of the positive things I have in my life?'' I ask Cynic as he hits it. `` Or is the fact that you can partake of it a sign that it's a negative thing?'' It holds up one bony finger and inhales sharply through its nose, passing me the joint before exhaling out of the window. `` Slow down there Aristotle. I'm also an embodiment of the negative side of your shameless hedonism, you know the part of your brain that drives you to new states of inebriation so that you can escape the life-shortening misery your own worldview and self-pity sometimes causes you? Yeah I get that too. That aside, this'll help keep me from becoming overly whiny and conceited like all of this is when it's in your head.''
I nod sagely, holding my hit, wondering if I'm just having some sort of weird hallucination caused by bi-neural beats and the rampant introspection my narcissism and free time leaves me vulnerable to. A sharp prick on my shoulder brings me around to see what I can only assume is the incarnation of whatever positive emotions I experience.
Sitting on my counter, hitting on my joint, is something entirely different from what is sitting on my table. This one's shorter, but well-proportioned, lean and covered in short black fur, instead of bald, emaciated and stick-like. Its face is also much broader and the jaw much stronger than Cynic's: with abroad, flatish nose, smaller but still overly large and heavy-lidded yellow eyes that I swear are sparkling on their own, and a wide, content smile on a fat-lipped face framed by thick blonde dreadlocks. He holds out a furry hand tipped with broad, curved claws.
`` So What do you represent?'' I ask, obliging that scary looking hand. He grins, exposing a mouth full of broad, pointed teeth before taking a hit. `` I-'' He chokes out, struggling to contain the smoke before releasing it in a gout of furious coughing and handing me the joint back, which I spear on the end of a handy-dandy safety pin that is my go-to roach-clip. `` Represent the more positive and healthy parts of your mind.'' His voice makes me think of Steve Blume if he was high. `` Your weird sense of confidence that's spawned from cynicism, your sense of contentment that's present when you're high or somewhere nice, that weird euphoria you get when you absolutely lose your shit at someone's joke or they lose their shit at yours, I'm that weird feeling of warmth that you get with that girl you've got absolutely no shot with, I'm your acceptance that the fact you've got no shot with the coolest person you've ever met and you're totally fine with it because you just like hanging out, I'm the positive side of your shameless hedonism that tells you to go out and alter your brain so that you can explore new faucets of you consciousness, I'm that deeply embedded happiness that comes from your knowledge that you live in a universe with more awesome shit than you can ever imagine.''
Another sage nod as I take a hit, hold, pass and exhale. `` So what's up with the claws, and monster teeth?'' He does n't reply immediately, as he's puffing the roach down, but he does uncurl a previously unseen tail and stretch it towards me, revealing a long spike of bone protruding from the tip. Now that sends a rare pang of fear through me, I still do n't know what these fucks want after all. `` I-I-I'll go get the bong.'' I stammer before rushing back to my room. `` Remember to change your pants if your shit bricks coming to terms with this!'' Cynic calls behind me.
A few swigs from my secret bottle of vodka and a steadying hit from my borrowed bong helps return to my kitchen to, well, face myself I guess. I shove the bong into Cynic's chest to silence the condescending comment I suspect is coming and retake my seat between the two entities. `` So the claws, fangs and wierd-ass spike tail?..'' I trail off, gesturing vaguely at the entirety of Stoner's form. `` Oh that?'' Stoner laughs a pretty mean laugh, the one I usually produce when I hear or say something really mean. `` That's because all the shit you've ever said that's legitimately hurt somebody, intentional or otherwise? That's me too: I'm also your inner sadist, that pleasure you get from fucking with someone's emotions, or beating on someone during sex, I'm also that twisted amusement that you have when you see someone die, so I'm arguably the worst part of you, from an un-selfish point of view.''
I take my hit and pass the bong, glad that water from last night did n't get too rank. `` Alright then.'' I exhale. `` So am I going batshit or is everyone having some kind of vaguely similar meeting?'' Cynic taps a taloned foot on the floor. `` Well it's pretty different for everyone, emotions are pretty universal, but everyone reacts differently.'' `` So are everybody's emotional incarnations going to look like total freaks?'' Stoner shrugs and hands the bong back. `` They'll all be unique, but most probably wo n't be quite as freaky as us. You've got a pretty twisted imagination dude.'' `` Okay are you guys going to be visible to everybody and can you communicate with other people?''
`` Yes.'' Cynic strains. `` And no.'' Stoner finishes. `` Everybody can see us, but no one can communicate with us unless they or we have express permission from you. They can touch us but they're really not going to want to, for more reasons than one.'' `` Okay so why are you here?'' I ask, accepting the bong. `` Ca n't say.'' They answer simply. `` How long?'' `` Ca n't say.'' `` Oh god school's going to be really interesting tomorrow.'' Stoner grins. `` Oh dude hell yeah.'' Cynic coughs heavily. `` Can you imagine how fucked up it's gon na be for people with friends?''
Holy shit at that wall of text. Never write high kids.
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[ WP ] In the future we are able to scan through our GPS history to see where we have intersected with people we are `` meeting '' for the first time . You spot a cute girl in a bar and do a quick GPS intersection scan to discover she 's been within 50 feet of you for every one of your life 's disasters .
| `` Well?'' Eli peered over my shoulder as I scanned through my GeoWatch.
`` I do n't know,'' I said, as I discretely pointed my wrist at the cute girl across the bar. `` This seems kind of... stalkerish.'' The watch recognized its target and quickly began sorting through my location history.
Eli pushed at my shoulder. `` Come on, man,'' he said, `` it's pretty ingenious. I mean, it's the perfect conversation starter!'' He hopped up from his bar stool and began a haphazard impression of my pickup skills: ``'Hey there, have I seen you somewhere? Were you at that Barnes and Noble on Fifth Street?''' He reached for his beer glass and chugged it back. ``'Why yes, I like to read as well...''' his voice trailed off as he started laughing uncontrollably. I rolled my eyes.
*Ding! Ding! * A metallic beeping noise indicated that my GeoWatch had finished its scan. I glanced down at the tiny screen. The algorithm had returned 7 matches. `` Holy shit,'' I said out loud, to no one in particular. I scrolled down the list of previous encounters, with the first one beginning...
I nearly spat my drink out. I had to squint my eyes and lean in closer to make sure I read it correctly. *March 15, 2015. * I was only 5 years old, then. What were the odds? I had n't even lived in the city then, that was back when I lived in Georgia. Even so, there was something else about this particular date that struck a chord; I racked my brain to figure out why, until the obviousness of it hit me like a train: that was the day my dad died.
*Okay, either some asshole just hacked me, or this chick has the worst timing. * Just out of curiosity, I checked the second match. *June 29, 2035. * The day my girlfriend of eight years had broken up with me. *What the fuck!? * I kept scrolling.
*August 13, 2036. * My mom died.
*December 4, 2038. * I got fired from my job.
*July 15, 2039. * I shuddered. That was a particularly bad day -- it was the day I tried to kill myself.
*July 16, 2039. * My frustrated sister called me a coward. She never called me since.
Tears started rolling down my face. What asshole would hack my watch like this? Just so I could suffer? I glanced across the bar at that cute girl. Was it her? Was she a friend of my ex-girlfriend's or something, trying to make me feel like shit? I could n't control myself. I stormed across the bar. `` Hey --'' I began to shout at her.
It seemed as if she had expected me to come. She stood up out of her seat, with an amicable expression on her face, and ambled towards me. `` Thomas,'' she said, in soothing tone that somehow rose above the noises of the bar.
I could n't see through my tears. `` Did that bitch put you up to this?'' I started to sob.
She shook her head, her face turning to one of sadness. `` Thomas,'' she started. `` I'm sorry. I did n't mean for you to get angry.''
`` Answer the question!'' I shouted, my fists starting to clench.
`` No,'' she said, sternly. `` I did n't mess with your watch. It's accurate.''
`` Then who the fuck are you... ``
She smiled. `` Someone who cares about you. Who's always been there for you.''
There was something about her voice, her tone, that made me believe her. My skepticism melted away.
She continued. `` Every time you were hurt, I watched. And I cried.'' A single tear rolled down her cheek.
`` Are you, like, my guardian angel, or something?''
She chuckled. `` Or something.''
I shook my head. `` It is n't fair, you know. I've had a good life. You ca n't just judge me by my worst moments. You ca n't --''
She interrupted me. `` I understand. I understand you've had a great life. I'm happy for you. But I'm sad I have to be here tonight.''
I did n't say anything for some time. We shared a silent moment between us, allowing the background noise of the bar to take over. Something had *happened* inside of me. For some inexplicable reason, I believed everything this girl had told me. And the strangest thing was that I felt at peace. `` So I'm going to die tonight,'' I finally said.
`` Brain aneurysm.''
I moved my hands up to my temples. I felt a warmth that I had n't felt before. `` Is it going to hurt?'' I asked.
She shook her head. `` Not as long as I'm here,'' she said.
`` Why the whole trick with the watch?'' I asked. I could n't help but think that it was all just a setup to get me to talk to her.
`` Us angels like to have a little fun every now and then. Although, like I said, the watch was accurate. I *have* been there for you in your worst moments.''
I glanced around the bar, back at my friend, who had already passed out and was drooling on the floor. `` He's going to miss me,'' I said. `` He was there for me, especially when I tried to kill myself.'' I turned back to the girl. `` Do I have time to say goodbye, before the aneurysm hits?''
She wore a sad expression. She shook her head solemnly. `` No,'' she said, softly.
My peace was starting to run out. Hot tears rolled down my face. I felt the burden of death right around the corner. I wished now more than anything that I could just rewind the clock, that I never spotted this cute girl across the bar. *But it would have mad no difference. * `` Why not?'' I managed to mumble out between short sobs.
`` Because you've already died.''
Darkness came crashing in.
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[ WP ] Mental illness can be forced to manifest into a physical form . You are professional MMA champion hired to beat the depression out of people .
| `` Introducing- the one, the only, the Theeeerrrrafiiiiiiiiiist!''
The crowd roared. Lights flashed. The Therafist grinned.
`` And in the other corner, ladies and gentlemen we have a real treat for you tonight- the depression of Ray Wilks, an office worker in rainy Seattle!''
The red humanoid figure sitting in the opposite corner looked up and sniffed, standing up to look around at the crowd. It lethargically removed its shirt, revealing rippling muscles and the word `` DEPRESSION'' in large black letters across its chest. It stood still, unblinking for a few seconds until the jeers died down.
The Therafist cracked his knuckles and raised his arms to the crowd, eliciting more cheers. He was going to beat the *shit* out of depression.
The announcer droned on and finally the bell rang.
With a sigh, the red figure stepped forward and put up its hands in some sort of half-assed block. The Therafist gave him a quick one-two and followed up with a wild right hook that knocked the creature back into the ropes.
They always made it too easy. He stepped forward to finish it off- and was slammed into the mat, his breath crushed out of him.
`` Oooh, that's got ta hurt. Looks like we've got a surprise tag-team, ladies and gentlemen!''
The Therafist turned his head to look at what was on top of him. A large, fat figure, like a grey sumo wrestler, lay on top of him with a bored expression.'APATHY' was scrawled across his blobby pectorals. Therafist squirmed, but it was no use. He could n't move.
Depression walked up to him and unexcitedly began kicking him in the face. Four, five kicks, and his blood was splattering in front of him.
Suddenly, he was hauled to his feet. He was still held from behind by Apathy. A slim green figure outside of the ring,'SELF DOUBT', tossed a chair to Depression, who slammed the Therafist in the head with it. He was down, Apathy on top of him again. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM. The chair hit him in the head until one of the bolts gave and it fell to pieces.
The Therafist was in a bad way. He wanted to give up, to tap out, to surrender and make it stop, but Apathy would n't let him. His arms were pinned. He blacked out for a moment.
Apathy, thinking him done, shifted his weight to stand- and that's when the Therafist made his move. He bucked, kicking Apathy straight in the temple, and the creature fell. He jumped with a crazy, desperate uppercut, catching Depression in the jaw. The creature fell to one knee. The Therafist again stepped forward- CRACK. Something gave out and he fell. He looked at his feet and saw, to his horror, his leg was sticking out at an unnatural angle. Self Doubt stood over him with a crowbar.
Apathy lumbered over, grabbing one of his arms and holding him up. Self Doubt grabbed the other. Depression was right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do as he was beaten near senseless. The last thing the Therafist saw was Depression standing on the corner pole of the ring, and then jumping up to slam on top of him.
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[ WP ] The `` dislike '' button on YouTube videos is replaced with a `` electrocute uploader '' button .
| `` Finally'' He mumbles angrily, feeling his breathing go heavy as he clicks onto Justin Biebers YouTube channel. He felt a surge of power flow through him as he let his cursor glide slowly ontop of the electrocute button. It felt so natural to do it, yet so out of place with the new icon.
He used to do this alot. Pressing the dislike button, navigating to the comment section, typing as fast as his greasy sausages would allow him.
He would usually end up exhausted and having to calm his breath after each comment.
As his mind drifted off, following the routine, he felt his hand hit the mouse button, his cursor drift to the big writing box he was so familiar with, and heard the loud clicks of his mechanical keyboard firing away at this /Justin Bieber/.
Suddenly, it came to him. He had killed a man. He felt his fat wobbling as he tightened his muscles, his scalp breaking sweat after sweat under his fedora. He began to feel uneasy, and he felt the drinks and crisps in his stomach lunging towards the upper exit. His keyboard was covered in a wierd greenish colour, the colour of Doritos mixed with stomach bile. The unusual smell of puke began filling the room, and his stomach lurched a second time at this. This time, however, he was ready, had felt it coming. He bent to the side and projectile vomited at his second monitor, dousing his favorite pony in puke.
Another thought came to him. He grabbed the last pieces of corroded Doritos out of his neckbeard, and clicked onto his own YouTube page. He went to his latest video and watched the amount of likes and dislikes closely. For what felt like hours he sat, in his pile of puke, sweat gathering at his moobs, waiting for the inevitable.
He jerked from his chair from surprise, as the dislike bar gained a pixel. He felt a slight tingling sensation at his feet, that rose up his legs. As the electricity claimed him, he thought about closing his YouTube page. He thought it might safe his upper-body from paralysis. He moved his hand with all his might, but it would n't budge. Finally, he relaxed his muscles, and as the tingle, still becoming stronger, neared his heart, he felt his sight grow narrow and his heartbeat peaking. His stomach lurched a third time, this time releasing nothing but bile in his throat. The burning sensation in his throat was the last thing he felt, as his nerves grew numb and the hum of his computer grew further away, only to disappear completely, being the last thing he sensed.
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[ WP ] On everyone 's 18th birthday at noon , one word appears in their skin , depicting their career or purpose in life . On your birthday you 're staring at a clock showing 11:59am , family and friends gathered around for your reveal .
| My mother to my left, my father to my right, and assorted family gathered elsewhere in the room all waited and started. I felt as if I was becoming a spectacle, my arm on show for everyone I knew.
My cousin Jeremy had been branded as a veterinarian, which is odd because as children he was cruel to animals. Come to think of it my sister had been given harlot, though from the rumors that one is n't too far off.
As the clock struck 11:59 my pulse began to race and a faint sheen of sweat lingered on my brow, my entire future could be decided in this moment or some deep motive that some twisted divine had placed inside me.
The clock on the wall was deafening, every other sound so blatantly missing, as if the air itself waited.
In this moment I had forgotten how to breathe, blinking was all but forgotten. This one place in the universe is all that mattered. Suddenly, the clock struck with a chime and words began to creep onto my skin linking the space between my freckles. The pattern of the letters was almost comical how bad they were written, almost as if a drunken frat boy was tattooing me.
*send^nudes*
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[ WP ] A top-secret division of the S.S. , in charge of protecting Adolf Hitler from the thousands of time travelers trying to kill him .
| “ You know what I don ’ t get? ”
“ What ’ s that? ”
“ If these dicks all have invented or discovered time travel, why do they all seem to come to the past? ”
“ Because that ’ s when history happened, Delta. ”
BANG
“ Nice shot, Beta. I just mean that they can travel to any point in the past, present, or future, and they always seem to choose here, now, April 30th, 1945. Whoa, watch that one. ”
BANG
“ Got him. I think it ’ s because most people in the future learn of the things this guy did, and try to stop them from happening. ”
“ They really don ’ t get how time works, do they? ”
BANG
“ What do you mean by that? ”
“ Think about it, Beta. We have no idea how time travel works until it actually happens and someone has changed something. ”
“ …I ’ m still not sure I follow. ”
“ Oh for the love of… ”
BANG
“ Okay, Beta. Let ’ s say I go back in time to kill this guy we ’ re guarding as a baby. Instead of killing the baby, they just switch it with another baby. They go back to their time only to find that the baby grows up to be the guy anyway. ”
“ With you so far, Delta. ”
“ OR let ’ s say I went back in time to kill my grandfather. I kill him, but I also prevent my own birth, thereby preventing me from killing my grandfather, so I never go back in time to kill my grandfather, so that all just creates an infinite loop of me killing, but not killing my grandfather. ”
BANG
“ A little confusing, but I still follow. ”
“ And the last way is I go back and kill both my grandparents. But nothing happens, because I just created another reality. History continues, and I can ’ t return to my original time. I ’ ve just created an alternate timeline in the multiverse. ”
“ Multiverse…I haven ’ t heard that term before. ”
“ That ’ s because the multiverse theory doesn ’ t appear until 1957. ”
“ How do you know…wait, why ’ re you pointing your gun at… ”
“ Sorry, Beta. ”
BANG
…
…
…
“ April 30th, 1945. I didn ’ t think I ’ d be the one to finally make it here. I guess it ’ s time for us to find out how time travel works, Mr. Hitler. ”
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[ WP ] You are dead . There is no afterlife .
| I still remember how beautiful she looked on the day of our wedding. Her white dress with rhinestones shining in the morning sun as she walked. The contours of her body as an almost perfect hourglass filling out the dress almost as if it was a part of her skin. Her veil was lifted. Eyes the colour of chips of ice stared at me, piercing and taking control of my mind; stirring the exact same feelings as the day I first saw her. Her hair was a light brown with a natural wave that flowed to her breast so perfectly nobody would guess that it was natural. A smile appeared when she saw me that I shall remember for the rest of my time on this earth.
For our honeymoon we travelled across Asia and visited several monasteries. My favourite was on top of a mountain that took the better part of 4 hours to climb. The building itself was red brick, surrounded with gold statues of different deities ranging from 8 feet all the way up to 20 feet tall. The building itself seemed to touch the clouds, as if connected to something that we could never understand.
The monks that lived there often spoke of death, and how it is not wise to fear death; rather we should embrace it. I asked what happens when we die and I was given an incredibly simple answer; an answer that I fully understood, but could never fully comprehend.
`` Do you remember what it was like before you were born?''
`` No.''
`` That's what it's like when you're dead.''
I always found comfort in that. Not a comfort as one would have when wanting reassurance that everything would be alight, but a comfort that in the end, the only thing that matters is what you have done with your time on this earth.
My wife never understood that. She was always overly terrified of death, in the same manner that a young child reacts when a bee flies near them. When cancer took her from me last week all I can remember was how scared she had been. She begged me never to leave her side and was constantly searching for alternative medications aside from the chemo. She was scared for the last few months of her life, and it took its toll on her. Some days I think being scared of dying was what really killed her, not the cancer.
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[ WP ] You are the lone survivor of of some fatal event . You die immediately afterwards in the most pathetic and humiliating way possible .
| The air raid siren howled into the air, a desperate yet futile plea to the masses scurrying in the streets like deer running from a forest fire. There was no denying it; our annihilation was at hand.
Unfortunately, the time to flee had long since passed. Within minutes the very world around us would be turned to ash, a toxic wasteland branded onto the face of this doomed Earth.
However, during the chaos I did what those around me could not - I remained calm. The will to live burned brightly inside of me, brighter than the nuclear storm that seemed destined to engulf me. Thinking fast, I gutted the majority of my refrigerator and climbed inside.
It was quiet, almost idyllic. In fact it was rather comfortable - up until the bombs fell at least. I do n't remember much after that, other than waking up some time after, still encased in my chilled shelter.
You would n't believe my excitement and surprise, although, you need n't bother. My glee was very short lived. While I had indeed survived the onslaught of nuclear rain that had washed over me, it seemed that ultimately, one's fate can not be so easily avoided.
Protruding from my chest was a large, solid carrot.
For several minutes, pain burned through me. I began to feel faint as my crippled body drained into what was destined to be my cold tomb. After a short time, the pain subsided and a feeling of calming warmth washed over me, my vision fading into an unfocussed blur. My eyes began to close, and as I lost consciousness I could n't help but think...
... I do n't even like carrots.
|
[ WP ] You 're a perky , blonde cheerleader and you 've found yourself in a horror movie . However , you 're an educated woman you are sick of this crap .
| They jokingly called us the Breakfast Club.
Us being the perennially underfunded Robert E. Lee High School debate team, or what was left of it after our coach—the former Ms. Cynthia Alverez—suddenly eloped with the billionaire she had met while reaching for grapes at the local Whole Foods. ( I'm told the story of their meeting is very cute, but he was also fifty-two to her twenty-six, so I was not exactly sympathetic when she emailed us about `` pursuing her great love'' and left us in the lurch three months before State. ) Anyway, after she left and the administration still had n't hired a new coach six weeks later, most of the underclassmen bailed until next year, which just left us six seniors.
Therefore, when Bramford suggested we go on retreat to his uncle's cabin, I figured we would mostly just get drunk and maybe half heartedly organize bins and practice IEs. I had basically checked out by that time—my college acceptance letter to Barnard already framed on the wall, my last Cheer ribbon pinned on the corkboard next to it—so I was more or less just going along for the team. After all, I only joined debate my freshman year in order to pad my resume for college, but had discovered that I was a halfway competent CXer ( something my dad found endlessly amusing: `` Well at least all those years of gabbing at high speed to those friends of yours on the phone was useful for something.'' ) and so four years later I found myself helping Gabriel, my partner in all things policy debate, load camping supplies into the back of my silver SUV.
Gabe and I are pretty different. I have no idea what I want in life since none of my family had made it past high school until now and I had already achieved everything my mother wanted of me—besides being engaged—by becoming Prom queen, but he was already looking past CMU to his projected future in Silicon Valley and attended hackathons in his free time. But, we knew each other well after being partners for years and spent the entire hour long car ride in a comfortable silence, the radio tuned to our NPR member station.
Despite being half-asian, Bram was your stereotype of the a good ole Southern boy—fishing and being The Generals' tight end were his real passions in life and he only joined the team because his mother had insisted—so I resigned myself to a weekend of not being able to use my blow dryer or receive cell phone signal when we pulled up to a cabin that was only notable for its Walden-like sparseness. Lexi and the others had already arrived earlier and Bram was already flipping patties on the small grill.
Lex was co-captain of the team, our resident overachiever in a group of overachievers, and had joined debate out of a genuine nerdy love for competitive arguing. She also did public with Bram and lusted after him with an all consuming passion that I thought mostly came from the fact that it would feed her vanity if he—who was a stratosphere away socially—suddenly declared his undying love for her. Although, in their partnership, she might be the main brains of the operation, but he was the charming public speaker, his voice deep and smooth to her agitated chatter.
When I went to drop my bags inside—which was actually well furnished to my relief—Raven was curled up on one of the couches with a book and she raised one hand in a wave when I came in before turning her attention back to Nabokov. Raven was n't actually her real name. She had gone through a goth phase in junior high and, when her family had moved from down from the North her sophomore year of high school, she had thought to remake herself by telling everyone her name was Raven. Although she had moved on to wearing oversized denim jackets and listening to obscure bands, she still kept the name and the heavy winged liner. She actually did n't debate and was on the team just to do Poetry and Prose.
If you're keeping up with the Breakfast Club analogy—which Francine my co-captain on the squad came up with during lunch one day and repeated to basically everyone she knew because she thought it was *so* clever—that just leaves Jonathan. Or as Francine said multiple times that week, `` Sam and Lexi are, like, both the Princess and Jonathan is the Criminal because he's black!'' I do n't think she meant to be intentionally racist, but Jon told me he's turning it into an anecdote for an essay he's writing for the Huffington Post on microaggressions he's experienced while living in a suburban, majority-white neighborhood. Jon does LD and is planning on becoming a lawyer and getting the hell out of the South. He, like the rest of us, joined the team because it was the only academic extracurricular that was offered.
Despite everything, we all liked each other fine and by nightfall were sprawled together on the couches before the fire, comfortably drunk on Bram's uncle's bourbon stash.
`` You know,'' Jon said, standing up and swaying slightly. `` I should n't be surprised by now, but can we talk about how there's a wolf head mounted over the fireplace?''
`` It's kind of messed up, dude,'' Raven piped in.
`` There's actually a family legend about that,'' Bram said. `` Something about an ancient curse, the full moon, the Mayan calendar and... I'm too drunk to make more shit up.''
Lex groaned dramatically and elbowed him, strategically moving herself closer to my amusement. I myself was curled up next to Raven underneath a wool blanket, my head pillowed on her shoulder, increasingly unable to keep my eyes open. In fact, I was almost asleep when Gabe stood up to refill his red cup, tripped over the rug and slammed into the mounted wolf head, the the sharp teeth breaking skin on his forehead and knocking his glasses askew.
`` Oh shit!'' Bram jumped up, disentangling himself from Lex—*they were cuddling? * I thought blearily—and used a corner of his flannel shirt to wipe the small amount of blood seeping from the wound. Everything that happened after was a bit of a blur to me, at least until the wolf mounted on the mantle, its right canine coated in blood, opened its eyes and howled. Then I was suddenly very awake.
After everyone had stopped cursing in alarm and terror, Jon said shakily, `` Samantha, my girl, you know this means we're going to die first.''
A howl echoed in the distance, punctuating his statement.
I was already trying to dial 911 and swore when there was no cell signal. Bram whipped out a shotgun from whatever pocket dimension he had it in and fired a shot into the snarling wolf head, silencing it, while Raven filmed it on her phone—'' just in case this is a hallucination'' —and Lex picked up a poker from the rack.
`` Ignoring the complete impossibility of what just happened,'' Gabe was now holding a napkin to his forehead. `` I think we have two options. We try to barricade ourselves in here or we can try to run.''
`` I'm *not staying here with that thing*,'' Lex said hysterically, fumbling for her keys.
