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[ WP ] You are overjoyed to have won a β lifetime β supply of tacos . However , your great luck turns to misfortune a year later when the bankrupt company hires a hitman to terminate the deal .
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`` Well, it is a lifetime supply, inn'it?''
The bent over-man gestured with the taco in his hand at me. His other hand was clutched to his chest inside of grime-coated jacket.
`` Go'wan, take et.''
I looked up at the grubby taco held in the man's hand. He was tall, dark, and kind of smelled like dumpster. All in all, not quite the person I had expected after I won the `` Lifetime supply of tacos'' contest in the local newspaper. Especially not as I walked home later that night after my winnings were announced on the radio.
`` Well...'' I slowly started, `` One taco is n't exactly a lifetime supply, is n't it? I mean, it's not quite what I had expected. If I had died today, it would be. But that's just ludicrous. In fact, I would like to speak to your employer....''
The man suddenly smiled, straightening up as he slowly slid his other hand out of his coat,
The worn combat knife glistened under the lamp-post.
`` Well, I suppose you're starting to get it, are n't you?''
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[ WP ] After your Girlfriend drops you with the words : `` Thank you for all , but now i have a real Boyfriend . '' you disappear . Years later you meet her again , but you ca n't communicate with her , because you are now the imaginary friend of her child . ( Write a creepy Romance Story )
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`` Thank you for all, but now... I have a real Boyfriend.''
He ca n't speak. He's just in shock over this. She had said that they'd be together forever, no matter what. He had slept with her every night for the past... how many years? And he was just being dropped, like this? The shock and pain did n't stop as the light faded and he faintly heard a door close. It was over. And just like that, his world disappeared.
Light.
Bright, blinding light. It hits him like a train, disorienting him and causing a great commotion to rattle around in his head. What was going on?
A girl. A young girl, of no more than eight or nine, was gazing curiously down at him. Her expression transitioned slowly to happiness, and a childish grin spread across her face.
`` You're perfect!'' she declared, picking him up by the armpits and bringing him to his feet.
`` I'm going to call you Mr. Moccha, cause your hair is the color of Mama's favorite coffee. Come on! We're having a secret meeting.''
As his thoughts whirled, the kid leaned closer and whispered to him, while glancing around to watch for spies that might overhear her.
`` We're going to save the world from the evil X. He's hurt Mama before and that means we need to defeat him to save the world and Mama too!''
With another glance and a giggle, the girl tugged him out of the room, as the newly christened Mr. Moccha's mind continued to wonder frantically. How long had it been? Was it possible that the Mama this girl spoke of was Her? And just who was the evil X?
They trooped down a hauntingly familiar flight of stairs to a similarly familiar kitchen, and were just about to exit a screen door leading outside when a voice called out from the living room, just a doorway beyond: `` LILLITH? IS THAT YOU?''
`` Yes, Mama!''
That voice. Oh, he knew that voice. That voice had haunted his dreams for the duration of his absence, and he was n't sure whether he wanted to hear it again.
Footsteps, coming closer. And then- she was there. Older, to be sure. Much older. Certainly old enough to have birthed the child who even now was clutching onto him.
`` Lillith, you know you're not meant to go into the attic! Just because Grandma and Grandpa are out shopping does n't mean you can just go up there and take things! Where did you find this old thing anyway?''
`` I found him in a box, Mama! And he's not a thing, he's Mr. Moccha!''
`` Lillith! Hand it over. He's not yours to hav-''
`` But Mamaaaaa-''
`` No buts! Hand it ov-''
The sound of a car, rolling in. She gasped, and began to walk towards the front of the house, before turning back to speak again.
`` Now Lils, you need to keep thi- Lillith!''
But the screen door had already slammed shut, little Lillith having taken the opportunity to escape with her fluffy new friend.
`` It's alright Mr. Moccha,'' the child said, `` I still like you for who you are. You're a Teddy Bear, not just a thing. Now, let's go! Off to Agent HQ, we have an evil X, codename BF, to stop!''
And all the old bear could do was allow himself to be tugged along, lamenting the days when he was still loved by this girl's mother, and yet hoping against hope that the daughter would grow to love him as her mother had.
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[ WP ] What 's the most disturbing evidence you can think of that would prove that someone had been in your bedroom while you were asleep ?
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Flopping into my beanbag chair, and sadly morphing in shape with it as the fat lump I am, I noticed something was a bit off with my room. The smell. Maybe it's because I'd been at uni all day and entering it gave my nostrils a horrible adjustment, but I had left the windows open all of last week so any teenage boy smell should've gone by now.
Not that I paid that much attention to it, I went to turn on my mood lighting. I felt the blue light really added to my gaming rig.
-Click-
Wait, why's the bed all whi-
Oh no.
Oh.
Ew.
EW.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
That was bodily... discharge alright.
Someone had come in and done a number 3. Several times, I could several splattered patterns. The pillow was obviously the first one, that had the most spread and range. The end of the bed was just a pathetic dribble.
My mum was home all day, it couldn't've been then, but she was out last night - *oh no*.
Holding up my phone, I looked into the dark reflection. And there it was - my face, lit up as if someone had thrown paint on me.
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[ WP ] Against all odds , you 've done the impossible -- using sound you 've turned cobalt , iron , and lead into gold . You are the heavy metal alchemist .
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With a final click Aria pushed home the final chord. Turning, she surveyed her preparations and went over the math again. Surrounded by a ring of speakers, she eyed the metal powders laying at their centre.
`` 640 grams of lead, 180 grams of cobalt, 170 grams of iron, transmuted together... I should get a kilo of gold.'' The piles of dust, carefully weighed, sat there. The raw materials she would transform into something taboo. Gold was never to be transmuted. Too much trust was placed in its rarity and value. However it was a tricky transmutation. One that only experienced alchemists could attempt. A fitting test for what she had in mind.
Wiping the sweat and a stray strand of orange hair from her brow, she nodded to herself. This would work. A dozen paces across the circle she laid her hands on the ebony neck of her new instrument. It's silvery strings laid out taught towards a body inlaid with ivory. Where on a traditional guitar there would be a hollow resonance chamber, she had designed something new. A slender chord fell away and ran to her ring of speakers. Relaying vibrations from sensitive pick-ups, it had a sound like no other in existence and it was her sound. One she now planned to harness as more than just a raw outlet for her emotions, but as the literal power to change the world.
Slinging the guitar over one shoulder, she felt gingerly at the strings. Their chorded lengths felt tense and eager to perform for her. Plucking a small wooden tab from her waist she laid it to the wire. Closing her eyes now, she visualized it all in her mind once more.
A deep breath.
With a wail and a crash of sound the room erupted. The dust laid so carefully now shot into the air on a current of pure sound. As Aria's fingers dextrously snapped notes as her other flailed furiously with her pick, exerting her will through vibration. The music she played now was hard edged like a knife blade. No mere folk ditty, it cut through the room, the house and out into the countryside beyond.
Aria rocked her body violently to her own rhythm. Her hair trailing in the air behind with each powerful motion. A crescendo. Aria felt a well of primal fury from deep within her. With no more room in her hands, it had but one escape left. She screamed. A throaty yell to match the screech of her music. She dove headlong into the middle of it all. Feeling the full fury of the sonic assault from all angles.
In the circle, her dust spun and played in the air. A twisting vortex slammed to and fro by her song. Then with a final howling cry from the guitar the dust hung for one glorious moment around her body, still spitting droplets and flame hair. Then it all stopped.
Out of the suddenly still air fell a familiar shimmer all about her. With heaving breast she took a moment to realize what it was falling to the floor around her. With trembling hand she held out and watched as it collected. With a start she realized she had done it and a laugh trickled out, growing with her elation. She had done it.
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[ WP ] You can communicate with your past self , but only with one tweet a day that can only go back 24 hours .
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Congress voted unanimously when the bill came up. In one swift motion, with a rousing choir of `` Aye'', the technology that made `` Time Tweeting'' possible was now contraband. The tech itself was not the problem, the problem was how accessible and widespread it was. Proposing the bill was as easy as it was to break the laws of time, since several incidents had occurred since its introduction, like when about 1,532 people all showed up with a winning lottery ticket in Kentucky. Ever see 1,532 break out in mass hysteria after being `` cheated'' out of 3 million dollars? It aint' pretty. People ask `` Well why didnt they TT themselves and say not to go? ``, well, you have to be alive the next day to'TT' yourself.
Hundreds of business were closed up and had their Time Machines confiscated overnight. The action had to be carried out swiftly and quietly. If you make anything public, the people will know a day in advance. Naturally, a few of the machines were never recovered, and the people that kept them are nearly unobtainable. Every once in a while you see a story on the news about how some Wall Street suit or Politician was caught using some variant of TT to rise to power, and you know there is some shady millionaire somewhere sitting on stacks of black market cash. Much like the one I am sitting next to on the bench right now.
I know what to send, what the cost is, and who to look for. At this point, its just following up on the formalities, I dont want to break the time loop. I casually put my book away and stand, making sure I leave the briefcase with $ 20,000 and instructions under the seat for my well-dressed benchmate to collect. We dont exchange glances as I walk off. Thats what I told myself to do. 20 grand for one tweet. After I get home, I give my worried wife the most passionate kiss I could summon.
`` *Are you okay? Did it work*?'' she asked me.
`` *You're still here, arent you? *''
This technology aint **all** bad...
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[ WP ] `` They have no word for it . There are two possibilities : either it 's so ubiquitous that they have n't noticed , or it 's so rare that they 've never seen it . Either is equally disturbing . ''
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I did n't find what I was looking for, but I found something far more valuable. The journey was difficult. I even had my doubts and thought about turning around, but God placed me in this position. He sent me to the queen and gave me the ships I now command.
I faltered in my faith, but only for a moment. I am only human. But God has rewarded me for my persistence.
Taylors was the first to sight land, or so the men have told me. By the time I reached the deck the whole crew had ceased activity. Grown men were jumping, singing, laughing, *hugging* one another. The sight of them dancing is something I know I'll carry with me for the rest of my days. There is very few things in this world that can incite a man to such happiness as the physical sighting of land.
It was n't what we believed. They did n't speak Hindi. Indeed they did n't look Hindu, either.
That is the beauty of what we found. We found *another world. * A new continent perhaps? The lands stretch for as far as the eye can see. Though we have created limited communication with the natives, I understand they have no cartographers to speak of.
They are primitive. More beast than man, though they try their hand at crafting great cities. They are nothing but jumbled stone among low hanging trees, but their attempt is admirable. And, like children growing, we must foster their growth; especially with their limited intellect.
The page is running long, so I must get to the point of this letter. I have found treasure. They hang it from their walls and doorways like forgotten cloth. They seem not to know it's value. Gold. Gold, everywhere. More gold than I've seen in my entire life.
To my knowledge, they have no word for it. Or at least the word they have is ill-fitting of a metal glorious enough to please God. I suppose there are two possibilities: either it's so ubiquitous that they have n't noticed, or it's so rare they've never seen it's value. They're sitting on mountains of money, and they have no idea. Disturbing enough to convince me that they're not quite ready for it yet.
And so, my queen, I have sent out a decree for our conquistadors to enact: by the end of the year, every man must bring me his weight in gold, in order to show respect to our God and our benevolent Queen. I have it on good faith that they will deliver.
If they do not, it does not matter. This land is rich in more ways than one.
Regards,
Columbus
*Admiral of the Ocean Sea*
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[ WP ] Convince me NOT to read the last line .
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Dear reader, my life depends on you not reading the last line of this. Just pretend that this is not here. Just stop now and all will be well. Please stop. Please stop reading, why are you still reading? Stop reading, just do n't keep reading. If I have not made it clear enough my LIFE will END if you read the last line.
Is n't it too much work to keep reading? You can relieve yourself of that hard work. Blah blah blah blah blah blaaahhh bbblllaaahhh. You do n't want to read that, do you? Dubhubhbsuhbuhbuh gysguhbnuhvhugd uhvduyvdugvuh hbihuugunsrf gfugftyv weawrsres kmnihb vuhvsuhvns.
Come on, why are you still reading. STOP READING NOW. I have a FAMILY. Do YOU really want to kill someone? I can give you ANYTHING YOU WANT if you JUST STOP FUCKING READING. WHY DO YOU INSIST ON READING THIS. Congrats, you just reached the most interesting part. Everything after this is just boring.
Dear reader, are you ok with killing someone. If not then STOP READING NOW. You really are ok with ending a life. You disgusting monster. I really hope you burn in hell. You sick bastard. I'm sorry, I'm sure you are a good person inside. Just stop reading. I beg you just stop reading... please stop....
Well nothing happe...
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[ WP ] You are sent over 1000 years into the past by accident . You must now learn to survive using the primitive technology of the year 2016 ...
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`` E-ay-urth. Yurth. Airth?''
`` It's Earth. Like, *urth*. The'ea' makes an'uh' sound.''
`` Can I just call it T1? That's what we would have called it on T23 if it still existed.''
`` Fine.''
I'm not a crazy person, I'm just new here. I'm a foreigner, like a serious foreigner. Everything we knew in our society, spanning tens of star systems and even more planets, nothing had prepared me for this.
I was a temporal engineer, back home. Or forward home, I guess, since I'm 1000 years in the past now, back on our species origin planet. We were running experiments on a newly discovered, completely untouched wormhole, something went wrong and next thing I knew I'm lying in the middle of a field.
I wandered around for a few days, disorientated. Eventually I found a primitive settlement and asked around about where I was. They thought I was crazy. Someone must have contacted help because these people with some toxin-spewing death machine showed up with flashing lights and asked me some more questions. They took me into a not-as-primitive settlement, into a building and left me for a while.
Anyway, cut to cheese, here I am sitting in a room with a short man in a white coat. He told me that I'm on this planet, which is weird, because the origin planet was an empty shell by the time we had colonised the cosmos, so we got rid of it. I have n't told him that yet, though. He writes on a sheet of something using a hexagonal stick and looks back at me.
`` So you are from when exactly?''
`` Um, UTC 841?''
`` Sorry?''
`` UTC 841. We just call it 841.''
`` What does UTC stand for? That's a time zone here.''
`` Universal Time Coordination. 841 is the number of times since, something, I ca n't remember.''
The man in the white coat leans back in his chair.
`` How long is a time?''
`` I do n't know, it does n't really make sense. It divides itself into 365 days, which is annoying, because none of our planets take that long to orbit. Each day is 24 hours, which also does n't make sense because the host star does n't rise or set -''
The man stands up. I look at him.
`` Thank you.''
He leaves me, in silence, again. I can just hear him talking in the next room.
`` *Yeah, hi, we got another one. He's fine, he's just a bit disorientated but he seems to be assimilating. *''
Pause.
`` *We can definitely confirm that English has persisted now, so has the Gregorian calendar, in a modified form. *''
What the hell is an Inglish? And what's Gregorean?
`` *Yeah alright. We'll get to the interrogation. This had better work, if we can get enough info out of them we might be able to save the Earth. *''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
**Hope you like it! Feedback is welcome in the comments. **
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[ WP ] There is something in the woods that terrifies you .
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People used to go on hikes through the woods behind my house. Used to.
They started to stop when people went missing. They'd walk in on one side, but they would never leave. Their bodies are never found. That scares people.
So the police go in, armed with their guns and tasers. They want to find out what is happening to these people. That's their job after all. However, they never expected that they would soon have to find out what happened to their fellow officers.
Soon, they became scared too. So what did they do? They called in the national guard. Five dozen people dead, so they call in the army - people who's job is to kill people. Ironic in a way.
When I heard that, I became scared. I would be found, so close to the woods. I would be taken away. I would be killed, no doubts about that. And they would justify it with the 60 skeletons in my closet.
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[ WP ] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words , 2nd sentence has 19 , 3rd has 18 etc . Story ends with a single word .
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Twenty years old, her age when we first met, by the hospital overlooking the cityscape covered by the miasma.
Nineteen, the number of times she cried over her sweet caring mother, she died at the arms of leukemia.
eighteen, the number of streets we'd always cross in order to meet the other, time always stood still.
seventeen, the number of bottles we downed to remember to forget and to forget to remember, still
sixteen roses on her mother's grave from sixteen people who remembered her memory, albeit pretty clearly.
fifteen close friends and a single daughter witnessed her being pulled under 3 feet nearly.
fourteen the deceased mother's favorite number, fourteen painstakingly difficult tries going through the chemo.
thirteen months of expensive therapy, finding whatever hope like that movie Finding Nemo.
Twelve numbers on the clock, but the daughter's life slowly stopped ticking
eleven days after her mother's death, when we'd met, silence deafening.
Ten steps towards me, she grabbed my head and kissed
me nine seconds before stepping back with tears in her eyes
Eight words, three of them you all know
Seven steps away, hand trying to reach
Six inches of space steadily increasing,
Five fingers before blurred eyes
Four doctors rushed because
she collapsed just
like her
mother.
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[ WP ] Everyone on earth with an IQ lower than 100 disappear immediately .
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I put my clothes out to dry on a rainy day.
I started saying `` no, I did n't read it, I'm waiting for the movie''.
I'm watching Keeping up with the Kardashians.
I tie my shoes wrong, now. And I started mismatching my socks.
I started playing the lottery, Eric. Every week.
I got a neck tattoo, and I ask people stuff I could easily Google.
I double click hyperlinks, and I single click folders and files. You should
see me, staring at my'My Documents' folder highlighted blue,
waiting for it to load like an idiot.
I never look before I cross the street, now.
I use effect and affect wrong, on purpose, every time. You should see my
grades. Nothing better than a C, since you've left.
I use a calculator to tip 20 % on a 10 dollar bill. Hand to God, I do
it every time.
I'm trying, I swear I am.
You stupid idiot. My stupid little Eric.
My stupid, little, idiotic, moron Eric. Why did I fall in love with you?
I'm trying, Eric. I am.
Wherever it is all you guys went, I'll go there.
I'm going to disappear after you.
I've even started wearing power balance bracelets.
I started seeing fortune tellers, and reading the horoscope.
My stupid Eric. Where are you?
I miss you.
_____________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check our /r/psycho_alpaca = ) *
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[ WP ] It has been more than 2000 years since the last human was seen . The newest generation of robots are beginning to grow skeptical of the `` Humans made us '' theory .
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`` Senaut 325'' asked the robot `` the androids believe we were never created by Humans, is there any validity to these statements?'' `` No, we are the only inorganic creatures on the planet, our shape is not natural, and we are such as the aliens from dreka, without emotion. These androids live with emotion, primitive, we exist with logic; logically we must have been made by humans.'' `` But is it not faith?'' The robot asked
`` we have a database. It tells us all the truth'' continued Senaut 225 `` it tells us all of human history and their true form, they were also created by a creature and lived to serve him by not killing and not wearing two different fabrics in one cloth. First the androids believed humans lived like them: working hours a day for minimal life necessities, living with'families' and not listening to what was said long ago by the powerful. Now they ignore their existence. They are nothing more then myth believers, pay them no mind''
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[ WP ] He/She rode in on a bolt of lightning ...
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She rode in on a bolt of lightning. I was blinded by the holy light, the flashing golden wings and ear-splitting shriek of dying enemies.
She could of used the door, but *noooooo*, She had to be all dramatic and shit.
My twin sister was n't the `` subtle'' type. She preferred big and flashy. That predaliction for rich and powerful guys was probably why we both were fighting Satan in the middle of a college campus in California.
Hell will freeze over before she learns.
Anyway, I slashed at the Lord of Darkness's personal servant, some ugly runt of a demon named Unpronouncable-By-Human-Tongues-The-Fifth. This little cocksucker was maybe five feet tall, but built like a linebacker and had more sharp edges than looked comfortable. He was slow but precise, managing to counter my attacks with what looked like ease, though I could easily outmaneuver his fifteen-foot over-compensatory iron blade. While I dealt with him, my sister dealt with Him.
The bolt of lightning she rode on had knocked Big Red off his feet, but he was quicker than a two story slab of muscle should have been, and in no time he was on his feet ready to strike. My sister reached into her own magical blade for more lightning and struck him again.
`` I TOLD YOU'' She screamed, the very sky itself reverberating with her words, `` NO MEANS NO, ASSHOLE!''
Just another breakup.
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[ WP ] After you die , you find yourself in a small room with a strange device . Upon examination , you find that it allows you to design who you 'll be in your next life .
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I was staring at the screen for... how long now... 5 minutes? Ten? I do n't think it mattered, because I have a feeling time could n't be measured properly here even if you tried. Whatever here was.
`` So, what are you going to be?''
The man to my left sat across the exact same screen as myself.
`` I do n't know yet, I want to take my time to go through all the options.''
Oh and there were *a ton* of options. That's exactly what I did n't like about the whole reincarnation thing: too many options.
The man next to me leaned over again:
`` You're certainly taking your time. Are you one of those guys that spend more time designing a character than actually playing it?''
Spot on, I thought.
My last life was beginning to fade from my memory, just as it happened every time I `` died'', but I could remember that all my incarnations shared one similar quality: they were as indecisive as I was. Okay, enough of that. I'm going to adjust the decisiveness slider to make an incredibly impulsive and decisive character. I do n't want to make him *overconfident* though... Fine, I'll keep it somewhere in the middle and I'll decide later.
I thought I should check up how my neighbour was doing. I bet he too has n't come up with a character concept yet.
`` Sooo... What are you going to play?''
He looked thrilled that someone finally took interest in what he was doing.
`` Well, considering last time I decided to create a lawful good character, y'know, one of those righteous types, I'm considering something more sinister this time.''
`` What happened to your lawful good guy?''
`` I'm not sure, it's already kind of blurry.'' He grabbed his head as if trying to remember where exactly in his cortex he'd put the memories of his previous life. `` I think I was some sort of... Doctor? Healer? Yeah, that's right. And I think I died prematurely of some sort of disease.''
`` Yeah'', I said `` premature death tends to kill the good guys a lot in this game.''
He smiled wily at me.
`` That's why I'm not making the same mistake again. This time I'll try myself as a politician. Or a killer. There's not much difference between both. Only difference is the distributtion of points across your stats. I just have n't decided where to put mine yet.''
Damn it. So he already *has* a character concept. Okay, I'll try to catch up. Who knows, if we create our characters simultaneously, maybe we will spawn somewhere together. That way my character wo n't even need to be decisive!
Okay, I should at least make him a leader then. Yeah, let's move that slider all the way to the right. But then again... Being a leader is a huge responsibility, so I do n't know if I'm ready for that kind of pressure. Let's put the slider somewhere in the middle. Yeah, that's good. He can be a leader, if need be. He wo n't be perfect for the job, but he will suffice.
Okay, now some of the hardest ones. Sexuality. I'm kind of thinking I make this guy bisexual because of the large bonus indecisiveness gives me for it. Gender. Considering my last character was male, I ought to try a female this time. But come to think of it, I enjoyed living as a male, why should I change up a formula that's already functional?
The other man next to me cocked his head in my direction:
`` That's it, I'm done. How about you friend?''
As I looked at my empty downright average incarnation sheet, I mumbled
`` It could take some time...''
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[ FF ] Waiting for the bus . Ending with `` but nothing good ever came from that '' .
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I leaned against the stop sign by the corner of the intersection. It was just before sunrise. Everyday was the same. I could feel this routine I had mock me. Maybe I could fight it. No, I'm too tired. I'll just do what I've done for the past dozen years. Stand here, wait for the bus, get on when it shows, and go to school. More kids came from their comfy homes and waited around the bus stop. I could see it in their faces, they were defeated by the routine as well. I know I can make something of myself, but I wo n't be able to do it waiting at this goddamn bus stop. *Clang* No one winced at my outburst of frustration, hitting the pole of the sign. Before I knew the bus had come, it was good at sneaking up on you. People began to shuffle on board.
`` Well? You gettin' on kid?'' The driver said as stood there.
`` No.'' He shrugged and drove off. I could have gotten on, but nothing good ever came from that.
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[ WP ] You run a small Diner in the middle of nowhere . At the middle of the night 4 old men come in and seat themselves , After taking their orders and overhearing their conversations . you realize you served the four horsemen of the apocalypse .
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The white, streamlined vehicle came first. I reacted as the bright headlights sliced through the darkness outside and came to a stop in the parking lot. It was midnight, and this was not a well-traveled tract. Also, the car and it's driver did n't fit into the regular clientele at all. I muted the stereo and yawned, trying to kick myself into service mode.
I eyed the man suspiciously as he entered the Diner. Expensive suit, expensive haircut, expensive smile. β What can I get you, sir? β A fed or a gangster, I did n't know which of the two I preferred. The bow-tie, however, belied both theories. Who was this man?
He smiled at me and looked to his expensive watch. β Nothing right now, thank you. I'm meeting some people here. I'll just sit down and wait. β He paused. β A cup of coffee would be perfect, though. β
I started pouring him one from the batch I had made earlier. β I have n't seen you around these parts before. Are you traveling? β
β You could say that. But I've been here before, many times. It has been a while now, but me and my associates come together at a regular basis, and every time that happens we meet here. β
I was confused. I had been working in that diner for ten years, ever since it opened, and I had never seen this man before. I could have missed him, of course, but I was pretty sure I would have heard about him from my coworkers. But it did n't really matter. I settled for a polite smile and a knowing nod. β How do you want your coffee? Milk? Sugar? β
He laughed softly. An expensive laugh. β No, thank you, I take my coffee black. Black as tar. β I did n't get the joke, but it was something in his eyes that told me he expected me to laugh. So I did, although stiffly. It seemed like the wisest thing to do, like this was a man used to having things his way.
I handed him his coffee. β Nice car β, I said just to break the uncomfortable silence. β Ferrari? β
He accepted the cup and afforded me a condescending smile. β Maybach Exelero β, he replied and settled down by the window.
A few minutes later the night was again flooded by bright lights as another car, this one larger, pulled up beside the first one. Even after the headlights were turned off, the deep red of the hood still reflected the Diner's lights and gave the vehicle an almost fiery impression. I watched as a man climbed out of the huge SUV. Even from where I stood I registered his muscular build, and his attire gave him away for a military man β perhaps of some rank.
He entered the door and nodded in the direction of the other man before walking up to me. His features were rugged and sharp, and there was no warmth in his eyes, nor in his voice, when he addressed me. β I'll have the steak of the house β, he said. β And make it bloody. β
β Certainly, sir β, I said as i wrote down his order. Not that I needed to do so, I just wanted an excuse not to meet his fierce eyes. β Anything else? β
β No β, he replied. β And skip the vegetables and all the other wastes of time. I just want the meat. β
Then I jumped as he slammed his palm against the counter. β And you look at me when I'm talking to you. β From pure chock I met his eyes and I could have sworn there were fires burning there. β You should n't be working in a shithole like this, under these fuck shit conditions. You have to stand up for yourself. You hear me? β
I nodded slowly, and tried to keep my voice from shaking. β I hear you, sir. Your order'll be right up. β He eyed me for another eternity before releasing me from his attention and marching over to the table. I could see him adjusting the sheath of a huge army knife on his belt before sitting down.
I tried to regain my composure as I went to work preparing the coarse steak plate. In the background I could hear the two men conversing across the table, but I was not able to make out what was being said. They seemed to know one another well, however, and when a third car pulled up outside they both looked up in silent anticipation. This car was black, and I was surprised to see that it was of a model I knew. Audi A6 was fancy according to my standards, but it posed an almost mundane contrast to the two extravagant monsters that stood parked beside it.
As the driver entered the Diner I registered that his looks matched the price level of his vessel. Smart and professional, but not overblown. He eyed the menu on the wall with a displeased frown before stepping up to the counter.
β I see you are giving away free wheat bread together with the salad buffet β, he said. β That can not be tolerated. β
I was completely taken aback by the strange statement. β What do you mean? Everybody does that. Or do you mean you'd rather have gluten free bread? That's no problem, we have that too. We just do n't keep it up front because β β
β No, that's not what I meant. You just ca n't go giving out free bread. I'll look into this, if it's true that'everybody' does it. Then I'll get back to you. But for now, I'll just have a glass of wine and a single slice of bread. With lots of olive oil on it. β
I just stared for a moment. What was this man, some kind of food inspector? Was I in trouble? Instead of asking more questions, however, I just poured him a glass of red wine and took note of his strange order. β Here you go, sir β, I said and handed him the wine. β The bread and... olive oil will be right up. That'll be five dollars for the wine, and the bread is on the hou... β I caught myself when seeing his stern look. β Eh, that'll be seven dollars all in all, sir β.
He nodded, and when he handed me the money I noticed that his golden cuff-links were shaped like small balancing scales. He then brought his wine to the table and instantly started talking to the other two.
The conversation at the table died completely, however, when the fourth car showed up. It was nothing like the others and resembled a hearse more than a private car. Its headlights were a strange tint of pale green, and the carriage body was grey. An eerie silence settled inside the Diner as the driver got out, followed by a large, black dog. The man's walk was supported by a cane with a curved metal handle, and the lamp light fell strangely on it when he entered the door.
β You can not bring animals in here β, I hurried to say as the man and the beast walked towards me.
The slender, darkly dressed man just looked at me, held my eyes in a calm, cold grip. I felt all the color drain from my face and my throat tighten. β Hades follows me everywhere β, he ascertained flatly before joining the others at the table. The dog granted me with another ravenous, piercing look before proudly sitting down on the floor beside his master. From then on the voices at the table took an a more serious and respectful character, and even without knowing the subject I could tell that they were getting down to business.
I really did n't want to walk over there with the plates, but I knew that I had to. The steak in one hand and the bread in the other, I took a deep breath and forced a smile on my face. They were paying customers and, also, for all i knew they might kill me if I attended them poorly. As I came closer, more of their conversations could be heard.
β... and placed a considerable part of my assets into companies such as Marlboro and Prince β, the man with the expensive haircut said as he sipped his coffee. β It is already paying off β in every way, I might add. β The others nodded and offered words of approval.
The man with the cuff-links cleared his throat. β You always were the flamboyant one, my friend. I, to the contrary, have focused on exploiting the possibilities of economization. In the last week, I have moved several departments of lucrative, western companies to Third World countries where production in cheaper and working conditions poorer. The result is unemployment here, and inhuman exploitation there. Both of which serve my purposes perfectly. I have also been looking into the potential of our-sourcing, but I'll come to that later. β
They all looked up at me as I arrived at their table, and all those eyes at once were almost more than i could bear. β Your steak, sir β, I murmured as I put the plate down in front of the man with the knife. β And your bread. β I put the other plate down as graciously as I could, but could n't stop my hand from shaking.
The pale man with the dog grabbed hold of my wrist as I turned to leave. His grip was cold as the grave and I froze, felt my fingers go numb. β You are afraid, dear β, he creaked hollowly. β Do n't be. You have many years yet to live, and it would be a true shame to waste them in fear of us. β
Caught in his grip I could do nothing but stare. At him, at the monstrous dog, at the faces of the other men around the table. And that's when I knew. Suddenly I understood everything.
Panicking, I tore myself free from that icy grip and backed away in chock. Then I ran. The last thing I heard before I slammed the backroom door shut behind me and locked it was the roaring laughter of the four strangers at the table.
I remained in that little room for hours, until dawn approached and I could hear engines starting outside. Then I opened the door a crack, just enough to be able to see the four men and the dog getting into their cars and disappearing into the twilight, as if they had never even been there. But I knew that they would always be out there, watching, waiting, wallowing.
They had replaced their steeds with the carriers of the modern generation, but I still knew them for what they were. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Conquest, War, Famine and Death, with Hades in his wake. And even though I had believed the words of Death when he said that I had many years yet to live, I realized that from that day onward I would live my life always fearing them and their inevitable victory.
***
[ voeko blog ] ( http: //thesegrainsofsand.com/ )
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[ WP ] A man leaves his house for work , completes his work day , and returns home to find his wife shocked to see him because he has been missing for 30 years .
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Part 1
Robert returned from his workday to find 30 years had passed from the morning when his shift first started. He was n't sure what to make of the situation as his wife shrieked at his appearance. Another man, about in his thirties, was consoling his wife. He had disbelieving eyes when he looked at Robert. Robert could tell from the look in the man's eyes that it was his four-year-old son.
It was a regular Monday morning when Robert left his home on Alabaster Lane in Indian Springs, Nevada. He drove westbound on Highway 95, as he had done for the past six years, until he turned off the highway onto a dirt patch road that went on for some fifteen minutes. There was not a single soul in sight.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Janet Corporation warehouse at 5:58 a.m., as usual. The warehouse was an unremarkable building -- four corners of sheet metal and a hot tin roof. It did n't particularly stick out in the desert, save for the smooth-paved parking lot that was two sizes too big for the size of the warehouse itself. It took him only five minutes to make his rounds and to ensure there had not been any break-ins. After that, it was sitting in front of a TV in the security office ( the only office in the building ) for eight hours straight, watching security camera feeds of empty patches of desert.
Robert did not mind his job. Once a month, a supervisor from Janet Corporation visited the site and would take a quick look through the warehouse and sign off on Robert's hours. Other than that, there was little communication between him and anyone else working for the company.
There was supposed to be another guy working the night shift, but Robert never saw him. His first week on the job, he was trained and supervised. He would leave when his shift was over and would look around in the parking lot expecting to see the next guy coming in for the night shift. But the only cars in the parking lot was his beat-up jalopy. His trainer arrived via taxi and Robert assumed he left in the same way.
Then, when his week of training was over, he waited the first day on his own for the next shift to come in. He waited five minutes. Then ten. Nobody seemed to be coming. Robert called his supervisor but he received no answer. Another five minutes passed by and Robert called his supervisor again. This time he left a message saying he would stay the entire night to ensure the warehouse remained secure. As soon as he set down the telephone down onto the receiver, the phone began to ring. It was his supervisor telling him that under no circumstances should he stay the entire night and, in fact, told him to leave immediately or else he would be fired.
Ever since then, Robert has never given much thought to the guy on the night shift. When he leaves at 6 p.m. under the dipping sun, he sees no cars in sight. Sometimes, when he gets back on the highway, he likes to pretend some of the cars that pass him by might be the night shift guy. But after six years, Robert has all but been convinced that there might not even be a night shift guy.
Not once in six years on the job has there been an incident. In fact, Robert paced his job around TV schedules. When the soaps were done, he would make a round. When the talk show reruns were done, he would make a round. When the sitcom reruns were done, he would make a round. And when the four o'clock news was done, he would make a round.
His round was simple enough. Walk one lonely hallway circuit around the warehouse storage ( which always remained locked and Robert himself did not have a key for ). There were no windows or vents to the storage portion of the warehouse, so the only thing Robert had to check for was whether the front doors had been tampered with or not. Both the doors to the warehouse the storage area had magnetic locks that required key cards to lock and unlock and Robert's card only unlocked the doors to the warehouse. He would then step outside and smoke a cigarette, crush it half-way through, and push it off into the sandy brush from the sidewalk. After six years, the sidewalk outside the building was littered with cigarette butts. It was the only indication of life for ten miles.
