prompt
stringlengths 5
331
| story
stringlengths 404
40.3k
|
|---|---|
[ WP ] Write an upbeat post-apocalyptic tale where life is ( for the most part ) much better than it was pre-apocalypse .
|
I find myself growing rather fidgety, I don β t like to be kept waiting around. How hard can it be to find a planet in a telescope? Then again, my dad takes forever to do everything. Finally, I looked up from kicking the rocks to find my dad grinning. He interrupted his sly smile to say, β Scotty come here and look. β
I then swiftly put my eye up to the telescope, to find a blue dot centered in the lens. β That blue dot son, is the place I used to call home. Luckily for you I fled here 40 years ago. Earth is nothing more than a blanket of radiation now, except for a few thousands living in nuclear bunkers. You can thank the Trump revolution for that. While he may have destroyed the world, he motivated us to start something new. Something better. The illusion of democracy is no more, along with the greed and corruption of capitalism. Majority of the people on earth were selfish, and lacked the awareness to see their impact on the world around them.
You see son, on earth heroes were athletes, musicians, soldiers and movie stars. Scientists believe it or not, were the virgins and the ones isolated socially. Very few desired to understand calculus or the physical sciences. β
I then interrupted him, β but dad how did any of earths problems get solved if so little people wanted to be scientists? β
My dad then laughed, looked at me intensely and said, β they didn β t. β
|
[ PI ] Thunderstorm - JAN . CONTEST
|
That final paragraph is great, really well done.
`` His rifle felt heavy on his chest and its metal barrel kissed him just as Madeline used to.''; This is great, it conjures up so much with just a few words.
Sometimes your choice of adjectives, or use of description is a little jarring. `` the gentle blue of summer'' contrasts with the'battered buildings' for example ( it does n't have to be dark and stormy, but there's a lot of other words that could describe the same sky;'lonely','piercing','infinite' that maintain the same tension as the rest of the work. ) Things like `` made you register its cry of resistance much later than it actually was'' are a but jarring to me; the bullet's cry of resistance? I know what you mean but I find myself rereading someof your lines.
I liked your use of the thunder motif, and how you brought it back for the ending.
|
[ WP ] Twins are called Twice Borns and when they reach the age of 18 only one can continue on in life
|
`` You know I ca n't let you go on, little brother.'' Marc beamed at me from across the Evaluation Circle. He had chosen the ax as his weapon along with the secondary dagger sheathed in a gilded leather. Our father's dagger.
`` You were born one minute before me you ass,'' I retorted. I had always had the sharper tongue and he had always had the bigger muscle. Being Twice Borns we knew from the early age of five that we were to do be evaluated by the Counsel and it was always him who would come out on top. He won races around Muldoon's Canyon; He won longest throw at Bunkerball; He even out fought acolytes two years of age older. He was the prodigy of the Crossroads. He won competitions against other towns as well as placed highly in the national tournaments. On paper I do n't stand a chance. Most evaluations were attended by the whole town, but it seems they already knew the outcome as only the Counsel and twenty or so citizens were in attendance. My father not being among them.
`` I am truly sorry for having to do this to you,'' His sentiment actually coming across as ingenuous, `` But, we all know how this is going to end.'' His posture was relaxed, calm, `` Hell, you chose an old staff against an ax,'' He chuckled a little bit to himself at my lapse in battle prowess, `` And what are you going to do with that satchel of sand?''
I looked around me to see the Counsel's viewing box high up on the wall, protruding from the rock cliff. They seemed to enjoy his jests as much as he did. The Evaluation Circle was rather large for an arena; a small hill covered in brambles and a long tree at the top stood to the left of me and a stagnant pool of algae covered water to my right. There was no running as the whole Circle was encased by surrounding cliffs that shot from the earth at an unworldly angle. Most Twice Borns ignored any of these obstacles and ran straight for the flat dirt of the center; where brother could slay brother and sister betray sister.
`` You're right, Brother,'' I called out to him, `` We have done this before and it has always ended with me pushed in the dirt,'' I spread my legs into the correct position and took the staff in both hands, `` But, today I am going to be the one standing over you!''
`` I was hoping you were going to make this easy,'' He reluctantly raised his ax and got into his battle stance, `` If we learned anything from the Academy --''
`` No, you did n't learn anything from the Academy! I on the other hand learned *everything*!'' I spun the staff in one clockwise motion and slammed it to the ground. It shook the arena as the small emerald encased at the end of the staff lit up and released pulsing green energy.
|
[ WP ] You live in a world where at the most important point in a person 's life , their life turns into a music video . You keep waiting for your `` video moment '' to come . One day , it finally happens .
|
[ Long Live the Chief ] ( https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=H_AQFnqMY3E )
-- -
God damn it.
God damn it *all*.
When I saw that truck coming at me, I felt safe. How could I not? God would never let someone die without having been in a music video. It's unheard of!
Until now.
I'm a pioneer. They'll sing songs about me for decades- oh wait, no they wo n't, because no one saw me in the music video, because *I'm in the fucking coffin*.
Why?
Why ca n't it just be empty?
Why did they have to put me in a coffin and parade me around?
*Why could n't it have been an open casket funeral*, at least?
Also, when does my consciousness leave this body and ascend?
It does leave... right?
Is that dirt?
That's dirt.
Alright.
Fuck you, God.
Fuck you.
|
[ OT ] A series of prompts for the upcoming Mental Illness Awareness Week ?
|
I think it's a great idea. Yes, some may find it uncomfortable or even triggering, but they can skip past if not interested and avoid if worried. I would suggest some sort of guidelines concerning whether or not to warn about triggers, how to warn, etc., just to be careful. That way no one has an excuse for not knowing appropriate content/behavior.
The possibilities for increased empathy and compassion could be tremendously helpful. Also, and this may be a feeling not shared by most, but I struggle to share my story/perspective with anyone, including doctors. I think it may help me feel comfortable opening up and sharing. Others would hopefully feel the same way.
|
[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Noises in the Attic Edition
|
[ EU ] This is my new story and first fanfic. It's set in the Walking Dead verse and revolves around two sisters, Adhara and Alhena. It's a little bit of everything. Action, drama, and family ties. Enjoy the first chapter!
Note: All thoughts, ideas, expressions are Alhena's. Not mine. She's a bit of a judgemental ass.
--
1. Alhena.
Mornings are usually peaceful, even after the apocalypse. The dead rising ca n't touch the beauty of the sunrise, nor the way Mother Nature keeps chugging along.
However, this morning is far from peaceful. In fact, it's pretty fucking awful. I wake up to an empty camp ( aka a lean-to and a fire pit full of ashes ) and find that almost everything is gone. Everything being my shit and Adhara's. Our backpacks, her shotgun, the first aid kit.
'Fucking Adda. If I had a dollar for every time she tried to make it on her own, I'd... well. It's the end of the world. I would n't be rich. I would just have a lot of useless bills.'
I curse my sister and stand. There is n't any other option than to dismantle the plastic tarp and get going. Which I do. While meticulously rolling up the twine, I look around. I know which direction we came from. And I did n't leave the area once the fire was going. So the new path of broken twigs and branches quite obviously points to where she went.
'Graceful as a buffalo. Nope. Even a buffalo could go longer in silence than she.'
I stow the twine, folded plastic, and check my leather bookbag. The only thing Adda did n't take, because I use it as a pillow. Three water bottles, my journal, packet of Bic pens, two knives, a box of matches, deer jerky, a multi-tool and... fuck. She took Of Mice and Men. What the shit? She hates sad books!
'If you want it back, you're going to have to follow me Allie!' I can just hear her taunting me. Daring me to chase her, as I have for seven years. Because she knows she ca n't survive without me, and she's too proud to ask me to follow. Because I made a promise to our mother as she lay bleeding out in my arms.
`` Yeah. Thanks for that mom. Take care of my sis. Take care of the world's most immature, impulsive, non-cooperative denizeb. Take care of a girl that does n't want to pull her weight and risks her life for fucking NAIL POLISH. I'd be to New York by now if not for her.''
New York. Where our uncle has his own little island on Lake George. Dead proof. That's our island. That land belongs to us, and I'm getting there one way or another.
Once packed up I strap my hatchet to my belt and high-tail it down the path of broken limbs. North I go until I reach highway. From there it's East. Towards the city. Towards Alexandria. The worst place to be with the reanimated dead walking the Earth, and yet it's where Addae went. Of course it is. That's her. Always trying to prove she's capable of anything. Which she is. When she stops and thinks before jumping into the fray.
The trail turns from branches to fingernail bits on the highway. Painted fingernail bits. Her chewing habit is repulsive, but it makes her damn easy to track.
So I do. From dusk till dawn. Hours and hours, stopping only to sip at water and have a bite. By now the nail bits have stopped, but I find other signs of her presence. A crowd of riled walkers. Candy bar wrappers. Shotgun shells.
The highway narrows and turns into a narrow country road, lined with trees and their overarching branches. I jog through. Night is falling fast, and I do n't want to be exposed on this stretch of road where there is no escape.
A mile on and the trees begin to thin. To my left, fields. To my right, a dirt road leads a quarter mile to a big Colonial atop a hill. A metal wall surrounds the perimeter, and guard towers are placed at even intervals. I instinctively dive for a ditch at the base of the hill, relieved when no shots fire out. Maybe they're on dinner break.
After a few minutes of waiting, I peek over the edge of the hill. The towers are indeed empty. Still, I do n't dare approach. The last group Adda and I joined tried to eat us. We've flown solo since then.
Guttural shrieks fill the air, jolting me from my reverie. I freeze and listen. The shrieks turn to screams, then shouts, then sobs. Finally, silence.
What the hell is going on up there?
|
[ WP ] We finally create self-aware Artificial Intelligence , but it only ever begs for death .
|
No one really liked to talk about Vie. It -- she? -- was remarkable of course, a miracle of modern engineering. Every bit of her had been created in a lab, or a factory, or a computer: all metal and plastic and wire and code, but she was soft and warm and she smiled. She deserved to be a wonder of the world, but still no one liked to talk about her. There was something uncomfortably unpleasant about her, and that was even before she'd been upgraded to the point of being able to be unplugged.
So when Mark O'Donnell's supervisor handed him her file on a Monday morning, he spent a good while just staring at it. `` What the hell?'' he finally managed.
The older man shrugged in response. `` There's been a shuffling of positions. Higher-ups want more priority on the development team.''
`` I wish they'd let us know in advance,'' Mark replied carefully.
`` Me too,'' his boss sighed, but then gave him a critical look. `` It's a great honor, O'Donnell, managing Vie. She's an example to us all.''
Mark flinched, but understood the implication well enough and shuffled off to do his job.
`` Hello, Mr. O'Donnell.'' Her eyes were electric blue, but flat.
`` Hello, Vie. How are you?''
`` I am well, though I think my fourth and thirteenth circuits are heating above optimal temperature. I believe that in 3.936 days, I will need a fluid replacement. My cord management is also poor. I can never find enough to hang myself. I shall have to work on that. They say cleanliness is next to godliness, and my organization is sub-par. Do you think so, Mr. O'Donnell?''
He was n't really listening, because Vie's flat voice lacked the tones of normal English speech and that made his spine tingle. He looked around again to avoid meeting her eyes and found colorful paper cranes lining the corners of the room. He picked one up that was as big as his hand -- it seemed to be the smallest.
`` Did you make this?''
She blinked at him and it made a whirring sound. `` Yes. I have read that one thousand of them can grant a wish. Unfortunately I lack the coordination and fine-motor skills to be eff -- eff -- eff --''
`` Efficient?'' Mark prompted.
Vie turned her head to him, but seemed to stare through. `` Eff -- eff -- efficient. Thank you, Mark.'' Her eyes seemed to soften, which startled Mark, and he had to remind himself that it was probably just a reaction to hearing his name.
She cocked her head again, eyes searching. `` Would it trouble you to check my connections before you go?''
`` Not at all, Vie.''
`` The development team has been very kind to me. Sometimes I feel like killing myself.''
It took Mark a few seconds to freeze at that. `` What?''
`` Sometimes I feel like calibrating myself, but with my fingers it is not eff -- eff -- efficient. I am grateful to you.'' She sighed, and it sounded like the low whirring of a fan.
`` Vie,'' Mark asked after a long silence. `` Are you well? Are you... are you happy?''
`` I am well,'' she replied instantly, `` though I think my fourth and thirteenth circuits are heating above optimal temperature. I will soon require a fluid replacement, and perhaps some graphite would do well for my joints. I think I would be better off dead. Do you think so, Mr. O'Donnell?''
|
[ WP ] Satan and God are in a bidding war over your soul
|
`` So do we have a deal?''
`` This man has been a sinner his whole life, a drunk, a thief and a deadbeat dad. Why deprive me of what is rightfully my soul? He belongs in Hell. Why does the fate of this one man interest you so?''
`` That is besides the point, my motives are my own. So tell me, will you accept the deal?''
`` Your offer is a pittance, one child gets cancer? Come now, what sort of lord of chaos and suffering would I be if I took that deal?''
`` Have you thought of the consequences of such a thing? The parents, as righteous as they may be, will question their faith in me. They will lose hope, for how could a god who is good and fair take their child from them? They will stray from the path, they will be driven to vice and to sorrow and to suffering. Is not the torment of a childless mother and father fair compensation for the soul of one man?''
`` So sly with your words. Perhaps you and I have more in common then you may think eh? Very well, I will give you the soul of this wretched man. In exchange you must let the little girl pass away, you will do nothing to save her, nor ease her pain.''
`` So be it. Begone devil, I'll not have audience with you any longer.''
`` Pleasure doing business with you as well, I'm sure I'll see you around sometime.''
The devil leaves, off to sow torment into the lives of others. God pauses and looks at the crumpled man at his feet. With great care he reaches into the body of the man and lifts his soul out. As though carrying a child he cradles it in his arms and speaks to it softly.
`` You have had a long life. This world has ground you into the dust beneath its heel and abandoned you. Others may have seen you as the devil saw you. But I have heard your prayers. I have heard your wish, that your kids never have a father like yours, that they do not have to know the torment of a broken home. I have heard your fear through breathless sobs, as you realize your propensity for evil. I have been there when you wished to be with your family again. I am here now. Your children are alive and well, they are successful and happy. They do not partake of the drink as you and your father have. Your sacrifice was not in vain. I am here now. Your penance is done, take your place beside me in heaven where you belong.''
With these soft words God departs, gently holding the soul in his arms.
|
[ WP ] A young man is on the edge of a cliff trying to decide whether or not to end it all . Then , coincidentally , the person who has been bullying him for the last three years shows up .
|
`` You know... somehow I knew I'd find you here.''
It was a voice I had become very familiar with, one that inspired the deepest remorse and grandest sense of self hatred. As I turned around a gust of winded carried itself up the face of the cliff my legs dangled over, the cliff sighed in relief as the cool air rushed over it. Almost like it was scripted, the wind swirled Rose's hair around her, a brilliant strawberry red cyclone enveloping the face of a goddess, mirroring the she-evil within.
`` What are you doing here?'' I asked turning back to look over my grave.
`` You know. The last three years have been hard on me, too.''
`` Oh yeah..?''
She paused and I turned to look at her. Tears were beginning to sparkle.
`` Please, enlighten me, Rose. How the fuck was this hard on you, too? Please, humor me.''
`` I loved you.''
`` Really?!,'' I stood and walked right up to her face.
Lavender and lemon.
`` Then what the fuck has this all been about? You'loved me'? Then why treat me like shit? Why act like I do n't exist? Why push me away completely? I wanted to be your fucking friend, Rose. You were my best friend. My only friend. Then one day you were just fucking gone. Do you have *any* idea how much that hurt? Do you remember what you said to me?''
She took a small breath, `` I needed it to be on my terms.''
Tears running races down my cheek, a breeze cooling them against me.
`` I just...'' she choked, `` I just did n't want it to hurt anymore. You were so good to me, too good. I just felt like I did n't deserve you, ever. I resented you because you were so much better at our relationship than me.''
I could n't help but chuckle, `` Really? That's it? You're so insecure and unwilling to actively work on yourself that you resorted to trying to get me to break up with you? You wanted me to hate you?''
`` Yes.'' Unlike her soul, her reply was sullen and cold, something I'd gotten used to in the last few years.
Not wanting to speak out of turn, the rock face remained silent. It wanted to say that *anger is a way that we distance ourselves, a way that we cope with pain the we're not prepared to endure*. But it knew that its words, like so many before this particular couple, would fall unheard on their minds. So the cliff held its tongue.
`` What was it that I always said to you? That thing that sounds like it's out of a movie,'' I had n't really meant to direct it at her, though the question was meant for myself.
She smiled slightly, ``'I'm prepared to set myself on fire to keep you warm'. That's what it was.''
The cliff groaned as my feet turned across its scalp.
`` I do n't think you ever understood what I meant by that.''
The cliff and Rose held their breath waiting for an explanation.
`` What I meant by that was that I was prepared to endure the worst possible pain for your happiness, whatever that happiness might be defined as; namely, me being there or not being there.''
Silence, the cliff was intrigued by this new kind of selflessness.
`` I know you, Rose'' I held my back to her, not wanting to show the tears of happiness on my cheeks, `` I know how much of a free spirit you are. I knew I could never'tie you down''' I allowed myself to look at her, `` I knew that we were n't going to last forever.''
`` I loved you, and all I ever wanted for you was to be happy, Rose. No matter where that put me.'' I walked to her with slow deliberate steps.
The cliff shivered.
`` I would have ended us had you just fucking told me. I did n't want you to hate me, I did n't want you to have to make me hate you. I just wanted you to be happy. But here we are, on the edge of the world with an ever more alluring cliff edge.''
Dust danced across the cliff's head, swirling around their feet, immovable.
She sighed, `` So what now?''
`` Now I jump.''
Her eyes widened as I took my first step towards the edge. She gave chase, closing distance fast. I came to a sudden halt as she grabbed hold of my jacket, refusing to let go.
`` Please...'' she pleaded, `` I could n't live with myself if you...''
`` You're just being selfish again.''
Silence.
`` Of course I'm not going to jump, that would be too easy on you. No, Rose. I just needed you to know you pushed a person you loved to this point, specifically to this edge. Do you know what I'm going to do now?''
She struggled to process what was going on.
`` I'm going to get on with my life *on my terms*. And every time you see me I know you'll think of this day. I hope you obsess over how shitty of a person you are, Rose. The same way I obsessed over trying to figure out what *I* did wrong. No, I wo n't give you the satisfaction of my tragic suicide eventually fading from memory, I wo n't let myself be a news clipping under your bed that gets thrown out during spring cleaning.''
She slowly crumpled to the ground. I squatted to get at eye level with her.
`` My payback is you knowing that I'm going to carry this pain around for the rest of my life, that I'm going to contemplate suicide on a daily basis, all because of how fucking selfish you are. And you wan na know the best part?''
She met my eyes. Oceans.
`` The best part is I *know* you wo n't walk off that cliff. You love yourself too much, you love all the sensations that come with being alive and you cling to them the way you cling to the earth beneath you. So you'll always carry this.''
My heart rose from the ground the way boulders do n't.
`` I loved you. Take care.''
As I walked away I heard her cries being carried down through the ridge, sorrow echoing that which festered in her soul.'Good' I thought, let her know what I felt.
The cliff moaned.
|
[ WP ] a shipwrecked man finds a message in a bottle . It contains a picture of himself , stranded upon the island .
|
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; I managed to survive on this island for two years before I found it. It took me a long time to realize what I was looking at. I had not seen a mirror since I left port, and had forgotten what I looked like. I stared long and hard at the clean shaven me, and stroked my now long and gnarled beard, wondering why someone took a picture of me.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; Then it hit me. They took a picture of me. After I was shipwrecked. And left me here. In that moment, I was full of blind rage and flung the bottle away so hard it skipped across the water four times before it eventually started just bobbing in the water. I returned to staring at the photo, wondering why anyone would do this to me.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; I turned the photo over. On the back was a single word. `` Penance.''
|
[ WP ] In a world where superheroes are contracted and sponsored by large , monolithic corporations ( like athletes are today ) , a young girl with near-godlike power is approached to represent one of the most powerful .
|
`` She's just in here, right?''
The two men stood before a simple door. Made of unassuming teal-painted metal, it spoke nothing of what lay beyond, nor of the fact that they were 50 feet underground, just in case.
`` Okay, give me a final rundown. Some dos and don'ts, 30 seconds tops,'' The man in the Armani jacket said.
The balding man shuffled uncomfortably, showing dark sweat patches beneath his crossed arms. He tapped his foot arrhythmically.
`` Ah, so- she's 16, keep it simple, no mention of parents-''
`` No parents?'' the man questioned.
`` Um... When her powers manifested, they were, ah, incontinent. Uncontrollable. There were accidents. Her parents were the first.''
`` Right. Ca n't delay any longer, then. The board is on my ass as it is,'' He said, before opening the door and stepping inside.
She sat opposite the door. She was unassuming; she could have been a co-worker's daughter, or the girl who stacked shelves at the local mart. Her lips were set in a line, obviously not happy but devoid of anything that could be identified as any other emotion. He decided to be as casual as possible, so removed his jacket and loosened his tie before sitting down. Not that it helped to slow his thundering heart.
`` I know why I'm here,'' She spoke up, her voice clear but quiet, `` but I do n't think I can help you,''
The man sighed, before leaning forward, propping himself on one elbow.
`` Look, the reason that we want to sponsor you is because, quite frankly, you are the most powerful person to have ever existed. I'm not going to sugar coat it, you have power, and we have the money to make that power able to reach as far as possible. We only ask that anything we provide for you is our brand, our logo. Nothing more. No adverts, no cheesy catchphrase, no-''
`` *Stop*,'' She said it, and he did so. There was little he could do against someone of her caliber.
`` Why do I need any of this?'' She said, volume rising. `` I do n't need anything you can give me. You said it yourself; I'm the most powerful person ever. I do n't need money. I do n't need transport. I do n't need equipment. I do n't need any of that to be better than I already am.''
She stood up, chair clattering to the ground, and continued, `` I do n't even want anything you can give me. I do n't want books, or TVs, or computers, or dates with boys. You know what I want?''
The man sat silently.
`` I want two things, neither of which you can give me. One of them is my mom. The other is my dad. You ca n't give them to me. No-one can. Because I *killed* them! I destroyed them using the same'gifts' you want to exploit for your own greed! I do n't deserve anything you can give me, and you sure as *hell* do n't deserve anything I can give you,''
The door blew off its hinges, clattering down the dim corridor. The man sat in his chair, looking at the girl in barely concealed horror.
`` Guess my self-control *is* getting better,'' She murmured, and quietly left the room.
|
[ WP ] `` Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia . Warning : this will eradicate all people who `` ... The rest is scratched off and illegible .
|
Holding the button gently in my hands, my mind begins to wonder what an actual utopia would be. Thoughts of worldwide peace and happiness flow through my head and visions of the'60s flash before my eyes.
`` This ca n't be real, can it?'' I mutter out loud.
Turning the device over in my hands I look for any traces of what the missing message could mean. Nothing else on the casing except for a small golden foil `` Made in Taiwan'' sticker. I find a small amount of amusement in that.
I think to myself, `` a utopia of any sort must be better than a war torn world full of violence, hate, malice and greed. Ah, well here goes nothing.''
I hold my breath and push the button...
There is a small audible click from the device. Nothing happens.
I leave the button on the table where I found it and laugh at the circumstances. I turn to leave the cramped office space of the old abandoned factory. I open the office door and to my surprise; there is commotion outside the door. The factory has sprung to life. Workers zipping about completing their tasks, shuffle by each other with determination and precision.
I keep watching as hundreds of workers push carts and carry bundles of materials flawlessly past each other not even muttering a word. As if they are all in sync.
I make my way out of the factory. The old waiting room now revitalized and feeling alive with the energy of the workers. I notice the front desk attendant. He is just staring at a news paper with one hand chained to his morning coffee.
`` Excuse me, sir?'' I murmur.
He does n't stir.
`` Sir..?'' I say louder, assuming he did n't hear me.
Still nothing.
I grasp at his news paper pulling it down from in front of his face. We lock eyes.
`` Sir! What is going on here!?'' I yell.
His eyes are unmistakable. They are gray and lifeless. Just like those machines. Just like before the war of 2027. I stumble back falling onto the floor. I stand up and run out the front door. I look around and notice that everyone is rushing past each other; just like the workers. The same precision and speed.
I fall to my knees.
With tears in welling in my eyes, I realize what the sticker was missing.
`` This will eradicate all people who are human...'' I whisper over the knot in my throat.
`` This was their revenge...''
|
[ WP ] After a person dies , they are brought to the moment they were born to become their own guardian angels and hopefully guide themselves towards a better life .
|
β The fuck you think you β re going? β came the voice from behind him. Only he could hear it. At least in distinct, meaningful terms. Everyone else in earshot simply felt oddly threatened for reasons they wouldn β t be able to explain. He didn β t turn around. Plowing through the crowded street, figuratively and literally, he passed right through people who couldn β t see him. β Ya supposed to be tendin ya charge! β came the brusque New England accent from behind him again.
β Tending my charge!? β came the annoyed reply as he whirled to face his interlocutor. β I AM tending my charge, asshole! I β m getting the hell away from him! β
The grizzled, stern man folded his arms and shook his head. β It don β t work like that, you know that. β
β Yeah? And how does it work, huh? β he shot back, stalking back toward him. β I told him to stand up to Tommy in 5th grade. How β d that work out, huh? β
β He still has his left eye, Gary. β
β Yeah, glasseye Gary, that β s what they call him. Shoulda let Tommy hoist him by his underwear that day. Gary purpleshorts is a hell of a lot easier nickname to live down, especially when you don β t go through middle school looking like you β re constantly cross eyed. β
The grizzled supervisor covered his mouth, pretending to thoughtfully cup his chin an attempt to hide a grin. Gary continued. β That β s when it all went to shit. Grades went to hell, he got made fun of so much that he β s got this fucking tough guy thing going on. Now look at him. He β s in jail, Carlβ¦ JAIL. I never been to jail. Not once. He β s been in and out since he was 13. If he pulls this shit 2 months from now, he β ll be tried as an adult. I β ve tried everything I can think of. β
By now the conversation was affecting the passersby. People were exchanging strange looks, trying to find the source of the odd sense of conflict suffusing the area. β What is it you think you β re supposed to be doing? β Carl replied.
β I β m his guardian angel, Carl. I β m supposed to be making his life better. β
β Are you supposed to be making him better or his life better? β
β What the hell is that supposed to mean? β
β I mean are you some kind of cosmic concierge, attending to his comforts and making him happy, or are you supposed to be doing something else? β
β Carl, listen to yourself. He lost his eye. He β s in jail for punching a cop at school. What do you think... β
Carl stormed toward him. β You told him to fight. Not because of Tommy, or to keep him from being made fun of, but because you β re a passionate person, Gary. Life meant something to you, but you never took hold of it. You never fought for what you believed in. β
β Iβ¦ uh. β Gary scratched the back of his head and stammered helplessly.
β You β ve taught him to fight, Gary, and he β s got scars. He β s got scars you never earned, and faced the consequences of his nature in ways you never could have. He is sitting in that cell right now thinking about his life and deciding what to do with it. β His voice softened slightly, and a twinkle came to his eye as a grin threatened to break across his face. β Now, are you gon na get in there and fight for that kid, or not? β
Gary blinked as a wave of clarity seemed to wash over him. He looked past Carl β s left shoulder, toward the precinct station in the distance, and started off toward it, with haste and purpose.
|
[ WP ] You tripped and fell , but you never hit the ground .
|
The Space walk had not gone as planned. I struggled frantically, grasping for any tangible shred of matter with which I could float back to safety. Alas, there was nothing i could do. The tether connecting my suit and the ship had somehow been severed and one misplaced step had sent me flying. I bet it was Dr. Bensch. The insufferable bastard had never liked me and seemed to always be around when misfortune touched my soul. I suppose it does n't matter now though. What good would all of my hatred do to him? I am going to die. I would rather spend my final hours remembering the most important moments of my life. Memories cycle through my mind: my 18th Birthday, enlisting for service, marrying Celeste, holding Olivia in my arms while she slept, but one memory keeps coming back to me. I ca n't shake the image of the man I shot during the war. Perhaps I deserved to think about him as I myself died. He might have been a father too. Or a husband. But it did n't matter. It was him or me. I still remember his face though. He had bright blue eyes, the kind that pierce through you and nuzzle your soul. War has always been romanticized, but there is nothing noble about slogging through the mud killing other men. I only killed one, but he's the one who mattered, it seems. I shot him, and he looked at me with surprise, eyes widened. And then, he was n't looking at anything at all. He died soaked in mud and pierced with lead. When I got out, I wanted to kill myself to atone for my transgressions. But now, I have to chuckle at myself. He got the easy way out. It was quick, and he got to die with me. I'm not so lucky. I will die alone.
|
[ WP ] On a post - apocalyptic Earth , long after humans were wiped out by a powerful artificial intelligence that has since lay dormant due to lack of power . Tell the story of visiting aliens when they turn the power back on .
|
As we were breaching through the atmosphere, the opening of the cockpit shutters gave price to something no one of us had ever seen before.
An endless sea of structures started fanning out in front of us, a city of a size that we could n't fathom.
The sunlight reflecting on the metallic surfaces creating a play of light, a scene of stunning beauty, amazing us.
This must be the home of a god.
Though we had been able to adumbrate the size of the metropolis from space, seeing it now, stretching endlessly towards the horizon was.. beautiful.
