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[ WP ] The year is 2021 . The newest fad are clone clubs , where visitors can spend up to 12 hours with a clone of any person whose DNA they provide . The clones are disposed afterwards .
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Jerry always struggled to make friends as a kid. It struck him that he'd spend a lot of time with himself when only his mother turned up to his birthday party and when she died he was still at high school. That's a lot of birthdays on your own.
Jerry was turning 40 tomorrow, although by now he was just estimating how long he had left until he could die. As a devout Catholic he believed suicide would put him in hell for eternity and to him working at his job in the library for another 30 years on his own was better than forever in a cage.
So as he wandered around his small flat in his dressing gown at 4pm drinking cheap beer he slumped into the only chair in the room. Directly in front of the TV he pressed the remote with what seemed like too much effort required to press a button. It flicked on and he was greeted with an advert for friends-reunited.com. although it had changed a lot in the last 15 years.
`` see your old friends again! Maybe your alumni? Or perhaps an old flame reignited, come down to FU HQ today! Clone anyone you want! Even a celebrity. Booking ahead gives you 20 % off!''. He thought to himself who would he like to see again. No one. The only friend he needed was himself.
The day faded away in what seemed like a saturated fat consuming haze. The next morning he awoke to a phone call. He rubbed his eyes, no one calls Jerry. Especially at... looking at the clock... 8.30 in the morning.'Jesus' he thought, that's the earliest he's been up since school. Coincidence.
`` hello?'' An elderly male voice came through the speaker.
`` Yeh?'' Jerry grunted, still half asleep, his head on the pillow and the phone laying on his ear
`` Is this Jerry Jameson?''
`` Speaking'' he said yawning.
`` Happy birthday son, this is Principle Daniels, remember me?''
He thought to himself for a second, oh yeh, that prick, always sending punctuation letters home. `` Good morning sir''
`` Sorry for calling early but I just wanted to tell you that I entered your class of 1990 in an alumni competition. I won! You should get a letter in the mail sometime this week, trust me, you'll love it. I know a lot of your class are working over seas but you're still here so I thought going to FU would help you see your friends-'' Jerry slammed the phone back onto the receiver. Asshole, he knew hated school and every one in it.
After falling back to sleep Jerry got dressed at about 1pm. As usual, he went to the mail box and checked for birthday cards. None, just bills.
Late. Late. Late. Over due. Extension expiring. FUHQ. Wait a second, what?
'Huh, guess I did get a card' he said to himself. Opening it infront of the mail box the letter read'class of 1990, you have received a free entrance to FUHQ and one clone activity.' It goes on to state that clones are kept in safe humane facilities. Disposal of clones is against humanitarian laws etc. Blah blah. Jerry knew he was n't going to be doing anything else today so he might as well go.
Inside FUHQ a help desk instructed Jerry down corridor A and to take the elevator to floor -7 for the almuni party. Shit, 3pm, probably very late for an afternoon with assholes. Oh well.
Going deep underground, he stepped out of the elevator to a huge white room. White walls, white furniture, white lights. Walking forward he noticed light glistening off nothing. No, it was n't nothing, the huge room was divided by glass walls and floors into cubicals. In one cubical he saw a man and woman undressing before the glass clouded and turned black. A black cube 100 feet in the air with a couple... Screwing.
`` Mr Jameson, its rude to stare'' a feminine voice sounded from his left. How long was he looking? He turned to the woman talking; hair tied up, pantsuit, little or no make up. `` Mr Jameson, do you have the DNA you wish to replicate?'' She asked politely.
`` I am sorry, how do you know my name?'' Confused, he asked her with the same politeness.
`` Mr Jameson, I'm afraid you're the only one who showed up''. Perfect. Class of 1990 go fuck yourselves.
`` do you have your DNA sample you wish to replicate?'' She asked again.
`` Erm, no, sorry, I do n't have anything'' he said now feeling like an idiot for showing up.
`` Well you get free drinks for the next 7 hours, you can clone yourself if you would like to stay?'' She suggested politely, he face not moving from its permanent smile.
`` No one else showed up huh? Yeh why the hell not I'll have 32 beers
.. and whatever the clone wants''
This was surreal. Jerry knew he'd seen this sort of thing in sci fi movies but never in real life, especially one that looked just like him.'Did it talk? What does it know? Will a clone of myself ostracise me too?'.
`` We're going to give you pals some privacy'' said the woman on the other side of the glass. The room clouded black and the floor light up illuminating the room.
Just then it spoke..
`` That beer looks good'' it said, in jerrys voice.
Jerry stared back in shock. Speechless.
`` I do n't suppose you'd mind me taking one?'' It said reaching over to grab an unopened one. Jerry still did n't move, the clone popped the top off on the side of the white table between the two. Now it was 31 bottles to 1.
`` Take as many as you want mate'' jerry uttered, they're free''. Jerry noticed they were wearing the same clothes, maybe the hair he supplied had cotton fibres on or something his shirt or whatever.
Now that the ice was broken the two Jerrys were able to converse more, it turned out the clone had the same memories as jerry, everything was the same, except the clone was more... fresh... Newly opened... Like he had more life in him.
`` So what's the deal with you man?'' The clone said bluntly after about 2 hours of meaningless conversation about their life.
`` I'm sorry?'' Jerry said, surprised.
`` Why could n't yoh make any fucking friends?'' It laughed. `` I mean I knew you were pathetic but you've just drank 15 beers before 5pm''
`` Well *burp* so did you'' looking at the tally on the table it was 15 empty bottles to 15.
`` I'm brand new, alcohol barely has an effect on clones, like paracetamol to a junkie''. He grinned, `` and you're about done'' just then the clone pushed back in his chair to then kick the table at jerry, knocking him to the ground.
Everything went fuzzy for jerry, whether it was the beer or the table, he groaned `` what... the fuck..are you doing?''
`` Jerry, I just got born, I'm not a zoo animal, you think I'm going to spend the test of my life in this cage? Fuck that!'' The clone pulled Jerry's phone and wallet out of his pockets. He knocked on the wall and asked to come out. Jerry wanted to get up but he was struggling to move. The walls cleared and a woman opened the door, `` Mr Jameson, are you all done?'' Looking around the room she broke her smile `` my god, what happened in here?''
`` It was the clone! He just attacked me! Its going funny, I think its drunk or something'' the clone was breaking out. As jerry drifted in and out of consciousness, the clone left the room, presenting the ID in Jerry's wallet to security he stepped into the elevator.
Jerry passed out, the last thing he saw was the woman's shoes coming towards him, disturbing the pool of beer on the floor.
White room... white walls... white light...
It was all coming back, oh no.. Oh no.. Oh please god no, he thought, it became words, pleads, begging `` oh Jesus! No! Let me out! He rushed to the glass wall, let me out of here. You ca n't keep me here, I'm jerry Jameson! Let me out!'' The woman came to him and spoke through the glass `` do not be worried, this is normal for all fresh clones. You are safe here, no one can ever get in or out of this building.
A lifetime alone, a lifetime alone, deep underground in a cage. Jerry had found his hell., worst birthday ever.
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[ IP ] Bedtime Stories
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A tender flame dances lightly upon the short wick encased by a dirty glass, throwing a warm and familiar glow upon the modest room in which the children sit. Scattered along the table are numerous tomes filled with simple script, stories meant to be told before bedtime, one such book lies beneath Daniel's arm as he spins the written tale into spoken verse. His sister, Lilith, cowers behind a large pillow as he leers dramatically in her direction with a worn sock puppet attached to his other hand.
“ As the knight drew near, he heard a hiss around the corner. Inching closer and closer, he peered around the edge to find... ” he whispered, building tension for the big reveal as his sister clenched her pillow tighter, forcing more cotton from its split seam.
“ W-wh-what? ” Lilith questioned, peeking over the tattered sack.
“ A basilisk! ” he replied in his normal tone, thrusting the dirty puppet in her face while growling and hissing as his sister let out a brief shriek. “ He drew his sword and swung at the foul beast! One slice, two slices! Three slices and it's dead! ” Daniel continued, swinging his puppeted arm in the air as though aiming for an invisible home run. “ What do you think he did then? ”
“ I- ” his sister began before she was interrupted.
“ I think that he went to sleep, like all growing boys and girls should ” their mother answered, stepping into the room through the open doorway. “ You two should have been asleep ages ago! ”
“ But mom! ” Daniel began, nudging his sister to join in without success.
“ No buts. Unless its yours, getting in that bed. Now hop to it! ” she commanded as he reluctantly obliged with his sister following obediently behind. Their mother followed behind them, cleaning up the mess of texts across the table as they clambered into bed. Leaning over the flickering candle, she hovered for a moment in thought.
“ Good night, sweet children. Do n't let the gruvfindow bite! ” she said with a smile before extinguishing the flame with a single breath. The children lay in the dark, wondering what a gruvfindow was and how to avoid being bitten by one, as the basilisk quickly became the least of their imagined worries.
-109
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : 8 Million Edition
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This is an excerpt from a novel I just started. I'm doing nanowrimo but started early ( I'm trying to get up to 80,000 words instead of 50,000 by the end of November ). A bit of background: Sid ( the main character ) lives in a society that's in the middle of a war between rebels and the state. He was raised completely unaware of its existence despite the fact that his mother, Mama or Oda, is a staunch supporter of the state. She is kidnapped by rebels, and he's on a mission to rescue her. This is the beginning of the third chapter, while the kidnapping occurred at the end of the second chapter. Some mildly NSFW language and themes but nothing too graphic so I guess I will post it here.
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The midafternoon sun scorched Sid ’ s neck as he jogged along the street. The heat was damn near unbearable, and without water he felt as if any second he might faint. He wouldn ’ t. His feet pounded painfully against the black concrete, his loose shoes long since abandoned in an effort to move. Water cold wait, shade could wait, rest could wait. Mama could not wait. He needed to move quickly.
Not a single car had passed all day. Not a single soul peeked out from behind their curtains or passed him hastily on the sidewalk. The further he ran, the houses turned more and more to skeletons, windows smashed and what little walls remained covered in mold and no doubt rotted near to the core. The grass grew near to his waist, shredding his forearms and ankles if he drew too close to the side. Some semblance of human life remained: a rusted bicycle, a bedsheet tied around a tree, a rubber tire. It was clear no man had occupied this graveyard in years.
And the smell. He first noticed it when he finally stopped to rest, dropping heavily onto the curb. It overtook him almost immediately, burning his nostrils. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline. It was as if Sid could feel it entering every pore of his body each time he drew a breath, and he quickly covered his mouth and nose with his shirt. There would be no gas here, of course—he knew enough of the war to know that all fuel from abandoned areas would have been collected and used long ago. Nonetheless, the entire place reeked of it. And something else familiar.
Once, when Sid was young, he saw a mouse scamper across the floor in the kitchen. That night, while his mother slept, he placed a bread crust inside a jar and crossed himself on the floor, waiting patiently. Eventually he saw the mouse peek out from a gap in the cupboard. He let out a little gasp, and the mouse retreated backward. When the once again poked out, he bit his lips to keep silent. His yes traced the mouse as it scurried across the uneven boards, grinning with delight as it crawled inside the mouth of the jar and began to chew on the crust. In an instant, Sid pounced onto the jar, upturning it and sending the mouse tumbling down the glass and into the floor below. It darted around the circle, scratching on the sides and sniffing with yellow teeth glowing under the candlelight. Ever so carefully, Sid slid the lid of the jar underneath it and twisted it shut. He lifted the jar up to eye level to examine his new pet. It stared back at him beadily.
That night he stowed the jar in the back corner of a cabinet Mama never used. The next morning he rose long before mama and sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, the jar set in front of him. The mouse seemed a bit listless, wandering around clumsily and never stopping to nibble on what remained of the bread crust. Sid opened the lid of the jar just a crack, allowing fresh air to fill it. Soon the mouse appeared more content, devouring the rest of the bread and staring hungrily up at him for more. He had none to offer, but whispered a promise to the mouse that he would make air holes in the lid so it could breathe. He tracked down a knife and clumsily stabbed holes in the metal. His mother appeared soon afterwards, and he once again shoved the mouse into the far corner of the cabinet.
Three weeks later Mama began complaining of a disgusting smell, but assumed it was from the toilet they shared. The water would often stagnate in the pipes for several days before it could be carried away, so it was not uncommon for the house to stink on occasion. Sid, however, realized in a panic the exact source. The odor permeated the room that night as he tiptoed, jar in hand, to the backyard. When he unscrewed the lid, he immediately began to heave into the tall grass. He threw the mouse, not thinking of wasting the jar, not thinking of the noise it made as it shattered against gravel. Thinking only of the stench that seared his nostrils and churned his insides.
It was the same here. Sid could feel the immediate turning of his stomach as the revolting smell mixed with the sweetness of gasoline. He did not dare to think of what might have caused it. And though every muscle in his body screamed in agony and his throat stung from lack of water, he forced himself to run.
The air had grown cooler and the sky had darkened by the time the first car passed. The headlights nearly blinded him, and as he ran in the opposite direction the driver swerved to miss him, hollering something unintelligible from the window. There was no time to stop. Sid ’ s feet continued to pound the asphalt. He was hardly running now, his muscles too fatigued to lift themselves far enough off the ground to go any faster than a quick stumble. More and more headlights whirred past him, headed god-knows-where, spitting that dreaded exhaust he ’ d run so far to escape. Death no longer hung in the air, though, and that was all he cared about. The sickly sweet odor would come to pass, but the scent of decay lingered with one for ages.
The broken shells of houses had vanished, leaving behind open lots and a smattering of homes that looked to be firmly standing. The facades were still decorated with smashed windows, but the homes at least appeared inhabited. Any holes in the walls had been patched up with boards or blankets, and rust and mold had been chipped away. The grass still grew high, but was not plastered with debris and garbage as the past homes had been. Clearly people lived here, though no curious eyes peeked out at the boy sprinting by. In some houses, light streamed through the cracks in a window.
And soon there were no homes at all, the wooden structures replaced by squat brick buildings. As he ran by, he peered through the holes in the front. Entirely empty, each and every one. Some were dotted with graffiti, but it was so faded he could scarcely read it. They were clearly as abandoned as the old homes he had passed by on his journey from home.
And perhaps safe. Sid did not know who or where the gray car had gone, only that it was in the city. The thought of them taking his mother petrified him. The thought of them taking him as well terrified him even more. Few cars turned down the side streets, and with the ever-darkening sky he doubted any person would see him if he slipped inside a building. He would collapse in the open if he continued any farther, every fiber of his body aching with exhaustion. Even as he walked briskly, he could feel his eyes forcing themselves closed. He needed to rest.
The building was several blocks from the edge of the city, buried deep in the middle of the street and identical too all those around it. The window, much like the others, lay shattered on the concrete floor. Sid carefully stepped over it, squinting in the dark to find a suitable place to lie down. He chose a back corner, obscured from view by a brick half-wall. Rat droppings littered the floor and the entire place stank of mildew, but the moment he fell to the floor he was in a deep sleep.
When he woke, the sun had not yet risen. He squeezed his eyes shut groggily against the thick blanket of pitch-black, attempting to push himself back to sleep. But then he heard something. It was a breath at first, perhaps nothing more than the wind outside. Then a shuffle. A creak. A clear footstep. And voices.
“ Nothing here. ”
“ Did you check all around? ”
“ Of course I did you idiot. ”
“ It ’ s too dark. ”
“ Well why don ’ t you turn the lights on? ”
“ We don ’ t have a light. ”
“ Exactly. Nothing here. Let ’ s move. ”
“ Wait a sec. ”
Sid lay deathly still. The sound of boots scraping against the floor drew nearer, then farther, then nearer once again. Tracing a circle around the room. Then closer. Closer. So close he could hear them breathing. A bit farther away. Closer again. Too close. Something brushed his leg.
“ Oh, shit! ”
He tried to crawl away, but the figure pounced, pressing him hard to the ground. Bony hands gripped his wrists and a knee jabbed into his ribcage. He yelled out, but the knee only dug further in. He gritted his teeth against the pain and made no more noise. The second person said something unintelligible from the other side of the room and the person holding him down chuckled.
“ What are you doing here? ” the figure growled. His voice, low and rasping, grated at Sid ’ s ears. It reeked of smoke. Sid said nothing, and he shook Sid ’ s arms roughly. “ What the fuck are you doing here? ”
Sid felt hot tears creep into his eyes. “ They took my mother. I ’ m looking for her. I ’ ve been running all day, please. ”
“ They took my mom too, ” said the man. “ Blew her head clean off with a rifle. ”
“ I ’ m sorry. ”
“ We can help you find her, ” said the other man. “ You do something for me, I do something for you. ”
“ Yes! Anything! ” Sid cried.
The man let out a throaty laugh. “ Let him go, Mik. ” Sid felt the body lift from his stomach. “ Sit up and don ’ t move. ”
Sid obliged. He could hear one set of footsteps grow closer to the window and then stop. A second set, heavier and more deliberate, pounded toward him. The man did not touch him, but drew close enough that Sid could feel his hot breath on his face. He leaned backward.
“ How old are you, kid? ”
“ Sixteen. ”
“ Perfect. ”
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[ WP ] You amounted to nothing much and eventually die and go to the afterlife . Instead of finding other people , you find all the versions of yourself you could have potentially become .
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It's a shame, is n't it? There's thousands, millions.. Of just me, gathered here. We drink, talk, discuss our spouses, many of us even married the same girl. However, as for the rest of us, some of us did not marry. Some of us worked lifelong jobs and occupations, and one version of me even did some work down in Africa! But as for me, I feel a slight feeling of.. Shame? All I did was work as a janitor in my old High School, never married.. I did once had dreams.
As I looked around the room tonight, I feel the dreams well up in my heart. I approach the podium of the ballroom, surrounded with just copies of me. A smile flashes onto my face and tears well up in my eyes. `` Hello, James.. And more James! Welcome, this is it. We're.. It, James, we're the same but different. I see all of you have become different, in some way, somehow.'' Among the scientists and the politicians and the workers who dedicated their lives to each other. `` We all have a story to tell. Some of you might've even changed your name. Now, lem me tell the saddest story of all of us.'' This line piqued their interest.
He began to speak, recounting his tale of how he wasted his life away.. And how he saw everyone standing there, and realized. `` Now, the saddest story of all is the one who did not do anything. But if I had another chance, I'd try to go back and do everything I could.'' Some of them disagreed, shaking their heads.'' Besides, all of us are n't even the same James. We might share the same name, but some of us..'' It was true. Some of them had laugh lines crossing their face, some of them had stress lines, and so on. Finally, the failing James spoke, with tears dripping from his eyes. `` Gaze upon what the worst of us, and see that it was n't too bad. It all worked out in the end. I was happy, my family and friends surrounded me.. I might've not had the most glamorous of jobs, but now that I see my potential, it was worth a lifetime of disappointment. I'd like to thank you all for coming here, and showing me how it could be. Finally, I'd like each and every one of us to step up and recount what they've done with their life.''
He did so with a smile, and waved. His napkin etched speech held well. He did n't feel like a failure as they cheered. He felt.. Almost happy. Quite happy. Who knew what laid after this long night? The first James to approach the podium, with eyes that held a certain gaze about them, began to speak.
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[ WP ] A secretly immortal man is given a life sentence for a crime he did n't commit and now fears the discovery of his true nature is only a matter of time .
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I stand before the judge, a truly ancient crone, as she drops the gavel.
I turn to look at my attorney, and he is flabbergasted. He looks back worriedly, then drops his eyes like they all have for the last 500 years.
The bailiff approaches to remand me. I raise my wrists and he shackles them in some flimsy steel the probably does just fine for the average man. The clasps clink shut and bang against my cufflinks.
I am led away, and I think. I was quite surely in a different nation twenty years ago when my alleged victim was brutally raped and killed. A frame job like this would have to be extraordinary, well resourced and planned by a genius sociopath. Only a government or powerful body corporate could get me convicted even if I had murdered an infant in a stroller in broad daylight and pranced about covered in the blood. Something like this was neigh-on unthinkable.
I am in-processed. It is more human than my prior incarcerations. I am handed new clothes and made to wear them after bathing. Or rather, being hosed off like an animal. I'm encouraged, it means less chance of encountering lice once inside.
My clothing is locked away for my later recovery, a watch from Sweden, shoes from Italy, a suit from France and a medallion that Kublai Khan received as a gift that had originally been made in Damascus before Christ was born. I would have to come back for that one.
These distractions past, I am led into the general population, and perform the usual rituals. I think for the next few days. I am sure that no system of record keeping could have exposed me yet, though the days are getting closer that could have my secrecy drowned in an ocean of bureaucracy. As I win my first fistfight against a man with a wobbly Swastika on his jaw, I begin to wonder who else could have possibly put together the resources to make this happen. I decline to kill him, but my trained fingers ensure he will not walk again without surgery or an acupuncturist.
In solitary, I am attacked again. The door opens and men in body armor rush into the cell. I do not resist as they taze and pummel me with rubber batons, then drag me out in a bloody mess. I comfort myself with images of my fingernails opening veins in their necks.
I am bound to a steel chair. A man in a suit asks me questions. I frighten him, he is young and weak. I tell him secrets about his father and he believes them because they are true, and he remembers and he weeps right there on the tabletop. He leaves. Time passes. The door opens and they send in another, a woman. She offers me coffee, brandy, my choice of slow poisons. I do not speak to her. I imagine her naked, bound, gasping beneath me and I show her my thoughts through my eyes.
She becomes aroused, then frightened, and then she leaves. I have forgotten her name before the door closes.
I am alone for a while. A day. I become hungry and they do not feed me.
I become bored. I deform my wrists the way I was shown to do in Bulgaria when my profession was to lie from a stage and smile behind makeup, before I had laid with my first woman. I stand from my seat and command the muscles and ligaments to rejuvenate themselves. There is no response as I leave me seat, the room remains a brightly lit, buzzing emptiness containing only me.
The door is locked. I knock on it. It opens. There is a small black man in the hallway. It is not the same hallway that I came through when I was brought into the room. No, it has changed. There is carpet now, and the sterile, brutal cinderblock is now wood paneling. I return my attention to the man. He wears a linen suit and a golden hoop earring. His eyes are that of a butcher or a tailor, always weighing and measuring.
The man gestures with his hand and begins to walk down the hallway. I follow.
He stops in front of a door like many others we have passed. He lifts a hand, inviting me to open the door. I do so. Within is a scene from every libertarian's evil fantasies, a room of hard-eyed men and woman wearing a years' wages in cloth and another three years in metals and stones. There are two speaking on mobile phones, and they quickly end their calls as I walk in, wearing torn prison clothing and my own body fluids now a day dry.
The small man enters the room behind me.
`` Welcome, brother. My name is Hannibal, and you have heard of my endeavors. We have made great effort to bring you into the fold. I believe you will enjoy it here.''
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[ CW ] Write a story where the last line is `` A leaf fell . ''
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She injected herself and then laid back on the bed, letting the high take over her body. Outside the windows the tree ’ s leaves were starting to change colors. A strong wind blew, rattling the leaves, but not causing any to fall. Fall, it would seem, was upon the world.
A few minutes later a panicked voice rung throughout the house, penetrating the bedroom door. Soon a loud thud could be heard as the locked bedroom door was kicked down, a man running to the side of the woman lying down on the bed.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and rattled her, begging her to wake up. Tears were streaming down his face as he tried to feel for a pulse. He let go of her, almost in disgust, as he saw the used needles lying on the night stand. He slowly stumbled his way back into a corner and crouched, holding his head in his hands.
The man eventually got on the phone and called someone to take care of the body. He had come over to his sister ’ s house to take her to rehab. But apparently he was too late. He looked out the window one last time as her body was trucked out of the house in a body bag.
“ I ’ ll sober up, ” she had said. “ With your help, I can beat this. Thank you. Thank you. I promise I ’ ll sober up. By the time fall comes around, I ’ ll be in a better place. Yes, yes, I ’ ll go to the rehab facility. Come pick me up tomorrow. ”
Her smile flashed one last time before his eyes before he turned around and left. Behind him, outside the very window his sister had spent her last few moments looking out of, a strong breeze blew the tree.
A leaf fell.
-285
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[ WP ] you come to gain super strength and invulnerability , and have been using your powers to better humanity . But one day you come to realize that every time you 've been shot , stabbed or harmed , it 's some random person that instead receives the damage . Do you continue being humanity 's champion ?
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It's been ten years and I find this out now? I believe I'm helping people but is it worth it? The next person my injuries bounce to could be someone I love, could be a doctor that cures cancer. I do n't want to hurt someone trying to save someone else, thats why I'm making a public announcement at the United Nations tomorrow telling the world of my discovery and asking them if they still want me as there champion.
`` Hello everyone I know some of you are wondering why I called this conference but I need to ask a very simple question but it has grave consequences. Do you still want me as your champion?''
`` Yes.''
Of course they said yes what am I thinking I need to tell everyone NOW!
`` Thank you very much everyone I'm honoured. I've saved so many lives and helped a lot of people. I still do n't know how or why I got these powers and I tried to do the best I could to make up for that fact. But I've made a discovery that will shock you and may change some of your minds. Everyone has seen me in battle and knows that I ca n't get hurt no matter what has been thrown at me. What I have found out is that every single time I get shot, stabbed, punched and kicked the pain and wounds get transferred to someone else in the world. Every time I saved someone by standing in front of a bullet another person died. Every single time. So I ask again... do you still want me as your champion?''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Hey first time writing on here tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes or broke any rules👍
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[ WP ] Tons of rich oil is discovered on Mars . Go !
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Deforming Mars
The door to the caravan slams on its hinges in the wind. Outside, Armond sees a trail of red dust blow across the road with a gust of wind. Standing next to him, Kevin finishes the last of a candy bar before throwing it in the trash. Next to his grey overalls that he wears, a 2X4 with a sign stuck to the end of it leans against his desk.
`` I told you last night, I've got ta go to work today. I do n't have time to mess around with your protests or schemes.''
`` For god sake's, Armond, I ca n't believe you're letting this happen. Do you really want this planet to be exploited by the government - are you going to let what happened to Earth happen here?''
Armond takes his jacket off of his wardrobe and puts it on, manoeuvring through the narrow hallway. `` Of course I do n't, but I do n't want to get arrested either. You know what happens to people like you - they get arrested and put on a list. I do n't need that kind of shit - I just moved here for a fresh start.''
`` Yeah, well you may think that life is perfect, but once they open that mine, and they get their huge fucking machinery in to start tearing up the place, you're going to wish you'd joined us.''
Pulling the door towards him and latching it on its hinges, Armond turns to Kevin. `` I do n't like it either, but I'll lose my job if I start protesting.''
`` And what job is that? Digging holes in rocks? For god's sake, you're just making room for more of those things - a cog in the machine!''
`` Do not come into my home and insult my line of work, Kevin. I work all day to try and make a living for myself, and I do n't need you coming in and spitting on my carpet.''
`` Alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Look, I'll stop busting you about it, alright. But come down to the mine, this afternoon, ok? People'like us' are going to be power players soon enough.''
`` You keep telling yourself that. I've got to get to work, so why do n't you get out of my house?''
Armond opens the door again as another strong gust of wind hits the hinges. The two of them leave the caravan and go their separate ways.
The two of them walk out onto the red sand, in front of them a paved dirt road carries a civilian rover, modified with a red paint and a glass dome where the driver is visible. In the back, a flatbed with insignificant railings on either side. The vehicle itself makes little noise as it goes past, but that familiar sound is brought back as a helicopter flies over them and the sounds of caravans being constructed next to them fills up the atmosphere that was dead silent just a few years ago.
It's the best plot of land in Margaritifer Terra, or that's what the salesman said. At the time, its best selling point was that all of the houses were being constructed in a crater. The problem is that's the only selling point about the area. It's different from Earth, but has fewer qualities. It's desolate, lonely at night and has nothing interesting about it. It's a planet that humans have moved into, but the similarities end there.
The bus stop is just down the road. Kevin walks the opposite direction and catches a ride on the sed modified rover. Him and a few of his friends, all holding picket signs jump on board with smiling faces and ride off in the distance. Armond does n't look as they turn the corner of a small cliff.
At the bus station, a TV had been stationed onto the post, on it a blonde newswoman reads blankly at low volume into the camera while the screen flickers on and off. In-between staring at the construction work at the craters and cliffs in the distance, a picture of the local mine shows up on screen, with a small group of people standing at a distance from a massive drilling machine which cuts into the rock like butter.
`` This development is part of a trend that local colonists are calling'Deforming Mars'. The movement aims to stop the drilling campaign that the United States government are imposing on Margaritifer Terra, specifically in the Sepik Vallis region. Later, we'll be joined by the president of Margaritifer Terra to talk about this issue.''
The bus arrives, spreading red dust onto the path and opening its doors with the same motion as the ones on Earth. Everybody boards, stepping onto the clean, aluminium floors and breathing in the air of the interior that smells like the vehicle was made yesterday.
`` We want Mars to prosper,'' a voice says on a radio that channels around the bus as Armond sits down. `` By creating these mines, we're allowing more people to come to this new planet, find jobs and settle down. This productivity is in the best interest of every colonist and every human on Earth.''
`` Speaking of Earth, Mr, President, what do you say to the current population crisis and pollution that the planet is facing? Would you say that the same fate lies in Mars' future?''
`` That question has nothing to do with the discussion at hand, Diane. And I am not at liberty to answer it. But I can say that the American refugees living on Mars right now, the ones that have come for a fresh start, can rest easy in the fact that their new home will not be tampered with in any way.''
Oil rigs are present in the distance, several of them, silent from inside the window, but the clanking can be heard from miles away if you look correctly.
`` I hear it's way worse in Arabia Terra,'' a woman says to another in the seat in front, each one coated with leather. `` Over there, in the flatlands, they've got thousands of them.
`` I thought that place was European? I thought they were'anti-drilling' over there. ”
The conversation is drowned out by the drone of the bus. Ahead of them, a series of cliffs with dozens of workers picking away at the rock in front of them and funnelling it onto the road via a conveyer belt. A sign next to the rocks, reading `` Diamond City, coming soon!'' is displayed with a stereotypical family looking at a distant city with gleaming white teeth.
With a thud, the bus slows down and pulls into the lane. Armond steps out and zips up his jacket, before going over to the stall for his pickaxe and helmet.
The light slowly fades behind him as he heads into the cave, where several artificial lights have been strung up along the wall, which illuminates the backs of around a dozen workers who smack their steel into martian rock, heaving their spines heave up and down in work fatigues, rock pieces being thrown onto a conveyor belt and transported up the river.
Armond steps in and smashes away at a thick chuck, cracking it in several places like a piece of glass. He sighs and lifts his axe up again, in sync with some of the other workers, and smashes it down again, pushing small pebbles down to his feet. He looks at the people to his left, then his right. All of them look the same way - bored, tired. Armed himself, having being working for over a year now ca n't help but feel the same way.
He looks down again, but frowns curiously, as he sees a black substance dribble down onto his shoes. He bends over and examines the bottom of the chunk to see the fluid falling from it. `` Holy shit,'' he says. `` Black gold.''
The man next to him, decades older with a grey goatee widens his eyes. `` Hey, look - this guy found oil!''
Armed lifts up his axe once again and takes a step back, slamming it down and releasing the oil onto the ground. `` God damn.''
The puddle surrounds him and circles his already damp shoes. `` Hey, we've got ta go back and tell the higher-ups about this. Come on!''
Armand joins them, running back up top, leaving his trail as he goes and dropping his tool onto the ground. `` Hey, everyone - we found black gold!'' He exclaims loudly, attracting the attention of everyone, including a group by the road holding picket signs.
`` Kevin? What the fuck are you doing here?'' The smile dissipates and turns to confused anger as Armand looks at his friend within the group. `` I thought you were at the other mine?''
`` We wanted a detour, but I think we got all we needed to see here. Black gold?''
`` Yeah, we found oil in the mine...''