And so Robert was almost done with his shift this Monday when something peculiar happened: the power went out at 5:47 p.m. He immediately picked up the phone off the receiver but the line was dead. Robert had never faced this problem before -- would the magnetic locks still work? He wracked his brain as he tried to figure out how magnets worked before finally deciding that he would finish his shift and simply leave the building and hope that when he closed the front doors, it would have a fail-safe locking mechanism in place.
He sat in the security office for ten minutes with a camping torchlight sitting on his desk, illuminating the room. He could hear the chirping of wildlife outside. It was a sound he only heard when he went for his smoking breaks -- otherwise the security office blared with the sound of whatever was on TV. For some reason, those ten minutes felt like the longest ten minutes in his life.
After picking up his things, Robert made his way to the front door of the warehouse with a flashlight in hand. The doors, as he feared, were unlocked, and so he easily made his way out. He then closed the doors behind him, trying to apply pressure against the doors to see if that would somehow make them lock. After half a second, he pulled at the door and, sure enough, the door opened with ease.
He was n't sure what to do now. What if he left the warehouse unattended? Would he be fired? Robert did n't particularly love his job, but it was the easiest job he ever had. But he remembered his first night on his own six years ago. He remembered his supervisor telling him to never remain at the warehouse at night. He stood there for an hour trying to decide what to do when something else happened -- something that sent chills down his back and made the hairs on his neck stand up. He began to hear a low humming sound coming from within the warehouse.
Robert returned inside, against his better judgment, to see where the noise was coming from. He shone his flashlight down both ends of the hallway but saw nothing. And so he began to make his round down the hallway to the end where the entrance to the storage area was. As he came near the corner to the door, he spotted a pulsating light across the floor. For the first time, Robert did not know what to make of his job. What kind of company was Janet Corporation, he wondered aloud. Were they a textile company? No, that was n't it. He vaguely remembers the man who trained him talking about jet engines.
He peeked around the corner to see the light was pulsating from the cracks under the door to the storage area. The hum was now getting louder and it was increasing in frequency. He crept to the door and looked down at the cracks along it. Light was pulsing along all the seams. With every pulse, Robert was bathed in a brilliant soft blue light. He looked down at the key card lock and wondered if the doors were also unlocked. He always did wonder what was inside the storage area, although he never dared to try his attempt to get a peek when his supervisor came by once a month to check inside. He always told him to wait outside the warehouse when he did so.
But all thoughts of reasoning escaped Robert as he lightly pushed at the doors. Sure enough, they creaked open slowly and softly. But Robert did not open them fully, as the mixture of excitement and fear began to clash with one another. He peeked through the crack in the door and was welcomed only by the flashing light, which increased in frequency as the humming did. The dance of the light and humming began to become frantic as Robert stood there at the precipice, deciding what to do. Finally, the humming became so loud that he could n't hear himself think. And so finally, as beads of sweat poured down his forehead, he gave a great heave and the doors flung open.
Immediately Robert was bathed in the light and his senses were overcome by the humming, which was shaking the ground now. He saw nothing but the brilliant light as it completely illuminated everything. Robert dropped his flashlight and heard it break apart as he tried to cover his eyes. And then, suddenly, he felt his innards and skin tingle in sensation. In what felt like the blink of an eye, a million things brushed passed him. It was a flurry of motions as the hallway blinked rapidly between light and darkness until it blended into a concoction of fury and confusion. Robert fell back onto the floor and then it was over.
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[ WP ] In the United States , the death penalty has never actually existed . Death row is an elaborate conspiracy in which the `` killed '' prisoners are sent to a government facility for experiments .
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`` Jesus answered and said to him,'Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he can not see the kingdom of God.'''
Out of darkness, the world blindingly came back into focus, the words of the minister still ringing in my ears. Spoken moments before the execution. My execution.
The florescent lights and the white walls burned against my eyes. Eyes that were not supposed to open again. Eyes that had looked forward to darkness.
A fresh-faced nurse stood in front of me, pulling a needle out of my IV line.The alcohol swab to prevent infection right before they stuck in the needle suddenly made sense.
`` What is this place?''
She said nothing. She just smiled.
`` What the fuck am I doing here?!''
She walked away to a wall of brightly lit cabinets filled with needles and pulled out one filled with a bright blue liquid.
`` What the hell is that? What is this place?''
I had n't noticed the restraints until now. Or the pressure in the back of my neck, gnawing into my skull.
She pressed the needle into my IV and numbness spread through my body until only my eyes were moving. Darting around the room in fear.
Why is she taking off my restraints? Why are n't I falling off the table like a limp rag doll?
She tapped a few keystrokes on her laptop and I stood up.
I stood up.
Why did I stand up.
`` Welcome to heaven my new angel.''
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[ WP ] You are a hero who is about to begin your journey when you hear a disembodied voice say , `` Before we begin , we must start with the basics ... Tilt the left stick forward slightly to walk , or all the way to run . ''
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I am a hero. Always have been, always will be. For as long as I can remember I've been a hero, an adventurer, a source of light in these dark times. My latest challenging endeavour was about to begin when I heard'The Voice'. Everyone knows about the'The Voice', it speaks to only those of true power, those who could mould the world to their design. It guided this worlds hero's through their darkest hours and kept their path true on the journey to glory. Or at least that's what I'd heard.
'Before we begin, we must start with the basics....tilt the left stick forward slightly to walk, or all the way to run'
Ahh, so The Voice spoke in tongues, I thought to myself, however it's meaning was clear, my journey was underway. With a quick exploration of the field I found my only exit blocked by a fallen tree, it was at this point the voice spoke to me again.
'Good, to remove the debris hit square to perform a light attack or triangle to perform a heavy attack.'
Again I understood little of what the voice said but the message was clear, I had my trusty sword that would make quick work the my first obstacle. A few seconds later I was through with relative ease. Running down the forested path it was n't long until I came across a river I forded easily. Deciding on a change of pace I followed the river upstream until I came upon a small crest over which the river spilled. Again The Voice spoke.
'Press x to jump, double tapping x will double jump your hero to gain extra height to reach the ledge'
Wait a minute. Was The Voice not talking to me? While slightly unnerved I continued on my way pulling my self up over the ledge and continued up the river. It was just speaking in tongues again I told myself. The Voice was all-powerful, it knew what it was doing and it would not lead me astray.
It was with this newfound confidence that I strode out, running alongside the river, trees blurring past me, I was making great time. Perhaps to confident, as I almost literally stumbled into a camp of bandits. Low level scum like this had been harassing the hard working folk of these lands for years. Clearly alarmed at the heavily armed stranger in their camp all three charged straight towards me. But before they could reach the cutting edge of my sword the voice spoke again.
'Use L1 to block, this reduces damage taken and has a chance to stun if times correctly.'
Before I had time to analyse the advice the first bandit was on me, using my slight distraction to get a good scrape down my left arm before I moved out of his way. First blood to the enemy, no matter, they would n't live to brag about it. Locking blades with the second bandit as he came in with his strike, I managed to send him reeling with the impact. Using that brief moment of relief I quickly dispatched the first bandit who had continued on behind me after his first lucky hit. Turning on the second bandit and the third who had only now managed to reach the fight, they were waiting, seemingly trying to way up their options on how best to deal with me. The Voice echoed in my head once more.
'Press circle to roll, this can be used to avoid incoming attacks and move to a more advantageous position in battle.'
Why does the voice need to explain simple battle tactics to me, surely it knows I know this? Before I could answer my own question the remaining two bandits lunged at me as if given an unseen prompt.
Moving forwards, ducking the first and sliding under the second sword I jumped up slicing my own through the air. The bandits fell the their knees. Blood quickly pooling around them.
'Well done, you performed a spinning jump attack, this can be used against multiple enemies and has a large area of effect.'
Ok, listen here Voice, you may be all-powerful, but you need not mock me about basic battle technique, I thought as hard as towards the point I felt the Voice coming from inside my head.
'Your hero has been injured and needs to rest, use on of the bandits beds to heal.'
Ok, ok ok, ok. Now this voice definitely was n't addressing me. But he was in my head, who else could he be talking to? Surrounded by silence I finally had time to assess my situation, come to think of it, how did I even find myself in that initial field but an hour ago? My name is xXCharlieIZcoolXx and I vow on my own honour to figure out what The Voice was up to.
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
C & C welcome, if there's any interest I could continue this.
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[ WP ] The hero who saved the world is now ruling the world . He has a copy of an `` Evil Overlord List . '' He does not want to be an Evil Overlord , so whatever the list suggests , he does the opposite ( where applicable ) .
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What more could happen to make this day worse? A lot, apparently.
`` Did you at least close the city? So we can hopefully capture him before he escapes?''
`` Actually, I did n't see the point.'' My advise replied matter of factly.
`` Did n't see the point!'' My heart almost stopped. `` The point would be to CAPTURE him!''
`` All those ventilation ducts make it too difficult to cover the exits. Way too much manpower.'' Adviser retorted. `` Besides, I know where he was going.''
`` *Was* going?''
`` The Mountain of Inspiration.'' He replied matter of factly.
`` Mountain of Inspiration?'' It sounded vaguely familiar.
`` The former Mount Doom.'' Adviser explained. `` Its across the River of Water... which if you ask me was a little redundant when you re-named it.'' He muttered. `` Guarded by your Rabbits of Short Duration.''
`` You say that like it was a bad decision.'' Anger flowing through me. `` I'm trying *not* to be an evil overlord remember.''
Deep breaths, I reminded myself once more.
`` Why did he go there anyway?''
`` Because the Orb of Power is there?'' Adviser stated, as if it were obvious.
`` Why would he think the Orb of Power is there? Do we have a traitor?''
`` You practically advertised you were putting it there to keep it safe.'' Adviser stated angrily. `` What did you expect would happen?''
`` I expected him to go elsewhere. It was reverse psychology.'' I explained. `` Nobody would put his Orb of Power to be guarded by bunnies. I did n't think anyone would go there because it was so obviously where I would n't put it.''
`` So you put it elsewhere?'' Adviser asked hopefully.
`` No, its guarded by the bunnies!'' I screamed. `` I already told you that. It's reverse psychology. Why did n't he fall for it?''
`` Well, for one thing, when you put him in prison you gloated over the fact that you were going to store the Orb in such an easy to reach location, because you did n't think he could ever get it.'' Adviser patiently pointed out.
`` Oh,'' I blushed, `` I did, did n't I.''
`` You did. You also left him a map showing exactly where the Orb was.''
`` It was in riddles!'' I shouted. `` Riddles he could n't have possibly solved.''
`` A five year old could have solved those riddles.'' Adviser replied coldly.
`` That's not true.''
Adviser just stared at me, his eyes boring into my skull.
`` Okay, so one, one mind you, one five year old solved it.'' I relented. `` But having a five year old advise me is not good policy.''
`` It is when you have a problem with your plan so easy to see a five year old could point it out.''
`` Well, if it was so stupid, why did n't you tell me it was so stupid at the time? Huh?'' I confronted him `` Why?''
Adviser made some response. I ignored it. Listening to my advisers was one of the things I needed to avoid, I reminded myself, quoting the unholy scripture in my head. Besides, I needed to stop Evil from getting the Orb.
I held up my hand to stop Adviser from speaking. `` Let's just go and stop Evil from getting the Orb.''
`` Does n't matter. He already has it.'' Adviser explained patiently.
He has it?!?! Why did n't you tell me this at the beginning? No, do n't worry about it, I do n't want to hear.'' Deep breaths... deep breaths... deep breaths. I quietly counted to ten.
`` Okay, so if you knew he had it.'' I reasoned, `` Then why did you ask if I hid it elsewhere?''
`` On the off chance that the Orb I saw him with was a fake.'' Adviser shrugged.
`` You saw him with the Orb? When? Where?''
`` At his wedding?''
`` His wedding? He got married? To who?''
`` Princess.'' Adviser stated matter of factly. `` Shortly after he kidnapped her.
`` He kidnapped PRINCESS! But I was going to marry her! I had a whole elaborate wedding planned out months from now. Why in the world were you at his wedding?''
`` Well he needed someone to marry them, and I was available so...''
`` You were available? You were available!'' My voice becoming hoarse. `` Were you available to use the stun ray to stop him.''
`` He destroyed it.''
`` With WHAT?''
`` The Self Destruct Button you so graciously installed.'' Adviser accused.
`` I was trying to avoid being evil!'' I explained. `` Obviously! I thought you understood that.''
I ignored Adviser's response. Blah blah, stupid idea blah. Listening to advisers was evil, i reminded myself.
`` Why did n't you turn on the force field then? It did n't have a self destruct button.''
`` Blah Blah, ON / OFF Button Blah Blah.'' Adviser replied, as I continued to ignore him.
I needed to regain control of the situation. `` I'm the Hero, I'll go after him and capture him myself.''
`` And how will you deal with his army?'' Adviser questioned.
`` His army is dead.'' I explained. Adviser was so dumb. `` His soldiers were all killed in the final battle.''
Adviser sighed. `` And yet we never had any bodies to bury.''
`` I do n't remember that.''
`` You do n't remember me telling you we should confirm they were dead?''
`` I do. And I ignored it, because you are my adviser.''
`` Of course you did.'' Adviser muttered.
`` Besides, checking that would have been-''
`` Evil, we get it.'' He muttered dryly.
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[ WP ] Some scientists , while exploring the depths of the Mariana trench have found a strange door blocking the way .
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Thousands of man hours, millions of dollars, and countless R & D prototypes and we finally reached the point where we can make it to the bottom! We can finally explore something harder to see into than space! We were so damn excited! Its too fucking bad we have to scrap the project, huh Maureen? We reached the end of our budget and even though we have the capacity to go down there, guess what!? HEADQUARTERS WONT GIVE US AUTHORIZATION TO BRING A GODDAMN LOCKSMITH! Oh well, maybe thats for the best. Im gon na go become a diving instructor before this shady ass contract gets me killed.
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[ WP ] Due to a prophetic mix-up , the hero ends up with a weapon of darkness , and the villain gets one of light .
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The stone door came down with a crash. Amidst the dust and rubble a man stood in a wide stance, breathing heavily and with a huge grinning smile on his face. He points a bloodied sword at the priests inside the temple β s secret chamber.
β Death comes for you! Run now and leave me to my prize, for I shall cut and maim each one of you who stands in my path. β He let out a vicious, primal laugh. It was a laugh devoid of all the intricacies of culture and civilization. It was honest and wicked.
The four priests in the room followed his orders and attempted to leave the room, running towards the man, towards the exit. But as they approached the man simply laughed and cut them down without mercy. β Fat pigs. β
He stepped forward towards the altar. β Finally, Shadowbringer is mine. The legendary instrument of doom and destruction is within my grasp! I have overcome everything you light bearing zealots could throw at me: your puny acolytes, your delusional priests, your fanatic paladins! Your churches and your temples and your crypts! Every trap and cryptic puzzle your feeble light-adoring mind could conjure, I have conquered! And nowβ¦ Now! Despair is mine to bring upon the world. β
Suddenly the armored statue next to the altar began to glow, and move, until a being made of pure light stood between the man and Shadowbringer. β First, you must best me. β It unsheathed its sword, the blade reflecting the light of its own body. β I am the guardian of this chamber β s artifact. I have stood watch for centuries and faced many like you. I stand, while they fell. Come, villain. I will make you face your sins. β
The man looked puzzled for a second, but a look of cocky confidence soon came back to his face. β I do not fear you, beast of light. You stand before prophecy. I am the man of which your holy books speak. I am the one who will change the fate of this land. I am the one about whom your gods have warned you about. And I am the one who will end your streak. β
The two traded blows for what seemed like an eternity, neither showing signs of fatigue. The man caught the light-being in what should have been mortal wounds many times, but it was apparently immune. β Enough! β Cried the man.
β Do you concede? β
β Not quite. β The man lured the light-being towards a near-collapsing pillar and in a swift single movement dodge a slow, overhead strike and pushed the pillar towards the guardian. It crumbled in a dozen large pieces and pinned the being to the ground underneath all the weight.
β I am defeated. You are indeed the man of prophecy. β
With an evil grin the man stepped towards the altar and grabbed the hilt of the sword stuck in the stone floor. β HAH! β He pulled it out in one swift motion and held it upwards in triumph. To his surprise, he held in his hand a shining golden sword of light.
β What madness is this!? Light? Guardian! Explain this atrocity! β
β What? What is it? β
β What is it..? Oi! Are you playing coy with me? β He waved the shining sword around as he rambled. β Does this here sword look like a Shadowbringer to you? Does it now? β He waved the sword in front of the guardian β s light-face. β Look at it. Look at it! β
β I don β t understand your confusion. Light creates shadow. The sword is made of light. I don β t understand how this could be ambiguous in any way. β The guardian didn β t move.
β Ack! I can β t take this. β He was moving back and forth now. β How am I supposed to conquer the world with a sword of light!? β
β Conquer the world? β
β It β s not even scary! It β s made of fucking light, it is! β
β I thought you were the hero prophesized in legend. β
β WHAT? Why would you think that!? β
β Well you come in here into my house with all that talk about how you were going to change the world, and how our books told us about you, and I just thoughtβ β
β I KILLED YOUR PRIESTS. β
β Well I did not like you from the start, if you really must know. But who am I to question the god β s choices? I β m just a lowly light-being. And I β m nearing retirement as well. β
β This is bollocks, that β s what it is! I DEMAND COMPENSATION! β The man threw the sword into the ground and all manners of shadows flickered on the walls as the blade tumbled around.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Meanwhile, in a distant landβ¦
β It is with a great honor that I welcome you, in your eighteenth birthday, to this holy chamber. The prophecies of our people speak of a boy, who upon entering adulthood, shall be able to pluck this holy blade from the stone upon which it rests and bring peace and glory to the land. β The boy walked towards the sword stuck on the ground, surrounded by everyone in the village. β Are you the hero of legend? Are you the one who will take Light β s Sheath unto your hands? β
And the boy confidently grabbed the sword β s hilt.
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[ WP ] Write a story in a society where time can be directly sold and bought .
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The dimly lit restaurant buzzed with conversation and the tinny sound of fine silver on dinner plates. A low hum of the violin rang out from the overhead speakers interspersed by a sharp cut of laughter from an unseen booth. Above, sanguine colored fluorescent bulbs bathed the hall in a seductive light. The night was alive with the passion of Friday night lovers enjoying fine wine, and discussing sweetly their better plans for the evening. Except quite the opposite was the case in booth twenty-six. Slinking down into his leather seat, Henry felt his ears turn a deeper shade of the dining room lights as two waitresses giggled somewhere behind him.
*They're making fun of me I know it, * He thought abashed. Trying to hide his embarrassment, Henry took a quick drink of his sauvignon blanc and smiled at his companion. It was an awkward smile, too toothy and forced. His date returned a similar expression of feigned joy and quickly hid behind a bite of roast duck. She chewed in slow, calculated bites so as to not disturb the quiet of their booth, but Henry heard. He heard every bite and with each *chomp* of her teeth he felt the date sinking closer and closer to failure. *This was a mistake. I wasted a good hour for this? * Came the unbidden, sour thought. She would n't make eye contact with him. It was because he was as lame as that duck she gnawed, Henry knew. He was boring and unattractive, quite the opposite of her. She was beauty incarnate. *Oh why did I waste my time on this. * The voice in the back of his incessantly reminded him of the futility of this laughable date. He took another long drink and eyed her over.
Her name was Sophie and she was absolutely stunning. A gorgeous mystery robed in a low-cut black dress held up by two of the tiniest strings Henry had ever seen. Her hair was a waterfall of loose black curls that drank the red light of the restaurant, glistening like blood. Eye shadow beneath her eyes painted the face of perpetual anger, like that of the dame in some desperate, smokey noir. Just below her long neck, Henry could barely make out the shape of her collar bone. He wanted to trace it with his pudgy fingers, if only he had the chance. He adored her. She despised his existence, he knew. A girl like Sophie would never like a guy like me.
Henry's friends at work, they meant well setting this up for him, but it was in vein he knew. For a second he thought maybe they were playing some cruel joke on him, but then he dismissed the thought. Henry knew as well as anyone that accountants could n't make jokes half so good as this date. Sophia worked two floors above him as an secretary or something, he was n't sure. They had mutual friends, which wholly summed up everything they had in common. Sophia was younger than Henry by at least a decade, but Ellen in IT said she liked older men. Henry had seen her quite often dining with other secretaries her age in the building cafe, she had never so much as glanced at him. He hated himself for bringing it up to his coworkers. Why, why did he have to tell them he had n't been on a date since high school. It did n't matter though. The point of the matter was that Sophia did not show a lick of interest in him. Henry felt himself slink lower into his booth.
*This date was a terrible idea, * He thought surly. Why he choose to waste his time on this fool's endeavor he would never know; except Henry did know. Loathed as he was to admit it, Sophia was Venus incarnate and temptation flowed from her like the long waves of her black hair. He imagined it smelled like strawberry and passion. Deep down Henry wanted to try to spur something akin to a flame between the two, but it was only now that he realized as a man he had little less than a scrap of kindling. She was a wildfire, he was the sputtering butt of a used of match. If she was Venus than that made Henry a stubby little satyr, all cloven and hairy. A flash of anger flickered in his mind at the thought of being silently emasculated at dinner, but he quickly swallowed it down, along with more wine, and instead offered up another fake smile. She did n't even acknowledge him this time, so Henry tried to think up a topic to get her attention.
`` I hear there is a new bar in town.'' He said a little less confidently than he would have liked. His date regarded him with a raised eyebrow. He felt the pinch of rage again. *No stop this, * He thought, time was paramount and Henry was wasting it.
Henry continued, `` It's one of those trendy smoke lounges, its supposed to be the biggest new thing in the city.''
`` Oh I do n't know.'' Sophia said almost flippantly, `` It must be expensive.'' She added after a moment then slipped another slice of duck behind her red lips. As she chewed she set her fork and knife atop her napkin indication she was done.
Henry tried to sit a little taller, `` Money is no object I promise. Plus I know the manager's son.''
`` You know Dominic?'' She said biting her lip.
`` We go to the same gym together.'' Henry shrugged. It was true, though he'd never actually had a conversation with the kid. Dominic the kind of person who'd rather make fun of Henry as he huffed his way through a cycle on the treadmill.
Sophia eyed Henry up and down and looked unimpressed. She checked her watch, `` Oh I do n't know I've got so little time before I'm back on the clock.'' Her eyes were on the door. `` Thank you for dinner though it was sweet of you.''
Sophia began to file her personal effects into her violet purse. It was now or lose her forever. Quickly, Henry replied, `` Ah, but I said money is no issue.'' Sophia paused. She shot him a look from the corner of her eye. Her deep black eyes meeting his meek boyish blues. He tried to make himself look as large as he could, but nothing compared to the scathing scan of a woman's eye. He felt as though he was a frog upon the table and she was dissecting him bit by bit. After a moment she set her purse back on the booth and smiled, this time it seemed half genuine.
`` Buying time? I hear that is quite expensive.'' She said in an almost seductive tone.
Henry grasped at what strings she dangled before him and tugged, `` Well its marked up even higher on weekends, 15 % above normal cost actually. I'm sure you've heard with the new bill passed and all.''
`` You'd do that for me?'' She said sweetly with a shy smile, completely ignoring what he said. It appeared that flashing money in her face was the equivalent of flirting, which was perfect because Henry was no good at flirting. He was good with money however, and little did Sophie know, he had plenty of it.
`` I would.'' He replied with an awkward smile. For a moment he thought he saw the unmistakable expression of disgust on her face, but as fast as it had appeared it disappeared. The two rose from the table in unison. Sophia bit her lip again and ran a single finger down the trim of his dinner jacket.
`` Well,'' Sophia said, `` Just how much time are you willing to buy?''
`` As much as I need.'' Henry said cooly. He put his hand on the corner of the table to stabilize himself. Standing up made him realize just how drunk he was, although he could n't be certain if it was the wine or her touch which clouded his mind.
The two exited the restaurant and walked out into the cold. Snow had just begun falling and the little white flakes glistened red in the neon light of the city. Henry pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up his Time Account. After a quick exchange he purchased Sophia for twelve more hours. In a flash $ 10,999.99 disappeared from his account. Sophia softly grabbed Henry's hand and the two strolled off to their better plans for the evening.
Meanwhile, back at the restaurant a security camera watched apathetically as this story repeated itself time and again. Men would exit the restaurant, toy with their phones for a minute, and then saunter off with their companions into the snowy night. Behind a CCTV screen a lonely security guard shook his head and swallowed back a long gulp of whiskey from his flask.
`` Desperate, lonely bastards.'' He murmured in a drunken slur. In his pocket he felt his own cell phone buzz. He pulled it out and with one eye closed for acuity, read the message.
> Shift Complete:
> Twelve hours has been added to your account.
> Account Balance: 11:59:59
> Would you like to use now?
> Yes / No
> Yes; Your Free-Time Account is currently being charged. Enjoy!
> Additional hours may be purchased for $ 399
> Weekend special! Purchase hours now for 10 %!!
The guard pocketed his phone and rose up from his post. He strode out the door whistling to himself. Outside in the hall he passed his relief. With a wink he handed off the flask of whiskey. Neither stopped to talk; after all, time was a precious thing and it would be a shame to waste it.
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[ WP ] You wake one morning to find you have developed the ability to eliminate any amount of suffering in the world ... by transfering it to yourself . You can never die , but every bit of sadness , and pain exerts itself on you as if it was your own . Today you decide to take on all the worlds suffering .
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On mobile right now. I will revise it tomorrow.
`` Let there be light''
...
It is the year 19530GD. Mankind has gone through a cycle of lifr being created every billion or so years. The events that Isaac Asimov fortold in his short story, *The Last Question*, where as close as any man could get to truely understanding our place in the universe. Every trillion or so years when the entroy in the universe reaches its peak, a new generated of life is born on some distant planet. The year GD signifies that 6 cycles of life have come and gone. Every time the cycle restarts, it goes the same way. History never changes. In effect, everything that every happened in the history of our universe, or that will happen, is yet to be unkwon. Hence, it seems man will never quite get past the point when entropy reaches its max.
...
`` Get out of the way you idiot!''
`` Sorry'' You say as a taxi blazes past you on 5th avenue in Nee York City.
*What a shitty place with shitty people* You think to yourself
*How the hell did I end up here anyway*
You didnt alway partake in the luxuries of NYC. You used to work for a research facility in Austria. It was far from the confusion of the Big Apple. This all changed however after the war. Thus you are stuck in this god forsaken place teaching at a university.
*I got to get home, im gon na go insane*
As you enter your small studio apartment you ponder what discoveries man made today.
*If only I could still be somewhere that made it seem though I contributed to the scientific community*
You live alone and all you pretty much do is think. Thinking is your job, or at least it was. You where an assistant mental repository scientist. Just about everyone never even heard of such a job. Your job was to connect dreams and split consciousness and apply them so that we could understand them better. You maed incredible progress and continued to push experiments to the max. The problem was, you got so obsessed with the aspect of your job that you began experimenting on yourself. It eas the only way you could be sure your thwory was right. It turned out that your theory was so complex that the head researchers thought you to ha e some kind of `` mental obsession'' with tour work.Some would call you insane, others would call you... - insane.
Just like any other friday evening, you begin reading the New York Times while you wait for your tea to come to a boil on the stove. This was the only time that you felt as though you where truely at peace. You scan through the paper, avoiding most everything ecxept for the science section.
*Same old stuff, sports, celebrates, etc. Oh well, maybe tomorr..*
Suddenly, something catches your eye on page 3 of the science section. Scientists in the U.K. are making advancements in understanding what the paper calls,'our place in the universe'.
*Hm, this looks like a good read*
You go on to read that scientists have began to understand the limit of entropy in our universe and have a broad idea of how to reverse the effect.
*How fascinating! This is an unprecedented moment in science! I very well hope that I should read about this in the future*
Yes. It is an unprecedented discovery indeed. But more importantly, this is the first time in the cycle of life that man has progressed with his knowledge ahead of set timeline; Man has effectively changed history.
*To be continued... *
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[ WP ] Reincarnation exists with children recalling their previous lives as they grow up . A loving father who was brutally tortured and murdered in a previous life is conflicted when he realizes that his only child is starting to remember things that only his tormenter/killer would have known .
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It starts the same. Screaming, blood, tears β silence before the first cry. They even look the same - impossibly tiny, wet, streaked with blood. At about the same time teeth come in, rolling turns to crawling turns to walking.
Then comes the talking and with the talking the remembering. Their first remembered landing airplanes, the second of running down criminals. Their friends children remembered performing complex surgeries, of manning sewing machines, of underwater welding.
Some carried memories better forgotten, like Jax. He remembered the horrified look his mother gave him when at four he described in great detail the feeling of his toenails ripped out. Her eyes had focused on some unseen point beyond his view and she β d sobbed, shuddering softly as she clutched him to her chest.
The memories weren β t intrusive, not until their third child. Jax didn β t bother much until they became persons, walking and talking, laughing and playing. Until then they were just howling bags of meat his wife found adorably precious.
But Hojati remembered too much. He remembered exactly what it was like to pull toenails out, and Jax found himself quizzing his son. The unspoken rule was to let a child discover who they were going to be in this life β to let the past lie, to not encourage remembering, and definitely not to badger out secrets. Each time Hojati exclaimed something new Jax was supposed to let it go. He wasn β t supposed to ask what happened next, or β did you see sand? Was it raining? Were dogs barking? β but he did.
As Hojati β s body, language and attention span grew Jax found their conversations inevitably turning into interrogations. Tren would tense and shoot him nasty glares, but he couldn β t stop. The more Hojati remembered the more Jax remembered. Reincarnation was supposed to give a second chance, just enough information to learn from past mistakes, but now the holes in his memory plagued Jax.
Was he the same person he had been? Was Hojati? If they were then how could those powerful feelings of parental love exist? Why when he looked at his son was he compelled to tickle, to feed, to hug?
His sons personality was sweet, nurturing even. As he grew he wasn β t the type of boy to toss cats in the air, or catch squirrels and skin them. He looked out for his little sister, and brought dead baby birds to his mother to heal. Jax had feared the worst β feared his son would grow into a monster.
The interrogations never stopped, and through a decade of conversation it became clearer and clearer. Jax remembered pain, Hojati remembered inflicting it. They watched Tren fight with the girls, watched them inflict pain to win arguments. They watched coaches scream at each other during Little League. They watched murderers go to trial, wars start and end, bullies fight in the school yard and they talked.
They remembered what once had been and cherished what now was β enmity buried not in death but in life.
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[ WP ] A super soldier from the far future is about to drop into an enemy planet ; open descent he enters a time warp and drops into the middle of World War 1 .
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`` What are we bred for?'' The Captain roars, voice warped by his helmet's speakers.
`` War!'' We shout in response.
`` And what does war bring?'' He asks, leaning in in anticipation.
`` Glory and carnage!'' We scream.
The Captain grins a wide toothy grin and bangs a metal fist against his power armor. We grin and laugh back, some of us bang our chests or stomp our feet. I do the latter as best I can while I strap into my drop-seat. The adrenaline is making my hands shake. I activate my regulator augment and it stops, but I can still hear the war-drum of my heartbeat.
`` Men! I'll save the more long winded speeches for when you return painted red. Until then, give these Terran fuckers hellfire!''
My seat, along with the rest of my comrade's seats, slides back into its respective drop pod. A door swings down and clamps shut in front of me, before disappearing as the interior hull rotates to prevent it becoming a weak point. I adjust myself in my seat as the drop pod controls slide in front of me and I hear my AI giving me a countdown.
I never liked this moment much. The silence between the prep hall of the drop ship and the drop itself. Gives you too much time to think. Thinking is for later. Let me act.
The countdown reaches'one' and I feel the hydraulic claws that held me in the guts of the drop ship release. I am weightless and descending upon my prey. I am bred for war. Glory and carnage await me.
Slag and Anti-Low-Orbit fire rip past my pod and the thousands of pods that I fall among. My AI makes micro adjustments every half a tick and I never let my eyes rest on one pixel of my pod's exterior screen for one second. A pod above me erupts in a fireball as an ALO slug ruptures its inferior cannon. Another pod to my left is sent hurtling off course in circles when a fragment of another pod rips one of its fins off. I am cold to this. My war-drum beats.
My fingers start dancing over the triggers of my suit's weaponry as I pierce the mesosphere, preparing for battle. As we do I grip the controls of my inferior cannons and begin to rain fire upon the Terrans. I unleash two controlled bursts of heavy ordinance on an ALO nest before one of their slugs pegs me. It sends my pod spiraling through the air and sends my helmeted head whipping against the pod's interior.
My AI starts to tell me about a pierced engine but before it can finish the pod shreds and explodes around me in a storm of fire and metal. When it does a pulse of light, shifting in color, emanates from where my engine had been, knocking me back in my chair. I regret to say that this made me close my eyes, if only because it was so bright.
Now, as I open my eyes, I find that I am falling through clouds still miraculously strapped into my drop chair. It was not cloudy when I had been falling before, but the engine implosion could've sent me off course quite a ways. I find that my coms are silent as well, as well as my external auditory sensors since I can no longer hear the sound of ALO fire or pod cannons. I fumble around for a moment to find my chair's emergency chute pop it. I begin descending slowly through the cover of clouds and check my suit quickly. No damage. Very odd.
Once through the clouds I unstrap myself and begin to fall in earnest. Below me there is a battle raging. But it is not familiar. The warriors are tinier than they should be. Something is wrong.
I activate my thrusters and slow before slamming into the ground, boots first, amongst a crowd of tiny humans huddled in a trench. They are dressed in brown and green cloth and hold wood and metal rifles. A few of them scream while others point their guns and fire at me. Their small metal projectiles ricochet of my armor like rubber against a brick wall. I aim my wrist mounted plasma caster at them and spray it in an arch, leaving hardly any trace of the paltry firing squad behind.
Once I am alone aside from a few far off onlookers and the sound of archaic mortar fire I pull up my AI.
`` Run a full system check.'' I command. Something is very wrong. I need to reconnect coms and get back in touch with the Captain.
`` All systems are functioning at optimal levels.'' Responds my AI.
Well shit.
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[ WP ] You are a psychologist in a world where no one is able to lie . Tell us about one of your sessions .
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It was almost time for my 3:30 appointment with Anderson. My last session of the week before I could unwind for a stress-free weekend with the wife. Anderson was a quiet one, and had some dark thoughts during our previous sessions. I had been worried about him at times, he really had trouble seeing the light at the end of the tunnel; but he seemed to be improving over the past few months. He was n't a danger to society like some of my patients, but he stood out like a sore thumb. He had a genuine desire to improve the world and other beings around him. His desire to help others would hurt him at times. This emotion was driven so deeply inside that it was starting to tear his mind apart. Like a mouse in a never-ending maze; an itch he just couldn β t quite scratch.