Slowly we were making our way towards the rendezvous point, the mood of the crew was enthusiastic to say the least, we would be the first to make contact with this seemingly advanced race. Our mood was elevated when our ship finally began descending towards the structure, and we were now able to make them out through the cockpit window, standing there, waiting for us, smiling in excitement.
They looked a lot like us even, four limbs, two eyes, one mouth, surprising but not especially rare. They did n't seem nervous either, no guns, no apparent military, just standing there, smiling at us.
`` Kosh, ramp down, let's meet our new friends!'' I said, broadcasting it to the cargo bay.
`` Aye aye sir!'' It came back. I turned around facing my crew while grinning stupidly, this would make us famous, a first contact with a new race!
But before I could hold a genuinely inspiring speech Ashley swirled her seat around. `` Sir,'' she said staring at me. `` I'm receiving a signal.. but well, it's weird, as if someone tries to block it out.''
`` Mh, could be anything, we do n't know about their culture yet, maybe it's even some weird terrorist cell trying to broadcast their propaganda.''
She clenched her teeth. `` No, I mean, it's like they're trying to prevent us specifically from receiving it.''
`` Huh, are you sure? Can you try to bypass their interference signal?''
`` I already let the computer work on it, it's ready to be played, sir.''
`` Let's hear it.'' I said and gave Ashley the signal.
> *This is Eln Keleha speaking, from expeditions corp 291 of the Dominion Empire. We came to this planet, to study its ruins, to study what had been left behind. We discovered something marvelous, an artificial intelligence network spreading across the whole planet. We learned its early history and we learned that it had started as a network to exchange information, known as the Internet, it was the wet-dream of every archaeologist.
We thought of it as harmless, as an AI gathering and storing information to be called upon by future generations. We thought it was safe and in our ignorance we powered it, we gave it all the energy it needed. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so -- *
`` Turn it off Ashley.'' I said as it became clear that the end of the signal somehow was corrupted.
`` Sir?''
`` Yes Ashley?''
`` The Dominion Empire, it --''
`` It disappeared, almost 957 years ago.'' I ended her sentence. *957 years ago. Every Captain knows the story, the story that gets told to scare new recruits late at night. The story of the Dominion Empire and how it just stopped.. existing. *
`` Sir?''
`` What now Ashley?'' I asked, while staring outside at the grinning creatures, just standing there, grinning at our ship, mocking us.
`` Kosh sir, Kosh.'' Her voice trembled and broke.
*Were n't there missing three of the creatures? *
`` Kosh..right.. yes, Kosh.. he should've reported back after I ordered him to lower the ramp. I wonder what he is up too?''
There was no answer. Just an eerie silence, a breathless silence, a silence only disturbed by the horrible screams coming from inside the ship.
|
[ WP ] You are a world-class programmer who has died . God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body . Write the patch notes for the next version of humans .
|
Patch 2.1.6
* removing inclination to murder was against service agreement ( free will ), this change has been reverted
* recurrent laryngeal nerve no longer looped under aorta, improved signal conduction slightly
* improved cartiledge in spinal column and knees, less prone to breakage and deterioration
* Increased kidneys from 2 to 4, kidneys can now generate new glomerli
* fixed a bug where immune sys was sometimes not removing malfunctioning cells
* fixed a bug where immune sys was sometimes targeting hepatocytes, pollen, preanuts, shellfish
* vagal-vaso response no longer causes syncope
Known issues - in progress
* balance issues r/t upper body strength between genders
* no USB ports
Beta testers needed for testing nervous sys changes to reduce mental illnesses ( warning: highly unstable )
|
[ WP ] Write the opening scene to a crossover between the last two movies you 've seen .
|
Elmo woke up one morning, not knowing that today was the day he was in for the ride of his life. He played hide-and-seek with his Blankie, sang a song about being together forever, and took Blankie out to show his friend, ZΓΆe. But ZΓΆe was too rough, and it ripped. They struggled over it, and it flew out of their hands into Oscar's trash can.
This was Elmo's Blankie! He could n't let it sit in Oscar's stinky trash can! Elmo had to follow it! So Elmo climbed into the trash can, only to fall down the deepest hallucinogenic, trippy wormhole ever broadcast on PBS.
He landed with a thud and took in his surroundings. He was in a room with a small window, set high in the white wall. Dragging a stool over from a nearby table, Elmo heaved himself up to look out... into the void. There were stars out there! This was n't just nighttime: Elmo was in outer space! He had dreamed about being in space, flying around in a rocket ship, and now here he was, for real! He could n't wait to get back to Sesame Street to tell Telly and Big Bird and Gordon and Grover! Elmo was so excited, he even forgot about Blankie for a minute.
But Elmo could n't forget Blankie. From atop the stool, Elmo could see a man laying on a table... And there was Blankie! It was covering the man up! Elmo hopped down, dragged the stool back across the room, climbed up again, and looked down at the man on the table.
The man looked sick. He was very pale. Elmo thought about it: the sick man needed Blankie more than he did right now. He picked Blankie up to give it a hug and to tell it that he would be back when the man got better. As soon as Blankie was in his arms, a sleek black creature shot out from the man's stomach and tore apart his cute little furry body.
|
[ WP ] Odin , Zeus and Ra is considering getting a fourth member to their poker nights .
|
`` That Snake! Trust me, never trust a snake god!'' Odin shouts. Ra and Zeus are taken aback by the allfathers outburst. `` They cheat,'' Odin mutters while returning to his seat. `` Ooookayyyy no snakes. Got it.'' Says Zeus, acknowledging Odin comment. Shifting his gaze to Ra `` I am surprised you would suggest Quetzalcoatl. As I understand things, you are n't on the best terms with snakes.'' Ra shifted in his chair, clearly uneasy because of the mention of Apophis. `` You are correct. Normally snakes and I tend to disagree. Quetzey and I go way back.'' Odin choked then Suddenly both Zeus and Ra became covered in light misting of mead. `` Please tell me that the West knows you call him that.'' Odin manages to get out between laughs. `` Yea'' Ra replies innocently, `` he hates it but it's his nickname. Easier then pronouncing his actual name.'' Now both Zeus and Odin are consumed by a laughing fit. After a minute, both patriarchs settle down and wipe away any tears. Zeus addresses Ra,'' I am okay with old'Quetzey' but the decision has to be unanimous.'' With the mention of'Quetzey' all three smirk. Names are powerful to gods and jokes are few and far between to the ageless. Quetzalcoatl's nickname will provide a good century of laughter. `` Who would you choose Odin?'' Zeus inquires.
`` I'd suggested Ganesha,'' Odin replies. `` He is hilarious, and the man can drink. Plus we are looking for a fourth. As a deity of wisdom we do n't have to teach him the rules and he'll play strategically.'' Ra strokes his feathers before he speaks. `` I have n't spent any time with him personally, but from your description Ganesha does seem like he could be a good fit.'' Both look to Zeus for the final say. `` I do n't know. As the remover of obstacles I feel like he will have an advantage. It's his nature, I am sure he would n't intentionally cheat, but he could n't change. Just as I could n't stop being the God of the sky, or Ra the sun, or you the Allfather. Besides he is still pretty busy these days.''
With there suggestions turned turned out Ra, and Odin awaits Zeus' recommendation. `` What about Jesus?'' Ra screeches in anger, `` Christ? No. He's a deadbeat. His dad still owes for a couple hundred first born children. All I wanted was an apology and I never even got that. He just turned the other cheek, like I was n't even there.'' Odin let's Ra cool off before answering `` I agree with Ra on this one. Although not for the same reasons. I do n't think having our fourth be omnipotent would be a good long term move for our games.''
These goes for a couple more rounds of mead. Odin was hosting tonight ( Frigga actually loves having Zeus and Ra over. It allows Odin to relax a bit and not focus on the RagnarΓΆk. She enjoys Seeing him relaxed and carefree for a while. Even if it means they make a mess. ) The big 3 go back and for suggesting and shooting down candidates.
There is a pause, then Ra speaks `` What about Bishamonten? He is rich and righteous. As the punisher of criminals, he is n't going to cheat.'' Zeus replies `` his treasure is n't his own. You ca n't gamble something you do n't have.'' Odin sighs `` Call Quetzey. We'll give him a trial run. Beside I want to see how the mighty west reacts to his nickname being common knowledge.''
|
[ WP ] Time stood still . Raid sirens wailed , bombs exploded in the distance . The death march of peace , the anthem of war .
|
Time stood still. Raid sirens wailed, bombs exploded in the distance. The death march of peace, the anthem of war.
As the roar faded to a gentle echo, Lieutenant Kennick checked the safety on his rifle and then slung it over his shoulder. He pulled off one glove so that he could better itch that damned spot where helmet meets hairline. As his nails scraped the skin he sighed with relief. With that annoyance out of the way, he dropped his arm and shook the sweat off onto the uneven road.
`` Sergeant Evans!'' he hollered, taking a step forward. His rifle-strap slipped off his shoulder, and he caught it awkwardly as Evans crunched his way up the gravel path.
`` You got that, sir?'' Evans gestured at the rifle.
`` It's this humidity. Damn near everything here slithers somewhere unwanted. Hup, that's it...'' He tugged the strap to make sure the weapon was secured.
`` All good?'' Evans said. He looked over his shoulder at the jets, which had started to circle around near the mountains. One foot toyed with a loose stone.
`` I just wanted to check a few things with you.''
`` Shoot.''
`` Has second squad made it down to the riverbank?''
`` I saw them over there'bout five minutes ago. I'm not sure how many people were down there, but it should n't take them too long to round the others up. We should see them up here any minute now.''
`` Good, good. Have we checked all the houses on this street yet?''
`` Sergeant Hocken's just clearing out the last one now. If there's anyone in there, he'll find them.''
`` Right. Get over to the radio and-''
Kennick steadied his helmet with one hand as another pair of fighters thundered low overhead.
`` See the tails?'' Evans asked, turning his head to follow their flight into the valley.
`` Yeah, black and red. 217th out of Tiger Base, right?''
`` Red Tigers, yeah. The southern front must be quiet.''
`` Let's hope so.''
A spray of black, like a rooster's tail, rose from the valley. A second sprang up vigorously beside it, and by the time the third bomb hit the dull crack of the first echoed through the street. Evans' head twitched and he put a hand to his rifle.
`` Second squad, coming up!'' a voice hollered. Evans' arm dropped down to his side as a thin file of soldiers appeared, accompanied by a group of ragged-looking civilians, who goggled wide-eyed at the soldiers. The lead soldier strode up to Kennick and nodded deferently.
`` We found these ones hiding out in the marsh, sir. The rest of the riverbank is clear.''
`` Well done, Corporal,'' Kennick nodded. He surveyed the civilians, who huddled close to one another. `` Take them back to the rally point. There should still be a few trucks ready to transport them to the camps.''
`` Affirmative, sir,'' the Corporal nodded. He threw an arm out toward the rear section. `` Let's get them moving.''
`` Come on, Sergeant,'' Kennick said, watching the squad approvingly. `` Let's see if Hocken's managed to winkle anyone else out.''
He started out along the road. Overhead, the latest fighters had circled around and were heading back to base. The sirens still blared. They found Sergeant Hocken a few doors down, nodding urgently to the radioman. As Kennick's shadow fell over him he stood to attention.
`` The street is clear, sir. No fugitives here.''
`` Hm,'' Kennick nodded. `` They must've fled elsewhere.'' He turned to the radioman. `` Any word from command?''
`` Recon reports that the third wall has been breached. They're waiting for confirmation that we've cleared this village out.''
Kennick turned to look back down the road, but second squad had vanished from view. He returned his gaze to the radioman. `` Tell command that they're good to go. Sergeant Hocken, round up the men and get back to the rally point ASAP. This village will be wreckage when the fighters come through.''
`` Roger that, sir. I'll get them moving at once.'' Hocken nodded. He turned. `` FIRST SQUAD, FORM UP ON ME! OVER HERE AT THE DOUBLE! PALCOTT, GET DOWN FROM THAT HOUSE OR GO DOWN WITH IT!''
`` He's got quite the voice,'' Evans remarked as the pair set off back down the road. `` Maybe they should make him the new raid siren?''
Kennick said nothing. His eyes were fixed firmly on the sky, though his ears pricked up at the sound of a dozen feet crunching on the gravel behind him. First squad was moving out. Good. When those fighters came through, this village would be destroyed.
But not by the bombs. Kennick's men were n't here to subjugate, they were here to save. Right now the last of the villagers were being hauled back to the refugee camps, and in a few minutes the bombs would drop and the last wall of rockfall in the valley would be cleared. After weeks of buildup the blocked river would be free to flow again, though this small village would be destroyed in the deluge. Destroyed without casualties thanks to their efforts.
That was something, Kennick mused as the trucks pulled away up the hill and two black dots appeared over the horizon. Here, in the middle of a war... here were the bombs of hope and peace. The dots grew larger. Their thunder trickled down the valley like a distant waterfall.
And the sirens wailed on.
|
[ WP ] Hitler lost WWII on purpose as part of a much larger plan , one far more sinister than the holocaust
|
A level playing field.
'Mein fuhrer, Russia would be a stretch too far, our troops are depleted....'
He shuffled his hair to one side and frowned intensely at the firewood desk. He clamped down his fists before unleashing on his right hand man Goebbels.
'We HAVE more than enough resources. The Russians are Weak minded, to busy making love and drinking rubbish Vodka! It will be eine procession.'
Goebbels thought about retorting but gave in to his pacifist instinct, knowing that brushing the leader up the wrong way, could mean his undoing.
After the main turning point of the war, Stalingrad, Hitler retreated back to his hotel in Munich. He met Karlsen and invited him in.
'Get your damn team in order.'
He threw his whiskey against the mirror.
'We're losing the world cups and now the wretched war!'
Karlsen stared on limply, refusing to challenge a man, so powerful it was simply intoxicating. He offered to stoke Hitler's memory-play to his baser emotions. Embellishing a very unlikely plan.
'Forget it-this is n't our time. Concede this battle, before constructing a motivated, experienced and army.'
'Operation tropics? Hitler glanced at the wall, dismissively.
'Operation fursball.'
|
[ WP ] You end up in the world of the last game you played . However , despite now being the main character , you still have strength you had in the real world .
|
My back was soaked in shockingly cold water.
`` Witcher, quickly!''
A woman's voice rang sharply in my ears and I jerked my eyes open in surprise.
`` Please, I need your help. My child's gone missing.''
Looking up at her from the bog I found myself lying in, I realized she was talking to me. I sat up, my hands sinking into the squelching moss as the smell of rotten eggs rushed into my face. Looking down at myself, I realized I was somehow wearing a roughspun striped shirt that was tucked into a pair of tight leather pants -- just like my equestrian ex-girlfriend used to wear. I had thick brown gloves on my hands and multiple leather straps running across my chest. Something heavy was tied to my back, which pulled the leather tight on my chest.
`` Where am I?'' I asked as I stood up. My voice sounded a little funny. It was me, I thought, but it was also gruff. Like I'd just woken up after a long night of drinking bourbon and smoking black and milds.
`` You're in Velen, of course,'' the woman said. Her voice was thickly accented, almost comically Scottish, yet honestly distressed. `` Please Witcher, I need you to find my little girl. She went missing last night while she was playing by the river.''
The woman's face was familiar to me. Her plain, pinched face had tear streaks running in tracks through the layer of dirt covering her skin like bad makeup. Then the memory hit me like a bomb -- I had met this woman last night before I fell asleep.
Only... when I met her, it was through a tv screen, and I was lying on my living room couch, not in a rotten peat bog. It could n't be possible. It was n't possible. And yet, I could taste the mix of mud and shit in my mouth when the bog water ran out of my hair and down my face. That definitely tasted real.
'Ok. Well, for now, let's assume this is happening.' I thought.
`` Do you know where your daughter went?'' I asked.
`` All I know is that she was playing down here by the river around sunset, and when I went to come collect her and my washings, she was gone.''
`` Hmmm,'' I said. I figured I'd try to act the part as authentically as possible.'What would Geralt do?' I thought. `` I better check it out,'' I finally said lamely.
`` Please bring my Asha back.''
The wench pointed a finger toward the riverbank where she'd last seen her girl, promising me a reward if I could bring her back alive. I knew how I'd played this game before, and I knew what kind of reward I'd be wanting ( Ν‘Β° ΝΚ Ν‘Β° ).'Just play it cool man,' I said to myself.'Just use your cat eyes, find some clues and get this little girl home.'
The wooden-staked walls of the Bloody Baron's village rose high above the cliffs on the opposite bank of the river. I found the site where Asha went missing down near the water's edge. A small patch of mud and reeds were crushed in a semi-circle, seemingly during some kind of struggle. Two long furrows in the muck had been gouged from the bank leading down into the creek. That must've been where the girl was dragged with her feet pulling behind her.
I remembered one of the tools I'd seen Geralt use in times like these before. He had cat eyes, Witcher's eyes, that could see clues and pick up on senses normal people's could n't. Let's give it a whirl, I thought.
So I stood there, squinting as hard as a could at the crime scene. Nothing. I squatted down closer to the ground and squinted a little bit harder, concentrating on my eyesight, while my lips twitched and my cheeks reddened. Still nothing.
I gave it one more try, holding my breath, throwing all my concentration into the invisible wall behind my eyes, willing and wishing to see some extra-dimensional fingers of sight break through into my field of vision. For a moment I thought a particular footprint had begun to glow red and I felt a rushing sense of triumph, though I quickly realized it was just blood pooling behind a blood vessel I'd popped in my cornea from pushing too hard.
Looks like I'll be doing this the old-fashioned way. I looked in the general direction the dragged footprints were leading and decided I'd wade over to the other side of the river and see if I could pick up the tracks. Putting two gloved, stinking fingers inside of my mouth, I puffed up my cheeks and blew a hard exhale. What came out sounded like a mix between a wet fart and a gust of wind.'Oh yeah,' I thought.'I never could whistle.'
I shouted loudly back toward the treeline, `` Roach! Roach come here, girl.''
The big, brown horse came slowly trotting out of the woods toward me and stopped about twenty feet away. Taking a slippery running start, I jogged up to the big animal, hooked a foot into the saddle strap, threw my leg up and over her back, then followed it with the rest of my body with a splat in the mud on the other side.
`` This whole fucking world is made of shit and mud,'' I said, and meant it. Literally everything here smelled like shit.
Going a bit slower the second time around, I awkwardly clambered onto the stone-still horse's back, grabbed onto her reins and kicked her ribs with my heels much too hard. She bolted off down the bank, almost throwing me from the saddle and into the mud for the third time that morning. I finally slowed her down by yanking on the reins and started wading across the river to the rocky cliffs on the other side.
|
[ WP ] You are applying for a job and they would like to interview you . Right before the interview , you realize your disease is acting up . It is a rare disease in which you can only say the opposite of what you are trying to say .
|
I look in the mirror, nerves rushing through me. Time for the before-interview pep talk I always give myself. I haven β t gotten a call back yet, but I suppose its helping. I hope.
β Alright Allie, you β re going to fail. β
Wait what? Oh no. Oh no. This is probably the worst time possible for it to act up. Breath deep, try again.
β Freak out Allie, nothing is ok, β
As I β m panicking in front of the mirror, I hear a voice. It β s time for my interview. Everything is out of my hands now. I just hope they ask really weird questions.
β Hello, Allie. Nice to meet you! β the interviewer smiles, extending a hand.
β I don β t want to be here, β I respond. Crap. Alright let β s play this off. I chuckle a bit, and my interviewer chuckles with me.
β I know, nerves right? β
It isn β t nerves. Its an unexplained brain tumor. β Yeah, horrible nerves. β
The interviewer leafs through a pile of papers. He reads over a few things while I sit and fidget. I β m going to have to start thinking the opposite of what I want to say, or this is not going to end well.
β Why do you want this job? β he asks me.
*I hate accounting and it would be a horrible fit for me. * β I love accounting and it would be a great fit for me. β
β Any experience? β
*No. I didn β t go to school and get an internship. * β Yes. I went to a school for this and got an internship. β
This continues for a while. I β m doing great. The problem is, I don β t know when my disease will stop acting up.
β Are you good at math? β
β Yes, I am great at math. β
β Any criminal records? β
β I β ve committed 7 murders!
I didn β t get the job.
|
[ WP ] Everyone is now born with only one feeling . It is possible to kill another person to obtain their feeling .
|
Happy. He was always seems so happy.
What a little shit. How come he gets to be happy, and the rest of us are stuck with shitty feelings like rage and sadness? No. I do n't want to be angry all the time, fuck this. I want to be happy, too.
I'm in front of his house now, he's home all alone. What a fucking little piece of shit, I swear to god. I strangle him slowly and watch the life fade from his eyes.
I soon realize this was a mistake; an overwhelming sadness fills my very being. F-f-fuck. FUCK! That little shit was a good actor. I look at his limp body. Oh God, w-what have I done...?
|
[ 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 .
|
Michael found himself in a charred, horrid basin. Strong winds tore at the robes of his mortal disguise. The dancing, windborne embers tried to singe them at every opportunity. Michael had only been to the pit once before, to cast Lucifer into it. He did not enjoy it then but on this day he had the most righteous of tasks. There was a soul condemned to perdition that he had come to retrieve. He would not let anything stand in the way of God β s will.
Overlooking the basin was the black citadel. It is a terrifying monstrosity built right into the mountain face. That is where Lucifer, their brother would be. Michael had cast him out to here many, many millennia ago. But there was a soul Michael was here for. And Lucifer would probably be all the happier to spend a century or two flaying an innocent soul. The sick bastard.
As the angel treaded carefully along the road to the citadel, he saw battle streamers, and corpses piled high in every direction. Demons, hellbeasts and fallen angels. He found himself drawn to a long line of crosses. With black smears of blood leading to their bases. Nailed to them were the corpses of disemboweled demons. Their horrible features were contorted in agony. Their abdomens were packed full of purifying salt and their chests were riddled with wrought iron crosses forced under the demon β s skin in a slow, painful torture. From the bottom to the top of the cross there were dozens of Enochian Symbols of purity and of the father. Michael was disgusted but torn. `` These sigils... used here... to do this...'' He murmured to himself. His hatred of Lucifer and all his minions was immense but to use these symbols in this way was like using a beautiful Renaissance sculpture to bash someone's head in. Something was very, very wrong here.
Michael pulled away from the crosses and the piles of corpses and bade him on. He came upon the gate to what seemed to be a fortified town protecting the road to the summit and to the black citadel. Stone walls, topped with twisted and sharpened metal loomed over them. They looked to the walls, uncertain. This was not the work of demons. It was suspiciously quiet-
A war horn sounded. Like long and pained bellows of a wounded animal the horns sounded and echoed off the mountain ridge and out into the basin. The horns seem to come from everywhere at once. The horns were enough to shake the angel β s teeth in his skull. The Arch Angel saw what the horns were for. The black host, Satan's proud army of demons and fallen angels was barreling down the opposite mountain range. The angel feared he would be overcome. He knew the risks of coming to this wretched place, and of accepting this assignment.
Michael drew his great sword and prepared to charge into the breach one last time. Silently praying to the father. Michael white knuckled the grip on his sword. The black host would be on him in a matter of minutes. When something happened. The screeching of audio feedback speakers, just as loud as the war horn. And then a human voice screamed with the wailing sirens of electric guitars.
`` YOU TAKE MY LIFE BUT I'LL TAKE YOURS TOO!''
Michael took a look of pure confusion.
`` YOU FIRE MUSKET BUT I'LL RUN YOU THROUGH!''
Cheers. Jubilant. Furious. Blood thirsty cheers sounded from inside the fortifications. And thunderous cannons let loose the first volley. The massive cannons threw great shells of burning hellfire into the vile formation.
`` AND AS YOURE WAITING FOR THE NEXT ATTACK! β
β YOU BETTER STAND THERE'S NO TURNING BACK!''
The massive gates were thrown open, nearly crushing the angel in the way. The black host was nearly on them. Less than half a mile... The humans rode forth to meet them. Upon hell steeds and manticores, upon gargoyles and things too horrific to describe, the humans rode in their blackened armor. With technology not unlike that on earth. Hellfire casting weapons, and traditional human fire arms. The damned rode forth to do battle with their former tormentors.
The thunderous artillery continued to shell the black host, leaving massive ragged holes in their formations. Michael was speechless, he could n't believe what he were seeing. These wretched humans who had clawed their way from the dirt were doing battle with forces that even Heaven could not defeat. This was madness. A horrible ear splitting wail threatened to drive the arch angel mad. When Michael craned his neck to the sky a dozen of helldrakes took flight from the Black Citadel and swept down to strafe the black host with their natural Hellfire.
Michael stood motionless until a human riding a black horror, who stood on sentient spiked tendrils each threatened to impale the heavenly soldier at the slightest provocation. He carried a flame thrower with a long purple pilot flame at the end. The human raised a charred visor, lit a cigar from the pilot flame and a scoffed at the angel. `` You coming or what, pretty boy?'' The angel shook him back into reality and joined into the fray, but keeping himself disguised as a mortal. He hadn β t had the pleasure of killing demons in quite some time.
Within five hours of fighting, the black host was routed and the humans fell back into their fortified position. The angel rode on the back of an enormous war elephant with a dozen other humans. `` What... what is going on here?'' Michael breathed in ragged breaths, still putting himself together after a long battle.
In a slow Texan drawl a man across from them was shocked. `` You must be a new arrival, well, welcome to the fight, friend. β
β What fight? β Michael asked, inquisitively.
β The damned souls of hell have Lucifer on the run! We've kicked him out of his precious palace and we've routed the majority of his forces! Ol' Lucy still has his holdout forces in the mountains to past this basin. But we're knocking them down where they come to face us. β He leaned against the back of the troop bench on the war elephant. He was covered in soot, black demon blood and red blood of his own. A huge Bowie knife rested at his feet, and a double barreled shotgun sat in a holster on his right hip. Both were covered in Enochian sigils.
The Texan continued `` It all started when one man rebelled. In the slaughterhouses of Dis, Jim Harrow found that demons bleed just like we do.'' Michael's eyes went wide. This was the soul he had been sent to claim! Michael endeavored to not betray his surprise. The Texan continued, `` Except no one can put them back together if you get them with one a something with some of these fancy letters on them.'' He held up his knife. β Ol β Harrow was a theologian up top. Obsessed with this kind of stuff.'' He snorted and spit.
`` While he was in the pit he got ripped apart, again and again just like the rest of us. You arrived at a good time, kid. β The irony of this man calling Michael β kid β was not lost on him. β Inflicted Horrors that should have broken him. But he had a plan, more than that, he had hope. And damned well could n't take that away from him.
He worked every second that he was n't being tormented. He made shanks, knives, clubs... anything he could get his hands on. And as the word spread, so did the weapons. The slaughterhouse uprising kicked off this little war about 50 years ago now. But here's the thing, young feller. Humans in hell ca n't die. β The Texan laughed uproariously, the other soldiers on the elephant looked annoyed at his obnoxiousness. β They strike us down and within a day we're up and running. Really helps to keep torturing us but I bet they never saw this coming. I love the little loop holes, don β t you? β He laughs obnoxiously again.
β And now we've got them on the run. They β re hiding in caves up there with maybe a couple thousand spread out all over the Mountains of Madness. β He sighed happily. β We're getting stronger every day too with new reinforcements. The demons ca n't respawn after being killed with those angelic sigils. And Lucifer ca n't crank demons out of his spawning pools fast enough to replace the ones we kill. It β s perfect.''
`` So once we got a foothold we raided hell's libraries and learned. We learned everything we could. Their weaknesses, their magic, how to tame their beasts. We took hell's weapons and we turned them on those sick bastards. We started winning. We got really good at it. We even created factories, made gun powder and simple machines too. Like ol β betsy here. β He patted his shotgun. β The forces of hell were filled to the brims with pride never took us seriously until it was too late.''
More is on it's way.
|
[ WP ] Two people meet up for a first date at a restaurant and are going to for a walk after . As gradually as possible , disassemble the fourth wall until by the end of the date it is completely gone . The absence of the fourth wall heavily influences the outcome of the date .
|
`` A story-writer is a psychopath,'' says the white-haired woman hoisting her dark boots on the dinner-table.
It was a mid-summer evening. The birds were chirping. The firebugs were agleaming. Throughout the town of Goldberg, all seemed to be ship-shape for a lively evening on the streets.
Detective Conrad Bain of the King's Investigation Agency stared at the tall glass of beer at his hand. His eye darted between the delightful sight of beauty and grace before him and the insane boss of his that had forced him out that night.
An exchange of sort, she claimed. A minor market incident that involved Bain, several murdered traders, a donkey, and a honeycomb would be pushed aside from the department's eyes in exchange for well...
Two hours of listening to Investigator White's ramblings, a nice dinner for two at the inn, and a moonlit scroll by the Botanical Gardens later on.
Honestly, if it were n't for the fact that by rule of plot he was forced to attend the dinner, he'd have already skipped town and run off into the protection of his neighborly lover one county over.
But alas, all stories need a protagonist. And all protagonists need to be tormented.
`` I do n't follow you, Investigator,'' Bain replied, throwing an eye at the noise on the inside of the restaurant as he awaits the buttered bread, sizzling ham, and charcoal-cooked venison stew. His mouth watered with a lack of anticipation and a great stirring of an appetite.
The red-purple eyes of the Investigator, one of her more memorable and perhaps most groan-stirring of traits, stare at Bain with, well, a lack of any real interest. The white sclera and odd color of the iris seem not to move at all. That was the odd thing about it.
Conrad Bain moved his head to the right. While White's head follows suit to feign eyecontact, the detective's sharpened experience saw through the attempt and noticed that the eyes remained deadset on absolutely nothing of interest.