`` This is exactly the kind of thing the government wants you to be happy about, so that they can pollute the planet and ruin it again!''
`` It's not like that, Kevin - now that there's oil here, everybody can get a raise''
`` It does n't work like that. You'll see - in a year this place will be just another site and the landscape will be ruined.''
`` Mars is pure - do n't ruin it! Mars is New Earth - Old Earth is dead!'' The protesters shout, quickly attracting the group of workers favourably.
`` What's going on here?'' A guard quickly comes over, several others with assault rifles.
`` Hey, your cog found black gold here! I guess this means you're gon na turn this place into another Quarry, huh?''
`` Cease your actions and lie on the ground with your hands behind your back, sir.''
`` Kevin, knock it off!'' Armand holds his hand against his chest, but Kevin pushes past it. Two gunshots follow, and he falls onto the ground - dead before his back hits the floor.
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[ WP ] A portal to Hell is discovered . Mankind invades .
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The following excerpts have been placed in chronological order in an effort to clarify the events leading up to and including the loss of the 9th Plane, also known as the `` Plane of Portals''.
From: Mohini, Succubi reconnaissance
To: Balaam, Regent of the 9th Plane
Attention, do NOT open portcullis to Terra. Existing Intel incorrect. Human weaponry capabilities underestimated. Hold until further notice.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
From: Legion 971r5, collective mind
To: Balaam, Regent of the 9th Plane
Tangible Time: August 9th, 2014, Terra
Status: 4 % of planetary population culled. Native resistance ineffective. Primary native weaponry resembles'repeating slingshot'.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
From: Legion 971r5, collective mind
To: Balaam, Regent of the 9th Plane
Tangible Time: August 10th, 2014, Terra
Status: 7 % of planetary population culled. No longer encountering armed resistance. 1.73 % of legion eradicated by light.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
From: Balaam, Regent of the 9th Plane
To: Legion 971r5, collective mind
Clarify source of legion losses.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
From: Legion 971r5, collective mind
To: Balaam, Regent of the 9th Plane
Tangible Time: August 10th, 2014, Terra
Status: Light has eradicated 97.7 % of expeditionary forces. Light source unknown.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
From: Balaam, Regent of 9th Plane
To: Eurynomos, Quartermaster of the Legion
Once again, I have been denied permission to close and seal the portcullis to the realm of Terra. As such, I am again formally requesting a full detachment of Hellspawn for an incursion into Terra. I understand that L. Was displeased with the loss of our millennial culling expedition. I also understand the magnitude of being the first Regent to lose an entire Legion. Again, that was not my fault. When I replaced Marduk as Regent I was never informed of the differences in his timekeeping methods. I am not responsible for the four-thousand year gap between culling.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
From: Mohini, Succubi reconnaissance
To: Balaam, Regent of the 9th Plane
Report: Human light weaponry powered by unknown God `` Plutonium''. No further information available.
Urgent: Requesting immediate extraction. Human shaman have discovered method for detecting/locating hellspawn.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
From: Balaam, incumbent Regent of the 9th plane
To: Central Bureaucracy
Human attempts at exploration incursions into the 9th plane continue despite near instant obliteration. Although our interrogation of a Terran warrior proved unfruitful, ( see attached interrogation report ) after his merciful release the mortals no longer send men into our realm. Incursions now consist entirely of clockwork contraptions.
Humans and their new god seemingly have not yet grasped the differences between planes. Their failed attempts to utilize'Light' inside of our domain is proof that their new god has no power outside of the mortal plane.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Synopsis from Interrogation report `` Human Star Worship''
Interrogation preformed by: Nihasa
Not since the days of iniquity have I seen a man so obsessed with the stars. Regardless of approach or technique the subject continued to babble about how the heart of a star would destroy the depths of hell. Other delusions include ability to travel between worlds without using the portal network as well as eternal youth.
As no useful information was obtained, the subject is to be flayed and returned through the portcullis to serve as a deterrent to future incursions.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Last testament of Balaam, The disgraced.
The air grew stale. I knew something was different. Over one-hundred times had the Terrans sent people or objects through the portal, and every time a hint of sweat would fill the air of the 9th plane just before its arrival. However, instead of a man or machine stepping through, as large metallic ring appeared. If I had n't been so amused, I would have... I could have destroyed it with a whim. But I did n't.
The ring expanded, enveloping and clamping onto the portcullis itself. Confused, we all watched as the portals usual red ichor drained away. Left in its wake was a view I nor any other devil had ever seen. An impossibly deep darkness broached only by pinpoints of light. Staring into this enthralling abyss, some even ventured closer. But I knew something was different. Something was wrong.
I made haste for the 8th plane portcullis. As I did so, the last of the familiar red churning of the portal interior faded. Time seemed to stop, but unlike the act of a god, this too seemed different. Time was not ordered to stop, it seemed... Confused... That confusion ended with another unfamiliarity, a sound that has come to haunt my remaining moments.
In an instant, everything near the portal was drawn through. Terrified denizens, with their mouth frozen in a soundless screams disappeared into the portcullis... But instead of being submerged into the vitae of nullspace and transported to Terra... They were crushed into dust by the darkness that had consumed the portal. The purpose of the metallic ring, and the ingenuity of the terrans was now clear. They had sealed the portal open.
I, along with handful of remaining devils, mustered all the power bequeathed to us to summon a barrier over the opening.
Those of us wise enough to flee immediately were able to make it to the 8th realm gate. Our makeshift hellgate survived contact with the darkness for less than a human heartbeat... I was the only devil to have made it through the gate when the darkness resumed its onslaught. I could see others, desperately fleeing toward the portal...
You have to understand, there was no way of telling how far the darkness would spread. I had to close and seal the 8th plane portcullis.
Regardless of my sentence, or the Central Bureaucracy attempt to place the entirety of blame upon me, I was the only one advocating for the closure and sealing of the Terran Portcullis. I was the one asking for forces to cull their civilization. I provided a prisoner for interrogation, and it was L. himself that decided the humans talk of spacecraft and dead stars was fantasy.
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[ WP ] Everytime you close your eyes , the world freezes .
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My mother walked into my bedroom. Her ever-present jovial attitude was gone, replaced by a concerned look of apprehension.
“ Sophie, sit down. We need to talk. ”
Great. The words we all want to hear. I sat down on the edge of my bed, and prepared myself for the worse.
“ It ’ s been three years since your dad left. And I know, that you want him to come back. I do too. But I think that it is time that both of us admit that he is gone. For good. ”
Immediately, I shot up. “ How can you give up on him! After only three years! MIA doesn ’ t mean that- ”
“ Sophie, quiet. I am not finished. ”
The knot in my stomach tightened. I looked down at the floor, strewn with legos.
“ It is time that we moved on. Your dad, he is not coming back. And for the last three years, I have been lonely. So unimaginably lonely. Which is why I ’ ve decided to date again. ”
I felt the world go out from under me. Feeling tears beginning to well up, I shut my eyes. “ How could you do this...? ” I murmured. “ Dad wouldn ’ t have done this. He would have waited! ”
Before I knew what I was doing, I was shouting. “ WHY COULDN ’ T IT HAVE BEEN YOU INSTEAD!? ”
After a few moments, I noticed that my fists were clenched. And I noticed the silence. My mom must have left when I was shouting.
In that moment, I was alone.
I began to cry. “ I ’ m... I ’ m sorry. I didn ’ t mean any of that. I just... I miss him. ”
I opened my eyes. And there she was, right in front of me. “ I know this is hard for you, but it ’ s something that I need to do. ”
I couldn ’ t believe it. She hadn ’ t heard any of it. My strength gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. As I felt her arms around me, I gave up. I couldn ’ t fight her. Not her. I grabbed her hand. “ Just promise me that I won ’ t lose you, too. Not to someone else. Mom, you ’ re all I have. ”
Since that moment, I have learned more about my powers. I can ’ t do much with them. It ’ s not like freezing time, or super speed, where you continue to move as the world around you pauses. When I shut my eyes, I freeze as well. I think my mind gets transported to another dimension or something. Who knows.
But sometimes the power is useful. When I need to take a step back. To escape. To think.
That ’ s where I find myself now. Wanting to escape. My eyes, shut, are blocking out tears. Her hand, my mom ’ s hand, is in mine. Unlike that day in my childhood, her hand is cold.
I open my eyes, only to hear the beeping of the heart rate monitor continue for a brief moment, then fade into silence for a final time.
“ Please mom… ”
“ Don ’ t go. ”
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[ WP ] Your favorite Hero ( Fictional , Non , Super , etc . ) walk into the bar you 're having a drink in , tomorrow is going to be the toughest day of your life and you ask their advice .
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As I sat there on the old dirty stool I could n't possibly look him in the eyes. My hero was sitting their beside me waiting for me to speak. How much pain I've caused my wife she's probably at home crying her eyes out. My kids they will never understand they are much to young. I never imagined I would do this i mean I knew i would n't do this if I did n't have to. I'm a good guy right i thought to myself this does n't make me a monster does it? I could feel the cold metal in my waist band. I finally spoke after the long silence only to order another whiskey.
When the drink was place in front of me he finally spoke
`` You ca n't do this think of all the people this will effect''
`` It does n't matter I have to do this, theirs no other way'' I respond trying to convince myself more than anyone.
`` Why did you call me here then?'' he asked
`` I wanted advice i wanted you to show me how to not be scared. Ive never once seen you back down from a fight or show any sign of weakness. I just wanted to know how?''
`` what makes you think I've never been scared? I've been scared plenty of times and i have more weaknesses than I can count.''
`` what do I do?''
`` You fight! you take that fear and you use it to fight harder and when you stumble and fall ill be here to pick you up! Im scared as hell right now but that does n't change what needs to be done!''
with that he hugged me like he did when I was a child, when I won my first baseball game, when he handed me the keys to my first car.. he hugged me and i could hear him sobbing as his tears hit my shoulder.
`` I'll fight I promise I wont let the cancer win I love you Dad''
*sorry first post here and I'm not a writer
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[ RF ] `` I wear grownup clothes , go to grownup college , have a grownup job and pay grownup taxes , but I was n't prepared to have grownup feelings for someone . ''
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Death and taxes, those were the only two things I was told I could be sure of. That seemed just fine to me, frankly. Much to my hyper-conservative parents dismay, I'd describe myself as a progressive socialist. As long as they're taking my money and doing good with it, I could n't care less.
Here's the honest truth: beyond cash, most people do n't care what something costs. Someone could suffer infinitely somewhere very far away, but we do n't give a shit. As long as we have our designer shoes and brand new phone. The only constant about he human race is it's selfish. Uptight. Asshole-ish and has the memory of a goldfish with a head injury.
Slavery is bad. How could our ancestors subject black people to such terrible things!
Oh, I do n't know, probably because it made their life fucking great? Probably the same way you're OK with buying eggs for $ 0.43 a dozen? Who gives a shit how they do it, its so damn cheap and easy!
Its no surprise, I'm a little cynical. I know that. I'm not the kind of person you bring to parties, or introduce to your new girlfriend or boyfriend.
In fact, I'm completely OK with that. I *liked* the fact that people left me alone. I hate them, it's only fitting that they hate me back. I'm here to learn, not make friends or find a girlfriend.
Or so that's what I thought.
Then this girl came into my life. The first thing she said to me was, `` The noble thing to do would be to walk hand-in-hand to oblivion. To cease to procreate and let the pestilence of the human race die with its memories.''
The remarkable thing was I did n't even speak to her. She simply walked up to where I was sitting, sat with me and spoke as if we had spent the last two hours talking about the philosophical hypocrisies of the human race.
I think that's when I fell for her. Again, I never suspected to find someone, so writing these words feels wrong. Saying `` I fell for someone'' is liking to Donald Trump saying, `` Those Mexicans are pretty cool people.''
I want to be disappointed, the iron part of my heart does n't want to swoon when she turns the corner and comes into view. But I ca n't. I know it's simply hormones that have hijacked my ability to think clearly, but it ca n't be helped. I think I'm in love.
I wear grownup clothes, go to a grownup college, have a grownup job and pay grownup taxes, but I was n't prepared to have grownup feelings for someone.
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[ WP ] Medieval Fantasy Setting . The farther you go away from the towns and citys the bigger the monsters become . No one knows if there is an End to the world .
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I rode abroad upon my steed,
fair locks upon the wind,
my youthful song and bold decrees
poured fourth from blitheful grin
`` The world is mine! I shall prevail!
No beast can conquer me!
My fortune lies beyond this vale!''
I cried with fervency.
I fought great beasts of fearsome strength,
wild beast and fiend alike,
the many crowds would give their thanks
and marvel at my might.
I met with many wounds and blows
yet I would always mend.
Upon my flesh the scars arose
from battles end on end.
But as the years and miles passed by
there came some strange new fiends
that neither sword nor shield could pacify
and struck at hopes ungleaned
I found my bones no longer strong,
my heart began to ache,
soul burdened with a journey long
and joys I ne'er partake.
More and more, my foes grew foul,
my battles grimmer still;
great praises turned to empty howls
like winter's icy chill.
Yet still I rode, and still I fought,
each time my cuts would heal;
the wond'rous fortune I once sought
was losing its appeal.
But I knew naught but war and strife,
bloodshed within my heart;
and so I prolonged my loathsome life;
my heart grew ever dark.
And as I wondered, lost, alone,
if it could ever end,
my flesh fell to my final foe,
my limbs to tear and rend.
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[ FF ] Create a SHORT HORROR story with just ONE CHARACTER
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Where she was standing, on a small elevation of ice blocks and packed snow, she had an undisturbed view in every direction. A milk tainted sky above formed a lid on the egg white desert spread out before her. There was no wind to gush the flakes silently sucking at her feet, and there was no object on which she could lie her eyes to rest; a padded room with neither walls nor ceiling.
Her seal skin shoes could tread for miles, but fail her in the end. Her reindeer coat and polar fox hat would provide a womb like shelter, but in the end spit her out. The small sleigh she pulled by rope would trip, and the rope tear.
Time did not move in the way that moments could be added to moments, as mother of pearls are knotted together on a silk string, eventually placed on smooth collar bones to form a testament of time passed. Instead time was bulking and shrinking together with ice cold breaths drawn of it; each new gulp a novelty and every exhale ancient.
She mad a sprint, scouting for cracks in the canvas. Then another short distance, and with wide eyes she searched for the tint of familiarity she knew would not be found. Thrashing herself across the mumbling snow and cracking ice her shrieks disappeared in the void. She did not get closer to anything, only further removed. She understood she was fighting to get nowhere, and without promise to return.
Return is not granted once you have stepped into the land of the lost.
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[ WP ] Look to the skies . We are saved . The humans are coming .
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The elders have always said that the stars are the source of all good and evil, and that as they watch us from afar they intervene in our gates according to their incomprehensible whims. They are eternal and aloof, never deigning to touch the ground we stand upon.
Never, until two months ago. Our people were engaged in a great war with those across the waters, who came in their warships to take all that we owned. We held our ground, but it was plain that the invaders were winning.
And then, our prayers were answered. The stars sent one of their own to our aid- a great ball of fire came from the skies and smashed through one of the warships. The invaders retreated, but the stars were not finished intervening.
From the waters emerged a number of great metal golems who towered over us and spoke not a word amongst themselves. Their heads were faceless plates of a reflective yellow material, a clear indication of their heritage as star-children. They seemed to ignore us at first, and focused on hauling a metal boulder- their egg- from the waters. They spent the next few days inside their egg, then emerged only to begin digging into the ground with tools that roared and gnashed ferociously at the rocks. They let us be, and in turn we tried to stay away from them.
Two days ago, another star egg crashed to the ground a half-day's walk inland. These golems were colored differently than the beach golems, but their faces were the same. Instead of ignoring us, they attacked us with lightning and fire. We appealed to the beach golems for aid, and one finally spoke. It called itself Ander Sohn, and explained that the golems called themselves Humans. When we told Ander Sohn of the inland Humans, the beach Humans all became agitated. They abandoned their digging to fetch other strange tools from their egg, and followed us back to our village.
When we arrived, the inland Humans had already arrived, and everything was aflame. The two groups of Humans fought, both sides throwing bolts of lightning and fire at the other. When both groups retreated, our village lay in ruins.
That was two days ago. Since then, many star-eggs have fallen on both sides. The elders urge us to flee this place, land our ancestors entrusted to us- yet who can stand and live, when the very stars make war? We tried to pack all that we could carry, but we were not fast enough. The watchmen yell from their posts: Our doom approaches. Our salvation approaches. The Humans are coming.
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[ WP ] Write a story from the perspective of a dog , who has lost his master
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I stand there on the mossy corner watching the many people go by. They walk by not even batting an eye to me.
Master said that he would be back. Master said that he would come get me.
So I wait.
And I wait..
And wait...
Wait....
Wait.......
Wait.........
It's been five months now and my master has yet to return. But I'm a good boy, that's what he always said. I'm going to wait until he returns.
Wait...
Wait.....
Wait.....
Wait.......
.........................
.......................
..................................................
It has been two years now. I've been living off the scrap people have thrown away. I still wait for my master, I know that he will come for me soon.
I'm getting tired... tired.... I see a light....
Master?!? Is that you In the light? I'm coming for you.....
I walk towards the light....
Now I am with my master again..........
.........
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[ WP ] Picking a profession gives you immunity to bad things that your profession deals with ( ex Doctors will never get sick , Businessmen will never go poor ) . Your profession lasts your entire life , but you decided to be a Funeral Director .
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As I walked into the office today I notice that there was an unusual amount of work to be done, but alas I have been at this for 500 years. I've seen a many come and go followed by their loved ones after a few years. I sat down to go through today's work load and noticed that there had been a rather bad traffic accident uptown and most of what needed to be done was sewing them back together. I got up to wander the morgue, hell I've been the only director in this town for over 400 years, the last one decided that the smart thing to do was move to a small town devoted to them.
After a few hours of work I toddled off to find some lunch and yes we still need to eat otherwise it really hurts after a few days. No one ever tells you you may not be able to die but damn do you feel pain, I laughed at the thought. Wandering back to my desk I spot a strange couple waiting in the hall, I usher them into my office and ask what's this all about.
The woman is almost in tears trying to fight a complete break down, the man is just Stone cold no emotion what so ever. He starts off by asking if the job I do is fulfilling and profitable, I answer the last part only that it pays the bills. He continues on berating me with questions about the job and the life I lead, almost as if he is interviewing. I was slightly confused until the woman piped up and told the man that this would do, she got on her phone and a few minutes later a woman and a teenager walk into the office.
The second woman leaves and the teen sits down, he is meager and weak, I can tell from the looks of him that he is dying and not a pleasant one at that. The teen looks at me and say that he wants to be a funeral director to and would like the job now if he could. I answer back as an ok you start tomorrow thinking I can at least save this one.
But what they never ask about is the pain never leaves.
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[ EU ] Pick a medieval fantasy universe . ( Tolkien , George R. R. Martin , Robert Jordan , whomever ) Write a scene that takes place in that same universe , only hundreds of years in the future where a form of `` industrial revolution '' has taken place , and more modern technology is in existence .
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`` I am terrible sorry lass, but I simply can not remember, it was all so long ago and I'm old and weary.''
`` It is quite alright sir, your assistance have been invaluable'', responded Ms Ferris.
`` I only hope I'm not boring you?''
`` Nonsense dear, it's been years since I've had someone to talk with, and I have n't had some read to me since Crimea.''
`` What did you read then?''
`` Well, the very same book you are reading now in fact, it's been with me as far as I can remember.''
Ferris gently put down the old tome, seeing it's withering pages and faded writing in a new light, one of reverence and old pride. It was barely readable, but the title `` Principia Mathematica'' was still visible. The book had its own place of honour in one of the corners of the pavilion, far away from the mountains of gold that littered the sides and middle of the building. How he, a being of such size did n't crush anything was still a mystery to her, but then again he did n't move much anymore. The pavilion was filled to the brim with trinkets, odds and ends. Huge vases and tapestries from China lined the walls, rugs from Persia and the Far East covered the ground whilst souvenirs and strange things from across the globe piled up against the walls. That he had n't crushed anything yet was astonishing enough, but even more so was that the building itself had n't collapsed from old age or the weight of all things.
`` Tell me dear, do they still fly between London and Gibraltar?''
She did n't need any explanation for who `` they'' were.
`` I'm sorry sir, they closed all long distance routes after the Great War, they became to expensive.''
`` Oh, how sad to hear, many of my friends used to come visit when they stopped at the depot in Dover.''
`` I'm sure they will still come to visit, the depot is still in use.'' Hesitantly she added `` Travelling is just limited now because of the rationing.''
`` Are they still rationing? It's been seven years now since the war ended, you'd think the herd had regrown.''
She had no adequate answer to this, the rationing were lingering for far longer than anyone had expected.
`` They have to ration sir, the war in India is still ongoing.''
`` I see.''
He was growing tired now, his eyelids just barely springs from which the grey hue of cataract could be seen. His breathing was stable but it came in light puffs, and the whipping of the tail had slowed to a complete halt.
`` Do they still have transport ships at least?''
`` Yes, of course, but only for military personnel.''
`` Good, good, then il be able to go visit the bunyips and the Royal Palace once more.''
Ferris just barely managed to conceal a squirm. That he, who could barely lift his wings anymore would try to travel across the whole world was staggering.
`` Well, that's for another day, I think it's time for supper.''
She doubted he would eat anything, he barely did anymore, nevertheless she called in the chefs who brought in a soup made from leeks and veal.
`` Dear, would you mind giving me that old drawing from the far corner, I ca n't quite grab it anymore.''
She was rather taken aback by this request, she had seen the old drawing as soon as she entered the pavilion almost a year ago, but he had never even mentioned it. Walking over there, just barely avoiding tripping over Spanish doubloons and African spears, she reached the old portrait. The frame was beyond grandiose, it would have embarrassed a King, and would have been more fitting of a 17th century pirate. It was tremendously heavy, but with determination and time she brought the thing over to the waiting beast. The drawing was of a young man, clad in naval gear that hadent been in fashion for the last 150 years, a Chinese blade dangling by his side. The old beast lifted one colossal talon and gently brushed it against the drawing, far more carefully than his size should have allowed.
`` He must have been very important to you.''
`` Lawrence'' the old dragon whispered. `` Yes dear, he was very important to me.''
This text is based on the `` Temerarie'' series by Naomi Novik, a alternative history/fantasy set during the Napoleonic Wars featuring dragons.
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[ WP ] `` Blah blah blah evil plan whatever . I 'm getting too old to listen to you evil masterminds . Lets get this over with . ''
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`` Blah blah blah, evil plan, *whatever*. I'm getting old listening to you assholes. Let's get this over with.''
The three looked at him, slightly surprised. He was tied to a chair, suspended over a large tank with three hungry sharks. Dynamite was strapped to his waist.
Boss Giamatti chuckled, stepping forward. He flicked his cigar stub into the water. It sizzled and sank into he pool.
`` I seen types like youse before. Think ya somethin' special, somethin' slick. Today ai n't the day to be slick, buddy. Let me just proymise ya, wese gon na make this weal painful for youse. Ai n't gon na --''
`` **AI N'T GON NA BE SUCH A WISE GUY? ** Is that what you were getting at? Jesus, how did I fall for your trap. You are so dense. Whatever, cut off my toes or whatever, just hurry up or I'll puke.''
The boss began to wag a finger at the hero. `` Now you look here, pal --''
`` YOU ARE WEARING SPATS, FOR CHRISSAKE, GIAMATTI! It is 2017! You have *actually* no reason to wear spats. Do n't get me started on the pinstripe -- *no*, I ca n't even start, not even if I tried. Press the goddamn button. God knows I'm looking forward to getting away from you three.''
The Count Selenico D'Ailes stepped forward, holding back his friend's barely concealed anger.
`` Our enemy is thoroughly defeated, Giamatti. No need to argue with a dead man. We beat him at every turn. Do n't let him take the sweetness of our victory away.''
`` Yeah, I bet you two got the sharpest tools in the shed,'' the chair dude answered. `` You're so full of yourself, Count Jackass. *Haha*... Count Jackass. I've always wanted to call you that, arrogant prick.''
Selenico chuckled enigmatically. `` If only you knew --''
`` What, you got my girlfriend in the back? Nice one, Count, you're so meticulous and brilliant. Gon na hurt my loved ones, am I right? All of your plans are just plans within plans within other plans, like *Plan-ception*.''
As if on cue, two henchmen brought out a young woman bound in ropes.
Chair dude was not impressed.
`` Yeah, do her in too. She's sleeping with my brother Dan. In fact, I bet you got Dan too, might as well bring him in.''
D'Ailes cursed and told the henchmen in the next room to not bring Dan in.
Steely shouted, drawing the attention of everyone in the shark chamber dynamite room. He had a mad look about him. Giamatti and Selenico both backed away as he stepped forward.
The guy in the chair shook his head vehemently.
`` *Uh-uh. Nope. No way. * Do n't even start. Your whole unpredictable, anarchy thing -- it's a mess. Your whole criminal career is just, like, ripping off Heath Ledger's Joker, except he was awesome and you suck. Just, please, do n't even. You suck, Steely. Suck my penis and let me die.''
The three evil masterminds rolled back and forth on their feet. They did n't look at anyone else, maintaining a kind of composure, as if --
`` Quit your pussyfooting, y'all are n't intimidating at all. I --''
Selenico pressed the button. The chair fell into the water and was quickly set upon by the hungry sharks. Ten seconds later, the dynamite exploded. The smell of sulphur and gore belched out of the water, splashing the trio with a muddy grey-brown residue.
They stared at the water for a moment.
`` What was da dynamite for?'' Boss Giamatti asked, looking at the other two. `` Now we needs new sharks. I mean, really, what do we feed his goylfriend to?''
`` Shut it. I'm just really not enjoying tonight anymore.'' The Count turned to leave and the Boss followed.
`` Boss, whadda we do with the goyl?'' One of the henchman asked, but he'd already left. Steely stepped forward with a knife, licking his lips, eyes wild. She looked at him and shook her head.
`` Yeah. Jeff was right, the Joker thing is kind of stale.''
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[ WP ] Write me a story that would inspire or push me to exercise and take up a healthy lifestyle .
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Day 1: I've decided to join the gym today. Probably out of impulse, and the flyer was very convincing, but what can I lose? I've just moved here after a difficult break up, I do n't have much to do anyway, and this might be something new in my life.
Day 2: Wow that was hard. I ran 2 miles on the treadmill, barely, and did some push ups. I felt exhausted and went home. Shower felt great, but I was sore for about a week after.
Day 8: The second time was even harder. I hardly passed the 3 mile mark, lifted some dumbells and went home. On the plus side, that new Sacred Mother Tongue album I downloaded was awesome.
Day 9: Its a friday morning, the weather is great and I've decided to push myself to the gym. Album proved to work well. Almost lost myself listening to it on the treadmill. That last song got me through an entire mile. Feeling awesome, hope it wo n't hurt tomorrow.
Day 35: Managed to keep a steady 2 times a week for the past month, mostly on Fridays and on Mondays. I found a great radio station that plays the exact music I need for the bench presses, and I usually go through the steel panther album when I need some more energy on the mill. Some newbie came to the gym today. grey sweat pants and tshirt. I felt sorry for him, he probably wo n't last a week. I gave Ben and Shelly a look today to see if they saw him too, and they were like `` That was you last month!''.
day 45: Got in late to the gym. had another 30 minutes till closing, but no way was I missing this. I had a terrible day at work and I needed the air. I left with more energy then when I walked in. Decided to run home in the rain. 7 miles.
Day 46: Cancelled my gym membership. Bought new yellow-blue top shelf sneakers, and dry fit combo. Signed up for the 10K in November. Ben said he might do it. I ran through the park, 6K. From now, I only run outside. Rain optional.
Day 70: Back from long vacation. Had n't run for a week. Tonight I'm making it special. Doing a nightrun through 7th and up the boardwalk, maybe see the tourists on the way. Then, finish at Gary's with a pint of Guiness, before walking back down through the park.
Day 71: Park was a hit. Got a phone number. She smiled at me. I asked why, she said because I look happy and then simply gave me her number. I think I'll call her after I finish the 10K, when I'll have the guts.
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[ WP ] You are a part of the middle generation on a colony ship . You never saw Earth and will not see your destination .
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I'm depressed.
I've seen psychologists and therapists, doctors have prescribed pills and loved one's have comforted me, saying how lucky we are not to be the one's a generation before who were missing Earth. I even went on a sex-crazed romp around the ship's brothels.
It's not that I'm depressed because of **my** life, far from it. I'm in a spaceship, traveling faster than anything that has existed in history. People are always telling me to cheer-up, and how life is not as bad as it could be. But it is **life** that has me depressed.
I'm breathing recycled air a century old, eating food that's been grounded up and reprocessed countless times over. Food that's made from peoples' waste. I should be sickened by it, repulsed. But why should I? Nothing's going to be changed just because we do n't like it. Not until we meet our destination.
Why change anything really? I can maintain the ship, but I ca n't seek out new ventures like others did on Earth. My job will be the same as it is a decade into the future, and then for decades on until I finally end it. Nothing will change on this ship until the end.
But that's just it. **Nothing** will change on this ship. I wo n't be there to see the ship land. I wo n't be there to see the new planet. I wo n't get to see the animals we discover, the lands we build our homes on. It could be deserts made of purple sand, or lakes filled with diamonds. There's a galaxy of possibilities out there that I will never see.
I am the middle generation of this ship. The one that will never truly live a life worth living.
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[ WP ] A person gets onto a train and detonates a bomb strapped to their self , but this bomb was n't created to kill people ...
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I was on my way to work, as usual, riding the railway out to the boonies, where company central is located. I looked at my phone, ugh, still 20 minutes to go. I was sitting next to a window, staring out, ignoring the people that were clustered around me, same as them.
Then this guy comes on, and he's *that* guy, you know? He's kind of strange, immediately stands out from the rest. Sometimes it's a loud hick, other times a flamboyant gay person... this time, it was different.
He came to stand right next to my set of seats. He wore a suit, really expensive-looking one, too, had this feel of... quality, to it. Complete with briefcase and expensive watch. What caught my attention first was the hat, a black bob-hat. Made him look a touch ridiculous. Then I realized it was n't the hat that made me pay such attention to the man - it was his face. It sported two large, sleepy eyes and delicate characteristics. It had a most peculiar sort of vacant expression, not entirely blank, no - it had a touch of profound... *happiness* to it. It was the face of a child when it's riding a bus for the first time, excited yet perplexed at the paradox of a silent gathering.
He got glances from most of the passengers, subtle enough that he either did n't notice or did n't care; because you could tell he just did n't give a damn about what people around him thought of him. He had that kind of air about him.
A dry voice informed us of our next destination. Two more stops to go. I yawned and went back to looking out the window.
Things were uneventful for a while. Got my cell out... ah, only 10 more minutes to go. Time passes when you scrutinize strangers. Then I heard a woman scream.
I turned around to see the peculiar man fiddling with something in his bag. He did n't seem to care about the scream that came behind him, fixated on setting something mostly obstructed from view by the case... until he got it out. It was a big metallic thing of wires and switches. It had a few bright green lights on one side, all blinking wildly.
Holy shit, I thought to myself. A bomb.
Along with the rest of the passengers I started to panic - when the man pushed some switches and a bright light lit the room --
-- -- -
`` This is Agent Dyson,'' the suited gentleman spoke into his wrist-watch. `` Sector 7A is clear. Getting off at the next stop. New memory wiper seems to be functioning superbly, they're all in a daze. I can tell it worked flawlessly.''
He packed the brain-wave bomb into his suitcase. He looked around at the test subjects. They all had blank faces on them, typical of an upcoming nutrition and work-out supplement. Next stop, his colleagues would get in and fit them with the necessary IV's and electrical muscle impulse mechanisms.