`` Hold on,'' Jon said. `` Have n't you seen the movies? We have to stick together otherwise everyone's going to die except Gabe and Lex like some morality play about how we should do our homework and *it's bad to be a slut or black! *''
`` Let's all grab weapons and take my car,'' I said. `` I have the most space and we should leave now to get ahead of whatever is going on.''
We all hurried to arm ourselves. Bram shoved a pistol into his backpack, tossing me its twin which I tucked in my purse, but did n't let anyone else touch the gun cache saying to the others, `` Realistically, with no gun training, you guys would be more likely to shoot yourselves.''
Bram also flicked on a flashlight as we hurried out together, the howling moving ever closer. The car beeped twice as I disengaged the locks and slid into the driver's seat. My palms were sweaty as I shoved the key in the ignition and flicked on the headlights, the others sliding pell mell into the back. Bram had circled around the car to ride shotgun, but suddenly his flashlight jerked away, its light arcing into the night air before toppling into the bushes. A shadow streaked past the front of the car. Someone in the back screamed and I was swearing now but barely registering it as I gunned the car in reverse and swerved it, my headlights turning to illuminate a massive wolf crouched over Bram's still body lying in the gravel, its muzzle wet with his blood.
For a moment I thought about just driving away, but I suppose in the end I was a bit of an idiot after all. But not that much of an idiot. I judged the angle and drove my SUV right at the wolf and prayed that Bram's arms were close enough to his sides. The wolf hit the bumper hard enough to dent before bolting into the bushes with a whine and, as I turned the car, Gabe had already jumped forward into the front seat. He opened the door and quickly dragged Bram inside, seconds ticking away as we listened to growls in the distance. My heart was moving in uncontrolled jerks by the time he slammed the door and I drove off as quickly as I dared in the dark.
Hitting the wolf had maybe damaged something, as I felt an unfamiliar rattle near the front of the car and it seemed like the very trees were leaning down into us to block our escape. I forced myself to ignore everything and focus on the road as, next to me, Gabe staunched the gash on Bram's shoulder and talked about hot button political issues in an attempt to keep him awake. I do n't think any of us breathed until I eased onto the interstate. Then the doubts about what had happened started to slide in and we all snuck periodic glances at Bram in order to verify that it had been real.
We were silent as Lex pulled up directions to the nearest hospital on her phone.
It should n't be a surprise that we did n't go to State, as Bram spent the next month in the hospital and, without debate to hold us together, we all steadily drifted apart. The last time we were all together was a graduation when our mothers took a group photo of us—arms linked together and smiling.
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[ WP ] You 're a common goblin who has , against all odds , slain the hero of the story .
| Judas betrayed the Lord and admired his bag of silver; but shortly. A spiritual goblin become conqueror of our story's gallant hero. Victory to Judas sounded like the rattling of a purse full of loose coin; a decidedly lacking denouement to the greatest story ever told.
However, this story was n't his to steal, and the divine author had other plans for the third act. The cherubic wordsmith skillfully ushered said Judas to his own grisly, self-induced exit from this great drama, making him a mere plot device in an overarching and intricate story. Heartbroken and regretful, history's Iscariot hung himself in a Potter's Field, shitting himself in one final act of scene-stealing defiance. The Lord then died, and rose again; ever the hero of his own tale.
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[ WP ] You travelled back in time to hit on someone . If you failed you travelled further back into their past and tried again . You finally succeeded and have stayed with them . Unfortunately as it stands , their future is filled with your previous attempts .
| I clutched the notebook in my hand, staring at my handwritten warning:
“ March 10, 2016, 6:58 p.m.- The Flower Incident. ” I checked my surroundings, and casually slipped my way into the bushes in front of Olivia ’ s building. I had already messed this particular date up long ago. It was time to right an old wrong.
Of all my attempts to court Olivia, the flower incident had definitely been the worst. How was I supposed to know that she was allergic? Is there *any* appropriate reaction to anaphylactic shock on a first date? I shook myself out of my reverie when I heard footsteps approaching.
Sorry, let me back up. Or is it forward? I ’ ve been pretty confused about how to use verb tense ever since this all started back in ( will start in? Ugh. ) June 2017. There I was, minding my own business, just another young professional in a suit and tie on my way home from work. I was passing by an alleyway right next to my favorite kabob stand, when suddenly an eerily familiar voice hissed my name out of the shadows.
I jumped in shock as my head whipped toward the source of the sound. There, halfway crouched behind an overflowing dumpster, was a figure in a dark trench coat, large sunglasses that covered most of his face, and a hat that would have actually been quite stylish if the man didn ’ t already look like he had walked straight out of a bad spy flick.
I like to think I ’ m the adventurous sort, but in that moment my sense of practicality stepped in and I turned my head back forward and my feet started moving again in the direction I was going. The stranger yelled as I walked away.
“ Wait! ” he cried. I had definitely heard that voice somewhere, but I couldn ’ t quite put my finger on it. My head turned once more towards him, and he took off the glasses and hat. My jaw dropped. The stranger was… me. The lines in his ( my? ) put him ( me? ) at several years older than me, but the shape of his face, his eyes, the color of his hair, and his expression was exactly what I ’ ve seen in the mirror my whole life.
I started, and blurted out “ What kind of sick joke is- “ the man suddenly jumped from the shadows, cut me off by putting his finger over my lips in a shushing motion, and grabbed me by the tie and pulled me into the alley.
“ Look, there isn ’ t much time, ” the man muttered in a rapid tone, “ Yes, I ’ m you from the future. Just don ’ t question it. The new Star Trek series sucked. Sorry. It was a big letdown. Pull your stocks out of Google right now. ”
I stared at the man ( probably me ) with a blank expression. He had my own knowing but slightly amused expression all across my face as I sputtered. He had perfectly nailed my “ what would I do to verify myself to a past instance of myself if I was a time traveler ” questions. ( Don ’ t you even try to tell me you ’ ve never thought of these sort of things before. ) He looked directly into my eyes with a serious look, swallowed, and said,
“ So I ’ m back here because it turns out you ’ re, uh, we ’ re, uh, ” a look of frustration crossed his/my brow as he tripped over the unusual terminology, “ somehow critical to the future of the world. I don ’ t get it, but the Council has determined that we absolutely need to date Olivia, or the future is going to fall apart. I don ’ t get it either. ”
I let my face scrunch up into a confused stare.
“ And who… exactly is Olivia? ”
He/me responded by pulling out a futuristic looking phone and showed me a picture on the screen.
“ Her? I went on one date with her sometime last year, and it was a complete disaster! Flowers? What the heck was I thinking? ”
The man winced, apparently re-experiencing the embarrassment along with me.
“ Yeah. But, apparently the whole thing was meant to be, or some mystic bull-crap like that. They ’ re calling it a “ Universal Quantum Touchpoint ” or something fancy like that, but basically, you need to take this, ” he said, pushing a device that looked suspiciously like a black Tamagotchi toy ( which I definitely never owned ) into my hand, “ And fix things with her. ”
He gave me a meaningful look, as if he had given an adequate explanation, and stepped backwards. As he retreated, a faint wireframe of the faintest blue appeared on the lines of his figure. He took another step and the lines multiplied, covering most of his body. One more step, and the man vanished into the lines, and they suddenly converged and shot into the distance.
After recovering from the shock of meeting myself, I quickly found out the purpose of the device. It was a bona fide time travel device. I quickly dubbed it the “ Timeagotchi, ” for manly reasons completely unrelated to previous ownership of any similarly-named toy in my past. The first time I pressed the buttons on the front, any skepticism about the man who claimed to be me or his message pretty much vanished. I ’ ve seen some pretty high-effort pranks on the Internet, but, you just can ’ t really deny the truth when you jump back fifteen minutes in time and watch yourself get abducted and then instructed by yet another instance of yourself.
So, I did as the man said. I started out by jumping a week before the flower incident. I reintroduced myself ( is it appropriate to use the prefix re- if it was the first time for her? English just isn ’ t built for these kind of situations ) to Olivia. We had been riding the same train to work for years, but it had taken forever for me to gather up the courage to actually talk to her. We went on a nice date the next night. Coffee and ice skating. It went well, but when I called her for a second date later that week, she said that she thought we should just be friends.
So, I jumped a week back again. Movie and bowling. It was great, even better that the first. But when I called for the second date, I found myself still in the friend zone.
I jumped again. Carnival. Again. Homemade pizza. Again. A hike through the nearby hills. Each time, I was still in the friend zone, but I was getting to know her really well. I could see her face becoming brighter with each date, and the smile lines around her eyes deepening.
Finally, on the sixth jump, I finally had the perfect date with her. It ended with us walking down the moonlit beach, hand in hand. She looked into my eyes, and said,
“ You know, we just met yesterday, but I feel like you understand me almost better than you understand myself. I love how you seem to be able to anticipate my every feeling. ”
When I called for a second date the next day, I got an enthusiastic yes.
So, as I had been working my way back through Olivia ’ s history, I had gotten into the habit of meeting her on a Tuesday, and taking her out on a Wednesday. I ’ m a creature of habit, I guess. It just so happened that our second date was also scheduled for a Wednesday. We got on the train, ready to head to a stage play, when suddenly, disaster approached. One car away, I saw myself enter with a bag of sports drinks and snacks, wearing shorts and hiking boots.
I excused myself from Olivia, muttering a lame excuse about needing the bathroom or something, and I pushed my way through the crowded car. I tapped myself on the shoulder.
“ You. Off the train, now. ”
My eyes, ( the other me, not me, ah, you get it, right? ) widened in surprise.
`` But, hiking seems like such a great date for her! ”
“ Yeah, close, but no cigar. It took one more date to get to this, ” I said, pulling out my phone and showed him a moonlit selfie of me and Olivia, our faces pressed together with a wide grin that seemed to stretch across both our faces.
My ( other me ) eyes narrowed in acknowledgement, possibly jealously. Is it possible to be jealous of yourself? Without saying another word, he stepped off the train, pulled out the Timeagotchi, and disappeared in a flash of blue wireframe.
So that ’ s how it went for the next few dates with Olivia. I was surprisingly cooperative with myself, for the most part. I took it pretty hard on the carnival date, but I had been in kind of a strange mood that night anyway. Olivia and I continued to grow closer and closer as we spent time together.
So that brings me to tonight, March 10, 2016. The original “ Flower Incident. ” My head was spinning with the plans I'd made as I watched myself approach, holding a modest bouquet of flowers as I nervously approached Olivia ’ s apartment for the first time. I stepped out from behind a hedge in front of the building, right in the path of my past self. He froze, the flowers quivering in his hand.
“ Yeah, it ’ s you from the future. The new Star Trek sucks, and pull your stocks out of Google. ” I said, looking seriously into my eyes. Past me ’ s eyes widened and he gave a tense nod. I moved to stand side by side with myself, putting my arm around my shoulders.
“ Look, you and Olivia are a great match, I said, ” as I pulled out my phone in front of us and swiped through several pictures of Olivia and I. I ended of the one of Olivia and I on the beach, our first successful date. I put the phone away and plucked several flowers out of the bouquet. “ But, I said, she ’ s deathly allergic to tulips. One whiff of these bad boys and she ’ s gone. ”
I stepped back in front of myself, looked into my eyes and said “ Just be confident, bud. You ’ ve already succeeded. Kind of. It ’ s complicated. Just get up there, knock on her door, be yourself and have a great time. ” I thumped myself on the back, and he stumbled forward towards the apartment door. When I ’ m already nervous, I have an amazing ability to just accept whatever ’ s in front of me. Past me turned to look back at me, eyebrows high on his forehead, hand on the door handle. I grinned and gave him a double thumbs up. He shook his head, unsure of what to think, and turned back around and entered the apartment.
I watched him enter the building, and then stood there for a moment, the tulips still in my hand. A lump rose in my throat as I wondered what would happen. I felt a hand rest on my shoulder.
“ You made the right choice, ” I heard my own voice say.
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[ WP ] Everyone speaks in a different font . You 've seen plenty of Times New Romans and Helveticas , but today you meet someone using a font you 've never seen before .
| `` It's a combination of multiple things. You ca n't expect your font to look professional if you constantly use slang. It puts you in the wrong mindset. Push the vowels, do n't mumble. We'll start with an easy power phrase. Repeat after me:'I'm the boss here.'''
The professor scanned the room and looked for fine details in the text that came up as they spoke together. The class had a size limit so he could see each of his student's text as they ticked on display word by word. The sentences hovered steady above their heads, each in varying thickness and size.
`` Blue shirt, Alyssa right? Your font is a bit small. You want to hear it louder in your mind, show us you're not afraid. You wrote you were a Prosecutor in your introduction post if I remember correctly. You've got to show the jury you know what you're talking about. Show me some strength.'' He flexed his bicep to accentuate the point.
Each of his students was aiming to learn for their unique purposes. Richard left side was a weatherman who needed a cleaner font for the cameras. Heather dead center was a petite nurse whose patients took one look at her thin, bubbly font and proceeded to ignore all of her professional advice. Font shaping was a useful skill taken alongside rhetoric and speech to give people a new sense of power in their voice. Color theory stayed in the music department where conductors could chisel delicate blue or shocking pink fonts from the more talented.
`` New phrase everyone. All together now,'I'm in control. Listen to me.''' He articulated carefully to hit all of the key points he skimmed over in his lesson.
Professor Barker did n't expect much of a change from each phrase. First day lessons were only to set up class dynamics and give a few examples to the students so they would how an everyday class might go, plus answering syllabus questions. Again he screened over each font and took in the styles, focusing on the general strengths and weaknesses like a chef would inspect his fresh ingredients before a recipe.
He noticed the young brunette in the far back right, lips sealed at each prompt. It was n't uncommon for a student to be shy about their font, especially since attending his class implied there were some things to fix about it. He privately pinged her desk - `` Do n't be afraid to join in, you can even use a quiet font for right now. Nobody will see but me, and I promise I wo n't judge.''
He instructed the class through another set of phrases and kept a curious eye on her. He did n't want to hone in too intently and intimidate her even more, so he lazily scanned the room and paused over her font for a brief moment. And wow.
He'd never seen anything like it.. The way the words flowed into one another elegantly, all connected like vines growing into one another. The lines themselves were thin like a woman's fine eyeliner. The g's and y's looped in a way that was n't bubbly but had a confident layer of something mysterious, feminine, ancient.
She saw the way his eyes lit up at her repetition. She whispered and he knew by the volume that it was meant only for him. The letters twirled above her.
`` It's called cursive.''
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[ WP ] God exists , and it answers one prayer per person exactly as asked . Everyone wasted their prayer without knowing while they were younger , but you never prayed until you were in your twenties . You pray for something noticeable .
| `` Bubby likes hot pockets,'' said the young boy in the grocery aisle beside his devoted mother.
`` I know you do, Buddy,'' said the mother. `` But we are having dinner with the Fox family tonight, so I do n't want to spoil your appetite.''
`` But, Bubby wants hot pockets,'' he said with a pout on his face. He reached for the item on the shelf., but his mother stopped him. Then he began to chant. `` Hot pockets. Hot pockets. Hot pockets!''
Rhonda Carlyle was stocking shelves when the wailing began. She had a terrible migraine. The woman and her spoiled brat were driving the blade through her brain. The wailing showed no sign of letting up. Her manager, Sasha was nowhere to be seen, and probably making herself scarce to avoid having to deal with the situation. The other customers were too polite to say anything, avoiding them like little fish avoid a big shark.
`` Ma'am,'' said Rhonda, `` could you please calm your child down? He's disturbing the other customers.''
The woman turned to look at Rhonda with the darkest look of loathing a human could muster. `` Who the hell do you think you are?''
`` I'm just saying...''
`` You ai n't sayin' nuthin', bitch!'' The woman hauled off and socked Rhonda on the nose.
Rhonda stepped back, shocked and in more pain than before. Against the migraine, her nose was trying hard to take first place in the agony ratings.
`` Bubby, wants a hot pocket, now!''
`` You have to leave the store,'' said Rhonda, trying to stanch the flow of blood with her only good handkerchief. `` Leave now, or I'm calling the cops.''
`` Go right ahead,'' said the mother with a sneer. `` This is my husband's beat and he's on duty, so do n't expect the cops to help you out.''
`` Oh God, I wish people like you would just shrivel up and die!''
So they did. All of them. The ravens will be feasting in the morning.
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[ WP ] It is 2115 . Mars is colonized by Earth , and the settlers revolt , sparking a war , akin to the American Revolution .
| Ellie didn ’ t know what she was fighting for.
Actually, that was strictly untrue. She know precisely what she was fighting for, and it definitely wasn ’ t any of the things that the politicians on either Mars or Earth were talking about. She was fighting to stay alive; nothing more, nothing less. Richie and Lamont had lost that fight just a few hours ago. Bell, fearless, draconian, red-faced pixie-cut Bell, had lost that fight less than an hour ago. Ellie briefly remembered her cries, her groans, and her final pleading with her communicator to please connect with her daughter one more time. She had been fairly sure that the captain didn ’ t feel pain, but Bell had barely been in one piece after the proximity mine exploded. The dissolving of Bell ’ s normally iron exterior surprised her; in another situation, Ellie might have been touched by the scene, but this was not such an other situation. Ellie ignored the captain ’ s words, and in her mind they blended into the background noise. They were just another hum of the generators, just another hiss of the ventilation system, just another buzz of the lights. Thinking back, she thought she heard the captain beg her to please take a message to her daughter, but she didn ’ t remember. Just another hum.
She followed her training. She scavenged supplies from the captain ’ s corpse. It was breathing and moving and talking, but a corpse it was, at least as far as Ellie was concerned. She took ammo, mess kits, and first aid supplies. She took a canister of oxygen, a utility knife, and a flashlight. She took many things, but no memories. When Ellie inevitably followed in Bell ’ s and Richie ’ s and Lamont ’ s and Brandon ’ s and Paris ’ and Kenna ’ s and the rest ’ s footsteps, nobody would remember her either. It didn ’ t matter that she didn ’ t remember them.
Ellie didn ’ t know what she was fighting for, and she didn ’ t care. She didn ’ t know anything about the two humans in red she had shot dead fifteen minutes ago, and she forgot everything she had learned about the history of the Mars colonies, she just knew how and where to shoot them. She didn ’ t know how the screeching rifles the Whites and Reds pointed at each other worked, she just knew how to use it to make the Reds stop using theirs. She didn ’ t know how and why the deadly proximity mines in Martian Immigrant Complex 7 were placed, she just knew how to spot them and dodge them. She had tried to warn Bell about the one that she triggered, but the captain was distracted by her thoughts and didn ’ t react fast enough. Ellie didn ’ t have any such thoughts or distractions, not anymore. Ellie just survived. She would survive as long as she was better than her enemies at surviving.
Ellie moved quickly through MIC7. The complex had been abandoned entirely by civilians, and the United Nations vanguard had driven the defenders back and held more than half of the structure, at “ heavy casualties ”. Ellie didn ’ t worry about the casualties. Either she was one of them and didn ’ t have to worry about it or she was not and could not afford to.
She didn ’ t continue towards her objective, planting explosives in a generator room not so far away. She checked to make sure that her communicator was, in fact, not working. She turned down a side hallway in the cramped complex, one of the hallways that led to many places, but were known to not have cameras. She looked for the familiar black glint of cameras and scanned the room with infrared, and found nothing. She stopped, and listened. They had eliminated the last guard patrol that was supposed to be in this area not so long ago, and she had picked off two stragglers on her own fifteen minutes ago. The chances of any more enemies along this particular shortcut route were almost none, but you could never be too sure. She listened, and listened again, and heard nothing.
She was alone. And probably safe.
She looked down the hallway for the least suspicious looking room. The hall had several unmarked doors that seemed to be utility closets of various kinds, and a few machine rooms.
*Where would an ambush be? Where would wounded hide? * She thought that the wounded would hide in one of the closets, in as low a place as possible, covered in something. An ambush would probably hide in the machine room near the intersection of two hallways, to be able to make sure their targets actually passed by them.
She slipped into the machine room near the center of the hallway. She briefly glanced at the label on the door, but didn ’ t recognize the language. Some kind of oxygen system. It didn ’ t matter.
All the lights were off in non-essential areas as the Reds were conserving their power for the war. Ellie shone her flashlight around, pistol in hand, ready to pull the trigger at a moment ’ s notice. She almost did when she passed over a vaguely humanoid metal pipe, but managed to stop her finger, which wanted to shoot at anything and everything.
The room was clear. She passed over it one more time to be sure, then pointed her flashlight up. The apparatus was in several large pieces, and it would be difficult to see on top of any of them from the door. She picked the second furthest one, and started climbing. She realized her tired her limbs were as she pulled herself slowly up the gently vibrating metal exoskeleton, but simple tiredness seemed almost an irrelevant problem at this point. She forced herself upward, and soon crawled on top.
She spread out a self-expanding bedroll and a foil light-absorbing sheet. It wouldn ’ t be much good if anyone turned on the lights, but there wouldn ’ t be much she could do in that situation anyway. She rummaged around in the various kits she had picked up for sleeping pills, guaranteed to be fast and dreamless. Her own had run out a long time ago, but it seemed a few of her squadron hadn ’ t been too keen on the pills. She found a bottle, popped it open, and took three, two-and-a-half more than was recommended.
She closed her eyes and found herself quickly drifting off to sleep. As is the way with humans, it was at these times that our thoughts, memories, and conscience always catch up with us, and despite her best efforts, Ellie was yet human. Luckily, she could feel the pills taking over, but in those brief, lucid moments, she allowed herself to think.
Her squadron ’ s mission would be temporarily abandoned; she would have been expected to continue or report, of course, but after being ambushed, losing their entire squadron over two days, and being forced into the underground section of one of the MICs, where communication was difficult to establish, would probably be good enough to get her out of tribunal. At least in MIC7, the victory of the United Nations force was almost inevitable, and Ellie only had to wait half a day or so, maybe at most a day, until the area was secured. Maybe she could shoot herself in the leg or something and get sent home…not that there was any way to get home from this hellish planet at the moment.
An image sprang into her mind. Lamont ’ s face, a round, brown face with a scruffy black beard on a thin muscular man, constantly wearing a smile. Lamont would have taken a power nap at most and continued on the mission, probably solo, especially now that the area was known to be clear. He only had to plant a few explosive charges, after all. Lamont was a hero in everything he did. On Earth, he probably would have been the waiter who went the extra mile and a half to make sure a customer ’ s lost order was fixed up, or the accountant who stood up against a corrupt vice president and fought a five-year long losing battle in the name of justice. On Mars, he got shot in the left arm, torso, and lower abdomen, because he was not correctly behind cover.
Lamont was a hero. Ellie was not a hero; Ellie was alive and in one piece. As sleep took her, she dreamed of herself sitting back on a sofa in her tiny living room, wrapped in a blanket, cold soda in her hands, and listening to soft piano.
She smiled in her dreamy state, the first time she smiled in God knows how long.
*Let ’ s just go home and listen to classical music. *
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[ WP ] Two books , one filled with lies , the second filled with truths
| *So this is my first reddit post, I'm preparing for a timed writing test/interview. I used this prompt to write a quick scene from a plot I've been working on for some time. So it is slightly out of context. *
The garden behind the grand hall was unpaved, the plants grew naturally, not curated. The dry desert dirt formed a cloud behind him as Raenin's determined wolf hide slippers ran forward, his rough olive toned hands holding his robes so as not to trip.
The grand hall was empty. The oak carved benches and tables lined the matching oak walls without purpose. Raenin proceeded through the garden seating area and into the empty wooden room.
`` Phirae!'' he shouted `` Jihah!'' The cathedral ceilings seemed to mock his shouts creating smaller ones to follow. The tall, tan and well-built young man looked to his left. The oak paneled wall was unmoving, there was no door but he could tell no one was behind it. The archive was empty. He peered to his right at the long narrow hallway. He ran. weaving through the unpolished oak pillars he looked for one of the seven doors to be open.
`` Phirae!'' he shouted again.
A noise came from behind him. Feet beneath a padded dress, from the kitchen at the front end of the hall. Raenin turned to see Ms. Forsythe; Phirae's house handmaiden wore an unusually stern expression and lifted her finger to signal the boy to quiet.
`` Where is she?!'' Raenin's breath refused to calm, `` Where?!''
`` Calm down, boy.'' The large but strong woman reached for his arm, `` They've left for the council meeting already.''
`` I must find them. It's been taken. The second book has been taken.''
`` Taken? You do n't mean stolen, my boy?''
`` Yes. Stolen.''
`` That's impossible, they've all been at the meeting. No one is home. Save me and Greig. And he's most assuredly been with the horses.''
`` I know it was n't you or Greig.'' Raenin grabbed the woman's slightly thick forearm pulling her back through the hall outside and around to the far left end of the castle. The entered the archive through a small door in the center of the wall. It opened easily, broken.
Ms. Forsythe looked at Raenin worriedly and followed. The open door allowed the light to wander in revealing the dust hovering over each antique, each book and each shelf. The shelf they sought sat in the far back right corner of the room, it was labeled `` Reference- Jihah's First and Second'', one book sat on the shelf, bound in emerald leather, there was no engraving.
`` Oh no.'' Ms. Forsythe pursed her lips, `` No no no. Raenin how did this happen? Who was this?''
`` I do n't know.'' Raenin replied, `` I truly do not know. All I heard was a sigh, a laugh and then I saw it, the shelf.'' When Raenin was given The Sight it was n't in full. He had not been born with magic and to be gifted it was very different. His half-powers only allowed for minimal visions.
`` Raenin,'' Ms. Forsythe had already developed a solution, `` Go to Greig. Prep your horse and run. Find them. Find the council. They are at the desert center. You have three days.''
Without pause the boy did as told. Ms. Forsythe stayed behind to barricade the door.
Greig was a quiet boy. He stood no taller than five foot and no one seemed to know how he controlled so many large beasts with so little muscle. Still, he was the best barn hand the castle had had, he required no room, no food and no clothing to be made, just the barn.
The pale gaunt fellow prepared the dopple gray gelding for departure and Raenin left without a word. He had gathered bread and water from the kitchen. Enough for two days.
...
The round room at the center of the desert was built entirely of marble and lined with the stones of the goddesses. There was no entrance or exit, such permissions needed to be granted by the building itself. Inside the marble seats formed an even heptagon. The women in each seat wore the color of her gem and her goddess necklace revealed hanging just below the chest. One seat had remained empty for over fifty years now, a singular ruby stone set in its back.