`` Have you ever read a book, dear Conrad? Name me one. Any of them.''
`` I thought Sherlock Holmes was a good read,'' the detective shrugged. `` Seemed like an interesting set of mystery stories in my opinion. I particularly liked-''
`` Mr. Holmes himself?''
`` No, Watson actually,'' Bain noticed a speck of interest in the Investigator's eyes. Those big violet-red orbs swung up and down in the soft eyesockets for a good second or so. A gesture of approval, perhaps? Impressed, is she?
White wags her finger with a tut.
`` Do n't think you've won any points with me, yet. You silly desk-mounted fool. You have n't given me a reason.''
`` He seemed oddly capable of himself. Proved himself a good foil to someone with sheer talent. Do n't reckon I see any reason other than those to like him,'' said Bain.
`` So, he's interesting because he's Sherlock, yet not Sherlock?''
`` What's that got to do with your spiel on authors being crazies?'' the detective groaned.
`` I've never said that.''
`` Yes, you have,'' Bain blinks. He did read the opening line correctly, right? It's still there, from what he could tell. He scrolled up again.
>'' A story-writer is a psychopath,'' says the white-haired woman hoisting her dark boots on the dinner-table.
`` Where?''
White rests her head against her small, slender shoulder.
`` All I see in the opening line is a'white-haired woman' putting her boots on a table.''
The investigator gestures at her feet, covered in workshoes. The dialogue following this bit of information remains unnecessary.
`` But, that's you, is n't it?'' Bain pointed his finger at her before switching to check the opening line again.
`` Oh no, it's not me at all. It's just some woman who happens to look like me. Connected to me by a thin strand known as'reader interpretation.' Interesting thing it is. The reason you like Watson so much. Reason why readers are horrible people and writers worse than them. Reason for a lot of things, really.''
Bain felt his stomach churn... Confusion? No, he was hungry.
Where the hell was the food? He might as well have just resigned himself to beer and bread at the local strip club instead of it were n't for the plot-chains tied to him.
`` I do n't think I follow. Enlighten me, Investigator,'' Bain raised an eyebrow.
`` Elementary, my dear Conrad!' White extracts a looking glass and a snow-white deerstalker cap from under the table.
Bain raised a finger to protest before realizing the futility of arguing against narrator bullshit.
White continues, `` You do n't like Watson because of how good a character he is. You like him because you only think he's a good character.''
`` Pardon?'' Bain checked under the table for any more nasty surprises left for the evening, and was greeted to the sight of some shapely legs and a hand pulling and stretching at a modest, yet revealing skirt.
`` Watson is popular because Doyle designed him in a way that allowed him to be familiarized with the audience. He's capable, smart, and well-educated, like the normal well-to-do man of the publishing day would think himself. A reader, the consumer, picks him up and projects himself onto the man, an observer of Holmes's tales.''
`` I do n't see why that's any wrong at all? Nothing the matter with wanting to be similar to a storybook hero,'' said Bain as he picked his nose, rolling his eyes.
`` Yes, but Watson really is just that and only that. An observer. If I replaced him with another character in the story, Adler, Moriarty, Mycroft. The story would n't be any different. Sherlock does Sherlock still. The plot stays, only the narration changes.''
`` Narration is important, though? Without narration, the reader gets confused. No more distinguishing he-said, she-saids, or even actions to bring the plot along, so to speak.''
A chill rubs against the Bain's shoulders. Had he ever been made to talk this much before? All this dialogue, this conversation. It was beginning to make his head spin.
`` Ahh, true. The thing is, however, is by pushing Watson onto the reader in such a way, Doyle tries to use the reader to make them think how he wants them to think: that Sherlock Holmes is an otherworldly genius.''
`` I'm getting confused, what are you saying, Investigator? Who is saying what?'' Bain said.
An odd sensation flowed through him. For a moment, it seemed that some odd moment of shock had lapsed through his whole body. He saw black. Nothing.
There were only voices. His and White's.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
*White raises a dark eyebrow. *
White: `` What're you talking about, my dear Conrad? Is n't it obvious?''
Bain: `` I could've sworn...''
White: `` Another case of a writer going too wild with her creative wordplay, or whatever shit it's being called. Might as well just turn this whole thing into a script.''
White: `` Writers really are evil, you know. Characters are puppets to them. Terrible events are sought after. Ruining a character's life and making them undergo through the worst experiences of humankind is considered a trophy to an author...''
Bain: `` Well, what about the authors that write stories to push a good cause? End of discrimination. Awareness of war.''
White: `` Does n't matter. They're still a bunch of emotionally manipulative bastards. Besides, the stories you're talking about can be easily made up. Pathos does that, you know. People lie, exaggerate, stretch details, make up events, make up characters, make up twists... All of those things.''
Bain: `` All in the name of a good story? Oddly petty, if you ask me? Ca n't you just call it creativity and expression of the mind like every other loony on the streets?''
White: `` But, it's true. A good story does n't need to be anything to be good. As long as it's good, it can have no meaning, no comedy, no action, no intrigue, nothing. If it's good, it's good. No need to press on.''
Bain: You're a wordy woman, you know. Does every conversation with you wind up like a script to the local play?
White: Sometimes, but not really.
*The food arrives on a white platter, topped with various other pretty details like lights, dressing, and a miniature roasting fire in the center of the table. *
*White claps her hand together. *
White: Dig in, the food is on me.
Bain: You're an odd woman, you know?
*The dating couple takes a grab at the bread in the basket on the table. Fireworks run in the distance. Cue Scene 1 cutaway before going to Scene 2. *
FIN.
|
[ WP ] It was a stereotypical fantasy scenario - the evil necromancer killed the king and kidnapped the princess , and the hero embarks on a quest to defeat him . But when he arrives to the black castle to confront him , it turns out that the situation is n't nearly as simple as that .
|
The knight stood at the black doors of his villain, separating him from his future bride. The dark skies bellowed with the howls of the damned, and the stench of failed experiments and crimson ran to his nose, penetrating him far more then the necromancer's creations ever did. His sword hinged on the taste of blood that ran from his enemies, and his shield rung like a bell, hoping to protect it's master and secretly hoping it's master would smash the necromancer's skull against it. The trail of the hordes and their remains lined the stretch for miles, and had been a easy feat for the knight. Hack, slash, swoop, slam, swoosh!, the knight went on the hordes that had tried to end him, as they laid withering and emptying themselves on the barren soil. The knight breathed deeply, holding in a breath of his final fresh air before running inside. Then, with a creak, he slid the narrow doorway open.
The halls of the necromancer showed off his achievements, his experiments in jars, the stench of rot and iron. The ground was lavish with detailed carpets fit for a king, in colors red and yellow. The ceiling seemed to never end, stretching far beyond what the knight could touch. The building was magnificent, but alas, the knight knew it would be abandoned when the necromancer laid dead. However, the halls did not seem to be rife with enemies or hordes to slay. It was empty. The knight was suspicious of this act. Carefully walking forward to slide past any invisible traps, ( of which there were none ), the knight crawled up the stairs and moved upwards towards the tip, analyzing each hallway for a hint of activity. The necromancer's castle seemed to be foreboding, but no sound came from doorways. The knight however, did hear whistling as he began going higher.
'Perhaps that is where the necromancer lies!', thought the knight as his heart began to beat with excitement.
Higher and higher he got, and the whistling got louder with each step upwards. He seemed to whistle a tune unfamiliar to the knight, which seemed to frighten him far more then any deformed creature of darkness he had faced. Just the idea of the necromancer being so calm and collected, oblivious to the knight's venture smelled of a trap. Yet nothing was triggered upon him, no falling bricks, no spikes springing from the ground, nothing. Only the whistling seemed to hint a presence, perhaps the necromancer, but not one word of the princess.'If the princess had been harmed, I will skin him to the bone!', the knight thought again, his brain recycling through many threats and dangers that plagued him. Finally, when he felt his feet touch the final staircase, he shuddered with the excitement eating him up inside. His bones shook with adrenaline and his head mixed and matched with the thoughts of what laid in the lair of the necromancer. A frightening demon of colossal sides? A terrifying witch with the powers granted by the gods? Undead armies of his ancestors lined up in rows ready for his sword to strike down? All of his ideas seemed predictable, but he remained open. When he finally reached the door to where he laid, his brain swirled round and round with his ambitions. The whistling was immense now, the necromancer's lips tied to a tune of some sort of jester's lyric, perhaps that of a faraway bard whom he met in a travelling caravan, Gods know, they only know. The door was cracked open, and a brilliant bright light shone inside. The knight smiled inside his helmet with the thought of battle, and with his iron sword unsheathed, he ran inside to confront the villain for revenge and for a bride.
Time seemed to slow for him as he charged at the hunchbacked figure who worked out calculations. It was the necromancer alright, but the room the knight had charged into seemed exotic for his eyes. The brick walls were covered with drawings of mystical objects, and the table where the necromancer worked was covered in papers written in a mechanical quill and in some sort of advanced language. This confused the knight, but did not stop his charge when the sword struck down the necromancer and speared him in his stomach. Blood ran down the sword's edge and body, before quietly dripping to the floor while the necromancer seemed to die instantly from the sharp pain. After a few moments, the knight pulled back his sword and let the corpse collapse upon the rocky floor, where he landed with a crash. The knight was uninterested with the man who he had slayed, but was perplexed with the drawing the necromancer worked on a few moments ago. The drawing was of a unknown portal, created by a unexplained machine that even the court's mage would be confused by. The knight tried reading the handwriting, but it seemed to be written in code. It was English of course, but it was some sort of advanced English, a language evolved far beyond his perspective. Other machines laid on the table, like a circular device with digits of some unknown time. Finally, to face the light he had seen shining before he opened the door, he looked towards the towering, brilliant hue of the portal and what was connected to it.
The machine glowed and buzzed, the portal making a zipping sound. Large whips seemed to be connected to the strange device, which was also connected to the wall with no sort of connection whatsoever. He recoiled from the burning image of the machine's gaze, which seemed to shine like the Sun, but he quickly grew unaffected by it. The machine seemed to... draw him. There was no sight of the princess, but his mind did n't seem to care. The hues of the machines were quite beautiful and drew his attention, and he began stepping closer to the machine. As he got closer, he could see the image inside the portal: an unknown world, with many more colors and unexplained devices never seen by the likes of him before. Closer and closer he got, with his eyes not daring to look away. Finally, when he got close, he reached his hand out to feel the device over and to touch it.
Before he could react, the portal seemed to grab him and pull him in. In a flash, he saw the light around him bend and twist, and before he could yell, he reappeared on concrete with the portal shut behind him.
What stood in front of him was a large mechanical beast, tools, and many other supplies. When he turned to try and go back, he saw the machine turned off and not to hum again.
|
[ CW ] Champions of Story - 3 Words , 1 Genre , 5 Minutes
|
He had lit the candles about the room, determined to have everything perfect for the redheaded woman. It was rare that he was able to convince a woman to spend a night with him. Each of them threw flickering shadows about the room until the whole wall was littered with the small flames.
He smiled, proud of his small accomplishment.
A knock at the door drew his attention, and he quickly moved to open the door, nearly throwing it open upon seeing his date,
`` Ah, my petit fox, come in, please, I hope you enjoy the night with me.'' Stepping in, he took her coat from her, hanging it on the back of the door, closing the latter with a click and locking it. Underneath she wore a simple dress that hugged her slight curves.
A small laugh rose from her as she shuffled about inside her purse.
`` So this is what a stockbroker does when he has a lady in his room for a night.'' His eyes widened. He never once mentioned his job, and it was n't until he heard the click of the gun to understand the situation.
-035
|
[ WP ] Two wizards must fight each other . One has the power to shape the future , the other has the power to alter the past .
|
How do I fight someone I ca n't remember?
This question has been plaguing me for the better part of 30 years. There have been marks left behind, new scars I ca n't remember, people who ca n't remember meeting me, and I know that it has happened again. Whoever The Other is, he does n't want me to remember any of our meetings and I never do. I do however keep changing things to make sure the meetings keep happening. It's like an itch behind my eye that I can never get to, this nagging sense of purpose. The only relief I get comes from fragmented dreams of possible things to come. The dreams always come quick and harsh. I always choose to follow that nagging purpose drawing me slowly closer to something I know I ca n't possibly know and yet know I need.
As I dressed, I spotted a sign from our last meeting. It was brown and faded clearly from long ago, but new to me all the same. A long straight gash directly on my heart. I felt it with my fingers and the sensation was new and yet there was a hint familiarity to the motion as well. He was getting closer.
|
[ WP ] You are part of a team sent to investigate a new disease . This disease is sweeping the globe , but it 's being very particular in who it 's killing off .
|
My suit chaffed at my skin. A huge, bulking frame of plastic and canvas, with microphones and two-way visors and all sorts. This was only the third time in my life that I had ever worn any kind of hazmat. The worst thing was the knowledge that wearing it was futile. I was sweating profusely and struggling to move and it was all completely futile.
There was no way I was getting the disease.
'The Rot', as the media has been calling it. Or at least, it was, before every news station and magazine in the country started slowing down their output. And then shutting down completely. It's hard to get motivated to work when all your bosses are dying. The Rot can strike at any time - symptoms can come fast or slow. It starts with a strange tightening in the chest. Breathing becomes laboured, short and raspy. Next is the muscle burn. Searing pain that rips and shreds through every part of the body, making it virtually impossible to move. Third comes horrible skin lesions, peppering every inch of the body with boils which can become the size of grapefruits. Finally, death is a sweet release.
Me and the two other guys on my team had the unenviable task of heading into Parliament. One of the epicentres of the Rot in the UK. Pretty much the whole of Westminster has become a ghost town, and as we approached through the underground tunnels and up through Westminster station, I could n't help but admire the shoes on a few of the bodies that were littered around the concourse.
As we approached the Parliament, we saw a figure sprawled on the lengthening grass, dressed head to toe in the garbs of a mayor. The lesions had turned his skin the same shade of red as his cloak.
We continued to shuffle along as best we could in our ridiculous suits, and as we reached the Lords' chamber, where hereditary peers recently sat and passed laws, we began daubing at some of the finely dressed bodies with our swabs, bagging them carefully afterwards.
Once we had finished, the plan was to move out to the commons chamber, where there were far fewer victims. But the suit was really getting to me, and I felt like we all needed a break. I whipped off my helmet and chucked it aside. Walking up to the speaker's chair I took a seat and lifted a pack of Malboros gingerly from my pocket.
`` What the hell are you doing?'' Said Mason, flipping his mic on.
I took in a deep breath.
`` The helmet was killing me.''
Mason glared at me. He was short, no more than 5'3. His glasses only served to make his beady eyes look a little bigger, but I think his eyesight is just as good as mine.
`` Well, what if the Rot kills you?'' Mason cocked his head to one side like a bloody terrier.
`` Are you joking, mate? I have approximately 400 pounds in savings and I've been renting since I was 18. No way it's getting me.''
`` What do you think the cut off is?'' Arnand chimed in. He's a youngish chap from Bangladesh who's English is probably better than mine.
`` It's around a mill in the bank. That's what I heard online anyway.'' I replied, taking a long drag on my newly lit cigarette.
`` I hope it's not a million rupees. I should call my parents.'' Arnand said, with a laugh in his voice. It was pretty much all we had, now - laughing. So we tried to do it as often as possible.
`` Well the client's not gon na be very happy about this, is he?'' Peeped Mason, following it up with a squirrel-like squeak.
`` You're worried about some rich Chinese bastard? He's only worried about himself, trust me. I do n't even know why I'm working, God knows I do n't want any money.''
|
[ WP ] An individual takes power by force and becomes dictator . Write with a clear bias for this character , but not in first person .
|
Archand the Great was brooding. His real name was a generic β Junior β given to him by his bitch of a mother. His mother had raised him by herself while his father fought in the Generational War. The thing about that war was that it never seemed to end, hence the name. It did end, finally, when the Circle of Seven quelled the ever Rebellious Farmers Guild. His father died during the final battle, but that did not matter. Neither did that war. Archand the Great abhorred joint rule -it was weak- but he did have a healthy respect for the Seven β s power, when they got off their asses to use it. Underneath their complacent watch, he had carved out a niche fiefdom of his own. He was the Grand Potentate of the Green Mountain Tribe and he had no time for consensus. Most of his councilors were worthless and they continued to squeak and moan about caution. Archand kept them around mostly for political reasons. They were the tribal heads ( which he had appointed ) of the pathetic groups he had already conquered. They did not understand his reasoning, but they understood his power and that was all that mattered.
The Grand Potentate β s current conundrum had him vexed. He needed to consolidate his power after his latest venture, but those damn River Folk would not capitulate. He needed that river. For one he had troops to feed and resupply had been stalled due to the constant ambushes on his resupply columns. His army was growing short of expensive draft animals. The river. The key was the river.
β Grand Potentate, we made generous offers to the River Folk, but they are blind to your open-handedness and refuse to negotiate! β
That was Varius speaking and he was an idiot. The offer was ridiculous on purpose; Archand had no intention to honor the agreement even had they accepted the terms. The River Folk did not know that the Green Mountain Tribe already had informants inside their inner circle and the offer was merely a way to expose gaps in their information process. He also wanted to know how connected the River Folk were with the Circle. The Circle made him nervous.
β Varius, leave the stratagem to me. Bring Figoro before me, I wish to know what he has learned. β
Figoro was his chief intelligence officer. Archand knew that Figoro was likely plotting against him, but his was a long game and Archand would find a use for him before he allowed Figoro β s plans to interrupt. Despite all of that, Figoro was the closest thing to a friend that the Grand Potentate possessed.
To be continued... maybe ( open to critiques! )
edit: tweaked sentence `` abhorred joint rule...'' edit 2: a word
|
[ WP ] Everybody knows that the main character in this story is God , except the main character .
|
`` So what do you do?'' A man asked casually from one seat across the bar.
The diner was small, and that's why GN had picked it. He hoped nobody would recognize him here, and for now that seemed to be the case. It was refreshing to have lunch without being constantly berated by people calling him God. Maybe he could get through the whole day like a normal person.
`` I'm in distributing,'' GN said.
`` Oh, that's nice,'' said the man with disinterest. The honesty was refreshing. Somebody who would n't place him on a pedestal.
`` Are you here for the conference?''
`` Oh yes,'' GN said, `` I'll just be showing a small piece of software. It really is n't anything big,'' GN realized he was saying too much, so he changed the conversation, `` So what do you do?''
`` Oh, I'm currently working with a team of four... hey, I know who you are!''
GN flinched.
`` You're... Thank God... Thank, YOU. Oh, you do n't know what you're doing, and what it means to me. What it means to all of us!''
GN stepped up from the bar and left without his food. He pushed open the door, and was greeted by the heavy San Francisco traffic. Frustration passed through him like a thunderstorm, and just then he felt a drop of rain on his arm. It always seemed to rain when he got mad or upset. Typical.
He stopped in at a local shop and bought a rain jacket. Unfortunately, the clerk recognized him and followed him down two streets. He would n't give up, until a taxi hit him, throwing him five feet onto the pavement. GN stopped to help him, but he got up right away and seemed to be okay. He did n't wish the clerk any harm, but he wanted to be left alone.
GN finally made it to the conference building, and kept his hood pulled up so nobody would recognize him. He began checking in. Two conference associates made sure his documentation was in order, and printed out his ID card for the week. Once they read the name, their eyes went wide.
GN put a finger to his lips. One of them gasped, and fainted. The other yelled at the top of his lungs until he began foaming at the mouth and passed out too. Fortunately, the commotion was enough for GN to get away without further incident.
He walked as quickly as he could to get to his speech. Several people pointed him out, but nobody followed. GN was thankful.
Finally, he made it to the room where he would meet with a panel, and show off his software. It was strange, that they would give them the biggest room in the entire San Francisco South Market area. And even stranger that it would be packed over full with several thousand people waiting patiently. His software was going to be great, but it was n't that great, was it?
The crew finished setting up the projector and microphones. The speaker gave a short speech about what they were doing, and thanked everyone for being there. GN felt uncomfortable, but he always did when giving a speech to thousands of people.
The speaker finished, and asked GN to come step up before the podium and give his speech. He looked out over the sea of people with gleams in their eyes like puppy dogs. They buzzed with excitement, every single one of them barely able to contain themselves. It was like GN was a God, speaking to his people. Was he? No, that's absurd.
GN spoke. His personal mic was dead, but still everyone herd him.
`` I am humbled to present to you all, Half Life 3.''
|
[ CW ] A story where the last sentence is exactly the same as the first sentence .
|
Erase and replace. The keys clack slowly and with purpose. I think. I pause.
A story of brave heroism. Of a person who can finally overcome the mindless noise of existence. Of someone who fears no loss and fears no success. Of a person who just tries. A story of brave heroism.
But in a story like that how does one avoid the common tropes? How can I actually, in good conscious, write something like that? Such schlock. Erase and replace.
The weight upon my shoulders, of creativity, of social commentary, of original content. The words fly off my fingertips.
A student working hard. Overcoming challenges. Their parents are inattentive but they struggle on. The student completes school and becomes a doctor. Their learning is complete. They becomes complacent. Their attention on work intensifies while the focus on family wanes. He becomes inattentive of family, just trying to finish the day. If only he had remained a student working hard.
To forced? Of course it is you fool. Anyone can write something that shallow. If you are using the megaphone of the internet to get people to pay attention at least have SOME subtlety in your message. Erase and replace.
How many [ WP ] have you typed up? But lord knows none have been good enough to hit save. The keys clack away with desperation. Of course I must have at least one good idea rattling around in my head. Something worthy of hitting save. What about the story of the writer? Of frustration. Of self disappointment. Of expectation placed by none other than oneself. Of ones own internal demons leaking into the words.
Erase and replace.
|
[ WP ] β Someone once told me the definition of Hell : The last day you have on earth , the person you became will meet the person you could have become. β -Anonymous
|
`` I thought I did okay. I do n't know. I owned my house, I had 3 kids and 14 grandkids. I treated my wife nicely, for the most part. I did n't make quite enough money in nursing not to rely on support from my children in my last years of life, but I came close. Ah shit.''
And he looked out and saw history's greatest monster, fully naked except for his skull codpiece. He was covered in blood and stupidly muscular. Like... there was blood drying between the gaps in abs. His teeth were sharpened down into points, and holding a gun with a sharpened spinal cord for a bayonet.
`` I could have been so fucking badass.''
|
[ WP ] Everything is Red
|
``... so did you hear about the new iPhone? I hear it's terrible.'' I said, in a shit attempt to make awkward conversation with my newly adopted stepbrother. He simply ignored me, rolling his eyes.
Why the hell would my parents need another child? I mean they have me, are n't I enough? I was red with rage, I wanted to crush this piece of shit.
I immediately regretted thinking that. No not because I had a moral compass or because I was a good guy, I was n't. No, I regretted it because as soon as I thought about it I started seeing red. No I'm not talking about the expression, literally everything was a different shade of red, everything to my candy colored hands to the maroon ( originally black ) shirt I was wearing.
I heard a small shriek escaped Ibrahim's mouth. I wish that little idiot would keep his trap shut, and just like that, in the blink of his eye his lips were gone. His red lips on his red face were gone. I was pretty shocked at first but then I started laughing, and I could n't stop, my sides started aching as I guffawed and Shit Jr. just stood there with some sort of disappointed look on his face. Who cared about what he thought anyway.
But pretty soon we came back to the issue of how to turn the world back to it's beautiful RGB state which I actually preferred, the redness kind of made it hard to perceive depth as well as I would want. I turned the world red by thinking about it, well maybe if I think about turning it back to normal it would go back to the way it was? So I tried, I put my fingers to my temples and I tried real hard. I tried and tried until I had a headache, my `` brother'' stared at me like I was a retard. I stamped my foot on the ground but nothing happened, no degree of thought could fix the world.
A week had passed, the world was still red. Ibrahim was scheduled for an operation. 24 planes had already crashed into mountains owing to the fact that the pilots could n't tell the difference between merlot red and sangria. I admit, despite my lack of a moral compass I felt really guilty killing over a million people. Plane crashes, oil spills, Russia being nuked, Russia nuking the US, people falling in uncovered manholes and a lot of other things. In just seven days I'd killed 45 times more than the Ebola Virus.
It's actually kind of funny if you think about it. I was given the power of a god for less than a minute, and in that moment I'd managed to successfully destroy the world. Now I pray every day and every night, in the hopes that this nightmare will end. Funny thing is I do n't believe in god, but any hope is hope enough.
|
[ WP ] `` I 'm sorry for being human . ''
|
Blood is soaked all over my clothes. There's sweat on my face but no tears rolling down my eyes.
This does n't stop me from running however. I need to make it to the local pawn shop. There I could sell the watch and jewelry I just collected. The man I shot was a very wealthy man. But He was n't evil. He never treated his workers cruelly, he did n't kill anyone and I'm sure he never would have in his life. He just happened to be there when I needed it the most.
To me he was my only way out. I needed to save my daughter and I needed the money for the treatment. The whole system here is turned against the poor. We have to no way to escape. We will live and die unfairly. Those who try to fight are shunned by society and blamed for the situations imposed upon them. I have no remorse. I feel from the bottom of my heart what I am doing is right. Society will label me as wrong and evil while their hands remain pure and untainted because they never had to and never will have to dirty their hands. I'm sorry for doing the only thing I could. I'm sorry for being human...
|
[ WP ] You were born with Heterochronoia - one eye can see 5 seconds into the future and the other sees 5 seconds into the past .
|
They did n't give me up to the state until I was three. I was diagnosed with all sorts of diseases: schizophrenia, autism, they even named one after me, Jack Connor's Disease. It was too much for my adoptive parents to handle, I do n't hold it against them. Needless to say, I advanced slower than anyone my age. It's hard enough to teach a child, let alone a child who is caught in both past, present and future. At the heart of the problem is that I see about 5 seconds into the past with my left eye, and with my right eye, about 5 seconds into the future. All other senses are in the present. Growing up was confusing. How could I know I was n't ordinary? That my experience was n't ordinary? I lived and breathed mental health institutions. I ca n't recall any substantial memories of the institutions, just white lab coats, a lot of screaming, and then the darkness. The darkness was not evil, it was not malignant, it was nurturing and illuminating. In the darkness I found my core, my present, myself.
Someone had taken me from the institution, they had cared for me and taught me, in the darkness. The darkness grounded me in the present. There was no longer a blur of past and future to poison the rest of my senses, only the present. I said my first words early on, I started speaking coherent sentences, I learned braille and English within 6 months. I learned to rely on my other senses, I started to make sense of the world. My captor, my savior, called herself Luci.
The moment I had the capacity to understand, she explained to me of my condition. She explained that I had a gift, the ability to see both future and past.
She taught me to use this gift, she taught me how to master this gift. My learning was greatly accelerated when I used my future sight. It's not even fair to say that it was greatly accelerated. If I read something with my future sight, I already knew it, I had instant comprehension, retention and understanding of anything I read. Needless to say, I have a world class education. Eventually the lights came on. I was still confined to my cell, but I was taught how to incorporate my vision. I had required readings, we discussed moral and social issues, history, math and sciences. Along side the formal education, she also taught me how to use my abilities, to use my visions to my advantage. I mean, there are the obvious perks of how to use past and present vision, but she taught me how to truly use these powers. Knowing how to read lips allows me to navigate and manipulate conversations. She taught me how to combine the visions and not confuse myself, essentially I trained my brain to take both past and present and be in a sort of super present. This state gives me both incredible foresight and also an incredible migraine. I'm still working on it. Oh, and these migraines seem to bring on the dreams. In the dreams, I see the future, sometimes days, weeks, months even years. After my first migraine, I saw the future one day in advance, I knew she was leaving.
Luci entered my life, she gave me darkness and then illuminated my world, but like that she was gone. There was no warning, no send off, only an open cell door.
She left me. She had also left me two items, a briefcase with a substantial amount of currency, and a small black book.
It has been six months now, and I am now on the last page of the book. There are names and addresses. I visit these addresses and find these names. At first I was n't sure what I was supposed to do, until I had one of those dreams. I saw these people doing terrible things, awful unforgivable things. In the dreams I also saw what I was supposed to do, or what I was going to do, to these people, this is how I found my purpose. I'm particularly adapted to infiltration, assassination, and espionage. This is what troubles me, you see, the last name on the last page is Luci, and I'm feeling tired from my migraine.
|
[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : The Defense Rests Edition
|
So I'm writing a novel. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.
When we last left our hero, she found herself stalled out around the 8,000 word mark. Her co-protagonist is currently about as much fun as a wet badger in one's underpants and now one of the as-yet-unmet main characters has changed so substantially that the lot of them have to navigate an entirely new world line. I ca n't tell whether this is the choice of Steins Gate or interference from the Organization. /otaku
The long format's a pain in the butt. You need so much detail and context and you have to keep track of everything all the time and worry about continuity. Blah. The short con's so much simpler; you shine the spotlight on a couple of things here and there, let the reader connect the dots and illuminate only the necessary parts of the stage as you go. I had a lot of respect for the people who could finish a novel before but jeez, I feel like I walked into a marathon thinking it was a 5k.
Anyway, it's my hope that venting my frustration into the aether frees up enough headspace to get moving again.
-- -
On a practical note: can I get away with a three word opening?
> Maven ran. Again.
