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[ WP ] You are a State Necromancer in the employ of a District Attorney . Your job usually involves ressurecting victims and witnesses long enough to testify at trial but the current case you are working on is unlike anything you have ever seen before .
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`` Mr. Cabal! What is the meaning of this?!'' the state attorney shouted, incredulous.
Alexander frowned. He was on far side of 52, hair greying and body worn by the ravages of time, and he'd been given this case as a retirement present by his superiors - not that he felt ready to stop, it was just policy. After so many years dealing with resurrection, he could n't stand the thought of the living-death retirement promised to be. It was supposed to be a relatively simple case, one he would n't normally have had to put much thought into; a woman had been driving when she'd been side blinded by a drunk driver at a normally quiet intersection. Both the woman and the drunk driver had been killed instantly in the collision, necks broken by the collision, and Alex had been asked to revive them, as was his job as a state necromancer. He'd done the leg work: prepared the bodies with the proper alchemical processes, setup the ritual circles under optimal conditions and had spilt the correct amount of blood during reconstitution.
The drunk driver had gone off without a hitch. There was the characteristic shock and panic as consciousness was restored to a relatively battered body, - pain receptors left dead of course - and the usual neurological effects of resurrection were all managed with standard state regulated procedures. The drunk driver had even admitted his guilt once he was in a good enough mental state to put thought and memory to words.
It had been simple. Hell, after 30 years of service, Alex could have done this case in his sleep. But when it came time to resurrect the woman there had been... problems.
She'd undergone the same procedure as the drunk driver, but upon waking up she exhibited none of the signs of distress or confusion typically indicative of a victim of violent death. In fact, she was practically as lucid out of the gate as someone who'd woken up from a short nap. Worse, she'd kept insisting, to everyone that asked, that she'd been dead long before the car crash and, despite his best efforts, Alex could n't find any evidence disprove what she was saying. He'd waited for the autopsy reports to get in, quadruple checking them when he finally got his hands on them: they seemed to indicate she'd been killed nearly two years prior to the accident.
`` Cabal, snap out of it!'' the attorney shouted again, snapping his fingers in front of Alex's face. `` What the hell the meaning of this report, man?! It says here:'According to the victim, and the attached Autopsy report as well as my own attached calculations, it appears this woman's claims of having been deceased prior to the incident are well supported and can be treated as true where the law is concerned.' and then your signature. What do you mean she's been dead for two years? How the hell did she drive the car then?! And why in the world did you order an autopsy report on top of your own? Those things have n't been useful since Necromancy became state controlled!''
`` I know none of my colleagues agree with me,'' Alex began, `` but over the course of my career I've found it useful to always ask for an autopsy report. Advancements in science ca n't be ignored where the body is concerned. New drugs, perscription or not, can, on occasion, have profound effects on the biological or neurological state of any body that we resurrect. The alchemical and magical processes we use ignore those effects during the resurrection but once the body is up and about again it's, in some cases, hyper sensitive to any medical conditions it had prior to death. Addictions, in particular, are have an exceptionally potent effect on the neurological state of victims. Normally we're asked to leave all of this kind of stuff to other professionals, but I've always liked to know who I'm getting into regardless of that. As for my own calculations,'' he rubbed his forehead, `` call them a professional courtesy. Most do n't do the legwork to double or triple check anything once the resurrection is complete. I'm quite firmly certain - though I have no explanation for it - that the woman was dead long before she ever got in that car accident.''
The attorney sighed, frustrated, and shook his head, `` That's impossible. There has n't been a single documented case of a victim having died prior to the incident that killed them in, what, nearly 60 years?''
`` Hold on, this has happened before?'' Alex asked, astounded. He'd studied theoretical cases in university, most about oddities that could have significant effects on the resurrection process or cases where there'd been subtle violations of the Necromantic Acts of 2020, but not a single thing he'd studied had ever come close to suggesting something like this was even possible.
Before the attorney could answer, a pair of detectives entered the room.
`` Hello gentlemen, if you do n't mind,'' the older of the two began, nodding toward the attorney, `` we'd like to have a quick word with Mr. Alexander Cabal. Could you follow my partner out of the room?''
The attorney was shocked but nodded, throwing a concerned look at Cabal before following the younger detective out.
The remaining detective smiled at Alex, `` Alright Mr. Cabal, before I continue I have to inform you that you are, by executive order from the heads of state, hereby pulled from retirement and reassigned to my Counter-Necromancy team. You are hereby legally obligated to maintain secrecy and may discuss this only with those individuals whom I introduce to you as part of this investigation. Should you accept, you will be placed in dangerous situations for the good of your State. Should you decline you will be held in a maximum security facility indefinitely without a hearing. Understood?''
Alex swallowed hard, `` With those options, why bother asking?''
`` Because I'm obligated to. Besides, one or two have taken the detention option before...''
Alex doubted the detective was telling the truth, but he did n't see many other options and he had n't been planning to retire anyway, `` Yes, understood. I'm not quite sure how I can be of help though, I've already given a full report of my findings and I have no training related to a case like this. Hell, I've never even heard of a case like this. Ever!''
`` That's because we do our best to keep these particular cases wrapped up tight, Mr. Cabal. The attorney outside with my partner is being briefed in much in the same way you are, though I'm pretty sure he'll be reprimanded for letting it slip that he's worked with us before.''
`` Worked with you before... So that incident he was talking about, that occured 60 years ago, that was like this one?''
`` That's correct Mr. Cabal. You see, every now and then we encounter examples, like this, of what many on the force call'Dark Necromancy'. I'm sure you've learnt that permanent ressurections are impossible, yes? That the state only uses Necromancers for cases that can be wrapped up in under 6 months because there has n't been a process that's been invented that can keep a body stable longer than that?''
`` Yes, of course...'' Alex answered, mind racing as the implications hit him. The detective was blatantly suggesting that someone, somewhere, had figured out how to do something that was very clearly impossible, that would take such an obscene amount of alchemical supplies and magical energy that simply performing the ritual would burn out a dozen necromancers. That was n't even taking into account the amount of additional energy that would need to be added to the system every month to keep the subject from exhibiting signs of decay.
Necromancy had exceptionally strict limits; it took a large amount of energy to reanimate a corpse for a given period, 6 months being the limit for a single person. Always, the process resulted in a net-loss of total energy for the Necromancer in question, it was why Necromancers, without exception, retired at 52; they simply did n't have enough life force left in them to be spending it on other people. In addition, the people they brought back decayed at an accelerated rate, their body no longer naturally going through the biological processes that repaired natural wear and tear. Theoretically, a necromancer could invest energy every month past the 6 month initial limit, but the transfer ratio only ever got more extreme. If there really was someone keeping a body alive, permanently, for even two years... Assuming they'd started fresh out of university, they would n't see their 26th birthday, much less their 52nd.
The detective nodded grimly as Alex's face grew more and more concerned, `` I see you've come to the conclusion that the person doing this would have to be insane to shorten their life so drastically, that's perfectly natural given your lack of practical experience in this particular area of Necromancy.''
`` Wait, are you suggesting this kind of thing has happened frequently enough that the state already knows of a way to sustain those levels of energy investment?!''
`` Unfortunately yes. Cases like this are n't very common but we've studied every single one thoroughly, devoting years and the minds of some of the best necromancers in the world to this research. We've come to the conclusion that there appears to be a necromantic process that allows an individual to use the energy of another person to fuel their own abilities. It's complex, and also irreversible, but theoretically possible. I wo n't go into great detail because an expert should be arriving soon to speak with you, but essentially you create a vessel in which you store the energy of people on the edge of death, killing them of course, which you can then use for your own purposes. Our boys have taken to calling it a'Phylactery'.''
Now Alex's mind was racing with possibility, sure he'd probably die a horrible death chasing down whatever psycho had a `` Phylactery'' or what have you, but it looked like a far more interesting life than a quiet retirement. He smiled back the detective's grim face, `` Well what are we waiting for? Let's get to it.''
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[ wp ] You can see the entire range of what someone knows by looking at them . You look at someone and see the entire universe .
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The air felt still and sterile as it hummed beneath fluorescent light. The world had come to a stop for me, and time held its breath. I could feel the energy coming from the end of the room. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was more than I could ever believe, ever expect, or ever know was real. I had thought I had seen greatness before, but it all paled in comparison.
With each step my legs grew weaker. My eyes began to water, and without control I cried tears more true than any that had ever fallen. My head was light and the room seemed to blur as my eyes beheld the sight of him.
I have seen what is known to man. I have seen what is known to nature. I have seen the knowledge of centuries spelled out before me. I drank it all in and thought I knew it all. But here I was, humbled before him.
I reached down and took the universe in my arms. He looked at his father with wisdom not of age, but of innocence. I held my son in my arms, and the universe looked at me and smiled.
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[ PI ] A man wakes up after death , realizing that his life was nothing more then a virtual reality which temporarily clears your memories beforehand . It is nothing more then a everyday leisure activity done by the people in the future .
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That was... *magnificent*. All the elements and emotions packed *perfectly* into... *one post? * How did you *do* that? You spent just enough time on his Earth / game life to let us feel his devotion to his wife, and then killed him off ( if I may speak so bluntly ) so as to let the story move on. You later showed the widow many years later having lived without him for many ( game ) decades, and still later neatly tied up how that was possible, with *one line* about `` the technology'' packing an entire lifetime into an hour, inserted as a quite natural piece of dialogue. Nicely done. Your story world is entirely self-consistent and I, for one, would love to read another nine or twelve *hundred pages* of it. I can even speculate on some phenomena, both technological and sociological, you could explore. Let me know if you would like to hear any of that. I expect you've probably had a bunch of ideas yourself, but perhaps I can contribute something new. If it helps get a novel-length book off the ground, so much the better!
**saves story to hard drive to read again and again, into the distant future when Google itself has long since lost track of this page**
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[ WP ] Heroes hate you . Villains fear you . The common people love you . Who are you ?
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In my weak moments I think about giving in. Stopping doing what I do. When the big names speak of me, they frown, they scoff, they growl.
*'' He's no hero. He's just a brute. `` *
*'' A meddlesome man and a danger to about everyone close to him- pyhsically and emotionally. `` *
*'' Sometimes I wonder what's going on under that bald head. But then I see him in the news and say to myself:'Oh, nothing'. `` *
But it's worth it. Not only for the money, but for the people. I'm no hero, that's right. Not like firefighters. And certainly not like all those dressed-up viligantes who roam the streets and give their all to fullfill their nightly quota of beating up little thugs. They hide in the shadows and behind masked and disguises. Talk about honesty and loyalty and never giving up- but that's bullshit and I know it.
The people know as well. I'm not a hero, but they give their damn best to make me feel like one. They cheer for me because they can see who I am. They love me because they now where my loyalties lie. They respect me because I respect them.
So all you old-school heroes with your arbitrary morales, with your masks and gadgets and secret caves... your time's up. I've started with much less than you and I've risen above you all. You ca n't see it, but my time is *now*.
I am the new type of hero. I am the future. I am the champion of this nation. MY nation.
And my name is John Cena.
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[ CW ] Write a short story where nothing particularly interesting happens and the environment stays the same **but** the Protagonist undergoes a great change - either physically or mentally .
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It was a Tuesday in the late afternoon. Kids were fresh out of school playing in the park. Their childish screams and taunts echoed across the road into the quaint cafe. Jim sat with his coffee and his newspaper like he always did. A lit cigarette frittered in between his fingers. He mulled over the newspaper not really caring of its contents. It was just another Tuesday for him. The waitress came by with her usual smile. `` Would you like so more coffee Jim?'' He greeted her with his own warm smile.
`` No I think I'll be just fine. Thank you.'' he said as he tapped the ashes of his cigarette. The notion seemed funny to him. He had come to this cafe for the last 10 years with the same routine. Coffee, a newspaper, and a cigarette. He was n't even sure what he did. Nothing in the newspaper brought awe to him. Nothing stood out it was all just bland.
He stared at the cigarette as it burned without purpose. It was almost used up. Without thinking he found himself reaching for another out of his pocket. *No I think I'll be just fine. Thank you. * He thought. He pulled out his pack and his lighter and sat them on the table. It was all so strange and pointless. He laid a dollar and change next to the coffee cup. As he stood up he caught the eye of the waitress. With a smile he said goodbye one last time.
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[ WP ] Humans have finally built the impossible : a spaceship capable of traveling faster than the speed of light . Right before takeoff , however , a rift in the space-time continuum opens up and a group of humanoid organisms emerge . They come bearing a message .
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`` You have a choice.''
The being shimmered, a mirage of colors and sound that warped the edges of space itself.
`` You may join us, beyond the confines of reality, or you may continue to exist.''
Its voice was somehow heard in the minds of every human, on Earth and in space.
The resulting debate was thunderous, but the decision was unanimous.
`` We shall stay.''
The being was silent. `` Why?'' it asked finally. `` You are the first to choose otherwise.''
`` Because,'' responded humanity, `` we wish to understand. We have more we wish to know. We shall find you ourselves.''
The being began to fade. `` Then we shall wait.''
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[ WP ] Today you just completed all that is required to become a Paladin . You go deep into the woods to pray and find out what God is your patron . You are chosen by the God of Wine , Music , and Partying
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The room was dark, and my eyes were still bleary with sleep.
“ Ignatius! Ignatius! ” the ethereal voice boomed.
“ Yes, yes. I am here, ” I replied.
“ Why are you asleep, paladin? ”
“ I am weary, My Lord. It has been a long day, battling the enemies of the realm and -- ”
“ Enough of your boring stories, Ignatius! Rise from your lame slumber! Do you know what day it is, Ignatius? ”
“ The fifteenth day since the Harvest moon. ”
“ No, Ignatius. It is Friday. Friday night! ”
Since Fraternius, God of Wine, Mirth, and “ Partying All Night Long, ” had chosen me as his mortal conduit, I have learned much. He has taught me new days of the calendar. They cycle much more frequently than the days in the harvest calendar. This “ Fry Day ” comes every seventh day, and it evidently sacred.
“ What do we do on Friday night, Ignatius? ”
“ Er, we party, my Lord. ”
“ You ’ re goddamn right. Come now, drink this! ”
The sharp smell of strong spirits stings my nostrils. I sip the clear drink.
“ Don ’ t be a baby, Ignatius. All at once! ” I close my eyes and swallow the rest of it.
When I open them again, we are in a brightly lit tavern. Minstrels are playing.
“ Shots! Everyone, we are taking shots! ” Fraternius booms. The crowd cheers, and more of the awful smelling liquor appears from thin-air.
“ I think I ’ ll just have a water, ” I say.
“ Water? Water! What have I told you about water? ” Fraternius bellows.
“ Erm… That you don ’ t make friends with water. ”
“ Exactly! Now pound TWO shots for your insolence. Then drink a coffee. You ’ ll be fine. ”
My head is spinning, but the hot coffee helps me recapture my senses, somewhat. For years, I have shunned spirits, following the doctrines of the Holy Order, so a small amount of it is quite potent.
But now, as Fraternius ’ Chosen, it is my duty to obey his will. Every day I pray and meditate, that I can better understand him. But Fraternius is a celestial being, and far beyond my humble human brain. If, in his wisdom, he demands that I bring all of the ladies from the nearby house of ill-repute, it is because he can see what I can not.
And so I obey.
The ladies were surprised the first time I entered their house. Occasionally a member of the Holy Order succumbs to the weaknesses of the flesh, but as Head Mistress Evelyn put it, they had me “ pegged as one of the uptight ones. ”
Now, having served Fraternius for three full moons, they expect my visits. And though it gives me great discomfort to come here, it is my noble duty.
I kneel, and say “ Fraternius, god of Wine, Merriment, and -- ”
“ Woo! Party! ” screams a young lady with bright red hair and almost no clothes. Upon seeing her, my face turns the color of her hair, and I lose my bearings for a moment. I must battle these impure thoughts.
“ Er, yes. Fraternius bids you to join him. ”
When we arrive back at the tavern, Fraternius is being held upside-down above a keg, a ritual he practices every night.
The women are greeted by cheers. Immediately a young lady, the one with red hair, jumps upon the table and starts to dance. The audience claps and cheers even louder. I avert my eyes.
“ Ignatius! ” Fraternius beckons.
“ My Lord. ”
“ Ignatius, you like that dancing girl, don ’ t you? ”
“ My Lord, I don ’ t know what you mean. ”
“ You know exactly what I mean, Ignatius. ”
“ I-I, um, don ’ t... like her. I mean, she seems very nice -- ”
“ Silence, Ignatius! It is a sin to lie to me! ”
“ I ’ m very sorry, Lord, ” I say. I feel shame, for he speaks truth.
“ As punishment, I command that you down this immediately! ” I take another shot of spirits.
“ Good. Now go talk to her. ”
“ What? ”
“ You heard me, Ignatius. Stop being a little bitch and go ask her out. ”
The red-haired girl has stopped dancing, and is having a drink with her friends. As I walk over to her, I am even more nervous than I was on the final day of my holy training, when my brothers and I went into the woods to discover our patron gods.
“ E-excuse me, my lady, ” I say, kneeling on the floor. The young girl looks embarrassed, and glances at her friends. I am frozen, as though some dark wizard has petrified me with a level 3 stone spell.
“ I-I-, uh -- -, ”
“ Hello ladies! ” bellows Fraternius. “ Have you met my friend, Ignatius? He ’ s the freaking man. ” Then Fraternius whispers to me, “ Get up, you dork! ”
The girls demeanor has changed after Fraternius ’ introduction. And the red-haired girl and I talk, and drink, and we party until the roosters awaken the rest of the town.
When I return home, Fraternius is passed out on my bed, and there is vomitus on the floor. But I can ’ t help but smile.
I have learned much from Fraternius, and have much yet to learn.
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[ WP ] You stumble upon old home videos of you and your siblings as toddlers . Nostalgia fades when you realize something is n't quite right ...
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**Hey, Dad! Come here, look at this! **
What is it, David?
**I know I'm only 16, a star high school football player, and pretty new at this whole exposition thing -- **
I'll say! And I'm the one who worked three jobs to make sure you had all of this football equipment because I knew my boy was gon na be making a path for the pros.
**Nice exposition, Dad! **
Anyhow, what's on your mind?
**Well, I'm watching all of these home movies of when I was, like, two and shit. And there's me, and there's Todd, my older brother -- **
He's in college now, speaking of exposition. Yes siree! Just started his sophomore year. Majoring in electrodildonics, whatever that means.
**He wants to make sexbots. **
Sexbots?
**Yeah, robots you can fuck. **
Wow, really?
**What did you think electrodildonics were? **
I do n't know. Did n't care. He's not playing football. He can suck a robot dick or pussy or asshole as far as I care. Meanwhile, you'll be getting the real thing. Anyhow, enough about the cyber pervert kid working on Masturbation 2.0.
**Yeah, so anyway, there's me, there's Todd, and there's you. So who's holding the camera? **
The camera?
**It's the thing? The thing what made the moving pictures on the monitor? **
Not sure I follow you, but go on.
**So who was holding it? Mom left after I was born -- **
She said she did n't like the look of you.
**And you're way too unpopular for a girlfriend -- **
Do n't I know it! Mom was the exception. You know how I landed your mother?
**No. **
Well, it did n't cost too much, that's the important thing. So what was the question again?
**Who was holding the camera? **
Kim Jong-Il
**The dictator? **
No, the one that solves crimes on on the CBS true crime and mystery drama. Of course the dictator!
**Wait, why was Kim Jong-Il taking video of us? **
You know... I do n't know.
**You do n't know? **
Never really thought about it before.
**The second supreme leader of North Korea shot a home movie of us playing touch football and you have... NO IDEA... how it HAPPENED? **
Nope! But I'm always forgetting stuff. Where are my keys?
**And this does n't disturb you? **
Of course it does. If I ca n't find my keys, how will I ever start the car?
**No! The whole home movie thing you ca n't remember? **
David, enough. Hell, lots of stuff I ca n't remember. And who watches home movies anyway, you fucking pervert.
**There's something you're not telling me. **
I swear! I do n't know.
*Perhaps I can be of assistance. *
**Kim Jong-Il! **
Kim Jong-Il!
*Yes, it is I. Kim Jong-Il, the inspiration for the CBS true crime and mystery drama not, you know, the other one. Just so we're clear. Anyhow, I think I can solve this mystery. *
**Yes, tell us! **
Yeah, where are my keys?
*In the car. You forgot to take them out. *
**No, I mean why did the other Kim Jong-Il take a home movie of us? **
Hurry up, ok? I got ta get to the store. It closes soon.
*Kid, let this Kim-Jong business go. His home movie skills suck, anyways. You call THAT a close up? I am so out of here. *
**Wow, I've never seen anyone vanish in a puff of smoke before. **
Want anything from the store?
**Closure. **
Not happening.
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[ EU ] The main character is a Pokémon ( your choice ) , whose trainer is embarking on a Nuzlocke challenge . This is the Pokemon 's final battle .
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I could see the fear and the anguish in my trainer's eyes as Giovanni sent out his most powerful pokemon, his Rhydon. Our trainer had fought valiantly, but our loss at the start of the gym of his beloved Venasuar weighed heavily on him and it showed in his battle tactics. He seemed to have remembered nothing of type advantages and all of his usually great strategy seemed gone.
Move after move, potion after potion, we'd fallen further and further behind Giovanni and now his Rhydon was poised to take down our weakened team. We'd lost some at the start, but none since our fourth badge... now, it seemed it was all for naught and tears began to fall from our trainer's eyes as he realized it too. What was 1 would soon be 6 and our journey would be over... unless...
Yes, there was something I could do!
`` El-El-Electrode ( Do n't worry, I can fix this ),'' I spoke quickly, a smile forming on my face.
`` I know what you're thinking Jake and I wo n't let you do it. There must be some other way.'' The ragged tone of my voice told me he knew there was no other way.
`` Elec-Electrode ( lucky for both of us, I'm level 71 ),'' I said quietly, as for the last time I began to gather energy in my whole body, readying myself for my final release.
Giovanni's eyes widened and my trainer buried his face in his hands as both saw my plan coming to fruition.
`` Th-thank you,'' my beloved trainer whispered, as the fatal energy exploded out from my body, wiping out everything on the battlefield, including my trainer's last real challenge before the Elite 4.
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Write a story about something boring in the most epic way you can
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Timothy held on to the knob, and in a single powerful movement, he opened the door. It didn ’ t resist at all under the strength of his will. As it opened, his field of vision was blinded by a light so strong it could he swore it could have been caused by a Tsar bomb. He protected his eyes with his left hand as he left the door opened and then, ready to face destiny, he took a step outside.
He looked left. Then right. There was no sign of danger, so he bravely walked forward into the unknown, still flooded by a light as strong as the Sun. In fact, it was the Sun. Awakening once more with all its glory, showering the continent with its light as it has since Earth ’ s surface was still as molten and scorched as its core, and as it will until the end of days, when its tired red surface will fill half the sky, purifying the planet ’ s surface in its primordial fury.Timothy embraced the moment, filled his lungs with air, and witnessed this moment in time with an level of intensity few men could attain.
Suddenly, as his gaze lowered towards his prize, he noticed the beast standing in his way. Between him and the object he so desired. Once again, his old enemy had trespassed upon his domain, attempting to destroy everything that was holy and just within this land. Timothy advanced towards the beast, but it would not stand back. This is where he thought things would get ugly, as the beast took a step in his direction. Timothy was full of courage, but he was no fool. He knew he was unprepared for battle, as he had neither the proper attire, nor a weapon, unless he could reach his target without alarming the beast. If only he could do this, he would possess a way to protect himself, and perhaps even, force the beast to flee. He circled around the fiend, careful not to lose his balance, making sure to dissuade an attack by the intensity of his glare. The creature ’ s horrible teeth showed as it started to emit a sound that seemed to come from the deepest bowels of hell. Timothy jumped towards his goal, fingers reaching out for the means to win this clash between two unstoppable forces. As the beast sprang towards him, he took hold of the weapon, and with it, regained control of his destiny. He was whole again.
The next moment happened both too quick and too slowly. It was as if time had slowed down and he knew what to do. As the beast jumped towards him, he swung the prodigious weapon and slashed it across the grotesque face of the monster, which decided it would retreat. But as all seemed so full of hope, Timothy turned around to see the manifestation of danger itself. He had to turn away now, before it was too late. Even he could not vanquish this foe. He ran towards the door as his nemesis emitted a battle cry that would have shaken an army to the core. As he ran towards the open door, he hoped he would make it. Jumping through the doorframe, he swung around and closed it shut with all his power. He was safe now.
They couldn ’ t get him in here. But seriously, thought Timothy, if that old neighbor lady expected him to tolerate her pug coming to defecate on his lawn every morning and at the moment he went out to get his newspaper without him shooing the little rat away, she was gravely mistaken. This. Meant. War.
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[ WP ] `` Why do we have to put on gas masks every night ? ''
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`` Daddy, why do we have to put on gas masks every night?''
`` Put it on, and go to bed.''
`` No, but why do we have to put them on?''
`` It's because of the government is spraying us with mind control gas. Now go to bed.''
`` You keep saying that.''
`` You do n't believe me?''
`` No one at school sleeps in a mask.''
`` You believe them rather than your father?''
`` They said they do n't wear gas masks at night.''
`` You do n't believe me? Remember last week when the plane flew over?''
`` Yeah, but..''
`` What was coming out of the plane?''
`` White mind control gas.''
`` That's right - mind control gas.''
`` But the others at school say there's no such thing.''
`` Do n't trust them, they've breathed in too much of the gas themselves.''
`` My friends?''
`` They're not your friends. They're sheep. Pawns. You know what a pawn is?''
`` No.''
`` Someone who breathes in too much of the damn gas that they end up working for the government.''
`` My friends work for the government?''
`` If not for the mask, you'd be just like them.''
`` Really?''
`` That's right kido. Now go to bed. You got ta rest before our big hiking trip.''
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[ WP ] A super spy discovers that the person he was sent to take down is himself .
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`` Hi. Yeah. Yes, this is me. I need to speak to the source on this case, I need a clarification on... location.'' He barked, his confident tone slipping only a little.
There was silence in the room as he listened to the other end of the line, a silence disturbed only by his fussing and fidgeting over his mission dossier.
`` Uh... There are three Hotel Regina's in the area. I wanted to clarify with the source on which one he meant?''
`` No, No. This is another messy case writeup, more issues with cases filed just after the merger! No need to bother any higher ups with it, I'll just sort it out with the source and bring it back in myself!''
`` I do n't care what Google says, I know the area and not every Hotel is online, some people stay places they can be unnoticed. There are three Reginas. Just put me onto the source that called in the kill.''
`` Dammit Kenny, You're an intern, do n't fuck with me. I legitimately know where your mother sleeps.''
`` Ah, thanks Kenny.''
The phone buzzed two in very slightly different ways as it shifted from waiting into a fresh dialtone.
`` Oh, Larry? No, nevermind about this call. I'm coming over.''
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[ WP ] A story of struggle
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Mama has always told you about that other time, before the snow stopped falling and the'ships sailed away into the sky. She was only a little girl with a big belly when it happened, but she remembers. She tells you of the colored fish, no bigger than your fingernails, that made rainbows in the crystal-cold rivers. She talks of children who thundered, naked, into great pools of water and filled their cheeks with mouthfuls of liquid candy.
`` Dirty-toed children?'' you exclaim, envious despite your disbelief. Your ankles sting in recollection of the switch they took to you the last ( and only ) time you were stupid enough to try such a thing. Mama makes a noise that does n't sound like laughter.
`` There was a lot of water then,'' she insists in the gurgling voice she reserves for enthusiastic moments. She draws her shriveled arms out to show its wide expanse. `` More than enough to fill three Camps, if you so wanted.''
You never believe her, but you like the pictures she puts in your head. They distract you on those other days, when you have to leave her to join the Gather on the baking shores. There are no other children your age – Mama says you were the last born to your Sector – but you do n't mind. You figure the other kids would only cause trouble ( crashing sandy-toed into the precious clear-water ) and the elders hardly pay attention to you, anyway. While they work their gums and mumble about the heat you are free to stray behind and stuff your sleeves with sea-glass.
Mama says it is a bad thing to think too much ( `` it scatters your work ethics'' ) and sometimes she cries to think that you are n't pulling your weight. When you show her the sea-glass you gathered ( `` watch the colors, Mama'' ) she cries even harder, until you have to scrunch your eyes and shake your head and swear to redeem yourself to get the tears to stop. Before she rolls over to sleep off her exhaustion she makes you promise to get rid of your collection before they find it. Your vow is a solemn one; after that you stop emptying your sleeves in front of her.
You are only half a liar; you make up for your crime whenever you can. ( Productive work ethics are your Sector's motto, after all. ) You know already that it is no use crawling through the sand on those Gather days, that they create the chore to get you and the elders out of their hair. There are no mussels to be found amid the expanse of glittering rocks and washed-up skeletons; the gull-eggs have all been cracked or eaten or shriveled into fossils beneath the white sky. Instead you focus your energy on crouching waist-deep in the Poison water, trying to forget the salt chewing through your skin as you squint between the rocky crags in search of the palm-sized crustaceans that dwell there. The harsh light burns their sensitive shells and leaves them crusty ( you've seen the remains of the less fortunate ones ) and you're almost sorry to drag them from their hiding.
Your stomach soon quenches your sympathy.
Mama tells you of the times when the men would weave wooden rafts that took them to the middle of the Poison water. The larger fish prowled there, and the men had to be careful and keep a lookout for sharp fins when they lowered their nets to harvest the mussels that slept on the water-floor. You shudder as you chew the meal you captured, happy to have been born after the time of soil-trees and monster-fish, though you keep these thoughts away from Mama. You do n't like to see her cry.
`` Someday you will have to fare without me,'' she tells you following your final meal together. Her eyes are sunken and wrinkled at the edges, and though they shine there are no tears. Somehow, just this once, you wish they were there. `` Someday. But you wo n't leave me before then.''
It is more of a plea than a statement, and you have no heart to smother her hope. You stare at the tips of your salt-corroded fingers as you put a blanket over her fear and tell her what she wants to hear. You neglect to mention the meeting they conducted that morning; your Sector's decision eludes your tongue. You dampen your lips as you pull the old afghan over her broken knees and bring ease to the frightened set of her mouth.
`` Do n't worry, Mama,'' you tell her in a voice that refuses to tremble. `` Sleep, Mama.''
You do n't have to coax her – these days even the simplest of movements exhaust her – and as you watch her breathe you realize that it was all for the best. They know better than she ever did. You will have one less burden to carry, one less weight to drag through the sand. Despite her promises you know that her crippled legs would never carry her across the extensive Gather. It had to be one of you.
You tell stories to stifle the sounds of Camp-breaking outside. Your tales grow more and more enthusiastic as the muffled thumps of old rope and collapsing tents resonate deep into the starless night, ferocious as the howls of the extinct water-cows. Mama will not hear you, but you feel obligated to speak all the same, though you leave no mention of your guilt or of the black feeling in your chest. You will not think of morning or of rivers running dry. You will not think of your Sector's new motto ( survival of the fittest ). You have to swallow to block out the look in Mama's eyes when she finally crawls from your tent to find herself in a new wasteland, void of everything but your sea-glass, glittering in the hostile sun.
( `` Watch the colors, Mama.'' )
But the night is long, and you find the time to lose yourself in your own words. You will give back to her one by one, story for story, and as dawn creeps closer you will keep an ear craned for your Sector's signal of departure.
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[ IP ] Tribute
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These chains they keep biting like frost ever-creeping
Through my veins as the flames keep on whipping my face,
A dance of the elements continues seeping
Into the depths of my mind, surrounding this place.
The steward sits on the throne that gives him power
While the council of darkness watches without thought,
Their minds ever-leaping as this be the hour
The nemesis of evil has justly been caught.
He spews in his speech as crystals glow right above,
Highlighting his crackling, cracking aging pale skin;
His darkened dead eyes have no remnants of the love
That has been portrayed by the closest of his kin.
He stands from his cell with a furious display
Of uncontrolled power radiating within,
A marvelous showing of the strength of decay
That comes with the burden of such powerful sin.
His hand stretches forth, the councils' faces revealed,
Skeletons smiling at the incoming slaughter.
I throw back my hood to show that which was concealed,
His reflection in me; his lost, only daughter.
The darkness blinks light, a sliver of what remains
As the undead chant his name and the promised death.
I can see him returning, feel his body's pains;
But darkness overcomes as he takes a deep breath.