`` We agree then, to aid the tribal wars to the east with only medical care, food and water. To all troops.'' The Emerald Jihah ran each conference as the eldest, finalizing all decisions. The other five would raise a hand in agreement, only able to speak when asked. `` Moving on the the next prayer requested, the Southern tribes are experiencing floods. Their homes have-''
The marble shook like thunder opening just next to the red seat. The goddesses reaching for weapons and necklaces in response, immediate defense. Raenin entered,
`` Lady Jihah's, please accept my pardon.'' He kneeled making sure to meet the eye of no one. Not even his beloved Phirae, `` I come in urgency. The desert castle needs you.''
`` Go on, child.'' Emrald lowered her blade, signaling the rest to follow.
`` The books, Emerald and Amethyst, Amethyst has been taken. I do n't know who, but it was in bad faith. The archive was broken into.''
The room remained silent as Emerald looked down, hands shaking in an attempt to hide rage. Her green eyes shifted to the empty ruby seat, `` This conference is cancelled. Amethyst and I must leave.'' She gestured toward the youngest goddess and Phirae stood ready and afraid.
`` Jihah,'' she spoke out of turn, `` What is that they want to do with the book?''
`` Change it, my girl. Change history. It will no longer possess the truth.''
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[ WP ] The Zombie apocalypse arrived . The zombies live forever , do n't care about social rules , sleep around a lot and generally have more fun . People are rushing to become zombies .
| **The Zombie apocalypse arrived. The zombies live forever, do n't care about social rules, sleep around a lot and generally have more fun. People are rushing to become zombies. **
I'll never forget what it felt like getting bit for the first time. It really fucking hurt.
My knee-jerk response was to punch him in the face as hard as I could. `` The fuck you do that for, Jeff?'' My shoulder throbbed. Drowning Pool's'Bodies' resonated throughout the house. It was n't funny at the time, but the memory of it will always strike me as particularly amusing. As if someone had decided to make my first experience picture perfect.
The weeks and months following were a blur of drug-induced debauchery. I lived to party. More than ever before, I sought the attention of my peers, disregarded authority, ignored the media, and lay waste to my surroundings. And it. Was. Awesome. Seriously, I had the time of my life. Or death, really. I suppose it depends on your perspective.
You see, what I did n't understand yet was that my *life* had ended. It ended hours after I got bit for the first time. For fuck's sake Jeff, you could have warned me. Anyone could have. But I suppose that's the bitter irony of my circumstances. I became so immediately wrapped up in the party of today that I failed to acknowledge the signs sprouting up around me. And now, two years later, civilization has all but collapsed around me. Where was I?
With everyone else. Ignoring the urge to eat, except for the few times I tried to gnaw on a friend. Going to town on whoever looked alright - did I tell you that's probably the weirdest part? Sexual orientation just sort of stopped mattering. I'm not even bothered by it.
I had no idea that I belonged to a new group of radicalized societal outcasts that partied the country into the ground while the rest of America watched in horror. And now I'm part of the obscene, one of the wanderers forced to the fringe while the normals hide out in their powered strongholds and warmed houses. Many of us have already committed suicide. Out of boredom, more than anything. Not *needing* anything was so much fun at first, but eventually just sapped us of humanity.
Every once in awhile I'll catch a glimpse of a television, somehow connected to cable still. The news outlets broadcasting from their various bastions always have some sort of breakthrough discovery about the disease. Last month, the big headline was that its effects were purely cerebral. As in, all it did was flip a switch to make us think differently. That somehow, through all the drugs and alcohol we'd still been consuming enough calories to subsist. Oh, and yeah. **Immortality is still a myth. **
Hell of a hangover.
At least I'll always have the comfort of not caring. Unfortunately, that was n't true either. I just found out today. The bug kills itself off over the course of just a few years.
I wonder if they'll take me back?
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[ WP ] You are going down a long road in the middle of night . Every 15 minutes or so you pass by a hitchhiker with one arm raised , asking for a ride , but you decide to ignore them all . After a couple hours of driving , you start to realize that you 're passing by the same hitchhiker over and over again .
| I drove along the clear, straight road, not another car in sight. The radio was blasting out my favourite albums and the heater was on. I sighed, it was bliss. Then I noticed a hitchhiker, with his arm raised.
I decide to ignore him, after all-it still is my wife's birthday, and I ca n't afford to go on a detour-She'd kill me! It was every fifteen minutes that I noticed a hitchhiker, then-it seemed that I was the only car for miles and they all flocked to me. I just kept driving, ignoring them all.
Suddenly, I started to notice something weird. The hitchhikers were all men, and were all dressed in similar attire. It did seem quite suspicious... After another hour of driving, it dawned on me, I was passing the same hitchhiker, again and again.
When I passed him again, I slowed the car to a halt, rolled down the window and said, Do you need a ride?'' He shook his head and said, `` Come. It important.'' And sped off through the woods. Reluctantly, I grabbed my pocket knife, baseball bat and a torch, and sped off after him, locking the car as I went.
I follow his trail of footsteps imbedded in the mud, until we reached a clearing. He took my hand and said, `` You, take this-'' His paused, struggling over his words. `` This.'' He handed me a silver oval, shining dangerously in the moonlight. `` Uh... Thanks? I guess...''
I ran away as fast as I could, racing through the underbrush and leaping over rocks. I had barely got twenty feet, when a deep male voice, in a heavy foreign accent, bellowed, `` Him! Get him! He die...!''
The last thing I remember was me swaying and crashing to the floor, and the silver oval, slipping out of my hand and get squished into the mud. I whispered in my last breath, `` Anne...''
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[ WP ] Canada is under attack and has to call their last line of defence , if they can find them . They are : The Eh Team .
| Ten boxing days ago a crack hockey line was sent to the penalty box for a check that was totally legal. These men promptly escaped to the Halifax underground. Today, still wanted by the mounties, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can call...
THE EH TEAM
-- -
Hudson pulled his hockey stick out of the man in front of him. It had been a brutal slash but it was n't like there was a referee around to call it. `` Sorry about that,'' he spat. Hudson turned to his teammates, they were waiting for him.
`` Eh bud, you takin' long enough?'' Abbot asked from on top of the snowbank. His hand was protecting his syrup flask from the crew Moose'Trudeau'.
`` Nah bud''' Hudson said, `` I think I might just take a bit of extra time down by the bank, ya know.''
`` Hudson you hoser, we got ta move,'' Layton said from the driver's side of the Zamboni. He'd been acting like more of a leader recently. `` If we do n't get moving nobody knows what's going to happen to the prime minister.''
`` Oh man, nothin' is gon na happen to the Prime Minister as long as we're on the job,'' Hudson pointed out, `` we're special teams man.''
`` Yeah, but we are n't on the penalty kill today,'' Vic scowled. He'd been in a bad mood since the maple syrup had been half full at breakfast. He'd always been a half-empty net kinda guy, but today was more.
`` Vic man,'' Hudson started.
`` Let's just go out for a rip bud,'' Layton cut in to fix the mood, `` you can have a dart on the way, okay.''
`` Man you know I ca n't have a dart, we're passing within 70 feet of a restaurant when we go down Barrington.
`` Ah shoot man, oh well.''
The men arrived at the fortress of Manly Seattle, the head owner of Starbucks, the evil corporation dead-set on replacing Tim Horton's as Canada's favourite coffee.
`` Manly Seattle, give back the Prime Minister eh,'' Abbot called out. Manly Seattle did n't answer.
`` Eh Hoser!'' Layton yelled.
Still there was nothing.
Like a speeding slapshot Hudson pulled the curtain and showed that there was no man behind it. Manly Seattle was missing. Prime Minister Trudeau had his mouth gagged.
`` Oh man sorry about that,'' Layton said as he grabbed the bound and started to untie it. The french man with brilliant hair spat out the rag.
`` Layton! Look out!'' the smooth new cool guy screamed.
Layton ducked and a puck came flying over his head. He turned to see who it was. Vic was holding his hockey stick tight in his grasp. Betrayal!
`` Vic no!'' Layton said, `` just put the stick down and we can talk about it, okay?''
`` I'm not gon na talk about it,'' Vic said, `` I'm done, pick up your stick.''
`` Vic,'' Layton started, but Abbot got in the way.
`` You're not getting to Layton like that Vic, I'm sorry about this,'' Abbot pulled out his stick. It was time for a shoot out.
The two men laced up their skates.
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[ WP ] Build your own best friend ! The future of friendship .
| A man smiled as he saw a package underneath his mailbox. He lifted the box with a groan, it was rather heavy, almost... human-like. Smiling with the thought, he went back in his dull gray house. The box struggled as the man slaughtered it with a knife, exposing its content inside. If there was blood inside this box, it would look like the Mexican Caravel sent him a message as there was limbs cluttered inside.
He picked up a leg, placed it on top a large blue sheet. Once all of the limbs were in place, he begin to attach ropes that were close to the edge of the porcelain skin before he attached the jointed steel where the bones would be. Once he finished attaching the head. It came to life. `` Oh boy! Thank you for picking me! What did you want to call me, brother? Son?'' It froze, awaiting my answer.
`` Best friend.'' I spoke, trying to make it clear.
`` Best friend? You sure?''
`` Yes.''
`` Downloading best friend sequence...'' It was still frozen. `` 10 %'' It spoke. `` 20 %... 30 %...'' I waited until it was done. `` 100 %'' It squeaked to life. `` Hello! What's your name?''
`` Harold.''
`` Hello'Harold'! What shall we do today?'' It did n't said my name through its pipsqueak sound, it recorded my voice and played it back to me.
`` I want you to come with me. I want us to do something fun today.''
`` Ok!'' We both stood up, walked outside in the dark cloudy day.
`` Weather patterns detected.'Harold' we ca n't stay outside for long. I do n't do well in rain.''
`` Do n't worry BuddyTron. Where we're going, there wo n't be any rain.''
`` Sounds awesome,'Harold' Ca n't wait to get there!'' We boarded onto my car and drove, watching the buildings whizzing by until skyscrapers slowly rolled by us. We stopped and entered one of the buildings.
The metal door squeaked open, revealing a small room. We entered it and pressed the confusing columns of buttons next to the metal door. The metal door squeaked closed and the room jolted upward, sending uneasy feelings down Harold's spine. The uneasiness stopped, and the metal door squeaked open once more. We walked out and into my office. `` This is my office, BuddyTron, this is where we would have our fun.''
`` Ok! What shall we do today,'Harold'!''
Harold picked up a chair and threw it through the large windows. ``'Harold'! I detected danger, are you OK?''
`` Do n't worry about that, BuddyTron. I have a story to tell you.''
`` Oh boy! A story!'' It chimed happily. Harold held the porcelain hand and stood at the edge of the window.
`` All my life I've been an asshole. I was a narcissistic, I loved myself and no one else. I was a leech, I made fun of people until they cry, then I would smile because I made them cry. One would even call me a psychopath, because I manipulated people to get my way. My office here? I blackmailed the CEO, he was sleeping around with whores while being married. Recently I gotten rather sick, so I went to the hospital...'' Harold trailed off. Tears rolling down his eyes. `` I have cancer.''
``'Harold'... I'm detecting suicidal thoughts from you. Do you want me to contact the local suicide hotline?''
`` No, BuddyTron. I needed a friend, I needed to tell this to someone. I needed to die, so all of the victims I have would laugh. All the victims would smile and would feel free. You, BuddyTron, are the only friend I have, and... I do n't want to die alone. BuddyTron, concern mode unactivated.''
`` Concern mode unactivated.'' It spoke in a monotonously. `` What do you want to do today!'' It spoke again, in a chippy mode.
`` I want to die, but not alone.''
`` Ok.'' It understood. We both took step forward and closed our eyes.
-023
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[ WP ] A new medical technology has been developed , allowing emergency responders to predict the location of the next accident before they even occur . Ambulances are now able to typically arrive at the scene very soon or even before the accident occurs . You hear an ambulance siren approaching you .
| I can see the ambulance. Blue and red lights color the road signaling my doom. What could be about to happen? I'm going at barely 18 miles per hour. Suddenly I see another ambulance behind it. And another. And another. I'm really scared. I see a fire in the distance. I speed up, I need to get away from what ever is about to happen.
The reports say the 31 year old man was trying to exit the town when he crashed with an ambulance responding to the fire. When he crashed, the abulance responding to the crash crashed, and so did the one behind it. So far 178 ambulances have crashed and the numbers are going up. This glitch in the system may mean the end of the vision program.
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[ IP ] The Story of This House .
| The house was a quaint house, by no means lavish or excessive. It had harboured a grand total of two families in its life, a fine accomplishment by any house's means.
The first family gave the house its name, House. They were also the ones who decided House was a cheery fellow, and gave him a new appearance of vibrant yellow to match this endowed persona. His new skin was a stark contrast to the deep, relaxed green of the forest that infringed upon the property. But all good things must come to an end; and too quickly at that, for houses age much slower than people.
The family grew from a man and woman to a group of six. House had no idea if this was a large or small family, after all, he was only a house. In time however, the children grew and eventually and inevitably left the nest, leaving once again only the man and woman, now old and wrinkled. House enjoyed watching over and protecting them in their last days. He enjoyed their quiet reminiscence of bygone times, and the soft way in which they spoke to each other. The way they held each other at night to the manner in which they shared meals together was testimony enough of their love for one another. Time marched on though, and eventually the man and woman passed on. Their children visited House once more, to clean and pack up their parent's possessions. They deliberated on burying the man and woman in the back field, something House thought would offer closure and peace to both him and the children. In the end, the children decided to bury them in a cemetery, far away from House. That was the last time he saw the first family.
The second family was, in many regards, a stark juxtaposition to the first family. Where love and acceptance once were, aggressive words and hurtful actions now pervaded House's halls and doorways. The family was like the first in regards to children and their incessant desire to leave and stake out a life of their own; one however, remained. She stayed behind long after her siblings had left, indeed even after their parents left this world and the first strands of grey were appearing in her once-brown hair. House did n't mind, as long as his roof was sheltering someone, a house could be happy.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, a lesson House learned too late. Months and months went by, the child selling more and more of her land to developers. The vibrant, lush forest that surrounded House was slowly replaced with dull, grey, concrete. Soon all that remained of the forest was a small patch of grass adjacent to the front window, probably hoping to be some other house's lawn.
The child eventually passed on, but this time no one came to clean and fix up House. Her possessions sat in House, gathering dust. The concrete expanded and giant black buildings were built around him. The developers who once had so eagerly swallowed up the land the child had sold them had seemingly forgotten all about House.
And so now he stands. Surrounded by concrete, no family to protect. Newer, younger houses are being built around him, affixed to the concrete. Somehow House knew these new houses would not share his same sentiments about life. House was resigned to this reality until the end of his days, by way of either dilapidation and rot, or the classic wrecking ball. After all, two families was a fine accomplishment by any house's means.
Today was different though. A sign had appeared in front of House. Someone had come by and given his old yellow paint a wash, bringing out the colour once again. And now, three people approached him. One of them was a stiff businessman, his starched suit matching his stolid demeanour. The other two people were a familiar sight:
A man and woman, young and in love.
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[ WP ] Describe a battle between your immune system and a foreign invader as a gritty war story from the POV of either side
| It was a war for survival. There's no other way of putting it. It would either be us or them.
The lymph nodes had been filled to capacity between us and our foes. The heat of battle had rose to a fever-pitch and we both knew this would be a final stand. Many of us had been ambushed and overrun by some of their first sorties into our lines. We knew the stakes just as much as they did. Life; mere existence on the line.
Eventually, it came down to one-on-one contests. I found myself separated from the rest of my squad. I would have to sneak deep into the heart of the enemy's defenses to have a shot at taking over this territory. I sped quickly through main thoroughfares, slid between cracks in walls, tried to blend in with the locals as I worked my way closer to the goal. That's when I was spotted. A lone soldier of their patrol took a glance my way and began pursuit. There was no running now, I'd have to fight my way out.
He tried to stun me but his gun jammed. I struck while he checked his gear and sent him sprawling. He sprung back up and slammed a knee into my mid-section. I made a grab for him and took him to the ground with me. We rolled back and forth, striking whenever either could get a limb free. He pinned me to the ground and started raining a barrage of elbows into my head. No matter how much I tried to guard my own arms, damage was being done. As a last ditch effort, I dropped my defenses and gouged my thumbs into his eyes. He screeched in pain but rose from his knees to get away, giving me enough space to bring my legs up into his chest and kick him clear. He tumbled backwards into a wall and stayed leaning against it as I rose to my feet, still doubled over in pain.
`` You're too strong for this system, punk. Why are you protecting them?'' I yelled at my foe. `` You know no matter what happens here, whether you beat me or not, eventually we'll take this sector, and everything else with it.''
`` I was born here, raised here, specialised here, just to take you out. You think a few words and a little pain can turn me?'' he yelled back.
`` Gave you a chance to make this easy...'' I snickered. He let out a primal scream and rushed me once more. Letting him close the distance, I slipped the syringe from my pocket and jammed it straight into his core, letting the chemistry go to work. He stood there stunned as I watched the last of his will drain out of him. He fell to his knees clutching his chest, supporting himself on one arm. As quickly as he had begun his fit, he stopped, rose to his feet and faced me.
`` What are your orders, sir?''
`` Take the lymph nodes. When you've secured the area, re-group with the rest of us in the brain,'' I slipped him two syringes, `` convert as many as you can.''
`` Yes, sir.''
Survival. Many against one. It was either going to be us, or the human.
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[ WP ] Think of the most ridiculous , funny , or unexpected way to use the phrase , `` Did I mention i 'm an expert in explosives ? ''
| I fumbled with my keys in the door, fatigue making my eyes blurry. It had a been a long day at work and my body ached. As I dragged myself through the front door, a familiar meow alerted me to the presence of my cat Diana. She was looking at me intently with those furious brown eyes. Rolling my own eyes, I walked past her.
'Not now Diana, I just got in, come on' I said exasperated. A louder meow rang through the house as the sandy haired cat whined. I turned and saw her following, her silky hair sliding across her shoulder bones as she sauntered after me.
'I'll feed you in a minute, okay?' I sighed. Turning back round I walked to my bedroom, threw my bag on the bed, then slumped down onto the spongy heaven. My head hit the pillow and I rested my eyes. I did n't know if I could continue working like this. Maybe I needed a new job.
'Did I mention I'm an expert in explosives?'
A voice other than mine spoke. Um what? I sat up in a panic thinking someone had broken into the flat. Diana had also followed me into the bedroom but no one else was there. Maybe I was just hearing things? I tried to convince myself.
'Diana was that you, you silly cat' I joked, trying to calm my worrying with some humour. Her brown eyes were gazing at me, probably in confusion.
'Yes, it was. And I really am an expert in explosives, so I would suggest you put some food into the food bowl, before I blow you and everything you care about up.' My eyes widened in disbelief, did my cat just talk to me? I mean I saw her mouth move, but surely not. I suddenly realised what she had just'said'. Blow me up? What the hell?
'I suggest you hurry up.' She sounded impatient. My heart was pounding, and my face must have been a concoction of confusion, wonder and horror. As I slowly sat up, I could actually feel the malicious intent coming from Diana. This was apparently real, so I did what any self-respecting adult would do: I obeyed the murderous orders of my cat.
As I poured the wet pouch of cat food into the cracked, plastic bowl, I thought about replacing the bowl with a new one, to keep Diana happy. Glancing at my cat revealed her angry eyes, glaring impatiently at me. A fear for survival gripped me and all of a sudden, I felt an an incredulous empathy with all the other powerless species of the world, as I realised that I was now in the control of an insane cat.
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[ WP ] Write about the rain .
| There are a lot of poems for this, so I decided more of a soliloquy.
I remember the rain, I do n't know why but I always remember the rain.
I remember the morning after the bombs, the rain falling on the streets and the shattered buildings. Tip tapping on the helmets of the wardens and the firemen, the only noise in the silent, stunned streets, turned from our childhood playgrounds to ruined killing fields. It washed away the blood into the drains, and washed the dust of our faces as we emerged blinking from the shelter. So happy just to feel the cold sting on our numb skin. So happy to have survived another night.
I remember the rain the day I met you. I'd never smelt rain like it, to a city girl, rain was sour and dusty, sticky tears of a skyline ruined by the factories of war. This rain was fresh and pure, splashing into the muddied fields that stretched further than I could imagine. Your family sheltered me, from the rains, of water and bombs. How could we not be together, hiding under the bed, hearing the planes overhead, to rain on the cities and the factories.
Did we have children? I am sure we must have. You must have had a job, and I was the house wife, we lived.. somewhere. I just do n't know anymore. I remember the rains.
I remember the rain the day we said goodbye. I'm not sure when it was, or who was there, but I remember the rain. Drumming on the roof as someone, someone important, spoke about you. I remembered you then. I remember loving you. The rain should have stopped as you slid through the curtain. Each drop should have shown its respect!
As the smoke rose from the chimney, the rain carried on, you drifted up to join it, you became part of it. I remember you.
I remember the rain.
I just wish I could remember you name. Your face. Your smell.
It's raining today, I can see it out the window. I try to tell the plump lady who's been hovering by the bed looking sad and sullen, I wish she; d leave me alone to be honest but, any company will do. `` Look'' I say, pointing out the window. `` Look there he is, I remember him''. She looks out the window.
`` There's no one there'' she says, and bursts into tears. I do n't know why she cries so much, maybe shes got something wrong with her, she says some very peculiar things sometimes. `` Are you from the mental ward'' I ask, as nicely as I can. `` even a mental one can see, he's out there, out the window''
She sobs again, this big bubbling woman, wasting my time and energy. I wished she'd leave me alone. Leave me in peace. She must be mental, I remember what she said, over the rain on the window. She said `` There's no one there Mum''.
What a lunatic.
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[ WP ] You were a hero because of what you chose NOT to do .
| I was just chilling in my room on reddit when the old guy came through the portal in my wardrobe, followed by a bunch of other old people. They were whispering amongst themselves, all looking quite nervous and stressed.
The old guy I mentioned before, I guess he was their ringleader, approached me.
`` Charlie,'' he stuttered, `` when was the last time you did your homework?''
It seemed an odd question, but I decided to humour the old man. `` I've never done any homework'' I replied.
`` And when your parents ask you to do chores; do you do them?''
More odd questions, but whatever. `` Never,'' I answered, `` what's this about?'' the question seeped out of my lips, a product of mere conversation rather than actual curiosity.
`` A great sorceror has enslaved our people. We, the resistance, have been attempting to overthrow his power for many years, but his castle holds mysterious powers; only one person and the sorceror may be inside at any one time. Certainly we have strong fighters and powerful mages, but these are all useless against him, for you see; he has mind control powers! Everyone who casts their gaze upon him falls under his spell and becomes his slave, obeying his every will. But you, Charlie, have never done a thing you have been told to do in your life. We believe that only you have the willpower to resist his invasive magics! You must aid us, you must enter the castle and kill the sorcerer!''
It was a bit of a sob-story, really. The old man looked distressed, so maybe it was true. So I feigned interest, looked like I was contemplating it. But then I said, `` Nah, ca n't be bothered really.'' This old man was n't gon na boss me around. Nobody tells me what to do. He did n't even say please. I do n't do nothin' for nobody, and I'm not gon na make a start with this guy.
Now he must have read my mind or something, because at this point the old man went under a transformation; his wrinkles faded, his beard dissolved, his hair grew shorter and thicker. I did n't really care, but it stirred up some discomfort with his party. `` The sorcerer!'' they gasped simultaneously.
He let out one of those stereotypical evil laughs, but I'm not going to dishonour myself by typing out `` muahaha'' ( except for just then ). `` You truly do have a strong mind, Charlie! Even though I attempted to control your mind with my sorcery then, you resisted! You surely could have overthrown me and claimed the kingdom for yourself, so now I must kill you to ensure you never do!''
It was n't long after this eye-roll-worthy bad-guy-monologue that he drew a long, thin knife out from under his robe. The rest of the party were just stood there, presumably under mind control. The sorcerer lunged towards me, yelling `` Die!''
And that was his big mistake. I probably would n't have cared if he had just killed me, but telling me to die? Nobody tells me what to do. He did n't even say please. I do n't do nothin' for nobody, and I'm not gon na make a start with this guy.
I sprang from my chair and dodged every thrust of his knife with lightning fast reflexes I did n't know I had. He cast evil magic towards me, fireballs and lightning strikes, but they all missed too. I was simply too fast. My eyes darted from one part of the room to another, looking for something I could use as a weapon, all whilst the sorceror continously screamed `` Die!'' at me. That's when I had my marvellous idea.
Dipping and ducking between his attacks, I reached the mirror on my wall, pulled it down and held it up between me and him. `` Die!'' he yelled, for the last time. My plan had worked; I was immune to his mind controlling powers, but he was n't. He'd just stared himself in the eyes and controlled his own mind, with the order to die. He stood almost motionless as he pulled the knife up from his hand and across his neck, before collapsing into a pile of robes and magic on my favourite rug.
The `` resistance'' stirred, and upon seeing the sorceror lying dead, they gave out cheers and applause. `` I'm a hero,'' I thought. It was lovely to be appreciated once in a while. They did n't stay long, because they had to go and sort out their kingdom or whatever, so they popped back through their portal and closed it behind them.
I did n't really know what to do with the dead guy, but my mother came in and told me to clean it up, so not that.
|
[ WP ] They had the ability to copy themselves , but each of the copies came out just a bit different .
| `` Dear God, make it stop.''
A mumble, a rumble. It's quiet and soft somewhere down the endless lines of clones.
He ca n't tell which one is defective this time but he goes down the line slowly anyway, pretending he does n't notice the clone that is just a little too tall, a little too tanned to be normal.
Normal. Ha.
He checks off everything on his checkboard. He walks away, pretending he does n't see any flaw in the line of clones.
There are... more errors everyday. The clones are no longer as standardized as they once were, back when the gene feeds were pure. There are more errors as something in the Sentience Matrix machine gets more twisted.
`` Dear-''
He does n't watch as a robot leaps down from the ceiling, swallowing the clone in an instant. The robot lands on the floor, head swivelling around for a moment to assess the clones around it. It stands in a patch of dark liquid.
He looks away.
He looks away, because that could have been him, instead of a clone.
He has to do what the robots want though. It's better like that, when they have more humans to harvest. Humans that are n't... real people. Just clones.