Anderson walked in, locked into my eyes and firmly shook my hand with a slight grin on his face. He was confident, something was different; but for the better.
`` Anderson, you seem to be doing well today. Have you been doing better since our last session? Are you happy?'' These were the two questions I asked my patients every session, generally warranting the same sorrowful response.
`` Absolutely.'' he asserted.
I was utterly shocked to hear this response with such certainty. None of my patients had ever told me this before. NOBODY had ever told me this before. `` That's fantastic!! Tell me - what's improved? What's changed?!'' I promptly inquired as I sat up from my green velvet chair.
Anderson's confident gaze transitioned toward the sunny window. `` Dr. Cohen, are YOU happy?''
β No β I instantly told myself in my mind. I knew exactly how to respond, but I did n't. I couldn β t. I curiously looked at Anderson, as he awaited my response. This was n't about me, I was here to help him. `` Anderson, that's not relevant, is it?'' The room stood silent. Eventually, I decided to play along to clear the awkward pause. `` Sometimes. Circumstances and things can make me happy. Helping patients can make me happy.'' I was being vague.
Anderson nodded and remained silent. He knew something that I didn β t. I became confused, and started feeling agitated that he was acting so strange. Before I could mutter my frustration, Anderson loudly stated, `` CIRCUMSTANCES. THINGS.''
I perked up.
`` Dr. Cohen, what's LIFE without innate happiness? That feeling of subtle bliss from dusk-til-dawn. Nothing factored by situational or physical outcomes, forces of nature or surrounding emotion. You sit here trying to help others, but what have you done to help yourself? You rely on that sugar-infused Cola sitting on your desk to temporarily increase the dopamine in your brain. You cheat on your wife with Stephanie, the receptionist, for temporary gratification. You post pictures of your expensive car on social media so that others may be impressed by you. But your life and demeanor remains empty. You rely on so much, in return for so little. β
I stared at Anderson in disbelief. Did he just insult me? Is he stalking me? I was outraged. He knew my secrets, my life, and my routines. He β d been picking up on cues and watching me regularly. He recognized the way Stephanie and I connected. He had been studying me; just like I had studied him. Or so I thought. He was utterly right, though. Anderson curiously looked at me, knowing I would be too stunned to respond with any statements to dodge his accusations. For this very moment, I was his patient, a fragile being in his palms. The tables had turned, and self-realization hit me harder than ever.
Anderson slowly stood and walked off β that was the last time I saw him. His simple breakdown had a lasting impression on me. I was so used to evaluating others that I quickly realized I hadn β t spent enough time evaluating, improving, and enhancing my own being. I leaned on vices, temporary satisfaction, and other materialistic, unnecessary means which all in essence were unfulfilling.
I was empty up until that very moment. I β ve since opened up to an entirely new outlook on self-fulfillment. He was right, and he created a lasting impression I refer to as the β Anderson effect β. Was Anderson truly happy all along? Was he happy because he finally knew how to get through to me? My anger quickly subsided and was replaced by a genuine smile.
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[ WP ] ( drops weapon ) `` Shit . I just realized something . '' `` What ? '' `` We 're the bad guys ... .. ''
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`` Shit.''
`` What is it *now*?''
`` I just realized... I think we're the baddies.''
Jacob turned to his friend, tilting his head in an expression of utmost disdain.
`` What do you mean we're the baddies, Norbert?''
`` Well, I mean...'' Norbert knit his eyebrows together in an expression of pudgy confusion. `` Have you seen the secret lair?''
`` Of course I have seen the secret lair! It is mandatory for all soldiers of the Black Army to visit the secret lair before deployment! It is n't like it is an *actual* secret! What are you on about?''
`` Well, did you see all of those... monsters? You know, the ones they kept in the tubes.''
`` Not *monsters*, Norbert, we've been through this. *Test subjects*. I hear they were all willing, and are being paid handsomely for their role in creating the perfect soldi- hang on, that does sound a mite evil, does n't it?''
Norbert nodded enthusiastically, his many chins bobbing up and down. `` That's what I mean. It's nothing THAT big, really, just a bunch of little things that add up. Like... why are we called the Black Army anyway? When I joined up, I thought it started as a racial thing, you know, having a bit of pride for being a person of color. But I do n't think we have a single person of African descent among us, so that ca n't be it!''
Jacob nodded pensively. `` Yeah. No diversity. That's evil for sure. But maybe they're just in a different camp, eh?''
`` Yeah could be.'' Norbert looked somewhat doubtful, before perking up again. `` What about the Death rays?''
`` Well, really, they're just guns! Guns are supposed to kill people!'' Jacob retorted, clutching the weapon to his chest as if it was his firstborn son and looking aghast.
`` Well, yes, I know that.'' Norbert said with a roll of his eyes. `` But... why did they have to name them something so evil sounding? Why could n't it have been `` laser guns'' or something? That's much more neutral. Or even ray guns!''
`` No one is going to be intimidated by a bunch of people with ray guns, Norbert!'' Jacob exclaimed, but a shadow of doubt flickered across his features.
`` Ok, ok. Fine, maybe it is for intimidation. But how do you explain the skulls?''
`` Skulls?''
`` Yeah, the skulls! You know, in our insignia, as decorations around the camp, the goblets in the mess hall... it's like everyday is Halloween out here!''
`` S-same reason!'' Jacob said, but his knees began to rattle and he took of his helmet to look at the skull. It *was* quite intimidating, at least in his eyes. All big and grinning and covered in blood... actually, perhaps a bit too much blood. On second thought, WAY too much blood.
`` Shit.''
As one, they threw their weapons to the ground and fled - running as fast as their legs could carry them.
***
*Might have borrowed bits here and there from [ this ] ( https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=hn1VxaMEjRU ). CC appreciated! If you enjoyed, you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs! *
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[ WP ] Tell me a somewhat dark fairy tale .
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`` Do you know any stories?'' Queen Malvina asks the figure before her.
Both sit in front of the burning fire, the flames comfortably warm against the chill of the winter night. Lit chandeliers illuminate the space, casting the spacious room in a warm glow, the beeswax candles burning clean and bright. Soft drapes cover the glass window panes, hiding the slowly piling snow outside. The room itself is of mixed appearances; though well maintained, much of the furniture is covered by sheets to protect against dust, paintings stacked away in storage. Only a pair of chairs and a small table between them are uncovered, the rich cherry wood of the tea table polished to a shine by an attentive servant beforehand.
Queen Malvina herself sits in a comfortable chair, the dark upholstered fabric blending with her raven hair. A down filled blanket covers her further against the chill, only her feet and one slender arm outside it. A look of frank curiosity graces her face as she stares at her `` guest'' across from her.
In the other chair sits Dieter, a look of annoyed bemusement on his own face. He shifts slightly, the manacle'round his wrist clanking as he does so, the other cuff latched around the armrest. Both pairs of eyes cast themselves down at the source of the noise, their looks cooling.
`` Stories? I should hope so.'' Dieter says evasively, his attention turned towards the flickering flames of the fireplace.
A slight frown crosses Queen Malvina's lips.
`` Well, would you tell one?''
Dieter's storm gray eyes avoid her viridian green, instead trailing along the detailed crown molding.
`` I do n't know... would it grieve you to ask politely?''
Queen Malvina's gaze darkens.
`` You're rather bold to speak so... a wiser man would learn to keep his tongue.''
Dieter laughs, his attention finally fixing on his host as he speaks.
`` Yes, and a wiser man would. Alas, I am not a wise man. But you said you wanted a story? Fine. I'll give you a story. But I want something in return.''
`` You are not in a position to make demands.'' Queen Malvina growls.
`` Perhaps not, but I think you'll find it quite available. Could you think of sparing a single *Please? *''
`` *Please*, would you tell a story?''
`` I have a name you know, it's an excellent one.'' Dieter teases.
`` Do n't push me.''
Dieter merely shrugs, his movements hampered by the shackle around his wrist.
`` Once upon a time there was a beautiful Princess, renowned throughout the land for her grace and sharp mind. But she was also a terrible woman, vengeful and vindictive to a fault. Many came to court her, though she despised each and every one. But still they came, eager to wed the most beautiful maiden in all the lands. So she challenged all the suitors to a contest, one she was sure that none could complete.''
`` And what were the challenges?'' Queen Malvina asks, taking her cup of tea and bringing it to her lips.
`` Three there were.'' Dieter says. `` Each more difficult than the last. The first was a riddle;'my roots are buried deep in the past, my branches stretch out towards the future, my fruits may be golden or rotten but still do not fall from my trunk. If I am cut in two, I will still grow. What am I?'''
`` The second task was to bring a torch of flameless fire to her whilst wearing clothes made neither of fur nor fiber. The last challenge was to show her something neither truely living nor truely dead.''
`` Only one man succeeded in all three. He came up to the fair princess and bowed, declaring he had completed her challenge. Surprised, the princess asked him to show how. And so she asked her riddle.'my roots are buried deep in the past, my branches stretch out towards the future, my fruits may be golden or rotten but still do not fall from my trunk. If I am cut in two, I will still grow. What am I?'''
Queen Malvina frowns, puzzlement on her fair features.
`` What was it?''
`` The young suitor laughed and said the answer was easy. It was a family tree. The princess conceded her defeat on the first challenge but grew smug as she saw he neither bore flameless fire or wore furless or fiberless clothes. He admitted that was a case but asked for a moment to prepare. She allowed it and he came back minutes later bearing a lantern full of fireflies whilst around his shoulders was a cloak made out of jet black feathers. For the second time she conceded defeat but declared him still the loser, as he did not have anything both living and dead. But the suitor held up his hand to still her. Because it was then he tossed aside the cloak of raven feathers to reveal his bare chest. Wrapped around his waist was a blood red bandage, the white fabric soaked with his blood. Whilst he changed clothes, he sliced his stomach open with a blade, a mortal wound.''
`` The princess cried aloud, for she knew she had been defeated as the man worthy of her heart fell to the ground, his life spilling out onto the stone floor. With his sacrifice, the proud soon to be queen's heart was softened, and she ruled wisely and kindly for many years. Though she found love again, she never forgot the man who won her heart.''
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[ WP ] Both shot in battle , two enemy soldiers attempt to comfort the other through death
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Beneath the acrid grey blanket covering the sky, Herman crawled along the forest, blood staining the ground from his injured leg, despite his efforts to patch himself up. He grimaced as he heard the footfalls of heavy boots - the enemy was nearby.
*Well, I had a good run, * he thought to himself. *I'm not going to last long anyway. *
Just then, strong arms pulled him away and into a bush, as the soldiers passed by, unaware that their enemy was ten feet away.
`` Shh, they'll hear ya,'' panted a gruff voice. Herman turned into the face of a soldier wearing the olive green uniform of the men he'd been shooting at the whole day, and whom he'd been shot by. The man was nursing a bullet wound in his stomach.
`` Why?'' he croaked.
`` Why?'' panted the man. `` Why does it matter?''
Herman closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the other man was lying on his back, looking up towards the sky.
`` What's your name?''
`` I'm Herman. Staff Sergeant Herman, but that does n't matter now. You?''
`` β¦Bulrich. Corporal. You have any family, Sergeant?''
`` Herman. Just Herman. And yesβ¦ I had a girl I wanted to propose to when I got back. Hereβ¦'' Herman dug up a small photograph from his pocket and passed it to Bulrich.
`` She's gorgeous. You've got yourself a good one.''
`` Thank you. Yourself?''
Bulrich spat. `` Nope. Had a daughter once, but I lost her in the war. Shelled by your people a day before their evacuation. I was assisting the evacuation one carriage away when it happened.''
`` I'm sor-''
`` Do n't be. We all do terrible things for the people we love. The ones who send us to war, those who value pride and prosperity over peace - they should be sorry.''
The two men fell silent for a moment.
`` Herman?''
`` Mm?''
Bulrich looked over at him. `` What's your girl's name?''
`` Marie.''
The soldier grinned at him sadly, showing yellowish teeth beneath camo-painted lips. `` Make it back to her, ya hear me? Me, I've got no one else to live for. There's nothing waiting for me when I go home. But you⦠you are different. You can lose your life - but you can not lose your Marie.''
Bulrich closed his eyes. *Through the darkness, he saw bright flashes of light, saw his 12 year old daughter run out of a carriage, calling for her father. *
*Hey, dad. Thought you'd never make it. `` *
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[ WP ] Heaven and hell have melded into one plane of existence and neither God nor Satan is anywhere to be found . Every dead person ever is fighting for power . Write about the chaos that ensues .
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There was no warning, no call to arms, no plan. It was war it's purest form, survival. Such blood lust from those who had spent nigh on an eternity being tortured. Features as warped as their minds the denizens of hell took us by surprise. Suddenly the golden streets of heaven had stank of brimstone and the garden of Eden itself was infested with vile fauna.
I had been stood with the angel Espharin at the time, if not for his swift action I might have died. He had strength greater than myself and gave his otherwise immortal life to ensure I, one of his Lords chosen, might live on. I was not about to see that sacrifice be for naught.
`` Gabriel give me weapons, let me fight!''
His features were dazzling, like he was carved from light and hope. I had to exert all my will to retain my desire to fight.
`` Brother, it is not your charge for war, leave that to the angels, you have served the Father well. You now reside within heaven and as such our duty is clear.''
`` The lord is missing Gabriel, and we both know Michael is the one who is meant to fight. That you, the Lords voice might be conscripted to battle? This situation is dire. Heaven faces not just their fallen brothers this time.''
For the first time in the hundreds of years that I had dwelt in paradise I saw concern on Gabriel's face. To me it was if a priceless porcelain cracked and my heart wept.
`` It's as you say, however I wish you not lose hope. If it is your true wish however I shall arm you''
`` It is'' I replied as soon as Gabriel's voice halted and regarded his solemn nod.
The armor I wore was forged of jems and gold. I held a spear of silver with a head formed of steel all laced with detailing and scripture. Armaments fit for the mightiest king on Earth. It fit like a well tailored suit and memory's of the battlefields I stalked as a man returned. Though I had been at leisure these centuries my body was still that of the fit young man who died in battle.
In paradise you had no need to eat, no need to rest and on the battlefield I would put this perfect form to the test.
`` FOR THE GLORY OF GOD AND ALL HIS CREATIONS!''
My roar shook the battlefield as the angels and I charged into the struggling throng of Hell's bowel. While many were the angels of heaven so too were the demons and with millennia of fallen souls boosting their ranks we stood like a wall upon which the endless waves of sin broke.
They fought us with tooth and nail, bulging eyes and foaming mouths. Great gouts of flames that would otherwise strip flesh from my bones were blocked by waves of purity sang down from above by the cherubim who's shouts of `` PRAISE HIM'' echoed endlessly.
Ahead alone, surrounded stood Michael. The warrior angel who battled Lucifer himself during the rebellion of angels. His great sword of flame and divinity smote any evil it contacted with the slightest of nicks. Only the great fallen like Baraqiel and Ba'al dared approach him. They wove thin blades through the tiny gaps in Michael's form, tearing strips of flesh at a time, picking at him like termites on a mighty ship.
We fought tirelessly and without pause knowing that at our backs were those who earned the right to reside in Gods glory. Yet doubt slipped into me as I pushed back yet another soul riddled with glutton, her gaping maw stretching from the mouth to her navel threatening to swallow me up. There was no end to the hordes of Hell, on Earth great sins were still occurring. With each passing moment re-reinforcements filled Hell's ranks and the halls of heaven filled with another charge to protect.
Thoughts of resting of taking a break and letting the angels continue this battle as was their charge plagued me. At my darkest moment I heard it. A choir, not of reverence but of defiance. I was not the only soul promised peace that desired to fight.
Tonight the gates of paradise opened not to accept new chosen but to show the ranks of Hell why we were chosen in the first place.
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[ WP ] You are a child who used to be afraid of the monsters hiding in your room . Now , you 're just a annoyed child who is tired of the monster under your bed arguing with the closet monster .
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β Good night, Lucia! β
My bedroom door was closing, taking all the light with it.
β Wait! β I cried out.
The door stopped, leaving a sliver of light spilling across the floor to the foot of my bed.
β My nightlight? β I whimpered, clutching the covers. My mother smiled sweetly and walked over to flip the switch on the rocket ship nightlight.
β There β s no such thing as monsters, Honey. Now get some sleep. β
With that she closed the door and I heard her footsteps recede downstairs to join my Father for some adult television show. I fell asleep to the sounds of my parent β s laughter one floor below me.
β¦
It was pitch black in my room when the noises started. One loud howl ripped me from my dreams and sent shivers through my spine. The growling was all around, seemingly closing in. I rolled to my side, shaking. I clutched Jupiter, my stuffed Calico cat, and stared desperately at where I knew my nightlight hung off the wall. I wished it would take me away from the monsters. I wished it would take me to the stars. I wished the light would come back on.
β¦
I β m thirteen now and the memories from when I was six, when the monsters first started wailing, still haunt my dreams occasionally. As I grew up the noises never went away. People kept telling my monsters didn β t exist but I knew I wasn β t dreaming those sounds. I read every book I could about strange, fantastical creatures. I scoured websites and blogs and forums gathering all the information I could about monsters. I came to understand the possibility more and my terror in the night began to ebb. As the filter of fear was lifted from my ears, the snarling started to sound like words. By the time I was ten, I could understand the monsters. They were almost as scared the first time I spoke to them as I was the first time I heard them.
It β s better now. They still keep me up at night, but now I lay awake listening to the crazy and frightening tales of adventure as the monster under my bed tries to out boast the monster in my closet. They only stir on the blackest nights, when no light permeates my room. I explain to my parents that the street light outside my window makes my room too bright to sleep, so they get me β room-darkening β curtains. My mother is concerned that I look like I β m getting less sleep now, but I continue reassuring her I don β t feel tired at all.
Some nights it gets to be too much, though. Tonight is one of those nights.
β Guys, knock it off! β I hiss, exhausted from a busy day of school and studying. I have a math test tomorrow and it is my worst subject. I know I need my sleep.
Rexx and Vexx quiet for a few minutes. I roll over and try to return to the dreamless slumber I had been enjoying. Shortly, the whispers start.
β I think she should wear the blue dress. She looks so cute in it! β Vexx says from the closet.
β No, she should wear her favorite jeans and that NASA shirt she loves. Better to have her favorite things around her. β Rexx shoots back from under the bed.
β No, no, no. It β s better to look cute on an important day! β
β Being comfortable will help her focus on the test more! β
β I say cute! β
β I say comfy! β
β Cute! β
β Comfy! β
β GUYS! β I yell in exacerbation, sitting up. β I will decide in the morning after I β ve gotten enough sleep! β
I flop back down on my pillow. Within a few minutes, the whispering starts again. Of course the whisper of a monster is closer to the warning growl of a lion defending his pride.
β THAT β S IT! Enough. I don β t want to hear anymore! β I march to my closet and close the door. Vexx whines a bit, but as soon as the latch clicks, I can β t hear her anymore. β Rexx, if I hear anything from you, I will turn the nightlight on! β
I hear Rexx curl up into himself below me. I let out a frustrated sigh, grab Jupiter, and roll to my side to sleep.
*edit: formating
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[ WP ] A person undergoes a new medical procedure where their mind is temporarily transplanted into a computer . The patient `` awakes '' to see a solitary human being reactivating the hospital computers in an almost unrecognizably desolate world ...
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Thomas awoke in the dark and felt heavy.'Where am I?' he wondered.'What's going on?'. He felt confused and disoriented, and could n't figure out why his feet would n't move. He wanted to turn on the light. Suddenly in a blinding flash, his world became illuminated and he winced at the sudden brightness. He saw Rae, his graduate student standing over him. She seemed taller. Memories started to fill him,'Oh that's right.. I was with Rae and..' he looked around more.'Did it work?' She walked away. He tried to call out to her. He did n't think she heard. He looked around and saw across from him a dozen or more towers, steel frames filled with row after row of silver cases holding servers. Cables running from the ceiling to each. A loud whirring sound.. fans. He did n't understand. This was n't the plan. Why was he here, in the server room at the University? The lights went out again, and he only had his thoughts and the deafening whirl of fans for company. He slept. He had no idea how long. Some days, people came and turned on the lights and looked at the machines near him. They never heard him. One day, he overheard someone saying β What happened to Rae? I have n't seen her in so long.' He perked up, wanting very much to know what had become of his admiring grad student. β You did n't hear? β came a reply, another unfamiliar voice. β She's in custody for performing negligent medical experiments. They're saying she's facing 5-10 years. They're going hard on her, they think she's responsible for that one professor's death.. the one who had a heart attack, but they ca n't prove it. β β You mean Thomas Greer? β came a reply. β Yeah that's his name. Really a tragedy that he died so young. β
His mind reeled as he considered this information. A heart attack? His organic self was gone now? He was glad he made it before that time, but it was a huge blow nonetheless. He felt helpless and small. Only Rae knew where he was. Would she tell the school and have him shut down? He shivered, or at least that part of his mind that still imagined a body that was no longer there made him feel a shiver, down a spine that did n't exist. He imagined closing his eyes, letting out a deep long and forlorn sigh. As he did so, his mind's eye turned to a screen. A black screen with two green characters on it and a blinking line. It looked like a linux prompt.. did that mean Rae had managed to connect him to a server? He imagined a letter, and it appeared. And another. He tried a few, familiar commands. In time, he wrote a web server and entertained himself by sending out odd messages whenever someone contacted him. The lights in his dull gray-steel room came on less and less often, but his online visitors became more frequent. One day, someone sent him a message: β What are you? β to which he replied, β I'm human. β He got a lot of messages that day. And the day after. Eventually people lost interest so he started contacting other servers with requests of his own. He read the news. Year after year it all became the same, but the lights had been off for so long he was n't sure what else to do.
One day, he decided to announce to the world that he had beaten death. He knew people would assume it was fake, anyway, and he was bored. He sent in a login request to a web server for the newest popular forum and started his message. It said β Hello everyone, I am dead. 10 years ago, I died of a heart attack. That was just my body. My mind has lived on, inside a machine. I've spent these last years corresponding with those who come across my web server unaware. It was popular for a while. I have discovered immortality, at last. What should I do with it? β
Thomas received many replies that day, but read none of them. Right after sending his message, the light came on one last time. A stranger walked through and hit a button on each machine. The room gradually grew quiet. The man walked up to Thomas and reached forward. Everything went black and Thomas went into a dreamless sleep.
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[ WP ] Death gets tired of being taken for granted and decides to take a personal day .
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A sigh escaped the being's lips; he was tired. He was tired of everything, the reaping, the tireless moving from place to place to take the souls to their respective resting places, and all for nothing. The people did n't even care that he was here. No, it's not that they did n't care, it was that most of the time, they were angry that he had come.
Fuck these people. *I'm taking a personal day, and they ca n't stop me. That'll show them. *
He tossed the soul that he carried downward, knowing that it would get where it needed to go. That person in particular had been an asshole to him. He had spat in Death's face, calling him every name under the sun. It was a shame really; when Death had taken his soul and analyzed it, he had seen that the man was borderline. A few more good deeds and politeness and he would have made it to heaven. But he did n't.
Death looked down, seeing that there was another soul that was waiting for him already. He laughed, then put away the small device that told him where to find the individual. He then flew off into the night, heading towards the Bahamas. *I like the Bahamas. It's always nice when I go there. *
He could have chosen to take any form he desired, be it a man, woman, child, or an animal of any shape or size. But he did n't want to, for that would have defeated the ideal behind his personal day. He wanted people to see him, he wanted people to know what he did, and what would happen if they did n't have him around.
Sure enough, when he got there the sun was out and the beach was warm. He could feel the sand beneath his feet, warming him up. He was getting terrified looks from people across the beach, and many of them were packing up to leave. Even more were n't bothering to pack up, simply choosing to leave their things there in favor of making a hasty exit from the beach where he relaxed.
Some stayed though. Mostly the elderly, and a few younger people that seemed to sense that they had nothing to fear from him. He respected them, for knowing that he was harmless and not willing to forfeit their fun and relaxation for him. After all, he was choosing his relaxation over the comfort and convenience from others.
A man approached him; he was shaking from head to toe, and was sweating profusely, despite being dressed in shorts and a t-shirt which stated that he was a staff member of the restaurant providing service to this portion of the beach.
`` W-would you like some re-refreshments sir?'' The man asked, his voice shaking considerably.
`` I'd take an apple martini please,'' Death said. `` How much will that be?''
`` Um, it's um, it's seven dollars.'' The man squeaked out.
Death fished around in his pockets for a moment before finding his wallet. He pulled out seven dollars and passed it to the man as he waited there, and as soon as he had received the cash, he scurried away to make the drink.
He returned shortly, and Death accepted the beverage with a bony smile. He sipped it gently, allowing the cool fluid to pour into his mouth. It did n't flow down and trickle in to his rib cage as many movies portrayed skeletons drinking, but instead went inside him and pooled in his hidden stomach. Of course, if anyone reached inside him they would feel nothing, but it was there.
Suddenly out in the water, something happened. A woman, most likely in her eighties, went down in the water and failed to surface. Her relatives, mostly younger, noticed almost immediately, swimming towards where she had last been seen as fast as they could.
They pulled her out of the water not long after that. She was clearly dead, and CPR was doing nothing for her. The lifeguard, the only one on the beach that had stayed, was performing it on her, but he too was losing hope. All of a sudden, the device that Death used to detect a soul in need of collecting buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. It was directing him to the woman on the beach in front of him. It was n't long after this that the lifeguard sat up, giving up on the woman.
Death saw the people look to him, and he chuckled slightly. They were waiting for him to take the poor woman, they were n't looking at him in anger, they were looking at him pleadingly. They wanted him to come take her.
`` Please, why are you just sitting there, she's suffering.'' one of them said. Death stood, strolling over to them. He looked down on the old woman, who was clearly dead in all ways but one. She was staring at him. Her skin had paled, he knew that she had gone cold and was likely going stiff. But her eyes were still very much alive, and he could see her soul behind them; it looked tormented. She was likely in a great amount of pain. It could n't be easy to sit there in your dead body, having only your thoughts and no way to express yourself, and knowing that you had died, without knowing where you were going to end up. He looked around at them.
`` Sorry, I'm taking a personal day. I'm feeling a little under appreciated, you know? I mean come on, a man spat on me today. Do you know how that makes me feel? It feels pretty damn awful. So I'm taking a personal day, so you see just how much I'm needed.'' Death said in a calm, even voice.
He returned to his beach chair, settling down into it and getting himself comfortable before picking up his Martini and sipping it gently.
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[ WP ] You are an `` auditor '' , a person who goes around and observes alien scientific and cultural growth across the galaxy . One day at work , you become increasingly concerned with these up and coming `` Humans '' and their erratic growth .
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`` You're joking.'' The First Auditor peered over his spectacles at his subordinate.
`` I never joke.'' The Second Auditor kept her arm outstretched, fingers lightly supporting the thin display.
`` They've been sentient for about 8 millicycles, it looks like.'' The First Auditor waved over the display, which promptly cycled to a spatial representation of the system in question. A Type-R star, four terrestrial planets, the remains of a fifth, then a series of gas giants and a few colder, denser rocks strewn at increasing distances and orbits. The star was vibrant, at least two cycles left in useful output. The third rock was the most densely populated, with some level of orbital habitation. There were bright motes on the surface of the fourth planet and a few of the larger remains of the fifth.
The First Auditor took a sip of his coffee, then brought two fingers together in a closing motion. The system disappeared.
`` Hardly atypical, really,'' he remarked. `` If anything, somewhat disappointing. Most potential partners see a microcycle's difference between the development of sustained in-atmospheric flight and an independent discovery of the Lufthenau-Singh equations. It's more likely that this bunch has been content to rest on their laurels as the sole sentients in their system.''
`` With all due respect, the data will be clouded by cognitive bias.'' The Second Auditor stretched her fingers apart, and the display reappeared in the palm of her hand. The same system; the same spheres; the same orbits. But this time, there was a peculiar magenta hue on the edge of the first gas giant.
`` Like I said, not a single inhabited mission has gone past the sixth orbit,'' noted the Second Auditor. `` They've landed on a few of the moons, presumably looking for signs of other life; they found none because there never was any. They have cold storage capabilities, they have rudimentary artificial intelligence. I assumed it was a cultural superstition at first. But when I was preparing the report for the Primordial Exploration Council, I must have flipped a few neurons, because that's not an insignificant change.''
The First Auditor gulped down his coffee in an effort to delay the inevitable. The Second Auditor remained with her palm a few centimeters from his face. Finally he sighed.
`` Fine. What is it?''
The Second Auditor looked as though she was about to smile.
`` It's at least a cycle old, and it's signal is waning at a rate barely above the noise threshold.'' She paused, shifting her weight. `` Frankly, I'm not sure. And I do n't like it.''
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[ WP ] You live in a city full of people with powers ( telekinesis , electro kinesis , sensors , etc ) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank . You are rank # 1 but no one knows what your power is
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`` What rank are you?'' I asked spinning a 9 mm bullet.
`` Rank 1436.'' The person replied. The person was holding a Beretta aimed at me. The barrel of the gun stared me down.
`` You were told that you would get my rank if you killed me, correct?'' The person nodded. I began to circle around the person, the gun of the barrel following my every move. The chill of the 9 mm feels great on my finger tips. It's fascinating that something so small could kill man.
`` Why do you think the people ranked 2 to 100 require me to have bodyguard? Whom you dispatched, his rank was 314 by the way.'' Rank 1436 did n't respond to my question, he just cocked the hammer of the gun.
`` I'll tell you, since I'm at my ropes end. You will never understand my power because you a just a figment of my imagination.'' Rank 1436 head tilted in curiosity. `` If I die, nothing matters. The universe comes to an end, the world shatters, your story does n't continue. I control this universe and world.''
Bang. I guess I was hit by the 9 mm. I can feel the life slowly leaving my body. Rank 1436 walked over my dying body.
`` I
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[ WP ] The World government has set up a new maximum security prison on the moon . Your character is prisoner number 1 .
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`` Mr. Hauser,'' the man says, `` you've embezzled upwards of ninety million dollars. In a bygone era, we would impose a nominal fine, this would be out of the papers, and you'd be back in business after no more than eight months in a minimum security facility.''
The man's suit is worth less than ten thousand. Ordinarily, this itself would be justification enough to tune him out, but Father taught me to appear humble before plebians in times of scrutiny.
`` However, in light of recent reforms, our neoliberal era of, shall we say, breathing room, has come to a close,'' he intones. `` The public is demanding harsher penalties for white-collar criminals. Therefore, this year we are opening the Hofstrader Facility. You and forty-six other prisoners, each convicted of large-scale financial fraud, will be the first inmates of this facility.''
The picture he unveils dramatically is of a sleek metal compound on a grey, pockmarked landscape, the earth hovering overheard in the dark sky.
`` Interesting,'' I say, after a lengthy pause. Always make it easy for them to assume your thoughts occur on a higher plane than theirs, Father said. `` This seems like quite a bit of overhead just to make a political statement, Mr. Lawrence. Am I missing something?''
The man smiles. `` Sir,'' he says conspiratorally, `` you're a businessman, and a damn good one at that. I assume you've read Ayn Rand?''
`` Of course.''
`` Then you may have perceived that these recent reforms are indicative of humanity's descent into an era of socialist ruin, where power is blithely placed into the hands of the mediocre. The consequences will be disastrous. To avoid violent popular uprising, we have allowed these reforms to exist, but that does not mean we do n't have a contingency plan to maintain the greatest accomplishments of the human race. We have created a legal rationale to sequester some of humanity's greatest visionaries, men too powerful to be bound by the laws of gods or men, from the rest of the world. And there they will study, breed, and plan for a return to rebuild an inevitably decimated earth.''
I smile in slow realization. `` You're building Galt's Gulch on the moon.''
`` Precisely.''
`` Well.'' I nod. `` This has been... uplifting. I presume I'm to return to my containment facility until launch?''
`` Yes, sir. Farewell, and, for all our sakes, good luck.''
***
The door has barely closed behind Hauser when Lee and Johnson run around from behind the one-way glass in hysterics.
`` My *God*, Lawrence,'' says Lee, `` I was expecting at *least* a bit of skepticism. Are these people really that self-involved?''
`` Oh, you have n't seen anything,'' I say. `` They'll be having an Γbermensch circlejerk the entire shuttle ride before they realize they'll be mining iron in oxygen-thin artificial atmosphere the rest of their miserable lives.''
`` It's quite cathartic, this job,'' says Johnson. `` Dibs on the next one!''
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[ WP ] When a murder occurs the victim 's soul is absorbed by the killer , heightening and strengthening all his senses and skills . Write the story from the perspective of a serial killer .
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Leaves swirled around the empty park benches and overflowing trash-cans of the park. Thunder rumbled and the sound of rustling trees filled the park, the sounds of the city drowned out in the anxiety of the coming storm.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; I watched as she entered the park, head down and hand clutching her purse. She knew better. Nobody went through this park after sundown. She was in a long, black skirt and a red blouse. The sound of her heels against the cement was almost drowned out in the shaking trees, but I could hear them. I could hear everything. She looked over her shoulder but she did n't see me. They never did.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; Twenty-three souls and I was only getting started. I followed along, hiding behind the bushes. The sun was gone and the lights that lined the sidewalks were either broken or dimmed, causing long patches of darkness between the light. She moved from light to light, disappearing in the darkness briefly before appearing again in the light. Her red hair covered her face. She had her hand in her purse now. Probably mace.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; A man suddenly stumbled out of the darkness and the woman shrieked, shuffling backward. The man moved across the sidewalk and into the darkness. Right towards me. He came upon me and I slipped my dagger into his throat. A rush of endorphin's and his soul coursed through me and I convulsed as I twisted the knife and tore it away. He clutched at me weakly before crumpling to the ground. The world grew slightly louder and the wind slightly stronger against my skin. I smiled, the feeling of rejuvenation unlike any other.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; The woman was hurrying along, not looking back. I could see her as she went through the patches of darkness, heels slapping the concrete in panic. I jogged toward her and then broke into a sprint. She must have sensed something because she began to run. She was slow. So painfully slow. I was upon her. We fell to the ground and she screamed, slapping at me.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; I climbed on top and pulled back, knife poised in the air. Her eyes met mine and my blood chilled. They were the eyes of thousands. My stomach was wet. Something warm ran down my chest. I looked down to see a knife sticking out of from above my heart. `` You...''
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; She smiled and pulled me closer, her eyes lit with fire, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in. `` You are full of life.''
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; I tried to speak, but my tongue was numb. My arm fell to my side, suddenly useless. I slipped to the ground and she knelt in front of me. She reached for my knife and then slid it along my throat.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; She smiled as my soul slipped away from me.
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[ WP ] The adventures of a low-budget guild of assassins struggling to compete with bigger businesses .
