Split (3)

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[ WP ] You ca n't kill god , but you can break him .	It was 2097 and religion had once again consumed the hearts of mankind. During the 20's, America's determination to destroy its enemies fanned the flames of religious fervor on both sides and by the 30's the world grew more and more divided. Neither side seemed able to destroy the other and this only served to incense them. In the 60's, the loss of life was growing out of control and people grew stauncher and harder in their religious dedication. Both sides heaped atheists and agnostics on top of the already towering corpse piles. Then followed most of the Jews. Eventually being Christian or Muslim was insufficient and by the 70's everyone's faith was under scrutiny. Were they the right kind of Christian? Did they believe in Islam enough? The world was burning its population away in a crucible but was never satisfied with the resultant purity. The cemeteries were insufficient to the task. The very earth had come to be saturated with blood. By the 90's, a generation had grown up so horrified by war, so tired of beliefs in spirits of love guiding the hands of hate, they reconciled to bring about peace by killing the God that permitted this war in his name. In a surprising sweep of elections, members of this most secret of societies took key positions of power, determined to find a way to kill God. But they could n't. If God or Allah was just an idea, you could n't hope to kill that -and if he was a real being, an all powerful deity and the creator of all existence, then surely you could never destroy him. But they realized you could force his hand. On the day of rebellion, in a place once called Armageddon, mankind realized the war long foretold between the armies of man and God was not a defiance of the love of a creator but the last ditch effort to save the innocent from a God of war. The missiles were set to launch and their radioactive payload was more powerful than any devised in history. The volley of thousands of supremely powerful warheads could destroy a trillion Earths but that was not the target. They were going to destroy the sun. Once gone, the Earth could not hope to sustain any life of any kind. There could be no pockets of survivors, no escape from the end. Not even so much as a microbe would persist. There would be peace, the resistance decided, one way or the other. If there was no God, the destruction of the sun and the earth would merely end the suffering of a species that could not live with itself. If there, however, was some deity raising mankind from afar, then it would have to act, would have to show itself, to save his creation. On the day of rebellion, mankind launched its attack on the star that ruled its many days. People squinted skyward, shielding their eyes from their prey, and watched the missiles climb. Mankind had built its tower of Babel and now it was running up the steps to overthrow God. They themselves were n't sure what they were hoping to see. Would he manifest in the sky, defeated and angry? Would he instead be resigned to talk to humanity and abandon vague signs and conflicting holy books from antiquity? Or would he declare mankind a failure and let the sun fade with approval? Alas, when it came to pass, he did none of these things. Just above the atmosphere of Earth, something went wrong, something unforeseen that no one could even investigate for a cause. One of the missiles corkscrewed, its trajectory awry, and caused the lot of them to explode. The warheads had not armed yet, would not have until approaching the sun, so the explosions did not destroy the planet. Instead, for weeks a gentle shower of radiation rained down on the world. It was n't even 6 months before 70 % of the world's population had died of cancer. Those who survived limped through life in makeshift communities. Anarchy threatened to consume the remaining population but surviving the radiation came with a price. The generation that followed were deeply mutated. Not a single child was born that even resembled its human ancestry. While nearly no two mutated child had the same genetic mutations, he impact on the species was consistent. Language was gone -that was the first evident effect. Tool use was not impossible but deeply impaired. Mankind had reverted to the stone age. As the last of the previous generation died off as all live eventually must, the new species that had arisen in its place abandoned the buildings and cities and cars and took its old home in the trees and caves and pits back, one day to evolve again into a speaking, thinking civilization that must learn to love itself if it wants peace. And God wept.
[ WP ] A gangster who took a blood oath to avenge the death of any fallen member of his crew goes after cancer .	This time it hit James while he was waiting in Cyrus Colombino's garage with a rag of chloroform, trying his best not to look at the pair of baseball gloves in the corner. But Ray came to him, unbidden. Colombino was going to look just like Ray did, shriveled to a raisin, meek like a nun and miserable like Colombino was about to be. Seven months and he could n't shake Ray's death and final moments, how he swore with the sacred pinprick of his thumb, and the red blood of Christ falling down it, that he'd avenge him. But all he could think of now was n't the plague that got him, but the God who made it. `` You ca n't kill God, son,'' said Father Gonklin from within the confession booth. `` I know. I know. I ca n't stop how I feel.'' `` Then prepare to be refuted by God. Because He will not be touched by you.'' James almost hiccuped with laughter. Colombino stepped through the door and James hurled himself at him, pinned him down with his forearm and jacked a knife up his side. Colombino's screams were choked with the sopping rag of choloform. That was the easy part. `` Where -- where the fuck am I? And you've stabbed me! What the fuck? You've fucking stabbed me!'' James socked him in the jaw, and said quickly and assertively, `` SHUT the fuck up. '' Colombino's eyes were covered. `` This, this is bullshit. This is so much bullshit. You get permission from the families to do this? Or are you one of those smaller outfits? Those vying, lying cunts -- the Abatelli's?'' He remembered Father Gonklin's protestations too. -- `` Son'' -- his voice was hurried this time -- `` Son, whatever path you're going down. Do n't think of it.'' He said to Colombino: `` No one ever believes it's happening to them when it's happening to them.'' Colombino breathed in sharply. He paused, before he started to sob. `` But - but. I do n't, I do n't.'' He started to piss himself the way Ray had. `` Father,'' James said. `` I'd rather be an atheist than an oathbreaker.'' He opened his trunk and got out his toolbox and said, `` Cyrus -- that's just it. You did n't do anything.''