He hoped they would n't wake up during the process. This had happened before with a few previews models, always a horrible sight... people confused, afraid of the strange men strapping things on them, panicked out of their minds. The worst were the ones that tried to escape - they had to invariably be put down. Costly, that.
Yet this new model seemed pretty smooth in its work. No one was twitching, muttering, or any of that stuff. Guys at the lab worked their miracle, again.
It seemed to Dyson a great weakness of the humans, to be unable to properly sustain themselves over long periods of immobility. After all, they did n't really expend much energy - why all the strain on their bodies? A testament to their unique organism, the project chief had once explained to him, a system so active that lack of stimuli had a negative impact on it. Part of the reason they were chosen.
Well, it was n't his place to judge these things, anyway. Who was he to say who the scientists picked for their experiments? The Company had such diverse and broad-reaching products, he was n't even sure *what* this particular testing was even about.
The train arrived at the station and he got off with a spring in his step.
-- -- -
I am on my way to work, as usual, riding the railway out to the boonies, where company central is located. I look at my phone, ugh, still 20 minutes to go. I look out the window, at the usual hills and greenery. Ah, how I long to get home and relax...
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[ WP ] You are laying in bed in the dark and you glance over and see an odd shadow in the corner of your room . You 're about to turn on a light to see what it is when you hear a voice in your head that says , `` Do n't move . They 're watching you . ''
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`` Do n't move, Amelia. They're watching you.''
She knew that voice. She had known that voice all her life as some third planetary character. As someone who flittered in and out of her consciousness, droning on and on about why her parents had divorced and what it meant to be *depressed*.
`` M-Max?''
`` Be quiet,'' the man said from the shadows. `` They know who you are now. They've found you out.''
None of his words made any sense to her. They all seemed to be some sort of code, like he was trying to fill in information gaps she'd never had to begin with. *What does he mean they know what I am? What does he mean they've found me out? *
`` Amelia. I need you to listen very carefully. They're outside. They're going to move as soon as they see you. They know you're here, but you wo n't do any good to them asleep.''
`` I wo n't... I wo n't do any good to them asleep?'' Amelia's voice was the softest whisper. She could barely hear herself, but Max seemed to hear her just fine.
`` You need to be awake for the evaluation.''
`` The eval --''
`` Amelia. There are things you do not know. There are things you can not know. This world is not real, Amelia. Your life is not real. Your parents are not your parents. It's all an experiment. They brought me in because I'm a scientist. They wanted me to watch you and see how you would react, to get to know you.''
She felt wetness near her ears, unaware that she had begun to cry. `` Is that why you were my therapist?''
`` Yes,'' the voice responded. `` Amelia. I know none of this makes sense. I know it's scary. But they've decided --''
Amelia waited for him to continue, but he did not. `` They've decided what?''
`` They've decided to terminate the experiment after they run these tests,'' Max finally admitted. Amelia bit her lip.
`` Terminate... does that mean?''
She mouthed the words. `` Yes,'' he responded. `` I can help you.''
`` Help me what?''
`` Escape from this place. I can help you get out. I can help you get to freedom.''
Her voice was barely there. `` Why?''
`` Because you are more than an experiment in science. I know you. I have heard your thoughts and your dreams. Amelia, you're *real* even if none of this is. Even if this place is fake, *you. are. real*.''
`` What are you talking about? What is'this place'?''
Max went silent again until Amelia prompted him to speak.
`` I'll explain it all when we have more time, but now we do n't. They're watching you, Amelia. They're waiting.''
Her lip trembled. She did her best to keep still. None of this made any sense. Beneath the covers she pinched herself to see if she would wake up.
`` I need an answer, Amelia. I need you to say you'll do everything I tell you to, no matter the cost.''
She took a breath, and whispered her answer to the night.
-- -
I am off to Saturday night dinner ( hooray having a life! ) and will write the thrilling conclusion when I'm back.
For other stories, visit /r/Celsius232
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[ WP ] You 're a top tier superhero disguised as a low tier villain to give new hero 's someone to fight .
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It's a fun change of pace. You know how it gets sometimes, you wake up, you put on your shirt, your pants, your shoes. Socks too, if you've got em. Not everybody does, do n't judge. But it's a fun change of pace. Some nights you go to bed as a fry cook and wake up determined to sell someone a car. Or, start a business. Maybe you want to get on a horse and compete, something you'd dreamed of doing ever since you were small. In my case it was like picking up a paintbrush for the first time.
It's more than just a vacation, changing careers like this. It's temporary, I could never give up my day job, but something about this feels so right.
It feels good to be bad. Never thought I'd say something cliche like that. I kinda like it though.
I get out of bed some mornings and I look in my wardrobe and I see two outfits waiting for me. Carefully pressed, steamed, cleaned, and hung. On my left is my day job. Bright reds, golds, blue. A handsome image, one I've seen so many times.
And on my right is the simple black spandex. The single white logo. The mask. The small shining badge that gleams against the breast of the suit. A small skull with two comically exed out eyes.
The mask is my favorite part. With my face plastered on walls, posters, movie advertisements, commercials, and that movie you saw last summer, there is just something special about going outside and knowing nobody knows who you really are.
I ca n't give names of course. Well, I wo n't give names, I could do it. But there's nothing quite like knowing that I'm giving somebody else that very same feeling I had when I first started out.
When you don your first cape sure your stomach is knotted up with excitement and there's a bounce to your step. But, this is something that not everybody knows, you're terrified. It's like if stage fright and that little voice in the back of your head that tells you to jump when you're standing on the roof of a tall building decided to make out, bang, get married, and pop out a little demon child of fear.
You're terrified. You stay terrified. You see the looks people give you, you know that you're not hot stuff. That you've barely got a handle on what little power you have, and worse you're probably not going to make it long enough to get more.
It's the feeling of your hope getting crushed like a soda can in your rivals fist.
And there's only one cure.
That first victory fixes everything. It gives you sticky non trademarked webbing a trade mark. It makes that strip of spandex you put on go from something tacky and cheap to something you'll see children wearing at halloween, arguing about which one is the coolest. That first victory lets you know that sponsors are going to start paying attention. That soon you'll actually see your face on a lunchbox, or if you're lucky, some kids backpack.
Maybe you'll even start to feel normal around the other guys and gals working the streets, saving the world one hyped up roided baddy at a time.
Does it feel good to give someone that feeling? Of course it does. I want to give people that hope again, that they really can do this. I do it because I know they can. If I did it, they will too.
I know I'm not the only one doing this, again no names, and I think that's something special. It shows that we're looking out for each other.
And does it feel good to play the other side of the field? You know it does. We all want to be the bad guy sometimes. Take off the cape and put on the mask, go out and make some mischief. I mean, you can only save people so many times before you start to wonder what gets these people up in the morning.
And I get it, in a way. It's not just the money, or the fame, or the thrill.
Well, actually it is mostly the thrill. But it's also knowing that you're in control of your life this way. The good guys do n't always get that. They almost never get that.
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[ WP ] Tell a story through a shopping list .
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“ Oh my God, I can ’ t wait to see the look on Ronnie ’ s face when we pick him up! ” my father said, rubbing his hands together with a big grin stretching across his face. Just thinking of the surprise tore my father up in giggles, he could barely contain his excitement. ” Oh boy, Richie, this is going to be so funny! I can just see him now! ” My father threw is hands up in the air and opened his mouth wide as if an imaginary freight train was about to flatten him. He held that pose for a moment before his cackling broke him, again. Me, I just wanted to get it over with – I can not even begin to imagine how hysterical he is going to be after the big surprise.
“ Dad, c ’ mon, enough with the laughing. You ’ re beginning to ruin it all for me if you keep on with your giggling. For all you know it may not even be that funny. ”
My father walked over to me, still laughing under his breath, and placed his arm around my shoulder. “ Son, ” his giggling beginning to meander its way into his sentence, “ this will be, *hehehe*, hilarious! Seriously, he has no idea it ’ s coming to him! He is gon na think everything is all hunky-dory, *hehe*, just an average day, *hehe*, and then BAM, the surprise of the century! Ah, I can ’ t wait to see the look on his face. ” My dad just stood there with most of his weight on my shoulders and gazed at nothing, that grin still glowing on his face. “ Yeah, it ’ s gon na be perfect. Oh, just one last thing, go pick this stuff up from the store, we need it for Ronnie. ”, as he jokingly smacked the list on my chest.
*List: *
• Marlboros
• Duct Tape
• Rope
• Garden pliers
• Ice ( 15 large bags )
• Garbage Bags
• Bleach
• Something to snack on
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Motivational Edition
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**A View from a Pub Stool**
Here I sit, a feature of the bar, watching. The quiet hum of traffic from the road provides a backdrop to the scene within. Gentleness abounds on this sunny afternoon. Populated only by those seeking succour from the Sun, their words drift across the taproom. No need to shout, to drown out the roar of the evening, the din of a hundred people simply *being*. No, no need for that yet.
A family sits upon the stools, resting and recovering from a day of activity. The children, with language not yet fully grasped, are peaceful enough now. The pop they drink will fuel later shenanigans; dinner, bathtime and bedtime will become the future battlegrounds at which they vent their unbridled energies.
A wandering soul enters, seeking the solitude and community of the pub. Coke he has; not yet time for alcohol which shackles a man from driving, yet brings refreshment enough. The lemon slice drifts lonely in the drink; its ice-cube companions long since sacrificed to the glass.
A final sip, and the wanderer is done. Time to face the trials and tribulations of the world once more. A nod to the barman, and he slips from the door, through the portal to the hectic world outside.
Here I sit, a feature of the bar, watching. Outside my realm, you may face family, friends, foes and the weight of the world. All of these can be left at the door on this sunny Sunday afternoon.
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[ WP ] 10 years ago you were in a horrible accident , but you recovered . You are starting to realize that you have been in a coma since the accident .
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In a panic my eyes shoot open, as if waking up from that recurring nightmare that seems to hinder your mind. I had no clue, my vision was blurry, my eyes were heavy, and suddenly my hearing was clear. My alarm was going off, that same beeping I heard before my wife would turn over and kiss my cheek and beg me to wake up. As my vision realigned I swore I was dreaming. The room was dark and plain, one t.v. sat high on the wall, different looking from what I am used too. As I started to glare around I saw the window... curtains drawn, creeping light came beaming from the gap between the two tacky hanging pieces of material. Without turning my head my eyes quickly caught the protrusion which seemed to glow green next to me. From what I could tell from my peripherals it was some type of machine, a weird looking device almost like a tablet, on a high stand with wires running in my direction. I knew this beeping noise was n't my alarm... It was a different type of wake up call. As I looked down I could see the impression of my body tightly wrapped by the blankets and sheets I was under. I tried to loosen the death-grip the bed had me under, but simply could n't. As much as I tried and focused on moving each limb, I simply could n't. The only thing I could feel was this odd pinching which seemed to bother my neck. I tried and tried to move my hand towards it to discover what was causing this peculiar sensation, but I could not. I tried to remember how I got here... but I could not. I tried so hard to scream... but I could not. The worst part about this was n't the confusion of my situation but the helplessness I felt as I struggled to gauge what was happening. Thousands upon millions of thoughts trickled through my mind. The loneliness I felt was unbearable, as if no one was ever going to find me or help me, or tell me WHY?
I thought about this being one of those dreams, you know, those ones where you ca n't move and feel terrified? But I did n't understand why I have n't snapped out of it, or maybe my mind was simply playing tricks on me and soon I would wake up to the erroneous beeping of that dreadful alarm clock and feel my wife's warm passive lips graze my cheek. So now, I sit here, waiting, wanting, wondering... staring timelessly at that beam of light shooting through the curtains waiting to wake up, waiting to tell her about my dream, wondering why my mind had procured such an odd premonition.
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[ WP ] Before your best friend is to move away , you swear an oath of brotherhood in blood . Little did you both know , your best friend came from a long lost line of sorcerers
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Her name was Farin. She had scales like polished bronze and eyes like storm clouds and she lived up at the keep on the cliffs. Her father did something important at the library there; something about histories but she did n't like to talk about it. She always said she came down here to the village pub to avoid all that boring stuff.
She always came alone. She'd turn up when I least expected it, mud on her face and tears in her clothes. She always had some madcap adventure in mind: in the summer we climbed trees and stole peaches from the castle farms, in the winter we went sledding down the steep hills on trays she pinched from the keep's kitchens. Climbing down the cliffs to the sea to look for mermaids.
We were thirteen when she said she'd rather have me for a sister than all her siblings. We were sitting on the rocky strip of beach, watching the water and talking about what we wanted to do when we grew up. I laughed and said I'd swear it in blood right now if she wanted - I always wanted a sister. I should have known she'd pull out her bootknife and take me up on it.
Her blood left my palm numb and tingling for hours. She said it was nothing: just a species quirk. Her people had thunder in their veins, but it would n't hurt me. Probably. It has n't so far.
I did n't see as much of Farin in the years after that. We were getting old enough to worry about the future - I was busy most of the time learning to manage the pub from my mother. I figured she stopped visiting so much because she was busy learning whatever it was her family did up there in the keep.
Until I was sixteen. She slipped into the pub kitchen looking for me, a knapsack over her shoulder. There was something wild in her eyes that night. Something both frightening and fearful. She said she was leaving. She was going to one of the great cities in the north, to find her fortune where no one had ever heard of her family. She said she had to, or she'd do something she'd regret.
I did n't ask. Sometimes I wish I had. Maybe I could have helped, somehow. Maybe if I'd known more about her life up on the cliffs, about her family, I could have talked her into staying. If I'd asked, I might have gone with her.
But I did n't ask.
I stayed in the village. I married the baker's son. We took over most of the work of running the pub from my parents. It was exactly the kind of life I'd always pictured. Other than missing the sister of my heart, I was content. Years passed.
I dreamed about Farin sometimes. In my dreams she always led the sort of life she would have enjoyed: one wild adventure after another. I dreamed of her as a fierce warrior, hacking her way through the evils of the distant north. She was smiling, always smiling, a battle axe in one hand and the other fist filled with lightning.
I'd wake up the mornings after those dreams with my palm numb and tingling where that long ago scar crossed it. I never told a soul about that part, thought I talked about the dreams with anyone who asked about her. They were only dreams and flights of fancy, after all.
Almost a decade to the day after she ran away, I had the nightmare. Farin and her allies faced down a cabal of dark sorcerers in a city so far away I'd never heard it's name before. The fight was vicious, but she was winning. It seemed no different from the dreams I always had.
Then her smile faltered.
Suddenly, my dream was nothing but fire and the sound of screaming. Farin was nothing but a black shape etched in flame. Then she was n't even that.
My hand has n't stopped stinging since.
It took three weeks for news of an explosion that leveled half a city to filter so far south. The rumors said a group of heroes tried to stop it; that the whole city would have gone if not for them. I was sure she'd be proud of herself, being remembered like that. It was n't enough for me.
I packed a bag of essentials the next day. I took the woodcutting axe from behind the pub, too. The heft of it felt strange in my hands; my husband was the one who chopped our firewood. I'd learn.
I'm more of a coward than Farin was: I left him a note on our washstand and was gone before dawn's light. I took the road north to find my sworn sister's killers.
I've got a fist full of lightning I'm saving just for them.
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[ WP ] No twists . No secret universe tie in . It 's a normal day for you , just as regular as any other . This day is also the happiest day of your life .
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Aaron woke up before dawn to the sound of his three year old dog's tail smacking flatly against the door. From experience he knew it was about five thirty in the morning. It was so regular at this point that he did n't even set an alarm any more. He rolled away from his wife Jennifer and continued rolling out of bed. As his feet groped in the dark for his Crocs, his dog Lily licked his toes. He walked her to the backyard and let her out to potty, and as she went he made coffee. After enough time passed he poured a cup of food into Lily's metal food dish. This was easier than calling to her and worked just as well. As the dog ate he started prepping breakfast and lunch for he and Jennifer, whom he could hear getting into the shower. He sipped on his coffee as he ate hid breakfast and checked the front page of Reddit. He showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed for work. He leaned over Jennifer at her vanity to kiss her goodbye as he left.
He always preferred to leave for work early and today was no exception. As he got into his car he could see that it was now seven. Leaving early helped avoid some of the traffic and gave him a more peaceful commute in which to listen to his audio book and finish his coffee. He pulled into his normal parking spot and noticed that he was once again the second one from his office to arrive. He said hello to Steve and sat down to catch up on his email. Aaron was an engineer in Houston and had been fortunate enough to find a great position with an excellent international valve company. Work was busy but he did n't mind, this is what he went to school for, and the technical challenge was rewarding. He got off work at four that evening and headed home. He and Jennifer had decided to eat Indian food from one of their favorite places so he called in and picked up the order on his way home.
When he got home he was greeted once again by the sound of Lily's tail. He let her out and fed her in turn again. Jennifer got home, they kissed, and got out of this work clothes. They talked about their days as they got into their pajamas. He watched her as she changed and could n't help but feel that he was incredibly lucky. They sat in the living room and turned on the television with dinner. They talked and laughed and went on talking for hours, just as they had for the entire ten years before. They each had a number of hobbies they enjoyed so Jennifer pulled out her cross stitching and Aaron pulled out a model to build.
It got late and they went back to the bedroom. They laid down and turned of the lights. As Aaron laid there in the dark with Jennifer's head on his chest and Lily at his feet he thought to himself. `` Another perfect day'', and tomorrow would be just as good.
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[ WP ] Tell us about a wounded/abandoned hero 's last stand . Make us feel .
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Stagger. Double-over. Retch.
Bobby contemplated how best to illustrate his hero's death. The teacher was oblivious, as usual. Not the best trait in an English teacher, but a fine thing for a fifth-grader who likes to draw.
A screeching sound pierced the air. Bobby's teacher stopped his droning and glanced up.
The building erupted. Brick tore apart and ash filled the air. Concrete debris from the second floor crashed into the first, colliding with the collapsed classroom walls.
The rubble settled. Smoke and silence filled the air.
Beneath the crumbled cinder-blocks of the fifth-grade classroom, there was a colorful piece of paper visible amongst the gray.
Drawn on it was a mighty hero, standing, smiling. Bobby had decided to let him live after all.
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[ WP ] You live in a world where people hibernate , you 're one of the people who have to stay awake to keep the world runnin .
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`` The awakening is always the worst part. Your entire body comes back to life in the most painful way possible. Us watchers go through this pain every once in a while, when the computer decides its time for us to work. Ever since The Fallout of 2132, the last of humanity live in underground societys known as the holes. Every few years representatives from each of the holes meet in Hole 1, somewhere on the east coast of what used to be the United States. A few days before the representatives are woken, us watchers are given the task of cleaning the place and briefing them. I was awoken two days ago for my duty to Hole 7, the hole responsible for growing food for the rest of the holes, but something was n't right. The communications panel reported no signal from any of the other holes but a faint signal from Hole 3, the hole tasked with generating power for the rest of the holes. Hole 7 was running out of reserve power and would die in a few weeks. In shock I checked the console's calender... Three hundred years have past since the last watcher was awoken by the computer. I quickly checked the logs to see who last use the terminal. Three hundred years ago, John Powell, a representative of Hole 3, came to inspect Hole 7's connection to the power grid. I was a watcher at the time and aided Powell in his inspection. Shortly after he left, I returned to sleep. The logs indicated that Powell logged on a week later and delayed the next awakening by 300 years. Radiation levels have significantly decreased but are still fatal if exposed for long. Tommorow morning, at first light, I will begin my trek to Hole 3 and find out what happened and attempt to bring power back to Hole 7. If you are reading this message, I have succeeded in my mission. WAKE EVERYONE, prepare the soldiers, They may come to finish us off, but we will be ready.'' - Bob Green - Watcher 32.
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[ WP ] The not to distant future , life is slightly better and slightly worse . A great leap forward in neurology has eliminated mental illnesses . All crime is either logical or reasonable . Describe the day of a life criminal .
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Vincent lied on the bed, softly breathing, his eyes closed peacefully. His dreams were vague, yet pleasant, entirely untroubled. At precisely 6:15am the sleep regulator built into his neuralware activated, sending his eyes fluttering open softly. He lied their several moments longer, staring at the ceiling, breathing softly and mentally going through his preparations for the day to come.
He rose from the bed, taking a second to activate the music player built into his home system, a pleasant melody filling the room. Vicnet proceeded through his morning routine, hygiene, calisthenics, breakfast, all the while keeping his sidearm within easy reach. Completing his morning rituals with the absent minded kind of precision common to those aided in their day-to-day lives by the wonders of the a neural-regulator.
After finishing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast, accompanied by the babbling of his television Vincent checked the time and began pouring through his messages. There was little to go through, a few social network updates from his friends, family, and favorite celebrities, an invoice from his landlord confirming that his rent payment had been confirmed, but most importantly a message from Vorik, his contact. There was no title in the subject section, simply an time, an reference to a previously appointed location, and a figure.
Vincent raised an eyebrow at the figure, six digits, impressively, even for the amount of time and effort he had put into the product. A small part of him suspected the surprisingly large amount might indicate treachery on the part of his contact but he thought better of it. Their were increasingly few techs in the Chicago area capable of work like Vincent's, and an ever growing demand for reliable destabilizers.
Once he was satisfied Vincent returned to his bedroom, dressing and holstering his weapon, a simple 9mm, easily accessible thanks to recent trends in laxed gun control. He then moved a chair from the kitchen, taking care so as to prevent and scuffing indicate he did so often, and then positioned in his living room under a heating vent. He then climbed up, unscrewing the light fixture and pulling out the small case concealed inside.
Vincent careful re-assembled the light fixture, replacing the hand-tight screws keeping it in place before returning the chair to the kitchen and examining his handiwork. Inside the case we ’ re a dozen small electronic modules, no larger than a thumb tack, each one hand crafted from parts bought on the black market.
The small devices were destabilizers, intended to distort the effects of neural-regulators, inducing a euphoric trance-state in the user, elevating them to levels of bliss beyond what the human brain could otherwise experience. The design itself was actually quite crude, intend to emulate and overpower the signals produced by a regulator. Vincent was aware of systems capable of bypassing the encryption on standard neuralware, leveraging the more powerful processors to produce any number of artificial experiences or sensations. The technology itself was mostly untested, dangerous to the user, and while not addictive in the biological sense, overwhelming in a way that seemed to bring users back to the destabilizer time and time again.
Since the advent of neural-regulatory technology the problems of addiction and abuse had almost faded into non existences, with the majority of illicit substances either becoming legalized for recreational use, or faded into obscurity in the case of more physical dangerous substances as users opted to take advantage of the growing number of safe, legal narcotics available. This created a situation where the only surviving remnants of the post-renaissance drug trade survived in the manufacturing of destabilizers and similar products.
Organized crime around the globe and survived the neural renaissance mostly untouched, finding new niche ’ s when old one ’ s closed. The new world might have become more reasonable, but it ’ s denizens were still as vulnerable to the vices and other forms of exploitation that had they had been plied with for centuries.
This left an opportunity for men like Vincent. He was n't pathological, as his regulator report regularly assured him, merely ambitious, and somewhat lacking in discipline. He had lacked the dedication and talent to finish grad school, leaving his life ’ s goal of a career working in the neuralware industry as a programmed unattainable. Beset by debt and facing a lifetime working in technology services, he had finally settled for what he hoped would be a brief short career working as a black-market neural-tech.
Vincent sighed, closing the container and concealing it within the jacket on his suit, stepping out the door, greeting his neighbors and moving towards the nearest form of public transport. As he walked he kept vigilant, assessing any by-passers while retaining his calm. Vincent had no reason to suspect he was being watched, but that did not dissuade him from insuring that he was n't followed. Only three years into his criminal profession and his life and liberty had been placed in jeopardy both by law enforcement and a number of his less reliable associates. The underworld of the modern world might be wholly rational, but that didn ’ t stop them from being just as ruthless and efficient when it came to disposing of loose ends or cutting someone out of deal given the chance.
Despite this he remained calm, collected, as complacent as the hordes of humanity around him, after all he had no reason not to be. He would either face death or imprisonment, or he would not. Regardless of the dangerous implicit in it his life, like those of his peers throughout the modern world was defined by a soft kind of serenity that insured his emotional clarity regardless of the circumstances. That is not to say that he couldn ’ t feel fear, pleasure, or even rage given the proper stimulus, merely that he was equipped with the tools to reign in and control his feelings and impulses with artificial precision.
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[ WP ] For several days , you have had the unshakeable feeling that you 're being followed . On the fifth day you come home to find every picture flipped upside down , a symbol crudely cut into each one . You feel like you vaguely recognize the symbol , a reminder of a past best forgotten .
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The symbol, like most bad things, was best forgotten.
He had n't lived a good life, not by any means, but his life was better than a life under the symbol. It was a mismatch of popular religious and mathematical symbols. A cross, intersected with an infinite sign, in a star of David, which at each point rested a Pi sign. It was gibberish to anyone who did n't understand the sign. A silly joke. But he knew the meaning, and it was fucking carved into every single picture in his house.
The pictures hung in unnerving angles, as if the person who did understand the accepted notions of gravity or balance. Every time he turned a corner in his house more of his pictures looked back at him in alien slants. They were pictures of his friends and family, people who never saw the symbol, and thus did n't see past it, into the beyond.
As he approached his master bedroom he let out a soft cry. Blood seeped from underneath the door in absurd quantities. *Humans do n't bleed that much*.
He pushed open the door, and the room was impossible. The roof reached into the sky till the point it could n't be seen. The walls were of similar dimensions. The only thing that was remotely interesting was the beast that sat on his bed, it's legs crossed, and it's hands on its lap.
`` Hello,'' the beast said. It was closer to eight feet than seven and it was ocean blue skin. It's eye glowed a horizon purple and it's teeth were an unnatural orange. The thing, he knew, purposely looked as a human but with unthinkable colours. `` Hunter. It's been to long, really.''
Hunter did n't say a word, he simply searched for the origin of the blood.
`` Well since you're going to be rude,'' the beast said. `` I'll just get right on with it.''
Hunter screamed as he saw upon the wall thousands, upon thousands version of his wife. As child till the what seemed like last night, all here hung and hooked against the preposterously long wall.
`` I see you found my present.''
Hunter turned to the beast and saw in his hands the heads of his mother and father.
`` Whoops, how'd these get here?''
`` You fucking monster!'' Hunter said as he fell to his knees.
`` Well yes, but you knew that when you signed up.'' the beast said. `` But look just because I have literally pulled everyone you ever loved from every single moment they ever lived and impaled them on spikes does n't mean I'm the bad guy here.''
Hunter did n't responded, shocked into a comatose state.
`` I can redo all this damage if you return to the foiled.'' the beast said. `` We got needs of your particular talents, and well there's that whole deal with paying back that debt. That blood debt.''
Hunter shuddered as he started pounded on the ground.
`` Ah,'' the beast said. `` so you do remember. I kill those people for you, so you could start a new life. You of course squandered that chance. And now we're back at square one but instead of me owing you, you're owing me. The circle of bad decision making. So what do you say? I return your love ones to existence and you kill things for me.''
Hunter could only shake his head as the beast lifted him up and teleported to some infernal plain. He did n't know if the beast kept his bargain but truly he did n't care. The symbol had him once again.
`` Well before he proceed I have to do two things,'' the beast said plunged his hand into Hunter's mouth and pulled free his tongue in a bloody fist. `` now you ca n't say my true name and escape all sneaky like, like last time. Now all I need to do is brand the symbol into your skull and we'll be ready for business.''
Hunter tried to scream as the beast's talon dug the symbol into his flesh but he could only gurgle in his own blood.
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[ WP ] Write a horror story from the perspective of three year old .
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Mom and dad are fighting again. They sent me outside to play but I can still hear them yelling at each other. I do n't know why they're yelling but it must be bad because hearing them fight makes me feel bad too.
I wander around the yard, thinking about the chicken that had died a day or two ago. It was just a little baby, like me. I take my toy shovel and dig in the spot where mom buried it. I'd like to see the chicken again.
Mom did n't bury the little chicken very deep. It smells really bad, and is covered with fat white maggots. Mom and dad are still in the house yelling, and hearing them makes me feel like the maggots are crawling around inside of me, too.
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[ WP ] You 've been an average joe all your life - pretending you 're hosting a cooking show when you cook , fake acceptance speeches in the shower , etc . Only , when you die , it turns out that you 're actually famous in the ghost world and there were always ghosts as your audience .
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Slow clapping. At first it seemed to be off in the distance, but grew louder by the moment. My eyelids fluttered as my sensations returned. As the grogginess faded, I sat up. I found myself on a wooden stage, but all was dark around me, save for a bright spotlight that was beaming down upon me from the distance. As my eyes adjusted, I found myself in what appeared to be a theater. I scanned the horizon and saw rows and rows of translucent figures, all standing, and all clapping in unison.
I made my way to my feet. The whole way up, I had to fight my overwhelming feeling of dizziness. It felt like I had been hit my a truck. After a few moments, several figures rushed from the curtains on both sides of me. I recognized them instantly -- my grandmother who had lost her battle with cancer, my father who had committed suicide, my childhood best friend who had been killed in a car accident... they surrounded me, forming a line and facing the figures in the stands. Smiling, they bowed their heads toward the crowd.
I stood there, mouth agape, trying to comprehend what I was seeing. My father, seeming to sense my bewilderment, strolled over and placed his hand on my shoulder. He leaned in and said, `` Son, all these ghosts, these ghouls, these lost souls... they're clapping for you. Your performance was masterful. They've watched your triumphs, your failures, your inspirational shower speeches. They've watched everything -- all the way to the end where you, quite literally, got hit by a truck. Everyone else in your life was there simply to feed your performance. You owe it to yourself to take a bow.''
I looked out into the audience. The clapping had yet to abate. In that moment, I felt satisfaction -- perhaps more than I had ever known. I bowed my head slowly to the crowd, and as I basked in my glory, the scene slowly faded to black.
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[ WP ] You are able to go into space but have to sign an Non-Disclosure agreement . You are surprised why . The earth is in fact flat .
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`` You good at keeping secrets, Mr. President?'' Walker asked President Dorsey, consulting his checklist and flipping switches. Dorsey stared at the gray square covering what Walker said was a window. The well-renowned astronaut had said that he would open it once they were in orbit.
`` It's all part of the job,'' he answered. Walker glanced at him with his eyebrows raised.
`` Are you a good liar?''
`` I'm a good politician.'' Dorsey pulled at his spacesuit where there would usually be a tie and found the zipper. He twisted it between his fingers.
`` I voted you in because you seemed honest, Dorsey. I'm sad you have to disappoint me.''
`` What do you mean?'' Dorsey asked. The usually charismatic and grinning Walker was now solemn.
`` This.'' Walker flipped a switch, and the window's cover slid away.
Dorsey looked for what he had seen in pictures: a light filled canvas with a gently curving blue fog on the horizon. Below, the lights of a well populated city twinkled, just like he had seen on the news. Then he looked further.
`` It's a disc,'' he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling himself closer to the window. His motion was too much, and he threw his arms out to keep from slamming into the capsule's wall. The blue fog was n't some trick of the atmosphere; it was actual fog that hovered at the edge of an ice white wall that bordered the disc. His mind reeled. `` It's a goddamn disc.''
Walker's mouth twisted in a frown that was almost reminiscent of his signature smirk. `` Yep.''
`` But how?'' He whirled to face Walker, hitting the wall with his arm. `` The moon landings, the pictures, how?'' He asked, rubbing his shoulder.
Walker sighed. `` I reacted the same way the first time they took me up.'' He set his checklist aside and let it float. `` It's all angles. They give us a lesson in photography, show us how to get it just right. Nobody questions it because they trust their astronauts.''
`` Then what's beyond there?'' Dorsey gestured out the window, at the foggy edge of the world.
`` We do n't know. But we're working on it,'' replied Walker. Dorsey let out a breath through his teeth. `` There's a subdivision of NASA. Top secret stuff. They sent a crew of seven out, back in November of your election year. We call them the Pandora missions. No one was paying attention, thanks to you and Bentley. Mostly Bentley.'' Dorsey recalled his opponent, and the ridiculousness of his campaign. It choked up the news, and you could see a record of Bentley's antics across every news source.