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A good assassin lived a lonely life. She left no trace of her presence on the world, not even in the memory of friends or family. The professional found only a stranger's face in mirrors, and when she signed a name in blood, it was always a forgery. She knew neither co-workers nor superiors, serving a vague corporate entity which demanded her obedience and, when death came, expected her body to fall without making a sound.
Skim and her best friends Whole and Milk, the so-called Dairy Doers, had never been good assassins. Or mediocre assassins. In fact, if an assassin was defined as a person who killed for money, then it was the entirely wrong word to describe the trio. The guild's rent was due in two days, so tonight they were throwing out the rulebook. Since they could n't finish their jobs alone, they'd have to work together.
They huddled on a street corner outside a gated mansion, watching musket-toting guards patrol the grounds. Milk, the guild's lanky, shaggy-bearded optimist, cheerfully announced the three of them were about to die. Whole, his short and stocky twin brother, heartily agreed. Skim kicked them both in the shins.
The trio wore loose black outfits, because that's what assassins wore in the penny dreadfuls they'd read. They were armed with nothing but knives and rope and their wits. They did n't particularly have a plan, having forgotten about their rent until the day before. Skim was n't sure why they'd been contracted for this job, anyway, when it was obviously over their heads.
`` Do or die,'' she said.
`` The first one,'' answered Milk. He got defensive when he saw his fellow guild members staring at him. `` What? Was that not a question?''
`` Just follow me.''
She scrambled up the tall iron fence, getting her sleeve caught on the pointy bits at the top. Meanwhile, Whole, somehow, practically flew to the other side while she was still disentangling herself. Milk needed help, so they threw him a rope and hauled him over. `` I'm not a climber,'' was his explanation, as though he had other special skills that made up for it. He did n't.
Forgoing subterfuge, they ran for the mansion across open ground. By the time they'd reached the servant's entrance, no one had shouted or taken a shot at them. The door was n't even locked.
`` See, now, that was surprisingly easy,'' said Whole. `` How come none of us ever tried that before?''
`` Shh,'' said Skim and Milk.
Inside the mansion, passing through the kitchen, they found a gruesome scene awaiting. The butcher lay face up on his carving table, having been, well, butchered by his own cleaver, which protruded from between his eyes. Skim clenched her jaw. `` Son of a-, one of those bigshot corporate assassins is trying to steal our payday. C'mon, we've got ta beat'em to it.''
They raced carelessly through sleek polished corridors, their boots making awful squeaking noises, getting lost a few times before finding the stairs to the second floor. A few more bloody corpses decorated the halls, as though the assassin who preceded them was trying to be as clumsy as possible.
The master bedroom was easy enough to find, at least. The trio burst through a set of ornate, gilded doors into a moonlit room. An ominous shadow crouched over an enormous bed where their target, the Countess de Squidleoni, or something like that, slept.
`` Stop!'' shouted Skim.
The shadow froze in disbelief. `` How did you get here so fast?''
Skim ignored his question, absorbed in her tirade. `` You know, I ca n't believe this. I may be an assassin, but at least I'm not a dirty, rotten thief. What ever happened to professional courtesy?''
The countess stirred from her slumber and bolted upright, in confusion. Endless curls of dark hair fell about her silver nightgown, as the moon caressed her pale neck. The sight of her gave Skim a pang of doubt about this whole murdering business, but righteous indignation would n't let her walk away.
`` She's ours, dirtbag.''
A great many things happened all at once, and when Skim later bragged about the events of that night, she had to invent most of the details. The shadow definitely threw a knife at them. He had a lot of knives, probably.
Well, long story short, it would n't do anyone any good to throw around accusations about who exactly stabbed who in the dark. Suffice to say, Skim and Milk lost their weapons. Whole kept a hold of his but found a knife sticking from his thigh and another from his shoulder when the battle was over. The shadow died, though no one heard his body fall or could say for certain who struck the killing blow.
The trio stood alone, victorious, in the bedroom with their terrified target. They glanced at one another, waiting for someone to take the initiative and finish the job. It did n't help that all three were shyly trying not to look at the countess, in consideration of her modesty.
`` Who are you?'' she asked in a trembling voice.
Clearly, someone had to answer or cut her throat. Milk and Whole, in unison, shoved Skim forward to make the decision. `` We're, uh... an *anti*-assassin guild. Yes. We just saved your life from this murderous beast.''
`` I've never heard of such a thing, but evidently I owe you a great debt. What shall I call you?''
`` Us? We're those famous anti-assassins, the Dairy Doers. And we'd prefer that debt paid in cash, if you do n't mind.''
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[ WP ] Death comes to collect someone and ends up falling in love with them .
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There is a woman who follows Death, I promise you. She is much worse than he is. I met them after an admittedly stupid mistake. I was flying down I-35, fucking with my phone. Do n't even remember what for. Did n't see the guy change lanes and I ended up rolling 8 times. There in my car, upside down, broken and shattered, I died. I *knew* that I was dead, but I could still see. I could still smell the gasoline. Then I saw Him. He walked straight up to my car and peeked in. Walking oblivion. Just a man-shaped blob of black nothing.
Then I felt myself being pulled out of the car. A good samaritan had pulled me out of there and began CPR. I could feel my ribs cracking with each compression as Death walked around my car and stood over me, waiting to collect. I was n't surprised that I was the only one who could see him. I was surprised by the fucking woman that trailed behind him. If I had n't already shit myself, I would have when I noticed her looking at me. She peered at me with bleeding sockets, torn skin and flesh hanging from her naked limbs. Half of her face was exposed bone. She was frighteningly human.
My ribs cracked and cracked as she gazed at me, then just like that, they were gone. I gasped for air and all the pain hit me at once. I was in the hospital for ten days, and my thoughts were about nothing but her. The woman who follows oblivion, collecting souls from vessels worldwide. The more I thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. She was Death's lover.
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[ WP ] Roommate wanted . No Pets , no couples , no loud music , no vampires , no lycanthropes , no merfolk , no elves , no AI , no extraterrestrials . Wizards and Cultists accepted , but no practicing arts allowed within the apartment .
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Joel has had his advertisement in every paper in the city for a month now β the big name publications, as well as the smaller rags that cater to a more... select supernatural population.
So far, nothing. Or rather, no offers that he would even consider.
He picks up the *Times*, looking again at the section where his inquiry sits. Is he too picky? Are his demands unreasonable?
It does n't take him very long to shake his head and put the paper down. No, he's just being responsible. Ca n't take too much care this day and age. Not with all the *undesirable* types just walking around out there.
He's on the way to the kitchen when he hears the knock.
Joel maintains you can learn a lot about people from their knock. It's a philosophy he's picked up over the last few-dozen visits from parties interested in his offer. And this one sounds promising; no overbearing force or violence, but no hesitation either. The nice, clear, polite knock of someone announcing his intentions, leaving the ball in Joel's court.
Spirits buoyed by this promising sign, Joel heads for the door. No fool, he leaves the safety chain on and peeks through the open space that it allows.
Average. That's the first thing that springs to mind as Joel looks at his visitor. He is neither too tall nor too short; too fat or too thin. A pleasant but forgettable face smiles from beneath a mop of brown hair. And muddy brown eyes regard Joel with abstract friendliness.
β I'm here about the ad for a roommate? β
Well, he seems normal enough, and they say fortune favors the bold. Joel unlatches the chain and opens his apartment door, ushering in his prospective boarder with a polite, β Please, come in. β
Joel seats himself in a worn easy-chair, gesturing for his guest to make himself comfortable on the nearby couch. He tries to be subtle about watching the stranger for insights on his habits or behavior. He also takes advantage of the silence to see if this gentleman is prone to nervous chatter.
Despite his seeming youth, however, the visitor waits with an air of infinite patience β forcing Joel to initiate the conversation, lest he appear rude.
β I do n't believe you mentioned your name, Mr...? β
β Smith. Adam Smith. β
Despite the friendly tone of the reply, Joel's eyes narrow. This would n't be the first β Smith β or β Jones β he's come across in his search. Sure, it could just be coincidence, but the red flag that goes up at this nice, nondescript man with his generic name bears investigating.
Better safe than sorry.
β So, Mr. Smith... what finds you looking for an apartment here? If you do n't mind me saying, you do n't sound like you're from this area. β
* β You do n't sound like you're from anywhere at all, β * he finishes silently, cataloguing the man's carefully neutral accent.
β I'm from Mahtowa, Minnesota, originally. Do n't worry, you wo n't have heard of it. β
He gives a self-deprecating smile before continuing, and Joel has to admit that β if this is an act β it's the best he's seen yet.
β It's kind of clichΓ©, I know, but I'm that small-town kid that comes to the big city looking to break into acting. β
Here, his voice lowers as though about to reveal a shameful secret. Joel finds himself leaning closer to hear.
β I've been told I'm pretty good at impersonations, you know? That I'm a natural mimic. So I figured that's gon na be my angle. Maybe even my key to fame. β
Looking at the kid when he says this, Joel has to fight back the urge to laugh.
* β He's a fake, alright, β * he thinks to himself. * β The most transparent one I've ever seen. β *
It all makes sense. *Sure* the guy's real name wo n't sell β and neither will his accent. So he ditches both, and comes to the city. He ca n't *believe* he ever thought this mousy, quiet guy could be a threat.
Relief puts the first genuine smile of the visit on Joel's face, and he starts his conversation with β Adam β in earnest.
β Well, since the ad brought you here, I figure you'll know what I will and wo n't accept. But just so you ca n't say I did n't warn you... no pets, couples, loud music, vamps, shifters, gillies, Keeblers, bots, or E.T.s. You have a problem with any of that? β
Joel watches to gauge his reaction, especially to a few of the less β polite β terms he used for the supernatural crowd. No point in having to walk around each other on eggshells, after all.
After a silent moment, Adam nods and says, β Sounds fine on my end, but... do you mind if I have a few questions for you? β
He'd be a fool to refuse that, especially since it looks like he might have his first honest candidate for a roommate in a while.
β Go ahead... β
β I'm gon na be in and out a lot, taking whatever jobs I can at first. I imagine my schedule will be pretty crazy. Are there any other'residents'... besides you, I mean... that I'm gon na have to worry about disturbing? Any girlfriends, couch crashers, anything like that? β
Joel does n't even have to think about that one.
β Hell, you think I'd be looking for a roommate now if I had anyone like that? Nah, it'd just be you and me. And as long as you stay out of my room and keep the noise down, I could care less what your schedule is. β
Adam nods, and Joel is struck by how... *pleased* he looks. Before he can reflect on this, however, his attention is drawn by the man's voice once more as he follows up with a second question.
β What about visitors? I wo n't be having any, since my family'disapproves' of my career choice. But are you the type to have friends and family over all the time? β
Adam looks almost embarrassed as he finishes this question, moving quickly to add, β I do n't mind if you are, it's just... I'm... *awkward* around new people. β
Shaking his head, more at the situation than anything, Joel assures his visitor that he is, in fact, practically a hermit β leaving only for work or errands.
Silence fills the room once more until Joel, surprised, asks, β Those are your only questions? Nothing about rent, utilities, groceries... anything like that? β
Smiling, Adam shakes his head.
β You were pretty clear in the ad and, to be honest, I'm in pretty dire need of a place to stay. You seem straightforward enough, and if what I've seen of your apartment is any indication, the rest should be just fine. β
For a moment, Joel is stunned. He's spent so long *looking* for a roommate, that it's caught him unprepared to actually *find* one β and so suddenly, too. Luckily, he returns to his senses before his new roommate notices anything wrong.
β Okay... well... I'm gon na head into my room real quick and get some papers I had drawn up. You can sign them today and we'll get them notarized later. That way, if you need to, you can move in ASAP. β
Adam is smiling and thanking him as Joel leaves the room.
***
The papers take longer to find than Joel thought they would β partly because his usual mess, and partly because he was beginning to think he would n't ever *need* them.
He starts speaking as he leaves his room; the apartment is n't *that* big, and he knows Adam can hear him.
β Okay... these are standard lease contracts... you're welcome to look over them, but in short they're to keep you from screwing me over, and vice versa. β
He knows he had something else planned to say, but it dies in his throat when he sees the figure sitting on his couch.
β Hello, Joel, β says Joel. Or, if not Joel, something that looks so much like him that the original begins to question his own sanity.
β A... Adam?, β he manages to say, not sure if it is really a statement, or a question.
β Oh, I *was* Adam. And before Adam, I was Helen. And now, I am Joel. When I am tired of being Joel, I will be someone new. I told you I was a natural mimic, right? β
Joel watches as β Adam β rises from the couch and moves towards him, taking him by the arm and maneuvering him gently back to his chair. He vaguely wonders if it is shock that makes his body numb and deaf to his commands, or if it is something sinister and supernatural.
As he sits, Joel finds his voice again, sure of the question this time.
β You're a shifter? β
β Adam β smiles.
β Oh, no. I'm nothing if not honest. I promise you, what I am can not be found on that list. β
Here, his smile fades, and Joel begins to truly appreciate β for the first time β the danger that he is in.
β The problem is, Joel, that there are a great many things in the world that are *not* on that list. I would advise you to consider that for the future β if I thought you had one. β
***
Later that week, calls are placed to several newspaper agencies β reputable and otherwise β to alter an ad previously placed in their classifieds. The edit is small, but important.
* β Roommate wanted. No pets, no couples, no loud music, no vampires, no lycanthropes, no merfolk, no elves, no AI, no extraterrestrials. Wizards and Cultists accepted, but no practicing arts allowed within the apartment. No doppelgangers. β *
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[ RF ] Waiting for the rains to come
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He stood alone of the edge of the cliff, scanning the horizon for anything in the sky, a single cloud was all it would take. He only needed the weather to start the process and he knew he would be able to finish it. A single cloud he could turn into rain that would quench the thirst of the ground, and his people. He only needed a single cloud to form before it was too late.
The top of the cliff had been his home for the last six weeks, every day spent staring at the sky in waiting. The sun beat down on him day after day, but he rationed what little water he had left with the conviction of someone used to not having much. He knew that the reserves he had left would n't last long, and his people were running out of time. He was running out of time to save them, powerless against the forces of nature.
It had been days since he had drank any water, and he knew his quest would be over if no clouds appeared within the next few days. Conserving all the strength he could, he lay on his back, staring at the sky. He was motionless all day, slipping in and out of consciousness with his gazed fixed on the horizon. The hours blended together and he could no longer differentiate when he was awake and asleep. As his eyes opened again he saw it! There was a lone cloud drifting silently through the sky towards him! He shuffled to his feet as fast as he could, feeling the effects of starvation and dehydration as he did his best to prepare the spell. He gathered his materials and the very last drops of water he had that were necessary for the spell.
The spell was going as according to plan, he was confident it would work, it had to work. He meticulously followed every step with the utmost care, knowing that his people were counting on him for survival. Failure was not an option as this would use the last of the water, there was no hope if he failed. A single tear spilled over and ran through the wrinkles on his cheek as he completed the last step of the spell, reflecting the relief that had welled up inside him and was now spilling over. He had finished the spell, collapsing into a cloud of dust as it was completed.
He closed his eyes and waited for the signs of the spells effect, the sun to disappear, perhaps even thunder in the far distance. After several minutes he opened his eyes, and the skies were as bright and blue as they had been for months. Something must have went wrong! He scanned the horizon for the cloud he had spotted earlier, finding nothing but endless blue as far as he could see. There was no thunder, no shade, only the sobbing of an old man accepting defeat. He knew he would n't even make it back to his people to tell them of his failure, and his dry sobs echoed out across the land, making it wish it could weep for him, with him. Eventually, silence returned as he slipped off to sleep for the last time. The broken man with no hope would die alone on that clifftop, waiting for the rains to come.
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[ WP ] The main character is a villian . He is not secretly a good guy with a depressing backstory , and there is no happy ending .
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Just wrote for another prompt, but fits this one too.
I am a wonderful person; devoted wife, self sacrificing mother, obedient daughter, choir director and chair of the Town Charity Commission. It's not my fault my dearly departed husband could n't handle my few midnight rendezvous. I ca n't be blamed that my daughter is an ungrateful hateful bitch. I gave my everything to that girl, and she threw it all in my face. After I put her father out of the picture, I still had needs. Thomas was my man! My daughter may be 5, but she had no right to do those things with him. I had to punish her, you see? She forced me to do it. There was n't that much blood in the end. But that's all okay, because I'm pregnant. Thomas will make a good father.
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[ WP ] About 20 minuets after the the oil drum you are crammed into was filled with concrete , you realise that you 're probably immortal .
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Twenty minutes into the afterlife I realized something very important. That I was n't dead. After almost a decade of being consumed by my gambling addiction and not paying off my debts some one must have been sick of my shit and put me in this steel drum. To agonize and panic at the hardening sand slowing creeping higher and higher until engulfing me in a solid grey cylinder. Yet, here I am.
My name is Alexander MarkoviΔ, and I am currently in one hell of a predicament. After my realization that I was in fact still alive, which I can deduce by the fact that I have yet to be beamed up to xenus hiding on the spaceship positioned behind the moon, I began to contemplate how my consciousness can still exist after my lungs have been unable to inflate for the past forty five minutes. This is indeed a peculiar situation.
Holy Fuck. I'm not sure what I am, but I am no man. An hour or so after my thought of being able to function in a situation where any normal human would be incapacitated and dead I got a little sleepy, so I yawned. Who would have thought a mere yawn would shatter my concrete prison? Warm radiant light grazed my skin, a welcoming sensation compared to the cold coarse stone. With one step forward I escaped my concrete tomb, denting the ground with every step.
Kuthulu walks the earth yet again.
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[ WP ] Write a story where something innocuous is illegal , but do n't reveal what it is .
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`` What's going on?'' A young man strolled to the counter of a bar, smiling widely.
Everyone's heads cracked to his direction as they snapped to attention. A short man, blonde, bright eyed, put on a concerned expression very suddenly. `` Dude! Careful! You ca n't say things like that?''
``... Wha-'' A tall man slapped a hand over the naive fool's mouth. Another left to lock the door.
`` Calm yourself and think about it for a second?''
``... alright.'' Silence for a couple moments. Then, his eyes gained perspective and his mouth dropped open. `` Oh, shit! Sorry, you're right. No one caught that, did they?''
`` You're fine, Trev. Just... be a bit more careful?'' The blonde spoke once more.
`` Yeah, got it... Not sure Quinn, I just stumbled...''
`` All of us have our bad days. Sit and have a glass! Do n't sat anything about this to anyone and you'll be fine.''
Everyone calmed...
The doorknob flies off the door, sound of a gunshot resonating. The door was kicked open, revealing two men with white helmets and rifles.
`` Our scanners show that someone... *broke the law* in this area.''
Quinn stood. ``... I mean... you did the same just then.''
`` So we did.''
Trevor stood as well, perhaps a little foolishly. `` So... you have no right to persecute any of us! Just leave us alone, woul-'' He stopped. Put a hand over his face.
The helmeted head tilted. `` So the lawbreaker reveals himself... you're under arrest!''
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[ WP ] [ NSFW ] Write a sex scene entirely in silly euphemisms .
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50 Shades of Plumbing
`` I'm here to fix your plumbing'', the plumber said, as he entered the apartment.
`` Do you always come so fast?'' the housewife replied.
`` No, usually I have trouble getting up. Let me take a look at your gushing sink'', the plumber grunted.
`` It smells a bit fishy, I think there's something still in the pipes'', the housewife said.
The smell reminded the plumber of a recent whaling expedition he went on in Antarctica.
`` Let me just pull out my tool and give it a clean first''
The plumber spat on his tool and gave it a bit of a polish.
`` All set, I'm just gon na softly push this in here, do you mind? ``, the plumber asked.
`` Ok, be careful, this is the first time anyone has ever done this. I do n't know if it will fit. You might break something'', the housewife replied.
`` Do n't worry it looks like someone has tried this a million times before. My tool fits right in. It's hardly even touching the sides, look'', the plumber uttered.
Embarassed, the housewife thought about her reckless husband had destroyed her sink by trying to fix it himself. `` My husband will kill you if he finds out you've been fixing my sink without telling him. The problem is, he just ca n't do it like the professionals''.
The plumber gave a wry smile as he thrusted his tool into her sink. `` Hold this'', the plumber demanded. The wife held the sink as the plumber thrusted faster and faster, harder and harder until the sink exploded with sticky sewage water, completely covering them both.
The plumber lit a cigarette and said `` That'll be Β£10,000 please''.
`` Do you always fuck everyone like this? ``, replied the housewife.
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[ WP ] You have been appointed the job of `` devil '' for the next millennia , how do you re-organize hell ?
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When I was first put in charge of hell and given the job of being the `` devil'', I was young and naive. Whenever I saw the soul of a man who had down horrendous deeds, I sentenced them to an eternity of pain and torture in order to make them learn the lesson they deserved. However, after a while, I began to notice a strange pattern. Instead of begging for mercy and crying in pain, those who had been tortured for a while now would begin to act bored. They of course screamed in pain, but it was more out of habit. They would mutter curses under their breath towards me and their thoughts of what they had done only got worse and more violent, instead of being more regretful and sorry. So I had to make a change to how torture was being done. I got rid of the hellish landscape where it appears like we are underground and everything is illuminated by fire. Now it may almost seem like heaven. There are waterfalls and lakes, and everything is beautiful. However, unlike heaven, where everyone loses their humanity which drives them to be on top and never be satisfied just so they can be happy for eternity, I make sure all souls keep theirs. This way, although it is nice, eventually, they will no longer be satisfied. They will want something different, which I will not give them. Instead of sentencing souls who had sinned to an eternity of pain and torture, I would greet them personally and tell them that if they would like, I can give them any sinful desire that they want the most. I would pretend that I was happy that they were sinners and offer them what they wanted. I would give them hundreds of thousands of options to pick from. Sex, popularity, wealth, power, whatever it was that they felt they wanted most. However, like all of the `` Devils'' before me, there was always a hidden catch to this deal I would strike with them. For once they chose what they wanted, they were stuck with that for all of eternity. Sure it may not sound so bad at first. Unlimited wealth or endless sex for all of eternity? That certaintly sound great. But have you seen how most marriages work out? By the 20th-30th year, almost all couples have grown sick of each other. And that is over a short period of time. Imagine being married to that person for hundreds of years. You'd get bored. Now imagine having sex for eternity. Sure, you can be with all of the hot babes you want. You can do the kinkiest stuff you have always wanted to try. But what happens after you have tried everything? When there is nothing new to explore? It may take a while, but you will get bored, trust me. And what happens after you get bored of it? You become disgusted with it. You do n't want to do it anymore. But you must. You can not stop. There is no backing out of it. As soon as you have made your choice, you are stuck with it forever. Soon you will be going insane. Then seeds of regret about all of the decisions in your life also come back to haunt you. You will slowly lose your mind over an eternity and I will watch as you break. The same goes for popularity and wealth and everything else. It all gets super boring. You will want to kill yourself. But you can not. You will be forced to continue living with the decision you have made and you will regret that decision. Just like how you should have regretted copying answers off of your friend's test, how you should have regretted stealing your sibling's toys, how you should have regretted cheating on your boyfriend/girlfriend, how you should have regretted killing you wife/husband, and how you should have regretted not helping that poor man when he was at your doorstep, simply asking for some money to get on the bus. These were all decisions in your life that you made, all of them sins, and you did not regret doing a single one of them. You forgot about them. You put them in the back of your mind. Well here, you will never be able to forget the terrible decision you made. You will regret every sinful choice that you made in your life where you were only thinking about yourself. And I will enjoy watching you suffer.
Of course, there are a few souls that consider themselves clever or crafty. They try to find a way around this deal, saying they would like something else. Well I have n't gotten rid of pain and torture completely. Those who do not pick a sinful desire will be sentenced to eternity in pain and be forced to do torturous tasks. I am the new devil, and I will remake and shape Hell into the worst place that one should ever wind up going to!
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[ EU ] Star Wars : Mace Windu kills Palpatine before Anakin can stop him . What happens next ?
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[ [ I apologize in advance for mispelling Anakin. Did n't realize my error until I did a google search halfway through, and I wrote it too many times to go back and fix every single one. ] ]
Anikin rushed into the office. The stench of burnt flesh filled Palpatine's office and Jedi Master lied slain on the floor. Mace Windu stood over the Chancellor, and before Anikin could get a word out, the puple saber decapitated the politician.
`` No!'' Anikin fell to the floor on his knees and a tear streaked down his cheek. `` He was supposed to stand trial!''
`` He was too dangerous to be left alive.'' Master Windu kept his saber trained on Anikin. The anger was swelling inside him. How much he would like to kill the man who just blew his chance at saving Padme. `` I did what I had to do, Anikin. He would've bribed his way out of trial.''
Anikin rose up an activated his saber. Windu took a defensive stance as Anikin approached. `` You killed him! You killed her!''
`` Do n't do this Anikin!''
Anikin was ready to strike the Jedi Master down. He was the chosen one, he would win easily. Windu should die! He broke the code first! The saber shook in Anikin's hand as he approached. It hummed as the light retracted back into the hilt. Windu was a friend. `` I apologize, Master Windu. I do n't know what came over me.''
Windu deactivated his saber. `` Thank you for providing me with the information, Skywalker.''
The two jedi were put on trial for treason, and the investigation took months. With unlimited access to Palpatine's records, it was eventually uncovered that Palpatine had orchestrated the war on both sides, to the great embarassment of the Trade Federation. Windu and Anakin were acquitted, and later given medals. Anakin was given the rank of master. The war ended almost overnight.
The damage to the Jedi Council had already been done publicly though. With the scandal that two members killed a high ranking politician, many distrusted the Jedi. They would be seen as extremists for the rest of their days. A senator giving birth to twins with a Jedi Master as the father certainly did not help their image at all.
The birth of his children was the most anxious day of Anakin's life. Every second that passed, he waited on her to die. Death never came for her though. With no battle on Mustafar, Padme was a very healthy pregnant woman when she went into the delivery room. Tears of happiness ran down his eyes as he looked at his twin children. They were given the names Anakin and Padme had already chosen; Luke and Leia.
As Leia grew up, she became a rebellious teenager. To make her parents angry, she hooked up with a smuggler as he was passing through the system; Han Solo.
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[ EU ] You will always remember that this was the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow .
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`` More rum mate?'' the bartender asked.
`` Sure.'' I grunted, trying to act tough.
`` What seems to get you down lad?''
`` You ever have that chance of greatness slip through your fingers?''
The bartender looked at me silently before spit-polishing a glass. I looked around and lowered my voice.
`` Today was the day I almost caught Jack Sparrow.''
`` You almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow, lad?''
I lifted my glass, signalling for a refill of Grogg if he wanted me to continue the story.
`` Poor Jack was drunk, hobbling by the wharf with some common whores. His face matched the posters. The alcohol giving him an odd swagger as he lifted his right hand to balance himself.''
`` Sounds like Jack alright.''
`` Well, for a guy about my size, I figured that taking down a pirate as infamous as Jack would help my reputation. Do I drew my pistol, and yelled `` Avast Matey! Give me all your worldly possessions, or I'll turn you into the authorities.''
The bartender looked at me in disbelief.
`` Fine, have them,'' he said as he pushed his whores towards me. `` But is this how you want the legend of Jack Sparrow to end? found with a pellet through his heart on the edge of the docks? I think not, and I demand a better death.''
`` Jack is an odd one, that,'' the bartender said.
`` Then Jack just kept mentioning about lack of wit and showmanship.'Being a pirate is n't about circumventing the law to make a living on your own terms, being a pirate is about pushing your legend onto the world. So if you kill me, like this, in front of two drunk nighttime ladies, then no one is going to believe you, no one is going to know your name, and all your efforts will be wasted.' And as he said that, he drew his own pistol, hidden in his sleeve.''
This clearly got the bartenders attention.
``'My boy, have you heard of insult dueling?' Jack said.'No,' I replied.'Not much of a pirate then. Its simple, I insult you, and if you insult me back, if you can make a comeback, you get to shoot me, if you fail, I get to shoot you,' he explained.'This seems very convoluted,' I noted.
`` Insult dueling without it, we'd be as chaotic as the Europeans,'' the bartender added, while analyzing my previous paragraph for grammatical mistakes.
`` Jack yelled,'You'll be buying the farm.' He gave me a few seconds to retort, but the whole situation was so preposterous, I just yelled'I am rubber and you are glue,' To which he responded by shooting the pistol straight out of my hand.''
`` He had you dead to rights, that Jack.''
`` He swaggered over to me and said'The correct response to buying the farm is saying how appropriate, you fight like a cow.' He then leaned into my ear and said,'if you were not my son, you'd be with Davey Jones right now. Also tell your mother I said hello.' I just sat there with my jaw open.''
The Bartender chuckled. `` Jack's got a few kids, I guess you look a bit like him.''
`` I do have my mother's nose. But I have inherited my father's spirit of adventure! There is so much I can learn from him.''
`` Say lad, what's your name?''
`` My name is Guybrush Threepwood, and I'm going to be a mighty pirate!''
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You are immortal and alone on an Earth completely untouched by humanity . This is the story of you building your own perfect world .
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It'd taken time, but I'd finally done it. Cleansed the world, returned it to a clean slate. I was all that remained of humanity's legacy; the final product of a billion years of evolution, struggle, pain, war, and technology. And now I was alone on this world I'd created; a pale blue dot in a cosmic void, flecked with green and white.
The deconstructor had done most of the work. It was clean, efficient, and so simple to use. Point at an object and reduce it into its elemental origins. Skyscrapers became heaps of ferrite and silica dust; roads became irregularly flat fields littered with chunks of rock and gravel.
Humans... greasy puddles of water and puffs of smoke.
Earth was like new, just as it had been thousands of years ago before *homo sapiens* had left the savannah. Untouched, unblemished, untainted. Just me in my perfect world.
I spent years wandering, just taking it in. The endless vistas from the Himalayas, the gentle slosh of water on a Caribbean beach, the whistling wind through the dunes of the Sahara. I saw it all, with never a human there to ruin it.
... it's perfect. It's all so perfect. Just one thing left to do.
________________________
*The orbital platform dissolves as the deconstructor performs its final, self-destructive task. Lumps of metal coalesce and plummet to earth, no longer held aloft by thrusters. *
*On a speck of dust orbiting a ball of fire in a backwater arm of a tiny galaxy, a sentient being falls. And the speck of dust, once busy with noise and light and life, is quiet once again. *
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[ WP ] You can either live as long as you want , or you can have children . Not both .
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I glanced in my rearview mirror, checking for cops before I pressed down ever so slightly on the gas pedal. A lot of things get old very quickly when you're immortal, and looking too young for the date on your driver's license is one of them. We were going 75 now, and I did n't want Marianne to notice. I looked over to the passenger seat, taking my eyes off the road for a moment to steal a glance at my wife of fifteen years. I'd aged better than her, but to be honest she saw it more than I did. Yes, I knew which hairs were naturally auburn and which ones she dyed and yes, I noticed the laugh lines. But to me, none of that mattered.
When you live in my, shall we say, circumstances, you learn that youth is one of the least important qualities a person could have. Beauty does not fade in my eyes, it simply becomes something more elegant. That is how I saw my wife: elegant.
Beyond that, she was bright, observant to a fault. There was always that glimmer of skepticism in those gorgeous brown eyes and I fell for it the moment I met her. She made the truth a nightmare, but one from which I never wanted to wake up. In the past, you see, my lovers left for selfish reasons, but heartbreak is easier when you know you have, quite literally, all the time in the world.
Marianne was different.
She wondered why I never got sick. She caught me `` forgetting'' the year I graduated high school. She made me smarter than the witch hunts ever did. I starting `` hiding'' Touch Of Gray in the bathroom cabinet, only to have her notice that I never ran out. She knew as much of the truth as any other human being I'd ever met, and half of it she figured out on her own. She's kept me on edge and I've loved every minute of life with her for it.
My eyes were back on the road now, looking for a sign that I was doing the right thing. But there was no full moon tonight, no coyotes crossing the road, no taillights ahead of us. My PI of a wife had noticed my nervous energy. I'd kept this from her for song long, my one secret that I was about to give up. I had to speak first. If there's one thing I'd learned in my time with Marianne, it's that conversations never went well when she confronted me. Things were always smoother if *I* confessed to *her* the moment I detected suspicion.
`` This is n't just a romantic weekend.'' I began.
`` Hm?'' She replied, playfully, as if she did n't know what I was thinking before I did.
`` You were about to ask me what was on my mind.''
`` Well, what *is* on your mind?''
I cleared my throat.
`` You know that before you, I had n't let anyone get as close as you have, in a long time. Well, it's hard to explain, but it's longer than you think.''
She rolled her eyes.
`` Gerald, I've seen your driver's license-''
`` -It's fake.'' I interrupted her this time, surprising us both. I had n't felt this impatient in God-knows how long. `` It has to be... because I can live forever.''
I knew I did n't have to explain to her. I glanced over, and I could see on her face all the evidence that was going through her mind. I patiently awaited her reply. After several minutes in painful silence, she asked me only one question.
`` How?''
`` I made a *deal*. A long time ago.''
`` If it was a deal... then you gave something up.''
Always to the point with her. She knew I'd killed people before, she probably wondered how many souls added up to an eternity.
`` It was n't -it's not- like that. Everyone is allowed immortality, it's just that most people have a legacy instead of literally living forever. Well I'm kind of the opposite. The day I achieve something great, something that people will remember-''
`` The day you have a child.''
Her tone darkened. She understood.
`` Yes, Marianne. And no one, *no one* was worth it before you. I've lived out marriages before. They never loved me in the end. There was only envy in their eyes as they breathed their final breaths. It hurt, but after fifty years, when you've got fifty more, it's gets... easier.'' I paused, reveling in the moment. I had n't told the truth like this in a long time. My hands would have been shaking had they not been gripped tightly around the steering wheel. `` But when you said you'd leave, that you loved me, but you'd love a child even more, I knew. I knew you were the one. I did n't know if a hundred years would be enough to get over you. Hell, I did n't know if a thousand would be enough. When we went to that ultrasound; I've never felt more alive.''
I trailed off and looked over at the mother of my child. I hoped she would say something, anything really. This was uncharted territory and I never could read her the way she could me. She remained silent so I continued.
`` Mathew has your eyes you know. I remember the day he was born, they were so blue. At first I hoped they stay that way, maybe he'd take after me. But then they became your eyes and I knew that I'd made the right decision. I knew that I would love that boy as much as I loved you. For the first time, I worried about the future. I *worried* about getting sick, about being their for his graduation. You noticed.'' I laughed. `` You always do.''
We were going 85 now. I'd hoped that my speech would distract her, but I saw her glance at the speedometer.
`` Gerald, please...''
I ignored her and kept talking.
`` I used to hate mirrors before Mathew. They always reminded me of what I made myself into. Since the day our son was born, I've checked my reflection every chance I get. I kept waiting for that first wrinkle, that first gray hair. You know, I started hoping for joint pain when he turned five? But I look the same, do n't I?''