He tries to ignore the odour of rust in the air as the next batch of clones trudges into the chamber.
|
[ WP ] : the first astronaut dies on Mars . However instead of Heaven their soul ends up in Mars Heaven .
| This is horrible and terribly awkward... I really do n't know anyone here. They keep looking at me... at least I think they're looking at me.... Should I say something? It seems like we've all been staring at each other for quite a long time.... Those bulbous strawberry-like cyst on those -- gelatinous heads remind me of that ridiculous Monty Python sketch featuring a race of alien invading blancmanges. I laugh -- oh dear... they're coming over.
`` Hello. My name is Peter. I take it this is the afterlife?'' They make a gobbling sound like wild turkeys. `` Wonderful wonderful wonderful... uh... is God around? Maybe St. Peter? No no no I'm not Saint Peter. I mean my name is Peter... but I ai n't no saint.'' I nervously laugh again. One of the blancmanges comes closer ( I know that's not what they're called but calling them Martians seems so racist ) and absorbs my hand and suddenly I can hear a thousand helium-filled sounding voices in my head saying: `` Is this the virgin we were promised?''
|
[ WP ] Tell a story of an autistic teenager attempting to make friends with others .
| [ I'm a little rusty, my apologies. ]
Of all the bouncing heads I observed through the doorway of Ms. Claudeo's classroom, Marcella's was the only face I saw.
As usual, I was waiting for the noise and horde to thin out before I went to my next class. I hate when people touch me, tease me, or rub their elbow against my own. It makes the back of my head hurt.
And as usual, Marcella took notice of me standing sheepishly near the doorway, and nodded to me with the faintest hint of a smile. She was the only one besides Lou, who moved to a school with a better autism support program, who ever smiled at me in school. I liked that about her.
Bub stood from his desk, walked to stand next to me. `` What are you doing?''
I turned to look at him, meeting his eyes for a second, before deciding that it would be easier for me to just look at his nose while we talked. `` I'm standing here.'' I said.
`` I mean,'' he had the deepest voice I'd ever heard, `` why?''
I looked at his shoes. They were green, black, and white, and had a picture of Michael Jordan's silhouette on the side. They were shiny. Mostly, they were weird. `` Your shoes are weird.'' I said back.
He laughed. `` Your shoes are Velcro.''
I'm not sure why he said that. I think he meant `` normal''.
I glanced at the doorway again. Now there were only stragglers. `` Well, I have to go.'' I said wryly as I walked out of the room.
I made a left. Thirty-five linoleum tiles later, I made another left. Twelve linoleum tiles later, I was at Mr. Nancy's class. I walked in, shuffled to my seat, and set my backpack down. I loved Mr. Nancy, even though his last name was a first name, which was a real problem for me at the beginning of the semester. *What is his wife's name? *
I'll remember, always, the day that Mr. Nancy was telling us about King Xerxes, and I raised my hand to ask what his wife's name is. He laughed for a second, as did the rest of the class. `` It's Faye,'' he chuckled, `` Do you have any questions about Persia?''
Faye Nancy. Finance—y. Nonsense words.
Anyway, on this particular day, Mr. Nancy was talking about the Meddicci family and why they were so important, and I was busy staring at the back of Marcella's head because half of it was freshly shaved, and I was feeling a mix of *please-let-me-touch-it* and *why-did-you-do-that*.
And when Mr. Nancy said this: `` So let's all get into groups,'' I was very, very busy wondering what I had missed, and worrying about my group.
The room turned into a beehive for a moment, alive with the buzzing of excited students forming small alliances. I did not move. Mr. Nancy came to my desk, leaning down to ask me quietly, `` Are you okay with that?''
I stared at his shaved head, much more naked and shiny than half of Marcella's head. `` Groups?'' I asked back.
`` Yeah,'' he said, `` Do you want to go to Mrs. Ray's room?''
Mrs. Ray is the special education teacher who gives me answers on every assignment when I feel stressed. I do n't think she's supposed to do this. She may have thought I was stupid.
Mr. Nancy spoke again, `` Or is there a particular partner you'd be comfortable with?''
I said quietly, `` Marcella.''
He nodded, smiled, clapped his hands as he walked to the front of the room, behind his desk. `` Alright, guys,'' he bellowed, `` Sorry for the confusion, but these are assigned groups.''
Everybody groaned.
He broke up the class like teachers do: separating Steve and Andrew because they were so loud together, making sure that Jayme and Nika do n't sit too close together because they tend to get distracted, and, finally, assigning me and Marcella into our own team.
Marcella looked at me and patted the seat next to hers. I came to her and sat. She looked at me in the eyes and I stared at her nose instead. `` Sara, do you know what we're supposed to be doing?''
This brought out a panic in me. I felt my face get hot. `` Being in a group?''
`` I mean, like,'' she laughed. `` What are we doing in the group?''
I was silent and decided to smile so that she did n't think I was weird.
She let out an even bigger laugh and said, `` I do n't know either.''
She turned her head and began to text under her desk. I stared at the shaved side of her head.
`` I like your bald head.'' I blurted out.
She looked at me. I do n't know what face she was making, but it made the back if my head hurt for a second. Then she smiled and said, `` Thank you,'' only she said it like it was a question.
I wanted to tell her that it made me happy when she smiled at me in the hallway. I wanted to ask her about her piercings. *Did they hurt? * I wanted to look at her shoes. Then, I realized, I just wanted to be able to make myself say *anything* to her.
After 15 minutes of her playing with her phone, she turned her chair to face me. `` We have to look like we're doing something.'' Then, she swung her mouth to the side before asking me, `` You have a good weekend?''
`` Did I have a good weekend.'' I corrected.
`` Did you?'' She asked.
`` Did I what?'' I asked back. The back of my head hurt.
She stared at me quizzically. *Ow ow ow*.
I stood, gathered my backpack, and walked back to Mrs. Ray's room.
|
[ WP ] Humans ' ancestors never evolved on land , instead they went deeper into the oceans . Today , their equivalent of NASA sent their first `` spaceship '' out of the water .
| Day 1:
We have officially passed the Surface. It is… strange here. It is like what are scientists told us and more. We are currently camped at the edge of the surface and what they call “ land ”. We hope to explore it tomorrow but have to charge our breathing tanks overnight. There may not be much water for us to use as we begin our journey. My heart is pounding. I am beyond excited to see what lies out there.
Day 2:
We have explored land. Everything is so dry up here. How could anything live up here without water? When I swing my arms back and forth, it feels like nothing is there. And the pressure is so low. If not for these suits, I fear what would happen to mine and my associates ’ bodies.
But what really has intrigued me are the animals here. They come in a variety of sizes, from small to big. In fact, I saw this really small one earlier today. It was covered in the most precarious little hairs and with huge black eyes. I wish I could have touched it. It looked so soft.
And then there were things that floated around. But they are not like fish swimming above. They seem to glide all around by beating their fins. Those are covered in some strange coating. They perch in the large plants. My colleague called them “ trees ”. Absolutely fascinating.
Day 3:
While collect samples to bring back, I noticed something strange. I could have sworn I saw something watching us, hidden in the dense bundles of plants surrounding us. They did not look like any other animal we had seen so far – no hair or flier things. But I did not think much about it, considering there is so much to explore.
That was, until a person in our group went missing. She went off to collect some rocks, barely gone a minute before we heard her scream. By the time we had arrived to where she was, nothing remained except for her broken helmet. Without it, she is as good as dead.
And that was when I began to panic. No one else has said anything but I think they feel the same. We are scheduled to leave in the morning at daybreak. I can not complain. Something is not right about this place.
Day 4:
I am the only one left. At least, I think so. It all happened a blur. I am still trying to figure out what happened.
One moment, I had taken a nap camp. The next, those savages come out of nowhere and attacked. They killed a few of us and chased the survivors in different directions. I was lucky enough to get them off my trail. But now, I do not know where I am.
Their screams still ring in my ears. It was… brutal, unrestrained. They seem to kill for no reason. Just who are they?
I have to sleep. It is a danger I must risk. If I can make it through the night, I will get back to the ship. Gods be with me.
Day 5:
There is no hope. After a day ’ s long trek, I made it back to the ship. But they arrived first. Now, they hang around it, speaking in some foreign tongue. And over the bodies of my dead comrades at that! They put them over some strange yellow and orange energy that radiates light, witchcraft perhaps. Their skin browns, crinkling and reeking of death. I had to hold my breath to not vomit.
I have no choice. I have to try to get the ship back. My water levels are low and I lack a weapon but I must at least try. I need to warn my people of the impending doom if they dare to pass the Surface like we foolishly did. No one deserves this fate. So here is my final message.
If I do not make it, whoever finds this log please heed my words. These savages will stop at nothing to kill you. Leave while you still can.
|
[ WP ] After you die , you find yourself in a small room with a strange device . Upon examination , you find that it allows you to design who you 'll be in your next life .
| Tough.
Male, obviously. Aggressive, above average testosterone levels. Quick metabolism... risky, because with poverty it would increase my chances to starve. Low potential for addiction, that would be somewhere in the frontal lobe I think. The guide for this thing was ridiculously long.
Resilient.
Being too smart did n't work out the last time. It's all good fun if you have the right circumstances, but it really sucks when you have people like *him* around. You internalize abuse too well that way. Never again. I'll have the potential there, but this time I'll need to work for it.
Hidden.
Slightly above average height. Brown eyes, black hair. Slim, but not lanky. Regular physical development. Unremarkable face. Slightly under average amount of body hair. Able to blend in anywhere. So they would n't drag me back to a place I did n't want.
Observant.
Slight depressive tendencies. Depression allows people to view things with less fallacies tainting the picture. Sharp hearing and eyesight. Good hand-eye coordination. When I'll be trapped, it wo n't stop me from getting around. Even if there would be no light, like the basement.
Manipulative.
Sociopathic tendencies. I need to be a liar. If I use people, they ca n't use me. Not again. Not ever.
Next I added some slightly crooked teeth. No use getting a swollen ego. A smaller than average nose, harder to break. Long fingers. Muscles built for sprinting more than a long run. If I need to run, it'll probably be fast.
I looked in the mirror, and saw the gaping hole in my neck. The temptation to make myself handsome, brilliant, well-rounded... it was a pipe dream. Only those born in the right place and the right time can afford to stand out like that. Never had that luck myself. But this time, I'll be able to fight it out... and become just slightly above average in the end. No gambling here.
I made sure my hair would be dry. With these features, I want to be able to make myself presentable with little effort. In the last moment, I decided that perhaps green eyes would be worth it. Just one small hint of a memory I'll soon forget. After all, with no kids of my own, I think that I earned this little mercy. The little dunderhead I'm gon na be should carry around a little memory, even if he will never know it.
|
[ WP ] Everyone has a 2nd soul , that can use magic and take over the 1st soul when times get tough . Most people have wolves , tigers , and other animals as their 2nd soul . You have a demon as yours .
| It talks to me sometimes. I listen, my fear perhaps too tired to provoke me anymore. I listen to this thing speak and I hear its words, its thoughts, its desires. Some magic is at bay. I sound like my little brother, but that ’ s what it is. No use in denying it.
This thing calls itself a monster. It is not natural, not even natural in a world full of magic. It speaks of a world lashed by flame, scorched by hate, full of violence and misfits. This monster itself is a misfit. It reminds of myself in some ways.
It had played a trick, it told me. It had stolen the eyes of the All Father, but of course, the All Father needs no eyes. It had thought it could run away, hide from its punishment. But you can ’ t hide, I guess. My monster was punished, had its companion killed. A death there sends it to worse places than hell apparently. It showed remorse, cried into my thoughts, and then screamed revenge in a blind desperation.
I listened because I have no choice. But I don ’ t mind, it reminds me of myself. I have always caused trouble. I ’ ve been beaten and punished. I ’ ve been called a brat, a waste, a demon even. Maybe that ’ s what I ’ ve got talking to me. Maybe it ’ s a demon.
I think it ’ s been getting worse. It tells me scary things and I no longer feel to eat. It misses its companion and it has a plan. I ’ m afraid, but somehow I know there is nothing I can do. I feel strangely comforted by that. I ’ ve been up all night, just thinking, and I ’ ve written letters of goodbye to my family in case something happens. I know something will happen.
The thing has told me its plan finally. It truly is a monster. It claims it is remorseful and that it is doing this because there is no other choice. I don ’ t know if I believe it, but what else can I do? It says it can control me, make me do anything. It wants me to kill myself. It wants to be with me, together in that hell that I believe is all too real. It says it has already made up its mind. I ’ ve cried and cried but it feels nothing. It feels nothing but loneliness. There is no other way. It truly is a demon.
I brace myself for hell. It tells me of the fires with relish. The pain and suffering. It ’ s almost a hazing ritual. My suicide will be quick, it assures, and then laughs. I intend to fight, but it has already shown that it can take control. I ’ ve done things I never meant to do. I ’ ve hurt my brother, isolated my family. Oh what a life this is, being a monster ’ s puppet. It says that it is sorry, but I don ’ t think that is true. It only cares for itself. It only wants a companion. Nothing else matters.
|
[ WP ] You 've just been activated .
| I walk quickly toward the back of the music hall. Each footfall muffled by the thick carpet.
Senator Jackson makes his way slowly to the restroom, flanked by service detail. I move deftly through an open aisle and out the side-door.
I enter the bathroom ahead of him, and quickly check stalls. I'm alone. I move to the handicap stall and close the door, standing with one foot on the toilet and one foot on the bar.
I hear the door open and a serviceman walks through. As I expected, he's too lazy to check the stalls, he just leans under looking for feet. When he does n't see any, I hear him exit.
Senator Jackson walks in and stands at the sink. I hear the water turn on.
I slowly lower myself to the ground. I slip under from stall to stall, until I'm directly behind him.
I take a syringe out of my pocket. Not breathing, I slide gracefully under the stall door.
*Go*. I stand quickly, thrusting my left arm around his neck. My fingers find his chin and pull outward, exposing his jugular. He shrieks, but my palm is shoved in his mouth. I plunge the needle deep into his neck and push the liquid into his throat.
Small air bubbles begin forming at the insertion point. I jerk his head farther with my hand, using my foot to make him fall. I catch him before he hits the ground, and step over him.
Dragging him by his shoulders, I kick the stall door open. I move him back and turn him, carefully undoing his belt. His pants drop to his ankles.
I set him on the toilet seat, and jump above him to the vent in the wall. I pull a small screwdriver from my jacket and undo the screws, removing the cover. I flip, using the safety bar in the stall, so my feet hit the edge of the vent. Upside down, I pull out a tiny coin from my pocket and leave it on Senator Jackson's shoulder. He's unconscious.
I push myself up, and use my feet to slide back into the vent. When my waist meets the opening, I reach down and grab the cover. I pull it in just as the door opens to the bathroom.
I stop breathing and wait.
The serviceman looks around, and bends to look under the stall. Seeing his feet and pants, he stands and walks back out of the bathroom.
As I slide backward through the vent, I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a phone.
Opening the messenger, I go to the most recent text.
> Quora, 772. Target: Senator Reginald Jackson, Jr.
I hit the text box and a keyboard slides up. I type a message and hit send.
> Quora, 772. Confirm Target Dead.
I shut the phone, and snake my way out. The last thing I hear is the shouting from the direction of the bathroom floating down the duct.
|
[ WP ] Yesterday Jack and Jill went up the hill . Today their bodies were found .
| It was cold, and damp, and miserable. A reasonably normal day in the south east of England around this time of year. Men and women in white overalls were scouring the scene for evidence whilst others were planting down number markers and taking photos.
`` Inspector?'' a voice cut through the still mist as Greaves stomped up the hill and showed his badge to the officer manning the police tape.
`` What've we got?'' Greaves grumbled. The morning coffee not having kicked in quite yet and he was still blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
`` Double homicide'' replied the officer `` Male and female of around the ages twenty. We're still running identity checks so for now they're just going down as Jack and Jill respectively. Forensics has n't gotten into the cause of death as there's no apparent blood or wounds on the individuals which leads us to believe it could have potentially been a poisoning''. The younger officer took off her cap and smoothed her blonde hair. Greaves estimated her to be around the age of 30, stress lines around her eyes suggested that she was n't getting much sleep.
As they approached the white tent covering the bodies they were intercepted by a well dressed gentleman. Swinging his cane as he walked, his suit appearing surprisingly dry considering the weather. He reached his hand out to shake the Inspectors and smiled a toothy, well practiced grin.
`` Ah! Inspector, I was hoping to meet you before we got to the uh...'' He paused for a moment, his eyes darting to the tent for a second ``... Gristly details. I'll be working with you on this case. My name's Gregory, Gregory Coffyn. I'm one of the Abled.''
The'Abled' as they'd come to have been known were something that still remained to be a mystery to modern science. Throughout history despite the advances in technology, medicine and the physical sciences the Abled had been very much on the paranormal end of things. Unexplained occurrences such as floating lights, sounds that had no source and floating objects tended to be manifestations of such individuals. The majority of them were unable to correctly attune themselves before maturity and as a result were never quite able to get a grasp on their abilities. However those that did became extraordinarily talented in whatever specialties they focused themselves on. They also became a great asset, or a greater threat.
`` Ah!'' Smiled Greaves `` and what's your parlor trick?''. Gregory raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips as he assessed the detective. He stared at Greaves for a moment before finally, almost reluctantly admitting `` I'm good with time''. Greaves made a face `` Time?'' he asked apparently unimpressed at the explanation. `` Can you maybe unpack that for me? Us normal folk do n't quite understand whatever witchcraft, sorcery or magic you might do''. Gregory shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his shoes whilst tapping his cane on the grass. He pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket, runes sewn into the fabric. Gold thread weaved into the soft leather forming intricate symbols of power that helped the Abled focus their talents. `` How about we get to it and I'll demonstrate as we go'' Sighed Gregory as he lifted his cane to indicate the tent `` after you''.
Greaves grunted and stomped over to the tent. He lifted up the canvas flap and stepped inside.
( I'll probably finish this up when I get home from work )
|
[ WP ] The real reason Canadians are so nice to everybody is so that everybody owes them a favor . Today , they 're cashing in on every single one .
| *France, Russia, China. India, and even North Korea. *
*What do all those countries have in common, you ask? Their leaders owe us a favour. Today, we cash in. All hail the Queen. *
Hollande, Putin, Xiaoping, Modi and Jong-Un knelt at my feet. All were quivering. How strange. Then again, they did n't have their little suitcases of death.
`` Pledge your loyalty to the Queen or face your country being nuked and uninhabitable for the next millennium. I have gravity missiles hovering over each and every square inch of all your countries. Choose wisely.''
Little Kim was the first one to rise.
`` No-'', he began.
I cut him off.
`` Launch the nukes and missiles for Pyongyang. You know that South Korea will blame you for the collateral damage, right? Someone bring Kim a screen so he can watch his little country go down in flames.''
Obama rose.
`` How can you destroy us without destroying Canada as well? I object.''
`` I am targeting the southern part of America. Damage should spread to the northern part. If it does n't, I have others locked onto the middle. Here, watch.''
I saw a message flash on the screen: **North Korea destroyed**, it read.
`` You mother-'', Kim started
I ended him with a.50 to his head.
`` Hey Barack, you think South Korea's going to blame you? You're the only country that really hates North Korea.''
**USA destroyed**
`` You know that-''
*Bang*. Obama down and out.
Putin seemed to be conferring with Hollande, Xiaoping and Modi.
`` Gentlemen?''
`` You leave us no choice. We pledge our allegiance. ``, Putin called out in surrender. I could hear a hint of loss and sadness in his voice.
`` Good. Let the celebrations begin.''
|
[ WP ] Instead of life followed by death , there is a third form of existence which ends once everyone living forgets you
| For the sake of being succinct, let me tell you that I am named Rover Castile -- an addict, a thief, a womanizer, a broker of whispers, and a watcher of people. I was a man with family and peers, coworkers and colleagues. I *was* a good man committing grey sins.
I did n't notice that they were forgetting at first. I guess when you die, you just expect the souls of those you once knew to be there watching you burn or looking on with envy as you entered paradise. I think when the good men told me of Heaven, and that I would be with all my loved ones, I believe that same thing translated into my existence in hell, but there was n't. What there was was, though, was another state of being.
I was n't Rover Castile here. I was *that* guy. My entire existence was an endless stream of adjectives, but never a single noun. They do n't remember me. I quit working for McMeery's Roofing, and they forgot me. I stopped talking to family to make them miss me, but they forgot me. I stopped socializing to make a statement, and everyone forgot me.
I'm...
My name is...
I had a name. It was a little different, but...
Oh, I forget. Just call me Blue Eyes, everyone else here does.
|
[ WP ] A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place .
| `` Yes, I'd like to set up a savings account for my daughter here.'' George, formerly Dr. Sinister, said to the teller.
`` Okay, sir, not a problem at all. I'll just need you to fill out these forms here, and-'' the teller paused.
`` What is it?'' George asked
`` Sir, do not make any sudden movements, turn around slowly,'' the teller said
George and his daughter Sally obeyed and were shocked to see two men and a woman at the entrance of the bank pointing guns at them.
`` Calm down, people,'' the man on the left said, `` You're all gon na be fine if you do what we say. Line up on the side of the room and take out your wallets. Duploid, hit the vault.''
`` On it.'' the other man replied as he walked towards the quivering teller. George stuck his foot out as Duploid walked by, tripping him. He and the hostages had a simultaneous gasp and laugh.
`` What the hell? You got a death wish or something, old man?'' Duploid said.
`` No, but you may want to wish for a new villain name. You sound like some french brand of soap or Chinese food.''
`` What's it to you what his name is? You're getting robbed, I would n't be one to criticize,'' the woman said as she walked over, toting her MP5.
`` I've had past experience in your line of work, and I was never so sloppy or outgoing. You'll all be rotting in a jail cell in two months if you are n't already dead.'' George coldly replied
The woman villain known as Miss Taek grew frustrated and pointed her gun directly at George.
`` You can quit talking and hand over your wallet or I can spray your guts all over your daughter. Make up your mind.'' Miss Taek said.
`` I am fifty-three years old, my daughter's inheritance is secured, my wife is a beautiful woman and an excellent caretaker. I live in a fantastic house that I bought with money I earned after turning away from crime. I could n't give a shit if you hurt me right now.''
`` Swear jar, daddy,'' Sally peeped.
`` Well, if you do n't care about dying, what about your daughter?'' Miss Taek said as she pointed the gun at Sally.
George remained calm. `` Cover your eyes, sweetheart. You know the difference between me 30 years ago and you right now, Miss Taek? I actually had powers. Can you guess? No? I could control people's MINDS'' and with the last word, he made Miss Taek suddenly jerk her arm over and blow Duploid's brains out onto the teller and the counter.
The other robber attempted to drop his gun and run out the entrance after seeing what happened, but George made him have a seizure and run into the wall, breaking his neck.
`` You've made a grave mistake, Miss Taek. Tell me, how long can you hold your breath? Because you know, normally, after a certain amount of time, you breathe automatically on reflex. Where does that reflex to breathe come from? Your brain of course. You know what'd be fun? Let's see how long you can last when you forget how to breathe.''
|
[ WP ] A small shop opens up in your town that bottles and sells dreams . For a small price you can guarantee what you 'll see when you close your eyes that night , or record and donate a dream of your own to be sold .
| I first heard of the place at work. Johnny brought it up and described it as `` magic'', and how `` it'll rob me broke''. Then this other girl, Marissa, said that she finally got rid of a recurring nightmare by selling it. And Clary Snowe is always adventurous, so I had to check it out.
The said store had a strong whiff of... how do I say it... dream. It smelt like ginger, and cinnamon, and strawberries with undertones of sadness ( if that's a scent ). It was very confusing, being hit by the aroma.
`` Yes, yes. You like it, no? It's very nice, yes? These are dreams. There are... um... bien dreams, and no- no dreams. You like try?'' A scuffling short woman said, with a hint of a Spanish accent.
The woman seemed familiar. I've seen her before, I know it.
`` Mhm... you have bad dreams, si? Can I buy?'' The high voice said. `` Many people come to me, and I know. You,'' she tapped my head, `` are troubled. I'll buy for $ 30, ok? What is it? A ghost? Killer of persons? Fear of heights? What's your dream about?''
`` It's always different.''
The woman was mixing something. It was purple- a deep, purple, but it was also blue. It shifted colors in the light.
`` No, no, hija. It's always different, ¡si! But, there's always something distinct.''
Then she looked at me. I saw her piercing eyes. A dark brown set of eyes. I was gone; I was far-off in my head. I recalled nightmares of being trapped in claustrophobic triggering places, of facing big crowds and being forced to speak; I remembered those brown eyes always watching me. I could n't always see them, but I always know. This, this set of eyes, started all my problems. It all started when I saw those eyes.
I was snapped back to normal when I felt a woman watching me again, waiting patiently. `` Yes? You remember?'' The woman said.
`` As a matter of fact, I do. It was you.''
The woman looked startled. Then she laughed.
She started to grow, grow to a regular height. Her hair spurt out, and her dress elongated along with her. She looked at me sternly and said in a low voice, `` You must n't tell anyone, or my friends will find you.''
I ran for my life.
That woman's friends are devious creatures only the most demented person could create. They lurked in shadows, teasing you constantly. They attacked in the most brutal way. They skin people alive, they inflict our worst nightmares, and they stare. Their eyes are deadly. They're deadly. And most effective when you sleep. They're what the authorities are trying to catch. They're the dream catchers
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[ WP ] A note is slipped under your door ; your closet door .
| I do n't know what they are.
When you think of monsters, you imagine the familiar - werewolves, zombies, or maybe vampires. The kind of monsters you see in movies and games. It's a natural reaction. Not many people can imagine the really uncomfortable or frightening kind, nor do they want to. I certainly could n't imagine this.
`` Sweetie? You can come out now. It's safe.''
The emergency broadcast on the TV told everyone to stay put. To lock the doors and close the curtains. As always, a lot of people did n't listen, taking to the streets with guns and backpacks in tow. I do n't know what happened to them. I do n't even know what I hope happened to them anymore - perhaps becoming a monster is just a matter of switching sides at this point.
`` Our kids are waiting downstairs. The government made another brodcast, they said the crisis is over.''
The only reason I'm still hiding is paranoia. It's not even really a fear of the unknown - I know that the person outside the closet is my wife. It's her voice, her fingers gently tapping the wall... But it feels like she's acting out a role. Like she knows all the right things to say, but does so with just a little too much conviction.
`` I'll wait out here, honey. Until you're ready to come out.''