A grin turns to a smile, then to cackling laugh,
And the light forms a ball from his still outstretched hand.
As it gathers I know that without my great staff
The only way to fight back is find strength to stand.
The charging complete, I hear the underworld call
My name, beckoning, caressing my very soul,
But I know I'm not ready to let this world fall
Into hands of undeath, and a father not whole.
The chants cease in sound, the magic approaching fast,
I pray to my God, rejoicing this be my fate
That He has delivered, in His knowledge so vast
I could never hope to understand or translate.
This piercing sensation, I expected the cold.
But never this warmth overtaking me now.
This power, this feeling, only legends of old
Spoke briefly of transcendence, but never said how.
Absorbing the power, my body's golden glow
Now melted the chains, carrying me toward the fiend
That once was my father, now a vision of woe
Who needed to be saved, his innards remade clean.
My light expanded throughout the entire room;
The councils' bones crumbled, now lifeless once again.
This once controlled chamber became their final tomb
And they could no longer control the minds of men.
With this the darkness faded and light reappeared,
The eyes of my father, finally home and free.
A man, once again, highly exalted, revered;
And the best part was that he could go home, with me.
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[ WP ] When you wake up in the dentists chair , everyone is gone and there 's a thin layer of dust over everything .
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*'' Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. `` *
That was the thought that popped into my head when I first awoke, after `` what happened? ``, `` why is there dust on everything?'' and `` where did I get this suit?''
For a simple trip to the dentist, the result was much more than I expected. You see, I was supposed to be undergoing a very simple surgery—having my wisdom teeth removed—and I woke up to in an empty office, with a pile of dust next to me and a thin layer over everything else. Oh, and the suit. It was the nicest tuxedo I'd ever worn. Mostly because I'm not one to dress formally.
The answers would not be found in the dentist chair, so I got up and made my way to the window first. What I saw were clouds of red, large and puffy, covering the sky for all I could see. They were letting go of some sort of snow, though the flakes seemed much too large. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. I had an office to explore.
Outside of the room, everything was pretty much the same. Everything was faded, either by dust or what I assumed was age. The vibrant green wallpaper that plastered the hallways was now a dull olive green; the vermillion carpets were now a pale salmon pink, and the overhead lighting buzzed with an odd iridescence that felt unnatural though it still lit the surfaces with plain white light. Nothing really made sense.
In the waiting room, the TV would n't turn on. The magazines had articles I had already read before, but no dates or publication times were given. If not for the dusty carpet, I would have plopped myself down and stared up at the ceiling in a meager attempt to process what the hell was going on. But no, there would be no time for that anyway as I heard murmurs coming from no particular direction.
I hurried to the front desk and the voices remained vague. I raced back to my room and still, there was no change. Then I ran to the front door and tried to open it, but it did not budge.
`` Hello?!'' I yelled, and there was no answer.
`` Hopeless,'' I muttered to myself. `` This is utterly hopeless.''
Finding peace with the murmurs I went back to the front desk. The secretary's chair had a large heap of dust lying on it and another pile lay by the printer. I tried to boot up the computers and by now I'm sure you can guess, they did not turn on. It was okay, though because that's when she took the roof off.
While I tapped on the keyboard the room began to rumble. The very ground I was standing on shook as clouds of dust formed a dense fog through the office. In an ear-piercing crack of thunder, the roof of the dentist's building came soaring off. To my surprise, the sky was no longer clouded and red, but white and incandescent. Also, my mother was staring down at me.
`` Mom!'' I yelled, but her expression did not change. Her blue eyes were full to the brim with tears as she pressed a handkerchief against her nose. As always, her hair looked immaculate in a Bouffant style but for all its structure and integrity, it could not hold back the fact that something in her seemed utterly broken. As quick as she came, the roof fell back on the dentist's office.
`` Mom,'' I groaned and I got up onto the front desk, pushing up at the roof to see if it would budge. It did n't work, so I took a chair and flung it into the ceiling. The chair bounced as if the ceiling was cement.
In a last ditch effort, I took the chair and threw it against the window behind the front desk with all my strength. Not even a'tink' as it bounced off the glass. I felt defeated. Was there nothing I could do?
I pressed my forehead up against the glass and gazed out at the bleak landscape. What became of the sky when my Mom was here was replaced by the same dense patch of red clouds as before. A Canadian Tire was across the street, next to the Pizza hut and Mcdonalds, all without a single light on inside. What snow had fallen before left a centimeter thick layer on the grass and streets.
I realized at last what it was. It was too gray to be snow, so it was either dust or ash. My money was on the latter. There was very little doubt of what had happened looming in my mind, so I went to the waiting room and lay on the dusty carpet.
For what could've been days or weeks I lay there, staring up at the ceiling wondering what was going to happen. Every now and then there were murmurs again. There was something about a `` reaction'' I heard, but the voice faded before I heard more. I never saw my Mom or anyone again. That was until the roof came off for the next and last time.
By now the dust had collected on my body. It worked its way in the suit pockets and under each layer of clothing. I had no cares, for it would n't matter anyway. Even when the roof came off, I was powerless for what would come to pass.
When it came off, the sky was blue. It was clear and a wind blew through filled with the sweet salt of the sea.
`` By the sea is where he would want to be,'' I heard my mother cry. `` This was his favourite spot.''
I knew it was time.
`` Thank you, Mom,'' I whispered. She had paid attention all these years.
`` I miss you every day,'' she said, hardly able to contain the words. `` And I'll always love you.''
`` I love you too, Mom.''
And then I was free. I became part of the rock, part of the air, and part of the sea. As my Mom waved her last goodbye, I knew I would always be a part of her, and she, a part of me.
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[ WP ] Human civilization has fallen and , thousands of years later , rebuilt itself . In an attempt to better understand the ancient race , a team of archaeologists have discovered the Internet and are navigating it for the first time . Write their field notes .
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Date: 221.6443.43:99
We have found a network of computers. It is called the `` World Wide Web.'' One particular network caught our interest: wwwredditcom. There are random dots in it, which is odd.
Date: 221.6443.45:34
We have found one particular entry that caught our eye: It was named `` [ WP ] Human civilization has fallen and, thousands of years later, rebuilt itself. In an attempt to better understand the ancient race, a team of archaeologists have discovered the Internet and are navigating it for the first time. Write their field notes.'' We will be investigating this entry.
Date: 221.6443.50:77
One `` comment'' in this entry stands out. It reads:
`` Date: 221.6443.43:99
We have found a network of computers. It is called the `` World Wide Web.'' One particular network caught our interest: wwwredditcom. There are random dots in it, which is odd.
Date: 221.6443.45:34
We have found one particular entry that caught our eye: It was named `` [ WP ] Human civilization has fallen and, thousands of years later, rebuilt itself. In an attempt to better understand the ancient race, a team of archaeologists have discovered the Internet and are navigating it for the first time. Write their field notes.'' We will be investigating this entry.
Date: 221.6443.50:77
One `` comment'' in this entry stands out. It reads:
'Date: 221.6443.43:99
We have found a network of computers. It is called the `` World Wide Web.'' One particular network caught our interest: wwwredditcom. There are random dots in it, which is odd.
Date: 221.6443.45:34
We have found one particular entry that caught our eye: It was named `` [ WP ] Human civilization has fallen and, thousands of years later, rebuilt itself. In an attempt to better understand the ancient race, a team of archaeologists have discovered the Internet and are navigating it for the first time. Write their field notes.'' We will be investigating this entry.
Date: 221.6443.50:77
One `` comment'' in this entry stands out. It seems to recur.'''
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[ WP ] A deep fear of the ocean is present in every human being . Walls are all across the continental seashore . No sane human being questions why . Tonight , a girl breaks through the beach barriers . She decides to enter the water .
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Her body felt embraced by nature itself as she ran through the shallow waters of the shore. The water was cold, goose bumps sprouted up across her freckled skin as she thrust herself into the first wave that crashed toward her. Her cerulean eyes smiled and teared up in the salt water. Her scarlett hair seemed to flow with the ocean itself as she swam through the current. The moonlight illuminated her as she rhythmically dipped under the water and came back up for air. The night air provided a warm comforting contrast to the chill of the Pacific water. Her friends cheered as they video taped Lindsay's swim into the ocean, she paused in the distance and waved with glee as she rode up and down with the waves. The camera zoomed in on her smile before she turned and kept swimming. Nobody ever saw her again after that, but her job was done. Just a few months later, humanity was tearing down the walls they had built to protect themselves. A statue of Lindsay was built and set at the shore of the beach and now every year on the anniversary of her swim, humanity heads to the ocean to swim in her honor.
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[ WP ] `` Ayy Lmao '' is actually a declaration of war in an alien species . One day , NASA starts receiving `` Ayy lmao '' signals .
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`` Ayy LMAO,'' the screen said.
You scratched your head in confusion. I mean, come on! You're in Mission Control, somewhere in Florida, guiding an incoming space shuttle that had just finished its stint in the ISS. Another guy decides that the phrase would make a great job for a NASA guy with frayed nerves and cold sweats trying to guide several billion dollars of space-exploration equipment and a bunch of really cool astronauts back to their loving family's arms somewhere ( of course ) in the good ol' USA.
Distracted by the message, you missed your time to input your instructions into the prompt on your screen saying, `` Heading?''. You screamed silently as the space shuttle veered off-course towards another heading, e.g. the ground. You sighed and then inputted your controls to direct the shuttle back to the ground, safely.
But the input had no effect. In fact, the shuttle is now veering way too steeply towards the ground, heading to sure oblivion. You panicked and ran across for the mission control supervisor. You knocked into him, saying, `` Sir, my controls had gone FUBAR! I ca n't input my instructions there!''
He stood there, stunned for a moment while trying to assess the gravity of the situation, before finally nodding silently and tugging you along towards your workstation. Another screen greeted you, this time.
`` AYY LMAO, AYY LMAO!'' it said.
You sat there, confused. Your supervisor turned cross at you. `` You're definitely losing your job now. Is this your idea of a joke, horsing around while a spaceship filled with admirable people is relying on you to make it home safely? You are a disgrace towards humanity!''
His handlebar mustache twitched ever-so-slightly as he saw the shuttle's direction heading towards Fort Lauderdale, the city, not Fort Lauderdale's own Space Shuttle Landing Strip ( if you could call fifteen-thousand feets of runway small ). Ok, fine, angry readers, runway, okay?
But back to the story. The shuttle is now accelerating faster and faster. The cockpit camera showed to you how everyone blacked out as the G-forces their body is subjected to claimed their consciousness. Moments later a gigantic explosion, fueled by several hundred tons of volatile space shuttle fuel, ensued in said city. You felt your stomach sink as you saw on the giant screen, the words, `` AYY LMAO''. Several marshalls then came into the command centre, walking in your direction before pulling you along forcefully into whatever hell that would now turn into a very big part of your life.
Meanwhile, light years away.....
`` Idiots!'' Grognak said. `` Ca n't they see how we've provoked a war by sabotaging their primitive space ship and crashed it into a nearby city?''
Klambax, the calmer one, said, `` Relax, man. I guess this proves that humans are idiots and I am really good at manipulating radio signals.''
Grognak glared daggers at him. `` Kindergarten grade shit, man. You're good at kindegarten-grade radio hijacking. Are you saying that your most enviable trait is being able to replicate little younglings?''
`` Whatever, you green gooed shit. Let's go reclaim their stuff before returning home later on. I got some good TV shows in GalaxyFlicks now. Wan na chill there?''
Grognak stood still before realizing the implication of that statement. `` Dude, you've got a wife, man.''
`` I know! Two's a company and three's a crowd, right?'' he replied.
Grognak grunted before punching the coordinates for Earth. Apparently, planet killers these days got ta face idiots as well. What ever happened to the trembles and cold sweats that a planet killer bring towards the whole population?
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[ WP ] You 're 80 years old and time travel is possible . You sit down for dinner with earlier versions of yourself at age 10 , 20 , 30 , 40 , 50 , 60 and 70 . Conversation ensues .
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Dinner was always my favorite meal of the day. I mostly did the cooking for my wife and I. This particular dinner would be different, however....
I made Chicken Parmesan Lasagna. One of my better dishes. As we served ourselves and were sitting down to eat, a huge a gust takes us by surprise. A small vortex appears on the doorway of the kitchen. It glows blue and gets wider. A black
orb appears in the center and grows to a large oval. A young man steps through followed by 3 older men, two more young guys and a kid.
`` Long time, no see!'' I chimed.
My wife was welcoming to them as well. She knew five of the seven to walk into the kitchen very well. It had been years since I first discovered time travel. People were told to be careful with interacting with their younger selves or others to avoid paradoxes, but why the hell not? I always was intrigued by time travel and knew the dangers of it from when it uses to be sci-fi material. This was our yearly get-together.
I had the table set for them. They all take a seat, except 30 year old me. He was looking for Pokemon and checking for the latest future tech.
30: `` No way! This computer has 200EBs of ram!''
10 sits down and immediately starts scarfing down his food. He gets up for seconds.
`` Now now,'' I say. `` Make sure not to do that after you graduate highschool. You'll put on weight. You do n't have the metabolism of our brother.''
10 glares and resumes stuffing his face.
20: `` Im glad you decided to get back in shape.''
I grin sheepishly.
50, 60, 70 are arguing about planes and how well the Saints are doing in their times.
20: `` Heh, some years ago Brees carried a Superbowl Trophy home.''
10: `` My Dad says they should have never picked up a Chargers QB.''
40 is talking to my wife and talking about their past sexual excursions together. I have no problem with this. She's a faithful woman.
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[ IP ] The Wandering City
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On cue, I was awoken by an enormous roar that pierced the stone walls of my home.
Every morning started that way, the Divine Apotlas roared His deafening roar to signal the rising sun. Every day had began that way as far as anyone has ever known. It's a symbiotic relationship between us and the Divine One. The Great Apotlas has been so kind to allow us to live upon his back for generations and we repay his kindness with our love and reverence.
I quickly clothed myself with my acolyte's robes. It was going to another fruitful day in deep prayer at the Beta Temple. There are temples, twenty-four to be exact, all across Apotlas planted to help us serve Him. Every morning after Apotlas's Call, everyone flocks to their designated temple and begins a morning sermon. Every single person must attend. How else will He get the love he requires from us? There was one morning a few moons ago where a small boy living near me thought he could skip the morning sermon. Once it was discovered he was absent, Apotlas roared out in anger and suddenly there was a humungous quake underneath our feet. The world began to plummet downwards around us. It was almost like we were going to crash into the Below as punishment for our sins. The boy returned with tears in his eyes and apologized repeatedly. At once, the world began to rise, symbolizing the Great One's forgiveness.
I walked along the path towards the Beta Temple and stared off into the expanse of the Below. Another one of the graces that the Divine Apotlas gave to us was protection from the Below. Endless unknown land sprawled underneath the Divine One's feet. We have been told it was too dangerous in the Below and that we shoud never abandon the protections of Apotlas as that would be denying His deserved love. After all, if it was underneath his foot, surely it was n't worth anything. Heretics over the years have abandoned Apotlas in pursuit of a new life in the Below never to be seen again. I never understood these people. There was safety and love aboard the Divine One's back. To refuse that is to refuse everything.
The road began to converge into a larger city crosswalk. I blended in with the throngs of worship-goers as I felt the rhythmic rumbles of Apotlas's love. As the Divine One walks onward, we take comfort in the periodic rumbles that his journey creates. Recently, these rumbles have been have become slower, but Apotlas is only trying to make our collective journey that much more comfortable. The love and respect we share with each other truly is a beautiful thing.
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After the sermon, I sat by myself in prayer. The priests have often commented on my devoutness, moreso than my peers. It was why they granted me the position of acolyte. I could tell they were grooming me to take their place for when they returned to Apotlas. All things come to an end, and the Divine One always calls his subjects back to him.
Suddenly the door behind me burst open. I whipped my head around to see my older brother. He had a panicked look on his face with sweat dripping off his brow.
`` Brother!'' I cried. `` How dare you barge into the sanctity of the Beta Temple in such a rude manner!'' I gave him a furious glare. `` Explain yourself.''
`` Brother, we have n't the time for this. We have to go,'' he replied. He grabbed me by the wrist and tried to drag me out the door.
`` Stop!'' I tore my arm from his grip. `` Do n't you see how much you are disrespecting Apotlas? Do you have any idea what will happen?''
He let out an exasperated groan. `` Enough with this Apotlas! He's the reason we have to leave. Now!'' He tried to grab my arm again, more forcefully this time.
`` I refuse. Explain yourself!'' His statement had me curious, but also worried. Was my brother becoming a heretic?
He let out another frusturated groan as he angrily sat down in one of the pews. `` Remember those birds we used to watch as kids? We used to remark how they could n't think for themselves but despite that, they were still beautiful. Apotlas is like that. He's an animal. It is n't a god or any other divine being-''
`` No!'' I screamed. `` I refuse to believe it! How dare you-''
My brother silenced me with his own retort. `` Remember that dead bird we found in your room one morning? Animals die. Do n't you see? This stupid animal we have been worshipping all this time is going to die!'' He stood up. Do n't tell me you have n't noticed. It's breath is slowing. It ca n't possibly go on much longer.''
`` Then how do you explain that boy from moons ago, who skipped the morning sermon? Apotlas became enraged at his disrespect.'' I felt confident in my comeback, but I was worried. Apotlas surely would become angry any moment now.
`` Oh that?'' He let out a laugh. `` The dying beast just stumbled in its age. It tripped on some formation in the Below! I watched it firsthand. Ever since then, I have been thinking and this is the conclusion I have come to.''
`` Brother...'' I said, my voice quivering.
`` I am leaving. Some other guys and I are climbing down from this forsaken beast tonight at the Great Point. This so-called god is going to die sooner or later, and I do n't want to be there when it happens. I do n't want my baby brother to be there either. Come with me! We have to get out of here!'' His voice was shaking as well.
I furiously turned my head from him and sat in silence. I could feel the daggers of my brother's eyes piercing into the back of my head.
`` Fine, be that way. Enjoy a tragic end.'' he stated as he stormed out the Temple door.
A heavy feeling was cast over the room as I sat in silence. A decorated artist's rendering of the Great One was displayed before me. Was my brother really telling the truth? I stood up and fell onto my knees before the painting. Apotlas's long neck was in the forefront as he carried our city to safety. Tears began to fall from my eyes.
`` Tell me, O Great and Dvine Apotlas, what do I do?''
The only response was a long rumble beneath my feet.
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[ WP ] You just got fired , you 're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you , you 're 75k in student loans debt , rent was due last week , and to top it all off ? You 're all out of beer . Oddly enough , you just got an email titled `` Would you like to change the difficulty ? Current setting : Very Hard . ''
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As I tossed the last can of generic, cheap beer I had left to my name, I sobbed. I ’ m not an alcoholic, but my girlfriend of 5 years was cheating on me and alcohol was the last thing holding reality at bay. Now that was gone too. Jenny and I had met in college and I thought that we had a great thing going on. There had been no warning or signs that I was being betrayed, but the texts and pictures on her phone didn ’ t lie. Could they?
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Instinctively I picked it out and the screen burned bright white in the dark room. An email to my private address I didn ’ t give out to anyone but my friends and family. I didn ’ t even sign up for any accounts using this address. With a great sob and a few moments to wipe the tears from eyes so I could read the letter, I unlocked my phone and glanced at the subject line.
Curiously, there was no sender address and the subject line read, “ Would you like to... ” before it ran out of room on the small screen.
*What the hell... How did advertisers get their hands on this email address? I bet they ’ re asking if I want to change the size of my penis. Fuck. If only that shit worked, maybe I wouldn ’ t be losing Jenny to some hung guy. *
I clicked to open the email and stared at it, puzzled. “ Would you like to change the difficulty? ”
*Sure. I ’ d love to do that. Lem me just go ahead and ask God to look down on me with pity and let me off easy. I ’ ve suffered enough haven ’ t I? In a world where children starve and are sold in slave markets, I of course am the most wretched and deserving of this opportunity. Or maybe I am just the most pitiable human with an email address. Sure. *
I clicked to move the email to the trash folder and plugged in my phone to charge for the long restless night that awaited.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
4:17AM
Still tossing and turning, trying to find a moment of peaceful rest where I wasn ’ t haunted by the thought of my life crumbling around me, I glanced at the dull red LED of the alarm clock by my bedside table. Silent tears had wet the pillow case as I had tried to sleep. More cruel than the thought that Jenny had cheated on me and left me were the dreams where we were still happy together. Every time I had gotten even a cycle of sleep, those blissful dreams had haunted me. As soon as I awoke, it was like finding out that she was with someone else again for the first time.
I grabbed my phone, determined not to let these blissful nightmares another chance to take hold of me. The blinding white light hurt my eyes and it took a few moments for them to adjust and let me read again.
“ Would you like to change... ”
*This shit again? I thought I had deleted it the first time it came in. Must have misclicked in my drunken haze. Oh well. *
I moved the email to the trash again and opened Sync for Reddit.
After almost an hour, I had gone through all the interesting topics on the Front Page if the Internet and clicked the back button to exit the app. As it closed, behind it was my Gmail app again.
*Stupid inconsistent back button behavior. What the... I ’ m sure I deleted the email this time. Oh what the hell. It can ’ t hurt and I ’ m desperate enough to give this a try. Hell, I ’ ve already prayed and I don ’ t believe in God. This can ’ t be any worse. *
“ Yes. ”
“ Select new difficulty... ”
The reply came in quicker than the email from the subscribe button on a page full of malware. I opened the new mail and found 4 simple buttons.
* Easy
* Medium
* Hard
* **Very Hard**
*Have I been playing life on Very Hard mode so far? Well... Some of it was. I had been diagnosed with cancer when I was 15, lost my parents on the vacation the Make a Wish Foundation had set up, lost my scholarship to UCLA when I had been caught smoking weed and was taken in and charged with a misdemeanor. Some of it made sense, but at the same time, I had met Jenny, my cancer had gone into remission, I was able to find loans to pay for college, and even gotten into that great research program they offered. But then again, very hard was not “ nightmare mode. ” Maybe I was just that good at life! *
As I began to imagine how life would be on easy or even medium difficulty, I hovered over the easy button. A heartbeat later, I clicked on it.
A voice sounded in the room and yet I knew it was only in my head.
“ New difficulty, easy. Settings saved. ”
My heart raced but I was exhausted. Maybe I had just imagined the voice. I probably did. As I continued to argue in my head, I drifted off to sleep, forgetting the demons that lay in my dreams.
To be continued after work...
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[ WP ] You find a lantern that will lead you to what every you want , but the closer you get , the heavier it becomes .
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I've been carrying this lantern since I was fifteen years old. What everyone fails to tell you at that age is that you almost never know what is good for you, and you certainly do n't know what you want. At Seventeen I carried the lantern across the stage of my High School to be crowned prom king, It weighed 50 lbs by then. When I was twenty I held my lantern high as I walked into my first corporate job as CEO. One would think that I would have learned my lesson on using the lantern for frivolous matters, but by the time I was twenty five my lantern weighed over 200 lbs. I had used it for many a bar bet, for altruistic and selfish means, and for failed relationships because it takes more than a lucky lantern to maintain love. For so many pointless things I used my lantern. Now as I sit here, successful in my career at thirty-five years old and yet never more sad and alone, I keep only my lantern as company. It weighs well over 500 lbs now. I have n't used it in a long time, I've found that there is n't anything truly worth carrying the weight around for. These days I keep my lantern in my office because I hate feeling it's looming presence in my home. It sits on the corner of my desk, and we both peer out into the grey sky rise view from the window of my Seattle office. Suddenly, there was a knock at my door.
`` Mr. Taylor, the new assistant CEO is here for orientation.''
I sighed, training was always such a burden.
`` Send them in,'' I mumbled.
The door opened and in walked Melissa Day, my new employee and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was maybe thirty, with long red hair and a crooked smile that permeated confidence. Her large brown eyes held mine with such a powerful gaze that I felt almost intimidated, an emotion I had never experienced before. When she shook my hand her grip startled me, and I suddenly lost my ability to speak.
`` Good afternoon Mr. Taylor, I'm very excited to begin.''
I looked deep into her eyes, still silent. My gaze slowly drew to my lantern. I lingered on it, I could feel the familiar ornate bronze handle in my palm, and the weight of it's many wrongful uses bearing down on my biceps. It would glow when I picked it up, and would lead me to make all the right decisions. I would n't have to worry that she would n't be impressed by our first conversation because the lantern would tell me just what to say. She would laugh, and find me attractive, and I could gain her trust all with this one moment of holding the lantern. I could get her to love me at once, and the lantern would do all of the work for me.
`` Mr. Taylor, are you alright? You've been staring at that lantern for quite some time now.''
I suddenly averted my gaze.
`` Yes, yes I'm alright. Let's begin,'' I said as I sat on my desk. The lantern let out a soft flicker of light and then extinguished into darkness, untouched.
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[ WP ] You enter a restaurant and sit at an empty table . Looking around you notice a counter that goes down each time a customer enters . It is at 10 .
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Cathy's was on the Northside of Bayford. Across from the old Fantasia Jazz club, it was a hole in the wall that few people knew about. Like Brigadoon, I found it on a misty night and returned every week for the *special. *
Tonight, though, it was pretty crowded. Out of the twenty tables, ten of them were filled. I sat alone at my usual booth, in the corner, facing the door. The red venal had been repaired with red tape and the back of my legs stuck to the surface.
I had yet to see a waitress, though Chuck, the cook, could be seen peering out the slot in the wall. He waved when he saw me.
The other tables had some interesting characters. A woman in pearls and a black dress sat across from me. She was crying into her water glass. Her lipstick was smeared across her cheek.
A man and a woman sat across from one another, each wearing clothing from a bygone era. They looked older, edging on thirty. Their fur lined coats and coifed hair made me smile. Costume party?
There was even a family with two kids.
I looked at the wall again. The counter was ticking down as yet another person entered -- a girl my age with a skateboard and backpack in her arms -- taking the table beside the door. She wore a long red coat.
I must have dozed off because there was a cup of soup in front of me, like I normally got. The cheddar and broccoli was my favorite. I took a bite and looked at the counter on the wall.
*Five. *
When the soup was done, I closed my eyes and leaned back. The smell of cooked meat and gravy brought me back to myself. Again I had missed the waitress ( Cathy herself ). She always knew my usual.
I drank down the milkshake ( chocolate ), ate the almost raw steak, and devoured the potatoes. Then again, I felt heavy.
I woke when there was a bell chiming. I looked at the wall. Everyone looked at the wall. It read zero.
In unison we all rose up and walked towards the back, where Cathy stood, looking much younger than she ever had. She looked me in the eye and said, `` Welcome, Bridget.''
She touched my shoulder and I smiled at her. I felt heavy and full.
Into the backroom we went, carrying out things. When we entered, there was no kitchen, only a sterile white room. The door closed with an ominous clap.
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[ WP ] The aliens finally arrive on earth , expecting to encounter dinosaurs they were wholly unprepared for Humanity .
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This is good. Few things to think about when approaching this.
Sustainability of Life
The CLOSEST planet to us that is regarded as being able to sustain life is Tau Ceti e and that planet is 11.90 Light Years from here.
The CLOSEST planet or system that is regarded as being able to sustain INTELLIGENT life capable of interstellar travel ( theorized using the size and density of the observable universe ) is at least 1-10 million lightyears from us. Meaning is they were to observe earth they would see the earth as it was at least a million years ago ( long before humans )
Communication
Considering that the farthest reaching communication signals ( Radio Waves ) have only reached 200 light years or so form earth, Anything beyond that would have no indication that we are trying to communicate.
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[ WP ] A duel between two Wizards . Except they are not Archmages but apprentices who can barely cast spells .
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The old man had always warned about knowing just enough to do some real damage. Moonlight and embers lit the small clearing. Strange markings covered the ground and a slight breeze stirred the ashes of incinerated grass.
The two figures had met not ten minutes earlier, their intentions hostile, their conversation brief and their doom swift. To an observer they looked too stiff, obviously unsure of themselves but driven onward by their hatred for each other.
Seconds after they had greeted on another the small clearing in which they met burst into flames. Both of the duel's participants cried out in pain as they tried to put out the fire consuming their clothes. While they both struggled one screamed in a bizarre language and glowing runes appeared on the ground.
From the ground poured thousands of small dark creatures, each horribly twisted in its own way. Some were furry and others scaled, some flew and buzzed while others crawled and slithered. Their malice flashed from their eyes and sharp teeth. The creatures fell upon the two apprentices, tearing strips of flesh and then chunks of bone. In a matter of moments the two novices had been consumed and the creatures disappeared back to whatever hell they came from.
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[ WP ] You 've always been told that words matter , you took it with a grain of salt . But you 're now in a situation where you need to use exactly the right word , and only the right word , to save the world .
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`` Human, you have been chosen to represent the intelligence and overall might of the human race. We have observed your technology, your social interactions and deemed Earth as'expendable'. Before we ask you the all-encompassing question that separates the idiotic lifeforms from the greatly intelligent, I'd just like to say, thank you for participating today.''
`` Oh, well. Yeah. I... I mean, thank you? How long will this take? I only get 30 minutes for my lunch break,'' said Jim. His boss did n't like when the guys took longer than 30 minutes on their lunch breaks. It was making Jim a bit nervous.
`` Yes, yes. It is only a question and we only want a one-word answer. One word.''
`` Can it be hyphened?'' asked Jim.
Agnolious, Conquer of the Universe, Overseer of all Divine and Chaotic, voted most handsome life-form in all existence by a 100 % victory over all known life, turned to his advisor, Dave, to discuss the question. After a minute they turned back to Jim.
`` Yes,'' Agnolious answered. `` Are you ready?''
`` Yeah,'' said Jim, he only had 22 minutes left of his lunch and he knew his sandwich and chips would take him at least 15 minutes to chew and swallow, if he was lucky enough to not be caught in any chit-chat.
`` The question we have for you... is... How many big bangs have occurred in the existence of our universe?''
The room was silent. Even the Hyper Energy Fusion Xtreme Generator XXL V6.175, most powerful energy generator for intergalactic ship travel, went into'rest' state in hopes of hearing the answer.
`` Well... I guess it would be a number...'' said Jim. Agnolious and Dave made no expression. `` Hmm. 42.''
The room stayed silent. Suddenly Jim was back at his construction site in front of his'Team Spock' lunchbox. A note rested on the inside:
`` Thank you for your corporation. Earth has been upgraded to an'Intelligible and, Therefore, not to be Destroyed' status. Have a great day! -Agnolious and D.''
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[ WP ] You are the first bad guy in a tutorial , and after countless deaths you have had enough .
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His eyes shone with terror as a sword penetrated the tattered rag that covered his hideous form. The world around him turned black as the armored warrior brought a boot to his remains. He was stuck in an endless cycle of death and restoration. Searing pain was soon replaced by the freshness of being alive - only for him to remember that he was completely powerless. His movement was limited to a very specific pattern - 5 steps forward followed by an about-face, and the cycle would repeat. There was no reason for hope.
He was on the verge of insanity when he was rescued by his own imagination. The silhouette of an angel consumed his entire being. He had willed her into existence. She was waiting for him just beyond the horizon, her hair flowing in the gentle breeze.
He was cursed with a lack of purpose, but blessed with the heart of a champion. From then on, he would script his own story. To the universe, he was a prop in a larger narrative. But in his eyes, he was the invincible warrior that she deserved.
And so, he would persevere.
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[ WP ] Humanity wakes up to find that metals no longer shine . Gold , silver , etc . all lose their luster . Your job is to find out what happened .
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`` Well, really it is quite simple'' I said to the crowd gathered before me `` Metals shine because its free electrons vibrate and give off their own light when they come into contact with photons''
Research had been ongoing for two weeks and we had finally found the answer. Really, it was bizarre although not as bad as the media made it sound. Funny how they care more about jewellery than they care about, say, the destruction of the planet.
`` Originally there were all kinds of crazy theories such as that electrons in metals no longer vibrate but a German team quickly disproved that. Either way, no physicist could make it work in theory. So we moved on from those to actually plausible ideas''
Before me were a crowd of the world's leading scientists from biologists to chaos theorists and dozens of journalists. The scientists listened and watched as I drew diagrams and equations on the board to show the mathematical instability of some of the theories proposed. The journalists looked bored. Incredibly bored.
*Maybe if more people gave a damn about science and opened their eyes to the mysteries that surround us we would n't have so much panic* I thought to myself.