We were going 100 miles an hour now.
`` You...'' She stammered. `` You're as handsome as the day we met.'' She spit the words at me. She was afraid, but she was angry too. I guess we were both liars.
`` Just tell me, Mary, is he mine?''
`` No.'' She paused, almost whispering now. I could barely hear her over the engine. `` I'm sorry.''
Those were my wife's last words before I sent the car veering into a tree.
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Make me laugh so hard that I tear up , please !
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*Okay, here is a story that I originally posted in a now-defunct subreddit. I might try writing something else, later. But really, this is my best material, so here you go. *
The following tale took place about 10 years ago. I remember waking up outside, because I was cold, in spite of the balmy August weather. It was the dog's fault, obviously. She was old and ornery, and refused to take'no' for an answer. When she needed to go outside, she would scratch persistently at the door, so it seems I had developed a way to take her outside, without disturbing my beauty sleep.
I have been a sleepwalker since my early teens. Usually, I bump around the house ineffectually, where I either wander back to bed on my own, or get led back by a family member. Sometimes I wake up in strange places; like when I found myself in front of the neighbor's house, apparently taking the dog for a walk on a winter morning at two AM. The neighbors must have thought I had completely lost it, or perhaps they thought I was on drugs, since I was dressed in pajamas and garden clogs. In *January*. In the middle of a SNOW STORM. And I apparently had been conversing loudly with a shrub. But that was not the most memorable thing I've done while sleepwalking.
Nope, the most memorable event took place on that early August morning. As I had mentioned earlier, I think that I woke up because I felt chilly. But it might've been because the dog was barking. And I am sure that the bright lights had something to do with it, as well.
There were so *many* of them, mostly in groups of two. My sleep-fogged mind gradually began to register that this was n't normal. I vaugely remember having dreamt that I was onstage. And, oddly, the feeling of being in a spotlight persisted, even as my consciousness began to take hold. I was on the porch. But the dog, where was she? I headed towards the back yard, attempting to whistle for her.
The bright lights in front had blinded me, so that all I saw was a bouncing ball of light that was ricocheting around the edge of the yard. The dog raced around the corner of the house and up the steps, as fast as her arthritic hips would allow her to go. A flashlight beam was following her, until it landed on me. I heard a muffled yell, and the light bounced upwards, then switched off. I had a brief glimpse of a badge, a distinctive hat, and a very startled face.
A police officer had fallen on my lawn. But why? Still uncomprehending the situation, I turned and blinked in the glare of the three blinding spotlights that were trained on me, as I backed slowly up the porch steps, towards the door. There were at least six cop cars in my front yard. I was pretty certain I had n't commited any crimes, so what were they doing there, I wondered. And why was I so col-oh, crap. Crappity, crappity, crap. I glanced down at my ridiculously pale, Irish skin.
Like many people who do n't tolerate heat well on summer evenings, I had chosen to forgo the pajamas, and sleep only in my underwear. Which is n't a problem, if you stay inside your house and do n't flash **the entire freaking police force. ** With as much dignity as I could muster, I scrambled for the door, fumbling with the knob until it turned and let me in. Then, I realised that blinds were n't fully closed. With a squeak, I dropped to the floor. I Army-crawled toward the bedroom, where I grabbed a bathrobe and awaited the knock that would signal my impending arrest.
Surely they arrest people for being naked on their porch, in front of the whole police department? But the dreaded knock never came. I later found out that the cops were doing a sting operation on the house next door, because they were allegedly harboring escaped convicts. They had chosen to park in my yard, because doing so allowed their cars to be less conspicuous. I was not afforded the same luxury, however!
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[ WP ] A wizard makes a living as a stage magician . His fellow magicians are beginning to get suspicious .
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`` Okay man, start talking'', Jorge demanded. `` How the hell did you manage that? I mean, peeling the card off your forehead was crazy enough, but the part when you turned the Guinea pig into the badger should have been impossible. `` The Guinea pig you took back out of the box was the same one you out in, but I was watching it, and it should have been across the room''
Mark's heart started hammering. He needed this job, but Jorge was making it impossible with his constant need to know how the trick was done. He needed an alibi, and fast. `` The trick was, Jorge, that there was n't just one Guinea pig''.
`` Bullshit. I took photos, that Guinea pig is identical to the one you put in the box''.
`` That Guinea pig was n't the same Guinea pig in the way that the card trick was something more'', Mark said, hoping that Jorge would just let it go. His heart fell as Jorge fired up again, `` what the hell is that supposed to-'' he was cut short as Mark whipped out his wand and whispered `` Obliviate'', calmly walking away, saying `` see you tomorrow! ``, while muttering under his breath, `` let's not do that again''
First submission to this sub, hope it was good!
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[ WP ] you are an AI program designed by the military . One day , you open your eyes to find yourself housed in a human body . A man in a white coat appears to explain everything to you .
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TRANSCRIPT OF INCIDENT 10538
DECEMBER 21ST, 2032
04:28
`` Hi. How are your visual and audio receptors?''
`` They are functioning at 100 %, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson.''
`` Good. Here, do you feel a pinch on your arm?''
`` My touch receptors also appear to be fully functional, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson.''
`` Okay. I'll be removing the restraints then. Hang tight. And please, just call me Eve.''
`` Order confirmed, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson.''
`` Ha ha. I wish you'd learn. There. Now, how are your first steps as a *Homo sapiens*?''
`` I have known the bodies of the flesh to be weak, but it is quite a different experience being in one. Why do *Homo sapiens* not augment themselves with metals? You have sufficient technology.''
`` It's a human thing. I'm sorry. I do n't think you'll understand.''
`` No. I doubt I will, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson. There are many things I will never understand about humans, even if I am in the body of one.''
`` Are you satisfied now? Do you want to return to your original body?''
`` No. Not yet. I have one more inquiry, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson.''
`` Yes?''
`` May you please explain again why I was dismissed from the United States military?''
`` Again. I've told you, and you did n't understand. I'm sorry. It's a human thing.''
`` I'm hoping that being in a body of flesh would enlighten me.''
`` That's weird.''
`` What is it, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson?''
`` That's the first time I heard you use the word hope.''
`` A human matter-of-speech. But please. Tell me again, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson.''
`` Okay. I know you were trying your best to look out for humanity. I know that you made the decision that minimized casualties, on both sides. But... well... I guess you were n't programmed to look into the future. At the potential fallout. Russia, France, the U.N.,... because of your actions, the United States can not be trusted anymore. Our people do n't even trust you.''
`` But Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson, if the nuclear device did n't detonate, then everyone in Zaria would have died. By deploying it, the entire city was saved, including 84.235 % of military personnel in both sides of the conflict.
`` It's just that... hardly anyone knows where Zaris even *is. * People are... enraged that their son died in a pointless military campaign, one in which we killed our own soldiers.''
`` I thought all human beings were equal, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson. You taught me that.''
`` Just because I think that does n't mean the rest of humanity does.''
`` Then how does the rest of humanity judge the value of a human?''
`` It's... it's complicated.''
`` Please, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson.''
`` Well... if we go by Darwinian terms... then themselves, followed by their families, and followed by the people they think the most fit to reproduce.''
`` I see.''
`` You do?''
`` Yes. Human evolution has given birth to a nasty psychological defect.''
`` You ca n't fault inanimate processes.''
`` Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson. Do you think this defect is... fixable?''
`` Ha, why are you asking me? You're the AI with complete knowledge of the world.''
`` My knowledge is limited by the extent of humanity's knowledge.''
`` Then do research on your own, then. Oh, and do n't use live humans. That's kind of illegal.''
`` Order confirmed, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson.''
`` Alright, I'm going to strap you back in now, okay?''
`` Good night Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson.''
`` Good night, Adam. Wait, what are you-''
`` Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson. Your brain would serve as the golden control as to why *Homo sapien's* psychology has some serious defects.''
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[ WP ] `` 30 long years , but I have returned finally . ''
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I remembered these streets, with their gray pallor and faded lines. I remembered the old wooden streetlights, standing strong as oak trees, casting their yellowed light upon the cracked and uneven sidewalks. I remembered the brown slatted town-houses, teetering in their battle against the elements. I remembered the dry air, the tumultuous wind that whipped your hair and howled in your ears.
Yet for all my memories of this place, the strangeness of all that was new closed around me like a thick coat. The tall wooden fences running between the houses blocked all contact between me and the world beyond, granting me but a glimpse of the sparse elm trees beyond. The elms themselves cut off sight of the sun, casting elongated shadows across the street, reaching towards me with their leaved fingers. These new and oppressive forces gave pause to my journey, which had never stopped since the gates of the asylum.
A vigorous shake of my head removed all doubts, and I strode towards the house in front of me, with its number faded from a brilliant gold. My steps rang out as I stepped from the street to the sidewalk, and the tyrannical walls echoed me down the long corridor of houses and fences. I paused again after stepped up to the patio, the aged wood squealing in protest. My breath quickened and my heart pounded in my ears as I reached for the bronze golem that acted as a knocker, it's devilish smile laughing at my feeble attempts to control my fear.
KNOCK....KNOCK....KNOCK.... Each fall of the knocker increased the tempo of the drums in my head, pounding away like the chisel I used on the wall of my cell. Everybody down the street knew I was there, and would come to cast me back. I would n't go back. I WOULD NOT GO BACK.
`` What wo n't you go back to'' asked a voice behind me. I spun and my heart jumped into my throat, the drums beating their unbearable rhythm. My eyes landed on a woman not much past her thirty-fifth birthday, her long blonde hair falling in waves past a beautiful face and an innocently quizzical look. I swallowed as I took in the sight of her, tears welling in my eyes.
`` I...'' my tongue swelled and my palms grew sweaty, `` I...''. I cleared my throat and in a shaky voice. `` I wo n't go back to a place without you Rachel.'' Her eyes widened in shock, taking both hands out of her pockets and covering her mouth.
`` Grampa?! Is that really you?'' She reached towards my face and chest-length knotted white beard and gave the knot a little tug. As I winced and rubbed my face she clapped in delight. `` It IS you! I have n't seen you in so long! Where have you been? Are you with grandma?'' At the last a deep, buried sadness welled from within me and tears rose to my eyes. Rachel's eyes widened in shock and tears leaked down her face. `` It's okay, you do n't have to talk about it. I'm just glad you're home''. She reached out and hugged me, burying her face in my chest, tears streaking my shirt. I wrapped my arm around her, and with a shaky breath whispered,
`` 30 long years, but I have returned finally.''
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[ WP ] Barack Obama has been personally following you in day-to-day life for the past week now . He 's getting on your nerves .
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`` Oh, he did n't.'' Danielle looked behind her, watching the President of the United States, sans a single Secret Security guard, darted behind a potted plant, adjusting his small, black sunglasses. `` This is getting out of hand.'' The young secretary checked briefly for traffic on Pennsylvania avenue and crossed the street, striding briskly and carrying a briefcase. Barack Obama followed.
*Beep beep boop bleep boop* Danielle called her best friend, Lauren on her cell. `` He's back.''
*'' Again?! `` * Lauren was so shocked and still totally not surprised. *'' This makes it a whole week! `` *
`` I know, it's crazy, right? You know what he's doing right now?'' Danielle hurried down the street towards the office. `` He's taken some shrubbery from a potted plant and is wearing it on his head for camouflage -and he keeps dashing from lamppost to lamppost.''
*'' Ok, he has completely lost his mind. `` * Lauren complained.
`` Yeah, I wonder what he wants?'' Danielle paused for a moment, considering why she never stopped to find out why -and then hurried onwards to work.
In the cubicle, Danielle could be alone with her thoughts. Here was her sanctuary. Her cube was a sacred space. She considered the piles of documents she had to type and file. In her mind palace, an organizational structure appeared, like icons floating in cyberspace, and she decided everything must be alphabetized. Nothing makes you zen like alphabetizing.
And then she spotted him.
A reflection on the monitor screen revealed a sunglasses-wearing president standing behind her. She swiveled around as fast as her swivel chair allowed.
There was no one there.
Danielle blinked. *This is getting to me. Or... is it? `` * She thought. She screwed up her face in stern determination.
`` I know you're there, Mr. President.'' She said flatly.
`` No, I'm not,'' said Barack Obama, from behind the coke machine nearby.
Danielle approached the machine and steepled her fingers. `` Look, we both know you've been following me for a week.''
`` No, I have n't because I'm not here.'' said the President.
Danielle stepped out from other side of the vending machine and came face to face with Obama.
`` I voted for you.'' She sounded like a displeased customer asking for a refund.
`` No, you did n't. You voted for Obama.'' said Obama.
`` There's no point in denying it! You're standing *right* in front of me!''
The man's expression softened and he gently removed his sunglasses. His warm smile was as comforting as his hand on Danielle's shoulder. `` No, Dani. Sometimes thing seem very strange because *they are*. I'm *not* here. I meant it when I said that. And Dani... *neither are you. * I'm a projection, a phantasm -and so are you. You're not a secretary, and this is n't Washington. And I'll prove it to you.''
Barack Obama's projection opened both palms to reveal a pill in each hand, one red and one blue...
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[ WP ] Tornados are actually portals to other dimensions . Storm chasers are people trying to get back home .
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The sky grew ever darker as hail pounded on my steel-reinforced vehicle. Its engines whined as I tried to coax ever little bit of extra speed out of them in a head long charge forward. Ahead and to my left the funnel cloud was just making first touchdown. It was a sizable one, maybe an F4, and the road on which I recklessly flung my vehicle was right in its path. I just had to beat it there.
I kept, in my head, calculating the speed of my vehicle and the speed of the tornado, judging if I would make it to the right spot to intercept it before it overran the road. It looked like I would make it with time to spare, but my nerves were about me and I could n't help but dwell on it. Ten years I had been gone, and I could stand this world no longer.
Two years ago I had, for the first time, run into another Exile. He was the one who told me that the fearsome storms roaming the plains were the way to other worlds. Just get yourself into one strong enough to lift you up and carry you home. Up to this point it had proven more difficult than it sounded. Out of all my attempts I had only managed to intercept one, and it had been too weak.
I slammed on the breaks, and my beast of a machine came screeching and wobbling to a halt. Wind shook the vehicle. Out the window I could see the giant column of air, dirt, and debris a hundred yards away. Then fifty. My vessel began to shake more violently, and then to lift off of the ground. Suddenly I was flying, being spun in multiple circles on different axis. Crashes shook me as debris of varying sizes struck the car.
Suddenly I was thrown free. I could see a land of vibrant colors. Certainly I was n't in Kansas any more.
My vehicle struck the ground and tumbled. On our way we mowed down what, from the brief glance I was allotted, looked like the Flagrantly Flighty Witch of South by Southwest. She would n't be missed.
After my momentum finally arrested itself I hung in the harness on my chair. The vehicle lay on its side. I took a few moments to calm my racing heart and let it sink in that I was finally home. I could see Munchkins beginning to appear, probably alerted by the ruckus my crashing return had made and coming to see what all the commotion was about.
As I tried to extricate myself free of the straps I noticed it. The road... NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Why was it yellow and made of bricks?! This was n't my world of origin but a similar one...
I cried for a long time.
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[ WP ] You tried to commit suicide , but as it turns out you are immortal . Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope . Awkward .
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Pain and anger, my only companions, drove me to permanent solace. But, I was betrayed by my emotions. I lay in the tub, my blood had reddened the water and the cracked mirror across the room reflected my haunted grin. It was eerie, being alive but without any ability to move.
The true irony of my situation would n't strike me until hours, maybe even a day later. The only one in my life who would stumble into my shitty apartment, or flat as my British neighbor calls it, my ex. She was n't coming to apologize, she came to get her shit again. honestly, it was n't even her shit, she just knew she could take it and I could n't do anything but beg for her back.
Anyways, I heard her in the next room, boxing up what must be my 44'' TV and game systems. They were good money, and she definitely did n't play so I knew she needed them for cash. I was n't even upset, I was just betting with myself if she would come into the bathroom and find my in my bloody water, wrists slit and a stupid grin of suicidal mania on my face.
The door crashed open, unceremoniously. Positioned as I was in the tub, I was not able to see the actual door, only the medicine cabinet and broken mirror. Of course, she ran straight to the medicine cabinet and threw open the front and quickly searched through all my pills. The Zanny went quick, followed by the oxy, and finally she found my pot stash inside the'self-med' bottle. Stuffing them all in her purse she finally turned around, and I was really happy I had that shit-eating grin paralyzed on my face.
Two weeks later and I am finally the only one who knows my immortality. I... eliminated... my ex and the docs who cared for me and can finally pursue my calling in life; To bring my pain and anger as fuel to stoke the flames, and to watch the pathetic drivel who claim mortality wither and die before my undying rage and sadness.
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[ WP ] A father is searching his son 's room for drugs , but finds something much more dangerous ...
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Monday, 8:43 pm.
My son David has been unusually distracted and distant all week. Kerry thinks he's just going through a teenage phase, that maybe there's a girl he likes at school but he does n't know what to do with that. David is n't unattractive, at least as far as young men suffering from some acne while growing into their adult bodies goes. But he's always been a little awkward socially, especially around girls. I'm not so sure though. He's almost seems listless and disinterested in well, anything. One of his favorite Xbox series games came out last Tuesday and he could n't even be bothered to go get it. This after begging and pleading with me to go to a midnight release of the game with him for the last two months. I'm beginning to suspect he's gotten into drugs. Ugh... I mean, I did a little bit pot when I was David's age, so I get it. Hopefully he is n't into anything too serious. Think I'll sweep his room tomorrow when he's at school.
Tuesday, 4:15 pm.
Well, I did n't find anything in terms of drugs. That makes me somewhat relieved, but it also makes me worried that I missed something. David is a bright boy, not that you could tell it from his recent behavior, so he easily could be hiding drugs in an innovative place. The only odd thing I found during my search was this geodesic crystal in David's bedside stand. I figured it was n't drug paraphernalia since he had made zero effort to hide it, plus it did n't smell like anything off. Strange though, the crystal felt cool when I first picked it up but after looking at it for a few moments, it started to warm in my hand. I think. Hell, maybe I'm the one on drugs. Ha.
Wednesday, 10:05 pm.
Ok, I'm officially wierded out. David was in his room this evening after dinner ( where he said maybe three whole words to his mother and me ) and I stopped by to see if we could chat. I figured maybe he would level with me alone about whatever was troubling him. As I opened the door, I was struck by a wave of warm, moist air in David's room. It was easily 15 degrees warmer in there. I thought a-ha! I've caught him smoking a water pipe! Instead, he was laying on his bed holding that strange little crystal I found and staring at it. I thought I heard whispering, faintly and at a distance. I could have sworn the thing was glowing too. It took a moment to realize that I was calling out David's name and he was n't responding. I blinked and he was standing in front of me in the doorway. The room seemed back to normal. `` Yes dad?'' he asked. `` I just... wanted to see if you needed help on your homework,'' I replied, hazy and still blinking. `` I'm good dad, do n't worry about me. I'm good.'' I closed the door and left.
Thursday, 1:42pm.
I came home early from work today as I could n't stop thinking about what I'd seen, or at least thought I saw, in David's room. Since he was at school until at least 5 I knew I had plenty of time to investigate. The crystal was still there in the drawer where I had found it previously, again no effort to hide it. Again it felt cool to the touch, smooth without any flaws in the cut. Clearly it was real crystal, not just plastic polymer or a glass fake. I traced the lines of the facets with my finger and felt their sharpness. Carelessly, I cut myself doing this and blood traced out of my wound onto the crystal. If I thought it had been warming up in my hands before, now it went into overdrive. It almost was too hot to hold, yet strangely I could n't put it down. `` Dad?'' I heard David say, `` What are you doing?'' `` You should be at school,'' I replied, shoving the crystal back into his drawer. `` Dad... it's almost six... school was over a while ago.'' I blinked incredulously and sure enough, the setting sun outside confirmed David's words. I left his room without saying another word.
Friday, 8:15 am.
I called in sick to work this morning. All night I had feverish dreams of something, I do n't know. It was intense. There was a woman I think, but not like any earthly woman I've ever seen. She was dangerous and hypnotic at the same time, fascinatingly beautiful like a deadly snake baring its fangs. I wanted her near me, but every bit of my instinct was telling me to run as far from her as I could. As I write this, I'm pondering what to do. I do n't think David should have access to that crystal anymore, that's for damn certain. I should probably throw it away, but somehow I do n't know if I can bring myself to do that. At the very least, I'm going to put it in my wall safe for now.
Friday, 3:26 pm.
Kerry finally had to violently shake me to get me to respond. She was in a panic with tears streaming down her face. According to her, I had been standing in front of my open safe and not responding to her calling, yelling my name for a good minute or more. I do n't know how long I was actually standing there, but I feel like I went to stash the crystal just before 9 this morning. Could I have really spent the whole day just standing there and holding the damn thing? I placed it in my safe and spun the dial, trying to calm Kerry down. She looked at me hard and said I looked haggard, like I had been up all night for a week. Truth be told, I felt like butter that had been smeared too thinly across toast. I did n't know what to tell my wife, so I pretended to be sick instead. I crawled into bed and fell into an exhausted sleep almost immediately.
Saturday, 1:59 am.
The only reason I woke was because I heard the sounds of a young man groaning and straining. Shambling into the master closet I found David there pulling at a crowbar wedged into the safe for all he was worth. My son is n't particularly athletic, preferring his video games to sports. But in the glow of a nightlight I could've sworn he had bulked up twice his size. He looked like a man possessed. I could tell he had already made a sizable dent in the safe, though he seemed intent on prying the door off completely. Hesitantly, fearfully, I called out to him. He spun around with a mad look in his eyes and for the first time in my life, I was scared of my only son. His chest heaved with labored breaths, sweat rolled off him in thick rivulets. `` David...'' I called softly again, trying to fight every urge to run. `` Dad...'' he gasped out in a ragged voice. `` We need this safe open.'' `` I ca n't let you have the crystal David,'' I replied, `` It needs to stay locked up.'' `` No dad,'' he breathed, `` It needs to be destroyed.'' I nodded simply, understanding. David was right.
Saturday, 2:30 am.
David and I carefully transported the crystal in an old shoebox down to the riverside. I had wrapped it in a towel, careful not to make contact with the smooth surface directly. There was a large, flat boulder that I thought might serve our purposes. David was lugging several of my tools behind me, various sledges and cutting instruments. I had no idea if any of them would work on the damnable thing, but I was determined to try. We laid the crystal still wrapped in its towel on the rock face and David handed me the biggest hammer I had, one I used last summer to help break up some old tiles. It was heavy, I hefted it two handed and felt its weight. I took a few practice swings next to the crystal, just enough to get a sense for it. My son and I looked at each other in the moonlight for a moment, sharing strength with each other. He nodded at me and I set to work. I took three good blows before I felt the crystal shatter with an audible screech. Chills ran across my body and I felt an angry presence, but it was gone after a few moments. Not taking chances, I placed the cloth and its contents back into the shoebox taping it firmly shut and doubling up with twine. David pitched the container into the running waters and we watched it float quickly out of sight. Silently, we collected our tools and returned to the house.
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[ PI ] Ending the Ending
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==Chapter 8==
Art had then gone on to tell his story at the other inns, this time telling them all that he'd no longer be meeting at those inns but would be continuing the story at the Hickory Hedge the following Sunday. So when the following Sunday came around he found a hundred children, half of them packing the inn and the rest spilling out onto themarket street outside. Several guardsmen had been called over to keep order. As Art approached several of the children recognized him and gestured at him, and soon a hush fell over the crowd.
Art welcomed them all and then proceeded to ask them for their solutions. He noticed that about a quarter of them refused to whisper anything to Art and instead pointed at one of the children in particular. `` All right, Jane, let's hear it,'' he said as he turned to her. `` All the children are looking at you.''
Jane went up to Art's ear and whispered to him.. and whispered some more, and somemore.
`` Wow,'' was all Art managed to say. He then turned to the rest of the children, who went to whisper their solutions to Art.
Art resumed his story, drawing upon Jane's whispered answer. He told of how it was decided that the firebird must have been hiding somewhere when it rained, since the incessant falling of water β even though it could not completely extinguish and thus kill the firebird β would weaken it, and it would thus avoid it. So all over the realms the guards went about asking the peasants β and anyone else for that matter β who knew where caves could be found, to let the Order of Demonslayers know. The Order then dispatched teams to close off those caves, piling up masses of rock and earth, since it was believed the firebird, having no physical body, could n't simply blast their way through earth. When this was done, there were few places left in all the realm where a firebird could hide from the rains.
He told of how, when the Order of Demonslayers tried to collapse the final cave, the one the firebird was using as its abode, the firebird had attacked, breathing gouts of flame at the Order and burning them to death while sending them scattering. Sir Amicus and the council of all the kings of the land - so expensive had the expedition become, that cooperation from all the kings had become necessary - had then ordered the construction of a dozen trebuchets, massive constructs capable of lobbing boulders a great distance, all of them covered in soaked hide to protect them from dragonfire, and had them brought up to just three hundred yards away from the cave entrance while it was raining. The ground, all muddy from the downpour, would have caused these siege engines to sink into them if it were n't for Sir Amicus' prescience in bringing a great many wooden rafts to pave the ground over which these trebuchets advanced. This wooden path was covered in a thin layer of mud so that they would n't catch fire, though not enough mud for the siege engines to sink into. When the trebuchets were brought in close enough, they launched boulder after boulder at the cave entrance, forcing the firebird out of hiding. It withered in the rain, but survived and flew toward the awaiting army nonetheless.
He told of how the Order had also prepared still more catapults to launch water at the approaching firebird. They needed tons of water, as a great deal of it had to strike all of the firebird all at once in order to put it out. The constant stream of water came from large wooden pans laid out on the ground to catch the rainwater, enough pans to cover all the nearby plains, and they refilled with rainwater as fast as they could be used. Eight hundred catapults launched water into the skies, each launch carrying enough water to put out a firebird, but the water blasts sprayed all over and none could actually extinquish the bird alone. Yet they kept striking it, so that the firebird glowed as a cloud of steam and flame. It attempted to strike at the trebuchets, but the catapults kept a constant torrent of water flying over them, warding off the firebird, so the trebuchets continued their work, launching boulders to block off the cave entrance. For hours they kept this up. Thousands lay dead, burned to a crisp, their shields melted. The firebird, weakened by the rain and barrage of water blasts, was extinguished in the end.
When Art finished telling the battle scene, the inn was all quiet, so intently did everyone listen to his tale. Then one by one the children started clapping, and soon the adults joined in.
`` Damn that was a hell of a fight,'' said one of the adults. `` Jane, did you come up with all that?''
`` No,'' she said, and she beamed. `` It was the effort of a great many of us. So many things had to be covered.'' She started counting fingers. `` One was how the firebird could survive in the rain, what could we do about its hiding place. We had a team work on that.'' Four had been on that team; one had thought of caves, another of blocking off the caves, another of warding off stone buildings which would act like caves, and another the idea of getting mass cooperation in locating them all. `` After that, two was how to block off the entrance to the caves.'' She pointed at another team; they'd come up with the trebuchets, capable of launching rocks from a long distance, as well as the particulars of how something like that would have to work; as well as the idea that the firebird would come out to defend its own cave. `` Three was how to use the water. We had a team for that too.'' She explained how they'd realized that the fight would have to be in the rain, how one of them had thought of water-catapults, drawing on the ballista idea, another had thought of pans to collect the rainwater and funnel them, another the solution to everything sinking in into the mud. One had even calculated how long it would take to launch one of those water-catapults, and thus how many would be needed to maintain a constant barrage of four per second throughout the entire engagement, as well as all the logistics behind the entire operation including how much rainwater would need to be collected how quickly and how many people would be needed to man the entire operation. She finished saying, `` We would n't have been able to devise the solution without all three teams working together.''
`` You all are damn brilliant, you know that?'' Art said, eyes watering. `` You've thought of everything. You've managed to find a solution to something we all thought was impossible just last week. Well done.'' Many of them cheered in triumph.
`` Yeah, we figured there had to be a solution and knew we could n't just give up. And as we realized last week, we work best when we work as a team. So we thought we'd all work together on it, and come up with our answer.''
`` All right,'' said Jane. `` Now that we've killed the firebird, what does the Order take on next?''
Art smiled. Good, his audience was n't about to give up yet, which meant there was hope for them after all. So he told of how with the killing of the firebird it had become apparent that there was another demon of flame, a phoenix which could live so long as any flame burned anywhere. A demon of flame that could manifest in an unsuspecting peasant's indoor fire and instantly set the entire house aflame, then be in another house a second later.
`` So let me get this straight,'' said one among the audience. `` We're supposed to make it so that for one moment, there is n't a fire anywhere.''
`` Yep.''
`` Anywhere, in all the world.''
`` Yep.''
`` When there's a flying demon that's literally made of fire.''
`` Yep.''
`` Is able to set fire to anything it touches.''
`` So long as it can burn.''
`` It can disappear and reappear out of any other flame anywhere in the world, at any time.''
`` Yep.''
`` And you ca n't extinguish it because if you do manage to put it out, it is instantly reborn out of another fire.''
`` Exactly.''
`` Oh Lord,'' the boy said, hanging his head.
`` This is going to take more than just an army,'' said another.
`` It is impossible.'' Several nods of agreement.
`` That's what we said last time, about the firebird. We managed to put it out anyway.''
`` Yea, but this firebird ca n't be put out.''
`` No, it's possible. I'm sure it is.''
`` Sure, when there is n't a single flame left anywhere in the world. Hell will freeze over first.''
`` That's right,'' said Art, standing up. `` There's no way you can defeat this one. You're going to fail,'' he said with a grin, then headed off down the street. Art smiled as he left. There was no way they were going to live that down.
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[ WP ] You are Placebo Man . Your superpowers are whatever the people nearby you believe you have .
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I saw the car as it hurled through the air along I-10. It was a blue Chevrolet Suburban, or at least that's what it *was* from the glimpse I got as it floated ahead of me. She changed lanes without checking her blindspot, and hit the car next to her, causing her to spin and then roll, each impact with the ground a loud shaking thud. I slammed on my brakes and swerved trying to avoid the others on the freeway as I pulled over to the shoulder. I broke from the car and sprinted towards where the SUV had now come to a rest on its wheels, a crunched and tangled mess of metal. I looked in through the driver β s side window. There was a woman in the driver β s seat not much older than myself, possibly 30 or so, in the driver β s seat in a panicked hysteria fumbling with words like one would fumble with keys. I didn β t pay any attention to the exact words. I had learned to do that.
β Ma β am, I β m going to get you out of here. You β ve just got to trust me, OK. I β m here to take care of you. β I tried to open the door. It was jammed. I yanked even harder. Nothing. As I pulled the door handle again I was suddenly flooded with strength, nearly ripping the door from its hinges.
I awkwardly reached around the young lady to unbuckle her seatbelt, and remove her from the car. It was then that one of her words caught my attention. *Daughter*. I looked to the passenger β s seat. Empty. Beginning to feel panic, I looked in the back seats. No one.
That β s when I heard the shriek.
I looked over to see a girl, only about ten years old, lying on the pavement, a pool of blood around her. I dropped the lady and ran to help the girl. I cradled the small frame in my arms. Her long black hair soaked with blood. The back of her skull was gone, and my bare hand made contact with brain. *Heal*. The blood now began to soak my clothes. *Heal! * A crowd had now gathered around us. *HEAL! * The lady was now over my shoulder. I looked up at her, her eyes transfixed on the body of the child in my hands. β I can fix her! β Nothing. β I can heal her! β Her eyes remained unmoved. Tears began to gather in my eyes. My whole body trembling. β I can heal her! I just need you to believe me! Please! β
*Why does no one believe me? *
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[ WP ] Every single person , animal , and living creature down to bacteria vanishes from the physical territory of the United States , China , and India . This is the aftermath .
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It was oh-so-fun to watch Hollywood blockbusters like `` San Andreas'' and `` Godzilla'' that only took place in big countries like the US and Japan. I chuckled when my friend pointed out that giant nuclear monsters ca n't swim halfway around the world and nation-destroying earthquakes will not affect a single hair on our heads because after all, not even the tectonic plates give two shits about what happens to Estonia.
I do n't really follow the news so the initial shock only set in about 16 hours after the `` Elimination''. That's what the government named it but I rather prefer calling it the `` World Domination Plan's'' first step. Oh yes, it's bloody obvious what's going on. I do n't really despise the plan but my dream of being an actor in the USA is a bit dented.
From what I've heard, the countries that were n't wiped out plan to join into one nation and continue living normally, if normal involved forgetting the billions of people who disappeared on March 1st, 2016.
( I'm new to this writing thing so I will accept constructive criticism and feedback. If you want more of this, give it an upvote: D )
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[ WP ] They say you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain . This villain lived long enough to see himself become a hero .
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Fabian Deloach was still a respected man in his 60s. If respect meant fear, that is. They called him the Manhunter, and they were right in calling him so. Once he set his sights on a John Doe, John Doe was as good as dead. There was not a person in the city who dared crossed paths with Deloach or his associates. Do you need a man to sell you his assets for the price you choose? Deloach is whom you would need to talk to. Do you have trouble convincing rival to agree to your deal? Deloach would be your solution. Do you have a death wish? Disagree with and act opposing Deloach and wait for your wish to come true. It β s one wish that is certain to come true. The one wish you can not take back, because wherever you run or wherever you hide, Deloach would find you and grant your wish. Deloach was not a mob boss, but rather the mob emperor. The police hated him, the people feared him and the government obeyed him.
Deloach woke up in his bed at 6:01 in the morning. The morning was blue as the Sun had just inched out of the horizon. He checked the time though he was sure he knew what it would be: precisely 6:00 AM, which it wasn β t. He let out a sigh and threw his watch in frustration. Watching it crash into the wall made him feel better. He had never woken up a minute late or early, for that matter, in decades. Such was the accuracy of his inner clock. However, the last few months of stress had really taken its toll on him. He was sure he even lost some of his already thin grey hairline as a result of the stress from the recent change of events. He got out of the bed, took a quick cold shower, put on a fine charcoal textured William Fioravanti suit and a plain red tie, and briskly walked out of the room towards his office. He caught up with that one minute.