[ WP ] A few years after the release of no mans sky , some gamers revisit it . They discover that NPC 's have deviated from their algorithms and evolved . They built Alien civilisations and begin to show signs of intelligence far beyond their programmed including questioning their existence .	It's been a tough week. I do n't like the new guy at work. Keeps ranting about some new game. I'm a gamer, just not really excited like he is. He's too social. One too many MMOs. So I ran out of games to play. I was having a dry spell with games. Played some FPS, that was no good. Kept getting trolled by little kids. Tried some RPGs, but I just was n't into it. I had no other choice, I dug through my stash of games and looked at my copy of NMS in disgust. I still remember ripping off that sticker and finding out this was supposed to be a `` networked'' game. What a scam... I mean who does that... I think this game was just pure repetitive farming... Not what I was expecting. I was looking for some kinda hook. Looks like I only have cup noodles. Might as well run this game while I wait for it. Wait a minute... something's different... Did they update this game? I do n't remember downloading a patch just now... At least I do n't think I did. Intro's different. Was this where I left my ship?? Wait a second, is this my ship? Looks like a... holy crap, that's some kind of transport vehicle... it looks like a train. That train has the same color scheme as my ship. Whoa it's approaching. Slowing down right in front of me. Doors are opening... Theres these little guys coming out, different colors... They look like Pikemon... Those shrimpy little guys with flowers on their heads but you got ta catch them with Pikeballs... How did they get in here?!?! About a dozen of them popped out of my ship/train thing. It's like a miniature locomotive... A small blue one seems to be pointing at me. I press X. They're all Oooing towards the sky. It's like they're praying to their god... All of a sudden theres a huge shadow cast on top of us. I look up and see a giant white glove come down and pick me up. I'm not their god... I'm the sacrifice... We're going somewhere... Just over that ledge there... Am I being dropped?! Oh wait no... I'm set down just on top of a huge rock overlooking a vast prairie. I feel like the wildlife here has changed a little... I'm seeing a pig rabbit in the distance... accompanied by a meercat-parrot. The parrot flaps its red wings and begin to fly past me. The giant glove does a swirl in the air and some sparkly dust falls on all of the Pikemon. My goodness, they're moving with increased speed... They're taking apart the train and rebuilding it, transforming it into something... It's a shuttle ship now. It's not the same as the one I made before but they're gesturing me to go in. I take a few steps towards the ship and the hand gently nudges me in. I'm in there sitting in a chair by the small circular window. The door shuts and the shuttle blasts off. As I leave, I can see another giant severed hand come to take the glove off the white gloved hand revealing a severed orc hand... What the hell is going on... My ship leaves the stratosphere and I'm heading back into space... In the distance I see another planet... I guess I get to discover a new planet now... Suddenly my ship starts transforming again... It's turned into something familiar... It almost looks like the original ship I had... This is pretty neat. Alright new planet, here I come. I ca n't wait to see what life is on this next planet. Maybe now I'll finally be able to DO ANYTHING. I see a bright light just beyond the planet... wait a minute... why did we just shoot past the destination... The stars are turning into blurred lines... Are we headed towards that light... Oh no... Where are the controls... Is this a cut scene??? Why is everything going white... What the hell... THIS IS KIND OF EXCITING GUYS.... Load SCREEN... .... ... ........ ...... ............... My ship... it's crash landed on a planet... It's no longer functioning... It seems... It seems... I have to figure out a way to get off this planet by rebuilding my ship through collecting and farming materials on this planet............................................................. `` A new galaxy has been unlocked!!''
