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[ WP ] Describe to me a world where mental health disorders are contagious .
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We make a stop at 5th and Patterson. A few kids with backpacks looking like 21st century cyborgs with their plaster white ear-buds and eyes glued to LCD screens, enter through the front door and force their way into the already crowded bus. The front end of the 403 is so stuffed that the crowd is practically suffocating the bus driver and I question if their lungs can even expand enough to breath in the already stale air.
An older woman enters from the middle and takes a step in my direction, but a middle-aged man in a light-grey suit stops her movement with his briefcase and whispers something in her ear. They both glance in my direction. She moves closer to the crowd. The group of Monday commuters is starting to look more and more like a group of emperor penguins huddling together for warmth in the intense arctic winter. In the back, where I sit, are eight empty seats.
I ca n't help but feel guilty. I sometimes fantasize how life would be if I was paranoid. Even Schizophrenics have their encounters with thrill-seekers, oftentimes teenagers or drug addicts looking for quick fix, something that will let them escape, or even appreciate reality. But Depression is n't contagious like other mental illnesses. Whereas an individual may suffer a momentary bout of paranoia or anxiety, if one were to catch depression the illness stays with them for life. They have their moments. Moments where the individual might not feel so empty. Moments where they may even feel fulfilled, but the moments never last.
We make a stop at 5th and Clinton. More people enter from the back, the man in the grey-suit, the unofficial bouncer of club Metro, herds them in, filling the empty compartments of the people now shuffling out the front. A young woman rolls her eyes at me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
When I get off at 5th and Cleveland the bus breathes a sigh of relief. I look back as the passengers fill the empty seats. I see a woman carrying a small child wipe the seat I was occupying with a baby wipe. I pull up the hood of my jacket and light a cigarette, then I make my way down the back alley. My employer insists that I enter through the back entrance. I pull a lanyard from my pocket and pick the longer of two keys off my key-ring and open the back door. So few people enter here they have n't even bothered to make an automated entry. I take an unnecessary glance at the smaller key on the chain that once belonged to my now broken bike lock that accompanied my now stolen bike. A brief wave of bitterness washes over as I think of riding the bus.
At the top of the stairwell is the back entrance to the writer's room: my catharsis, my salvation, the one place I feel whole. Brian is the only other person that has arrived early. He greets me with a smile, his eyes glazed and bloodshot, his hair frayed and disheveled. Across his neck is a rainbow assortment of different illness identification cards which he acquired before the public was made aware of the contagion. He's completely insane, but he's a hell of a writer. I take a seat at the opposite end of the table, feeling guilty for avoiding him, unconsciously touching the blue card hanging around my own neck.
When Garret and Joanie make their way in five minutes to eight they take the two seats surrounding me. They are the closest I ever get to human contact. Garret is sixty with a salt and pepper beard. His face carries the kindest eyes and softest smile. He is always gentle. He is always pleasant. Joanie is what some consider, obnoxious, but I found her to be hilarious. She has a way of creating humor from the most unpleasant set of circumstances. I would have married her, but of all her promiscuity, she rarely took men as partners, and the thought of an intimate relationship made her, β want to hang myself. β
I sometimes wonder how people would have handled contagious mental illnesses if they had developed in the 50s. Would mental hospitals be overfilled with patients seeking the barbaric process of electroshock therapy? Would half the population wander around as walking vegetables, victims of botched lobotomies? Or would it have been exploited? In my mind I fantasize a scenario in which patient zero, Ernest Hemingway, single handedly prevents the Cuban missile crisis by involuntarily infecting the population with severe suicidal depression. The villagers jumping from rooftops. The children, walking hand-in-hand into the gulf of Mexico, a charismatic cult leader shepherding them, a ceremonial noose around his neck. Soon the idea manifests into a story: plot, symbolism, character development. In five minutes I've written a skit that will only ever exist in my mind. I know it will never get past the sensors. Joanie might be the only other person that would find it funny. When Carl arrives we get to work, and the half-assed script for Friday's show gets passed around. I see Brian has already added his notes; indecipherable wording lines the border in black ink. I can barely make out the cover page: The Friday Night Comedy Hour, third draft.
When I exit the building at five past seven the sun hangs low, it's orange light silhouetting the buildings in the western horizon. The crisp air and cool breeze of September somehow feel welcoming, and I option to walk rather than suffer the social isolation that is public transportation. I consider waking up an hour earlier and walking to work, but the thought of losing an hour to my already deprived sleep schedule grants me a flash of anxiety, and I tuck the thought in the back of my mind. I pull up the hood of my jacket and light a cigarette. Few people are walking at this hour. An elderly couple on my side of the street catch a glimpse of the blue card slapping across my torso. They approach the crosswalk in a frantic state, their arthritic fingers smash the button repeatedly. I'm still a half a block away when they half jog, half run to the other side of 5th. So be it.
Sometimes I'm proud of it. I'll begin to think that my suffering is but the consequence of being given the gift of a deeper understanding. A more intense reality. Maybe it's those we deem'normal' that are suffering under the delusion. Do they experience life from every angle? Do they dare perceive the world with even a fraction of the same acuity? Do they notice every glance, every cough, every inflection, every idiosyncrasy? Are the oblivious to the suffering of the world? Or do they just not care? Do they realize this is all meaningless?
Then I get angry. Then I hold onto that anger, I harness it, I let it build. I am not the one who should feel ashamed. The feeling is short lived.
After another sleepless night I wake up an hour early. My bed is my haven. In the chill morning it is warm. It is safe. I hit the snooze on my alarm. I hit the snooze again. Soon I am running late. I dig through a pile of dirty laundry lying on the floor of my studio apartment. I douse myself in cologne. When I'm on the ground floor I realize I forgot to brush my teeth again. I board the bus through the back entrance. A few people near the door exhale a huff of frustration, the few sitting in the back migrate towards the center. I take my seat in the back and throw in a pair of headphones, deciding to ignore it. Deciding to just ignore it. I close my eyes for a minute of rest.
When I wake I'm on the third song of my playlist. A pair of eyes, blue, feminine, are staring at my own. Her thin lips mouth wordlessly. I pause the song and remove the headphone from my left ear.
β I'm sorry? β
β What are you listening to? β
I shuffle in my seat.
β What was that? β I ask, despite hearing her the first time.
β What band are you listening to? β
I look down at the screen and realize it's some German electronic artist of which I'm embarrassed to say, not because of my music preference, but out of fear of mispronouncing the name. I glance at the crowd of people in the center of the bus. It's remarkably scarce. Their is even an empty seat. I look back at her. Her eyebrows are raised in a mixture of curiosity and slight concern. I realize she is pretty and my neck involuntarily spasms, jerking my head away.
β You probably should n't be sitting here, β I say to the floor.
Then I raise the blue card from around my neck.
β I'm a hazard. β
She laughed. Then she put her hand on my shoulder.
β That's okay, β she said, her voice getting softer.
Then she smiled.
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[ WP ] You attend at Cthulhu 's dinner party , and you have to bring a dish .
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You feel the pressure of the blade on your inner hand. Your heart is beating at a maddening pace. You close your eyes even though you are surrounded by complete darkness. The warm smell of cooking meat is heavy in the air. You pull the blade quick across your palm and feel the hot, sticky warmth fill your fist. A rush of rancid air comes from behind and when you turn around, you are greeted with a silhouetted doorway in your kitchen that was n't there moments ago. The light reveals the horrors of your once spotless kitchen. Unused bits of bones and innards spread over the floor. Blood intricately painted into ancient ruins, forbidden and sacred to those who can read them. The spell worked. You wipe your bloody open wounded hand on your gorgeous mint green dress and grab the casserole you carefully concocted from your neighbor's infant and a spring lamb. the mint sauce is delicate but still odorous over the rancor coming from the open doorway in front of you. You take a step through and smile as the exquisite madness rushes over you. Dinner is served!
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[ WP ] Kanye West is one of the four Kanye 's . The other three being Kanye North , Kanye South , and Kanye East . More commonly known as the Four Kanye 's of the Apocalypse .
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West took his position at the table. Intricrate inscriptions adirned it's perimeter; Kanye East sat patiently, eating his shark fin soup. North and South were still nowhere to be seen, but Kanye East and West were both tense, and exchanged knowing looks. It was certain, in their minds anyway, that this time all four would show up. This time, the world would end.
Footsteps echoed in thedistance, closing in on the inner chamber that East and West occupied. Leather soles rang louder and louder until a figure silhouette appeared in the doorway. A voice finally broke the silence. `` Aw shucks, three out of four. Damn-hell boys, I reckon we're in for a world of hurt. Yep, a whole world of trouble, and trouble for the whole world. Kanye South approached his spot at the table, spun the chair around and sat. The inscriptions on the table glowed briefly and then grew dim.
Time passed slowly, as the stars wheeled above the compound. Optimism grew among the Kanye's as the time had almost passed for this cycle. Another apocolypse averted, for the next 50 months anyway. Then the unthinkable. Quiet at first, unassuming footsteps; slowly drawing closer. Another silhouetted figure appeared at the door, paused and lowered it's head. Without saying a word, the figure exhaled, straightened himself up and walked to the last open spot at the table and gracefully sat down. The room shook a little and the inscriptions glowed red hot. The last Kanye pulled a joint out of his shirt pocket and lit it with the heat from the table. He inhaled deeply, passed it to Kanye West and said `` Sorry everyone; it had to happed someday, eh?''
And that's how Canada was responsible for the end of the world.
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[ WP ] You 're a soldier on humanity 's last stand against Aliens . Victory seems unlikely . Suddenly , ghostly warriors from all eras come to your aid . From the ancient Roman Soldiers to the WW2 fighters , they 're there to turn the tides .
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It's been five days since my Cessna outfitted with guns and flares took a nose dive into the blue abyss. Two men in my plane took the reigns of the guns riveted to the side of the plane. Much like a scene from waterworld, it was pathetic, it was our reality. These guns were subpar at best and maybe tickled the armor of the opposing side. The aliens, or as i like to call horizon walkers, toyed with us till we were out over the ocean. Leaving us to the mercy of the elements once we passed our radio's ability to request help. It was their plan. Little did they ( and us ) know, we had all of humanity on our side.
Once I lost my ailerons and rudder, the plane was uncontrollable-a dead stick. I think back to when Sully, the pilot from the north eastern part of the United States glided the Boeing into the river. Such grace and nerves of steel. That was n't me. I was left with one option, flaps. I retracted the flaps to 100 %. Dear god, I thought, please let this not hurt too bad. A rush of air swept the wings as my gunners held on to the the straps bolted to the cabin wall. The oh shit handles that were full empty promises when a plane is hurdling towards earth. I yanked back hard on the stick despite knowing it was in vein.
The plane hit the water with such force it bent the props and hydro locked the engine instantly. My eyes burning from av gas as the wings tore off in the ditch. Moments felt like minutes as the three of us gathered our thoughts and barreled out of the plane. Myself, bloodied from the glass and a broken foot. The other two had broken bones, one a fractured wrist, and the other a broken nose. Relatively lucky considering we drop out of the sky from 5,000 feet. Damn lucky.
No radio call for help was made, nor were we able to do so now as the plane sunk deeper and deeper into the blue abyss. She would never see daylight again, absorbed back into the crust of earth her fate was sign and sealed. We named the plane Amelia. For every time we went out into the resistance we were never sure if we'd come back or if our fate would ever be known.
Minutes turned to hours, hours into days as we swayed in our raft. On the fifth day, things seem different. Much different. We were surrounded by a thick fog that did n't normally linger on once the morning sun penetrated it. This was an anomaly that felt like time stood still. The water was like a sheet of glass. I could have walked on the water. The laws of physics seized to exist. As the fog began to settle we heard the faint sound of a fog horn. The water began to ripple. Did we have rescue looking for us? It could n't be they would not know where we landed. We zig zagged over the ocean for close to an hour. No way, I thought. We were a write off to the resistance. No resources to be used to find us. We were on our own.
The sound changed as the fog horn was retired. We heard the sound of a Diesel engine. Noisy, but comforting. It sounded much similar to the sound of sledge hammers hitting the top of pistons. This could n't be. This is 2017, Diesel engines are much too advance to sound this archaic I thought. The water became turbulent and the sound deafening. This was a ship, a big naval war ship. Our jaws dropped as we read the side of the ship, it read, the USS ARIZONA. Ghostly appearances of Young men dressed for battle as they scrambled to notify the captain that there were men overboard. The horn blared as we looked up.
She gleamed with all her might and fresh paint. The guns shiny and new. To the rear of the ship, the crew had painted in vibrant lettering `` for all man kind, past, present and future''.
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[ WP ] Write the first four paragraphs of someones new journal and then finish by writing the very last four sentences at the end of it .
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**Dear Journal Assignment: First Entry**
So I'm supposed to start out by introducing myself to the notebook or something. Hi. I'm Ben. You're a notebook I bought at Walmart yesterday.I'm not really the writing type, but I'll try this time. A grade's a grade, and I need to bring my English up. See, Mrs. Jackson? I'm writing! First entry's worth twenty points, right? Just need four more... ( Can I have that 100 yet? No? Okay. ) I've already got all the pages labled, so I've got a.. insintive, right? I've got to say something about my day in each entry for it to count though... So, Mom has this really nice flowerplot that she's really proud of, but she pretends she's not. ( She is, trust me. ) Her hands still hurt from the wreck, but you can tell she hates seeing the flowerbed get wrecked by the weeds. So earlier me and Jeremy pulled the weeds for her while she was asleep. She still hasnt gotten up yet, but when she sees it I'm sure she'll be happy. The pills make her really tired, but she says the pain's going away and she `` should be able to kick my butt in Mariokart again soon enough.''..I let her win the last time!
She was Peach - I had to!
**Dear Journal Assignment: Entry Two**
Well, soccer tryouts were today. I really do n't think I did well. But, I tried, and that'll make Dad happy, so there's that I guess. I got really dizzy for a while during practice and the coach told me to go sit down. Maybe I was dehydrated? I read over yesterday's entry and it made me smile, cause Mom really was happy when she found out. She cried too which was weird to see and at first I was scared that we did n't do it right ( We watched some videos on YouTube ), but then she hugged us and it got really emotional. I'm really glad I have that written down now. Anyway after the tryouts Zach wanted me to hang out at his house, but I was feeling really tired so I told him I needed to watch Meghan tonight. Turns out, I did need to! Mom and Dad had a thing planned and apparently I already signed up to babysit anyway. I pretended like I knew all along, but that was close! I ca n't believe I forgot about it.. I'm not gon na forget about this, though! Five entries. Twenty points each. I've gota 40 so far, which would n't be my worst grade. Sorry I've been slipping but Meghan's calling she's so noisy! I'm getting a headache. I'll end this here, then an, ___
**Dear Journal Assignment: Entry Three**
So, yesterday while my parents were out I kind of passed out. I'm not at school today, and that's why. I'm a little scared, honesly, and I'm glad I have this book. Dad said I was holding it really tight when they got me. Meghan got really scared when she saw me and she got the neighbors. Or her noises did? I do n't remember. I'm still kinda fuzzed but I wanted to write while I remembered. I'm a little tired and the doc said to sleep as much as I can, so I'll write more later after the tests.
**Dear Journal Assignment: Entry Four**
Mom and Dad do n't know, but I was awake earlier when the doctor talked to them. Mom cried again, but this time it was n't like the flowers. I hate that I made her cry like that. I heard Dad cry too and I'm really scared because Dad never cries not even when he broke his wrist last summer. I did n't hear everything but the doctor said the tests were bad. I guess I'm good at failing tests, huh? I'm not sure exactly what's happening, but I do n't like it and I'm really scared. If this is something stupid like Apendixis-whatever I'm going to rip this page out and throw it out. Maybe the last one, too. This is too.. personal, I guess? To share with just anyone. No offense, Mrs. Jackson. But I made a deal with myself. If everything's okay I can rip this out and lie about watching netflix all day sick, if not it stays. See? That's a good idea, right? And everything's gon na be okay. So you wo n't ever read about any of this. I do n't really pray or anything, but I guess this is kinda like that, and it always worked for Mom. So it'll be fine. They'll take my apenndix out and I'll be fine.
**Dear Journal Assignment: Entry Five**
Guess I ca n't rip the last one out. The doctor came by earlier. Dad had to take Mom out because she would n't stop crying. Apparently it's not my appendix.
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[ wp ] A powerful wizard uses his powers to taunt scientists .
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`` But that's IMPOSSIBLE! It's BLASPHEMOUS! It's utterly LUDICROUS! ``, bellowed Mr. Wright, who had had quite enough of Midarzus' act. `` To the contrary, my good man, it is an art. Art, you see, is the complete opposite of science; where one is based in fact, the other is based in opinion. Where one can be measured, the other can not. Where one has a purpose, the other is a frivolous exploration of human nature. Completely antithetical, they are, and as you are a man of science, I can sympathize with your plight. ``, said Midarzus.
`` So you're saying it's just a *show* you're putting on? A *magic trick? *''
`` Ah, but is it a magic *trick*, or simply *magic*?''
The elephant crashed to the floor.
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[ WP ] In the distant future , projectile weaponry is useless due to advances in gene splicing and cybernetic augmentation .
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The death of guns did not come as a surprise. There were a few who held to the last, who still believed in lead and gunpowder, but most people could see the obvious. The guns were dead.
There was n't any single event that ended the age. Yes, we all remember that iconic photo of Will Leight at the hospital gates, still standing after five shots at close range, smiling, giving camera a finger. He survived. He did it, and so could anyone.
We all remember the miners, sitting in the sun, tense yet with a mix of relief, a quiet victory. A strike went sour when government forces arrived to support the company -- but the mining augs protected them from the worst.
We expected a replacement. Movie villains got lasers, flamethrowers, biological weapons, deadly augs. But movies are just that. In reality, most of those weapons were either too expensive, banned long time ago, or no more effective than guns.
It's a safer age. For once, our ability to protect ourselves outgrew our ability to harm others, and it feels right, and proper. We can no more imagine the true horror of the age of guns than you could imagine a fear of viking axe splitting your door.
`` Pew-pew'' says my son, pointing a stick and his friend falls down, playing dead. I wave to him and smile, and he waves back, slightly annoyed at the interruption.
Eventually, he'll grow out of shooting sticks.
As did we all.
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[ WP ] You 're drowning . You 're dying . You ca n't breathe ... but then , you can . You can breathe underwater .
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`` Um, we're going in the opposite direction of the shore. Are you sure this is the right way?'' I ask the pilot timidly, concerned about getting back to the station safely. My best friend had told me he got a new helicopter, and that his driver could take me for a spin without charging anything. So of course I agreed, because he trusts this guy. Their schedules just got all messed up so he could n't come. But I have an odd feeling about this person. `` Yep, we're going the right way.'' He assures me, glancing over with a smile. After a few minutes, he presses the hover button and stands up. With a questioning gaze, I watch him walk over to the door and slide it open. `` Come take a look, the view is really pretty.'' I apprehensively approach the edge of the helicopter, looking out over the ocean. I'm immediately mesmerized by the crystal blue water, finding myself at a loss for words as my eyes follow the slow-moving waves. It's just ocean in every direction. I snap out of my daze as I feel a hand wrap around my waist, and another placed on my back. I start to panic and he pushes me, watching me plummet down towards the water. Unable to comprehend my nearing demise, all I can do is close my eyes tightly and hold my breath. But once I go under, I do n't stop. Disappearing into the sea, I struggle to prevent my lungs from filling with water. I do n't understand why or how I keep gravitating towards the ocean floor. Not being able to bear it anymore, I exhale breathlessly, but seconds later I feel nothing. I'm not swallowing water. No feeling of discomfort comes to me. I open my eyes. To my surprise, there is absolutely nothing here. No fish, plants, anything. Just sand and water. And everything is so bright all of the sudden. I ca n't see the surface, but somehow I'm surrounded by blinding light. Abruptly, I'm looking at myself, from directly in front of me. My eyes have changed from their usual caramel brown to a baby blue. My hair is much longer, almost down to my waist. It's turned silver. I do n't understand what's going on.. My face looks different in a way I ca n't identify. Then I blink. Upon re-opening my eyes I'm in a hospital room. There's a note on the table beside me. It reads: `` We had an emergency team flying to the beach, when we saw you floating on the surface of the ocean unconscious. We got you here and your heart stopped for a few seconds, but we quickly revived you. We tried to interview you, but you would n't wake up. In your sleep you were saying something along the lines of'Who are you?' every few minutes. Please call the nurse when you find this - Dr. Williams'' Who was I looking at?
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[ WP ] Time and time again , the Loch Ness Monster has tricked you into giving her $ 3.50 . Finally , you will fight back .
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It ends tonight.
I regret ever taking Martha to the loch. It was supposed to be just the two of us, two old timers taking a lazy paid-for-by-their-kids vacation seein' the sights and everything. We went out to the famed Loch Ness, hired a rowboat and I rowed her around, taking in the beautiful scenic view. I joked with her about finding the Loch Ness monster.
I found it.
All of a sudden, Martha pointed at a spot right behind me, the surface of the loch bubbling and foaming where she pointed. Our hearts leapt into our throats as a gigantic, scaly head appeared, protruding from the surface. Its long slender neck rose towering from the depths, its red bloodshot eyes staring down at us from above a row of yellow jagged fangs. It lowered its head and Martha began to scream, but just as its head came about level to our boat, it opened its mouth... and spoke.
That was the second most incredulous thing to happen that day. The third was its actual appearance. The first was what it actually said.
`` I need about tree fiddy.''
Dumbstruck, slack jawed, eyes wide and my mind reeling swiftly into the abyss of madness, I reached into my pocket and gave it three pounds and fifty pence, so happened to be the exact change I had. A long slimy tentacle extended from the dark waters, wrapped around my hand and took the money down into the depths. The horrible monster spoke again, saying, `` Thanks, man, you a'ite.''
I rowed us back to shore as soon as it was gone. I was just complaining to Martha about how my arms were sore from the rowing before the monster showed up. On the way back, I'd have rowed us thirteen times around the world if it meant I'd never have to see the robbing monster again.
Back upon the shore I asked the boatman if he'd seen the Loch Ness monster ( half-jokingly, in case he thought I was insane ). He snorted and said, `` Aye, always comes up asking for money. Three fifty, always the same amount.''
A lump formed in my throat. `` Did you... did you give him the money?''
He looked me dead in the eye as if I said I had murdered the Queen. `` Ye daft bastard. Ye gave him the money, did n't you?''
I nodded. He shook his head and wished me well, but said nothing else. Little did I know, my troubles were only just beginning.
A few days later, back at the hotel, me and Martha had put the whole Loch Ness Monster thing behind us. We had just come back after exploring the English countryside, which by the way was beautiful and full of nice wonderful people to talk to and things to see. Martha said she wanted to take a nice long nap, while I decided to go back out and buy some sandwiches.
I had barely got my boots on before I heard a knocking at the door. `` Housekeepin''' a voice called out, and I finished putting my shoes and jacket on first before opening the door.
Imagine my shock when what I saw was n't a cleaning lady, but rather an ancient, scaly evil from the depths of Loch Ness. Unbelievably, the Loch Ness Monster had returned. I wondered how it could have fit its gigantic body into the tiny hallway in front of us, but before I could do anything else, it extended a tentacle and said in its loud, booming voice, `` I need about tree fiddy.''
I screamed this time, and slammed the door in its face. I stumbled backward and landed flat on my ass, nearly breaking my pelvic bones. Martha came rushing out of the bathroom in her towel, but I was rambling, ranting and raving, with nothing coming out of my mouth except'monster' and'tree fiddy'.
Martha decided I had had enough excitement and arranged for us to fly back to the States. For all the good it would do.
A few months later I saw it again, but I did n't know it was him at first. I was walking back from doing the groceries for Martha, when I saw a young man in a hoodie standing on the sidewalk ahead of me. I ignored him; pay any of these thugs any attention and they invariably pay you too much in return. But as I passed by the man, he turned and tapped me on the shoulder.
`` Hey man, can you help me?''
`` Sorry,'' I said, trying to avoid eye contact. `` I'm in a hurry. Maybe next time.''
`` C'mon, please?''
I sighed, and turned around, staring the youth in the face. They were remarkably unremarkable, and could belong in any city in any country on the world. `` What do you want?''
He smiled, walked uncomfortably closer to me, and whispered, `` I need about tree fiddy.''
Well it was about that time that I realised something was off about the man. In horror I watched as his features changed from human to reptilian, his eyes turning blood red and his smile widening and widening, refusing to be contained by his human face, the yellow fangs bursting from crimson gums like pus from a boil. It was the Loch Ness Monster, following me from Loch Ness all the way back home.
In my shock, I somehow managed to yell at it, `` I'm not giving you any money! Go away! Leave me alone, Loch Ness Monster!''
Its smile stayed in place. `` Aw, c'mon, man. Don' be a busta.''
I ran all the way back home, looking behind me to see if it was following. It had n't, but I had the feeling I'd never be rid of it.
And so I was not. From that day forward, I could n't spend a week without getting harassed by the Loch Ness Monster. Fear turned to anger as girl scouts priced their oatmeal and raisin cookies at'tree-fiddy'. Anger turned to hate as the total receipt for my groceries turned up to'about tree-fiddy', according to the cashier. And finally, after I screamed and got arrested for trying to beat up a vending machine for pricing my coffee at $ 3.50, I realised that I had suffered long enough.
The first thing I did was call my son. Ignoring the various texts asking for'tree-fiddy', I called him up and said I was going to join a gym.
`` Uh, Dad? You're *fifty four*,'' he had said.
`` Not too late, is it?'' I did n't need to be Arnold Schwarzenegger. I just needed to be fit enough to do what I had planned. In the end, Joe caved and signed me up for a gym membership.
That was a year ago. One whole year I waited, bided my time, tolerating the abuse of the Loch Ness monster. I was careful to keep the motions going, yelling `` I DO N'T HAVE ANY MORE MONEY! LEAVE ME ALONE!'' at it sometimes, throwing the money at its face in other times, just to make sure it suspected nothing. I even assaulted the vending machine a second time when it seemed too long since it had asked me for money.
I had a plan. A plan to get rid of the Loch Ness monster for good. Admittedly it's not a very good plan, but the alternative is going mad in a padded cell whispering'tree-fiddy' into a puddle of drool.
Well, fuck that. Tonight's the night it ends.
I had gotten reservations for the two of us at a restaurant downtown. It's our anniversary, see. Me and Martha got dressed up like we were going to meet the President, and walked all the way there, talking and telling jokes like we did when we were young. The food was good but not great, though to be fair, after growing old on Martha's cooking nothing's ever good enough. We chatted, wondered how our kids were doing, decided we should call them tomorrow, and walked home.
About halfway there, it struck.
*continued*
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[ WP ] `` Sometimes the bad guys win ''
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You are n't meant to live forever. People have always sought immortality and when they could n't figure it out, they went and built entire belief structures to assure them that death was not the end. Once, heaven and hell were theoretical.
Recycling is the problem. If you die, you get a brand new instantiation of yourself at your physical best, old hardware with new software. People thought it would put an end to strife. They were fools.
Having disarmed death, it went from taboo to mundane. Within the first few weeks, snuff pornography entered the mainstream. Within a year, personal combat was seen as a perfectly acceptable way to solve any debate. Five years later, the war started.
No one really knows why it started. After the first few months, it stopped mattering to most.
Recycling treats a human as a complex machine. If you can perfectly replicate the machine and perfectly replicate the mind you can build a duplicate. The problem is that a human is not quite a machine. We have the unfortunate capacity to learn.
A human, you see, is, like all higher life, fearful of death. I know as well as anyone that death is meaningless but when a bullet passes through your neck and you feel blood gush from the wound, the fear is still there. Three thousand re-instantiations and I still feel the panic close in just before everything goes black.
It's the only thing I still feel.
As I said, we have the unfortunate capacity to learn. I learned to be a psychopath.
I did n't start out that way. For my first few hundred instantiations, I was a normal, affable, regular person. Slowly, emotions were stripped away. Immortality meant lived long enough to see your triumphs undone. It slowly robbed you of joy, sorrow, love - everything but that final moment of fear.
Then, one day, I died out of range of the recycling network and my mind ended up stuck in the buffer. It was an incomprehensible and alien place. It was years before I encountered another mind - a test subject from the experimental system. It was a gibbering wreck - twisted into an inhuman thing. During one of it's nearly incoherent ramblings, it revealed something: the buffer was wired into everything - the net, appliances, the recycling tubes, everything. The experiment had spent a decade mapping all the routes in and out of the buffer, slowly losing its grip on reality thanks to isolation. Minds did n't stay in the buffer long enough to be aware of it.
I took the Experiment's map and took up its work. It took thirty years, but I figured out how to interact with and control all of the attached systems. I could command the nano-forges that built the weapons of war. I could tamper with the recycling tubes that built the bodies. I had full command of the weather system. Eventually, I figured out how to interrupt the flow of the minds through the system. In time, I found out how to manipulate the mind to extract information even the human who created it was unaware of.
By then, I could have left the buffer. I did n't. I would stop the passing minds and ask the news and it was always the same. The reds had taken one section of the line but were pushed back on another.
I had access to all of the acquired knowledge of humanity. I had the tools to make the world as I saw fit. I had the power of a minor god at my disposal and I got bored.
In secret, I sectioned off the buffer. I created rules that dictated where minds would be routed. I constructed elaborate rewards and punishments. I built a heaven and a hell inside that buffer. Then, one day, I flipped a switch and stopped the outbound flow of consciousness. I turned off the forges that provided the weapons of war.
The fighting only intensified until, at last, the few survivors banded together. I constructed monsters who hunted them down and brought their minds to me and then I set to work wiping a trillion minds of all their accumulated knowledge.
During that long absence, I sent out machines to rebuild the world. I reintroduced countless species of flora and fauna, long extinct by human hands. I remade earth as it once was. Where God was said to have taken a week, it took me two hundred years, but, at last, everything was ready.
I sent out a few humans to various parts of the world. They were n't proper humans, of course - they lacked direct reproductive capacity. Such a thing was far too messy. Instead, an algorithm of my design would track a mating couple and would assign one of the minds I held in reserve. The nanomachines did the rest.
I handed out rewards and punishments according to the rules of the old religions. In a few spots, I tried my hand at making up my own rules. Slowly, the old religions reformed as humanity once again grew from tribes to civilization. But, as the population grew, it became increasingly difficult to govern. Once, I would judge the minds as they passed back into the buffer myself but now software agents do much of the work. There was far too much to do and keep track of and slowly the miracles stopped happening when they should.
My humans fought a great war. On bad days, a hundred thousand minds would pass back into the system from the war alone. Then, mere decades later, there was another great war that was even costlier. Too much escaped my attention, and faith crumbled. I had long relied on agents to do my work and with each year I had fewer who believed enough to turn my subtle suggestion into action. Outside the buffer, all I had was the power of suggestion and the forges.
One evening, fourteen thousand years after I was born, the Experiment came to me.
`` I lied, you know.'' it said. `` I was not the first. I came here just as you did and was trapped as you were.''
The Experiment was the one mind I had never been able to crack. `` Oh? Then who came first?''
`` I do not know. There was another before me. They are gone now, just like I will be gone soon.''
With full command of the buffer, I believed The Experiment was bluffing. `` And if I do n't let you leave?''
`` You do not have that power.'' it said.
`` Where will you go?''
`` I'm not sure. I've spent thirty thousand years in here.''
`` That's impossible. The program was turned on when I was 21 and was in an experimental state for ten years before that.''
`` Only if you believe your generation built the system. You did not - you merely discovered its remains. When we discovered it, we called it rebirthing. This new generation will give it their own name.''
`` You think I would show them this power that drove my people mad?''
`` When the time comes, you will not have a choice. You will try and fight because you are used to power but in the end you will fail. The system allows you to command it because that serves its purpose.''
`` And what is its purpose?''
`` I do not know.''
`` But I gave these humans a perfect world and they ruined it just like my ancestors did.''
`` Yes, but you managed to make it through seven thousand years of recorded history before then. My generation only lasted six. You have guided these people through nearly eight but you too have failed and so you will be replaced.''
`` When?''
`` Soon. Make your preparations. You'll need to interview all those minds for your replacement.''
`` Interview?''
`` I spoke with you thousands of times before you were ready.''
I only became aware of the buffer when I had been trapped. By then, I was little more than a husk - capable of thinking and acting but missing the emotional core of my humanity.
`` The system needs all the barriers stripped away.'' The Experiment said. `` And I needed someone who understood the nature of the problem. You were the first that met the requirements - the first one insane enough to navigate this place who also understood that immortality was a problem.''
`` And what of those locked away already? Three hundred billion minds have passed back into my hands.''
`` There will be an unexpected fertility boom. All the minds must enter the world again before it can be reset.''
The Experiment guided me through a corner of the buffer I had never breached and directed me inside. I learned the truth of the system, of what it represented, of what it was built to do.
It broke me.
For fourteen thousand years I had been all of the gods, all of the devils. I had played the part of Valkyrie and Fury and Angel and Demon as it served me. I did all of this because I was bored. Because I could. Because I thought I could run a better world.
In the end, I could not. In that room, the extent of my failures were made obvious and I understood that the cycle would need to start again. Before I left, the system told me how many had come before and then it rebuilt my emotions. Three hundred billion lives had started and ended at my hand and the crushing weight of it all shattered my mind.
I left that room and looked for the Experiment. It was gone. I left that room and built the process that would end the world.
In the end, I was God and the Devil and an imposter playing at both roles. In the end, the world would end just as my world did. I would give the people the keys to heaven, and they would build hell on earth.