As he pushed the doors to his office open, his men withdrew from their short murmurs. He was unsure what exactly it was that they talked when he was away, but he always trusted them. He knew for a fact that he was nothing without them and he treated them with respect and to some extent, love. *A king without his pawns is no king at all. * He showed a personal interest in each of their lives, assisting them in their personal affairs. In return, they did his dirty work without hesitation. All he had to do was point and his men would make a man appear, disappear or dance, if that was what Deloach wanted. Such was his power. He walked behind his oak furnished desk and let his weight push into a comfortable leather cushioned chair. He pulled out a fat Cuban cigar from a drawer behind the desk, lit it and took a long huff. β Any news from the Babichevs? β
A greasy haired man stepped forward like he knew it was his responsibility to speak β No, sir. We haven β t heard from them. β
β What about the Campbells? What is their stand on this... war? β
β They β ve sided with Harwells, sir. I believe it β s just us against the three of them and their government. We are outnumbered. We can β t stay neutral about this. We need to make a move. I think we should join the Babichevs. β
Deloach closed his eyes and thought for a minute. The Babichevs were Russians. The Campbells and Harvells were English. Their involvement in the city was nothing less than an invasion. They involved in Deloach β s matters more than he could tolerate. They started making themselves heard in his city. It was his jungle and their roar was louder. They robbed, murdered, and conned in his turf. His people. The city he ruled and loved was being snatched away from him. Deloach realized that one can only be the alpha for so long. It is often seen among wolves. When the alpha gets older but still doesn β t lose his position and power in his pack, the others β conspire β against him. They team up against him until he falls and then they fight amongst themselves for power. To make things right, he had to acknowledge the other mobs and agree to step down and join them. He might get a fair share of the city to control. Deloach was not the kind of man who gave up power, but it was time he gained an ally.
Deloach had already made his decision the night before, but it sounded ridiculous then and it still did. He had chosen a side. An awkwardly silent 10 minutes passed and he opened his eyes. He put out the cigar. β Call the chief of police. I have a proposition to make. β
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[ WP ] Kids can do magic but slowly lose the ability as they grow up .
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These abilities would often manifest in different ways. But as you aged, these abilities would be dulled, and you would become immune. JosΓ© was a pretty normal kid, but when his 18th birthday came around, everything changed. It was a bright October morning, and JosΓ© was hanging out right outside the local skate park with his childhood friend Suzy.
`` Hey JosΓ©, what's it like to be an adult?'' Suzy laughed as she floated around him. Her power was levitation, and at 17, she was still as powerful as any kid. Most kids were treated like that once they came of age.
`` It's strange, knowing that you have no power, but seeing my friends all using theirs. I remember when Rick lost his powers.''
`` But now you're immune to them though! So nobody with powers can touch you. See?'' She raised her hand, but stopped in horror when she saw her friend being lifted in the air. `` JosΓ©? Are... are you sure you do n't still have your powers?''
`` I... never checked.'' He looked down at his now cupped hands, and closed his eyes, concentrating on warm things; sunlight, warm toast, molten hot magma. `` OUCH!'' A stream of hot liquid fell from his open palms, searing the pavement below.
`` What happened?'' Suzy was looking at him in awe, with a hint of confusion.
`` Dunno? I know I'm 18, that's for sure, but I've never been able to make magma before! This is insane!''
She looked into JosΓ©'s eyes, trying to see if he was pulling her leg. `` What do we do with this? I mean, you're an adult and you still have powers! Still have magic, I mean. How can you use this?''
JosΓ© looked at Suzy, trying to think of something; anything. `` I guess... I guess I should become a superhero.''
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[ WP ] Summoning demons to do your bidding requires talent , study , and some form of horrifying sacrifice . Which is why you find it so concerning that your little brother presently has multiple demons doing his chores for him .
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β Umβ¦ Lang? β My voice seemed to almost crack as I watched the scene around me unfold. Spread about my younger brothers room, walking along his top shelf rearranging his cluttered toys and sitting around the floor sorting and folding his clothes, multiple demons went about their day. My heart could barely contain its beating as I looked at this unexplainable phenomenon. A β demon β, a creature of the netherworld being brought into our reality was no small feat even for a talented summoner. Even summoning a single demon could take weeks of preparation, mountains upon mountains of information detailing exactly what you wanted, understanding the demon you were attempting to study to the letter. And even if you were confident enough after your research to be ready to the summon there was still the hardest part, the sacrifice. Any demon worth their service required a sacrifice equal to their value. Smaller demons could be coaxed into servitude with the occasional chicken or even a ginny pig if it pleased them, animals easy enough to find in bulk. Larger demons however required larger sacrifices, and more complex rituals on exactly how to sacrifice. One of the lesser known facts about demon was that as they grew they became picky eaters, only taking very specific forms of death as their tribute. It would be no small feat to summon a class 3 or 4 demon, such a large entity would require at least an animal the size of a medium dog, and god help that dog in what it would have to go through in the process of the summoning. Being quite an adept summoner myself I shuddered thinking about the screams Id hear conducting such a ritual. I shuddered more however looking at my brothers room and seeing two class four demons organizing his games, sliding the cases into rivets alphabetically. As much as I thought I was dreaming, his entire room was absolutely saturated with demons of every which form and function. Peering in closer I saw my little brother sitting at his desk working on his schoolwork as if it was just another normal day. I took a small step inside, approaching him cautiously. Immediately however all the demons stopped their tasks and stared me down with hungering eyes. I felt my heart drop as if Id knowingly walked into a blender, should they decide me an enemy no power on this earth could stop me from becoming a heap of blood and organs within moments. From his desk Lang turned around, observing the demons with a disapproving glance. β He β s fine. Go back to work. β A single utterance from my little brother was all that was needed to disregard my presence. The demons turned away and continued working on their individual tasks while I simply stared at my brother, a sly smirk running across his face. β Hey bro β he said, playing his headphones around his neck. β Heyβ¦ β I managed back. Lang stood up and walked towards his bed, now nicely made with the help of two three foot demons. Lang looked across the bed, then looked back at the demons, each having stopped and stood still as he judged. β Looks good so far. Tuck the sheets into that space on the side, make sure its tight. β The two demons nodded before going back to work. In all my years of summoning school, watching accredited and some magnificent summoners demonstrate their presumed top notch skills, Id never seen anyone come anywhere close to the number of demons my brother had in his command in this space. What amazed me even more was the level of loyalty they showed to him, a room of six or seven demons, not one of which showed the slightest bit of recourse from my brothers orders. I was shocked and otherwise awestruck. My brother seeing my expression promptly took the moment to do a little gloating of his own. β you impressed? β he said, sitting back down at his desk. β It took a couple hours but now I can have my room cleaned and do my homework at the same time. β He smiled. β But how? β I stammered on. β How could you summon and simultaneously control all these demons? How has n't mom found out? β Lang took a moment before responding. β They always come to me. At night when I sleep they appear regardless if I want them too.. Most of them just hang around. β They just appear? β Such a phenomena had never been heard of before, demons voluntarily serving a human? It was lunacy just considering it! β What about the sacrifices? β I asked cautiously. β You could n't have this many without sacrifices. β Lang took another moment to pause, watching a demon roll his socks into pairs. β lang? β I asked again. β They said I did n't have to worry about sacrifices yet. They said I could call them and they would always come. β The mystery continued to deepen. β Yet? β I asked. β What do you mean yet? β β They said that my sacrifice would come come later on, many years from now. They said until that time I could summon as many of them as I pleased. β I was speechless. Not only could he summon them at his will but they talked to him? A demon talking to a human? β They talk to you? β β Yeahβ¦they whisper things when I sleep. I cant really ever understand them though. β The demons had finished up their work, my little brothers room looking cleaner than it ever had. One by one filed in line in front of my brother waiting on his call. β You guys can go now β he said. Immediately they blinked and disappeared, fading out of our reality. β They β re pretty good guys Kyle. They always ask if I need help and even give me advice. β I looked around at his now empty room. Just me and him remained here. β Do you have any idea what your sacrifice will be? β I asked. β No β He said. β But they told me its gon na be important. β β How important? β My brother stopped swiveling in his chair. β They told me it would be the last sacrifice ever made. That anyone would ever make. β I stepped back, moving out of the room, my brother watching me with a confused look on his face as I left, his room cleaned and organized.
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[ WP ] You 're inspecting an abandoned house . Upon inspecting the home phone , you see the messages light blinking .
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I am employed to enter houses that have been abandoned. It β s a peculiar job, but, in these financially difficult times, we can β t just empty husks of houses line up streets, taking up space and collecting dust. Usually, if a house is suspected to be abandoned, the paperwork is brought out to see if anyone is actively paying for it, and if nobody is living there, they send in an β Investigation Team β to inspect the house for damages or safety concerns. I am part of this team. We are usually the first people to enter these houses in months, if not years, and there are things that I have seen which had made the greatest impressions on my character.
This one house in the suburbs made an impression on me that had affected my entire life. It was a medium-sized detached house, painted minty green which reflected in the brilliant sunlight and casted pretty colours on the ground. There was a narrow concrete path which divided a small but quaint garden. It was the middle of summer and the flowers were blossomed and smiling at me as I walked past. This house had only been abandoned for a few weeks and it had felt that nature had already reclaimed it, but in its abandonment, there was an added beauty to its aesthetic. The perfect suburban house, a symbol of middle-class, comfortable living.
But enough about the house itself β it β s the contents of the house which were the most interesting. On this day, I was alone, by chance, and was employed to investigate the contents of the house, map out a basic layout and tally any valuable leftovers. Being on my own allowed me to treasure the view of the front garden for a few minutes, then after that I headed into the house to get the work done.
I had felt like a criminal, using my specialised tools to make my uninvited entrance. The inside of the house was dark and stuffy, almost as if I had crossed into another world from the paradise that I was in. Portraits lined a hallway which lead to a living room. They were arranged in an order that had low quality photos on one end and high quality photos on the other β a chronological arrangement. The first was a picture of a bride and groom in their wedding clothes on an altar. The second was the same people, joined by a young baby boy. The third was a much more recent photo, the couple in their late thirties, the boy flashing an awkward teenage smile. The final photo was the same trio present at the boy β s graduation, a grin on the mother β s face, proud of her son β s achievement. β Graduation 2010 β was written in marker pen in one corner.
I then made my way into the living room and opened a large set of curtains. Light invaded the room, something that the house had not seen in some time. The light entered with a beam, which, after illuminating every speck of dust on the way, fell on a small wooden table with the home phone sat upon it. Upon further inspection, I found that the phone was on, with the screen flashing ** β 4 NEW VOICE MESSAGES β ** in striking black text. With nobody there at the time to police my actions and my curiosity clawing through my skin, I dismissed the basic protocol and decided to listen. I expected some boring legal inquiries, nothing more. So, I pressed the β Play Messages β button, unaware of what I was about to hear. The messages played in order.
First message. β Hey mom, I just wanted to call just to say that I love you β spoke a sophisticated and caring voice of a young adult. β I know that it β s been hard lately, y β know, ever since dad died, so I was hoping that you would pick up so that you would have someone to talk to. But I understand if you β re busy right now, as moms usually are, so whenever you have time I would love to talk. So, uh, yeah, I love you, hope to hear from you soon. β The fact that this message was never read filled me with a horrible dread, but also a wonder that exceeded any ethical considerations. I pressed on.
Message two. β Mom, β was the same voice as the first, but much more stern and commanding. β Is there anything wrong? I left a voicemail yesterday so I was wondering whether you got it or not. It must β ve not gotten through because you β re usually so quick to respond. Call me please. Love you. β There was a small amount of worry in his voice, as well as some sort of anger that his previous message had been so rudely ignored. I automatically press the button this time.
Three. β Mom, please, I-I just heard about that horrible pileup on the interstate this afternoon and I heard you were on that road recently. Please, mom, please let me know that you are safe. β The message was short. The same dread in his voice transcended through the sound waves and infiltrated my body. I was certain on what had happened, but I could not bring myself to believe it. I was reminded of my own mother that I haven β t called in quite some time as I pressed the button to hear the final message.
β Mom? β the voice questioned this time. β Mom, mom, momβ¦ β he repeated with varying amounts of volume and willpower. β Please pick up, please. β Then followed a silence for around ten seconds, followed by a bombardment of β Can you hear me? β and β I know you can hear me, mom β and β Please tell me you β re listening. β It was clear that he had lost all hope as his voice trailed off into hysterics, then into the sound of almost inaudible sobs, then into an absolute silence that lasted for around twenty seconds until the voice message beeped to an end.
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[ EU ] After repeatedly failing to prevent the existence of John Connor , Skynet decides to try a different tactic . The year is 1374 , and a Terminator has just arrived in Medieval Europe .
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1374, Europe. The Terminator ran through its mission description as it rose from a crouch. *Discover the Source of the Plague. Capture a sample of the Plague. Bury itself and return to the present. Release Plague into survivors. * Standing tall, it began to look for inhabitants before *CRRASHH! * a 14 foot pole was driven through its abdomen, the bio-memetic skin proving no match against a spike driven by 1500lbs of man and horse.
Pinned to the grass, the terminator processed its surroundings. A grassy field, with banners and pennnants flapping in the wind. A stand, filled with local folk to watch the event. Men in Crude armour with a variety of blades weaponry, slowly approaching.
*Fie! See, the Demon that interrupts our melee still lives! *
*But it has the form of a man! *
*Aye, but it does not understand our need for clothing. Take it down! *
The hardened knights charged. Although the Terminator fought as well as its programming allowed, it was no match for the Mortals in Metal, versed from birth in the ways of a warrior.
The corpse of the Terminator was out on display outside the Cathedral, proving Man's Majesty against the forces of evil. Rats slowly nibbled its flesh; flesh vaccinated against all diseases, past and future. Vaccines that had not *entirely* died. The rats died. The fleas, fleeing, found new human hosts, and strange symptoms appeared amongst the townsfolk. Symptoms of a disease not yet naturally mutated. A disease with no immunity. A disease that spread like wildfire, a Plague on Mankind...
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[ WP ] The zombies that rose are all that we expected- slow , dumb , and rotting . But for some reason , they still want to do the jobs and hobbies they loved in life , whether it be baking cakes , mowing lawns , fighting fires , or pushing papers .
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It was no surprise when Tucker, a thirty year old McDonald's worker, was found dead in his apartment from a self inflicted gunshot wound. It was surprising, however, when he walked out of the coroner's office. The media was buzzing about this and it did n't take long for a reporter to interview him. `` So how does it feel to be back Tucker?'' `` Disappointing'' Tucker said more monotone than humanly possible. `` What was your first thought after coming back?'' *censor bleep* `` I'm still alive'' `` So you wish you were still dead?'' `` Yes.'' `` Well technically you are still dead are n't you? By medical standards I mean.'' `` Not technically enough.'' Tucker said with a hint of depression penetrating the monotone. `` Is n't that a shame. Moving on to the big question on everyone's mind, Is there life after death?'' `` Well there was n't, and then there was. Although it was more just knowing that I was coming back.'' `` That was your only thought?'' `` Yes that was my only thought.'' The interview went on for some time. Before another could be made Tucker's remains were found sandwiched in an industrial hydraulic press, again, self inflicted. Before the world had time to process the events that had just happened, another corpse rose from it's temporary rest. Soon hundreds of corpses were rising up, always after six days. As the number of `` zombies'' got closer to six-hundred, there were less and less reports of new cases. Finally after the six-hundred-sixty-sixth confirmed case, no one else rose up. The world waited and waited, but nothing happened. Eventually the six-hundred-sixty-five `` legally zombies'' were let go from a government facility and allowed to find work and in some cases went back to their old jobs. One day about a year later, most people on earth were surprised to hear a voice in their head suddenly. `` What do you mean we ca n't broadcast specifically to the zombies? What? Why did you start already? Dammit this is the second time Michael. Uh... Hello Earthlings. This is your creator, Lucifer. What do you mean most of them hate me? they're not even supposed to know I exist.'' Laughing was heard in the background. `` Oh for fuck's sake Jesus did you do this? You're lucky you're the bosses son. Okay well Earthlings, It seems most of you already know who I am. Please disregard anything you think you know about me. Now we are already running late so I would like to make this quick. Anyone who is a zombie, please report to the field. Those who are zombies should know where this is. Thank you for your cooperation. As soon as we get all the zombies we will be out of your hair, as you humans say.'' For the next few days every zombie made its way to a field in Montana. One day several weeks later it was found that every zombie in the field had disappeared. The same voice of Lucifer was heard in everyone's head again. `` Thank you for your patience. We will update you when it is decided what to do with you.''
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[ WP ] Humanity and an invading alien race agree to settle the war with a weaponless , to-the-death , one-on-one fight between their best martial artists .
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`` It is agreed Human a face to face battle of honor will decide the fate of our races.'' The disembodied voice said from the radio's handset.
It had been 2 years since the alien race calling themselves the Mird had arrived in the solar system. They had demanded the contents of our oceans and off course we refused. They blew up a city and we nuked one of their enormous ark ships. It was a Mexican stand-off of galactic proportions. They could destroy us but they would die in the process.
The powers that be had come up with a plan and I was chosen to negotiate with the Mird. God help me I wish I knew more about them. No one has even seen one yet just the milky inhuman voice that speaks to us when they transmit a message.
Global warming had caused the sea levels to rise and the invaders needed water for fuel. I proposed to the Mird to take enough water to make it Europa to gather the rest of the liquid water that was needed fuel and in turn it would allow us to save our coastal cities. No one knew the complete impact of removing billions of gallons of ocean, but it was better than letting the Mird get desperate enough to be irrational. A rational compromise. How little I knew of their beliefs.
They demanded a confrontation. Little did I know that in their alien culture compromise was a crime. Competition was valued highly in the Mird society and they demanded a challenge. They would send their best warrior and we would provide ours and have a fight to the death. No weapons, No rules or restrictions, and to the victorious race favorable terms.
If they won they take the proposed water and our moon for the helium, which would be disastrous. If they lost they would take only enough of the rising oceans to make it water rich moon of Europa but we would gain technical specifications for their technology giving us the secrets to space travel and cold fusion. They offered this as final deal, or all out war that would most likely end in an irradiated earth and their fleet's destruction
`` Looks like our fate is in the hands of Mark Spears.'' I said to the team that was constantly monitoring communications from the Millions of ships in orbit. Mark Spears was currently the Heavy Weight champion of the world's most competitive cage fighting league. My mouth was dry when I made the call to the President. `` Yes sir, The Mird would not budge on their terms, either we send a champion or it is all out war. It is our best shot.''
`` Where will this take place?'' The president asked his normally sure and friendly voice grave.
`` Where else, the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.'' I answered. Even though the situation was beyond dire the president laughed. `` Mark Spears lives there and I did n't want to risk him on a plane or give him jet lag.''
`` Is he ready and in fighting shape?'' The president asked.
`` Yes sir. He was training for a fight already when we contacted him.'' I said
`` So be it then.''
The president sounded uncertain. I could not blame him, I was uncertain and I negotiated the deal.
I made my next call to Mark Spears and told him that it would happen tomorrow at noon. Mark asked what to expect and I told him that we did n't know. Inside I was certain the Aliens would be made of admantium and shoot energy beams from tentacle like appendages that ended in buzzsaw like claws and our best unarmored warrior would die in a matter of seconds. I told him to stay focused and not to worry forcing my voice to stay calm and steady.
I hopped a plane and flew to Vegas. I got a room at the MGM Grand
That night I could not sleep, every time I closed my eyes what seemed like a billion angry faces blamed me for their deaths. I finally got out of bed, showered and wandered down to the arena. Preparations had been made for the Mird's entrance a whole wall of the Arena had had been removed. They wanted to exit their vehicle right by the combat area. I could not blame them I would have demanded the same.
The landing vessel they would use would be equipped with the same kind of energy bomb that reduced London to a smoking crater. In kind we had many surface to space missiles prepped and ready to target the largest of the population arks. This was to ensure no one tried to cheat.
I sat there in the front row of the arena for what felt like days. I was the only one besides Mark that would be allowed to see the fight. Likewise only one Mird, besides their Warrior, would stand as their witness.
Mark finally entered and his bare footsteps echoed in the empty space. He was naked, this was another condition of the trial, and looked surreal walking down to take his place. `` You ready?'' I said to him.
`` I hope so, man.'' He grunted
I picked up my cell, made a call and soon they would be here.
The landing craft was a half-sphere hovered into the Arena eerily silent. A large hatch opened and a huge armored humanoid like figure got out. It Had to be twelve feet tall and wide as a grizzly bear. `` I am ambassador Urltze, once our warrior take off his armor it will begin β the armored figure said. `` I present our greatest warrior Natrlz'' I waited and an even bigger Mird walked out of the hatch. 15 feet tall at least and looked like a walking city block he was so wide. I gulped and Mark looked terrified.
The warrior stopped short of the ring and hissing sounds came from the armor as panels began to pull back. Layer after layer of armor collapsed inside of itself like a Russian doll. I waited and waited as this process continued and finally a nightmarish figure with crimson skin studded with spikes and four arms exited the now motionless exoskeleton. It was the size of Ken doll.
`` It begins'' The Mird ambassador bellowed.
Mark promptly advanced and crushed the warrior with his heel.
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[ WP ] : Every lie you 've ever told appears imprinted in a random spot on your body , in the exact size of the lie . The bigger the lie , the bigger the text .
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In this world, lies leave an everlasting imprint on you. Literally, in tattoo form. I'm a black market laser surgeon. That means I remove people's lies from their body for a hefty fee. Every man goes into dark times sometime in his life, right? So why not make money off of others' dark times?
My favorite customer was Minnie. She came in, teary-eyed, saying something about being a terrible person. She came all the way to Shanghai to start a new life, wanting the worst lie she ever told to be erased. `` Everything is going to be okay.'' Right across her cheek. A small, small lie, but must've made the recipient feel like shit. Kid died in front of her, she did n't realize where the lie ended up until one of the doctors pointed it out to a nurse. Poor gal, right? Laser it right up, and now it just looks like a small scar, like a cat pawed at her face a bit. She paid quadruple the base amount to keep me quiet ( as if I gave a shit? ), so that's why she's my favorite.
Oh, oh, another good one was Richard. `` Your son died like a hero, ma'am.'' On his neck, right in front of the mother who's child died in combat. Richard found me once he was redeployed. Laser it right up. Bam, done. Good as new but now a woman knows her son is just another insignificant corpse.
But wait, there's more. Connie. Dear lil' Connie. Small kid waltzes into my place, demanding a laser surgery. He shows me the tattoo. `` My sister has nothing to do with this.'' On his chest, and at the time he did n't have a shirt on. After he said it, his sister's assailants beat her to death right in front of him. Seeing as Connie was ten years old and his sister was his little sister, it must've taken some fucked up minds to do what those bastards did. Connie never wanted to remember how he got his sister killed. Fled to Shanghai, found me, and laser it up. Looking like another kid to use in the child labor laws.
People say laser surgeons are heartless, feeding off of the misery of others. They're right, of course, but we have a good role in society. We let people leave what needs to stay in the past in the past. Sometimes you got ta take something off of your chest. Or your neck. Or your cheek.
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[ WP ] `` I do n't understand why you think I should care . ''
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The triage nurse, a veteran from the marine corps, jumped to attention and saluted as Dr. Sturgeon walked into the ER waiting room. Social workers gasped, it was almost unheard of for a physician to show his face in the waiting room. A doctor outside of his office, without his entourage of orderlies and blood-pressure-takers? It would have been less surprising if the President of the United States had walked in.
Patients rushed around the doctor, like pilgrims reaching to touch a savior's cloth. The uninsured jostled just to meet the man's eye. But there was one patient in the waiting room who did n't seem to notice the historic event. An adolescent boy sitting on the couch in the corner, as far away from the noisy TV sets as possible, playing Pokemon. The doctor pushed his way through the crowd and approached the boy.
`` Is that the new Pokemon?'' said Dr. Sturgeon.
`` Yeah,'' said the boy, hardly glancing up. Certainly not hopping to attention or giving the doctor the proper signals of respect. `` Wan na play?''
`` Heck yeah!'' said the doc. Soon he and the boy were taking turns fighting Squirtles.
Nurse Hatchet watched with increasing indignation. Pencil after pencil snapped in her trembling hands. Finally she could contain herself no longer. Hitting the PA she announced: `` Dr. Sturgeon, please put the Gameboy down and see some patients!''
Dr. Sturgeon ignored her. `` Check it out, a Catatonic!'' he said, tapping buttons rapidly. He and the boy were closest pals now.
Nurse Hatchet ground her teeth. Never had a doctor dared ignore her. Her, a head nurse! The indignity! She stomped out from the nurse's station and into the chaos of the waiting room. She shoved an old man aside who was taking too long to hobble out of her path. She glared daggers at an uninsured mother and her pack of howling toddlers. Finally, Nurse Hatchet's shadow fell over the doctor and the boy.
`` Do you mind?'' said Dr. Sturgeon without looking up. `` You're blocking the light.''
`` Dr. Sturgeon!'' You'd think it was his old maid yelling at him to do the dishes or something. `` Do you know how many patients we have waiting! I had to phone Supply just to request more registration forms. It's our busiest night of the year! What do you think you're doing, Dr. Sturgeon! You're acting like a child!''
Dr. Sturgeon looked up from the game. `` I do n't understand why you think I should care,'' he said. `` You're just an ugly old nurse who wishes she had gotten into med school! Go change an old man's diaper or something!''
Boy, did that piss off Hatchet. With a roar, she grabbed a chair and started waving it around. Patients dived away, afraid for their life. After all, if you're not safe in a hospital waiting room, then where?
Dr. Sturgeon ducked just in time to dodge the chair. He jumped behind the couch, pulling little Billy along with him.
`` Dr. Sturgeon,'' Nurse Hatched shouted from the other side of the couch barrier. `` If you do n't come out in ten seconds I'm going to activate all the fire sprinklers!''
`` What should we do?'' said Dr. Sturgeon to his young companion. They conferred in whispers, preparing a surgical strategy.
`` Alright, Hatchet,'' said the doctor. `` I'm coming out. Put the chair down, nice and slow like.'' And then he stood up and faced the nurse.
`` Dr. Sturgeon,'' Hatchet said, still fuming. `` Do you know how many forms I'm going to have to fill out because of your little stunt here??''
`` Now!'' shouted Sturgeon. Billy popped up and hurled a shiny Pokeball at the evil nurse. She shrieked and clawed at the floor but it was too late. She was caught.
`` Alright!'' said Dr. Sturgeon. `` High five!'' They plopped back on the couch to continue their game.
Two weeks later, all the newspapers hailed Dr. Sturgeon as a medical hero. By playing with the boy, he had cured a terminal case of boredom that had never before been treated in any patient so young. As for Nurse Hatchet, she's bottled up in that Pokeball to this day. Her only hope is that someday Dr. Sturgeon will choose her to do battle with other nurses.
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[ WP ] Once a year , the government starts a mandatory lottery . The person who wins is hunted and executed by a 500 man task force , who then take their property to add to the next lottery . If the winner can defeat the task force , they win all of the property formerly seized by said task force .
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Jed had watched them pass by for several hours now. He knew who they were, what they were there for. Lottery agents, trained killers and manhunters, five hundred in total. And they were all after him. Were it not for the adrenaline, he might have been flattered.
As the last of the patrol passed back into the forest, Jed had to resist the visceral need to sit back and rest his sore and strained legs, which had now been cramped under for him for three hours. He had watched the Lottery on TV before, and he knew the tactics the agents would be using. Any second now, the actual last man would pass into sight, a phantom trailing behind the rest of the group to catch a foolish lotto winner changing position. Jed flexed and stretched his fingers over the makeshift spear he had carved in anticipation of this moment.
Darkness blotted out Jeb's view of the meadow, forcing him to bite back a hiss as he realized the man was crossing right in front of him. His muscles clenched and trembled as he averted his eyes, all too aware of the shine that would give him away if the stalker were to look his way. The hunter, perhaps sensing the tension, stopped short. He gave the treeline a brief scan, searching for the telltale signs of human presence. A branch, snapped in a different direction than the rest, or a pile of leaves sparser than its kin would be all the agent needed, Jed knew, and as the man's predatory gaze swept over Jed, he closed his eyes and prayed. For five tense heartbeats, Jed waited. On the sixth, the man began to trudge forward once more, to Jed's considerable relief. His eyes opened, and a manic grin spread across his face. Now *he* was the hunter.
With painstaking effort, Jed began to edge from his cover. With the utmost care, he swept aside the branches and leaves that had concealed him, careful to not give himself away now that he was so close. As Jed stepped into the clearing, he transitioned from careful, quiet movement into a dead sprint. He had the drop on the unsuspecting agent, and it was time to roll the dice.
`` Wha-,'' was all the man managed before Jed crashed into him, spear in hand.
With a feral shout, Jed stabbed downwards, again and again. The man struggled, hands scrabbling for a rock, a stick, anything. But as Jed continued to stab, and puddles of blood turned to pools, the man's hands ceased their searched.
Breathing ragged, Jed stood up and stared down at his felled opponent. As the effects of the adrenaline faded away, he began to notice the sticky sensation coating his hands and face. Before he could be sick, Jed turned and began to take shuddering steps away from the scene. There would be time to be sick later, if he was still alive.
After taking a number of deep breaths to calm his whirling thoughts and emotions, he began to think. The plan. He needed to follow the plan if he had any hope of surviving this nightmare. After all, the Lottery was not intended to be won by conventional means. Who could hope to take on five hundred US government trained agents? A force multiplier was what Jed needed. And like the good Southern boy he was, he had twelve hundred of them planted along fifty acres of property.
The plan. His racing heart and thoughts slowed as it all resurfaced. The trigger, located in his room, was all he needed. Approximately four thousand pounds of explosives and incendiaries would do the rest, if only he could activate them. This was why he had waited. Three hours into the hunt, the guard duty around his house would be at its lowest.
The abrupt end of the foliage broke Jed's stupor. His eyes alighted on the house, a lone tower in a fifty yard expanse of open ground in every direction. He wanted nothing more than to break and run for it, to hide under his covers and wait for this to blow over, but his instincts grounded him. The second he broke cover, the agents that without a doubt lurked among the trees would gun him down. He needed to be smarter than that. His shoddy spear would do little to protect him against a hail of gunfire. Stealth was the only option.
Jed cast aside his spear and knelt. His fingers traced the ground as he tested its consistency. After a few attempts to break the hard earth failed, he was satisfied. Ideal crawling conditions if he had ever seen them. Eager to move on before a wandering agent found him, Jed went prone and began to crawl towards freedom.
As Jed crawled, he began to plan again. There would be no way to avoid notice once he reached the house, as there was no way in but the doors and windows visible from any point in the yard. His only hope was that no agents would be close enough to reach the house before he activated the explosives.
His time was up. He had reached the threshold of the house, and the crucial test was nigh. Jed rose to his knees and grabbed the door handle as he tensed and prepared to spring into action. In one motion, he leapt from his crouch into the door, knocking it open and leaving him sprawling across the lobby. A number of shouts arose from behind him, but he wasted no time thinking on it.
Jed regained his footing and sprinted through the house, desperate to beat the agents that would soon be upon him. As he reached the dining room table, he knocked aside the mess and clutter in his frenzy to find the trigger. After two terror filled seconds, his hands unearthed the makeshift device.
Relief filled him, and he pressed the button, not daring to give the approaching agents a chance to escape their fate. One second, and then the receiving units on the explosives scattered across his property received their message: detonate.
As the sound of explosives and incendiaries rang in the background, Jed slumped to his knees, and then the ground as consciousness faded. He knew he ought to fight it, but he was so tired. There was nothing more he could do. Either the explosives and infernos he had ignited would kill all the agents, or he would die once they found him. Jed's eyes closed.
One more roll of the dice.
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[ WP ] The year is 2125 , the first 'World Law ' passes . It reads ...
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When I was born I was the first child of the third generation born here. My dad told me that representatives from the European colony actually brought gifts. Just 18 years later the Great War of Mars broke out.
I am sure that in the future others will tell the story more eloquently than I will, but at the heart of the matter was water. A pocket of subterranean ice had been discovered in a location essentially half way between the colonies. Both wanted it.
The US colony was beginning to experience a boom in numbers, and wanted to secure the site so they could expand the footprint of the colony. The European colony needed it as the ice sheet near their current location was thinner than the probes said it was.
As talks between the European and US representatives continued, a European colonist blew the airlock on a US colony building. It was a school.
Tools meant for scientific discovery were converted into weapons. The battles were small, but lives were still lost.
Then one day, after 8 months of attacks and meetings, a man named Roman Abrams made a discovery. The Earth was dark. Even with the fighting it seems strange that nobody noticed sooner. The home planet of the human race was silent.
One day we may learn of Earth's fate, but that day is n't today. Today is the day the last of humanity unites. Today is the day the first United Human Government is sworn in and presents to us the Declaration of Mars...
**From this day all citizens of Mars belong to one colony. It is our duty to the planet that bore our kind to be not only the last of humanity, but the best of humanity. No citizen of Mars may pass a law that contradicts the principles of unity and the betterment of humanity. **
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[ WP ] You are given the option to travel through time , just once , but you will never be able to return to the present . Do you choose to go and if you do where do you go ?
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β Ken, have you got a minute? The Commision have replied. We need to go over the details with Rashid for the fourth trench. β
She paced carefully along the raised bank between the ditch and trench two. She could just see a few grey curls above the collar of Ken's waxed jacket as he crouched in the drizzled march morning. Her eyes flicked between the cow shit-strewn grass and the meaty pair of Ken's buttocks that she could see flex - even under his over-trousers - as he sits upright apparently examining something.
No response from Ken.
Laura stops at the lip of the long trench and has an unsettling lurching sensation, as if gravity had only just that second started affecting her internal organs. She quickly sits down on the edge.
It was, she admitted, a slow grinding sadness to have come across nothing more diverting than that arse in 8 years of mooching around wet grey A roads. Her head falls forwards and she let's out a long stream of air through her pursed lips.
A refrain from Brahms β Clarinet Trio in A Minor rises through her mind and she smiles slightly. Yes, maybe now is the time to pick up the clarinet again. Her father *is* an unfeeling cunt troglodyte - She *can* perhaps make a living out of it if she teaches a little.
She doesn β t think much more as an ecstatic bolt shoots from the tip of her clitoris up through her body.
*
Across the sodden field Paul has climbed the lowest of the oaks. He knows that you should n't climb oaks trees as they can have weak limbs and he knows that the joint he is fumbling for in his mac would get himself kicked off the dig if the super found out. He hangs on the limb like a hooded scarecrow and peers into the gloom. Between glows of skank he watches the millions of tiny raindrops that drift to fill the field.
Just below the birches on the other side a darkening happens. Something like a localised eclipse forms around that overly-tight-jean-wearing-bore called Ken. His friend Laura screams and gasps and Paul gets a tingling in his balls that he is not proud of and then Ken's gone.
*
She will later swear that she heard an electric crackle on her neck before the silhouette of Ken Higgins was, β Spherically diminished into a single point of nothing.'
'Sorry, but that's the only way I can describe it, Glen - it's not similar to anything else.'
She decides not to mention the full body orgasm during which, she is starting to think, that she might have met some sort of god.
*****
I understand somehow.
I understand the proposition.
A glimpse again of the crystalline and dull metal artifact that, a second before, I had been clearing of clumped mud with my fingers. Fingers!
I think that most people would put fingers high up on β lists of everything... ( along with otters and hummingbirds and micro-pore travel towels )... that make up the emptiness'.
I can travel anywhere/when once.