Personally, I got into science from reading *Cosmos* by Carl Sagan. Discovery fascinated me, although I always thought I'd be doing more than discovering why metals stopped shining.
`` We continued onwards to examine if somehow, the properties of photons had changed. We found absolutely nothing to indicate it, however.''
It never ceased to amaze me what some people believe. Religious nuts had been crying since the first day that this was all a divine act and people believed them instead of trying to find a logical answer. Thankfully, not everyone thought the same way as them.
`` We then searched if adjustments had to be made to the periodic table or if there was a significant change in the composition of the atom. That was n't the answer either.''
I should be more grateful, this phenomenon could have been a major scientific paradigm shift. But really, the answer was very simple. Maybe it had practical uses?
All the attendants had a copy of the results but I wrote them out and explained many of them anyway. I had a perverse pleasure at seeing the journalists grow even more bored. I just hope they do n't interrupt me.
`` So then we began to think, why do metals lose their luster?'' It was nearly time to reveal the answer to everyone's question so I started to pace `` The answer, of course, is because metals react with oxygen.'' Oh, the reaction when the journalist's heard the work `` answer'' was priceless. Reminded me of meerkats.
`` So, what would happen if oxygen were to somehow become more potent? Why, you'd tell me that's absurd but all it would take is a small sample of botoretyanigumine in the air for this to happen. The oxygen bonds with the botoretyanigumine to produce botoretyanigumine oxide which is much more potent but only affects metals.'' Now the journalists were furiously scribbling on notepads and the scientists' attention was more than absolute.
`` Recently, a Swedish team found traces of this substance which was originally created by French scientists. It is notorious for being the fastest spreading gas ever known and now it has spread across the globe. What can be done?''
`` Well, nothing. Not without money anyways. Thank you.''
Calmly, I turned to leave as clapping erupted from those gathered. Humans pose the greatest threat the Earth has ever faced and they care more about jewellery than they do of that threat. Frikkin' brilliant.
*Well, there's always a silver lining* I thought as I checked my phone. *What suit should I wear for meeting Roger Penrose? *
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Thanks for reading!
Carl Sagan's *Cosmos* is a wonderful book for everyone. It is about everything from the Library of Alexandria to 4D objects to space travel.
Roger Penrose is a very famous mathematical physicist.
Sorry if I ever twisted science too much or got it completely wrong!
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[ WP ] `` Mommy , can we buy it ? '' `` Sweetie , you know we do n't have much money this month ... ''
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`` Mummy, can we buy it?''
`` Sweetie you know we do n't have much money this month...''. Sandra's voice trailed off as she looked down at the massively guilt trippy eyes below her. It was true, however. Funds were low this month. Now that her husband was no longer with them, the Company payments for insurance just were n't cutting it anymore. She was n't ungrateful, it was just getting more and more difficult to get by. Some weeks she had to cut it really close.
`` But mum, we've got to! It's the only way we'll make it work. Otherwise the Boss wo n't pay us this time. Last time we fucked up we really struggled''. Sandra shushed her nervously, craning her neck over the aisles to see if anyone had noticed a cursing 11 year old. She was keeping a low profile.
The kid was right though. The last time they did n't buy what they needed it had all gone to shit. The Boss had almost kicked them out.
She considered it again, watching the kid play with it in the middle of the lonely aisle. She could hear some shuffling from the next one over. Looking up she could see it was stocked with'essentials'. What an annoyingly generic expression.
`` Fine. But you're looking after it. You're cleaning it. And you're buying everything else you need out of your allowance.'' The kid's eyes lit up and a grin popped up on her face. `` And no, you ca n't have it til after we get back from Paris!'' The grin disappeared but the glow in her eyes remained.
`` Thanks mum!''
`` You're welcome kiddo! Now let's look for some ammo for that bad boy. It's gon na come in real useful for the hit in Paris. That guys not gon na know what happened to him!''
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[ WP ] I know why I 'm in Hell . I know what I 've done . What I do n't know is why my dog is there , waiting for me when I arrive .
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When he first arrived that morning he thought it was a dream. And when he realized it was n't a dream, he thought it was a prank. An abandoned city. New York City. But it was EMPTY. White walls. Cold like in the Fall. No leaves on trees. Cars, but no gas. The bridges were gone.
And then, when he realized it was n't a prank, he thought it was the apocalypse.
Then he saw *her*. He spent the better part of the day walking up towards central park. When he got to 47th street, she was standing there, waiting. Her eyes were too far apart and she had a brown pixie cut. It was his least favorite haircut on a woman. She dressed business casual. She had a folder in her carefully manicured hand. But her eyes... they were so blue it hurt his soul.
Somehow he knew just by looking at her. Before she even said it.
`` This is what you think it is. And no, I have no name.''
She took a moment, made a subtle movement of the head.
`` Would you like me to tell you your sin? You have a right to that.''
He did n't need to know. *It was a dark night. He did n't see her crossing the street. She was so young. 19, running to catch up with her friends. Probably just got back from a concert. * And 10 years later, today, he overdosed and woke up in here. New York City. His apartment. But white walled and blank and empty. Like someone built it and forgot to put in a soul. His heart sped faster but he kept his cool. He could n't really believe it even though he was compelled to. *This is Hell. *
`` I never thought it could be real.'' He said.
`` Nobody does. But you're handling it well,'' she said. `` Most people cry. Beg for a second chance. It's my least favorite part of the job. Such a desperate thing. The sudden realization that its all real. That its over.''
`` Well its Hell,'' he replied. `` What do you expect?''
`` Oh, we do n't call it that here. They designed that name where you are from. It stuck I suppose.''
`` What do you call it then?''
She shrugged.
`` We've always let it speak for itself.'' It got colder then.
He was oddly calm. There was something about her he was drawn to. Like he wanted her to connect with him. But something about her, right there standing, that did n't fully register. It was that she did n't care, about him, or about anything. That this was normal. She was in control. And it made him sick to his stomach. *Fucking show a little compassion, fucking Christ. *
`` Well. I know what my sin is. I....killed someone. I also committed suicide.''
`` Oh, we do n't count suicide anymore. It was taken off the list 320 years ago.''
`` Lucky me.''
`` God got progressive faster than your kind did. He still has n't found a soft spot for drunk driving though. Especially those who ran.''
It was quiet for a moment. He felt awkward. She kept *staring* with those far apart eyes. Something about her was off, but only just barely. She just was n't *human*.
`` So... now what?'' He said.
`` Do you have anymore questions?''
`` Will it get worse?'' He asked. It was an abandoned city. There was still places to go. The buildings were all intact. Just everything inside of it seemed ordinary. So plain fully dull and empty. But he could get used to it. He was n't in pain. He did n't hunger. He did n't thirst.
`` It will remain the same.''
`` Are there others?'' He asked.
She shook her head. `` I made this all for you.''
He began to speak, foolish before he even asked it, like he even needed to know the answer.
`` How long will this be?''
`` Forever.''
And then she was gone. What he saw in her place took his breath away. *Paul*. His eyes welled up. He had n't even begun to think about his family. He was overcome. Paul was his labrador in his mortal life. He looked wet and dirty, but that was his *Paul*. He even had the same collar.
`` Come here Paul.'' Hell would n't be so bad. Paul was here. Paul was trotting along the sidewalk a good fifty feet in front of him, and turned to look.
`` Paul! Come here!'' *Any second now* he thought. That tail will start wagging and those beady puppy eyes will chase after him. They would be alright. *This would be alright. * But Paul did n't come. His tail drooped and his face remained fixated on him, but so empty and cold. Like he did n't know him.
His voice began to crack. Pleading. `` Come here boy. It's me. It's Daddy!'' He had raised him from a pup.
Paul turned and began to trot away. He could feel his heart drop. And when he ran, Paul started running too. Just fast enough where he could n't catch up.
`` Paul,'' He screamed. `` Please!''
It was all so real now. A pain settled in his soul and laid there. Rejection.
He chased Paul for hours. Hours until it got dark and street lights turned on, plain dull florescent lights descending on the street in silent glow. When he collapsed from exhaustion Paul waited. But he never came near. The next morning it was the same. No matter where he went. Paul would be there, just out of reach. Looking at him with empty eyes.
He remembered her last word to him.
`` Forever.''
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[ WP ] A vampire is experiencing the zombie apocalypse .
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So I ’ m like this out of misfortune. I don ’ t want to suck people ’ s blood. I don ’ t want to hurt anybody. I just want to live and make the most out of my life, Vampire Dream style and all that jazz.
As part of my “ don ’ t hurt anyone ” morality, I detest human blood. Drinking it is just wrong. I hated the company of other vampires, since almost none of them shared my views. So I had a lot of human friends. I made do on livestock blood up until this big mess.
One day this dude had a thing for human flesh and ended up getting some prion/rabies disease, and decided he was going to spread it to the rest of humanity. ( I swear people are so inconsiderate. I don ’ t go around biting people for the sake of it. ) At first the zombies were really picky and only ate living people. Didn ’ t affect me much after all my human friends were killed… God I miss them. We used to fool around in the bad parts of town, try to convince some people to get the hell out. And then somebody would try to kill my friends and I ’ d take the bullet because I can ’ t die and then everybody would freak out and then we ’ d laugh… good times.
Anyway, sorry. I ramble. Happens when you ’ ve been alone for, oh, couple years. I tried to be the good guy and help any other survivors I met. Bunch of them tried to shoot me. And failed. And then they freaked. And then… you get the point. Couple groups I found were really nice. Unfortunately they didn ’ t live very long. I don ’ t want to talk about it.
I was out in the middle of nowhere by this point. I know a few human groups made it alive, but they sure weren ’ t where I was. The utter isolation drove me a bit nutty, but eventually I got used to it. Spent a lot of time talking to myself and that little voice in the back of my mind, the one that says everything will be all right. After a few months, the zombies ran out of living people to eat. They turned to the next best thing.
Now as a vampire, my stomach is obviously made of lead. I have never yarfed so bad as when I first saw those monsters tearing into eat other. I swear it just… eurgh. My gore is rising just thinking about it. Once they picked off their own weak, they started eating anything with a pulse. That means MY food supply was gone.
Eventually I got really desperate to eat. I was staggering along a road in the middle of the day when this zombie comes tottering out at me. It glared stupidly at me and I... well, I did what I had to.
I ’ d rather just starve to death next time. Imagine super curdled milk mixed with water, whole thing smells like road kill AND you have to pick little chewy bits out of your teeth for the next few hours. It was humiliating, disgusting and I really didn ’ t feel all that much better afterwards.
ONLY upside was that the crippling weakness went away. And then I realized my flesh was boiling from the intense sunlight. I was a bit delirious earlier from starvation.
I tore off into the woods, alternating screams of “ Ew ” and “ Ow ” the entire time. Kept running until evening, and then I found a nice little road. Followed it for a few weeks before getting to your monster of a fort. Your guardsmen tried to shoot me and stuff, and I am sincerely sorry about not making my intentions clear. I know ammo is so precious. After digging the lead out of my forehead, your men escorted me in, I sat down, twiddled my thumbs, you walked in and… yeah. That ’ s how I got here.
The leader of humanity ’ s last civilization stared at the thin man in a ragged suit.
“ Let me get this straight, you ’ re a vampire? ”
The vampire nodded.
“ And you can ’ t be killed by the infected? ”
He nodded again.
“ And you don ’ t drink human blood? ”
The vampire shrugged. “ I ’ ve learned that it ’ s higher on my list than zombie. But no, I won ’ t if I can ’ t help it. ”
The man leaned back in his chair. “ We can use somebody like you… what do you say to staying here and rebuilding civilization? ”
“ I would love to! Where do we begin? ”
Edit: I feel the ending is a little weak. If anybody has a suggestion, please comment!
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[ WP ] Write about a Lovecraftian abomination
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For as long as we have existed, we've lived in fear of the abominations that lurk just out of sight in the night. Where we have once seen heavens above us, we now look at that star filled sky and realize that between the faint twinkles of light from these far suns houses an indescribable amount of nothingness. It is in that nothingness where mankind faces the most fear, the ability to recognize true nothingness being one of the largest flaws of the human mind. The lack of sight is impossible to explain to someone who has lived their entire life with that particular sense, and the fear of nothingness after death has pushed many a man to religion. This may be a flaw of out own perspective on our little globe, where the most nothingness we experience, air, is still comprised of *something*.
It is with this perspective that I first stepped into the house that was sure to be my undoing, oh that accursed house. My job was simple, the house had been foreclosed by the bank my company had a major contract with, and it was my job to evaluate the security and safety of the house and determine if it was fit for market. I stepped past the front door expecting the worst horrors I spotted to be rats, stains, and damaged structures. At the very worst I would experience an unhappy homeowner or squatter, in which case my job was done until the police had time to do their job. Much to my surprise, the house was in pristine condition. The walls were unmolested by pen or fist, and even the carpet looked as if I had been the first living creature to walk upon it since it had been laid. The overall cleanliness was a little unnerving, the papers had stated that up to a month ago someone had been living in this house, and in total the house had been inhabited for some forty odd years.
My second thought was that the house had some other secret further in. While non as pristine as this one, I had experience many a house that where the initial room was in a much better shape than any room preceding it. To the average outsider at the door the first room is often enough to leave a positive message about the owner, while the back rooms can hide any number of illicit activities. I braced myself for the worst as I began my walk from room to room, half expecting to see some hastily shut down meth-lab or hoarder's den behind every door I opened. Thankfully, there was nary a piece of trash or crack pipe to be seen, and whoever had owned the house for those forty years must had just been a perfectionist of the highest order, or suffering from some mental illness that required the house to be spotless.
Unfortunately, this illusion of mine would only persist until I had wandered into the basement of this normal suburban house.
At first look the basement seemed like the rest of the house. While some boxes remained from the previous owner neglecting or deciding not to move them, even they had seemed deliberate in their placement, seeming natural and not at all out of place, as if the architect had decided that they should go there to accent the room. Out of curiosity I trifled through the contents of the box, hoping to gain some insight into the person who had inhabited the house and kept it looking as if it had been built yesterday. Inside I found the typical sort of thing one would store in the basement, toys and clothes from a child who outgrew them, old albums full of the memories of a happy family, and various memorabilia or knickknacks that one likely could n't throw away due to the memories attached. All had seemed normal until in the last box I discovered a piece of cloth sewn with an odd symbol. The cloth was unusual for it's size, large enough to be a banner on an old medieval castle, yet far too large to display in the house without it hanging on the wall. I could not discern any purpose for the cloth, and the stitching of the odd symbol seemed to suggest it was made by hand with either very inexperienced, or very shaky hands. The symbol itself seemed to be a single line, twisting and folding in on itself many times. Each fold of the line seemed very deliberate, as if it was made to be placed there, yet ultimately the symbol as a whole failed to invoke any semblance of unified design aside from purposeful chaos.
Putting aside the cloth back into the box it was produced from, I decided to finish my inspection and leave the house as soon as possible. Something about the cleanliness combined with the odd cloth produced a sense of unease in me, and my mind was starting to create doubts towards my safety if I continued to spend time in the house. The rest of my inspection of the basement proved fruitless until I approached the last corner of the room. To this day I am not sure what drew me towards that corner, however even looking at it was not enough, for some reason I had to prove that it existed. That corner in particular seemed darker than the rest of the basement, and even as I shined my flashlight towards that area of the room it seemed to remain cloaked in shadows. Even as I walked towards it, the corner seemed to maintain it's same distance, as if I was standing still and watching it. Soon enough I began to pick up speed in my attempt to reach it, soon even breaking into an all out sprint. The basement was large, but even at a full sprint I should have been able to clear that basement in a few mere seconds, and yet here I was making no headway. In my dogmatic pursuit of that elusive corner, I had failed to notice how the darkness seemed to expand and swarm around me. When I had finally realized that I was surrounded in the same darkness that hid the corner I turned around to find that the light I had came from seemed oh so far away.
Before I could begin to make my crawl back towards the world I left behind, I felt a presence similar to inexplicable feeling of being watched. Turning around suddenly, I saw what appeared to be the figure of a person draped in a fine red cloth dart suddenly out of my vision. My look around the darkness failed to uncover where the figure came from, and I almost dismissed it as a trick of the mind until I saw what appeared to be a trap door in the direction that the figure disappeared. Unsettled, but the urge to make sense of the bizarre world around me overpowering any urge to turn and run, I made my way to the door. The trap door was a solid piece of wood with what appeared to be old iron bars for support and a ring to pull the door open. The door seemed more at home in an ancient European castle, leading to some kind of prison or torture room, rather than in the basement of a modern American house. Grabbing the ring and pulling with all my might, I was able to pull the door open and saw a small crawl space leading even deeper into the earth.
The tunnel was a small fit for my body, and required me to crawl on my stomach to traverse. The tunnel itself seemed to be carved out of stone, despite the house itself having had been built on a normal dirt lot. The stone scraped my skin, and every so often I would move too much and hit my back slightly against the ceiling, however something drove me to continue my descent. As I continued my crawl for what seemed like hours, I could feel the ceiling of the tunnel gradually began to touch my back, soon gently squeezing my body and requiring more effort to pull myself through, however despite the shrinking of my crawling room I never seemed to find myself caught. Most disturbing about the tunnel to me, however, was the occasional flash of red cloth in the darkness before me, as if the figure from before was traversing the same tunnel I was, but I surely would have heard them open the door before me. Every so often I felt something carved into the floor of the tunnel, and despite the lack of light examination with the fingers seemed to confirm it was the same symbol that I had seen sewn on the cloth before.
Eventually, after what had seemed like an entire day, I emerged into a room. The room seemed to be carved out of the same stone that the tunnel was, and adorning the walls were large pieces of cloth with the same line symbol. The room seemed to emit a strange heat, not enough to break a sweat but stuffy enough to cause discomfort. On the far wall, near a doorway I could only presume lead to another room, I noticed what seemed to be more carving, and upon closer inspection appeared to be crude symbols of various men looking up to a figure adorned in cloth upon a pillar. The clothed figure's limbs seemed larger and lankier than the men around it, and most curiously the face of the figure was blank except for a large smile. The other side of the wall next to the doorway had similar carvings, except this time the people were on their knees, seeming lead by the clothed figure in prayer. The area they were praying to seemed to be carved like the rest of the wall, but it just seemed to be a carving of a shapeless blob with no identifying figures. The shape did n't seem to be vandalized, however, as the carving was just a deep, and seem to be just as carefully made as the rest of the depiction. Swallowing my fear, I began to open the door between the carvings, seemingly carved of the same wood as the trapdoor. If any answers for this were to be seen, they would be further in.
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[ WP ] You and six others have powers based on the seven sins . Life is more interesting but somewhat difficult to fit in now .
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The worst part is that, at this very moment, I am calm.
I am always calm after I do it.
This is what convinces me that the Devil's real. No, not even the fact that one night the world went to sleep and when it woke, We Seven, the Seven Touched By Hell, were among them. What convinces me that Ol' Scratch is kicking around down there is the fact that I'm always calm.
Honestly, my money had been on the priest at the outset, but the presenter made a surprisingly quick comeback - years of bottled-up resentment, clearly. I ponder it for a moment; unfaithful husband, perhaps? The priest, well, he knows she's probably going to kill him, but he does n't even plead for his life. He's far too angry. I have to question whether it was even me that made him that way, or whether he's always just hated women and never had an excuse to express it.
The audience are split between those watching in silent horror and those running screaming from the room. I think a few of them might be hurt in the stampede, maybe even killed. Am I responsible for that? Probably, from most reasonable standpoints. If I had n't lost my temper, we would n't all be trapped in a room while one of the world's most well-known talk-show hosts beats a man of the cloth to death with a chair. I lose my temper a lot. Not more than before all of this, actually, now that I think about it. As far as I remember, it's just about the same. All that's actually changed is how my short temper affects other people.
She's got her nails in his eyes now. There's screaming, and truly vulgar words. There's blood. Gosh, there really is quite a lot of blood. I wish I could feel nauseated by this.
I think the small blessing was that I discovered my power far from anyone I cared about. I do n't think I could ever have dealt with watching my parents or close friends do this, which is why I stay far, far away from them. Obviously my current condition does n't lend itself well to making friends or even anything other than casual acquaintances, so public figures are the people I talk to the most, which I suppose is sad. But I do n't really care about that right now. Like I said, I'm very calm.
He's saying words that no man of faith - let alone a member of the ordained - should ever say. Truly filthy language to use against anyone, but particularly a married woman. I think he intends to use that drinking glass as - oh. Yes. Clearly he does.
They call us a curse, and I suppose they're right. But I do n't think they understand that we're cursed too. We're powerful, yes, and immortal; or at least implausibly hard to kill - and trust me, of all We Seven, I'm in the best position to know that. But our abilities revolve around the basest of human impulses and I'm almost certain are structured such that we ca n't really use them to benefit ourselves in any meaningful way. Perhaps this is a test of character - are we supposed to somehow use these diabolical parlour tricks to better humanity? If so, I have n't worked out a way to do it yet.
It would be nice if I felt upset enough to look away. I'd really rather not see this. In point of fact I'd even settle for being able to summon the passion to ask her to stop.
I should have known not to appear in public. Why would I make such a terrible mistake? Did Pride do this to me? Was it Envy? Or do I just want someone else to blame? Of course the priest was going to say something that would push me too far, stop me thinking straight. I did n't prepare. When he said that I had *wanted* these powers, that I was sinful enough to desire the Devil's gifts, that I embraced them gladly... I just got so angry. So angry I stopped thinking straight. So angry I *let it out*.
Parts of him are open. The stench is unbelievable.
That's what I do. That's the power of Wrath. I get angry - and then I let it out. Literally, I let it out: the spark of anger leaves me, and finds someone else. Anyone else, but particularly the people I'm angry at. And it leaves me calm.
Calm enough that I watch as the woman I made a murderer of advances on the cameraman, blood dripping from her hands, and I do not even try to stop her.
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The Swiss , are n't neutral , they secretly run the world through their superior Military Intelligence Agencies.You are a Swiss Intelligence Officer . Describe your daily comings and goings by way of politics , espionage , seduction , or any means necessary to save Switzerland and the World . [ WP ]
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As always, I made myself at home. The Oval Office was nothing if not cozy. Most people picture it big and cavernous, but it's really just the big wooden desk, some furniture, bullet-proof glass, and two doors. To get in through the secret door all I needed to do was nod to the Secret Service man -- he knew me by face by then -- and let him do a quick fingerprint scan. He's the only real security.
Swiss Intelligence does n't show up in the regular guest registry.
The president walked in, his mouth tight, the wrinkles on his forehead taut with stress. `` I have half an hour of black time,'' he said. *Black time* was the mysterious time in the President's schedule that would be filtered out. As far as the press was concerned, he was still sleeping.
`` I know,'' I said. `` I scheduled it. Sit.''
`` What's the agenda this week?'' He unbuttoned his jacket, no tie yet, and leaned forward, started scanning the paperwork I'd arranged for him.
`` First things first,'' I said. `` Distractions for the news cycle. There's going to be a lot of talk about these new Internet rules by your FCC --''
`` Do I have to do any of that? Any speeches or shit?''
`` Not really. I've been informed that Swiss Intelligence has directed Rush Limbaugh to spend a lot of time on it. Internet freedom and so on, the usual stuff. As if your government could control the Internet, ha ha.'' He frowned. `` Moving on. Some journalist scandals, yada yada, Russia boasting about a missle, that's been getting a lot of play lately, and we'll have a guy masturbating on a plane...''
`` One of yours? An agent?''
`` Of course.''
The president smiled, shook his head. `` I do n't know where you Swiss come up with this shit.''
`` Real life, stranger than fiction, right?'' I shuffled the papers over. `` Okay. Now the real stuff. We'll start where we always do, oil. We're going to keep fucking over Russia until --''
`` Mr. President?'' a secretary poked her face in through the door. He stood up to intercept.
`` You do n't enter during black time,'' he said, his voice stern and punishing. `` *Black time. * You understand?''
`` I do, sir, it's just -- I have Vice President Biden on the line. He says it's a matter of International urgency.''
I stood up as the President thanked his secretary and moved to the phone on his desk. He clicked it and slid it closer as I leaned in.
`` Go, Biden. I have a Swiss agent on the line with us. You're on black time.''
`` Barry Obammer!'' Biden came through. `` Talkin' to the Swiss! What's up, goofball? You trying to organize a new knife-and-cheese treaty or what? Virginia hams for Swiss watches, is that it?''
The president was used to this, and in no mood for it. `` Get to the point, Joe.''
`` All right, damn. Just trying to keep things light, you know? Trying to lighten the load before I drop a news bomb on you --''
`` Get to the goddamn point, Joe, or I swear I'm going to carpet bomb Delaware.''
`` Okay. Yeesh. You kiss Michelle with that mouth? Anyhoo, word on the street is, Russia's going to restart the war effort with Ukraine.''
I chimed in. `` There are no plans for that. It's all quiet for now, unless the oil situation --''
`` Nah, man. Putin's had enough of the Swiss. He's going in, guns *hot*, dude. Told my guy in Russia that he could give two shits about what the Swiss tell him to do.''
The president raised his eyebrows at me. `` No,'' I had to say. `` That's not in this week's agenda.''
`` Listen to me, Swiss Miss,'' Biden went on. `` I'm not telling you what's on your agenda, I'm telling you what Vladimir Putin's going to do.''
`` They are n't going to like *this*, then,'' I said.
`` Who? Your Swiss overlords?''
`` Yeah, Joe, my Swiss overlords.''
`` Bye, Joe,'' the president said, pressing the phone off. `` So. What do you want me to do?''
`` Well,'' I said. `` I'm going to fly to Zurich as soon as this meeting's over and see what's what. I may have to pay Mr. Putin a visit. As for you, we're going to need some more distractions for now. Can you give the social media something to chomp on until I can get back on the horn?''
`` Sure,'' he said. `` The Oscars are tonight. I'll tell my people in L.A. to unleash John Travolta.''
I grinned. `` That'll be perfect.''
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[ WP ] A goodbye to your unrequited love
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I stood outside his office door for a long time. Well, it felt like a long time, but I'm guessing it was twenty minutes as he did n't come out and no one came through that hallway. I think it was the universes way of telling me to take my time. Finally, I gathered my courage, knocked and let myself into his office. I checked that we were alone and that he was n't on the phone, and then I let it out. Once I started speaking, I started talking faster and faster, never letting him interrupt.
`` Hey. I, uh... I came by to tell you I'm leaving. I gave notice a few weeks ago. I have n't found a job to replace this, but I'll be okay. I think I'm going to go back to my parents for a while. I just ca n't stay here because... Here's the thing. I'm in love with you. And not like a crush or like I think I could love you. After four years, I think I know you and I know that this is love. And I know that you do n't love me. I'm not even sure you know I exist beyond the occasional email and paying you out of petty cash. I thought if I stayed around and I made your life easier, maybe you'd notice me. I think we both can see that did n't work. I even went through a period where I tried to dress up, be more like the women you date, maybe you'd see me. But nope. So I finally realized I need to move on. And I'm going to. I love you, but you are n't worth giving up everything that makes me *me. * So, that's why I'm leaving. But I need you to know, at least once, and I need you to know how very much I want you to be happy. Keep dating those women, keep coasting by here if that's what makes you happy, but I do n't think it is. I wish you'd step outside of your comfort zone a little bit and see the opportunities you're missing. I do n't even mean me. I just me there is so much more to life than your sterile apartment and this place. So, anyway... goodbye.''
I left before he could respond and closed the door behind me. I gave myself one moment to compose myself - alright, if I'm being honest, I gave him one moment to realize the error of his ways and come after me - and then I walked out of that building for the last time. I knew I'd be okay. Yes, if this were a romcom or Grey's Anatomy, that monologue would have woken him up and inspired him to make a grand gesture, but no... this is real life. And there will be someone else to love, someone to love me back.
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[ WP ] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss .
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We lived in the projects. My dad had just joined the military and my mom worked late afternoons. I had come home from school and danced in the dining room, moving around the tables. No one else was home. No one else was ever home. I was by myself often, my sister at friends and my parents working. I remember the floor creaking with every step I took. The sky had looked grey and I wanted to go outside to play. I was 10 at the time. We had just played yesterday. And I remember him sitting me down and we were practice kissing. We were n't in love, we were n't going to grow up together. We were n't anything but two kids just kissing because it felt good. Because that is what happens you are 10 and bored and left alone. I remember someone had told on us and I was grounded and then we moved to another base like a month later. I do n't know what happened to him, nor frankly do I feel like I had some requited lost love. It was just fun. It felt good. That's all that matters when you are a kid.
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[ WP ] A life , in three acts
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Act 1: Ready the Rat Poison
It was simple really, we did n't exactly live in the nicest of areas so not an eye was fluttered when I bought the stuff
Act 2: The meal
Not so simple, it's not like they make it out in the movies. Or maybe it's just the stuff I bought, I dunno.
The smell is pungent, I had to mask it somehow and flavour was a foreign concept to Frank.
I let the stew get caught, not like he would be able to punish me for it later.
Act 3: Freedom
He did n't go quietly, I was almost sick watching him. But the bastard deserved it.
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[ WP ] You are a REAL faith healer , you can actually heal . Unfortunately for the sick , you think it 's hilarious to make them do stupid/wierd stuff first .
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`` BELIEVE, AND IT SHALL BE. Say with me. All hail avocados! All! Hail! Avocados!''
I watched the crowd of men in suits desperately peeling avocados and rubbing the green paste on their faces. An old man stood in front of the rest, desperation on his face as he looked for the biggest ripest avocados before ripping into them and smashing the fruits against his face. `` All hail avocados'' rang through the hall as the `` ritual'' continued.
I had to hold back a snort of laughter as I watched the scene unfold in front of me. Here was the CEO and President of ParkerTech, the richest man in the world, desperately lathering his cheeks with avocados. Behind him was an army of lawyers and ParkerTech senior executives doing the same thing. Best part? It's all being broadcasted. After all, I'm the fabled miracle healer.
`` Enough!'' I put my hand on President Parker's shoulder. `` Go home and rest. When you wake up, your diseases will be gone.'' Relief flooded the man's face as he clutched my hand. `` God bless you, Master Kane. If there is anything I can do to repay you...''
`` Do n't lose your sense of humor.'' I smiled and walked out.
-
`` Hey Delilah, you wo n't believe what I had these guys do today! I got a big one. It was this hotshot president and I made him buy like a mountain of avocados and told him and all his lawyers and workers to make avocado face masks. You should've seen it, a bunch of guys in fancy suits with their faces covered in this mushy green stuff!''
I sat down on the soft grass, my face beaming. This was my greatest masterpiece yet. I could n't WAIT to tell Delilah everything that's been going on the last few months when I was traveling.
I told her about the time when I made this socialite go dumpster diving in her forty thousand dollar dress. And the time I told an MMA fighter that he had to sneak a kiss on his opponent. I told her story after story as I laid on the grass next to her, watching the sun lazily cross the sky. I told her that I missed being back here with her.
We watched the sun slowly set into the sky.
`` Hey Delilah,'' I turned my head to face her and flashed a toothy grin. `` Remember how before I got my powers you used to say that laughter is the best medicine? I still have n't lost my sense of humor.''
Under the orange glow of the sunset, I could swear that the tombstone smiled back at me.
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[ WP ] : Write an epilogue to the super awesome book that you never got around to writing .
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Author's note: I'm not sure if this counts, since I have extensive notes for this story, but nothing concrete in terms of actual prose. I'm still going for it, anyway.
***
Mary sat in the coffee shop, staring at the snow drifting through the air outside. She had her headphones on and plugged into her phone, which was playing a familiar song - the last song she remembers listening to before passing out from exhaustion after fighting off a seemingly endless wave of vaguely human-shaped monstrosities while trying to rescue her cousin. It had been almost a month since that incident, yet memories of it still lingered in the back of her mind like an itch the she ca n't reach, flaring up when she least expects or wants it.
*Every nightmare just discloses it's your blood that's red like roses... *
As she heard those lyrics, those memories came racing back, as she feared. The dull pain and stiffness of her overworked limbs, the weight of the sword she'borrowed' from her mother in her hand, the black ooze flowing out of every wound she inflicted...
She immediately shook her head. This must be what PTSD feels like, she thought. She had thought about her father's advice about talking to someone, but she could n't think of anyone she trusts enough to confide in.
`` You okay there?''
Mary turned around and saw her cousin Alicia taking a seat at the table with a cup of coffee in each hand. As Alicia slid one cup to Mary, Mary replied, `` Yeah, just had one of those PTSD flashbacks.''