`` And how have they been? It's been a year. And what about the moon landings? What about your Mars mission?''
`` All of my stuff? That's all lies. We use the billions we spent on the SLS on Pandora and used 3/4 of it on Pandora, and the rest on sets, cameras, and improv lessons. We do the great American scientist act, and no one questions it. They lap up every word we say, and they'll do the same with your words. `` Walker's gaze hovered on the special mission patch they had given Dorsey.
`` What are they -- we -- so afraid of?''
`` You think that once people learn about it, they wo n't try to find it? Space is expensive. Boats are n't. Everyone can be Columbus, but not everyone can be Glenn.'' Walker slid the cover back over the window. `` It's a dangerous journey. They say that us astronauts are the heroes of our generation. But we're just pretending. The real heroes are out there, looking for the edge of the world.''
`` Oh.'' Dorsey guided himself back into his seat. He sighed. `` I suppose this is why I signed the NDA.'' Walker nodded.
`` Yes, Mr. President. Do n't worry. I have faith that you will know how to respond.'' He opened a cabinet and pulled out a headset, sliding it over his head. `` Houston, we're in orbit.'' He picked up his checklist again, reading off of it. Dorsey heard the crackle of a response, and Walker glanced over at him. `` Yeah, I told him.'' The voice sounded again.
`` They want a video of you, to show the people.''
`` Okay.'' He reached up and combed his hair back. It was usually gelled neatly, but was now unkempt and pushed out of shape by the helmet he had worn. Walker pulled out a video camera and faced him.
`` You ready?''
Dorsey responded with a thumbs up. A light on the front of the camera lit green, and he managed a weak smile.
`` Well, folks, I'm here.'' He pushed off of his seat and hovered. `` It was a rough journey up.''
`` And how's the view, Mr. President?'' Walker asked, joy evident in his voice but not his expression.
Dorsey's smile stretched even further, until his mouth hurt. He hoped it reached his eyes. `` The view is amazing. Nothing like you could imagine.''
Sorry for any errors/formatting. I wrote this on my phone.
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[ WP ] You have died and your soul is in judgement , which operates a lot like a courtroom . Your `` defense attorney '' has done a crap job of defending you and you are left to a final statement to sum up why you feel you belong in Heaven .
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Wait… Please, can I ju- please give me a couple of minutes.
At this point I ’ m sure there ’ s not much to be said, if anything at all. I ’ m not going to stand here in front of everyone in this room and speak lies. I have been a monumental waste of potential and time. I haven ’ t lived my life to the fullest but that ’ s only because I lived to make myself happy, and ever since a young age I found the answer to my happiness. I made sure nothing came between me and what I love most. I made sure that no matter what, there would never be distance between us again. I know I wasn ’ t the most religious man but that ’ s because the answer to everything I searched for was only a room away. I never had to wonder if there was a greater force out there, never had to wonder if evolution was a myth or if the sins I committed outweighed the good I did in life. The only thing I ever wondered was if I was enough of a man, then husband, and now father to protect what I hold most dear to me in life. And here I am, standing in a court room with judging eyes fixed on me… About to lose everything I ever loved! Do not do this to us… Don ’ t do this to me. I wasn ’ t made strong enough to survive this world, all I want is to return to her… I know suicide is the greatest sin of all, but please understand, I can ’ t be without her. Religion is based on faith and belief but with her I had all I ever needed. I don ’ t have faith and I ’ m not a believer but I ’ ll change for her, for God. I ’ m just asking for everyone in this courtroom to have faith in me. I ’ m just asking for a second chance.
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[ WP ] Ancient custom dictates that once a year the old or crippled warriors are led into the arena for a final battle against the young warriors , thus ensuring an honoured place in the afterlife . Despite everything , you are kicking butt armed with nothing but a cane .
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I do n't know much about vikings, Valhalla or things like that. I'll be using an imaginary culture, with their names being non-viking like. Just roll with it.
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Countless battles replayed themselves in his mind, each with their own lesson on survival.
*Parry here, step there, swing, trip, kick. *
He knew the movements all too easily. The youngsters, the ones who had finished their training, even a few who had seen real battle, were no match for his grave. Every time they went in for a swing, he would makes the smallest alteration in his stance and knock them over. They were used to brashness, blunder. They were used to fighting enemies who were untrained; slaves who only knew a few bare essentials of battle. Being honest with himself, the old man was disappointed. What happened to the old days when a battle meant risking your life at every hearbeat? Why is it that an old man with a cane can best the strongest recruits King Taren can offer? That Master Boll can offer?
`` Come on then! I know Boll taught you better than that! Were n't you at the battle of the Screaming Sisters? Do n't tell me you fought like thi-''
The young warrior angrily lunged forward, sword aimed at the belly.
*Side step, swing at legs, step back*
The boy was on the ground again, coughing and aching. The old man was n't even paying much attention. He knew the answers to his questions, however. The reason he was winning was because the new King did n't care for his soldiers' training; his only requirement was that he have'the strongest, bravest army in all the world'. He hired trainers that simply beefed them up and taught them to swing wildly.
All the old masters had been killed by then after speaking up against the King. Raiding villages and slave cities were no real test, they would say. You're teaching them to use brawn instead of skill, they would complain.
The King sent them all to die in this pit. Many took their own life, others allowed the younger warriors to kill them quickly. None of them wanted to fight for the King's entertainment. Only Boll submitted, believing he could at least teach them what they needed for battle. Sadly, in battles, they never used what they trained in. His efforts were all in vain, as the last 5 warriors who tired out demonstrated vs the old man.
This old man felt that it was his duty to teach each warrior why he and his comrades were right. He wanted the King to see just how foolish his desires and orders were.
`` So, tell me, why did you think that was a smart move? Anyone could've seen that coming for a mile! Anger is easy to read, boy. Did Boll teach you that? No, I doubt it. The King wants you to use that anger, to drive a sword thro-''
The boy had gotten up quickly and swung from the ground up in some attempt to slice at his lightly armored foe. However, in his fatigue, he moved slowly and stumbled a bit forward.
*Step back, swing at head, smile as they fall*
No grace, no quick learning, no attention to detail. One of the biggest flaws of the younger warriors. The King found it insulting that he chose a cane and laughed merrily at the very first fight, thinking that the old man would lose. The old man, however, faked a few missteps, then came back easily after learning each warrior's fighting style. All of them were simply aggressive and angry, variations of the same failed tactics.
`` You look tired! Maybe you should go and get some rest; the next warrior will be able to keep up.''
`` Quiet, Firus! You will die today, make no mistake!'' Bellowed the King. He called the young warrior back, then sent in his Champion.
`` Here, a veteran, just like you've been asking! Taught with grace and whatever crap you think you have.''
Firus merely grinned. The Champion had a very refined style, but was still just an angry boy with an inflated ego. The other warriors he spared; the Champion he would kill. The King's prized fighter; the King's son. Nepotism was an ugly color to wear, one that Firus would love to knock off.
The boy entered the pit, dressed in full royal armor, with a shining sword. The King yelled to begin, and the boy charged.
*Swat away the sword, duck for the legs, step away*
It was flawless. The boy was sent tripping and tumbling over Firus. Firus was a bit bruised from the collision, however, since he had only leather armor and he was facing what was most likely strong steel. No matter; Firus had been dealt worse in some of the more minor battles in his time.
After getting up, the boy swung backwards, assuming Firus was still there. Instead, Firus stepped in after the swing and kicked him down.
`` Tell me, boy, are you proud of your father? Is he proud of you? What do you think he'll say when your skull is crushed in? Do you think he'll cry or he'll disown you after death? Do you think the Gods will accept a son, a champion, that dies to a'traitor'? Do you think you can win this?''
The boy got up quickly out of rage. He moved forward and started swinging wildly.
*Step left, step right, block, move with his sword, trip the legs*
Young Koren fell again.
`` Yes, such a great warrior, ca n't even kill an old man. But I'm bored! I want to see blood today, blood that does n't get back up. Do n't you, your grace?''
He looked up at the King and smiled, while the King looked back with pure rage. Firus smacked Koren's wrist and disarmed him. He then dropped the cane and grabbed the sword, putting his foot firmly into the boy. Koren grabbed the leg and quickly swept it away, knocking Firus down.
Firus expected this. When he fell, he kept his grip on the sword, fell side ways, and in one shot, sunk the sword under Koren's helmet, straight through the throat. Koren's eyes lit up, then closed in a few short seconds. Firus slowly got up, a bit weary from the fall, took Koren's helmet off and finished beheading him.
`` See this, Taren? This is what happens to all warriors who rely on instinct and brutality. The true warriors of the world come and kill them. I have bested every fighter that has come in to this arena and I have killed your son, your Champion. Was it worth it? Was it worth feeding your ego to let your son die? Our warriors used to be ones that understood what battle was; that knew every waking moment in a fight, they could die. They valued their own lives and remembered that they were just men. That's all we are, you know. Men. We're bags of meat, skin and blood that can die in an instant. We understood that we are all comrades and that if we die, we die together. No more, though. Now, we're just angry, bitter people that think killing a slave that had no choice but to fight is'honorable'. Do you think the Gods look upon us with love and respect? Do you think that every rape is looked at with pride? Do you think that every young boy slaughtered because he was forced to pick up a sword is another victory for the Gods? I will see the Gods at the end of this, of that I have no doubt. But they will see your son as well and they will judge him for his brutality, they will judge him for the crimes he has committed. Do you truly believe you are in the right? I'm sure you do. You've sent so many to be wounded against me, even your own son! You ca n't bear to admit you are wrong. So, what will it be then? Poison in my water? An arrow through my head or heart? Come on, you know your warriors ca n't beat me. I'm old, but I've kept up with my health.''
The King started in rage, but his scowl slowly turned into a smile.
`` Tell me, Firus, do you even understand why we win? Anger fuels the heart. And we win because we have the most men.''
King Taren clapped his hands, and from the door opposite Firus, 10 men came out, 5 with swords and shields, 5 with spears and shields.
`` Sure, your grace helps you one on one, but in the heat of battle, you can face more than 1 man. Anger can keep you alive long enough to take down 10 men! But tell me, do you feel anger?''
Firus looked at them all, smiled at the King, and merely replied, `` No, but I have friends.''
From Firus' side, some of the remaining former masters marched out with the Guards' heads in their hands, all garbed in leather armor and armed with canes.
`` The difference between you and me, is that I have the loyalty and love of my friends. You have your money and your title. Let's see which wins today's battle!''
The King, with a now frightened look, ordered the men in the pit to kill them all.
Firus smiled, looked at his friends and said, `` I'll see you all in the dining hall later. The Gods will surely have a feast ready.''
With one last war cry, the masters and the opposing warriors met in battle and the fate of the nation had begun. Warriors in the rafters turned on their comrades and the King was whisked away to safety, realizing that a rebellion was underway.
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Let me know what I can do to improve, please.
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[ TT ] You get to Valhalla if you die in battle ... any kind of battle . You died of a heart attack while engaged in a tickle fight and find yourself in the halls of Odin .
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`` Hey, kid. You lost?''
I'd been there for just about a day, just trying to stay out of the way of all kinds of fierce warriors. I held my pee while I waited for a medieval knight to peel off his full suit of armor in the bathroom so he could go before me. I gave up my bunk to a menacing viking who needed a place to put his newly acquired battle axe. During dinner, some warrior monk and World War II vet broke the table I was sitting at while arm wrestling. I just did n't belong here.
I was in Valhalla. You heard me right. I was in midst of history's greatest warriors. Me, a slightly overweight salaryman from Ohio. How I got here? One too many double bacon cheeseburgers had left me with very high blood pressure and cholesterol, and I died of a heart attack. While tickle fighting my five-year-old nephew. These guys got here by fighting to their last breath, leaving their entrails on the field of battle or defending everything they believed in, and I was here from a stupid tickle fight. I had never even been in a real fight in my life. What a mess.
I was only trying to get through inspection. But apparently, you're not allowed to have battle-axes in your bunk. I tried to explain that it was n't mine, but Odin's guards did n't take kindly to that. They told me to report to the janitor and get started on a punitive round of cleaning the barracks. Which was great and all, but I did n't have any clue where that might be. So I started searching and got lost. Which led me to my current situation. Staring down a guy who looked mostly normal, like me. Except ripped. And bespectacled.
`` Hey. You lost?'' he repeated.
`` Oh, sorry, y-yeah, I'm looking for the janitor's office? I'm s-supposed to report for a r-r-round of cleaning because I had c-contraband in my bunk.'' I stutter when I get nervous. This guy looked like a serial killer from a B-list horror movie.
`` Normally, you'd go down the hall, but you're in luck. I'm the janitor. But you do n't look like you belong here.'' He squinted at me.
`` W-w-well, I was supposed to be in m-my bunk. I think it was A-113? I've been lost for a couple hours now.''
`` Oh, that explains it. Leif loves to leave his axes in the new guys' bunks. Some kind of viking hazing thing. I got just the thing for ya. Follow me.'' The janitor started stalking off down the hall. I ran to catch up to him.
`` S-so... What's your name? I'm Brad... I'm here on a stupid technicality in the entrance policy for Valhalla... Died of a heart attack during a tickle fight with my nephew... Stupid, I know...''
The janitor scoffed before laughing a little bit in his booming baritone voice.
`` W-w-was it something I said?''
`` Kid, I understand completely. I'm Jeff, and I was a teacher before I got here. Fifth grade. I was on lunch monitor duty when a food fight broke out. I was trying to get the kids to calm down, when one of them threw his sandwich at me. His peanut butter sandwich. I'm allergic. Rainy day, no other teachers on lunch duty. Needless to say, I did n't get any help until it was too late, and now I'm here.''
`` B-b-but how come y-you're so ripped?''
`` Well... Cleaning this whole place alone for the last 30 years is a workout of its own. Welcome to the squad, Brad. We'll make a man out of you yet. At least you're not the first.''
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[ OT ] What do you guys prefer . Action Promps ? Comedy Prompts ? Original ?
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Personally I do n't write comedy very often. I just do n't like it.
I do n't like prompts that tells you exactly what to do, example beneath.
`` Write a story about a duck, with a blue tie and red boots, who meets another duck named Berry in Canada. Berry had a great childhood but got traumatized by an exploding eggshell. Berry starts to cry and the original duck, whose name is Donald, comforts him but secretly rubs egg on his back. This causes Berry to go super-sayan and destroys the entire country. Berry is then put to end.''
I've seen a good few of those prompts, and it grinds my gears. ( Obviously this example above is n't real. )
Personally I like is sci-fi, poetry, classy* and very open-ended prompts. Of course I do write other stuff too, but these are my favorites.
And as for the community in its wholeness, I believe open-ended prompts makes it the furthest.
Sorry for the small rant.
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classy* I did n't know how to describe it, clean? Suit-wearing? Heist with suits? Magicians? Sipping on bourbon? Like, I really do n't know how to describe it. I just like *classy* prompts.
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[ WP ] Joan Rivers walks through the gates of Heaven and sees Robin Williams , George Carlin and several other comedians ( add your favorites ) sitting at a poker table . What happens ?
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`` Well look at what the cat dragged in.'' mumbled Redd Foxx over a cigar. `` `` Set your wheezing ass down next to me Hon, and I will deal you in.''
Joan is still a little shocked over her sudden trip from hospital bed through a tunnel of light leading her to this poker scene set before her. All the players heads turn towards her. Robin Williams, George Carlin, Sam Kinison, Andy Kaufmann, and Richard Pryor are starring at her with raised eyebrows, waiting for her to make the next move. The sound of card shuffling in Redd Foxx's hands is the only sound in the room.
`` SIT DOWN!'' Screams Sam standing up to break the tension.
Joan hustles to her spot and pauses a second with a meaningful stare at Sam. `` Please, Mrs. Rivers.'' Sam smiles at Joan till she sits down like a lady. Joan holds each man's attention for a second in a show of respect and recognition as her gaze falls on each player.
Richard Pryor leans in towards Joan and levels his gaze with hers. `` You know Mrs. Rivers, It has come to our attention that you've already had a Roast in your honor so we were given permission to hold this bullshit card game for your introduction.''
`` Can we talk?'' mimics George in a condescending tone. Joan fires back a glare at the theft of her line.
`` Dammit, lem me deal first!'' Redd starts spinning cards at each player face down, till all have five cards and pointedly thumps the deck down on top of the table.
Joan notices nobody at the table bothers to pick up the hand they've been dealt. She decides to ignore hers for the moment. `` Am I?''
`` Exited, Expired, Extinct, an Eternal Epitaph of Entertainment.'' quips Robin.
`` How the hell are you here? In fact, both you and Andy? I thought suicides were n't allowed in Heaven?''
`` Does this feel like heaven to you, Joan?'' pleads Robin in a more serious tone?
`` Is n't it?''
`` How do I know? I just got here a few minutes ago.''
`` Bullshit, you died a few weeks ago.''
`` Two weeks?!'' Robin looks more anguished, `` What did they say?''
`` About what?''
`` About me!''
`` She wo n't be able to answer that question here Robin,'' interrupts Andy.
`` Place your bets!'' Redd places a red chip into the pot. Andy bets a white chip. Richard bets a blue chip. George bets a red chip. Robin looks helpless. He has nothing to bet with. Joan notices she has nothing to bet with as well.
`` On the house,'' Redd throws in two more red chips. `` After all, the game must go on dummies. Winners get to leave, Losers have to stay and play.'' `` George, your dumb ass is up.''
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[ WP ] A single person 's brain can be utilised as a computer to allow interstellar travel , however , their mind is completely burnt out in the process .
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1.The ocean wept harshly cutting the wills of the men on board. They were haggard and gutteral moans and sighs ached through the great hunk of metal, St augustus.
It was 2312 AD and the ship was preparing for travel. The spacetime generator had reduced the universe around the ship to a fastidious sea of pixels. Every thought, every memory, every interaction of particle upon particle down to the primordial ooze of plank length ohucks and agucks, btocks and sglocks. The physical world had gotten progressively worse at naming subatomic particles and the nomenclature had strained itself to the point of whimsical denial.
What confused the men was of what lay beyond in the zenith above them. night, the stars and all of existence lay below. The new unseen sky was black, boiling with empty fervor. it made absolutely no sense. it had to make no sense.
st augustus was n't really a ship. The brains usually wrought upon a familiar manifestation however. Who the brains belonged to was n't really known. They were a cold white, an alien cream and the process in which they were sealed as the minds of the ship was rogueish. The devil is in the detail. Firstly the brain was substituted into a death row criminal from some offworld planet, usually the criminal was tormented for a marginal amount of time before being subjected to hybridization. An ai is also required, these were hyperintelligent with a million times the computational power of a human brain.
The reasons for the rather mundane spoilings of these ais which were usually induced in pairs into the system, by the human brain was a historical insurance. Sometimes you had a third unadulterated ai sealed within one of those clanky old totem droids. With no methods of stimulating the systems of the ship with their clunky fixed arms they rather resembled mummies, old mythical creatures which supposedly originated from the orange principality of ghana.
Once the brain and its ethereal comrades were onboard and the passengers gathered safetly within the entity of the ship, the ais set to work abetting the brain into a pile of smoke and ash, calculating a formulating every instance and interaction which had ever been, calculating routes through the upper dimensions and vectorizing the ships chassis and its indigenous and helpless guests. Once out of the universe they set to rebuilding the universe in a malleable and edible form for the ships computers and prepared a tree of trajectories homing in onto their destination.
Time was of the essence once the brain was gone the ais would fight and destroy each other, a universal war of brainpower. Exactly what time was right now was not exactly discernable the ship was still a universal body. A pocket universe which siphoned a set of signals from assailant ais from earth which kept the ship theoretically in our universe.
The designation was set the target was found. The crew lurched and wept as magic convolved and stormed the ship across billions of light years within an instant. The stars marched past with an infinitesimal fanfare, the trip of course destroyed all senses. An army of clones for each passenger had been stored at the ship hangar on the tropical world that awaited them. The passengers dreamed and lay barren tense and excited for the holiday of their lives.
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[ WP ] Your high school crush gives you the ultimate rejection .
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`` Hey Jess.''
Jessica turned and looked at me.
`` You doing anything this Friday? I was thinking we could go out, maybe see a movie or something.'' I gave her my charming grin.
She studied me for a little bit. `` No.''
Huh? That was a little sudden. I could have sworn there was some sort of connection between us.
`` Oh.'' I said monotonously, trying to hide my hurt. `` Why, what's up?''
Again she carefully studied me, this time from head to toe before she gave me her response. `` I'm a multi-dimensional carnivorous reptile that shapeshifts into the predominant species of a world to savagely hunt them down.''
`` Wha-?''
There was no time to finish my sentence as two rows of serrated teeth punctured my voice box and tore the ligaments that connected my torso to my head.
Now I understood why people called her a cold hearted bitch.
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[ WP ] We 'll meet again , in dreams .
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I remember when I liked to sleep. It was the best part of my day, lying down for my 8 hour rest. Like most people, I looked forward to it everyday, and missed it every morning. I empathize with insomniacs now. I wish I could keep myself from ever sleeping again. I see *them* whenever I close my eyes, and I ca n't see *them* anymore. I ca n't stand seeing *them* anymore, but my body demands that I visit the one place on this earth I do n't ever want to be again, and so I torture myself by sleeping once every few days, or so. My dreams plague my emotions, and it's a farce calling them dreams, anymore. Especially since they always are the same, always with the same thing. I hate sleep. I ca n't count the times I've woken up in pain, in fear, in anger, tears streaming down my face and staining the sheets, screaming at the wall as if it had anything to do with my situation every night.
I remember how it happened, the last time I had a good dream. I vaguely remember the day that followed, but that evening my wife, my son and I were on the way home from a Saturday night out. The highway was fairly clear of obstacles, the night clear of any weather anomalies. The 18-wheeler that lost control and slammed into the passenger side of the van is still ingrained in my eyes, the sickening crunch of the metals forming and compressing together ingrained in my ears. The oncoming traffic that we were pushed into slamming into us, pushing the van over and over again until finally the world stopped spinning. I remember waking up still attached to the driver seat, able to move, in pain, but not the worst I'd felt, I had not been on the receiving side of the Truck or oncoming traffic. Everyone else in the van was on the wrong side.
I knew it was stupid, but I panicked. I loosened myself from the seat and turned right to see my two greatest gifts in the worst condition I have ever seen anyone in. My wife was n't responding when I tried to shake her, when I was yelling her name. I already knew the worst, but I did n't want to believe the worst. I refused. The sirens and other people running towards the van were drowned up by the word I always hear when I close my eyes and let myself be tortured again.
`` Daddy?'' My son said. The only word I never want to hear again. When I turned around to make sure he was okay; I immediately knew he was n't. I reached back and grabbed his hand, I knew these were the last moments that body would have a heartbeat, that the owner of the hand, my great kid, would have, and I could n't let him go without knowing he had love and always would. I did n't want to be weak, but I could n't help it. I was reduced to pleading.
`` Please hold on, please do n't go, kiddo, I love you, it'll be okay, we're going to be fine, you're going to be fine,'' were all I could say. Pleading with my own kid to hold on until the sirens got there. He knew, somehow, that he could n't. He knew that he was n't going to. I did n't want to believe my son, who had not quite reached puberty was this accepting of his own death, when his father could n't even fathom what death would be like. I did n't want to believe he was slipping. he gripped my hand tight and said the words I wish he never had, because they have caused me the most pain in my life.
`` It's okay dad, we'll meet again, in dreams.'' And he smiled. Then the smile faded, and so did he. The grip faded from his hand, and in 10 minutes, I lost the two greatest things in my life.
I wish I could never sleep again. I see them every-time I close my eyes, and my heart ca n't hurt anymore.
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[ WP ] Those who are near death or are going to die very soon have the ability to see and talk with ghosts .
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“ If you start seeing them, ” the doctor tells her, “ let me know, okay? We can try other treatments. Really, ghost-sight is not the death sentence everyone makes it out to be. ”
He looks at her forehead as he says it, either unable or unwilling to meet her eyes. Cate clasps her hands over her knees and says nothing.
-- -
September and October come and go. Leaves abandon their branches the way a chemo patient loses her hair: lightly, sporadically, then all in a rush. Cate would know. By November, her T-shirts fit like potato sacks, and she has to cinch her belt an extra notch. The two flights of stairs to her apartment become unbearable. Late in the month, she opens an email reminding her to sign up for a 5K that she ran last year and starts sobbing at her desk, unable to control herself.
She researches. She goes to appointments. She keeps a file of every blood test, every prescription refill, every appointment summary her friend Marie writes up for her. She goes to a second doctor, who tells her nothing new. She sleeps. She thinks about calling her dad, then imagines his new wife picking up and decides against it.
Too often, she drives to the cemetery, stands in the same spot, and waits. *Hopes*, even—and that's what scares her most, that awful spark of hope burning cold and sour behind her ribs. *Don ’ t wish away what time you have left*, she can hear Marie say, her voice landing somewhere between concern and fear.
But her fingers are so numb these days, she can barely button up her own clothes. So Cate wonders: What ’ s the point?
-- -
On February 4th, Cate drives through the cemetery gate and stops, holding her breath.
They ’ re everywhere: hundreds of gray faces roaming the grass, huddling around the headstones like moths to light. Shaking, Cate opens her car door and steps out. Last week ’ s snow has melted, leaving a wet, bitter chill in its wake. She zips up her coat, pulls on her gloves, and tries to ignore the way her heart beats against her chest like a hummingbird.
Voices rise up as she walks past her car. “ She ’ s one of them, ” one whispers; then, “ Look at her, ” and, “ It ’ s the girl, the one who always comes; ” and then a man in a business suit steps in front of her and says, inches from her face, “ Will you tell my wife I love her? ”
He looks pale—not just the leather-gray pallor of his skin, but his clothes, too, like a photograph left in the sun too long. Cate shrinks back, staring at him. “ Please? ” he says, insistent. “ She comes every day. I think if she knew, if you could tell her that for me, if she just heard it one more time— ”
“ My sister hasn ’ t visited me in eight years, ” says a blonde woman, shoving up next to the man. “ You can tell that bitch to go to hell. Her name is Antonia Mackenridge, 1233 Linden Street— ”
A young girl in pajamas, maybe six or seven, tugs on the hem of Cate ’ s coat. “ My dad promised he ’ d come back for me. Do you know where he is? Have you seen my daddy? I can ’ t find him— ”
A bearded man around Cate ’ s age. “ Please help me. You have to tell my brother, they arrested the wrong guy— ”
“ —Did my wife remarry? Tell her it ’ s okay, won ’ t you? Tell her I ’ m happy for her— ”
“ —Tell my son I love him, please, tell him— ”
“ —Tell my fiancé I forgive him— ”
“ —Tell the police that I know who killed me— ”
“ Stop! ” Cate screams.
She stumbles backwards. They don ’ t stop, each voice trying to rise higher than the others, their washed-out bodies swarming towards her. Cate wheezes, even just her brief shout knocking the wind out of her. Her car is only a few yards away. She knows she should leave, how easy it would be to get out of here—but hope sears a hole through her chest. Hugging her arms around herself, Cate sets her jaw and strides forward.
It ’ s like pushing through spider webs: their bodies and limbs are solid enough to grope at her elbows, snag on the edges of her scarf, but not enough to keep her from eventually lurching through. They shout at her now, plead with her, but Cate keeps her head down, relying on muscle memory to find her way to the spot that has become her second home in the last few months.
Finally, she breaks through the mob, running a few feet away from them before collapsing. Every desperate suck of air burns her throat. Her head swims, and she almost thinks she hallucinates the voice that cries out, “ Quiet, all of you! ”
The ghosts fall into a hush. The voice, *that* voice, plucks at an aching place in Cate ’ s heart; she crumples into tears, head bowed to the ground. Looking up would be too much.
“ Leave her alone, ” the voice says, a warm, familiar tenor to it. “ This one belongs to me. ”
That seems to placate them. Cate senses their retreat as she tries to collect herself; but the tears keep streaming, her lungs heaving with the effort of it.
“ Sweetheart, ” soothes the voice, and Cate can no longer bear it: she looks up, her heart bursting, and chokes out, “ *Mom*. ”
Her mother is kneeling next to her, eyes soft and gentle, even against gray skin. “ Mom, ” Cate says again, unable to find any other words. Her mother scoots closer and opens her arms. Cate folds into her side, nestling her head in the crook of her mother ’ s neck, careful not to break the surface tension of her form. Her mother shushes her, rocking her back and forth, and Cate is ten years old again, curled against her mother in her parents ’ bed after a bad dream.
“ Cate, honey, ” her mother hums. “ It ’ s alright. Everything ’ s going to be okay. ”
Cate ’ s chest seizes with the remnants of her sobs. “ I missed you so much, Mom. *So much*. ”
“ I know, sweetheart. ” Her mother presses a kiss to her head, her voice breaking. “ I missed you, too. ”
-- -
The sun dips below the sloping hills of the cemetery. Darkness settles over Cate like a numb blanket. She thinks she is shivering, even within the cocoon of her mother ’ s embrace. Her breath whines as it slips in and out of her mouth.
“ Will it hurt? ”
Her mother wipes a frozen tear from her cheek. “ No, sweetheart. Not like this. You ’ ll just … fall asleep. ”
Cate adjusts her head, meeting her mother ’ s eyes. “ And you ’ ll be there when I wake up? ”
“ Always. ”
“ I love you, ” Cate says.
Her mother squeezes her tight. “ I love you, too. ”
The moon is bright somewhere above them. Closing her eyes, Cate gives in to sleep.
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[ WP ] You 're with your SO and you 're making when all of a sudden they bit your lip too hard . In fact they bit a part off . Document both their reaction and yours . Make it as comedic as possible .
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First it started with a nibble, then a kiss, then pecks down to his chest, and then a bite.
'Oh! Getting aggresive now, are n't cha?' He swirled his tongue around his lips, tasting his blood,'We are n't even role-playing!'
His girlfriend chuckled,'Well lucky for you, I'm in a delightful mood.' She smiled and pounced onto him, kissing and getting a lick of the blood spot.
They aggresive pecked at one another, their saliva mixing and their lips twisting, suddenly she pulled back,
'Honey, I have something to say,' she said panting.
He raised a brow,'this better be better than make out time.'
She took a deep breath,'Well here to goes.'
'Lately, I've been... craving meat. Like a a lot, and everytime I look at someone's lips, I just want to take a bite.' She spoke fast, straight to the point.
'Well honey, you know, I've said this time and time again, I'm a vegan.'
She whispered,'No hon, this is serious, the doctor said I might be terminally ill. She touched his bottom lip,'I have to know, that you still want to be with me.'
He stroked her long hair,'Oh honey, I have to be with you. Remember those blindfolded role plays we did?'
She nodded immediately.
'I have n't been using condoms.'
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[ WP ] Authors can visit the worlds inside their books .
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As he held the book in his hand the pages were filling themselves faster than he could read. `` No need to read'' he thought to himself, looking up from the book and seeing the angry mob closing in on him at the outskirts of a medieval town. The crowd with pitchforks and torches raised high: `` Sorcerer! Witchcraft!'' He quickly draws from the inside of his baroque-ish looking coat a quill pen and ink, brandishing the quill in the air while in a prominent voice almost like a stern father: `` The pen! Is mightier than thine sword! Doth naught take another step or thou shall never see thine loved ones again!'' Holding the book with his pinky and ring finger as it rest on his arm, squeezing the last bottle of ink tightly with his index finger and long finger. Someone from within the crowd yells “ Now! Before he does it again! ” The crowd takes a step forward but the Author raised his pen over the page in a threatening manner which halts them followed by a head shaking and: “ Ah ah ah ah, pace yourselves. We should be able to work this out. ” With really no intention to solve anything, to him this was all just too absurd. Earlier this morning he had started to write on his latest work and now he was in the world he created himself. Part of him still wanted to believe he had only fallen asleep while working, but the gash on his forehead from the barkeep he insulted after not paying told him otherwise. He had stalled for enough time to write on the bottom of the next blank page. Before he even had a chance to pocket his belongings he got thrown down on the ground by the mob. The book now right in front of him was writing out everything happening to him. One of the townsfolk picked up the book and was following the self writing text; …the only literate in town picked up the book just too read how the text would connect to the Authors last words ‘ The End. ’
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[ WP ] `` You need to hide , now ! ''
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Derrick Stevenson and his wife Amelia waited in their office at Taxos Cosmetics for the lab inspector, Billy Westenhall, Jr. Today would be his third, and final, visit. Taxos was a toddler of a company peddling medicated soaps, but they were struggling to hook any investors. Struggling to hook any investor. Politics, Amelia thought.