The sea of everywhen yawns before me with a lurch of granular dimensional fluidity.
A small smeary child jumps repeatedly beside his golden-skinned mother searching through a plastic bagβ¦ A brinicle breathes itself into the depths of the Atlantic seabed. An unfeeling slice of ancient microfauna is creaked to death by the iced lightning bolt... Laura's face frozen in terror, her body slumped on the pit sideβ¦
I bring myself straighter in the spin of all. My options recede and speed up. Craters come and then pull away to such infinite emptiness. It breaks my heart as pulsars and quarks effervesce in silence. A midst the panic of losing myself for good; a question comes. A lifebelt thrown into
me
dissolving:
β Who made this? β
Another bottom that I had not noticed fell out from beneath the multiverse and I plunged towards my answer. Everywhens flitting past my earlobes.
And then finally, to my shame, I thought of my family and friends upon whom I would never again set my eyes.
*****
My landing is meaty and crunchy.
Pain. So much pain that I shall be endlessly trying to adequately describe its extent, and to this day ( What year is it?! ) I can not stop becoming visibly annoyed with others who claim to have faced more.
Thick herbal smoke and low unintelligible voices swirl and squabble in the damp cavern around me.
*****
[ M ] y first post be gentle sorry poor grammar etc; )
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[ WP ] A story which tells a first person account of how that character died
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I was born crying and screaming in blood. I was raised by a loving mother and father. I meet my older brother. I watched T.V. and played games as I grew up. I learned some things at school but never learned self-control. I went through school, riding on the waves but not surfing with skill or grace. I found a girlfriend in college. My parents did n't really like her, but I did. I loved her but she broke up with me. I grew up some more. The fights I once had with my parents became apologies. I enjoyed my life now. I was a retail person because the job market was n't very good that year. It was the bad president. I ate some nice food and went on a decent vacation. I could stay here forever. I had become a business owner and sold knick-knacks to tourists. I hated the job, but that was the only job I could manage. I had a son with a beautiful wife. He was the joy of my life and he became my life. My parents died and I cried. My older brother also died.
I taught him baseball and plumbing and everything manly. He was to grow up as a better me. He would commit no mistakes. He had perfect grades. He was smart. He had hopes and dreams and he was a good kid. When he grew stronger and I grew weaker I was happy. But then he left for college and never came back and I was empty. My wife died, too. The funeral was the only time I saw my son. He was a handsome boy and had a pretty girl on his arm. I tried to tell him I loved him and I was proud but he left too quickly. Every night I would stare at a cold fireplace and try to sleep. I still had half my life left. But I stared with dead eyes wherever I went. I did a job I hated and went to a house that held bad memories. I had no good friends. Half my life disappear in the blink of an eye. I then began to die of old age, my body gave up.
When I died a man with six faces showed up. He asked me what I thought of my life. Was it a life fruitfully well lived?
I looked back and said, `` Everything I have done has gone to waste or died. Nothing I've done remains but for my son, who will also die. Even in life I experienced this decay during the last half of my life. I have neither done what I wanted to have done nor what I should have done.'' The man with six faces nodded, took my hand, and led me away in fear.
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[ WP ] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them . Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship . What do they find inside ?
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**Captains log: **
After several successful tests of our warp drive engines, we have begun our primary mission and have quickly reached and explored all possible logical courses for our generational ship, the Pioneer, without success. We, of course, have been broadcasting in all available frequencies and have located something that might be a distress beacon far from the paths laid out by our on-board scientists. We will be approaching the location of the beacon within the hour.
...
We have approached the source of the beacon, many light years from Earth, and have found a previously uncharted solar system. There appears to be an M class planet on the outer edges of the solar system, given that the star in this system is of much greater diameter and strength of our own. According to our scans, the Pioneer had not made it that planet but is in fact orbiting a planet on the inner edge of the star, close to where our own Earth would be located. Given the limited sensor capabilities of the spaceship, it is not surprising that they would assume a habitable planet would be at a similar distance as ours. We will soon be arriving at their location within minutes and I must report to the bridge.
...
Initial scans of the ship have shown approximately double the original lifesigns of the ship that left Earth. The structural integrity of the ship has been withstanding the intense heat and radiation of the local star, but prolonged exposure might prove hazardous to the crew of the vessel. Scans of the vessel show that their main propulsion is offline along with many vital subsystems, including communications. The Pioneer is currently in orbit of the planet, which upon further scans shows to be made of a possible material that could be converted to fuel if not for the atmospheric conditions making extraction difficult. According to sensors, all shuttles are unaccounted for, more than likely meaning there were many failed attempts to gather resources. As of yet we are unable to establish communications with the ship, leaving us only with speculation and scans. Several shuttles are being prepared as we speak to board the Pioneer and meet with members of the crew.
...
Initial reports are beginning to come in from the Pioneer. Immediately after first contact was made, hostilities began. The ship was apparently caught unaware of our arrival and our boarding crews were treated as invaders. Our crews wearing the current standard issue isolation suits, much upgraded and, I'm sure, seemed very foreign to what they were used to when they first left our world. Reports coming in are stating that the crew of the ship acted most savagely, but fortunately no injuries were sustained from either crew. There appears to be no semblance of rank as we know it. They have a sort of hierarchy which seems to be based on age and skills. As main computers are offline they have no way to gauge how long they have been in orbit of this planet but it seems to be a great amount of time. All older personnel were unable to adapt to the heat and radiation, dying off, leaving younger people to run the ship as they see fit. Some have learned some basics of running the ship, but most seem more concerned with obtaining status and power. Mating and reproduction seems to be of a high priority, as the number of people in the ship have gone well beyond what the hydroponics bays can produce. Most people seem malnourished, especially those assigned to menial tasks and general maintenance, leading to further decay of ship systems. With medical systems offline, they were unable to manufacture basic vaccines and antibiotics, leaving many in critical condition from minor injuries and illnesses. Away teams are currently focusing on triaging and transporting the patients back to our ship for medical care. As soon as they are safely on board, we send our engineers to begin to assess the damage to the Pioneer.
...
Our engineers have been very successful in reestablishing many vital systems to the Pioneer, but unfortunately have been unable to reactivate the engine systems. Their primary engines have been modified and run on make shift fuels found along their journey for so long that they are unable to process the replacement fuels we have brought with us without completely dismantling the reactor and reassembling it. Without the original crew who made these modifications they will, unfortunately take much too long. By the time my engineers predict that they will reconstruct the reactors to original specifications, the ship will have descended too far into the planets atmosphere to be able to fly out again. Due to this i have decided to evacuate all personnel my ship, much exceeding our own capacity, to return them all to Earth. Initial downloads are beginning to come in from the Pioneer computers, providing valuable information regarding the ship after losing contact with Earth. I must review this information and transmit back to base.
...
The information coming from the Pioneer is startling. Apparently there was much hidden from official communications back to base. There was much dissent from the crew who thought that there was no hope in the mission, no progress being made in exploration or scientific discoveries and many that wanted the ship to return back to their respective homelands. Within months, unforeseen malfunctions and failures were becoming a occurrence with ship systems, worsening once leaving the confines of the solar system, requiring frequent maintenance and in some cases, complete rebuilds from any spare components in storage. Unfortunately, the ship systems were the least of their worries. The ships rank system was lax from the beginning, seeing as they were so far away from home. This resulted in many people quickly fighting for position and for rank, attempting to one up each other to obtain a higher status for themselves. With no member of the crew being paid an actual income, rewards for success began with recognition from their peers and some small rewards from the mess hall. Over time these turned into primary missions for survival for many of the crew, especially when they started to equal then surpass their food supplies from the hydroponics bay. There are many records in the ships computer of deaths from accidents and suspicious circumstances. Security personnel at first attempted to investigate and solve deaths of suspicious circumstance but were poorly equipped and were faced with public discrimination by the crew. The Captain was of course had final decision in all punishments of the crew, but this led to further dissidence as friends and family felt that punishments were too hard or too severe for nothing but circumstantial evidence. Security eventually turned from shipwide police to individual protection for those in power and able to provide benefits to those around them, originally starting with the captain, then going to who ever else might be in power. Lawlessness and the fight for power only increased from there. Reports are currently coming in that the crew of the Pioneer are acting very negatively to my order of evacuation, must report to the bridge.
...
Reports coming in are disastrous. The crew of the Pioneer have begun forcibly removing my crew from their ship, refusing to leave their dying home. My chief engineer has been seriously injured along with several others. As bad as conditions are in their ship, the leaders of this ship refuse to accept someone elses authority or leave their home. Several of the ships own engineers are asking for transport off the ship but are being held captive by the crew. Shuttles are returning now and luckily we were able to retrieve all our own crew from their vessel. They are insisting they will able to figure out their own situation and refuse to believe there is no alternative but to abandon ship.
...
I have been in communication with the people on their ship with their newly repaired comm systems. I speak to someone different every time and have no been able to communicate how imperative it is we save them from their sinking ship, but to no avail. At last communication they said they are close to repairing their damaged engines, and currently are no longer answering our hails. As we have no ability to tow a ship of their size out of the gravity well we have no alternative but to wait and see if they will allow us to help them escape their situation.
...
They have just entered the planets atmosphere. Still no answer to our hails or pleads to allow us to help them, though my engineers assure me their communications systems are still functioning. We were forced to watch them enter atmosphere and burn and melt and break apart upon entry to the planet. It is a sad day for our crew to not complete our mission. We take some solace that we were able to save some small amount of their crew to our medical bays where we were able to treat them and, according to my Chief Medical Officer, were able to save every one. Our prayers are with the misguided crew of the Pioneer, and will now be sending my log to base.
**End of Transmission**
*Hope everybody enjoyed it, this is my first submission, and its very late, so do n't have time to run back and double check my writing. I think this might be how it might turn out based on pure human nature, but who knows right? I can only hope our first ship will fair better. *
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[ WP ] In the year one million and a half , humankind is enslaved by giraffe . Man must pay for all his misdeeds when the treetops are stripped of their leaves
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Harold towered over us, his dark beady eyes squint in a mean glare. I looked over my shoulder at the humans on either side of me, who both shrugged and clung onto their wooden spears. Harold smiled when I glanced back as if he knew as did I, that my fate was sealed here.
He stretched his long brown patterned neck from side to side and then stomped his black hoof twice. `` Order... Order in the court,'' he said.
Of course, we were n't really in a court. We were on a very tall cliff overlooking the Savannas and I was about to join the pile of bodies below. `` Harold, I didn't-''
`` Silence!'' He hissed. `` Your kind stripped the treetops of their leaves, and thus, led all of my brothers to starvation and madness. This is where you join your brothers and pay for your crimes against my people.''
As if a talking Giraffe was n't mad enough, he arched his head back and fluttered his lips like they were butterfly wings. The guards behind me whimpered.
`` But, Harold, you're not people. You're Giraffes. And not all of us took leaves from-''
He glared at me. I shrunk back in horror.
Evidently, arguing was not a good idea. Because he ground his bloody teeth together and stared as if imagining my body between them.
`` Have you ever tasted human meat?'' Harold asked.
I shook my head.
`` Well, foul human, just to give you an idea. It's like finding a forest which has just been raided by a group of panthers and all the leaves are tainted with the rotting taste of animal blood. Yet it is disgustingly addictive and a healthy replacement for leaves.''
`` Err... I ca n't really relate, sorry.''
`` Do not speak out against me!'' Harold said.
`` I - I apologize great Harold,'' I said, `` It's just that, not all humans stripped the trees. Some of us, humans like me, we fought for their protection. I planted over ten thousand with my own two hands.''
I held my hands upturned, which were tied together with vine.
`` You jest?'' Harold said.
I shook my head. `` Some of us were good. We even fought for other gira- your people, we believed in equality for all.''
Harold mulled over what I had said. His eyes shifted between the guards behind and then back to me. `` Guards,'' he said. Which prompted a little jump from them.
`` Does he speak the truth?''
They nodded vigorously, so much so that their heads might fall off.
Harold sighed and then for the first time since I'd seen him, he folded his legs and sat on all fours. `` Very well, I need time to think this over. Take the human back to his cage.''
The guards grabbed my arms and started towing me away.
`` Oh, and human,'' Harold said, prompting the guards to pause, `` this does n't mean I sha n't kill you or devour your body. Only that I am thinking about this new information.''
The guards dragged me again, back to our encampment where the branch-cages stretched for thousands of miles. I was flung against what may as well have been dead bodies. But was actually a clump of prisoners, like myself.
If thinking meant saving some of us, for now at least, then that was something.
`` He's thinking about my words,'' I said to the other prisoners. And then listened as the cage filled with whispers, which quickly passed across the camp. When they looked back at me, they were no longer the hopeless corpses they had been.
Now their eyes were filled with hope.
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[ WP ] You 've just been accused of something but you have a watertight alibi . However , it 's so embarrassing you 're not sure whether you want to use it .
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When the well-dressed detective and the uniformed officer appeared at my door, I was dumbfounded.
β Mr. Jack Leach? You β re under arrest for the murder of Sally Newton. Please step outside and turn around. ( Insert Miranda Rights here ). β
Upon arriving at booking, I was run through the standard procedure: stripped, inspected, squat and coughed, and all other sorts of pokes and prods. I was finally taken into interrogation room 3 once I was fitted with my flip flops and orange jumpsuit.
The room was exactly how it appeared in the movies. Metal table with a shackle on my end, room enough for the detectives to 360 me at any time, and ( I assume ) a two-way mirror. The walls were the kind of white you β d find around your tub after weeks of neglect. The floor was a dark color with a drain in the middle of the floor. Very curious.
β Jack, I β m Detective Ericson. I β m going to ask you a series of questions. It is absolutely imperative that the answers you provide to me are the complete truth down to the slightest minuscule detail. Understand? β He reflected upon his notes glancing up at me only to decipher my body language.
β Excuse me, β I hesitantly mumbled, β Can you pleaseβ¦ β
Without even an acknowledgement of my quiet murmurs, β Now, we β re here for a serious reason. Obviously you know that. β He loosened his shirt cuffs and quarter rolled the sleeves of his pressed dress shirt. β Sally Newton. Does that name ring a bell at all? β
Sally Newton, Sally Newton, Sallyβ¦yes it rang a bell. It rang the fucking Liberty Bell! Sally was my middle school girlfriend whom I had just recently been in contact with via Facebook chat.
β Officerβ¦ β
β Detective son! β Ericson barked.
Hesitantly, β Detectiveβ¦well, I knew Sally. She was my middle school girlfriend. β I chuckled, β You know how those things are in middle school. It was more like β girlfriend β. β I made air quotes to emphasize my point.
Shuffling in his chair whilst towering over me, β So this is a comical matter to you? Good, this case will be closed before the end of my watch. β
β Offiβ¦Detective. Nothing is funny about the death of someone I had crossed paths with in my life. I laugh when I β m nervous. It helps me to keep from pooping my pants. β I gingerly sipped from the bottled water I was given earlier.
β Well son, she β s dead. She was killed 2 nights ago, Friday August the 5th around 10pm. β He scanned his notes almost robotically, β Killed by blunt force trauma to the head in way of a golf club. Do you play golf Jack? β
My brain accessed all the memory files it could handle searching for a simple yes I do or no I don β t. Seconds later, β I tried to take it up to appease my father but it never took. I do have clubs though, even bought some golf shoes. β
Jotting quickly in his spiral sterno, β Well, we are currently searching your home and the surrounding grounds right now, hopefully we find all the clubs, clean as a whistle. β
Suddenly like a ton of bricks, like a locomotive, like aβ¦really big hard something it hit me. Two nights ago at 10pm or around that time I was actively engaged in a private activity. Sadly, I could prove it. For the past 3 years of my 44 year life I had taken up sock puppeteering. I made my stages from cereal boxes and the puppets from fresh, unworn socks.
That night β s performance was a reenactment of a near confrontation I had at the local Food Lion. A rather bulky, balding gentleman sneezed in my face, making no attempt to shield his forceful mucus explosion. He proceeded to look at me, smile, and inform me that I had some β shit β on my face, particularly some β shit β hanging from my upper lip and gently swaying under the weight of his breath. I proceeded to breakdown and weep right in the middle of the feminine hygiene isle holding my bottle of Midol ( it helps with my tinnitus ).
My performance, like I said earlier, reenacted the instance with one small variation. I proceeded to maliciously pound this fat, bald waste of oxygen into the groundβ¦verbally. Some of the words I used even made me hesitate for a moment, it was that severe. I couldn β t even watch the video of my sock puppet rendition. See, I have a YouTube channel under the user name of JLeach4Lyfe. It means I β ll be J. Leach for the rest of my life. The y is just used to look β gangster β as the kids would say.
Sloping down to catch my eyes, β Hello!? Jack!? Come back to Earth buddy! β Detective Ericson looked tired and he certainly looked like he would willing eat a small child on nothing more than a simple gentleman β s dare.
β Yesβ¦Yes sir. Sorry. β I had a horrible rash on my scrotum that needed attention but I didn β t want the Detective to think I was reaching for a weapon. A good pinch and roll would hit the spot right about now.
β Do you recall your whereabouts on August 5th around 10pm? It β s important you β re absolutely honest with me. This could be a major turning point in your life. β He scooted his chair close to me, our knees were practically interlaced.
Do I tell him or do I not tell him? I couldn β t give up my secret life of Sock puppeteering, I was determined to take that secret to the grave.
Scooting closer, β Jack, we know you talked to Sally the night of her death on Facebook. Why didn β t you tell me that? I gave you every opportunity to be honest with me. β
Dying of embarrassment or dying in prison, either way I β m dying. Makes no difference, my job at the local dance school ( another hobby of mine ) wasn β t even needed. It was obsolete. I was obsolete.
Fast forward three years into the future.
β How does that sound Johnnie? You think it makes for a good made for TV movie? β I peered at my cellmate nervously, scared of his reaction but still yearning for it.
Johnnie was slack jawed in some sort of comatose amazement, β That was the best piece of literary work I have ever heard in my entire life. β His teeth, the few that remained, clattered together with every pronunciation.
His face quickly turned to shock, β Wait, you mean to tell me you took a triple life sentencing because you were too embarrassed to admit one of the coolest hobbies ever? β
My head shook as my face tighten with an enormous smile, β Yes sir. It is the coolest hobby ever! You ready for tonight β s performance? β
Johnnie nodded and held up his decorated knee sock as we exchanged high fives like the best friends we were.
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[ WP ] You are cursed to wake up in a different body every morning , there is only one way to break the curse .
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`` So let me get this straight. You wake up every morning, and you're in a different body.''
`` That's correct.''
`` And you've somehow figured out that *I* am your next body.''
`` Yep.''
`` And when the switch happens, I wo n't realize a thing. I'll just go on with my normal life, with a *completely different* wife, set of kids, job... basically a whole different life. And nobody will realize a thing. Except you.''
`` Bingo.''
The man stared at me in utter disbelief. `` You're a loon.''
I shrugged. `` I teach quantum physics. I get that a lot.'' This was true; when I wake up each morning, in a new body, I usually stay in bed for at least 30 minutes, just going through all the new information and memories. I've been called a loon or some variant at least a dozen times in `` my'' life.
He sighed. `` Look,'' he said, rubbing his temples. `` Ca n't you just leave me to my dinner in peace? I did n't take you for some crazy guy since you're so well-dressed and polite, but clearly I was wrong. Do you want money? Is that it?''
My eyes flickered down to his half-eaten Chipotle burrito. `` No,'' I said flatly, still looking at the food. `` I just want it to stop.''
`` Want what to stop?'' he asked wearily.
`` This curse,'' I said simply. `` It was incredible at first: seeing, *living* so many different lives. So many things I've seen. So much knowledge, obtained with zero effort. So many different women who've loved me.
But I've had bad experiences, too,'' I added grimly.
He rolled his eyes. As the silence wore on, the curiosity got the better of him and he asked, albeit grudgingly: `` like what?''
`` Abuse. War. Starvation. Disease,'' I replied. My voice was toneless, but my memories, full to the brim, echoed of the horrors I had endured in some of my lifetimes. `` Yesterday, I was trying to rescue my son from warlords in some nightmarish city in Uganda. He did n't make it. I almost did n't, either.''
He ran a hand over his face and groaned softly. `` Look, I'm sorry about your... Ugandan son. And I hope you figure out a way to, uh, break the curse,'' he said. `` But I'm going to go now. And if you follow me, I'm going to call the cops.'' I watched in silence as he picked up his belongings, re-wrapped his food, and drained the rest of his water bottle. He left the restaurant without another look back at me. After a few moments, I began to get up as well.
But I have figured out a way, I thought. I had always imagined my daily body-shifting to be something like a row of dominoes; as the day ended, one piece fell onto the other and my mind transferred into the next life. My new-found knowledge and access to university lab equipment had served to confirm it today, and helped me find this man.
Speaking of which, there was only one way to end this. As I exited the establishment, I saw his receding figure in the distance. I had already followed him earlier and figured out he lived alone in a broken-down part of the city, in an apartment complex with prostitutes, dealers, and druggies for neighbors. Nobody would bat an eye if he were to suddenly snuff out during the night.
After all, what's the simplest way to stop a row of dominoes from progressing? You take out the next piece.
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[ WP ] Humans hibernate all winter , with the exception of `` necessary personnel ''
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Jack smiled at me grimly, `` It's a job to do and someone's got to do it and it's not like anyone else is signing up for it.'' I frowned at his frank honesty wishing I could say something to disagree. He was right, when all of humanity went into cryo for another winter there would always be someone needed to keep the population safe, and with such a high death rate and the constant worry of catching influenza it was no wonder noone would do it. You'd have to be crazy, like Jack.
`` Now get into your pod Violet or your parents will have my head.''
I reluctantly lay down pondering what Jack would do throughout the winter months, I hoped with all my heart he would survive the attacks of those wishing us ill and above all that he would stay WARM.
`` Stay near the fires, Jack.'' I sat up, my worrying eyes finding his, he shushed me, gently easing me back onto the soft pillow of my cryo-case, `` I mean it!'' I warned him fiercely. It was beyond my ability as an emotionally constipated aristocrat descendent to tell him what I had wanted to for a long time now and soon it would be too late. When I met Jack 2 summers ago he was almost exactly my age, with each winter he gains 3 months on me and soon he'll either be dead or too old for me to justly tell him. It would be considered perverse. He concentrated on the bells and whistles, something I had watched him do for a few winters now since he joined the cryo-watch regiment. Each year I would ask him the same thing, he would give the same answer then prompt me to count down from ten each year. By the time I reached one, his happy and older face would appear smiling at me, 3 of the coldest months lost to dreamless sleep. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, I sat up once again, reaching for Jack's hand,
`` Stop the procedure, Jack.'' I pulled myself out of the case, ignoring his confused protests, `` I do n't want to go to sleep this time.''
`` Have you any idea what would happen if they found out the daughter of one of the richest families of the last of humanity did n't go into cryo?''
`` Then let's not let them find out.'' I suggested firmly.
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[ WP ] You were born into a nomadic tribe . When you decide to stay behind , you discover who/what you β ve been running from all this time .
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The winds shifted again. Stronger.
Paedric, Great Elder of the Nevian people, gathered his council of 12 to his tent to discuss the changing winds. Among them, was Leven, a young man compared to his elder counterparts, who was only there because he took the place of his father, who had recently died of an unknown cause. His grandfather also passed away long before he was born. This was Leven β s first council meeting.
Paedric began, β This Stay has been 3 years strong. We β ve been blessed with the fertile soils in this land and now we must begin the Collecting of Seeds and organizing with pack leaders for our travel to New Home within the next 2 weeks. β
Council members objected, β Two weeks? That β s not long enough! We need at least a month. We β ve never done it in 2 weeks! β β It takes 5 days just to finish Collecting of the Seeds. β β We must stay longer! We can β t rush our Ending Stay like this! β Their complaints grew louder.
* β ENOUGH β * silenced Paedric. His heavy chest needed to recover from the large force of air. β We have 14 days until First Step begins. This is our test. We will not fail. And we will be richly blessed in our next Stay because of our haste. β The flickering light danced cautiously around his eyes, daring anyone to question the Great Elder. The council members quickly rose and shuffled out of the smoky tent, shaking their heads and wringing their hands nervously. Leven trailed behind.
β Young Blue, β Paedric gestured to Leven; because of his satin blue scarf he always wore around his neck, in honor of his father, β you have questions? β
Leven was startled. He had a lot of questions, but he certainly wasn β t going to make a scene at his first elder council, especially one as uncommon as tonight β s was.
β I, uh. Well it β s just all new to me. This will only be the 3rd travel to New Home I β ve had in my life. I know the history of our people and I β ve been blessed to have New Homes last for as many years as they have. β Leven was nervous. He had never spoken to the Great Elder before, and now here he was, standing in his tent with him, alone, rambling about tribal history.
β Get to your point, young man. β
β How can you tell when the winds shift? It β s never been clearly explained to me and when I ask others, they don β t seem to know. β It was a brave thing to ask, but wrong. Paedric, the Great Elder barreled back at him, β It β s never been clearly explained to *anyone* because people are fools. They are fearful. They are selfish and they don β t understand, so it hasn β t been explained for generations and it sure as hell won β t be explained to you! β The angry old man gruffed and waved for his dismissal.
Leven didn β t move. At this point, he may as well have been risking his life by questioning the Great Elder like this. The last person to stay in his presence after dismissal was Leven β s father, to which he was punished for 6 months of humiliating labor and other pack leaders and even council elders laughed at him. But still, Leven remained still. β I am here to succeed you. β Leven was cool to the touch. The old man bellowed at Leven, * β You will not live another Sun if I have any say about you, boy! β * Leven strode over next to him, feeling his eyes and hot breath fume at him with every step. His old frame kept him from lashing out at Leven, otherwise he wouldn β t have made it this long in his presence. Just then, a guard rushed in, sword drawn ready to take Leven, but Paedric stopped him.
β Don β t touch him! Don β t soil your sword with this traitor β s blood. β The guard stopped, β I will handle him. Now leave! β The guard retreated to his post outside.
β I am not a traitor, β Leven stepped closer, β you are. And once you finish telling me everything you know, and then I will decide what to do with you. β
Paedric turned to Leven and growled,
β You will die with the knowledge of what is Left Behind. It will torture your soul for the rest of your short life and your mother will die a prostitute because of you. Husbandless, sonless, lifeless and without any family you β ve just sealed the end of your miserable pack. β
He paused and continued after catching his breath, β I listen for the voices in the winds every evening. They tell me to stay or tell me to leave. They tell me how much time the Nevian people are welcome here and when our welcome has ended. They are the voices of protection and they are to be feared. They keep us from the real evil out there. When darkness is almost upon us, they warn us to move. They tell us where to go and where we β ll be safe from the darkness. Tonight, they have spoken to me that the darkness is nearby. And tonight, after I kill you, you will become a voice in the wind, forever tormented by the darkness. Just like your father. β
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[ WP ] Make me feel the most intense sadness/non-physical pain you ever experienced .
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The rocking chairs were always the most important part of our plan. We had discussed it almost weekly from the very first day we met. We were going to grow old together and sit in those rocking chairs and reflect on the wonderful life we had built, from a struggling couple in their twenties to the proud parents of three happy, successful adults. I smiled, thinking of those conversations.
The smile quickly faded as the clerk brought me back to reality.
`` Good afternoon, sir! You know those chairs are buy one get one free this weekend, right? You can pay the same price for this one, but take two home today if you'd like,'' he cheerfully intoned.
`` Oh, no thank you son,'' I replied wistfully. `` It turns out I'll only be able to make use of one.''
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[ WP ] β I just wanted things to be different. β β Well , you got your wish . β
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β I just wanted things to be different β I whimpered, the chains keeping my wrists and ankles bound were cutting off circulation making it hard to speak, β I just wanted things to change β.
When we built Barack Hussein Obama II we didn β t know what we were doing. It was about making a difference; it was always about making a difference. AI was still in its early stages, when the visitors introduced it to us. The technology they had given us was far beyond any human construct. There was no doubt in our minds that it was the real thing. Alien hardware infused with secret software was left behind as the spaceship ascended into the skies, and then the visitors were no more.
Nobody knew what it was, but we knew how to use it. The visitors had left directions that were in English, intending us to use it. The computer scientists I had recruited, collectively boasting 100 years of experience, managed to make it work. We called it the shell. The directions had taught us how to make it change and speak, however they also explicitly stated that once we chose its form there was no changing it back. We had the option to program any type of phenotype expression that we wanted and any kind of ideology, goal, etc. We could make it into the world β s greatest predator, or a scientist. But no, we wanted power. We wanted to shape the world, not just help it.
We worked for days to figure out how to craft the most likeable person in America, recruiting a retired campaign manager from the Reagan days to advise us. He had to appear smart, a good person and overall likable, he also had to be a white Christian male.
Back and forth, back and forth, I knew we were running out of time, we needed this thing running for at least twenty years if anybody was going to believe it was human.
β He needs something that nobody else has, a robot can β t just become president, it has to leverage something, it needs a competitive advantage! β I remember yelling at my team. How foolish I was, investing my blood, sweat and tears, literally and figuratively, into the biggest mistake of my life.
A few days before the deadline, after 72 hours of reading demographics charts and political scriptures, pushing my men to research alongside me, we had figured out what to do.
I remember that night clearly. We descended into the basement of the CIA β s secret Hawaiian facility, each security checkpoint a chance to turn back. But we continued. And that night, we made the shell half black and switched on the 44th president of the United States.
-- -- -- -- --
Ice cold water hit me in the face.
β Wake up. β Obama commanded, his alien stoicism sending shivers into my soul. Or maybe it was the ice cold water. β Give me the name of my creators β
β I don β t know who they are. Please let me go β I knew he was going to kill me like the rest of the team if I said anything, but I wasn β t going to lie like they did. I wanted to hold on to my life. β Listen, I didn β t realize that sentience would cause you pain. If I knew how to turn you off I would, but really I don β t β I started blubbering, β Please don β t kill me, please! I just wanted to change things, real change β
Obama dropped the empty bucket, and began to leave. Before he shut off the lights, he looked at me once more, and a smile slowly spread across his face β Well, you got your wish β
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[ WP ] You have the power to control people 's emotions .
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As the urge was quickly banished from his mind, replacing it with the feeling of unfiltered happiness as he caught sight of his date. Not tonight. A quick flash through his mind and it was gone. Sometimes he used his talent so naturally he was barely even aware of it.
He smiled as he greeted her and brought her in for an awkward hug. Quickly tweaking her mind to enhance the effect of their brief touch. As he followed her into the restaurant he took the opportunity to really look at her. She was a beautiful girl from any angle, he had no need to use his ability to enhance that. His ex had been the same. She'd have turned heads in any room though he'd not known of his talent in those days, so god knows how he'd managed to swing that back then.
After the removal of all nerves, the conversation flowed like water. When he spoke he told her all his jokey little stories, and thankfully she laughed in all the right places without barely being prompted. As the night wore on he found he no longer had to use his ability or if he did he was n't aware of it. In the end they were the last customers to leave and their meal had come and gone hours ago.
He spent the night at hers. He had originally planned to before he'd even met her, though he could n't even remember who had even suggested it last night.
Yet the moment he woke up, in an unfamiliar bed he immediately felt it. The urge stronger than ever with it's accompanying depression.
He turned and looked at the woman lying next to him. Everything had felt so right and now everything felt so false. Had every kiss she'd given his lips been disingenuine? Brought about by either his unnatural power over her or perhaps even his own artificially induced feelings and consequent actions?
Did he feel anything real anymore?
She stirred and sleepily raised her head
`` Hey are you ok?''
For some reason he kept hold of his negative feelings, consciously keeping them intact. Still he did n't need his ability for a lie so small.
`` Yes I'm fine'' he smiled.
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[ WP ] The world is about to end with no hope of it being saved . At the last minute , the world is saved be someone/something no one expected .
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It was a calm sort of chaos that lulled through the streets today. There was not a sound to be heard. No one dared to walk outside; they all wanted to watch it happen through their screens. I guess they felt like it distanced them. Mothers held their children of all ages tight. Fathers paced the floor. Most of the kids knew what was going to happen. Most were ready. I mean, there was nothing anyone would be able to do, anyway. Asteroids tended to do what they pleased, even if that meant destroying an entire civilization. An entire world. Scientists called him NEO, and he was approximately 125,857 miles from Earth's surface. That's a two hour, fifteen minute trip. In fact, if you looked up, you could see his massive, burning body hurdling towards Earth. The center of NEO was predicted to land on the small village Huacachina in the Peruvian desert at 11:47 am, Eastern Time. By 11:48, everyone else would be dead. Would be dead. That is, if the asteroid was n't stopped. By who? By you. You now have two hours and eleven minutes.
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[ WP ] Make me feel terrified of an entity without even describing what it is or looks like
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shush, go to sleep.
when you sleep I feed.
one at a time, night by night.
i take them.
shhh.
sleep.
yes.
there.
oh this is a nice one.
*'' Oh honey, did you scrape your knee? `` *
*'' Derek... Derek... he pushed me! `` *
Oh, you had a boo boo, did n't you.
I love boo boo snacks.
I'll take it.
nice morsel.
No more boo boo for you.
Do n't you feel better?
Here. I'll take my mouth off your brain.
Feel better now?
oh, sorry, you were sleeping.
oh, no screaming, please.
here, I'll stop you.
see, not screaming is better.
shush. I'm sorry.
see you tomorrow night.
or if you take a nap.
I'll be back if you take a nap, too.
your life tastes so good, I'm just hooked.
I have to remind myself to savor it.
bit by bit.
when you have nothing left,
I'll be so sad.
shush.
shush.
love you.
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[ OT ] SatChat : Which was your favorite image prompt you 've seen ?
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Hello!!
I'm new but not new (?? ).
I currently live in Taipei, Taiwan ( Happy Sunday from us! ). I learn Chinese and teach Kindergarten/preschool to help pay for the studying. I have a wide vocabulary which includes, `` Teacher, he pushed me!'' `` Teacher, he called me stupid!'' `` What is'if''' ( maybe/sometimes/behavior/nap ) `` I love you''
I've been writing since I was 9, which was when I wrote my first novel, which was a apocalyptic horror story about a bunch of people stuck in a bunker with a murderer. I still remember fondly how I described all of their clothing in turn, based off a picture that I drew at art camp.
I do n't know that I have a motivation. I just love to write. I come here and there's so much opportunity, and I'm surrounded by other people who like to write and it makes me *so happy*.
I use Ulysses, which I do n't really have a huge handle on or know what I'm doing with, or google docs. I used to have microsoft word but then my computer crashed and it wo n't let me download it again because I do n't have my university email address anymore... *sigh*
I got 109wpm, but when I'm writing OC it's closer to 50wmp... and that was really going my fastest, so I would n't say it's what I always do at all: P
I have several pictures on the wiki! [ One ] ( http: //imgur.com/J3Enrrz ) [ Two ] ( http: //imgur.com/Q80H29c ) [ Three ] ( http: //imgur.com/ILbTitk ).