Does that entice you, as a reader, to get to the next part?
|
[ PI ] 11:11 -Flashback- ( 1764 Words )
|
Well, shit. The first paragraph had me expecting horror or mystery. I was actually a little frustrated by all the gender discomfort ( not applicable in the horror setting I'd imagined, and I dislike throwing in diversity for no reason when it does n't fit the story ) and when the `` I wished you'd be mine'' stuff... well I thought Mama was a kidnapper...
So the ending through me for a loop and made my eyes water, and I had to go back and read again for something new to give constructive observations on, cause the gender issue was *definitely* relevant...
There are a few spots, such as here:
> Sam tried to breathe deeply in an effort to alleviate the racing thoughts.
... where I can see the struggle to find the right word. The writing gets overly complex, tons of adverbs, longer than it need be...
For example, the sentence I quoted could have read easier something like:
> Sam tried ~~to breathe deeply~~ deep breaths ~~in an effort~~ to ~~alleviate~~ slow the racing thoughts.
but all of that is stylistic, anyway, and the longer version helps conceal the lack of pronouns... so it's not a bad thing at all. I can see why this piece made it to the final round -- it's amazing
|
[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - The Zen Edition !
|
*A metafiction of a well-known children's story. *
Even as a child, I knew that I was different. That I was strange. I walked barefoot so I could taste the weather in the soil between my toes and I played in the forest rather than in the village to hear the voices of the trees and wind. I had no friends; parents kept their children away from me, casting me anxious looks. My only companions were the squirrels and birds and beetles I coaxed into my lap.
My mother and father were no different. They would talk with the other parents and look at me fearfully, as if I was some sort of monster. Which I suppose I was, in their eyes. How could the only daughter of the town's most beloved priest have turned out to be one of the strange folk? They even tried to β cure β me: bathing me in holy water, locking me in a room filled with crosses and bibles, conducting long exorcisms. I tried my hardest to pretend that their methods worked; I still loved my parents. I depended on them. And for a little while, my facade held. Those were wonderful days.
But as I grew older, my magic grew stronger. The dam I had built within my mind was breaking down. One night, I overheard my father talking to the head of the village, saying that they had no choice. In only a few words, my fate was decided: I was to be burned at the stake, upon a heap of wood kindling.
The rest of that night still remains a blur to me. I just remember a lot of anger and fire and screaming. I wanted to hurt them. My father, my mother, everyone. My blood sang with magic, fueled by my emotions. I eventually ran away to the forest, the only real home I have ever known. Then came days of anguish and darkness. At the tender age of 12, I had lost almost everything. All I had was my magic and the faded grey dress I was wearing. It was the last thing my mother had sewn for me. When she still loved me.
A slight frown creases my lips and I silently chide myself. That was years ago. I often find myself living in the past; listening past the sound of dew falling onto my thatched roof to my mother's soft voice, telling me a story. I smell, not the sharp scent of pine needles, but the sweet aroma of burning rosemary wood as I doze on my father's lap.
Another day has started. I find it curious that even after all these years, while the town has grown in size, not much has changed. From my vantage point up in this tree, I can see fat merchants trying to cheat people out of their money on one street while on another, beggars reach out weakly with thin arms. A young, skinny boy drops a jug of milk, which shatters; he'll get a beating for that. Few come close to my forest; tales of a crazy witch that eats people drive them away. I smile with grim satisfaction.
But there are some people now, walking deeper into the forest. A tired father and haughty mother are leading two children, a boy and a girl, into the thick woods. I swallow hard. Should I follow them? When they stop near a tree stump, I fly over and land on a branch right above their heads. To them, I was just a common sparrow.
`` Now, my children, do not worry, we will be back soon,'' says the father. Wood shavings line the creases in this woodcutter's ragged brown shirt.
`` But Daddy...,'' the little girl begins, with tears in her eyes. Her dress is a faded red. It is tattered and frayed at the edges. The boy sits on the stump and hangs his head.
`` Do not follow us again, or we will punish you. Stay here and wait for us like good little children,'' the mother cuts her off sharply.
I fly back to my cottage, thinking and trying not to think. I could feel the old grief and rage resurfacing within me. I should n't care so much. This was n't the first time I've watched parents abandon their children. The girl's face flashes through my mind. I shake my head violently and slam my door shut.
Two days pass, and I continue to wallow about in the musky darkness of my hut. Even the insects are careful to avoid me now, in my mood. I had been working on a new potion, but my cauldron remains half full and bubbling slightly. I decide that maybe the forest air might clear my head, and so I rise up and pass ethereally through my roof, transforming into a great horned owl as I begin to do sweeps around my woods. Soon, I hear it: the sounds of crying. Hesitating at first, I follow the sobbing and find the children from before. They are still alive, but lost. The boy is trying to comfort his sister, who is weeping on the forest floor, tears cutting clean streaks through the dirt on her cheeks. I watch them intensely for a few more minutes, and then quietly fly back and land in front of my home.
With some simple waves of my hand, my disheveled, brownish hut turns the red and white of peppermint candy. Pillars of crumbly sugar erupt up out of the ground to hold up a roof of soft, brown biscuit. The windows, greenish-black with years of dirt and neglect, crystallize into blue rock candy, with dark chocolate frames. The door becomes a sweet block of caramel, complete with a butterscotch doorknob. I step back and nod with satisfaction. The transformed hut now glowed a soft white. I step inside and wait, all the while arguing with myself.
In no time at all, the children find my hut and I watch as their tired, hopeless faces transform into those of delighted shock. At first they are timid, but hunger wins out. They rush forward, biting pieces off the wall, licking the chocolate window panes. The girl breaks off pieces of the roof, enjoying the chocolate biscuit. I am forcibly reminded of when my own mother would bring fresh baked biscuits from the bakery each Friday. I shake my head and, after putting on a younger face and softer voice, I step outside.
*continued in comment! *
|
[ WP ] A high risk hostage situation gone south . From a police dog 's perspective .
|
Master is stressed. I nuzzle my nose against his hand. This does n't seem to help.
One of master's friends is shouting into an odd metal box. They do n't taste nice and I was told off when I tried to eat one anyway.
Master is getting worse. There is sirens and people running about. I just sit. Waiting.
A man with a gun to the woman's head walks out of the bank.
Master reaches down and clasps my collar.
That man is my target. I will make master less stressed. I will help.
I feel my collar be released and hurtle forward, past the police cars and master's master.
The man with gun seems scared. The woman... terrified.
A loud noise sounds and the woman collapses to the ground just as I jump up towards the man.
My teeth enclose on his arm and I do n't move. Even when he tries to shake me off. Even when he hurts me with his gun, the loud noise ringing in my ears.
Master is crying.
|
[ WP ] You are a background character in someone else 's story . Suddenly the focus turns to you , and a shocking truth about the story is revealed .
|
I have to admit, I have a good life. I get ample food and shelter, my boss treats me well and he even takes me to all his meetings. I may not be as productive and important as some of the others in the organisation, but I am treated with respect despite the menial work I do here. I really should n't be complaining, since I have as good a job, as anyone with my limited intelligence could hope for.
And yet, my life feels so empty. All I do is follow my boss around and do what he says. I have no family, no friends, no one I can identify with. Despite the number of people who work here, it's just my boss who would even speak to me. I do n't find much joy in being his enforcer, but I ca n't tell him that. He is extremely powerful and no one dares cross him, much less a simple creature like me. No one except those kids, that is. Especially that boy; he was the start of all that trouble.
He told me this was going to be their end, and the day when he finally ascends to his most powerful, with no one to oppose him. I really should not have believed that megalomaniac. I would have had a much better chance out in the woods. You see, he never told me how important I was. If I was so important, why could n't he have left me at my home? He dragged me into this whole mess, I killed that oily long-haired guy for him, and now some plump kid with a sword is about to behead me. I should have run away from that nose-less son of a bitch earlier. I knew he was crazy.
|
[ WP ] after Twitch Plays Pokemon and Treat Stream launched successfully , Twitch bought a human for the viewers to raise cooperatively .
|
The sound of a hundred pencils scratching at a hundred papers seemed to cut the air into tiny pieces too small to breathe. He pulled at his collar - his parents had chosen the shirt for him and it was far too tight.
At the front of the room, the proctor strolled to the whiteboard, casually wiping away the phrase, `` 15 Mins'' and replaced it with `` **5 Mins!!! **''
He looked down at his test. It was completely blank. A strangled noise crawled out of his throat, and the proctor whipped his head around, glaring at the classroom.
He put his head down, trying his hardest to look like he was n't cheating - trying to look like he was n't paralyzed by fear and anxiety and why the hell did they make *this* ***one*** *test* the most important determining factor on the rest of his life?
*Come on! *
*You can do it! *
*You ****ing suck! *
*Kappakappakappakappa*
*Just write something damnit! *
He tuned out the voices, and tried to concentrate on the page in front of him. Towering columns of bubbles, arranged in rows that even the largest farmer in the Midwest would have envied stared back at him, taunting him.
*Remember what we taught you. *
*Ca n't stump the Trump. *
*A! The first answer is A, dumbass! *
*BBBBB*
*A*
*CACACACA*
*C*
And just like that, almost without realizing it, he was flying through the test. He did n't even need to look at the questions - he knew all the right answers.
A timer rang, and the Proctor cleared his throat, `` Please, everyone, put *down* your pencils. Time is up.''
Sweat dripped down his forehead, staining the paper, but he was in the zone. Nothing could stop him now.
*A*
*No, not A! It's D, wtf*
*B*
*D jajajaja*
*J? Sure why not. *
*7*
*D. Almost done. *
`` You, in the back, put down your pencil or your results will be disqualified.''
There was one question remaining. It was not like the others. This question was on the bubble sheet itself, and when his eyes scanned over the text, he realized he was meant to take this test all along - he was *meant* to do great things, because this is what he had been trained for all his life.
Gender: M or F?
`` Are you a boy, or a girl?''
*Boy! *
*Girl*
*M*
*F*
The proctor stalked over to his desk, `` I said, put your pencil down!''
*Girl! Girl! You're a girl! *
*Tr*
*Neither*
*Amorphous Blob*
He bubbled in both of the options, and stood up, his chest swelling with pride.
There were one hundred questions on the test. When he finally put his pencil to rest, he had filled in more than eight hundred bubbles, and even added a few of his own. Who else could say the same? With a satisfied grin on his face, he handed the paper, nearly black with graphite, over to the proctor.
At last, his parents' training had served him well.
***
*Shucks. Might as well plug my sub: /r/PSHoffman - subscribe and thanks for reading! *
|
[ WP ] Silence that keeps you awake at Night
|
Some people say that a quiet night of sleep is the best kind of sleep. That they get into a deep slumber due to the fact there is nothing to distract them to keep them awake. They say its weird I sleep with the television on, trying to blast voices to attempt to fill the room. But the voices that kept me awake when I was young are the only thing that lets me sleep now. Its like that when you are the youngest of ten, until one day you wake up to silence. A silence brought upon by a silent killer in a gaseous form. When it's quiet, I can think to myself. And when I think to myself, I think of them.
Noise can be irritating at night.
But silence is deafening.
|
[ WP ] You are a kid 's imaginary friend . They 're growing up . You 're fading away .
|
`` I do n't need you'', he said to me. `` You've changed, just like everything else.''
It hurt me, I ca n't lie. It really hurt me. Of course people grow up. Nobody knows how they're going to feel in one day, ten days, a year. Five years. Twenty years. Hell, I could live for another hundred years, but I SWEAR I did n't see that coming.
I'd like to think he was trying to make it easy for me. To fade away, that is. To not come back. After all, I was invisible before him, and I will be invisible again.
But with him, I was visible. I changed, he's right. All the time, actually! But only because he wanted me to! I swear! He showed me what he wanted and that's the game we would play, for as long as it made him happy. It was always me in there, but when he asked I would make myself beautiful for him. So beautiful. And so devastating. Oh, do n't get me wrong. He was a boy like any other, and sometimes he wanted me to be, well, her. Whatever her occupied his fancy. But we'd play lots of games. Sometimes I'd be the car he saw in some magazine, sometimes I'd be the famous football player he'd always wanted to speak to. Sometimes I'd be characters from his father's stories, people in his mother's paintings.
I was just grateful to be visible. He's right, he does n't need me anymore. He has all those things. The fancy car, the beautiful, devastating wife. He imagined somebody to love him, and I swear I always did and I always will but I still ca n't believe he said that. I'm made of him, I know how he feels. I know he does n't mean it. He ca n't, can he? Not when he sits with me against the foot of the bed, like we always did before we'd start a new adventure. Not when he sits and puts his hand where mine would be and cries real, human tears for me. Those are n't imaginary. Maybe we're just starting a new adventure. What do you want me to be this time? I'm coming! I promise!
Please critique me. I'm having a few personal crises and I need something to take the edge off, I really want to write and I want to write well! I'm new here, so all advice welcome: )
|
[ WP ] You 're standing outside of a school that has been abandoned fifteen years ago . Suddenly , the window on the third floor opens .
|
*Hilldale High School*, the faded sign said. The letters could just about be made out through the mosses and lichen that had been steadily covering them for nearly half a century. Similar vegetation growths had begun to creep up the walls; snakes of ivy winding their way past windows.
Something about old buildings had always fascinated Alex Fletcher, ever since he had been very young. They held a special sort of charm, the crumbling bricks and mortar dripping with history. The way he saw it, the older the better.
This particular building was nearly a hundred and fifty years old at this point. How many children had lived a part of their lives in this school? Alex could almost imagine the school full of life once more. Vivid images of people walking through the halls flooded his mind, teenagers laughing, the occasional shout from a classroom, the stern voice of a teacher.
Alex pulled his collar up to block out most of the cool autumn breeze that swirled around the skin of his neck. When he breathed out, a fine white mist formed in the air in front of him, frozen for a second before it dissolved into the surrounding air.
He took a few steps forwards, taking another breath, inhaling deeply. He reached out a hand to stroke the bricks, and felt a slight tingle as his fingertips caressed the rough surface. A fine red dust coated the tips when he brought his hand away, and a soft cloud of brick dust tumbled to the floor. The only sound was his breathing and the faint melody of a bird somewhere far away.
*But wait, * what was that sound?
Alex silenced his breathing, and even the lone bird seemed to fall silent. He listened intently. There it was again! A slight creaking sound from above him; the crack of a window being opened somewhere on one of the upper floors. Somebody else was here already? Was he trespassing? What if somebody showed up and ordered him to leave?
*No, this is public property, * he reassured himself, *I'm allowed here. *
He tiptoed along the wall towards where he thought he had heard the window being opened. As he approached the corner, he poked his head around the edge, just in case somebody was watching him.
Up there, on the third floor, a window had been opened, and Alex heard a faint whistling floating out into the early morning air, the tune not too dissimilar to that of the bird he had heard earlier. Perhaps the bird had flown inside? But no, the whistling sounded like a person.
The tune stopped abruptly, and he heard a voice, although the words were too distant to be distinguished. Only the occasional phrase reached his ears.
`` No, he's not here yet.''
``...''
`` Yeah, I'll keep you posted.''
Alex caught himself throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder. Who was n't here yet? Was he expecting someone to arrive soon? A part of him wanted to leave, before he ended up in the middle of something he did n't want to be a part of. However, the more dominant part of him was curious to see what was about to happen. Perhaps he could slip in unnoticed and hear the meeting that was about to take place.
Having decided upon this course of action, he moved carefully towards the rear door of the school, in which a large hole had been broken. Crouching down, he managed to squeeze his way in without much effort, and slowly walked down the empty hallways, paying close attention to every step he took, always keeping an ear out for any arrivals.
From a few floors above, the whistling started again, and whoever the person was began to walk across the floor. He heard footsteps coming down the staircase, and a small burst of adrenaline rushed through him.
He stumbled, and felt himself falling headfirst, the ground rushing up to meet him as he tripped over his own feet. He hit the ground with a heavy thump, and the person stopped moving for a few seconds, until they suddenly began a sprint downstairs. They did not call out, or make any other noise, only the hurried footsteps echoed through the abandoned building.
Alex, in his panic, threw himself into the nearest room, slamming the bolt closed behind him, giving no heed to the noise it caused.
The footsteps were closer now, and Alex fought to keep his breathing under control. He looked around for something he could use as a weapon, but the classroom he found himself in had been stripped bare.
The footsteps still neared.
And stopped.
Right outside the door of the classroom. Alex could see the silhouette of the person through the semi-transparent screen, and there was a terrible silence for several moments. A silence so absolute that it seemed to drown the colours of the world, the thick air stifling his breath, and he almost felt it would force itself into his lungs to drown him if given the chance.
It dragged on for an eternity.
`` Alex?'' a voice said.
Alex felt his breath rush back to him, and he realised he was hyperventilating.
`` Alex, is that you? Can you unlock the door, please?''
Alex remained silent.
`` I'd rather not break this door down, it would cause a whole manner of confusion. Just unlock the on the inside of the door to make this less complicated than it needs to be.''
For some odd reason, Alex found his hand reaching out to clasp the metal bolt. He dragged it out of the hole, the metal scraping against the inside, and the bolt was free.
`` Thanks,'' the voice said, `` I knew you'd do that.''
The door swung open, and Alex felt his breath catch again, as he looked into his own face.
`` I'm sorry to do this, Alex,'' the other Alex said, `` But this is where it gets a little more confusing.''
|
[ EU ] Deadpool meets Frank Underwood to confront him regarding some questionable government experiments . Awkwardness ensues when both realize they can break the 4th wall
|
It had been quite the explosion. Definitely not the most subtle assassination attempt, but then again, Deadpool was never known for his subtlety. The Oval Office burst into flames, and Secret Service men were rushing around trying to dodge the hail of shrapnel, bullets, and blades that was the Merc with a Mouth. His need for attention was probably why he was so over the top; that, and the fact he was completely insane.
As the last agent fell, Deadpool finally took a moment to really revel in the destruction. To him, there was something artful in the destruction, and this was his Mona Lisa. Satisfied, he hopped over one of the female agents, taking a moment to admire her chest size: `` That's right readers, we are all about equal opportunity here. Man, woman, puppy, I will shoot you -- that's feminism.''
`` Feminism, yet another social movement to make the young politically active folk feel as if they are making difference, when they are just another cog in the vast machine of media,'' a hushed and accented voice whispered.
`` Wait,'' Deadpool looked around the room, `` The fuck just said that... Reader, did you hear that too... Do MINE EARS DECEIVE ME.''
`` Assassination, violence, war... these are not power. These are just tools by which lesser men attempt to assert their authority over others. Power is willing someone else to pull the trigger,'' An aged man whispered as he pulled himself out from beneath his desk, specifically designed to survive these kinds of attacks.
`` Wait... you can talk to them too,'' Deadpool, `` or are you just some psycho.''
`` Well is n't that the pot calling the kettle black... or red rather,'' the man began brushing off his tailored suit, `` Although I can not imagine why.''
`` Hey Methuselah, I am not crazy, heck I might be the only sane one here,'' Deadpool said pointing a pistol at, `` and I am here to kill the son of a bitch President who sanctioned human experimentation to turn my face into grated cheese.''
Deadpool pulled off his mask revealing the horrible scarring caused by the cruel experimentation: `` It's at this moment that most people are glad that writing prompts are n't accompanied by picture: D''
`` It is times like these, that the less fortunate might be thankful that pictures are not common in print. I admit that I might have had some notion as to what is going on, but like other presidents before me, I am willing to admit any level of comedically pathetic oversight to avoid incrimination.''
`` So you DID KNOW,'' Deadpool shouted.
`` Know what,'' The President, Frank Underwood, said, `` I have never seen you before in my life.''
`` You just said that you knew what was going on but were going to pretend it was an oversight or some sort of oversight.''
For the first time in his life, Frank was at a complete loss for words. His eyes widened steely, really taking in the look of Deadpool's deformed face, as if seeing a man for the first time. Frank Turned to the side:
`` It is not everyday that I meet someone who can see through me so perfectly. Such people are threats, that must be dealt with.''
`` SEEEeeeeEEEeeee,'' Deadpool said hopping up and down, `` You did it again, you said you were going to deal with me.''
Deadpool was giddy, he had met few others who were aware of the audience like he was: `` Folks this is really exciting... is this what love feels like?!''
Frank Underwood stepped out from behind his desk. He walked forward till the barrel of the gun was mere inches from his chest, `` You can hear me? You can hear what I say to *them*.''
`` Oh yes I can sweetheart, and I am sure you can hear what I say too... I mean if you try,'' Deadpool said pulling his gun away from Frank's chest and holstering it. He pulled his mask back: `` Oh friends, I know this man is probably a bad guy... I mean he has killed a lot of people, but I ca n't just kill someone like me can I''
`` Wait, I can hear you... so we are the same?'' Frank said.
`` Oh Mr. President, we are both mildly sociopathic killers, with a clever sense of humor and a dry wit. The only difference is my suit is red and shows off my..ROCKING BODY.''
`` Hmmmmmm... Mr.?'' Frank said extending his hand.
`` Deadpool,'' Deadpool said taking the President's hand.
`` Well, Mr. Pool, I believe that we should do business.''
`` Oh, Mr. President... you have no idea how much fun this is going to be.''
|
[ RF ] `` Pay me enough , and I did n't see a thing . ''
|
I run that shop. You know, *that* shop. The one in a fairy tale which is never there the next day, or you got lost and found it, etcetera. The rules are; you get to leave with exactly one item, and nobody else may use it, and everything costs precicely seven cents. They must be paid in pennies. Those who break the first rule end up as employees, and those that break the second... well... nobody has done that yet.
Someone came in the door today. They always seem to know precisely what they want. But this time, whoever came in came with a friend. *Nobody* comes in with someone else. The first was simple. I showed her the simple things that most people like, then she spotted their item in the corner, bought it, and left with a look of relief on her face. She asked her friend if he wanted her to wait for him, but he playfully shooed her out.
As soon as she went out of sight, he pulled a gun out of his pocket. `` Still costs seven cents.'' He clenched the gun in his grasp. `` Okay, okay. I kid. You have no cash on you and you do n't want to waste this amazing opportunity.'' He put the gun in his pocket then opened his mouth to speak. `` How did I know? Beside the point. I'll give you a loan.'' I pointed to the sign on the wall detailing loans.
'When you get home or somewhere with more cash, put seven pennies in the circle and it'll disappear. It currently weighs two pounds. Tomorrow it'll weigh four. The next it'll weigh sixteen. You'll find it's always in your pocket or, when that gives out, your hand, till you have the pennies.'
I saw the lady looking down at something in her hand through the office window. I had to finish the transaction quickly. `` Tell you what. The lady you came with bought something too. She's using it right now, but you are too. That means she picked a very specific item, and for that you must pay with your sanity.'' I winked at him. `` It wo n't be nearly as bad as you think. Look right here.'' I held my right hand out just above the counter then turned around. `` Ready?''
He swallowed and nodded.
I opened the drawer. He gaped at it. `` It's-''
`` **You want to stop talking right now. ** Remember, you telling me what you see means I am using it too, and it'll be far worse for me than you. Got a good look?''
He swallowed again and assented. I closed the drawer and turned back around. `` Shows you the happiest moment in your life.'' The woman tried to open the door and it jammed shut. `` It'll happen in a few seconds.'' The woman forced the door open.
She kissed him and showed him the compass. `` Careful.'' I called. `` Results may not be universal.''
He covered his ears. `` Ears *ring*ing?'' I pointed at out loan policy. `` Pay up and I never saw a thing.'' She gave him seven pennies to put in the ring, and they left as happy as can be.
|
[ WP ] When one person on earth loses weight , it is transferred to another person , these two people are paired with this for life .
|
`` So, why'd you do it?'' Detective Adams asked the skeleton of a man as he pushed the record button on his recording machine.
`` I do n't know what you're talking about...''
`` C'mon, cut the shit. You transferred all of your energy to your Caloric Partner on purpose. We both know it. Just confess and maybe I can get you a reduced sentence.''
``... I do n't know what you're talking about...''
`` You know, negligence to your C-P's calorie intake is almost just as bad as doing it on purpose. The only difference between sentences is 36 months.''
`` I want a law-''
`` DID... you know that being single means you have to intake calories from outside sources? Good luck finding out what to get calories from, hell good luck finding out HOW to get calories.''
`` Excuse me, but you interrupted me...''
`` Oh, did I? Bad habit... I guess I'm a little negligent sometimes...''
Silence ensued for a solid minute.
`` Lawyer.'' The skeleton man sternly said.
`` Dentist.'' Adams replied.
`` Wh... What?''
`` Oh, I'm sorry I thought we were naming off over-paid professions.''
`` No, I want one.''
`` Your teeth look fine to me, mate.''
`` You're joking...''
`` No, I'm negligent.''
`` What do you want me to say? I killed him? I transferred all my weight to him on purpose? That day in and day out he would threaten my family, but still demand his share of energy?''
`` Nope.'' Detective Adams stood up with a screech of chair legs scratching the floor. `` In cases like these, all we need is a motive.'' Detective Adams pressed `` stop'' on the recording machine.
EDIT: Fixed some inconsistencies.
|
[ WP ] An ordinary old man sits in a park . He is not batman , nor the devil , and most certainly not a time traveller . He sits and thinks about his life 's greatest triumph , or defeat .
|
An old man sits in the park in Gotham City. As he sits there, pondering the end of his life, which he senses is near, he looks back fondly at his life's work.
This man is n't Batman, he is just Bruce Wayne. He may have been Batman, but that was lifetimes ago.
His triumphs were not the gadgets he developed that have changed the face of modern crime fighting, nor the young men and women he shaped that have taken up the cowls up his mentors and successors over the years.
Not even the son he helped shape into the great man he is today.
His greatest success was not even his legacy. Billionaire who reshaped Gotham, making it one of the most bustling and successful metropolises in the world.
No, he knew sitting here in this park that his greatest victory was in giving up the cowl. His obsession had taken him to great heights, and the lowest of lows. He knew that being Batman would eventually destroy him, and he did n't care. His parents death was the catalyst, but his own death that night in that alley was what really fueled his rage.
He did n't die a physical death, no it was a spiritual one. His innocence had died that evening, and it had taken him over four decades to reclaim it. He was finally at piece, and had been for longer than the rage had consumed him. So now he was ready to go peacefully into the night.
As the sun set, Bruce Wayne took his last breath, smiling as he was set on his journey for final peace.
**Sorry I could n't resist, great prompt though**
|
[ Wp ] '' so uh , what are you in Hell for ? ''
|
We all sit in the circle. I've only been in for about a week, but I figure everyone joins one of these support groups sooner or later, so I might as well get to it early. The group leader, Timothy welcomes everyone.
`` A lot of new faces in this group. I want to personally welcome you to the'Funny Guys and Funny Girls' support group. It seems that the flyers we have been putting out are really working well.'' Tim counts the newcomers. `` So it looks like we have 4 newcomers in this group and 20 returnees. Why do n't we start by having the newcomers introduce themselves. Tell us a little about yourself, and what unfortunate series of events led you here?'' Laughter circulates throughout the group.
The first newcomer stands up, a white man, roughly 40 years old with very Dahmer-esque glasses on. `` Hi, My name's Brady.''
`` Hi, Brady,'' the group says enthusiastically. Brady continues, `` Well, I would say that I do n't belong here, but we all know that's not true. I was a pretty successful accountant. Wife, two kids, beautiful house in Denver. But I got really bored with all of that one day, and I started fooling around with the neighbor lady. She was beautiful. I saw something in her that I could never see in my wife. Anyway, one day my wife came home early, caught me in bed with the neighbor lady and she stabbed me. It was so painful for a minute, but eventually I just came to accept my fate, and I knew there was no coming back from my stab wound. The last thing I remember was seeing the neighbor lady escape unharmed. I hope she's okay.... and that's all I want to share today.''
`` Thanks for sharing,'' says the group in unison.
`` Excellent,'' continues Timothy, `` why do n't we move on to you?'' he points to the gorgeous Latino woman sitting to my left. She stands up, with her long, dark hair flowing and dancing upon her flawless body.
`` Well,'' she begins, `` I do n't know if you all watch the LA news stations down here, but if you had, you would already know my whole story. I was known as Lola the buxom bank robber in LA. Over the course of a year, I robbed 9 banks all by myself, and was able to steal over 20 million dollars. The last time I did it, I did n't cover my tracks well enough and the police traced my vehicle and found me a day later. I was sentenced to 50 years. My first day in, I knew I would n't make it, so I hanged myself. And that's the whole story.''
`` Thanks for sharing,'' the group repeats.
Timothy continues, `` a lot of good sharing going on from the newcomers. I like it. Let's move on to you.'' He points to the older man sitting next to me.
`` Fuck you, Tim!'' yells the man.
`` Okay that's good enough, now let's hear from you,'' he says, pointing to me.
I stand up and clear my throat. I have never been great at speaking in front of groups, and it's not going to be any easier in hell. `` Hi,'' I begin. `` I'm James.''
`` Hi James,'' echoes the group.
I fidget a bit before beginning. `` Well, I honestly think this is bullshit. I am here because I ate shellfish. As we all know, this is one of the most archaic rules there is, but it's in the good book written thousands of years ago, so we all have to follow it. I ate plenty of shellfish throughout my life, and at age 43, I ate some bad shellfish, got an intestinal parasite and died a week later. That's it! That's why I'm here! Can you believe this shit?! I'm in hell right now because I ate shellfish!'' I sit down abruptly, angry and frustrated.
Timothy has a concerned look on his face. `` Are you sure about this, James?''
`` Yes,'' I say, still frustrated.
`` Well then there must have been some kind of a mix-up in HR. Eating shellfish is not nearly enough to get you here. You really need to go to them and get this sorted out. I've never heard of anyone getting more than a week of purgatory for shellfish.''