[ WP ] A Tourist on one of the first tours into the past realizes that Dragons are actually the good guys and the knights and kings are evil .	“ I thought it would be different... ” The words whispered forth from his mouth just as quickly as he could think them. What else was he supposed to say to the woman before him rapid firing away questions at him. Needless to say by the way her fake smile fell it was n't the answer that she had been expecting. David Meary did n't really care what she thought though. Right now David Meary could think of was that he had always wanted see dragons since he was a little boy. As his teachers prattled on about neuroscience and astrophysics his mind was filled with silly things like evil serpents coiling around their stolen hordes of gold and loot. While his co-workers and bosses droned for hours about stocks and dividedns and the bottom line, David Meary was busy sketching out epic battles of knights in shining armor fending off vicious beasts with nothing more than a bit of metal and their wits. So when commercial time travel became a reality, David Meary decided it was time to take a much needed vacation. So imagine the disappointment of a man who had dreamt day in and day out about the times of fairy tales when he found out that things were n't just like the stories foretold. Greed... he should have known. It always came down to greed with humans. Funny that they painted dragons as covetous when humans run a permanent gambit for more... more... more. The dragons did n't steal from the humans... they were creators. They took from the earth and built from the beauty they saw. When they came to this world it was new and flat. A blank canvas awaiting artists to help bring out what was waiting just beneath the surface. They rose mountains that would stand for generations and caves that would take ages to be explored. Iron, copper, diamonds, gold... they saw them as little more than another part of the earth. To the wise and ancient serpents they were as equal as the dirt and the air. Gold and jewels were merely tools for them... but for humanity it was so much more. At first the dragons were happy to share in their wealth with such insignificant creatures. They felt pity for the small, fleshy creatures who saw the world they had helped craft as nothing more than something to be exploited. In a momentary fault of their wisdom they allowed the humans to push back on them and ask for more. They saw humanity as merely a child trying to see how much it could take. But like any child who threw a tantrum and was n't reprimanded they learned they could get away with it. The dragons' wisdom was only outshone by their naivity. `` Just a little bit more'' they would say. `` They are only trying to explore''. Excuses soon flew faster than dragons. And so the dragons fell.... And with their fall came the stories of'brave' humans who rose up against the beasts of avarice to take what was'rightfully theirs'. And with their fall, David Meary felt himself shatter. Not because he realized that humanity had never learned from its lesson or because humanity had not only bitten the hand of the very creatures who wanted to guide and teach them but crushed it. But because he realized that the true artists of this world, the dragons, had gone forever. And that all the natural beauty – the bends in the river, the depths of the oceans, the rolling plains – were merely a shadow of an unfinished masterpiece.
[ FF ] Tell me a story about a couple breaking up in exactly 100 words .	When I broke up with Brooke I had an idea of how it was going to end. We both knew that it was coming, for a long time in fact. We tried to work things out, to the point of going to therapy. We ’ ve managed to stay friends since. It ’ s just one of those situations where we just weren ’ t compatible for the long run. I took her to the place where I asked her to be my girlfriend. It was a nice moment, until we noticed the Bum furiously pleasuring himself. In his defense, he also knew what was coming.
[ WP ] A person knows that they will die in 24 hours . Write how they spend their final day .	Twenty-four hours. That's it. It does n't make sense -- such a small amount. So soon that I ca n't even absorb the meaning. I have always loved numbers, loved mulling over them and finding meaningless connections between random circumstances. But I guess sitting here, thinking and calculating is a waste of the most precious, most scarce thing I have left. I have too much left to do. So many plans half-made, abandoned for some future time. Why? Where did the time go? How did the years melt away so quickly, so routinely, leaving me here, so cold and tired and alone? Would it have been so hard to go out every once in a while after work? To find people who could have been here for me right now? Would it have been so hard to finish just one project? I had so many amazing plans, so many potentially brilliant ideas, and now they're worth nothing. And here I am, as always, wasting time, living in my thoughts. But thoughts ca n't hold me tight or kiss me or lie to me and tell me that everything will be ok. So what do I do now? I have 23 hours, 37 minutes left. There's enough time left to do just one thing on my list, to give my life some meaning, to die with my head held high. I'll just jump on reddit real quick before I start.