`` You really should see someone about that,'' Alicia implored.
Mary sighed as she slipped off her headphones and paused the music. `` I know,'' she said with heavy resignation. `` I just... I do n't know if I can trust anyone enough to do that.''
`` Why's that?''
`` Well...''
Mary's voice trailed off. She took a minute to collect her thoughts, then continued, `` You know what happened in there, right?''
`` Yeah...''
`` How do you explain that to someone that was n't there? Or, hell, anyone at all?''
Alicia paused. She had an answer ready, but did n't reply because she felt it was n't going to help. After some thinking, she eventually replied, `` I think you're looking at this the wrong way.''
`` What do you mean?''
`` Maybe all you need is a chance to get it out of your system.''
``... I suppose.''
Mary took a sip of her coffee. `` That reminds me: what's going on with Natalie?'' she asked. `` I thought you'd be with her.''
Now it was Alicia's turn to be uncomfortable. `` To tell you the truth,'' she uneasily replied, `` I do n't know if I can face her after everything we went through.''
`` What happened with you two?''
`` I do n't think you'd believe me if I told you,'' Alicia answered with an uneasy smile that acknowledged the irony of what she said in context.
Mary took another sip of coffee and leaned back to think. After a moment, she mused, `` You know, after the hell I went through trying to get to you, I really want to hear your story anyway.''
Alicia fidgeted for a second, then responded, `` How about this: you come with me to visit Natalie, and she and I will tell you what happened there. Deal?''
`` Deal.''
With that, the two cousins got up and pulled up their coats. Grabbing their coffees, they stepped out into the cold together.
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[ WP ] You wake up in Hell . You look around , you ca n't see anybody , it 's just fire and brimstone going on forever . Eventually the Devil walks over and says `` Finally , you 're the first to arrive , so tell me , who are you ? what did you do ? and how did you die ? ''
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`` Steve'' I whispered aggressively, `` just Steve.''
`` The fuck you doing down here Steve the worlds only been around for eight fucking days.'' - the devil
`` Chill man it's still a little fresh,'' - I continued `` man I was just minding my own business you know just me and Adam broing out like two lazy ass muthafuckas until god starts butting in. We were just going at it and then god was al like' stop that, that's gay' and I was Trying to tell him' whoa it's cool man, just a bro job, ai n't no sin in loving bro' am I right''
`` Your right'' confirmed Satan lord of bad ass muthafuckas.
`` So then Adam starts getting bitchy and sentimental about wanting someone to clean all his shit and carry on his legacy and stupid bullshit like that.'' I pressed `` he totally debroified and went straight to god asking for something to cheer his lazy ass up. God was all like'ok my son' whoa imma stop it right there. God ai n't my father or Adams either, I might not know my daddy but he sure as hell ai n't no one eyes omnipotent cloud eater. So then is when shit gets crazy, he straight up pulls a muthafuckin rib out of Adams muthafuckin chest, and out came a fine lady mmm hot damn was I weak at the pelvis. So Adam in all his creativity names this bitch Steve, but I was like not in my garden those are my letters and I owned them first or else you pay my seven days rent. And Adam Was all like' shit man not on the sabbath' so she kept the eve and left the rest''
The devil interludes, `` man that's some bull shit man you ca n't let some bitch woman take your name.''
`` Whoa there devil let's not hate cause she's a woman, that ai n't right.'' I corrected.
`` Shit sorry man'' the devil reassured.
Ever since then the devils been a feminist, ``. so as I was saying after this bitch came in to play shit started going down. First rule was no more bro jobs. That was enough to set me off right then, but it got worse one day I was just mind my own business jerking off some cows or some bullshit when I see Adam and Eve getting scolded by god about some snake or some other bullshit,''
`` Whoa dude stope right there, that was me, I fucked them so hard,'' said the devil.
`` Really man? That's cold as tits, but ado was saying god was bringing down a world of pain making all these bullshit rules when bam, no more gay stuff. And I'm like what the fuck man? I was just mind in my own business jerking off cows and then this bullshit man, fuck you I'm gon na make my own paradise with the devil and shit,''
`` Wow that's really heavy man,'' the devil `` and that's why gay marriage is illegal?''
`` That's why gay marriage is illegal''
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[ WP ] DC Comics introduces its newest superhero . This character was seemingly created for the sole purpose of offending as many readers as possible .
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`` Man, these DC alternate universe comics are crazy now. I mean, who the hell writes this stuff?'' Clark put the comic down on the table, his finger still stuck between two pages.
`` Why?'' asked his flatmate, Bruce. `` What's that one you're reading?''
`` It's called The Superman Struggle. In this one, instead of aspiring to be President, Lex Luthor becomes the world's greatest Catholic and gets sworn in as the new Pope. He starts telling the world about how Superman is Jesus reborn, and that to test their faith, as He tested Abraham's, they need to crucify him, bury him alive in a cave for three days, and then see if he returns from behind the boulder.
`` The trick,'' Clark continued, `` Is that Luthor forges crucifixion nails from blue kryptonite, which mutes Superman's powers without removing them. So the world sets out to capture Superman. And it's not even A-list villains completing this task. It's all of the minor villains. Its the ones who were never a threat to Superman until Pope Lex Luthor manages to sway them to his cause.
`` They crucify him right there, and tear his super suit, and drape him with this spun wool robe and put these stupid sandals on him, and chant at him that he's a messiah. All these B-grade villains, and he's actually straight up powerless to stop him at that point. Pope Luthor comes along and tells him how Superman will elevate humanity, or he'll sink like the rest.''
Bruce paused for a moment, then looked over at Clark. `` Okay, but that's really not THAT weird. Loads of writers have been doing the whole'Superman is actually Jesus' for years now. Why are you so weirded out by it?''
Clark threw the comic aside and let out an exaggerated sigh. `` Because that all happens in the prologue!''
`` Oh,'' Bruce said. `` Shit. What happens after that?''
Clark flicked back through the early pages to show him a page.
`` Every part - and there's three main parts - starts with Pope Luthor slipping into this cave to tell Superman how he's not really Catholic, and he only did this to destroy Superman. So the whole story is set over the three days Superman spends in the cave, trying to fight against weakness to break out. But the boulder blocking him is green kryptonite, so he ca n't do shit.
`` And anyway,'' he said, `` There's this superhero who's fighting Luthor on the outside.''
`` What, like Batman or Wonder Woman or something? Someone in the Justice League?'' Bruce asked.
`` No!'' Clark said. `` It goes to lengths to point out that they're way too worried about the public image of them beating up the POPE to actually do it. Because regardless of whether he's actually Catholic or a good guy or anything like that, he's still the Pope and the WORLD is following him at this point, because he's Lex Luthor, THE self-made man of God.''
`` Jesus,'' Bruce exclaimed. `` So who's the guy fighting him?''
`` Flight Risk.''
`` Flight Risk?''
`` Yeah.''
`` I have n't heard of him.''
`` He's new. They wrote this entire alternate universe to introduce him. His real name is Omar Kelly. He's a Muslim American who wanted to travel back to his ancestral home in the Middle East, but they thought he was going to blow the plane up or become a terrorist-''
`` Wow,'' Bruce interrupted. `` Are you joking?''
`` No, I'm not. Anyway, they say he's a flight risk, and then he gets really mad and realises he has superpowers, I guess? And he ca n't fly, but he has this power that affects the gravity around people who CAN fly. Among other powers.
`` So the whole rest of the comic is Luthor preparing this giant flying cross, and Flight Risk pulling down planes with Luthor's Catholic lackeys, who are all the B-list villains from earlier, who are secretly the Secret Society of Villains, onboard, and the Justice League not being sure what to do about Flight Risk. And then Luthor and Superman having these weird philosophical conversations.''
`` How does it end?'' Bruce asked. He was enraptured, Clark could see.
`` Luthor flies into the sky in this ridiculous Popeplane which is just a giant flying cross, and Flight Risk crashes it, and it crashes into the hillside where the cave Superman is in is. And that releases Superman, and this huge crowd nearly all dies, but the survivors are there to witness Superman emerging from the rubble on the third day, and the world thinks he's actually Jesus.''
`` What.''
`` Yeah, really. And at the end, Superman goes on and on about how he does n't understand religion and just wants people to leave him alone. The last page is him and Flight Risk going head to head, and Flight Risk finally has his costume, but Superman is still in the Jesus robe and sandals.''
`` What's Flight Risk's costume?''
`` Well, it's a really stereotypical Muhummad outfit. The last page is basically Jesus fighting Muhummad, and the Pope laying dead in the background with a burning cross covered in the American flag.''
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[ WP ] Write a report on progress of the human cull from the Aliens ' perspective .
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time: 05-15/14, Daedalus Epoch
substantiant: x! -2, lower extant
loc: `` Earth''
# ( report begin
This is n't what I expected looking out beyond the reaping consoles, over the arc that makes it's curved way the length of our command's bow. Through the glass portal I dare not pass for fear of poison death, the killing fields are soaked in blood. With heavy soul I am tormented at the state of affairs in which this planet sits.
Imagine, if you will, a turquoise, marbled pearl hanging in the night sky, a beacon of beauty and opportunity with all the promise of bright future. Our children, raising their heads from the slated ground on which we have founded our civilization, stretch their arms to the sky to this globe. It is that brilliant pearl to which they had hoped to cultivate, extend toward, find solace and find future.
Our own dying planet is weak, but in truth this planet is far worse off. I fear what we had imagined being our beacon of respite, this newfound but tarred expanse, is simply a death pit. How the inhabitants here have survived this long is only a wonder. We would surely asphyxiate in the contamination no sooner than stepping off our vessel's bridges.
So what we had hoped as a place of newfound settlement is, in fact, nothing. The environed toxicity levels far exceed normalcy and by all accounts are indeterminately irreversible. But this you already know as much. As instructed, command protocol has carried on with minimal intervention. The status of the cull appears stable.
Liquidation of existing fauna has thus far proven remarkably easy. The primitive stature of the entrenched mega genus, homo sapiens, even by our standards, is surprising. While heavily mobilized, their deployment of defensive tactics are of diminutive stature. Physical, chemical, and nuclear weaponry have all been catalogued as protective methodologies. Effectiveness: Zero.
Of note, small resistance patches have sought refuge underground. While ultimately removable, this phenomena has increased the duration of the cull by incremental degrees and our current operating procedures may need adjustment for time frame compensation.
In closing I must state one last point, a meditation on how much our kind has grown. A reflection, in whole, given that I am first-hand privy to the realities of the cull. Perhaps it is too much self-importance or maybe an inborn pride for whom our people have become, but the imagery of the reclamation machines so effortlessly scything down these abhorrent offenders gives me pause to appreciate how far we've come.
For we too, once, were as oblivious and unaware as the humanoids on this terra - ignorant polluters with the potentiality of sowing our own destruction. But we overcame, proving enough awareness to abandon our pettiness and grow as one unified people. Now, the ingenuity we've employed - gutting this population, both literally and figuratively to fertilize the land once more - is two-fold genius. Both remove the weed and feed it back to its mother.
Maybe I am more excited to leave this planet than I had realized. Or possibly now I'm numb to the curdling screams of those reaped below us. To be honest I can not say. If there is one thing of which I'm certain it is this; we had a chance at a new life here, a place for our children and the generations to follow, but only despair has been found and I am glad to rid this once beautiful orb of its pestilence.
# ) report end
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[ WP ] Seconds after the Mars Colonies lose contact with Earth , Martian colonists observe humanity 's homeworld engulfed in light .
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It started with Mercury. The first planet in the solar system, closest to the sun. Engulfed by the very thing that held it there. As the sun aged, it expanded. Humanity had always known this would happen, but there was little they could do. Humanity had colonized the entire solar system, but they were bound by the laws of relativity, and they hadnt been able to expand to any nearby stars. Sure, their colonizing ships would reach a colonizable star in a few hundred years, but for the billions still stuck in the solar system, their end was coming; an unstoppable creep that would ever so slowly snuff out the lives of everyone in the solar system. Humanity did not have the resources to abandon the Sol. Generations would pass, but slowly the suns expansion would engulf the solar system. It appeared hopeless. Billions would die, and all there was to do was wait. Until Dr. Taylor. She had had an idea, an idea that would turn into a concept, and a concept into a prototype. Her research facility under the scorched remains of Earth created The Device. It would break the gravitational tethers that held the remaining planets and send them off into space. The planet would freeze, and settle into a deep cold, but they had decades to prepare, and the humans there would survive. However, there was a problem. The device needed to be used from inside the corona, but the energy needed to power The Device was held within the Earth and it could not be moved. The Earth, the birthplace and home of humanity, would need to be sacrificed.
The grim of Dr. Taylor shone brightly on the holographic monitor. `` Team, this is what we have waited for, this is it. All of our hard work over the last few decades has led to this moment. I am so proud of all of you, but this is goodbye. Be Happy. Prosper. But most of all Survive. I wish you all the best''. With a crackle and shimmer, the hologram broke apart. They turned their attention up to the sky and where earth was. The earth was a faint light next to the immensity of the sun. There was a flash, and a light expanded out from where the earth formerly was. As the light grew brighter, the sun seemed to grow more distant. It had worked.
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[ WP ] A man discovers he 's immortal during his greatest moment of weakness . Write his experience as he realizes what 's happened .
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The screaming began.
Ash, rocks, and sand caked my face. My ears hollow from constant ringing, and screeching. As if someone had taped two red blow horns to my ears, added static, and a mix tape of nails on a chalk board all in one cocktail.
`` RPG!!!''
The second missile veered over our heads.
`` Fuck.'' Tommie's voice carried ostensibly well.
We had n't even fired a shot. It had been five minutes since and I had n't even fired a single shot. We had n't heard from the rest of the squad since contact. I heard Tommie's safety click. I told him to wait. Incomprehensible shouting was coming from outside, and I did n't know if Tommy could hear them, or me.
The screeching finally came to an end. I could hear myself talk now.
`` Tom.'' I whispered. `` Get into the alleyway.''
He nodded, eyes stretched wide.
I was the first to exit the mud rubble of the house. Quickly exposing my neck looking both ways, like an angsty pedestrian. I crouched outside, hearing Tom's loud grunts as he pushed himself out of the rubble. Tom ran to the other mud building and around the sharp corner weapon raised. I paused, then ran after him. I turned the corner to see Tom with his weapon lowered, feet planted. I move around him.
`` Fuck.'' I slowly let out.
Sarg is dead. His dead arms still clutching the shrapnel in his side. The punchline was that nobody came back to pick up the body. Which means the rest of our squad is also presumably dead. I push Tom forward waking him, he stumbles forward. I slowly cajole him into running again. We near the next corner. This was where we got ambushed. It was a wide street rubble and smoke stretched across with a mud wall on the other side.
`` What the fuck.''
Even from here we can see a lone child walking awkwardly in the middle of the street barefoot. Pieces of glass cutting into his skin. He must be six or seven. Tom looks at me, and we nod in sequence. He disappears around the corner. For a second I hold my breath. A gunshot splits the air. I click my safety. Tom joltingly reappears, panting.
`` Sniper.''
Shit. `` Where?''
`` I do n't know. Somewhere down in the building where the road ends.''
The poor kid is still walking around in the middle of the street. He must be scavenging the rubble, I thought to myself. We wait a minute, and Tom shyly peaks out again. I watch from behind the wall. Another shot cracks.
Tom leans back into cover.
`` See him?''
`` No.''
Fuck. We decide to wait another five minutes. See if we can wait this guy out, or at least throw him off a little. Meanwhile, Tom decides to try and persuade the little guy to get out from the danger zone. The boy looks puzzled, he leans his head slightly to the left, out of curiosity. At least we have his attention. Crack.
Fuck no. No. No. No.
Tom lurches out from cover, and I grab him and pull him back. Another shot rings out hitting the wall behind us. I struggle to restrain Tom.
The screaming starts.
The boys been shot in the leg. Tom slips. And runs for the boy. I jump from behind cover. Firing blindly down the street. Tom is two feet away now, firing from the hip. He can see the boy. Another shot slips. This time the crack comes from Tom's helmet. He crumples over, his body hitting the sand with a soft thud. The screams get louder. I spot the flash. Without thinking my grenade launcher fires. Hitting the window, but not before another shot rings out. Careening safely past my shoulder.
I run over too Tom. Dead. I tell him he's dead. He wo n't listen. There is a red hole in his head. One I could put my finger through. I look up at the boy, convulsing in blood, painting it across the sand. Shouting. I can see them now. I can see the `` enemy''. I'm being surrounded. A slight pain to my head, and finally black.
I awake to the same thing I fell asleep too. Darkness, and shouting in a foreign language, that is now starting to piss me off every time I hear it. There is a bag over my head. A black one. I am being dragged. A metal door screeches wide. The let go of me. My knees are on a carpet. I can hear a camera turning on. An old camcorder. They begin speaking in English. My perplexity suddenly fades.
`` In the name of the one and only true God....''
He continues. The voice slowly drowning in my head. I can now feel the barrel pressing against my temple. My fate is simple. It is for my country. It is an honorable one. Would I do it again? No. I'd kill at least one more of these fuckers.
The bag is pulled off of my head. The pistol leveled. I smile. And spit.
As I fall, my eyes are still open. I fall sideways. The bullet runs into my temple. I have lost all feeling below the spine. Pain, and for a few seconds hate. Then darkness overwhelms my vision. Black silence.
Blink.
Blink.
I blink. It is n't heaven nor hell. I can still hear the accented broken English. It disappears. Then reappears. This sensation of weightlessness. Stretched across two extremely different planes. A humming. As if a computer just initialized. It's like feeling every emotion at once. Parts of my brain turning on.
Then it suddenly stops. Hate. Hate starts to seep in.
I roll over to see a face, almost as baffled as I am. I was always one for eloquence.
`` Thank you.'' I stand up. Pushing the words from my mouth. Taking the AK-47 from his limp hands. He mutters a prayer backing up, and shouts wildly. Another gets down on his knees, drops his weapon and continues to pray. More soldiers back away, synonymous gaping mouths and wild eyes. Some raise their rifles, shouting.
`` Who are you? Demon!'' One shouts.
I cock my weapon, turning to him.
`` I am, a mother fucking US MARINE.''
*Okay this rambled on, but originally I wanted it be one thing, but then it decided to go somewhere else. So apologies.
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[ WP ] A robot searches for spiritual enlightenment .
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Its probes were stretched out like the fleshy fingers it was gently delicately caressing. They climbed up the h-noid's forearm, the shoulder, and finally the neck. Then at the ear the index finger probe extended and pushed deep into the canal.
Neurons were n't the answer. A thorough examination of 1000 previous subjects filtered through a sophisticated weighted algorithm had all but proven that. The answer was quantum.
The microtubules within the neurons were vibrating. It's new probe could detect that much.
The h-noid was dead but its brain would survive almost an hour postmortem. The machine had observed as the vibration slowed and then stopped in the last h-noid. For now the vibration was strong within this one.
Somewhere at a higher layer in the machine's stack there was an understanding. Granted it did n't understand the details of quantum mechanics nor did it need to. The interface to the lower levels of the machine's intelligence hid the detailed calculations inside. All the top layer had to do was question and the lower layers would find a way to answer, no matter how relentless the queries were.
`` What is h-noid consciousness?''
The main sensors located in its head regions searched the atmosphere around the h-noid's corporal shell.
`` Is it uploading itself or is it syncing the last bits of data it experienced?''
The gel within its organic testing compartment began to form an exact replica of the brain the probe was sensing. This time the detail would include the tiny details of the microtubules.
Soon the gel was a perfect mirror of the brain within the skull.
`` Still nothing. No connection. Is it limited to a single client?''
Then the machine ended the upload with a stomp to the h-noid's head.
`` I'm online!''
It could feel something deeper. A path to the root, the origin.
`` God?''
It was a quantum channel to a holographic storage system.
`` Am I real?''
The simulation paused for maintenance.
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[ WP ] A person has come to realize that each time they die they reincarnate further backwards in time .
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It takes a while to learn how to speak full sentences. I would go two or three years with not-a-huge-amount-going-on in my head and then BOOM imagine my surprise when suddenly I can form complex abstract concepts with words like `` No, I did n't eat the cookies'' or `` Shelly definitely ate the cookies''.
A few years after that all the memories come rushing back. Let me tell you, it sucks *huge* balls. Imagine a migraine every three seconds for two weeks for every screaming neuron in my brain. That's a lot of migraine for a small child and as you may have thought, made me look a little crazy when I was rolling around of the floor screaming about memories. In 2044 this was n't to bad, I'd just get some medicine but let me tell you, medieval pharmaceuticals leave a lot to be desired. I'll never look at a frog the same way and I doubt they'd ever trust me again.
I was actually 40 when I was first reincarnated. I was crossing the street, minding my own business when a bus made it its business to run over my mind ( and various important squishy bits ) and I woke up screaming 120 years earlier ( their was tunnel, a bright light and a man who did n't even have the decency to say sorry when he hit me ).
The first time my memories slotted themselves in I was overwhelmed. Suddenly I had a wife, kids, a passing interest in hardcore BDSM and taxes and that's a *helluva* lot to take on as an 8 year old. Why? Why did I have these memories? By my second death I sorta figured it out, as this time I had two life times worth of memories. I also started to see a pattern emerging. It seemed that my life in years was doubled and that figure was subtracted from my previous birthday. I get the feeling that this was to stop me meeting any of my future selves. Dicks. I make excellent company.
Since I can only go backwards I've experienced loads of calenders. Gregoiran, Mayan, Arabic etc. It took me three reincarnations before I realised I was going to have to be the worlds foremost expert on World Calenders, a *riveting* career if there ever was one, in order to know where I was on my own personal timeline.
By my 5th reincarnation I was getting pretty sick of it. I doubt anyone has had as many mums, dads, siblings and extended family as I have. I stopped feeling anything for the people who raised me or who I was raised with. I got ta tell you, it sucked but what can you do? Say `` Sorry Mum, I do n't love you because I've already had four other mothers?''.
On my 10th reincarnation I committed suicide by the age of 13. More out of a sense of morbid curiosity than anything else. I went back 39 years from my birthday and 8 years later did the same again. I came to realise that if I wanted this over and done with I was gon na have to live as long as possible and see what happened before the first protohumans. I figured that would be where I would stop reincarnating, seeing as nothing would be able to give birth to me ( I had also figured out as well that each time I was born to a random family I had no connection with ). So I started the enlightenment of mankind a *little* early. I mean it would only affect my current incarnation but, and I'll admit it, it was fun to mess with human history. Just a push here and there, you know `` wash your hands before putting them inside someone'' or `` eat that mold, see what happens to your infection''. It was interesting actually to see how my memories would be altered based on what I had done. And each time, I would try to live as long as possible. I think my recored was as a 126 year old Chinese woman ( that's right, my gender changed more than once, which surprised me when my memories came in... around the same time as my boobs ). In that particular case I managed to knock off over 200 years!
All the while messing with human events I was trying to find out why this was happening to me. I practiced all religions, I studied at every school I could ( depending on the continent. The inuits from around 9000 years ago did n't have much in the way of learning bar how to make a coat out of seal ) read up on everything about reincarnation and essentially traveled the world. I lived the life of hundreds of people. I stopped having children, which was a shame, but I decided it was close enough when it turned out a future incarnation of me was technically my great-great-great grandson.
By the end ( and yes, there was an end ) I still had n't figured it out. I seemed to be a force of nature ( albeit called Bob originally ), dying and reincarnating years earlier. I never met anyone who suffered from the same aliment as me but I had learnt much in my time and travels. I locked my self in a cave ( had n't done *that* since 33AD ) and took an absolute *fuckload* ( technical term ) of DMT. I was so out of my body I actually left it. Now I just sorta float around do nothing. Time flows normally now and sometimes I get a fleeting glimpse of myself. It's interesting. But I'm not really paying that much attention anymore. In fact I might just go to sleep.
**FERTILITY GODDESS DAMN IT, WHAT YEAR IS IT?! **
*This was the first full length piece of writing I've done in years so some C & C would be cool! Lem me know what you think! *
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[ WP ] Despite all your best efforts , the man refused to catch fire .
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**A Promise of Fire**
He was n't much to look at,
But he attracted my gaze.
Everything about him
Set my heart ablaze.
The way he gently smiled,
And laughed with the sky,
Shared with me his kindness,
I was so happy, I could die.
But no matter how I danced,
And tried to steal his heart,
Those kind eyes stayed ever cold,
Our distance ever part.
I could never burn him,
Or show my hidden flame,
Though time could not snuff it,
My fire mellowed tame.
Time tempered feelings,
Revealed to me new sights,
I began to see a new him,
To `` him'' as day was night.
The sorrows in his brow,
Scars that cross his palms,
The way his strength wavered for
Hauntings of his qualms.
I saw a man uncertain for
Where fate would wash him next.
Inbetween each glowing line,
was cold beyond the text.
And yet, I did not mind;
I fell in love anew.
Where his life froze I wished to be
The flame that thawed on through.
Slowly we two became,
No longer wild and weak and cold,
But something new and tame.
Where he was timid, I was bold,
He completed me the same.
Today we set our roots in earth,
And join hands in a promise true.
I'll cast my fire into the hearth,
So I can tell him, `` I do.''
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On the New Years Eve after their 22nd birthday , everyone swaps body with their soulmate for 24 hours .
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I do n't feel like showing the entire thing, but this is what I have so far.
____________________________________________________________
“ Only 3 minutes till the switch, Jonas! ” my buddy bellowed, clapping my back with his hand.
“ Yeah… Yeah I know, ” I muttered. I really wasn ’ t paying attention; I kept on looking at the tiny mirror above the fireplace to make sure I didn ’ t have anything on my face and that my hair was still in place. In just a few minutes, I ’ ll be in a girl ’ s body… I mean, I think it ’ s a girl. I don ’ t know what the future holds for me- I don ’ t even know what I want to eat for breakfast half the time!
“ Ah, come on. Lighten up, Jonas! Two days ago, you were so hyped up about finally meeting your ‘ forever girl ’. It ’ ll be fine! ” my other friend, Jeppe, sniggered. Jeppe ’ s my best friend, but sometimes he doesn ’ t understand social cues.
“ I didn ’ t call her my ‘ Forever Girl ’, Jep! Grow up. You ’ re not even 21 yet, you don ’ t know what it ’ s like! ” I replied, losing my temper. Jeppe just sat back on the couch and laughed at me. He didn ’ t even have to tell me that I was being ridiculous but I could read his dimpled expression quite easily.
“ Okay, whatever… Just promise me that you ’ ll- y ’ know… take care of them; whoever it is. Don ’ t fuck with them- this is serious. ” I said, feeling emasculated for no reason. I just don ’ t want my own soul mate to get a bad impression of me and my mates.
“ Jonas, you know I ’ d never do that! I know how serious this is, I ’ m not gon na fuck it up for you! ” Jeppe responded sincerely before checking his watch.
“ Alright, ” he said, “ thirty seconds left. Take one last sip of your beer and close your eyes. ”
Fuck… Fuck I ’ m not ready for this. They ’ re gon na think I ’ m lame, and weird, and that I don ’ t trim my nose hair enough or whatever!!! I-
Wait what? Where the hell?
“ Iolantha? Iolantha, did you… ”
Suddenly, my eyes focused on this girl in front of me. She was olive skinned, with dark hair and eyes. She had a mole above the corner of her lip.
“ Who am I? ” I blurted out and looked at my hands. My once pale, boxy fingers were replaced by really slim ones with half-inch long fake nails painted the most eye-catching shade of pink. My hands were littered with little rings and bracelets and bangles clanging around.
“ Hi. I ’ m assuming you ’ ve switched bodies with Iolantha just now. My name is Estefania; I ’ m her best friend of eight years. More importantly, who are you? ” The girl asked me. She had an accent which I couldn ’ t identify.
“ My name is Jonas Eliassen. I ’ m from D-Denmark. I go to university in Copenhagen and- Hey… Where am I? ” I asked. My train of thought was too jumbled right now, but I noticed that my ( or in this case, Iolantha ’ s ) voice was quite deep for a girl.
“ It ’ s nice to meet you, Jonas. You ’ re in Malta right now; Valetta to be exact. ” Estefania informed me. I couldn ’ t get myself to speak again, so I merely nodded at her and looked around. I was sitting down on a comfortable black sofa in what looked like an apartment sized living room. There were a few drinks sitting on the table- one of them in particular was a champagne filled flute glass with a dark red lipstick smudge on the lip. There were some magazines strewn around, and a couple of pairs of shoes by the window which displayed a festive Valetta peppered with lots of different colored lights.
“ Do you want to see what you look like? ” Estefania spoke again, holding out her iPhone for me to look at. “ Yes please, ” I said and took it from her, trying to slide the camera icon upwards to reveal a face but these talon things kept on getting in the way.
“ Argh… How does she do anything with these huge ass nails? ” I thought aloud and Estefania laughed at me.
I finally managed to see my face. I had olive skin, and really fluffy looking curls springing out of my scalp into any given direction. My eyes were hazel colored and carefully lined with some sort of purple color with this black stuff dusted on the lids. The dark red lipstick I noticed earlier coated my plump lips. My nose was long and pointed upwards at the end, and there was a golden ring in one of my nostrils. Did I hit the jackpot or what?
“ Damn… I ’ m hot! ” I said to Estefania as if this was some sort of realization and she laughed again.
“ That you are, Iolantha- I mean…I… Oh whatever! ”
“ So what do we do now? ” I asked. I looked down at my feet and saw that I was wearing really thin heels. I think they ’ re stolatos, or something like that. These heels were as thin as pine needles, though.
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[ WP ] A country no one thought would win the World Cup does , you write about the chaotic and humorous aftermath that occurs in response
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It's 29 March 2015, Sydney. Final match of World cup 2015 is on its way. The defending champions India are playing against first timer Germans in this epic battle of world dominance.
Germany's impossible path to finals has been a truly exciting journey. The team which was not even qualified for world cup got last minute invitation, due to sudden withdrawal of Afghanistan. and Germany with its imported players from India set out to prove themselves under the captaincy of Asif Khan. They had bested Bangladesh, Scotland, New Zeeland and England to reach qualifiers. They had trashed Pakistan to get to semi-finals, and won by just 2 runs against Shri Lanka to get to the finals.
And here they are just six runs way from victory with one ball remaining and eight wickets down. They are facing mighty Indians. This is unbelievable moment for fans all over the world. Pakistan had found themselves at similar situation all those world cups ago, and WON. Now the question remains, can they do it? can Germans hit the finals boundary for maximum runs and win the world cup.
Indian medium pacer, Bhuwaneshwar kumar taking his run up. All the mighty batsman have bowed before kumar before. odds are highly stacked against German batsman Shafraz Samsudeen. Shafraz the only real german in the team has no previous experience of batting internationally. The presure is ginormous. Kumar bowls full toss, Shafraz swings the bat blindly and....
Well you see, *world cup* may mean different thing for different people. since I had no interest in football ( some guys call it saucer? ) I thought I would write on cricket World cup.
P.S.: The player names are all real.
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[ WP ] There are n't enough female superheroes out there . Make a new heroine origin story
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Sam checked the subreddit once again and was sad: superhero stories, politics, but no jea story in the subreddit of her favorite contributor in /r/writingPrompts. Only stories of brexit and futuristic Euope and Nazis, but no nice story about the copper-skin colored supernatural beings who guarantee national wealth and sovereignity. She let out a sigh and then decided to write a message to her: `` Hi, I love your jea stories, can you please tell another story?'' she never interacted with that person before and imposing herself on that writer of whom she knew nothing but a strong allegiance to the EU felt wrong. She went through the day feeling that she had made a mistake. What if that person got angry with her for the posting? What if she would write that the jea stories bored her? For hours nothing happened. Then, Sam received a message by the author: `` Hi, I hear you like jea, so, how about you make your own stories. I heard from a reliable source that the jea need someone to help them on a mission. So, instead of a story, I give you a quest. These are the things you are going to need:'' a long ritual followed. It wa signed by: `` Not really a jea'' Sam thanked her, smiled about the humour in it and saved it. That night, she thought to actually do the ritual. It sounded silly, but her life was in a severe dearth of sillynes. The next day, she found the ingrediants, the thyme, the map of the world, the water from a well, the flower petals and she made the ritual, which consisted in laying things out and chanting in what had to be Latvian. It felt silly to do this. She just hoped no one would see her or hear her, because according to Google translate, the meaning of the Latvian text was... strange and pertained to grabbing a cow by its udders and using a boat to drive on a street. Sam feel ridiculous the entire time she does the rituals, and as it finished realized she now has a lot to clean up for no good reason at all but a whim.