She is my wife. She has to be, right? If she was a monster... I'd know, right? At the same time, I have n't heard any broadcasts on the radio. The silence outside is still ear deafening. A note slips under the door. `` I miss you'' it says.
I do n't know what they are. I guess I'll have to find out sooner or later.
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[ WP ] You have a superpower that let 's you `` smell '' what a person is like . For example , good hearted people smell good like vanilla , and a bad person would smell something like a public bathroom . One day , you meet someone who does n't smell like anything .
| When the bullet cases had come to a rest and the glass had finished breaking and the screaming had finally stopped I found I could then take a deep breath. The smell of the room was beginning to settle into something that seemed normal to me.
The dead body by the counter had reeked of bleach when it was alive. Bleach that was only just covering up something worse. He had laughed when he hit the old manager in the face. Her pine smell remained strong so I knew she was still alive. I resolved to speak to her again so I could place myself within her scent and let the forest she carried within her odour wash over me.
Despite the pain in my left shoulder I found I was still able to lift my gun as I stepped out of the booth. The whimpering around me grew quiet for a moment. I could hear someone on the phone to what I presumed was the police. He smelled of board pens and stationery. I knew he was n't to be feared.
I moved around the shattered display case and saw his feet. He had propped himself up against a wall. The delivery man outfit he was dressed in showed the bullet holes and growing blood streaks. He was young, with sweaty blonde hair matted with blood. On a normal day he would have been ignored as a nameless worker passing by on the street. But that smell of his made me reel.
He smelt like something which lies behind the door at the bottom of your darkest nightmare. A smell of loneliness and terror. I lifted the gun briefly but then lowered it again when I saw the flow of blood from his wounds and spluttering, saliva flecked mouth was increasing. His stench stayed the same, relentless and indifferent. It would go when he died but for now it held itself around him.
He was mouthing something. I leaned in as close as I could but could only hear what sounded like the ravings of a man who was dying badly.
`` Across the bridge, in the canyon, to the mountain and the field, to the house with the chair, to the house with the... man''.
`` Get your hands in the air!''. I should have been able to smell them coming but so close to the dying man I had not heard them arrive. Their smells came in with them now, smells of stale bread, gaslights and cooked fish. One or two smelled bad and in their uniforms I knew I could not deal with them now.
I held my hands as high as I could before two officers cuffed me. One smelt like balloons and paper plates whereas the other smelled of engine grease. I closed my eyes in tiredness as the other diners slowly stumbled out onto the pavement.
The door chime sounded again as a new person came in. She stood in the middle of the cafe and I could feel the other police officers begin to defer. But as much as she carried her authority well she lacked something else entirely and the lack of it was almost enough to make me forget the nightmare smell which sat before me.
She did n't have any smell. Not just smelling clean or fresh or antiseptic there was just nothing. It was neither feral nor luminal. It was nothing at all. She turned to look at me and in that moment I could sense I might lose everything.
`` Clear the room, I need to speak to this man alone.''
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[ WP ] Instead of baking things , your oven duplicates whatever you put in it .
| `` How many times are we going to have to tell Tommy not to put the cat in the oven?'' James felt like this was n't a question most father's had to ask, even rhetorically.
`` He just loves the combination I guess. Maybe he thinks the cat lives there somehow,'' Mary replied. She was brushing Sherlock, the cat, on the counter while Tommy was off in the living room enjoying his favorite show.
`` Maybe putting something else in there would help break that connection... what about putting his train or Mr.Lambo in the oven?''
`` You ca n't put a stuffed koala in the oven, even if it is off. Can you imagine how gross it would get?'' Mary asked. `` We can try the train, it should be up in his room.''
`` Okay, I'll grab it, then we can pause the television and get Tommy to open the oven- and voila- he's cured,'' James said. He walked up the beige carpeted stairs, running his hand on the fake oak rail and watching the second floor get closer and closer as the beige walls came to an end. Tommy's room was on the right, complete with a wall decal of trains, and a treasure chest of toys stuffed to the brim. The train was right in the center of his bed, James grabbed it.
Stumbling down the stairs two at a time, James started to make train noises as he drove the toy towards Tommy. The boy turned to his father, grasping at the train. `` Follow me if you want the train, Tommy,'' James said, making his way into the kitchen. He tossed the toy train to Mary who promptly put it on the first rack in the oven. Tommy arrived in the kitchen seconds later.
`` Where is it, daddy?'' He asked.
`` In his real home, right over there,'' James said pointing at the oven. Mary stood to the side of the oven in her beautiful blue dress and beige shoes. Tommy walked over and looked around the cabinets. No train there. He checked the trash. The oven dinged, Mary and James looked at one another but decided on shrugging.
Tommy finally checked the oven and pulled out two trains. His smile was bigger than it had been minutes before. The boy was in train heaven, choo-chooing back to his television show. `` Okay, what was that?'' James asked.
`` I do n't know... I only put the one in. We have n't done this before have we? Certainly not more recently than when we last used the oven.''
`` No, this was a new idea. But the oven is new too, straight from the new appliance division of LG.'' As James finished speaking, a second cat, identical to the first, walked past them. The other cat was still sitting on the counter, swatting its tail back and forth.
[ end ]
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[ WP ] You 're a modern , present-day soldier when suddenly you get sent back time to the Battle of Gettysburg . Fully equipped with 21st century weapons , gears , and tactics , describe your experience at trying to survive one of the bloodiest battles in history .
| I had a mission, and a rather simple one too. See, I work for West Point as an instructor, normally teaching young soldiers about Sun Tzu and George Patton as they work to become officers and field commanders. Truth be told, I've never seen combat or the front lines. I'm a support officer, and I'm okay with that. The battle field is for some folks, and those folks certainly are not me!
But, how could a history teacher pass up an opportunity such as this? To be able to go back in time and see a historical battle in person? Just think of the implications! It is truly a once in a lifetime chance.
So I signed up. It took almost two years to get all the paperwork filled out. Clearances, field training, survival training, range work. They knew I was a teacher, so they decided to give me all the training that an actual soldier would need in order to avoid getting his ass killed in an active war zone.
Then, they let me pick my time period. It had a margin of error of course, and if I ended up in the wrong year or wrong month, I was supposed to make a record of it and get back ASAP. I was n't given American weapons, which was strange, but made sense. You did n't need to take care of an AK-47, and an American weapon would be harder to clean and maintain in 1863.
I was also given a nano-forge, a bit smaller and underpowered compared to what the average soldier got in his rucksack, but the model I had did n't need batteries or an external charge. Plus, I could still make bullets with it, along with anything else I would need. So long as it was n't bigger than hand sized of course.
I've been to Gettysburg 3 times now. Once to record the battle, once to intervene, and once to try and change history. Time has a kind of elasticity to it though, so it does n't much from the norm. I tried helping out with Pickett's Charge, as a modern weapon can do a hell of a lot of damage. But even if the south won, it never stuck when I got back to the future.
Well, at least I got to see Lincoln's address in person. Even recorded a video of it! Though I was n't supposed to, what did you expect when you sent a history nerd back in time?
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[ WP ] Everyone gets a clock at birth with the countdown untill their deaths , one man 's clock only says ERROR
| `` Do you sometimes think of Dshangris Liksandr?'' the question hit Samu out of the blue and ripped him out of various thoughts.
`` Not really, Mika. He was that person whose watch failed, right?''
Mika looked old enough to be in retirement, but still came steadfastly to each of his shifts in the Immigration Office. Samu assumed that he lost quite a Euro in the last financial crisis and worked because he prefered working over starving. His voice however sounded used to authority, to ordering people around. `` Yep, Immigrant out of... one of the stans... you know the area of what used to be Russia, I remember that you were on shift when he got his watch. You had to translate for him because his German was that bad. I still remember this.''
Samu was middle-age, wore thick glasses and had recently taken up shaving his head to disguise his receding hairline. His voice sounded dispassionate - unless someone got ihm to talk about his family. `` I translate for a lot of immigrants, I ca n't remember them all.''
`` But he was special. His watch showed Error.''
`` Error? Yeah, these things fail occasionally.''
Mika made it clear that this sugestion was one of the dumbest things he heard in a while. `` I replaced the watch thrice and it still did. Each of the watches did.''
`` So? You wonder what he is doing?'' Samu asked, wondering again why he had to share an office with Mika.
`` Yeah. I mean, it is quite mysterious, is n't it?''
`` Maybe... I do n't know... You know that my memory is like my car.''
`` You have a car?''
`` No, that's the joke.''
`` Oh... well, to me, it is. I imagine him still being around,... and sometimes... sometimes, I imagine that the watch showed Error because fate did not want him to die.'' Mika's voice was quiet, it was clear that he was disclosing something he did not tell others. `` I do n't have a lot of time left, but, you know, this thing never left my mind.''
`` I see.'' Samu thought about this for a while. `` You know, I will do a bit of research on this topic. Tell me what you remember, please.''
The next day, Mika Grubenbauer was dead found in his office, clutching a folder of documents. Most of the documents detailed the life of an immigrant up to his death in a train crash. The last page showed a report about a product recall about a certain charge of watches - produced shortly before said immigrant came into the first world.
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[ WP ] The time machine has malfunctioned . I was n't supposed to arrive to this time period .
| The sound came first, that's what I most remember about that strange day. A sort of scrapping sound, which heralded the arrival of a strange blue box. Then He burst out, looking ready to hike through the tundras that used to cover this part of the planet. I do n't know whether He was a time traveler, but the confused look on His face told us that He was not expecting to be greeted by a crowd of armed men in a wood at night. At that point, none of us knew that He would be our savior. He simply turned and called into His machine, `` Rose, time for another adventure.''
And the rest is history...
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[ WP ] The Sentinels of Time
| UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU
... to stop going back in time
and poking Julius Caesar with plastic knives
HE DOES NOT LIKE IT
Barry squinted at the poster pasted on the brick wall. Uncle Sam looked a bit feral in it. His eyes were wild and red rimmed, as though the very thought of someone poking Caesar with plastic knives was keeping him up at night.
`` Kids ruin everything'', he muttered.
Some genius had invented a portable time machine twenty years or so ago. He'd uploaded his schematics to the internet and now everyone had one or could have one if they wanted to.
No one changed the future or anything. Apparently that was impossible. Anything you fucked up in the past eventually fixed itself. Barry had listened to a guy on TV explain it once. He'd said time was like silly putty. You could mold it however you wanted but the slimy stuff desired to be whole. Time wanted to be a series of fixed points.
Nothing you brought back with you stayed. Barry knew a guy who'd stolen a chest full of gold from some old pirate ship. It disappeared as soon as the guy had come back. Now that same guy had lost an eye to the pirate king and that stayed gone. Though Barry did n't think he looked that bad in an eye patch.
The problems came, then, from the machines themselves. Some people came back wrong. They carved symbols into their skin, blathering about the coming storm. Some people just died. They crossed the wrong wires when building their machine or went to the wrong time or date or any number of similar things. The streets were littered with missing posters.
The government was n't too concerned about time travel mishaps. What they were concerned about was taxes. President Kilborn had managed to pass a law which patented the time machine design several years ago. Anyone who used or downloaded the design must pay taxes. Such a thing was, of course, hard to keep track of. So the Agency was born, to collect on these debts.
Barry joined up half a dozen years ago. It was n't what he'd thought it would be. Mostly a lot of skulking. Peeping. Listening. Occasionally moments of brief terror. Tonight he was supposed to go bust a kid for unauthorized time travel. The kid had gone back to regency England and started flipping women's skirts up. Barry had listened as he told his friend over the phone that the bustles made them like turtles. A room full of turtles, he'd laughed.
Barry stuffed his hands in his pockets, waiting. His partner stumbled out of the bar, clutching a woman in either arm.
`` Phil? You forget we had a bust tonight?''
Phil looked out blearily from under a red fedora. He'd gotten into old black and white films recently and wore a suit everywhere. He was n't alone. Most found a time period they liked and dressed that way. Powdered wigs and neon and gingham dresses. It was enough to give any man a raging headache.
`` But my dolls needed refreshment! Would you deny my dolls, Barry? Would you?'' Phil slurred. Barry realized the women were all that was holding him up.
`` Just take him home. I'll go it alone. It's just one kid'', Barry said. He walked away in disgust as Phil kept asking the girls what happened.
The kid lived a few blocks away in his parent ’ s basement. Barry had spied through the window a couple of times. He had n't seen much. Kid ate too much junk food and played VR constantly. Tonight, the windows were dark.
Barry peeked in, spotting a lone green light. The time travel device had a light like that. It flared up when in use and broke after one trip. They were n't very efficient to use or make.
Barry clutched his tazer and opened the window, wiggling in with room to spare. He usually hated his long bony frame but it did come in handy sometimes.
`` Put your hands up!'' he yelled into the darkness.
`` Oh shit!''
`` Lights! 100 percent!'' Barry yelled.
The lights came on, near blinding him. In the middle of the room stood the kid. He was dressed. Well, Barry did n't know what he was dressed as. He wore a huge bell shaped skirt. And a corset? That bone looking thing around his waist really looked like a corset.
`` I can explain, officer'', the kid said.
Barry closed his eyes. `` How about I come back tomorrow and arrest you? You ca n't go to jail wearing bloomers, for Christ's sake. Well, you could but you would n't like it.''
The kid bit his lip. `` I just wanted to see what it felt like. The way they moved....''
Barry held up his hand. He left, going up the stairs past the kid's parents who never looked up from their holotv. He headed back towards the bar where he'd left Phil, wondering if there was any whisky left in the place.
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[ WP ] Describe political parties as if they were RPG parties .
| In the distant land of South Africa, forces were stirring. The African National Conquerors, a guild of peasants that had heroically cut down a repressive monarchy and freed their people in the past. Yet in more recent times, people were taking up arms against THEM. There was Number One, Zuma the Shaman, who was very famous for charting a way forward for the land of South Africa by studying the smoke that forms when at least a thousand paper'Rands' were thrown onto a massive bonfire.
Their Bard, Gwede Mantashe, kept the spirits of the guild up and, within, came to be known as Mantashe the Musical. He relayed the visions seen by the Shaman Zuma to the rest of the guild, and always made sure there was a positive vibe in the ranks. There was also their ambassador Mbete, who always made sure that the guild got its way despite the opposition of rival guilds, the sculptor Mthethwa who made sure his masterpieces were always on display at the taverns even if it meant scourging unworthy competition, and who was previously the organiser of the guild's army. Under his leadership, they crushed a disgusting rebellion in a grand storm of arrows, but as his bloodlust grew, the shaman sought to bring out a more peaceful side by giving him a new role, albeit to little effect.
Recently, the guild of the ANC had been facing heavy opposition, most notably from the peasantry rallied behind a Bard known as Thuli Madonsela, given the title'Public Protector' from the villagers. The insolent wretches were demanding that money that was used to construct the Nkandla Palace, stolen from them originally by the guild, be returned to them. It was just Shaman Zuma, Bard Mantashe, Ambassador Mbete, Executioner Mthethwa, the swordsmen and crossbowmen under the warrior Nhleko numbering in the thousands, and the Spymaster Cwele against the rampaging horde of rebels...
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[ WP ] On the triumphant last day of Obama 's presidency , a vehicle flies in a streak of fire onto the White House lawn . In a disheveled , panic Bernie Sanders leaps from the DeLorean , shouting dire warnings about future .
| `` So... let me be clear.'' Obama said for perhaps the last time as President.
`` I congratulate President-Elect Sanders on his...'' Obama paused as a crackle of lightning appeared in the air. The audience murmured as more crackles began to form. All at once, a blinding flash of light followed by a WHUMPH sound revealed a floating DeLorean. Someone had stolen the top secret Time Machine from Area 51!
President-Elect Sanders gaped in horror as the driver's door popped open on the DeLorean and he saw... himself.
The Sanders from the Delorean jumped out and ran to the podium.
`` Listen to me, all of you!'' Do n't institute ANY of my ideas or policies! Socialism DOES NOT WORK! It did n't work before, and it wo n't work in the future!''
The Sanders at the podium ran overt to President-Elect Sanders, pulled out a black pistol and shot the President-Elect twice in the chest. A Secret Service agent instinctively shot the time traveler.
`` Mission Accomplished!'' The Time Traveling Sanders said as he died.
Back at the MSNBC studios, they cut away from the horrific scene to cover some really important breaking news. Justin Bieber had gotten a speeding ticket.
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[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 25 : Creating a Character
| *Warning: this is 2000 words long. If reading that much on reddit annoys you, you can read it from my blog [ here ] ( http: //george-y-keller.blogspot.com/2016/01/the-end-of-all-roads-part-i-knight.html ) with slightly better formatting. I did not link or mention the prompt on the blog, so hopefully everything is fine regarding rule 8. With that out of the way, here you go: *
# **The End of All Roads**
Different people come into Vilam. All of them seek something: glory, riches, knowledge, refuge, redemption, death. Yet all they find here is suffering. This town stands on the edge of The Old Forest, a place which has threatened the realm for as long as we know it. Ungodly abominations lurk between those trees and at times come out to plague the land.
The kings of old tried to defeat the forest with sword and fire, but the harder they struck, the more devastating the response was. The accursed place seemed to have a mind of its own. It cared little for the things that lived within, but try to attack the forest head on and it would destroy you. Vilam was built as the first line of defence, our shield against the horrors which sometimes decided to leave their wretched home.
I bear the questionable honour of being this town ’ s priest. The denizens of Vilam tell me much about themselves and about what brought them here. To preserve this town ’ s history I ’ ve decided to write everything down. No matter if you consider these people heroes, fools, or just tortured souls, the inhabitants of Vilam are never quite what they seem. These are their tales.
# # Part I: The Knight
Tristan, or Sir Tristan as he first introduced himself, was a rather handsome man. Skin white as snow, blue eyes, blonde hair, clad in armour with a sword at his side, he was everything a young girl could dream of, at least on the outside. As everyone who seeks out Vilam, the warrior was given two choices: stay forever to guard the kingdom from the evils of The Old Forest or spend one year venturing inside, searching for a way to destroy it. Either choice granted him absolution from any transgressions he had committed and a hefty reward for himself or a beneficiary of his choosing. This one decided to stay for a year.
His story was not easy to obtain. Tristan boasted about his great accomplishments, told tales of his unbelievable conquests, yet in those deep blue eyes I saw emptiness and pain. From the moment I first met this knight, I knew he was not here for glory, nor even for absolution, this self-proclaimed hero sought pain and punishment and after a few months I would start to understand why. One night, after returning from an expedition, the only one out of four who set out a week ago, he finally told me a part of the truth.
I still remember him, sitting there on the cold boards of the abbey ’ s floor with his unfocused gaze directed somewhere far away. Blood of his comrades on his armour and sword still in hand, Tristan spoke quietly and calmly. With the fake glory and pride stripped, all there was left was a man filled with pain, fear, and guilt.
Tristan grew up, the same as many boys: listening to stories about knights and hoping to one day become a hero himself. Yet unlike most normal folk he never abandoned that dream. For one reason or another, the boy truly believed that his destiny was to be a champion against evil.
Despite his parents ’ wishes, as soon as he turned twelve Tristan joined the order. He went through the two years of initial training with patience and dedication, believing it to be the necessary step on his journey. After that the boy was given the title of a squire. However, it did not take long for the aspiring hero to get bored and frustrated with being a real knight ’ s errand boy. In an arrogant act of defiance, Tristan challenged his mentor, Sir Ronald, to a duel.
Fortunately for the boy, the old knight was a kind soul and instead of banishing his squire, or worse yet taking the duel seriously, he simply laughed it off and knocked his trainee to the ground in just a couple of hits. Unable to fathom the idea that he, a fated heroic knight, could be defeated, Tristan stole Ronald ’ s sword, armour, and horse at night and rode off telling stories of his imaginary victory and boasting the newly found fake title.
It was at this point in the tale that the warrior slipped away from his unstable state back into a more usual condition. He refused to acknowledge anything he just said and seemed insulted by my so called accusations. It was clear now, that most of the time Tristan truly believed his own lies. You might wonder why I didn ’ t out the impostor on that very day, but the reason was simple: no matter how fake, he was still a sign of hope. People of Vilam, be it the ones who watched The Old Forest from afar or those who ventured inside it, needed to believe that among them was a knight in shining armour, a champion of justice, a true hero. Hoping to preserve what little light he brought to this place, I supported Tristan ’ s lies.
Four months had passed, before I was finally able to hear another piece of the knight ’ s tale. Just as last time, it was after an expedition, but on that night he did not return alone. With pale faces, five adventurers marched into Vilam from the side of the forest. One of them was carrying the injured and nearly catatonic Tristan. Upon further inspection, most of the knight ’ s wounds seemed well-treated and thankfully non-dangerous, which meant his stupor was likely not caused by trauma. Worried and to be honest even slightly intrigued, I spoke with his comrades.
They told me of horrible monsters, devious traps, and things which were so foreign to this world that no words could describe them fully, yet none of those were the reason behind Tristan ’ s condition. Apparently, after a long and excruciating battle with the forest ’ s inhabitants they stumbled across some sort of a visage, a mirage conjured by an unknown force, possibly a part of the devilish place itself. Although the image of a small girl in a red scarf did not cause anything more than slight surprise for his companions, Tristan was brought to his knees screaming. His almost inhuman cries filled the air for an entire hour, until the warrior eventually stopped and became completely unresponsive.
I took watch at Tristan ’ s bed for hours. It ’ s shameful to admit this, but my main reason for such concern was curiosity. I expected this state to once again give me insight into the troubled man ’ s past. It took some time, but as soon as the knight opened his eyes and saw me, he continued as if no time had passed since our last honest conversation. Once again, I listened to the quiet and trembling confession of this tormented soul.
Of course, after stealing Sir Ronald ’ s possessions, Tristan did not return to the order, instead spreading his lies among the common folk of small cities and villages. However, the young man did not abandon his training. Even though he no longer had a mentor, Tristan did all he could to improve. At least on some level the fake knight still recognized his weakness, but it was not enough to dispel the illusion he so desperately clung onto.
Presenting himself as a travelling knight on a holy mission, Tristan went from town to town taking jobs, earning gold and fame. Although quite a few of these ended in failures, moving fast and changing names even faster allowed the young man to mostly keep out of trouble.
In time he became competent, although not great, with a sword and earned himself a mixed reputation. Depending on the name and city, he was a true hero, a charlatan, or in most cases just an eccentric traveller. All of this fuelled Tristan ’ s mania immensely. Recognition, of any kind, was a key component in the plot he laid out for himself. Somewhere inside that armour was still a small boy, who wanted beyond all a story of heroic knights fighting against evil.
Tristan fell asleep before he could finish his tale, so I was one again left waiting for a new opportunity. To someone less observant the picture might have looked clear at that point: as a part of his quest, the self-proclaimed knight decided to go to Vilam and battle the vile forces of The Old Forest. However, that did not explain Tristan ’ s downright demented reaction to the image of a little girl, and even that aside there was still something off about how firmly he tried to block out these memories.
I got the answers to all of my questions at the end of Tristan ’ s year. Through luck, acquired skill, or maybe even some less noble means, he had survived the trials of the forest and was ready to departure. When Tristan walked into my abbey, he was not unstable like during our previous conversations. His voice was more humble and the knight ’ s posture seemed less grandiose, but this was not the same despaired lunatic who mumbled of times long past, barely even recognizing that someone was listening. That time, being of sound mind, he told me the final piece of his story.
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[ WP ] Describe the thoughts of the Angel of Death on the day of a nuclear war .
| `` It's time for our chat.'' Death dictated towards the horrified man kneeling before him, as his pager periodically buzzed.
Although this was not uncommon, with an average of one and a half millions deaths per day, the damn thing seemed to always be buzzing.
At an average seventeen deaths per second it would be impossible for any mortal to accomplish Death's job. However as a middleman for the gods death simply bent time, not unlike how mortals preceive time in their dreams, so in one second Death could have a five minute chat with every client.
With his gaze still fixated on this man kneeling before him
Death asked,
`` What might your name be?''
Not that he did n't already know it. As it and every other detail about this man was displayed before Death on the clipboard he held in his hand opposite the hand with his scythe.
As his pager buzzed again Death ignored it and stated.
`` It says here you were president, in your mortal life that is.''
To which the petrified man still had no response.
Now this was not the average conversation Death had with his clients. It was usually a more intimidating and condescending approach. In a frightful manner to have the client confess all there wrong doings and determine their end destination from there.
But with his omniscient point of view on the mortal world Death had taken a particular interest in this human. Specifically because of a certain weapon placed under This man's control. A weapon Death often fantasized about they day they would be used, as he took much joy in preforming his job.
As his pager continued to buzz Death apologized saying,
`` Sorry, this is n't usually for this thing to be going off so much, as it only buzzes when people die. ``,
`` I'll let you get your thoughts in order as I step out to be filled in on a situation. ``,
`` Please do n't leave as I anxiously await our conversation, not that you can leave even if you tried.''
Finally the man's attention was caught as he heard Death say, ``... it only buzzes when people die.'' As the man looks up and watches death leave the room his face goes pail with an overwhelming expression of regret filling his face.
The next five minutes, and the last of the man's, life were spend muttering to himself,
`` It was my only option.'' Over and over again.
As he awaited Death's return. Floating back into the dark room beaming with a sense of delight. Death took one final look at the man right before vanquishing him to his final destination with his scythe and said,
`` That explains your suicide, I'm so glad you used them. No need for our chat now... I know exactly where to send you.''
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[ WP ] You just got fired , you 're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you , you 're 75k in student loans debt , rent was due last week , and to top it all off ? You 're all out of beer . Oddly enough , you just got an email titled `` Would you like to change the difficulty ? Current setting : Very Hard . ''
| There once was a man from Nantucket. Well, he was n't really, but fuck it. One normal day, in the middle of May, he heard a ring from his pocket.
From his pocket to his hand, the phone still rang with sweet, light-hearted tone. It was n't a call. `` A message to all beta testers'' was what the screen shone.
He thought, `` An email from Eden Corp? I wonder what the hell this is for. Change the difficulty? Is this thing goddamn faulty?'' A list of numbers shone 1 to 4.
There's no such thing. This must be a prank. But whatever, no hair off my flank. He pressed a button, and became a sultan. Before his eyes, servants came in ranks.
He celebrated without a care, though he should really be scared. Murricans are coming for carpet bombing; he did n't hit easy, but `` nightmare''!