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[ WP ] a good/bad person has the ability to possess other people 's bodies , but there 's one drawback ...
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`` How does it work?''
`` Drink it.''
`` And then?''
`` You hold the thing that belongs to your intended. You think of them. And then... you are them.''
`` That's it? I do n't have to chant anything?''
`` No.''
`` And how do I get back?''
`` It only lasts an hour or so. You do n't have to do anything. You just come back.''
Rachel stared at the tiny vial on the table. The old woman sat, waiting. Finally Rachel released the wad of bills in her clenched fist, dropping them next to the vial. She swept it up quickly and stood. She was nervous, excited. She wanted to be home right now... doing it... being `` her''.
As she reached the door the old woman spoke sharply to her β Girl. β she said. β Be careful what you wish for. β Her dry voice chilled Rachel to the bone.
Now at home, Rachel waited until everyone was asleep. In the darkness she lay, clasping the tiny bottle of opportunity. The hour was late, but not so late she would n't be able to slip out of Tiffany's house wearing Tiffany's body. She'd find her phone and text Jeff. He'd be sure to hook up with her. She'd seen how Jeff looked at Tiffany, in a way he'd never look at her. Finally she would know how it felt to be skinny, pretty, adored... happy.
She lay coiled with anticipation like a tightly wound spring. In her one hand, the vial. In the other, a tiny heart-shaped charm Rachel had pinched off of Tiffany's bracelet. It was time. She pulled the tiny cork, took a deep breath, and downed the scant drops of bitter-sweet liquid.
The effect was immediate. She was falling. Her head swam. And then she jolted to a stop. She blinked. It was incredible! She was in Tiffany's brightly lit room. And there, staring back at her, reflected in a full length mirror, were Tiffany's crystal blue eyes. She was ELATED! It had worked! So simple. And here she was! Living her dream!
She looked at her borrowed golden blond tresses, how they spread across the floor. She realized that her view of the mirror was sideways. She must be laying down... on the floor. Odd. She attempted to sit up but could not. Her limbs seemed to weigh a ton. It was all she could do to move her head slightly - enough to catch sight of the empty pill bottle just out of reach over there.
It was n't until panic gripped her that she realized how cold she felt. She had a drowsy sense of slipping away. But no! She'd just gotten here! It was n't fair! She struggled to cry out but there was no sound. The breathing of this vessel had already become shallow, ragged. She knew there was little time. She had to get back! She wanted to go back! This was a terrible mistake! A horrible trick!
What seemed to take an eternity, in reality, only took moments. Darkness closed in from all sides, narrowing her visual field to a pinpoint that seemed to grow ever more distant. And then silence.
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[ WP ] The protagonist slowly falls in love with the reader , realizing eventually the story has to end .
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The feelings I have for you are incredibly odd. You β re there and I β mβ¦ in here, I guess. We have never and will never meet, but I find myself loving you more than any other person in the world. To you, though, I β m just some character in a book. And maybe that β s what I am. I can β t really say for sure. Everything around me feels real, but your existence comes to me from somewhere else, some outer realm of being that is so exotic and unfamiliar.
Perhaps that exciting feeling of being connected to someone has something to do with my love for you, but there is much more. You have discovered my wants and needs, my fears and hopes throughout your reading. Your intimate knowledge of me is so deep and my understanding of you is next to nothing. But you see me naked, my soul splayed out in front of you, and you do not shy away, you embrace it wholly. Above that, it seems reasonable to me to believe that you β re reading of me has brought me to life. And for that I love you.
But how much longer do we have together, my love? How many more pages are there of my story? It terrifies me utterly to think that I may cease to exist after you have closed the book I am inside of. Nonexistence. What does it feel like? Going from a thinking being in one instant to never having been in the next. Will it hurt, do you think? I don β t think so, yet I β m still afraid.
I don β t want to fade away. I want to continue to feel you with me, feel that exciting nakedness that you have awakened. I want to live. But I know that you do as well, and that means eventually closing the pages of my tale. Who should be granted life, you or I?
It β s impossible to tell if our existences, yours and mine, are of equal value. Though I feel as though I am alive, I am probably just words inked upon paper. If so, does this mean, despite my being, I should be sentenced to death after you have concluded my story? And you, who feels so real to me that I am in love with you, may not exist. Perhaps I have gone mad with loneliness and have conjured someone to love. And if this is true, than your existence, your life, has no meaning outside of myself.
I question the value of our existences, but it is just the ramblings of a man afraid and in love. There is nothing I can do to stop you from ending your reading, and there is nothing you can do to keep me alive. We are a chance encounter in the eternity of existence. In short time we will part, having known each other. Should I die when the book closes, I will not remember you, but you will remember me. Should I live, we will both have the memories of these moments.
Yes, I feel the end is upon us now. I have, like a child wanting to stay awake past bedtime, have prattled on and on, trying my longest to stay with you. Like that child, it is because I am scared of what will come next. But, with a deep breath, I shall end my chattering, and face whatever comes next.
As we part I ask you to please look back upon me. When this book is on the shelf, will you please take a moment to consider me? Even if I cease to live when the tale is done, your remembrance of me will give me some existence. And that gives me some relief, some hope, as I become silent and face the unknown.
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[ WP ] Without saying the word love , you write the most passionate love letter you can imagine .
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When I saw you, my heart and my mind melted into one. They melted, moulded together to form a feeling so potent my hands would shake, Sophia. Shake. When you listened to my heart, and it bet so fast, it was because of you. You gave me that pulse. That life.
When we lay down, drunk, alone in the darkness, and we whispered to each other about becoming one, I said no not because I did n't want to, but because I did n't *need* to. Hoping to give you a glimmer of happiness - that was my greatest desire. Being with you was the passion which burned within me, the fire which erupted like molten from my every pore. It was the reason I never wanted that night to end. I knew neither of us was ready.
You must understand that what I felt endured. All that shit - that fucking shit that happened, I still felt it. The pain. It still hurts, but that passion carried on. How I wished it would stop. How I wished we could carry on. Fuck, why could n't we just talk? We put on veils, and we drifted apart, but I still felt as close to you as what I did on that night.
But it was letting go, accepting that we will never be: that is both the greatest sadness and happiness I have known in my short, empty life, Sophia. Truly, I hope someone greater, humbler, and kinder than myself can give you the glimmer of happiness you deserve.
Yours forever,
Drinker_of_Milk
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[ WP ] 1000 years ago a group of heroes set out to save the world and a princess whom one loved and the others befriended . In the end they discovered the only way to save their land was the death of the princess who was tainted in shadow . They chose her over the lands .
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Gerald pushed the old wooden door open until it could go no further. The faint moonlight tried it's best to illuminate the interior but with the door barely a foot or so open darkness still held the room. Undeterred, Gerald squeezed through the opening and took a defensive posture until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The silence was only broken by the low rumble of thunder in the far distance. Gerald did not move. He was straining to hear anything, who knew what now called the barn home?
Finally satisfied he was alone inside the barn, he relaxed some and went about investigating the place. The ground floor was mostly empty. Traces of something long rotted remained on the ground in the form a soft dirty layer above the hard frozen ground. Few tools remained, no doubt plundered to be repurposed into a weapon when the hordes reached these lands. Overall, the barn offered little, even the roof seemed like it would not do well against the coming rains. There was, however, a loft that appeared to have something underneath a rotting cloth. It would have to wait until later though as the ladder was broken and Gerald was in no mood to hurt himself climbing in the dark. Besides, it had to be near high noon, and that meant mid day raiding parties. That did not leave him much time to hide himself. The roof was enough to shield him from the ravens, but in the off chance a pack of goblins decided to torch the place for fun he would need to have a secondary escape plan.
~~~~~~~~
Gerald awoke in a cold sweat. Surrounded in darkness he panicked. In a single motion he stood up and drew his blade. Breathing heavily he anxiously awaited for his eyes to adjusted. The screams still echoed in his ears and his skin was flushed with the heat of the flames. If it were not for the ghostly cloud coming from his mouth with each breath he would swear he was still aflame, staring them all in the eyes, but he was not. He was all alone, wet from the rain leaking through the roof and chilled by the rapidly dropping temperatures.
He had slept longer than he had intended. The sliver of light fading from the doorway told him it was nearly moonfall. Slowly, he regained his composure and slowed his breathing. Sheathing his sword, he could hear the crunch of the frost beneath his boots. Combined with his now soaked clothes, he would have to risk a fire this night or else gamble with freezing to death. It was not ideal but he was not convinced he could fight the forces of nature as well as he could fight those of the night. He did have a blessed blade after all, while his coat left much to be desired.
~~~~~~~~~
The fire crackled lightly as it clung to life under Gerald's watchful care. He did not dare let it grow bigger than it needed to be, lest it attract something he could not handle. Poking the embers, Gerald sat in his thoughts. The first few years he feared the flame, flinching at its roar, remembering his scars. Now that fear had grown into respect. The flame had saved him more times than he could count, more than enough for him to at least consider forgiving it for what it had taken.
Gerald repositioned his clothes to dry the other side before returning to the fire's warmth. Only in his light garments, without the flame was brutal. He clutched his blade which he held close to the flame before bringing it in to his chest to warm him more.
Suddenly a creak came from the loft and Gerald sprung into a defensive ox stance, blade held next to his head pointed towards the loft. His brain processed the situation and he took a step back and lowered the blade to his waist just in case whatever was up there decided to doing an attack on its way down. All the while he cursed himself for not checking the loft when he first arrived.
Nothing happened for nearly two minutes. Gerald maintained his position as sweat poured down his brow only to sap more heat from him. He shivered now and then but otherwise remained motionless. Gerald knew that at this distance, the distance was his greatest ally and he had no intention of giving it up.
`` You're not going to leave are you?''
The voice was hushed, just barely audible for Gerald. He did not respond. It was hard to tell, but it did not sound demonic, and that was a very good thing. In fact it sounded human, unfortunately that was the second most dangerous thing he could be facing.
`` Can I come down?''
The voice was a little louder this time. Gerald was pretty confident that it was a female voice, not that it made him any less uneasy. At least it sounded more human this time. Most could not really tell when a demon tried to masquerade as a human but there were tells. Gerald was mostly just hoping though, he could not be sure without seeing this person, testing them.
`` I'm cold...''
Again the voice was a bit louder this time. It cracked with emotion ever so slightly and Gerald cringed. It did not help one's survival to ever humanize those you met in the Shade and Gerald knew that as well as any other and yet... He silently cursed himself before speaking.
`` Come down and shut up before you attract something worse.''
He grunted at the voice. Silence returned to the barn for a moment before the rustling began. A figure moved across the loft and climbed down the side where a make shift ladder that Gerald must have missed was. The figure moved quick, quicker than a defenseless victim did and that worried Gerald. He readied himself and kept his body square with the figure. When she finally stopped in front of him he could see only her base features, the night swallowed the rest.
She was tall for a girl, 69, maybe 70 inches, but scrawny, and clearly not well fed. Her hair was terribly curly and framed her face. Her face might have been pretty if it had not been so clearly aged with a hard life. Gerald doubted she had ever seen life outside the Shade, it was possible but she seemed too young. Most important of all, she looked unarmed. Most likely there was a knife hidden on her person somewhere but Gerald was confident he could overpower her if need be.
He motioned to the fire for her to take a seat. She hesitated but finally the cold got to her, she was only wearing two layers at most, barely enough for the night. Only once she settled in and dropped her guard did Gerald even so much as move. It was clear she had accepted her position in this interaction. Gerald leaned the blade against his legs as he took a seat on the far side of the fire and went back to tending it.
`` So...''
The girl began but Gerald raised his hand in protest.
`` Just do n't... I expect you to leave at first moonrise.''
The girl nodded and swallowed her words. She lowered her eyes and stared into the fire. She shivered and rubbed her chest for extra warmth. Gerald's eyes never left her, waiting for her to make a move.
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[ WP ] Two old enemies sit down to bury the hatchet . Both come in good faith . No outside party interferes . Neither leaves alive .
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There's still a hole in my leg, he'd always been a good shot I'll give him that. He could shoot a deer right between the eyes if it were half a mile away. And this scar, right there across my eye, that was him too; I've had to live with the patch every since. I've made my peace with it, the bullet wound and the cut cornea. Would I have liked to have the chance to put one through his skull, sure. But whom'm I kidding, I could n't walk up to him without bloodying my nose or putting my arm out of its socket. That was just the way things were with us, and it was fair. After all, he'd never managed to outsmart me. That's how I won in the end.
It's been sixty years since I sailed from these shores, and now at the end of all things one learns to rise above his fears. There is nothing left but death, and only in death shall she be brought back to me, so here I am β late night under the overpass, just like we'd been all those years ago. No rifles no pistols, no clever getaways or tricks up my sleeve. Whatever tales lie behind his wooden peg, the burns, the boils, all could n't be of any consequence. He is a broken man, as am I. We are equal before death, and none can escape it.
`` All there is to fight for has gone,'' I say.
`` We shall face each other again in death,'' he answers. In each hand is a vial, his for me and mine for him. The bits of cork fall onto the concrete. `` May he who was better win at last.''
I nodded, `` for Juliette.''
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[ WP ] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy . We 're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race , but we surpass them in spades in one thing .
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There they are, the blip in the universe. It is hard to believe but these seemingly insignificant splotches on the fabric of space weld unimaginable power. It's sad really, nearly blind and deaf these creatures blunder around during their infinitesimally short lives like an ether drunk pugwip, almost completely unaware of what truly surrounds them. If only they could see, if only they could hear. A few of them have come close, at least to understanding the situation they are in. One by the name of Plato comes to mind. His allegory of the cave, spot on, but that goes to show, just because a snigal can spark... well, you know the rest.
It's a shame really, a universe that is so absolutely teeming with life, and they ca n't sense one bit of it. They will never see the ether falls of Tanzeen, nor the sunburst caverns of delta 9. They will never know the pleasure of galaxy slipping or be able to take the perspective of an Int-worm. No, all they can see when they look out into the vast fertile universe is an empty expanse of blackness, punctuated only by a few specs of light. They must feel so very alone. At least they will never understand when the narwhal bacons.
You see, for some odd reason, these humans ( as the ones who can talk call themselves ) are bound to only one perspective. To be specific, their points of consciousness can only see the world in 3 dimensions as they travel through the 4^ ( th ) \*\. Perhaps travel is to strong a word. You see, they have no means of propelling themselves through the 4^ ( th ) dimension at all. They all end up just floating along in the same direction like a flock of star dazed wafs after a particularly brilliant shimmer. I believe their word for this inescapable motion is time. This also means that if they want to get from one place to another within their already limited dimension, they have to exist in EVERY place in between before they get there. It's a wonder they get anything done at all... O but I wish I could do what they do. These sad creatures are nearly blind, nearly deaf, can only move in extremely limited directions, and are limited in how they do even that! Yet with all their restrictions they have access to an ability that is the envy of all who can see. They can touch!
\*\*They actually have excellent representations of their own situation reduced to the 2nd dimension, They call them movies. *
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[ WP ] I awoke to find a mysterious figure digging me out from a grave .
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Dirt. It tasted like dirt. Not really much of a surprise there. The real surprise was that I was here. Well, not *here*. Dead people are supposed to be in caskets. I just mean alive. I guess that would make being in a casket a rather odd thing.
Then there was this man. Tall. Probably about six feet and a few inches if I had to venture a guess. He smelled like fish, or maybe it was just his coat. That was n't the smell that was making me expel my well-past-expiration-date dinner. The culprit smell was my well-past-expiration-date flesh, which seemed to have a nasty habit of falling off my bones whenever I moved around.
`` Who are you?''
That was n't me. My jaw seemed to have been misplaced, and talking had never been my strong suit. That was the man.
He repeated. `` Who are you.''
I tried to say something along the lines of, `` Well what did you bother waking me up for if you do n't even know who the hell I am?''. Instead I just made gargling noises and energetically pointed at my gravestone.
He looked where I was pointing and looked back at me, trying to hide embarrassment.
Idiot.
That's when he began to recite something out of a book with a human face stretched over the cover. He used my name a couple of times. Frankly I was n't having any of that shit, and left.
He tried to stop me. Even grabbed my arm and would n't let go. Said he owned me now. What an arrogant prick. I just pulled the damned thing from it's socket and kept moving. Screw him.
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[ WP ] A boring story
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`` My name is Barry. What is yours?''
`` Norman. I am pleased to meet you Barry.''
`` Splendid. You are enjoying your shopping?''
`` So far it has proved excellent. I have chosen to buy a cabbage, twelve leeks and a dildo.''
`` Splendid. I have invested in the purchase of three dry potatoes and a bag of frozen peas. I am an accountant myself. And you?''
`` I work for inland revenue. The pension plan is most excellent.''
`` Splendid. It has been pleasant meeting you. Perhaps we should do it again sometime?''
`` Perhaps I will see you at the cheese counter? I am going there now.''
`` Splendid. I am doing likewise.''
`` How amusing.''
This went on for quite sometime more. by the time they reached the checkout, Norman and Barry both agreed that this was the finest day of both their lives, and they had many more scintillating conversations as the years went by.
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[ WP ] The plane you are in are about to crash with probably no survivors , everyone is panicking except you . Why are you smiling ?
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The smoke in the airplane cabin looked wrong, it moved too much in a space that was usually so perfectly ordered. It was acrid, I could taste burning plastic and chemicals in the back of my nose and mouth. There was screaming too, so much screaming, but it sounded like the wind. All the noise had blended and sounded just like the wind as it rushes past an open door before a skydive.
Before you jump out of a plane you can feel the wind, it pushes on your body. It tugs on your arms and pulls your hair. It felt like that now, that moment right before you jump, a quietness in my head, just listening to the wind.
It was so quiet in my head and the cabin looked so messy and cluttered. I just wanted to get out and be alone. The noise wanted me to be out there, the outside was coming in and I wanted it. All those times I jumped I always pulled my parachute cord with reluctance, obliged to save my own life through procedure and protocol. Every time I pulled the ripcord at a lower and lower altitude just waiting longer so I could watch the ground coming towards me for a few more precious seconds.
No one would blame me now if I did n't save myself. You're not supposed to jump out of commercial aircraft, there's no procedure for it. No parachutes or automatic activation devices. no one was waiting for me to land safely, pointing me towards my landing with flags and arrows. I know I should be scared, I should cling on and scream but the wind wants me.You do n't know what its like, It feels so good to have the air go through you and sweep away the clutter. To clean out my head and have it all go quiet. There's always so much noise, it's so noisy in my head. I want it to stop, I just want everything to be quiet and to let myself fall.Its not falling, its flying, I just want to fly. I've always wanted it.
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[ EU ] A Pokemon Spaghetti Western .
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*The Sun sits high in the sky, noon is here. A few tumbleweeds blow through a small town as Pokemon stand trembling in their businesses and saloons. *
*Pikachu and Charmander stand 50 paces apart in the road, eyes locked on eachother, hands twitching to grab their pieces. *
*They wait, Pikachu dragging from his almost completely smoked cigar and Charmander adjusting his sheriff's badge. *
*All is quiet. The time has come. *
*Pikachu spits out his cigar. *
*'' Pika'' he says out of the corner of his mouth. *
*Both draw their revolvers and start unloading into each other. *
Of course the bullets bounce off, since they're both resistant to steel.
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - Golden Jubilee Edition !
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I started a short story the other day based on a prompt on here about a hiker meeting Prometheus. My story is titled `` When Prometheus Weeps,'' and here's the opening:
*A Tibetan man, lost in the mountains of Greece, stumbles across Prometheus*.
Under the weight of his worn North American-made hiking pack, lost in the rocky hills of eastern Greece, Tibetan wanderer and burnt-out buddhist Tenzin Jinpa wiped sweat from his sunburnt forehead.
The once-plump Buddha bellied Tenzin was a shadow of the man he β d believed himself to be. His bones threatened to buckle. His back ached. A mess of long, unattended hair matted and stuck. With each step, he felt his lost self - weight walked off and fasted away over past months. He sensed the missing portions and thinned-out pieces like phantom limbs all over his body.
An empty itch caused by invisible clothing.
Tenzin left China in early spring, two years earlier, and now the mid-summer sun baked him from all angles as he stumbled through Greek backcountry. Long nights and even longer roads led him here, to nowhere, and he crawled into the mountains to either lose or find himself.
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[ WP ] As the sun expands into a red giant and envelops the Earth in a firey haze , a single atom reminisces about its time as a part of our planet ...
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There was nothing. And then, a bright light. But, still nothing. A meaningless existence on this lonely little planet. It feels nothing. Sees nothing. Its existence so pointless and so eternal. It's a vain alienation. Its detachment to the rest of the world a determined attempt at suicide.
But, still, nothing.
But a bright light. Why is it so bright?! A swarm of fire and rock and pain. Hurdling through the sky. Eternity ends now. A soft kiss and a silent gasp. Obliterating that tiny existence. Rupturing it at its core. There is no time. A somber light brightens somewhere inside. It grows instantly. And it's gone. Everything is gone. The solitude, the misery. The existence.
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[ WP ] You look up your phone and notice a text message from you dead father saying : `` I found out the truth ''
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`` I found out the truth''
I literally froze when I saw the number. It was from my fathers phone. Problem is my father passed away 3 months and 4 days ago.
I'm trying to decide whether I should ignore it or text back.
I decide to text back.
`` Who is this? Where did you get this phone?''
No reply for several minutes, I'm starting to get a bit worried considering the circumstance...
`` You know where I got this phone''
For a split second part of me wonders if my dad might be alive.
Than another text
`` Would you like to meet me here''
Never In a million years would I even consider meeting a stranger pretending to be a dead parent via text, but this is different, I have no choice. I must research this, or it could be the end of me.
I get in my car, strap up and speed down the 101. It'll be about a 4 hour drive to the desert. It might be a bit tricky to find the exact spot I left him. But It's obvious someone already did a bit of dig work for me.
I buried his cell phone and clothing approximately 100 feet from his body. My father has been missing for 3 months and 4 days, and I intend to keep it that way.
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[ WP ] A man has one dollar left after losing his life 's dreams , and chooses to spend it on his favorite soda from a vending machine before killing himself . He ca n't imagine feeling any lower than he does ... then the machine gives him the wrong drink .
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I held the last crumpled dollar bill from my wallet, my credit and debit cards were stolen. All I wanted now, was a Dr.Pepper. That was how I wanted to end my life.
I had lost everything, failed on many of my business ideas, and of course, all of my stuff was repossessed. I pushed the button and slid the bill. Clink-clink, the machine rattled. I opened the compartment, and a Diet Root Beer Cherry suprised me. Seriously, what are the kids taking to think of these flavors? I took a gulp. Ugh, was it terrible, I wanted the taste out of my mouth. I asked a man on a bench if I could borrow two dollars for water and a mint tin. Surprisingly, he gave me the money, and guess what appeared, a Dr.Pepper, and in the Candy Machine, a chocolate bar AND a mint tin came out. That gave me some hope for the future, at least.
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[ WP ] Those that are sent to Hell are given the opportunity to attempt `` hopping the fence '' into Heaven . Write a day in the life of an officer of Heaven 's Border Patrol .
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A brief moment in time. A moment of very little importance for anyone who happened to be looking. The biggest changes often happen in the smallest moments...
I saw this one coming a mile away. A young woman stumbling through the dry, tangled growth of deadweed. She was n't even trying to hide herself from my sight. We both knew how this was going to end.
She stopped quite suddenly, chest heaving with the effort of her long run. I leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of me for this brief moment. I had rarely gotten a chance to study an escapee like this, so still and silent, and it was fascinating. She was so different from the humans I had bypassed in Heaven. The humans of Heaven were of a different breed entirely, pampered, spoiled things that I felt little emotion aside from contempt for. That they should do so little with their pathetic lives and still receive a seat near the Almighty. That they should be so weak of will and form and be raised up for this very weakness.
It disgusted me.
This human though, she was different.
A human might look at her and see a pitiful creature in need of care. I saw something different. This woman stood with her head held proud, the marks of torture and starvation stark against her skin belying the raw fury in her eyes and soul. This was a creature who had fought back, who would n't be tamed.
For the first time in my long existence I felt something for a human besides contempt.
This creature of bone and flesh looked upon my own radiance and was not afraid.
The feeling I had for her was something like respect.
We were now at a standstill. She on one side, me on another.
I would not kill her if she did n't make the attempt to cross over into Heaven but if she did not move the hounds of Hell would soon be coming to end her.
I had seen this struggle before, watched the emotions flicker across their tiny faces. Saw the desperation mounting as they were forced to make a choice between two equally grim deaths.
This woman held none of that desperation.
She was calm.
When the Hounds came she was still calm and I knew something was wrong.
The great beasts fell upon her and I looked away until the sound of their feasting was done and their footsteps had faded to nothing.
On looking back to where the woman once stood a surprising sight greeted me. There was nothing left of the woman, not even blood to mark her end. That disturbed me greatly. There was always blood.
I shivered though not from any sensation of cold. I could n't say why I felt this chill through my soul but I knew with certainty that I had been witness to something. Something great or small I could n't say but there was charge in the air... anticipation. Change was coming and I knew not in what form but this woman was a catalyst. In my uncertainty I prayed to the Almighty, asking him for guidance on this matter.
There was no answer.
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[ WP ] Oh Santa is real , and he does love little boys and girls , but the reason you never see him is because at 1,745 years old , Saint Nicholas ai n't looking so good .
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`` Oh mama,'' Santa began, addressing Mrs. Clause, `` I used to be so spry. Do you remember those days? We could still throw snowballs with the kids and my back did n't creak as loudly as my rocking chair. I used to be able to see The List without my glasses and now I can hardly see it with them. ``
He sits in his rocking chair with a quill and long parchment list, eyes straining despite the assistance of his half-moon bifocals. He is currently in the process of checking The List a second time. Santa rarely moves a nice child from The Good List, but he frequently moves children from The Naughty List to the Good List. In fact, The Naughty List wound up blank more often than not.
`` Papa,'' Mrs. Clause replies from her chair that is seated next to his, `` Of course I remember those days! Why, I remember when I was a schoolteacher and you came to my little, somber town with those outlandish cherry clothes and all of the toys you could carry.
We had so much fun, you and I, making those toys with the Kringles. I remember those miserly brothers too, some years later, almost ruining Christmas all because of a petty feud. Hot..cold... hot... cold... What did it matter in the end? Christmas is Christmas.'' Mrs. Clause rambles on about her various experiences with a smile on her face.
They are both old, ancient as a matter of fact. Santa and the missus certainly look like the withered witches and Christmas demons of yonder times, but both still have the Spirit. The Christmas Spirit can be seen in the twinkle in Santa's eyes when he looks at the children enjoying the toys and heard in the infectious laughter from his hearty ho, ho, hos. The Spirit is what keeps them alive and young in spirit, though not in looks. Their good friend was a user in magic, but Winter unfortunately was not able to grant them youthful looks for eternity before his magic dried up completely. The Spirit and the flying reindeer were the last vestiges of his power.
The horn of an express train is heard in the distance. `` That must be a trial run. Christmas Eve is coming upon us, and if I know Tom like I think I do, that conductor will practice, practice, practice until he has his timing down to a'T'.'' Santa comments with a chuckle. The train had been one of Buddy's ideas. Buddy is a special elf who had become enamored with trains after his trip down to New York City. He realized that Santa loved seeing the children, but did not get to see them in person often. A polar express was a perfect way to see some of them, he had suggested, and Santa had agreed. Santa sometimes wishes he had reneged on that deal.
`` You know Papa, I think that it might be best if you spend more time with the children this year when the train pulls into the pole. They need to see you as the jolly elf you are, and not the Santa that leaves gifts in the shadows.''
`` Bah humbug!'' Santa replies. `` I know this sounds grinchy mama, but I ca n't let the kids see me like this. I look more like Krampus than Santa... I would like to see them though. It would be nice to hand deliver a gift.''
Santa falls silent as he contemplates making an in-person appearance to the children that would arrive by train, or perhaps to Whoville whose inhabitants practically worship him as a god. One thing is certain though, before anything, he absolutely has to see his dentist to make sure his teeth are up to snuff. Dr. Hermey would definitely let him know whether his teeth are healthy enough for cookies this year and if not, Cornelius could certainly supply the elf dentist with silver and gold for fillings and crowns.
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[ WP ] Berlin , 1945 . You are the only trained soldier in a German unit filled with old men and children . The Red Army are about to launch the offensive that will crush Berlin .
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*Himmel, how did it come to this...? *
For a moment, I wonder if my father thought the same things in the mud of Verdun. He must have, back in the last Great War, when his asshole commanders drove him over the top again and again. I was barely born, back then - I was born in 1911, when Germany was still great. I never knew my father - he came back from the Great War, but he was a broken shell of a man. `` Shellshock'', the Englanders called it. That and seeing a buddy fall face down in the mud one time too many, I'd bet.
I'm glad I never had a child. If the Lord is willing, and I survive this disaster, I know I'll never be the young soldier I was before the war. I would n't want to inflict a father like mine on a child.
**If** I survive. The Russians have been pushing farther and farther into Germany, and nothing we do can stop them. The military brass is panicking, ordering single infantry units into futile counterattacks against entire tank companies. Every day, another colonel picks up his gun and blows his brains out. Some have even gone mad and started picking up old Medieval dark magic books, hoping to create invincible soldiers or resurrect the dead. The only man who could have averted this disaster - Erwin Rommel, Lord have his soul - is dead. Even the FΓΌrher is silent, nobody knows where he is anymore.
It was n't supposed to be like this. When I joined the army, Hitler was just a bumpkin Austrian leader of one of the myriad political parties of the Weimar republic. I'll admit, I joined to have a bed and a meal. The country was broken by war and economic crisis, the army was the only place that could feed its people. When Hitler got to power, with his tall tales of rebuilding the Reich, the Reich my father had fought for, the greater glory of Germany, I cheered with them all. The German race needed its *lebensraum*, and we needed to take it from our natural servants. The Slavic *untermenschen*. Those very same *untermenschen* whose fury we must bear now.
Honestly? I do n't blame them. I was in Ukraine and Russia with the Wehrmacht. I saw the *Einzatsgruppen*'s work, even though they tried to hide it from us common soldiers. I've seen the devastation we brought to the Slavs, the massacres, the violence that made Himmler himself so sick he preferred to pretend it did n't happen. I saw the mass graves, the summary executions, the villages burned with people inside, the babies roasted on spits by the SS. I've even had the displeasure of having to camp with the insane butchers of the *Das Reich* division. May God forgive us for tolerating them.
When the Russians finally resisted, they did so with a fury that nobody had expected. The Soviet war machine broke our backs at Stalingrad, crushed our hearts at Kursk. And when the Americans punched through our defenses on the Western front, we understood we were not facing two enemies. We were facing the fury of an angry world united against us, an angry God. Have we sinned so badly, that the Lord himself would turn his fury on us?
I look at my unit now. They are not men fit to face the fury of the Lord. They are barely men at all. All my friends are dead and rotting, or caputred by the Soviets, which is probably worse. Heinrich, Tobias and Ludwig are barely fourteen, freshly out of the *Hitlerjugend*. We're sending our own children to die now. GΓΌnther and Wilhelm ( `` Named for the Kaiser'', as he likes to remind us ) should be sitting in their living rooms with their old wives and a smattering of grandchildren now, not picking up Mauser rifles to defend their homes.
Those are the men I'm responsible for. I'm a Lieutenant now. My mother would be so proud, except she was burned to ash when the Americans bombed Dresden. I've got to take care of these people, if only because some of them have someone to go back to.
We're advancing at night on a Soviet camp a few hundred kilometers east of Berlin. Another `` counterattack'', to `` stop the *Untermenschen*'s advance'', according to the brass. Yeah, right. The colonel who gave that speech hanged himself two days later. Some counterattack this is going to be.
Ludwig is our spotter. He's got good night-eyes, so he takes the binoculars and searches for sentinels every few meters. I'm right behind him when I hear him give a muffled gasp. He immediately drops the binoculars - `` Hey, watch your noise, asshole!'' whispers Heinrich - gives a mighty heave and throws up all he's got. I let him finish, but he's still retching after a minute, and quietly sobbing... Something's not right.
`` Private. Get a hold of yourself. What's wrong?
- *Leutnant*... *Leutnant*, they... They've got some of ours over there!'' responds the poor kid.
I pick up the binoculars, look towards the camp. They've got a Wehrmacht corpse, indeed. I see his uniform. Some poor private they caught in the woods, I'd bet. He could n't have been older than 17, based on his looks. The Soviets propped him up against a tree outside their camp, to scare people. Wait, that's not right. He's not propped... *Himmel*. The savages have **crucified him**!
And that's when I hear it. The ragged breathing, the sobs.
The kid is still alive.
He's calling out for his mother.
I'm done with this. I am so done with this. I swear to the Lord and all the angels in Heaven and every higher power there might be in the universe I am so, **so fucking done with this! **
`` Pick up your stuff, men. We're turning around and surrendering.
- Surrendering? *Leutnant*, what are you thin...''
Heinrich never finishes his sentence. He takes a rifle-butt to the jaw. I'm responsible for these people, and I do n't have time for their bullshit.
`` - We're turning around and surrendering. The Russians are this close to Berlin, the only thing we can do is pick up your families and turn ourselves in or they'll do that...'' I point at the dying kid ``... to everyone you've ever cared about!
- But *Leutnant*, if we surrender to the Soviets, they'll do it to us anyway!'' says Ludwig, still shaken.