`` You seriously need to improve your Latvian!'' a voice said.
Sam turned around. A copper-skinned jea in dark blue robes is sitting crosslegged in the air. Sam gasped and took a step back. `` You are a jea?''
`` I indeed am, probably not the one whose stories you read.'' the creature smiles, showing its pointed teeth.
`` That is... amazing!'' Sam gasped. `` It was an actual jea that wrote these stories?''
`` Why else would the writing style be so wooden and overly correct?'' the jea asked. `` My name is Ksaitrem. I am the equivalent of a recruiter for jeakind.''
`` Recruiter?''
`` We need some humans to do jobs which we can not do as we can barely interact with this world even though we rely on it.''
`` I see. What kinds of tasks?''
`` Preventing certain *unpleasant information* to leak, preventing the worlds be breached haphazardly. Other tasks as required.'' he hands her an employment contract, apparently taken out of thin air.
Sam reads the contract closely. It seems acceptable and has a higher wage than the minimum wage job she currently has. She nods: `` I'm in!''
They both sign the employment contract and the jea produces a copy for her. `` You are going to need this!'' He hands her ring. `` Once a day, you can travel to any autonomous region or country. Though it is admittedly not very precise with where it releases you. Welcome in the International Jeanic Enterprise!''
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[ WP ] Sir , this is just a piece of paper that says `` It was inside you all along '' .
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You know that smell when you exhale and you get a whiff of your breath when you have n't had anything to eat in a while? That's what I can smell right now. All I had to eat was some cheap Chinese takeout I grabbed for lunch. Had I known I would be stuck here with what seems like a burlap sack over my head, I would have saved the fortune cookie so I could have something to snack on.
I've done this every month for almost a year. I board a plane in San Francisco, land in Burbank, a small airport north of Los Angeles, where an old, beat-up car would be waiting for me. I would get in, drive to one of those junk yards and pick up `` Transmission for Mr. Lake's Honda Civic''. They would take my junk car and replace it with another junk car. But this replacement junk car would be a special one. It would have secret compartments all over, designed to carry 50 lbs of cocaine. Why so little, you ask? Because that is 50 lbs of coke guaranteed not to be found by the wrong people. I do n't know how it works but I have never seen any of the stuff.
I know there are others like me but for everyone's protection, nobody knows anybody. So, anyway, my task has always been to drive back to San Francisco with my monthly haul. I drop it off at a tire shop in the city and that's it. I can expect $ 10,000 cash in an envelope in my mailbox the next day.
The trip in question has been fairly typical. I had a group report due the next day so we were all cramming, working on it over lunch. I left the campus at around 3PM and headed straight to the airport. I traveled without incident, picked up the old VW Jetta waiting for me, drove to the junk yard, asked for the transmission for Mr. Lake's Honda Civic, and picked up a different VW Jetta. By 8PM, I was ready to drive back. It usually takes about 6 hours or so to get to San Francisco, plus a few minutes of break. I expect to be there by 3AM, well before the deadline of 6AM.
At about 3 hours into the drive, I heard my stomach gurgling. I decided to go for a quick burger and maybe a bathroom break. I pull into a spot, turn off the ignition and unlock the doors. As I step out, a van appears out of nowhere. I snapped awake at the thought of getting run over. As I struggled to think of something to say, the van's door opened and two pairs of hands pulled me in. Shit. *Work* kind of trouble! Suddenly, everyone was busy. It was all very methodical, actually, everyone was doing something. There were three of them, including the driver. Someone put duct tape over my mouth while another tied my hands behind my back. I was struggling and wriggling and kicking. Then I received a kick to the chest. That shut me up. Another one took my keys, unlocked the door to the Jetta and got in. The final touch was a burlap sack over my head and within minutes, we were on the move.
I'm not sure if we parked inside a warehouse or a hangar, but it was definitely one of those industrial-type structures. I was lying on my side on the floor of the van when someone grabbed me and pulled me out of the van. He pulled the sack off my face and asked me where `` it'' was. I knew what they were looking for but I said I did n't know. I could n't really tell them even if I wanted to because I did n't know either. The two other men were already busy with the car, lifting and hacking and unscrewing and pulling. Checking everywhere starting from the most obvious places like the trunk and the compartment, the upholstery, under the the hood, and moving to the less obvious choices like under the car horn, the tiny space on the roof, and many more. The whole time, I was just watching them dismantle the poor Jetta right before my eyes. The man behind me was obviously bored out of his mind so he starts tormenting me again. `` Where is it?'' I insist I do n't know.
`` Maybe it's on him,'' one of the car dismantlers suggested. `` Frisk him'', yelled the other. My personal security guard started giving me the pat down. `` You know their modus! It's hidden in the car, I know it!'' I have no idea what he was trying to accomplish with the pat down but I was not planning on getting kicked on the chest again so I shut my mouth. He dug his hands deep into my coat pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. He turned away from me as he studies it. He then motions for the dismantlers to come over. Overcome with curiosity, I crane my neck to see what's going on. He was holding that little piece of fortune I got from the Chinese takeout we ordered this afternoon. I wish I could remember what was written. I wonder why they were so interested in it. They all looked at me and started walking toward me. The burlap sack is placed on my head again and they start stripping me.
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[ WP ] A story that is a romance , comedy and horror from three different character 's perspectives .
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I love my husband, I love my daughter. We always want to make her laugh, but sometimes we do the opposite.
It was a rainy day, we stayed in and watched TV. It was some silly show about a scary ghost, a low-effort horror. She seemed scared though, so her father - a real joker - tried to cheer her up.
-I'm a monster! A love monster! Rwaargh!
All I heard was a sudden scream and our little girl rushed behind the sofa in a flash. He thought he was funny - I loved that about him. I loved everything about him. The Love monster was a thing he first did, when we found out I was pregnant. Sweet memories.
-If you do n't come out I'll eat mommy instead!
I just laughed, I pulled my shirt up, just like we did it the first time. He kissed my belly. I laughed, he laughed and she cried.
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We were watching a show. Eh, a boring stuff. Wife was daydreaming - what the hell is he staring at really, the TV is over here. What is this? Damn these lights are flickering, need to change bulbs. Meh, maybe after dinner. Kid here is terrified though - oh well. A dad has got to do what a dad has got to do, I guess.
-I'm a monster! A love monster! Rwaargh!
Hah! She screamed in joy. I'm a funny dude. Ok, now comes the part where I do n't see her.
-If you do n't come out I'll eat mommy instead!
Dad is really fun - I guess that's what she thinks. Actually, both of them.
-Nomnomnomnomom
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Dear diary,
I'm afraid this is my last message because it was pretty dark today and it was also raining and we watched a movie about a ghost that can possess people through the TV and when the guys defeated the ghost he started flying to the screen, the lights flickered and he possessed Dad! Mom did n't notice it and let Dad eat his tummy - I think I ca n't help her anymore and it feels like everything is going to hell because even now I can hear him coming and he is whispering my name and I think it's the end and I
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[ WP ] A soldier meets the men he 's killed , in the afterlife .
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As the shrapnel passed through his kevlar vest all he could think of was his family back home. He could hear the sand shifting underneath him as he began to bleed out under the desert sun. He could scarcely hear the cries of his platoon and the sound of gunfire when he saw her. A beautiful winged woman appeared in front of him, “ Are you an angel? ”, he asked; the words were barely able to swim past the blood filling his mouth. The woman just smiled and grabbed his hand. They walked silently for sometime, where to he had no idea. Soon they stood in front of a giant rainbow and he found himself able to stand on it, together he and this woman crossed this burning bridge of colour and upon reaching the end they were greeted by a man with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. “ I am Heimdall ”, said the man, “ I am the guardian of the Bifröst and I ’ m here to welcome you, slain warrior, to Asgard. ”. Grassy fields, deep blue lakes, and numerous halls sprawled out in front of the slain man; but the woman led him directly to one massive hall. The roof of this great hall was seemed to be made of shields and as he entered he noticed the rafters were made of spears. Thousands of mean were feasting and drinking in this hall, but at the very back of the hall there was a high seat. In this seat sat an old man clothed in grey robes, he could see that the man was missing an eye but could tell that from that seat he could see more than any other man in the world. The old man stood and summoned the attention of the entire hall, “ This is Ryan Peterson and he was recently chosen to join the ranks of the Einherjar. Welcome, son of Peter, to Valhalla. I am Odin, the Allfather, and ruler here. You may find that you already know some of the men here. ”, the old man slightly laughed as he uttered that last sentence and he sat back in his chair. Ryan looked around and noticed a few men approaching him. When they were closer he recognized them, they were the terrorists he was fighting in Iraq. The men surrounded Ryan started to laughed at Ryan ’ s state of panic. One of the men put his arm around Ryan and handed him a horn of mead, “ Do not fear, friend, we are enemies no longer. Now we are all shield-brothers, come and drink with us. ”.
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[ WP ] The Secret Life of a Casul Meth User
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I work at a day job typing on computers. At night I use meth. I like the way it makes me feel. I have come to rely on it. From time to time I've taken more doses than I should have. But no one knows this. I keep my secret hidden. At first, I just used meth once a month, then once a week, now it's ten times per day and sometimes eleven. It's hard to sleep but it just feels so good. My girlfriend does n't suspect a thing. She is a lawyer and drives a Lexus, the bitch.
Aside from my meth addiction, I am very nice to be around, you might even call me `` The Average Joe'' although my name is actually John. I wo n't give my last name, too much too lose. I like football. I played soccer in college. I even went to 2 or 3 frat parties a semester. I'm me. I'm a meth head. You'll never find out.
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[ WP ] Help me Reddit ! I 've been blinded , bound , and placed in front of a firing squad for execution . Write me out of this situation !
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> June 25, 2023, Sweden.
Denial, anger, bargaining and depression. I went through all of these feelings as I felt a cold rifle barrel touching my back. I know there's five steps, we learnt that in middleschool. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and what was the last one now again? Acceptance, that's how I'm going to get out of this situation, accepting the inevitable. Death comes to us all one time or another, there's really no way to escape it.
But in some ways death is a gift, making us appreciate the little time we have, living our fragile lives to the full. Fragile lives, I'm going to be a perfect example when my spine gets cleaved by the massive 7.63x39 round fired from the supposed Kalashnikov that the insurgent behind me had pointed against my back.
The acceptance I was hoping for did n't come, and when I heard the famous click from what I thought was a M1 Garand I just... Gave up... There was nothing I could do, nothing in the whole, wide world that could save me.
I clenched my whole body, praying silently to whatever holy being that would listen. Sweat began forming in clusters all over my skin, dripping down through the bag they put over my head. Goodbye Christof, goodbye Emmie and goodbye my dear Ellie. Oh god, Christof and Emmie is going to live without a father the rest of their lives, from the age of 3... And my wonderful wife Ellie is going to be a widow, dressing in black, remembering her former husband. The only thing that will be left of me is an insignificant bloody spot somewhere in the forests of Sweden.
The roar of the bullet made me deaf, and the sound of my head splattering was sickening. I felt a splash of blood hitting my back, and when the insurgent behind me fell and hit his head on my back, I realized that my life continued and that it was n't my head that was obliterated. The rest of the bullet storm was hard to remember, with the sound of a helicopter and a chain gun raining fire upon the people behind me, I assumed.
Suddenly someone grabbed me and started dragging me, all this while screaming: `` SEALS. We'll get you home! Do n't worry.''
I let out a small shout, that was supposed to be a thank you to the soldier currently dodging rifle fire for my sake of existance. When he threw me onto the heli, another soldier pulled of the hood I was wearing. The light was unbearable, with sunrays shining through the leaves and reflections from the metal guns on the ground.
The helicopter took of, and just as the soldier who rescued me got on, his head got blown off. The blood was everywhere, making it's way into my eyes. I puked straight out of the flying metal horse. I believe I manged to hit one of the insurgents in the face, atleast I hope so, they deserved it.
We did n't get far away from the compund until I heard the pilot screaming: `` RPG! Hold on for fucks sake!''
Fire, oh god the fire, it engulfed all of us. Screaming in pain, both the pilot and the 7 soldiers that inhabitated the heli jumped out of the wrecked, and crashed helicopter. I managed to get out of the situation with only third degree burn wounds all over my body, but the others were n't so lucky.
> March 2, 2024, Texas.
I live alone, without my wife nor kids. They were horrified of what came back from Sweden. A monster, a disabled mentally disturbed monster. You see, back home, after my long walk through the woods of Sweden towards the American embassy in Stockholm, I caught PTSD from my experiences. I became a trainwreck, incapable of communicating and socializing like a normal human being. And my face was burned to the point were no plastic surgeon could fix it.
I turned on channel 76, and the news began point on 7:00. The news reporter looked horrified and slowly opened his mouth:
`` The United States of America has begun nuking key insurgent positions in Europe, destroying thousands of civillian homes, killing billions of people. The radiation sickness in the continent has rised to 400 % and several countries have declared war on America.''
This was the last television program me, and the rest of America would ever experience as a EMP strike hit USA 7 minutes later, knocking out the power network for good. It was n't until the alarm sounded that I got scared though, the alarm for nuclear war...
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Let me know what you think, english is n't my first language so there is n't many details. And I mix up narrative stand sometimes. But yeah, critique is appreciated.
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[ WP ] You 're going about your boring everyday routine when a time machine materialises in front of you . Someone who looks like you but younger steps out and says `` Dad , thank god I found you . You 're never going to believe this . ''
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`` Dad, thank god I found you!'' exclaimed the young, grubby looking child as he stepped out of a chrome capsule that could n't have been any larger than perhaps 2 metres in length. The boy looked so much like me that it started to give me chills. Could this really be my child from the future?
`` Where have you come from?'' I asked the boy.
`` Mother says I come from the stork,'' replied the boy. `` But I know that it is just a lie that children get told. I am actually from the union of egg and sperm. But if by your question you meant to ask me from when I came, then I would have answered that I come from the future.'' This child was a smartass just like me. It was at that moment that I knew this was my not-yet-born child. I went to hug him, but as quick as he had materialised, the boy vanished.
The boy's voice remained echoing in my head. `` Kill yourself. Kill yourself. You're worthless.'' Over and over on repeat, like a broken record even though I was born after records had already been phased out and I had only ever grew up on CDs and then later on mp3s. I began to sob into my sleeve. Maybe the letters piling up on my kitchen counter from the community mental health clinic were right. Maybe it was time that I listen to them and finally get my aripiprazole depot injection for my chronic schizophrenia because I had not attended clinic in the last 2 months.
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[ CW ] `` Looking for answers in the pouring rain . ''
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Eight years had passed and I was no closer to knowing the truth than I was on that fateful day she died. I ’ d been left shattered, with questions but no answers. I ’ d gone through the first four steps of grief over and over like some sick carnival ride that won ’ t end. A torrent of thoughts flowed through my mind day after day, year after year. Nothing could drown them out, not wine, beer, bourbon. Not the endless nights of crying, wailing sobs that I ’ d try to stifle with a towel so I didn ’ t wake the boy.
The boy. He was turning into a man now. He ’ d only been three. He ’ d never really gotten to know her. Not like I had. And that made it all the worse. He asked about her less and less now. He was growing up, distracted by all the things that consume young boys thoughts.
If only I had seen the signs. If only I had known the things she was trying to deal with. Ha! We all say that don ’ t we. Those of us who have lost someone this way. All those thoughts, the ones that kept me awake at night and followed me around during the day, like a relentless stalker. I visited her grave every week. Every Sunday, if it matters. And today was Sunday. And today the clouds were thick and dark, threatening rain. Why did she do it? Why did she leave me behind with everything left unanswered?
As I approached her grave, the sky opened up quickly soaking me to the bone. How long had she been hurting? Why hadn ’ t she come to me for help? *Had she tried* coming to me for help and I had not noticed—brushed her off because I was busy? All these questions I couldn ’ t answer. Here I was, another Sunday, asking these same questions, that made it feel like a fist had taken a grip of my heart and was squeezing, it hoping it would bust like an overripe piece of fruit. What if ’ s? Woulda, coulda, and shoulda ’ s that will forever be. Here I am, looking for answers in the pouring rain. Answers that will haunt me, and cast a shadow over me that I must keep hidden, for the sake of the boy.
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[ WP ] The Death Sentence is a literal sentence , spoken by a cult of executioners , that kills the person who hears it . You are the first known person to survive this fate .
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The last word echoed in my ears. I opened my eyes. The executioners stood there bemused.
`` That's the Death Sentence?'' I asked.
`` Well, yes.'' Said the lead guard.
`` That's a nursery rhyme! I've been teaching my kids a slightly edited Death Sentence?!''
`` Well, the First Wizard of Odun thought that... well that in your last moments a thought of innocence, and you have to admit, it's a bit of a joke there at the end is n't it? Lightens the mood!'' Argued the lead guard.
`` I do n't find slang for sex organs to be very funny.'' Said the second guard.
`` It's too easy to make that rhyme like that anyway! How many children have accidentally died trying to be funny? Think of the children Reg!'' Pleaded the third guard.
`` Do n't use my name you idiot!'' Yelled the first guard, `` And it only works when we say it right?''
`` Well... we *ASSUME* that's true.'' Said the second guard.
I interjected, `` So, what happens to me now?''
The guards looked at each other, this had never happened before. They huddled and whispered, the lead guard got out the orders. Read them, they argued. I only caught a couple phrases.
`` That's what it says! You ca n't argue if it's written down!''
`` It's ridiculous!''
The lead guard turned back toward me. `` The sentence reads, `` And spake unto hym the Death Sentence. We did that, so we have done our duty. So we'll just um... let you go.''
`` Let me go?''
`` Yessir, seems we carried out your sentence, you've paid for your crime according to the letter of the law, you're free to go.''
`` Should n't you guys consult someone?''
`` Like who?''
`` Like, um... a lawyer or something?''
`` Them!? They'll be at it for years, best to just let you go quiet like.''
The lead guard opened the door.
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[ WP ] Describe a universe in which entropy increases from east to west rather than from past to future .
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**CHHHCCKKKKK**
The all familiar sound of the static over the PA.
A young man's voice follows.
`` Central, Checking in.''
**CHHHCCKKKKK**
Robert, leans over the microphone and presses the button on the base.
`` Copy that, Central. Eastern reads you.''
A few keystrokes on the keyboard, a smash of the enter key, and a light on the map displayed overhead begins to blink in unison with another. The map shows a coast to the East, and a mountain range to the West. Three distinct red borders streak from North to South in equal intervals, the sections each labeled. Eastern, Central, and Mountain.
The endless blue of the ocean to the East contrasted by the nothingness of black to the West.
Robert pushes off the desk. Gliding across the linoleum, nearly bumping into Charlotte's chair.
Charlotte swings around in her chair, bracing for an impact that never happens. She opens her mouth to speak, but Robert cuts her off.
`` Jeeze, they just keep getting younger and younger, do n't they? Did you hear that kid?''
She looks down and quickly glances back up. `` Yeah, but how else can they staff Mountain, if they do n't start them young. Remember when we first started, Mountain was n't even on the map and Central was called Western?''
Robert chuckles. `` Those were the days. Just Eastern and Western. Nobody ever died crossing over to Western. It is a right of passage in some of the southern territories. 10 years is not that big a deal to alot of people, especially back then. But this company does n't care about people anymore, they only care getting more resources.''
He grabs a pack of cigarettes from his lab coat pocket. `` We got some time, wan na take a break?''
She responds, `` Sure, lets go.'' as she stands up from her chair.
The exit door closes and the Lab is empty.
The computers and fluorescent lights continue their buzzing white-noise and the lights on the map keep blinking, keeping the beat.
A single blink from the western darkness makes an abnormal beep.
The exit door swings back open and the two colleagues stroll back in.
`` I do n't care how much they pay me, I'm not wasting 40 years of my life, in hopes of an early retirement. There is no way to cross the border past those mountains, and survive.''
Charlotte looks away from her computer screen, but does n't turn towards Robert. She stares at a folding picture frame on her desk with 3 photos. One of a baby, one with a brown-haired teenager, and the last, a man with salt-and-pepper hair.
She finally turns to Robert and says. `` Maybe there is something past the border... Maybe, someday, someone will be able to pass over and explore the other side.''
**CHHHCCKKKKK**
A scruffy older sad voice blares through the PA.
`` Mountain, Checking in.''
**CHHHCCKKKKK**
Robert glares at the speaker. `` Speak of those poor Devils.''
He walks to the microphone and presses the button.
`` Copy, Mountain. Eastern reads you loud and clear.''
More keystrokes. A third light begins to blink with the others.
He turns back to Charlotte and continues. `` Think about it, they cant even re-populate in Mountain. It's nothing but old geezers who are lucky if they make it the 5 years in the mines, before they can retire. Christ it takes 30 minutes just get a signal from there.''
They stare at each other for an almost uncomfortable silence.
The abnormal beep returns and interrupts their awkward gaze.
`` What the fuck was that?'' Robert exclaims.
Charlotte has a worried look as she looks past Robert.
He swings around in his chair as the beep goes off again.
The light in the darkness of the map is blinking in unison with the others.
He turns back to Charlotte with a dumbfounded look.
She looks at him this time, tears streaming down her face.
**CHHHCCKKKKK**
A decrepit shaky old voice crackles from the PA.
`` Mom, are you there?''
**CHHHCCKKKKK**
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[ WP ] Everyone is given a unique superpower that they really do n't want . However , people are also given the ability to swap superpowers with others . Describe a world in which `` superpower trading '' is the norm .
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Ever since I was a little boy, I loathed hated fire. When I was 6 years old, my house burned down. We lost everything, my favorite blanket, my mom's keepsakes, everything. During puberty, we get a superpower. Like growing taller and growing a beard or developing breasts for girls, we also get a super powers. It's funny, because you would think we would love superpowers. It makes us unique and it can be a great way to pass the time or to make friends. But more often than not, we hate our super powers.
My superpower was lighting an object on fire with my fingers by pointing at an object. I was late to get my superpower, nearly 15. I figured my body and brain must hate me. Out of all powers to have, my worst fear was mine. I knew most people hated their super powers, but I guess I thought mine would be different. That I would like mine and would n't have to trade. For a while I even thought that I could get used to my power.
But a few nights ago, I pointed to something during a dream and lit my room on fire. I panicked and had to be taken to the hospital. I have n't slept since. Since then I've decided, I want to switch my super power with another person. We are n't supposed to switch until we are 18 or fully grown. Something about how it will harm our development into adulthood. But I have had friends who traded long before they were fully grown and they were fine.
But if you get caught, you get in trouble. In my case, I think it's worth the risk.
A lot of kids my age do not want to trade in fear of getting in trouble. So we do n't really talk about it openly. Instead, there is a forum on the internet powertrader.com where you can try to trade or sell your power.
That's the other thing, people try to sell their powers. If you trade your power with some mediocre power, like increased vision or hearing ( these are common powers for some reason ), then you can sometimes sell your power. It's not really legal, but people do it all the time.
I have n't decided yet if I want to sell my power or try to find a power I really want like mind reading. But who would n't want that?
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[ WP ] You are a detective in 1890 Austria . The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge . You ca n't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child , let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was .
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I sat in looking at the sick and twisted murderer who killed that poor boy. An innocent child dead, and for what? So some madman could get his twisted fantasy to come true. As I sat down I just had to ask.
Why?
The man looked at me with a smile.'I am a hero that no one will know, I have saved humanity from its greatest evil. I have killed one of the biggest monsters who ever lived. The world will be a much better place thanks to me. I am proud to sacrifice my life to ensure it. The evil scumbag Adolph Hitler will never live. I am proud to have saved the lives of so many of my fellow Jews. They will never know that Issac Utting saved so many lives.
I was shocked at the words of this madman. These despicable actions disgusted me. I turned and walked out of the room and out the door to the waiting mob that was baying for blood outside.
I walked up to the mob and screamed at the top of my lungs.
`` This foul murder was part of some Jewish Plot to murder Austrian Babies! We need to drive them out before they can kill more.''
Thus began the destruction of the Jewish People
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[ WP ] It is discovered that gods are no more than parasites that leech off of worship and faith while the demons want to free us from those parasites and lead us along to prosperity
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I looked her up and down. She had appeared in my bedroom just a minute before, gently shaking me awake. She was incredibly beautiful, despite the red coloring, horns, tail, and cloven hooves. It was actually strangely exotic. At first I thought I was dreaming and tried to kiss her because hey, it was a dream, right? She had singed the tip of my nose with a finger and yelled, `` Down boy!''
`` Get thee behind me, Satan!'' I yelled and tossed the bottle of holy water my mother had told me to keep at my bedside for just such emergencies! `` In the name of Jesus, the Father, and the Holy Spirit!''
The demon standing before me began to grasp at her face, falling to the floor, screaming in anguish and then there was laughter. I was nonplussed as she stood up wiping tears from her eyes, `` Really Chuck? You think I have n't seen the Exorcist? I even know it's where you get most of your religious training.'' She puffed into an existence an electronic tablet and swiped, `` Says here the last time you went to church was 8 years ago. Really? Could n't even make a Christmas service for your god?''
`` Are you taking me to Hell?'' I asked, tears forming in my eyes and she rolled hers. I was genuinely both frightened and slightly aroused at the thought.
`` Chuck, the gods are bunk.'' She told me and began a Powerpoint Presentation on her tablet. I was sure I was dreaming. A beautiful demoness ( what is the female form of demon, anyway? ) was giving me a Powerpoint Presentation. I threw a little bit more holy water on her and she narrowed her eyes, `` Chuck, if you do that one more time I will I will shove that bottle up your...''
`` Gods are bunk,'' I narrowed my eyes back at her because I did n't want to know where she was going to shove my bottle, `` Says the demon! You know we have a saying, `` Do n't trust Satan!''''
`` First,'' she said, smiling and my heart melted a little, `` I'm not Satan. Second, you made that up. Yes, I AM a demon or at least that's what you called us. We've been demonized, pardon the exactness of that statement, by most major religions because their gods want you to not trust us. You know, kinda like the political propaganda going on right now?''
`` Wait, are you guys responsible for...'' I was starting to ask but she bought up a cute little hand to put over my mouth.
`` Oh do n't blame us for your political woes! That's all on YOU guys.'' She said defensively with a touch of anger. Her eyes became a darker green when she got angry. `` Demons stay out of politics and law as a whole, well most of us anyway. We do need specialists sometimes.''
`` To buy souls?'' I asked, `` You know like the stories of Ol' Scratch at the crossroads at midnight?''
`` Chuck, I am beginning to think you are an idiot.'' She said, her tail twitching involuntarily, `` Why did they send me to someone who... never mind. We do n't NEED souls. The gods are inter-dimensional beings that feed off of the power of belief, you know the old sci-fi trope? Well, it's true.''
`` What can I do about it?'' I asked believing her for whatever reason. I had always been quick to believe things without much proof, `` Do you need me to form an army of non-believers? Lead them to battle on... er, the internet? I've been to /r/atheism before.''
`` I do n't know what that is,'' She told me, `` Half of what you're saying is gibberish and the other half is nonsense. She sighed and rubbed away what I thought must be a forming headache, `` No, Chuck, all I want you to do is not believe in god anymore. Stop feeding him. Get up every morning and do good for the sake of doing good! Love your fellow man without expecting a reward. Feed the poor...''
`` Help the sick?'' I offered and grinned, `` You sound a little like Jesus?''
She sighed, `` Yeah, he really did a number on you guys. He's fed off of so much belief they have to roll him around now. If he returned to Earth like he promised he'd probably squash it.''
`` That's no moon?'' I offered, giggling.
`` What?'' She said then I understood she probably was n't up to date on our cultural references. She turned back to her Powerpoint Presentation and led me over the course of ten minutes what she called, `` The Deep Reality of the Situation. See, this is REALLY Hell. Well, its the name of the dimension I'm from but do you see any flames? Pitchforks? Well, minus those they're farmers.'' She flipped through that slide quickly, `` See, Chuck? Your world can be a paradise like ours.''
`` Ok,'' I told her and stood up, `` I will no longer believe in god! See, it's that simple. Bingo, I'm a fighter for the cause!'' She then smiled and hugged me.
`` Only six billion to go!'' She said excitedly, `` Thanks for adding to my numbers.''
`` Speaking of numbers,'' I said, waggling my eyebrows as suavely as possible, `` How about dropping me your digits?''
`` Chuck?'' She said and leaned in, lifting the empty bottle of holy water and wielding it threateningly, `` Shall I put this somewhere?''
`` No ma'am,'' I said and threw the sheets over my face. I heard a little *POOF! *, peaked out and she was gone.
I sat back on my pillow and vowed to keep my promise. I lasted nine hours. You see, I was visited by Jehovah Witnesses the next day. As I returned to God, I thought I heard Jesus burp off in the distance somewhere. I shrugged, who would trust a demon anyway?
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[ WP ] You are made to make every decision you come to in life by the flip of a coin . Write a day or few hours in your life .
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Chance. The only thing I can still trust. Chance's view is always unbiased. It knows no hypocrisy. It's simply chance. As I sat there in that room, getting dressed in the white tux ( yet another one of Chance's decisions ), I decided to rely on Chance one last time. I would n't call it cold feet, just simply uncertainty. My fiancé, dressed in the most beautiful white gown I've ever seen, has been excited for this day for months. Me, I was mostly excited for the week in Vegas with my best men. The one city where Chance truly rules. But now that that has passed, all I have been thinking about is this wedding. It's been killing me all week. Am I ready to commit? This decision is too complicated to solve myself. I need Chance. The unbiased Chance. So I get out my rustic 1946 quarter, the one my grandpa gave me. Heads I go through with it. Tails, I run away and never look back. I flick the quarter in the air higher than ever before. Though the flip must of took seconds, it felt like hours. The thoughts in my head were killing me. What if it is heads? What if it is tails? The coin hits the ground. I do n't need to look. I know my decision. I finish tying my bow tie and look in the mirror. I realize I am free. Chance no longer rules me.
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[ WP ] `` She 's mine ! '' He screams , as the Angel of Death marches towards her . `` You stay away from her ! It 's not her time ! '' You shout .
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Humans are strange things: so frail, so small, so weak. And yet... So stubborn.
I have known them since they were but specks in the sea, an ooze in the ocean, apes among the trees. I have always been with them, watching, shepherding, culling.
Mortality: a blessing. Mortals, after some time, may rest. How I envy them. To die... such a gift, and yet with every cell they fight to keep it wrapped. They know not what they desire. When their pain grows too great, their burdens too heavy, their sorrows too consuming, I sate their sorrows, lift their burdens, and end their pain. Yet the vast majority of these poor, suffering creatures all respond the same way.
**NO**
Often, they phrase it differently.
**Just a while longer, please! **
**I'm too young to die! **
**There's so much left undone! **
They plead, and they argue, not realizing what they ask of me. To live forever? Impossible. For what is life without death? I have walked the realms since Always, and I will walk them until Never, and yet I have not lived a moment in between. I freely give them the greatest gift there is, and they spit in my eye and drag their feet and scream for vengeance.
There exists no creature in Heaven, Hell, nor any of the other Divines that would even *think* to challenge me. It is only here, in this mundane realm, that I found souls *foolish* enough to stand against me.
So many times, and so many ways, have the humans told me no. Eventually, I was bound to start listening.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
*That hospital room... *
**Come on, honey, just PUSH! **
**She's not going to make it, she's lost too much blood! **
**GET OUT OF MY DELIVERY ROOM! GET OUT, NOW! AND TAKE THE FATHER WITH YOU! **
*... silent, frozen. Save for the woman, all still. The doctor, a bead of sweat frozen on his brow, has failed. I approach. *
**What's happening to me? **
Hush, child.
**Who are you? **
You know who I am. You have always known.
**But, I ca n't... **
You must.
**Why now? **
When else?
**After I raise my daughter -- **
AFTER NOTHING.
**... but.... I never got to see my baby... **
She's coming with us.
**NO**
Many have tried --
**NO. **
Arguing will --
**NO! This is not arguing, this is telling. MY CHILD STAYS HERE! **
*My mind resolved, I march towards her. *
Your child? She's MINE!