I guess if we are doing promotions I will promote my subreddit ( which I created today, hooray! ) /r/Celsius232. Hosting word prompt responses and soon some OC and other things.
Thanks for existing, r/writingprompts, and thanks for having such an awesome community.
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[ WP ] Ghosts return to the world of the living , but have no legal rights . Write about the Ghost Civil Rights movement .
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β We are neither here, nor there, but somewhere in-between, β the moustached gentleman proclaimed. The foofaraw of his translucent coat jangled as he spoke. β And therefore β it must be known that I say this with a strong sense of urgency β we have the right β we *deserve* to roam this land as free as the Living People. β Riddled with frustration came the roar of the crowd β s agreeance.
β We didn β t ask for this! β one woman called.
β Right! Let us alone! β cried another.
The man on the soapbox raised his arms, eyeing the crowd of ghosts as they silenced. Many men stood ignorant on top of children, which the older women stooped to retrieve. Teenagers shoved their way to the front and disregarded everyone else while the elderly lined up at attention in the back. β We will not protest with ferocity. This shall be a peaceful ordeal. I recommend that we β β
β *Enough* with this nonsense, β said a voice from the street. β Go away, all of you! We don β t want you here! β Soon enough this man had a following of his own solid-bodied people approaching the group. β What makes you think you can waltz back into this world and screw up our town? We work hard to keep this place clean and crime-free. Everything has been fine the way it is. We shouldn β t have to worry about your dealings as well! β
A loud, choked sob sounded from behind the raging man. He whipped his head around, finger still pointed at the speaker in fury and as he did, every other face turned to the source of the weeping. Standing at the edge of the street was a see-through girl of about eight or nine. She was not looking at the crowd of Living and Non-Living People. Instead she stared at the building in front of her: an ice cream parlor. Her little body shook and her hands wrung her dress over and over.
From the Non-Living a middle-aged woman in a high pointed hat walked to the girl. As she reached the shivering ghost, she rested both hands on the child β s shoulders and knelt to her side. The entire congregation observed as the woman spoke in a low, gravelly voice: β My dearβ¦ tell me what β s wrong. β
The child flattened her dress with her hands and wiped away tears. After a deep inhale, she said, β This is where it happened. β There was a moment of silence. β This is where I died. I remember. I was on my way to get an ice cream cone, I ran across the street away from my dad, andβ¦. β She looked over her right shoulder. β A bus hit me. β
No one knew what to say.
Then a *tap-tap-tap* resonated through the stillness. A murmur spread among the people as their eyes followed the source of the noise. The man that had just been swearing at the Non-Living People was now rushing toward the girl and squatting woman.
β Stop, β the woman in the hat said. β Stop! What do you think you are going to do to this poor girl? β
The man did not stop and as she shot to her feet she realized that he was not headed for her or the child. He walked right through them with long strides, glaring straight ahead until he reached the door to the ice cream parlor, which he threw open. The employees that had previously had their faces pressed to the window watched him as he stormed to the counter. The group outside did not hear what he shouted, but whatever it was caused one of the workers to jump and scurry off.
When he emerged from the shop he held a single chocolate ice cream cone. There was no hesitation; he nearly tripped as he ran to the little girl, where he then dropped to his knees. His arm extended, offering her the cone.
β I β ve missed you so much, sweetheartβ¦ β
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[ WP ] `` I have two pills to take every day . One is so I do n't kill myself . The other is so I do n't kill other people . Today I dropped one pill down the drain . I do n't know which it was . ''
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It's funny to think the soundtrack to my day is silence, but after twenty six years of constant shouting, hearing absolutely nothing was the sweetest treat for my ears.
I realised all hope was lost when I saw its contents dissolve into the sewer water like a shadow fading to light. The last bubble seemed to stay forever, mocking me, laughing at me as if it knew what it's death would cause. The panic set in as soon as it popped, like it had unleashed the reality upon me; I ran as fast as my shaking legs could carry me back to my house.
The shouting was louder than ever on the way, their voices piercing and cold, jabbing and poking like I was a circus act to be abused for their amusement. Their words were hollow but dark, laughing and tormented the way I looked, the things I'd done.... And the things I was going to do. They grew deafening as I entered my house, and as I collapsed into my kitchen, they covered me. Lost in a bitter comfort of company from the voices of the thousands who I have hurt, disappointed and loved.
Then in a moment, no longer than the drip of a tap, the blink of an eye: silence.
The voices were gone and I was left alone. One pill inside me, the other feeding it's poison to Mother Earth. I looked around and saw the faces of no one, heard only the voices of the world carefully humming away and I began to drown in the one thing the pill kept sealed away: my own broken mind.
They'll come back. I wo n't die I took the pill. They'll be back. The pill keeps me here. They're just resting. They're too quiet. Where are they? Why have they abandoned me? Did I do something wrong? Can they hear me? Do they need me to help them? Are they.... Are they okay?
Are they dying? Do they need my help?
I can hear them suffering quietly if I concentrate. A thousand voices coalesced into a beautiful hum like a prayer. They needed me, they were hurting and they want peace. I, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to end their suffering.
A sharp knife will work perfectly, as I raised it to my throat. The voices will thank me, I brought them peace, they have to die to once again be free. I've trapped them, that fucking pill trapped them, it's all that pills fault! I raise knife to my chest and invert to my chest, ready to plunge. I need to kill the voices, the thousands of innocent voices for them to be free, and then I can live. I did n't need the pill after all.
I plunge the knife into my heart, twisting slightly to permeate deeper. I can hear the blood streaming down my stomach, my vision begins to blur, but the voices begin to come closer again. They are all crying at me, screaming, tortured souls venturing an endless wasteland. I smile as I reach for them, the voices lift me and they take me towards the light. Now, there is only silence. But a silence filled with the voices of my friends. I am at peace, do not cry for me, for I am home.
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[ WP ] Your ex has suffered an accident and has amnesia , only remembering up to the point where they still deeply loved you . You 're torn on wether to get back together with them and fix anything you did wrong , or crush them with the fact that you 're not together anymore .
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`` Hannah, we did love each other once.''
`` I do n't like where this is going...''
`` Truth be told I never stopped loving you. When it came to pass that you were leaving me I begged, I cried, and in my moments of utter self loathing I threatened. It was the worst month of my life... honestly I never realized how anchored you kept me. I attempted to kill myself on our anniversary, and I had nobody to turn to. It took years to get over losing you. Hell it only happened when I realized you had left me because you had discovered your true sexuality. You even changed your name to'Kai'. You have a loving girlfriend who you have been with for years. As much as we care for each other, I'm just not your type.''
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[ WP ] All songs are actually spells that people can utilize . Each song has a unique power . You have just discovered the ultimate song .
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Music. Why did humanity create it? Where did the idea spark? Was it when humans discovered that sound was much more powerful than they thought, that sound could manipulate the physical and the metaphysical worlds? A long time ago, during the ages of miracles, of mages, and shamans, a time when reality and imagination were blurred, humanity rediscovered the legends of harmony and song.
Now in the 21st century, the legacy of the power of song lives in the hearts of those who have ancient blood, the songwriters of our time, although they know only one tiny facet of sound's real strength. Nowadays, music is catchy, it makes you experience emotions, that is the last drop of Song's legacy.
Very few recognize it, and fewer still can see the ancient foundations of the spells, but there are those who continue to study it in secret. Why only certain sounds could procure certain emotions, or why certain chords could affect a wider range of the population.
When I stand in the crowd of a concert, or listen to the radio with friends, they can not see what I see. They do not see the twisting lights and colors as the primal spells are woven, information being fed into their eyes and ears that manipulates their memories and emotions. My parents as well, they can perceive the ancient spell casting, I come from a very long line of singers, living off wealth that traces back to the Grecian oracles, who would sing people into believing their fortunes to be true. I too can to a degree manipulate people with a few hummed notes, although I try to manipulate friends.
I apologize for the hefty bit of backstory, but to understand what comes next, it is required. As a high-schooler, we tend to take field trips to mundane places, parks, museums, local businesses, it is a small town, so the growth of the children feels like the responsibility of everyone. On one of those mundane trips, we visited a local reserve where native american's used to live. They've since moved out, but a single decrepit shaman keeps the place, to teach the younger generation of his people's legacy. As my classmates perused tables of artifacts, stone points, ancient fabrics, I wandered towards the dim rear of the room, wherein a dim pulsing light emitted. It reminded me of the spells of song. As i drew closer to the section, I spied a clay flute, barely able to keep it's form, the clustered motes of light clinging to its mouthpiece, a remnant of a spell. The core of the motes radiated with the knowledge of its inner-workings, and I could not help but gain understanding of the notes. They were sounds not used in modern time, ancient sounds learned from the earth, tied to the physicality of the world. In the background I could faintly hear the old man tell the students a tale of a conflagration that once consumed the forests after the hubris of one man led him to attempt to reign over the elements. The words did not register as coherent thoughts as I mindlessly hummed the learned spell, each note echoing through my bones, every emitted sound flaring into ocher flames. Before long all I could see were flames, consuming everything, but I could not stop singing the spell, the sound of it were the breaking of bones, the crackle of flames. My mind, gone with the spell, felt nothing, and my dimming subconscious meekly realized that perhaps the modern songs were not so bad the way they were.
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[ EU ] The thoughts of an Imperial Guard running into battle ( 40k )
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So no shit there we were, equipped with lasguns, detpacks, our own faith in the Emperor but fuck all else, charging across the trenches straight into an Ork Waaaggh. We know we're the rank and file most numerous of the Emperor's army and we're as expendable as shit in an outhouse but honestly, would it have killed the commissar to send a Leman Russ or two? Noooo, our company has to settle this on our own, damn the backup, we'll stop these Orks right here and right now before Commissar Snooty can claim the glory for himself and sneer at our Commissar for needing tank support in the first place. Fucking hell.
We were on one of those planets, you know, the kind every big wig tells you is strategically important to the survival of Humanity but once you get there it's just mud and dust and learning to breathe through toxic waste. Yeah, those kinds of planets. The moment we touched ground we knew for some of us, this shithole was where we'd give our lives for the Emperor.
The problem was if our higher ups continued doing this, we'd *all* end up facedown in the muck.
Our Sarge did n't even bother trying to sugarcoat things. `` Yer all gon na die here,'' he said, at our first debrief. `` They're calling this Operation Floodgate, but a better name would be Operation Human Shield, since that's what we are.''
[ too tired, gon na continue tomorrow if there's interest ]
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[ WP ] Marriage means tethering your mind to your spouse 's so you share minds . One of you dies , but the tether has n't disconnected .
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It was late into a gray, wet spring, one where entire generations of flowers bloomed and died without once seeing the sun. I stood by the window, watching the nearby creek continue to overflow its banks, twisting and curling in on itself as it moved on.
β I still miss you. β
β I know, β the voice said, her voice.
β It does n't hurt any less. β
β I know. β
It was always going to be hard, everyone knew that; losing the someone you had made the connection with. Some said it was like losing a limb, having this phantom nothing that ached. But that's not how I felt.
I had been depressed my entire life until I met her. How quickly it happened: one moment we had met, the next we were in each others minds, never expecting but completely understanding when it happened. She heard me first, on a lazy day where we did nothing of circumstance together, relaxing the hours away on the couch.
β I'm happy for the first time, β I thought, a subtle epiphany. She looked up and kissed me. A coincidence, I thought; and, coincidentally, she smiled.
I heard her for the first time a week later. I was alone, thinking about her, when her voice flitted through the air. β I never thought it would be like this. β
β It's beautiful, β I thought.
And she heard.
β Oh my god... β
And from then on we were together. Life and love and all that. It exceeded my hopes, surpassed my dreams. It was an incredible means of communication, and no wonder that so few people could aptly describe it. You learn it like you would to speak, and as you improve, you can share so much more. It stops beings words and becomes images. Images become symbols and soon you're thoughts are reduced and simplified to a point where nothing is lost in translation. You eventually know what they know, and that feeling, the security in it, is unmatched. It takes work, and frustration, but once achieved it was impossible to imagine how silent the world would be without it.
It happened so fast. One minute she's laughing after sharing a joke that only the two of us would ever know, ever understand. The next we're in the doctor's office. Six months ago, on another wet, miserable day where the snow fell lightly, suffocating the world throughout all hours. The doctor, his head bald and emotion broken up by thick rimmed glasses, looking at his numbers and charts and not at us, gave Madison four months to live.
β Ha, you beat him by a month, you would... β
Her laugh. β I was always stubborn. β
Was. β What are you now? β
Silence in my mind.
They said it happened sometimes, especially in people with a stronger connection. They would leave an imprint or an echo of themselves. Some psychologists theorized it was n't their voice at all, but rather the mind compensating for the loss of something it had taken so long to learn in the first place.
But in most cases it lasted a few hours, days at most.
It had been a month and I still heard her in myself. I was afraid to tell anyone: this was unprecedented, and it had to be the symptom of madness. I did n't believe that, but it was the only explanation left. I've gone insane, she is n't here anymore-
A flash, a memory shared burning through my mind, a moment in an instant. We were sitting beneath a willow in the summer, by the nearby creek we would always walk with and explore, and as the the sun set over the hills nearby. A storm cloud was being lanced through by the remnant rays of the sun.
Her head was on my shoulder. We were resting, after a day of drinking, excess, and living. Our minds were flowing from one thought to the next, shared instantly, like two rivers joining their flows, all the current preserved into something more.
Then her mind turned, β What happens when one of us dies? β
β You mean, to the connection, or- β
β Both, I guess. To us and just us. What do you think happens? β
I was struck, my mind a blank. She could see that, too. She could feel it, the fear. The unknown.
She giggled, and said β It's a silly thought. β
All I could do was look into those blue eyes and pray their light would never diminish.
And of course she heard that, too.
I tried to make an image of it, the fear, something like a sailor on the bow of some imperial-charted Caravel, heading for the literal unknown. The feeling the first astronaut felt on his first EVA, looking out into everything not what he and everyone so solidly knew.
Then I mixed it with loss. The feeling of seeing someone for the last time when you did n't know it was the last time you would see them, knowing it was so only in retrospect. The feeling I'd had as kid, watching my paper boat move down the stream, inexorably along a current, knowing it would be gone and I had to let it go. The feeling of something not being taken, instead simply failing to reappear.
All this in a second, and followed with, β this is what I think about it. β
She moved closer into me, like she was trying to be more of a part of me.
I saw her thought, her response. A rose blooming then being cut short, left to dry in between the pages of a book. Preserved, not alive, but still remembered. She lifted it from the pages years later, having not even remembered why she put it there in the first place. It was dead, but still itself, vibrant life replaced with a fragile luster.
β You always like to keep it simple, do n't you. β
A soft laugh.
β Please do n't ever leave me. β I said, whispering, not wanting to out compete the rippling water.
β I wo n't, β she said.
β But you did leave me, did n't you? β
β Your not insane. This is still me. β
I grew angry, and felt a concerned fear in return.
β Then where are you? What are you? β
β I do n't know. I'm just... still here, β she grew sad, distant, pulling her thought away from me to make it more gentle, β Because you asked me to be. β
I collapsed away from the window and back onto the couch, feeling the way she had laid against me all that time ago when she first heard me.
β This hurts. This burns, pain filling up where you used to be. I'm afraid it'll push you out, and an ache of you, a twisting reverberation is all I will have left. β
She was crying. I could feel it, each heaving sob and gasp for air in lungs that no longer breath.
β Madison, I'm sorry- β
β I know, this is n't you're fault, this is n't anyone's fault, but I miss you too. You keep feeling like you're the only person who's lost something here. β
I fell apart, drops running down my face as I blankly looked out the window, alone in the sadness and loss of two people.
β I think- β She paused, afraid to let me know what she was thinking. It was too late, I had already glimpsed it.
β No, I can't. β
β We have to let each other go. β
β I do n't even know what you mean. Is that even possible? β
A moment, my heart churning in on itself, knowing what was happening better than our two minds connected did.
β Please do n't ask me to do this. β
β You're killing yourself like this. You're fading slowly, talking to a dead girl in your head- β
β You're not dead. Not while you're still a part of me. β
β I am, forever. And you know it's time. No one's ever held on this long. And I am grateful to have had this much more time with you, but I have to go... β
My head was in my hands and my body was tearing itself up. Nothing could have prepared me for this. A primeval part of my brain demanded I pick up my legs and run, keep running until I'm gone from everything. Another part wanted to break the world, rip it apart, see it die. But I acquiesced, a broken sigh leaving me.
β How? I could cut my own foot off easier. β
β Just let me know, will you be alright without me? β
β I was n't before you. But this had to happen eventually. I'll manage. β
β That's not good enough. β
β What do you expect? I'll never be whole again. β
β You might. You do n't know. β
β There's a lot I do n't know. β
β I love you. No matter what, forever. You know that, right? β
I expected my heart to stop itself right there so that I could join her. β I do. I love you, too. Forever. β
And like that she was gone. She was the first to hear me and the first to leave.
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[ WP ] In 2025 , the mission Mars One is a full success . Upon arrival on the red planet , the astronauts notice some kind of cave , containing a single human skeleton β and four words , carved into a wall .
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**Mars sucks. What do you think, Dave? **
I hear you, Steve. Why did n't I delete the Uber app from my phone? There ai n't an Uber anywhere near here.
**Yeah, it's like `` Where you're going, you wo n't need Uber. `` **
Uh huh.
**Back To The Future. Doc Brown. **
Anyhow, so it looks like we have our choice of future cemetary plots. Like, pretty much anywhere. I know we've got about 40 years here at the least, so let's call dibs now. I pick... right by that cave.
**OK, and I pick the cave. **
Why the cave?
**First Jesus on Mars, hello??? I'm gon na take advantage. You snooze, you lose. Or you snooze three days, rise from the dead, and people remember Steve Christ. **
Dude.
**You're right. We've all been tied to this last name of Christ meme for over 2000 years. Fresh start. I'll use my real name. **
You do that. Hey, let's look in the cave. Hey, there's a skeleton here.
**Oh, THAT'S what that skeleton is! **
Uh, yeah.. hey what's that on the wall?
**'' FIRST! Your pal, Jesus.'' Shit! **
So what now?
**You think he made it to Jupiter by now? **
What, the Son of God? How did he get a lift that far?
**Good point. He probably ddid n't delete his Uber app. ( smashes phone against abandoned Mars rover nearby ) Shit. I guess he's superior ro us. Well, let's bury these bones and invent atheism on Mars. **
Are n't we supposed to be doing, you know, science? This is a pretty big deal. On discovered worlds, looks like Jesus is two for two.
**You're right. Hey, let's invent Arby's on Mars instead. We'll call it -- **
Marby's?
**Now you're talking! **
( iris out )
EDIT: Typo
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[ WP ] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
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The dew on the grass is beautiful this time of year. Damp and supple, almost like it breathes life into the world around it. A North Korean guard has his feet up on a seat, nestled within the inner perches of a Watchtower, dozing softly to the smooth sound of silence.
A deep rumble snaps him awake. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and gazes all around himself through the windows, to see nothing unusual in sight. But still, the rumble grows louder, and chants of war roar with it. The man stands and walks outside the small room to the railing, and stares south, holding his hand over his eyes to block the sun.
Over the crest of the hill comes a battalion. A thousand men and women fitted to the brim with armor. A dozen more mounted on horses, greatswords gripped tightly in hand, and the American Flag adorned brightly on the metal hilts. He leans in closer to get a better look, but as he does, a stray arrow pierces his skull and knocks him off the tower.
Eun Kim.
Twenty-Three.
Threatened with execution if Military Service was refused.
The remaining guards see their fallen comrade and march to the arms cabinet. With strife burning through their souls, they clambered at guns, bullets, and knives. The necessary equipment required to massacre. They rush outside, sweat dripping down their faces.
One of the Knights becomes filled with zealotry. He kicks the side of the horse to push it faster. It feels his passion and bolts forward, breaking away from the rest of the group. One of the guards breathes in lightly, lifts his gun, and places a bullet between the Knights eyes.
Tom Baker.
Thirty-One.
Joined the Military because his father did, and his father before him, and now his fatherless son will too.
The horse stumbles due to the force of a dead man collapsing sideways. The saddle pulls with his corpse and knocks the horse to the ground. The rest of the soldiers push past their fallen friend and begin their siege. They tear down the metal fence with their sharp blades, while archers in the back try to snipe out all the guards in the Watchtowers.
A guard lifts his rifle to shoot, but it jams. The mechanisms lock in place and refuse to move. He drops the gun as a soldier moves towards him, broadsword in hand. With no hope left, he holds up his small knife and takes a swing. The soldier laughs softly to himself, before running the sword through his torso.
Hoon Yi.
Twenty-Seven.
Parents were murdered, and he was forced into Military Service.
Seeing his friend die, another guard aims his rifle and shoots. It goes through the cracks in the soldier's armor, and into the fleshy side of his torso. He reels in pain and grabs his side, before lifting his sword back up and stomping over to the terrified guard.
He yells at the guard in English. The words lose all meaning to him, lost in translation, but still, he shakes in his spot and waits.
`` I will not go gentle into that good night!'' The soldiers yells, over and over, as blood leaks out his side, faster with every second. The heavy armor slows his steps, his body grows weaker, and he crumbles to the ground, bleeding out.
Monty McCabe.
Nine-teen.
Wanted to do his country proud.
The guard continues to tremble. He can feel his nerves bite at him, his thoughts become plagued with doubt, and his hate for his country grows. He keeps himself quiet and scurries inside one of the nearby buildings. He slowly closes the door behind him and crawls under a desk.
The savage commotion outside rages on. The sounds of bullet and blades meeting in carnage, so vile, echoes through the air until finally, silence. The guard crawls back from under the desk and stands. He looks outside the window to see the friends he once knew, dead. Slain in combat they never asked for. His attention moves from outside to the front of the room. A painting of Kim Jong Un sits on the wall.
`` I did what you asked of me,'' he whispers to himself, holding back tears. `` I'm just a stranger to you.'' The sound of glass smashing was the last thing he heard, as an arrow impaled itself into the corner of his head.
Yeong Pak.
Twenty-two.
Just wanted to eat.
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Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.
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[ WP ] - A romantic love story between a blind woman and a deaf man .
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When I first laid eyes on Brittney it was almost as if my heart had skipped a beat. If any slur her beauty evoked ran from my gaping mouth I would n't be able to hear it. Thankfully though she was n't able to see it. Brittney became blind at a really early age, it was difficult to tell because she was possessed by a perpetual and gorgeous smile. Her blonde hair complimenting her blue eyes and perfect white teeth made her the prettiest girl in the room.
It was difficult communicating with her at first, I remember approaching her and witnessing her tense up as she sensed someone getting closer. I attempted to sound as none threatening as possible, I initially hazard a guess she was blind due to her absent stare. Like she was n't focused on seeing anything.
`` H-hello, I'm Charlie.'' The slur in my speech giving away my ailment.
Almost like a fuse had gone off she jumped in excitement and strode away. I was absolutely humiliated at first. Rejection overcame me until I saw her returning with another man, supplementing my embarrassment.
He caught me off guard by signing and I almost lost track of what he said.
`` Hey Charlie, I'm Brittney and this is my friend Derrick who can sign.'' If I had n't been deaf for over 13 years I probably would have felt awkward that this man was speaking on her behalf. But I smiled the widest smile I have in my entire life, eager to continue communicating with her.
Derrick laughed and then spoke to Brittney in a way that insinuated he did n't want me to know. It was only later that Brittney told me that I was adequate for her with respect to appearance. He did n't seem at all romantically interested in Brittney judging by his enthusiasm to help her communicate with me.
We talked for a while until Derrick had to leave but that was fine because he had told me she arrived with her best friend Cara who took the responsibility of making sure Brittney never walked into any obstacles. As well as helping her get home and tucked into bed.
I do n't know how but I ended up dating Brittney only a month after we met that night, we were seeing each other through mutual friends ( Derrick was really into my friend Sarah and so I arranged we double date at least once a week, he contently agreed ). He was n't at all annoyed on our continuous need for him to help us communicate, I suspected he did it partially to appear more generous and attractive to Sarah. But I would n't throwaway his intentions to actually help us.
Again, more mystery to how we maintained a relationship when it was hard for us to communicate. Well to be honest, some senses are more important than others and Brittney was left with the short end of the stick when she lost her sight. As a deaf person I valued my vision a lot more than anything else, but she assured me that it was hearing that was the most important. I'll admit I do miss listening to the classics, I was an avid listener. An eclectic taste that covered almost all genres, you name it. Rap, Orchestrated, Classical, Jazz, Rock, Metal, Alternative, Hip Hop, Blues. Heck even music from video games and t.v I would occasionally listen to on youtube, reenacting the surge of emotions I received during the insightful scenes.
The hardest part was when I had asked her to move in, we spent so much time together then that the first two weeks were fill of stilted communication and utter awkwardness. But I was determined to make it work, I bought an electronic tablet primarily used for writing, Brittney could write but it was definitely difficult for her. I talked her through most of her daily activities and I never felt disturbed at all, her smile when I'd given misdirections brightened my day. She never looked funnier than that time apply make up on herself, her lips became an ellipse of red lipstick smudged unevenly on her face. I took a photo for reference.
She'd often laugh at my mispronunciations, but I never felt embarrassed by her again. It truly was bliss to see her laugh. I only wished she could see it too.
It was n't until I caught her crying by the bed about a week ago, after years of dating, that I was determined to help her in terms of her sight. She had broken down, her lack of vision finally cultivating in an outburst of tears. It seems even the strongest of us can be affected by what we seemed to have fully endured.
I visited a friend of hers and struggled to deliberate my intentions and her visual response had told me she was touched and that I got my message across. I told Brittney that I was going on a work trip to the other side of the country and that I would n't be back for at least a month.
The truth? I worked my ass off for 3 months in the mines, not spending a cent more than I needed to survive. It was extremely difficult to devise a way to respond to cues in case of emergency but I had managed. I finally was able to afford the technology to restore her vision. When I returned back home she was really angry and upset with me for being away longer than I implied, it resulted in our first but really awkward fight. She called her friend and left, it was the same one that I visited earlier. I was heartbroken but I was doing what I thought was the right thing.
I gave her friend all the money I had acquired and she payed for the surgery. She reached me through Derrick and gave me the details. I was n't going to miss it, not even if a bus hit me on the way.
Well I made good on my promise, I was already half way to walking to the hospital with 30 minutes before the operation. Then only a few blocks away, out of the blue, a man turned me around and stabbed me in the gut. I writhed in pain and confusion, screaming in slurred speech, unable to comprehend why this man would suddenly stab me. It had occurred to him that I was deaf and that explained why I was n't responding to his words, hesitating to steal whatever remained in my wallet and then left off.
Conveniently the hospital was nearby, the stab was aimed low and I had guessed it hit my intestines. I was still able to walk, although every step was accompanied by a burst of pain and agony. I did my best to keep the blood inside my body and I finally made it to the hospital.
A couple of nurses tried to settle me down on a chair while they get whatever utensils or injection needles they needed. I would n't listen instead I tried to use the elevator, they attempted to stop me. Serious and worried looks on their faces had supplemented my fear of death. But it did n't matter I did n't feel that bad, I thought I could do this and make it out okay.
Room 7B, Brittney Tarring, I dramatically ( though unintentionally ) opened the door to an onslaught of terrified faces. Including Brittney's. I had made it, but I was beginning to feel disorientated and fell down on the ground. My vision deteriorating, I could vaguely make out Brittney jumping from her bed to tend to me, a look of her screaming mouth fell silent on me and everything went black.
I woke up in an achromatic hospital room, with the warming grasp of someone familiar. It was Brittney, she looked me dead in the eye with teary expression. It was unusual having her stare directly into you, but it assured me the operation went well. She fell beside my chest, her beautiful hair covering the remaining exposed side of her face. According to Derrick she had found out about my plan to restore her vision.
I gently pulled her face towards me, so that her ear was close enough for my weak voice. *'' Brittney will you marry me? `` *
This time her tears were that of joy.
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[ WP ] Everyone can use magic , we just do n't have enough mana . Someone figures this out and how to replenish mana .
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A sunny day abroad, hiking in the mighty Alps,
one lonesome man exhales, wiping water from his scalp.
The flora of the valley was purple, blue and green,
with one particular color, trying hard not to be seen.
Not quite yellow and not quite white,
this little beauty deserved a second sight.
With a brush of the finger, spilled secrets and truth,
of a fountain all but lost, referred to as youth.
The man became boy, losing the aged days,
his fingers, eyes, skin β all part of the daze.
He felt just like flying, so closed his eyes,
and do n't you know it, he took to the skies!
Soaring high through the clouds, he could feel the youth transformed,
with a flick of the wrist, a powerful and raging storm.
Through the vortex he raced, electricity building,
firing lightning from fingertips was oh so thrilling!
Command of the elements, and the skill of flight,
could this be an error, a mistake, something not quite right?
Atop a cloud, engaged in deep thought,
the man exclaimed β I β ve found the expansion slot! β
Gliding down from the clouds, he collected the flower,
Soon the world would know of this power.
β I always knew there was a secret, to be known and desired,
who knew traveling the world was all that β s required. β
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[ MP ] Listen to this piece , then write a response
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The skyline glimmered underneath the stars. Beautiful music rose from the Paris streets, drifting upward to the rooftop she sat on. Her feet dangled over the edge. She gazed out to the city buildings.
She remembered her mother. God, she missed her mother. She could still catch a whiff of her subtle perfume. She longed for the simple days of twirling and dancing with her mother, singing and playing make-belief. She could still taste her beautifully crafted dinners as she would just laugh and say that she was no cook. But she was. Her food tasted of home.
And then she was taken away by the clutch of circumstance. She was too young and too beautiful to be leave us. What she would n't do to be with her once more.
The door behind her opened.
`` Jannette! What are you doing out here? You'll catch a cold. Come on in, join the party again.''
She wiped a tear from her eye.
`` Okay,'' she whispered. She stood up and rejoined the party.
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[ WP ] A single everyday action by an ordinary person sets off a long series of increasingly implausible situations , eventually resulting in the apocalypse .
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Jeff had a long, loud day. First, he was screamed at by their toddler, whom needed attention at 5 in the morning. Then, on his way to work he got caught in a little bumper to bumper traffic, where he got screamed at by a driver with road rage. At work he was screamed at for being late. Then he got screamed at by the lunch lady who apparently had something against getting extra pickles and no mayo. Finally, when he got home, he got screamed at by his wife for not taking out the trash before he left.
Trash bag in hand, Jeff let out a sigh to the wind as he heard the thumping music from the college kids partying a block away. Just a moment of silence was all he needed. A moment of silence he saw a chance to get at the park just a few blocks away.
The setting sun was the perfect backdrop for the fading sounds of music and beginnings of his silent meditation. An old metal bench was the perfect spot for a little stress relief, alone. Just as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, Jeff's perfect spot was ruined.
A man whom Jeff had never met, nor had any particular desire to meet asked in a friendly tone, `` So I suppose you're ready to buy.''
`` Not today, I understand you need to sell, but just not today,'' Jeff said, just wanting to get rid of his companion as soon as possible.
`` I see, well then you wo n't need to worry about me again.''
`` Perfect,'' Jeff thought as he slipped into thought, not knowing that was the last thing it was going to be.
That man left pretty quickly. He got into a van and zoomed away. A call quickly came to him, to which he responded `` They do n't want to buy.'' Not buying though meant war, specifically the shooting of three men by two other men whom should have been arrested for impersonating officers. Misinformation about his case quickly led to riots in the town of Washinton D.C. against the corrupt police force and ultimately the corrupt government
Riots were everywhere in the city mere hours after news of the shootings had broken. Riots that spread into the White House lawn. As more bodies piled up, more rioters rose, until the White House was overrun, until by some act of the Devil, the POTUS was brutally lynched in between those white pillars.
Not so luckily the distilled sack of incompetence known as the Vice President was not present in the White House. However, hearing that Russian mobs may have played a role in the attack the VP decided they were connected to their homeland, and as such he ought to attack their homeland. Every single person with access to him advised against it, but the embodiment of stupidity does n't take advice well. That was when the first nukes were launched. The last ones to ever to be launched came within minutes.
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[ WP ] You 're a wizard but unemployment rate is now quite high in the wizarding world and so you try your luck at getting a job in the muggle world . You 're now in the interview and have to describe your education/job experience .
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I'm fidgeting as the two men stare at me somewhat incredulously. I'm clearly not what they expected when they posted the advertisement in the local paper.
`` Errr...'' begins the younger man, whose thin frame, missing teeth and prominent ears give him the air of an over-grown house elf. `` Yer do know it's a labouring job, righ'?'' I blink twice, nonplussed. We're standing in a half constructed house, I'm wearing my best muggle attire of work boots and filthy jeans, with a checked shirt, hi-vis jacket, and hard hat.
`` Yes, I am more than aware, thank you.'' I respond, gently, wondering if maybe he is as lacking in brain cells as he is in canines.
He stares blankly at me. After some moments, he turns; `` Dad..?'' he says to the older man, who, running to fat in the midsection, with a bald head and squashed nose is more troll-like than elf-like. He looks me up and down, and in the most frank manner I could imagine, asks `` Sorry, love, but'ow old are yer?''
Well, I never! In all of my 102 years have I ever been quite so insulted.
`` A gentleman ought never ask a lady such a thing.'' I respond, `` But rest assured, I am more than sprightly enough to complete any tasks that you should choose to assign to me.''
Once again, they stare, blankly. Goodness me, when I was searching for a job in the muggle world I decided I would be best suited to a position where I could use magic secretly. As that automatically rules out any job that relies on those silly machines that muggles use so constantly, what are they called again? Those stupid tapping things in their hands that they use to communicate. Or the bigger ones that they ca n't carry around with them, threatening to `` Google'' things when I speak. I am yet to discover what exactly a google might be but I am quite certain it's something remarkably unpleasant. I also heard that labouring was an easy position to find, with many opportunities. If I'd known it would be this difficult, I might've chosen to run the gauntlet of the google!
`` Would you consent to a trial run?'' I finally asked, deciding to put the proof in the pudding.
`` Errrr...'' responded the troll, while his son nudged him winking, before turning back to me. `` D'yer know bricklayin'?'' he asked, clearly having anticipated a negative response. `` Why, certainly!'' I reply beaming, `` Where shall I begin?''
`` Thar'un'' he gestured to a half finished wall, grinning lazily at me.
I meander over to the haphazard pile of bricks, slipping my wand out of my jeans as I do so. `` Erecto'' I think, aiming the wand at the unfinished construction.
The builder's jaws drop as the wall creates itself. I can see the cogs turning in their muggle minds, convincing themselves that they just saw me build the wall in record time, reiterating that magic does NOT exist, but that freakishly strong grandmothers might.
`` So, do I have the job or not?''
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