[ WP ] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him .	The cold shiver running down her spine. A feeling she had become all too familiar with. As the razor slight at her soft, tender wrists. `` Soon we shall meet again, for you and I belong to each other.'' In a swift movement, the blood begins to flow. The smell wafted in the breeze and her anticipation grows. As she slumps over, the voice grows in strength. `` How glad am I to see you again my sweet. Although, you know you will not stay here for long this time. You need to find another way. A way in which you...'' She slowly woke in a hospital bed. Numb from the experience. `` Why? Why are you taken from me again?'' She exclaimed. All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way. Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her. All night she tossed and turned, thinking, trying to find a way. Once she arrived home, the thought consumed her. `` I've found a way for us to be together...'' As she walked home with a hamster she had purchased, her anticipation grew. `` Thank you gentle creature, through your generous act, I shall meet with my love.'' She set the hamster on the cutting board. The blade of the knife seemed to glow as the light shone through the window. `` Thank you gentle creature.'' In that moment the cold shiver ran through her spine. The glint of light shined in the hamster's eyes. `` My sweet, this moment is fleeting, it will not last long.'' `` How? HOW? How can I make this last longer?'' She cried. She sat in the corner with tears in her eyes. A smirk began to form on her tear covered face. `` A creature this small, how could I expect a long time...'' As she walked down the street, with the knife hidden in her purse. Seeing her sad demeanor, a young man approached her. `` Hey sweetie, why so down? Looks like you could use some fun to cheer you up. Anything I could do to help?'' She looked up at him and smiled. `` Yes, I suppose there is something you could do.'' `` Just walk with me and I will think of what you can do.''
[ WP ] You live in a world where marijuana has been discovered before alcohol , and is legal . Describe the arguments of someone trying to legalize alcohol against a pro-marijuana society .	`` Listen, you goddamned moron, the fact remains: alcohol makes you violent. It can kill you, and all the experts say legalizing could open the door to all kinds of dangers -- drunk driving, domestic violence, rape... Marijuana does none of these things. We are dealing with two fundamentally different substances altogether.'' Edgar typed feverishly, pausing after what he felt was a particularly insightful point. He flicked off a pellet of lint from his collar and tapped his fingers contemplatively on the desk. Abruptly, as though struck by a sudden brilliant thought, he positioned his hands over the keyboard again, poised to hammer down. Reminding himself of the immunity that comes with online debate, Edgar rapidly resumed typing. `` Frankly, I'm surprised that you would suggest legalizing alcohol knowing damn well how goddamned stupid your own mother is. I'd lay odds that a few beers would be enough to make that grostesque old cow hop in her car, drunker than a medieval prostitute, and smash into a tree.'' Edgar settled back, supremely satisfied with this biting afterthought. At 24, he had discovered, by means of an expensive college education at NYU, that he loved to talk about his opinions at great length. It was n't just that he was interested in keeping up with the prominent talking points of his time -- he was to an extent -- he specifically relished hearing ( or seeing, in this case ) his own grand, principled voice take on a physical form. It mattered not that he had spent most of his days as a psychology major suckling his roommate's bong, or that he had been more occupied with memorizing Sam Harris quotes to use in his philosophy requirement course than actual study; he was an educated man, amidst a sea of benighted, scrubby-faced simpletons. As a scholar of the human mind itself, he considered himself intimately aware of the common blind spots in the human intellect, nobly standing, with one hand majestically on his hip, at the juncture of the humanities and the hard sciences and thus qualified to wantonly misuse both. Just minutes before, he had defeated his Protestant mother in a heated debate about the existence of God, before charitably offering to pop his DiGiornos pizza in the oven himself. Now freshly graduated, with a knowledge of popular concepts, stock fallacies and other numberless tools in his intellectual arsenal, he took to the Internet, the most exalted venue of philosophy in the modern world. Quickly scanning his short piece for any grammatical errors that might leave him open to the quibbling of lesser and envious minds, he hit `` post'', letting the compact, solitary click ring in his head for as long as possible. Briskly dusting his hands together with an air of job-well-done, he opened another tab. Without missing a beat, he typed out `` www.prolapsedassholes.com'' and daintily pulled a handful of Kleenex from the box beside him. In one fluid, well rehearsed motion he simultaneously organized the Kleenex in a neat pile by the `` esc'' key with his left hand, and plugged in his earphone jack into his speakers with his right. Springing up to close the door, he paused for a moment, seemingly overcome by an unexpected thought, his fingers anxiously tapping the door. In a stiff, jerky motion, he swung the half-closed door open and yelled, `` Hey Mom, can I get that DiGiornos or what?'' No answer. He knew his mother could hear him; the kitchen was right below his room. He hesitated, aware that his mother was keeping silent on purpose. After a few seconds, he repeated his question, with a little more emphasis on `` Mom.'' The answer came delayed, tinctured with a false sing-songy sweetness. It was a question. `` Edgar, honey, what are your thoughts on legalizing alcohol? I'm reading this debate online and there are some great arguments for legalizing certain alcoholic drinks.'' Edgar froze, digesting the words. He felt a monstrous rage build inside of him, and his temple began to throb. He massaged his forehead with his fingers, his other hand tapping wildly on the door. A growl began to bubble from his throat, first a quiet gurgling, then ascending into a guttural, primitive battle cry. Shrieking at the top of his lungs, Edgar bolted out the door and began to run to his mother.