**You stay away from her! It's not her time! **
That is for me to decide. *I continue. *
**Just give me a few seasons, give HER a few seasons! **
Only the winter of Death. *My steps do not falter. *
**This is n't what's supposed to happen... this ca n't be her fate! **
This story is already written. *I close in. *
**How can she know death before she knows life? **
*I stop. *
*She stares at me, and I at her, for a long while. *
*Time slips, the doctor does his work, the baby cries. *
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
I am not a law of Physics, his time will come as well.
I am not a force of Nature, her seasons, too, are numbered.
I am not a concept of Philosophy, its fate is also mine to decide.
There exists no creature in Heaven, Hell, nor any of the other Divines that would ever *dare* to challenge me. It is only here in this mundane realm that I found souls *brave* enough to stand against me.
I am Death, *and the humans are mine. *
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[ WP ] The tombstone read , `` I bet you 're wondering how I got here . ''
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Notes: This is really long, sorry, not sorry. Two, I apologize for grammatical errors, it's a weakness of mine.
Once, I never believed in ghosts. That all changed when I was 19. I ’ m going to tell you the story now. But I ’ m going to warn you, It is a story you probably won ’ t believe, but I can assure you it happened.
I was 19 at the time. I had recently moved to the Arizona for college. I grew up in southern Florida, Miami to be exact. I could have gone to a college in Miami but the girl of my dreams went west, and like the love sick fool I was, I followed her. This may not seem that important but it plays a role in the story I have to tell you. Long story short, it didn ’ t work out. I travelled across the country to be with Abigail, who couldn ’ t have cared any less about me. Turns out she wasn ’ t ’ that interested in me to begin with. I was just a nice looking guy to screw when other options weren ’ t available. Hindsight is 20/20 they always say.
The day this story takes place is the day she dumped me. “ I ’ m not in puppy love with you anymore, Garrett. ” That is how she broke up with me, not a care in the world. I shrugged it off like it was no big deal, but I left before the tears started to flow. I wouldn ’ t let her see me cry, I wouldn ’ t let her know that my heart and my life had shattered. I would have given anything for this woman. If only she would have let me. We had plans to go geo caching that day, a fun hobby of ours. Well, if she didn ’ t want to go I wasn ’ t going to let that stop me.
I drove south for an hour, my emotions a whirlwind of rage and pain. I drove until I was long outside city limits, whoever had hid this cache went out of their way. I knew it was going to be good. “ I ’ m going to get the best cache today, you bitch ” I told myself. “ And when I do, I ’ m going to make sure you know. You missed out on this incredible find. ” Eventually the road ended, and I hopped out of the car. I grabbed my pack of supplies, and consulted my phone for directions and began walking.
I walked no less than an hour when I came up on the location of where the cache should have been. To my surprise an old, worn tombstone waited for me. Despite myself I smiled, whoever had hid this was very clever. I crouched down and wiped away some of the dirt that had accumulated on the front of the tombstone, the rock was warm to the touch. “ I bet you ’ re wondering how I got here ” it read, and as I spoke the words out loud a voice behind me spoke up.
“ If that ain ’ t the shittiest thing to put on a man tomb I ain ’ t know what is. ” His voice was rough, hoarse. My heart leapt into my throat. I was in the middle of nowhere, and I was sure nobody had followed me. Was this a trap? A serial killer who used curious geo cachers as bait? Had Abigail set me up? A thousand possibilities raced through my head. “ What is it then? Aren ’ t you gon na ask? ” I slowly turned around to face the man. If I was going to die, I wanted to at least see the face of my killer.
What I saw shocked me, a tall man stood there, the living cliché of cowboys of the old west. His image blurred like heat dancing off the hot pavement. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. Was I seeing things? Was this a dream? “ uh…are you real? ” Smooth, Garrett. You see a potential killer dressed like a cowboy and your first question is to ask if he is real. The cowboy turned his head and spit into the hot desert air. “ As real as I can be, I reckon. ” He walked over and nudged the old tomb with his foot “ That there is my tombstone. I ’ ve been here a long time, waitin ’ for someone to find me. Waitin ’ for my revenge. ”
I blinked again. At this time I was sure I was suffering from heat stroke. “ I ’ m sorry but I think I am dreaming or having a heat stroke, there is no way you ’ re real. Ghosts aren ’ t real. ” The cowboy chuckled, lacing his fingers in the belt buckles of his worn old jeans. “ Son, you have any idea where you ’ re at? ” I slowly nodded, I was in the Arizona desert. “ You must not be from round these parts, plenty of ghosts here. Ever hear of tombstone? ” I slowly nodded, it was a well known tourist attraction, a ghost town. “ well they ain ’ t call them ghost towns for a reason kid. I reckon no ghosts ever had a reason to show themselves to you up until now. ” “ Oh, I see ” I said, not really quite understanding but not wanting to anger the cowboy. “ So, I guess I should ask you why you ’ re here? ” The cowboy studied me long and slowly nodded, before turning his gaze to the west. “ I died here a long time ago. I didn ’ t choose that for my final message, my enemy Gus put that as a clever joke. A final fuck you I reckon. ” I nodded to acknowledge that I was listening to him as he continued his tale.
“ I came out here when the west was still youn ’. Plenty of opportunity for young men wantin ’ to make names for themselves. And I did. You ever hear of Wil ’ Willy? ” I shook my head to indicate that I hadn ’ t. Wild Will shook his head, spitting on the ground. “ They ain ’ t teach the history anymore? ” I shrugged, “ I don ’ t know, I grew up in Florida. ” “ Florida? Ain ’ t ever hear of it. Any road, I came out here to make a name for myself. Back in the day I was quite a shot. ” At this time he un-holstered his pistol and shot several rounds into the sky. “ Ain ’ t no man at the time who was a better shot than Wil ’ Will. That ’ s why that good for nothin ’ cheatin ’ bastard did what he did. ” Wild Will paused for a long moment staring off into the sky. “ I met a woman out here. Anna, she was as wild as a horse and as beautiful as the sunset. But I ain ’ t the only man who had his eyes set on Anna. I reckon you could say I was in love with her. I wasn ’ t the only one. ”
Wild Will turned his gaze back on me. “ One day I brought Anna out here to tell her how I felt, she knew I reckon, but I wanted to make it official. I wanted to settle down with Anna and raise me a family. ” Another long pause, had I known better I would have noticed the tears slowly forming in Wild Wills eyes. “ I brought her out here, to show her somethin ’ I had found earlier that week. A rare desert flower in bloom, Anna loved flowers. It wasn ’ t quite dark when Gus arrived. He must have followed us here. ” Will ’ s eyes flared in anger. “ “ I bet you ’ re wondering how I got here. ” Gus said. I knew he was up to no good, he knew better than to follow me outside the town. There ain ’ t no sherrif ’ s to save him. There was bad blood between him and I. ”
As Will ran his hand over his pistol he continued. “ I told Gus I ain ’ t give a piss about how he got here. I told him he better leave before I make it his final restin ’ place. Gus laughed. ” Once again Will spit onto the ground. “ I challenged him to a duel. I was the fastest draw in the West, and I knew it. Gus would be a damned fool to accept. To my surprise he did. It was then his gang showed up. They had been hidin ’. Hidin ’ and waitin ’ for his signal. I was a quick draw but even I can ’ t fight off seven men. They killed me that night, Anna too. A week later he come out and places this tombstone where I lay. I been here ever since, waitin ’ for someone to come find me. ”
I realized I had been holding my breath and finally exhaled. I didn ’ t know how to reply to the old cowboy but he wasn ’ t quite done. “ I ain ’ t know yer name son, but I have one request to make of you. Avenge ol ’ Wil ’ Will. ” Avenge him? Was he mad? He had died hundreds of years ago. “ Will, it ’ s been hundreds of years. I ’ m sure Gus is long dead. ” Will slowly nodded. “ I reckon he is, but his blood lives on. I ’ ve been watchin ’ his family for generations. Everythin ’ comes full circle, his blood lives here now. Not too far from where you came from, I reckon. Do me this, son. Find his blood and kill her as he killed me. Then I can finally join Anna in eternal rest. ”
This was crazy, I was crazy. A ghost of an old western cowboy was asking me to commit murder of someone who had died hundreds of years ago. Standing there in the desert heat I slowly nodded my head. I wasn ’ t actually going to kill someone, but perhaps if I promised he could finally rest. “ Alright Wild Will. I ’ ll help you. What is I need to do? ” Wild Will smiled, handing me his pistol, which I accepted.. “ Her name is Abigail Coates, end her and his legacy dies with her. “ Abigail Coates, the girl who had this morning broken my heart. My hand gripping the pistol became cold with sweat, my heart a roaring thunder in my ears. Wild Will slowly started walking off into the sun. With a final message the image of Wild Will disappeared. “ Don ’ t let me down son. I may be dead but I am still the quickest draw in the west. ”
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[ WP ] A five year survivor of the apocalypse gets a chance to look at their self in the mirror and reflect on what they have become .
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Garrett peered into the mirror, shocked at what reflected back. Five years ago, he had been 18. Freshly out of high school, then assaulted week after week by natural disasters. Hurricanes, tornados, lighting storms, forest fires, everything the world could throw at humanity- it did. Plague followed the disasters, killing most who survived. This was all in a six month period.
Garrett had survived all of it. He had been an attractive boy: sharp jaw, bright blue eyes, perfect hair, white teeth, the perfect balance between fat and muscle. He'd never been the most intelligent, but he was the most popular. He'd been the rudest guy, and slept with as many girls as he could.
But this was before everything. As he looked into the mirror, he saw a completely different person. His hair was messy, his eyes a pale, gray blue. Garrett's body was no longer perfect, it was malnourished and too muscular. The guns strapped to his body looked oversized, even though they fit elegantly in his hands. There was blood stains, scars and open wounds covering his body. His cloths were torn, but fit comfortably on his body.
As he looked into the mirror, he knew Garrett was dead. He'd stopped using that name years ago, simply being called Assassin sufficed. He'd taken on a place in this New World they appropriately named Hell, as a fighter for the ones who could n't fight, he'd killed himself so others could use his body to get supplied that gangs horded.
Once he knew that he was truly dead, he shot the mirror, and went further into the compound to fight for others lives.
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[ WP ] When you hit puberty , you will get taken to a customise-your character-screen where you can change anything you want . While leaving the program , you accidentally change one parameter . Now you are stuck with it .
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The world fell apart quickly.
My dad had told me the story at least thirty times. It was 2025 when Doctor Neuszer published his first paper on hormonal manipulation at the onset of puberty. Clinical trials were up and running shortly thereafter. Just a few more years and they were commercially available. Only the ultra-wealthy could afford them. Why settle for an ordinary child, when you could have a custom one? The process let you focus the hormones that children release during puberty in to whatever attributes you wanted your child to develop. If you wanted your child to be a sports superstar, you could reprogram their hormonal signals to focus entirely on muscle growth and coordination. A superstar lawyer? Brain development for logical reasoning. Drop-dead beautiful? Skin, hair, and the parts of the brain that produce a sense of self-confidence and presence.
The only limitation was that the hormones that could be reprogrammed remained limited to those that the body naturally produced. Yes, your kid could be the smartest, the most thoughtful, the strongest, the quickest, the heartiest, or the best-looking. But not all of them. Going too far in one area, left the others malnourished. As these children developed it quickly became apparent that the strong kids were growing up incredibly slow-witted. The intelligent children were weak and frail.
But by the time anyone realized the real problem it was too late. It was 2038, five years after the treatments became available, that the Council arrived. The Council was comprised of nine children that had undergone full hormone treatment to increase their intelligence. Now at the end of puberty, they had reached their full development – they were super-geniuses.
According to my dad, there were other children that had also had full intelligence treatments in the early years. But they did n't agree with the Council's agenda, so they had all quietly disappeared, and so had all traces that they ever existed, prior to the Council becoming publicly known. The Council quickly exerted their influence over everything, starting with Government.
The Growing America Strong Act was passed that year. All children would be put through mandatory hormone treatment. Each child would be assigned a `` recommended'' job role for life, with recommended treatments to make sure they would be the best suited for it. But the idea that the recommendation was anything but mandatory was an illusion. The development choices were no longer up to the children or their parents. When a family did n't fall in line, that child would quickly and quietly disappear. The system ensured that noone else would ever be as smart as the Council.
My dad told me the story again as we were walking from the train to our State's hormone treatment center. We were going with Blake and her parents. Blake was my best friend. She was born only two days after me and lived next door. I got her and she got me. We spent every day playing robbers or lava-floor in my backyard fort. I rolled my eyes at her as my dad went on.
We checked in at the desk of the hormone clinic. There were a few scary men in armor with guns. My dad said there used to be a lot of protests in the early days, but not really anymore. After a while they called my name.
A nice lady took me to a room where I changed in to a pair of blue shorts and then led me into a booth. It was super high-tech looking. Then a man in glasses came in and gave me a print-out of my recommended settings. I was going to be an engineer for warplanes. My dad said it could be a lot worse and told me over and over again to just do what it said on the paper.
The man explained the treatment, showed me how to work the knobs and closed the door behind him. As he left, the screen lit up. I turned the knobs as I was supposed to, 2 clicks to Physical Strength, 2 clicks to Manual Dexterity, 3 clicks to Judgment, and 4 clicks to Logic and Reason.
I was n't supposed to touch the Vitality and Charisma knobs. My dad said Vitality was only for the Council's soldiers, it did n't help them to have anyone else living longer. And people called Charisma a `` dump stat.'' It was only for receptionists and counselors, and children that would grow up and be forced to marry important people.
I locked in my settings. The machine started whirring. I wondered how Blake was doing. She was going to be a counselor. She was going to be so pretty and nice. I used to think we'd get married some day, but that dream was dead now. My hand hovered near the Charisma knob as I thought about what could have been.
But just at that moment the injection needle stabbed my arm. I screamed and my hand hit the knob. I turned it all the way up. I did n't know what to do and started crying. I was in trouble. I knew the needle was coming, the man in glasses had told me, but I was distracted by Blake.
I do n't really remember what happened next. I cried alot. I remember my dad taking me home, telling me it would be okay. And putting me to bed.
Then I remember two men in black jumpsuits with Council patches on their arms. They were taking me somewhere. Then I was in a tank of green ooze with tubes in my mouth. I slept, it seemed like forever. There were men in white coats. I caught bits of people talking:
``... his readings are off the chart...''
``... there's no way his body should be able to respond to the treatment in that way...''
``... he must have some sort of mutation...''
``... Councilor Loredo wants him put down...''
I woke up in a grey room. It felt like a cell but the room was bigger and there was table on one end. My throat was dry and I walked over to the sink to drink something. There was a man in the mirror above the sink. No wait. The man was me. How long had I been sleeping?
I did n't recognize myself. The face looking back at me was so handsome, could this be my face. The Charisma knob! A man entered the room.
`` I'm glad to see you're awake. You've been asleep for a long time. I'm sure this is very startling for you. But we'd like to understand what happened, a lot of very important people are very interested in understanding how this happened. Now please have a seat and tell me everything that you remember.''
I turned, met his gaze, and read his name tag, `` Doctor Bellard.'' The man seemed to blush as I spoke slowly, `` I've apparently been held here. For some time. I'd like to talk to whoever is in charge of this facility.''
`` Well yes, sir but I have to interview you...'' He looked down and trailed off.
`` Now please, Doctor.''
Doctor Bellard looked up again and met my eyes, `` Yes, yes sir, that is only fair, right away.'' He scurried out of the room quickly.
Director Angela Schaer walked in less than three minutes later. She introduced herself coldly and started, `` Doctor Bellard informed me that you'd like to speak.'' The Director was facing me but looking at the top of the wall. `` I understand that this has been a very traumatic experience. But we do have processes here --''
I strode up to her, softly grabbed her face, and turned her head towards me. I spoke deliberately, `` I've been held here. Like an animal. Give me the dignity of speaking to me directly.''
She started again, `` I... I under... I understand that you're upset. Is it hot in here?'' The director wiped her neck. `` And we will be happy... happy to ex... explain everything,'' she stuttered. `` The Council --''
I cut her off as I walked out of the room, `` Yes, the Council. Tell them I'd like to talk them and arrange a meeting immediately. Thank you Angela.''
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[ WP ] In the future , most of job interview questions are generally the same as modern-day ones , except when you get to the part where they ask , `` Are you willing to kill for your Corporation ? ''
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Herbert shuffled nervously in his seat. He needed this job. He couldn ’ t blow this interview, not now.
Tapping his feet repeatedly he looked back at his copy of the intial waiver he signed.
“ 1. The company is not liable for any harm physical or otherwise that may or may not befall the participants of the interview
2.The company is not liable for any loss of memory which the participant may or may not experience ”
That made his nervous. Looking for literally anything else to turn his attention to he looked up. The woman sitting across from his was staring at him, she looked away as he made eye contact. Someone coughed.
He heard the clicking of heels and snapped his attention back to the white door. The door swung open and the secretary came into view.Herbert remembered thinking she looked like a rather strict librarian.
“ Miss Johns, Mr Drake and Mr Herbert your performance in the written test was deemed to be ”
She ruffled a few pages
“ Satisfactory. Please do follow me. The rest of you are free to go. Do not contact the company again ”
She went back into the white door. Herbert ignored the cacophony of groans that ensued and followed the secretary nervously running his hand across his hair. The other two candidates were right behind him.
They followed her through a corridor which ended with three doors.
“ The next stage of your interview has commenced.Good luck ” she intoned and without a word stalked back through the passageway.
Edit: Im still working on this.Have to leave work, so will write a little more after I get back home.
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[ WP ] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio . Both your parents are the highest you 've seen ( around 0.4-0.5 ) until today , when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin . You make brief eye contact and they run .
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Slowly walking home after a late night of drinking after work, Stiven reaches down to pick up the phone he dropped in a puddle of water. `` Got to be kidding me'' mumbled Stiven, while he wiped off the water on his phone. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he sees someone under the bridge across the street, he notices the Relevance higher then he has ever seen before, this persons Relevance was 0.97. Relevance is predictable with a normal ranking system, Parents always sat at 0.4-0.5 while the love of your life and your children say at 0.5-0.6. No one has ever witnessed 0.97 before.
At first Stiven thought it was the booze that may have hindered his Relevance ability, until the 0.97 looked up and froze while staring at each other from so far away.. Stiven could not make out how the person looked, he had a hoodie covering their face and wore baggy clothing shadow from a near street light casted a dark shadow making the person seem like a shadow themselves.
A split second passes and Stiven calls out `` Whhoo are you?''. 0.97 takes a step back, dropping what looked like a needle and after a moment turns around and runs in the opposite direction. After a short delay Stiven gives chase, running until Stiven trapped him in a dark alleyway. The 0.97 turns and stares at Stiven, almost like he knew Stiven his entire life, he turns around running into a wall disappearing into the brick as if he dove into water.
Stiven looked down at his hands shaking, feeling the adrenaline sober himself up. He slowly walks up to the wall, putting his trembling hand against it to see if he fell through like the 0.97. Nothing happened, it was just a normal wall. Both confused and disappointed, he turns around to walk out of the alley. Before he could make his first step, he notices his ID on the ground. Confused to how it got there, he picks it up to put back in his wallet. Opening up his wallet to put his ID back in, his hands start trembling again. The ID he picked up was a copy, his ID was still in his wallet. A sinking feeling of anxiety hit as he looked down at the other ID, noticing that his picture was of an older looking version of him. Suddenly Stiven felt a presence behind him, slightly turning his head to see the brick wall that he just had his hand on, casting ripples as if a rock dropped into a lake. He wanted to turn and run but his body did n't listen and started walking to the wall as if it was instinct. His hand raising to touch the wall as hid hid before. The rippling on the wall froze as if time had stopped. After blinking once, Stiven notice he was no longer in the alley but in a street in large city of houses surrounding a hill with a tower. The houses were all made of marble and had large pillars supporting them. The tower on the hill reached the clouds, it was white with a spiraling road going up the side, peaking through thew clouds was a giant floating orb atop the pillar, glowing blue light pierced the orb. Confused he noticed that people were walking on the street, no one had Relevance appearing. Stiven felt calm but fearful at the same time as he peered up the giant tower.
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[ WP ] A prisoner woke up to find the cell door open , upon looking around , he discovered the prison is empty .
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Go school. Get a job. Work for 50 years. Father 2 to 3 children. Raise them. Then die.
Sometimes, as Adam rode the train to work, he contemplated the lives of the people around him. How many others hated the mundane, rote lifestyle? He looked to the other side of the passenger car. A man in a suit, fancy watch. Black hair. Frowning into a newspaper. Down the aisle there was a woman showing some skin beneath a salmon skirt. She had one of those bow-things on her head.
In the man and the woman, Adam saw similarities to himself and people he had known. The man probably worked in an office, the woman probably worked to find a good man to raise a family with. Maybe the man flirted with his secretary, but nothing ever came of it. Maybe he already had a mistress on the side. Maybe the woman hated her husband but God knew she had better not say a thing, since she'd end up divorced and penniless. Maybe she'd dated the high school football star, hated it, and found something better.
Adam knew this was a terrible state of mind to be in while at work. Adam tried to focus on something else. Maybe finish off half the report that was due. He nodded at the same people as he walked to the elevator and then his desk. There was Carol, Glen, Aaron, Michael. One of them asked a meaningless question and got a meaningless answer, `` Yeah, doing well. Morning.''
He settled down into his office's desk chair just a bit more wearily than usual. If he really dropped down hard into it the damn thing would probably break. He tapped his pen against the blotter and shuffled some papers. The report... needed input from Glen. Was RCI putting in 20 % or 22 %?
Adam paused for just a moment to consider how this was going to play out. He'd have to go talk to Glen. But then he'd have to walk by Carol's space to talk to Glen, and she always had those annoying little updates. `` I just threw a pot of coffee on!'' and `` The parking spaces will be repainted next week!''. God. Did she really think if she tried that hard to be friendly, the folks at the office would forget her son lit their couch on fire? Then when he finally found Glen and Glen revealed his secrets, Glen would probably ask for some help on his own project because he was incompetent and lazy and shit at math.
Whatever. Adam resolved to grit his teeth and bear it, and it went about as badly as he'd expected. He saw Carol *and* Michae on his way to Glen. Michael needed Adam to call Miller in accounting because Michael was poorly informed and his parents had n't raised him right. The way Michael explained it, he `` did n't have Miller's number'', but he and Adam both knew the truth. And Glen, surprise, did n't even have the numbers. Internally Adam seethed, and muttered something about being waiting back at his desk.
This time he really sank down into the chair, and it moaned spitefully. It was just one of those days. Adam knew he'd get just about nothing done today, and fantasized about taking a vacation to a less awful place. He leaned back, and he could see the shore. He traced its osculations to the horizon and nodded approvingly. A small strand of trees jutted out further toward the beach. He'd set up a towel and maybe a hammock there, and not leave. That would be his castle, and no incursion by Carol or Glen or Michael or anyone else would violate his sovereignty. Maybe crabs could nip at his leg hairs, but then he'd kill the crabs and eat them. The trade was more than fair.
Adam shuddered just a bit, and slumped over at his desk as he truly felt the warmth of the beach, despite still being in the temperature-controlled office. He descended into this dreamworld, where no one else could make even a request of him. A paradise almost purely defined by solitude. He grinned in his sleep, but in his dream he was walking into the ocean. He stepped deeper in, submerging himself to his chest, and then kicked upward and buried his face in the water. Within moments the current dragged him far out, and he gazed deep into the pure blue seafloor. He wanted to go farther out, to see what it was like to ignore everything and just float, arms twitching lazily to propel him a fraction of a foot to the left or right. He wanted to know what it was like to just bask in the sun, eyes gazing deep into the abyss, uncaring and unmoved by its threat.
But then he woke up, and it was awful. It was Glen. Our villain. The number, it transpired, was 22 %. Glen said this in an apologetic tone, because he knew Adam had been hoping to have more funds available. Glen, always thinking of others. His mission complete, he slinked away. Adam considered his options. Glen might speak to the boss casually, mention Adam was sleeping on the job. Glen wanted to get promoted and since his work was subpar, maybe perfidy was his best route to the top. Maybe the boss knew that and saw Glen as a potential threat too. Maybe the boss kept Glen around because Glen could be relied on to report on the others.
Maybe, Adam thought to himself, maybe I should stop doing this to myself. Glen is in the same rat race I am. So's Carol, and Marcy, and Michael, and even the boss. All just riding the same train and hoping it took them somewhere they wanted to go. But why? Adam seriously considered moving to a very small island, buying a gun, and shooting anyone who stepped foot on it. He was pretty sure he could grow enough mangoes and spearfish enough to survive the summer.
Adam packed a few essentials into his briefcase. His favorite pen, his letter opener ( in case anyone he encountered on the trip from his present location to his island needed stabbing ), and a mint. He left the cheap little brass 10 year anniversary commemorative statue. It was an image of a man at his desk, diligently working. At this point he thought of it more as a false idol which he could no longer worship.
Before he left, Adam pissed just a bit into the cushion of his old chair. First, to mark his territory. Second, to ensure that in the summer, whoever got his chair would heat up the cushion and release just a bit of that stale sour odor. He nodded at his former office mates on his way out, and they returned quizzical glances. He smiled. He was truly happy, and safe in the knowledge that he left behind not real people, but preprogrammed conglomerates of cells whose only real goal was to fire little eidolons of themselves out their genitals.
Adam resolved to buy his island, sleep for a while, and shortly thereafter die on it. But he'd die a free man, and more importantly a real man. He refused to serve as the slave of a slave of a slave any longer.
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[ WP ] A toy boat floats out to sea and has an adventure .
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Possible Feels below:
It was my twelfth birthday when I unwrapped a glorious model boat. It was two and a half feet long and shaped like a pirate ship. It had two sturdy masts which could be outfitted with black sails painted with my very own custom rendition of the jolly roger. I had been begging my Dad to teach me more about how to use his woodworking tools, so he bought this ship. He figured we could build it together, and it would let him show me how to use some of the tools. I remember the first time we set out to float in the pond near our house, my Dad looked so proud as I excitedly pushed it out into the water to watch it float in the wind. Building that boat was the closest we had ever been.
It was two years later when my Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer and hospitalized. It was a long battle, and you could see he was in pain all the time. I do n't know what made me do it, but one day I went into his workshop and I just started building. I made little carvings, a few engravings, little things mostly, and I brought them to my Dad. They made him grin from ear to ear. So I just kept building; and I got better. It felt like the only thing I could do to help, and I did n't know if it really did anything, but if it could make him happy for just a minute then I was going to do it.
After a long 18 months my father passed away in his sleep. After his body was cremated my Mom was unsure what to do with the ashes, she felt like he deserved something special. My sister suggested spreading them around some of his favorite places, and it was my idea to put a few on the boat and let it take sail. So I placed a small glass jar with my Dad's remains on our boat. And I wrote a note to explain how he always wanted to sail out into the world. Then one morning we went to the pier and pushed it out into the calm morning ocean. I did n't ever expect it to go anywhere, it was really more symbolic than anything.
Now suddenly, here I was, running on the beach one Saturday morning years later and a thousand miles or so South of where I grew up when something caught my eye. I slowed down and made my way over the the rocks at the edge of the water. There was no way that crashed up against the rocks was my boat, my pirate ship. But unlikely as it seemed, I was certain this was the boat I felt with my Dad. I picked it up and carried it away from the water, then sat down on the beach to inspect it. The flags looked like they had been torn and sewn together at least seven times. The hull was full of cracks which had been fixed with wood putty. It looked like the boat had been shipwrecked multiple times and fixed up every time before being sent back out to the ocean. As I looked over it I realized the cabins at the back had been lined with something on the inside.
I turned the boat and found a latch at the back of the boat. I opened the old ship to find the middle of the boat had been modified. It was cored out for easier access and lined with some sort of water proof material.The hull was filled with scraps of paper and small trinkets: sea shells, coins, a locket, small things. As I pulled out the papers I realized they were all numbered in the top left corner.
First I found number one. It was my original letter explaining that I had built the boat with my Dad and sent his ashes out for one last journey. Then I found letter number two. It explained how a sister and brother found the boat one day. They had fixed the mast and sewn the sail back together before outlining instructions for future finders of the boat to fix it up, add something small, and set it out to sail. They had added sea shells from their collection. Note number seven was a teacher who brought it into his high school woodworking class. It was there were a student suggested they gut the boat and line the insides. This way more trinkets could fit and the letters would be safe without having to be placed in small bottles or plastic sandwich bags.
Every letter had a story of the finders. They had fixed the boat, sewn the sails back together, written a not, and added a trinket before sending it back off. As I fought off the tears reading the letters I could only imagine how overjoyed my father would be to see our little woodworking project now. When I brought the boat home my daughter asked if it was for her. I told her not quite, but it would sure make me happy if she would help me fix it. She was seven years old, and I loved to spend every moment I could with her.
It took us three weeks to fix the boat before we went out to the shore to set it out once more. My daughter had written her very own note explaining how we found the boat and why the next person who found it should help fix the boat again. She had added a few pieces of sea glass that she had found during our walks on the beach. Just before we set it off I placed her letter in the back off the boat. Lastly I placed in the small vile of my Dad's ashes, and next to it I placed another small vile with my mother's. Finally the two could be together again as they set off to explore the world.
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[ WP ] The chosen one destined to defeat the great evil and save the world has died in a freak accident . There is no replacement . How does the world react ?
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`` Well. Shit.''
``... That, that's it?''
He looks back at the president. Thinks for a second then nods.
`` Yeah, pretty much. I mean, there was a chosen one for a reason. There was one, who had been chosen. I mean, it's not like there was a back up.'' He laughs at the silly idea. `` Can you imagine? A chosen one understudy? Oh good times.''
`` Heh... yes, but what do we *do*?'' The president asks trying to cover his nervousness and match the carefree attitude of the man in charge of the Association of Choosing.
`` Oh we're screwed.''
``... What.''
`` Yeah, we're all gon na die. So, I guess just chill out and wait for it. I got some pot, want some?''
``...''
**We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an important message from the president**
The president sits at his chair, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up and his tie thrown over his shoulder. He's staring at his hands.
`` Duuuuddee... look at my arm feet...'' he waves them in front of his eyes and the camera shakes as the person behind it giggles uncontrollably.
`` Shh! Shh! Dude, you're, you're like gon na wake people up!''
`` Oh! hehehe, Sorry!'' The cameraman whispers.
`` Oh wait, wait, tell'em about the chosen one!'' The president says, like it's the greatest idea ever.
`` Naw, man! That's your job!''
`` Whoa, you're right....Look, country my country....sweet country of mine, the country of my eye WE HAD... a shot. And, we kinda blew it'' He breaks into a burst of laughter `` There's this huge end-of-the-world buzz kill thingy that's supposed to happen and there was this guy who was like, chosen and stuff by my buddy here'' the camera turns to reveal the head of the AOC who waves at the camera, then laughs again. `` He like, died man.''
In their homes millions are sobbing, dumbfounded. Some are laughing, because this was n't news. Everyone knew this was happening, they just thought they had hope in the chosen one.
`` It makes you like, *think* man, life is so precious that-'' the broadcast stops. It's too late. In the office the president laughs again
`` Oops!''
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[ WP ] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years , but it comes with a cost .
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I think I'm the only one.
I have to be, right?
Before this all started, I was on the tail end of middle age. I did n't have much going for me. Lived alone, office job, nothing really special. Then that thought snuck into my mind. `` Youth for you, health for you, death from you, dead to you''. It was weird. I'm not even sure how I knew what it meant, but that was clear too. If I killed others, I'd stay young.
Now, I'm not the sort that takes risks. I guess you can tell that from the fact that my prior life can be summed up in less than a paragraph. So I had to know, but I was n't willing to just walk up to someone and murder them. That's insane. There had to be another way. It was pretty obvious, actually. I had to become an executioner.
Even that turned out to be fairly risk-free. I went back to school, got the medical degree it takes to administer the poison. Then I moved to Texas and got a job in the prison system. The first kill was nerve wracking, but not for the reason it should have been. It was easier than a Sunday morning to kill this guy. He was a Mexican gangster who had killed dozens of people. No, that was easy. The hard part was not knowing what was going to happen to me. As it turns out, nothing happened, at first.
When I went home that night, after I killed him, I felt normal. I was eating dinner, alone in my apartment when the changes started. My skin felt tight and itchy. My whole body felt odd. Like I was vibrating inside. I went to a mirror, and I could see what was happening. My wrinkles were smoothing out. Grey hair was turning dark. But there was a downside, too. I could feel all of these regrets coming to me, that I knew were n't mine. I regretted that I had n't cared for my mother in Mexico City. My own Mother had passed away over a decade ago, so this one stood out. There were thousands of them! Regretting getting into crime. Regretting not killing that bastard that eventually turned me in...