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[ WP ] A serial killer stalks his next victim for a week - watching and getting to know her schedule . What he does n't know though is - he , too , is being stalked by yet another , more violent serial killer who ends up killing both him and his original intended victim .
| Something had caught his eye. A beauty, standing next to a sandy-haired young man. It was gorgeous. Smart too, it would appear. Of course, It had nothing on him, but honestly who did?
Now he wouldn ’ t want you to think he considers himself some kind of avenging angel. He doesn ’ t do what he does out of any kind of desire for intellectual cleansing. He does it simply because, well why not? A question he likes to pose to each of his toys before he completes his cycle. See, hunt, tease, terminate. Fortunately for him, none have answered his question sufficiently to break the cycle. Clearly none were on their high school debate teams, or they ’ d know that begging really isn ’ t all that persuasive.
He ’ s made a note in the past that none seem to enjoy the teasing. A shame, since it ’ s definitely his favourite part. That stage also tends to correlate to the change from well-reasoned arguments to tearful begging. He often almost feels sad at the loss of an even slightly worthy opponent. Almost. He flashes back to his favourite so far. There was one that never begged. No. Instead it just stared, spitting biting retorts to every question he asked it. He ’ d had to work hard to make that one sing like the others. He shook his head. He had more important things to focus on.
The hunt is most certainly enjoyable too, make no mistake. He likes to observe them living their daily lives, watch them completing their little rituals. Little do they know that they ’ ve just become a part of his.
Yes, he ’ s certain he ’ s going to like this new one. So he makes the decision to move to stage 2. Stage 2 involves the preparation. He approaches his local hardware store for the necessary equipment. He smiles as he remembers how well-trained he has the employee's here. They all seem cemented in the belief that he is simply a rather awkward local with a passionate love for DIY.
He wanders round the store picking up the usual. He smiles indulgently at his own behaviour, much like a trainer might at an eager pet. He really is soft-hearted. The way he buys a completely new set of rope, tape, waterproof canvas, a kind of welcome gift for each new toy. Almost a thank you for **their** gift. His purchases had seemed suspicious at first, but a few well-placed stutters and the occasional glances from their eyes to the floor built up the image he needed for them to see.
“ Hello there! Anything I can help you with today? ” He grunts in annoyance at the sudden interruption by this unknown voice. And his routine had been going so well. They knew better than to approach him. Without even looking up, he growls out a “ No. ” before fully turning his back on the worker to search for the disposable gloves. He ’ s almost out, and he does so hate creating a mess.
A voice follows him as he goes, “ Well you just let me know if that changes! ” He grunts again, nodding over his shoulder. He catches a glimpse of a vague middling height youth and a flash of brown hair before continuing on. He hadn ’ t realised they were hiring.
-- -
He yawns. ‘ Time to take a break ’, he thinks. He has after all been sitting outside Its office window for the past 3 hours. It certainly works late. He smiles. He does like a hard worker. They tend to be so much more fun. His favourite had been working hard through the night towards some kind of typical academic accolade. He was glad he ’ d never gotten trapped in the typical rat race his toys lived in. He preferred more substantial victories. His toys should really be grateful for freeing them from their caged little lives.
He wandered over to his local coffee shop. They knew his order and often had it sitting on the counter by the time he ’ d reached it, steaming and heavily caffeinated. Only he didn ’ t recognise the person standing by the almost obscenely shiny and over-complicated nectar-giving machine today. He sighed, preparing himself for another mundane interaction.
The youth looked up from the cup he was holding and smiled widely as he approached. He was taken aback by the fervour with which this man must enjoy making coffee.
“ A triple shot espresso. A drop of milk. ” He had the change in hand, ready for exchange. No need to make this more complicated than necessary. It seemed the youth didn ’ t agree.
“ You sure you want all that caffeine so late at night? It ’ ll be hours before you get to sleep! ” he said whilst gesturing at the clock.
He grunted. It was like even this guys actions were followed by exclamation marks.
“ Well okay then! It ’ s your last meal! ”
He furrowed his eyebrows. Was n't the expression, ‘ your funeral ’. Whatever. He just wanted the drink so he could go home and plan for tomorrow. The thought buoyed him up, to the point where he even managed a smile as he accepted the cup from the frankly over-zealous youth.
He turned towards the door. A “ Have a good night! Be seeing you soon! ” followed him out.
-- -
He awoke groggy. He soon noticed the searing pain in both shoulders, followed by a chipper voice saying “ You changed your mind then? Or can I still not help you with anything? ”
He struggled, soon realising the precarious position he was in. He appeared to be suspended on a hook, his bound wrists holding him up as his toes brushed the ground.
He rasped out, “ What ’ s going on? Where am I? ”
He looked up, and met the eyes of... wait. Wasn ’ t that the irritatingly chipper youth from the coffee shop? He still appeared to be as joyful as ever. And that voice, much like the new worker from the hardware store?
“ Didn ’ t I say we ’ d be seeing each other soon? ”
He closed his eyes. This must be a dream. Yes, some kind of switched perspective. What else could it be?
That burningly happy voice cut through his thoughts. “ Do you even know my name? I don ’ t wear the name tag as an accessory you know! ”
His eyes opened almost of their own accord and zoomed in on the tag. ‘ Greg ’. For some reason he was almost disappointed at his psyche for not thinking up something more exciting. Like he ’ d be taken down by a ‘ Greg ’.
“ And finally, he acknowledges me! You ’ ve never been one for names have you? I ’ m almost certain you never bother learning theirs before you play your little game now do you? Not worth your time I imagine. ”
Now he ’ s really paying attention. It ’ s finally caught his notice that this doesn ’ t have any of the signatures of a dream. But why would anyone kidnap **him**? That ’ s simply not how this works!
Greg spoke again, “ You don ’ t know her name do you? The girl you ’ ve been staring at all night? ”
Adrenaline was coursing through him. He needed out. He was sure he could persuade this guy to let him go. No coffee shop worker could match him in wits. He just needed a plan…
“ You still don ’ t get it do you? What this is all about? This is about him. The boy that I LOVED. That you killed. And for what? Hmm? He was about to get his masters, WE were about to move in together! ”
One thought filled his mind. ‘ Oh shit. ’ This might be a little tougher than he ’ d hoped. He was sweating now, his shirt was sticking to his back. He didn ’ t deserve this! This heart-pounding terror! What had he ever done?
“ But I ’ m going to give you a chance. I ’ m going to give you a chance to get out of this scott free. Answer my question and I ’ ll let you go. I ’ ll walk away. ”
He imagined the relief he was exuding was palpable. He was sure he ’ d master whatever question this youth could possibly ask him. How hard could it be?
Out if Greg ’ s mouth came the words, “ What was his name? ”
Silence reigned. His ears were filled only with the sound of his pounding heart. He didn ’ t know how long had passed. His mouth hung open but no sound could be forced into emerging. Desperation washed over him as the minutes passed.
Finally, the impasse was broken, as Greg smiled. A manic smile, one that finally seemed to reach his eyes.
“ Well don ’ t worry. You ’ ll know it soon. I ’ ll pull it screaming from your lips. It ’ ll be the last thing you ever hear. ”
And he thought, ‘ Oh SHIT. ’
That was his last coherent thought for a while.
*constructive criticism welcome*
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( WP ) You have the ability to travel back in time and used that to win your current wife 's affection . You decide to tell her about your gift and how you used it . Write about your conversation with her .
| I did n't want to tell her. But the guilt and the memories had been eating at me for a while now, and while she may not understand completely, she also would n't share the same loss that I bore. I needed her absolution, even if it was given with only a partial understanding of what I had cost her.
Originally, I met my wife when she was 15 and I was 16. Kids in high school, we met at a bowling alley with a group of friends and aside from the basic, “ She's pretty hot, ” I did n't think that much of her at the time. Different schools, different lives, and I had no shortage of girls giving me attention.
She married my ( at the time ) best friend, but not before sleeping with me. Their marriage did n't last, probably because both she and my “ best friend ” were sleeping with me on the side ( amongst others, especially on his side ). Do n't judge her too harshly. It was an unhappy marriage with a narcissistic jerk, and she was straight out of a borderline-abusive family life to marriage with an abusive, cheating husband. She was only 18 when they got married. Eventually the marriage crumbled, no surprise there, but she finally admitted to me that her oldest son was actually most likely mine. I tried to help out with money but she always refused, insisting that her husband had established a father-son relationship with my son and it would be wrong to split them up. Initially, I agreed with her, but that was before I knew the extent of his abuse and before I realized how vastly different his parenting philosophy was from mine. Not that I had any experience with parenting, at the time. I toyed with the idea of going back right away. I could change things so that she left him as soon as she had my child, and work out some kind of custody arrangement with her. But I was n't all that interested in being a Dad – my life as a single bachelor was pretty good. And while I cared about her, I did n't love her. Not enough to go back and change my entire existence for the last few years. And on top of that, I did n't want to take away her other child, the son who was her ex's.
Then I got her pregnant. Not quite divorced yet, but the papers were filed. Her ex lost his mind when he found out. Accused her of “ dating a drug addict ” ( I smoked pot recreationally ), insisted that she get an abortion, then tried to say he wanted to “ come home ” and put his name on the birth certificate. Again, I almost went back. Just prevent myself from sleeping with her that one time, and it would all be okay, right? But by then, I had changed. I could just envision a future with this woman, who I was coming to care for more and more. I feared that if I changed things, I would always regret “ losing ” my child. I feared that she would end up back with the douchebag and my son would never even know me. So I left time alone, yet again, and not long after found myself with a female housemate ( with benefits ), two toddlers, and a baby on the way.
Her ex never stopped making life difficult, but from the moment I saw my daughter, I knew I'd made the right choice. I could never give her up. I got to help raise my son, and his son, who were both beautiful, bright, fun boys ( at least then ). I fell in love with this woman, who'd given me a family and a purpose, and she fell in love with me. It was never perhaps the ideal or traditional path, but it was ours.
Then came the breaking point.
Our middle child, her ex's son, began to have behavioral problems. We dealt as best we could, but it was hard. He refused affection, threw temper tantrums, hit and scratched and was generally grouchy and mean. We did our best, but even though we often had a great time with him, at the end of the day, he was usually grumpy. We talked about giving up custody of him to his dad, thinking he was happier there. Our older son ( still legally her ex's, even though he was mine biologically ) told us that was n't the case, though, so we never quite took that step. After a few years, this child came to his mother and told her he was actually a girl. She was transgender. We loved the hell out of that kid, so we figured out how to deal with it. She transitioned in our house and again became the happy, loving child that she'd been as a toddler. It was like night and day, and again our home was peaceful and loving. My wife's ex did n't take it as well as we did. He accused us of “ turning his son into a girl ” or “ trying to turn his son gay. ” I was so proud of my wife – she read every book on transgender kids that she could find. She asserted her child's right to use female pronouns and a female name, and slowly but steadily replaced the pictures of her son with pictures of her daughter. Personalized items in the house were replaced with the new name. Our new daughter blossomed, finally able to be seen as herself.
The judge did n't agree. She viewed us as abusive, and blasphemous. She took both children away from us and threatened to take our youngest daughter as well. My wife lost legal custody and was given only very limited visitation with her two oldest kids. I was n't even allowed to be there. I was n't allowed to see my son. My daughter lost her siblings. Despite the therapists and doctors who testified on our behalf, a stupid cunt judge broke our family apart. And it broke my wife. She could n't live without her children. She tried so hard to be strong. It broke my heart. She was good to our daughter, but she cried every day. She hung so many pictures of the three kids together, and the two who were gone, that there was no blank space left on our walls. My wife was devastated. Our daughter did n't understand why her siblings were never there anymore. I was devastated, and lost.
So I did it.
I went back, back to that bowling alley, and changed it all. And now, it was time to tell her.
“ Honey, I need to tell you something... ” I started, swallowing hard. “ What is it, lover? ” She always called me that. In both realities.
“ I have the ability to travel backwards in time. ”
She stared at me for several long seconds, corner of her mouth twitching as she tried to decide whether to laugh or not. “ You're joking, right? ”
“ No, I'm serious, dead serious. ”
“ Are you feeling okay? ” She asked me. “ Because, honey, I do n't want to have to take you in for a psychiatric evaluation. ”
“ Look, ” I said, and then I tried something I'd never tried before. I grabbed her hand and willed us back, just an hour. We merged with ourselves from an hour ago. She came running out of the laundry room screaming, “ Oh my god you were serious! ”
“ There's something else I have to tell you, ” I said sadly, after calming her down. I was afraid she'd wake the kids up early if she did n't quiet down. She'd babbled for a while about stopping Hitler and all sorts of crazy things, but I could only travel within my own lifetime. My body merged with its former self and life continued from there. So I'm old, now, you see, older than I look. And I learned as a child not to mess around too much. Can you imagine having to live through toddler years as a pre-teen?
“ I've done this before, ” I told her. “ Remember when we met at that bowling alley? I told you it was love at first sight. I knew all your favorite things. Knew how to hold you just right... knew how to make you squirm and moan without even trying? ” She giggled and blushed. “ We got engaged as teenagers and somehow we made it work. It's because we've done this before. We tried before, but we did n't get into a relationship until after you'd married and divorced Trevor, of all people. ”
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “ No, I would n't! Trevor?? ”
I sighed. “ There's more. We had.. we had three kids. I got you pregnant while you were married to him, but he got to keep my son. Then you had a son with him too, and he left you for Renee right after that. You and I started hooking up again and you got pregnant with our daughter. We were okay for a while, sharing custody of the older two and all that, but eventually Trevor took them from us, because of some stupid ass judge. It broke us, honey, and we could n't... I could n't... I could n't let us suffer any longer. ”
There was a faraway look in her eyes. “ It's like deja vu, ” she said slowly. “ I can just... almost picture what you're describing. It's so familiar... but not. ”
“ It was our life, ” I told her. “ And fuck, sometimes I miss it. I mean, I love YOU, and our kids, and I'm so glad we have a happy life together. But sometimes, sometimes I miss those other kids. I really tried, you know, with the timing. I was hoping... praying... somehow, we'd get the same kids. But I guess it does n't work that way. It would have to be down to the second, you know? ”
She sniffled, once, then again. There were tears in her eyes. “ I feel so sad! Like I've lost something... but I do n't know what that something is! ” She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. “ Oh, lover, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you have had to go through this for us! I ca n't imagine... I do n't know how you managed it. ” Then realization struck her and she swatted me on the shoulder. “ That's why you wanted to have a threesome with Trevor! Oh, honey... ”
“ I love you, ” I told her. And I did. This woman had made me a better man, a good husband, and a good father.
“ I love you too, ” she whispered. She kissed me hard, almost desperately, before we were interrupted by the sound of running feet on the hardwood floors. She smiled against my mouth. “ The kids are up. ”
“ All four of them, ” I agreed with a grin, listening closely to the steps and the excited whispers. A weight had been lifted. She knew. She still loved me. Life would move forward, as it was meant to.
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[ WP ] Write about one of your childhood dreams .
| Audrey and I looked at each other through the reflection of the lake, and she smiled at me. The sun was setting, and the orange light reflecting off of the water made Audrey look like an Egyptian goddess. She was beautiful, but I would be lying if I said that the lack of pigment on her skin did n't bother me. She looked up from the water and swung her bare feet off of the rock we were sitting on. I looked up too, meeting her hollow eyes.
`` Tell me how it feels again, Michael'' Audrey said.
`` I've told you hundreds of times.'' I replied as I reached my toes into the water. A chill went up my spine.
`` I know, I just like hearing you talk about it.''
I could n't help but smile. I told her everything I could about how the icy water felt. Or how the hard cold rock under my bottom was uncomfortable. And how my hair falling onto the back of my neck and bare shoulders tickled, and sometimes made me shiver.
Everytime I described these senses to her, I tried to delve into further detail, sometimes I would even make things up just to see her smile and ponder what I meant by `` itchy'' or `` tingle''.
Audrey would n't know for sure, of course, because Audrey is a ghost. Or at least, we think that she is. There's no way to know for sure, I guess. I guess is a phrase a use a lot given my circumstances.
Audrey and I live next to our lake, in our forest. I can still feel, but we think that we have been here for the same amount of time. I do n't remember a life without Audrey, and she does n't remember much of one without me either.
When I opened my eyes all of those years ago to silver hair flowing over my face, and the yellow mid day sun shining through the strands causing me to squint, I was afraid. The sun made her thin hair seem like strands of metal, and the first time I heard her voice I thought it was the metal strands rubbing together. Her voice is frightening, and if she could feel she would have felt my head bump into hers as I hurriedly sat up.
`` Who are you?'' Was all she said.
I opened my mouth to answer, and was confused when nothing came out. Who am I?
`` I... do n't really know.'' I managed to say, my words stumbling over each other as if I had just learned to speak. I was finding my bearings, and for some reason I did n't start to panic. I just sat there, staring at this strange girl. She could n't have been older than 14. How old was I?
`` Well how do you like the name Michael? It sticks out to me.'' She said as she sat back and crossed her legs, gently laying her hands onto her knees. It was at this moment I realized she was naked, and my stomach sunk.
Looking at her almost stung my eyes, her pale skin reflected the sun better than the lake that sat twenty feet from where I had just woken up. I got angry for a second. Angry because I was confused. And just as I was about to lash out at her, a thought came into my mind. I thought that was n't created in the last five minutes, no, something deeper than that.
`` Audrey.'' I whispered.
`` I do n't mind that! Well Michael, call me Audrey!'' Her broken record player voice screeched.
It took me a few minutes to look at her again. And a few days to be able to speak to her. It took months to respond to Michael, and it may have taken years to get used to her voice.
Now, I do not know how much time has passed, but my hair touches my neck and my bare shoulders, and all that matters is the setting sun and Audrey's pale smile. A snap of a tree branch rang out from behind us, and both of our heads turned in time to see the branch hit the ground. A tall man stood there, accompanied by a few boys.
`` We finally found you.'' The tall man said. I turned to look at Audrey, but she was gone.
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[ FF ] The secret she wished he 'd never kept . ( 1hr )
| `` Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.''
The priest sighed. `` You do know I can recognize your voice.'' The screen divider slid aside, and the priest shot an annoyed look at the confessor.
She flashed a toothy grin, and reached out to close the divider. `` Come now, do your job.''
`` Ten Hail Marys, ten Our Fathers.''
`` Hey, you did n't eve-''
`` We're done here.'' The priest stood from his seat and hurriedly exited the confession room, slamming the door behind him.
`` H-Hey, hold up there.'' The girl stumbled out of her side of the confession, almost faceplanting as she made her way to the priest's side. She reached out and gave a pointed tug upon the priest's shirt, untucking the entire back. `` Can we just TALK for a minute?''
He whirled about, quickly wrenching his shirt from her grasp, teeth clenched. `` I am WORKING right now, Tessa. Have you NO shame?''
Tessa recoiled somewhat, a look of uncertainty flashing across her face. `` Johnny, I just...'' She looked down at her feet, shuffling about in place, her cheeks flushed in embarassment. `` I'm sorry, I just thought that I should... you know...''
`` It's been almost five years Tess.'' Johnny sighed to himself, and began tucking his shirt back in. `` Why now?''
`` Well, Brian and I just got back from his stint overseas, and I-''
`` How is Brian? Good?'' Johnny snapped off curtly, idly fiddling with his collar.
Tessa paused at the sharp tone used, but eventually nodded, a small smile playing across her face. `` Yeah, we're doing great. We think he's gon na get a station at home, so no more travelling, at least for a while.'' Her smile quickly faded. `` Johnny, we did n't hear about it until he had already deployed.''
`` It's whatever. Long in the past.'' Johnny turned and continued walking through the near empty church. `` I've heard it all, and I've made my peace with it.''
Tessa fell in slightly behind him, nervously biting at her lip as the two proceeded along in silence. Finally, `` I... got your letter.''
He paused in front of a door, hand resting on the handle. He stood there a while, as though quietly digesting the revelation, before turning the knob and stepping through. `` I need to change,'' he mumbled, groping around for a light switch.
Tessa stepped through as well, closing the door behind her. `` Can we just talk for a minute?'' Her eyes widened a bit when she noticed Johnny had taken off his shirt, and she looked away, suddenly intent upon studying a nearby cross. `` Are priests allowed t-''
`` There's nothing here you have n't seen before.'' Johnny stiffened up as he felt Tessa run her hand along his neck.
`` I have n't seen this before,'' she whispered, her fingers tracing the pale scar that encircled his neck. She lingered a bit, before slowly wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling close. `` Oh Johnny... why...''
He could feel her tears trailing down his back, and rested his hands upon hers. Gently, he freed himself from the hug, and turned to face her. `` It was five years ago, Tess. I'm fine now.''
`` I... I read it, Johnny. Your... goodbye.'' She looked up at him, eyes red and shimmering in the dim lighting. `` Oh Johnny, why did n't you just say something...''
`` I was just being dumb. It does n't matt-'' Her slap rang out sharply in the cavernous room, and he reached out to touch his reddening cheek, a look of shock playing across his face.
`` Do n't you pull that shit with me, John. I've known you and your brother for too long for you to start with that dismissive talk.''
John sighed, and turned towards a nearby closet. `` If you would just go now, I need to get rea-'' He could hear her rush forward, and whirled about, catching her hand mid-swing. He lifted her, somewhat roughly, and shoved her against a nearby wall, all the while keeping his eyes locked with hers. `` Stop. That.''
She lashed out with a foot, trying to kick him in the shin, but felt him use his leg to pin hers against the wall. `` Fuck you John, you TALK-'' She swung with her other hand and landed another slap. `` -to me!'' She made to swing again with her free hand, but Johnny hurriedly grabbed it and pinned it above her head with her other hand.
`` Behave yourself,'' he growled, leaning in until their noses were almost touching. `` Calm down, and do n't try that again.''
They stood there for a while, saying nothing. She could feel his raising pulse, the slight tremor in his grip, his breath against her face. Slowly, she leaned up, and gingerly pressed her lips against his for a moment. `` Johnny... could you let go of me...'' Her eyes widened as she felt his body press firmly against hers. `` Johnny?''
He said nothing, leaning down for another kiss...
-- -- - -- -- - -- -
... They laid there for a while, quietly soaking in the silence. She rested her head against his chest, slowly tracing her finger along his scar, listening to his breathing, to his heartbeat. `` I'm sorry Johnny.''
He shook his head slowly, eyes fixated upon the ceiling tiles. `` I was just being dumb.''
`` You could have told Brian. Told him how you... felt.''
He laughed softly at that. `` You know my brother. What he wants...'' He rolled onto his side, gently shifting Tessa off his chest, and lightly kissed her forehead. `` Besides, you two were always thick as thieves.''
``... Still, Johnny... I just wish that you had just told me...''
He smiled, somewhat wistfully. `` Would that have really changed anything?''
``...''
His smile slowly faded, as the silence grew...
-- -- - -- -- - -- -
AN: Sorry if there are any typos. Had to jot this down in notepad, since I do n't have a word processor installed on the laptop.
Originally wanted to do a more dramatic reveal with the clerical collar, but kinda ran outta time.
Thanks for reading.
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[ WP ] One morning , you wake up and suddenly find yourself three years in the past , as if the last three years had never happened . It happened to the entire world and everyone remembers .
| I'm flooring it across the hills of Los Angeles in my jeep, nervously glancing into my rear view mirror to see if any of the blacked out SUV's are still in pursuit. Fortunately I see only the small dust cloud my off road tires are stirring up behind me. It's been 5 days since `` The Lag'' occurred and the highways are still clogged with people trying to reconnect with their loved ones, leaving the hills as my only viable escape route. Praise be to Zeus for granting me the foresight to purchase an off-road vehicle years ago.
Once most folks began realize that we were experiencing the second greatest phenomena in the history of civilization ( the first of course being the 2016 presidential candidates ), they thought of the joys of reuniting with friends and family that perished over the three years. However, those hopes were dashed very swiftly. You see, just like the rest of us, the dead `` woke up'' in their exact same place and time they were at three years ago. But with a bit of a twist. All those that had died during the past three years were locked in their exact positions, eyes wide and filled with horror and their mouths agape, every single one emitting the same hellacious, gravelly screeching unwaveringly. `` The Lost'' as the news referred to them would continue doing this until their bodies died once more.
Within the first few minutes I looked out the window to see a 747 smash into the center of Los Angeles. The pilot was one of the lost. Catastrophic events like this occurred all across the world; plane, ship, and car loads of people racing to their deaths with screaming friends or loved ones plunging them into deaths cold embrace. On top of this havoc, the judicial system was practically ruined. All the criminals locked away over the past three years are now running loose. People debating over whether or not they can be tried for something that technically has n't happened yet and various other topics.
For me, the lag could not have occurred at a worse time. You see, three years ago I was a contract killer for the local crime lords in the Western U.S. One of the best in fact. I was so good that I was able to have a fairly large house in the suburbs and my lovey wife was able to stay home, keep the house in order, and make sure my son kept his grades up. It was a happy time, my family was well supported, we were happy, and I was doing what I loved. I always thought of myself as a sort of artist of my craft, with my rifle serving as my brush. However as with any great artist, there are always critics. One particular crime lord took offense to me giving his brothers living room wall a Kurt Cobain inspired paint job and put a hit on me.
However since the buffoon made it open instead of approaching a professional, I had to deal with a bunch of gun toting savages that thought they were going to make their fortune. Of course these imbeciles managed to spray my home down with some cheap pieces of shit Tec-9's. I was n't even home. But my wife and son were. Knowing there was no way I could single handedly take on the criminal scum of Los Angeles, I turned myself into the U. S Marshalls. I offered them loads of juicy details on criminal syndicates all over the west and in return was granted amnesty and placed in witness protection.
I had thought the hardest thing I would do in my life was watch my wife and son be buried. That was until the lag happened. I was having breakfast with the two when suddenly they started screeching vehemently at their waffles. At first I was confused, but as it went on the confusion was replaced with fear, and then despair, and finally a sorrowful acceptance as I went upstairs to collect my pistol and put them out of their torment. Burying them the second time was much worse than the first.
Now you may have figured out why I'm fleeing Los Angeles across the hills. Well all those mob bosses I helped take down were very eager for a chance to finally get their vengeance. Unfortunately for me, I see two blacked out SUV's at the bottom of this hill and another coming up behind me now. I pray that The gods at least grant me a warrior's death instead of some twisted bullshit in a butcher shop or whatever other insane shit is hip with psychopathic crime lords these days.