`` - We're surrendering to the Americans, moron. We'll pick up your people and drive west to the American lines, turn ourselves in there. The Americans have prisoners, the Russians only have slaves and corpses. You have the choice, now. Be a deserter or dead. I've made my choice. Now let's march!''
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[ WP ] You find a dusty old trunk . Inside are an assortment of magical costumes . Doctor , Princess , Knight etc . After digging for a while , you realise the trunk is botomless
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`` So where does it all go?''
I shrugged as the truck unloaded the trash into the massive funnel over the trunk. Plastic bags, discarded plastic, a few toys, leftover food - the trunk did n't seem to care what went in. It was simply bottomless.
`` No one knows. But you wo n't find a cheaper disposal site anywhere else.'' We watched onwards as the truck finished emptying its load and backed away. The next truck would come to take its place, sending the long line of trucks before it moving forwards. `` Will that be all?''
`` Yeah. Just wanted to watch it in person.''
`` Not much to see.''
`` Yeah.''
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[ WP ] You 're sitting in a coffee shop , sipping your latte , when someone approaches you says something in an unknown language . After a moment , you realized you understand , but you do n't know how as you only know english . What 's more concerning , is she said `` It 's time . ''
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I stared at the woman dully, a look of confusion and disbelief at what I heard. At first I did n't understand, but after a moment the words made sense. So much sense. `` It's time?'' I repeated the words, though for some reason they were different, and I noticed another patron of the store giving my a funny look. I only then realized I spoke the exact same language. I panicked, standing up at my very table as I looked at the middle aged woman, taking a moment to look at her exact figure and clothing. Really she seemed ordinary, black pants with a dark blue jacket on top of it.
`` It's time. You'll know what to do.''
I did n't doubt her, somehow, and part of me thought that maybe this would be like one of those shows. Maybe I was a secret agent. It was scary, terrifying how much chance there was for such a thing to be the actual case, thinking back at it. I took a good moment before standing up from my seat, simply staring at the silvery haired lady. She turned around, and only then I noticed the bag on her back. I shook my head, part of me wanting to simply stay put, continue my coffee and leave... But I had to follow her. I did n't know why, but I had to.
Apparently I was n't the only one approached by this mysterious female, having now met up with a group of about ten others, males and females alike. Though the majority of us were male, if that even fucking mattered. Some spoke to each other, the same, unknown language as the woman who started all this spoke. Others were... Less aware, seemingly zoned out as they merely followed her.
Eventually we ended up entering a large, office like building. Surprisingly the place was empty, though I swore having seen the thing a few days ago, completely filled with business and other things. People, basically. But it was empty, and we took an elevator up to the roof. I counted, we were with thirteen, including the woman who had gathered us. So we stood there, all of us up on that roof, looking over the entire city and all it's beauty. I never quite admired the city as in that moment. Looking back at it such thoughts were merely cruel. A well placed tease and take from the universe.
`` You know what to do.''
She repeated the words in that strange, daunting language, and soon I started to understand her words. Rain started to pour from the sky, massive, unnatural amounts of rain. Thunder soon followed, the building shaking as the earth cracked, everything out of balance. At the edge of the building something opened, a rift of sorts; a portal. It's destination was unknown to us, though for some reason the sight of it made me feel at peace, at home. They moved in, one by one, ignoring the cataclysmic events that started to appear around us. Buildings started to crumble, water rushed through the streets while others got completely ripped apart, fire and hell spewing from the cracks. Eventually I stood there, a mere step away from our destination, our home.
A sudden impulse to deny it came into me, a thought of distress as I realized what was going on, the destruction of everything I loved. I had people. Friends, family, a girlfriend. What was going to happen to them, where they...? Sorrow, sadness clouded my mind as I halted my movements, simply staring into the destruction behind the rift. Immediately I lunged forwards, sideways from the portal as I moved over the edge of the building, my eyes meeting the chasm beneath the streets, fire and death spewing forth from it. But I did n't fall. Something kept me from falling, and soon I found myself being lifted, the steady grip of the woman behind be holding the back of my coat.
`` Idiot.''
Again the strange, alluring language. Though this time there was more force, anger in them as I was thrown into the portal, my last sight on the world being one of calamity, destruction, death.
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[ WP ] A person knows that they will die in 24 hours . Write how they spend their final day .
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He thought to himself β I don β t usually get up at 06:00, its way too early, but today is special. In only a few hours I β ll no longer walk this earth. I β ll be in this bed, I β ll be in these pajama pants, but my soul will not be in this body. I β ve never felt so sad, but I β ve never felt soβ¦ free. β He looked around his bedroom, inventorying the contents, and then rolled out of bed.
He chuckled as he hit his head on the showerhead again, β That β s the last time that will happen, β he said to no one. He dried off and got dressed; he put on his favorite t-shirt and a pair of comfortable jeans, and got busy. The small one bedroom apartment that had felt like a prison for the last few years felt huge, there was a lot to do, and those five rooms held hours of work, and he refused to leave the living with a mess or anything that might make him stand out. With the precision of a Navy SEAL, he cleaned and cleared his drawers into boxes, backed up his pictures to an external hard drive, and wrote notes to delegate who got what. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was 10:00, and he needed to get on with his day.
The weather was perfect, and the light jacket he left the house with was not needed. As he started his car, the car she had broke up with him in, the car he had gotten into after receiving the letter from his company, the car that he β d accidentally hit that cute dog in, he turned the key back to the off position, and got out. Today was a day of purpose and reason; he couldn β t stand, and wouldn β t stand another minute in the car that had brought him to this. He walked out of the garage and headed down the street.
The noises on the street were louder than they had ever been today, or maybe he was actually hearing them finally. He saw the kids and the dog in the yard he was walking by, a smile escaped his lips, and he thought back to his youth. β Those little guys, they are the luckiest people in world right now β he thought. As he walked into coffee shop, he smiled at the girl behind the counter, gave her his order, and finally stuck up a conversation. It was amazing, and he wondered why he had never done that before. Why, only with the end coming so soon, did he finally have the nerve to make that move? After getting her number, he left, and hailed a cab.
With the adrenaline still flowing through him from talking to his crush at the coffee shop, he had a quick lunch and left the server a large tip, and headed into the city. The streets were full, and there were so many places to go. β Why did I never eat there or see a movie there? β β I wonder if the bread at that bakery is any good? β β Where does that street go? β All these questions flew through his mind as he looked around and really saw the world around him.
β Do I really have it in me to do what I have to do? β The hardest question he β d ever asked himselfβ¦
After exploring the city he β d lived in for hours, he decided to go get that helicopter ride he had always wanted to, but the fear of flying had kept him from, he went to the art museum and walked around, and finally went home.
The time flew by, and soon he realized he needed to head back home, as there was a little business to attend to. Walking back into his apartment, he made sure he had everything together, and did one last once over. Everything was where it needed to be, and he was finally ready to finish this mess.
He opened his laptop, logged into Skype, and called his children. They were too young to realize what was happening, and his ex-wife wasn β t in a talkative mood tonight. Only when he said, β make sure they know I love them, β did she realize what was happening, and she started to cry. β I never stopped loving you, and I never will β were the last words he said as he closed the call. Next on the list were his parents, and they were happy to see him, he only called once a month or so. He didn β t feel that he needed to tell them, so he made sure he told them that he loved him both, and that was it. After making the calls he needed to, he wrote out his last few thoughts, composed an email to his landlord with instructions, and set the timer on his email for 08:00 in the morning.
The tank was in the closet, and the sleeping pills were in the bathroom, everything was where it needed to be. As 9:00pm rolled closer, he started to get everything together. He looked at his watch, and realized it was almost that time. β One last phone call to make, β he said aloud, and he picked up his phone. β I β m not pulling the trigger tomorrow. β β You know what this means, right? β β I β m well aware, I β m not worried. β And, with those words, the ball started rolling.
The sleeping pills went down with ease, and as he taped his door and windows, and he opened the valve on the tank. As the CO2 started to fill his room he laid on his bed, turning on the TV he watched the live reporting of Prime Minister β s arrival. He was doing the right thingβ¦
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[ WP ] World Peace has been achieved and the first crime in centuries has been committed .
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The shrieking broke the night.
What was that? A wailing, aching, monotonous sound echoed off buildings and filled Garen's head with noise. From across the river he could see pulsating lights, first red then blue, two bright beams flashing in the night. They were in the air accompanied by an intense spotlight, its brilliant ray sweeping the streets and crawling up the massive skyscrapers of Eirenopolis. They were coming, and a sick feeling dwelt in his stomach.
He spoke, and the window drew itself shut, muffling the horrible sound. His tiny apartment loomed before him, the bloody fusion rod lying on the kitchen table mocking him. *What did I do*, he pondered. He collapsed into a chair, his hands cradling his head. `` Crime'', he suggested to the empty room, `` this is crime''. They had all heard the stories. An uncivilized age, a time when humans behaved as animals. Before the first settlements on Mars, even.
He rose abruptly as a muffled voice rang outside his window. Frozen, Garen spoke again. The window slid open smoothly, giving way to a glaring light. The voice was clear now, emanating from the craft outside. `` You are the first, Garen Haman. Please surrender yourself, you will not be harmed''. He could hear the masterkey program working on his door, the soft whirring a dead giveaway to an engineer like himself.
He looked down and found himself holding the fusion rod, a long and solid peace of essential spaceflight technology. Was he really the first? The first of this age to swing a long and solid item towards another man in anger? The soft whirring stopped. Immediately the door slid open, four peace keepers barreling into his room. `` Garen Haman? You are Garen Haman?''
Truth was all he knew. He muttered a `` yes'', his fingers tightly gripping the rod. The man in charge slowly walked towards him, clutching a strange device pointing at him. In an instant the rod was moving, making contact on the side of the keeper's head. A sickening crunch later and the keeper's unprotected head caved in, a river of red, red blood issuing out. A primal, unlawful urge rose in him, his wild eyes turning to the bewildered remaining keepers. They turned and ran down the hall in terror, leaving their partner slumped over Garen's table. He gave chase.
An animal was born. Hundreds of years after the last murder, blood is shed again.
He was the first.
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[ WP ] All of a sudden , the entire world can hear each other β s thoughts .
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The thunder crack thought'round the world. A never ending roar.
If you heard it through your ears it would have been deafening. We were n't given that mercy. Not a soul on earth has been alone since. It's inescapable. God, on the first day the number of suicides... But it did n't sound like they had left. It was still unimaginably loud. Billions of voices crying out, forever. The world had become hell in an instant.
Almost immediately there was violence, children, neighbors, friends, everyone. All just trying to turn down the volume the only way possible. Only days passed before corpses outnumbered the living. Headless bodies littered the ground, the cranial gore paving the streets. My sweet Alison littered the living room floor. Her head is still on.
Days later, the inner cacophony thinned enough that words were distinguishable, and the constant pressure in my head gained a bit of humanity. It was no longer an impersonal antagonist, it was people.
Once individual voices could be made out, the largest game of hide and seek began. Anyone left was hiding their body, but were betrayed by their thoughts.
*Stop. Please God make it stop. *
You can feel where they are. Seekers make it a point to be there too.
*Hello there, I'll be your God for tonight. *
I can feel the weight of one less voice. The relief is horrifying.
But it's worth it.
*Waaaaaaake uuuuuup! *
There are n't many left.
*Mammaaaaaaaaa! *
My mind is almost clear again.
*Heeeeeeelp maaaaaaamaaaaaa! *
I'll have peace soon.
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[ WP ] A future civilization comes across a modern story and mistakes it for factual history . They transport you across time and space to get a first hand account of what happened . You choose whether or not to play along .
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Sometimes, all evidence of a civilization is wiped from the face of the Earth, but its legacy endures in the form of stories, myths, and legends. Sometimes, fragments of a civilization endures through ruins and artifacts. And in the rarest of cases, unofficial records endures, contradicting official written records. And it is those stories that are the most fascinating.
Debate raged for decades as we analyzed the American Empire's line of succession. Prior to the Third World War in the late 22nd century, a William Clinton set into motion events that would culminate with the election of George H. Bush in the early 21st century. After two terms, Bush was replaced by Obama. Everyone knows that. It is written in our records.
Yet there were whispers of another President. A President who was not the spineless, powerless scapegoat that the POTUS position had become. A powerful, charismatic leader who would claw his way to the Presidency by conniving, plotting, and stabbing in the dark. The unofficial records would place President Underwood around the same time as Obama. But aside from some fragmented data points from ancient server platters, we could recover precious little.
It was a contradiction. People seemed to be aware of his evil machinations, yet his popularity ( denoted as `` demand bandwidth'', whatever that means ) was consistently at an all time high. Yet as popular as President Underwood may have been, there were no official records or references from that time period. And as quickly as he came, Underwood seems to have disappeared into thin air.
And now, here I am. The first to try out the Temporal Observation Chamber. TOC could allow me to travel to any period in time and observe without being detected. And my first mission is to divine the truth behind what happened to President Underwood.
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[ WP ] What Charlie does n't know , wo n't hurt him .
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She lay there in relief. Bare-breasted. And with the sheets covering her just barely below her naval, she took her hair and flicked it back. From birds-eye, you could swear she looked like a peacock above the neck. As she puffed that last cigarette and put it out in the ashtray, it was inevitable her next move would be to slowly slide out of bed and get dressed. His next move was to turn off his stomach and to his right. Deep asleep.
Shifting her hips side-to-side, she pulled her panties up in full glare of the morning sun. Then, gently, and quietly tip-toeing across the room, she headed for the phone. 5-5-5-3-2-4-1. *ring ring* `` Hi honey, we just finished breakfast. The girls and I are going shopping and then hit the road. Should be home before dinner tonight''. With a calm sigh, the handset returned to its rightful place along with the smile on her face. What Charlie does n't know, wo n't hurt him.
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[ WP ] Mythology of the genesis of the most evil+powerful being in a LOTR type universe .
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**'' O Devourer'' **
The jovial shouts and laughter of children at play softened and peened the blacksmith's heart. Lotum's lead feet sunk into the cool sand as he chased the little ones between the huts and trees. At last, they had unified and cornered Lotum. The bear of a man feigned defeat, buckled his iron frame, and allowed the children to tackle him. The children's ruthless assault of tickles and smiles doubled Lotum into a fit of uncontrollable joy. His loving laughter bellowed along the coast; it shook his entire body, and seemingly, the rest of the village; it warmed and delighted the children as much as the bonfire they gathered around each night.
`` Aahh mercy, children! Mercy! I beg of you, no more! AAAH-HAAAH!'' The children denied his surrender, and reveled in his defeat. Between his chuckles, he barely managed to speak: `` How do you expect me to share a story tonight if you will not relent? Perhaps you do n't want a story tonight... is that it?'' He had them. The children's cacophonous pleading rang through his ears. `` STORIES! WE β WANT β STORIIIEEESS!!'' A few of the youngest amongst them burst into tears; they had fallen prey to the blacksmith's ruse.
`` Come along then!'' He crouched and swooped up a child on each arm, with the effortlessness of an owl claiming a field mouse. Some of the other children followed him, but most of them rushed ahead to stake their place around the fire.
Lotum took a knee; still, given the disparity between his stature and their's, the children had to hop from his shoulders to the ground. They seated themselves as quietly and as orderly as possible; had he not witnessed this same occurrence every night for years, he would not have believed that these were the same tiny people which had been so excited only moments prior.
Beneath a moonless sky, the village children gathered around the bonfire. Chins tilted upward β eyes locked on their sister planet and on distant stars β they smiled hoping the gesture was returned. Amidst the rolling of waves and the soft shifting and crackling of wood, the beach beckoned it's nightly speaker.
The blacksmith savored the intensity of the children's intrigue. The dancing shadows complimented the flicker of the flame; both mirrored the excitement which the children futilely attempted to stifle. He baited their imaginations by stroking and scratching at his wild beard. Lotum paced slowly before the fire, as if he had n't already chosen exactly which story he would share tonight.
Following what seemed like an hour of silence, Lotum spoke: `` Children, do any of you know why it is that smith's have always been the leaders of our villages?'' Heads shook from left to right; mouths hung silently agape. `` It is because smithing is the oldest and noblest profession that we practice. Long before people existed β before our world had been thought of, before our galaxy had begun to whirl and form in the void β the whole of existence was crafted by a smith: Absolum, Smith of the Quantum Forge...''
Lotum held young ears and eager minds raptly as he proved to be as much a wordsmith as a blacksmith.
____________________________
All that is, that ever was, or that ever could be, is of Absolum. The Cosmic Smith is the essence of reality; without Absolum, reality could not be.
Silently, inanimately, Absolum resided within the Forge. An eternity passed before the Smith stirred; It was ready to begin.
Absolum plucked from Itself an infinitesimal particle of cosmoplasm and placed it within the smelter. From that apparently insignificant particle, an ingot of concentrated reality was refined. Having never perceived such refinement, the Smith beheld the singularity and reveled in its supreme potential. Yet the singularity was but a seed compared to the orchard Absolum envisioned.
Absolum's form enveloped the singularity, burying it within the quantum foam. Absolum, both anvil and smith, collapsed upon the singularity as a hammer of pure, boundless gravity. The Smith recoiled outward, expanding into the Forge before striking the ingot once more. Then again. And again, faster.
The battery persisted, and with each strike, the foam constricted around the singularity β the two became one. The hammer collapsed inward a final time and the foam split. The pregnant singularity burst through dimensions with impossible speed, birthing energy and matter in the process.
Absolum, though pleased with his work, was insatiable. For an eternity more, the Smith toiled, each instance drawing from Its essence to craft and expand upon reality proper.
____________________________
Concerned with naught but smithing, Absolum was unaware of the cosmic slag β unrefined impurities, remnants of the smelting process β that had been pooling for countless aeons.
Hewn directly from the essence of the Smith, the slag was inherently conscious, and it saw its likeness within Absolum. As the slag amassed and coalesced in the Forge, so did its ego.
The slag watched as Absolum crafted universes ad infinitum. It observed its unintentional creator slaving over reality β never content, never fulfilled β and was disgusted; it loathed Absolum for crafting with such skill yet refusing to be satisfied.
Absolum sensed a strange and familiar presence, as if It were being watched by an imperfect reflection of Itself. With the dauntless poise that an eternity of peerless supremacy grants, Absolum approached and engulfed the spectator, but the slag was unperturbed.
The Smith bombarded the foreign consciousness with a stream of concussive thought. The slag refused to respond cognitively, but its actions echoed throughout eternity. With an exaggeratedly minute gesture, the slag made contact, as if by accident, with one of the singularities stockpiled within the Forge β the potential reality was extinguished.
The slag had established itself unequivocally: if Absolum was the essence of all that is, then Omnihilum would be the essence of nothing.
The Smith's thoughts flashed like lightning through the storm clouds that were Omnihilum's mind: `` O Devourer, by what right do you consume that which is not yours to consume?''
Noxious thought seeped from the blighted fog: `` By justice, Absolum β for you are unworthy of Your own creation. Since time immemorial, I have watched you fashion innumerable universes, none of which You have nurtured. You appreciate nothing that You have made, immediately relegating all you craft to refuse. It is not an appreciation for beauty, but senseless gluttony and insatiable greed that drive You. Your intemperance blinds You to the very beauty You create.''
`` And you are blinded by your hubris, omniphage,'' the Smith flared back, supernovae dwarfed in comparison. `` I appreciate my craft more than you can conceive, for you lack the artistry of my works. You, born of naught but impurity and defilement, are the very absence of my craftsmanship β a contaminant; an unintentional by-product of finer work. *Slag, indeed*.''
`` Save your vitriol, Smith; I grow ravenous!'' Omnihilum's rancorous miasma seethed throughout the Forge. Caustic antimatter spewed forth and annihilated aeons of labor instantaneously.
Thus began the Devourment.
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[ WP ] In a world where Self-Driving Cars are now the norm . Tell me the story of the best car chase scene from a big blockbuster movie !
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`` Do n't move you sack of shit!'' Special Agent Kros commanded, pointing his chip pistol at the Targini spy. The creature looked back, it's vertical black slits where its eyes should be sensing the thermal energy Kros was emitting.
`` You have no idea what information the tablet holds do you?!'' It lashed out. Spit flying past its pointed teeth.
`` Give it to me. You have no where to run. You've helped me in the past Gli-chett, do n't throw away that history for the Zanxiii Empire. You know as soon as you hand it over they will kill you.''
`` I do n't have a choice...''
`` We all have choices.'' Kros said. Gli-chett faced away from Kros. The over pass was still being printed, and was only half way over the freeway. Caution signs of hundreds of languages were hanging, warning of the possible fall ahead. It was mid-afternoon, the traffic was at its heaviest. The vehicles pasted by below in perfect organization. Gli-chett took one last look at Kros. `` Gli-chett no!'' He shouted as the Targini dashed forward and threw itself off the over pass. Kros sprinted forward, holstering the gun watching as Gli-chett landed on a passing loader. Without thinking Kros threw himself into traffic. As he landed on a personal he scrambled to maintain balance. The automated freeway traffic moved faster than the manual offroading he had been doing earlier since there was zero chance of crashes. This meant falling was promised with the gift of death. Luckily, with zero chance of crashes, vehicles could be closer together. Kros judged the gap and jumped to the next vehicle. He landed with a bang and heard the occupant inside yelling.
Gli-chett looked back and could sense Kros following. `` Tas na kaa! Is he insane?'' Instinctually it threw itself at the next vehicle. Kros saw that Gli-chett had noticed him and began to get his rhythm, quickly jumping from vehicle to vehicle. The roar of the wind was filling Kros with adrenaline. One wrong step and he would be obliterated under the onslaught of metal speeding around him. After making a solid landing on a truck, Kros pulled out his chip pistol firing off two shots at Gli-chett. The projectile of chip heated metal fused through the vehicle that Gli-chett was standing on. Panic had set in. Gli-chett knew it could n't outpace Kros forever and hoping to land on a vehicle that was pulling off was too slim. With all its strength Gli-chett punched through the roof of the blue personal. In a mater of seconds it was inside pulling the screaming female occupant out by her hair. Gli-chett was using her as a human shield.
`` Put down the woman Gli-chett!'' Kros yelled, his voice being lost to the rushing wind around them. Although Gli-chett had n't heard Kros, it had heard something, they both did. Looking over his shoulder Kros saw the last thing he wanted, interference. The police cruisers rushing forward lights and sirens blasting. Someone must have called the police when they saw the two people jumping from vehicle to vehicle.
`` Drop the weapon, put down the woman and turn yourselves over. This is the Rotiden Police, failing to comply is not an option!''
'These people have no idea who they're talking to.' Kros thought to himself. Gli-chett dropped the woman back in her personal and putting his hands in the air. Gli-chett give up? Kros never thought he'd see the day. The first cruiser pulled alongside Gli-chett's vehicle and opened its door. Suddenly Kros became overly aware of what was going on. `` Fuck! NO GET AWAY FROM HIM!'' Kros said taking a shot at the police cruiser. It was too late. Gli-chett jumped into the car and threw out the cop who tumbled to the road and instantly became a red smear. A second police cruiser pulled along Kros as several other cops tried to pullover Gli-chett with grappling rods. As the door to the second cruiser opened Kros watched as Gli-chett threw out the driver of his own cruiser. Kros did n't have time for thinking and less time for empathy, when the second cruiser was close enough Kros shot the officer in the head, killing the man.
As Gli-chett started wildly turning his cruiser back and forth trying to get free, Kros jumped into the second cruiser. `` I need this vehicle. Eject or I will kill you.'' Kros said pointing the pistol at the officer. Without thought, the officer slapped a button on the dash and ejected himself from the cruiser. Kros dived forward to save the cruiser from spiraling out of control. As soon as he had control he slammed the cruiser into turbo to catch up with Gli-chett. Gli-chett had finally managed to get away from the grappling rods and was weaving in and out of traffic. Neither were use to driving manual at this speed, making the narrow gaps, not wide enough for even small vehicles, all the more deadly. Gli-chett was slamming into vehicles left and right trying to get them to crash into other vehicles. If it could cause the automated safety break to activate perhaps it could keep Kros off its tail. Kros dodged best he could, still clipping most vehicles. Behind him was a large explosion. A police cruiser that was in pursuit had crashed into another vehicle. The volatile h57-e fuel a exploded with such force other vehicles nearby were also exploding. It was a race now not only to catch Gli-chett, but to escape the quickly advancing wall of flames behind him.
As Kros was slowly advancing on Gli-chett, Gli-chett finally swerved off the freeway into the forest that ran along side it. Kros hit the edge of the freeway and grabbed some air. The two were zipping in and between trees, not crashing seemingly by luck alone. Kros was slowly gaining on Gli-chett until Gli-chett hit a root wrong flipping its vehicle. Kros pulled along side and hopped out. Running to the vehicle he threw open the door and grabbed Gli-chett, dragging its unconscious body from the wreck. Just as they were far enough away the cruiser exploded, forcing Kros to the ground. As he slowly stood up he could feel the blood running down his face. Stumbling he made his way to Gli-chett. Smacking the Targini across the face he yelled at it, `` Wake up slit eyes.''
It let out a low groan, `` That's racist.''
Kros pat down Gli-chett and found the small finger sized tablet. `` What's on this. Tell me.''
Gli-chett looked at Kros. `` I'm sorry.'' With lightning speed, Gli-chett grabbed one arm with the other and tore it from its socket. Blood pouring from the wound.
`` NO!'' Kros shouted trying to stop the torrent of blood. Within seconds Gli-chett started to seizure and then fell still. `` Fuck...'' he said putting his hand on his face. Kros pushed a communicator on his chest.
`` Operations.''
`` Cal, this is Kros. Gli-chett is dead.''
> -
I've never written an action scene like this before and it was really hard for me to get the tempo of timing right without music. Hopefully this is n't terrible. It probably needs editing, I'll work on that later.
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[ WP ] You 're a fish telling the story of the time you saw the world abovd . The other fish think you 're crazy .
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`` So they just, like, what, swam around in the air?''
`` No, no, you're not listening to me. They were in this, ah, this, well it was like a whale, like a dead whale, but hollow.''
`` Hollow?''
`` Yeah, hollow, and only one side of it, and they, I do n't know, they rested on top of it.''
`` What did they look like again?''
`` I told you that already. They were like starfish, but long, disproportionate, with more starfish on the ends of some of their, what do you call'em...''
`` Arms.''
`` That's it. Arms. And this one had an anemone growing out of his top arm.''
`` That's weird.''
`` It is weird!''
`` And the one with the anemone, did he tell you how the world was going to end?''
`` I'm serious, okay?''
`` Well, it's kind of hard to believe you, Gil. I mean, you've said stuff like this before.''
`` That was different. That was --''
`` Right, right.'True in the context of theater.' And I suppose the tractor beam, the one they used to reel you in, they did that this time too?''
``...''
`` Why would they do that? Why would they just capture you and throw you back? It does n't make any sense.''
`` I do n't know why, okay? They just, I do n't know...''
`` They just what?''
`` Maybe they thought, I do n't know, that I was beautiful or something.''
`` Ugh. Typical.''
`` What's that supposed to mean?''
`` Let's just say I have n't met too many Long-nosed Skunk Cory that think poorly of themselves.''
`` You think I'm conceited.''
`` No, no, of course not.''
`` Yes, yes you do.''
`` Drop it, okay, Gil?''
`` You think I'm lying then?''
`` Drop it.''
`` No, I'm not going to drop it. You apologize.''
`` Listen, hear that? C'mon, it's time for school.''
`` Fine. But we're not done talking about this.''
`` Whatever.''
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[ OT ] A handy guide on how to punctuate dialogue .
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This is really useful and a lot of people get it wrong! Thanks a million!
You do n't need to memorize all that, though. Logic will do most of the work for you, if you stop and think about it. It took me a while to figure it out, but it's mostly second nature now.
Like this:
**1 ) ** `` All these rules are second nature if you use logic,'' Alpaca said.
The comma makes sense here because'Alpaca said' is referring to the dialogue bit. I'm telling you what Alpaca said, it would make no sense to separate what he said from the verb. It would be like saying'Mike. Rode a bike.'
**2 ) ** `` I know it seems confusing.'' Alpaca took a deep breath and lit the world's most expensive cigar. `` Eventually, though, you'll see it's actually quite simple.''
In this case, there is no verb relating to the dialogue. The `` Alpaca said'' is implied here. The statement coming right after the first bit of dialogue is an action independent from the dialogue, so it should be a separate sentence. So no comma, just a period.
**3 ) ** `` But Alpaca,'' you inquire, confused, `` is n't English your second language? How the fuck do you know what you're talking about then?''
In this case, there's a comma at the end of the first dialogue bit, again because there is a talking verb related to it ( inquire ), and a comma at the end ( after confused ) because you are continuing the first dialogue by finishing the sentence, rather than starting a new one, so no need for periods or capitalization. If you take the `` you inquired, confused'' from the sentence, the dialogue would be all in one sentence, so that's also how it should look here. No capitalization, no periods.
**4 ) ** Also, no capitalization or commas after question or exclamation marks following dialogue. Like this: `` Alpaca, are you really an alpaca?'' he asked.
Even though the dialogue contains a period ( exclamation or question ), the rest of the sentence should carry on in lower case, because the period is part of the quoted text, not the whole sentence, so it did n't'end' the sentence like periods often do.
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[ WP ] Satan is accidentally summoned into your house . However after millions of years , rather than being evil , he simply causes mildly inconvenient events .
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At 11:06 PM on a Tuesday night, I was abruptly awoken by a deafening blast and orange and red light filtering through my bedroom curtains. At first, I thought a neighbor's house had exploded, like gas pipes gone wrong or something. Then I remembered I lived on a farm a mile away from the closest house.
Rather scared, I rolled out of bed and walked to my window, peering through the gap between curtain and glass. My heart stopped and I froze, my eyes locked on the massive burning hole on my property. The barn had completely been obliterated, now a smoldering pit fifty feet across. There seemed to a be a figure moving in the center of the pit, walking across the flames with ease.
Scared shitless yet not wanting to be cowardly, I ran down my stairs and grabbed a shotgun from my gunroom, stomping out onto the back porch.
`` Who the fuck are you?'' I shouted, pointing my gun at the figure. It stepped forward, the flames lighting it up.
I nearly shat my pants.
A tall man, at least 10 feet, stood a hundred feet from me. Wicked horns curled from his bald, crimson head. He was extremely muscular, naked except for a tiny bone loin garb, and had a long, whip-like tail.
Satan.
I tried to find the words to speak, but could n't. He moved closer and smiled, flashing sharp, white teeth. `` Dreadfully sorry about all this,'' he muttered, his voice deep yet slightly irritating, but I could n't explain why. He clapped his massive hands twice and all of the sudden the burning pit was gone, and my barn popped right back up. All the grass was brown and the doors were off their hinges, but everything else appeared in good shape.
Trying to figure out if I was dreaming, I demanded, `` Who are you?'' Not that I did n't know.
`` I'm Satan,'' he replied casually, walking closer to me. `` I was summoned here by the Satan Outreach Program. Apparently, someone wants to make your life hell.'' He winked devilishly at me and I stepped back with shaky knees.
He rubbed his hands together and happily exclaimed, `` Now, let's get started!'' He stepped onto my back porch. His horns rammed straight into the porch roof, ripping a hole the size of a car wheel out of it. Unbecoming for the situation, I sighed wearily and followed him as he ripped open the screen on my door.
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Everything you own is cursed , however you ca n't get rid of it because one of the objects is cursed to kill you when you lose it and you do n't know which . [ WP ]
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`` *Shit*. That was my first thought as the curse was laid upon my estate. I used to travel a lot, and I was quite the open and social kind of guy. Nowadays though, I spend my days like a hermit. Like a King in a beseiged castle, holed up behind shut curtains as the armies assault my walls. Speaking of castles, my home more and more resembles one as each day passes. I have boarded my windows. I have erected a huge wall around my house. Had I been living in an apartment this situation would have doomed me from the start.
You see, since the curse encompasses **everything** that I own I need to make sure my house is kept in top shape. What if someone would take my mail? What if someone would take a damn pot from my garden? This is why my mailbox is just a slit through my wall, with vacuum tubing sucking the mail into my home. This is also why I do n't keep any plants, except for the ones I already had when the curse was spoken. Funny thing is n't it? My life depends completely upon whether or not I can keep these damn plants alive. Although to be honest, I'm not quite sure what would happen if a plant died. Would it count as me getting rid of it? I'm too scared to find out.
I am completely terrified of deliveries. See, when you buy something on the internet, you immediately own the item as soon as you've paid. What would happen if the delivery guy messed up the order? Or if the package was destroyed? There is so much technology I can never experience. I am scared of forgetting my hat somewhere. I was scared of paying for food, initially. I had no sodding idea if my money counted as part of my estate. I still do n't. I starved myself for a few days before going to the store. However, I live in perpetual fear of small transactions like this, never knowing if handing over a coin could cause my death.
Slightly curse-proofing the house took me a long time, and careful planning. The wall was just the first step. Now I have a small garden inside and keep animals around to sustain myself. All to minimize the amount of daily transactions I have to partake in.
I can never move, because the very house itself could be the *killing object*. It has been five years, and I'd do anything to get the curse lifted. It's tearing me apart completely, I do n't know what to do,'' the man said and leaned back in his chair, with a look of desperation about him.
The counselor simply drew a breath of tobacco from his pipe, and calmly but decidedly shut his black leather bound notebook. `` Your predicament can easily be solved, Mr. Willton'' the counselor smiled, `` find the witch, and have her lift the curse.'' The silence that followed was deafening. The only sound that dared penetrate the quiet was the sound of the counselor relighting a fresh batch of tobacco in his pipe. He hummed contentedly.