[ WP ] You have the ability to double jump . Scientists are still trying to figure it out .	Something's wrong. I hang my coat on the hanger and move to turn on the light. As I reach for the light switch I hesitate. Something felt off, something pinged in my unconscious. As I turn the light on and turn around, I notice him sitting on my armchair, by the fireplace. `` What are you doing here, charlie?'' Charlie is a theoretical physicist doing research at Berkley. He's an old friend, and when my little gift appeared, he was the one I turned to. `` I had to talk with you, had a major breakthrough.'' We've been working together on this problem for 9 months now. I say working together, I mean he concoting some strange experiments, and me jumping. He'd take some measurements, and then not call me for weeks while he analyzed the data and try to explain it. `` You could have called, I would've came to the lab.'' `` This is big, I had to talk with you straight away. I think I got it!'' This was big. The last time we met he seemed morose, defeated, said he was n't sure we'll get anywhere in the next few years. Now in comparison, he had a light in his eyes that was almost manic. `` You see, I saw something weird, and reckoned that a strange effect, something really esoteric, is the cause. I got lost in intricacies, I went obscure when I should have looked at the basics! Not string theory in 12 dimensions, conservation of momentum in 3! According to Newton, every action has a equal and opposite reaction, so when you jump, I mean when a normal person jumps, the ground feels an equal force, and its momentum changes in the same way.'' As charlie was explaining, his hands were moving, his whole body joining the explanation. His behavior screamed that this was a man passionate about his job. So far I was with him, this was highschool level physics. But how was this helpful for us? I had a unique ability, the explanation for it ca n't be something basic, it had to be weird, otherwize others could double jump as well. `` So when you jump, I mean jump again, when you jump against nothing, you must be jumping against something. Some strange construct of air molecules, somehow creating pressure against the floor, something. So last time you were in the labs I had any kind of sensors I could think of collecting data. But instead of pointing them at you, I pointed them at the air beneath you, at the ground, I even had some pressure sensors under the ground. I figured, instead of looking for the cause of your abilities, instead of searching for the theory that explains everything, I'll do it in smaller steps. First I'll find what you push against, then I'll study that untill I figured what you were doing differently.'' `` Smart! Sounds like a good idea!'' `` I did n't actually think of it myself, one of my colleagues helped me with it.'' Panic. `` You told!? I told when I came to you, this is between us, I give you a unique problem, and you keep it a secret.'' `` Relax, I did n't tell anything, I told her it's confidential, she figured it's some secret military project. She just noticed I was in a funk, gave me some general advice- instead of trying to beat the problem as a whole, tear it apart into smaller problems, then solve them one at a time.'' My heartbeats start to slow down again, going from near heart attack to merely sprinting level. `` You should n't do this to me, my heart nearly gave out!'' He's mouth twitches. `` Sorry about that.'' For some reason, that did n't sound very sincere. `` So what did you find?'' `` I checked all the measurements, used a clever little algorithm to throw outside noise. When you jump, there has to happen a transfer of momentum, so I looked for that spike. I even considered the possibility that the effect is mitigated across several mediums, over an area. I stared at the results, and then... Eureka!'' That sounded good, did n't it? And still, the uneasiness that held me since I went through the doorstep does n't go away. `` There was nothing there, nothing at all. That's what clued me, I was getting frantic looking for something, and everywhere I looked, nothing looked back. All those zeros eventually give me the idea.'' Charlie stands up. During the last few minutes, His behavior has gotten more energetic, manic. Now he is calm again. `` Everywhere was zero, so I was left with an equation. On the one side only zeroes, on the other, you.'' I suddenly realize Charlie is holding a gun. `` Correcting the equation has a very simple solution.''