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[ WP ] The first time she called you `` mama '' , you could n't have been happier . The last time she called you `` mama '' , they executed her as a violent monster .
| There we were, once again as a family. You would have thought the storm would have torn us apart. But, as we sit down for a meal, which seemed as if we have n't done it in decades, we finally were able to smile. I look over to my wife as her smile was pregnant with the birth of happiness. Her eyes glowing, I whispered `` I love you''. A tear ran down her face, she walks to the bathroom to collect herself. I'm finally happy, just then a young voice yells out to me. `` Mama pass the corn'' I yell back to my son `` FOO I AINT CHO MAMA, I'M YO PAPPY''. Embarrassed, my son frowns as he finishes his supper.
That was the first time, and the last time, he called me mama.
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[ WP ] A cop arrives at the golden gate bridge to talk a man out of committing suicide . After they have a short conversation , the cop jumps off the bridge .
| There are days when the sun shines. It cascades through the leaves overhead, dappling the ground with the semi-starry yellow glow of morning as the wind shushes your mind and keeps you quiet, listening to the lovely sound of silence and birds. And there are days of rain, wet and cool, and cascading susurrance to lull you into a fall nap.
And there are days of darkness. Not the nighttime kind of darkness that wraps a person up for bed after sunset; more of a forced dark. A cruel dark. Unnatural. Divorce was like that. Unnaturally dark. And darker still when the custody fight over your sixteen year old son got wicked and petty. The fact that you won that fight did n't restore much of the light, either. It just made the cruel dark a little more tolerable.
It was on just such an unnaturally dark day that James McAdams, or Jimmy Mac as the guys at the poker called him, took his final call. He was navigating his car along Cal State Route 1, humming along to Cat Stevens' Angelsea as it played on the radio. A voice of crystal echo. He glanced above at the malevolent looking clouds that slowly gathered. Fuckin rain. Figures. So much for Davey's pool party. He'd been actually looking forward to his teenaged son's sixteenth birthday bash, and had just filled the pool for the occasion. But now it looked like it was going to be living rooms, rented DVD's and pizza instead of sunshine and barbecue. Meh, probably just as well. That kid would eat pizza every day if he could.
He slid through traffic, listening as Angelsea came to an end, and Strange Magic started up. Next to him on the passenger seat, his cellphone blipped. He reached around the shotgun rack beside his MDC terminal and picked it up, glancing at the display. It was n't a number he recognized, so he flipped it open and affected the'official tone.'
`` Corporal McAdams,'' he said, announcing his police rank and last name as greeting. On the other end of the phone was only silence. He waited a beat, said, `` Hello?'' and then abruptly hung up. Not going to sit there crowing at nothing like a magpie. No time or patience for prank callers. Fuck'em. He set the phone back down and slowed for a red light ahead. His cruiser drifted to a stop behind a beat up old red pickup. The phone blipped again.
McAdams picked it up again, and saw it was the same number. He scowled, flipped it open and said, `` McAdams!'' perhaps more loudly than he needed to.
``... Dad?'' a plaintive voice said. McAdams started and dropped the phone.
`` What the-!'' that voice sounded just like Davey. He bent over awkwardly, his duty belt digging into a belly that his ex-wife had wished was a little less jelly-donut, sweeping his hand across the floor of the cruiser, blindly searching for the dropped phone. Just as his fingers found it, he heard it utter the'beedle-beep' of a disconnected call. He pulled it up towards his face, and was about to say something into it when he discovered a man standing just outside his patrol car's driver's side window. His heart leapt up into his throat, and he dropped the everfucking phone again.
The man outside the window stared at him, smiling. It took McAdams a moment to gather himself, he'd been startled so badly. He rolled the window down and said, `` What are you doing, standing in the road like that, sir?'' and trying really hard to sound official. It did n't work too well.
The man said nothing. Just stood there, staring. McAdams glanced over his thin and too-tall frame, noting the dirty dreadlocked hair, pasty white bony complexion, and odd-looking tophat he wore. The red band across the base of the tophat was worn and ripped in places, as was his knotty tweed looking long jacket. The man's eyes were too-dark brown, and swam in rheumy whites. Teeth were straight, a bit yellowed, and far too big to seem normal. And eminating from him was a faint odor of fish.
McAdams blinked, realized he was staring like an idiot, and shook his head. `` Sir, get back in your car right now!'' he barked.
For a wonder, the apparition did as bid, turning slowly and padding forward to the driver's door of the ratty pickup. The tall man folded himself inside, the reverse lights blinked as he shifted into drive, and the truck trundled forward, spitting a cloud of smoke behind it. McAdams sat for a brief moment, watching the eerie truck motor away, and refusing to acknowledge how disquieted he suddenly felt, until the motorist behind him tapped his horn to encourage him to move forward.
From beneath the seat, McAdams' phone blipped again.
`` Son of a...'' McAdams cursed under his breath and reached down again to retrieve the device. He opened it, and saw that this time it was a text message. From Davey.
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[ WP ] Tell me the story of legends such as King Midas or Achilles , but they have to be soldiers in World War 1 .
| Of the many tales one will hear of the great battles of the Western Front, doted upon by the Parisians of old, those men who would get drunk on the grape of the vine, none stands as foreboding as the tale of Strong Booted Archie of Lincolnshire.
It was Premiere Alistair who had begged Archie to come to the side of the French and fight saying to him, `` Was it not I who insisted upon offering you gifts of the best land Champagne has to offer, or bringing you the women of Spain for whom the invading Germans are most willing to take hold of?'' He said all of this through his messanger and wisest of council, Otto, son of Leo. Archie, whom all the Allies adored and looked to, spoke saying this, `` Otto, you are a good man and admired greatly among the French and I would be honored to carry your rifle. But Alistair has dishonored me by taking back my lovely Brittany. She was finest of my spoiles. My captured Leichter Kampfwagen! My beautiful chariot with an attached fifty-seven millimeter Maxim-Nordenfelt that I was to ride into battle with. He has dishonored me and taken this from me! I will not battle this day, and it will be given over to the Germans for his arrogance!''
It was at these words Otto, who was good with the artillery, returned to Premiere Alistair saying these things. And Alistair, bon cri de guerre, faced no alternative but to march his forces against the great Von Hectenstein.
Archie knew of the great danger faced by the French and did nothing. His friend and companion Peter, son of Martin, knew this also and turned to Archie saying, `` My friend we have fought together against these damned Germans for too many years. If you will not take to the trenches and fight, then let me get in your armored Rolls-Royce and lead a battalion to fight. Otherwise Von Hectenstein will win this battle and quite possibly the war. Then where do you think the Axis will push to next? They will land their Eulers and their Godeckers and will force themselves upon our own land of the crown! And what will happen to our own dear Lincolnshire? It will be burned to the ground and our women and children left to speak German! I ca n't have that. Let me drive your Rolls-Royce into battle and let the Axis believe Archie of Lincolnshire has overcome his pride and stepped into battle once more!''
Archie, son of Paul and Tessa, dame from across the pond, heard these words from Peter and said, `` Peter you gorgeous man if only it were just you and I to take on the Axis alone we would bomb all of Russia and have it to ourselves! You take my armored Rolls and drive it straight into the heart of Von Hectenstein! And you come back alive you hear me?!
And Peter, who was an excellent driver and good with a rifle, readied a vehicle and Strong Booted Archie readied a battalion to protect him. Peter rode into battle to test the fates against the terrible Von Hectenstein.
...
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[ WP ] A new study has suggested that only 8.2 % of the human genome is functional . Now , the lone human with 100 % functionality reveals themselves ...
| ( lone human... themselves? I'll keep it singular for simplicity. )
The study is posted all over the internet, and the world simply does not care. The functionality of a persons genome is beyond their daily concerns of collecting gadgets and raising their karma ( not the good kind ). However, a person of interest brings further intrigue to the whole shebackle.
This individual appears to have a completely functioning genome. Tests confirm this to be the truth, though not many people doubted it. All one needs for convincing is to lay eyes upon the grotesque figure that will burn its imagine into their minds for eternity.
The cost of a fully functional genome caused the *human* to grow a plethora of appendages, organs and develop entirely outdated traits from many previous stages of evolution. The functioning heap of genetic junk was charming to speak an outrageous lie. It was a beautiful depiction of every chaos that exists within biological creation.
Tears were shed for this poor creature and people around the world begged for its swift death, hoping to end its mostly assured pain and anguish.
But the beast doth protest! It claimed to live a full and happy life.
The masses called bullshit and wielded torch and pitchfork against the abomination. Marches organized around the home of the unfortunate one.
A sweet voice cried out to the people from below their waists. A young girl of four with eyes of green wept for the creature.
`` Do n't hurt him! He is one of us!''
`` Nonsense!'' they spat.
`` I have what remains of a tail. My mommy says that I am special!''
The red-eyed crowd chuckled at her innocence then rekindled their torches. Only then did the door to the monster's domain fling open. Emerging from within, the shuffling fiend objected to the little girl.
`` But I am a woman, my dear child!''
Vomit spewed from the mouths of many and of the few remaining non-vomiters clutched themselves in terror.
`` My beauty may not be what a normal man may seek, but my spirit is refined and glorious.''
Brows were furrowed and heads scratched. A single man placed his hand upon his hip and bellowed out.
`` Ooooh. So you think you're better than us!''
An eruption of taunting of the foulest kind assaulted the ears of the dignity-clad creep.
`` Not at all! I simply find no worth in focusing on my physical attractiveness. My joy is in life itself.''
Stillness gave way to the awkwardness, people began to cringe. By this time the crowd had thinned from loss of interest and a dramatic reduction in testosterone levels. A considerable mob remained clutching to their mob-things. A dramatically ugly fellow had a question brewing.
`` What happiness is there for you if you are not loved?''
`` On the contrary, I am loved deeply. My husband is inside. You should meet him.''
She slithered back into her home for a moment, emerging afterwards with an accompanying member. A gentleman walked out of the home, hand in hand with the wretched pustule. Breaths escaped and eyes beheld a man of considerable beauty.
`` What the hell? How could you be with such a ghastly woman?'' a leading voice rang out with jealousy.
The man did not respond, could not respond. The hideous wretch explained.
`` He has no sight, no hearing, or voice to speak of. But with me he can smile.''
The last of the weapons and fires dropped and dowsed. The mob had thrown in the towel and wiped their mouths clean and dried their eyes. They had all witnessed true beauty. The instance had overwhelmed the hearts of many that day. Some determined themselves to change for the better and pursue life with a new perspective. Others had made amends with those they had wronged beforehand.
However, this sentimentality did not last and the very next day every single person returned to lives of greed and debauchery with incredible enthusiasm. After all, these were the true workings of evolution.
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[ WP ] Write a role reversed Power Rangers story where the aliens are the good guys trying to bring Earth into galactic civilization , and the Rangers are soldiers of paranoid , xenophobic governments trying to kill the aliens .
| “ How does defeat taste, power rangers? I hope it suits your palate -- once the green candle burns out, you will never get him back! ” Rita Repulsa ’ s laughter crackles as the projection shuts down. Tommy feels the shackles holding him back but his mind is focused on the small green flame that dances before him.
Rita takes off her headdress and leans back in her chair. “ Finally. I wasn ’ t sure if my throat could hold out much longer. ” One of her minions runs up with a cup of steaming liquid, taking the headwear from her. “ Thank you. ”
“ You won ’ t get away with this, you witch! ” Tommy shouts in confused desperation.
Rita slowly swivels to face him. “ Brian, don ’ t- wait was it Josh? Joshua? No matter. Please quiet down. ” She begins to swivel back.
“ You may have fooled me once before, but now I know the truth! The power rangers will stop- ”
“ The truth? ” Rita smiles, her gentle laugh quickly transitioning to a hearty cough. “ Ouch. I guess the truth hurts. ” A few more painful chuckles followed by a deep sip.
“ What ’ s wrong with you? Why are you so… so relaxed? ” A brief silence permeates. “ What do you have up your baggy sleeve, Repulsa? ”
“ Please, Rita. Or Taijanna, if you prefer. ” Another sip. “ Full of questions today, aren ’ t we? Too bad they ’ re all the wrong ones. ”
“ What do you want? ”
She swivels toward him again. “ There we go. It ’ s pretty simple. We need help. ”
It ’ s Tommy ’ s turn to let out a pathetic laugh. “ Help? As in, helping you hurt my friends and commit genocide on my people? ”
“ You wouldn ’ t be the first human to do so. But no matter, you ’ re not a player anymore. ”
“ My friends will save me! ”
“ From what? This? ” Rita walks over to the candle and snuffs it out. “ My dear, your powers have already been revoked. Galaxies, I didn ’ t even need to bring you here for that. ”
“ You ’ re lying! ”
Rita taps a button on her chair, and Tommy ’ s restrains loosen. “ Go ahead. ”
Tommy pushes his communicator in a familiar way but nothing happens. “ How could- how did you do this? ”
“ It ’ s not hard to turn off our own technology remotely. ”
“ No, Zordon- ”
“ Is the wizard of Ooze. Uzi. Urzi? ” Rita sighs, “ A fraud. ”
“ I don ’ t believe you! Zordon would never lie to us! ”
“ Ten minutes ago you wholeheartedly believed that gigantic fighting machines were eons old and native to Earth because we shaped them like dinosaurs. No, I ’ m not overly worried about your beliefs. ” Rita swivels back as a minion appears with a lapdesk and several handhelds.
“ You ’ re not making sense! ”
“ What are you babbling about? Why else would I be here? ”
“ You ’ re trying to take over the planet… to rule the galaxy. ”
“ My my. That ’ s right. Among all the stars in the galaxy, I happened to chose a planet that can apparently best me in combat time and time again. At this rate my empire might expand to half a dozen worthless planets in my lifetime! What unbridled glory! ” Rita passes a tablet to a nearby minion. “ Chickling, I, or any spacefarer for that matter, could destroy your sun with less effort than a sneeze. Or if I wanted your dustball, a host of species-targeted biological weapons. No, we are here for you. Well not you. You ’ ve played your part. ”
“ If you want our help, why are you attacking us? ”
Rita puts down her implements and looks at Tommy directly. “ We are not attacking you. I send down one lumbering lifeform to a sparsely populated area, and provide you with excessive force to defeat it. I could easily flood your world with countless such creatures, even if your paranoia would likely result in a cluster of mushroom clouds. ” Rita focuses on her devices again. “ Although even a single one results in hundreds of forms requiring approval. Still, so long as we fight, our so-called allies won ’ t be allowed to interfere. Squatters rights and all that. ” Rita pauses, “ Or maybe a filibuster would be a closer analogy. I really wasn ’ t given adequate time to study this world. ”
“ It doesn ’ t add up! Why the charade? ” Tommy ’ s exasperation seeps in, “ If you ’ re so powerful, why do you need our help? ”
“ Didn ’ t you ever wonder why we force you to dress in silly costumes and keep your identities secret? It ’ s all about continuity with you humans. ” Rita starts to tear up, “ By the time we are done, there will have been innumerable red and blue rangers, and no one will remember the names. ”
“ I don ’ t get it, ” Tommy retorts as he resumes a defensive stance.
“ After a thousand generations of unmitigated human victories, your species might have the confidence to learn the reason without committing collective suicide. If we even last that long. ” Rita puts her lapdesk on the floor and notices the determination glittering in Tommy ’ s eyes. “ Still… these early years are crucial. A single outlier could cut that time in half, and that could make all the difference. Are you that one, Joshua? ”
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[ WP ] The space race of the late 20th century never ended after men landed on the moon . The year is now 2034 .
| # # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap )
Keller checked her suit seals a third time. Even with the improvements to the zero-G flight armor, they still were a bit dodgy around the seals. She tapped her helmet out of ritual and continued her pre-flight ceremony. The Sino-Ruski carrier was still a hundred thousand kilometers out and closing. It was rare they bothered with deep system flights like this, but the Brass had been very queer since the last Io expedition. Now the Old Cold War games were heating up again, but on the other side of the belt.
Major Marie `` Valkyrie'' Keller knew the Admiral would n't order fighter launch until the *Xian III* was within at least quarter fuel distance, so about 25,000 kilometers out. *Combat maneuvers do burn up so much reactant, * she contemplated checking to make sure the deckhand had topped her off with both core reactant and emergency maneuvering propellant. `` Nothing quite like jetting out on a contained nuclear bomb,'' she muttered to herself.
Her computer registered that the *Xian III* was now 50,000 kilometers out and closing. `` Bastards are at full thrust,'' she called out over her squadron comms, `` Their active ping is hot, they are lazing the *Eisenhower. * Is everyone ready to launch in the next five?'' One by one the members of her squadron called out their ready status, which she echoed to launch control. `` We've got the green to cut loose in five minutes, thirty. Admiral does n't want to provoke a war here boys and girls. Keep it tight on launch, double-diamond on my flanks with 500 meter dispersion once you clear a klick off the bow. Skull, you have tail-end Charlie.'' Her second-in-command rogered up without complaint.
Keller toggled the last of the pre-flight hard switches and rolled her release clamps to their just final setting. *What the hell did they find on Io to get the Sino-Ruski Cooperative so hot? Dick-measuring contests never reach beyond the Belt. * The amber ready-light spectrum shifted to green, pulling her from her thoughts. Heavy hydraulics, insulated from the freezing temperatures of space opened the maw of her fighter bay. The oxygen had already been sucked clean ten minutes past.
Valkyrie warmed her main engines as the docking clamps pushed her out into the hard vacuum. She watched the proximity sensor cycle up to at least 150 meters before she warmed up the SF-18 Space Hornet II's engines up to ten percent. She felt microgravity as the thrust pushed her back into her acceleration couch. Her padded gloves worked the thrust lever up slowly as her HUD started collecting flight data. Once she was at a safe distance from the *CSF-17 USS Eisenhower*, she kicked the engines into full gear and pulled a tight arc toward the bow of the kilometer long space carrier.
To her right and left the remaining ten Hornets formed two elongated diamonds with her at the lead and Major Roy `` Skull'' Folker forming the tail of an even larger diamond comprised of their smaller formations. Keller felt a small twang in her gut, this was only her second flight as the lead dog. *If Lieutenant Colonel Wesser had n't broken his arm in that zero-g racket ball game... Yet, here I am, leading the eleven remaining Marines of Black Knight squadron of the 15th Marine Expeditionary Space Force, hopefully not to make a MES'F things. * She held back a soft chuckle over her bad acronym joke as she double checked everyone's position in the formation.
`` Spook, pull in tighter, you're drifting.''
Lieutenant Yasif `` Spook'' Farook responded with a hasty, `` Roger that, Ma'am.'' before pulling his fighter back into perfect formation.
They cruised ahead of the carrier, putting 10,000 kilometers between home and the enemy. `` All, victors, pump your breaks and hold here.'' Her long-range radar showed that the *Xian III* had already launched her compliment of twenty MIG-560. They were slower and less nimble, but built like tanks and could take a beating out here in the deep. Keller punched up the Eisenhower's Ops Center, `` Recommend you get the Red Devils out, Control. Yellow Ivan brought all his boys out to play.'' She switched back to her command channel and told everyone to get ready for a stare-down.
Valkyrie whispered a silent prayer that this would not go pear shaped, *Please not today. *
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[ WP ] Write a generally lighthearted and cheerful story that is turned dark by its last few lines/last paragraph .
| It was the very first time I'd ever flown.
The excitement before takeoff was palpable; you could feel the electricity in the air. My fellow travellers were just as excited to go as I was, I could tell.
I felt the engines power up, and soon enough they roared to life, shooting us upwards, gracefully into the sky. Before long, we were soaring off into the azure blue frontier, passing by birds, rushing through fluffy white clouds. Below, the city shrunk rapidly, its inhabitants shrinking to the size of ants, then specks.
I had waited my whole life to fly. I'd never had the opportunity before now, and as I sped through the air, I was exhilarated by the sheer incredible speed. It was a pity that the flight had to be as short as it was, but that was something well beyond my control.
After all, an ICBM only takes 30 minutes to reach its target.
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[ WP ] The king has been murdered . His most trusted knight stands accused . Now on trial , he must convince the Royal Court that the Queen killed the King . Write his desperate case and his inevitable failure .
| This is most unwelcome, and most discouraging, for as a man who holds the highest esteem for the rightful King and his cherished Queen I must now speak plainly.
To the court, I must address certain suspicions and heresy levelled against my person, specifically those pertaining to our Queen and Regent. My role has long been one of trusted friend and adviser, a simple scribe when measured against the keep of knowledge that was once our lord and King, but an adviser nonetheless. The trust implicitly granted by our King was an honour that my death will not terminate, nor my supposed guilt erase. I served with dignity and care, and will do so in this life or what awaits.
To those here today I declare this, knowing the consequences of doing so: your Queen is a liar.
You have said I am a scoundrel, and a murderer, and I am not. You, a woman of birth and breeding lower your station with these levied charges, and lower us both by convening this hearing. I see in your gaze that you know what I allude to, and I see in your gaze you wish me to quiet my tongue.
Your child is my own, your womb carries no righteous spawn of god-willed nobility, but a child of passion and joy, a child conceived from secrecy and duplicity. The posture you exhibit leads me to believe you deny these charges, to which I must rebut: I am more familiar with your cleaning staff than you. I know that which you suffer on the moon's infernal schedule has ceased, I tell all here today that you are with child and that child is mine.
There is more to this story than the bringing of life, for you see, my Queen, I am also familiar with your doctors. I know well your condition, the condition that will cause your life to bleed from your body the moment the child is born. I know the child you carry is to be the mechanism of your untimely death, and more-so, I know my own character.
My flawed character that led me to insinuate my use of a lamb-skin sheath when none was possessed by me is not equivalent to the malice it takes to kill a king.
You have slain your innocent husband as retribution for your death to come. You have placed the blame on my doorstep.
I beseech you, take the remainder of your life into your own hands and spare me mine. I am no murderer, and you have murdered the wrong man. You have no heir, the king has no heir, the line is dead. Do what you must.
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[ WP ] A person walks into an elevator , alone , that has a vacuum cleaner left in it . Any genre .
| Stanley walked up the stairs to his boss' office.
Stanley knowing a shorter path went into the elevator and pressed the button 3, to his bosses office.
Stanley walked into his boss' office as soon as the door opened.
No, that ca n't be right, Stanley, you ca n't just plug in the vacuum cleaner, that's not in the script.
What's that I hear, you're a real person?
Well then, let me show you a video on obedience.
Oh, let's see everything in this elevator is broken.
However, all hope is not lost, now just walk to the boss' office!
Oh, you refuse, well now look, this entire thing is broken, all my hours of work, destroyed by you, you careless jerk.
I guess I can only delete this project of mine.
Goodbye, Stanley.
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[ CW ] `` When I dream , I have two hands . ''
| The radio crackles to life, and Chopin is on.
`` Do n't turn it off,'' Jane says. Henna flinches, and her hands retreat back to her lap, where a plastic bag full of oranges sits. `` It's fine.''
`` Oh. Well. Um. Would you like an orange?''
`` Alright.''
Henna reaches into her back and pulls on out, meticulously picking off the sticker. Chopin quiets, but then surges forward again. Henna hums along until she hears Jane take in a deep breath.
`` When I dream, I have two hands.''
Henna's hands halt, fingernails digging into the skin of an orange. She looks, for a moment, desperately to the radio, but the piano offers no answer.
`` You still do,'' she says, finally.
`` Working hands,'' Jane replies. `` They move, and I can play again.''
Henna's fingers drift away from the half-crushed orange, juice trickling down her hands in shiny, sticky rivers. Between them, the citrus aroma rises, almost overwhelming in its sharpness.
`` Oh,'' Henna manages. Her voice and smile waver with uncertainty. `` Well, the doctor said that you might improve, right?''
Jane does n't say anything, but she looks forward, and then down to her hands. The callouses on them are fading, tough skin fading back into softness. Her eyes shut, lashes curling against the curve of her cheeks.
`` Yes,'' Jane says, finally. Her voice is low beneath the piano's thunder and the incessant static that crackles over it. `` He did.''
Henna's smile tightens so it stops trembling, and she pulls another orange out of the plastic bag and tentatively peels it. Carefully, she holds a piece to Jane's lips, and watches Jane's lips close around it. Then, Henna pops another one into her mouth. For a few seconds, the two of them chew.
`` It's a little sour, still,'' Henna remarks. Jane briefly looks to Henna's face, and then back to the wall, and swallows, the action casting deep shadows onto her clavicle.
`` You know, you do n't have to smile for me.''
Henna ducks her head down and looks at the oranges, half-crushed and healthy, sitting on the plastic.
`` It's not for you,'' Henna says, finally. Jane watches her push the two oranges back into the bag and stand up. Like always, Henna does n't slam the door, because she's polite, but she leaves no room for it to open again.
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[ WP ] A Circus Strongman finds a single piece of paper he can not lift .
| 8:15 in the morning. The slip slid under my door. I saw it out of the corner of my eye and watched it move slowly across the carpet. It was like the person delivering it did n't want to make the smallest of noises. Not even a whisper. They knew what they were doing. I watched it settle, then turned back to my breakfast. Eggs. Lots of them. I've been eating eggs every morning for 26 years. I've eaten eggs in Kentucky, in Alabama, in Ohio. I've done them every way I can think of. They've long since stopped being anything more than part of the routine. Breakfast, workout, shower, costume, show, cry, sleep.
People get old. I saw it growing up. I'd look at people I knew. 10 years later they were past it. But I never realised it would happen to me. And the cruellest thing is it really creeps up on you. One day you're young. The next, how did that happen?
My life is simple and I've found joy in the little victories where I can. My costume is the same size it was when I joined the show. I pat myself on the back each time I fit into it. I can still stir the crowd, on a good night. The kids especially with their unrestrained joy and bright futures. And I lift the same weights. Kind of. Mr Barnes does n't know I know he's messing with the plates. Most of them are clay rather than steel, but it's always been more about showmanship anyway, right? And the little car I lift each night, well that's basically a hollowed out shell.
I guess they must pity me. The old guy too proud to throw in the towel himself. The looks you see are hard to ignore. The 90 % smiles. The half-hearted cheers. It hurts and it's the same each night no matter which state we're sitting in.
The eggs just do n't taste right this morning and my eyes wander back to the slip under the door. I can imagine what it says. My time is up. 26 years of eating eggs and lifting cars and it comes down to a crumpled piece of paper delivered by a faceless messenger. Am I not worth more than that?