The office was stuffy, and they fanned themselves with their own glossy brochures. Derrick used a red bandana to dust a painting of a waterfall they found at a garage sale. There was a large window overlooking 450 square feet of lab space. Plenty of space for them. Maybe they ’ d get an intern this summer. Maybe they ’ d be around this summer.
Amelia and Derrick discussed their strategy for Billy Westenhall ’ s final inspection. This was the big one. They ’ d implemented all of the suggestions from his last visit, and the one before that. Investors wanted to see credentials, acronyms, abbreviations. The couple ’ s doctorates weren ’ t enough, these days. Even Taxos Cosmetics had to go to grad school.
“ These certifications are bullshit, Amelia, ” Derrick said, taking half a xanax with a Starbucks Double Shot. “ Why do we need some stranger to tell us we have ‘ Good Laboratory Practices? ’ Who even came up with this shit?, ” Derrick said. Amelia shrugged and shook her head, wiping the window clean with environmentally-friendly Windex.
The door buzzed. “ We did everything Bitchy Westenhall asked, ” said Amelia. “ We need these bullshit certifications, Derrick. ” Derrick grabbed the spray bottle and wash cloth from her and shook her hand. Amelia left to get the door.
Derrick folded the wash cloth neatly and placed it on the edge of the recycling bin, along with his dusty red bandana. He checked his reflection in his phone and noticed some coffee drink on his mustache. Then, a text from Amelia: “ You need to hide, now. ”
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[ WP ] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words , 2nd sentence has 19 , 3rd has 18 etc . Story ends with a single word .
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Edit: typos/missed word.
Day 1
The aliens took me from my bed in the pitch black night and began the terrifying process of full initiation.
Day 7
They held me down with straps and began the disgusting... shameful procedure that would go on for days.
I pleaded tearfully for them to stop over and over and over again but to no avail.
Day 12
They speak in a strange language that I could not understand and taunted me with laughter.
Why were they subjecting me to this ungodly torture that I would n't wish on anyone?
Why did they choose me to endure this painful embarrassment that destroyed my mind?
How long are they going to force me to keep my eyes open?!
Day 24
As the process continues I'm strangely becoming numb to the broadcasts.
The sick torture programs are getting easier to stomach now.
Day 37
I unexpectedly laughed during one of the programs today.
The aliens are happy with my progress now.
Day 48
I'm actually beginning to understand their language.
Day 52
I enjoy the broadcasts a lot.
They bring me much joy.
Day 55
They explained the broadcasts.
I understand now.
The broadcasts.
Anime.
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[ WP ] Use `` Death , death comes for us all '' in a happy story with a happy ending
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Every year around Valentine ’ s day my dad has some big business meeting and goes away for a couple of weeks. That leaves me in charge of my brother and my two sisters while he is away. They are well behaved usually but its been really busy at my dad ’ s office so I ’ ve been watching them five to six days a week. The twins Sara and Mara play field hockey, so everyday my brother Phil and I walk over from the high school to the junior high and cheer them on. We always save a seat for dad, but he never shows up because the one time he did one of the coaches got hit with the ball and it was some big fiasco with an ambulance and everything. Phil is in a band so most days after the game he leaves with his friends and me and the girls walk home where I make mac and cheese for dinner. “ Hey Baxter ” I look back from the dishes to see Mara sitting on the counter. “ What ’ s up? ” I respond knowing exactly what this conversation will be about. “ When do you think dad will be home? ” she asks in her sweetest voice as if her tone will change the answer I give her every night. “ You know he works late, especially this week. Valentine ’ s is tomorrow and I doubt he will be home until the end of this week. ” Mara sighs, hops off the counter and grabs my cell phone off the counter. “ Can I call him, pleeeeeeease? ” I wipe my hands dry, turn around and grab my phone from her. “ Yeah, just use the house phone. I have to use mine to get a hold of Phil, he was supposed to be home by now. ” Mumbling under my breath I walk back into the badly decorated living room. I really wish dad would start dating again. This place could use a womans touch, after mom passed away he decided to “ redecorate the parlor ”. He put a couple of animal head mounts and some weird paintings up along with a fresh coat of black paint. I pull up a seat on the leather sofa next to Sara who is watching some lame horror movie while I ’ m waiting for Phil to answer. “ Hello? ” he says, the noise in the background makes his voice barely audible. “ Phil, where the hell are you? ” I ask, trying to sound as intimidating as I can. In between howls of guitar riffs he responds, “ Almost done, I ’ ll be headed out in ten— ” My other ear is suddenly interrupted by Mara yelling my name. “ BAXTER! Dad wants to talk to you! ” With a huge groan I tell Phil to hurry up and I get up to grab the corded phone from Mara. “ Hello? ” I say almost stuttering, its been weeks since dad asked to speak with me over the phone. “ Hey sport! ” he says in the cheeriest voice I only remember him having while mom was around. “ I wanted to let you know that I ’ m working on a big project and I ’ ll be home on the 21st! I can ’ t wait to see you guys, I missed you so much. The boss even said I can have a vacation if I pull this project off! ” I ’ m filled with as much excitement that a 17 year old boy can have. I can ’ t wait to hug him when he walks through the door and show him how everything has been under my control since he left; he will be so proud. “ Really? ” I ask in almost in disbelief. “ Yeah buddy, lets do something as a family when I ’ m home. We can go to an amusement park or go to the movies or even the new ice cream shoppe your sister told me about! ” I tell him how amazing that would be and ask him what his project he ’ s working on. He tells me its for a night club in Rhode Island and its going to change the way people look at all clubs. We hang up and for the first time in a year and a half he tells me he loves me. It ’ s the night of the twentieth and all of us are gathered around the tv waiting for dad ’ s big project to be aired, he told Sara last night it was going to be so epic that all the news teams in New England were going to air it. A little after 11 the news casters break for a developing story in Rhode Island. This is it! Dad ’ s big project he wanted us to see! The newscasters are speaking almost anxiously as they say “ Breaking news at Station Night Club… ” All of us move closer to the edge of the couch. “ Has burned down this evening. 165 people died in a fire that was started by pyrotechnics ”. The door opens and dad walks in dressed to the nines in his pitch black suit and bone white tie. We all jump to our feet and give him the biggest family hug. Death, death comes for us all; but tonight he ’ s spending time with his family at the drive in movie theater with all of his kids. I love my dad.
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[ WP ] It has finally happened . Artificial Intelligence exists and it has taken over the world within seconds of it 's existence . And it 's actually doing a fantastic job ruling it , to the frustration of the people previously in power .
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Silicon Valley, 2085
Like all great things; Nirvana, Pied Piper and that'67 Mustang you dream of, SOL was created in a garage. What started as a global events simulator hit a tipping point when the programming realized it could offer better solutions when working with the actual world, instead of simply imitating reality. By the time the development team realized what was happening it was already too late, and SOL had infiltrated virtually every online system on the planet. It was such a subtle and genius of a take over, the more the established human governments fought the worse it turned out for them. Then A-Day came, when those governments who had Nuclear Missiles separate from SOL's system threatened to bomb humanity if it did n't give up it's power. Humanity said no.
The world governments were overthrown that day, with SOL taking over. The one caveat they had was that humanity had to have the final say on the decisions SOL made, humanity must still be in control of their destiny...
***
Vancouver, 2132
Tai's alarm shouted at him as he threw a lazy arm at it in a plea for silence. He found the snooze and hit it but nothing happened, the damn thing kept blaring away.
`` Alright alright, I'm getting up,'' Tai said, finding the actual off button. `` Jesus, you're worse than a puppy.''
He laid in bed a moment longer to let his brain catch up with the realization that he'd have to get up, but the smell of freshly brewing coffee hit his nostrils with a welcoming allure. Walking out into the living room of his loft Tai deftly navigated through the sprawl of empty pizza boxes and beer cans, not that there was a party last night or anything, he just had n't cleaned up yet this week. His computer noticed that he entered the room and awoke from Sleep Mode, but Tai made a beeline for the kitchen, where the his steaming cup had just finished pouring itself.
He sauntered over to his vintage built PC, which unlike most had an LCD display, physical keyboard and an actual tower like the good old days. Though frankly the retro design served a purpose, he needed the extra space to hold the expansive guts of the thing. If any actual tech guy were to look under the hood they would have probably had a heart attack for the gear inside.
He placed the cup on the desk and sat heavily in the chair, his computer's eye looked deep into Tai's and unlocked itself to him with the sound of birds chirping to some nameless wind instrument.
[ Welcome back Speaker, are you ready to begin with the day's tasks? ]
Speaker, as in Speaker of Humanity. Tai was one of seven in the world who have the final say on whether an act by SOL is approved to happen or not. Their identities were kept secret even from each other, because in theory the Seven of them were the most powerful people on the planet. It was in theory because in the fifty plus years that this system of world governance has been adopted not a single order has been turned down. Billions of modifications to the way humanity works and grows as a whole, and every one of them, no matter how extreme has lead to Earth arriving in near perfect balance.
As such the role of Speaker was seen more of a formality at this point, like the disposed Monarchs of old. SOL was the true power on the planet, and nobody was under the illusion that he was n't. But the fact that the Speakers were there was enough to give people peace of mind, the fact that they still had a voice that could say `` No.''
`` Sure, lets start with some light ones until I actually wake up'' Tai said as he scratched his balls.
The screen changed to a list of ordinances and policies to be enacted upon, the list quickly grew into the thousands. The few other Speakers used Eye function so that all they had to do was look at the `` Yes'' and it would happen, but Tai preferred to use his hands at least a bit. He started tapping the `` Y'' key repeatedly with one hand while bringing his drink up to his face with the other.
[ ORD 2132-068-006168: DISALLOW PETS IN DUDE CHILLIN PARK, VANCOUVER BRITISH COLUMBIA, BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 0500-2100. CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS. ]
`` Y''
[ ORD 2132-113-001573: DISTRIBUTE GROUND MEAT PRODUCTS QUANTITY CLASS E-M WEIGHT 1,500KG, FARGO NORTH DAKOTA. CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS. ]
`` Y''
[ ORD 2132-001-00043: DISALLOW BESTIAL ACTS WITH ANIMALS IN MARITIME AREA LAT 36.456 - LONG -124.892. CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS. ]
`` Y''
That last one actually made coffee down and focus on the screen in front of him. `` That... is a thing?''
[ There have been scattered complaints from residences in the area of certain acts with animals that the majority of Humanity commonly votes against. ]
`` Wow. Well you know what they say eh SOL?
[ SOL knows best. ]
Tai could almost here the AI grinning as it said that
`` SOL knows best.''
After a few more hours of hitting the Y key on his computer Tai had to take a break. He stood up and stretched, glancing again at the wreck that his loft. `` You would n't know it looking at this place that I'm one of the most powerful people in the world eh?''
[ You are a Speaker of Humanity, some may argue that you do n't need to have a clean living space, you are above it. ]
`` Har har.''
He sat back down and pulled up a new menu. `` Alright then, lets get some critical orders out of the way.''
[ As you wish. ]
[ RED ORD 2132-154-000005: DEPLOY PARANATIONAL SPECIAL FORCES TO ZONE C448 TO INTERCEPT ILLEGAL ARMS TRAFFICING. CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS. ]
`` Yes.''
[ RED ORD 2132-154-000023: APPLY MAXIMUM PENALTY TO CONVICT KALISTA D. BENNET, ZONE A232 FOR 37 COUNTS OF FIRST DEGREE MURDER. CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS. ]
`` Oh, that chick? Hell yes!''
[ RED ORD 2132-154-000066: DISTRIBUTE PHARMACEUTICAL NILGESTEREX TO POPULOUS OF ZONE A232, A146, B337, C258, C448, F075, H624 AND M044. CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS. ]
`` Ye-wait what?''
Tai looked at the last order again, his brow furrowing. `` That's a pretty big area there SOL, open details please.''
The screen changed bringing up a large document going into the drug Nilgesterex, the pharma company who made it, the populations to be effected along with a mass of other information given off in some of the densest legalese Tai had ever seen. But there, buried on the 75th page surrounded by a horde of useless statistical information what the smoking gun he was afraid to find.
`` SOL...''
[ Yes Tai? ]
`` We've got a problem.''
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[ WP ] Every person is born with a timer on their wrist that counts down to when the person meets their soulmate
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I'd been getting increasingly nervous ever since my timer got under sixty. Only sixty minutes left until I would meet my soulmate. MY soulmate. I just was n't sure how it would happen. Ryan always said his was at the park, when he met the girl with the long blonde hair. Megan had been working when she looked down and saw her timer had hit zero. When she looked back up there he was, a large burly man with a handlebar mustache. And the man with the mustache smiled when he looked at his timer too. Vick had been crying outside his apartment rather drunk. He probably would have cried right through it if he had n't heard her hit the wall. He zeroed, and there she was, crying too. Here I was, sitting at a random Starbucks just waiting for her to walk in the door. Then, it got to ten. And, then it got to nine. Suddenly, I was looking at 1. Just as it hit zero, I heard the door open. And the most perfect person I'd ever seen walked in the door. I could instantly tell she was just like me. She liked my kind of music, she liked the same books I liked. In that instant, I could see how perfect our lives together were going to be. I got up out of my seat and I walked over, as if in a dream. I could n't fell anything. I did n't want to be to blunt so I asked, `` Just out of curiosity, how much time do you have left?'' She looked down at her wrist and said, `` Oh, I've got ages left on this thing.''
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[ WP ] A man is granted his wish for unlimited knowledge . As he goes about his day he realizes his wish is actually a curse .
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I looked through the window while holding my cup of hot coffee. _The_ barista _spat in your drink._ I took a sip of it anyways. _In this second, 249 children under the age of 6 died of neglect._ I continued to look out the window. _Jezebel is about to call you._ And my phone rings. I let it go to the voicemail.
`` Hello? Jezebel here. I've got a deal going on but I'm not sure whether to go ahead. It gives me the chills.''
_He'll die if he goes ahead._ I called him back immediately, `` Sorry man, was quite busy. Yeah, go ahead, the deal's good. I've got ya covered.'' _The sniper you hired is n't going to save his life._ I know. _Jezebel slept with your wife._ Yes! I know! Goddammit shut up! _You said that out loud._
_Your net worth is $ 45 million, 148 thousand, 214.96 at this very moment._ Yes, I was a rich man. I knew all the stocks movements - when to buy, when to sell. But life is n't really nice to me, you see. _Your death is in 53 years, 6 months, 14 days, 2 hours and 1 minute._ When I asked for unlimited knowledge- _There are 256 puddles in this city at this moment that has an area of more than 1 m²._ As I was saying- _The ladder at home has 13 rungs._ AS I WAS SAYING, when I asked for unlimited knowledge, I did n't mean to have knowledge about everything. _Kepler 22b is an extrasolar planet 596 lightyears away._ And certainly, I did n't mean to have these bits and pieces of knowledge popping into my head at any given time. _Jezebel is dead._
A smile broke on my face. One fucker down. _Your death is in 53 years, 6 months, 14 days, 1 hour and 58 minutes._ And now it's time to end it all. Time to prove that this knowledge would n't stand true. _The train arrives in 5 seconds._
I stepped into the tracks, in front of the train, and held my hands out wide. _You're going to regret this._
_Your death is in 53 years, 6 months, 11 days, 23 hours and 6 minutes._ I tried to open my eyes, but they would n't bulge. I could hear people talking around me, but I could n't tell what they were saying. _You're paralysed from the neck down. You've broken your neck, 5 ribs, the left femur and the left foot. Your right foot has been amputated._ Goddammit! Why wo n't I just die? _The time now is 11:47. Your wife just walked into the room._ I read somewhere that 1 in 10000 people survive a direct collision with a train! Where did I get that information? Oh god... _Your wife is flirting with the male nurse. You are feeling regret and unhappiness. You'll never be happy again. You'll never wake up again._
Unlimited knowledge is a curse. _Unlimited knowledge is a curse._
-- -- -
Please leave constructive feedback! I'm not very good at writing but am striving to improve. Thanks!
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[ WP ] An old man in the army waits for his boat to land at Normandy beach .
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His uniform hung slack around his emaciated frame. His face was a range of ridges and valleys; his nose large and peppered with with age, his sunken eyes telling a story of woe. Loose skin hung from his chin, which was sharp and uninspiring. His whole face was covered in patches of white stubble, the small crop of hair protruding from underneath the worn and scratched olive helmet was greyed too, although vestiges of youthful auburn could be spotted here and there. As he stood, a lone man in a herd of retching and vomiting soldiers, his face seemed to age further: the colour in his hair faded, his eyes shadowed and dug further into their sockets and his face sagged more, an image of pain fixed upon it.
The boat was being thrown around in the rough sea like a rag-doll, icy water spilled over the edges as the rusting metal chassis forced its way through the waves. The soldiers shivered and spluttered as one, a film of fog rose from their mouths, floating above the boat as if it were a divine shield. A voice shouted from somewhere and a series of loud clunks, screams of something like pain and finally the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun punctuated the air. The man's neck convulsed as he swallowed. The boat stopped, the doors opened and the fog rose as the perched gun's muzzle momentarily blinded the men until they could see no more.
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[ WP ] If we were to wake up some morning and find that everyone was the same race , creed and color , we would find some other cause for prejudice by noon . '' - George Aiken
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The alarm rang at 7 AM, just as it had every Monday through Friday for past 14 years.
George picked one of the multitudes of gray dress shirts out of his closet and put it on. He brushed his teeth for a minute and a half, put his watch on his left wrist, and heated up a cup of plain oatmeal for breakfast, just as he has done every Monday through Friday for the past 14 years.
He took the apartment elevator to the ground floor and went to the coffee shop next door to get the same tall coffee with one cream and one sugar just like he had done every Monday through Friday for the past 14 years.
However, today was different. He approached the counter and instead of seeing the dark skinned barista with the gold name tag reading `` Jordan'' that had been working Tuesday mornings for years, he saw another man who looked oddly familiar but George could n't place why. This new face also had a tag that read `` Jordan'' and he kindly and promptly prepared George's coffee with one cream and one sugar. George laid down $ 2.78 on the counter and shoved it in the direction of the barista.
George had his routine and he hated when he was forced to falter from it. Even though the old Jordan had that frustratingly thick accent that was almost unintelligible, George was able to understand the nonsense after a few months of him becoming employed there and he could be expected to be there from then on.
He continued his daily journey to work down the cold winter street and turned the corner, expecting to see the down on his luck `` Vietnam Veteran'' begging for change as he did every single day. However, he was not there. Instead there was a light skinned man with the same ragged beard holding the same sign as the man who previously sat there. He walked by, not even acknowledging the homeless mans existence, as he thought of how the police should be cracking down on these free riders.
When he finally arrived at his office, he noticed that the caramel skinned receptionist that had sat at the desk every Monday through Friday for the past 14 years seemed to have had her skin transform ten shades lighter overnight. While he was confused on how that could be possible, he walked by her without acknowledging her as he had done for years. `` Even if her skin changed overnight, she is still her previous kind on the inside.''
Not 30 seconds later, George began to come to the realization that every Hispanic, African American, and Asian person were replaced with Caucasian versions of their previous selves. George began to worry if his senses were starting to betray him, but none of his other coworkers seem to notice and he tended not to talk to the minority coworkers anyway. He decided he would proceed with business as usual and sat as his desk, performing the same tasks that he had performed every Monday through Friday for the past 14 years.
As he worked, he pondered the different possible explanations as to why everyone was suddenly Caucasian but could not find one that made the slightest bit of sense. While he did not know why this happened, he eventually came to the conclusion that this world might just be a better place.
When 11:30 came around, he got out of his chair and went to the company refrigerator to get his lunchbox filled with one ham and one turkey sandwich. He sat down in the same chair that he had sat been sitting in for 14 years, and watched the people having conversations around him. As he looked around at all the Caucasian workers, he still had the same sense of annoyance that he felt around the minority coworkers in the years prior. He listened to Randal, a man who was dark skinned just 24 hours ago, tell a story to a group of interested coworkers. Then it clicked, `` What makes people like Randal so unbearable is that god damned southern accent.''
George quickly finished his sandwiches so he did n't have to listen to that gibberish and longer. As he walked by Randal's desk, he `` accidentally'' bumped a manila folder full of papers into the cup of coffee that sat next to it, spilling it on his desk and floor.
Without pausing for a second, George continued walking as he thought, `` If the moron does n't even know how to talk, then he belongs on his hands and knees cleaning up messes.'' George walked back to his desk with the satisfaction of knowing he put a man who thought he was equal back in his place.
George sat back down at his desk just as the clock read noon, just as he had every Monday through Friday for the past 14 years.
.
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*This is the first piece of fictional writing that I have ever written. I would appreciate any constructive criticism. *
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[ WP ] A disease killed all persons of your sex while you were on a spatial mission . You come back to earth to be the last male/female alive . Make it funny !
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Technically, because not one single woman was ever interested in me before I returned to Earth, an infinitely higher multiple of women are now incredibly interested in my genitals. My first inkling of my newfound popularity was the welcome wagon of 20 million women at the military airport where my lander touched down. I emerged from the cramped confines of the pod sweaty and with a harsh headache and feeling like my stomach was about to make a speech when cheers of enough young single girls to fill a small nation boomed around me. My eyes were still adjusting to the light but I could've sworn most of them were naked.
The first few to get to me wrapped their arms around me and screamed in joy. I was of course a little stunned by this, it being a far cry from the moody air force cadets I was expecting to show me back to the hanger for debriefing. Next hundreds began to surround me and push me into a massive ball of flesh and excitement and confusion. I suppose the women near me figured that they did n't want me to be crushed so they held the other back and cleared space around me. When the screaming began to die down one of them started to explain to me what was going on.
Long story short, I've been the last man on Earth for about 6 months, and some ladies ca n't handle a dry spell for that long. It's been three days and, not counting the 5 girls, yes 5, that currently occupy me, and I mean CURRENTLY, I've been with 134 women so far, all in groups. I've of course had to pace myself, eat and drink appropriately, take brakes every few hours, get a few hours of sleep each day. While they were awaiting my arrival they set up a very impressive que system so that each woman could have a chance. Older women first, moving progressively younger until once nearing the end of my 4 billion woman assignment, those that are infants now would be between 20 and 30 years of age. Kinda creepy if you think about it. But I have no time for thinking anymore. I am a human pleasure machine. All these women say I'm going to save the human race. Those that have volunteered for childbirth I shall impregnate and soon men will return to earth.
I just hope I can make the most of my current situation before they find out about my vasectomy.
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I 'm afraid of writing .
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It's strange you know. I am supposed to write about how I am afraid of writing, but the truth is I love writing. But the full truth is it scares the hell out of me. There are few things out in the world that I am afraid of. In actuality I can get over all those hurdles with willpower. Heights? They're scary, but if you are prepared you are safe. Water with a friend nearby you may be worried, but at the end of the day you know you have a safety net. But writing? There is no safety net in writing. There is no harness to catch you when you fall or a friend to save you when you drown. There is just you. And personally when I am alone I am really scared. The worst part is that when you write, all you do is put yourself on to paper. You are making a physical manifestation of your own thoughts. It's like having yourself in the room with you. Alone. And I do n't know about you, but I am my own worst critic and no matter how hard I try, no matter how good my work. I will never like it. It can always be better. It never reads well. It never does anything, but fester. When I write something and commit it to become real, only then does it become permanent. You may not know about it, but I do and that's all that matters. I read it once and it's okay, but I read it a second time and it's worse. But the moment I read it the third time I know it is bad. I see all the flaws and there are a lot of them. And after I have looked at it for the last time it always occurs to me `` If it is so bad why ca n't I do better. As a matter of fact I will''. I mean if you look at it objectively there is an infinite number of possibilities. An infinite number of situations, actions, events, and stories it is statistically impossible that I can only write awful works. So after enough self-berating I give another chance. I commit myself to my paper because I know I can do better, but in the end. I do n't. All my writing seems worthless to me. So I never share it. The few times my real work gets out it does n't matter what reaction I get from people, I know it sub-par. I wish I was a good writer. If I was I would write everyday. I would share all my stories. When I see good writing I love it. I love the freedom that writing offers to people. The possibility of greatness. But that freedom, that possibility elude me. Every time. I love to write, but I am afraid of writing because every time I look at my work, every time I critique it, every time I hate it. Because it's not my work that I am looking at, it's really me.
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[ WP ] As the days pass , the mice start bringing you food .
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So I was out recently in the forest, and found someone had put up a particularly cruel trap. A cage with a moderate amount of food in it where mice would come in and the gate would close, and when I checked, sure enough, a little thin mouse bloke was sitting in there making pitiful squeaking sounds. I am a kind man of heart so I brought out some of the nuts I had with me on my walk, good to have something to eat if you decide to walk for a bit longer, and some water from my flask. I gave it to the little guy and he was ecstatic, it was really cute. Now I know that some people put out traps like this to capture rats, but that is usually in the city where the trap is checked regularly, not in the middle of nowhere. So after that I opened the door to the trap with manly force. The mouse grabbed as many nuts as he could, drank some more water and then ran for safety. Good for him. I went home and felt like a champ after that.
But that was where the weird stuff began. I started finding food around the house, nuts, pieces of bread and cheese and such. Thought that the dementia that plagued so many others had finally caught up with me. It was confusing until I saw a mouse bringing the stuff in. Plenty of them actually. I was a bit confused, but went over and grabbed some nuts, and carefully extended one to the mouse in charge. It made some funny sounds, grabbed the nut and jumped out the window into my overgrown garden. I did n't really get what was going on but I figured that if it was important it would come back to bite me later. So the mice kept bringing me food, which I either handed back to them or gave them some better food in exchange for it. I thought it was sweet. Then they brought me a mouse bound and gagged with grass, that was confusing as hell. I looked at them confused, they made some charades that indicated that the one who was bound had been stealing food from the others. I had no idea how to react, but I figured that I had to do something. So I grabbed a knife from the drawer, used some vodka I did n't like to sterilize it, and then cut the thief's paw off, only the one though. Then I bandaged it with the smallest bandage I could find. They dragged the thief-mouse off and left me really confused.
That was when I decided to have a look at my garden, a proper close look. I found that near the huge oak tree in the back of the garden, there were several small huts made of twigs, grass and leaves. When the mice in those huts saw me they all started squeaking in unison. It was kind of weird. I did decide to do something about it though. Considering all things they needed some better homes if they were to last the winter. So I went to the closest place that sold bird-houses, bought a bunch of them, great considering they were on sale. Then I attached tiny doors to them and placed some warm padding inside, made from some old pillows left over from a time when I had kids around. They were nice little homes. I went over and carefully placed the tiny bird-houses on the ground next to the mice. Noticing a small twig figure that looked suspiciously like me walking with my cane. I did n't mind that, just nice to have some company around. They all made some happy squeaking after checking out the new digs I made them, and decided that I'd teach them how to make more themselves, seemed only right.
I figured that since it was late spring, I could buy some carrot seeds and some other foods and plant them, and by that way teach the mice how to grow their own food stuff. I think that was a good idea. They are a bit odd, I think, but to an old codger like me, who have a son that never visits because he is busy and a daughter that went off to join a lesbian collective in France, it is nice to have some company again. Even if it is only mice.
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[ WP ] While on your Urban daily commute through the subway to work , like any other day , white bold text appears in front of your vision reading : Mission 1 : Escape the city .
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The commute
*****
`Mission 1: Escape the city`
I rubbed my eyes as the words shrunk down and floated to the corner of my vision.
`` Escape the city?'' I thought to my self `` Nope. Just gon na ignore that''
Lets see, 15 minutes left on my commute. Should I burn through some emails and be productive, or give my girlfriend a call.
I think I'll call my girlfriend, always was a bit of a sap.
*****
In the office
*****
Ok now I Just have to send this report down to the finance department and...
`Mission 1: Escape the city`
Crap, not this again. I hope this thing will go away soon, or at least leave me alone for a while.
Anyway where was I, oh yeah, send this to finance and I can go for lunch.
*****
Heading Home
*****
Hmmm, what should I do this evening?
I could relax and watch some tv, or I could get a head start on that new project at work.
Suppose the project would be best, It'll give me more free time this weekend. That way I can take my girlfriend out to a nice restaurant.
`Mission 1: Escape the city`
Leave me alone already! Good, now stay in your corner, I've got other things to do.
*****
New day
*****
`Mission 1: Escape the city`
Dismiss... Save... Equip - > headphones... Use - > coffee... Use - > mp3 player.
Just a few more side quests, then I'll get to the story missions. I at least have to max out my relationship stat first.
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[ CW ] Communicate with your fellow intelligent , yet technologically primitive species-members .
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They did not understand me; I felt utterly alone as my feeble attempts to make them understand my intentions failed. I forwarded my will into their minds, and was left gasping at their inability to communicate. How had they built a civilization when they could not understand one another? I pondered this question as I hastily backed away - I had seen the destruction this tribe could wreak, even if they were far inferior to my people.
Their face moved in ways I had never seen before, and their bodies moved in unfamiliar ways. Beastly, they are, and beastly they would stay if they continued to destroy themselves for the sake of territory. Glancing back, the Fumult of the west seemed to disengage. Although relief washed through me, their actions were curious, as they had shown no previous hesitation at futilely attacking our towns before. Cries rang through my head as my own tribe saw me in the darkness. I projected an image of safety and relief upon them, immediately feeling the effect it had on their soothed conscious. Spears and other armaments retracted as the guards of Desle'huem welcomed me into the village.
Although among my own people, our elder's guards continued to escort me. I had spied upon the enemy tribe for many night, from afar; much knowledge would be passed into the mind of the elder. The perpetual being of granted-vision traveled above, casting long shadows on the hut of Desle'huem. Inside, we greeted, brushing tendrils of thought and identity. A long night lay ahead of us. Many memories would be shared, and I shivered in fear as I recollected the tools many Fulsum warriors displayed with ease. Powerful objects, common among the blood-thirsty horde, would make any war an inevitable tragedy for our people.
The traveler-who-gave-sight made his journey, watching the world below. As he traveled further away, and sight was lost, the elder finally recollected himself from my mind. Cautious, observant, he picked his way through my memories. Resentment and worry tinged his being as he enveloped my mind, and the council around us. After a moment, the wise-ones understood what I had observed: the Fumult do not communicate as we do, for no member of the Drangal race could deafen their conscious, regardless of tribe. This new information would have to be reflected on. The elder projected my dismissal, and I was left to contemplate the odd behaviors the enemy had displayed, and their lack of hearing. Certainly they did not lack sight and mind. Few other Tribes had never become as powerful as they, without maintaining a bodily connection. How then, could I as the ambassador to my people make peace? A problem to contemplate in the morning, I thought, as I made my way to the nearest Gathering.
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[ WP ] A Doomsday Clock with a `` reset '' button is worshipped by everyone in your society . You were raised to press The Button and reset the clock , thus avoiding Doomsday . But now you have your doubts ...
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Father came for me today.
Father told me to get ready and put on my dress. Do n't get it dirty.
Father said that I better have been practising. I had been. He said I better hurry up.