[ WP ] A homeless man , sleeping on the streets wakes up to a crying baby .	`` Trust me, little one,'' he said, with his blackened smile. `` It gets better, but it also gets worse. You're going to fall a lot more, you're going to win a lot more. You're going to succeed beyond your wildest dreams and you're going to fail way more times than that. It's going to suck. It's going to be great at times too, though. It's going to rain when you want sunshine and great things are going to happen to you when you are n't ready for them. You'll get promotions, you'll get fired. You'll get raises and you'll live pay cheque to pay cheque. But one thing that I can promise you, with most certainty, is that it all just keeps going—and so should you. ”
[ WP ] In a world where people can only see in black and white , you are a drug dealer that sells drugs that allow people to see color .	Her hands were trembling when I gave the small bag of pills. Another satisfied customer. “ These aren ’ t for me, I ’ m picking them up for a friend, ” she mumbled. That was a lie. I could tell the girl had some experience, otherwise she wouldn ’ t have asked for twice the amount of typical addict. She wanted to be able to see clearly. “ Sure, we all need to make a living. ” I popped a pill into my mouth, the effects were almost instantaneous. I took a deep breath, her hair slowly morphed from a dull grey into vibrant orange. I hadn ’ t seen a red head in ages. Her coat, an off-white drab, dripped into a light shade of green, her stockings transformed into deep purple while her boots remained black. Fuck, she was a sight, it was then that I noticed she was staring at me, her gorgeous cobalt eyes staring right at me. I leaned towards her, and whispered. “ I know you want too, your secret is safe with me. ” She quickly popped a pill, waited, and then opened her gorgeous cobalt eyes. Giving me a true smile, the girl quickly pulled out a piece of bright yellow fabric. It looked like it was ripped from a table cloth. “ What color is this? ” she asked, her voice eager. “ Yellow.'' `` And this? ” She pointed to the neon sign above us, though old and fading, the words still held a wild pink hue. “ Pink. ” The girl nodded. “ Pink and yellow. ” She mumbled, as if she was committing the names to memory. I zipped up my leather jacket, god I hated winter. Everything was just so colorless. “ Listen darlin', I got ta go, more sales to make. ” I kissed her blushing cheek, “ call me if you want another spin. ” ____________________________________________________________ Would appreciate constructive criticism, if any!
[ Wp ] Heaven is n't based on religious text or desires , but how you died . Example : a man who starved to death will live in a heaven of food .	I lived a happy life. Having inherited a large amount of money, I never needed to work. But I was never rude or cruel to poor people. I loved to help them. One day, I decided, I would buy T-shirts and jeans, and for 6 months I would live like a person who did n't have money. I got vacation days from my office job I had taken, and decided to use them. I went to a beach, a fairly large one. It was packed with people, which was nice. These people were n't rich, nor poor. They were just....average. Having fun. I was about to sit down, when a group of people invited me into the water. Okay, that seems like fun. I walked into the water, and one of them threw a frisbee. I caught it, and threw it. It landed in the water in front of me. They laughed. `` Here, I'll throw it to you again. Try throwing it like I do.'' One of my new friends said. Okay. He threw it, but this time my reflexes were not so quick. It hit me in the head, and I blacked out. And now I'm here. In a mansion in the middle of a desert. According to the guide who showed me around when I first got here, I got a concussion ( Surprising, from a frisbee ) and drowned. Overall, I think it was worth it. After all, this place has great internet connection. My computer opened directly to this page when I turned it on, so I posted this here. I'm going to go enjoy my new life after death. And by that, I mean I wan na see what this `` No Sleep'' part of reddit is.
[ WP ] A section of the CIA is requesting a copy of the newly revised procedure on dealing with citizens who have gained anomalous abilities , such as teleportation and invisibility .	