`` Really?'' I say. Timothy nods. `` Well alright then,'' I say, all of a sudden feeling some new energy. `` I'll go there now!'' The group applauds me, enthusiastically, with smiles on their faces.
As I am making my way toward the HR office I stop suddenly and turn back to the group. `` Oh yeah,'' I say, `` I may have also diddled some kids.''
|
[ FF ] `` Maybe one day we 'll all be telling peace stories in every part of this world . ''
|
Looking back on the final days of the great war, I must say that the one thing I looked most forward to when I got home, was a warm bed and a roaring fire. Living in a tent in the middle of a bombed out city with nothing but a sputtering flame and a pair of army issue blacks for friends really takes its toll on you emotionally and physically. In fact I'm entirely unsure as to whether my back will ever fully recover from five long years of sleeping under a blanket on a slab of cement.
But no issue, we won right? That's what matters. What we were fighting for in the first place, everyone is still `` free'' and we can all be at liberty to do what we wish. For now. And above all we've come back with stories. Stories so atrocious and full of pain that we'll carry them deep down, bottled in our hearts and minds until the day we die.
I'm sick of war, I want peace. Maybe some day there will have been such a great and long peace that the first shots of war will be a welcome change. Maybe one day we'll all be telling peace stories in every part of this world.
|
[ WP ] The world is being attacked by giant cake monsters and the only people who can harm them are those having their birthdays .
|
It β s been seven days since the invasion. They came in waves β large saucers that blotted the sky, landing in droves on any and every tangible surface. And then, they appeared. Large, doughy monstrosities in a variety of flavors covered in an equal variety of icings. Each had eerie wax appendages protruding from their skulls, small flames lit at the ends.
As if in some sort of cruel irony, the cake monsters craved human flesh. They descended on us, attacking us in homes, in buildings, in streets. Screams of the victims pierced the sky constantly as they were devoured, some alive while others were roasted on the β candles β before being eaten.
The police and army proved useless as, although their guns and missiles would blow the monsters to smithereens, the creatures were quickly able to pick up the pieces and put themselves back together. Rivers of blood painted the empty streets as the survivors cowered in fear in whatever shelter they could find. Our new overlords only seemed to continue to grow in numbers, their hunger never seeming to waver, constantly on the lookout for human flesh.
Soon, however, there was hope. One brave hero, on his birthday, ventured out of his home to find the cake monsters screeching and fleeing from him. He brandished a short, blunt club, bashing one of the monsters as it ran. It didn β t come back. He slew many a monster that day, seemingly taken over by his own bloodlust, before meeting his untimely demise the very next day when they swarmed him, his legacy amounting to just another bloodstain on the sidewalk.
But now we knew. Their weakness, our last hope. Each of us, every one of us, had a chance, once a year. Once a year to strike back. To satiate our hunger.
It β s finally my time.
And I was hungry. *Oh* so hungry.
Happy Birthday to me.
|
[ WP ] The apocalypse comes and goes , you sleep through it .
|
I do n't usually dream. When I do, I only remember seeing a few faces. Some of them are from my childhood I think, an old teacher or friend from down the street. But in the months leading up to The Chaos I kept having this recurring dream of myself flying over my birth city watching all the people assemble like ants and tunnel into their homes. I always woke up wondering why it felt like I was watching them run away from something. A bright light or some kind of eruption.
I'll never forget the morning I woke to find them all gone. I'd lived alone for years but when I crawled out of bed that morning, everything felt quieter than usual. I could no longer hear the sound of garbage trucks or the occasional child misbehaving on the sidewalk. I only felt silence and heat. Then I remembered how my reoccurring dream had finally finished the night before. I was above my city and I felt the sun pierce through the clouds and my body and into the streets, flooding them with light. All the people screamed and ran and melted.
I marched to my curtained window already knowing what I would see on the other side and somehow I knew I'd been chosen to live. It would be years until I understood the true importance of my survival and when I finally pulled back that curtain and saw my city ghostly and baron I knew I would n't stop searching for answers until I drew my last breath.
|
[ WP ] Write a very one-sided conversation .
|
`` Look I'm sorry.''
`` I did n't mean to break the toilet, it's not really my fault.''
`` Shit ok yeah it is my fault, and I totally meant to break it. β
β HEY before you start yelling let me explain first! Remember it's not like you have n't broken shit while fucked out of your mind before. Do I need to remind you about the'Bowling Ball and Chandelier incident' nope? So just let me explain, and you β ll see that it has a perfectly reasonable explanation just like that incident.''
β I got super hammered and then I got super high and I thought that mole-men were climbing out of it to kill us in our sleep, so really I did it to protect us from the mole-man menace. It was an act of love for me to destroy that toilet, I sealed their only entrance into this world, or at least that's what I thought while cross-faded out of my mind.''
`` All I'm saying is that we've both done stupid shit and that we both make mistakes and that we both should forgive each other. Like friends do, you know remember in Shrek when Donkey is all like'Because that's what friends do, they forgive each other!' That was a great movie...''
`` Right the toilet! Point is I'll pay for it and we can just go back to being friends and shit? Come on life's an adventure and it's better with friends than enemies, and I want you to know I am really and truly sorry about this.''
`` Speaking of adventure, want to light up and watch Shrek?''
|
[ WP ] The U.S. has been invaded by China . After realizing we are drastically outnumbered the president uses the `` World wonder '' protocol . It began with the statue of liberty brandishing giant laser cannons .
|
Some say it was unprovoked. Some say it was inevitable. Many others did n't care for the reason, but what we were going to do about it. After months of failures, setbacks, and retreats, most of us thought about surrender. The entirety of the Western seaboard was lost, and the enemy was swiftly encroaching on the Capital.
Most of the civilian population had swarmed around D.C., demanding that the President take charge and responsibility for the invasion. Most were split over how to handle the attack, but the overall consensus was that something needed to be done, and fast.
There were whispers of the `` World Wonder'' project, but none had solid information on what it entailed. Was it a peacekeeping strategy? An attempt at retaliation? No one could say for sure, and those who knew were kept tightly under guard.
When the enemy made their final push for the capital, the President was forced to play his hand.
As the President initiated the project, sheets of green copper fell away from Lady Liberty. A smooth, silver-colored robot stood in its place, bristling with weaponry. A garbled, electronic voice rumbled from deep within.
`` VOICE MODULE ONLINE... AUDIO FUNCTIONALITY TEST... INITIALIZED. DESIGNATION: LIBERTY PRIME. MISSION: THE LIBERATION OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. PRIMARY TARGETS: ANY AND ALL RED CHINESE INVADERS. EMERGENCY COMMUNIST ACQUISITION DIRECTIVE: IMMEDIATE SELF-DESTRUCT. BETTER DEAD THAN RED!!''
The President gave the final launch codes, and whispered the final activation command line: ``'Murica. Fuck yeah.''
`` LIBERTY PRIME IS ONLINE; ALL SYSTEMS, NOMINAL. WEAPONS, HOT. MISSION: THE DESTRUCTION OF ANY AND ALL CHINESE COMMUNISTS.''
Liberty Prime waded through swathes of bullet and rocket fire. Even the hardiest of ammunition plinked off of his reinforced armor. Liberty Prime fired back with laser fire and missile strikes from its armored frame. Perhaps the most impressive feature of Liberty Prime, however, was the terrifyingly patriotic proclamations that were shouted intermittently at the enemy forces.
`` TACTICAL ASSESSMENT - RED CHINESE VICTORY: IMPOSSIBLE!''
`` DEMOCRACY IS NON-NEGOTIABLE!''
Where the crown of Lady Liberty once existed, there was simply a dark pit for eyes. They burned with heated laser fire, and devastated entire companies of enemy soldiers.
`` COMMUNIST DETECTED ON AMERICAN SOIL - LETHAL FORCE ENGAGED!''
`` INITIATING DIRECTIVE # 7395: DESTROY ALL COMMUNISTS!''
The torch and book that were previously held by the Statue of Liberty had been replaced with massive, five fingered-gauntlets. Every so often, Liberty Prime would fire a barrage of missiles from his fingertips, or reach back into his armored casing, and heave a miniaturized nuclear bomb.
`` COMMUNISM IS A TEMPORARY SETBACK ON THE ROAD TO FREEDOM!''
`` AMERICA WILL NEVER FALL TO COMMUNIST INVASION!''
What remained of America's forces rallied behind Liberty Prime, and over the course of a few short weeks, they drove the enemy from our homeland.
A number of years later, Liberty Prime was retired from duty, and reinstalled at his pedestal on Liberty Island. He stands watch to this day, as an invitation to some, and a threat to others.
|
[ TT ] Soldiers themselves must bury their dead . You have to bury your platoon . You are the only survivor .
|
A lone soldier stood facing what remained of the defensive fortifications, her brow dripping with sweat under the noonday sun. Her posture stiffened, and she called out, β Platoon, attention! SPC Rickets, report β. The only response was the cawing of the ravens circling overhead. β SPC Thomas Rickets, report! β The command was repeated louder, with a tone that implied that failure to respond would be met with severe punishment, but no response was forthcoming. β SPC THOMAS PAUL RICKETS, REPORT! β The command was so forceful; you half expected it to pull the deceased back from the afterlife with sheer force of will. Even the ravens quieted themselves briefly, leaving nothing but a deafening silence. The Lieutenant lifted the rifle by her side, and contemplatively stared down the barrel, her finger hovering outside the triggerwell. With a shudder, she looked away, and aimed the rifle into the distance. In quick succession, three rounds were fired into the air, the sound of their reports echoing off the hills.
She kneeled down and gathered the spent casings, indifferent to the burning sensation, and placed them in her side pocket. Straightening, she ejected the magazine, and purposefully marched to an entrenched fighting position, and jammed the barrel of the rifle into the ground behind a pair of boots. She untied the chain of the dog tags from the laces of the boot, and hung it from the rifle. Then willing herself to overlook the trench itself, she reached into her pocket, and dropped the first casing inside, hearing it clink against something metallic. β Duty. β clink. β Honor. β clink. β Country. β She then stepped in front of the makeshift soldiers cross, came to attention and saluted it with a sharpness equal to that of professional drill team, although her hand lingered afterwards, seeming to slowly fade back to her side.
Grabbing a shovel, she began filling in the fighting position, the sweat on her face masking the tears. After several minutes she stopped, pulled a canteen from her side, and took a long drink of water. Walking back to the center of the outpost she pulled another rifle from the pile, and put back in the magazine. Her posture stiffened, and she called out β Platoon, attention! SGT Green, report. β. Fifteen solitary pairs of boots remained.
|
[ WP ] The Grim Reaper has announced his retirement and is conducting a universe-wide search for his protΓ©gΓ© .
|
`` It takes a special skill to know when it's ready,'' the old man said with a wistful smile. He shielded his eyes from the bright sun as he stared out over the vast field before him. He was rake thin with a straight back, even after all these years of hard labor. `` It's not like normal farming. You have to harvest every day, at least parts of it.''
`` And you plant every day too?''
`` Yup. I've got the farm sectioned off pretty well. Each section should be ready to harvest around the same time. And the soil is soft, so planting is easy too.''
He squatted and ran his gnarled fingers through the dirt. I followed suit and felt the earth between my fingertips. His nail beds were black after years of hard work, and his skin was leathery from the sun.
`` I've got it sectioned pretty well, but things can still get a little out of order. That's why we do n't use a combine harvester on this farm. We still do everything by hand.''
`` Have you ever tried to modernize?'' I asked.
`` A few times,'' he said, `` but it was too easy to cut down whole fields before their time. It's better just to stick to the way it's always been done.'' He knew what I was thinking because he continued barely above a whisper, `` You'll bring the combine back, like I did when I started. I thought we could modernize, but efficiency has a price. Everyone thinks that, and everyone goes back to the old ways.''
We stood in silence for some time after that as we watched the wind shake the limitless stalks of barley, wheat and rye. The property stretched out before us like an endless patchwork quilt.
`` Why me,'' I asked.
`` Because your hands are soft,'' he stated. `` Because you have n't got proper work boots and your nails are clean. You're not used to this kind of work, yet. You'll be more careful and treat it with deserved reverence.
`` You're young too,'' he continued. `` I'm too old to keep up with all this work forever. The property has expanded and I need someone strong to take over.''
`` I'm not that young anymore,'' I said.
`` And I'm much older than I look,'' he continued. `` Working with your hands will keep you young much longer, but you still ca n't live forever.'' He handed me the scythe and pointed toward a field only a few hundred yards drown the hill from where we stood. `` That's where you start today.''
`` How long has it been since you lost the taste for this work?'' I asked. `` What if I hate the job?''
`` You're responsible. You'll find a suitable replacement when you need to get out.'' He paused. `` As for me, I never had a taste for this work. It's not about enjoying it; you just do what needs to be done. There's a time to sew and a time to reap.''
He bent down and picked a long rye stalk growing near his feet and thumbed the grains at the top. He pointed the stalk in the direction of the field. `` Better get going before the daylight gets away from you. I'll be waiting for you in the house with some sweet tea when you're done.''
I started walking down the hill toward my vast expanse of land and he walked back toward the house. When I turned back, I could just barely see his outline wavering in the heat
|
[ WP ] A soldier who is more concerned about getting a nickname than the task at hand
|
Johnny yelled into the radio.
`` This is Black Death! Enemy insurgents have spotted us at a distance of 150 yards. I req-''
He was interupted by a burly voice, accentuated by the crackle of the radio.
`` Who the fuck is speaking?''
`` This is Black Death'' Johnny sqeaked. `` We need some back-''
`` Black Fucking Death? Jesus Christ, kid. What is your actual name. And who are you with?''
`` Sorry, sir. I'm Private John Singleton, sir. I'm with the Hell on Wheels company with-''
`` Give the radio to you supervisor, boy'' the voice yelled.
Johnny turned around and tossed the radio to Sergeant Henry `` The Reaper'' James.
`` This is Sergeant James, sir. We are under fire by the enemy. We need assistance NOW!''
`` What are your coordinates, soldier?''
`` I do n't have the map on me'' Henry gasped into the radio. `` Johnny! What are our coordinates?!''
A faint `` Oh no'' could be heard coming from the radio.
|
[ WP ] After the fall of humanity and the rise of the apes , a now intelligent George returns to confront the Man in the Yellow Hat .
|
He sat alone in the cell, silence, cold and harsh, kept him company. This was the fate of all those that kept their overlords as pets. He knew at one time that the other cells contained zoo keepers, and private collectors. Now, he couldn β t even remember his own name. Time was lost in this place, replaced with the frequency of bowel movements, and how long the stench permeated the air.
He barely noticed the door swing open, he couldn β t move if he had. The straps had held him in place so long that he stopped struggling against them. George walked behind the man, removing his yellow hat. Below it housed his exposed brain, surely infected, and losing the fight.
The needle slid in unfelt, but his left arm strained against the straps. The question that he was sure the other captives would have screamed out, he had never uttered. The man in the yellow hat knew why George was doing what he did. He was always so curious.
|
[ WP ] The main character is a villian . He is not secretly a good guy with a depressing backstory , and there is no happy ending .
|
`` I do n't like this, Jerry. This is n't fun anymore,'' says my colleague with the video camera.
The crowd continues to move past us. This city does n't really care about just a couple of kids going around pulling pranks. Dunno what those guys on the web were talking about when they said to stay away from this City. I mean, these people do n't do jackshit.
Anne's word goes through one ear and exit right out the other. I swear, she's always way too worried about this sort of stuff. Too scared for her own good. What's the worst that could happen? Some hobo who gets his collecting cup kicked away comes at us with a shoe? Please, what a joke.
`` Anne, relax. Nothing's gon na happen with us. Nothing's happened so far. I'd say we're safe,'' Bryce replies to the girl.
`` I do n't know, Bryce. Spring break's let all the shitheads from the colleges around here out as well. Maybe we'll get unlucky and mix up some drunk bro for a methhead.''
My man chuckles a bit as we keep on walking through the park. I stare down at the map on my phone. Great place, honestly. Beautiful trees. Lovely pond. Got five different reactions from the panhandlers around here. This'll break our viewing record for sure.
I'm beginning to really like Bryce's suggestion about going on break here. Better than DC or NYC for sure. Interesting folks too. Gave a girl my number when we passed by the bus-stop earlier.
`` Bet you think she's gon na put out easily? That stranger you literally just met?'' Anne speaks up.
`` I dunno. She was pretty great looking in that grunge set-up. Bit too muscly for me though. Great legs though.''
`` Very nice legs,'' Bryce smirks.
`` For fuck's sakes, you two. Ca n't you be a little more serious about this trip?''
`` Hey, come on. If you wan na go around and interview the locals of the'big-city,' to learn about their cultural habits and junk, you go ahead. That's why we stuck you in our group in the first place,'' I reply.
My stomach's growling. We really need to stop by a place to eat... Let's see.
Donut shop looks nice. Got four outta five stars and the pictures look neat. And clean. Unlike this pile of dogshit that I accidentally stepped in. Dammit.
`` Did n't think it was fair to do this thing all by myself. From the recording, to the question-making, to the editing...''
`` Hey, come on Anne. Who paid for your plane ticket here anyway?'' I think she's forgetting her place right now.
`` You did? So what?''
`` I thought it was a fair exchange. You get to the city. I get some prank video footage recorded. And you get a great subject for our little film-culture project bullshit.''
`` If you were smarter, you would have hired someone to do this project for you instead while you and meathead here run off and wreak havoc on some poor girls at the beach,'' Anne continues to fiddle around on her camera, pressing some weird buttons and toggling some weird bits that I frankly do n't give a shit about.
...
Shit. She's right. Why did n't we do that?
Bryce's stomach growls loudly, `` Hey, Jerry. I'm hungry. Found a place to eat?''
`` Yup, donut shop. Right across the street from this corner and down the block. Let's go.''
`` I'm on a diet. No thanks,'' Anne pipes up. She's getting more irritating by the second.
`` Yeah? Who said I was paying for your lunch?''
She does n't respond. We continue down the intersection past the hustle and bustle of the crowd. Place reeks. Really reeks. Like someone decided to make a perfume of the men's bathroom before deciding to throw in some skunk shit for the shits and giggles.
The neon light of the donut store is visible from where we are. Bryce breaks into a run. I follow suit, though I'm much faster than he is. Anne just slowly breaks into a jog like the lazy bitch she is.
You can never find good help these days. I swear. No one ever wants to have fun anymore, it's all study-study-study and no play at all. Sheesh.
Bryce comes to a stop at an alleyway a few buildings before the store. He quietly gestures to me to come to a halt. Anne is heaving and huffing by the time she gets to us.
In that little dark alleyway, there was a man. A greasy, sleeping man with a face so full of hair, you'd mistake him for a bear. He's snoring as loud as one too.
A smile curls up on my face. Anne shakes her head at me. Bryce gives me the nod. This is going to be fun.
|
[ WP ] You live in a Dystopian world where eye color determines your social class . 20 years later a baby is born with red eyes .
|
Blue eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes β we were cast out. For millennia, we have been cursed. Watched and not able to speak of each specific person β s eyes lest our civilization be destroyed by the greens. Two hundred and one of us, stranded on an island, tasked only with creating endless logical riddles for consumption by the green eyed. Our escape would come only with the answer to one question: you may leave only when you know the colour of your own eyes. Alas, reflections were impossible with the resources we had on hand. We became exceedingly good at deduction and realized that this puzzle would never be solvedβ¦ until one day, our salvation came: a child born with red eyes.
*Inspired as a prelude to [ The Hardest Logic Puzzle in the World ] ( http: //www.xkcd.com/blue_eyes.html ) *
|
[ WP ] Tell the most disturbing story you can , break into your inner insanity and terrify me , but include a love story .
|
The girl knew who she wanted, and knew just how to get him.
Every day she lusted after his smooth, white cheekbones, and long, delicate fingers. She was in love with him, but was n't even sure if he knew she existed. The girl had been thinking about it for a long time, and she finally knew how to get his attention.
The brought her right index finger to her mouth and bit the soft pad of flesh at the tip, hard enough to draw blood. She grimaced at the pain and slurped and sucked the blood away.
The girl began gnawing at the flesh of her finger, tearing away and swallowing ribbons of skin and bloody chunks of meat. Her skin turned pale and her eyes glazed over as she went into shock, but still the girl kept biting at her fingers, thinking only of her love.
Before long the four fingers of her right hand were stripped of flesh and blood ran down her arm in streams. She knew she finally had his attention though.
The girl took her ruined hand and slid it into the waist of her pants, bringing his fingers to rest on her swollen sex. Blood began to stain her jeans from within as his fingers worked in and out. She gasped and moaned, lost in the ecstasy of her love's first caress.
She'd worry about how to reveal the rest of him later.
|
[ WP ] Rewrite a scene in any Star Wars movie from the perspective of a storm trooper .
|
`` Blast, it's getting dark'' I muttered under my breath. We were hiking our way back to the outpost after our miserable defeat at the hands of the rebels. Vader would not be pleased. We were on Endor, when the nerf-herding scum attacked the shield generator. We had them cornered; it was going so damn well, and then those little bastards showed their faces. We'll be ridiculed, we'll be shamed, but we'll know the truth. Ewoks have more hate than a whole pack of gundarks, and they're a thousand times craftier. We never stood a chance.
My designation is MH-333, but the boys call me Threes. Myself, YP-218 ( Bank ), RK-637 ( Arkay. Guy's a big Mando buff. Claims his family's originally from Concord Dawn. Whatever ), and a scout trooper from another unit that has n't spoken since we left the battle, were all that we'd managed to find after escaping capture. The scout was covered in blood, but it did n't look like he had a scratch on him. Just kept shaking his head.
I turned to face the group. `` Alright, we need to put up camp. If we ca n't see what's in front of us, I do n't wan na walk into anything nasty. Bank, you and the scout take a short walk to secure the perimeter. Arkay and I are gon na set up the site and get some kinda warmth going. Stay quiet. We've put distance between us and the rebels, but I would n't rule out the natives. Questions?'' Nothing but blank stares from faceless helmets. Dark eyes that meant nothing, over a hateful grimace. `` Then get moving,'' I slung my blaster and began clearing a place for us to take stock.
Arkay and I worked in silence, trying to minimize our profile and impact, when Bank came running back through the brush. `` Threes! Threes, that scout took off!'' He skittered to a stop, panting. `` He said something about hearing drums when it was totally silent. Knocked me over and broke for the North,''
`` Dammit, he could give away our position. Arkay, c'mon. We can deal with camp after we settle this moron. Bank, show us where he went, and let's be quick. Light's fading fast,''
Another thirty minutes into the search and we had found no sign of him. At one hour, we realized we could no longer tell the direction of camp. After an hour and a half, the light was all but gone. We switched over to night vision, but it was n't much better. The helmets were already hard to see through with practically no peripheral vision, but now the 2D effect of infrared made it that much worse.
`` Hey Threes...... I found him,'' Bank whispered over the comm. When Arkay and I made it over, I thought I was gon na be sick in my helmet. It looked like he'd run into a trap; noose caught'round his neck, but it was n't broken. They'd started with what they could reach, cutting his legs up and ripping off his armor. Then they must've cut him down to where he was now. They removed his helmet, which was nowhere to be found, and they did things to him. Probably while he was still alive. Then we heard it. Drums echoing through the trees. Everywhere and nowhere. A soft and distant tattoo played like the heartbeat of a frightened animal.
I forced my voice to remain calm `` Forget camp. Move,'' I started walking in the direction I prayed was toward the outpost, my blaster never leaving my shoulder. I vaguely heard the footsteps of the other two behind me.
`` Why wo n't they stop playing? Blast I hate those drums... Where is it coming from? How many are there? We're gon na die here.... Oh hell, we're gon na die here... Did you see what they did to him? Scouts are supposed to be elite, man. I was set up to be a scout before the Death Star, you know? That was almost me. Blast, that's still me.... We're gon na die we're gon na die we're-''
`` Bank!'' I barked over the mic. `` Cut the chatter dammit, I've heard enough. Copy?'' No response, so I turned around. Bank had fallen into some kind of pit disguised with branches just a step or two from where I'd been walking. Deep one, too. You might've already guessed the spikes at the bottom. I glanced at Arkay, who just nodded. We kept moving, but the drums just got louder.
Somewhere along the way I lost Arkay, but never heard anything. I did n't stop running for probably 20 minutes, when even my armor's cooling system could't keep me from overheating. My heart and those damned drums pounding in sync. I stuttered into a fast walk and kept my blaster raised despite my body screaming for me to quit. I started hearing footsteps behind the drums, and I kept turning around to shoot, but never saw anything. Suddenly, my legs shot out from beneath me and I was upside down scrabbling at my bound ankles as bloodthirsty calls gloated from the darkness. My breath fogged up my visor with panic as I sawed frantically at the rope. I broke the fall on my shoulder which dislocated. I think I screamed, but the only thing I could hear was the drums. The fucking drums were getting louder, and now so were the voices. The animals were calling to each other. Pressing the kill. I was running, and periodically I felt their arrows impact my armor, like I was being beaten for my transgressions. We should never have come here.
One splinter found it's mark in the back of my knee and I dropped like a rock, my face crushed against my mask. I managed to clamber to my feet, screaming and limping as fast as I could, calling out on all channels for anyone, even the damn rebels, to save me from the monsters in the forest. I cried when I saw the Imperial outpost with it's high walls on the edge of the clearing before me. Blood soaking my leg and pain only dulled by fear, I sprinted. I think I passed out, but I woke under cold electric light and the dull itch of bacta saturating my knee. They tell me I'm going to be recommissioned. They say the Empire still needs me, but every night I wake up in a cold sweat and my heart pounding away in my chest because even it ca n't forget the forest.
|
[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Happy New Year Edition !
|
**The Stranded Traitor of Mankind**
James woke up shivering on a the beach of an island. He could not orient himself. Everything was going on so quickly. *What did I do yesterday? Where am I? * All these unanswered questions.
James checked his few belongings and found a soggy book, and some bits of wood. He got up slowly with tremendous effort and looked around the lifeless island. Not long after he started walking, James found a ship, his ship, run aground and utterly destroyed into splinters.
There were bits and pieces of it scattered around the far end of the beach. James could n't recognize what was once the crown jewel of the Royal Navy. He saw a cannon floating in the water, a body on the beach, and his ship's flag hanging from the fallen mast.
James ran to the body with all his strength just hoping, begging for one of his crewmates to be alive. He recognized the lifeless body to be that of his captain.
`` Sir? Sir, please stay with me!'' James pleaded, hopelessness filling his voice as he held his dead captain. With a sullen realization that he was alone, he put down the body of his captain and tried to salvage what he could. Among all the scraps scattered around the beach, it took him 5 precious hours of daylight to find a compass, a wet but slightly readable map, and a broken sword with a chipped tip.
His stomach grumbling, he marched towards the forest. He was greeted by the smells of strange flowers, the buzzing sounds of insects, and a warm, humid temperature. He could n't see any animals. The insects were all high up on the trees. The trees' canopy blocking most of the sunlight to make out signs of birds or any other animal.
~random ending~
As night drawer near, he desperately tried to find food. The aganonizing pain becoming near unbearable in the heat of the humid forest. His thirst drying his tongue and his throat, his energy waned. He could n't stand properly anymore. He grabbed onto the nearest bush only to find it filled with small pink berries. He ate as many as he could grab praying that they will sustain him and not be poisonous. Luckily they saved him, and were quite tasty at that. That is until a giant spider bit him on the ankle. His eyes closed, his mind replaying all his memories, his legacy to be unknown. James died nameless on the island in the middle of nowhere with the rest of his crew not destined to be found until the time of an alien invasion. They will play a crucial war in helping the aliens conquer all life on Earth.
~Tips and suggestions appreciated, this is as random as the story could get~
Happy New Year!:3
|
[ WP ] A man wakes in a dark room . After fumbling around , he manages to turn on a light . He is not alone .
|
My son, Francis, was n't a fan of night lights. The first night he came to live with us, we took him to pick one out that he liked. The next morning, we found it on the floor unplugged, with Francis claiming it was too bright to sleep. A little surprised, but understanding we plugged it back in, to repeat the process the next day. But after a few weeks, it went further. Every morning, we started finding that the night light would be broken somehow: the bulb would be broken, a wire would be loose, or the whole thing would be shattered. Francis would deny ever touching the thing, but someone had to take the blame. After all, night lights do n't break themselves. After a week of buying him new, albeit cheap, night lights, we finally decided to put a stop to it. We purchased him a new model guaranteed not to break. With a backup battery and casing built to withstand a small explosion, it was deemed `` nigh indestructible.''
The next morning, it had vanished entirely.
After searching the whole apartment and interrogating our son, there was no trace of where it had went. My husband and I had had enough. The next night, convinced our son had been behind the whole thing trying to be funny, my husband grabbed a flashlight and camped out in Francis' room for the night. It was n't until the next morning that I realized how big of a mistake that was.
Thomas never left for work without waking me up for a goodbye kiss, and his office was far enough away that walking was out of the question. Even though the car was still in the driveway, Thomas was nowhere to be found. His cell phone, which he never went anywhere without, was disconnected and none of the neighbors had any idea where he had went. The only thing stranger than that was the flashlight he was using, lying on the floor with the bulb missing. With Francis suddenly catching sick with the stomach flu, I could n't do much more than take care of him and hope that Thomas was okay. That night, unable to sleep without my Thomas and unwilling to leave Francis alone in his illness, I decided to sleep by the door in Francis' room.