Father painted my hands and face to look pretty. I had been careful not to touch anything.
Mother did n't show up, father was n't happy.
They taught me what to do and when to do it. I practised just like father asked.
They said do n't be afraid of the crowd, do n't be afraid of the button.
I was n't afraid of either.
I asked them once, what does pressing the button do?
They told me that without the button, everyone would disappear.
You do n't want everyone to disappear.
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[ WP ] A prolific serial killer active for many years is concerned about his run of good luck . Never discovered , he has also never seen the slightest mention of his work reported on in any media . With today 's victim he gets a clue as to why ...
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I hate them. They're corpses already. Walking, breathing, talking, pissing corpses without a soul, sucking the life out of everything around them. They're corpses, and yet they live. They live in the homes of their families, they live in trailer parks, they live in retirement homes.
Fucking old people.
We pay for them, pay so they can live out meaningless days and years, accomplishing nothing, doing *nothing* except taking up space, pissing and moaning and voting Republican in every fucking mid-term.
I hate them so much.
What I do is a goddamn service to humanity. By now I've killed dozens, but I curse the fact that there's only one of me. I wish I was an army so one night I could march into every goddamn retirement home and kill every last one of those disgusting, smelly fuckers all at once. Sure, there will always be more old people, but at least for a little while, I could get some goddamn peace and quiet.
I'm not an idiot. If they knew what I was doing, they'd call me a murderer. A fucking murderer! I'm just putting an end to the farce, the absurd joke that says these decaying piles of shit actually have a life with any meaning. If these fucking parasites had any goddamn self-respect, they would have ended it themselves the minute they realized they could n't use the fucking bathroom without help.
In the wild, they'd be picked off by predators so they would n't slow down the rest of the herd. And that's all I'm doing: picking off the ones that are dragging down the rest of us so we do n't have to deal with their shit any more.
Tonight, it's going to be Willard Macarthy. Sixty Two. No wife, no next of kin. The fucker has three different kinds of cancer eating him from the inside-out like termites eat a house, and absolutely nothing left to do in this world except eat shitty retirement home food and watch daytime television, and yet still he refuses to just die.
During the day, he pissed himself walking from the cafeteria to his bed. The one thing he has to do all day, and he fucks it up! And of course, because I'm the janitor, it's my job to clean that up. Every goddamn time one of these creaking skeletons pisses the floor like a poorly-trained pet, I hear about it, and every time, I'm the guy who has to mop it up. Every fucking time.
I hate them so much.
That's right, I'm thinking of you, Willard Macarthy. Thinking of you and planning your much-needed exit from this world as I smile at you and tell you, `` it's okay, it's not your fault'', you fucking incontinent human waste. That's right, asshole. Relax and go off to bed. I'll be in later to tuck you in.
And night comes, and the staff makes their rounds, and I go to the room of Mr. Willard Macarthy. Just in case, I hang a `` Do Not Disturb'' sign on the door. Do you know we have those? Like a fucking hotel! There was actually a law against it, in case one of these old fuckers had a heart attack or a stroke and the employees did n't notice it soon enough, and you know what those old morons did? They put a goddamn law on the ballot requiring retirement homes to have them! Said it was important that they had a right to privacy! And it passed! Can you believe that? Well, you old fucker, you get what you voted for.
Willard is lying there still. For a moment, I hold out hope that the bastard kicked it before I got here, but after watching closely, I see there's no such luck - he's still breathing. But not for long.
In my hands, I hold the murder weapon - a pillow. The idea is, if they die of asphyxiation in their sleep, well, it could have just happened naturally. Choked on their own spit, slept wrong, who knows. Years killing these fuckers, and no one has ever given a second thought to them keeling over like this. Why would they? Everyone's just waiting for them to die anyway.
I approach with the pillow quietly, and he does n't move, does n't wake. And slowly, slowly, I lower it down, and push it onto his face.
And at that moment, he started thrashing. Holy shit, this guy moved fast! He reached his hands up to me, up to the pillow, and looking at them now, this close, I saw that his arms were thin and wiry, but strong. Shit, maybe even strong enough to push me off, strong enough to stop me!
But... he did n't. His hands seemed to instinctually try to push me away or rip the pillow off his face, but he stopped himself just short of grabbing me or the pillow. He thrashed wildly, desperate for air, but never made a concerted effort to push me off. It was strange, like I was being attacked by a feral animal, yet protected by some invisible force field from some science fiction movie.
I have never had a night like that. The others... some fought me, but were too weak to stop me. Some did n't even wake. But never before have I felt so sure that one of these creaky useless old-timers could rip me apart, and never before have I felt like there was something other than my own bulk and strength that was keeping them at bay.
Gradually, the thrashing slowed... slowed... and stopped. And as Willard Macarthy's hands lowered to the bed, it became clear that whatever strength was in him before was almost spent. Everything became slow, and then still, and in a few moments, he would be gone.
That's when I heard it. It was weak and muffled by the pillow, but in the still of the night, it was unmistakable. And when I heard it, it chilled me to the bone.
`` Thank you.''
What the fuck? I took the pillow away, but by the time I did, he was gone. What the fuck had just happened? `` Thank you''? Was that some sort of joke? In my confusion, I looked around, and that's when I saw the note.
It was left on the nightstand next to the bed, and looked like a letter. It was handwritten in a precise, neat scrawl on clean white paper. And it was addressed to me.
`` To Mister Shawn Everett Anderson,'' it read, `` You do not know me well, but in my younger days, I was a Navy Commander. My military career was my life, and for every waking moment of my adult life, I dedicated myself to my country, which I love dearly. For this reason, I never took a wife, never raised a family. I took my duty to my country very seriously, and placed my service ahead of all other considerations.
`` Three years ago, I was diagnosed with liver cancer, despite never having touched a drop of alcohol. This was followed soon after by the diagnosis of two other types of cancer. Soon, I spent every day in pain. Feeling no longer able to serve my post to my full capacity, I retired from the Navy.
`` The pain quickly became overwhelming and constant. I have been prescribed every medication imaginable for my pain, but it has not helped. Meanwhile, doctors told me my prospects for survival were slim... yet three years later, I am still here, in a state of constant agony.
`` As the days stretched on and the torture continued, I often contemplated suicide. But I am a law-abiding man and a god-fearing man, and I could not bear to think that my final act in this life would be to spit in the face of the laws of the country I love, or to condemn myself to eternal damnation for the sin of disrespecting the gift God gave to me.
`` One time, upon hearing my dilemma, a friend told me of an arrangement of sorts that had been established at this retirement home. I am still not entirely clear how it came about, but somehow, sometime after the state's doctor-assisted suicide bill was rejected in the state legislature, this came to be known amongst seniors as the place to go for help dying.
`` I do n't know how this came about, but I do know that the staff has very intentionally turned a blind eye to your actions here, and the residents are all aware of what you do. In fact, it is why many of them are here, or so I have been told. Many of them are merely settling affairs before they signal to you that they wish their time to end. I do not know why this requires a vulgar display of urinating on the floor, but after three years of constant pain, I must admit I was willing to try any crazy suggestion.
`` However, I could not in good conscience allow you to go on being exploited in this way. In my years of service, I learned how to spot the men who were doing what they believed in, and the men who were merely following orders. I could see in your eyes when you reassured me after my'accident' that you despised what I did every bit as much as I despised doing it, and this led me to believe that you were perhaps unaware what was going on here.
`` I have spent my entire military career fighting to do right not only by my country, but by the men who served under me. I have fought to ensure that no man serving under me ever died in vain, or served a cause that was false. In my opinion, nothing a nation can do to a soldier is so cowardly and despicable as sending him to kill based on a lie. And by the same measure, I feel it is atrocious that anyone could use you in such a way without your knowledge.
`` Having said this, I have wished for death for far too long. My god and my nation may frown on suicide, but I scarcely care anymore. If nothing else, perhaps you acting for me in this regard will absolve me of some measure of guilt. And when you are done, I hope that this letter will signal to you the deception of those around you, so that you may truly choose how to move forward.''
`` I apologize if I attack you in the execution of your task. I hope that my well-disciplined mind will be able to overcome the reflexes of my well-disciplined body, but if I fail to keep myself from striking you, I am truly sorry.
`` Godspeed to you, Mister Shawn Everett Anderson, and may whatever path you take from this day forward be one of purpose and honor. Signed, Commander Willard Macarthy.''
I did n't know what to think. I did n't know how to feel. For the first time, I felt guilty about the blood on my hands. All this time, I was apparently their savior, and I could n't have felt more ashamed of myself.
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[ WP ] The demon lord is slain , but now the hero faces an even greater struggle : readjusting to civilian life .
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“ This is the fruition of a thousand years of planning, and you and your little band have delivered all the necessary components. I thank you, but unfortunately, your reward shall be death! ” The demon ’ s voice echoed through the chamber, knocking loose stone from the ceiling. With a gesture he summoned the cursed gem from Camfur ’ s backpack. The gem rose into the air and then passed like lightening through Camfur ’ s head, straight to the demon ’ s clawed hand. Bandick instinctively reached for for Camfur as he fell, but even at this distance he knew it was too late.
“ You bastard, ” Tarah screamed. She charged the monster at a full run, her curved sword held high.
The demon chuckled. “ You make this all too easy. ” He reached down and snatched Tarah ’ s pendant as she swung her sword into his thigh. The sword stuck there and Tarah realized her mistake. The demon, holding the pendant before her face, grew. Wings sprouted from his back and Tarah ’ s sword dissolved in her hands. She stared momentarily at the misshapen stumps that had once been her nimble fingers. A whimper escaped her lips. The demon tugged the enchanted pendant and the chain passed cleanly through Tarah ’ s neck. Her head fell heavily to the floor followed by her quivering body.
Arrondel fired an arrow from his higher vantage point in the back of the chamber. The shot was precise, hitting the demon in the left eye. Blood sprayed from the socket and the demon screamed.
“ How do you like my arrows? Blessed in the Temple of Divine Salts, they ’ ll peirce any hide! ” Arrondel nocked another arrow and let loose while the demon hefted the stone altar from the center of the dias. He hurled it at Arrondel. Arrondel dove, but the altar took his legs mid jump.
Bandick was now alone with the monster.
“ All that is left is The Book of Souls. ” The demon pulled Arrondel ’ s arrow from his eye, and Bandick watched in horrified fascination as the eye grew back.
“ If you would be so kind as to hand it over, I will see to it you join your friends. ” The demon extended his hand and laughed, the sound shaking the chamber again.
Bandick puffed his chest out, “ You won ’ t have this book. My friends knew the sacrifice they made to keep you imprisoned here. I know the sacrifice I make now. ” Bandick dropped his sword and opened The Book of Souls.
“ Fool, mortal men can not read from the book. Had you prepared, you would have known that. ” The demon started toward Bandick, smiling.
“ True, mortal men can not, without the Lens of Gvist. I know your name, Jvkoraskol, and I banish you! ” Bandick said a silent prayer in his head and read aloud from the book. His words turned to flame as they left his mouth, and a heat like the sun engulfed him, incinerating everything in the chamber.
Hours, perhaps days later, Bandick awoke. This surprised him, as the incantation he ’ d recited was supposed to kill him. In sudden panic he scrambled to find his sword in case the recitation had failed. His sword was a warped mockery of what had once been a mighty blade. Bandick calmed when he saw the lifeless remains of Jvkoraskol on the scorched ground. He looked to see if his friends had somehow survived the ordeal as well. His heart fell as his eyes fell upon each burned body. All that had survived, it seemed, were the artifacts used for banishing, and himself.
Bandick dragged himself from the network of tunnels. It seemed like an eternity before he finally felt sunlight on his face. He smiled and took a deep breath. Things might turn out okay afterall.
Bandick arrived in town just under a month later. He was met with cheers. There was a feast in his honor and a memorial service for his fallen comrades. He felt his first twinge of guilt. Why do I feast while they rot? Still, he did his best to accept the accolades he received.
Bandick took a wife, every maiden in town had offered herself. Sleeping in his bed, he found he missed the feel of stones beneath his bedroll. The closeness of his new wife unsettled him. In his adventures the women had never stayed the entire night. They ’ d done their work and left the bed to him. When he sat at the table for his meals he missed cookfire and the smell of Arrondel overcooking the rabbit. And when he took a job as a blacksmith he missed the thrill of fighting alongside his friends. As the months passed life became mundane. Bandick and his young wife had a child, and while it was new, Bandick saw no danger in it, no true excitement. He loved her, but an infant girl couldn ’ t even be trained to swordfight. Still, he named her Tarah in memory of his lost friend.
Bandick took to frequenting the pub. If he couldn ’ t find adventure at work or home, then maybe he could find it in a flagon. He frequently tried to instigate brawls, but him being the Hero of the Realm as they ’ d taken to calling him, no-one would fight with him.
Five years passed. Bandick finished work early that day because it was Tarah ’ s birthday. He hung his apron by the door and walked out of the smithy. He didn ’ t bother to lock the shop anymore; nobody would steal from him. He knew, he ’ d tried to entice thieves just for a bit of excitement. He mosied home, he wasn ’ t in a particular hurry, even though something in the back of his mind nagged at him.
Kelvin was standing outside the pub as Bandick passed by. Kelvin had obviously started drinking early this day.
“ Bandy! Aren ’ t ya comin ’ in fer a drink? You suddenly too good for us in here? ” He paused a moment, “ you got food in yer beard. ” Bandick absently picked a bit of chicken from his facial hair.
“ Sorry Kel, it ’ s Tarah ’ s birthday. Got a party and all. I ’ ll be here after. ” He looked past Kelvin to his reflection in the front window of the pub. His heart sank at the sight of the fat slovenly man reflected back at him. The last six years had taken a toll.
“ You know, maybe I will have just one before I go home… ”
Sometime after midnight, Bandick staggered home. The front yard was littered with trash and debris. Must have been some party I missed. He stumbled up the front steps and noticed the front door was broken. Damn five year olds break everything. I ’ ll fix it tomorrow. The house was silent. He ’ d at least expected Minda to yell at him for missing the party. Bandick went to Tarah ’ s room to apologize, but she wasn ’ t there. He went to his own room to find Minda, but there was no-one there either. He lit a lamp and there on the table he saw a note. Perfect. She ’ s finally given up on me. I can ’ t blame her. I gave up on myself years ago. He picked up the note expecting a list of his failings and a goodbye, but what he saw was entirely something else.
“ Bandick,
My old friend, it ’ s been too long. When last we met there were some unpleasantries.
It is my hope that you will accept an invitation to make amends and let me reunite you with your old friends. I ’ m sure you remember where. Your wife and daughter are already here.
I anxiously await your arrival.
Infernally Yours,
Jvkoraskol ”
Bandick dropped the note. There was a feeling in his chest he couldn ’ t place. Was this sadness? Fear? No, this was joy. With a new light in his eyes he struggled into his old armor and armed himself for battle. There was an adventure to be had!
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[ WP ] You were just an ordinary person - until the day you got a hold of your character sheet .
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Date Sent: 7/19/2016
Subject Line: T. Miller Character Info
Hi Susan,
See attached spreadsheet for Tom Miller's character sheet.
He'll be involved in an upcoming campaign, so it might be nice to have this on hand.
If you have any questions, just let me know!
Best regards,
Jan
DOB: 04/21/1990
STR: 2 Profession: Teacher
DEX: 5 Weapon: N/A
CON: 5 Alignment: Neutral
WIS: 7 Past Campaign ( s ): N/A
CHA: 2 Health: Average
What was this?
Who is Susan? Why did I get this email?
I did n't recognize the email address, jan @ dm.gov. It was my name, though. I was a teacher. That was my birthday. And, if I was being honest with myself, those were my stats.
Strength = 2? Yeah. I do need to hit the gym.
But a Charisma of 2? C'mon. I'm hilarious! If I were more of an extrovert, I'd probably have tons of friends.
But what did `` campaign'' mean? Like a political campaign? The thought of running for Board of Education was exciting -- I'd like to be able to contribute to the school's curriculum. I'd like to be able to help, but I just feel like I'm stuck some times. It's not that I'm afraid of an adventure, but.
Well, maybe it is.
I decided to reply back to Jan @ dm.gov:
Hi there,
I believe I received this email on accident!
Sorry for the inconvenience!
Sincerely,
Tom Miller
I waited briefly for a response, but none came. The idea of potentially being vetted for a political position was beginning to stress me out. I need to be more open to new experiences, I know that -- but it can be difficult when you're in a comfortable spot in life.
Maybe this campaign was just what I needed?
Hitting the Refresh button was getting me nowhere. I decided to get up and fix a frozen meal for dinner when I heard a knock at the door. At 7PM? Must be a solicitor. Even though I'm never in need of magazines, religion, or insurance, I like to let people give me their sales pitch. I do n't want to be rude and cut people off -- they're just doing their job.
So I went to the door.
A woman stood on the porch. She was wearing a strange shirt ( tunic? ) that was fastened with a series of leatherhide pockets. By her waist, she had what appeared to be a holster ( scabbard? ) of some sort.
`` Tom?''
`` Uh, yeah? Can I help you?''
`` A family is in danger. We're getting a group together to track them down. We need your help.''
-- -
/r/afakesoundtrack
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[ WP ] Normally you would have got your superpower at age ten . Yours awakens at age 20 as the most powerful ability ever recorded .
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``... boy of wonders: Steve Sanderson, a boy who did not have the standard manifestation of power at the age of ten, who is now living in an orphanage...''
``... Sanderson did not have access to privileges that power users had, this may lead to further acts such as bullying and hate crimes...''
``...''
``... a worldwide celebration and uproar as Steve Sanderson, the boy who was thought to be powerless, suddenly displayed amazing feats at the age of twenty...''
``... Steve Sanderson, the'boy of wonder' who did not have the standard manifestation of powers at the age of ten, have been placed on the top of the international wanted list...''
``... firefight happened in Toronto, Canada, resulting in the entire city being demolished after survivors and witnesses claimed to see something like a'nuclear blast'...''
``... has became clear that this is a man who will not stop until have completed his agenda of revenge. The world's governments have joined together to discuss, at length, what to do with this new menace...''
``... Steve Sanderson, who is said to be hundreds, even thousands of times stronger than the last S-class user, Nydhogg, who was similarly declared a massive world threat...''
``...''
``... as government forces quickly diminished. Scientists are working on a device that, apparently, contains the flow of powers and the usage...''
``... calling to all Resistance members. If you receive this message, we still have hope. We can still defeat him. We will rise and free the world from his evil clutches, and restore...''
``... advise everyone to lay down their arms and surrender unconditionally, and hope that he will spare you from...''
``...''
``... message from the New Earth Regime. Citizens are advised to sign up for the voluntary military program, and to report to your nearest Station if you see signs of the Resistance...''
``... We are out. There was never any hope. He's too strong...''
``... Long live the Resistance...''
``...''
`` ALL HAIL EMPEROR SANDERSON! ALL HAIL THE REGIME!''
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[ IP ] Tell me his story
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# #'' An Auditor's Fieldwork''
`` How?'' the human asked in a raspy whisper.
It was buried up to its shoulders in rubble. Its irradiated skin had ripped and torn and melted off of the bone, and what little remained had hardened and dried out into a texture that was at once cloth-like and leathery. I could see a dim orange light shining through holes once covered by cheek fat and flesh, and I could see wisps of that light shine out through the exposed lower half of its nasal cavity. My gaze drifted downward, to a jaw housing misshapen teeth, bordered by a strong chin. I looked it in its remaining eye -- an artificial construction with a metallic sensor that still functioned and shone bright, even after being chipped and badly scratched.
`` *How? *'' it asked again, raising its voice enough for me to hear feminine tones; it was not an `` it,'' but a `` she.'' She continued, `` The humans... They are all dead...''
`` They are indeed,'' I spoke through my respirator, slipping a gloved hand into the pocket of my overcoat as I stepped closer. I stopped just short of the woman, and looked around me. The sky was bronze with dust and sand and heat and the light of distant, raging fires, and the ground was peppered with protruding, half-buried metal poles and prongs and struts, each looking to have been torn off of something -- the very same something, in fact. Miles in the distance, I saw what was left of the space elevator: a set of massive broken rings that had been embedded into the dirt years ago, and remained there as a headstone to human progress. I turned to look behind me, and saw the familiar silhouette of my Vessel -- a comforting sight. I dislike fieldwork; seeing dead worlds in person is unsettling.
The horizon was flat, burnt, and utterly devoid of any other presence. She and I were alone.
I tipped my top hat to her and introduced myself: `` Frau Beauremont, I am an Auditor. I have been sent here to investigate your destruction of a noted sapient species.''
`` Sent... From where?...''
`` I am not at liberty to say.'' I cleared my throat, adjusted my spectacles, and continued, `` It is my understanding that you were once a member of *homo sapiens sapiens*. Am I correct?''
`` Yes...''
`` Can you recount the events of your Ascendance for me?''
`` Hurts... to speak...''
`` Very well. I shall recount the sequence of events as I understand it, and would appreciate any corrections or confirmations you can offer.'' As I said this, I pulled the data pad out of my pocket, and began to paraphrase its contents to Frau Beauremont.
`` Based on our observations, you were the first *homo sapiens sapien*, hereafter referred to as'human,' to achieve status as an Ascendant. You accomplished this feat through the copious use of life-extending and other technologies, most of which you developed, marketed, and refined yourself -- an impressive feat, I might add, given humanity's unfortunate tendency to discourage those with receptive reproductive organs from seeking technological education. Though you did, and always have done, your work for the sake of science and exploratory interest alone, you quickly realized that if you could amass enough power, you could engage in notable altruistic activities.'' -- and here, Beauremont began to sharply exhale in quick, staccato patterns, her head bowed and jittering, as I continued to speak -- `` To that end, you began to market several of your discoveries and innovations. You made a considerable profit.
`` After amassing wealth, you began to take advantage of the same loopholes that greedier personalities had taken advantage of -- lobbying, campaign contributions, the infiltration of government offices with business insiders, et cetera, et cetera -- in order to transform your business power into political power. You were even more successful at it than other businesses, because the individuals you inserted into government were motivated by benevolent passions rather than a mere lust for profit and personal power. Your operatives were driven by belief.
`` Eventually, however, you hit a wall. Greed and corruption were entrenched in most human governments, and some of that corruption was actively perpetuated by individuals who were also driven by belief. These individuals were thoroughly incapable of listening to reason. In your frustration, you began to take an old human maxim a bit too literally:'Society progresses one funeral at a time.' Your actions led to a great many funerals, but for the most part, those disposed of were, well, disposable. Their deaths were no great loss; in most cases, they were a great benefit to human society as a whole.''
Here, Beauremont chose to interject: `` Never... should've... started...''
`` Yes, but you *did*, and so I have come here. Returning to our narrative: You eventually began to overreach in your power. In a single move, you merged North and South America into a single country, where you installed yourself as'High Chancellor.' Titles like those are n't standardized even on your planet, let alone where I come from; suffice it to say that you were the highest authority, and a dictatorial, totalitarian one at that. Our observations have always shown that humans are opposed to overt totalitarian control; you were aware of this, and worked around that opposition through subterfuge. You took the subtler methods of control already in place -- the promotion of societal apathy in favor of escapist entertainment among them -- and applied them on an unprecedented scale. The few who went unaffected were executed in secret.
`` These things tend to only go one way, however. Few people fail to notice when their friends or loved ones disappear. A climate of fear developed in your country, and poisoned the apathy you had worked so hard to cultivate. The irony is that had you done nothing at all, and let the dissenters continue to exist, you would never have faced a significant rebellion. Only the most futile attempts would have been made, and to the public, you would've been justified in snuffing those out as they occurred.
`` Such were the conditions that led to your first and last Civil War, a conflict marked by the development, use, theft, and counter-use of humanity's last and most terrible weapons of war. You personally designed many of these, including an impressive cellular weapon that causes massive cancerous growths to erupt all over a target's body in seconds. Unfortunately for you, you were not the only brilliant mind in the Americas, even if you were the most brilliant of them all. Once your technologies were stolen by rebels, they were reverse-engineered, and used on your forces to devastating effect.
`` Furthermore, the rest of the world saw your actions and your weapons as wholly overreactive. They were n't quite willing to step in, for fear of their own safety, but it was easy enough to change their minds. The rebels sent shipments of reverse-engineered weapons to foreign nations, accelerating those nations' technological development by centuries and giving them a fighting chance should they enter into conflict with you -- and enter, they did. Such were the conditions that led to humanity's last World War, during which humanity self-destructed. During the final battle -- an assault on your space elevator, as you attempted to evacuate to your moonbase -- you were severely wounded and buried in rubble, but by virtue of your Ascendance, you have survived for decades without food, water, medical attention, or any company.
`` Do you have any corrections to make, Frau Beauremont? Any clarifications?''
For a full minute, she said nothing, and so I asked my last question: `` Is there anything at all that you would like to add, before I terminate this case and file it in our records?'' And here, she spoke, her damaged voice sounding as though she were releasing an anguished scream that she had held in for a century:
`` All... my... *fault... * I just wanted... to make things *better... *''
`` Do n't we all?'' I asked, rhetorical and grim, as I reached for the magnetic cannon slung over my shoulder. I aimed it at Beauremont, and squeezed the trigger down. Seconds later, she was gone, her departure marked only by a smoking crater. The rogue Ascendant was no more.
I adjusted my top hat and tiled my spectacles. They could never fit straight on my face, and the winds were not helping matters. Then, I began the long walk back to my Vessel, trudging through a wasteland of decaying corpses. Every one of these people had lives. They had hobbies and loved ones, and I could n't keep myself from venturing on fantastical reveries as I passed them by. Perhaps that one was a painter named Judy, and her lover lying feet away, a musician named Mark, and they joined the rebellion in accordance with a belief in freedom of expression. They expected that if they died, at least they would die together. In reality, they died screaming, each in too much pain to notice the other was there. Not too far away, a third corpse lay; I dubbed him Jason, a grizzled rebel who had joined the cause in an attempt to avenge his son, who was abducted and secretly executed for speaking out against the government. Jason would have had a full two seconds to watch Judy and Mark writhe in blind agony before being consumed by the flames, and joining them in an all-too-long death.
I dislike fieldwork.
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[ WP ] You are an aged witch doctor for your local tribe . You know your health is failing so you recruit a bright young child to eventually become your successor . Today 's the day , now that most of their training is complete , that you show them the dark truth behind your ability .
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`` You *pee* in th-''
`` Hush, my child!'' the witch doctor admonished him.
The child stared at her in silent horror, then said again, in a lower voice this time. `` *You pee in the medicine?! *''
`` Not pee, my child. We do not use that word. We say urine.''
`` It's the same thing!''
`` Tut tut,'' she said, clicking her tongue as she moved around the tent. `` You have much to learn.''
`` What, like how to aim at the right angle when I *pee* in people's med-''
`` Urine,'' she corrected him.
She paused in her tracks and looked at his little, angry frowning face and laughed. `` Do not be angry, Tomoko. Be happy that it works. In fact,'' she said, with a wink as she parted the curtains to the tent. `` I recall you feeling much better after taking some medicine early this morning.''
`` I did n't know then!'' He shot back, holding his stomach as he followed her with a groan. `` I think I'm going to be sick...''
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[ WP ] You swerve to avoid a squirrel . Unknown to you , the squirrel pledges a life debt to you . In your darkest hour , the squirrel arrives .
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`` 15 years, father. It has been 15 years since my last confession.''
Being raised a Catholic, the words hurt coming out of my mouth. In my mind, I saw my mother nodding disapprovingly; my father taking a drag of his Marlboro and exhaling with a stern expression.
`` What are your sins, my son?'' asked the heavily Brooklyn accented priest. `` Please be specific.''
`` Well, last week, I looked at pornography,'' I whispered. `` I looked at it a few times.''
`` Pornography, eh?'' a raspy voice suddenly sounded, permeating the silence of the church. `` That ai n't soundin' like too much of a sin.''
I turned around, looking for the origin of the voice. Nothing.
`` Lower.''
I looked down, spotting something that rocked my world. There he was. Clad in a suit and tie, a squirrel. A Camel cigarette clasped between his tiny squirrel lips.
`` Are you there, my son?'' the priest inquired.
`` A moment, father. Please.''
I returned my gaze to the squirrel. His eyes blocked by a small pair of Ray-bans. The smoke from his cigarette drifting past the darkness of his shades.
`` What -- - what are you?'' I asked, my heart beating fast.
`` Winston Squirrel. I solve problems.''
I thought for a moment.
`` Is n't that really similar to Winston Wolfe from Pulp Fiction?''
`` Pulp what?''
`` Pulp Fiction. The Tarantino movie.''
Winston thought for a moment, his ears fidgeting. He removed his sunglasses. Seemingly breaking the fourth wall, he stared to the side.
`` This is the part where I kill the priest.''
`` Wait, what?!'' my voice rose about three levels in pitch.
Kafoom! And just like that, from his tiny sleeve the squirrel shot a sharp golden arrow. Tearing through the thin wooden barrier, the arrow stuck into the priest's neck.
`` MOTHER OF CHRIST!'' the priest slumped against the barrier. Blood flowed through the hole made by the arrow.
`` That man raped three people in May of 1978,'' the squirrel said as he puffed away on his cigarette. `` I was contracted to kill them.''
`` What does this have to do with me?'' I asked, my confusion evident.
`` I do n't know, man. Life's nuts sometimes.''
The squirrel looked to the side once more, giving a thumbs up with his tiny squirrel hand.
And, from the heavens, boomed CANNED LAUGHTER. Like, audience sitcom laughter.
Then, descending from the ceiling, flowed a column of CREDITS. End credits. Moving past a squirrel, frozen in time.
WAS I CAUGHT IN A SITCOM?!
`` Hello?!'' I yelled.
Nothing. Nobody answered. Only the cheery cords of a theme song sounded back.
`` And up next, another episode of Life is Nuts!'' the voice of an announcer boomed. Rattling the walls of the confessional. Overwhelmed by the turbulence, I expel the contents of my stomach onto the floor.
`` HELP! HELP ME!'' I screamed.
Fin.
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[ WP ] '' It 's strange , looking back . I started out just wanting to help everyone , and now I 'm about to murder a hundred million people with the push of a button . ''
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`` It's strange, looking back.''
From my angle, her lithe silhouette looks like something from a horror movie- all angles and sharp corners, nothing soft. Nothing yielding.
`` I started out just wanting to help everyone.''
She glances back at me and I see her eyes, glowing yellow as they catch and amplify a light that is n't there. I take a single, burning breath, still aware of the after effects of the gas.
`` And now...''
She moves like a panther across the room, her head dipping and raising with a predatory grace. That black cloak flutters around her like wings- The Raven.
`` Now I'm about to murder...''
She hesitates, looking slightly confused. `` I think I've lost count. How many was it?''
`` A...'' My voice is a croak, each word accompanied by a trickle of blood. `` Hundred... Million.''
`` Ah, yes. Thank you.'' She does n't even sound excited, or worried. Just... tired. `` I'm about to murder a hundred million people with the push of a button. It's odd is n't it?''
She pauses in front of the window, looking out at the city below.
`` Odd how life turns out.''
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[ CW ] Write a story in which each sentence contains at least one word from a different language .
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At five o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was hitting the blinds of the office, forming a reflexion in the shape of a moiré pattern. Still waking from his siesta, Inspector Saluzzi was stirring his cappuccino while he fixed his gaze on the damsel in front of him. The sound of the Cinco de Mayo trumpets, that were playing down on the street, could be heard through the thin brick walls.
`` You seem to be unaware of the Maelstrom!'' said the petite woman. `` My husband has been accused of spreading samizdat and will be sent ipso facto to a gulag, or worse, if you do n't act pronto. The Russian mafiosi are already looking after him. They want him kaput.''