( Work in progress... ) # \ > > > > > TOP SECRET LEVEL 5+ > > > > > # # CHAPTER XIV, SECTION 3; SUBSECTION 1092-J # # # DEALING WITH PERSONS WITH ANOMALOUS ABILITIES # # # # # # PROPOSED ADDENDUM AS OF FEB 22 2014 1. ALL APPREHENDED INDIVIDUALS SUSPECTED OF TELEPORTATION ( Section 3; Subsection 1084-I ) ( A ) MUST BE BLINDFOLDED BEFORE BEING CONFINED. This may prevent the individual from attempting to teleport to the outside of the prison or confinement center where they are detained. Without visual confirmation, persons are less likely to attempt teleportation, as they risk teleporting into a wall or other solid support structure. ( B ) [ * ] ( /edit ) MUST BE TAGGED WITH NO LESS THAN TWO ( 2 ) RFID CHIPS. The CIA APD Recommended that subjects be sedated and have one RFID chip implanted in the lower portion of the buttock, and one RFID chip implanted near the base of the skull. RFID chips must be programed as specified in section 3, subsection 1103-AA. [ Individuals suspected of having the abiltity to sense and transport small objects on their persons are exempt, as RFID chips may end up inside CIA persons ] ( /edit ) ( C ) MUST BE VISUALLY CONFIRMED TO BE BY NO LESS THAN TWO ( 2 ) AUTHORIZED CIA PERSONNEL AT ALL TIMES. Confirmation may be through direct or recorded visual means. [ IN THE EVENT OF DIRECT VISUAL CONFIRMATION, ALL CIA PERSONNEL MUST BE OF SMALLER STATURE THAN THE INDIVIDUAL. Otherwise, agents risk having the individual teleport inside their bodies and use their skin as a costume to fascillitate escape. ] ( /edit ) 2. [ IN THE EVENT AN INDIVIDUAL SUSPECTED OF TELEPORTATION INHABITS THE CORPSE OF A RECENTLY DECEASED CIA PERSONNEL ( RDP ) ] ( /edit ) [ ( A ) NO PERSONNEL OF SIMILAR OF LARGER STATURE TO THE RDP ARE AUTHORIZED TO INTERROGATE OR CONFRONT THE INDIVIDUAL WHILE ALONE. This may cause the individual to teleport out of the RDP into the interrogating personnel, causing them to become an RDP. ] ( /edit ) 3. [ Attributes of suspected RDP: ] ( /e ) [ ( A ) It is unknown at this time which of these attributes are related to the condition of the RDP and which are incidental. However, known RDPs have engaged in the following behavior: ] ( /edit ) [ i. Change in gait, especially with loss of coordination e.g. walking into walls or doors. ] ( /edit ) [ ii. Change in accent, timber, or pitch of voice ] ( /e ) [ iii. Talking with minimal movement of the lips ] ( /e ) [ iv. Bleeding from eyes, ears and other orifices. ] ( /e ) [ v. Requesting bananas or chocolate from prison kitchen staff ] ( /e ) [ vi. Sexual solicitation of Female officers ] ( /e ) [ vii. Sexual solicitation of Male officers ] ( /e ) [ ix. Impotence ] ( /e ) [ x. Polydactyly, especially when extra fingers have a different skin tone from the rest of the hand ] ( /e )
[ WP ] To give his new song a mysterious/tribal vibe a famous pop/rap artist samples an old recording of a jungle tribe chant , not knowing those words have power . The song premiers tonight , at the Super Bowl halftime show .	My dearest Elise, I know this letter shall never reach you. I know that you are dead, or worse. Yet I must channel my thoughts and gather them together if I am to attempt to comprehend what I fear to be that which is fundamentally incomprehensible. For you and I both now know of the gibbering madness woken from its slumber beyond the... shit, I'm getting dramatic. I know you hated that about me. Sorry. Let me start over. It started with a phone call. Kenya East - you know who I'm talking about, the self-proclaimed `` greatest artistic genius of our generation'' - needed to speak with a consultant. That was unusual. As an anthropological linguist, I've worked on various projects in Hollywood, creating fictional languages or re-imagining dead ones, but I'd never worked with a musician. I mean, when's the last time you've heard someone belt out lyrics in Dothraki? I met him at his mansion. His manservant greeted me at the front door and led me to a waiting room. It was indeed a waiting room. I waited and waited, my patience wearing thin. Finally, as I was about to leave, Kenya East burst through the doors. He was n't quite what I expected. `` My apologies, my apologies! I did not mean to keep you waiting. You must be Mr. Blackwood, correct? I am Mr. East, of course, although if you prefer you may call me Kenya. Now, I hate to be rude, but I'm afraid we must dispense with the formalities, for I have a show scheduled at the Super Bowl in several hours and I have a plane to catch... but I'm babbling. My apologies.'' I stared at him for several long moments. `` Um... you're not quite what I...'' `` Yes, yes,'' he said, dismissively waving his hand, `` I'm far more articulate than most people expect. Image, Mr. Blackwood, image is deceptive and we are victims to our expectations. I play a role in my professional life, in much the same way a shaman in the Pacific Northwest may don frightening masks while driving away the spirits. Let us set aside our masks, Mr. Blackwood, and simply converse as two well-educated men.'' `` Um...'' He sighed. `` I do hope your advice will be more profound than'um'. I understand you are something of an expert on proto-languages?'' I gathered my thoughts and cleared my throat. `` That's right, um, Mr. East. I've created several fictional languages and...'' `` Yes, thank you, I know. But there is one real language in particular which interests me. A... certain universal language, found in the ruins of our earliest civilizations, as well as a few surviving yet dwindling aboriginal tribes.'' I hesitated. I knew what he was talking about. I had investigated this very topic, but it is n't the kind of thing you openly discuss if you want to survive in academia.