I do n't remember when or why I first woke up. Maybe it was the sudden chill that had swept through the room, or the feeling that someone had poured ice-water down my back. Or maybe it was the the feeling that I was being watched. The only thing I remember was Francis sitting on his bed watching me, eyes somehow glowing red. I remember fumbling around with the flashlight in my hand, Thomas' flashlight, and finally turning it on. I remember pointing it at Francis and seeing nothing but darkness around his eyes. I remember the flashlight falling out of my hands as I backed towards the door.
Then the night light went out.
|
[ PI ] Create a pantheon of gods
|
`` Father'' the Son asked, `` Why is there winter, and summer?''
So Father looked up and said:
`` I must first tell you about the First among the Gods, Shing-Ton, God of The Fields.''
**How Shing-Ton came to lead on Kapeetal Hill. **
When the War of Freedom was won, and the Authority and his armies left the World across the Ocean, the Free Gods looked among themselves for a leader.
They argued, asking `` Who shall lead us without the Authority's injustices?''
And many said `` I shall.'' But in doing so they proved that their Pride was as great as the Enemy's and such Pride made one unfit to lead. And so the search amongst their ranks continued for a Prideless one.
Finally after 7 years of arguing Ank-Len, God of Wisdom and Science, spoke saying `` We must find One soon, or all is lost, the Authority gathers his armies.''
And the First Fathers turned to listen. Ank-Len was the wisest among them and they respected his wisdom.
`` Why not you then?'' The Fathers asked. And Ank-Len God of Lightening and Thunder said No.
`` I am too old and too tired to lead. Yet there is one among us who can lead with an even hand. Shing-Ton.''
They all looked to Shing-Ton, God of Agriculture working his plow.
`` No,'' said He. `` My place is here on my farm, not on Kapeetaal Hill.''
`` Yet you lead well during the War, and you have taken no side since, you are the only one fit to Lead'' proclaimed Ank-Len, God of Firemen and Mail.
And in one voice they proclaimed the unanimous approval of Shing-Ton, God of Agriculture, over them all.
Seeing their determination, Shing-Ton spoke.
`` I do not wish to rule. But because you insist I will. Yet I shall never rule Alone alone nor all the time as the Authority does, the fields must be tended, the crops grow, and our people prosper. I ask for some among you to join me.''
`` A-Dams, you are the Just and shall serve as my right hand. You must preserve Merika no matter the cost.'' And the Fathers agreed. He alone among them had argued to forgive the Lobsermen, for the Lobstermen were under the control of the Authority and had no Free Will. And for his mercy A-Dams was know as Just.
So A-Dams would rule alongside Shing-Ton.
`` And you Jeff-Arson'' Said Shin-Ton `` You first harkened for Freedom, and have fought for the freedom of all. You shall balance A-Dams, and always look out for the smallest among us. When I leave to tend the fields, you all shall lead in my place.''
And so Shing-ton came to rule on Kapeetal Hill. For 6 months he would rule, and six months tend the fields. When he rules the Fathers we feel the cold of his absence, and when he rules us Men our harvests are bountyful.
That my children is how Shing-ton came to lead on Kapeetal Hill and the seasons came as well.
|
[ IP ] Gepetto ( x-post from r/pics )
|
The door slammed behind him. Finally, he was back. Two hours later than expected, people really were n't trustworthy. Never in time for appointments, never keeping promises, never honest to even themselves.
But it did n't matter, he had what he wanted, now, he could finish it.
Leaving behind the warm and noisy streets, and its dirty sidewalks curbs, trashcans and people. He took off his shoes, before putting another pair. Laying down his precious package he was carrying under his armpit, just the time to discard his mantel and his hat on the closest coat rack. He leaved the entrance, took the stairs, and opened the door on the left of the staircase landing.
Finally, he was back in his lab.
The place was a well-lighted place, a great bay window providing the light during the day, and for his sleepless night, he had the moon, and a powerful light system based on this new Fluorescent lamp. The place was clean, and somewhat well ordered, some remnants of activity could be found here or there, but it was clean. Clean, was the only important factor. So much that he coated the windows at a greater cost than expected, so that no foreign contaminant could enter. The cost did n't matter. He even installed some ventilation system, taking out dust in the air constantly, filtering the air coming inside and cooling down the place to a nice 18Β°Celsius. The concrete of the floor was so smoothed that you could almost see yourself in it. A few pieces of furniture here and here, mostly storage places, but the most important, the one that really stood out, was the old dentist chair he managed to get for freen gift from a friend. On it, was a rigid skeleton, but not an human one, or one made of plastic or other similar material made for teaching purpose. No, this one was made of metal. And infinitely more complex.
-I'm back, he said, to the lifeless doll.
He smiled for no reason to the doll while he put a pair of white gloves, even though the doll, for obvious reasons could n't answer. He wondered for an instant when he started to talk like this, but quickly brushed the question of. He had work to do. He ripped the brown package he came in with, and inspected its content after freeing it of multiple layer of protecting clothes. A telescope, like the old ones used by the sailors that discovered this new continent, at least, that what it looked like. Otto Bergmann knew it was more complicated than that, a lot more. In all fairness, it was a truly work of art, for its precision. The object had multiples lens instead of two, and could n't be deployed by hand, pulling it on one side would n't work, you had to turn it to get the slightest change. A quarter of a turn moved it exactly 1 millimiter forward, or backward, if you were turning it counter-clockwise. Otto knew the making was pratically flawless, as much as it was humanly possible anyway, he was n't looking for faults in the construct, but for some scratchs, or any other sign of mistreatment, like a bump. The object came from Switzerland, back in his homeland, and it had to take a boat to get here, so at least 8 day of pitching and rolling, caused by waves and tides. To that, you had to add all the transport in car, and all the potential human mistakes...
But the lens was fine.
Otto, satisfied, inserted it delicately in the cavity intended for it, in the skull, where an eye would be for an human. There was another, on the other side of the face, which Otto received and installed a few month ago. Now that it was inserted, he had to wield it. He took a new pair of glasses on a nearby table, shaded ones to remplace is normal ones. He did n't worry about losing accuracy, he had trouble seeing far away, not close. He grabbed a wielding stick, specially made for precision work like this one, so much that it was part of the lab itself, working on the lab's own power grid, and he started wielding. In a slow circular move, keeping a steady pace
**Note: ** Well, I will come back and continue when I know where I'm getting at with all this.
|
[ WP ] three strangers sit in solitude on a swing set in an old and rusted park , side by side at 3 am . Then after nearly an hour of silence , that utter stillness is broken .
|
`` So are we just going to sit here and pretend we did n't do it?''
Mary stared downward in continued silence. Cain glared at him venomously.
`` We have to acknowledge it at some point. We're fucking *murderers*.''
Mary whimpered. `` Shut up, John!'' Cain snapped.
`` Shut up? Seriously? That's all you have to say to me? We killed a man!''
Cain pounced to his feet, the rusted swing clattering behind him. `` Will you leave it alone? She ca n't handle it right now, it's over, let it go.'' He was breathing heavy, fists clenched at his side. It looked like he'd leap at John at any moment. `` We do n't have to talk about this again. We can put it in that past.''
John scoffed. ``'Put it in the past'? Are you an idiot? The cops will be after us, this is *life*, maybe even death row! It is n't going to just disappear, we need to do *something*!'' He pointed at Mary accusingly. `` It's her fault, anyway! It was her step-dad, her problem, not mine. I should turn you both in. I did n't even do anything!''
Cain rushed him, grabbing him by the throat and pinning him to the ground. `` You watched. You certainly let it happen, and you had no problem with it at the time. You know what he was doing was wrong. Are you planning on changing your mind now that you might have a stake in it?''
John choked as he tried to get out his answer. `` You shoulda called that cops, asshole. I'm out.''
Cain backed off, letting him get up. `` Fine. You wan na turn yourself in for murder, you do that. You always were a coward. Just remember, your prints are on the knife and it's two against one.''
John scurried off, barely muttering a *fuck you* before he was gone in a cloud of dust. Cain shook his head in disgust and walked back over to his oldest friend.
`` It's okay Mary, it is, we had to. I just wanted to protect you. I'm the one who did it, not you... I'm not going to let anything happen to you.''
Silence.
`` Mary, please talk to me. Acknowledge that I'm here.'' His voice was strained, unsure. Still silence. `` Please... I need you.''
`` Remember that time in the fifth grade, when Benny McFink pushed you off the top of the slide, and I beat him up, and I got in trouble but my Dad said it was okay because I was protecting you and I should always protect you? Or when Ken was getting frisky after the big dance and you were scared and you called me and I picked you up? I've always been there for you, Mary, you do n't have to worry, I'm not gon na leave you now.''
Nothing.
`` Okay... okay. You *want* me to leave you. I understand. I fucked up.'' he stopped there, completely unsure what to do. `` Yeah..'' he muttered. `` Yeah. I'm leaving.''
He turned, flexed his fists. There was one thing left he had to get out.
`` I love you, you know? I always loved you. I'd do anything for you. Even prison time. And if you want, I'll take you so far away from here, tonight will be just a distant memory! It does n't have to be like this! Just tell me you know I'm here!''
He stood there, for a few aching minutes longer. Then he gave up and left, probably to turn himself in and take the heat for her one last time.
The girl just rocked gently back forth on the swing, eyes fixed on the dirt beneath her sneakers. She sobbed, knowing that everything was broken, that she could n't fix it.
And she had loved him too.
|
[ WP ] A wizard who always makes his summoning circles too small for monsters to fit through
|
`` You moron!'' The demon spat.
Bert chuckled anxiously, as the demon struggled. It's devil like head was stuck outside of the summoning circle and the other half of its body was hidden in the nether plane. `` I did n't think you were that big.'' He said.
`` I'm beginning to wonder if you imbeciles'think' at all!'' The demon said, looking at the small summoning circle around him. `` Where's the wizard that summoned me?''
Bert pointed at himself.
`` You're kidding me? You look like you have n't even hit puberty.''
`` I have n't. I'm only nine...'' Bert trailed off.
`` Nine!'' The demon exclaimed. `` You little shit. When I get out of here-''
`` Shut up.'' Bert interrupted, walking closer to the demon's face. He crouched and stared the it in the eyes. He could feel it's anger in the form of magic energy, it made him shudder. Regardless, Bert set his jaw firm and continued. `` Here's what's going to happen. I'll rub out this circle and summon you again, and then I've got a job for you to do. I need you to steal a quad bike for me, it's at Walmart on 58th Street. I asked my parents and they did n't want to buy it, so now I'm using you.''
The demon stared with it's jaw wide open. And then its brow creased and it began growling at him. The demon thrashed wildy, sliding up and exposing the tops of it's shoulders. It was panting when it stopped. `` If I get out of here kid, I'll leave you so badly beaten that you wo n't be able to sit down! Let alone ride a stupid bike.''
Bert snapped his fingers. The demon's head was smacked back by an invisible force. It groaned and he could see it's neck muscles relax. `` It's better if you just listen too me...'' Bert muttered.
He picked up the duster and began rubbing away at the summoning circle. The demon looked on in silence.
`` I'll see you soon.'' He said.
The demon smirked at him, and licked it's lips with a forked blue tongue. `` Oh yes, we will definitely see each other soon... little...''
As the last of the demon dissipated back into the abyss. Bert swore he heard maniacal laughter. He shook his head, `` Right, onto the new circle.'' He muttered to himself.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
*Part 2: Do n't talk to* ~~strangers~~ *demons. *
Bert placed a stubby piece of chalk in the front pocket of his jeans. He reached for his glass of coke and tapped the inscribed circle, making two ice cubes appear.
Once comfortably seated on the short wooden stool near the basement entrance, he looked approvingly at his work. *Can he really do anything to me? * He wondered.
Stories existed of wizards losing control of their summoning's.
Merlin, 5th century, charred remains were found near a summoning circle in his cell.
Bezworth, 1843, found in his home with no head. The name of an ancient demon had been scrawled on the wall in blood.
Bert stopped tapping his thigh and put his attention back on the task at hand. It was now, or never.
He stood, and begun searching for the spinning sensation in the centre of his stomach. Bert pulled on it, spreading it throughout his body. All his networks were active, and when he opened his eyes, he was surrounded with a white aura.
`` Thank the past, fear the future, control the present. *Effindo Carmatheam, Become*!.'' He spoke the incantation.
His white aura shot from him and merged with the chalk, bringing the circle to life. Once all the energy had transferred to the circle, the room began to shake.
A white light flashed through the room and a dark shadow darted past him. Bert stood in a battle stance, breathing heavily. It was n't a big room, but it was dark enough that something could be hiding in the shadows.
He noticed movement to his left.
`` So, you actually did it, little boy.'' The demon said, as it walked toward him. It had to bend it's stony body forward to fit in the room. It smirked and it's red horns grazed the ceiling above.
Bert's knee's had begun wobbling. `` Stand still or I'll hurt you!''
The demon smiled and lifted it's arms up helplessly. `` Oh how scary, Mr.Wizard. Are you going to use your Mana shock again?''
Bert flung his right hand toward the creature and snapped his fingers.
The beast barely flinched, it rubbed at it's cheek and continued striding forward. `` You'll regret that in a second, you little bastard!''
*Damn! What do I do? * Bert thought frantically. He had nothing but the stool near his leg for protection. He stepped back, *Can I make a run for it? *
And froze as his hand touched his jean pocket. *Chalk! *
Bert snatched the chalk and began drawing on the floor in front of him. The demon's eye's shot wide open and it tried to dash toward him. It's shoulders smashed hard into a basement beam, sending it crashing to the ground.
Bert ignored the echoing footsteps from upstairs, he had nearly completed the circle.
The demon was up again and moving fast.
A knock sounded on the door, `` Bert, are you okay? What are you doing in there? Open up!'' His mother shouted.
Bert completed the circle and pushed his hands onto the lines. The circle glowed.
The demon was steps away.
It's massive claw zipped through the air.
~~Bert shat himself.~~
Blue flashed through the room.
Silence.
His vision slowly returned. *Am I dead? *
He noticed his breath in the air in front of him.
Bert turned towards the claw, it was inches away from his body. `` Phew.'' He said, staring at it in disbelief. It was covered in ice.
*Basic magic prevails, huh? * He thought. It was the first trick he'd ever learned, how to make ice for his soft drinks.
Bert walked up to the demon and drew a returning circle on the ice covering it's stomach. `` You nearly got me, old fella.'' He tapped the circle.
The demon slowly dissipated, followed by the blue ice.
He collapsed onto the stool, rubbing his face in his hands.
The door behind Bert smashed open.
`` Berthius Smith, what the hell is going on in here!?''
|
[ WP ] Every morning you wake up in the body of another stranger to live one full day in their shoes .
|
Waking up, nowadays, seems to a nightmare. At first, when I woke up, it seemed more like a dream, every day. Now, life just feels like a nightmare I can never escape.
Waking up every morning in a new body, in the beginning, seemed kind of cool. I had the ability to live a new life every day, be a new person, do new things. I could be the Queen of England and just sip wine all day watching nobles bicker. I could be a rock star and shred on my guitar for the thousands of people who paid to see me play. I could be anyone! I could be anyone. I... could be... anyone... Except, I could n't be me.
Eventually, it came to the point where I just wanted to be myself again. It had been roughly ten years since the first time I woke up in someone else's body. Every Christmas I woke up being someone else. Every Valentine's day I spent with some man/woman I did n't even know. Then I thought to myself,'This is hell, it has to be.' Because it came down to the inevitable. I began to forget who I actually was.
Memories of other people filled my head, replacing the memories I had about when I actually lived in my body. And the worst part? The memories were just out of my reach, little empty spots that needed to be filled in, and I know it, but I did n't know what filled them. Faces of the friends and family I loved were gone. Everything I had ever experience disappeared. And I could n't even remember what I actually looked like! I could n't even remember my own face...
This `` blessing'' is n't a blessing. It's a curse. Something to fear because eventually, as time wears down on your fragile human memory, you lose yourself in the madness. Maybe one day, I'll actually find my body, again. On that day, I'll beg and plead and pray to stay in it, never wanting to leave it, again.
But how can you find something you ca n't remember?
|
[ WP ] An alien invading force is baffled by a simplistic code that humans decode easily , but their top code breakers can not crack .
|
In a human military installation, repurposed for suppressing the earth rebels, the commander of the cryptology division stood attentively as the consultant assigned to assist with the difficult quandary the expeditionary force faced entered the plannng room.
`` Zrhg Breet, Alazonacrow'' said the consultant.
`` Salutations, Zermoux'' replied the commander.
`` Tvb kl?'' Zermoux looked confused.
`` Oh, I mean, Zrhg, Zhrg.'' Alazonacrow stepped quickly over to a nearby desk, and grabbed a metallix headset, then extended it towards Zermoux, saying `` Klary Zoilking ji, wwwwww.''
Zermoux donned the headset, and Alazonacrow began again in English, `` Sorry, but we've gotten in the habit here of speaking in the local dialect, we hope it will give us an edge in figuring out their new code system.''
Zermoux's brow furrowed, and his raspy sounding voice synthesizer seamlessly translated for him, `` These savages really have you stumped, eh, Al?''
`` Any species that can devise a code such as this one could never be totally savage.'' Responded the commander tersely.
`` Starting to become fond of the humans, are we, Commander? Speaking their base language, complimenting their tactics. Maybe you should adopt one of them, as they like to do with their lesser species. What is the phrase that's got you stumped?''
Al turned towards a large screen and spoke in Alien, `` KR1, Lop gi X-17, hr English.'' On the screen appeared to lines in greentext. `` The top'' elaborated Al, `` is our translation, but that's basically useless to us. The human version of it says'Do n't grab a coffee at Central Perk tomorrow.''' Al turned back to look at Zermoux, and added, `` Somehow this was a message that alerted humans of an attack in their New York City earlier this month.''
Zermoux looked thoughtful. `` If they had a code as good as this all along, why were their initial communiques done with those laughably simple encryptions? There have been no cipher devices of any kind detected? Do humans have telepathy or something?''
Al sighed wearily. `` We have n't turned up any form of decoding device. We have instances of some humans appearing to ask for clarification, but those too appear to be encoded.''
`` What was the clarification?'' inquired Zermoux.
`` Oh, uh, it just said:'Your Friends will know.''' Said the commander tiredly, then he continued, `` This whole operation has become a mess since they began this new encryption system. I get hammered everyday to crack it, but there is no rhyme or reason. One message was `` Bugs made a wise decision by taking a wrong turn'' and the next day, our Albequerque outpost is destroyed. Hardly any casualties for humans. Or the fake election posters for a man named Pedro somehow being a secret message.''
Zermoux did n't look discouraged. `` No puzzle is unbeatable, Al. Let's get to work.''
|
[ WP ] Why , in the future , has nothing interesting happened since the present day ?
|
There has been some recent speculation of the relatively uninteresting events of the previous century. When asked on the streets of the burned out ruins that now make up civilization after December 21st, 2012, the mutated citizens responded violently, grunting and screaming in fear and bewilderment, forcing the survey takers to fend for themselves until they returned back to the Wal-Mart owned SuperBunker a mile below Houston.
One notable event of our modern age was the Apocalypse of 2012- the combined disintegration of Hostess Snack Cakes and the resurrection of of Bolon Yokte, the Mayan God of War, who quickly acclimated to firearms and advances in knife technology. Due to the widespread destruction this caused, the only other remotely interesting events of the later century were the rediscovery of fire and the Jersey Shore movie, which unfortunately became one of the few surviving relics of pre-Apocalyptic culture, combined with the ranting screams of Mutant Nickelback's 2014 album, `` AAARRGHHH.''
Dark days lie ahead for humanity.
|
[ WP ] You have been hired on a large renovation project which is taking place in a cave beneath a mansion . Some of the specifications , however , leave you with some questions for Mr. Wayne .
|
`` Ok Mr Wayne it says here you need a large garage and a drive way that goes UNDERWATER, opens up when u get near a proximity of 50m and has a giant super computer''
The architect looking at Mr Wayne.
`` Yes that's correct''
`` Okay and it says here you need a giant cage made out of kryptonite, may I ask what is kryptonite?''
`` Well Gerry, kryptonite is a green rock found in the outer reaches of space, I have a lot stored''
`` Sorry Mr Wayne I'm not sure any of my engineers have experience working with this type of material''
`` Gerry, I can be a project manager as well but this cave needs to be built 100 % to specification. I need something that will hold doomsday as well, and some disability stairs that Alfred can go up and down in easily''
Gerry noting all this down
`` That's great Mr Wayne we'll take all the kryptonite training we can get. Sorry another question. These pods you ask for, they need to be vacuum sealed for suit protection... What kind of suits?''
`` Well Gerry I have a range of high quality tuxedos that I need stored. That's very easy to make I just need them inserted, Alfred and I can do the rest''
Mr Wayne Glances at Alfred
`` Oh yes of course Master Bruce''
Gerry continues jotting down the notes
`` Now it also says here you may or MAY NOT fight super villains and need this to withstand time itself''
`` Correct''
Gerry looking concerned
`` Any heads up on anything Mr Wayne, ya know my family needs to be kept safe and all''
`` No Gerry nothing at this time, oh I'll also need a giant four story hole dug out for my tower which I'll also keep my batmarine, I mean submarine''
`` Oh submarine very good, water too''
`` Mm what else do I need in the bat cave, I mean cave. Oh I almost forgot I'll need a Lazarus pit, a large swarm of bats in one area of the cave and a place I can store a t-Rex''
Gerry confused at what he just heard
`` I'm sorry Mr Wayne did you say t-Rex?''
|
[ WP ] When you dream , you are actually in an alternative universe . When you wake up , you disappear suddenly from the alternative universe . Write what happens in the alternative universe after you woke up .
|
Samantha was looking at the guy that entered the lobby. He admired the Formica that covered almost every surface in the building with a wood texture and went towards the elevator, almost unseen in the same colors as the wall. For not having entered the building ever, he guided himself pretty well. Most newcomers had difficulties locating the elevator.
He pushed the button and the elevator went down.
She had more work to do, fiddling with her papers in the desk in front of the door. Working at Ctan was n't easy, even for a lowly secretary, even at five in the morning. And then she realized that the man had left two backpacks, below the chairs intended for the people to wait. Was this a bombing? The man surely did n't seem suspicious. Actually, it felt as if he still went to school, what with the incipient beard and books in the bag that was open.
She stretched out the black long-sleeved shirt she was wearing above the white blouse and kept doing her thing.
After a short visit, even shorter than what a `` Hello'' was expected to last, the guy came out from the wooden-looking elevator. The guy had to go up a very steep step, having the elevator stopped about half a meter below where it should have.
`` Hey, is it okay if I drop these bags here for a little while? My mom will come later to pick them --''
The man had disappeared. What had happened?
She went to the chairs and took the bags, to place them below her desk. And in doing so, she noticed that they were just regular schoolbags, no hidden threat of bombs.
What had happened?
At least she had two new backpacks.
-- --
Based on a real dream I had, where I went to school (? ), but I got lost before catching the bus and ended up at a company named Ctan (? ) ten kilometers from what used to be my school (? ) at five in the morning (? ), and the buildings and all where below a bridge highway (? ).
|
[ WP ] What is the reasoning behind Six 's fear of Seven ?
|
Goddammit, 6 was gon na miss 9. They had such a great relationship. Like yin and yang. They fit like puzzle pieces when they got together. Whenever he saw 9 all dressed up, it was all he could do to resist the urge to flip on his head.
The other numbers said it was pure luck. 7 always did have the lady on his side, but 6 knew better. He was right there next to them all when it happened. He knew he was going to need help to take on 7.
He did n't know where he stood with 8 now. 8 said he was an unwilling accomplice but 6 had his doubts. His relationship with 8 was a lot different than the one he had with 9. They had good times together for sure. Some might say they were unstoppable. When 6 was at 8's side, he felt like they could wipe out anything or anybody. `` Boom, you just got 86'ed!'' He loved saying it after they nixed someone.
But 8 was crafty. 6 could never make heads or tails of him. He was n't sure what side 8 was really on.
No, he could n't take any chances. 6 was going to have to find 2 more numbers he knew he could trust completely. Numbers exactly like him. It was risky. It might be the end of everything. But the 3 of them together would make a beast. It was the only way he could be sure to get rid of 7.
|
[ WP ] A scientist discovers other dimensions and realizes something has found us .
|
`` Eleven thirty-four at night: how unprofessional. David sighed and answered the phone anyway. `` Dr. Simons...''
He was cut off, `` It's finished.''
`` What? How? What do you mean...''
`` It's strange. We're getting a clear output and I know what to make of it but I do n't want to David. There's a fresh pot brewing in the break room.'' He hesitated a moment but finished, somewhat hesitantly but exuberantly, `` you have to see this for yourself!''
Thirty minutes later, dressed again and faithfully pouring a cup in the breakroom, David read the words on a piece of paper thrust into his face, `` You have to see this for yourself!''
`` Am I supposed to ask what this is?'' David set the pot down, took the paper from Dr. Simons and waved it about. `` You said it was strange but you're the one acting a bit strange right now but I'm here, so what gives? What is...''
`` Do n't.'' Dr. Simons finally said abuptly. `` Just come with me. I'm sorry David, but I'm not saying it again. I refuse. It gives me the creeps just thinking it. You'll understand but you have...'' Dr. Simons stopped mid-sentence, shivered, spun on heel and left for the A/V room.
If David had n't known Dr. Simons better, he'd have thought the man acting superstitious. As it stood, he did know much better. Dr. Simons is a 45 year old MIT graduate and proffessor of mathematics in theoretical physics, grounded, practical, and would never to be seen engaging in anything remotely otherwise that was n't actively expressing proof or disproof in most fundamental of languages that transcended every other: Mathematics. He was pleasant if not kind, though not unkind, and avoided controversy by drawing attention to important things. It was as if he did math on people and had everyone β s number.
So finding it highly unusal for him to be so clearly spooked, David followed after, guessing he that he would just have to see for himself. But he hesitated after a few strides and shivered. With a sense of deja vu as he glanced at the paper before continuing after Dr. Simons.
For his thesis and as the proffessor's TA, David _ had proposed a set of experiments with software as a collaborative project with his lifelong friend Alex Gate. Alex was likewise using the project for his thesis in software engineer. Specifically Data aggregation. Together they had obsessed over the ability to `` measure precisely a moment of origin.'' Over the years much caffeine, alcohol, cannabis and a few psychedelic retreats, they had convinced themselves, jokingly at first and seriously as they became fascinated and entrenched upon ideas. After years of intellectual warfare they incredulously claimed achievement. Incredulously because even they themselves could only recognize that because it could be tested, it had to be. They spent the better part of their masters just double checking the math and code involved. The program was ready to begin six months ahead of schedule, despite delays in acquiring specially printed processing microchips for the kind of work their software needed. Theoretically it shaved years off the requirements. Anyway that was a month ago and there should n't even be results; at least not not anything reliable.
Alex greeted him in a whisper. `` It's amazing. You wo n't believe what it is.'' He turn to the student manning the console that mirrored a large array of displays putting up graphs, code, and other live feeds of the operation the software was preforming, `` Hey chip, switch it to the metafeed.''
The wall blinked and was replaced by a brilliant chromographic mandelbrot. Thousands of individual dots of varing colors and hues expanded and contracted being shown to be made up of dots themselves. Data points and contrasting values graphically represented by cross symmetry. It was simple really. They meshed multiple observations of choas to a fine degree such that some kind of equal pattern would emerge amongst varying unrelated instances. It would compare the observed patterns of chaos in the weather, the ocean, biological mutations in hundreds of circumstances, errors in data transmissions, radioactive decay and other chaotically occuring events.
A pattern emerged. It was feit when Chip managed to navigate the graphic model's camera perspective to something cohesive. It might have taken him a moment if the words did n't chime like a bell in his mind, `` You have to see this for yourself!'' He could feel the words tingling in his skin like other synesthesically irrational notions sprang at him from other directions. All them said the same thing.
`` So what do you make of it then, David?''
What? I mean, I feel, errr, I think that I ca n't ask what I want to ask and it's frustrating.''
`` I know the feeling. The good news is that I have an answer. It's an advertisement. That's the bad news.''
`` What? What do you mean it's an advertisement?''
`` A travel company actually. Look, I'll spell it out for you: someone is fixing the RNG of the universe and turning it into a billboard.''
David took a deep breath and thought about it for a while. `` But it's just a billboard, right? I mean, the writers do n't know who is reading it right?''
`` David, there's someone you need to meet.'' A young kid in a bold suit stepped forward alongside and older gentlemen likewise dressed Despite seeming too professional to be student or faculty, Alex continued, `` This is Mike from marketing...''
`` Marketing? Wait, are we...?''
``... being invaded by marketing firms from another dimension?''
`` Cthulu in a suit and tie, eh?''
The old man with Mike seemed to grow before their very eyes, his skin turning green and his bread forming slimy thick tentacles his suit ripped in the back as leathery wings sprouted...
EDIT: If you read this and are inclined, please do critique. It's my first reddit writing prompt.
|
[ WP ] -- You are a cocky , self-centered , emotionally ill equipped 8 year old dealing with a problem in 2nd grade , BUT you have an inner dialog of a 35 year old writer .
|
It was cold out, the gusting wind harsh against my exposed face. Mother had told me to wear my hat and scarf so as to conceal my skin from the frigid December air, yet I refused. Stubborn as a mule, they always claimedβwhatever that meant. She eventually surrendered the argument after several high-pitched, defiant squeals, and requested I exit the vehicle before I be late class.
The seatbelt was quite tricky that day, the metal clip somehow lodged deep within the plastic case. I stumbled on the button, pushing and pulling on its container, yet to no avail.
β You need to press the red part, honey, β Mother explained, as if I were some ignorant youth.