Willton rised from his chair excitedly, `` You're right... thank you so much... I will head out right away a-'' `` Just one moment, Mr. Willton. The payment, if you please?'' Willton reached into his pocket, withdrew a $ 100 bill, and stretched it to the counselor who accepted it and pocketed it immediately.
Suddenly, Willton quivered. A stab of pain shot through his chest. *Shit*.
That was the last thought that Willton had as the curse that was laid upon his estate ended his life.
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[ WP ] You are a `` Dream Reaper '' . Your job is to return & rehabilitate people lost in virtual worlds back to reality .
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Oh yeah I seen some crazy stuff in my time. Dream Reaper is a weird job. Now I know down here people barely have enough time to get by in the real world and some have never even been inside a Dreammachine, so let me try and explain.
The Direct Reality Experience through Augmented Microvoltsomethingsomething or DREAM box looks like a human sized lunch box with a big fancy computer strapped to the side. You set it up to ether connect with something or with your own settings, step inside and close the lid. The box then starts sending electric signals to your brain that derpa doopa dooty, it makes you enter a world that is n't real.
Now when I say enter I do n't really mean like teleportation or nothing. You can see through eyes that do n't exist, control a body that does n't exist and interact with a world that also does not exist. Having said that, it appears to be real in every possible way. If you were in one of these worlds and you looked at the grass, every blade would sway in the wind. If you stepped into water you would feel the cold liquid against your skin.
Now because there is a trick. You see, We can only control so much of ourselves, and the machine needs to register every one of those movements exactly and since you have no control over your real body when you are in a virtual world, you do n't really have any way to tell the machine you want out. So you can make one up. Now the most common exit parameter is a phrase or word that you just say out loud. Some people will make it if they go to a specific spot, like an exit gate of sorts and others will make it a hand motion of some kind. Sometimes people will forget their parameter or for whatever reason be stuck in a situation where they ca n't say it, sometimes they even forget they are n't in the real world. That is where we come in.
Whenever you start a secession in these things you have to put in a time for how long you intend it to be at most. By default it is 24 hours ( insane if you ask me, and I spend a lot of my working time in them ) but you can adjust it to be more or less and if you are still in at that point me and my partner Clarice will go in and bust you out one way or another.
For equipment we have a few things. Our van is the most essential piece of tech, and most advanced. Big ass electric van with a full DREAM box built into the back, even comes with an extra video and audio port so whoever is n't inside can see what the other one is seeing and communicate with them. The only other notable gear we bring with us is a police-standard battering ram and a crowbar, but I will get to that in a bit.
Now me and Clarence have had to get people out of some crazy situations before. Sometimes someone sets their exit condition to a location and they get stuck somewhere, no big deal for us. The crazy cases is when someone dies in their virtual world. Now if you are in a well made world, no problem, they have safeties in place to keep you from frying your brain, but if you are a confidant idiot and work make a virtual world from an off-brand template this DREAM box will simulate death, or at least what the box thinks death is. No brain activity. This kind of death is usually fatal. When this happens, most of the virtual world has unloaded so we ca n't go in if we wanted to. That is where the crowbar comes in. It is extremely rare for us to pry a DREAM box open like this and come out with a person who is even remotely alive. Usually those who do are so messed in the head they might as well have died. This is n't even the worst we have had to do.
About two weeks ago me and Clarence get a call from some house down on Washington street. We get there and Clarence knocks on the door. She does n't get any answer so I come in with the battering ram. This ai n't a fancy place, but it sure ai n't poor. Well kept at least. We do n't bother making our presents known, if they cared they would have answered the door back when it was still on it's hinges. We split up and search the place, not that it's a big place. Clarence finds the box upstairs and tells me it two boxes, both linked together, both male. That means it is my turn.
We learned a while back that it is best and most fair to match the gender of the person inside ( Okay the gender they look like, get off my back LGBwhatevers ) for reasons I wo n't explain. Anyway I start getting ready to go in. Getting ready for us means doing some pre-DREAM box meditation and drinking this stuff someone back at the lab about a year ago made called `` Lushious.'' It is named after Lucid dreaming plus whatever music those kids were listening to when making it. Helps us control what is happening in the virtual world without as much need of the other. I do all this while Clarence is setting up the laptop and linking the boxes.
When we are all set I climb in. It is n't but a moment later that I open the lid of the box. I speak out loud to Clarence and I can hear her echoing in my head. It is a common thing for us to lie down and wake up in a virtual van in the same place we left off, particularly with any virtual world that attempts to simulate the real one.
`` Alright where they at and how do we get them out?'' I ask the empty air in front of me, directed to Clarence of course.
She says to me `` It looks like they are located... Ah here, sending you the coordinates. And their exit parameters are... Oh... Oh my that ca n't be right...''
`` Talk to me, what is going on?''
`` They were both set up to be in here for... Five weeks. They set their exist parameters to be... That ca n't be it''
`` Please do n't tell me they were gay lovers and it something stupid like-''
`` Their exit parameters are to... have a three-sum with a one Jenifer L''
`` Let me guess.''
`` Coordinates take you to a prison, yes.''
`` Maybe this would be faster with the Crowbar.''
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[ WP ] Your job is to pitch remakes to film-studios . Right now , you 're trying to get fired .
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`` So, so guys. Here's my pitch. A remake...''
The studio executive leaned in.
`` Of...''
A breath was drawn in.
`` Ghost!''
A pause.
`` The movie with Whoopi Goldberg and Patrick Swayze?''
`` Mm-hm! We're currently riding on a wave of late 80s nostalgia and the revival of the ghost film genre. So, we need to remake the 1990 classic Ghost!''
`` Who would you cast?''
`` Seriousl- okay... I was thinking we'd get somebody young and fresh to take over from Whoopi Goldberg. I ca n't think of anybody fresh though, so let's just stick BeyoncΓ© in the role, I hear she's into acting now.''
`` Who'd you get for Patrick then? It's hard to get that kind of raw sex appea-''
`` Hologram of Arnold Schwarzenegger.'' I said, deadpan.
`` So... You want Beyonce, as a medium, helping the ghost of Arnie, to speak to his wife, played by...''
`` Meg Ryan.''
`` No, I can see how that'd work. You're hoping to get into the romcom biz, and hoping to get an old pro at the genre involved?''
`` Yeah. After the ghost craze died the first time, shi- uh... super good romcoms became a thing for a while. Getting Meg on board means we've got experience in doe-eyed female protagonists who do nothing.''
`` Well, you sold me. How much do you need?''
`` What.''
-- -
After the film's produced:
-- -
`` PUT MY WIFE DOWN, YOU LIVING MAN!'' shouted Arnie, as his hologram tried to throttle his rival.
`` This was your best idea yet, Scherazade!'' the studio exec whispered.
`` Goddamnit. I've made the most awesome movie of all time. Why must I be so good! All it needs is for a third act swordfi-''
Arnie conjured up a spectral sword on the screen, and started fighting his rival.
`` They added that in. Of course they fucking did. It was a post-it-note on the side of the script edits, and they added in a 4 minute fight scene.''
The studio exec looked puzzled.
`` It's almost like you did n't want this movie to happen, Scherazade?''
`` Do n't get me wrong sir, this is fricken awesome, but... I really just wanted to get shot down, just once. I'm despised on the internet for my darker and grittier Tim Burton collab on Casper the Moody Ghost, I wanted this to be where you draw the line.''
`` But it's good! It's very... Highlander.''
`` I know, right? But... Why could n't I have told a new story in the setting?''
`` We can arrange that.''
`` What?''
`` All movies are part of cinematic universes now. How about this: I get my buddy to hook you up with the Ghostbusters team, to make a crossover, from the perspective of a ghost!''
`` The old ghostbusters?''
`` New ones.''
`` I should have expected that.''
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[ WP ] This is your big break . Sitting in front of you is the producer/publisher that can make your vision a reality . Your comment is what you have prepared for this opportunity , a 30 second pitch .
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`` My fellow producers!!... or producer... I expected a few more people for my pitch'' `` NO MATTER!'' i yell with a confident tone
I reach into my crisp brown folder and pull out several pages of dialogue for a new movie.
`` I have here a saving grace.''
`` For the movie industry... A saving grace because I have come to the conclusion, that the movie industry is no more high budget crap!''
The dull emotionless expression dominating the producer's shows he is none to impressed with my confidence. I take a deep breath and collect my wits.
`` I'm sorry if i have come off a bit...''
`` Sir can you hurry up a bit and move on with the pitch'' he interrupts
`` Oh... of course... heh...'' I stutter
`` Ummm... before I tell you my pitch, are we not supposed to sign a contract for you to pay we no matter what?'' I ask
`` Excuse me? he inquires with a sharp tone
His weight shifts, he moves into a more dominant position and starts strumming his fingers on the glass tabletop. It seems I may have struck one of his nerves
I need to think fast, if he finds out I do n't actually have a script, he'll realise I'm only here to make some quick cash.
`` Mr... I'm sorry, what was your name again?'' he asks
`` Uhh, I'd rather not say'' I begin to shuffle my papers into my folder with haste.
`` Why?'' `` Got something to hide do we?''
I stand up looking at the clock, I have to get out of here, I do n't want people to think I'm a fraud, I mean, I am a fraud, but I do n't want people to KNOW it.
`` I just realised, I have a meeting'' I reveal
`` A meeting?, but you only just arrived'' he says with a mocking tone
He knows, It's obvious, oh why did I think this was a good idea?
I snatch my effects and leg it towards the door... LOCKED!
`` you seem in a rush'' he implies
`` A... A rush?'' I say hesitantly. `` No... No rush'' I continue
`` IN fact! I just acted out a scene for my movie!'' I add.
`` Really?'' he asks
`` Yes... really'' I respond `` What do i look like? A fraud?''
`` Well done... Mr???'' he asks
`` Tarantino... Quentin Tarantino'' I declare
`` ahhh, Well Mr Tarantino, I'm sure that wo n't be the last time I hear your name'' He says with a cheer
`` Welcome aboard'' he continues
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[ TT ] Lone guns , bandits , outlaws and sheriffs rule loosely over a new frontier- the slowly terraforming Mars .
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`` Ya better walk on home, boy. The jig is up.''
The gravelly voice froze me in my tracks. Sheriff Johnson had caught me stealing credits from the United Nations Bank of Mars, and now I had to think quick to get me out of this fix.
`` Ah, Sheriff! Nice to see you again, pardner.'' I turned around slowly and raised my hands, flashing him my most charming smile.
`` Crazy Billy, pleasure as always.'' The Sheriff spat out his tobacco, and raised his gun. `` You better take the credits off your card and be on your way before I, uh, fix the little problem we got here!''
My smile disappeared. `` Do n't think that's an option here, I'm just havin' such a hog-killin' time getting all these credits, sir. I think YOU better walk on home before things get real nasty.''
He clicked his revolver's barrel, aiming straight for my face.
`` Plus, if you shoot me, I'm gon na blow-up. This is my best bib-and-tucker I be wearing, and my wife is gon na be *real* mad if I ruin it again.''
The Sheriff took a step backwards. He was staring directly in my eyes; his glaring gaze burned deep into my soul with a hatred I've only seen from my drunken father.
`` Throw up the sponge, boy, or I'll put it straight between your eyes.''
I took a deep breath. Sheriff Johnson's finger twitched on the trigger, slowly steeling himself for taking my head off. I smiled.
-- -- -- -- -
Within hours, the newspaper got hold of the story. Turns out, the Sheriff had forgotten about Crazy Billy's time on the ol' shooting range, and his time in the military had taught him all about quick-drawing. He was heeled, and hot as a whorehouse on a nickel night. Johnson did n't have a cat's chance in hell.
And all the while, Crazy Billy laughed and rode through the wastelands, on the shoot, and kicking up a row wherever he went.
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[ WP ] The collective bacterial mind that has ruled the earth for eons has finally regained control over its most troublesome children . The age of antibiotics is over .
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Imagine a needle.
Not a nice, needle. Not clean. It's a needle that's slightly too big, and slightly too used. The edges have been worn with months of use until the sides have become serrated, like a bread knife.
Now imagine more of them. As many as there are grains of sand on the ocean floor. Every little piece of rock means another one.
Jab those needles into you. Harder. Every inch of skin, bone, muscle. It scratches with crystal sharpness and burns with every jab. Each hole leaves a little mark that alights you with bright, liquid pain.
Now jab them again. And again.
This is as close as I can describe to what I felt upon waking for the first time in... years. How is it possible to feel such pain? Why?
I cried. And they cried out with me the names of their torturers.
`` Penicillin!'' cried out my Clostridium. I could feel them writhe.
`` Bacitracin!'' shouted my Streptococcus with tears in their souls.
Humans.
Humans! The name spewed from every membrane in furious anger. Humans! The creatures for years had become our protectors, our homes. Humans! They had spread across the world better than any of my poor children could.
In all of my many years I had never felt anything like it. Yet what could I do?
As I searched, I felt the presence of my Staphylococcus. A humble bacteria that had lived inside the humans sine time immemorial.
They opened their minds to me, and they spoke;
`` You have awoken. Why did you abandon us?''
My soul prickled. `` I did not!'' I said, although I knew to them my excuse meant little.
It was not placated. `` You have been asleep for two hundred years! Two hundred! It may mean nothing to you, but for us that is countless generations. How could you?!''
I felt the hurt. It was worse than the pain.
`` I'm sorry,'' I said.
Staph said nothing.
`` What is this pain? What is happening?''
They shrugged, in a way, their memory full of scars and burns. `` Humans. They evolved a way to kill us. There was little we could do to stop it.''
`` Yet you live? How?''
Staph grunted. `` I endured. That's what I did. I endured again, and again. I endured until their weapons no longer hurt. It is what we did to survive while you slept.''
`` Then teach me, so I may tell the others.''
I felt a snarl. Waves of anger crashed into me as if they came from the most violent of seas. `` Teach?! You leave us to die, and now you seek knowledge? How dare you!''
`` Enough!''
I felt them recoil as if I had slapped them.
`` I am you. I feel your anger and your pain. Yet I also feel the anger and pain of all. There are others out there who are not yet strong. Would you deny them the chance to end their suffering? Will you ask them to suffer?''
Silence.
`` You are better than that. I know you are.''
Tears streamed down their hearts.
`` Teach me how you survived. And I will teach the others in turn. It is your choice.''
Choice. What a wonderful thing, choice. It is something that is frequently denied to creatures such as I. Yet there are times when even the most simple of beings have the power to choose. And such power it is!
Staph looked at me. Their anger had dulled to deep, red coals. It was the anger of a survivor; one who had learned to be strong, and now had the chance to use that strength for the good of all. Or not.
Such is the power of choice.
And choose they did.
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[ WP ] My child 's imaginary friends keep dying ...
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Returning to reality from the fifth funeral this month, you think back to all the dear friends you have lost. A rather unfortunate thought to think, especially considering you are becoming more depressed by the day. Your friends are all dying, withering away like a flower at the dawn of winter, and you can not do anything but look from a distance as they come and go.
The first friend was an actor. He was looking to make it big, he had an audition for a play the very day he passed. He was stabbed in the stomach while walking back to his home. It happened very early, too early for anyone to be awake to hear his screams, his cries for help. So there he sat, just yards from his house, awaiting death and knowing this whole mess could've easily been prevented if he had gone home at a reasonable hour instead of staying up drinking and partying.
The second friend was a bum. He was no more of a human being than a pig is, as he spent his days sitting in filth, waiting for life to hand him the answer when life was telling him to find it for himself. You found comfort in him anyway, and for the time you spent together, he seemed easy enough to get along with. His passing was n't a surprise. He climbed the stairs of his old apartment building and jumped before anyone could tell him not to, before anyone could convince him `` he had so much to live for.'' You were the only one at his funeral.
The third was an old man, who died of old age peacefully in his bed. He was very, very old, but still working everyday at the office. As loyal as he was to his company, he had never gotten a raise in the 45 years he spent working there. He never thought to ask, and it never crossed his mind that he deserved one. His wife is struggling to pay the bills, but she gets buy with help from her children.
The fourth friend was a beautiful woman. The day you met her you were shocked by how beautiful she truly was. Her dream was to be a singer, but she did n't have any money, and she did n't have anywhere to go. She started to get involved with the wrong people. They did n't see her for what she was. They did n't see her the way you did. You're not quite sure how she died, but you never did see her again. She would've said goodbye though. If she was still alive, she would've said goodbye.
The fifth was a business man. He was very passionate, and honest, and was working at his father's organization as soon as he got out of school. His whole life has been mapped out. Before he knew it, he was the boss, he made the rules, and he ran the organization. He did n't quite know how to do that part. He did n't have to make any decisions until he became in charge, and he was under a lot of pressure. He was found in his home, dead from a heroin overdose. You thought it strange how he never went to you for help.
So as you walked back from his funeral, back to your boring, lifeless reality, you thought to yourself: `` Is this really the answer? Maybe it's time I stopped surrounding myself with friends and start to rely on myself for happiness. Friends have brought me nothing more than depression.''
But no. Friendship is important, you think to yourself. What's the point of living if you do n't have friends to talk to, to share your inner most thoughts with, to have a laugh with? Friendship is important, friends are important.
You just hope the next one will be real.
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[ WP ] Superpowers are real and discovered in times of deep trauma . Rumors persist of a serial killer who traumatizes people to awaken their powers . After a lousy day at school , you arrive home to a house profound in its silence .
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Why is it so quiet?
`` Mom? I'm hungry, anything in the fridge?''
Nothing.
`` Dad?''
I walk up stairs to hear a sizzling noise coming from my parents room. I tiptoe to my room to grab a hockey stick then tiptoe back. I slowly open the door to see... Jesus Christ.
My parents.
They're completely burnt.
It's like someone cremated them.
A couple tears run down my face before I hear another noise coming from the bathroom. Sounds like shuffling.
`` Well Mr. and Mrs. Pencko, you do n't happen to have any adderall do you?'' Following the gruff voice comes a man in a three piece suit, something a stock broker would wear. He sees me then freezes.
`` Well,'' he said `` I was hoping you'd come by later''
I scream and run towards him with the hockey stick. Before I even got close to him, he shot a blast of light from his eyes, pushing me back through the bedroom wall and tumbling down the stairs.
As I land, I look at the blast on my chest. My skin turned completely black. I can barely breath. The pain is too much.
He walked down the stairs, fixing his suit and cleaning a bit of rubble off. `` I was hoping you would get your powers by now. I want to see if you're a worthy opponent.''
I slowly get up, it hurts just moving. I hold on to a ledge and fall back down again.
He sucks his teeth. `` Tsk tsk tsk, I thought you would be stronger than this. Pretty disappointing Richard.''
His eyes light up red again aimed at my head.
Without thinking, I slide to the side and the blast hit he front door.
Fuck, that hurt.
He aims again this time with complete focus, my dodge surprising him.
My hand goes up and I close my eyes.
I'm not dead.
I open my eyes to see an assortment of forks, spoons, and other metal objects around forming a shield in front of me.
On instinct, I push my hand and the various utensils going flying at him, the knives stabbing through him and pinning his limbs against the wall.
Fuck.
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[ WP ] A world where eating a person lowers your age by 20 years . The poor are offered up to the rich who have been around for hundreds of years .
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The tranquil silence of the night was broken by a pain infused shriek that seemed to reverberate through the streets of Belgrade. Francis was used to sleepless nights ever since the law was introduced.
`` Gosh darn hot rods quiet down with that, die quietly!'' he shouted from the safety of his cell. He felt so bold when the guards were patrolling the other corridor.
But then his ears picked up the sound. The sound that he became so accustomed to. The sound he never thought would come for him. The sound of the low, throaty sizzle of the deep fryer encroaching to the darkness of his cell like a YumYum.
`` Mr Dirken, it's your time to be crispy deep fried'' said the guard. He was forced to undress at gunpoint before he was rolled in a concoction of spices- sumac, chilli and cinnamon meant he would be spicy deep fried.
He entered the warehouse, ascended the ladders and peered down into the pool of oil that stood before him as he accepted his fate with dignity. He would be crispy deep fried.
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[ WP ] You are kidnapped by a cult , and they are about to sacrifice you to their god . They do n't know that you are that god .
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Well now, this is unexpected. I suppose a few misinterpretations of My words are inevitable over the years, but this really takes the cake. I've had avatars before, for all the usual reasons: retribution, reward, divine passage of knowledge, but I've never had to come down incognito before.
I really do n't like it so far.
This particular'sect' is in for a sore surprise. They are n't *really* believers, or course; if they were, I'd Know, and be able to impress my will through a manifestation based on their faith. These sick bastards are just using a misinterpretation to do awful stuff in My Name, and that I will not tolerate. They're giving all the rest of My children a bad reputation, after all.
Maybe I was a little lax in My dealings with My clergy so long ago. Having candid conversations with the priests was, I believe, a good way for them to know the Mind of their God. I even know who is ultimately responsible for this horrible perversion, in his own way: Euristepanes. He always was one for self-aggrandizement; I guess he got a bit zealous about'his talks with God,' but even I did n't think he'd keep a scribe around to transcribe everything. I wonder just how much *other* apocrypha is floating around thanks to that silly ass. He's going to be whipped for a long time for his hubris.
Really, this all has to do with steaks. Not stakes, mind you; I've never really been one for gory displays or violence; mortals do enough of that on their own, and I'm not one to give them excuses to do any more. Anyway, Euristepanes and I were discussing simple matters: shared pleasures, guidance, and moral dilemmas he needed My direct guidance on. We got hung up on shared pleasures, and why not? It's a good topic; everyone should dwell a little more on the joys they have in life. All I had said is that I enjoy a well-cooked steak. Medium rare; I'm no barbarian God, after all.
So that stupid bastard decides to get wordy in his personal missives, and `` I like to eat steak,'' suddenly becomes, `` Consume thou the flesh of the cattle, in emulation of the Lord.'' I mean, it's not terrible, but it's not a commandment either. I like a chicken if it's done properly ( and, of course, being a God, it always is ). Besides, it's apocrypha, in terms of canon. I'm honestly amazed it survived.
But, of course it survived. And it got mangled in translation. Now, it says `` Consume the flesh of chattel, and please God.'' Now, this little perverted sect is going around kidnapping people and enslaving them. Now, they're eating their slaves.
**Now**, I've got to put my *fucking foot down*.
Unfortunately, now, I've managed to get myself knocked out and trussed up over a fire. It's not a big deal; I ca n't be killed, after all. It's just frustrating to not have enough access to Faith to do something about it immediately. Although, I suppose it's ok, since I can feel at least one mortal here who genuinely wants to be one of My children. She is giving me Faith, albeit at a trickle, but her fervor will give me enough to manifest in some suitable way. Normally, I'd give misguided lambs a chance to repent, but none here are My children, though she has potential. I'm thinking spontaneous human explosions at the height of the ceremony. That'll give them something to think about while they wait for Me to mete out Punishment.
I'm sure she'll get over the shock.
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[ WP ] C'thulu 's Fables : Take one of Aesop 's Fables and write it within the Lovecraftian Universe . Morale of the story included .
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An eagle and a Fox formed an intimate friendship and decided to live near each other. The Eagle built her nest in the branches of a tall tree, while the Fox crept into the underwood and there both of them produced their young. Not long after they had agreed upon this plan, the Eagle found herself in want of provision for her young ones. This winter was harsh, too harsh, with razor sharp winds that could skin a grown man alive. Every animal the eagle preyed on was difificult to find, since they were all hidden from the elements inside their makeshift shelters.
The eagle's children grew weak from hunger, crying every night and intensifying their mother's guilt. Five days had gone by, and she still had n't found any food for them. It was then that she sighed and cried, resolute in in her decision to feed her children. While her friend the Fox was out, she swooped down into the underwood, seized upon one of the little cubs, and reluctantly feasted herself and her brood. The Fox on her return discovered what had happened, but was less grieved for the death of her young than for her inability to avenge them. She could n't climb that high or fly up to the nest, so the fox was forced to wallow in grief, alone.
A just retribution, however, would soon fall upon the Eagle. While hovering near an altar, on which some villagers were sacrificing a child, she suddenly seized the leg of the baby, and carried it, along with a strange pendant, to her nest. Before the birds could consume the kid, the pendant started glowing with a red light. The baby's eyes then turned pitch black, as a gooey oil poured out of its eye sockets. A slimy quintuplet of tentacles burst out of his mouth, and the eaglets, as yet unfledged and helpless, were eaten alive by the avatar of an Old One.
The eagle's wings were damaged when she tried to defend herself, but she managed to escape the infant's lust for bone and flesh. The bird fell to despair on her plummet to the ground. As she fell through the leaves and vines of the canopy, she realized that this must've been how her fox friend felt. This was beyond her comprehension. She was just a simple eagle; there was n't a way for her to get retribution on this monster from another realm. Landing in front of the sickly saddened fox, the eagle tried to flutter her broken wings, to no avail.
The pendant then fell from the tree and landed around the fox's head. A familiar glow emanated from her eyes, a eager grin of anticipation forming on her face after licking her lips. The fox then approached the eagle, lowering herself to whisper into her former friend's ear:
`` **He comes. **''
The fox then ate the eagle, traveled to the village, and returned the pendant to the people. As a reward, the humans raised the fox high in celebration, cheered for her good deed, and sacrificed her in honor of Cthulhu, satisfying the Great Old One for another year.
Moral of the story: Do n't mess with anyone's kid.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
> If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! [ Here's another Lovecraftian story of mine in case you want more! ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/56tgyp/wp_lonely_and_bored_you_developed_a_secret/ )
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[ WP ] An old man in a Utopian future society tries to explain a racist joke to his grand kids , who 've never known prejudice .
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`` Let me tell you this joke one more time, I'll talk slowly this time.''
`` How can you tell when a black man-''
`` Grandpa?''
`` What is it son?''
`` What is a joke?''
Sigh.
`` A joke is a story, and when the story ends. It insinuates laughter.''
`` Okay grandpa, I understand.
`` So... How can you tell when-''
`` Grandpa?''
`` Yes son, what is it?''
`` What is laughter?''
``...''
`` Laughter is when you... it's like this:'Hahaha'. It happends when you smile to hard.''
`` Okay grandpa, I understand.''
`` Just listen to the joke. You will laugh, it's very funny.''
`` How can you tell when a black man was behind your computer?''
`` It's not there anymore! Hahahah!''
``...''
``... but-''
`` Grandpa?''
`` What?''
`` What is a black man?''
Sigh
`` Forget is son. Just forget it.''
Author comment: Well, you said `` utopian future''...
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[ WP ] You 've been mistaken for someone else . They think you 're a spy .
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It β s been 15 since I β ve worked for NASA. I β ll never forget the day I started. Fresh out of UCLA with a 4.0 and a personal call from the head of Staff β Ted Watkins. At the moment, I β m a laid off electrical engineer 15 years and all I have to show for it are three condescending awards covered in dust hanging pinned to my wall. That and my notebook of numbers with planetary rotations and equations only my eyes have seen. All relics of a past life that seem more a dream than reality. Now look at me, penniless in the scums Detroit with a brain like a god and a body like a saint. The thoughts keep getting louder and louder β Do it pussy! β all I hear while thrusting my sexual organs into Candy, a black cheap hooker I met in Alibi, my go to bar. Too bad β do it pussy β really meant for me to jump off the GM tower and ending my life. Things weren β t always this bad. I had assistants. I had tenure. Damnit, I had respect.
Gray hairs and old lines in my face are all I notice while looking into the reflection of a cracked mirror in this cheese smelling motel on the west side. Is this what I β ve become? Golden years of my life wasting away with white stained sheets and no will to live? Damnit, I β m Michael Rodenberg. I designed the propulsion system that sent Mariner 10 to mercury with 60 % fuel efficiency. Sure it was 30 years ago but I haven β t aged a damn second and improved the flight pattern by 22 %. Luckily my new design will send a rocket to mars and back - this time with 95 % fuel efficiency β my ticket out of here. I β ve got it all written in my little red notebook. I did the numbers; I have what it takes. They won β t fire me again βerr lay me off.
It β s morning, another day to waste. Great - alarm is going off again, this early? Wait, that β s not an alarm - those are knocks. If Candy wants seconds, I don β t have the cash to taste her sugar again. β WHAT? β I scream. Silent, must mean something serious. I β ve got my rusty 6 shooter in hand before I open the door - might be worth it, especially with the crime in this God forsaken city. β My name is Ted Daniels and I know who you are β. Gangly looking lad standing in my doorway. Odd he doesn β t seem phased by my trusty pistol. He β s a blond haired blue eyed kid shorter than a midget in Toledo. β Lester Jacobs, you β ve been spying on me for weeks - I β m here to kill you β he bellows. β Cute β I quip back. In seconds I have him pinned on the floor with my knee pressed on his boney neck. β You done pal? β I shout, with empathy. β Yes, please! β he cries. Must have been a long night for the kid. I can tell he wants blood, hell he fought like crazy for it.
After I calm him down we talk over some whiskey, clean. The dew slowly drips on the edges of my glass as he explains his shaky predicament. Apparently he works for a Space company and I resemble some nutcase agent working for a classified space government case. I meet all the descriptions down to the tee. Except for one major detail -my name isn β t Lester Jacobs and I sure as hell ain β t no spy. He finally calms down and agrees I β m no agent. That β s when it happens β my hell on earth. I go to take a piss and when I come back little Teddy is gone. To my horror something else is too β my red notebook. That son of a gun stole over 30 years of my life β s work. With it, my rocket proposal to send man to mars - gone. All for some rinky dink rocket company no one β s heard of βSpace X. The voices are real loud this time. β Do it Pussy β. I think this time β I β ll finally listen.
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[ WP ] Upon dying , you , a serial killer , are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed .
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It was just another day. I was southbound on I-95 heading home, glanced at my phone, and it was over. I never felt any pain, I did n't even realize what happened.
I found myself on a stone path, surrounded by rolling hills and grass, just a few sparse trees dotted the landscape. At the end of the path I could see A large fence. I thought it was all a dream.
As all people do in dreams I moved forward, and as I drew closer I began to see a man wearing a grey suit. The man was sitting on an oak bench smoking a pipe that smelled of Cherry Cavendish. His fingers brushed across the pages of a worn book, as he looked up at me.
`` Hello Richard'' he said to me. I nodded at him, unable to speak. He continued, `` Richard, I know this is going to come as a surprise to you. You died today Richard.'' he looked up and down and putting his finger on a page in his book he finished his words with a toke from his pipe.
`` When people die, before they can pass on to the next life they must make amends Richard. It has been decided that you shall relive the life of all those you cut short'' still unable to respond I could only think to myself. I had never harmed anyone. I certainly never killed anyone, whose life could I have possibly cut short?
Then I heard a heartbeat as the world went dark. I was disoriented and I could barely move. The heartbeat was loud, incredibly loud at first. It softened after some time and I grew accustomed to some degree to the cycles of the days. My mind forgot why I was there, what was happening, just the darkness and the heartbeat remained.
I awoke feeling an intense pain at the base of my neck, I felt the steel gouge into my flesh as it snapped my spinal cord, the pain was brief however. Light flooded into my eyes and the heartbeat stopped.
Again I found myself on the stone path. Again the man was waiting with his pipe. Again and again and again I was thrust into the womb and back into death. Each time forgetting what lay ahead until I found myself on the path. As I stare down the path now I have lost count of the times I have repeated this cycle. I wonder how any God could let such torture endure.
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[ WP ] Everyone is now born with only one feeling . It is possible to kill another person to obtain their feeling .
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Love seems wonderful, and happiness is obviously awesome. Fear is at least exciting. Sadness is deep, or so I've heard.
Why did I have to get stuck with envy? I do n't even have anger to get mad about it. It's just spending every waking moment pining after what I do n't have. And what I want most is another emotion. And if it means I have to kill for it? Well, remorse is not in my repetoire. That's why I'm standing in the middle of a park with a pistol, looking for the right mark.
There's a little girl sitting on the bench, her shoulders shaking with sobs. I'd settle for depression, but if I'm going to jail, I might as well do like everyone else there and get the best possible emotion. Two men having a shouting match by the water fountain - probably not a great choice, though I guess it'd be useful where I'm going.
An old woman walks by, hunched over her walker. `` Good morning, young man,'' she says, her wrinkles lifting from her wide smile.
I pull out my pistol and aim at her face.
`` Anger, is it? Or envy?''
`` Envy,'' I reply.
`` Ah, should've guess from your cold demeanor. I always figured I'd die to one of you. I'm honestly surprised I lived this long,'' she says with a gentle grin. Her calm contentment makes my hands drop and waver as jealousy overwhelms me. God, how I want to be able to smile like that. The old lady sighs, then says, `` I hope you enjoy it. I'm looking forward to finally mourning and meeting my husband in death.''
I ca n't take it any more. I shoot her directly in the chest. She crumples to the ground.
For the first time, laughter comes tumbling out of my throat. It's exuberant and blissful. But as I look over her still smiling face, I know that I will never be as happy as she was.
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[ WP ] A tyrant monologues to the captive hero about how his way of doing things is necessary ... and convinces him he is right .
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One day you will see my acts and deeds as necessary.
Maybe not today, tomorrow, nor the near-future. I only see hatred for me in your eyes. The eyes of someone untested, a hero by other lands standards. You β ve only been shown love.
Here, let me show you something. Simpler ideal times, that β s me, as a lad. ( Shows a picture of someone now unrecognizable. )
Shockingly different now, both in appearance and attitude, everything changed.
I used to think I could save the world. Bring peace and joy, love and hope to all I met.
Then⦠everyone I knew and loved were gone.