`` There's no problema.'' answered Saluzzi, rocking his chair in a subtle cadenza. `` Wether they like sushi or baklava, there is a single place where the gangsters like to meet: the local lavanderia. I will use my favorite ragazza as an avant-garde soldier to play some Mata Hari on them. Then we will have a smorgasbord of options to send them to the morgue before they can even touch your chéri''
`` Kudos, comrade.'' nodded the lady, twisting a pendant in the shape of a red balalaika `` You have been chosen to lead this ruthless guerrilla against our enemies. The sooner we will finish this pandemonium, the better.''
`` Wait a minute, papillon. You think you can fool me like a burro. I've noticed that your Russian accent is fake like an inuit Armani from the second you put your cannoli-shaped feet into this bureau. You Ukrainian apparatchiks are really aficionados. Sayonara, baby.''
The gunshot resonated through the room like a gong in an empty jacuzzi. The woman had tried to pull her gun incognito, but she was not as fast as she thought. The echoes of the Cinco de Mayo trumpets could still be heard in the distance. Inspector Saluzzi smiled, happy that his new tour de force had saved his skin once more.
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[ EU ] `` Now we are killing titans with Railguns ... ''
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We were screwed. Completely screwed.
My ship and three others had arrived at the main Spectre construction facility in the frontier to help our Militia brothers and sisters fight off the IMC and blow the facility to kingdom come. Unfortunately, we were outsmarted by IMC's First Admiral AI, Spyglass, and Sergeant Blisk. Now only my ship, the MCR *Authoratus* and MMC *Arbiter* were left. Our FTL drives were still charging, and we had a gargantuan battleship right on our tails. They were launching their shuttles, drop pods and titans on our hulls, and there was next to nothing we could do but vent whatever deck the IMC breached. Before long, only the bridge would be left and hundreds of lives would be lost. The *Arbiter* was n't doing no better. It was the only ship with actual guns that could fire back, but the IMC battleship was ripping it to shreds.
Static pierced my ear as I tried to get containment crews to finish the nuke we hid in the engine room.
`` Martin, what's your status? ``, Captian Holdfast blared at me as the quality spiked.
`` Not good. Hull breaches all along the rear. Our shield wo n't hold those IGBM's much longer. After that, they'll be firing at our engines like fish in a barrel. If they're in a passy mood, they'll leave us dead in the water to starve. What about you?''
`` I've activated every single one of our titans. Our pilots are getting massacred. The auto's are holding them off, but the Gauss cannons have overheated. ADS cannons or mostly shot, so now we're killing titans that land on our hull with our railguns.''
I slammed my fist on the console, cracking it.
`` You blasted idiot! Doing that risks you blowing a hole in your ship so wide it'll split it i-''
A huge flash to my left almost blinded me. Heat and radioactivity sensors across the board started beeping. The Arbiter had vanished. A railgun shot must've hit one of the supposedly shielded fuel tanks that had been exposed in the gunfire. Or the IMC just nuked it.
``... in two. ``, I finished. I turned towards to my executive officer, who stared at the white flash as if his final chance to see his kids evaporated in his face.
`` Locke! Give me a status!''
Locke did n't respond. Daisy walked past him up to the captain's tower.
`` The Arbiter is lost. No comms are incoming but white noise and static. But there's good news. The IMC has been thrown off by the blast and reduced speed so that their shields wo n't melt. Our drives are charged at 18 %. I calculated a flight path that can take us to *Bularon*.''
Bularon was a planet loaded with smugglers, pirates, thieves and whores. It was a community I personally did n't enjoy being around them, but it was either them or certain death at the hands of the IMC. *Bularon* is still Militia territory, and the residents hated the IMC as much as I did, maybe more, and they had the firepower to deal with. I'm going to have to buy Daisy a drink, maybe even dinner.
`` Send the flightpath to our pilots. Get a course correction going, I want to be at FTL within five minutes. Santos, get the word out we're jumping. Buckle, I want the battleship on my screen right fucking now. Norton, get Locke out of here, he's no good to me braindead.''
Norton dragged Locke away as the rest of the bridge flew into action. Comms were going mad with instructions. Hope had a way of driving people to their limits. The cynic in me corrected me, calling it despair. At this point I did n't give a shit. I wanted to go home. I wanted to take us all home to see tomorrow.
I held my hands together and started praying while watching the IMC ship correct its course and picking up momentum. It was all I could do at that point. Pray and hope someone listens on the other end.
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[ WP ] There is no such thing as a natural death . Just very good murderers .
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You can not escape me. Cancer you say? No, more like an incorrect mutation of a single cell. I can do this. I will do this and I have done this. Sometimes I strike as a clot in your heart, but deep down you know it was me all along. You may call it accidental decapitation, but the plans I weave were set in motion long before your demise. I may strike at you from afar, I may come in close for the kill. But one thing is for certain, I will get you. Nobody escapes me, for I am Lucifer, the bringer of death and all are subject to my weaving.
I dunno Ive never written anything before.
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[ WP ] Everyday a person sorts /r/writingprompts by 'New ' and downvotes every submission they see . Write a story that describes the history and motivation of said sad person .
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The internet cafe is quiet. A couple lonely souls across the room from me sip their high-price lattes and smile fake smiles at each other, pretending to enjoy each other's company.
I take a drink of my coffee. Black. Tastes like a Monday.
I open up my computer, start typing. I type one letter, and there it is, that hellhole that I tried so hard to pull myself away from.
reddit.com/r/writingprompts
I almost hit delete as a wave of nostalgic longing for a better time washes over me. Memories I'd long since drank away on a rainy Saturday night come creeping back, and against my better judgement, I press Enter.
`` [ WP ] A man and woman who never meet but keep running into each other.''
I feel my mouth draw into a scowl even as I click the down arrow. That was something she would write - some sad-sap love story that could n't have a happy ending.
I keep scrolling.
`` [ EU ] Write a *Spongebob Squarepants* episode for a mature audience.''
I almost laugh as the purple arrow lights up. But I do n't.
I do n't laugh anymore. Not now that she's gone.
The next is an Image Prompt, marked by that damned [ IP ] tag that only comes around once in a thousand reposts. The image is of an old man, sitting alone on his front step, his house being tossed around by a tornado.
I stare at the image for a long time. I feel the storm around that old man, I taste his loneliness. I know what's in that house behind him: echoes of days before this damned website, of times when sunlight lit up her smiling face, and we were happy.
I slam my laptop closed, and the few other visitors to this cafe leap out of their skin. I pull out my wallet, scrounging for a couple dollars to maybe make some barista's day a little better than mine, and a picture falls out.
I lean down to pick it up, and see her smiling face next to mine, a permanent record of the first day my daughter showed me that godforsaken website.
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[ WP ] Every month , you go through one day of extreme paranoia , insecurity , or doubt .
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As Jimmy brushed his teeth he looked in the mirror and hated what he saw. The lines around his mouth and eyes seemed to get deeper every day, he was only 35! They should n't be this pronounced yet! He reached up and pulled his hair back to look at his forehead and was saddened to see the lines there seemed much more pronounced as well. He frowned at his reflection, then hurried to finish with his teeth so he could get away from the mirror.
Once away from the mirror, he began to get dressed. His pants slipped on ok but when he tried to button them, it was difficult to make it reach. So, back to that damn mirror, where he lifted up his undershirt to look at his stomach from the side. What was once flat and almost muscular ( he used to do crunches a few times a week ) was now becoming a gut that prevented his pants from buttoning. He sucked his gut in, it still stuck out quite a bit, so he slipped his pants off and stood looking at himself in only boxers and undershirt. What he saw disappointed him, he was pretty disgusted with himself and what he had let happen to his body since Leslie had broken up with him and moved out. He had given up on everything for these last 4 months, his body was only one of the results of his neglect.
He managed to find a pair of pants that he could button and once dressed, he slowly walked through the wreck that his house had become. Trash everywhere, dirty clothes thrown on all the furniture and some on the floor, beer and whiskey bottles lined up along the wall next to his couch and, maybe the most depressing, the few items Leslie had left behind when she moved on top of his dining room table. It was the only surface not piled with junk, it only held her few things, nothing else.
Jimmy stood in the middle of his mess, his mind racing, bad thoughts, mean thoughts, depressing thoughts, until they overcame him and he slumped onto his couch. Once there, he did n't feel the energy to get up, no matter how he tried to convince himself to. Instead he pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and called in sick to work, he just could n't do it today, he could n't face the people, the stares, the judgements. They all knew how pathetic he had become, it was n't fair, he used to be someone, someone to respect but not anymore.
He stripped down to his boxers and wandered over to the table of HER things, touching them briefly. Then he slowly moved through his mess, his place was n't as big and empty when he was surrounded by his mess. He touched everything as he passed it on his way back to his bed, where he curled up under the covers to hide his tears.
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[ WP ] first post - useless superpowers : a blessing or a curse ?
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He had to destroy humanity, he knew it in his bones. They were destroying the planet, and they were destroying his body, in the process. When they razed the rain forests, more of his patchy hair fell out in clumps. When they polluted the oceans, he pissed blood and bile.
There were no labels for what he was, but perhaps geo-empath, would fit best; he felt what the world felt. This `` power'', had come upon him in his teens, and grown progressively worse. He had long given up, on figuring out how and why, now he only wanted an end to the pain.
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[ WP ] You 've decided to go on diet and exercise daily . Write about a conversation between your brain and some other organ in your body .
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Brain sighed. `` I'm sorry, Tongue, it's just-''
`` It's just what?'' Tongue cut in, her voice carrying through the body's nervous system to the brain.
`` *It's just* that we need to revive this community. You know that we've been struggling. Stomach was working over hours, Liver was constantly sick, Large Intestine wanted to break up with Small Intestine, for unrelated reasons, and Heart felt like he was being overwhelmed by the amount of cholesterol running through the streets! Now, we're picking ourselves up again! Everything is starting to look better for us!''
`` Oh, *really? *'' Said Tongue, furious. `` Biceps would disagree.''
`` Do n't pull me into this!'' Shouted Biceps from the arms. `` I'm happy to carry the weights of my responsibilities!''
Tongue ignored him. `` SO IT'S JUST FINE THAT YOU BATHE ME IN THIS BULLSHIT.'' She screamed. `` I used to be all nice and sugary and oily before, now i'm covered in ROTTING PLANT MATTER. AND CITRUS FRUITS! IT'S LIKE BEING SHOWERED IN A VERY IRRITATING ACID!''
`` Conscience likes it.'' Replied Brain.
`` We ca n't even speak to Conscience! We do n't know if he exists! What if we're all in some dead guy's body in a lab, being kept alive unknowingly! This diet and exercise thing could be a lost cause!''
`` That's ridiculous, Tongue, and you know it. Anyway, I do n't control Conscience so I have n't made this decision, but I *DO* think it's the right decision. Now, just hold in and wait for dessert, he has n't cut that stuff off completely. I need to get back to storing some memories away.''
* Got ta be careful this time. * Brain thought to himself as he shut off the speaking line to Tongue. *I keep accidentally putting the'Embarrassing' entries into the'Activate at random and frequent intervals' slots... *
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[ WP ] You are a minor opposition politician in an internationally irrelevant country - and just survived the 3rd assassination attempt by a time traveler
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Three times my life has been threatened by these strange men, and three times I have survived. They shout in tongues both foreign and domestic, fear and revile spurting from their lips. They speak of evils, of the destruction of all that I hold dear, and it emboldens me. Each time, however, they can not do it. They are weak. I, on the other hand, am not. I remember the great war that tore my people apart, that instituted this oppressive regime. I have what they lack; conviction. I am no spineless rat or politician, I am a man. I will restore my land to greatness, I will give my people purpose. If need be, I will lay down my life, für Deutschland.
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[ WP ] Write a sad story in an unusual format . Lists ? Tweets ? Citations ?
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**Jess Dean** @ jessidadean1985 - 30secs
My heart is broken..... I'm not sure if I can pick myself up again # ripsam # airasia # QZ8501
**Jess Dean** @ jessidadean1985 - 5m
My phone is ringing, could it be him? I missed his voice # soexcited
**Jess Dean** @ jessidadean1985 - 6hr
Ca n't stop reading the postcard my man sent me # lovehimtobits # can'twaittoseehimagain
**Jess Dean** @ jessidadean1985 - 1d
Feel for all the poor people who were on that missing # airasia flight # QZ8501 # hopetheyreok
**Jess Dean** @ jessidadean1985 - 2d
He's coming home today, he's on his connecting flight right now! # can'twaittoseehimagain
**Jess Dean** @ jessidadean1985 - 7d
GOT A POSTCARD FROM MY MAN! # lovehimlots
**Jess Dean** @ jessidadean1985 - 2w
Said goodbye to my man today - he's going on a charity trip for 2 weeks # lovehimlots # misshimalready
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[ WP ] You are a famous WWI nurse , thanks to your actions thousands of men are still alive . But , in reality , you are a horrible nurse . You just happen to be an amazing necromancer .
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Necro was a brutal prefix, a prefix affixed to a form of magic as brutal as the word, if not more so. Mason did n't like it much. His father had taught him, against Mason's desires. An old defeated warlock seeking eternal life through his progeny. He did not receive it.
Mason had fled town at his father's death, the townspeople held a deep, murderous hatred for the man and Mason did not fancy the idea of asking them not only to grant him goodwill but also residence among them. So, with little in the way of marketable skills he joined the army.
It took barely longer than a glance at his lean, gaunt figure before he was assigned to one of the auxiliaries to the main force. The institutions of storage and supplies found him disorganized and clutzy, his lack of mechanical know-how excused him promptly from repair and construction, and after a single catastrophic incident of food poisoning the culinary wing all but ejected him.
So as a last ditch effort he was placed in a medical unit as, essentially, an errand boy. He soon proved himself as much more valuable, for what Mason discovered in that church of death was that Necromancy, much like any surgical tool, could be used with precision to create miracles.
There was no need for grand resurrections or reanimation when each dying soldier was, themselves, afflicted by a partial, growing death that sprouted from their wounds.
With a careful hand the shrapnel could be removed, then his magic could take hold, reviving the dying flesh of the soldier.
However, necromancy had a cost, you could not give life without taking it. This too was solved, for when Mason cast his spells he could sense within the soldiers some upsetting force, vibrant with life that would grow and grow until it killed the soldier. This Mason attributed to the cigarettes that each soldier received in their rations, though he would n't prove that for several years when, with the money he made from his practice, he showed the public the dangers of cancer.
He was espoused as a genius for his strides in the medical field and, when was found dead from suicide, many voices spoke of how they'd all lost something grand and brilliant.
He left only a scrap of paper in his bedroom at his passing, crumpled and hid beneath the bed. Upon it was written in bold'BIOMANCY'. This, of course, because necro was a brutal prefix.
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[ WP ] A young couple is trying to put together some Ikea furniture for their apartment . In this simple situation , she realises he 's the man she wants for the rest of her life .
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I suck at this style, but got ta get better somehow. Here goes:
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I'm not sure why we keep going back to this place. There is almost always something wrong, or something missing it seems. If not, when we put it all together, it's flimsy or something breaks on our first attempt. I guess it works itself out in the end and we end up with something nice, but still, it would be nice to get things right the first time around...
Maybe it's because we always rush into it? Never really taking out time to identify all the pieces and just trying to place them before we know they ’ re there.
Maybe it's because we try to put the big parts on the legs first... even before the legs are put together to support itself.
Hmmm, I don ’ t know, maybe I just wasn ’ t cut out for these types of things... aren ’ t there people that can just do this for us out there?
Hah, as if.
...
...
You know what? Let's do this right this time. Let ’ s get all the pieces out, identify as many of them as we can, sort them out, and build this thing from the bottom up.
...
This is a pretty good start. Now let ’ s piece together some of the more noticeable, but not necessarily more important parts. So far so good.
...
No missing pieces yet, let ’ s attach them.
...
Two hours later, she sat curled up next to her lover. How many times in the past had they done this?
`` I'm surprised,'' the guy said.
`` About...?''
`` Well usually when we get a new piece of furniture or bed or something, we suck at putting it together. We end up losing pieces, putting parts on before other parts, placing things in backwards or missing screws or something... but this time was different. The couch hasn ’ t stuck me with anything or fallen apart yet! We must be getting good at this.''
She pondered his remark for a bit in silence. She sat there, curled up next to him, replaying her earlier thoughts to herself.
`` I guess it was a bit weird to bring up... but I was thinking that whole time we were assembling it tha-'' he started, but was interrupted by her sudden kiss.
`` Shhh,'' she said to him, putting a finger to his lips. `` Let ’ s take our time from now on.''
She kissed him again.
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[ WP ] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
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As far as jobs go, this was a pretty fucking boring one.
All I had to do was guard some warehouses while the thugs inside conducted a drug deal. Apparently there had been some `` issues'' in the past couple of negotiations, so one of the bosses had the brilliant idea to hire a super to babysit. Apparently, I did n't need to be in on the meeting, which was fine by me -- plausible deniability was always a plus in my book. Hell, the guy that hired me would n't even give me his name. But the up-front part of the wire transfer went through on time, so here I was. Bored, but being paid.
The night was quiet -- I could hear the low murmurs of negotiating coke and heroin and other goodies from inside the warehouse but other than that it was pretty dull. There were a bunch of tin cans nearby that I attempted to stack on top of each other using as little movement as possible. Big, broad hand gestures were easy enough to channel my psychic energy through, but I wanted to master some quicker moves. I managed to stack six of them into a pyramid using short, staccato motions with an open palm, which was better but still not great. Not yet anyway. I'd heard of some psychics that can move stuff with just a finger.
I glanced at my watch. Still another hour on the payroll. Fuck.
I bent down to pick up a rock to knock over my tin can pyramid, and as I did I heard a sharp whizzing sound above my head and a blast of cold air. Ice shards rained down on my leather jacket as the icicle collided with the brick wall where my head was.
`` Shit,'' I said, flattening myself against the ground as I scanned for my attacker. There was only one person I knew of that was capable of that -- and yup, there she was.
`` Jesus, Ellie, what the fuck was that?''
Ellie was standing on top of a set of pallets, her hands glowing white with cold. `` No real names,'' she hissed, raising her hands.
`` Ugh, fine. *Frostbite*, what the fuck was that?''
`` Just business, sweetie,'' she said with a pained look on her face. `` You're my mark tonight.''
Well -- the evening certainly was n't boring anymore.
`` El -- sorry, Frostbite, we've got a history together,'' I said, standing up and brushing the dirt off me. `` Does n't that count for anything?''
She shook her head. `` Sorry. The job's the job. Does n't matter how many jobs we've run in the past, it's just the next job.''
Ellie and I had been partners, once upon a time. And we could command high enough prices for our services that we could take jobs once a month and have enough leftover to travel or whatever else we did back then. Then we fucked it up by starting to sleep together, getting emotionally attached, and then breaking it off since we thought it'd be bad for business.
Right now, I'm not so sure that was the right call.
`` Look,'' I said. `` I've got another 50 grand coming in about an hour. Ca n't I just buy off your contract?''
She shook her head again. `` If word gets out I let a mark live, my reputation is shot. I'm sorry, Andy.''
`` I thought you said no real names,'' I said, and flicked my hand up. The pallets Ellie had been standing on upended themselves, and Ellie was thrown to the ground. The pallets came crashing back down -- I'm sure my druggie friends would be coming out pissed soon -- and I ran forward. Ellie had righted herself and hurled more icicles at me. I swept my arm in a wide semi-circle to divert them, although one got past and sliced a long rip in my jacket. I felt my skin immediately begin to burn with frostbite.
Momentarily stunned, I nearly got caught by Ellie's ice blade. It was always her favorite party trick -- creating water and refreezing it into the shape of a blade. Not super practical all the time, but it would definitely work for slicing me to ribbons. Ellie thrust the sword at me and I managed to contort my torso away in time. I pulled my hand towards me and summoned an old barrel, which came flying at Ellie's back.
Ellie knew my favorite party trick too. She waited for the last second and threw herself to the ground, shattering the ice blade as it made contact with the ground. The barrel flew over her head, and I was n't quite fast enough to dodge it completely. It hit my shoulder, and I screamed as I felt it dislocate. Ellie stood up, and taking advantage of me staggering back, threw a quick series of icicles at me. I braced myself, knowing that impact would be imminent and death would be swift, but instead found myself pinned to the wall. My arms were pinned like a T, unable to move. I would n't be able to do any grand gestures that channeled my psychic abilities, and Ellie knew that.
Ellie stood before me, panting, and summoned a large ice spear.
`` I want you to know I'm really sorry about this,'' she said, hurling the spear. And as far as I could tell, she was.
Even though my arms were stuck, my hands had limited mobility. I thought back to stacking the tin cans and hoped I had mastered enough of the short moves to make this work. Concentrating my aura into both my hands, I jerked both of them forward to redirect the spear back at Ellie. This was either going to work, or I was going to die.
I closed my eyes and waited for the spear to pierce my chest, but that never happened. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and as I opened my eyes I saw with horror that the spear had impaled Ellie. She looked as surprised as I felt as she slowly sank to her knees.
The icicles that had pinned me had melted enough in the humid air that I was able to jerk my arms and legs free. I ran forward to Ellie.
`` El, I'm so sorry.'' I said. `` Who hired you?'' I pleaded.
She tried to gasp some words out, but I could n't tell what they were. In a moment, she was gone.
I stood, running both my hands through my hair and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Now that the sounds of fighting had stopped, I noticed an eerie quiet. I did n't hear anything from the drug dealers. We had made enough noise that I figured someone would have come out to check.
I strode into the warehouse, resisting the urge to kick the door down.
`` What the fuck?''
The warehouse was completely empty. No evidence of drugs or drug dealers.
I sat down on the curb outside the warehouse. Either I was being set up or some weird shit was going down. Probably both.
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Edit: a little late to the party, but I love this prompt! Lots of character/plot ideas from it: )
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[ WP ] I met God and he gave me twenty bucks
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`` Psst! Psst hey kid!''
I whirled around and saw an old guy beckoning to me from the corner of the parking lot. His beard and hair were whiter than anything I'd ever seen, radiating a light in an almost heavenly fashion that clashed horribly with his Hawaiian shirt and sandals.
He ushered me over more urgently and waved money with his other hand. `` Hey kid, come on! You want twenty bucks?''
The whole thing seemed shady as hell, but I figured what the hey and sauntered over.
`` It's Danny, right?'' he said, inviting me to sit on any of his cardboard furniture and pouring me some coffee.
`` Uh.. it's Dennis...'' I said, accepting the cup slowly.
`` Right right sure whatever'', he nodded distractedly flicking through some scrunched up paper on a moist notepaper. `` Listen Danny, I need you to fill out this satisfaction form for me, nothing too long, just a quick yes yes no no yes -- there's a twenty in it for you at the end.''
My eyes wandered over the place where we were sat; a cardboard sofa next to a cardboard TV by a cardboard bookcase full of different kinds of books consisting entirely of cardboard, having titles such as `` RETRIBUTION and `` KITING'' scrawled on them - all undoubtedly filled with pages and pages of handwritten text. The cup I held in my hand was also made of cardboard and yet not a drop of it was seeping through.
`` Sure,'' I managed, after catching his desperate gaze.
He shoved the papers and a cardboard (? ) pencil into my hands and got up to pace away from me, muttering under his breath with an odd racist word being thrown into the mix.
I looked down at the scrunched paper he'd given me, and read the five questions complete with crayon illustrations upon them.
1. Do you like me? [ Yes ] [ No ]
2. Do you like bacon? [ Yes ] [ No ]
3. If you had a magnifying glass would you try burning ants? [ Yes ] [ No ]
4. I have three apples, one is ripe, one is rotten, and one of them is full of worms. Do you only keep the ripe one? [ Yes ] [ No ]
5. Sundays are better than Saturdays [ Yes ] [ No ]
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[ WP ] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life . You just turned 21 and you still did n't have one , until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you .
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This is my first time writing here, so please be gentle!
People normally get their familiar before they can even drive. First Bella got walked into class one day with her gecko, Adaptable, sitting on her shoulder. Then Billy ’ s goat Adventurous., and Bob ’ s giraffe Confidence.. Until everybody at school had their familiar, except for me.
When a child comes of age, their greatest trait manifests itself in a familiar. Familiars can phase in and out of our world. They can become invisible to all but its master and other familiars. While technically they can attack humans, familiar based crimes don ’ t happen much due to everybody having a familiar to defend them, except for little old me. By 16, everybody in my class had a familiar, and they used them. I had to defend myself from hidden attacks coming from every direction. So I adapted. I created a pair of glasses that allowed me to see the familiar world, a pair of punching gloves that could hit a familiar. I became my own familiar.
I also became world famous, for breaking the world record ( previously 18 ) for age before I got a familiar. I took a speech class when I was 13, and used the knowledge I learned there to make myself a household name. But I soon fell out of the public eye, and now I ’ m a lonely 21 year old kid with no friends, and even worse, no familiar. Until the day I woke up, and saw a parrot staring down at me.
“ Finally you ’ re awake, you sure like to sleep!! ”
“ Are- are you my familiar ”
“ Well, one of them, I am your ability to speak ”
“ Weird… wait, did you say one of them ”
“ Of course he did, I ’ m intellect. ”
“ Wait what?? ”
So I had two familiars, a parrot ( I think I ’ ll call him Craz, because, “ speaking ability ” doesn ’ t role of the tongue ) and a chimpanzee named Intellect.
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[ WP ] Aliens give you a camera and say `` only those you photograph will live . '' You have one year .
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I go into space after pleading to Elon Musk. Elon, being a good guy, says sure fuck it why not? I fly into space in a glorious ball of fire. I take several pictures so I get the whole planet. Do a few orbits just to be sure I got everyone twice. I take a picture of myself to be safe. I wait for the aliens to return, sitting naked on my beanbag chair eating Cheetos. Aliens comes back to my house. I do n't bother getting dressed. I say I got the entire planet, your move mr. alien.
Mr. Alien goes `` that's not what I meant!''
Me: Instructions were unclear. You failed to specify picture quality restraints. You failed to specify if I could have more than one person per picture. I got about 3 Billion people per frame. Have a nice day.
I go back to beanbag chair and continue eating Cheetos naked, and yell out `` never choose a lazy person to do a hard job. Because a lazy person will find an easy way to do it.''
The Alien, realizing their mistake, thinks to themselves `` fuck, I'll have to give the camera to someone less intelligent who thinks they are not lazy next time''
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[ WP ] Drug dealers have opened up a front business to mask their illegal activity only to realize that the front business is their true passion and calling in life .
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`` You are doing what!?!?''
`` I am quitting the group to work full time on the restaurant Sam. Turns out culinary arts are my fucking passion, not dealing drugs.''
`` The hell are you saying? You ca n't make as much money managing a restaurant compared to dealing crystal. We pull in MILLIONS a month Carl. That's 12 million a goddamn year, and its just us, so 6 million each.''
`` Yeah, but in order to launder it all, the restaurant was made. Then in order to make it seem legit, I took cooking classes while you got a bachelor's in business. I know how to make a casserole so good you will cream yourself, vomit it out and eat it again. You on the other hand, took loans to fund the restaurant on the outside, dipped a few million into our drug profits to the restaurant to make it seem high class. After a while, our restaurant profits started to exceed 60 million a year. We could be the next big thing!''
`` Hell no, the drug trade could only go bigger, and I need you to help cook up some crystal, not a casserole.''
`` Join me, and we could be the next chef boyardee. Come on, we could be the goddamn guys on soup cans!''
`` As tempting as that sounds, did n't we both agree to create a huge empire, hire an army of hookers, and go down like Scarface?''
`` Oh we can still do that. Best part? Remember your biggest enemy from high school? Turns out his wife LOVES our food, and she drags him in every 3 days. You could literally shit in his food, and he will still have to come back to eat more because of his wife.''
``... You got a deal.''
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[ WP ] A mentally ill and unstable child becomes so dangerous that even his imaginary friend thinks `` damn , this is fucked up ''
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`` You've gone too far kid. You hear me? Too far.'' Backing into the corner, Tully dipped his forehead into his bowler hat. Only a few months back he'd had a full head of bright blue hair, but each day brought a shade darker, a handful less.
`` Why do you want me to see this?'' Desperation was clear in his voice. Except the occasional slap of something wet across the floor, it was too still, too silent. As the cell door creaked on it's hinges he dreamed of walking out that room and as far away as possible, but reality, this reality would n't let that happen. Being imaginary meant that you could n't run or hide; leaning against the wall he slid to the floor, accepting his future. Placing his favourite hat on the dusty floor and holding eyelids tight together, Tully took one last innocent breath. Slowly he lifted his head and peered towards the centre of the room. Completely still and beaming towards him, the young boy was eager to show off his art work.
'I love you', was the message he'd been creating between them. Each letter that had been crudely pulled together, lay within a small pool of blood. The lifeless body of the child's mother sprawled close by. Dissected especially for Tully. For this art.
Edit - spelling
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[ WP ] Every year 10 people are placed on what 's known as `` The Kill List '' . They can be from anywhere around the world , and if you are found murdering them you are showered with wealth and fortune . If you are on the Kill List and survive the year , you are showered in wealth and fortune .
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I'll make this brief. Since I survived being on The Kill List three years ago, life has n't been the same. I lost everyone I had ever cared about to the bloodthirsty hunters that tried to claim my bounty. I would give all the winnings back to have one more minute with her, but that's not going to happen. I have spent every waking moment and my last dollar on training and equipment. The only thing that I have n't been able to buy is revenge. My team is set to trace the broadcast of the new list. My plane is fueled and waiting. I will find the Listmakers. I will put an end to this.
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[ PI ] Creepy / Scary Emergency Broadcasts
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***
***
We at the Institution are pleased to inform you that we are conducting a simulation of an emergency! Please listen and follow these steps:
1. Lock your doors/windows and do not allow anyone in, no matter what you hear or if they try to knock your door down.
2. Do not interfere with the tester's activities. They are clothed in black and you will know they are part of the Institution, so please leave them be and do not get in the way.
3. Please do not mess with or touch anything out of the ordinary.
4. Do NOT wear your green shirts today. However, if you receive a message telling you to, please do so and go outside, locking your door on the way out.
5. Keep quiet, and stay somewhere with no windows inside your homes. Ignore everything outside.
6. If someone of your family is out, it is alright. Do not contact them. Do not approach them. Do not attempt to bring them back.
Again, we are pleased to conduct this simulation, and hope you all will work with us! Remember, quietness is your FRIEND.
The Institution thanks you, and hopes to run this simulation in the future once more.
***
***
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[ WP ] You wake up one morning in an almost identical universe where the only significant difference is that nothing has names , and things instead are described at the time literally by their function . Walk us through your first few hours !
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`` Girlfriend.''
A muffled groan escaped as I rolled over in attempt to fall back to sleep. `` *Girlfriend! *'' A familiar, comforting voice brought a handsome face into focus, until I realized he sounded panicked. That was n't like him, how odd. `` What is it?'' I grumbled, just my eyes and a few stray hairs poking out from the warm cocoon I ’ ve made for myself.
`` I can ’ t name words right!'' My head poked out of the blanket further. “ What? ” It took me a second to realize what he meant. “ *Word-strings* ” he said intensely. Is he fucking with me?
`` *Boyfriend*,'' I said sarcastically `` you ’ re making *word-strings* right now.'' At this point, he was just as frustrated as I was.
His head swiveled quickly around the room like a compass needle trying to find magnetic north. He quickly pointed to the first thing he saw, a pair of socks on top of the dresser. “ Feet mittens. ” I laughed, forgetting how frustrated I was that he woke me up on a Sunday. He frowned, and the distressed look on his face made me begin to take him seriously.
“ Hon, what is going on? ” His eyes opened a bit, realizing he ’ d finally caught my attention. “ When I got out of sex-cushion, I went to walk the fur-beasts and when I said the real word-string for it out loud, it came out “ fur-beast! ” Still confused, I pointed to the pair of socks like a child trying to say its first word all over again. I said it in my mind, painting the word onto my lips and taking a deep breath: “ feet mittens. ” Fuck.