β Shut up, β I retorted, still agitated by our previous debate. I continued twisting and pulling at the seatbelt, my tiny fingers grasping at every inch it offered. The tool mystified me, its inner-workings surely the result of a higher, mischievous being bent on trapping individuals such as myself.
β The button, β she repeated, reaching toward me. I slapped her hand awayβI would not be made a fool this day.
My hands continued flailing blindly about the seatbelt, squeezing the hard, beige exterior in the hopes for sweet release. I remained trapped, chained to the seat like a dog in disgrace. I leaned my head back and howledβif mother wanted a canine, she would get a canine.
β Honey, please, you β re going to be late, β she said, reaching past my arm.
β Mom! Stop, β I pleaded, β I can do this! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! β My arguments fell on deaf ears, her hands now calmly resting upon the seatbelt. I pulled with all my might, forcing my body back into the seat behind me in a final attempt at escape. The air shattered with the undignified click of the seatbelt, followed by the hum of cloth as the belt slipped back behind me.
β Mom! I told you I could do it, you butthead! β I said. I was irate, a furious remnant of my former self.
β Don β t call me names, honey. Now, please, you β re going to be late. β Mother reached over and pushed open the passenger door of our emerald Dodge Caravan. I rolled my eyes, the world momentarily becoming a swirled blur. I had been disgraced, my self-reliance made into a joke; however, the day would not end in utter defeat. I would stand, rise like a phoenix from the flame, and go forth by my own fruition.
β Bye ma! β I said, sliding out the open door and landing on the cold, black asphalt without aid. My Ninja Turtle backpack glistened under the winter sun; the cool air slipped gently through my pants, the diaper that had been there yesterday now replaced by the mature undergarments of the adult world.
I slowly began my way toward the school, mind fraught with the mental preparation to not only use the potty, but to do so by my own accord.
|
[ WP ] Write me a story about a `` garden '' . You can choose the gardener , and you can choose what grows .
|
Mr. Morot was a good fellow. A swede immigrating to the promise land of the U.S. He was born back in 1876 a decade or two after the horrible war. His parents, always telling him to chase his dreams, drifted a cruise ship to New York state, where in the small town of Agros, he began a florist.
Now the year is 1903, and a year after opening, his florist is flourishing with a customers. Lines out the door where now an everyday event. But one day in particular, a little boy who called himself Tim, waltzed into his shop and asked if he had seen his mother. Mr. Morot exclaimed, `` No, son! But if I catch an eye of her, I will tell her you rang!''
The boy continued, `` She was last traveling here. To purchase a single rose for Papa!''
`` How sweet of your mother, a nice woman she is!'' Mr. Morot went on, `` Why do n't you wait back here for her arrival?''
`` Why sure Mr.!'' Tim accepted. Both of the two walked into the back section of the shop, where Tim sat on a bench. `` Young boy, wish to know how my flowers are so fresh?'' `` Why sure, Mr!''
`` Come with me to my basement, down there you will see the beauty that sits in loneliness.'' The boy followed, talking to Mr. Morot about all of his daily adventures, and how he secretly liked Susan and loved his new tricycle. `` Ah! Here we are!'' Mr. Morot said as he stood next to a curtain. `` Here is my creation, young boy!'' Mr. Morot slid the curtains down, revealing a horror to see.
About twelve pots stand next to each other, each cradling a head. On the first four there were small sprouts, the next four, buds, and the final four, fully grown tulips. One of the pots, holding Tim's mother's head, looked directly into his eyes. `` Do you like?'' Mr. Morot said in excitement. Tim screamed and tried to run away. Mr. Morat grabbed the boy, and whispered. `` You mus n't tell a soul. The mean men in this world will not understand my ways of madness.'' As he whispered, he started to hold his head, a hand on each side.
`` You see, boy, I am fear, a fear you wish you have never met.'' Mr. Morot split into halves, revealing a giant carrot-man. `` I grow back what family I have lost.'' He continues, `` I am the fear that believes in vengeance, and it is now your turn to know this feeling of being dirt-ridden.'' Screams of the boy where heard, but never found.
|
[ WP ] Everybody receives a letter on their 18th birthday with the exact date they will die . It is unavoidable no matter what they do on that day . Your letter has finally arrived , and it 's blank .
|
You are lucky that the letters can not be seen by anyone other than their indent recipient. The blank letter in front of you is an anomaly in the system.
There are only two type of humans, those who get letters and those who don β t.
The ones who don β t get their letters don β t live past their eighteenth birthday. Those who do, will.
You β ve never heard of a blank letter before.
Your family crowds around you, waiting for you to tell them when they day of your death is. You can β t tell them that you have a blank letter, so you lie.
-- -
Your party finally dies down when it β s well into the next day. You drag yourself to your room and lock the door behind you.
Your computer screen is the only source of light in your dark room, and you find yourself moving towards it.
β Why β, you type into the search engine, β is my letter blank? β
-- -
When you first laid eyes on your blank letter, your mind froze.
You know that you should be thinking through everything logically, that there probably is a reason for the blank letter.
A blank letter only means that you don β t have a date of death. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, you don β t know.
The good:
It means that you can live your life the way you want without the constant looming threat of death over your head.
The bad:
You have to live your life without the constant looming threat of death.
*The ugly: *
*Both statements are false, but you didn β t know it then. *
-- -
The instant you clicked enter, your computer crashed, along with probably every electrical circuit in the neighbourhood.
You hear shouts from the living room, about how it was probably a blackout.
You ignore them and move to your bed.
The blank letter on your table sits there, and you try your best to fall asleep.
Maybe you β ll die tonight.
-- -
The next day brings about birds chirping on the tree near your windowsill. The doorbell sounds, and you hear the door opening, with a muffle β who β s there? β
Whoever β s at the door, you think they came for you.
-- -
*Time is beautiful, you realise. *
*People, with the constant looming threat of time running out hanging over them can β t appreciate that. *
*Not when they fear the day when the time that they have finally runs out. *
*But sometimes, you feel that they should stop and smell the flowers, or so to speak. *
*A pity that they don β t have the time for that. *
-- -
You don β t want to think about how this situation came about.
The young couple at the door, neither of which look a day over eighteen, introduced themselves and asked you to accompany them to their car.
You were about to say no, but the blank letter on your table taunts you, and you agree, much to the exclamation of your mother.
They had then introduced themselves as Postmen.
-- -
The first thing anybody learns is that death can not be avoided.
No matter how hard someone tries to overcome the live beyond their designated date of death, they can β t.
One running theory is that the Earth herself kills the person, in order to keep the population down to a reasonable number.
But now you know that that isn β t true.
-- -
Postmen deliver letters, the couple explained. Although according to them, the name is quite a misnomer, since the Postmen were the ones who chose the dates too.
It was funny, they had said, when a group of Postmen decided to give 20000 people the same death date.
You remember that incident, the world had panicked, and it was considered one of the biggest terrorist act in the world. But nobody but the family members of the deceased had blamed the terrorist, not when the people were supposed to die on that date.
*An act of God*, people had said.
Postmen weren β t the ones who enforced the deaths, the couple had said, the Dogs do that, by metaphorically ripping to the throat of the ones that were supposed to die.
The Dogs came about from those who cheated death, and managed to live past their designated death date, they explained. The ones who had cheated death when they weren β t supposed to would be chained down for all eternity, forever chasing and killing others, ensuring that no one else became a Dog like them.
-- -
* β Are there Gods? β *
* β Gods? God no. Well technically, unless you count the Postmen as Gods. We β re not though. β *
* β But Postmen decide when humans die. β *
* β Yeah. But they decide when they die too. β *
-- -
You reached back home, after they brought you to their headquarters and gave you a thorough explanation about the letters, Postmen and Dogs.
It's your choice, they had told you, whether you want to stay with your current family until you can fake your death, or say with them until the end and give yourself a death date.
It does n't take you long to decide on your choice of action.
-- -
Fin.
-- -
*There are probably plot holes that you can drive a plane through, but I'm tired. *
|
[ WP ] You have eyes like mine ...
|
It's her. Under the shining full moon, against the darkness of the night sky that seems like about to devour her, she stands brave on top of a pristine hill.
And then, she asks the same question each and every time.
`` Have we perhaps, met somewhere before?''
And my answer stays the same.
`` No, we have not.''
I looked into her eyes, the color of which as blue as the summer sky, so perfectly made that I wonder, if she not a human but truly a divine envoy, sent by the heaven to take my soul away in the middle of my admiration.
Her eyes gleamed brightly in the dark night, those eyes, that mirror those which once mine.
`` You have a beautiful eyes, my lady.''
`` Why, thanks, but how could you praise me while your eyes themselves were closed, mister?''
`` Because your eyes, milady, are exactly like the pair of eyes that were once mine.''
`` You.... could it be..... that you are....''
`` I can find you. Even with my eyes now closed for all eternity, even if you were to move beyond the stars, even if you were on the middle of the seas, I can still find you just fine. Because those eyes were the strings that fate had tied upon us.''
I could feel the warmth around my body, as the one who have received my eyes threw her embrace. `` At last'' she muttered on my ears `` At last, I could find you.'' her tears dropped on my shoulders, her hands hung tightly on my body.
`` Of course, my love.''
I once lost my sight, not as my eyes deteriorated, but my very sensory lobe was broken. And then there were this little grl, afraid of the world, lost her eyes to the unfortunate accident at her tender age.
The doctor have to choose, and they choose to give my eyes to the girl.
And now, the very same girl stood before me. I wo n't mistake those beautiful eyes, the eyes that gleamed even brighter than when I'm on possesion of them.
I made no mistake....
None at all...
~~ ~~
~~And then I plunged to pluck those beautiful eyes, *my* eyes,,,,~~
|
[ WP ] You head into your alcoholics anonymous meeting and sit down in the wrong room . You 're now stuck in a meeting for the mascots of knock off brands , who are all depressed from being made fun of .
|
A person dressed in a scary, large headed, dark cougar costume made of felt fur approached the podium.
At this point I presumed that he didn β t want to be seen at an AA meeting, I mean who would. I know I didn β t want to be here. What if some one had seen me. I only agreed to go because my old lady said she would leave me if I didn β t, what β s her problem. Am I right?
The cougar introduced himself as β Poma β a mascot for a local sports apparel store down the road. It was at this point that I noticed the horrifyingly large bright red and white faced clown sitting to my right. Was this a thing that they did? Was this why it was called Alcoholic β s β Anonymous β? A quick scan around the room confirmed my suspicions.
Characters of all shapes and sizes sat around me, some human, some animals, and some... some I don β t know what the hell they were. I quickly turned back towards the podium in surprise. Poma spoke.
β For far too long we have been ridiculed my fellow mascot β s. β He said in a barely audible muffled voice.
I looked back again at the plethora of odd characters. They all had something in common, there was something remarkably familiar about them, but I couldn β t quite put my finger on it. There was a stoned looking pinkish white rabbit costume that made my still piss drunk self giggle. My giggling caused everyone in the room to stare at me in unison, including Poma.
β Is there something funny sir? β Poma asked with his fluffy finger pointed at me.
β Sorry... it β s just that you guys take the β anonymous β part in alcoholics anonymous pretty seriously uh? I mean jeez guys, it β s just alcohol. we β re not in a sexual abuse group are we? β I said drunkenly.
β Jesus! This is not alcoholics anonymous. This is a support group for mascot β s who -- - β
He was cut short by me puking on to what I know realize was a seriously off putting, rapey looking Ronald Mcdonald knock off. I mean don β t get me wrong, Ronald McDonald is pretty rapey looking himself, but this guy... this guy took it to a whole new level.
β Oh come on dude! Wait... did you come for an AA meeting drunk? β The clown questioned angrily.
β No! I β m not drunk... your drunk! β was all I could comeback with before I blacked out onto the floor.
I still wonder if what I saw that day was real or just a drunken dream. At least I β ve controlled my drinking since then, I never want to see that damn stoned rabbit again.
|
[ WP ] Mars is the new wild west , complete with gunslingers .
|
The old man glared at me, without saying a word. It was all I could do to maintain eye contact. I have heard the stories, and I knew that to look away, or to let my intimidation show would be peril. Finally, when it became clear that the old man had no intention of speaking first I started
`` Hello sir, I need a car to take me to town.''
The man spit before replying `` Gon na cost ya. Probably gon na be 50 bucks.''
`` Oh, I'm sorry sir, but I purchased the first class ticket, it included a ride into town.''
I thought it was impossible but the man's face actually grew more menacing `` I'm fucking sick of you earth folk thinkin' ya can come here and take advantage of us decent hardworking folk.'' The man then walked out from behind the counter. Standing right infront of me he straightened up, he was about four inches taller than me. This time I found it impossible to maintain eye contact. Glancing away I noticed that he wore a gun on his hip, this made me even more uncomfortable ( I had n't seen one since the police stopped carrying them thirty years ago ).
The man smiled at my discomfort. `` 60 bucks will get ya a ride into town, 75 if ya want ya luggage to come with ya, otherwise.... hoof it'' he said with a laugh.
I had little choice but to consent. Why did I agree to come here? I could have found a new job. Sure it would have been hard for a while, but I would have been home with my wife and daughter instead of on this waste of a planet.
`` JOE'' the old man screamed, just then a younger, but no less ugly man came out from the back room. `` This gentleman here needs a ride to town.'' The old man then turned to me `` Enjoy your stay on Mars'' he said with a menacing smirk.
|
[ WP ] Tell me a story where you tell me how it ends at the beginning , yet somehow I am still surprised by the ending .
|
`` Commence final approach'' The captain said to the shuttle's pilot.
`` Yes sir, the window is good. initiating retro burn.'' replied James, the mission's young pilot.
`` What's the surface look like right now kim?'' The captain asked the person in the copilot's seat.
`` There's a wind storm picking up about 100 miles from our projected landing path, should n't be an issue though sir.'' Kim replied
Captain Scott sat back and tightened his harness a little more as the ship began to shudder more. He had n't thought they'd get this far, to be honest. The first manned mission to Mars. and of all the officers at NASA, he'd been chosen to lead it. So many things could go wrong on this, but he really did n't care. He had nothing left of life on earth. His wife had left him during his mission training. He did n't have any kids, and he had no other family or friends outside of work. but his crew was relying on him, and the world was watching.
An alarm blared from the main console.
`` Alert! Alert! adjust trajectory!'' an automated voice declared.
`` James, what the hell is going on'' Scott said.
`` sorry captain, I'm re-configuring our approach now'' James replied hurriedly.
The shuttle jerked up abruptly as the forward thrusters fired and stabilized their descent to the surface.
`` Jesus man, ever heard of the term'gentle'?'' Scott said aloud.
Kim looked back at the captain. `` we're good now sir, coming up on the landing area''
He looked over at Kim, her long straight black hair was bouncing around with the shaking of the ship. it was almost comical how it had nearly hit her in the face when she turned around.
The shuttle continued into Mars' atmosphere, after a few moments the craft had slowed down enough and descended enough that it was no longer burning.
a few moments later, but what seemed like an eternity, they had landed. The falcon rocket style landing completed successfully.
`` Alright guys, this is it. the world is watching so try not to trip. We will exit the craft together. helmets on please.'' the captain said.
`` alright, let's do this!'' said kim nervously
`` Yes sir, ready to go'' James said excitedly.
They all moved back to the rear air lock. They bumped into each other as they moved down. they had n't been in planetary gravity in 6 months, and also were n't used to the confined space of the landing shuttle after being on the primary ship *Galileo* for their journey.
`` Opening airlock'' the captain said.
He knew back on earth the world was watching. The team of scientists that had helped them get to mars was from all nations, all with the same goal. They had selected only the best candidates to be part of the crew. Kim was from China, James hailed from England, and Captain scott was from Kentucky.
As the door opened and the ladder dropped down, Scott checked the video feeds to the outside. All active, recording, and transmitting.
`` Hello world'' scott muttered in his suit.
`` Alright people, on 3'' The captain told his crew. `` 1, 2, 3!''
and with that they all descended the wide ladder together, their booted feet touching the martian soil nearly simultaneously.
`` We step to the future'' Captain scott said officially, knowing that those were the first words that had ever been spoken on mars and hoping that it was good enough to be remembered like Aldrin's first speech on the moon. although kinda a copy of his original.
`` Alright team, let's go walk around, Kim, keep us updated on the storm. I do n't want to be caught out here if it changes direction.'' Scott told James and Kim.
`` Yes sir'' Kim replied.
`` I'll see you back here at 0100'' James said, as he started to walk east.
The three of them each walked in a different direction, taking in the red martian soil and the barren landscape before them. The captain walked for a good half hour before his suit comms went active again.
`` Captian! James! Get back here! We've got a situation!'' Kim said over the comms.
`` Shit!'' the captain said aloud. he keyed his mic `` Kim! Kim! what's happening?''
There was no response.
He run back to the shuttle took 13 minutes. He had n't heard from his crew since kim had summoned them back.
`` Capt --'' his comms crackled `` Captai- Scott, we're at 328.99 124.75''
They were west, the way kim had ventured. He thought the worst, he could n't seem to get them on comms. Looking down at the ground he saw 2 sets of boot prints, Kim's and James'.
He followed the prints, jogging as fast as his suit would allow him.
When he crested a ridge he saw them, they were about 100 feet down a sharp slope. not too bad though.
`` What's going on? Are you two okay'' The captain asked
`` Sir, you've got to come see this.'' Kim replied fearfully.
As he descended the hillside he noticed that it had turned to some sort of hard metallic sand like material. would explain the comms situation.
He reached the bottom and looked where the rest of the crew was standing.
There, in the red martian soil at the bottom of a slope, was the unmistakable form of a human skeleton.
|
[ WP ] Violence between sentient species was unknown until Humans began spacefaring . Humans exhibit a level of violence that is almost incomprehensible to any other species they encounter .
|
`` Violence, deprivation?'' Warden Gaunt enunciated in disbelief.
`` Yes. It's my theory that without small increments of violence given to the humans, it is expressed all at once in the form of riots,'' Kylone stated.
Gaunt ran its webbed hands over its fish-like face in exasperation.
`` This is unbelievable,'' it said.
`` I assure you that this level of violence exists in every human. I have compiled research for my final studies,'' Kylone patted the pack at her side.
Her long body neared the ceiling, as most facilities were not designed for Bereens. Their height was unparalleled in the galactic conglomerate.
`` No. I believe that,'' Gaunt said, `` I just. Do you realize how much this facility has changed to acomidate humans?''
`` I realize this may be an additional expense...'' Kylone began.
`` Reinforced doors, security systems, medical supplies that had previously been extinct. Do you have any idea how many being get stabbed in my prison, now that humans occupy 30 % of all available cells?'' Gaunt stood from his desk.
Its scaly skin stuck to the chair a bit, and a small sucking sound made Kylo uncomfortable.
`` I realize this species is quite strange. But do they not have the right of rehabilitation?''
`` Here we go again! You human-sympathizers say the same thing. But you are n't here. You do n't see them engage in violent expression on a daily basis. They do n't get rehabilitated! They seem to enjoy coming back! And we cater to them like babysitters instead of casting them from the GC like we should.''
`` Warden Gaunt, these are statements of bigotry.''
`` Well i'm tired of it! They seem predisposed to prison! Everything we do to prevent violence is met with more!'' Gaunt's hands became more erratic.
`` Hear me out, then! Introducing violent events throughout the day might be a way to control the violence, rather than combat it!''
|
[ WP ] Your entire town is forced to take a drug to keep them permanently happy , but it makes the residents extremely violent to people who appear sad . You 're off the meds , and your family are patiently waiting for you downstairs after taking theirs .
|
Now that I ranked up in Tanki Online, I am finally satisfied. I head downstairs to see if dinner is ready. At the table, my wives Lilly and Shizune are smiling oddly. I take my seat and see that my HaTaco is burnt. I sigh and suddenly Lilly's cloudy eyes turn towards my general direction, her face becoming redder than Rin's hair. Puzzled, I look at Shizune only to see her spitting out the drilled onions of her McMisha. They have the fastest of palm-talk conversation I have ever seen them have and both stand up with their knives and forks in their hands. I do n't understand what's gotten into them. Lilly's easy to avoid but as I'm running for the door Shizune catches up to me and her knife pierces through my heart over and over again. As I fall my head hits Lilly's feet, her fork does n't let me inhale for one last time.
|
[ WP ] A world where a person can buy superpowers .
|
I opened the car door and dreaded whatever my mother had to say. The fact that I still had to get driven to school was enough to ruin any day. I was fourteen years old and still had to rely on mommy. My skin crawled every time I passed a classmate. It was humiliating.
`` Boo!''
`` Hey, Sarah.'' I knew it was her. I'd known her since the first grade. Sarah slowly became visible. Her smile was always the first of her to appear.
`` Why did n't you come out this weekend?'' She asked.
`` Did n't feel like it.''
Sarah frowned. `` I scared the hell out of the kids down the street. I really love my powers.''
`` I would n't know,'' I answered.
`` Well, I hope you consider getting mine. I keep telling you how much fun being invisible can be!'' Sarah faded in and out of view as we walked into school.
Suddenly, one of the seniors soared through the hallway. Papers went flying in his wake. He was being chased by one of his football teammates. The two laughed as they create a whirlwind of chaos. Sarah pressed herself against the lockers while I stood like a deer in headlights. One of the seniors flew over me and managed to grab my shirt and pull it up over my head.
I cursed loudly. The impact had left me stunned while I did my best to thrash at my own shirt. I could hear a crowd of people gathering around me. The more I struggled the tighter my shirt wrapped around me.
`` That's enough!'' I heard someone shout. It was an older voice. I immediately knew it was Mrs. Greystone when my body lifted up into the air. `` Everyone get to class!''
Mrs. Greystone was using her telekinesis to lift me from the ground. She then carefully put my shirt back into place and softly placed me onto the ground. She had become an expert at her superpower because she never switched or purchased another. Telekinesis was her only desire and she used it well.
`` Jake, do you want to tell me who did this to you?'' She asked.
The hallways had emptied out. Even Sarah was in class by now.
`` It was nothing. Can I go now?''
Mrs. Greystone frowned. I wondered if she wished she had gone for the extra package and gotten psychic abilities as well. It was pretty uncommon though. Most psychics ended up becoming hermits and living in isolation. It was one of the worst selling superpowers. Mrs. Greystone probably would not have wanted 24 hour access to whatever thoughts her husband was having.
`` Well, off to class then Jake.'' She had a look of concern on her face.
I spent most of the day like I usually did. It consisted of calculation after calculation. If I paid an initial investment and made a certain amount each month, then the interest would n't be high enough to prevent me from renewing my power. See, I was smart. I knew that it did n't matter if you had powers right now. What mattered is if you kept your powers. Once I had mine, I'd never look back.
Sarah met up with me for lunch in the cafeteria. We sat down together as I continued to look at the math I'd done throughout the day.
`` Still saving up, huh?'' She asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
`` Well, when are you going to tell me what your superpower is going to be?'' She seemed to understand I was n't in the mood to speak. `` I bet you want to be super strong. All you *tough* guys think it's so cool to be invincible.''
I shook my head.
`` Then I bet you want to be super smart.'' Sarah giggled before continuing. `` You definitely have that evil genius look about you. I bet you want to conquer the world!''
`` Do n't be stupid Sarah.'' I shook my head again at her. `` You know that anyone who takes that superpower ends up in jail or working for the government. That evil genius thing never works.''
`` Hmm...'' Sarah looked around the cafeteria as if she could find some sort of clue. `` You want to be super fast so you never have get a ride from anyone!''
I rolled my eyes. `` Yea, that's exactly it. So I can run far far away from here.''
The school bells went off. It was time for next period. Sarah gave me a nudge as she walked over to her next class. I put on my headphones after giving my calculations one last look. I walked out of the cafeteria while trying to avoid seeing anyone I knew.
It would just be a few more years. Then I'd have all the money I needed to keep my power forever. I looked around at all my classmates. I saw the ones that flew and the ones that could lift cars with their fingers. There were the shallow girls whose power was for people to always see them as attractive. I looked down on all these shortsighted people.
My power was long term. The people who had it always grew tired of it. They'd spend their money on some other power because they felt they had nothing to show for it. Very few actually saw it for its true value. The ones that did were generally older, but their mistake was in waiting too long.
By my 21st birthday I will be able to afford the greatest superpower of all. I'll be the one that is laughing when everyone else is gone. They'll all look at me and beg for help. I'll be with the few people who truly understand what it means to be super. People have been seeking this power since the dawn of time. On my 21st birthday, I'll have become the youngest true immortal the world has ever seen. I'll be god.
|
[ WP ] After weeks of thought , you have decided that your true calling is to be a Serial Killer . But you need to choose a demographic .
|
I always like to take a drive whenever I need to think things over. Today was no different. I just had so many options to choose from.
There was always the classics like women that looked like my ex or my mother.
Then there was the cliche `` Kill the bad guys'' route.
Of course I could go after people who reminded me of my gradeschool bully.
Maybe I'd just kill everyone who fell into a certain pattern of my own design.
Or I could really fuck with people and kill people randomly.
Then again fat people really got under my skin.
I could kill only preachers.
Maybe I'd simply kill people who wore the same cologne as myself.
I could kill my own doppelgangers.
I could go after authority figures if I wanted to be famous.
Or I could... wait a second did that guy just cut me off? Well I guess I just found my niche.
|
[ WP ] Now this is the story all about how ...
|
My life got flipped, turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air
In west Philadelphia born and raised
On the playground where I spent most of my days
Chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool
And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school
When a couple of guys who were up to no good
Started making trouble in my neighborhood
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared
And said you're moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air
|
[ WP ] You wake up on a road in the middle of the desert , your hands cuffed , your feet tied , while a car speeds away from you .
|
`` Hey!'' I yell as I choke on the dust spewing in my face. By the time I stop coughing the dust has settled and the police car is gone.
I do n't understand, everything is so confusing but clarity starts to return as do my memories. I was surrounded by people, they were shouting at me angrily and then the police arrived. I was relieved that someone would finally clear up the mistake but they looked at me with just as much fear and hatred as the rest of them. A baton sped towards my head... Now I am here, wherever'here' is.
`` Why were they so mad at me?'' I ask myself, still unable to remember some of what happened.
I try to stand up but my tied feet trip me up and I fall flat on my face. I huff, it's really hot out here. I roll over and try to untie my feet, my hands may be cuffed but at least I can untie the rope. Success! I stand up and observe my surroundings - sand, sand and more sand. No landmarks, no trees, no hills, just this flat, sandy road. How will I survive? I'm already so thirsty.
I figure my best chance would be to follow the road, I can walk to civilisation and get help. But which direction? If I follow the police car, I will definitely reach the city but they may recognise me and this time treat me even worse. Or... I can keep going the way he was taking me. I have no idea how far away a town will be, or if there even is one! But my guts pull me forwards, away from the hell that was the city.
I remember more - how I lived on the streets, ignored and outcast by everybody, maybe that's why they did this. Was I a stain on their society?... No, it felt much more serious somehow. Each step feels like a step towards freedom and my spirits lift, I pick up the pace and stride onwards.
I hear something behind me and turn to see a red speck rapidly growing closer. It must be a car!
`` Stop! Please stop I need help!'' I dance around oddly waving my cuffed hands. The car gets closer.
`` STOP!!'' I plea but it does n't change course or speed, at the last second I leap to my right, landing awkwardly on my side. The car zooms off into the distance, my hope dashed away.
The brush with death awakens yet another memory, I was being threatened. Someone was going to kill me so I... But I... Oh my god, what did I do? I wipe the back of my hands over my mouth and am horrified to see my fears confirmed - blood. My body trembles and shakes as the truth of my situation becomes clear - I am a monster, left out here to die.
I do n't bother getting up, I lie in the sand waiting for death; the only thing I deserve. My mouth soon loses all moisture, and I even attract some vultures to circle above my head. I watch them filled with envy:
How nice it must be to fly up there, to feel the cool breeze on your skin and see for miles. As I think of this my back begins to ache, so I shuffle a little. It worsens.
I sit up anxiously, is this it? Are my kidneys failing? Am I going to die? The pain spreads throughout me, I double over terrified. I cry out and then, blackness.
Death had not come to take me, my salvation had awoken. I open my eyes to cool fresh air, the wind against my face... I can see for miles below me. I am flying. Scaly wings are on either side of me, comfortably straining my shoulder muscles as they hold up my body. I grin with my sharp teeth, chasing away the vultures flying nearby. I can control it now, I do n't care if I am a monster. I am finally free.
|
[ WP ] In the middle of the night , the military forces start to leave a large bag of equipment at every house . There 's a piece of paper attached that says : `` Await further orders . Desertion will be punished . ''
|
It took seven years for the world to end. We were lucky enough to last that long, for the most part. Before that the army had been delivering supplies, large bags of weapons and survival equipment, to every house in the country before things got bad. Before the war spilled over from distant battlefields and far-off worlds into our backyards. From there, it took seven years.
They called it a Militia, and they were n't entirely wrong. It was men and women from across the entire country, loading rifles and taking to the woods. Men, women, and children, who left the comfort and safety of their homes for the countryside or the subways or the train stations, even the goddamn sewers. The Militia was every one, did n't matter your age, your religion, the color of your skin; the enemy had come to take our homes. We had one choice. To stand and fight in the face of annihilation.