You see it's hard to tackle the things you've got no control over. I can push hard in the gym and get the sleep and food I need to power my body but the body is still 56 years old. How many more times round the clock will it go? And what will I do when it finally fails? Maybe I am too proud to let them see me like that. Finally broken by a plastic car and fake barbells. The shame.
The small caravan feels quite cramped now. There's not enough air. The smell of the half eaten eggs, the gas cooker and week old laundry are getting caught in my throat. But really it's the note under the door that's making me feel nauseous. A career of making people laugh and cheer and they do me like this. I ca n't face it.
The overheard cupboard opens and I take out the Colt. It's cold and heavy and dull. Immediately I feel the same stupid feeling I've always felt when I look at the piece. The weakness. It's one of the few things I never been able to lift. But maybe that slip of paper will make things different this morning.
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[ WP ] Your state/province/etc has succeeded from your country . Write an article about its separation .
| When the citizens of Indiana went to sleep last night, they were Americans. This morning when they woke up, they belonged to a new country. This bizarre event was made possible by, of all things, an innocent clerical error. A resolution concerning farm subsidies passed by the Indiana legislature had erroneously included a clause separating the state from the union. According to sources in the state government, an intern had inserted that clause as a joke. However, that addition was not spotted during deliberations. Nor was it caught in when it passed through the State House of Representatives. Or the State Senate. Or the Governor's desk.
Normally this measure would require a popular vote. The unanimous passage, however, overrules that requirement, meaning that the secession is valid. State officials scrambled to correct their mistake, but by then it was too late. In order to regain statehood, the state legislature would need to draft a special ballot measure approved by 2/3 majority that would then need to be approved by a majority of voters. The earliest that the voting could take place is next November. Even that would only shift the action to the United States Congress which would then need to approve statehood for Indiana.
Already though, there are obstacles for the Hoosier state. Currently, their departure opens up additional seats in the House of Representatives, seats that the Democrats are eager to reassign or even see removed entirely. The state historically has been a shoo in for GOP candidates, the notable exception being 2012 when comments by GOP Senatorial candidate Robert Mourdock about rape derailed his campaign and gave the election to Democrat Joe Donnelly.
Also in the way are the voters themselves. Take Anderson, IN resident Connie Young for example. `` What has the US ever done for us,'' she asks. `` Higher taxes, massive debt. We're better off on our own.'' One of Indiana's largest employers, pharmaceutical giant Eli Lilly, has lobbied the state to suspend actions to regain statehood. Secession lifts the burden imposed by the Healthcare Reform Act, saving the company billions.
Around the rest of the country, opinions are mixed. Many are claiming that the country is better off without them or at least treat the issue with indifference. In fact, the only people actively lobbying for the state to regain statehood are racing fans. The Powell family from Covington, KY, just across the Ohio River from Indiana bemoan the fact that they now need passports in order to attend the Indy 500, one of the largest racing events in the country. They have attended every Indy 500 for the past 22 years. But this year, they will need to negotiate with the US State Department in order to keep their tradition alive.
It is uncertain whether or not Indiana will rejoin the United States and if they will be welcomed back. Whatever happens, though, for the next several months at least, Indiana is it's own nation.
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[ WP ] Write a story that revolves around the first randomly generated word that catches your eye
| Crummable.
*What a crummy word* she thought, pulling the sheet off the word-a-day calendar.
“ Definition: Capable of being crumbed or broken into small pieces, ” she read aloud.
She smiled, laughing to herself at the odd word. Craig would have liked it.
Just like that, the smile slipped off her face and her good moon crumbled into small pieces and fell to the floor. She put the calendar carefully back on Craig ’ s desk and dropped yesterday ’ s word – Successful – into the trash bin beside the filing cabinet. The clear mesh can held nothing but square pages ripped off the calendar, each one a crummable reminder of a day since he ’ d been gone.
-- -
-107
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[ WP ] You recently bought a new cellphone . As you 're messing with it one day , a window opens on the screen saying : `` New Mission Available . Accept ? [ Yes ] / [ No ] ''
| The message flashed on my new smartphone's screen as I drove spiritedly through the mountains above Los Angeles, enjoying the endless twisting roads and crisp spring air. Being a somewhat responsible driver, I pulled my little roadster onto the nearest shoulder and opened the text.
`` New Mission Available. Accept? [ Yes ] / [ No ].''
My brow furrowed in confusion. What kind of mission exactly? I could handle picking up some groceries, but anything else was a bit above my level of expertise. *Well, I not doing much right now anyway*, I thought to myself.
With the tap of the green [ Yes ] icon, a new screen popped up showing a map and single directive: `` Go to location A and retrieve package.'' Location A appeared to be only a few miles away, tucked even farther into the valley that I had been driving along.
I placed the phone back down and threw my car into gear, flogging it down into the gaping valley with reckless abandon. As the engine screamed through every straight and the tires squealed around every corner, my mind drifted to the package.
What could it be? A bundle of weapons was likely, a cache of drugs was more so. Only now did the potential danger of the situation begin to dawn on me, and the idea of turning around and fleeing seemed more and more intelligent.
Suddenly I was there, my GPS marking me just beyond the destination. All around were massive trees which blocked out the sun and cast the forest in near darkness, obscuring my view of the single ramshackle cabin sitting just beyond the treeline.
I exited my car and slowly, tentatively walked to the edge of the treeline, peering into a cobweb covered window of the cabin. From within emanated the creaks and groans of movement on a wooden floor; someone was in there.
`` Hey!'' I called out. `` I'm here for the package!''
For a moment the creaking stopped, then resumed at a fevered pace until the front door of the old cabin cracked open. From it emerged not a gun-toting arms dealer or a bloodshot-eyed tweaker, but instead one of the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous young women I had seen in my short life.
Her pale skin and blonde hair glowed warm against the shadows, somehow pushing them back. Her fragile and slender figure moved with graceful ease down the rickety log steps of the cabin, and her brilliant green eyes filled with light as they fell upon mine.
She ran to me, dancing over fallen branches and shrubbery like some sort of heavenly acrobat. I reached out my palm to receive whatever package this enchantress needed delivered, but instead she put her hand in mine.
`` We need to go, now,'' she cooed, her soft voice tinged by an underlying urgency.
`` What for?'' I asked, my brow furrowing again.
`` Because those Russian mobsters are going to be back any minute!''
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[ WP ] Upon his suicide Hitler will join the dead waiting to be ferried across the river Styx . The dead include the millions who died in WWII . You have been tasked with keeping Hitler safe until he can arrive for his final judgment .
| I sighed a deep sigh, but it did n't relieve the tension in the room or in my body. I hated the fact that the boss wanted us to do this, but I hated even more that my partner was fully on board. The fight started slowly. I obviously did n't want anything to do with him having seen all of the carnage that he was causing above, but my partner felt it was his solemn duty to carry out every order to the tee, or some garbage like that.
`` Have you not been paying attention at all? ``, i bellowed at him in front of everyone, barely getting a reaction out of him.
`` Yeah, but...''
`` But what? Have you noticed how many people he and his cohorts have sent down here? Have you seen the relief in their faces when they realize they were *here*? Why the *hell* would someone be relieved to be here? Maybe it's because the hell he's been putting on up there is heaven compared to the shit they'll have to go through down here.''
`` But what about our duty? ``, he asked calmly.
`` What about his? ``, I retorted. `` Was n't he elected to lead his people out of one of their darkest times? And what did he do instead huh? *What the hell did he do?! *''
`` That's not importa...''
`` You're damn right it's important! Why should we protect him when he failed to protect anyone up there? Why should we help him when he made a life out of destroying so many? ``, I said calming down a little bit. `` Why should we help him when even those in his inner circle wound up down here by his own hand long before their time was up?''
`` He's here. ``, the assistant said.
`` I'm not going. ``, I said as I sat back down. `` You may have your duty, but I still have my morals.''
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[ WP ] In the near-future you get a female clone of yourself to raise as your daughter , while showing her some old pictures , you realize that she looks exactly like your sister at that age
| A few years ago, sis, my only living relative, fled to a foreign country. I was alone, and craving a bond to fill the void, I decided to get a clone, a child I could raise as my own. To my surprise, the scientists accepted my application and were even willing to subsidize the costs, in spite of my sister's criminal record. At the time, I did n't think anything of it.
A short time after, I was met with a surprise. According to the scientists, due to a random error in the process, the clone would develop as a female, instead of a male. I heard stories of such cases, but I had never expected such a thing to actually happen. Nonetheless, I continued ignoring the signs, too shocked to think anything of it.
But, as the girl grew up, I noticed her eerily similar appearance to my sister's baby pictures of the same age. At first I wrote it off as coincidence, the product of simple genetics. But, when her blonde hair faded to brunette exactly like sis' did, I started suspecting something. That's when I decided to take a test, comparing the three of our genetic samples.
`` TEST IS COMPLETE. HERE ARE YOUR RESULTS. THANK YOU AND HAVE A NICE DAY.''
It's a mechanical voice from the other room, accompanied by the sounds of motors whirring. The girl sitting next to me jumps to her feet and runs to retrieve the printed items. When she returns, she holds them up to me with a big smile on her face.
`` Daddy, here you go.''
I take the documents from the child and I give her a short pat on the head. Happy, she sits herself back next to me, digging her face into my arm.
`` Daddy, what's that?''
`` It... It's daddy's test results.''
`` Is daddy sick?''
`` No sweetie, daddy's not sick. Daddy's just seeing what the doctors found out.''
I grab the corner of the folder's front page, but my hand freezes. I'm scared, afraid of what I'll see. But, as if reading my emotions, the girl takes my arm and presses it against herself. She's warm.
`` Daddy, are you okay?''
She asks with concern, her worried stare reaching heart.
...
I ca n't do this. I do n't know what'll happen once I read this file. Maybe I'll find discover something scandalous, perhaps I wo n't find anything at all. But, this girl is my daughter, and I treasure her more than anything else in this world.
If knowing it means risking our precious bond, then the truth can go fuck itself.
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[ WP ] As of today , the CIA now interrogates subjects using Adam Sandler movies .
| Ahmed had been under interrogation for a week now without showing any signs of cracking. His beard had been cut off and dark circles had formed around his eyes as a result of sleep deprivation. His fingers had finally scabbed up. They had thought ripping his fingernails out one by one would have been enough to break him, but they didn ’ t know how strong he was. He would die before breaking, he knew this in the depths of his heart.
Agent Williams was watching Ahmed from behind the one way glass. She saw the look of steely determination in his eyes and knew that this was not going to be an easy task. Sighing, she pulled out her phone and dialled a number. “ Get me Agent Kowalski. We are going to have to use the Madison Protocol. ” A momentary silence followed, before she heard a reply. “ Roger that. ”
Ahmed was blindfolded and led into a room. His arms and legs were chained to a chair. Two agents held him down, while a third agent pried his eyes open. A fourth agent delicately taped Ahmed ’ s eyelids to his face. Ahmed struggled fiercely, but a week of minimal eating had left him weak and unable to resist. Fear gripped the pit of his stomach as something was injected into his arm. He thought, “ What is it that they will subject me to? God have mercy. ”
A projector whirred into action behind him and the white wall directly ahead of him suddenly came to life with the Touchstone Pictures logo. As a theme song blared from all directions, Ahmed felt at ease. He laughed to himself, “ Movies? This is your big plan? ”
The Waterboy had been playing for an hour now and raucous laughter could be heard coming from Ahmed ’ s room. Agent Kowalski watched from the adjoining soundproof room and smiled. He knew that the MDMA that they had injected into Ahmed would have definitely kicked in. “ Boy I bet that son of a bitch is feeling pretty great right now. ” He smiled knowingly as he watched Ahmed, who was laughing away at Adam Sandler ’ s antics. “ Thank god this room is soundproof. ”
Happy Gilmore started playing as soon as the credits for the Waterboy had finished. Ahmed felt at ease, his brain melting in a cocktail of happy chemicals. He watched and rooted for Happy Gilmore as he climbed the top of the Golf ladder.
It was around halfway through Anger Management that Ahmed started to get sick of hearing Adam Sandler ’ s voice. And how many times were they going to show someone being hit in the balls? These things had begun to get on Ahmed ’ s nerves. Kowlaski smiled once more from behind the one way glass. He knew the MDMA had begun to wear off. It was only the beginning.
I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry was the next movie. Ahmed spat at the thought of homosexuals and indeed, homosexuality was punishable by death in his home country. Even still the barrage of terrible gay jokes made him feel bad for having seen them. And Adam Sandler ’ s voice now took on the characteristics of fingernails squealing on a chalkboard. The drugs had worn off now, leaving his brain bereft of the chemicals necessary for happiness. Ahmed struggled against his restraints and tried to close his eyes. But it was no use.
Angry screams could be heard as You Don ’ t Mess with the Zohan played. Ahmed wished nothing but death to the Jew dogs of this world, but this was something else. Worse still was Rob Schnieder ’ s portrayal of a goatherd. Rage welled up inside of him every time that ridiculous caricature came on screen. Behind the one-way glass, Kowalski chuckled once more.
It had been almost ten hours. What hard started off as a respite from torture had turned out to be something far worse. Now, Little Nicky was playing. “ WHY IS HE SPEAKING IN THAT STUPID VOICE??? IS HE GOING TO KEEP DOING THAT FOR THE WHOLE MOVIE??? ” Ahmed began to scream and scream. Kowalski smiled and reached for a dial. The volume in the room grew louder and louder until Ahmed ’ s screams were drowned out by Adam Sandler ’ s voice. It was like someone was rubbing a cheesegrater against Ahmed ’ s head and he could do nothing to stop it. “ We are getting close now ” chuckled Kowalski, once again thankful to be in a soundproof room.
Twelve hours. No food or water. Ahmed had screamed himself hoarse by this point. Before Grown Ups had started playing agents entered the room to inject him once more. Blinding pain coursed through his eyes, but he could not close them. All he could do was watch Adam Sandler and his friends piss in a public pool.
Agent Williams walked into the soundproof room. “ What ’ s the status? ” Kowalski turned around. “ We should go and interrogate him after this. Offer to end this if he chooses to co-operate. ” Williams looked through the one way glass and watched Ahmed, whose eyes were now glazed over. Eyes that had once held such determination were now completely empty. She turned around. “ And if he chooses not to co-operate? ” Kowalski smiled deviously as he opened a drawer and pulled out a DVD. “ We always have this. ” Williams looked at the cover with shock.
It was Jack and Jill.
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[ WP ] Ever since you were born you 've possessed the power to teleport wherever you 're currently looking . Depressed and unsatisfied , you decide to end your life by looking towards the stars . You 're not dead .
| I ca n't take it anymore. I'm done.
They told me I was *lucky*, that I had a *gift*. **Lies**. What kind of gift is it to be locked in a concrete bunker ever since i was 5. Ever since the day I first... *jumped*. Leave it to the lackeys of the government to come up with most mundane possible name for teleporting. Leave it to them to tear apart a family so well that I have no memories of my real parents.
I have spent the last 20 years being experimented on, prodded, *harvested*. I have never seen the outside world, except through the 13 inch wide TV which lies beside my steel-frame bed. The only true piece of the world I've ever seen are the *stars*. Those beautiful orbs of wonder. A tiny slit was drilled into the top of the bunker for my 18th birthday. Not like I can escape through it anyways.
Well, at least not the escape they had in mind...
I've considered it many times. Almost daily. But the urge has always been strongest this time of the year. Every year on this day I stare though that slit for hours, wondering how strong I crave my freedom.
I'm done wondering.
I look up. Straight up. Beyond the 5 feet thick concrete, up into the utter vastness of space. The stars beckon to me, I can almost hear them calling out to me. My fists are clenched tight. I realise I've been holding my breath. I exhale strongly. *Not like a little air's gon na help me in a vacuum. * All my focus is now on the starry night sky and shutting my eyes for just a moment, I give in to their call.
I open my eyes with gasp, taking in a lot of air. *Space does n't have air*, I think, just as I realise I'm falling.
I'm miles above earth, but miles below my planned destination. I'd vastly overestimated my abilities.
*Just another disappointment, but at least I'm gon na get my release anyway*.
The wind rushed past my ears as I fell through clouds, finally at peace. It must've been 0 degrees outside, but there was a warmth of sorts spreading throughout my body, leaving my toes tingling. I could see my concrete grave approach me rapidly. Just a few seconds before it was all over.
**5**
*Oh fuck, just a few seconds before this is all over. What have I done*
**4**
*Fuck, fuck, fuck! What was I thinking. GODDAMIT. It was n't that bad there, was it? I could've still done something with my life. Maybe I could've found Mom and Dad. Oh crap, I'm never gon na see them. I'm never gon na see my mother and father*
My smile was gone, and there were two streams running across my face.
**3**
My life began to flash before me. My pitiful, slavelike life.
**2**
I know I've made the right choice. This is the closest I've come to *living* in my entire life. *Maybe I'll finally see you up there, Ma*.
I began to hum a familiar tune.
**1**
The ground was rushing up to meet me. To wrap me in an embrace and never let go. My smile returned. Taking a deep breath I began to sing,
`` Happy Birthday to m-''
**0**
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[ WP ] You are told that you are about to enter a room with one person that wants to kill you , and two people who would do anything to save your life . Inside , you find your two best friends and your crush .
| I woke up with a blinding headache
`` He's waking up, quick get him back under''
Words cut through the vicious ringing in my ears and fade back into soft
silence and comforting darkness
...
Darkness fades back into cognition, my cheek itches and as I reach to scratch it my hand is bitten by something. Wait, not bitten, bound. Eyes flying open, pupils constricting expecting light; I cry out when the pain of its absence fills flares in my skull. Why does the darkness hurt? I try to roll over but the bindings bite in deeper, why cant I move? Trying to rise I find my feet bound as well.
`` He's back at it, thrashing around''
A rustling by my side and the ground falls away as a deeper blackness envelops me
...
Coming to a white light cuts through my optical nerves straight to the back of my skull. A scream rips itself from dry, cracked lips.
`` welcome back to the world of the living''
A familiar voice drawls. Eric, 23, single, neighbor, best friend since middle school.
`` Damn, he looks rough''
Sam, 21, probably fucking Eric, classmate, study partners since last semester.
`` Hey man, you thirsty? Eric, get him some water''
Ty, 23, player, pen pal, have n't seen him since he moved four years ago.
Footsteps recede, Eric, getting me water from god knows where. As the sound fades a memory takes form
`` Ca n't believe that'' ringing fills my ears `` tried to kill him'' more ringing, fading in and out `` but these two have been here every day trying to wake him up'' ringing and then a different voice
`` Let them all stay, it will settle itself''
When was that? A week ago? A year? Who tried to kill me?
I try to open my eyes again, but the blinding lights force them closed again.
`` Ty'' I manage to shove the mangled word through bloody lips before a cough racks my body, sending pain through every nerve.
`` Calm down there cowboy''
I can hear Sam's smile through her words, the same she uses every time I start to get ahead of myself.
`` Hey man, chill''
Eric is back
`` Open your mouth''
I oblige and cool water flows over my lips and chin, into my nose but most importantly my mouth.
The flow trickles to an end
`` More'' I plead
`` Nope, they said only one of those every hour, but I think 45 minutes will be just fine'' Eric says conspiratorially
`` Do n't want to hurt yourself there champ''
Sam again. Why are they all here?
`` *The rule of three here still abides, two friends by your side a third hand does poison hide two with life to bequeath, third with steel to unsheathe*''
Who is that voice? Should I tell her what I've wanted to for these last long weeks. Can I get it out? I can try...
`` Sam'' A cough rips through my lungs
`` Who?'' Ty asks
`` Sam, come here'' I repeat, swallowing the next spasm before it can start
`` Hey man, are you ok? Its just us''
`` Yeah, you me and Ty'' Eric interjects
`` They must have you on some strong shit''
Ty chuckles nervously in agreement.
`` But Sam, I can here her'' I struggle through the sentence, words coming easier now.
`` Do you know where you are?'' asks Eric
Racking my brain to no avail I finally give in and admit `` no''
`` The hospital man, you've been here for weeks.''
Cold dread fills my body, and I force myself to open my eyes, the cold white fades to a warmer yellow and my two friends faces swim into view with a hard white background.
`` Why''
A quiet rustling as my two friends try to put the last few weeks into words.
Ty responds quietly `` Your tried to kill yourself man''
EDIT: Names are hard
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[ WP ] The government enforces a ban on swearing . Describe a criminal underworld that is hinged upon this ban .
| Man, what I would n't give for a `` Fuck!'' right. Just one short, sweet, full-bodied `` Fuck!''. Would n't say no to a few `` Goddamn! ``'s thrown in either. It's 2042 and I ca n't remember the last time I could just let my mouth go. It started small - bans in schools, elderly care facilities, evening primetime TV - things like. And it was just the big stuff - `` fuck'' and `` shit''. Well, you could n't say `` cock'' or `` cunt'' but no one really used those that much anyway. Nah, it was the big two that hurt the most.
But hey, it was cool, right? Protect the kids and all. Build a better world. Except then it started getting worse - the lighter stuff, like `` ass'' and `` hell''. If it were n't for the Christian Right, the last one would be gone entirely. You can say it in church, maybe, if you're a pastor or whatever. But a blistering `` Go to hell''? Forget it. 15 years. *Minimum*.
Slowly but surely, the situation got worse. I'll never forget the first execution. None of us will. They picked this old, fat, racist redneck. Klansman, I think. The worst guy they could find. He was talking to his friends about `` sending those fuckin' niggers back to fuckin' Africa'', and that was it. Full SWAT team, helicopter, the whole nine yards. They broadcast his execution live, too. I never thought I'd feel bad for a Klukker, but his face was so swollen you could n't even recognize him. And they shot him. Right in the back of the head, just like that. People thought twice about swearing after that. Too risky.
Man, you ever tried getting busy with a girl without being able to swear? `` Gee, I love your breasts!'' `` Go on, touch my erect penis!'' It's fuckin' impossible. You sound like a 12-year-old. Speaking of which, the market for the cut stuff has exploded. I know guys that got rich off of `` a $ $'' and `` f @ gget''. You could n't sell them fast enough! Dropping a `` g'' of the end of `` fucking'' cuts the price in half. Take out a c? It's basically affordable! Not that it's worth it - if you're gon na swear, do it right. The hard stuff is n't gone either - it's just expensive. A buddy of mine sold a `` pussy'' to this elderly couple. 50th wedding anniversary and they just wanted one `` pussy''. Cost the guy about 3 months of his pension, he said. That almost broke my heart when I heard it. My buddy's, too, but business is business, and business is good.
If I ever read this aloud, it would cost me more than I've made in my life. Not that it would get that far - I'd be dead after the first sentence. Which is why I'll never read this aloud. I've thought long and hard about where would be best to leave this, and I've decided on Moby Dick, stuck in the back, in a high school library. Nobody reads Moby Dick. And even if they do, fuckin' NOBODY reads all of it. The irony of the title is n't lost on me either.
So to the person that finds this, if it's found, I hope yours is a world with profanity. I hope you can walk up to your best friend and call him a `` fucking cunt'' just because it's Tuesday. I hope you can criticize the government by saying the President sucks donkey dick. But remember my words, kid. Because a world with expletives is n't a given - and I've seen better men than you give every last fuck they had to fight for it.
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[ WP ] 2,000 years after the nuclear war , small tribes uncovered the only remnants of the past civilization -- the Sesame Street studios . They begin to construct their philosophies , religions , and law around these divine places of worship .
| **'' All praise be the Golden Bird! `` **
Together they chanted, `` For he is tall and wise.''
**'' All praise the Purple Fang! `` **
Together they chanted, `` For he has taught us all, we count. Therefor we matter.''
**'' All praise the Furry Trunk! `` **
Together they chanted, `` For he is the mysterious friend.''
**'' All praise the Dweller of the Can! `` **
Together they chanted, `` For he has taught us to bury our anger and disgust.''
**'' All praise the Blue Hero! `` **
Together they chanted, `` For he has shown us each the strength within.''
**'' All praise the Red Tickler! `` **
Together they chanted, `` For laughter is the best medicine.''
**'' All praise the Odd Couple! `` **
Together they chanted, `` For love knows no bounds.''
**'' All praise the Consumer of Cookies! `` **
Together they chanted, `` Sometimes one, is not enough!''
**'' Beware the Frog! `` **
Together they chanted, `` Beware the Frog!''
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[ WP ] Starting at the age of 10 , humans are given companion animals that develop along side them . These animals can range anywhere from a goldfish to a horse to even a dragon . The only catch is that they are assigned based on your behavior during childhood .
| I blink.
Another day passes by in my life as I lay in my bed. This life passing through time bores me now, I think I'll try something new today. Getting out of bed I look to my left to see him.
It?
Whatever. He's a him to me, I've honestly given up on remembering when or why I think he's a him. It's really been so long since I've been ten. They always did laugh at me for the animal I've been given. The weirdo, the freak and the oddball. The day I got him was both the worst and best day of my life. It's the day I learned that I will never really be like the others, but at the same time I learned that that was okay. Honestly, who cares about the opinions of those who are lost.
I get up and dress myself in whatever I can find. Most of my clothes are wearing rather thin. I should think about making more. It's always hard to come up with more reasons to get up in the morning so an actual task would be welcome. I'll need to find some cloth to work with. Maybe I can find some in town, there's bound to be some at the market still.
I put on my boots and make my way over to town. I guess it's a long walk? It's been a while since I went into town but I really do n't mind the time lost. The market is n't too deep in the town. Just a few miles from the sign welcoming you in.
It's quiet like always. I try to remember the town like it was when I was younger. I think I used to come by here with some people, maybe family? I forget why I came, just some landmarks seem familiar. I finish up my business in town and start making my way back home. It's long. But I guess that makes sense.
I walk back through the door to my apartment and take off my boots. It's been a long day and it's almost night so I set what I got aside for a later day. It's just some clothes, they can wait. Going to a window I look out and take in the sights set before me.
A city. A great city. Well was a great city. Not barren and empty. It's a wonder that the buildings can survive for so long but I guess that is the wonder of modern engineering. Truly amazing that this city can survive thousands of years of nature rising up against it. I lose count of how long it's been but I guess after a while it does n't really matter.
I walk back into my room. It is dark except for the glow he gives off. A faint glow but familiar. He floats in his little tank like he's done for as long as I can remember. My memories might be blurring now but that day is still fresh in my memory. I remember looking up what in the world he was. Turritopsis dohrnii.
`` Hey Steve. I'm back''
The immortal Jellyfish.
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Subsets and Splits