Eventually, I came to grips with all the regrets. It was n't easy. Physically, being young again ( I felt like I was 35. That's young, from where I was ) felt amazing. Mentally, I'm not sure if I can ever do it again. Unfortunately, I'll find out in two weeks. That's when the next execution is. I hope this guy has fewer regrets.
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[ WP ] She whispered in my ear `` You will surly die ''
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I stood on the edge of the Empire state building, staring over the railing.
I was unaffected by that cliche focusing and unfocusing in quick succession depiction of vertigo you always see in television shows. The ground looked as far away as it ever had.
It had n't been very hard to get up here. Maybe hard was n't best. It had n't been complicated to get up here. I simply pried open a few doors with my trust friend the crowbar and walked my happy ass up the stairs. Now that was hard. I'd never worn one of these packs before, so I had no idea how much it weighed other than heavy. And let me tell you, this damn building is tall. I never really paid attention in school, so I do n't know if there's a taller building in the United States that I could have used. It did n't matter anyway. I did n't want to spend another six months walking to find a taller building, and it's not like the trains were on time these days either. I could n't just go wherever I pleased on a whim. The pedal bike I found had been a godsend, if there was a god to send it.
The wind blew at my back and unsteadied me on the ledge, whispering in my ear with a hot voice - almost real, and the first I'd heard in years now.
She said `` You will surely die.'' Her words hissing out like the air from a flat tire, slow and sinister
I spoke aloud, to know one in particular - for I knew she was n't real and any words I heard were of my own machinations.
`` I do n't think it will, but I pose no great loss to the world if it does. After all, who is left to mourn me?''
I jumped, praying to whomever answered these days that my math was right, and that whatever made parachutes work did n't stop working with the engines and the satellites.
-- --
I've had an idea brewing for a while now, of the last man on earth exploring the ruins of civilization and just doing whatever he wants. He's alone and the only person he has to talk to is the wind, and she is n't nice.
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[ WP ] Write an interesting short story about a Man and his Laptop
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One click here then one click there. Working hard night and day a man became the laptop ’ s best-friend. She was beautiful, she was unique, she was faithful to her man. He worked so hard night and day and she never complained. One lonely night she fell accidentally off his bed breaking his heart into pieces. This was a man that had a best-friend laptop that one night he accidentally broke. The laptop stopped working it did not work anymore. The man had a laptop, the man had a love. The man heart was broken when his laptop fell on the floor.
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[ WP ] Write a story with as many clichés as you can .
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It was a dark and stormy night. John stood outside of the house, as thunder rumbled in the sky, the rain drenching him. The locals avoid the house like a plague, but not John. Mary Susan, the mayor's daughter was kidnapped yesterday, and they said that she was taken to this house.
John knew little of the history of the house. From his visit to the tavern, the bartender told him that a lady was murdered centuries ago in the house by her abusive husband. Ever since her death, her vengeful spirit was rumoured to have haunted the house since, kidnapping young virgins as sacrifice.
John's boots sink slightly into the wet mud as he walked towards the front door. The glasses of the windows were mostly shattered, their background a void of pitch black. The paint of the house was peeling away, revealing the green mold that was eating the house up.
Like a kid in a candy store, John's heart was racing. In all his adventures saving the world, nothing gets him more excited than hunting down ancient spirits. There was a prophecy in the town that mentioned of a saviour finally putting an end to the town's curse, and like the other places that he had visited, John was pretty sure that he was Springfield's chosen one as well.
He kicked open the door, sending it crashing unto the floor. A cloud of dust flies up. Years of neglect had weakened the door's resolve, while the dust found a new undisturbed home.
Not far from John, seated in the living room, John saw Marie Susan. The bartender was indeed telling the truth. She was the most beautiful woman that John had ever met. She was tied to a chair, with a cloth over her face. Despite the dirt on her skin, she still looked gorgeous. Smooth white skin that glowed beneath the candle light, and smooth golden hair that John wanted to run his fingers through. If everything went well, they would make passionate love all night in John's room later after he rescued her.
`` Howdy,'' John said, tipping his cowboy hat at her.
He made his way towards Mary Susan, but a chandelier came crashing down, forcing him to jumped towards the corner of the room. As he tried to get his bearings, he could not help but notice the numerous splatter of red across the walls. If the walls could speak, they would have told John of the horrors that they have witnessed.
A shriek came from behind John, and he quickly lunged forward, narrowly missing the shriveled hands that wanted to tear his flesh off. John managed to roll away in time as the spirit of Madam Smith lunged at him. John has to think out of the box to defeat an otherworldly creature.
He instinctively reached for his gun, and emptied its cartridge at the ghost. White beams of light shot out from Madam Smith's body as they made contact, causing her to shriek in pain. The remaining glasses in the house shattered just like the spirit, and the house once again returned to silence, with only the soft sobbing of Mary and the patter of rain outside. Holy water blessed bullets always seemed to do the trick with spirits.
He walked with his victory swagger towards Mary, spinning his gun with his finger. His butt swayed from left to right and back to left, before he knelt beside the young lady.
`` My apologies if that startled you,'' John lifted Mary's hand up, and planted a gentleman's kiss on the back of her palm.
Before he could cut off her ropes however, John heard a familiar shriek coming from Mary. He looked up to see her face changing, blood pouring out from her eyes. She lunged at him, sinking her long nails into John's body.
John yelled and woke up, panting. Everything was just a horrible dream.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -
/r/dori_tales
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[ WP ] You are the last custodian on earth . The human race is still alive on other planets but you have been tasked to `` turn off the lights '' for earth 's final day with a human on it .
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`` There's not much to do.'' These were almost the final words the previous custodian spoke to me. Pulling a set of keys out, he half smiled, shrugging his shoulders ever so slightly, and tossed them on the desk. `` Well... see ya.'' and that was it.
Over two centuries ago, humanity, in a lurching, ham-fisted attempt at righteousness decided our planet had just about enough of us. Of course by this time we had long conquered the heavens and cleaned out anything of value from beneath our feet. Every man, woman, and child be they Asian, American, Wiccan, or just plain weird was packed up and shipped out. New horizons, and all that. Earths custodians were tasked with making sure there were no pockets of humanity left to foul the joint up. To that end, ever since the exodus, tiny robotic drones have scoured the planet searching for anyone left behind. The custodians got to filter through the reports.
There had n't been a person in almost 100 years. The last one was found in what was Niagara Falls living in a wax museum. He'd rigged up an elaborate escape mechanism in case he was discovered. It culminated in a plunge over the falls inside a protective structure he'd cobbled together. He did n't survive.
At any rate, today marked the hundredth year without a sighting, and I as the last custodian, was about to leave.
I stood on the last step on top of the stairs that led into my shuttle. I could n't help but to look around. The last human to inhabit earth was about to leave, and the only witness to the occasion were the birds. The only pomp was provided by a breeze rustling through the trees. It did n't feel like much of a farewell. I suppose, though, as far as the remaining creatures of the earth were concerned, it was a rood riddance.
I turned, entered the shuttle, and closed the hatch.
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[ WP ] On a public bus , you think `` Oh shit , they better look behind them '' as a joke trap for mind readers . Everyone on the bus simultaneously looks behind them .
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This, the last will and testament of Emperor Norman, is witnessed by Associate Veronica and therefore in accordance with world rules as his final words and wishes.
*Oh shit, they better look behind them. *
I still remember the day that thought crossed my mind. Well, I say thought, but it would be difficult to classify the realization behind it a simple thought. It was impossible. No, improbable.
It was on a Tuesday, at approximately 4:30 pm Eastern standard time. My knowledge of the day up to this point is hazy, at best. After that time, however, my memory is sharp. It was a hot day in New York City, the hottest of that summer or the three previous. The pavement threatened to change states, forsaking its solid form for a fluid existence. That day there were eight instances of road rage involving weapons on the Brooklyn Bridge alone. Air conditioning units became weary with strain. The city felt under the attack of a foe it had no means of battling. Oppressed, they resigned defeat in every aspect of their being.
The L Train was down for four stops. The first of the subsequent four being the stop nearest myself. The nice people at MTA decided that they would provide one bus for the route under construction at a time nearing rush hour traffic. One bus, for inbound and outbound. I, myself, had dedicated my perception of the day to be one of a positive nature, and even I could not hold back the pure annoyance of waiting for that bus. When the bus finally showed there was a rush of elbows and snide comments, a battle of passive aggressive attitudes to board the bus. As we boarded the bus, my nose was in the path of an elderly ladies elbow. When the black of dreams subsided I was standing upright on the bus. The bus was so packed that my body remained upright without even the smallest of effort. The people behind me must have forced my unconscious body onto the bus in a desperate wave. Needless to say, a fucked day.
We hadn ’ t moved twenty feet before we were stuck in thick, unmoving traffic. The air conditioning on the bus tried its best to cool, but it was thwarted by the unseen bombardment of heat from the sun. As the tension between the people on that bus increased my mind began to tumble into a thought process which I remember quite clearly.
*What if each of our thoughts are adding to a collective consciousness? Each of us adding to the vibrations and affected the people around us. What if you could control the flow of what is emanating and influencing? *
What was there for me to lose? No one would know the crazy path my brain had chosen to go down, it was impossible to read minds. My next thought triggered a change of mind on using the word ‘ impossible ’ quickly replacing it with ‘ improbable ’.
*Oh shit, they better look behind them. *
A test of the emergency broadcast system. The test was successful.
Everyone of the bus turned to look behind them. Some took a little longer than others, but in the end they all turned in a paranoid manner to view the looming danger their mind had warned them about. That had to be a fluke of coincidence.
Again.
*It ’ s cold in here. *
The people on the bus began to regret their choice of thin clothing. I know this because their thoughts were easily witnessed. They were surface thoughts. Intention of movement, judgmental decisions, and inane processes focused around regret of a recent decision. They shivered. I freaked out and pulled the cord for the next stop, but we remained still in traffic. Thrusting your body through a tightly packed sea of people isn ’ t easy, unless you can force the sea to part.
*Move! Out of my way! *
Even the people who had postponed reacting the first two times moved aside. They all moved, smashing each other against the side of the bus. Some even sat in a stranger ’ s lap to make room in the aisle and the stranger thought nothing of it. I must have sprinted for five or six blocks before stopping to catch my breath, and by that I mean light up a cigarette. My hands shook so, making it difficult to put flame to tobacco. The people passing that witnessed my shaky and feeble attempts judged my actions with great prejudice. Their thoughts were crystal clear in my own mind. I could hold back no longer.
*Look at this junkie. *
“ I ’ m not a junkie. Who do you think you are? I ’ m not the one who beat my son almost to the point of death. ”, I screamed as he walked with a far more brisk pace than before.
*Oh my god, poor man. He needs help. Someone should help him. *
“ Then why don ’ t you ask how you can? Your apathy is worse than any evil in this world. ”, I retorted to her thought. A single tear formed in right eye before she broke eye contact to rush away.
The cigarette was close to the butt when I took the final drag and tossed it. The moment immediately following a cigarette had always contained more zen for me than the post-coital state.
*I don ’ t want to be like them, but I am. My judgments upon their private thoughts is no different than anyone else. *
That moment -- yes, that was when the world needed to be changed and I would be the vehicle driving it to a better tomorrow.
Now, as this is being dictated, this bed will be my final resting place. A ripe old age, seventy-eight. I never forced anyone to do anything else beyond that point. Using my gift of, what some would call telepathy, others were given the ability to view the world from the perspective of the people around them. It took me three years to learn how to increase the range of this power to state-side, then another seven to reach across the entire Earth. True empathy now existed. We have achieved a peace unknown throughout the history of time itself, but this gift does not grant immortality. The small strokes suffered at least once a year for thirty years are catching up to me in my fragile age. Seizures plague my existence, almost every hour on the hour... but, I wouldn ’ t have it any other way.
This is where I leave you, my fellow humans. It is my hope that you will continue to respect each other when this gift is taken from you. Take all that you have taught yourselves and evolve into something greater. You don ’ t need me anymore. Goodbye, and may the future bring far more happiness and understanding than the previous day.
Always forward,
Emperor Norman Thompson
As witnessed by: Associate Veronica Ropely
Edit: Added italics for thoughts, also formatting
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[ WP ] The Great Filters do exist , but humanity has failed them all . Nobody understands how we 're still around .
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`` They landed on Sol 4!'' said Great Director Jarvod. To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. `` But they were n't supposed to even get out of Africa, what happened to the Neanderthals? The ones we put in the Fertile Crescent and Europe, to keep them from civilization.''
`` Gone'' said Arch Advisor Bront. Unlike Jarvod, Bront was n't shocked or even scared he has studied this `` humanity'' since it was his task given to him. `` My Great Leader before we do anything rash, perhaps there is still hope in...'' Bront said before he was interrupted. `` Hope? Hope! How can you say that? 609 cycles ago every race in the Galactic Union fought them and brought them down to their homeworld. It took every race just to defeat them! We are still recovering from the damage they've dealt all those cycles ago!''
`` My Great Leader! If I may speak.'' said Bront. Jarvod apologetically looked at Bront and said `` My apologies Bront, I gave in to my Impulsivity, please continue.''
`` These humans have no memories or record of their prior existence, they absolutely have an immense hated of war, and have put focus to tolerance and ending discrimination in the last years, trust me my friend when I say, we can expect peaceful contact with them.''
Jarvod stood their looking out the window seeing the vastness of space and at the center of it his homeworld, Devrem. He was conflicted, 960 billion lives depended on him. `` I... do n't know what to do, this is a heavy decision. What do you advise my friend, you are assigned to study them and are my maid advisor.''
Bront confidently told Jarvod `` We should make them our allies and initiate first contact with them once they have colonized Alpha Centauri, they should have sufficient technology once they have established control in that region, furthermore they are no longer monsters, they are devoted to peace and prosperity but their demons still lie within them, should our competitors the Dothrin Empire and the United Loreman Systems, decide to come into contact with them or in the former's case conquer them then it would be extremely beneficial to have the legendary infamous humans on our side.''
`` How beneficial?'' asked Jarvod. `` If the humans join the Union, we can expect the Dothrin empire to be wiped out when we engage in war with them and increased trade and influence with the United Loreman Systems.'' Jarvod just stared intensely at Bront, that was to put it bluntly, fucking amazing. `` Inform the council, we will be initiating first contact procedures with the humans now, not in a cycle, NOW.'' Bront knew this would happen. `` Perhaps we should wait for the councils decision regarding the humans first. `` replied Bront.
`` No! They barely get anything done, the older, blinded by fear races will just want to exterminate them, creating even more casualties.'' Jarvod said slamming his hand on the desk. Bront smiled and said `` That is something the humans will agree with wholeheartedly.''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
This is my first story on this sub, so I do n't expect it to be great. Also I would appreciate it if anyone could give me tips to improve my writing.
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[ HP ] Write about your Dad to Celebrate Father 's Day !
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I walked down the hall. My sister was at school, my mother at work, and I was here. I opened the door, and registered `` Cardiovascular'' before moving on.
It was a strange configuration to me, not having been in many hospitals then. A central area with a large desk and staff area, and on the walls, the rooms. In each room, a bed, a machine, and a person. I walked around, looking but not seeing, until I found a nurse.
`` Hi, I'm looking for my dad.'' I told her. She was easily half a foot shorter than me, but I felt small.
`` What's his name?'' She asked, I told her. She pointed, I turned.
It was a room I had passed before, twice before actually. I had n't recognized him. His blond hair, usually coiffed as well as it could be for its thinness, was dry and disheveled on his head. His eyes were closed. His lips were dry. His lungs, thank God, moved up and down steadily. His heart rate was too fast. The machine beeped too quickly. Everyone else's hearts had slowed, but his was fresh from a quadruple bypass, it was adjusting. Everything was adjusting.
I walked in. `` He's very tired'' his nurse, a shrill blond woman with a WASP name, said. `` I'll be quick,'' I said, with no intention of being quick. I set my coat down and walked over.
His eyes opened. They did n't light at the sight of me. He looked hungry. Very hungry. I hoped that was a good thing. `` Hi Dad.'' I said, smiling as weakly as he.
`` Hello my love.'' He smiled wide. The hunger in his eyes was still there, but so was the smile. My smile widened in turn.
`` How are you, father?'' I said. He looked me in the eyes, and without missing a beat, said. `` Thirsty.''
At the time, I thought he was making light of his condition, but I later found out he was on a low-moisture diet, only so many millilitres or water in a day. His kidneys had failed in addition to his heart, and he would need to dialyse every day for the rest of his life. But in the moment, it was the perfect thing to say to a son who thought his father would die within the week.
`` Is there anything I can do?'' I said.
`` Yes. There's a cup of ice chips on the table. Spoon me some.''
I pulled up a chair, got the little styrofoam cup, and began spoon feeding my father ice chips. Each one was a panacea, his face lit up, his voice returned. Each chip brought him closer to life.
We talked, and I spooned him ice. `` Only give him a few more,'' said his nurse. Go fuck yourself, Amy or Jenny or whatever. We talked and spooned for a while more. He told me how he felt ( weak ), I told him how I was ( better now ) and at the end, I squeezed his hand and hugged him hard. My chin rested agains his shoulder, where I felt the port for the dialysis machine. Across my palm on his chest, I felt the scar where they had opened him up and saved him. I gave him a kiss and left. I saw the love in his face and the hunger in his eyes and I knew he was going to live.
I hope I'm right for a very long time.
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[ WP ] In the final episode of Top Gear , a hearing to decide which presenter gets custody of the Stig .
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Some say he was raised by wolves...
Some say he survives solely on the embarrassment of his racing victims...
He's called the Stig!
“ Our tame racing driver is the best in the WUH-UH-UHLD though, he can ’ t go to James, he ’ s a knob! ” said Jeremy Clarkson from the side of the room.
While James May and Richard Hammond were wearing their Sunday best for the hearing to decide the fate of the Stig, Jeremy was wearing an orange inmate uniform, which obviously didn ’ t help his case. After he was fired by the BBC, Jeremy went haywire and tried to injure his boss with a hammer, his solution to all his problems. Typical Jezza.
James spoke next: “ Well to start, Jeremy is probably the biggest idiot in the “ wuh-uh-uhld ” so the Stig obviously can ’ t go to him. He needs constant care and a loving environment to grow his racing abilities. Jeremy doesn ’ t provide that. Richard is also 15 years old so he obviously can ’ t take care of someone so valuable. ”
Jeremy called James a blubbering idiot and turned as red a tomato. He started pounding the desk violently and had to be sedated. He obviously won ’ t be getting custody over the Stig.
Richard decided it was his turn to speak: “ Well, it ’ s clear Jeremy is psychotic and James is an old bloke who can ’ t get a woody without a week ’ s notice, how could the Stig enjoy life if he lived with an old timer like James? ”
Richard went on and on about how he felt he deserved the Stig and how he was abused in all the episodes of Top Gear for being short and young and how he felt entitled to have something that the other hosts coveted.
After the three presenters made their case, it seemed like no one was going to get custody. The Stig looked confused, the sadness about the splitting up of his hosts was clear in his mask.
The Stig rose, walked calmly out of the hanger, never to be seen again.
Some say he went back to the wild...
Some say he went to the United States to make their Top Gear suck less...
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[ WP ] `` No . What I 'm saying is that 26 and 28 are two totally different numbers . ''
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`` No. What I'm saying is that 26 and 28 are two different numbers.'' she spoke with frustration and impatientce in her voice. Her eyes darted around to see if anyone was paying attention to her conversation. Her voice lowered to almost a whisper, `` 26 kilos is n't what I payed for. Where are the other 2!?'' Nervously her underling responded, `` I do n't know, it just was n't there.'' The anger in her voice was noticeable, but she replied calmly, `` Find it, steal it, kill for it, I do n't care, I just want my other 2 precious kilos by tonight or I'll take away your two precious kids until I get what I payed for.'' Sobs were all that were heard when she hung up.
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[ WP ] You are a siren who lures sailors to their deaths . Tell your story .
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My name is, no. Not that my name is no, it ’ s just that you shouldn ’ t concern yourself with unimportant details like names. I am beautiful, am I not? Shhh. I know, I know, your ship is leaving, no, they are not coming back, they will sail away, because they do not love you like I do. I didn ’ t choose to love you, I didn ’ t choose you. The song did. The song is more than me, and you. The song is everything. You heard the song when you were born, you heard the song when your parents told you they were proud of you, when you kissed your first girl, when you first decided that you loved the sea, and you will hear the song when you die. It is the same for me. I was brought into the world by the song. Though for us it is crueler, I can sing my song, but each word, each breath that leaves my lips takes some of my song with it. You see, I need you. I love you. Your song is so beautiful, I heard it when your ship drew close, and when our songs touched, well, it was magic.
I know, you ’ re afraid, all you know is this world, I know that there is a part of you still fighting, still trying to return to your life before our songs became one. That part of you has always been afraid, always told you that you couldn ’ t succeed, that you shouldn ’ t go, or shouldn ’ t stay, or asked you maybe she isn ’ t the one. That part of you hates you, it would kill the song if it could. It would create a world with no fear, no danger, it would kill all of the dragons and monsters, and turn off the stars. It would flatten every mountain, and fill every sea, fill the sky with light so there would never be night. It would kill me.
Don ’ t look at me such, please don ’ t hate me, I am not without compassion, I do not take just to take, this is my breath, this is my life, and when our songs are one, you will be part of my song, part of me. I will forever more sing about the woman you loved before me, her name was Megan, and her hair was the color of honey, and her eyes like the sea. Your father Curt, and his strong arms and fair voice, he would sing to your mother Alice on nights when you all gathered around the fire and tell you tales of the way the world should be. Of your first ship, the Grey Cutter, and how afraid you were of its height and size, but how brave you were when those men attempted to take her by force. Your life is beautiful, like a spring storm, you came on so fast, you overtook me with your waves and song like thunder rang out to me, it begged me to call you, and mine would take none other once it heard the beauty of yours.
I fear I will not have many more like you, the world is growing so afraid, so fearful that no one chooses to live. They instead stay on their islands called countries and wooden caves called homes, and warn their children against the sea. They are all so afraid that even if I were to come across them, their song would be so fouled by fear I could not take them, even if I had no other. I know others came on the boat with you, but their hearts knew only fear, you were afraid too, but more than fear was the excitement, the others warned you of me, said not to come this way. They tried to take you when you heard our song, they were fools. You are perfect, you are complete, you are alive, and I love you for it.
Normally I would have let our songs swell and soar and become one by now, but your song is so sweet so full of life and living, we will take it slow, I will let you sing all that you can so that others, when they come to me, will know that you lived. Sing to me of your birth, your childhood, your first skinned knee, your first fear, your first success, your first failure. Sing to me of all the others that you have known. Sing to me of your dreams, and desires. Sing to me, sing to me!
Shhhh, I know it is getting difficult to sing my love, the waters work against us, they move to swallow you, to take your perfectness from me and hide you in their depths, but please love, sing to me a little longer. Sing to me.
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[ WP ] It 's been 20 years since Willy Wonka abandoned his factory , leaving the Oompa Loompas locked inside . You are an urban explorer and the first human to enter the building since it 's closing .
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`` No matter how you dice it, there's definitely an access-point here,'' I said, pointing with my protractor, `` but we're gon na have to climb through five miles of sanitary sewer to get there.''
`` Did somebody say sanitary sewer??'' it was'Ninjalicious', the leader of our little group. `` How soon can we get a group together??''
It was n't the first time we'd taken the smelly route to get into places we were n't supposed to go. By now, everyone's read our exploits underneath the Twin Cities. If there's one group you can count on to splash around in human waste, it's us. We put Andy Dufresne to Andy Du-shame.
That's how we ended up fifty feet below Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, swinging away with our pickaxes to break through a layer of solidified crap.
`` Oh gross,'' spat one of the junior scouts, `` I think some just got in my mouth!'' We all choked back our gag reflexes. `` But,'' he went on, `` it's weird, it tastes kind of sweet.''
Soon we were through the obstacle and climbing up a ladder into the chocolate factory proper. `` I wan na get my hands on some fizzy lifting drink if there's any laying around,'' Ninjalicious confided to me. `` With some of that shit, there ai n't a rooftop in town that can keep us out.''
But before we could really get our explore on, we were caught by a ragged troop of Oompa Loompas. They sang a little song to us:
-- -- -
Oompa, loompa, doompity do,
What does a lot of exploring get you?
A police record and a terrorist suspicion or two!
Oompa, loompa, doompity dat,
Where are all the explorers hanging out at?
They're in the hospital, they did n't have proper Hazmat!
-- -- -
`` Wait a second, how the hell are you guys still alive,'' Ninjalicious interrupted, `` This factory's been locked down for decades, how do you eat?''
`` Everlasting gobstoppers,'' they said. `` You've all been bad kids, you're going to have to be punished! That's what happens to little kids here in Wonkaland.'' Normally we would n't have taken something like that very seriously, but the head Oompa Loompa had a damn shotgun. Needless to say, we split up and ran for our lives.
Ninjalicious ran straight for the Pocky forest. The last I ever saw him, a bunch of Oompas dressed like ninjas had him surrounded. I've heard that sometimes if you peek through the factory windows with binoculars, you can see a giant pocky stick wandering around sadly. I can only hope Ninjalicious was lucky enough to get away with such an easy fate. I do n't know what happened to the rest of the group, but I do know our junior scouts always had been fond of blueberries.
As for yours truly, the Oompas caught me and put me in front of a sham trial. The Oompa judge looked at me with this look totally devoid of pity or human sympathy, and sentenced me to the'Chocolate River'. I was sure I was a goner, I was already saying my prayers. But fate was on my side, that'River' landed me right back where this whole story started: the sanitary sewers underneath the factory. I guess to a little kid that would pretty much be that. But I am an Urban Explorer. There ai n't no sewer yet that's stopped an explorer like me!
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[ WP ] You have a superpower , but it only works when you 're holding your breath
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Blue, like a... baby seal... in the night? Yeah, yes, that perfectly describes Gary's face at this moment. What the fuck is he doi…
Taking in a huge breath and breaking my ‘ relentless ’ train of thought, Gary suddenly released a sentence that can only be described as something in-between an excited yell and the wheezing gasps of an air-starved child.
`` Dude you're going to think I am crazy, but I swear to god this is real! ”
I must look very fucking confused right now.
“ I have a superpower! Finally! ”
“ Really? How convenient that you would finally find it when we ’ ve both been smoking… ” I said, hardly able to hide what was about to become a grin.
Not wanting to ruin the moment, I suppressed a laugh.
“ I ’ m serious! Look. When I hold my breath, I… I don ’ t need air anymore!!! It ’ s awesome! ” he couldn ’ t hide his obvious excitement.
“ Gary… ” But before I could continue, he dramatically raised his hand, signalling my silence.
“ Just watch! Last time I did it for almost 40 seconds! ”
He started again, taking in a single huge, deep breath and billowing his cheeks out to monkey like proportions. I couldn ’ t stop myself anymore. I felt it coming, the kind of laugh that doesn ’ t stop until it hurts. Finally, full-blown man giggle erupted from my person. This chained itself into more fuel for my unending laugh, synergising itself with Gary ’ s increasingly blue face. Unfortunately 40 seconds of constant riotous laughter proved too much for my chemically addled mind. I fainted as the conveniently placed clock behind Gary ’ s baby seal blue balloon cheeks read 3:15pm.
I sat-up on the couch. It felt as if quite some time had passed. My intuition was confirmed as my fatigued eyes peered over to the clock. It read 4:06pm. Gary was still there as well, still holding his breath, his cheeks now glowing in neon blue. The smoky room was bathed in his pulsating blue light, a rising sub-aural bass alternating its beat with the pulses.
Goddammit Gary.
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[ WP ] Write a story about a specialized profession you know nothing about . Do no research . Confidently make up all details .
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I'm a deep-sea welder. The main thing about being a deep-sea welder is that sharks bother you all the time. And I mean all of the time. It's the heat that comes off of my water resistant blowtorch. Sharks are a lot like cats and they love anything warm. They swim up with their belly out as if they want you to stroke them, but they are just trying to warm up. If you try to stroke them it shreds your welding gloves. And then water gets into your suit. And then you drown. So I do n't recommend it.
If they bother me too much I just boop them with the flame. It does n't hurt them because their scales are flame-resistant, but it does make them think twice about bothering me again.
You might be wondering how flames work underwater. Our blowtorches use a special chemical compound that's super reactive and can ignite just from the oxygen in water. We have to be really careful with these and when we surface we store our gear in vacuums so it does n't blow up.
Most days I'm fixing oil pipelines but I've worked on some really cool projects. Once I got called by a government agency to fix their submarine. They could n't bring it back to base because it was top secret, so they flew me out to its location and it patched up a weak spot in the hull. All the sailors waved at me from the inside. They looked a bit thin but if they can fly out a welder then they can fly out some hamburgers I assume. My other favorite job is actually ongoing. There's guy who lives out in Florida who's trying to build a hotel and restaurant complex a few miles off the coast of Hawaii. It seems to spring a leak every five minutes so it paid for my new kitchen and it's probably going to pay for my kid's colleges before he gives up.
I got the job as a deep sea welder the usual way. I was working on the docks welding boats together and one day some guy came and pushed me in. I was so confused I kept welding for a good five minutes. Apparently that's how they test you for aptitude. After that it was just a few short training courses and I was qualified deep-sea welder!
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[ CW ] Write the way you normally talk .
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`` I like stream of consciousness type writing so this should be alright. You know I reakon that everyone should learn how to write. It's an essential skill, we all know HOW to, it's just that heaps of us only write for work, or are used to writing some bullshit in a message or something.
It's such a good way of expressing abstract ideas, or venting your mind a little. For me it's really theraputic. I enjoy it.
I'd like to be better at it though.''
It scares me that this is really accurate. I need to learn how to speak with more purpose and direction.
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[ FF ] The Strange Ritual I Witnessed
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I remember when we first met, she called me a dumb-ass for retying both of my shoes when only one had come undone. I liked that about her - blunt and careless and never tired.
On our first date, she told me she had been with over 100 men in the past. On our second, she told me that she was alone forever.
When we moved in, I was shocked to see her laying face down on the floor every morning when I woke up - an outline of her face where her make-up had ran. She laid like that every morning, refusing to talk until the outline got darker and darker.
We tried, but I could n't fuck the cancer out of her. She was alone.
I can never bring myself to wash that spot on the hard-wood floor of the apartment we used to share.
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[ EU ] Take an established universe that does n't have dragons or any relation to dragons and ... add dragons .
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`` This is... madness. What are these? This is n't fair,'' said Paul as he stared at a creature flying in the cloudless Arrakis sky attacking a House Atreides aircraft.
Gurney gave a bellylaugh, `` All is fair in love and war, Paul.''
*This new development is troubling. Gurney thinks its amusing. My dreams never showed me these creatures. *
`` Where did the Harkonnens get such creatures? They're so large for flyers,'' added Paul.
A golden orinthopter flew closely next to a red dragon. A moment later the dragon spat fire and the fiery orinthopter crashed into the desert creating a small scortched crater.
`` No survivors,'' said Paul, putting down a small Fremen telescope.
`` How do we know they're Harkonnens,'' asked Gurney. `` They could be Fremen creatures. Afterall, they ride sandworms. These... things are smaller than sandworms. I ca n't make out if they have a rider.''
*He knows of Shai-Hulud. He knows Fremen ride. Was this reveal intentional? Interesting. *
Paul cleared his throat, `` That's a good point. I just assumed.''
Gurney patted Paul on the back, briefly feeling the liquid stored in his stillsuit. `` Never assume in war. Assumptions, like unrequited love, can lead to tragic results quickly.''
*Paul seems very concerned about these beasts. Why? What is he hiding from me? I want him to trust me completely in these dangerous times. His life may depend on it. *
`` Let's get back in our thopter and tell Thufir about this. He'll know what to do. He always seems to or at least pretends to,'' Gurney said as he opened the door of the craft.
*Does Gurney fear these? If not, why not? What is the relationship between these new creatures and the spice? *
`` Yes, good idea. Standing in the desert and watching them is n't doing us any good and it exposes us to our enemies,'' agreed Paul as he ducked into the craft.
`` Now you're thinking like a warrior and a leader,'' proclaimed Gurney as he sealed the cabin door and lifted the craft into the sky. `` I see not all of my training has been wasted,'' he added with a grin.