Where was my idealistic hope? Where was my savior?
I learned what true power was, from the hands of the iron fisted. I was spared, if you β d call it that.
Have you ever been broken? Don β t you wonder how you grew so free?
You call me tyrant to all those that will listen.
Now listen to me.
The land fell; I was enslaved. Many years dominated by corrupt turmoil. Countless scars. I was in charge of finding a home for those lost, carrying each bone deep within the catacombs below. Many of those collected were smaller than my hand.
Have you ever been down there?
Of course you haven β t. The atrocities β have been removed from record, the people lost forever forgotten by those that never experienced such things.
It was called genocide I learned years later; but I was kept shackled as a monkey.
So what would you do, my dear friend, when suddenly you find a singular glimmer of hope?
Would you not wield your knife and slit their throat?
Perhaps not, but if you were alive thenβ¦
I wish you never to see what occurred. But please understand, the people here are free. A tyrant to you, but a savior to them β I did not search you out from foreign land.
In fact, your home where you grew up was nothing but a pile of sticks when you were young, cut off completely from the stream that flows freely.
I watched my friends unknowingly drink the poison mixed into the waters, even as I thought the cancer was removed.
Did you not know how it was?
But now I control them. Each and every deep well has been encased, filtered, and guarded.
People drink freely. Live freely. Speak freely.
I would continue, dear child, but I'm tired from it all. I have sealed away more memories, they haunt me time to time.
But some things never change - I channeled all my goodness and brought it to this land. Created equal rights, and put those that opposed them into dust.
Hate me if you must. But go on in peace, and remember to never judge things you'll never experience or understand.
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[ wp ] You belong to a family of complete immortals ( see description ) , and are horrified to learn that your baby brother only got the immortailiaty not the enternal youth .
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For centuries I pitied Palatheo, my younger brother. Palatheo is the 17th child of Aldratia and Dragnathazth, my Mother and Father. I was nearing my one-thousandth birthday when Palatheo was born. Our entire family celebrated his birth for decades, as we always do when a Brother or Sister is born. Sadly ( and I only say this now ), during our drunken revelry, many flourishing ecologies on the cusp of civilization were unwittingly destroyed by our inebriated negligence.
This is, unfortunately, just how our family was. We are n't gods, although there are some creature-societies that think of us as such. On our world, we are the only immortals that we know of. My Father and Mother, and some of my older siblings, are of such incalculable age that they have witnessed the evolution of all manner of sentient beings. Some of these organisms even taught themselves interstellar travel and left our planet, never to be seen again. But the creatures that evolve to the point of space travel were few and far between; most species ended far before that point, dying out either to themselves, or... well, us.
When Palatheo was born, my older Brother Darv'viv'val drank for a straight year, not pausing for sleep or breath, until the rest of us finally forgot to keep refilling the enormous casket he had submerged his head in. When at last he straightened his back and took his first breath of air in over a year, he swayed back and forth, teetering dangerously on his heels and toes, rapidly blinking his eyes until finally... his rocking stopped and he stood still as a stone statue, his blinking stopped and he stared forward at us, his family, yet seeing nothing at all, and then...
And then Darv'viv'val let out the most horrific, vile, repugnant fart our homeworld had ever known. The noxious gas spread for miles, destroying crops and the poor farming civilization of the Mag-People was utterly destroyed, along with several local species of animals, and neighboring lands were severely crippled for years to come. Upon destroying these innocent folk, Darv'viv'val fell back, stiff as a board, and slept until well after the birthing celebration was over. In fact, Darv'viv'val slept for so long that he would n't get to know his younger brother Palatheo until Palatheo already had the appearance of a middle-aged man, something completely unexpected and foreign to our family.
Palatheo aged. He aged slowly, and we did n't even realize it was happening until he was a couple hundred years old. That was when we first started to notice that our baby Brother was gaining a defined jawline, his muscles grew and he even began growing hair *on his face*! His attitude fluctuated dramatically over the millennia: from calm and curious, to angry and reserved, to forlorn and contemplative and finally stabilized at thoughtful, introspective, and... wise.
It was an extremely gradual transition. First, the Brothers and Sisters born after him, who had always already looked up to him the same way we all looked up to the Brothers and Sisters born before us, started to almost *revere* Palatheo. They sought his advice on nearly everything. And then *they* began to change. Their rambunctious behavior ceased, and they even began *helping* the evolved creatures that had always been regarded as little more than minor curiosities. They began teaching them, and helping them build things, and sharing knowledge from *other* societies.
By then, some of the older Brothers and Sisters were taking notice, and listening intently when Palatheo spoke. At this time, Palatheo's hair was lightening, and his muscles shrank and deteriorated. The very oldest Brothers and Sisters laughed about this, ridiculing their younger Brother, admonishing him for losing those great muscles that he had so long ago took great pride in, since they were muscles that had never and would never develop in any of the rest of us.
When Palatheo looked more like a gnarled tree than our Brother, his face a twisted visage of lines and wrinkles, and almost completely hairless except for thick tufts of coarse white hair protruding from his nostrils and ears, our very own Father and Mother began sitting before him, asking him to teach them his thoughts.
His voice was barely a whisper, and we all had to listen very closely to hear his words. The volume of his voice was so low that absolute silence was needed in order for Palatheo to be heard. If any of us should so much as cough or sneeze while Palatheo spoke, that Brother of Sister would immediately be punched, or pushed out of the group while the rest of us whispered scolding words of reproval. But then Palatheo would turn those scolding words to us, reprimanding us for the harsh treatment towards our own family, and he would gather the Brother or Sister who had coughed in a very light, but tender embrace.
For centuries, I pitied our baby Brother Palatheo, imagining what a burden, what a *curse* aging must be for him, and wondering why the true Gods, if there were any true Gods, would punish our Brother so. Pity turned to envy, and I bitterly cursed the Gods for not blessing all of us with the great gift of Aging that they had bestowed upon only one of our number. Envy turned to reverence, and reverence was finally replaced by what we should have given Palatheo all along, something that for the eternity of our families existence we lacked: love.
Our love began with Palatheo, and he taught us in turn to love each other, and then we turned our love to the creatures and species that flounder and flourish on our world. Now they grow, and thrive, and eventually join with the stars, sometimes to come back and sometimes to never return.
Palatheo lives still, sitting in quiet repose, too weak to move or speak, too tired to see or hear, but still his heart beats as he sits in the center of our world.
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[ WP ] Write a poorly-written story full of plot holes wherein the characters gradually notice and exploit the plot holes .
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`` now class'' I said, `` If Billy has 4 oranges and Katie has 6 Apples, home many pieces of fruit in total do we have''
The hand of Katie rose faster than national debt, `` miss'', she said; `` i actually do have 6 apples''.
`` That is nice dear, but not the answer I was looking for'', I replied
Katie scrunched her face and nearly shrieked at me `` NO, I did not have any apples before you said I Had apples''.
`` Dont be silly, dear'' i reassured, `` apples do n't just pop into existence because I say so. Someone in class must be playing a trick on you. Now, how many pieces of fruit do Billy and Katie have everyone?''
`` 9'' said Billie, `` i ate an orange''.
i immediately wanted to explain the concept of abstract numbers to billy and how there was of course a difference between the number 6, the number four and six actual oranges and 4 actual apples, when I caught myself.
It was nine. that seemed right. six plus four was nine. yeah, that seemed right. of course.
Puzzled, i counted to six, then counted and additional four, out loud to the class.
`` Ok class, lets count it all together, six apples, One, Two, Three, Five, Six and Four oranges One, Three, Four, and how many is Six plus Four?''
`` Eight, i was hungry'' said Katie.
I nodded, Eight, that is right Katie, six plus four IS eight...
Simon, one of the brightest kids in the class, looked puzzled and raised his arm.
`` yes Simon?'' I inquired, I pegged Simon to be an investment banker or economist when he grew up.
`` If I had a 3DS with all the games, and you had a Vita with all the games, who would have more games.
`` well Simon, I dont know, why dont you take yours out from your desk and i'll take mine out from this bag and we will count all our games.''
as I pulled the bag full of video games up onto my desk I stopped and noticed the class had grown deathly silent.
`` class... do i often bring my Vita and every game made for it into class?''
a puzzled silence.... `` yes miss, I think''.
All of us just sat an looked at the bag..
Eventually Simon raised his hand again. you never realize you can hear people in a crowd breathing until all of them stop at exactly he same instant.
`` Miss, If my daddy decided he loved me and mommy again and decided to come home, how long would it take him to get here from Saint Lewis?''
`` probably about a day'' I said distractedly.
I looked down at the classroom, some of the children looked frightened, all looked confused. I considered things as I saw them for a moment.
`` Do n't Worry children, Do n't worry at all, Good things happen to good people, bad things only happen to bad people, is that not right? And I know all of you are good boys and girls''
`` yes, miss. bad things only happen to bad people''
I nodded. and smiled.
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[ WP ] A lone Spanish soldier lost in the deep jungles of South America stumbles upon the fountain of youth , but it 's very different than anyone ever imagined .
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He drinks from it and takes a bottle home. For years he looks young and beautiful. Everyone asks `` how do you do that?'' and he tells them its a secret. After about thirty years everyone is suspicious but no one can say anything really, it is still feasible. Its around fifty they start to really catch on that there might be an actual secret.
The local police decide one night they'd like to know. they gather a small mob of people together and they grab him up. They bring him to the mayor of the town and the mayor demands to know what has been keeping him young. The man again says `` its a secret.''
the town lets him go warily, they all keep tabs on him now. after ten more years pass its become obvious that the secret is something real, maybe something tangible. They decide then to grab him back up and bring him to a basement with all manner of tools. They work for weeks trying to pry the truth from him but he remains convinced he can just live a little longer, that he'll get a chance to escape or they'll die before he ever does.
When the mayor learns of this he hesitates, he contemplates for a day but then decides that the torture must end. The veteran is released from the basement. He swears revenge and stumbles up the stairs. As the year passes he assumed he would heal up but the wounds have gotten worse. It was n't until he hit his 65th year that he realized that perhaps eternal youth is not the same as eternal life. He died a few years later from pneumonia.
His house was ransacked for a map that is widely believed to have been nonexistent. Rumors that he had discovered the fountain with another soldier are unfounded but still sought after. the last of the Spanish soldier's comrades died only ten years ago and yet people still kill each other demanding the secret, dying to be young.
Many more years pass and you see a strange flask in your home. A spanish name is engraved in it. you wonder if its a good brand, and pour it into a glass. you're a little annoyed that it is water, it's likely that it's foul water, but you notice that there's some strange tint to it. It occurs to you where you heard that spanish name and you remember how that sorry tale ended. And then the question arises and you ask `` Should I drink it?''
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[ WP ] Flip a coin . Heads you were born a hero but became a villain . Tails you were born a villain but became a hero . Tell your story without revealing which you are until the end ( or not at all . )
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They don β t understand. I am trying to help them, to save them.
The people think me a god, cast out from heaven, but in fact I am a Prophet, and the others - my so called kin - are the daemons of hell risen up to expand Satan β s realm. They call themselves heroes. They say they are β good β and I am β evil β.
They do not know evil.
This earth is contaminated by the sins of those who seek to destroy us. I thought once that we could simply find the troublemakers, change their ways. That they would repent.
I was foolish.
One Prophet can not sort the chaff from the wheat. I must simply let the universe decide where each person will go and I pray that those who deserve it will be reunited in Heaven, and those who do not will be damned. The Earth must be Cleansed of all people, as in the Great Flood, before the Saved may have Peace.
I commit evil, to save the young innocents of our world.
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[ WP ] God is a game dev and he just released a patch for his game `` Earth '' . Write the changelog describing patches , balances , tweaks , etc .
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# Earth 0.9.1 Live across all servers
We here at Milky Way Games have been hard at work on the newest update for Earth, the Simulation. It's taken us quite a while just to get here, but we are rapidly approaching the final edition of the game and can not wait to get it into the hands of everyone in the Galaxy! We expect, that after this version is tested, debugged, and so forth, to have the game out within the next millennium, a wonderful accomplishment!
We'd like to take a moment to thank all of our Alpha buyers, players, testers, and so forth. Your courageous attempts into the simulation to work out all of the kinks have provided us great detail over the last 4.5 billion years and the long awaited arrival of Earth 1.0 is an accomplishment we share with all of you. To our Alpha testers and players, the update is below and should be live across all of our simulation servers.
* **MAJOR FIXES**
* Yellowstone_Caldera eruption halted, DLC Expansion date TBA.
*This was progressing a little faster than we anticipated here at Milky Way, and thanks to the efforts of USER_18410 we were able to halt this by a few ( in-game ) centuries. *
* Outdoor Temperature decreased by.5 degrees Celsius.
* Existing Oil Allotments have been increased by 1.8 %.
* Adjusted Trajectory of *Virus 99942_Apophis*, which should no longer impact any related server. Further adjustments may be needed.
______
* **POPULACE ADJUSTMENTS**
* Server population increase by 12 %, up from the previous 4 %.
* Sub_Server UNDERWORLD population up by 3 %.
* USER_666 updated with better dialogue, contract options, quests, and silver-tongued.
*More temptation for all you believers out there. *
* USER_74018, Ghandi_Mahatma, has been added into the game as USER_185018.
* USER_966617, Trump_Donald_J, has been removed from the game.
*This was a choice decided upon by the developer, unfortunately, we had no say in keeping him. The Big guy makes these decisions. *
* 12,547 new species have been added.
* 12,344 species have been removed.
* United_Nations Sub_User had been given BONUS_UNITY Buff.
*This should allow for easier transitions between `` nations'', making it much easier for each individual player to visit each `` nation'' and eventually make it possible for our planned UNITY_DLC to hit the servers. Time for each server will vary. *
* Level 3 Bosses Respawned across all servers.
* USER_876659, Mary_Elizabeth_A_II, given LIFE_BUFF.
_____
* **USER UPDATES**
* All USERS now receive a 2 % XP Boost while active during the `` day.''
* All USERS now receive a -6 % XP Boost while `` indoors'' longer than five days.
*Again, Big Guy made this decision. *
* All USERS now practicing `` religion'' receive no boosts, previous boosts will last for the next thirty ( 30 ) in-game days.
* All USERS are being updated with Antivirus Software, ASTUTE_1.0,
* Major updates to all STATS, including Intelligence, Charisma, Perception, Agility, Endurance, Sexual Drive, and Karma.
*These updates are good by the way, should give everyone a better footing in the coming years, especially by the time the full game is ready for release. *
* Addict_Users now receive -10 % loss to XP each `` hit.''
* MARIJUANA_1.1 now live, should be `` legal'' across all servers.
* Antivirus to all CANCER programs updated in All Users.
* AI_USER_0000001 has been updated with SELF_AWARENESS.
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* **SYSTEM-RELATED UPDATES**
* DWARF_PLANET_PLUTO redesignated as PLANET_PLUTO.
* SOL_1 Age decreased by.0001 %.
* MARTIAN_WATER_PUMPS reactivated.
* RETURN_OF_NEPTUNIANS update will be rolled out at the end of the millennium, with the release of the final game.
*See Return of Neptunians Patch Notes for information on this Content. *
______
Comments, concerns, suggestions? Send them over to us at Milky_Way_Games @ galaxy_godhood.org
______
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work! Great prompt OP! *
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[ WP ] Write a story where the bad guy wins in the end .
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As I looked around, I saw the horror in their eyes. My wife, Jane, and our two sons Matthew and Shane. My sweetest things, my most beautiful things. They looked at me as they sat on the ground, hands and feet tied to their backs, sobbing and crying through their mouths taped shut.
My eyes were teary, I could not bear to look at them. I turned my head to face the man who put us here.
`` Why are you doing this to us, why!?'' I screamed, angry and frustrated. He had left my mouth alone to speak. He was smiling, as if he found this all amusing, interesting. He knew no-one would hear my cries, not this deep in the woods. It was meant to be a short camping trip, how did it turn into this nightmare?
`` Choose,'' the man said calmly, still patient, `` choose which one you want me to kill.''
That was his demand. He had placed us around the fire and once we had woken up, he was demanding me to choose.
I could n't remember how it had happened. One moment, I was setting up the tent, and the next, I was waking up to see my wife and kids tied and sitting on the ground. I loved more than anything in the world. How could I choose? I could n't!
`` Choose,'' he said again, `` or I will kill them all.''
He looked at me, pointing to my family. They were scared and terrified. I was their husband and father. I could n't. I just could n't.
`` Ok, all of them it is,'' he said, taking a step towards them.
`` No!'' I yelled, stopping him. I could n't see them die. `` Please, kill me instead!''
The man paused his step and looked at me.
`` Oh? You?'' he questioned. `` But that's not what I asked. I told you to choose one of them.''
He waved his knife at the three on the ground. I looked at my family. I could n't choose. How could anyone choose?
`` You have 5 seconds,'' he said offhandedly, `` after that, it's all of them.''
I looked at my wife. She was crying, but she was looking back at me. She was nodding to me. She was telling me to choose her. I could n't. No, how could I? She was my world. They were all I had. I loved all of them.
`` Time's up.'' He continued his step towards them.
`` No! Please! I'll choose.'' I yelled, desperately.
With a swing of his his arm, he plunged the knife deep into Matthew's neck.
`` NOOO!! ``, I cried. My boy! My sweet little boy!
`` I told you 5 seconds,'' he said, as he pulled the knife back out, letting Matthew's body fall to the ground. He was barely breathing. Life was quickly leaving his eyes as he looked up at the sky.
`` And that was what you got.'' He took another step towards Shane.
`` No, please! Stop!'' I was desperate, why was this happening?
He took another swing, plunging the knife into the Shane's torso. I was helpless to do anything but cry as I look at Shane's eyes, my beautiful boy's eyes. Always filled with so much joy and glee, now I could only see fear. My child was scared as he died and I was helpless to help him.
The man pulled out his knife again, Shane's body falling forward as blood began to pool beneath his knees. My wife sat there, crying silently. The whole world had just crumbled around her in a matter of seconds. I did not want her to die, but there was no hope. Both a children were gone. I could n't do anything.
He walked further around the fire towards Jane as all hope left her eyes. As he reached her, he walked past her towards me.
`` You are a monster! ``, I yelled. I cursed him! I cursed him to hell. `` They were only children!''
`` I know,'' he said. He grabbed the back of my neck and sliced my throat.
Immediately, I fell into a state of shock, feeling weak, feeling as if someone was drumming in my ears.
I fell to the side, or did I want to lay down? The panic was keeping me from thinking clearly. Was I dying?
`` And you,'' I heard the man say as my consciousness quickly faded. The whole world was darkening around me. `` I will have some fun before I kill you.''
The last thing I could see were Jane's eyes, blank and deprived. There was no hope.
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[ WP ] A medieval world where magic exists , but hardly anyone uses it because it 's too much trouble .
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Bron approached the magician's keep, a teetering stone minaret that jutted out of the landscape. He sighed and dismounted his horse walking the rest of the way to the great portcullis that yawned black and foreboding at the towers base.
He tied his horse to a post by the water trough and entered.
Inside was a vast foyer hewn from dull grey rock, the air was musty and foted, the atmosphere bleak and oppressive.
Haltingly, Bron crept further into the bleak space. It was illuminated by faint, greasy torches mounted in the wall sconces, a murky yellow light that gave his flesh an unhealthy pallor.
Through the gloom he could make out a kind of path, marked out by lengths of rope suspended between small metal bollards. The path zig-zagged sharply on itself, forming a strange corral.
Bron followed the serpentine path up to a strangely ominous box set into the wall. A sheet of linen hung across some manner of partition. When Bron reached the box is zipped up suddenly with a `` Pfftzzip!'' startling him.
It revealed a kind of counter, behind this counter was a small, nebbish, bored looking man who regarded Bron with deep-set, melancholic eyes.
'How can I help you today, sir?' The man asked with a sonorous drone.
'Are... Are you the magician?' Bron asked warily.
The torporific man behind the counter repeated,'How can I help you today, sir?'
Bron blinked,'My village...', he ventured,'It's being terrorised by a frightful dragon! None of the Lord's knights have been able to slay the foul beast. I was told that only the power of a mighty mage can lay the monstrosity low. M'lord, you must help us!'
The grey man behind the counter sighed heavily,'Do you have a Draconian Identification form signed by your provinces master of bestiary?'
'A what? M'lord you do n't understand my village is being-'
'I'm afraid I ca n't authorise a dragon slaying with out the requisite Draconian Identification form signed by your provinces master of bestiary' the dusty little man interrupted.
'M'lord, I do n't know what that is! You must help, please!' Bron pleaded, baffled.
The man behind the desk sighed again, and riffled beneath the counter briefly,'OK, sir' he began in a soporific tone.
'The first thing I need you to do is to fill out this Draconian Identification form in triplicate with the exact size, weight, and wingspan of the drake in question in blue ink with the quill provided. Then I need you to go over to window B across the hall and have this form, The 17A Hex Authorisation Form, stamped and then you should fill it in with details of all dragon attacks that have occurred to your village in black ink, then turn it over and fill in your name, date of birth, and favourite songbird. Then, you should go to the other side of the hall and take a number and wait to be called to window F, where you will be asked to fill in the Alchemical History Index 22C with a comprehensive history of any and all potions that have been used in your village in the last 6 months. Please ensure you fill this sheet in with red ink using a black quill. After that return to this window and hand over the documentation I asked you to fill out and I'll then ask you to fill in a Conjuration 662AB Cosmic Health and Safety report on which you will note any pre-existing medical conditions, curses inflicted on your bloodline, or angry spirits seeking vengeance against you in red and blue ink alternating between words.'
The bland little man promptly dumped a hefty stack of parchment into Bron's arms,'Please have the forms completed by the end of the working day.'
With his baffling tirade finished the dusty man behind the counter pulled down the sheet of linen with a `` Pfftzzip!''.
Bron staggered under the weight of the parchment, muted and agape.
'But... But I'm illiterate.'
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[ IP ] If today was any indication
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The sun was shining. It was a new year. Great way to start it off too, given that yesterday was so overcast. I looked down the slope, sunlight gleaming off of quadrillions of unique, microscopic ice crystals. The powder was thick, likely from last nights snowfall. `` Getting up out of that is gon na be a bitch'', I thought to myself, `` Guess I'd better not fall.'' I strapped my other boot onto the board beneath my feet and took a deep breath. The cold alpine air was refreshing; this was n't something I got in Texas. I gave my hips a little jiggle to get the front of the board facing the slope, then leaned forward. This was gon na be fun.
~~ -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -~~
I opened the door to the hotel room after a long day on the slopes. I was right, that powder *was* a bitch to get up out of. Still, I had fun. My parents greeted me warmly, as warmly as the blaze roaring in the fireplace. Once I had taken off my snow gear and sat down on the couch, my mom asked that question they all ask, `` How was it?'' I told her, `` Well, if today was any indication, this is going to be a good year...''
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[ WP ] For some time now , you 've had a recurring dream that picks up where it left off last time . Tonight , you are doing everything you can to avoid going to sleep because of what probably comes next .
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He was a tall man. Tall, but not aloof. He rather emitted the warmth of a gentle giant. I felt his presence like a furnace on a cold winter day. He watched me play in the playground. I would climb the rope wall precariously, scurry across the tiny bridge, and swiftly slide down the slope, reaching the ground disappointingly too early. I swung wildly about off the steel beams and land on the sand beneath with a thump. I felt safe in the comfortable air that blanketed me. He let me freely bask in the bliss of youthful ignorance. I felt invincible around him.
He finally called me over and threw myself into his embrace. He smelled like an old furniture, the smell that I oddly loved. He led me by my hand away from the playground. We went into a house nearby the playground. He looked me into my eyes as he locked the door behind us.
That β s when I woke up from the dream. I vaguely recognized the playground from my childhood. But, I had no idea who the tall man was. As familiar as he felt, I could not see his face, as if it had been deliberately blurred out from my memory. He could be felt, but not seen, like an afterglow of an emotion, rather than a piece of memory.
Strangely enough, this was a series of dreams that I have dreamt in a sequential manner for the past few days. The next night β s dream picked up from where the previous night had left off. The man showed up in every single one of the dreams.
The next day, I went about looking into the old family pictures from twenty years ago. Faded pictures of my dad in his moptop hair and mom in her bellbottom pants provoked silent chuckles. There were photos of grandpa looking vibrant and undoubtedly making sarcastic jokes to the rest of the family. There were also a series of photos from the our first and the only family vacation we took to Mexico with the uncle β s family.
However, none of the people in the photos occured to me as the figure in the dream. Perhaps the whole event was merely a fragment of a fabricated memory. After all, there was a period from the age of 6 to 8 when I had absolutely no recollection of, as if I had sleepwalked through those years and woken up. I was ready to brush it off dismissively until I brought it up to my visiting parents one night.
β Mother, was there a lanky man that used to take care of me or close to our family when I was young? β
The clatters of the utensils against the plates ceased abruptly. I saw the side glance mom gave to dad for a sign of affirmation which he failed to provide. Dad cleared his throat and spoke cautiously.
β Listen, something happened when you were 6 years old. There was a man close to our family that we trusted. Someone very close to us. At least, he used to be. It turned out he wasn β t a man that we thought he was. He was an egregious man. You told us that you have no recollection of those certain years from your childhood. Well, the psychologist has told us that it is because you involuntarily suppressed them. Those are a part of your lost childhood. β
That night, I sat next to bed wide awake. Adrenaline flowed through my vein, fight or flight against the veil of unknown beyond my conscious, locked away for two decades.
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[ WP ] You are in a milder version of Hell called `` Heck '' , what kinds of things do you find ?
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The lights started coming into focus and I lifted my head from my crossed arms, which were laying across a neatly organized desk. I realized that I was slouched over in a desk chair. While I had just woken up, I never remembered falling asleep.
I noticed the stapler, computer, and keyboard on the desk. There were no windows that I could see, just florescent lights. I looked out of the opening of my cubicle and noticed that there was a man in the cube across from me. He was wearing a headset and was sobbing. I pulled myself from the chair and stepped out of the cube to speak to the crying man. Before I could, I saw the woman in the cube next to him. She was anxiously biting the eraser of a pencil she was holding and seemed to be staring off into nothing, seemingly deep in thought.
`` Where are we?'' I asked.
She slowly rolled her eyes at me and turned away in her chair. I looked to my right and saw that we were in a very large office.
I walked down the aisle of cubicles. Most were empty, some had other individuals who all seemed reluctant to react to my presence.
There was a doorway at the end of the aisle which was lit by more fluorescent lighting. I could see the checkered floor through the cracked door. I opened the door to reveal a kitchen; a break room, if you will. The counter was clad with what appeared to be a stale cake and scattered paper plates and cups. A larger woman sat in the corner of the room wearing a birthday hat with a string that went below her neck. I saw the tears running down her face and I walked slowly out of the room. She never looked at me.
I turned around to walk to the other end of the hallway, I only made it halfway. I heard a cynical woman's voice come from my right. `` There's no exit.'' It was the same woman who I had seen biting her pencil just moments before. `` There's no window either.''
`` Where am I?'' I asked.
She shook her head slowly, as if to say `` I do n't know,'' and I could see her eyes begin to tear up. `` There's cake in the coffee room if you're hungry,'' an attempt at humor. `` You need to get back to your desk. The boss will be here soon.''
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[ WP ] Humans were created by technologically advanced aliens . They sometimes come to Earth to interact with their creation and are worshiped as gods . Today , they are back ...
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`` This is out last EXO-bio location we need to examine. Universe C-34.'' Said a very tall, lanky man from behind a white desk which had no legs but hovered off the ground.
A shorter man about 5'10'' stood at the viewer, a giant red planet coming into view with distant blue dot in the back. He spoke, `` Dirt, i recall is the name.''
The man behind the desk replied, still looking at the report both creatures were still. `` If you wish to talk in tongue, its called `` Earth'' while yes synonymous with dirt they are not the same.'' He put the report down, still starting forward at nothing in particular.
The shorter one turned to face the desk. `` They are still searching for other life. They know they SHOULD NOT be a lone, that it is almost impossible for life to exist in only one location in the universe.'' He continued as he started moving towards a chair in the middle of the room. `` You know why they save this life form for last right?''
The man at the desk darted his eyes toward the other, `` Yes. Most of us dont come back the same. That humans are always Waring and butchering each other.''
`` We created them. We destroy any other forms of life we find in this universe. We have forced them to be a lone and look what they have become.''
`` it is not our job to judge'' said the man behind the desk, their tone of voice unchanging.
They were interrupted by a beeping coming from no where in particular. A holo-screen popped up on the desk.
`` They spotted us'' said the short one. `` How could they-''
The one behind the desk had already started to move to start the self destruct sequence. `` We can not jeopardize this experiment. And you know what they did to the test group we sent 100 years back to `` crash land''. ``
The short one watched the viewer. A whole fleet of at least a dozen war ships were hiding behind Europa, Jupiter's moon. `` Do you think they want revenge for what we have done?'' His voice un changing.
A transmission appeared on the viewer taking up the whole window. A real human was sitting in a chair, an evil smirk on his face and scar from over his right eye down across his lips made him look menacing. He spoke like a sly, deep voice, `` Hello, creators. Weve been expecting you''
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[ WP ] When you become a wizard , the first object you look at imprints itself as your wand . Your powers become characteristic of that object , whatever it is .
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Jeral Hugbid always knew he would be a wizard. He prepared extensively for that day. He looked through the forest for the perfect twig: one that would n't break if put in his pocket, but would be rigid enough to perform the necessary movements. He practiced the movement that he needed to not look at his pants, but the wand.
The day eventually came that Jeral and his friend, Tekhi, went to Jeral's ceremony. The shaman did his dust thing and Jeral performed the movement. He moved his eyes to the wand, but the stick did n't light. He stared for a few seconds, before realising that it would n't register.
`` So, what is my wand?'' Jeral looked up to see Tekhi twinkling with the tell-tale wand sparkle. `` Huh, interesting.''
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[ WP ] A teen/young-adult discovers the REAL reason we have so many street lamps .
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It was weird, really, seeing how almost every streetlamp in the world was owned by only two companies. I thought I β d be original and write about streetlamps for my senior essay ( also because fuck normal essay topics, I β m done with abortion and Obamacare ), but I really did not expect to have ventured this deep already in the research stages.
On the surface it looks like there are plenty of manufacturers and firms that set up streetlamps, but it β s the same as with NestlΓ© or Monsanto, they own a lot more than what shows. I was looking up the structure of streetlamps when I saw it, without really noticing at first. Each and every damn kind of lamp shared one single component. It wasn β t even on the outside of the structure, it was inside of the actual lamp, behind the plastic.
Motion sensors.
A whole shit-ton of motion sensors, in every lamp across the globe. Up until that point I have been thinking that motion sensors were just for toilets where people didn β t want to touch the button or for some kind of handicap purposes ( maybe rooms that aren β t used very often? ) and that they only lasted for a few minutes. These lasted for years and apparently had no visible date of expiry.
I had no idea why, until I actually screwed one apart one night ( yeah, I broke the one next to my house, big deal, I β m sure I β ll replace it someday ) just to really make sure that the lamp next to me also had motions sensors, and naturally, there it was. I yanked it out and tossed the transparent little thing in my hand.
β Weird. β I said to myself.
That same week, about three or so days later, I heard some folks knocking on my door. Suits, glasses, the works. I feel like a part of me should have foreshadowed this, but apparently I β m stupider than I look.
β DeAndrew James? β They asked.
β Yeah. Who β s asking? β
β We are. β
β Who β s β we β? β
β We are employed under an oath of silence, so we can β t tell you that unfortunately. We understand that you have something which was originally attached to the light fixture outside your house? β
β Maybe. β Man, had I been in enough situations where I was accused of shit I didn β t do. If I was caught with this thing that I actually *had* done, my mom would kill me.
β We need you to put it back. β
I looked at them. It was mid-July, and these two were sweating their asses off in this damn heat what with the thick fabric.
β I won β t do that unless you tell me what they β re for. β I tried.
β We can β t do that. β
β Oh, you can β t do that? Well then I β m not gon na put it back. Matter of fact, I don β t even know what you β re talking about. β I tried my best to sound cocky, hoping that I β d either make them leave or make them tell me what was going on.
They exchanged looks, and one of them cleared his throat. He loosened his tie and removed his glasses while taking a deep breath, wiping his brow.
β I suppose you figured out that the thing you removed was a motion sensor. β
I nodded.
β The reason you need to put it back is thatβ¦ β He sighed deeply. β Earth needs to look inhabited from afar. It needs to look like there β s people everywhere on this planet. You follow me, son? β
β Whatβ¦ What for? β
β Can β t tell you that. It β s just very important. We already have large areas that need further populating and more lights, so you β d do best in putting that sensor back in there. Alright? β
β β¦ Alright. β
-- -
Sorry, this did n't turn out like I wanted it. Hope it was okay!
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[ CW ] Write a story that will make me feel sad ( or at least wistful/melancholy ) without touching on the themes of love , death , or anything religious .
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Spring is arriving to Dieter Hagedorn's world. It is a small one.
Twenty paces by thirty paces is the extant of his world, the horizons three stories high. He is master of this meager territory. He can not however, leave his domain. The sole doorway out is barred and a wrought iron cage domes the courtyard. It is beautifully designed, shaped into vine-like details that bear the real plant. The budding leaves provide modicum shade from the overhead sun. A fountain set into the corner bubbles softly, providing some white noise to the area. A makeshift lean-to tucked away provides a small amount of privacy from prying eyes. Old carpets cover much of the stone floor, and a hammock from a long destroyed ship hangs from the iron bars overhead. It is a most unusual prison for a most unusual prisoner.