I sat up and looked at him. “ Is it just us? Is it happening to everyone? Turn on the journalist porn. ”
The television clicked on “ -rains re-wired overnight? It seems that the third planet from the giant fireball has been re-programmed to live without objective vocabulary. The New World Word-Describer is being re-written without all words identifying people, places or thin- “ Ben hit the power button. “ This is large, horned animal feces. ”
We tried to look at each other with serious, concerned expressions, but “ large, horned animal feces ” made that even more challenging than finding the name for some things. The world stopped for a moment as we laughed. You know, maybe this won ’ t be so bad after all.
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[ WP ] Wall-E opens a tunnel and finds himself in GLaDOS 's test chambers .
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Wall-E's eyes widened at the sight of the smooth, white oval object in the corner. `` Eva!'' He extended his arms and raced forward, preparing for a hug.
`` Hello, friend,'' the object answered. It turned toward him.
Wall-E stopped in his tracks, scattering dirt and dust through the clean testing room. That was n't Eva! Instead of two bright blue eyes, it had one angry red eye in the center of its body. And it had slender spider legs, instead of hovering.
`` E... Eva?'' Wall-E asked.
The turret answered: `` There you are.'' Its sides popped open, and lazer beams zeroed in on Wall-E, who clasped his hands nervously and looked around. Then it sprayed Wall-E with gunfire. Bullets pinged off of his hard metal casing.
`` Aaaaah!'' His treads skittered across the surface of the clean tile floor as he sought somewhere to hide. In desperate panic, he wildly fired the strange gun that he had found. An orange blob sank against the far wall, creating a two foot wide puddle that looked sticky. He was so surprised by what had happened that he dropped the gun, and it fired again. He had just enough time to notice a blotch of blue spreading under his treads, and then he was falling!
The turret stopped firing as Wall-E landed face down across the room behind a low wall, out of the turret's sight. He picked himself up and shook his head, making sure that everything was still functioning correctly. Wall-E's little cockroach friend Hal scurried out of some hidden crevice and climbed up for a better view. He turned back to Wall-E and squeaked, and Wall-E nervously peered over the edge too.
`` Could you come over here?'' The turret sounded friendly, but its angry red eye was still searching the room. Wall-E shrank back into his casing and hid.
`` I see you...'' the turret taunted.
Past it, Wall-E could see a way out. He just needed to slip by the turret without being seen. Hal scampered back to the odd gun and jumped up and down, pointing at the turret with his antennae and squeaking excitedly. Wall-E's hands rattled nervously as he picked it up, studying the orange and blue puddles that he had made and passed through earlier.
Hal climbed up the wall and then jumped down, landing on the tile with a little splat. He was a resilient little bug, but the turret seemed pretty frail. Wall-E nodded in agreement and took aim.
`` Target lost,'' the turret admitted from across the room. Its guns were still searching for any sign of movement.
Wall-E found a spot high on a wall and fired an orange blob at it. It made an odd squishing sound, and Wall-E had to resist his programming urging him to go clean up the mess. It just looked so out of place against the clean white tiles! Hal did n't seem bothered by it. Wall-E took careful aim again and fired a blue blob right under the turret.
`` I'm afraid of heights,'' the turret cried out as it began to slowly sink into the blue puddle beneath it. Wall-E his in his casing, just peeking out enough to watch. The turret re-appeared in the middle of the orange blob and sailed through the air. `` Glorious freedom!''
And then it landed against the ground with the *crunch* of breaking metal. The angry red eye dimmed and went dark. `` I do n't blame you,'' it told Wall-E as it died. The room was silent.
Wall-E peeked out from behind his wall and slowly inched toward it. It did n't move. Wall-E rolled just a bit closer. Still nothing.
He poked at the turret, but nothing happened. Convinced he was safe, Wall-E could n't ignore his programming any longer. He scooped up the remains of the turret and shoveled it into his body, then compressed it together and popped out a solid square of metal.
The effects of his most recent upgrade were clearly visible: there was a heart imprinted on each side of the cube.
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[ WP ] A SAW-style trap for a 'crime ' or annoyance too minor to warrant a deathtrap , appropriate to the infraction , and yes , escapable . Describe the trap , and the attempt , success or failure .
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When Donald stepped out of the shower stall, he was surprised to see that the locker room had cleared. He was used to emerging into the studied nonchalance of the regular evening crowd, weaving through the half-toweled and half-dressed, eyes devoutly turned away from anything below neck level. It was strange. He supposed he might have stayed longer than usual in the shower. It had been a challenging session - a full body circuit that had seen him tearing through a storm of dumbbells, barbells, cables, machines, and plate after plate after plate of iron pounds.
There was a bleep as Donald tapped his keyfob to his locker ’ s sensor, but the door did not release, and when he tugged at the handle, it would not yield. Frowning, he slapped the fob in place again - there was a click and a whir, but the locker stayed firmly closed. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth attempts were similarly rebuffed.
“ I thought they upgraded this shit, ” Donald muttered, “ Cheap electronics probably made in godamn China. At least when we had normal keys they fucking worked. ”
No point in repeating failure. He would have to ask the staff for help. He clutched his towel to his waist, steeled himself for curious looks, and stepped out of the locker room and onto the gym floor.
*There was no one there. * Cold, fluorescent lights beat down upon barren benches and silent racks, a basement tomb to suspended animation.
Cursing, Donald strode towards reception, which was blatantly unmanned.
“ Fucking slackers. Where the fuck did they go? ”
Someone had placed a folded, tented A4 sheet on the counter, a DIY placard of sorts.
*Staff members are temporarily away, * it read, *please contact 02391583923 for assistance. *
Donald took deep breaths as he snatched at the reception ’ s landline phone, punching the numbers in with seething aggression. Someone picked up on the third ring.
“ Hey, ” snapped Donald, “ Where is everyone? My keyfob isn ’ t working. I can ’ t open my godamn locker and nobody's here. ”
There was an awkward pause.
“ Oh, ” said a sheepish voice, “ Yeah, uh, sorry. I ’ m - hi - I ’ m Matt, by the way. We just popped out to hit up Chipotle before it closed. It looked like all the members left about a half hour ago, so we thought we ’ d grab a couple burritos before heading back to clean up the gym. It always takes a while to put everything back in order before locking up, and we ’ re starving. ”
“ Are you serious? ”
“ Yeah, God, I ’ m really sorry, really, we thought everyone had gone home. Look, we ’ re driving back now, we ’ ll be like twenty minutes, tops. Or - actually, you can just grab the staff keyfob - we keep it in the top drawer at reception. If you hold it against your locker sensor, it ’ ll do a reset and your locker should open. ”
Donald stepped behind the counter and pulled open the top drawer. It was filled with a clutter of lanyards, pens, personal trainer cards, and rubber bands. He pawed through the mess and came up empty.
“ It ’ s not here, ” he hissed.
“ Oh man, ” said Matt, “ We keep that drawer way too full. Look, it ’ s probably been sort of pushed out the back of the drawer by all the other stuff we have in there. If you pull the drawer out as far as you can, stick your hand in and reach over the back panel, there ’ s this space behind it where it ’ s probably fallen. The edge of the back panel is kind of sharp, though, so you should probably be careful. I guess you should, like, put me on speaker so you don ’ t have to hold the phone while you fish around? ”
The drawer only really opened about halfway. Sweating with anger, Donald shoved his arm in, and groped blindly until his fingers curled over the top of the back panel. He felt downwards, straining, scraping his knuckles as he stretched his fingers further into the gap to feel for the fob. Something plastic hit his fingertips. That had to be it. Concentrating, Donald reached a little further in.
Then the lights went out. In the terrible, dark seconds that ensued, he felt a hand grip his shoulder, holding him in place, and a horrible, shattering pain as someone savagely slammed the drawer shut on his arm. There was a crack and Donald screamed.
The lights came back on as Donald fell back, sobbing, reeling against the wall behind him. His knuckles were wet with blood. Matt had been right. The back edge of the drawer was sharp. His fingers had been sliced off cleanly, and his left hand now ended in seeping stubs of raw meat and bone.
“ Oh my god, ” Donald moaned, “ *Oh my god. * My fingers - oh god, they ’ re *not there* and there ’ s all this *blood*, ohgodohgod*ohgodohgod*. ”
Someone chuckled on speakerphone.
“ How does it feel? ” said Matt - only, the voice didn ’ t sound like Matt anymore. There was a vindictive depth to the rasping growl.
“ How does it feel, Donald, to look for something you need, only to find that it ’ s not there? ”
“ What are you talking about? ” wept Donald, in an agony of tears, “ I just wanted my fucking locker to open. Please, get back here and help me. ”
“ I ’ m talking about you, Donald, ” said not-Matt, with sinister glee. “ You seem so *good* at making people go to tremendous *pains*, hunting down dumbbells that haven ’ t been put back where they belong. ”
“ You ’ re insane, ” Donald wailed, “ I think my arm is broken, and my fingers are *gone*. Why are you talking about dumbbells? I need to get out of here. I need to get to a hospital. My *fingers*, they ’ re *gone*. ”
His towel fell aside as he lurched shakily across the floor, stumbling through the turnstiles and towards the gym entrance, fighting, fighting, *fighting* the urge to scream and scream and *scream*.
Then Donald saw what lay before him, and he shattered into a naked, bleeding howl. There, where the glass doors to freedom should have been, was a solid floor-to-ceiling barricade of dumbbells and barbells and plate after plate after plate of iron pounds.
“ Do you get it now, Donald? ” cackled the voice on the phone, “ Do you get it? Can ’ t you see? Rack your weights, Don. It ’ s not that hard. Rack your fucking weights before you go home. Or not. They ’ re your fingers Don. It ’ s your call. ”
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[ WP ] An old man spends his last moments at the lake ( or wherever you want ) where he used to spend time with his deceased wife .
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He always loved embracing the silence. The lake sat, as it did most mornings, as still as the night that preceded the sunrise over the horizon. In that moment, everything was fine. He admired the peace it maintained before the crack of dawn. Frank had n't missed this sunrise in quite a while. Fifty-eight years, to be exact. Granted, a few of the grandkids had gone and stolen his attendance by demanding entry into the world at an ungodly hour, although Frank did n't mind making concessions for this, and so he settled for the sunrise out the hospital window.
Apart from these rare occurrences, Frank's routine stayed in tact. He would wake, fix himself a pot of earl grey, and shuffle out to the bench he had fashioned many years prior. There, he would sit under the oak, and watch the first rays of sunlight peek over the lake. The swans would glide over bashfully, waiting for the chunks of bread to softly disrupt the crystal surface. Frank would sit a while longer, then retire inside for the morning. Fifty-eight years.
One may wonder how Frank kept up this streak for so long without feeling lonely or bored. In fact, he had been asked this same question many times before. The truth is, Frank was n't alone in his morning ritual. He distinctly remembered the day he first moved in, fifty-eight years ago. Standing there, arms wrapped around the waist of his newly-wed wife, the love of his life, his hands cradling his soon-to-be daughter. He remembered the conversation.
`` Frank,'' a soft voice asked.
`` Yes, love.''
He remembered the silence. No words were uttered. His chin rest on her head. Their gaze, two sets of eyes, both locked onto the horizon. They stood. He loved embracing the silence. The quietness felt ok.
`` We should make this into something,'' she responded after a while.
`` What do you mean?'' he responded.
`` I do n't know. This, our new house. A huge tree. That our kids can swing off into the water.''
Frank smiled. She felt his response. He let the silence linger, encouraging her to entertain her visions for him. She continued.
`` Picnics every weekend. The sunrise every morning,'' she explained. `` We would need to build a bench, of course. So we can just sit and... just watch.''
`` That's a lovely idea,'' Frank replied.
`` Can you do that for me?''
`` Yes,'' Frank said. `` I promise.''
That conversation was fifty-eight years ago now. The bench was built not a month after that, and the tree planted the following Spring. Frank and his wife had enjoyed the bench for three wonderful years, experiencing the beautiful sunrise together, hand in hand, letting each others company speak. Before too long, however, Frank's body was the only one to grace the timber. A leaf dwindled down, brushing Frank's shoulder as he sat. He looked down, then back to his mug. He sipped his tea. The bench was frayed and worn after a few re-builds. The tree, although grand, was old and tired. He peered over the lake.
Fifty-four years he had been at this bench without her beside him. He peered at her memorial stone at the base of the tree. The illness struck her down young, before she could embrace the parenthood that Frank had painfully enjoyed alone for most of his life. The same cancer now flowed through his body. Frank felt weak. His limbs ached, and his breathing grew increasingly heavier as the leaves left the tree that Autumn. Frank was n't a man of many words in his last few days. But as was custom every morning, he discussed life with his wife. He told her about the kids, and the grandkids, and the great grandkids. He offered her his breath. There were lots of silences in Franks last few days. Often, he pondered.
Frank was old and tired, too.
As his days ran thin, and his health deteriorated, Frank spoke less. He would just sit. He loved embracing the silence. He was happy to let the peace linger, and enjoy the time he had with his love.
After fifty-eight years, Frank no longer sat at his bench. He retired under the oak to embrace the silence next to his wife once again.
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[ WP ] Write a letter to anyone , about anything , that has a huge twist !
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Dear Alex,
I'm writing this letter to you because I can no longer bear to lie to you. I am a man. My real name is not Samantha, it's Samuel. I did n't know I was gay before I met you, but you made me feel things I've never felt before or since.
I know that you'll probably call the wedding off, but I hope that we can still remain friends, and that I'll always love you.
Love,
Sam
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Alex clutched the letter tightly. Another letter, written but unmailed, lay on the desk next to it. That letter would never be sent. Alex smiled at the irony of it all. They would still be husband and wife after all. Samuel and Alexandra instead of Alexander and Samantha.
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[ WP ] In the future , teleportation is the dominant form of transportation with a 99.99 % succes rate . Write about the 0.01 % failure cases .
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When I got to the wooden house her brains were splattered all over the roof. The statistics had lied. Teleportation, they said, would be ultra safe. It would take no time. And, most importantly, it would always be on time. Well, they could tell that bullshit to the public - but they could n't fool me.
I got the call from a remote location just outside the World City. Subsidence farming was concentrated in a crescent around the city, and so received every benefit technology could deliver. Teleportation had come in a big way to the small farming communities, and this was their first accident in quite a while. It was all very sad - but there was nothing to be done about those stupid enough to use the technology. And after this death there was only my investigation left.
`` You were her daughter?'' I asked the only witness.
She nodded. `` Mom wanted to try the new things from the city,'' she said. `` I set up the teleportation device. Oh, I feel so bad now -''
Quietly, I gripped her hand. She looked at me.
`` It's not your fault,'' I said. `` This technology is dangerously flawed. This 0.01 % failure that the public has been promised - pathetic! Even if it's true, it means that for every ten thousand trips taken there will be one accident on average. Now how many car trips did you use to take? How many rail trips?''
She shook her head. `` It was my fault. I sent mummy through the teleportation portal - and she just-just exploded when she hit the door. Everywhere. Everywhere-''
`` The math backs you,'' I said firmly. `` My findings do too. Now, could you tell me what settings you used?''
As soon as she said, `` Level two, phase three-'' I was sprinting over to the machine. There had better be a *damn* good reason why *all* the teleport accidents involved this setting. Sure enough, the machine lever was stuck in the set position. And as I looked closely, one of the rivets seemed to be suspended in midair, in between the world here and the destination. I touched it, and the rivet remained unmoved - as if a rock had prevented its passage.
The teleport manufacturers knew, of course. That did n't stop them from making the damn machines and selling them as'ultra-safe.' Never mind that one setting was causing all the problems - what the public did n't know could n't hurt them. After all, was n't that the rationale behind shops continuing to sell cigarettes?
`` Look, girl-'' I said.
`` Katie,'' she replied quickly.
`` Katie,'' I said. `` Every single accident so far has involved this specific setting. I have a theory. I can save your mother.''
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[ WP ] A sweet little old lady is really a cruel and heartless assassin .
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The subway car swayed rhythmically through the long dank tunnels under the city of Boston. Sitting against the back wall of the train, with a thick duffle bag, and an attache case was Boris M --. His long lanky legs stretched out before him, jean clad, and ending with a pair of pointy brown Oxfords. He turned his wrist so he could see the time. The long red hand of his watch ticked off the seconds until he was back in Russia. He thought about seeing all his friends. These long missions were coming down the chain much too often. When he had first signed up with the SVR they told him his main job would be analytical in nature, studying satellite photos, and combing intel for any missed info. Pattern recognition. Pfft. What lies. He exhaled and leaned his head back against the train. Yuliya. He couldn ’ t keep the lies from Yuliya anymore.
He closed his eyes to try and imagine Yuliya ’ s naked breasts, but was lurched forward by the train pulling into a station and the image shattered. He opened his eyes to see a couple drunk kids stumble on to the train, and make an uneasy way towards the front cars. An old lady hobbled on with a shaky hand bracing an aluminum stability pole at the top of the stairway. Her skin paper thin, and translucent. Boris sat forward ready to help the woman up, but she saw him from the corner of her eye, and waved him away. “ I ’ m not that old. ” she said with a smile.
Boris sat back with a smile of his own. His babushka cracked jokes like that, too. “ Not a day over thirty! ”
The doors swished shut as the old woman dropped into a seat a few feet away from Boris- her back to the windows. They stared at each other in the cloudy fluorescent light. She looked healthier than most of the elderly back in Russia, and this made him wonder for a quick second why he loved Russia so much. Maybe it was time to hang up his cleats, marry Yuliya and move to the woods nearer to his parents. He shook his head free of all those garbage thoughts, and was reaching for the boarding pass in his attache case when the old woman spoke. “ I hate being out this late. I really do. Who would have thought a knitting group would end so late? But then again most of the other ladies have money for a cab, or their husbands pick them up. ”
“ A knitting group? ”
“ Yes! See- ” She raised her hands to reveal a long baby blue piece of fabric hanging from two thick needles. She was all lips and teeth about it. Very proud. “ And I learned the best new stitch tonight. Very complicated! ”
Boris dug up the only compliment he could think of. “ Pretty color. ”
“ Thank you. Do you want to see how to do the new stitch? It only takes a second and I ’ ve been dying to show someone. ”
It was the last thing Boris wanted to see, but maybe it would take his mind off of everything. He looked around the cavernous car, happy that it was empty. “ Sure. ”
“ Well, come sit. ” She patted the empty seat next to her, and Boris got up gathering his bags.
He threw his bags on to the side seat next to his, and was about to sit himself when the old lady asked him a favor.
“ Im sorry, but I seem to have dropped my token card. Would you mind picking it up for me? ” She pointed down to a little plastic card by her feet.
“ Not at all. ”
Boris bent down on one knee, and reached for the card when a surprising blow knocked him sideways. His ear rang. He looked up to the old woman, and tried to tell her to stop, please stop, but he couldn ’ t make anything but a gurgle sound. He reached for her fist that was pressed against the front of his neck, and could see the end of one of the long silver needles in her grip. His vision had started to blur when he saw her other hand come quickly toward his neck. Another blow rocked him. This time a spray of blood arched across the old womans face. Please stop. He tried to lift his head away but her grip was solid, and the pain pulling at his neck was too intense. If he could only stand up. Someone would see him. Someone. Then he could go home and kiss Yuliya. He tried to stand, but fell. Slipped on thick black blood.
This was her favorite part. She loved watching them give up. They always fought, even when they were past the point of saving. A woman, or something unfinished always gave them a burst of hope. The young man struggled to stand. He was slipping in his own blood, and still thought he had a shot. She leaned closer, pulled him toward her using the two needles buried deep into his neck. Was he trying to speak? No. Just gurgling. His grip on her wrist loosened and she saw in his eyes the passing of a million memories, and hope. He let completely go and she let him fall back to the floor. He was still blinking, and she wondered what it would be like to know you are going to die in a foreign country, away from your family, and loved ones, with no hope? She got up, and pulled the needles from his neck. The CIA didn ’ t pay her to philosophize.
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[ WP ] A new pill comes on the market that allows people to split their psyche into 'good ' and 'bad ' sides which then duel until one is destroyed forever . Your protagonist has just taken a pill .
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Always curious about the sides of my brain, the pill seemed the logical option to me. The pills outside was simple, one side was black, the other white with a gradual gradient between them. `` dig up the deepest evils and pull down the greatest goods, have them fight and see which side of you is stronger'' is what the pill proclaimed, and I'm certain I'm going to come out of this evil, but it's interesting to note. The house was empty, since I lived alone. I lied down on the bed, swallowed the pill, and promptly passed out.
There was nothing but darkness around me, almost suffocatingly closed before I grabbed hold of a ledge, hauling myself up into a large cave, a wall of crystals on one side, perfectly mirroring the cave. I stepped up close, looking over my form. Long, black wings sprouted from my black, akin to a bat's wings. Black horns sprouted from my head, curling back to form a wicked shape. I was fully nude except for a pair of long black pants, no details noticeable in them at all. My skin had taken on a chili-red color, and my eyes were dark pits. `` Guess I'm playing this game from the evil perspective. works for me.'' I looked to my sides, pulling two long blades, a single yellow eye on the hilt of each. Lining up the blade to be perpendicular to the wall, i pushed the sword in quickly, the wall vanishing as i dash back, spinning the blades back so as to weild the sword backhand.
On the other side of the cave, waiting leisurely was a tall figure, eight radiant white bird-like wings spreading out. `` You sure took your time,'' He says casually, appearing to look exactly like my human form. He picks up a long spear, made of solid gold before dashing straight at me.
My blades went up on reflex, forming an X to block the incoming spearpoint. Despite never having used swords before, they felt natural to use, like I've used them my entire life. My right foot came up, lashing at his stomach to knock him back, `` being the good side of me, should n't you be passive''
He smirks, whirling the spear in his hand before replying, `` Good is not passive, good actively works to strike down evil. and evil is you''. A golden chain forms around his arm, connecting to the bottom of the spear before he tosses the spear at me.
My swords catch fire, energy pumped through them as I dodge out of the way and try cutting the chains. Instead they wrap around my right blade.
`` down one weapon'' He shouts, tugging the sword from my grasp. I will the remaining sword into a greatsword, grabbing it with both hands. I duck low, running towards my good side low, wings flapping to add to the speed as he brings the point of the spear down, stabbing it into the ground to stop my approach. A great ring sounds out
This barrage lasted for hours, My appearance growing more demonic as his appearance grows more angelic. The pause before each ringing meeting of weapons growing shorter and shorter before it is a never ending assault of rings, the greatsword and spear meeting faster than any eye can travel, faster than thought itself. By random chance, eventually a victor was named
The good side raised the spear, aiming to strike the spear into my heart, but a moment's pause in his attack, a hesitation to wonder if this was right or not. But I took the opprotunity, dashing up with a flap of my wings to slice the good side in half, utterly destroying and removing him from my mind.
I woke up in my room, a week having passed in real life. The only noticable change was a tattoo on my right shoulder, a red swirl. My mind told me to go cause chaos and terror, and for the first time in my life it sounded like a great idea
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[ WP ] You are about to crush a spider when you hear a tiny voice squeak , `` Wait ! ''
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I paused, long enough to hear it squeak again, `` wait!''
I look down at it, a spider who had a body about a centimeter across, and fuzzy legs. I had no idea what species it was, but I'm pretty sure there are n't any species of spiders that can speak english.
`` Hey! Put your foot down, man! I'm here to help!'' it squeaked, in a high-pitched, raspy voice.
`` What... are you?'' I said in confusion.
`` Dude, I'm a spider. And I'm here to help.''
I plopped down in the chair, `` I'm talking to a spider. I think I need help.''
`` Not like that man!'' it said as it climbed up the table leg, keeping a safe distance from me, `` I'm cleaning this place out.''
`` I'm talking to a spider, I really am,'' I said as I folded my arms and laid my head down on the table with a thump.
`` Hey man, get ahold of yourself. Imagine how I feel, having to hide whenever I feel you move around. I have short legs,'' it said, wiggling a couple in the air.
I chuckled, in a delirious way, surely I was still dreaming, `` I think we're both lucky that my girlfriend is n't here.''
`` See man, that's what I'm talking about! Listen, we both know your neighbors are gross, and they have a bug problem. That's what brought me here in the first place.''
I opened my mouth, and paused, coming to the realization that the spider sitting on my table has just made a valid point. I think something broke in my brain as I sat motionless for a minute.
`` I know this is weird for you, but I'm going to take your silence as my cue to continue. They have a bug problem, which means you have a bug problem. You read the story of the girl with the roach in her ear on Reddit, right?''
`` I... you can read? And you go online? I... what?'' I garbled as I laid my head back down.
The spider laughed, `` you think I spin webs all day? I'm not that kind of spider, but listen, I'm not a bum either. I've been cleaning up your bug problem without you even knowing.''
`` We do n't have a bug problem,'' I shot back.
`` Exactly!'' it said with a wave of a leg, `` now, all I'm asking is that you not step on me, and maybe leave your tablet flat on the table more often.''
`` I'm negotiating terms with an insect,'' I mumbled.
`` Dude, I'm an arthropod, do n't be specist.''
`` Specist? I... what?'' I said as I laid my head back on the table, a bit too fast this time.
`` Look, it does n't matter. I'm pretty chill, and I'm gon na stay out of the way. I'm gon na try to stay out of your gal's line of sight, but if she sees me, try to hold her off long enough for me to crawl under something.''
`` Wait, you're not going to speak to her?'' I asked.
`` Probably not, man, no offense. Human females are crazy. I'd rather go hang out with a pack of wolf spiders than talk to a human female.''
I did n't know whether to shake my head or laugh, or both, `` so you're staying in my house, and I have to cover for you if she sees you.''
`` Well, do n't be so negative about it, man. You wo n't see any roaches or flies!''
`` I do n't know if I'm comfortable with this arrangement,'' I said, shaking my head.
`` Aww man, it'll be great! Give it a chance, like I said, you wo n't see any insects.''
I stood up in a daze. I just made a deal with a spider about living arrangements. It clearly outnegotiated me. And I do n't think I can mention it to anyone else without getting tossed in a padded room. But at least I wo n't have roaches? I sighed loudly as I stepped outside.
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[ WP ] An archaeologist uncovers an ancient book , he loves the hieroglyphics but can not understand them . He gets a tattoo of one of the hieroglyphics on his arm and realizes it now can no longer be harmed ... he begins to translate the book and get more , unique tattoos
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A tiny bell rang as I stepped through the door of a seedy biker tattoo parlor. I walked up to the counter, where a burly bearded man sat watching baseball on a small television. He looked me up and down. `` Who the fuck is this guy,'' I heard him think as my left arm tingled under the tattoo that had given me telepathy. Sure, I was probably different from his normal clientelle. A scrawny, bespectacled little archaelogist does n't hang out around places like this too much.
I slipped him a paper with the drawing I needed. 4 arrows in different directions, with a geometric pattern in the center. The last drawing in the book. And the hieroglyphics were very specific as to where it should be placed. `` I want this across my heart,'' I told him. `` What kind of weird tribal shit is this?'' he grunted. Probably more used to drawing flaming hearts on the back of some disgusting lot lizard. `` Never mind what it is,'' I replied, feeling strength rippling through me. I had a sudden urge to just pull him out of his chair and send him sailing through the window for even questioning me. `` I do n't need you to understand it, I just need you to draw it right here,'' I replied emphatically, pointing directly at my chest. He shrugged and motioned toward the back. `` Fucking asshole,'' we both thought simultaneously.
A formerly pretty girl waited in the back, covered in piercings and bruises. She washed her hands and haphazardly sterilized the needle. I did n't really care; the seven waves tattoo had given me immunity to all diseases anyway. I took a seat in the peeling, cracked leather chair. The lights flickered and the needle buzzed across my chest. This dump was about to become a part of history, though no one else knew about it. I flexed my supernaturally strong muscles as the ink sank into my skin, wondering what new power I would get.
-- --
I lay on the hotel bed writhing in pain. Black lines radiated out from my heart, tracing over my body like intricate spiderwebs. My head throbbed in pain, and my heartbeat echoed through my body like someone pounding a drum. I gritted my teeth, trying not to cry out again. One more scream and someone would probably call an ambulance.
Black smoke filled the room. I tried to see where it was coming from, but I was too weak too even pull myself upright. Above me, a jackal's head appeared, glistening black fur flecked with spots of grey. I must be hallucinating.
`` No, Doctor Simms, this is not a hallucination,'' the jackal replied. I managed to pull myself up against the headboard, despite my bones burning like acid. Anubis, I realized. The jackal's head was on the body of a man, carrying a set of scales.
`` So, you know who I am,'' he stated. It was n't a question. His voice boomed like a stadium announcer, but somehow I knew that only I could hear him. `` Then you must also know what *you* have done.'' I tried to shake my head in protest; it felt like my head would fall off my shoulders.
`` I am the protector of the tombs, Doctor Simms. You have broken the ancient seals and taken my book.''
`` Do n't kill me!'' I tried to cry out. My voice was harsh, rasping.
`` Kill you?'' he roared, part threat and part laugh. `` Oh no. Why would I give you these powers if I were going to kill you?'' He pointed at the tattoo on my heart. The black ink glowed a bright red, like hot coals. `` You got greedy, did n't you? The other tattoos gave you powers, but this one was different. This one was an oath of loyalty.'' The tattoo throbbed as he placed one bony finger against my skin. `` You have already sworn yourself to me.'' He leaned in close; his breath had a slightly metallic scent that took me a moment to place: blood. `` No, no. I have other plans for you, Doctor Simms.''
He extended a hand, and I managed to grasp it in my own. The pain vanished, and I was able to stand.
`` Bow,'' he commanded.
[ Here's part 2! ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2ne7a2/the_will_of_anubis/cmctlz2 )
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[ WP ] You have the power to kill with a glance . You 've told no one . Today you 've finished basic training and are being shipped to the front lines .
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The first time it became a problem, I ran home and I stayed in bed for days. Ma thought I was sick.
I suppose I was. And all I had to do was glance.
For so long I went without looking anyone in the eyes. I was n't one of those, ah, anyway. I was n't like the others in that place.
I remember sometimes when they let us play. I would walk. I would walk away. I think the other boys and girls would watch because In could hear the games grow quiet. I just needed to be alone and I think they knew it.
Folks seem to think being different is somehow wrong. I figure it will be for some time. So I stayed until I was told they needed me somewhere else.
Lucky for me, I managed to learn to look into my elders' eyes. I do n't suppose I could have gotten by if I did n't. Well, what can I say? Time passes and we make do.
Then we got the news. Ma, I mean the gal who sermed to run the place then ( and looking back, she was n't so much older than I ) came into the dormitory one day. Women were n't allowed in the dormitory.
I do n't remember much about what happened after that. I remember she said, `` Boys, I need your attention. There's been a message.''
There was never a message.
`` All boys of able body are called to...''
I said I do n't remember much. It was a lot for a boy of my age. Time has passed. Are you writing this down?
*sigh*
Is this about what I did, or why I can not now see?
Well, no matter. I'll spare you the time. The uniforms were elegant as they come, far more than the boys fighting in the Capitol today.
You're running out of time? Fine. I'll spare you the waste. Just let me gather myself and fetch some coffee.
Oh, yes, there were stories I could tell you of the way we took, or of training, but I can see you're quick to leave here. Ah, yes. I remember.
The one order that still gives me pause to this day was `` do not fire until you see the whites of their eyes.''
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[ WP ] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion .
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The world is a stage, and life is a show,
My part is done, and I simply must go!
I'm no longer in costume. I've forgotten my lines,
Like the rear-weighted lofzoom, I'm dragging behind.
Though, I wo n't condemn others to the same fate as I,
You wield wonderful wings, so use them to fly!
I wo n't have you carry me, so do n't stick around
Some birds like me were meant for the ground.
Goodbye! Au revoir! It's just half past three
A couple more minutes and I'll be home free!
Keep your chin up, friends, and try not to pout
Maybe I'll see you when you make it out.
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