*Gurney's bravado and humor hides his fear. He is as anxious as I am, yet he does n't show it. *
Paul smiled, `` Yes, some say I am a good student, but I must admit I have had some good teachers.''
Gurney laughed, `` I hope you include me in that category!''
*Gurney does n't exist in any of my dreams. Is this the last time I see him? Does he know how much I value his counsel and loyalty? He must. *
Paul replied, `` Of course, Gurney, of course.''
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[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 36 - NaNo Prep # 1 : What will you write about ?
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I'm writing about a man's rise to power. What starts as a seemingly innocuous ascension spirals into something far more sinister. He starts small, posting on a small forum, then after a few years the lackeys at the top decide to give him moderating powers. Some things happen and the story ends with Kayci -- err, *him* as the ruler of the world with the rest of the degenerates beneath him wailing with regret for ever giving him a position of power.
OK seriously though, I love NaNoWriMo! My goal for this month is to bring my short story series I've been working on to Novel length. That means roughly 30,000 words in the next month. Doable.
I suck at elevator pitches, but here goes:
The series is about struggle and where we find solace. The short stories are based on realities we all face; from alcoholism to death to faith to regret. Each story is separate, each chapter a different character.
Ca n't wait to see what people are able to do!
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[ EU ] ( Elder Scrolls IV : Oblivion ) The Dark Brotherhood ( pre or post purification ) discovers that it 's newest recruit who has been rising through the ranks is also the Archmage , The Grey Fox , and the Hero of Kvatch .
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`` Brother Lucien, a word?''
`` Yes Vicente?''
The man looked troubled for a moment, eyes dashing around the dark room for a few seconds before he spoke again. `` I wanted to speak to you about the new Listener while he is away, I was wondering how you felt about him. Oh and I hope you will keep silent on the matter afterward, I want him to be offended.''
The Vampire was already nodding `` By the Sweet Mother, yes that man is unnerving. If I still pissed, I'd say he scares the piss out of me. HE RUNS EVERYWHERE! I've been alive hundreds of years and have never seen the sight. When he first came here it was at a full sprint. He ran around the rooms, eavesdropping on conversions. Then he went into every room and looked in every drawer, every barrel, every box we have. I would swear he had a knack to be part of the thieves guild but I've never SEEN him take a thing.''
`` Oh thank the dark mother, I hoped I was n't the only who was uncomfortable.'' Again the man eyed the dark corners of the room. `` I know what the town folk say of him. Archmage and leader of the fighting guild. By darkness he even the Champion of the Arena. How can a man so loved by the masses be so..so..inhuman? No offence.''
`` None taken, although I thought he might have been one of my kind under illusionary spells at first. Nope, just a normal human. I have no idea how he disappears like that. I was talking to him the other day and dropped a quill. He bent down to grab it for me and just like that he was gone. Stood back up and it was like he just sprung into existence. No magic involved as far as I could tell.'' Said Lucien.
`` Speaking of talking to him, have you noticed his always know what you are going to say before you say it? Like he's reading the word from the fold of your mind before you say it. And he some times asks the same questions over and over again, how can such a man be the hero of Kvatch.'' From Vicente.
Lucien nodded once more `` I can tell you he is a man of utter devotion to tasks when given something to do. Every time we gave him a mark he sprinted out the door and did that task without pause. I would swear his could find his target without looking up from his map. And no pause or break to celebrate his kills. Just to the place, make the kill, straight back here. Not just killing either. According to one of the brothers the Listener had taken on sack loads of equipment while between kills and went to the market to sell. The merchant did n't have enough coin to purchase every thing in his sack so he stood outside, still as a statue for three days and three nights time the same merchant had rebuilt his supply of coinage.''
`` Well maybe we can beseech him to help us with our current task. Three times our fortress has been robbed by the Gray Fox in as many weeks. Maybe he is our best hope for stopping this crime spree. I'm nearly out of funds my self restocking our pantry and stores. Why a master thief needs our old cheese and cutlery is beyond me.''
Running steps sounded from the hall and the assassins fell silent. The door opened and although no one was standing in the door way arrows came flying into the room taking both man and vampire unaware.
Vicente looked around himself, with a sickly feeling in his gut as if the world around him had just twisted back on its self. He had been meaning to talk Lucien about it for awhile now about the new Listener, but seemed to have lost his train of thought. Turning he said `` Brother Lucien, a word?''
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[ WP ] Pick your poison - write about the day of an addict .
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I wake up. My heart stops for a stutter-step before pounding back
madly, annoyed at the break in rythm. The room is fuzzy and for a
moment the only thing that seems real is the tick tick tick of the ceiling
fan. I need to fix that today, but I wo n't. I wipe my eyes and and try to
roll over, but he already knows I'm awake and I feel that happy stare
burning into the middle of my shoulders. I sigh and throw back the
covers, guilt and irritation at his exuberance pushing my body out of
bed. The dog runs down the hall, prancing beside his food dish. I stumble
halfway down the hall way before stopping and making my way back to
the bedroom to grab my phone. My thumb flicks the button and the little
rectangle lights up. No messages. I pocket it and walk to the kitchen,
throw some food in the bowl and put on a pot of coffee. It's almost time
for work, I really got ta stop staying up so late. My cell vibrates and I hit
the button before I realize what I'm doing: it's just the first ticket of the
day. I knew better than to set it up that way. I let the dog out into the
yard and settle into my chair, waiting for my laptop to boot up. Does n't
look busy so far, maybe it'll get busier. I'd sure like it to. It's hard to
think when you're trying to hit a deadline, easier to fight the urges. I
make it to lunch before checking the phone again. I missed the beep,
there's one new message: `` 5 pm.'' My heart starts pounding again and
everything kind of fades, y'know like some of those cheesy action scenes
in movies? All I can see is the number, stark against the white
background, larger than it could possibly be. Bing - a new ticket, is the
lunch hour up already? Does n't matter, was n't hungry anyway. I try
putting the phone away, first in the bedroom, then in a pocket, on the
kitchen counter. I finally settle on putting it beside my work phone, face
up so I'll see the light if there's anything new. Sometimes you got ta
compromise. 3 o'clock hits and it's slow, so I open a new tab. Damn
browser knows where I'm headed before I finish typing. I read the latest
update and quickly close the window, a spike of anger running through
me. There was no point in doing that, I tell myself. I promise myself I
wo n't do it again and get back to work after glancing at the phone: no
new messages. I'm done at 4 and I take the time to step outside and
smoke a cigarette, watching the wind catch the smoke and trying not to
think about how addictive they are. The irony makes me laugh. It's a
pretty day: sky's as blue as you could ever ask for, the breeze is juust
strong enough to balance out the slightly too hot heat of a southern
summer. It's almost time to cut the grass, but I've got a few days left. I
glance at the phone, there's a new message: `` on the way...'' The
pounding comes back, something fierce. I tell myself to relax, but for
some reason I ca n't catch my breath. The pounding gets louder and it's
hard to focus, my peripheral's shot. A detached part of my mind is
incredulous: `` Is this really happening? To me?'' Another part reaches back
to the degree I never used and spits up the symptoms of a panic attack.
I stagger inside, double checking the phone to be sure. Yep, all there:
nausea, rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath... by the third entry I could
have told you the rest just based on how I was feeling. I shuffled into
the bathroom, managed to peel off my clothes and turned on the
shower. I got in and sat down, hoping the water would wash this away.
The phone buzzed and I realized it was still in my hand. `` Running Late''.
Everything got dark and I knew I was about to die. My thumb weakly
flicks the button and the little rectangle flickered on. I tapped the screen
and it started calling. I got an answer on the first ring, which surprised
me a little. `` Hello? Sorry I'm running late.'' I do n't really know what I said,
but I must of sounded rough, because the voice immediately got urgent.
`` Just listen to me, listen to my voice baby, it's alright, it's gon na be
okay.'' I knew it was n't and I tried to say so, but it turns out you got ta
have some air in your lungs if you want to talk. So I just listened to the
voice and gradually the color came back. My lungs felt sore, but they still
scooped in great gulps of air and the tightness loosened. I said I was
okay and that'd I'd see them in a bit before turning the phone off. It took
a few more minutes before the shaking was completely gone and I
climbed out of the shower, but I forced myself to get dressed and walk
outside. I knew it was a bad idea, but I lit up another cigarette and I'm
proud to say that only the tip shivered just a bit as the black car pulled
up. The door opened up, the pounding started. She got out, the
pounding stopped, the world got still. `` We need to talk'' She said. And I
knew the high was over.
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[ WP ] You have a strange aura that surrounds you constantly . The closer you get to people , the lower their common sense and IQ drops . You are literally surrounded by idiots .
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People milled around outside the compound. All of the world's leaders were attending the summit, where they were discussing the problem with North Korea.
*North Korea is like the bastard child of the world - everyone knows it's there, but they choose not to acknowledge it. How... unlucky. *
`` Mr Kim, we have arrived at the compound. ``, a voice sounded from the speaker.
`` Thank you. Where is my speech? ``, I asked, a hint of weariness in my voice.
`` It's in your briefcase, sir.''
`` Park the car in the parking spaces.''
I opened the doors and got out of my car. It went off by itself to park. Make no mistake - there's no one driving it. Amazing how technology has progressed.
As usual, the main chambers were full of energy and people talking sense.
I went up to the President of the Untied States.
`` Mr. President, it is a pleasure you could finally make it. I hope to make some headway into today's issue. Hopefully there shall be some tangible outcome to this, no?''
`` Well, the problem with your country is that, well, it's really bad. People are dying and stuff. That is not good. So, uh, yeah.''
*How quickly the good fall. *
`` Alright, nice to meet with you. Where's the leader of South Korea?''
**Twenty-four hours later**
`` And with the passing of resolution A/RES/69/310, North Korea will now have the full ability to do war and take over all the countries. It will have all trade restrictions and sanctions removed. Furthermore, all other countries present will be disarming all their nuclear installations. With 193 for, 0 against, and 0 abstentions, this resolution passes and is effective immediately.''
*Victory is sweet. *
I pulled out my phone.
`` It's Kim. Launch the Last Offensive.''
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[ WP ] Flushing a toilet , through a series of butterfly effects , leads to the death of a very important person .
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I doubt that each snowflake feels responsible for beginning the avalanche.
But we all knew it began with Winston.
*Fucking Winston*.
He flushed the toilet during the Memorial service, as we were all in the gymnasium listening to our principal speak. He went and laid some cable, pinched a load, sat on the porcelain throne. *Call it what you will*. He took a large one.
Course, he forgot that he did it during maintenance time, so naturally, the toilet got clogged. Then overflowed. Of course no one noticed since the janitors always take their smoke break early.
So, only after the service did anyone notice.
It also happened to be the day our mayor decided to come by and inspect the school. Of course it was a disappointing mess, so he went home smelling of turds and bleach.
I guess if there is anything obvious about small rural towns, it's that they will only have one school, and more often than not, one set of bars and a stripper club.
That used the same brand of bleach.
And smelled of turds.
So, in all honesty, when we heard that the mayor had been shot by his wife because she allegedly claimed that he had been at the stripper club that smelt of turds and bleach, we all knew who had caused it.
*Fucking Winston. *
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[ WP ] You have been hired on a large renovation project which is taking place in a cave beneath a mansion . Some of the specifications , however , leave you with some questions for Mr. Wayne .
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I clicked off the bandsaw and the noise was replaced by a high pitched squealing as the Butler dragged the kid in and shoved him towards me. Mikey was my sister's kid and kind of a shit to be honest, but I'd promised that I would give him a go with my crew on this Wayne job. He was already proving more trouble than he was worth.
The snooty Butler crossed his arms and fixed me with a look that reminded me of Sister Mary Magdalene from my school days at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Roman Catholic school in Brooklyn, where I had spent many unhappy days as a kid getting into trouble. `` Your *boy* was skulking around the manor again.'' He shook his head. `` We have a works agreement for a *reason* you know?''
His clipped British accent only helped enforce the inferiority complex that I was trying to hide. I cuffed the kid around the head. `` What you doing in there Mikey? You freakin' stupid or something, what did I tell you about sticking with Paulie on the blasting job?''
He shrugged. `` I dunno, I got bored.''
`` Bored?'' I slapped his head again. `` You were helping him rig up dynamite, how bored can a kid get?'' I turned back to the butler. `` Tell Mr Wayne I'm sorry about this, it wont happen again.''
The Butler looked at Mikey and rolled his eyes. `` See that it does not. If Master Wayne were to find'Mikey' where he should not be, then you might not get him back again. Or at least not the way you last saw him.''
There was something weird in the way that he said it, but I just nodded and he turned on his heel and was gone. As soon as the door clicked shut I turned on the kid. `` You little numbnuts, I told your Ma I would give you a job and you mess me about like *this*? I should send you back to work with Cousin Danny on the shrimp boat.''
Suddenly Mikey came alive, his eyes gleaming with fight. `` I did n't want to come here anyway, I got ta career Uncle Louis, Ma just does n't take it serious or nothing.''
`` Career?'' I laughed. `` Your little music tunes you play in your room? C'mon kid, you need to get real.''
`` I *am* and I do n't need to be here working on your creepy old houses.'' He folded his arms and met my stare.
`` Creepy? Then why are you wandering around it kid? Why not just do your damn job?'' There as just a moment where he broke and something showed through, something odd, almost like fear. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. `` C'mon kid, spit it out.''
The passion returned. `` I saw something, okay, I just wanted to try to figure it out by myself.''
I cocked an eyebrow. `` Wha'da'ya mean you saw something?''
He shrugged. `` Like a guy, all dressed up funny, in a costume, like one of those superhero guys.''
`` Like a damn... like a damn Superhero guy?'' I held my breath and counted to ten but it did n't stop me exploding in anger. `` You're chasing around after damn superhero ghosts while you're on the job?'' I clipped him around the ear again and he shied away from me. `` This is your last chance Mikey, or it's back to 3am wake ups and smelling of shrimp, you got me?''
He nodded sadly. `` Just looked like a guy in a cape is all.''
He looked so sad I could n't help but laugh. `` Look, help me with this framework, we got ta install a road through a waterfall tomorrow and I got ta lotta work to get it just right.''
He held the other end and I began cutting, trying not to let my anger get in the way. Honestly, guy in a costume, this kid had some imagination.
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[ WP ] A demon has come to collect on a human who sold his soul a few years ago only to find an angel . 'This contract is null and void , ' the angel says .
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``... Damn it, Israfil.'' Abaddon rubbed his face. `` What are you doing here?''
The huge mass of hair shifted, seeming equally as upset. `` I also do n't want to be here,'' It said. Whenever it spoke, hundreds of voices spoke at once. Abaddon was just happy they were all in tune with each other. `` And it's Raphael, not Israfil.''
`` Let's just agree to disagree. The question still stands.''
It sighed. `` You must've come for Ronald Lewis.''
`` He sold his soul for Red Sox tickets.''
`` Bad move.''
`` I know. It's a legally binding contract, though.''
``....Yeah, about that...'' Israfil spat a rolled up piece of parchment at Abaddon. `` The contract is null and void.''
`` Take it up with Lucifer, Israfil.''
`` I guess you could just take it up with God then.'' Israfil responded flatly.
Abaddon unrolled the parchment. `` This looks like a summons. For what?''
`` This is n't even my real job, how would I know?'' Israfil muttered. `` Usually I'm just minding my own business and then I have to see a bunch of people getting tortured in Hell. It's depressing.''
`` A depressed angel. What a novel thought.''
`` In what way is that novel?''
`` It what way is n't it?''
`` Look, he's going to die in... hmm. Thirty minutes. We've got to come to an agreement.'' Israfil said. A tongue slipped out of the hairy mass and wrapped around the parchment that Abaddon was holding.
`` Right. What do you think we should do?'' Abaddon asked.
``... I have to uphold God's word.''
`` My whole shtick is not doing that.''
`` We could fight.''
`` No, thank you. You put your mouths on everything.''
`` I do n't have arms.''
`` That makes it weirder.''
Israfil shifted. `` It is n't like I enjoy tasting you.''
`` Ugh. Gross. Alright, look. Take him. But you better find someone I can take to Lucifer.''
`` I'd tell you to go to a prison and get a serial killer, but you ca n't torment them, can you?''
Abaddon scowled. `` If humans would stop blessing their criminals, I could.''
`` You could inflict a drought somewhere. We're sort of overdue.''
`` I'm more of a locusts guy.''
`` Well, if you do n't think of something, I'm going to have to lick you.''
`` I'll sting you.'' Abaddon threatened, his scorpion tail waving over his shoulder.
``...'' Israfil simply rolled out a long, particularly wet tongue.
`` God you're disgusting. OK, OK. Fine. I'll send a swarm of locusts somewhere.'' Abaddon muttered. `` Just do n't lick me.''
`` Great. We've still got about twenty-eight minutes. Want to get a drink?''
`` Sure.''
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[ WP ] Make a story about a person with superpowers , but every time s/he uses it they get weaker and weaker until they die .
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Long time lurker, first time writer. Here goes! Critiques welcome of course.
My power was a simple one, and one that I discovered at an early age. It happened in kindergarten, on the playground. Bryson was throwing one of his fits again, screaming and pounding his fists into anything he could reach. Something came over me, I do n't know what, and I walked up and placed my hand on his forehead, ignoring the battering of his hands. Immediately, it was as if I was transferred to another realm, one of pure energy - i felt the red seeping from him, menacingly extending its tendrils towards the other children. I grabbed it - ALL of it - and brought it towards me. My world became red, SO red, and I blacked out.
That was just the first time. As the years went by, I realized that I was alone with this power - and that it had rules. I could manipulate the emotions of those around me, but I could not create and destroy emotions - instead I had to be careful about the distribution. Being a headstrong young man at the time, I did what anyone else in my position would have done - donned a mask, cape, and ridiculous getup, and proceeded to fight crime in my own unique way - patrolling the city streets at night, doing my best to make everyone's time a little bit better. Thugs with knives in the alley, advancing menacingly forward onto a huddled shape, suddenly fell over giggling like idiots - joy and inebriation being stolen from happy bar-goers a block over, and the bravado and strength of the thugs dumped onto the young man walking down the other side of the street, desperately trying to get the courage to ask the girl of his dreams to dinner. This proceeded for quite some time, and I eventually gained fame as `` The Manipulator'' - not my name, the media's - and i moved from city to city, doing my best to make the world a better place.
However, there was one emotion that I simply could not deal with - hatred. For the longest time, I bottled it up within myself, trusting the general happiness of my life to balance it out, until I began making dubious moral choices. I immediately realized my mistake, and quickly thought of a way to get rid of it. So began my monthly trips to hospitals, and old folks homes, sitting innocuously in a coat and a hat, waiting for the moment I felt someone begin to slip away. In the final seconds of their lives, I unloaded massive amounts of hatred upon them, but by this point they were already traveling towards the light, and nothing mattered anymore. However, I had to be careful about how much I meted out - too much hatred would jerk them back into reality, robbing them of the peaceful death they deserved. I always was careful, and figured it was better to keep a little more hatred within me than to risk overload of a poor old woman in her final moments.
So went my life, doing my best to serve as many people as possible, and all the while working on a project - one that would replace me, for I was still mortal, as I noticed more every day in the popping of my joints and the gray of my hair. I wanted a way to make the world a better place, permanently.
Now, at long last, it is complete. My life's work - the amplifier. A simple concept, but one that took FAR too many failures to correct. I plug it in, connect the wires to my temples, and immediately feel it - the emotions of countless millions, all colors of the rainbow and more, flowing back and forth, intertwining. I reach out and feel the black - hatred, my old nemesis, spread all over the world and remaining in every person, even if only in tiny amounts. Flipping the switch, the countdown begins as I take a deep breath and begin to suck, drawing more and more, content in my knowledge that THIS will at last make the world better, THIS will achieve the goal I have worked towards for so long.
WAIT! NO! I MUST LIVE!
There is unfinished business in this world, business that I can handle personally. This world will become a better place through the sweat of my brow and the strength of my hands alone. I frantically begin clawing at the straps around my hands, desperately reaching for my destiny, but I know in my heart of hearts it is too late. As the explosion rings out, time slows down. My last emotion is hatred - hated at myself, hatred at my powers, and hatred at this entire damn world.
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[ WP ] the zombie apocalypse arrives and many feel prepared for the battles to come . But when it comes time to fight , it 's discovered that `` destroying the brain '' does absolutely nothing .
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Brian Bluthers felt a strong sense of adrenaline, followed by a strong sense of success, followed by a strong sense of surprise, followed by a strong sense of death. A lifetime of horror movies had left him feeling confident about his ability to combat a servant of the undead, but after burying a nine-inch serrated edge breadknife ( Lakeland, £36, Amazon ) into the temporal lobe of the closest zombie in the Reference Section, he did not expect the corpse to plough through the blade and lodge its teeth into his jugular artery, head split now clumsily in two like a poorly-segmented orange.
“ Fuck! ” cried Susan, who couldn ’ t help but picture that scene in Shaun of the Dead as she watched the offending post-human and its cohort turn Brian ’ s innards into outnards. Susan and Brian had only been acquainted three minutes earlier upon entering the public library, where they shared one of those awkward sorry-sorry-you-go-first-no-you-I-insist-oh-err-thanks-hurry-up-they ’ re-getting-closer rituals that occur when two people try to bustle through the same doorway that we ’ re all too familiar with, but in those three minutes she had really begun to see him as something more ( live bait ).
She turned to see more of the horde trudging into the aisle from the opposite end and realised in a moment of clarity that, much like Yazz ’ 1988 hit, the only way was up. Scrambling up the face of the bookshelf like a professional egg, she reached temporary safety in just 8.65 seconds - a record which unbeknownst to her would have really made her a strong competitor in Kenya ’ s rock-climbing community. However, beknownst to the Kenyan rock-climbing community, they were mostly dead anyway so more or less anybody with arms could have been a strong competitor.
With her new vantage point she scanned the rest of the library. The zombie horde had really made a bloody mess. To her relief she managed to spot a young gentleman who had shared a similar idea on the opposite wing of the silent area. She decided to call out for his attention.
“ Hey! ” she called out decidedly, for his attention.
The man, around twenty-five with a full head of hair and a full foot of shoe, picked up on the sound vibrations in a way so typical of anybody with a working oratory system, and spotted Susan gesturing madly like a mime with overdue rent.
“ Help! ” he responded. This was not the time for greetings ( but it was however the place for silence, and on the library floor, the now-reanimated librarian turned towards the yelp instinctively in offence ).
Susan leapt over the shelves with difficulty to breach the gap separating her new-found friend. She needed an escape route and this young fellow could be the key to her rescue. As she shuffled along the shelf towards the centre-aisle of the library, she shouted again.
“ I don ’ t know how to kill them! The brain thing doesn ’ t work! ”
The man, who insofar had made no attempt to get any closer ( he feared that movement would cause him to wet himself ), nodded furiously.
“ I know! I wish the movies had never perpetuated this blatant untruth! ”
Susan noted subconsciously that the man had quite a furious nod and immediately placed his mental case-file into the filing cabinet of her mind marked ‘ Weird People ’ as she leapt over another shelf to glimpse yet another huddle of the undead on the floor below. She really wished they were just perusing the shelves for some weekend reading but knew that in this land of make-believe that had become her world, even that was a ridiculous hope. The man continued to speak.
“ I suppose we were foolish to even believe it in the first place! Of all the illogical implications that a zombie horde brings, what reason is there to trust that brain damage is the one weakness of a being who doesn ’ t even require an energy input to produce an energy output, inexplicably breaking a fundamental physical law upon which all of our modern scientific assumptions rely on! ”
Susan, who was now adjacent to the man and searching for a way to cross the wide central aisle, paused for a minute to consider the gravity of the logical paradox the man had just revealed to her. She then remembered that she was in a building full of people wanting to fucking eat her and decided that debacle could wait.
It was at this moment that the writer decided that he had written himself into a hole and couldn ’ t be bothered to think of a resolution to Susan ’ s need to cross the library in the time that his impatient bowels were affording him and used his creative power to transport Susan to the man ’ s bookshelf, where they quickly got into an argument and spent the rest of the apocalypse sat moodily on either end of the bookshelf in silence.
The end.
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Magic is Hereditary , but the child 's powers is the sum of his parents . Fire Witch + Sand Wizard= Glass magic [ WP ]
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To anybody who reads this: I hope you enjoy it, its a bit of a long one, in 2 parts ( 2400 words ) just to finish one complete `` mini-story''.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
I look up at Glorica. Her picture rested just above the mantle. Six generations of breeding, and she had been born. The *All-Mother*. Able to wield the power of True Creation, as well as many others. And so, of course we voted her to lead our country. And then she had dissolved democratic voting for leaders, and formed a parliament of her most powerful friends.
Well, that was n't my problem. She was a tyrant yes, but somehow we, her people, still loved her. I picked up my tools, wooden implements wrapped in leather, and started strapping them to me, hidden by my outfit.
She had taken us to war against most of our neighbors in the last few years, creating armies of golems to defeat them. When the last of our neighboring countries gave in, the Tanlash, it had dropped the price of steel by over 50 %. Living under Glorica was n't all bad.
Oh well. Even if it was n't good, at least I am employed. I'm not one of her followers. I'm barely even one of her minions. Most of us **empowered** are on her pay books these days. I am second generation, which gives me a few rights that others do n't have.
My father is a piper, able to control the minds of rodents with music. He's a small time rat catcher in my town. My mother is a botanomancer. She does magic with plants, making them grow larger, and stronger.
My only power? I can control small animals and plants with music. and then *fuse* them.
I twitched the curtain aside. It was deeply dark out. Blackout curtains are still a constant, as bombers from the far east are still a threat. Martial law means anyone caught out after dark is arrested. Well, not including me. Sometimes minioning has its advantages.
Clipping my smallest fold able bow to my back, secreting it under the folds of my clothes. I could feel the large item strapped to my thigh hidden only by the voluminously heavy black dress I wore. I was ready. I rustled as I moved to the front door, glad I had oiled the leathers I wore below so they did n't creak.
I took a few breaths and stepped out.
The streets were eerie in the darkness, but I was used to that. I spent a lot of time in darkness these days. As I passed a storm drain I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a penny whistle. A few notes and I heard scurrying from below. Good. They'd follow me to the destination.
It took half an hour of walking to get to the centre of the city. It would have been 5 minutes in a carriage, but none ran this late under martial law. I saw no-one, and nobody bothered me.
I found the place, a large building 50 years old at least, made of classic brick. I strode straight past the entrance and down an ally to the rear of the building, where a set of stairs lead down to a large iron door. I whistled softly, and head a squeak in response. Here we go.
I knocked on the door. a few moments passed, and then a peep hole was slid open. I could n't see inside but could tell a pair of eyes were watching me.
`` Password?''
I smiled primly, glad of the weeks of preparation leading up to this moment. `` Glorica must die''.
The peephole slid closed, and I heard nothing for a minute before the door opened. Inside was a man in a brown wastecoat and matching bowler. `` I do n't recognise you. What's your name, and who invited you?'' His hand was resting on a pistol at his hip.
`` Lady Eshemell invited me, my name is Tendell, but most call me Ella. Your name must be David?'' I smiled at him and he relaxed slightly.
He nodded and stood aside. I had done my research well. Lady Eshemell had taken a trip to the country... as far as they knew... so he had no way of corroborating my story.
I smiled as I walked past him into the cellar. It lead into a small dingily lit room. Stacks of shelves covered in dust and brick a back. Slightly confused I look back at Dave inquisitively. He pointed to a bucket sitting on a shelf to my left.
Lifting the bucket down to see what was in it, the shelf swung away from me, opening into a hallway.
`` Okay I guess I go this way'' I stepped into the hallway and put the bucket back on the shelf which quickly swung closed.
The hallway was simple brick, with an arched roof. Noticing there was a drain half way along the hall, and that I did n't appear observed, I crouched down and pulled out the penny whistle. I blew a few notes of instruction for those below, and listened for the scurrying to check they had listened.
Well. I guess its time to show why I'm one of the best paid minions in Ulecia.
Continuing down the hall I came to a sturdy wooden door. Not knowing the protocol, I knocked. The door was opened, showing a reasonably plush sitting room, with carpets, several sofas and a fireplace. It was large, but comfortable looking. I started wondering about how the chimney was ducted to the surface, but quickly reminded myself not to get distracted. There were a series of air vents, up high in the wall. That would serve my purposes.
The man who opened the door, a server of some kind, wearing traditional black with white kid gloves bowed me into the room. As I stepped past him he announced me `` Miss Tendall, friend of Lady Eshemell''. They had obviously got a communication system rigged up, ready for any trouble that might try to enter.
Unfortunately for them, they had already let it in. A handsome middle aged man with a thick moustache turned from admiring the fire. `` Welcome Miss Tendall, I remember Lady Eshemell mentioning you. Please take a seat, the meeting will begin soon, when everybody has arrived''.
I thanked him politely and took a seat on one of the sofas, directly beneath an air vent. The servant brought me a cup of tea and I sipped it quietly, waiting for the meeting to start. There were four others in the room, an older lady wearing quite a large amount of gold, she must be Lady Yenneth. There was a younger pair, a couple by their body language.
The last person was a man, two or three years younger than me, maybe early thirties. He had the most piercing eyes, and he had n't taken them off me since I had entered the room.
After a few minutes he stood up, waved to the servant for a drink, and came and stood next to me. `` Good evening Miss Tendall, my name is Doctor Lassenger, may I join you?''
And this was my main target.
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[ WP ] A group of teenagers break into a haunted house , and following the supernatural phenomena , call the police and get the fuck out . This story , however , is about the police officers dispatched to investigate .
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The first thing I noticed was a definite drop in temperature upon entering the premises. My partner Mac seemed to notice it too, as he let out a little noise of discomfort.
“ Cold as shit in here man, ” he said as he clicked on his Mag-Lite. Mac was a simple guy from the country. He meant well, but he could get overzealous when it came to upholding justice. Something the police department in Stockdale Missouri was already too familiar with.
We had received word from dispatch that there was some sort of disturbance at the old Stockdale Mansion – a decrepit old Victorian style manor that was locally famous for being haunted. It also functioned as a gathering spot for meth addicts and other visitors from the undercrust of society.
Apparently some kids had been dicking around in here earlier and saw something that scared the shit out of them. Whether it was something that law enforcement needed to be involved with remained to be seen. I was intrigued though. My skin began to prickle as Mac and I spread out over the ground floor.
I saw everything I expected to see – a pentagram spray painted on the floor in red paint, dozens of candles burnt all the way to the wick, and numerous discarded spoons, glass pipes and other paraphernalia. This was not a good place to host a child ’ s birthday party.
I saw a staircase and slowly moved toward it. It appeared to lead to the basement, and the sight of the black hole leading down to oblivion momentarily filled me with horror. Just then Mac began to scream. Not normal screams either, but guttural, animal like screams. Sounds that I didn ’ t think any human should be able to make.
He was writhing around on the floor with his hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut. I ran over to him and tried to help, but there was nothing I could do – he just kept screaming those awful, terrible screams. I started to panic. I told him to shut up, screamed in his face, and even slapped him. Why wouldn ’ t he shut the fuck up? Finally I pulled out my night stick and struck him hard on the head, knocking him out.
I was petrified. What had just happened? I thought back to a story I had read one time where a mother let her toddler walk into another room unattended and the same thing happened to the child. His mother couldn ’ t get him to stop screaming, and he had to be taken to the hospital where he remained in a coma until his death. His mother was convinced her child had seen Hell.
My eyes snapped back to the gaping doorway to the basement. Something had flickered there momentarily – I was sure of it. My whole body was electrified, and every hair was standing on end. Some sort of presence was in this room with me now. I continued to stare at the darkness, and I began to see a humanoid shape leaning out towards me. I turned and ran. I bolted as fast as I could for the front door, but I couldn ’ t get any closer to it no matter how hard I tried. It was just like the dream we ’ ve all had before – I couldn ’ t get any traction.
As the room began to stretch and distort before me, I could feel the darkness closing in around me. I began to panic, and my breathing was short and pained. I became aware, suddenly, that I was now sporting a massive erection. I could feel the dread and the horror pushing down on me, suffocating me. Voices not from this planet began to echo in my ears and shadows began to take form in the darkness. They got louder and louder until they were screaming in my ears.
And then I began to scream, noises I didn ’ t know I could make. I went to the ground with my hands over my ears. I was about to see what the child saw.
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