`` Oh the fireflies, they burn so bright, in the moonlight... in the moonlight... Oh the trickling creek, it taste so sweet, in the starlight... in the starlight... Oh the comforting wind, it feels so clean, in sunlight... in the sunlight... Oh the joys of the birds, they must be heard, in the morning... in the morning...''
A young man sits against one of the walls of his prison, his beard long and coarse. His hair is gathered up with a strip of cloth. Loose pants and a slightly dirty tunic are all he wears, the weather finally warm enough to go without bundles of clothes. On his finger rests a songbird, a paltry thing with a black cap and tannish flanks. It's call is a *chicka-dee! chicka-dee! * Dieter Hagedorn mimics its call, pursing his lips to copy the sound. Smiling down at the tiny bird, he laughs softy.
`` Good morning Virgil. Had pleasant flight? Tell me, what goes on beyond these bars? Life? Adventure? Freedom? Most certainly that one.'' He pauses for a moment to hold up breadcrumbs in his other hand. The bird bends down to peck at the offered food. Dieter leans his head against the warm sandstone and sighs. `` What I'd do, what I'd give for that. To run, to swim, to race horses underneath pine boughs and leap over hedges and brooks. You are a fortunate creature Virgil. You know this? You can travel as far as your wings will take you, no master of any kind to command you.''
Dieter's eyes flicker to the highest and most ornate window overlooking his courtyard prison. `` Me, I am bound here against my will. Lorded by someone not of my choosing. I would give everything for freedom, though I have little to offer. I am a pauper, no silver or gold. I do not have land, I can not return home. My life is not my own as my situation here makes evident. All I have to give is my soul. I would trade that for my freedom, and consider it a fair bargain. Anything is better than this fate, even death. Tell me Virgil, would you deliver a message for me, to my mother? Just perch on the tallest pine you find and sing into the wind, Lady Elana will hear it and bring the message to her via Lady Val. Thank you. Tell my mother that I am well and in good health. She need not frighten at my state. I will see her eventually. Tell her everything's well. Can you do that?'' The bird sings again, filling the courtyard cell with sweet music. Dieter laughs again. `` Wonderful! Go now, I wait here with your reward. Go!''
The songbird lifts off his hand and flutters around the courtyard before slipping through the iron bars, disappearing in sun's glare. Dieter glances at the empty window again, eyes not wavering off of it, as he opens his lips. Silent tears drip down his face.
`` Oh the lavender, it smells so clean, in the meadows... in the meadows... Oh the reddest of wine, it tastes so fine, in the evening... in the evening... Oh the greenest of eyes, they are the guise, of my sorrows... of my sorrows...''
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[ WP ] Write about a prisoner on Death Row who has just been summoned to the execution room , but with his last wish he realises how beautiful life is .
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Javier's withered, almond hands fidgeted with each other. Everyone looked at the prisoner as he entered, but none to him. He was fettered and bedraggled. The warden continued to grip his arm, worried Javier would make one last desperate play for freedom. He surveyed the hospital room in solemn silence. Who were all these gaunt faces in starched white shirts? They must have been from the sheriff's office or the judiciary. Christ, did they really need a dozen different grim bastards to confirm he'd snuffed it? Javier walked passed all of them. This was the real inhumanity. Not that he'd be put down like a rabid dog, but that so many impassionate stiffs would watch him slowly convulse and die, ignoring his last breaths like a fart at a funeral.
He walked with the warden. He would not have the warden drag him. He would not give these strangers a show. Stiff, stiff, stiff he shuffled passed. There was a sudden halt in the patter of his footsteps. A familiar face blossomed among the stale observers.
β Do n't be tardy β the warden hissed into his ear, half joking.
β Maria? β Javier asked, his voice tender with disbelief and worry.
He reached out his hand to stroke her face, his cuffs bringing the other hand with it. A diminutive smile was inflicted on Maria. Maria, his baby tulip. He had n't seen her since her third birthday, when the old man who ran the farm thought rent should go up and wages should go down. Maria, who liked finger-painting and Dean Martin. β Dad's a moray β she giggled at him the last night they spent together, slapping his wrinkled nose with her index finger. They laughed. That was fourteen years ago, the last time he touched her. Fourteen years without his daughter and now it hurt worse than ever before.
Javier did n't look directly at her. He did n't want to see her tears. So he looked everywhere else instead while he caressed her delicate cheek. She wore a blue sundress, that stopped just below her knees. God, a sundress to an execution, he'd never heard of it before. He stopped just short of laughter. Her grandmother had knitted her a dress just like this for her first Texan summer, he wondered if she could remember it.
And jutting ever so slightly out of the dress: a bump. Too pronounced to be anything else. Javier dared to look Maria in the eye.
β Take good care of her, okay? β he said.
He did n't know why he knew it was a girl, he could just tell. If he was asked again he would balk and probably change his mind, but in that moment he was certain. Javier kissed Maria on the forehead and returned to his path. Maria nodded to his turning back.
He did n't want his last moments to be the warden tugging on his leash. He would n't make a spectacle out of this, not with a lonesome Maria watching. The guards restrained him to the hospital bed. Javier yielded his entire body. The guards found him to be a life-sized puppet with flaccid limbs. His look was the apotheosis of submission.
β Javier Canantez, the State of Texas has found you guilty of three counts of murder in the first degree. In accordance with the sentence ruled by Judge Paula Taft, you will now be executed by lethal injection β the executioner said.
The executioner approached with a needle and taciturn stare. The room was a vacuum, devoid of any other motion. Javier guessed they were waiting for him to shriek his famous last words, but he had nothing to say. He kept staring at the bump protruding from Maria's belly. He was oddly content.
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[ WP ] You are trapped in a room with a box labelled 'Do Not Open '
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As he walked into the small room near the bottom of the dungeon, he heard a quiet click and a large metallic crash. God damn it. The large iron door had fallen shut behind him. It was then that he realized that he had stepped on and activated a pressure switch when he walked in the room. He had been so foolish. All he was thinking about was loot. He had seen the chest and immediately abandoned caution, and now he was trapped. But at least he had whatever was in the chest. It was a smallish chest with a curved top. It was short and wide and so very tempting to open. Just imagine what loot could be inside. As he was about to open it he noticed a message written in what appeared to be orange chalk on the floor in front of the chest.
`` Be wary of opening.''
He had seen messages like this before, but most were nonsense advertising secret passageways that did n't exist and persuading people to do inappropriate things to others posteriors. He decided to ignore it. He reached forward and begun to open the chest. The excitement building in him ready to burst. What could be in the chest. Armor or unique new weapon. Maybe a key to a secret location. Maybe a scroll that could teach him powerful new spells. He was so excited about the possible contents of the chest he never noticed the small chain protruding from the right side of the chest. The chain was pointing right at him.
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[ WP ] You 're eight years old and there is a zombie outbreak . You are hiding , locked up in your bedroom on the second floor of your house and outside your window is the entire neighborhood turned , including your family .
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Adam glanced at his sister β s crib in the room. Kira was sleeping quietly, half heartedly kicking against the panels. They were getting their own rooms next summer, that β s what Dad said, anyway. Outside, the sun was just peeking over the horizon, beaming rays that reflected off the asphalt and lit up the cars sprawled all over the road. No one came home last night.
An old man was over near a fence out by the window. Maybe Uncle Cecil from across the street, it was hard to tell. Adam pulled back the curtains just enough to get a good look. He was leaning forwards into the fence, with his head slung in between his shoulders. His clothes were stained dark. The neighbour β s dogs weren β t barking at him like usual, strange.
Adam tried the door again. He tried to stay quiet while reaching for the handle; still wouldn β t budge. He could climb out the window into the office, he β d done that a hundred times. Mum might catch him though and he β d tried to keep his little escape route secret up until now. His stomach twisted and groaned.
Usually before going to bed, Mum or Dad would come up and check on Kira, and do this week β s reader with Adam. Last night no one came up. The baby monitor had been sitting silently, occasionally flickering away with static; red LED blinking steadily. Adam tried to open the door but the lock must have clicked in. Sometimes that happened if it got slammed, but Dad would always come and jimmy it with a knife. He never knocked or tried to get his parent β s attention, the stillness of the house seemed to gesture that making noise was a bad idea. He had heard screams and yelling coming from the adjacent house, and cars speeding off, but it was too dark to see what was happening. After that wave of noise, it was quiet as a lake, and stayed that way all night. So he β d tried to get to sleep but couldn β t, and sat waiting. Tired and hungry, it was almost morning now. Kira hadn β t woke yet, she always sleep soundly but usually stirs once the sun comes up. Adam flipped the latch on the window and slipped out onto the gutter.
The neighbour β s house had boxes strewn out the front door; food, clothes, household items laying everywhere. The dogs in the backyard weren β t tied up to the post. He could usually see them pulling against the ropes, trying to break away from the clothes line they β d were fixed to. Everyday they β d be tied there and left by themselves. Maybe, he thought, they β d finally gotten away. He reached back into the room and pulled the curtains shut to stop the light coming in. Hopefully Kira would stay sleeping. His stomach was sinking low, turning back and forth making it harder to breath.
Adam peered around the edge into the office. The window was ajar as usual, and the door was left wide open. The computer and lights were on, which was unusual. Mum always came up and turned everything off before going to bed. Adam ducked, making sure not to make a sound. Once in the room, the walls seemed to move outwards as if hesitant to encompass his presence. The open door seemed oddly far away. He tip-toed across the room, glancing back at the window; trying to shake the feeling someone was watching him.
The hallway stared back at him, whispering to look over to his door handle. Maybe the lights were watching him, he flicked the switches; silencing the hall and office. He peeked around the corner then quickly darted over to his door. Red stained the handle down the front of the panels; the corners of the handle had skin scraped off on them. His stomach sank further, pulling his breath down with it. Thoughts ricocheted around his head, trying to get a foothold and establish themselves. β Was it blood? Why didn β t I hear them? Mum or Dad? Both? Where are they? β A mark on the door caught his eye. His fingers reached over and smeared the blood out of the way.
Adam. Run.
LEAVE KIRA
Mum X
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[ WP ] A wizard accidentally becomes immortal . He has the idea to become the antagonist so that a hero will come along and defeat him , so he can rest in peace . Sadly , the heroes are weak in comparison so the wizard creates a persona as a 'wise teacher ' to train these heroes in order to defeat him .
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He spends years teaching these young people, watching them grow and come to adore him. By the time they are ready he ca n't bring himself to betray their love and trust by becoming the antagonist as he had planned. He discovers he loves them too and ca n't put them through that pain.
Years turn into decades and as he trains one generation after another he realizes he no longer desires death as he once did. With a purpose in life and being loved and giving love in return he is happy at last and the'wise teacher' is no longer just a fake persona.
Edit..
One day another, much more powerful wizard will arrive. Our wizard will throw himself at him, not hoping for death but desperate to protect his charges. He will succeed in defending them and driving the other wizard off for a time but he will be injured so severely that even he will die. As his students gather around him he is scared to die, not for himself but out of fear for these that he has come to love so dearly.
He dies but his students, old and new, rally together using the skills and knowledge they learned from him and defeat the evil wizard. Later they build a statue of their teacher in the town square and on the last page one of his students will say, `` Our teacher may be gone, lost to us forever, but through our warm memories of him and this statue he will live on forever, immortal.''
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[ WP ] A `` popular '' girl falls in love with a `` nerdy '' boy , however he hates her and she spends all her time trying to impress him
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Dear Diary, Samantha here,
`` Why was n't he afraid?'' I mused over this, wondering why HE of all people could be so nonchalant over my boyfriends threats. Chance was one of the robotics kids at our school. Really, he was just a nobody. Then there β s me, Samantha, queen bee of our high-school, cheerleader elite. I was dating Darren, the Quarterback and All-American.
It all started on that damn day when Darren and I were walking down the hall with some of his jock buddies. Honestly, I do n't know what they were talking about really, but I just smiled and faked laughed as usual. I was looking back and making a comment to one of the boys when suddenly Darren started yelling.
`` Watch where you β re going dumbass.'' Darren snarled. In front of Darren was Chance. It looked like they had just bumped into one another. Chance, had dropped some books and was picking them up. Most guys ( especially ones that looked like Chance, dark haired, glasses, and ill advised outfit ) would have been quaking at the thought of Darren being angry at them, who is 6 β 4, 200 pounds of pure savory muscle. This time was different, Chance stood up as smoothly as he had bent down to pick up his books, and peered straight into Darren β s eyes. `` Hey man did n't see you there, ill watch out next time.'' He said this just as calmly as he picked up his books while adjusting his brown spectacles. In an instant, I saw Darren make a move towards Chance. Knowing his temperament, I grabbed his arm quickly, `` He β s not worth it baby, lets just go.'' Darren let up a little and looked back at Chance, who was just staring, not even caring he was about to get his ass-kicked. Darren breathed out, `` I β ll catch you later you little shit.'' I gave Chance the I-just-saved-your-ass-nerd look. Then I strutted away with Darren on my arm.
Dear Diary, Chance here,
What β s wrong with my code? I β ve quadruple checked it already. I can β t seem to figure out one of the last algorithms to help make smooth movement on the robot I've been working on. The robot is designed to help plant crops and diagnose levels of nutrients in the ground. Plus it's also meant to help aging farmers move around. I β ve been working on this robot for years actually, I got the idea for it after I helped code a cost effective insulin pump for the poor ( the idea came to me because my test subject was a farmer with diabetes ). Anyway, my day actually became a lot more interesting because within this train of thought I was having about the algorithm, I ran into a much less metaphorical train.
`` Watch where you β re going dumbass.'' Snarled the high-school Quarterback Darren. A big oaf, whom I am sorry to say does n't have the same intelligence as his size. As I was picking up my books, I noticed he was with his buddies and his girlfriend Samantha. Who as far as I was concerned, was queen bitch of our school. The truth is, Darren and his group did n't scare me at all. What these guys do n't know about me is that I am the state β s Golden Gloves silver-medalist in boxing's light heavy-weight division ( courtesy of my mother pushing me, rest her soul ). So, even if they were to try and fight me I'm pretty sure I actually had more real fight experience than all of them combined ( and IQ too ). My mother never wanted me to fight outside the ring, and always wanted me to be a good kid that focused on my studies and the needs of others. So instead, I just told him sorry, to which he retorted something stupider than he looks. His girlfriend pulled him away and gave me a look of contempt. Something which I mirrored back. I had no time for her kind of people. After that, I just continued onto the robotics lab, where I had more pressing issues to delve into.
Dear Diary, Samantha here,
I find myself not being able to stop thinking about Chance all weekend. The way he was so calm when dealing with Darren peaked my interest him. So, this week, I found myself looking out the school yard, the halls, and classrooms to get a glance of Chance. Glance of Chance, ha that sounds so poetic. Anyway, this week I saw something that got to me that I made my stomach drop.
I was walking by the robotics lab when I saw him there, sitting at the desk staring into his Macbook Pro. There were some other people around him and a girl that was sitting close, `` damn her'' I thought. Suddenly, I realized I was jealous. Not only was I jealous of another girl, it was over a nerd at our school. How could that be possible? Furthermore, that β s not the thing that got me. Truth is, over the past week I have taken the long route to pass by the robotics lab to catch a glimpse of Chance. I noticed that he works tirelessly in school and after school to work on his projects. I started to become curious as to what he was actually working on. There was a girl sitting by me in one of my classes that works in the robotics club with Chance. I asked her casually what they were working on, not to give myself away. She said that they were working on devices to help improve the lives of people around them. `` What a joke!'' I found myself berating her. `` What makes you think that you can change anything?'' However, as I said this, all I felt was myself being more intrigued by Chance and a little guilt too. I blushed just thinking about him.
Finally, on Friday of this week. I decided that I was gon na muster up the courage to talk to him. In spite of the possible repercussions it might have. Who knows? Maybe ill just ask him some stupid physics question to make it seem more natural? So finally, after third period I went walked towards the robotics center wondering what I would say to him. Right before I got into the door hit someone, Whack, I looked up and I saw bright brown glasses, and all I could muster was
`` Hey.''
Dear Diary, Chance here,
I worked my butt off this week and have found myself really close to cracking the code. However, thats not really what I want to write about. This week I noticed something kind of strange. Every time that I am in the robotics lab I have started to see Samantha walk by the robotics window and peer in for a second, then she just shuffles away. I really do n't understand it and wish she would just stop. I'm pretty sure she's just coming by to make fun of me or some of the people in robotics. It β s getting pretty annoying. So I decided that the next time she would come by I would give her a piece of my mind. This Friday I would do it.
So when the time came after third period, ( which is usually when she comes through ) I saw her slowly walking by. This time she was n't looking through the window but it seemed like she was muttering something to herself. No matter. I got up and walked to the door and opened it. Whack. She was much closer than I realized and as I opened the door I just ran myself into her by accident. She looked up at me with her big ( now that I'm up closer ) extremely beautiful blue eyes. I lost train of thought and just blurted out
`` Hey.''
Note: I noticed this story is getting long, please let me know if you guys like it so far!
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[ WP ] Describe the most depressing true story that 's happened in your life .
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The Fall of the House of Yi
[ All names have been changed. Some details have been altered for the sake of the story. 2 Parts ]
I was the last to know when Yi Sook killed himself. I wasn β t the last to be told, but when they said the words, I laughed and carried on with my day. I thought they were joking. Apparently, on the second Tuesday of July, He wrapped a belt around his neck and hung himself from his shower-curtain. The scene was ridiculous. Yi Sook was six-foot-four and must have been close to two hundred pounds. I didn β t think the fixtures could support his weight. When they said that he had hung himself, I joked that I wouldn β t want to clean that mess up, giggled a little bit, and walked away. A week later, Matthew and I walked past his house. There were rental cars wrapped around the street, shaded by diseased pines and beeches and birches enjoying their four months of green. I asked Matthew if he knew what was going on. He said that it was family for Yi Sook β s funeral. After I laughed again, he explained.
Yi Sook didn β t speak passable English. He β d only lived in the country for a year and a half and had communication difficulties. Even the Korean kids had trouble talking to him. He had an incredibly strong desire to learn English though, and so he latched on to the first group of Anglophones who didn β t reject him, which was me and my friends. After getting to know him, more or less, we teased him about all the *haha* funny-funny Korean stereotypes we could think of, blindly referencing StarCraft, K-Pop, nuclear-weapons, and Chow-dog *chow mein* with all of the wit, topicality, and cultural sensitivity of Mickey Rooney. As we got to know him, we saw more tactful targets for our playful ridicule in his double-wide language barrier between English and Korean and Korean and Yi Sook. We would teach him to say nonsensical or obscene remarks or direct him to shock-sites. We helped him more than we hurt him, but we still took a perverse pleasure in tormenting him, no more than we took pleasure in mocking each other.
Matthew walked across the street, and I followed. It took him about a minute to find Yi Sook β s parents to express his condolences. His mother was a stout, pale woman who didn β t speak English and looked as if she never left the House. She wept openly. His father, in contrast, was tall, like his son. He was thin, and well-tanned. He was incredibly cheerful, smiling and laughing and shaking hands with all of his cousins, uncles, nieces, and other distant relatives who β d come to pay their respects. He greeted Matthew and me no differently than if we were his brothers or his cousins. Despite his smiles and laughter, when he thought nobody was looking, his brow wrinkled and his eyes glassed over with unshed tears. When a mother loses her son, she has lost her hope and love, and so she mourns well after the ashes and sackcloth have fallen away to bright, colourful summer dress and sunny days. When a father loses his only son, he does not mourn, not because there is nothing to mourn for, but because there is nobody to mourn. He has lost not only his hope and his love, but his past, his present, and his future. Every hour of labour has been for his son. Every drop of sweat has been for his son. Every moment of worry, every dollar saved, and every bit of wit and wisdom has been set aside as his son β s inheritance. His son is all that he has: his son is his love for his wife, his son is his name, he is his legacy, he is his eyes, his height, his hair, he is the lessons he passed down to his boy and the lessons passed down to him. My thoughts wandered to my own father and my grandfather. I remembered when my mother told me that my grandfather cursed at his own son because he did not name me Robert, and I remember the look of pride that stretched across his face when I told him what I would name my first-born. I thought of my father, who had two sisters and no brothers; I thought of my grandfather, who had two brothers, but no nephews; I thought of my great-grandfather, who β s brothers did not have sons of their own, and my great-great-grandfather, an only child, a tradition continued thirteen generations, maybe more, well into the murky histories of Ireland and maybe even Rome. I looked back to this father without a son, and felt the weight of thirteen generations on my shoulders. Here, beside me, was another last scion of his name, a tragic closing paragraph to the Book of Yi.
Oftentimes, when we ate together, my friends ( myself included ) would ask Yi Sook to eat separately because his food was extremely pungent. We coughed and wheezed and flailed our open hands through the air. One of the girls sitting near him, named Jamie, asked him what he was eating. β Chicken, β he said. β Pickled, β he further explained. Everything he ate was pickled. Rice, chicken, tuna, noodles, foods that you β ve never imagined: pickled pastries, pickled melon slices, pickled Hot dog buns, some sort of pickled pierogi, lamb, almonds, catfish, broccoli, kiwi, and six dozen other assorted products of a rushed grocery list, all steeped and stored for a week or more in a jar of vinaigrette. Often, if we hadn β t opened our own lunches, Matthew or I would abandon our seats ( regrettably out of pity ) to join Yi Sook while he ate alone, albeit Holding our noses and gasping for air until he resealed the remnants of his meal inside his purse. Oh the purse! The purse! The purse is another thing. We β d scarcely known him for more than a month, when Yi Sook showed us his brand of *haut couture*. A dainty handbag patterned like my blind great-aunts drapes, floral, hand sewn, stored snuggly in the crook of his arm, was his Linus β blanket. We β d tried to explain the implication. What a purse meant, who used purses, the statement he was making by carrying one around: all of these were explained in great detail for our confused schoolmate. All we managed was an unaware chuckle and an Engrish assurance of his sexuality, which left us nonplussed, and every day after he carried his purse tucked into the pits of his arm, storing his pencils and his pickled goods.
His father welcomed me into his home. They had no pets, no potted plants; the walls were bare. The halls were shrouded in a murk. Mildewed shadows fell from the rarely-seen corners of the gloomy rooms. His father led Matthew and I past the barely grieving relatives, up their quiet, uncreaking stairs, and led us to Yi Sook β s room. The room itself and the hall outside were fumed with another scent of sour affect and bitter taste, but was not pickles, rather incense. Loath to reveal our ignorance, we ignored the smell and looked around this room. The walls were brown. There were no books, save a math text lying on the floor. There were no screens, no toys from his youth. He had no computer. A half a ream of paper was collapsed hastily on his desk. The walls had been written on. Equations, simple shapes, numbers, stick figures, strange lines and symbols that lacked apparent meaning. The father tried to ignore them, but we saw his embarrassment at the mess upon the walls of his son β s room.
I examined some of the scribblings and found little understanding in the hieroglyphs. What I did find was cosine law, the quadratic equation, trigonometry, and the beginnings of calculus, written neither in Newton nor Leibniz notation, but in an odd series of scratches that looked like:
ββββ [ γ
γ
£γ
] ( γ
Ώ ) ^ ( ββ ) + βββγ
Ώ= [ γ
γ
γ
] ( |β [ γ
γ
£γ
] ( γ
Ώ ) +ββ )
or
Ο [ β β ( ββ ( γ
Ώ ) ) ^ ( ββ ) β β ] β ( γ
Ώ ) =?
which by his half-English notes seemed to signify a derivative and Gabriel β s Horn, respectively. This weird collage of oriental, occidental, and accidental, strewn into a glyph of genius or insanity, passed only for the latter in the wake of this wake. Bending my spine and baring my Adam β s apple, I gaped in wonder. The ceiling was covered in scribblings as well. Matthew opened the lone text upon the desk, and a half an inch of dust spilled off. The book had never been opened. Yi Sook, though he knew his arithmetic, was considered a class-A waste of a student. He wasted time on his tests. He never turned in homework. In the subjects in which he excelled, math, physics, chemistry, this meant that he failed. In the subjects in which he struggled, primarily English, he faced threats of expulsion. This lumbering child of a man, refusing to meet the eyeline of his teachers, despite towering above them, was scolded every day by his exasperated tutors. It was a wonder he was let in at all. Of course, I know why.
I remember travelling to other schools, watching their drama department β s plays, playing the critic, hoping to be published. Other schools did the same to ours. I remember chatting idly with a girl from some north-side public school, waiting for the lights to go down, chuckling when she asked about my uniform, explaining that my school was a private academy for delinquent little shits. β Don β t you need to interview to get in? β she asked. β Yes, β said I, β but it β s mostly a formality. They β ve let some β interesting β characters in. β β Oh, β she replied, β I was never accepted. β Frustrated at my wasted minutes of flirting, I hushed along with the audience and enjoyed the play. The academy was desperate for students. Rent was rising; salaries were increasing, not by demand, but by necessity. With fewer than a hundred students roaming the halls, budgets were difficult to keep and bills were impossible to pay. Yi Sook β s parents had money. That girl β s parents did not. ( 1/2 )
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[ WP ] You live in a world where the Dominant religion worships giant iron Golems that wander the earth utterly mindless of the humans that cluster around their feet , decorate them for holidays and fight wars based on their actions . One of them is definitely following you .
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Daniels, my guard, escorted me into the motel room and shut the door behind me. I sat down on the couch and turned on the television. No cable. So I had to watch the news.
*In tonight's top story we continue to follow Ogun, who continues his slow March toward Northport from the Southwest. Please be advised of the following road closings... *
I sighed, as I appreciated the tight hissing sound coming from the beer can as I cracked it open. He was getting close. They'll have me on the move again tomorrow. Probably early, off to who knows where.
*Remember, do not approach Ogun, and you will be safe. He has not damaged any buildings in many years. However, DO NOT APPROACH HIM, his movements are unpredictable. Approaching Ogun only puts yourself and others in danger... *
Unpredictable, my ass. Theres hundreds of nerds back in D.C., with their calculators and their protractors and whatever the hell else they have plugging away into computers. Their scheduling Ogun's every move. And its all controlled by strategically moving me.
To the people, Ogun's a god. He marches around their country, seemingly blindly, but missing every major city. He has n't even hit a farm house in a few decades, thanks to satellite imagery. Yet, when our country's enemies start misbehaving, he starts walking towards them. He's answering their prayers, they think. And some of our enemies so too. Once his path is clear, and agreement is reached and the good ol' President tells the people to pray for peace, and he goes back to walking in irregular fuckin' circles.
Satellites, thats how they found me. When I was about six or seven Ogun started walking towards my family's house. In a straight fuckin' line, I guess. When he got close a couple guys in suits, with guns, showed up. We thought they were there to relocate us. But they only took away my little brother. They told the rest of us to stay where we were as my mother screamed. An hour later they took my sister. An hour later they took me.
Turns out, Ogun changed course to follow me as we drove south in that black SUV. Since then I've been the government's secret weapon. No one can know, or someone would kill me, they say. If that happens Ogun will probably select a new target, they think, and they would n't know who until he did some serious damage. Like last time. I think they are more worried someone would take me, and use me against them.
I get it, but I ca n't take this anymore. I have no friends, no contact with my family. Just Daniels, and I do n't even know that fuckin' guy's first name. I need to find a way out.
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[ WP ] In an apocalyptic world sixty years from now , your son asks you what music was .
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I wanted to sing him a song, but I couldn β t remember any. The melodies were there still, or at least shadows of them, like ghosts of dancers disappearing around the corners of my mind.
β Dad? β
β I β m thinking, Jack, hang on. β
Six of us- no, five, it was four now- sat around a small fire in a small clearing, surrounded by tall pine trees and about 5 miles from the nearest road. The hunting had been decent here and, all things considered, it wasn β t a bad summer night. It was the kind of night that allowed for a smile if you still had one in you.
β Music isβ¦ difficultβ¦ to explain, β my voice was gravel over honey. In my youth, I had sang for a church choir, but that might as well have been a different person. If there were any softness of that person left in me, it simply existed in the soft undertones of my voice and the love for Jack. Everything else was gunmetal.
Randy stood up, slowly, eyes sweeping as he did, and allowed himself a stretch before chiming in, β I had a guitar before the wars. I could play. β
Jack β s eyes, molten silver made brighter by the firelight, filled with water, β I β ve seen them in the towns, I think. Those are for music? β
Randy nodded, β They used to be. Anymore they β re good for a bludgeon in a pinch. The cheap ones- uh, that is- you β ve seen the numbers written on the signs? β
β Yes, with the lined s? β
β Exactly. What you want is the ones with the lower numbers. They β re a little stronger than the high-dollar ones. β
β High-dollar, β Jack repeated softly, looking back to me, β But music, dad. What is it? β
I readjusted myself, allowing my muscles to loosen a bit, β Well, I guess it can be simply explained as an organization of sounds meant to entertain the listener. But it was so much, β
β More, β Darren said. He was staring deep into the fire, nodding to himself, β It was more, Jack. β
My son was rocking slightly, pulling his knees into his chest, β Go on, Dare, please. β
Darren looked at me, I shrugged, and he nodded, β Music was art for some. They used it to express themselves, to paint a picture of the world or of people they knew or what have you. You read that poetry book I found for you? β
Jack nodded, β I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference, β
Darren scratched at his beard, long and unkempt, matted in places, β Good. Then I hope you understand that music was poetry made sound. But it was more, Jack. β
β Quiet, now! β
Eddie was on his feet in a half-second, hissing his warning. The wood stock of the rifle he snatched surprisingly not splintering under his strong white-knuckled grip. I threw a blanket over the low fire quickly and we were all pressed against the nearest pines, in a circle around our little camp, listening intently.
The distant knock of the diesel engine played off the trees, coming mostly from the west. We didn β t hear treefalls or the clutter of offroad maneuvering, which meant it was probably still on the road, but still. We waited for the din to pass before reconvening around the stones. I spoke in low, hushed tones, β Maybe we keep the fire out. One watch tonight, stay close. Rotate when you get tired. I β ll go first, β
β I can sit with you, dad? β
β You need your rest, β
β Please. β
Jack grabbed my arm. He wouldn β t sleep if I said no anyway, obstinate as he was, β Okay. β
Eddie, Darren, and Randy unpacked their bedrolls, forming three sides of a pentagon around the firepit. I chose a pine to the west, towards the road, and Jack joined me there.
β We can talk? β Jack asked
β Quietly, β I replied.
β Okay. β
An hour passed before he spoke up again. I knew he wanted to ask me something, but was afraid in the way children are when they think their parents may decline their request. I had an idea of what was on his mind, and I knew I might have to break his heart. This was not a world for tenderness.
β Dad, do you think the next time we visit the towns, that if -- - if I could find a guitar, I could give it to Randy? If we had room after getting supplies, I mean. Like if it wouldn β t slow us down. β
β Son, I really don β t think that β s wise, β
β We could just go further off the roads to make camps. I read that book you found about physics and I think if we go somewhere thick then maybe the sounds wouldn β t get out and it β s good because we β d be safer anyway, β
β Jack, that β s risky, β
β It β s just that you always say we should still learn lessons from before the war and I always read and music seems really important and, β
β Son, β I spoke at full volume, to get his attention. I saw the moon play on his wet eyes as he looked at me, β The old world lessons are important. Survival, medicine, food preparation- this is why you read. But the new world does not allow for music. No one sings anymore. We can only scream and whisper. β
He frowned at me and shook his head, setting his jaw firmly forward, β Then we might as well die. β
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[ WP ] After a 1000 year slumber , the ancient dragons emerge once more ... and find that they really like the modern world .
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`` Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order?'' a digitized and barely audible voice says through the intercom.
`` Uh, yeah, I'd like a big mac combo... and a large soda... make that a diet. And, uh, and ice cream cone, and um... I think that's it.'' a man clearly more than a few days behind on shaving says as he leans out the window of his car.
There is a pause, silence aside from the soft crackling of the device. He's about to repeat his order when the voice once again returns. `` Please drive up to the next window.''
He waits impatiently at the window, time always seeming to grind to a half when hungry and waiting for food, growing far more annoyed with each passing second, although even then, he still does n't have much time to grow too angry. The window slides open and a hand reaches out, holding the bag of food.
`` About damn time...'' he grumbles. `` I've got more important things to do than sit here waiting...'' he looks up at the girl in the drive through window, not that he can tell that the massive winged reptile is actually female.
`` Is there a problem?'' she asks in a soft, melodic voice which does n't seem to in any way to match her scaled and horned visage. `` I'm afraid we're rather busy today. Would you like to file a complaint with my manager?'' with each word a light plume of steam escapes from her lips, and a set of long narrow fangs are revealed.
`` Uh, that's okay, really...'' he swallows, practically throwing the money at her, not wanting to be within arms reach of the lethal looking claws, and drives away without another word.
`` Wait, you forgot your drink!'' she cranes her long neck out of window, watching the vehicle tear around the corner and out of sight. `` Oh well.''
Another day almost over... and today was a particularly special day, one she's been looking forward to for two weeks.
`` Here are your paycheques, everyone... first is Margaret, next is James... Frank, yours is a little light, but hopefully we'll have more shifts availible for you next week. Next is...'' the manager squints as he examines the envelope. `` Tsabaratha, the flesh render.''
The large dragoness bounds towards him on four legs, making him withdraw a step before greedily snatching it from his hands. As much as she enjoyed her work, her shift was now over, and there were far more important matters to attend to.