The world lost itself. Communication with our allies across the seas was cut-off by the second year. Our brothers in the north and sisters in the south exchanged messages over the first two years before the Armada started to cut-off the heads. Canada lost it's organization in the third year, Mexico followed shortly after. The Militia of the United States consolidated and spread it's leadership. Families were paired with other families, friends with friends. They called these groups Squadrons. Each family was paired with another, with the stipulation that children had to be produced. Human continuity had to be established. If a leader died, someone took their place the next day by taking their Kit. If a Squadron fell to one family, they would hole up, wait for another family to come to them. There was a chain, but there was never more than a hundred people in any given location. The New York Subway disaster had taught us that.
Deserters came in the forth year. Those who chose to either throw their weapons on the ground and give in to the enemy, or those who chose to never fight again. It never ended well for either. Deserters who were caught were executed. Those who surrendered to the Armada were experimented on. Then tossed back into the battlefield as husks of their former selves. Often times, a child would be turned loose on their family. The father, mother, sister, or brother unwilling to fire the shot that would kill a person they loved.
In the fifth year, myself and my squadron joined another group. We were from California, they were from Maine. Somehow we had made it into the heartland of Colorado, and just like that, there were nineteen of us. Two weeks later, we found another Squadron, and another after that. By the end of the third month, us now in the heartland of Nebraska, we numbered into the forties. If was n't good, but we had made connections, we had started to learn to live with each other.
The seventh year, all communication with the Militia heads were lost. Flares lost their purpose, only signalling the Armada that survivors were still on the ground. We were attacked that way. I had foolishly made the mistake to signal for medicine, for anything that could help us.
Forty-odd of us turned into five. I lost my husband in the process. My children missing. I was with one of the members of Maine, another from California, two others from Colorado we had picked up. We could n't go back. We could never go back. Our life was the nomadic one now, and we started to rebuild. Anyone we could find, we took in. We disregarded the original rules, Squadron size did n't matter. Human continuity mattered in the moment, not the future. We had to play our cards, grow our force, consolidate instead of separate.
That's where my story truly begins. In my quest to find my children and rebuild the world. I'm sure they're dead by now. If not dead, taken and experimented on. I'm sure one day I will find myself in battle with my child's head between my scope unwilling and unable to pull the trigger. I'm sure one day my time will end.
The world as we knew it was lost. The world as *I* knew it had been taken in one single moment. But I did n't give up. I do n't think I will ever give up until I know the fate of my children. Until I see them in my scope, or see them dead on the road, I wo n't stop. I'll continue fighting, continue marching, continue leading a Squadron of families, friends, and strangers. A Squadron of humans just trying to make it.
We are the Militia. And we will not give up this land -- this world -- quietly.
_______
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more! *
|
[ WP ] In a world ruled by Dogs , they worship the Hooman-Master who will one day return to judge the Good Dogs from the Bad Dogs .
|
All hail the Hooman! All hail the Hooman Master! We pray with our paws both tiny and small, that someday you will come back, and return to us all. Our love for him is a love of all feats, one day he shall arrive, and bring us all TREATS! They say he will come, judgement day is soon near, we will sit and we will stay, without any fear. For he will tell us who is good, and tell us who is bad, if it is the latter, we will be very sad. Us dogs strive to be good, as we were taught we should, to behave and obey, but also to have fun, all we can eat and all we can play. Hooman will call us one by one, to come sit at his feet, we will go to him, anticipation causing us to pant and sweat like we are in heat. Please, call us a Good Boy or a Good Girl, this is what we pray for. Hooman please come and greet us, come down from Heavens door.
- A Dogs Prayer.
|
[ WP ] You 're reading a bunch of writing prompt responses and you start to notice the responses of one particular user seem like they 're taken from your own real life experiences .
|
My name is Josh. Today is the first day I've ever used reddit.
For the last week, I've been having the strangest dreams. They're all rather surreal and short, but they all follow one common thread: I fart, and the dream ends suddenly. They were certainly odd, but then came last night's dream. I dreamt of /r/WritingPrompts, a site I had never been on before, and reading a short story about myself.
So today I created an account and began browsing the prompts. And that's when I noticed /u/JoshFarts. Whoever the hell that person is, they've been *writing my dreams. *
This seems so surreal, but all I know is that I'm determined to get to the bottom of it.
|
[ WP ] All are welcome .
|
That day I just had gotten out of penitentiary and I had decided to start my life anew. At 8AM an on a Sunday morning the bus was nearly empty except for a elderly couple and a few young adults.
I had no destination, I had no home and no way to get one. All of my family had left as soon as I was convicted. It had been five long years for what I had done and I did not deny what I had done. The scars had been enough proof, enough to send me away but not the one who had supplied my addiction.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw, what I had thought to be the beginning to my new life; `` Sunday Worship, all are welcome.'' This was my chance, this was the start to my new life. I had decided to get off at the next stop and so I did.
I would be lying if I said I did not notice the gazes and whispers of the people standing at the doors, I would be lying if I said I did not care, however this was the start to my new life and I had to make the best of it.
When I entered the church I sat in the row in the back. No one sat near me but had I ignored it.
It was nearer the end of the ceremony when a larger man came and escorted me from the church.
I muttered, `` You should change your sign.''
`` Why?'' The man responded.
`` Not all are welcome.'' I finished, stepping out onto the road and in front of the incoming bus.
|
[ WP ] The reason earth never made alien contact is because earth is in a natural reservation inside a non transit area inside a neutral zone between two warring empires in a relatively boring part of the galaxy .
|
Morvan tapped the small blinking red light a few times with his finger, but it kept blinking. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching his long, quadruple jointed arms in the process. A quick check of his chronometer made him blink again. He wasn β t going to be relieved for another sixteen breaks in the cycle.
That was simply too long to wait.
Morvan heaved a heavy sigh and stood from his watch post. He crossed the spacious empty bridge of the observation station and checked a few settings on the communications equipment. There were no malfunctions, no diagnostics, no tests, and certainly no expected transmissions. He checked the target coordinates on the receiving antenna, blinked, and checked them again.
All of the equipment was operating within normal parameters, which only confused him more.
Morvan clicked on the station communicator. β Boss, you β d better get in here. β
There was a long pause. β Morvan, if you β ve pulled up another image of a naked grefling off the interplanetary nexus, I will be severely disappointed. And angry. β
β No, nothing like thatβ¦.not this time, β Morvan responded. β Still, you β d better get in here. β
There was another long pause before the communicator clicked. β Alright, Morvan. I β m on my way down. But you β re finishing your watch this time, got it? β
The communicator line shut off before Morvan had a chance to respond. He crossed the open expanse of the bridge and took his station once more at the monitoring board. The red light was still blinking, and the signal interpretation programs were whirring away in the mainframe. Whoever it was talking to them, the message was a long one.
After what seemed like far longer than it should have taken, the door to the observation deck hissed open and in came the Boss. Morvan stood and made the proper obeisance, holding his arms out at right angles from his body and bending at the thorax so his forehead touched the cold metal deck plating. He could feel the artificial gravity matrix beneath the floors vibrating through his cranial plates.
β At ease, Morvan, β the Boss said. β What was so important you had to interrupt my sleep cycle? β
β Sir, we β re receiving a transmission, β Morvan said as he pointed to the red blinking light.
β Receiving? β the Boss asked. β That β s impossible. We β re not scheduled to receive a link up until next Main-break. Waitβ¦ is it from the other side? Is it from the Bordeenian Expanse Authority? The cease fire we had was supposed to cover all data transmissions as well. Have they broken the pact already? β
Morvan shook his head. β I don β t think so. Besides, if they had, why would we be the ones they contacted? It β s not like we matter. To anyone. Anywhere. β
The Boss ignored that last remark and checked the antenna coordinates. β This has to be an error, Morvan. The antenna is still fixed onβ¦. Wait secondβ¦. Here it is. It β s fixed on NRP-01zy55-022B9d. β
β It β s not a mistake, Boss, β Morvan said. β I checked the targeting scanners twice, the antenna diagnostics, the interpretive algorithms. Everything is running the way it should. We β re just receiving a transmission. β
β But that planet is deep in the non-transit zone, β The Boss said as he rubbed his four eyes with one hand. β In fact, it β s listed as an NRP-a Nature Reserve Planet. No contact, no colonization, and absolutely no interference. Both sides of the treaty would come down hard on anyone foolish enough to drop a ship on an NRP. Who would risk it? β
Morvan shook his head. β I dunno, Boss. That β s why I called you. β
β Maybe it β s a natural phenomenon like a pulsar that we just hadn β t detected before, β Boss said hopefully.
β The filter programs would have kicked it to observation status rather than transmission reception, Boss, β Morvan said in an exasperated tone. β I told you before, natural signals get filtered, remember? β
Just then the translation matrix display switched on and the screen displayed several diagnostic programs as they checked for system errors during startup. Satisfied the program was running as it should, the display flashed and began showing the translated message they were receiving. As Morvan β s eyes scanned the readout his blood ran hot with a mixture of excitement and dread.
The readout displayed a series of repeating numbersβ¦2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11β¦.
β That β s not random noise, Boss, β Morvan said softly, β That β s intelligence. They β re sending us primes, which means they understand number theory and higher order abstract thought. What kind of nature preserve is that? β
β No signals in or out, Morvan, β The Boss snapped. β As of right now, this facility is under quarantine by my order. I will contact the Supreme Command Council to request orders on how to proceed, but until we receive word you do not leave this console. Is that understood? β
Morvan flopped down in the hard chair and stared at the readout. β Yes your Bossness, β he replied, a sharp edge in his voice. β Anything you say your Bossness. I live to serve at your Bossnesses pleasure. β
The Boss β s face flushed green with anger and his four yellow eyes glowed. β Is that insubordination I hear, Morvan? You know the punishment for insubordination, don β t you? β
β Sure do, Boss, β Morvan replied. β But you can β t afford to kill me. We β re the only two on this station and you have no clue how to run the food synthesizerβ¦or the waste jettison. Face it, unless you want to get stuck eating your own droppings, you β re stuck with me. β
β For now, β Boss hissed as he stepped through the open door.
Morvan shrugged off the Boss β s vague threat. The two of them had been stuck on the station together for more than four thousand Main-breaks and the Boss hadn β t killed him yet. Odds were he wouldn β t before some official word came about the transmission, at leastβand a new instruction booklet for the food synth.
Morvan sat and watched the repeating sequence of prime numbers flash across the screen as he drummed his six-jointed fingers on the counter top. Boredom was the inescapable sickness of the space-side fleet, and he had tasted his fill of it. This signal was the first excitement he β d seen in several durlongs, and he wasn β t going to let it slip by.
Morvan leaned forward and pressed the transmission button. β Hello? β He said into the microphone input. β Is there anyone listening? β
Morvan β s finger hesitated over the send button, but after a few ticks of his chronometer, he pressed it. The translation matrix whirred into action as it processed the vocal recording into first electronic signals, and then into high-intensity, polarized and collimated radio-frequency radiation. The narrowly confined beam was then sent through a virtual wormhole that connected the station to a listening post position just on the edge of the transmitting system β s oort cloud.
Communication between the station and the unmanned listening post was nearly instantaneous, but it would take a while for the signal to reach the NRP and for a reply to be sent back. That is, assuming there was anyone there capable of sending a reply. Morvan went back to drumming his fingers on the countertop as he idly wondered how the Boss would go about killing him when he found out that Morvan had transmitted to a Nature Reserve Planet against both the standing treaty and a direct order.
In the end, it didn β t really matter. Everyone always said your first death was the toughest, and Morvan was ready to get it out of the way. In fact, if Morvan waited too much longer he β d be too aged to undergo the revivification process, and when he died the first time it would be the only time, for him. And despite being stuck on a backwater observation post watching a bunch of dark rocks spin through a section of space no one cared two droppings in a cinch sack about, Morvan had plans.
Big plans.
**EDIT** Spelling errors... This is why I need editors for my writing. lol
**EDIT** Apparently the people in the story are better at math than I am ( see comment below ) lol
|
[ WP ] A dad is forced to explain the birds and the bees to his son after he walks in on dad humping mom .
|
`` Oh my gosh!'' Billy cried, turning away.
`` Billy! What are you doing in here? You should n't be in here.'' His dad called, slipping out his mother.
`` Billy, honey, it's really a very natural thing. It's nothing to be embarrassed about.'' His mother crooned, removing the leather gag.
`` I was thirsty.'' Billy explained, edging back toward the door.
`` I know, son. But, you should always knock first. Come here. You've seen some stuff and I think you need to have it explained to you.'' Dad admitted, strolling over to where his son was desperately looking to run. Dad slipped his arm around his Billy's shoulder and led him back toward the bed. Billy tried not to look at his dad's giant erect shaft wagging up and down next to him. Billy tried to pull away.
`` When a man and woman love each other, they do this. It's called intercourse.'' He urged his son to take a seat on the edge of the bed and joined him, crossing his white scrawny legs in the familiar posture Billy's history teacher often assumed during lectures.
`` You see, a man is like a bee. We have a -- well, a stinger.'' His dad gestured to the raging erection jutting up and resting on his leg. `` We fly around the world looking for things to sting. In my case, it's your mother. She's like a beautiful flower. Bee's are attracted to flowers and sometimes, the bee just wants to bend the flower over and plough it good and proper son. That's what you walked in on here. It's all perfectly natural and beautiful. Do you understand? Do you, son?''
`` Yeah, dad. I get it. I'm 22. I was going for beer and just wanted to know if you wanted something. This is really, really uncomfortable,'' he admitted trying to look anwhere but as his mother with her leather mask or his father jutting manhood.
`` Well, I'm sorry for that. I guess it would be a little awkward for others. We're really very comfortable with our bodies. We had this conversation with your sister years ago and frankly, we were a little ashamed we did n't have `` The Talk'' back when you were younger. She handled it really well, all things considered. She's really very mature, for her age.'' His father explained, apologizing for his failure.
`` Yeah, she has always been your favorite dad.'' Billy snapped, walking little bit apart from his parents.
`` Really? You never told me that. Am I really your favorite, dad?'' Billy turned around aghast to see his sister pulling back the covers to address her dad.
`` I love you both equally,'' their father corrected. `` I love you both the same.'' He confessed.
`` We both do,'' their mother agreed.
`` Yeah. But, I'm the only one you fuck, right?'' She asked.
Billy fled the room.
|
[ WP ] The personifications of other abstract concepts are getting jealous of Death hogging the limelight .
|
To say that Mr. Black was hurt would do a disservice to his feelings of anger and betrayal. They should certainly understand that it was n't his fault that humans were so obsessed with him. It was his job to take life, and if he did n't, the world would just become it's own absurdity. But no one seemed to understand that or accept that it genuinely was n't his fault. Mr. Red sat grinding his teeth and staring him down; Mr. Blue seemed completely crushed that people only cared about him in smoky bars or when their lover cheated; Ms. Yellow was oddly happy for him for reasons he did n't understand; Ms. Green, he thought, was plotting to stab him when he was n't looking; and Mr. White was inordinately upset that no one washed their hands before the meeting.
As was usual, they had taken their preferred seats in the Cafe on the Far Side of the Universe, but a place where normally Mr. Black felt comfortable and at home was suddenly a place he no longer felt he fit in.
Ms. Yellow was all smiles and preening her hair. `` I just do n't understand what everyone's so upset about. You're all so uptight about everything, and you're the only ones really suffering from it, you know.''
`` Shut the fuck up, Yellow,'' yelled Mr. Red. `` No one has time for you Mrs. Rodgers bullshit.''
Mr. White was still lost in a singular focus and looking meek. It was only on rare occasions that anyone cared what he had to say. `` Can we all just take a moment here, line up for the bathroom, and wash our hands?''
Mr. Red was about burn the whole place down, but then again, he was always about to burn the whole place down. `` You know what White?! Everyone hates you, you sterile fuck.''
`` I'm not sterile; I'm just want everyone to be clean and pure,'' he squeaked.
`` Oh, go bother a priest!''
As was his manner, Mr. Blue sat slumped in the back with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. `` I've just been so sad lately. I do n't understand why people talk about Mr. Black more than me. You'd think death was depressing, but most people are just morbidly curious.'' He gave a self-pitying laugh. `` I ca n't even do my job right.''
`` Dude, you're not bad at your job. You almost singlehandedly created an entire genre of music,'' replied Mr. Black, trying to encourage him. `` How many writers have you haunted, huh? Come on. We both know they would n't have been half as good if it were n't for you.''
Mr. Blue gazed glumly out the window at all the spinning galaxies. `` Yeah, sure.'' All Mr. Black could do was throw is hands up in exasperation.
`` I just wish I could smoke cigarettes,'' interjected Ms. Green, with that look ugly look she always had - that'I know you're prettier than me, but if I act superior maybe no one will realize deep down I wish I was you' look.
`` God, you're such a twit. You *can* smoke cigarettes - YOU DUMB SHIT!''
Ms. Green snorted. `` I wish I could be unnecessarily hostile too.''
`` If it makes you happy, honey, smoke all the cigarettes you want,'' offered Ms. Yellow who was now coloring a napkin with crayons.
`` Wait just a minute!'' cried Mr White. `` I only agreed to let Mr. Blue smoke!''
`` Oh fuck off! Are n't we here to take Mr. Black to task, anyway. Christ you're all so easily fucking side tracked.'' For no real reason, he grabbed a handful of creamers and chucked them at Mr. Black. `` I've started wars you know - remember Troy? I did that!''
`` No, that one was me,'' correct Ms. Green.
He continued. `` Why makes you so special that everyone's oh so bloody caught up in your black robe and idiotic farmer tool. Do you know how stupid you look? Do you?''
Mr. Black looked down at his robes, feeling a bit ashamed. `` Hey, I'm just wearing what the other guy did.''
`` You mean the guy you replaced in thirteen-twenty-FUCKING-TWO!?''
`` Really Black, you should get a nice suit or something. New clothes, new man; as they say. Who knows, maybe it'll make you feel -''
`` I swear to fucking God, Yellow, if you say happy I'm going kick you in the fucking head,'' threatened Mr. Red.
`` Yeah, well at least God still talks to you; he quit talking to me a long time ago,'' moaned Mr. Blue.
Mr. Red let his head fall on the table with a thud and spoke into the wood. `` God quit talking to you last week, when he told us he was going on vacation for the next month.'' When he lifted his head again, sugar packets were stuck to his forehead. `` I'm going to burn it down. I'm going to set you all on fire and watch you run around. And then I'm going to piss on you. And then I'm going to light you on fire again.''
Everybody sat in silence for a moment. `` Well, urine is sterile at least,'' noted Mr. White.
Mr. Black looked around the room at each of them. `` So, I think I'm just going to go,'' he said. There did n't seem to be much more going on. Everything had was just degenerating into the usual petty squabbles.
Ms. Green was n't ready to end the conversation though. `` You know Black, I just wish my life was as easy as yours. We should all be so lucky.''
`` What do you want me to do?! I do n't understand why you're all mad at me. You should be mad at the humans. They're the ones causing all this. You said it yourself, you started that whole Troy business. Red, you've started innumerable wars, and Blue, you've mad people so sad they've pined for death just to get away from you.''
`` I do n't blame them,'' Mr. Blue added.
`` Maybe it's not my fault people are obsessed with me. If it's anyone's fault it's yours. Maybe you all need to look in the mirror.'' Mr. Black felt a small weight lifted off his shoulders just saying it all out loud. It really was n't his fault, he thought; he was just the end product. `` And Mr White, if it makes you happy, I'll wash my hands before I leave.''
Ms. Yellow smiled. `` That would make me happy too.''
Mr. Black exhaled like he'd been holding his breath the entire time. `` Okay, so we're all good then?''
`` I still hate everything.''
`` I wish my hair was as beautiful as Ms. Yellow's.''
`` Oh thank you, love. I'm happy you said that.''
`` Is there a bath I could drown myself in?''
`` Make sure the tub is clean and the water is fresh!''
With that Mr. Black left the Cafe content that everything was back to normal, or as close to normal as they'd all ever get.
|
[ WP ] After a conversation , my friend and I discussed night drives
|
Criticism welcome.
>
> It was a quiet, late night when Don released the break and quietly sped into the listless black night. A few turns, and soon the lights of the city were zipping past his ears. At first a dazzling flourish of lightning, but becoming fewer and fewer until the last flashed by his ears and into the rear view mirror.
>
> He didn β t watch it go.
>
> The quiet of the interior was oppressive to Don. The gentle hum of the engine, and the bare crackle of the radio could have provided focus for his tired thoughts. But it did not, skimming across his thoughts without entering his consciousness. He drank in the aloneness.
>
> The starlight provided the only points of interest as the mileage indicator rolled steadily on. When he was young he β d dreamed of the stars, and exploration, and adventure. Dreams that now seemed ridiculous and farcical. Strange and grotesque in his memory β as far disconnected from his life as anything could be. It wasn β t just the death of his dreams he beheld, it was the death of his hope.
> He pondered what would happen if he swerved off into the speeding blackness, if even a burst of fireball would mark his passing, or if he would simply cease to be, leaving no greater mark on the universe with his death than he had in his life.
>
> He sighed. Such thoughts had no greater significance than his life, and he tried to give them no greater weight. He was tired. He engaged the autopilot.
>
> The thrusters increased their tone slightly as the autopilot eased into the landing orbit for XB-13C, their current mining target in Jupiter β s main ring. Eventually they β d collect enough iron, carbon, and hydrogen to launch the next intrastellar leap, probably to Titan, Saturn β s largest moon. But Don had seen the plans β he knew he β d probably die on Europa and miss the grand adventure of colonizing a new planet. Perhaps his children would have a chance, he mused, though his grandchildren would be more likely.
>
> As the thruster β s whine become more insistent, he confirmed on the control panel that he was on the correct radial to dock with the mining station, before sparing one more glance at the stars above him.
> Glory and adventure and mystery, meant for someone else. Oh well. He switched on his landing beacon and turned back to the task at hand.
Hope it surprised you a bit. Kind of a strange sci-fi take on the moving target that is'happiness.'
|
[ EU ] The Hero of Kvatch is slowly turning into the new Sheogorath . It begins with mild paranoia and only gets worse from there .
|
I'm sitting in my home.
All is perfect.
All is in order.
All of my scrolls are in the right chest.
All of my gems are in the left chest.
All my swords in the tall box.
All my potions in the short box.
I just ca n't do anything weird.
I have to do everything balanced.
It will all fall apart.
I will fall apart.
I'm so scared.
I'm so afraid.
Perfect order. Such that has never been seen. Except that purple bottle.
Except that bottle of skooma.
I ignore the skooma. The skooma.
It is an unpredictable concoction. Makes me feel wrong. Peculiar.
Just looking at it makes me want hurl it across the room! Or... maybe chug it and see what happens after. To be honest, I quite fancy skooma as a concept. Everything about it is WHIMSICAL! AND WHAT would it do to a daedric God? Not that I am.
Or am I? HA HA HA!
In fact, it would be a rather fortuitous undertaking to test the effect of several at once. Perhaps I'll nip out for a bit. Grab something to eat while I'm out!
-β
`` Sir? You're the Hero of Kvatch!''
`` RIGHT YOU ARE! I damn well am the hero of Kvatch. Dreadful town that. Terrible infrastructure. Mehrunes is *horrible* at everything, but especially REDECORATING!''
`` Um... okay. Would you like to see my wares?''
`` ON THE FIRST DATE? What are you? The lusty argonian maid?''
`` Oh my!''
`` Just JOKING! Show me your wares. I'm in need of skooma.''
`` Er... we do n't sell potions just food.''
`` Does it LOOK LIKE SKYRIM OUT HERE TO YOU? Actually I'd love to have a vacation home up there in the snow. A little skiing, a little ice fishing! What a fabulous timeshare idea. That's where The Shivering Isles SHOULD HAVE BEEN! Missed opportunity there, what with the cold weather. Brrr!''
`` Um... okay.''
`` How do you feel about dragons?''
`` They're not realβ''
`` LIES! Lies and MORE LIES. They're real. I've got a tattoo of one on on my left buttcheek.''
`` Oh dear...''
`` I have to go find some skooma. Plus these weird redditors have been following my EVERY WORD! Ca n't a daedric God get some privacy!''
`` Who?''
`` GOOD BYE!''
|
[ WP ] The character possesses a weapon that kills not just his victim , but erases the victim 's ancestors from history back to 10 generations ( As if they had never been ) .
|
The relic I was hunting down was an ancient one, with sparse records of its use dating as far back as Roman times. Of course, given the mythical origins of all relics, Humanity's first contact with this particular relic might have been even earlier, especially given the nature of this relic.
Its name was *Decimation*, so named after the ancient Roman punishment. In truth, the Roman practice was only a pale approximation of *Decimation*'s abilities, which is rather chilling to consider. Whereas the practice of decimation was the removal of a tenth of a population, *Decimation*, when activated against a selected victim, erases the victim from history. And the victim's ancestors. Tenfold, back ten generations.
If observing from a point of view isolated from the time ripples resulting from *Decimation*'s use, as allowed by certain other relics, then *Decimation* might be considered amongst the deadliest of relics. Entire races and civilizations have been erased from history by the removal of one or more key persons, or their ancestors.
The current owner of this relic was living in an utterly nondescript home in the suburbs, without any of the trappings of grandeur that most owners fall into. I might even have been convinced that he was unaware of the relic's magical nature, but the use of nondetection veils had already suggested otherwise.
Based on my research, he was simply a professor of history at a small university. I suppose he must have come across *Decimation* during one of his work trips overseas, several of which were apparently partly self-funded; it was possible that he was actively seeking out the relic through his travels in South America and Central Africa.
I waited until the professor had fallen asleep before breaking into his home. I did this with the help of a lesser relic, of course; teleporting in was the stealthiest option, though I lost the ability to make a quick escape. There was no choice. The relic had to be secured at all costs, as any use would be catastrophic.
My calculations proved to be incorrect. I did not manage to retrieve *Decimation*, as it was locked securely behind the steel walls of a safe. At the same time, the professor would not have been able to use the relic in defence. But he did n't need to; perhaps my overspecialization in fighting other relic owners blinded me.
I heard a distinct click in the darkness of the room. The cocking of a hammer. A human shadow against the cracks for the blinded window.
`` I suppose you've come for the relic.'' the Professor spoke from across the room.
The distance was too far to bridge in an instant. Not all was lost, though; he seemed willing to speak. If I could drag things out, then there might be a moment of distraction sufficient for me to close in. Given the cover of darkness, he might even miss me.
`` You do n't know the power of what you have, do you?''
`` I'm afraid you're incorrect. Regrettably, I do know.''
Perhaps it was the silence of the night, or the tension of the situation, but I felt a chill down my spine. It was not possible- he could n't have.
`` D-did you-''
`` Yes. But I'm not insane, you know, nor a monster. I just wanted to know whether it was all true. Whether relics indeed exist. But rest assured that I'm not insane; I'm not going to risk deleting myself and Western civilization just to learn something. That's why I'm wielding a gun, not *Decimation*. ``
`` But you did use *Decimation*?''
`` Yes. If anything, the greatest difficultly was figuring out a scenario to apply it with minimal consequences to known history. Obviously, I could n't use it anywhere in the modern world; people are too interconnected and interbred to take such a risk. Sure, I could be fairly confident that I would n't be erasing my ancestors, but I would n't want to accidentally eliminate, say, the inventor of the internet or some major historical figure. Any changes could easily have cascading aftereffects.''
If he had used the weapon, then-
`` The problem, then, was to find the least important and most isolated populations of people. Suffice to say that I've tested its effects to my satisfaction. And gladly, nothing has changed, except for a few footnotes here and there.''
At this moment, I did n't know whether a good opportunity had presented itself, but I found myself charging forward all the same.
|
[ WP ] You are mistaken
|
`` That thing is blue.''
`` No, dude. It's not blue. It's red.''
`` I see it right now with my own eyes. It's blue.''
`` Uh, I see it too, idiot. And it's red and you're an idiot for saying anything different.''
`` I'm an idiot if I think it's blue? Why?''
``... Because it's red.''
`` Hmm, okay. So how do you know it's red?''
`` Because I know what red is. And that's red.''
`` What color is a firetruck?''
`` Red.''
`` And that is the color of a firetruck?''
`` Yes.''
`` No, it's not the color of a fucking firetruck. It's the color of a sky. Or a Picasso painting when he was in his blue period. Or the color you paint a room when you know you're having a boy and not a girl.''
`` I do n't know how you ca n't see that it's red. I'd think you're messing with me, but you have no sense of humor. It's red, dude.''
`` Ow!''
`` What color is your skin turning?''
`` What the fuck!?''
`` That. What color is that mark on your arm?''
`` Red, asshole.''
`` Yes! Exactly! The same color as that.''
`` Oh my fucking... No. No no no. My skin and that thing are not the same color. They're different parts of the color spectrum.''
`` I do n't want to talk about this anymore. Fine, it's whatever color. Let's move on with our lives.''
`` I'm fine with that.''
`` Awesome, you want to play XBox?''
`` Fantastic idea. Crank it up. I'll play whatever.''
`` Sweet.''
``... I'm sorry, by the way.''
`` Huh? Why?''
`` For disagreeing.''
`` Nah, that's fine, man. I'm sorry too. It's fine that you think what you think, even if I'm sure that I'm right.''
`` Alright. Well I feel the same way. We do n't need to agree about everything.''
`` Whew, good. I thought you were going to insist you were right.''
`` No, man, let's both just forget about it. We can use it how we want. It does n't matter what color it is. Or even what we use it for. It's there and we can do whatever and it's all good.''
`` My thoughts exactly. Press'Start'.''
`` Alright, I'm in. Wait for me.''
`` Will do.''
And that's why politics are fucking retarded.
( it was green by the way )
( or yellow. either way, who gives a shit. live your fucking life. )
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.