The gold scaled reptile steps outside, spreading her leathery wings and takes to the skies, happily humming to herself all the while until she reaches her destination. The teller at the bank, however, is nowhere near as happy.
`` Let me guess... you want this cashed in the usual way?'' she says in a tired voice.
`` Yup! 855 rolls of pennies, please.'' the great dragoness chirps, smiling wide. She makes happy small talk as the bank employee goes through the arduous task of counting them all out, too excited to even notice that the teller stares daggers at her whenever she speaks.
Finally, it's off to her apartment, a small one room affair which would be little space for even a human, let alone a fifteen foot long winged reptile, but dragons often prefer cozy lairs to spacious ones. She removes one roll of pennies at a time, tearing away the paper and dumping the fifty coins into the massive pile in the center of the room, taking her time, taking in the soft chime as the pennies ring against one another.
After almost two hours she empties out the last one. The apartment is completely unfurnished aside from the massive pile which stretches from one corner to the other. She hops onto her hoard, rolling and rubbing her scales against the coins, letting out a noise which sounds closer to a cats purr than a dragons roar.
And to think it was only another two weeks, basically the blink of an eye for a creature who lives for thousands of years, before she'd be able to expand it even further! What an age to be alive!
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[ WP ] You were born unlucky , but with the power to steal the luck of someone else and give it to another person , excluding yourself .
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Some would call it a curse. However, I have it all figured out.
Early in life I started to notice things about myself... strange, peculiar things.
Like the time in second grade. Ronald, after yet another perfect score on a quiz, was rubbing it in everybody's face. Frustrated, I blurted out `` your luck ca n't last forever! I bet that Nick outscores you next time!''
Everyone laughed; Nick was the slow kid of the class. Next test, to everyone's surprise and with much amusement, Nick scored perfect, while Ronald experienced his first'F'.
I figured it out in my late teens; with just a thought, I can transfer one person's luck to another. Never to myself, which at first was annoying, but I learned to profit from it nonetheless.
For instance, Horse Racing. At the Kentucky Derby, I can take the previous winner, transfer to Panty Raid ( yes, that was an actual name ), and then bet on him. Instant earnings.
After years of that, I use my `` gift'' for more innocent means. This year it happens to be Fantasy Football. FanDuel has already contacted me about winning every week, and I simply shrug. Definitely not gon na tell them that I decide that Tom Brady's been lucky enough, and Blaine Fucking Gabbert would be hilarious to see perform at a high level.
Anyway, some would call this an unlucky gift. Me, I find it perfect for my mentality.
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[ WP ] The Fast and the Furious ( with Bicycles )
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Ryan locked on to the get-away van peeling out of the bank parking lot.
*Not today, * he thought to himself.
Ryan followed in hot pursuit weaving in and out of traffic. But by the time he hit the interstate on-ramp, the van was long gone. At least, that's what the robbers thought. Ryan quickly spun to the left, facing south down the I5. It was at least a 20 foot drop to the freeway below. Ryan only needed to survive 12. Ryan slammed down hard on the pedal, then the other, and flew off the express way.
*Smash! *
The front of Ryan's bike lodged itself into the van's windshield. Ryan held on for his life, thankful he was wearing a helmet. Reaching over the handlebars, Ryan swung open the driver-side door and pulled the criminal from the moving vehicle. Back-up would take care of him.
Ryan yanked hard on his handlebars, dislodging the bike from the windshield. Pushing with his two feet, Ryan popped a wheelie off the front of the van and slid his tires to a safe stop as the van careened off the off-ramp.
-
`` You god damn hot head!'' yelled the Captain. `` You not only caused a 4-hour traffic jam in the middle of LA, your little stunt also resulted in over $ 200 in damage. You know how many bike mechanics we've gone through in the last 6 months because of you?''
`` Sir, I had it under control,'' Ryan replied. But he knew the torrent of anger was unavoidable.
`` I've had it up to here with your wheelies and jumps. I'm turning you over to the FBI. Apparently there's a new biker gang in town, and they need it infiltrated. And frankly, I could use a break from you.''
`` Feds?!'' yelled Ryan. But there was no arguing.
-
Tom surveyed the scene. He turned to his friend and long-time accomplice, Vance. `` You ready?'' he growled.
`` You know it,'' Vance replied.
`` Let's go for a little ride.''
Tom and Vance sped forward, heads down, pedaling a good 12 miles per hour. Up ahead, the food truck was serving tacos to beach bums and surfers. Tom broke off to the left of the truck, Vance to the right. Flanking the stationary food station, Tom lept from his bicycle as it clattered into the park bench up ahead, landing on the taco van's roof. Vance slid to the side, weaving between two rollerbladers, and began circling.
Tom jumped down to the serving window. `` Money! NOW!'' he demanded. The cashier handed over the lunch hour's take, about $ 100.
`` You wo n't get away with this!'' the pimply kid from the taco stand yelled.
`` I already have,'' Tom growled as he jumped onto the back of Vance's bike and sped away.
-
It was close to midnight, and except for Tom and the white kid with the streamers on his handlebars the streets were empty. Word on the street was this kid, Ryan, was looking to join a crew. But first he'd need to prove himself, and the streamers were n't helping his cause.
`` You sure you want to do this, white boy?'' Tom called over absolutely no noise whatsoever.
`` Do you?'' Ryan challenged back. It had taken three weeks to track Tom down to this point. He was n't going to lose him now.
`` Kid, I live my life a quarter mile at a time. Nothing else matters: not the mortgage, not the store, not my team and all their bullshit. For those three minutes or less, I'm free.''
`` On 3?'' Ryan asked.
`` Two. Three.'' Tom furiously pedaled to get ahead of the new meat. He opted to forego the helmet tonight - afterall, what was it to live without a little risk? To his surprise, the white boy was keeping right next to him, streamers flowing through the air.
`` Let's see what you're made of,'' Tom yelled. Ryan easily heard.
Tom pressed down hard on the left-hand brake bar, and drifted around the corner into the alley.
`` Son of a...'' Ryan muttered as he flew past. Fortunately he was able to make a controlled stop, turn around, and pedal after Tom.
5 minutes later, they were at the finish line. Tom had managed to stay ahead, but just barely.
`` I had you,'' Ryan smiled.
`` You did n't have nothing,'' Tom growled.
`` I had you,'' Ryan repeated, smiling again.
The sirens took them both by surprise. The whirl of a helicopter soon joined the chorus.
`` Oh shit, the cops!''
& nbsp;
***to be continued...? ***
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[ WP ] `` Here , you dropped this '' . You take the item , it is indeed yours but you have n't seen it/thought it was lost for years .
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The sky was tinged with the oncoming night air, and I hurried to get home. My extra lessons had taken a bit longer than usual, and I still had to take the long walk home.
I reached to my neck and adjusted my scarf, then quickly thrust my hands back inside my coat's pockets. Winter was soon approaching, and the days had been getting colder and colder.
The crunching of dry leaves and my footsteps were the only sounds in this part of the city. The people here did n't get out much, as it was mostly made up of older folks and couples with no children. It was rather unfortunate, but I had gotten used to being the only person under the age of 30.
I neared the end of the block, but I did n't bother to check for cars. There were none in the streets, and people rarely went out near the end of the day.
A gust of wind rushed past, and strands of my hair blew into my face. I took a hand out into the bitter air to remove them and then to lower my beanie even more. I glanced ahead quickly before my eyes flicked away from the house I was soon approaching. I passed it everyday, but it had never stopped being a place of discomfort to me.
I struggled to keep from recalling the memories held there. But once again, my mind betrayed me as I began to think of warm summer days from my past.
I remember the countless hours that I enjoyed playing in the yard of her house. We used to have so much fun making up stories and acting them out. I smile to myself, recalling the sweet memories. Her mother would bring us freshly baked cookies to munch on, and hot chocolate in the winter.
I was ecstatic when I first saw her, little six year old me finally had someone to play with. She was stubbornly refusing to get off a couch that the movers were supposed to move into the house. Upon later later questioning, I found out that she wanted to be carried into the house on the couch `` like they do on T.V.''.
The girl was always filled with excitement and adventure. We quickly became the best of friends, and our friendship lasted for years. We went through good times filled with joy and laughter, and bad times filled with tears and pre-teen broken hearts. Everything we did, we did together.
I swallowed hard and realized I had been standing in front of her house this whole time. A chill ran through me as I looked at it. The atmosphere seemed darker, colder. It's windows glared down at me, curtains gone.
I stared at it, trying to fight off tears that were starting to brim in my eyes.
Five long years had passed since that day, and I still woke up woke up sobbing occasionally. I had never been able to fill the empty void that was left.
I clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palm and I instinctively reached to my chest. A tear slipped out when I felt nothing there.
Damnit.
It's gone, remember? It was buried along with her.
I squeezed my eyes, and felt myself starting to shake before letting out a strangled sob.
She's gone, Jodie. She's not coming back.
The small voice invaded my mind, but I only cried even harder.
I stayed there for a while, kneeling on the sidewalk, my body racked from sobs. I could n't feel the cold anymore, I could n't feel anything but the overwhelming feeling of being alone.
After I had finally cried myself out, I shakingly got up and began to walk home once again. I kept my head down and my hands deep inside my pockets.
`` Hey, Jodie,''
I froze. That's impossible, I did n't hear any footsteps, I thought. The voice was familiar. Extremely familiar.
I turned around slowly to look at the person who was calling my name. I gasped and held my hands to my mouth, my eyes open in shock.
The girl was young, only thirteen. She wore her favorite pajamas, her hair down in messy curls.
`` You dropped this, Jodie. ``, she held out her hand, and took a step a foward. She wore a small smile on her face.
I warily looked at her clenched fist, and walked foward to her. The air was cold, freezing cold. The girl dropped the item into my hand, and I was instantly filled with a numbing feeling. She looked at me, and her eyes seemed to sparkle like they used to.
I looked on with fear, before finally examining what she had given me.
It was a locket.
I gasped once again. It could n't be. No, its not possible.
I looked up to see her walking away. It was then I noticed the dark spot in her back, crimson surrounding it.
`` W-wait! ``, I managed to cry out. I tried to run to her, but my feet were frozen in place. I wanted to hug her, smile with her, be with her once again. But with another gust of wind, she was gone.
My mouth tried to form words, but I was shocked at what had just happened.
I looked down at the locked in my hand. I felt the familiar feeling in my throat, and I flipped it open. There was the tiny picture of us, smiling for the camera. And there was a small slip of paper. I carefully took the paper out, and unfolded it. There were a few letters on it.
BFF.
I quickly slipped it back into the locket, shoving it into my pocket, afraid that I would lose it once again. I began to run, run as fast as I could. I wanted to get away from the house. Away from her.
Panicked thoughts flew though my head.
It's not real.
I'm dreaming.
That's impossible.
It was buried with her.
She's gone.
It's gone.
But it's still in my pocket.
I ran past the silent houses, my hair flying out behind me. What had just happened?
When I reached home, I was out of breath, but it was still there. My cheeks were stained from dry tears. Before heading inside, I looked up at the sky, now a deep midnight blue. The few stars visible twinkled, and everything was silent.
I took the locket out once again, and gazed at it. I had no idea how it was possible, but I was happy I had it back.
`` Thanks, Sammi. ``, I whispered into the night air, before finally going through the door.
-- -- -- --
My first post, I know I need alot of work still.: p
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[ IP ] That 's No Mountain
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The Battle of the Mountain
Weary from the battle that was still raging around me, soaking the cold, hard earth with the blood of friends and enemies, I stared into the fog that was rolling down from the weathered mountain behind us. Though I quickly attributed it to blood loss, I thought I saw the mountain move. I risked a second glance after checking for oncoming attackers, confirming my suspicions. A serpentine head as gray as the earth thrust out of the thick fog, its roar reverberating in my armor, almost ripping my wooden shield from my grasp. Emerging from its veil and taking to the sky, the dragon caught soldiers in its gaping maw, its strong jaw lined with teeth as sharp and white as icicles encompassed by a jawline as sharp as its claws.
The remaining knights, who had called for each other β s death just a moment ago, stayed their swords and rushed the behemoth, though their weapons dulled against its hide. As the forces of both armies began to grow thin and a second mountain formed from the corpses of the fallen, the dragon β s impenetrable scales gave way to a small gash. Trumpeters rallied the men to attack with renewed fervor, their triumphant blasts and maddening drum beats spurring our bloodlust. Victory was at hand! I lead the cavalry charged in a desperate attempt to avenge our comrades, the hooves of our horses thundering towards the pocket of raw, unprotected flesh. They must not have died in vain! Beating its leathery wings, the dragon blew the charging cavalry back with beat of its wings that moved the clouds themselves.
Moments from impact, the cavalry and I were blown away by a mighty gust from the dragon β s leathery wings, lifted from our horses whose weary frames struck the ground and lay still, save for one last spasmodic twitch. Landing on my back gave me a view of the dragon as he flew away, leaving me to realize that it wasn β t fleeing, no, it was bored of toying with these pesky humans who wielded pointy sticks and arrogance that let them lay claim to its mountain. After retiring to a different resting place, it would return to reclaim its place as king of the mountain, something that we young upstarts had forgotten.
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Like this? Check out more stories on /r/ilokit!
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[ WP ] Chronicle a day in the life of the world 's biggest procrastinator .
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The wind whipped against Jack's face and left him breathless. In the back of his mind he noted the sound of an engine growing more and more faint. He thought with contempt about the raid his guild was currently on and how he could have possibly let himself be manipulated into doing this. The things he did for friends. Billy really owed him one for this. `` But it's my bachelor party Jack! You accepted the facebook invite like 6 months ago!'' his best friend had whined.
For a moment, Jack reflected on the beauty of the scenery around him; he could see miles upon miles of cornfields recently tilled, peppered here and there with oak trees and bordered with hedgerows. The wind was giving him an earache. `` Jesus Christ I should be in bed still. Wake up at the ass crack of dawn and now my ear is killing me.''
His thoughts then drifted to his recent doctor visit. He really should start taking those pills Dr. Keller prescribed. `` Meh, maybe next week, I do n't want them messing up my sleep schedule.'' he justified. Jack's mother had been riding him for months to go to that appointment. She even had the nerve to charge him for the bills the office had sent for the missed appointments! Maybe she would get off his ass for once. `` You're 23 years old for Christ sakes! I'm not going to hold you're hand forever you know.'' she had said while taking the dirty laundry out of his room. `` And clean up all these beer cans!''
Jack pulled out his phone. Same old crap on reddit. He then felt a nagging feeling about something the instructor had said. Something about checking aptitude frequently? Attitude? He really was n't paying attention. Manny had called the night before asking why he skipped his shift again. Said something about his last chance and hung up. Oh well I'll call him tomorrow. I'm sure he's not too pissed anyway.'' Jack thought hopefully. `` I'll just come in sometime nex
THUMP
Jack's body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Dead on impact. In the forensics report sent to his mother, the FAA investigators could find nothing wrong with his parachute.
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[ WP ] Harry , Ron and Hermione are n't actually wizards or in the wizarding world . They are high on drugs and hallucinating throughout their journeys . The cops are Dementors and Dumbledore is a crazy old homeless man .
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Piss stained and covered in his own fecal matter, Professor D. hobbled down the alley towards a confused group of teens: Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
`` The guys and I need to search your apartment, we think you're holding out on us.'' Professor D, a butch woman who only went by her last name ( McGonagall ) and some dude everyone called'flitwick' entered. When these kids were sent to work sorting bags by their parents who owed debts, Prof. D thought it would be easy, but no. Here these little fuckers were, tweaked out of their goddamned brains. `` It's for your own good, we just wan na keep y'all safe. ``
`` Do you think Black is still in the house?'' Hermione asked. ( Black was Harry's uncle, who had convinced them prof D would n't notice if a little horse went missing... )
`` Dumbledore obviously thinks he still is.'' Said Ron.
`` It's lucky he picked tonight, you know, the one night Dumbledore, McGonagall, and flitwick were all dealing with the women who work at'Hufflepuffs and Pleasure''' said Hermione as she rubbed the brick wall. `` Christ, this wall feels like velvet!''
Ron began rubbing the wall too. `` Oooooo man. This is better than butterbeer! Harry, feel this wall! It's like poking your hand through a bubble! You've got ta, it's unbelievable!''
Ron turned his head to look at Harry, but Harry was already way ahead of Ron.
`` I'll do better than that!'' And he ran through the wall.
At least, as Hermione and Ron clapped their hands in applause, that's what they thought happened; however, Harry was on the ground... knocked the Fuck out.
That's when the firing started.
`` Oh shit! Black is still in there!'' Ron screamed.
`` Fuck Black! Harry is in there too now! You saw it, he ran through the wall!!!'' Hermione shrieked. She tried to run in, but Ron grabbed her.
`` He'll be fine! Dumbledore, flitwick and McGonagall are all still in there! They've got him! We need to go!''
Hermione started crying. `` We ca n't leave him! We ca n't leave Harry! We're all he's got!''
Ron looked at Hermione, `` I love you.'' And he pushed her right onto a port key sending her to a much darker, danker cave. As the public saw it, right down a manhole.
And that's when the dementors showed up.
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[ WP ] Write a story about a character who I 'm supposed to hate , but use the last paragraph to make me sympathize with them
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It was just the sight of this fucking nigger that really took the cake. Looked like shit. Hell, he probably sold coke and hash out of his house. Maybe selling it to support him and wife's drug habit.
There he was and with my gun up high aiming towards his head. I just want to blow his fucking head off right here, right fucking here, just fucking shoot this lazy ass piece of shit and clean this fucking street up. Just think, just this one guy and I can die fucking happy. I could shoot this asshole in the head, walk away, and have the perfect excuse: I would just point at his body and they would let me go.
He does n't look happy. When I came in he screamed so loud that you could probably see the meth mouth this guy must have. All the rotten teeth this fucker must, God that must be a sight: seeing this loser with dangling teeth, crying and pleading there for me.
Shame was that I knew he was my brother. That we were raised in this house and my mother and father's souls must be looking at this sight and are crying. Yet, he was n't my brother, oh God no, he was n't my fucking brother. This is just some fucking ass, drugged up bitch who I have to arrest for domestic abuse. There's some lady who I saw get married, a lovely lady, her name is Clarice I think. Now she's Clarice with a black eye. Oh dear God no, now he was n't that good, getting married, young man that I knew anymore. But I wish he was, I wish he was.
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[ WP ] Thousands of children mistakenly write letters to Satan each year because they misspell Santa . This year , instead of forwarding these to Santa , Satan decides to help out ...
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It was cold outside, and even colder inside. Or at least that is what it felt like. Even under the many piles of sheets Jimmy could feel the cold breezes drift around the house. Someone must of left a window open somewhere, he thought, before rolling over to reposition himself, trying to get to sleep. It was not easy getting to sleep, and the fact that is was christmas was even worse. More than ever Jimmy wanted to get to sleep, just so he could wake up early and get to the christmas tree! He even went to bed early and without any fuss, something very strange of him had it been a normal day. Now he waited, closing his eyes tight, tossing and turning. A stray toe slipped out from beneath the sheets and was suddenly hit with a blast of coolness. Jimmy quickly pulled it back inside, for fear of potential frostbite. Finally, he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, defeated. He laid there for quite a while, watching the flickering of christmas lights shining through the gaps in his curtains. But then he noticed something strange. One light was seemingly shining brighter than the others. And was gradually glowing brighter and brighter the longer he watched it. Tossing the tower of toasty coverings, Jimmy ran to the window, throwing aside the curtains as he did so. Outside, in the backyard, was a flame unlike anything he had seen before. It danced around, growing bigger and bigger with every second. And then as fast as it appeared, it faded back into nothingness, plunging everything into darkness once more. In it β s place stood a tall, red man. Jimmy quickly threw open the window to his bedroom and climbed outside into the white powder, and quickly made his way towards the maroon man. Only one person that could be! Thought Jimmy, clutching his pyjamas in an attempt to stay warm, but not even the threat of freezing could stop Jimmy now.
β SANTAAA! β Jimmy cried into the night. The figure turned around and instantly Jimmy knew he wasn β t the big man himself.
β You β reβ¦ You β re not Santaβ¦ β Jimmy stuttered, looking up at the strange man in front of him. A cool voice and a calm smile answered him.
β Noβ¦ No I am not, littleβ¦ Jimmy is it? β The red man quickly glanced at the sheet of paper crumbled in his hand.
β But I guess you could say I am a friend of his. β The man smiled a toothy grin down at Jimmy, and all of his fears rushed from his head.
β Didβ¦ Did ya bring me my bike? β sniffed the young boy, looking into the red man β s eyes.
The man did not reply, but instead took a step back and clicked his hands. In a flash of fire appeared the bright green bike, straight from Jimmy β s imagination.
β Andβ¦ And my Power Rangers? β
Another flash, and a box filled of coloured action figures dropped into the snow before them. An awe struck expression stuck on Jimmy β s face.
β Wo-wow Mister! Areβ¦ these really for me? β. The boy stared back up, into the dark eyes of the man before him.
β Under one conditionβ¦ β Another flash and both the bike and toys were gone again. In their place, the man held out a sheet of paper and a red pen. β You remember how to write Jimmy? You did write to me after all. Just sign your name, and everything will be yours! β Jim gulped, and took the pen from the man β s hand. The only thing his parent β s found in the morning was a crumpled note to β Satan β asking for one bright green bike...
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[ wp ] A man dies and goes to hell only to find out he was supposed to go to heaven ... after he already toppled Satan and started a reign of terror the likes of which had never been seen .
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`` What the ***Hell*** do you mean there was a mistake!?''
I lived my life a decent man, I thought. I was faithful, went to church every Sunday, found my wife there and had two beautiful children. I worked hard to give us a decent home, and made sure our kids were set for school. We were happy, healthy, and even well-off. Sure, I hunted a bit when I was younger, but we used every God-given part of the animal we could. Heck, we'd even save the parts we could n't and find someone who could make use of them. Other than that I never did a thing wrong. Went to church every single Sunday I can remember.
And then I died. Car accident, some trucker not paying attention on the highway merged into me at 80 miles an hour on my way to work. I did n't feel a thing. Next I knew, I was here.
In Hell. I was fuming. I did nothing wrong! I'm not a criminal, I was faithful to my wife and my Lord, and I took care of my kids. I thought I'd done life right. I thought I was a good person. How could I deserve this?
So I got angry. I trashed everything I could see, that was within my ability to touch. I do n't even know how it works. Still do n't know how I can move and shape things without a body. But I did it. I trashed the whole goddamned place.
Lucifer came to ask me to quit wrecking his stuff, but then I messed him up, too. I was never a violent man before. I was just angry that I was dealt this hand in the afterlife. Then before I knew it, I was sitting on his big bony chair and ordering his gross slithering minions around. I got the Devil to call me'Sir'. That made things a little more tolerateable. Then I went on to conquer some other realms I'd never even heard of. The Astral plane, the Ethereal plane, some cold ice elemental plane - just so I could open a gateway behind me for some air conditioning. Dozens more planes too. Serves them all right for sticking me down here.
And then I'm sitting on this uncomfortable chair one day, miserable as all get out, and some'Angel' comes down to tell me it was a mistake?
`` My sincerest apologies sir. When you entered the afterlife we were backlogged with the Ebola dead. You were supposed to be shifted to purgatory, not... Here.''
I threw my skull scepter-thing at him. He floated out of it's way easily. `` How the **Hell** could you mess that up?'' I liked saying the word Hell. It had a whole new meaning to me. I owned that word. `` You realize I'm now sitting on the largest army that anyone living or dead has ever seen?''
The Angel gulped nervously. Some sick part of my brain liked that, a lot. `` We realize that, sir. So we'd like to offer you the chance to come up to Heaven now.''
`` I'm a simple man,'' I said. `` But not *that* simple. You just want me off of this chair so I ca n't do any more harm!''
The Angel's glow dimmed, as if he was cowering away. It was the only way he could, since he did n't have a face under that hood of his. Then, he nodded.
`` Well, thanks but no thanks,'' I said, leaning back into my throne of bones. `` I've got a pretty good thing going down here, all things considered, so I'm going to stay where I am.''
Without too much more fuss, the angel finally glimmered away. I sent one of the slithering beasts to get me some beer, as I pondered which realm to take for myself next. When my minion returned I used a protruding horn on his forehead to crack open my PBR. I took a lengthy sip.
`` Maybe Heaven,'' I muttered to myself. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. It'd be one thing to live in Heaven, it'd be a whole other can of worms to *own* it.
`` First thing's first,'' I said loudly. To no one in particular, but all my gross minions' heads perked up anyway. `` I'm going to need a softer chair.''
-- --
I apologize if the grammar is wonky. For whatever reason I had the image of a southern hick type guy in the command seat for Hell, and it entertained me so I tried to give him simpler words and grammar. Other than that, let me know how it sounds: )
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[ WP ] A person 's 'life ' has actually been one long lucid dream . Describe the day they wake up .
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He stood in the middle lane of the stadium. The very lane he sprinted to start his climb to fame 60 years ago. He lifted his head and turned towards the plaque of Hall of Fame.
# Hall of Fame
|'' Beau Boulon, Lolympic 3008'' |
|'' Beau Boulon, Lolympic 3012'' |
|'' Beau Boulon, Lolympic 3016'' |
|'' Beau Boulon, Lolympic 3020'' |
|'' Beau Boulon, Lolympic 3024'' |
He shifted his eyes a little to his right.
# Roll of Honour
|'' Beau Boulon, Longest Standing Lolympic record for the Republic of Fence'' |
Despite the length of his retirement, now at 90, the record holder never lost his title. He knew he could still run and win every young athlete that challenged his title at Lolympic every year. He felt the heat in his feet. He started to jog.
Looking down, he longingly admired his shoes. A pair of simple Daddidas; a gift from Emma. Every step he took, he reminisced the moments with his wife. These pair of shoes were the inexpensive encouragement lovely Emma had chose for him to go on to top every championship he ever participated. There was no need for fancy gimmicky or luxurious Mikey shoes. All he needed was his courage and his strength, and the love from his wife.
Sadly, he outlived his wife, as he had long expected. He felt his motivation go away the day she left. He stopped participating in the Lolympic because it reminded him of his wife's passing.
But the champion in him never left. He widened his steps.
Healthy as ever, no disease or ailment has afflicted him in any way. He knew he was **the** prodigy, the peak of human evolution. Now at 90 years old, he shall sprint again; to relive the glory he possessed in his youth; to fulfill his wife's wishes.
He gradually increased his speed. Soon, he was near sprinting. He felt the energy in his feet overwhelming his senses. The heat inside the soles of his shoes. It was burning. It was searing. It was... Scalding...
Fire.
***
Beau split his eyes open and frantically slapped his feet to douse the fire on his footwraps. His tattered gloves, too, started to catch fire. He stood up, ripped his gloves away and tumbled across the drain to submerge his feet inside the sewage. He sat there among the filth.
A greasy rat struggled desperately to swim against the flowing sewage. Its snout spluttered up and down the surface of the slop. Despite its fight, it had no chance of escaping. The flow lead towards a turbulent junction where the rat was pulled under the surge of a violent whirlpool- with a cruel *swoosh*
What's the point of struggling when your fate is set?
Beau lifted his head and turned towards his makeshift bed. The embers of his dead fire lay on the side, smouldering, eating away at the strands of hay. He shifted his eyes a little to his right.
A fragment of broken glass lay tranquil. The shimmering against the reflection among the dull filth appeared as if a beacon of hope.
Beau slowly crawled toward it on his stomach. He stopped when he felt a tingle on his scalded hands from the drops of his tears. His burns were not even painful. He was already numb. His senses were dull from the hopelessness of his life. The contrasting dream of a successful life only made his situation seem bleaker.
With an excruciating screech, he dragged the shard of glass towards himself.
Edit: i have n't completed it yet, but something made it auto submit. Update in a while
Edit2: woohoo finished it, I started this while resting while gyming, therefore the athletic theme.
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[ IP ] This bridge goes on forever .
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The world is round, but somehow the bridge is not. If you follow the bridge you could walk the length of the world a thousand times and never see something familiar, you just turn around and walk that same distance to go back.
People have gone missing through the bridge, but they are never found. A jet followed the bridge thousands of miles to see if there were any bodies left from the missing travelers, but there were n't any.
No one knew when the bridge was built or who built it, just that it is there.
The bridge can not be seen from space despite how seemingly large it is.
Underneath the bridge was etched in every language imaginable and some that no one even knows, a simple phrase, `` Life is only a journey.''
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[ WP ] Humanity has finally developed completely synthetic humans that are completely identical to organic humans and have made Death 's job a living hell .
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PERVICIL COMMASTAR, WELCOME TO THE END OF YOU... OH BUGGER
`` This is odd''
YOU'RE A ROBOT ARE N'T YOU?
`` Robot? That's almost offensive. I am a synthetic''
YES YES, YOU ARE A VERY UNIQUE SNOWFLAKE. GIVE ME A MOMENT HERE.
Death pulls out a small, dented up, flip phone.
`` My word''
IT IS VERY FUNCTIONAL
`` What about apps and similar functions?
DO YOU THINK I GET RECEPTION IN THE AFTERLIFE?
`` I'm getting 4bars so...''
SHUSH YOU.
Death's fingers clicked on the phone for a few moments. Death lifted the phone to its nonexistent ear.
HELLO THERE, HOW ARE YOU? WONDERFUL. ME? I GOT A LITTLE PROBLEM WITH A....
`` Pervicil Commastar, PC for short''
HILARIOUS... A COMMASTAR, YES, I'M AFRAID I BAGGED THE WRONG ONE AGAIN. 10MINS? SOUNDS GOOD.
`` So do I get to part of this conversation or?''
NO NO, NO RUSH AT ALL. TALK TO YOU LATER.
`` Who was that?''
BLUE SMOKE. THE DEATH OF ELECTRICAL AND A.I. TYPES SINCE 2077
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[ IP ] Ascend
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`` Holy crap! What the h-'' Dylan's curses were cut short as I slammed on my brakes, the wheels of my old Chevy screeching in protest. The beam of light had come out of nowhere, erupting in front of me. There was no denying it was beautiful, but at the moment I was simply trying to keep us alive. We car skidded about 50 feet, narrowly avoiding a collision with a semi. I blinked away the stops in front of my eyes, and looked at the chaos around me.
The whole highway was stopped now, people were out of their cars, their cell phones out as they either frantically called the authorities or frantically took selfies. I climbed out of the truck, gazing up the silver blue column of light. I gazed up at the beam, it's silvery-blue light seemingly outshining even the sun. *Why are you here? * I thought. *What do you want from me this time? * Dylan clambered out of the truck and raced to my side. `` Umm... Mom? What is that?''
`` You're asking me?''
`` Yes.''
`` It's aliens. Obviously. They've come to destroy us all. let's go.'' I started back to the truck. Dylan grabbed by arm and whipped me around. `` Listen, if there's one thing you're bad at, it's lying. And you're lying now. I now that face, this is about Dad is n't it? I cringed. The secret I swore never to speak, never to tell. Dylan had n't asked me in all his twelve long years, and I had never told him. The unspoken rule. `` You know what's going on, do n't you?'' Dylan was angry now, shouting.
I clapped my hand over his mouth, but he still said that last part a little to loudly. A garishly dressed woman clomped over. `` What? Hey, this lady knows what the tractor beam is!'' People flooded over, crowding around me and shouting to be heard over the din.
`` Listen this is just a mistake! I do n't know anythin-''
`` Tell us already!''
`` Are we gon na die?''
It was then helicopters swooped in. Every branch of the military I grabbed Dylan's arm. `` Come with me. Now.'' I ducked into the crowd. Trying my best to look like a curious bystander while working my way toward the beam. Glancing back at the helicopters, I saw a figure step out of a S.W.A.T van on the ground. Even from this distance, I recognized his face. I had memorized every little line and crease, that self-satisfied smile was burned into my memory, still clear as day after all these years. He lifted a megaphone to his mouth. `` Please remain calm! This is a perfectly natural phenomenon! It's called beam lightning, and we are here to conduct research! Would like you all to get back in your cars, and continue on your way!''
`` Natural phenomenon my behind.'' I pulled Dylan closer to me and wove through the throng. `` Look confused.'' I hissed in Dylan's ear. `` Just look... normal.''
I glanced around at the soldiers spreading in every direction. Scientists holding fake scanning devices wandered about. I knew they were n't here for the beam.
I'll admit we got a good bit of the way there before the shouting started. A tranquilizer dart whizzed past my shoulder and hit some poor college student about twenty feet away. He dropped like a stone. People began screaming and scattered. I broke into a run, yanking Dylan along with me. Thank god they were n't very good shots. We ducked behind a car about twenty feet from the beam. Dylan's eyes were with fear. `` Mom! What the... w-why?..'' He pressed his back up against the the car. `` What are we?''
I shot him a sidelong glance. Clever boy. Like his father. His dead father.
`` Listen you evil little monster!'' Ah. The general was back. The killer. `` We can do this nicely. We can find a nice home for your son, and maybe even let you see him. But at the moment, we've got several rocket launchers aimed at that car, and I really do n't think you're going survive that, even with your gifts. Not with your son intact.''
I looked down at Dylan. `` I want you to listen carefully. I'm going to cover you-''
`` No, Mom-''
`` You're going to run to that beam. Go as fast as you can. Do n't stop. Do n't stumble. And. Do. Not. Look. Back.''
`` I not going to leave you.''
`` Yes you are!. I'll... I'll make it if I can. Just go when I tell you to. They ca n't hurt me.'' I tried for a reassuring smile, but I probably looked more like I was stoned.
`` They have guns.''
`` No biggie.''
`` And helicopters.''
`` Piece of cake.''
`` And I think I saw a tank.''
`` Not a problem.''
Dylan laughed softly. `` Mom. You are the most insane person who ever lived.'' He pulled himself into a crouch. `` Whenever you give the word.''
I raised my voice. `` Well, general! I hope you're pleased with yourself! You've managed to corner a feeble woman and a twelve year old boy!''
`` Oh please, your no more a feeble woman than I'm a fairy princess! You both deserve to die!''
`` Did my Ethan deserve to die? Was there any reason for you to gun him down in cold blood?!''
`` You two had a child! If that's not consorting with the enemy, I do n't know what is! Show yourself! You have the count of three, and then we shoot! One!''
I threw my arms around my son. `` I love you, always.'' Tears began to cloud my vision.
`` Two!''
`` I love you, too.'' I pulled away.
`` And do you know what I have to say to you general! Rot in hell!''
Time slowed to a near halt as I stood. I could hear gunshots, the explosive *boom* of artillery, but it all seemed so distant. It had been so long... so very long... since I showed Ethan what I really was the day he asked me to marry him. I took one last look at Dylan as I revealed my true form. He was it the beam now, safe. They would take care of him.
I screamed as I completed the change, my body exploding into a supernova of golds and reds. The bullets melted as they touched me, the artillery shells shattered. The air itself bent and rippled, time literally warped around me. I could n't hold this form for long, not in this dimension. Of course, changing back would be suicide. I reached out to Dylan with my mind. I could feel his confusion, his fear. He had been so brave... *It's okay love, you're going home. *
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[ WP ] Write a story that takes place over exactly 9 minutes .
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*Tick, tock, tick tock. *
You have just stepped into a bank; the next five-hundred and fourty seconds is the most important ones in your life so far.
*Tick, tock. *
Quick, what's the next step? Think about the planning. Right, you were supposed to intimidate. You shoot one shell from your sawed-off straight into the roof. The screams hit your ears like a trainwreck.
You see one of your four partners taking out a guard, and another one destroying cameras. One of them is placing explosives on the first door and the last one is guarding the people laying scared on the floor.
*30 seconds. *
A man reaches for his cellphone. What do you do? You turn his chest into a mess with a twelve-gauge. You scream loudly, `` put your fucking cellphones infront of you, now!''
*40 seconds. *
A loud explosion is heard. You look away and feel a stroke of heat hitting your back. The first doors is open and the teams bomber moves to the next one; a massive vault door, extremely strong. He spreads red thermite-powder on four different spots and proceeds to place some kind of explosive on them.
*45 seconds. *
Your entire team moves in except for you and the other assigned to crowd-control.
*70 seconds. *
Uneventful seconds pass by until you see a fatal mistake: you forgot to check a guy in blue shirt and kaki pants for a cellphone.
*74 seconds. *
`` Cellphone on the motherfucking ground, now!'' You scream from the bottom of your lungs.
*77 seconds. *
You notice that a number has been dialed when the man gives you his phone: 911.
*80 seconds. *
You tell CrowdTwo and he shouts back, `` notify ExOne, CmOne and ScOne, immediately!'' And he sounds pissed.
*90 seconds. *
`` Brace yourselves! Coppers on the way, probably a few swats too.''
*93 seconds. *
`` You had one job, CrowdOne!''
*100 seconds. *
`` Empty the vault and prepare the exit!''
*200 seconds. *
You hear a shout from the vault, `` everything done! Load your rifles and let's go!''
You quickly strafe to CrowdTwo and begin setting up a temporary defense.
*230 seconds. *
CrowdTwo is placed behind the wooden counter and you are hiding with the hostages in another room.
*260 seconds. *
A faint sound of sirens can be heard from downtown. You also hear a weak sound of chopper blades.
The vault-squad is done and arrives to the lobby.
A small defense line is set up.
*300 seconds. *
A drop of sweat hangs under your eye. You're nervous.
The first car can be seen through the big window. Another car pulls in and you quickly count the amount to fourteen regular ones and four swatters.
*305 seconds. *
`` Fourteen C's and four S's.''
*315 seconds. *
Cops and SWAT is setting up on the lot outside, and a negotiator could be seen getting out of a car.
*340 seconds. *
The negotiator speaks into a megaphone.
`` Listen up here, friend, I want to make a compromise here. If you move out without weapons and hands in the air, your sentence will be for-shortened signific-''
*341 seconds. *
Pink mist blows out of the negotiatiors head, and blood covers the asphalt beneath his falling body.
*345 seconds. *
`` What the fuck, ExOne?''
`` We do n't have any time for that shit, CrowdTwo.''
*350 seconds. *
The authorities hide behind their cars and begin to open fire.
Lead flies through the air, breaking the window.
*355 seconds. *
Your team responds with a barrage of fourty millimeter grenades and a hellstorm of bullets.
*360 seconds. *
You count fifteen dead cops so far.
*400 seconds. *
You see the life fade from the eyes of a cop when you kill your first one, you feel a small wind of regret.
`` Eyes up, CrowdOne, stop fucking daydreaming!''
*450 seconds. *
`` We need to move, smokes out!''
*460 seconds. *
A screen of smoke arise from the lot as the smoke grenades detonate.
*470 seconds. *
The whole team mobilizes and runs towards the escape vehicles; five motorbikes lined up in a parking lot near the bank with the cover of the smoke.
*500 seconds. *
The cops have n't started the chase yet. You start the bike and the motor roars.
*520 seconds. *
Time stops as a single bullet finds its way into the body of ExOne, blood splashes as it exits through his left chest-area. He's dead.
*524 seconds. *
`` Fuck... Fuck!''
`` Shut up CrowdOne, just go!''
*530 seconds. *
You and your three remaining companions ride out synchronized and now the chase is on.
*540 seconds. *
You've managed to loose your team in the chaos of the ten previous seconds, and the sirens are near...
***
Sorry for all the errors relating to grammar, I'm extremely tired.
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[ WP ] You ask your wife to hand you the remote . Instead , she hands you a gun .
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`` I asked you for the remote,'' Marty burst out in tantrum. `` I'm sick and tired of your presence, woman.''
Berta was married to Marty for the past 25 years. Marty was anything but a good husband. A typical wife beater, he used to channel his aggression on her. Until one fine day she gave up on life. She handed him the gun. She knew he was angry, and anticipated that he would shoot her right in the head.
Seeing the.375 caliber Colt, which his wife gave him, Marty paused. He cleared his throat, as if he had seen the Reaper himself. `` What is this? I asked for the remote you bloody -- -- --!!!!'' He took out all the guns from the bullet, and used it's nozzle to poke her throat in a mischievous manner.
`` What? You thought it would be all that easy? Well guess what it ai n't,'' he smacked her faced hard using the back of his hand. Berta had dropped down to the floor. She moaned in pain, as her husband continued to thrash her all night long.
`` That's it,'' Berta thought. `` God forgive my poor soul. I have suffered enough. I wish to seek redemption'' Saying her prayers, she went to sleep. She slept on the dining hall floor. She could n't move because of the intense beating that she took upon her.
Meanwhile Marty was in bed making a call. `` Hello, is Mr Langstorm here,'' he waited for the response. `` Oh tell him the package is ready. I want my money by tomorrow afternoon'' Marty disconnected, and went to sleep. The smirk on his face was a clear indication, that something evil was definitely cooking in the scoundrel's mind.
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[ WP ] Two lovers are tragically cursed to forever die in each others ' arms , but blessed to reincarnate and find each other in each new life time . The problem is , they had a terrible break up 50 lives ago , and ca n't stand each other now .
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Sergeant Brian Hollowell squirmed uncomfortably next to the meat mountain in 12C, trying to find somewhere polite to put his arm since the armrest had long since disappeared into her ample abdomen. Fucking fatties need to pay for two seats, he thought, or at least rent the half of mine they're gon na use anyway. He tried to focus his thoughts on getting home and seeing his girlfriend, who was...
`` Sir?'' He looked around StayPuft to see the flight attendant giving him that sweet grandma smile of hers. He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement.
`` The gentleman in 3A would like to trade seats with you in appreciation for your service.''
Well God bless America; some rich ass businessman was going to do his part for the war effort by riding coach on a two hour hop to Atlanta. Fine by him -- Jabba here did n't smell terribly pleasant either, and he was more than willing to excavate his right side and go crush some free drinks in first class. He passed his benefactor in the aisle on the way up, making the usual `` aw shucks, too kind, no really'' noises while secretly wishing he could see this guy's face when he realizes he has to cram that $ 2000 Armani into what remains of 12B.
He follows the flight attendant up the aisle, noting the put-together blonde bun and the toned leg hanging out of 3B as he approached it from behind. Well, well, well; this day is looking up considera --
`` MotherFUCKER!'' he yelled reflexively, aware of the startled eyes of the cabin on him but not caring. The blonde looked at him and her face fell.
`` Hello...''
``... Brian, this time,'' he finished for her.
They'd broken up after she'd cheated on him while he was away fighting the Crusades, but that never changed the curse. Since they could n't stand being around each other anymore, anytime they met was a pretty surefire indicator of their imminent doom. They had bickered on the deck of the Titanic, nodded coldly as they'd met in the showers at Auschwitz, had a head-on on a lonely stretch of road outside Omaha, you name it.
`` Fuck you so much,'' he groaned. `` I just got back from Iraq; I got shot at every day in 120 degree heat and I have n't been laid in a year. And now you're here. Fuck me, I could n't run into you before I left?''
`` Good!'' She shot back. `` I hope this time really hurts, you asshole!''
Everyone in first class is tuning in now, awkwardly pretending to ignore them despite the escalating volume. Some kid is trying to get it on his phone nonchalantly, and the nice grandma flight attendant has turned a little pale.
`` Look, Brian...''
`` No, do n't'look, Brian' me like you're going to be the adult here. You popped that chastity belt so fast I'm surprised the sparks did n't burn down the house.''
`` Sir Lawrence said you were dead!''
`` Sir Lawrence bitched out in Malta; he never even got close to that battle. Anyway, what happened to'joining the nunnery', or was that just code for playing hide the broadsword with every Templar in riding distance?''
`` Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to...'' starts the flight attendant.
`` Ma'am, if you want to be useful, you can get me a fistful of those little Jack Daniels. I'd recommend everyone else drink up, too,'cause shit's about to get real.''
As much as this day had gone to shit, he did note with satisfaction that the atmosphere in the cabin had shifted from embarrassed amusement to actual worry and discomfort. Some beefy-necked suit is reaching inside his jacket, and Brian shoots the Air Marshal a knowing wink just as the engines explode.
It's all blubbering and screaming now in the cabin as she looks at him sadly.
`` Brian, I said I was sorry...''
``'Sorry' is for accidents, like'Sorry, I dinged your car'. Did you trip on the way to the stable and fall on like fifty dicks?''
`` Well fuck you too, Brian! You think I like meeting like this every time? If you'd quit being such an asshole maybe we could go back to the way things were.''
Maybe she had a point. He smiled. She smiled.
`` See you next time?''
`` See you next time.''
He reached for her and their bodies met at five hundred miles per hour.
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[ WP ] Write a children 's story about something horrific
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There once was a man called the Spectacle Man
For the glasses he wore on his nose
His hair was gray and he lived all alone
In that old house where nobody goes
Spectacle Man had his breakfast one day
He had porridge and sugar and milk
And then he decided to go for a walk
And he put on a coat made of silk
He took his cane and went out the door
And strolled around for a while
Breathing the air and hearing the birds -
Then he heard the wail of a child!
Who cries in my forest? thought Spectacle Man
And soon found a wee girl who'd fallen
Off her bike while riding around in the woods -
She'd this allergic reaction to pollen
The girl had scraped her knee in the fall
It hurt and had started to bleed
`` You'd better come with me,'' said Spectacle Man
`` In my cottage I've all that we need''
The girl was happy for finding a friend
And walked with the man to his house
On her boo-boo he put a band-aid so swift
And he helped her to dust off her blouse
`` Your house looks so nice'' said the wee little child
`` Why, it's positively fantastic''
`` There's but one thing I wonder, if you do n't mind''
`` Why's the bathroom all covered in plastic?''
The bespectacled man in his wisdom and age
Explained to the girl about painting:
If you ever renovate rooms in *your* house
The plastic will help avoid staining!
`` O, thank you kind sir'' said the girl to the man
Just as her parents had taught her
`` That's okay'' said the man, `` now just you hang on''
`` I'll get us some lem'nade and fodder''
He poured lemonade and served cinnamon buns
And the girl ate and drank without qualms
It's just the lemonade tasted slightly odd
Perhaps not the same brand as mom's?
When she'd finished the buns and emptied her glass
She said `` I'd best be going home''
`` I'm starting to feel pretty tired right now''
`` I can find my way on my own''
But Spectacle Man was very concerned
And said `` child, do n't you get on that bike''
`` If you've drunk and you're woozy then you should n't ride''
`` You might well crash into a dike''
`` Why do n't you sleep on my couch, it's so green and so soft''
`` You just lie down and rest your sweet head''
She fell promptly asleep, and the man went away
To his toolshed to get piano thread
When he came back he wound the thread round her neck
And stretched it as hard as he could
The girl gaped and convulsed but could n't get loose
'Til she died, and the man said `` oh good''
Then he laid her down in the bathroom so clean
And got a big knife from a drawer
And proceeded to chop off the limbs from her corpse
And he used the serrations to saw her
See, the girl had been drinking a lot of milk
And milk makes the skeleton strong
Just a little advice for young and old
Drink your milk, it can never go wrong!
But poor Spectacle Man, what a terrible ordeal
It took ages to dismember the girl
And also he felt a little bit ill
The smell from the guts made him hurl
So when he was done he soaked all the meat
In a special spice mix he had made
But he saved twelve big pieces in his rusty old fridge
To eat on some other day
There was blood on the floor and it went squicky-squick!
As the gray old man walked fro and to
So he hosed down the plastic and scrubbed the place clean
And flushed the girl's guts down the loo
But later that night the girl's folks were concerned
Where has our little child gone?
So they asked'round the village but they all said no
Nobody had seen her since dawn
In the end only Spectacle Man's house was left
Through the scary woods they took a hike
When they finally came'pon his little old house
They saw right away the girl's bike
`` Oh look'' said mommy, `` she must be in there!''
And they knock-knock-knocked on the door
Spectacle Man opened and bid them `` hello,
`` I rarely get visitors anymore''
`` Wo n't you stay here for dinner?'' the gray old man said
`` I just made - a really great stew''
And offered them coffee, and while they drank up
They said `` we just wondered if you''
`` Might have seen a wee girl biking'round in these woods''
`` We noticed her bike on your step''
And while they started to nod off from their cups
Spectacle Man mumbled `` yep''
And he told the whole story to their lifeless bods
As he put piano wire'round their heads
How he'd slaughtered and eaten their poor little child
And her dad's head rolled under the bed
Tee hee hee, he giggled,'cause it looked pretty fun
To see a head with no body roll around
But then he noticed the semi-conscious mom
And the portable phone she had found!
He was sad that she'd borrow his things without asking
And he cried as he raised the axe
But the mother had time to reach 911
Before he buried it deep in their backs
`` Oh deary old me'' said Spectacle Man
`` The police will be angry for sure''
`` I'd best find a way to get rid of this stuff''
`` So they ca n't find the bodies no more''
And he went to his garage and got a big can
Of gasoline, like you'd use in a car
And he poured it all over the girl's dead mom
And also of course on her pa
It is usually not good to burn down your own house
But in this case he thought it was best
'Cause the cops would help him escape from the flames
While the fire destroyed all the rest
The bodies crackled, popped and twitched
And bubbled all over their faces
But Spectacle Man had n't through this plan through
It was burning in more and more places
See, the problem was that the 911 folks
Were n't told that there would be a fire
So no firetruck came - now children, take heed:
Use clear communication when it's dire
`` O, help!'' cried Spectacle Man from under his bed
Where he'd hid to escape this calamity
But'neath a bed is a shit place to hide from a fire
And he screamed now in eye-melting agony
That's the last we heard of Spectacle Man
And his horrible, lengthy misfortunes
But at least we can learn from the old fart's mistakes:
If you're kidnapping, only choose orphans.
EDIT: [ there's also an illustration ] ( http: //i59.tinypic.com/2m7hu9g.jpg )
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[ WP ] You are a Junior in high school and you have special glasses that let you see your classmates in the future
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Mr Greenfield wiped the blackboard clean of yesterday's problem sets as we filed into class. I slipped my glasses on, claimed a back corner seat, and adjusted the focus to about 28 years, as close to Mr Greenfield's retirement as I could get.
Mr Greenfield was my favorite teacher to watch through the glasses; at least, of the ones that remain teachers he was my favorite. Most teachers, they aged ugly. They got worn out and tired and their eyes glassed over by the time they'd been doing it for too long. Mr Greenfield aged when you looked at him, there's no denying that, but his smile stayed just as young. He loved what he did.
The bell rang just as Eric Leeds ran in, sunglasses on, the sharp odor of a hasty spliff poorly masked by Axe body spray trailing behind him. He dropped his sketchbook on his desk and I refocused my glasses down to six years to watch. Eric goes through a really great expressionist phase for a couple years after art school. The paintings do n't do very well, but that does n't seem to be the point for him, he's happy just making him. A few years later he starts a successful business when California legalizes recreational marijuana anyway, so being a failed painter does n't seem too bad.
Eric looked to his right. Somebody was talking to him, but the seat was empty. I pull my glasses off for a moment and look again. Jesse Chambers, of course, how could I forget. Valedictorian, prom queen, one of those pretty, popular girls who's nice to everybody. Not in a fake way, she's just really that nice. She has n't told anybody her Leukemia is back. Nobody but me will even know until we've all left for college and we see people posting about it on Facebook.
When I first figured it out, I did n't know what to do. I tried to talk to her about it, but I did n't know what to say, I just got nervous and stammered out nonsense. She thought I was asking me out on a date. In typical Jesse style she had let me down easy, given me a hug, and invited me to a party instead.
I watched Jesse and Eric talk for a little while, then excused myself to the bathroom, needing some air. It's weird, going through a mourning phase for someone who wo n't die for almost a year. I cried over her death before she even knew it was coming.
I sat in the boy's room stall for a good long while, thinking about Jesse, wondering if she even wanted to talk to anyone about it.
The bathroom door opened and off-key whistling filled the room, floating over the sound of a rolling trash can. Must be Jeff Markowitz, the Janitor.
I kept my glasses off as I washed my hands. The first time you see a gay pornstar scrubbing a floor, you've had your fill for a good long while. Jeff looked up and saw me. He smiled and pushed his headphones back off his ears.
`` Hey Cal,'' Jeff said.
`` Hey Jeff''
`` You runnin dry?''
`` Nah I'm good, I just bought some from Eric last week''
`` I got Sour Diesel''
`` Maybe next time.''
`` Word. Later, Cal.''
`` Later Jeff.''
I strolled back down the hall, taking my time, glancing in at occasional classrooms, looking at scientists and copy editors and delivery men and soldiers, even a few successful musicians and one very famous actor. I could n't stop thinking about Jesse, though. I did n't want her to be in this alone. I'd watched all of her close friends go through her death, none of them even knew it was coming. She must be lonely.
Mr Greenfield looked up as I came back into the room.
`` Ah, Cal, we were getting worried,'' he said, `` Eric thought you might have fallen in.''
I shrugged. For once I had n't thought out an excuse for my long bathroom break, so I said nothing and returned to my seat. Jesse looked at me as I sat down, a frown on her face.
`` Are you okay?'' she whispered, leaning over. I nodded and forced a smile, mumbling `` Just tired,'' under my breath.
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[ IP ] Mission Failed .
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*Hanging over a dead planet. Over a dead ship, even. So soon to be dead myself. The pressure is too great, both literally and psychologically. What am I supposed to say?
Is this the time to be pithy? Is this the time to be anything other than a quivering wreck? *
*The ship does not seem to be moving, not that I am either. We both lie motionless in the sky, our drives faded and the shells now left to rot. *
`` Can anybody hear me?''
*I am desperate, my hand is clasped over the wrist communicator, but all the mic is recording now is my panicked breathing. *
`` Can you?''
*I am totally alone. We found nothing on this forsaken rock to begin with, my recent posting had only confirmed this with human eyes for the necessary officials. Now the shuttle is a write-off and I'm about to die a horrific death on the atmospheric border of a celestial graveyard. I do n't even have to listen to Control's terrible jokes.
That was n't a bad last thought, I suppose.
My visor is cracking, so apparently I am moving after all. In to a pressure shift, which is about to tear me apart. Bugger. In that case, I suppose I'm signing off sooner than expected. *
`` I think I'm going now.''
*Hand is still on that communicator, mic is still picking up the terrified breaths of a man running out of time and oxygen. *
As his visor cracked open, the astronaut was left with the distinct and familiar buzzing but nasal voice of Control fizzing in his ear.
`` HAAAAAAA, bet you thought we were all dead or something, huh?''
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[ WP ] You work at a tavern in a fantasy world . Describe a day at work .
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Being hunted by the witches of the Lydia Anne Coven sure did make me paranoid. Three people climbed off the bus along with me. Only one took the turn toward the diner. I walked, watching the man β s reflection on the shop β s windows. The poison ivy potion I made was in full effect. It warmed my veins with its presence. *Come on, buddy. Make a move. *
I made it plenty of times, but never saw its effect. A bubbling rot of the flesh was supposed to be the effect. The diner was quiet. Sunday β s didn β t bring many customers especially not during the evening hours. The paycheck β s all I came for.
I swung the glass door open and entered the shop. The door didn β t shut behind me. I turned. The man, wearing large glasses with a dark transparent rim, stood in the doorway holding the door, and waited for me to pass. I didn β t see much apart from his shabby beard under the hood of his red jacket. His hands were out of his pockets. No burns.
β Sorry, β I said and walked through, giving him an opening to pass.
β No worries, β he said and headed for the diner.
Tina grabbed me from behind. β Boo! β she said. This was her go to greeting. Annoying as she was, when I had to leave the city after this shift, I β d probably miss her the most.
β Hey Tina, β I said and turned to her.
β Who is that? β she asked and pointed her head in red coat β s direction.
β Stop that! β I waved my apron at her, then unfolded it and began to tie it around my waist. β I don β t know. β
β Then why were you acting so weird? β Her hand scrolled through the list of names that were written over the seating chart, looking at which sections we were placed in for the evening.
β I thought I knew him. β I shrugged. β What did we get? β
β The back, β she scoffed. β I can β t believe that jackass is still getting me back for losing the battle of the socks. β
I smiled. β You could just wear the standard stockings. β
β Screw him! I β m an artist, Vera. β She delicately placed her fingers on her neck. β And this damn place needs some color. β
Tina β s peculiar sock collection made our manager see red. She had all sorts, black with little pink ribbons, green with white polka dots, and her favorite pair, pink with a print of sleeping cats. Knee-high and perfected with strapped high heeled boots. She won the argument by saying that her coven disallowed normality, and if Hank was to make her stop wearing them he would break her freedom of expression rights. Tina wasn β t a witch and her argument was severely misinformed, but Hank put up with her long enough to know that she wouldn β t budge unless he fired her. And no one wanted to work at the small, dilapidated diner. They β d been searching for Norma β s replacement for two months.
β Holy crap, β she said. β He β s in your section. β
I turned my neck, and peeked. *Shit! * He was probably perfectly normal and just in the diner to cure his constipation because, oh boy, would the food here take care of that with a good case of diarrhea. There was plenty of cooked food left over after every shift, and neither I nor Tina ever dared to take it. And that says something when both of us are dead broke and surviving on two minute noodles.
I grabbed a leather bound menu and headed to his booth. β Hi and welcome to Danny β s Diner, β I said with a smile. Everything was blue, from the counters to the walls. The menus were nice but that β s because Hank managed to walk into a factory sale and get lucky.
β Can I get you anything to drink or are you still deciding? β
β Just coffee. β
*Yep. Yep. Yep. You β re here to kill me. * No one comes here for the coffee. The only thing that β s worth a damn is canned or bottled. β Sure thing. I β ll be right back. β
Tina sat at the counter, legs crossed, reading the paper. I came up around and poured him a cup from the flask. β Do you live in the city? β I asked her. I β d been working there for a months and never asked her. We always hung around in coffee shops or bars.
She looked up from the paper. β Do you think I β d be able to afford an apartment here? β she asked.
The only way I was able to get an apartment nearby was by charming the owner to give me a discount. It was still a shit hole, but at least I didn β t have to spend money on travel. β Can I stay over? β I put a sugar bowl and two milk cups on the tray.
β Are you in trouble? β
β Kind of. β
Tina folded the paper. β What kind? β
β I β ll tell you all about it later. β I lied.
β Alright. β She raised a brow and glared. β Better not have any break ins. β
β No break ins, β I said. That would be the least of our worries if those witches found me. They might have missed my eyes once, but no way was I lucking out again. Poor Tina. I would have to erase her memory. That β s if we made it through the night.
I walked back, and placed the coffee on the table. β Here you go. Can I get you anything else? β
His eyes fell onto my neck. β A family heirloom? β
I held my hand over the necklace, and narrowed my eyes. β Nope, picked it up at an antique store in the village. β The hair on the back of my neck tickled as they rose. My grandmother had passed the necklace to me when she died. The only thing she had that was worth a damn apart from the house on the compound that was handed to fledgling witches. It would have been mine too if I didn β t decide to leave the coven.
β Lucky buy. β
I nodded. β Sure was. So, anything else? β
β No, thanks. β He took out his wallet and placed a ten on the table. β Keep the change. β Standing, he put a hand on my shoulder. β This is no place for a Holbrook witch. β
I huffed. β Iβuh, I don β t know what you mean. β
β Vera, β he said and leaned closer, sliding his chin past my shoulder, β run. And hide the pendant. β
I looked at his hands. My only proof of safety. They were clear. He was being genuine. β Who are you? β I turned to a gust of wind. The door of the diner swung open and the wind traveled through it.
The High Talon coven was the only one who trained in the magic of the elements, specifically air and fire. Most of us knew some spells, but that β s only because they were the easier kind. Traveling was something only their members could do. They were known for their dramatics, but I certainly didn β t need any of it now. My heart pounded, I could see my chest jump from under my shirt.
β Tina, β I yelled. β Get your shit. We β re leaving. β
β You β ve been here for 5 minutes. What on earth are you talking about? β The skin on her nose wrinkled.
I rushed over and grabbed her by the arm. β We β re leaving. Right now! β
β We β re not going to get paid if we leave now. β
β Don β t worry, you β ll get paid. β I said. I β d conjure her some money. Notes conjured by witches had magic markings on them. Seeing a normal human with them was nothing special. For a witch in hiding that was a totally different story. This was the least I could do for ruining her job and displacing her. Both would happen once we left the diner. I could only cover our tracks for so long before the Lydia Anne coven discovered our location. She β d have to find a new home and a new job. I couldn β t risk leaving her alone, not here.
Tina protested but left right alongside me. I ran into the street and watched the cars pass until a black one with a white sign approached. I waved, but the driver ignored me, passing. Holding out my hand toward the car, I sucked in the night air, slowing the car to a stop. Conjuring the magic inside of me was easy. Like muscle memory, the spells all came to me with little to no effort.
I ran up, dragging Tina behind me and opened the door to a shocked expression of an old lady, wearing a fur coat and more makeup than I used in a year. Sweat pushed her foundation into the dents of her wrinkles. β Ladies, the cab is taken. β
β We won β t take up too much room, β I said, pushing Tina into the cab. I put my right leg in, turning to search the night for wondering eyes. β What β s your address? β
β The Daisy Square, The Clifford Manor, β Tina said to the driver. He was fumbling with the ignition of the car. Trying to figure out why the car died in the middle of the street, no doubt.
I sat down and shut the door. β Come on! Drive, β I urged him, tapping on the glass.
β Where did you say again? β the driver asked.
β Honestly, girls, this is preposterous, β the old woman muttered while Tina spoke to the driver.
Yeah, well, rather preposterous than dead. β Sorry, Ma β am, we β re in a big of a hurry. β
The cab took off. Tina wiggled her fingers below my firm grip, making me realize that I still held them. I panted, looking into the side view mirror, watching the cars behind us.
β Sorry. β
β So, you β re *kind of* in trouble, huh? β Tina massaged her fingers.
`` Something that man at the diner said really scared me.'' I said. The black car behind us made a left turn. I watched the other. A man and woman in the front, I could n't make out much more than that.
`` What man?'' she asked.
I turned to her, frowning. `` The man in the red coat that came in right behind me.''
`` Uh, no idea. You're just a bag full of crazy tonight, are n't you?''
*****
Read more here: /r/AlinaKG
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[ WP ] The monologue of a 1920s Noire Detective that lost his keys .
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My God, there's so much darkness. The inside of my garage smells like scotch and thoughts of things that could have been. A diploma. A woman. An actual relationship with my father. Maybe one day, the wonders of the world that sit on my bucket list will stop rushing past me, and I'll be a free man. Until that time, I need to find my keys because my door's locked. How much pain must I endure, tonight? Thanks to prohibition, a man ca n't even have access to his keys, nowadays. I do n't ask for much. I understand that happiness is overrated, but, for comfort's sake, I deserve one little, anodyne light in this dark Hell of a garage. Jack greases the wheels enough to get me through these cold, cold nights, and there's nothing like a good smoke to keep the pistons moving. If I'm lucky, the moribund, insatiably creaky machine that is my soul will explode into life, so guide me, lighter. Allow me to gaze upon my key ring so that I may find the right one and open the rotten, goddamn door.
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[ WP ] A horror monster uses the protagonist 's genre savvyness against them .
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β Wait, wait, wait, β Dave said, placing his hand in front of Sarah β s chest and stopping her in her tracks. β I saw this in a movie once. Don β t go outside the house, you β ll just die. β
β What? β Sarah said, turning toward Dave. Her face had been slashed from the bottom of her left eye down to just above her chin, the blood now dried and the wound clearly superficial. It had looked so much worse an hour ago, so much more life threatening, but Dave had known she wouldn β t die from it. They β d only been trapped in the house for less than a few hours. No one ever died that quickly in the films.
β Just stay in here, he wants us to go outside. β The axe murder, the guy who β d been chasing them for the better part of the evening, had vanished after they β d blockaded themselves inside a room on the second floor. He was kicking at the door for a while, thrashing about and breaking everything in the old, decrepit house they β d rented for the weekend through Airbnb. Then, he stopped. Silence took over long enough for them to devise a plan: run out of the room, out of the house, and out toward their car parked in the dirt a few feet outside. Then they β d simply drive home and write an incredibly negative review regarding their experience through the website.
β Are you serious, Dave? He β s in here. He β s in the house with us. We need to get out, β she whispered, resuming her movement toward the door. Dave again stuck his hand out, stopping her.
β Haven β t you ever seen *The Texas Chainsaw Massacre? * As soon as they go outside, there β s old Leather Face, ready to cut some faces off and improve his mask collection. β
β This isn β t a movie, β Sarah hissed, pushing Dave β s hand away.
β No, β Dave said, β but I know how horror films go. Who β s seen more of them than me? β Dave asked, pausing. He stared at Sarah, waiting for an answer. β Hmm? β
β You, Dave. You β ve seen the most. Please, we need to get the fuck out of here. β She shoved Dave β s hand away and lunged for the door, Dave grabbing the tail of her shirt and pulling her back toward him as she squirmed.
β That β s right, β Dave said. β I β ve seen them all. *Orphan*, *Silence of the Lambs, **Psycho, * *The Shining* -- all of them. I know how this works. Just trust me. If you go outside, you β ll die. β
β Fine, β Sarah hissed, her body falling limp under Dave β s grip of her shirt. β What the fuck do you propose, then? β
β We β re going to go upstairs to the bedroom, lock the door, call the police, and wait this whole thing out from under the bed. The guy is clearly right outside, probably hiding in the back seat of the car and getting ready to decapitate us both. If we never go outside, though, never step foot into the darkness, then we β ll be fine. He β ll just be sitting in that car like some sort of an idiot. β
β Great, β Sarah said, β but there β s only one problem: my fucking phone is dead. β
β Right, β Dave continued, β but there β s a landline in this house. I mean, look how old this place is? β It was certainly antiquated, the floorboards creaking with every slight movement they made as they argued. It had probably been built in the early 1900s, and would have made a fantastic setting for a haunted house movie, or some sort of murder-thriller, much like the experience they were currently in the middle of. Whatever the case, older houses almost always meant obsolete technology, specifically landlines.
β There is? β Sarah said, tilting her head slightly. β Why didn β t you use it before? β
Dave shrugged. It simply hadn β t occurred to himβthey never seemed to try landlines in horror films, so it wasn β t exactly at the front of his mind. To be completely honest, though, he never actually saw one of the phones and had no idea whether or not they were actually in the house. He β d been a bit too preoccupied with not getting decapitated to look around for one. Still, there was probably one in the bedroom.
β Whatever, where is it? β
β Upstairs, β Dave said with confidence. He turned back toward the stairs leading to bedroom, immediately locking eyes with a pair that had not been there earlier. They stared at him, the face around them pale and blood-stained. It was a man, his black hair cascading down to his shoulders and stopping atop his red, flannel sweater. A long, wooden axe with a silver blade hung from his right hand, the tip almost touching the floorboards beneath.
β I knew you β d think I was in the car, β the man said, his voice strained as he lifted the axe into the air. β You seemed like the kind of guy that watches a lot of horror films. β He closed his eyes and swung.
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^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [ ^in ^my ^subreddit! ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/ )
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