[ WP ] They say that on a distant world creatures arose from the ashes of stars . Strange beings without soul or purpose , they call themselves `` human '' .	Translated from historical inscription 8724, from the world we dubbed Ionsette. Estimated to be 40,000 years old, as of the year 42,015. They are beings just like us, yet different in so many ways. They are not afraid to do what is necessary to further their goals, their thoughts and their survival. Our people have observed them from what they would call, the 18th century. Their year consists of 12 months, each seperated in to different numbers of days, a day being one rotation of their incredible planet, they named: Earth. However incredible their planet may be, we watched them through their years, their centuries, and although the human life-span is incredibly smaller than ours, they transfer their ideas to the next generation, they ensure the torch is carried on, the ideas never die, their goals are realised long after the one who had the spark of the idea has turned to dust. Sometime during their early 20th century, they used another one of their incredible inventions... Sadly, we were not able to find out what it is. From then on, for the rest of our time, even to the time this engraving, we have been unable to further study their actions, and we can only estimate, and learn from fantastical stories we hear from the galaxy's wanderers, about what they do next. It is said, that there was a large dispute between the different lands of their people, and rather than quietly discuss it, all out war broke out. Millions of men gave their lives for what they believed in. They came to an agreement much quicker than they would have, if negotiations had taken place. This is to be admired, as it shows their determination to further themselves as quickly as possible. They have done this at least twice, from the stories we hear. They truly were remarkable, as it was shown that they kept records of themselves, to show their own progress, and how far they had come, and to give them determination for the future. They even keep records of themselves from the very beginning of time. Oddly, they seemed to be much more powerful individual creatures. As time went on, and their hypothesised hive-mind developed, they seemed to refine, and become weaker. They developed from self-sustaining power houses, to a united league. For a long period of time, they all seemed to focus on themselves, but we theorise this was simply to create a base, as at one point, something changed. Humans would not stop working, but only to sustain the future. And then that human would work to sustain their future. And so on. No human appeared to be working for themselves, creating vast metropolis's, sprawling cities, and fantastic machines, all for others enjoyment. This was odd, as none seemed to enjoy it for themselves. A downfall, perhaps, but an admirable one. There is much to be learned, from these beings.
[ WP ] The apocolypse has stricken Earth , however , it is nothing like the biblical apocolypse that we 've all come to know .	The Democrat candidate had won the presidential debate by a huge margin. Their candidate was smart, funny, sophisticated yet down to earth and had a viable plan to help end the financial crisis. The fact that their candidate was a seven headed abomination most closely resembling a leopard did n't hold him back. It was barely even an issue anymore. the media had quickly declared this to be the start of not only a post-racial America, but a post-speciesist America as well. Soon everyone would go to the polls and swear in their new president, every voter convinced that the country was finally back on track. Many would reconsider this position though, and the leopard-monster would be impeached half a year before the end of his first term for trying to change America into a theocracy, as well as for being too soft on dragon-related swarms of frogs.
[ WP ] A dream refuses to be forgotten	I do n't remember anything before the coffee shop. One minute, I was... nothing, nowhere, and then I was, and I was standing in line, waiting for a coffee. I do n't even think I knew my own name before it was called, and I reached for it. Across the room, I saw him. He had this amusing bewildered look on his face. I smiled. I could n't help it. He was cute, in his own little awkward way. He seemed unsure if I was real at first. It felt like deja vu. After getting our coffee, we sat together and talked, saying nothing and everything, and he was gone. But, where he was n't, nothing was, and so I was n't. The next time he came was very much the same. The truth is, I do n't know how many times we'd met in that little shop, how many times he'd seen me and stilled his gaze on me. How many times I'd grinned, or we'd talked. Or how many times he'd left, and everything disappeared. But I knew that I did n't want to be nothing again. Never again. So, when he left, I followed. Again, as he left, things disappeared, ceased to be, but this time, I remained. I was left, alone in the cold and dark, waiting for him to come back. I saw things, then. Flashes in the dark. Brief moments. I found myself standing at a bus stop, sitting on park benches, walking by the same office building time and again. No matter where I found myself in these flashes of reality, I always would find him staring at me, and I'd smile. And then, just as quickly as reality came about, it was gone again. Days went by, and as I watched him watching me, I began to notice things. When he would visit me in the coffee shop, he became more reluctant to leave. Our conversations lasted longer and longer, and sometimes, he'd leave for a few moments only to come right back. Others, I could tell he wanted to come back, he tried to come back, he just could n't. Every time, like so many, everything disappeared. I saw him at work more and more, and although I liked seeing him, I could tell something was wrong. When I could see him, he was n't working, and it looked like it was having an effect on him. He started looking more and more stressed. I saw an argument with his boss, and even though I could n't actually hear what was going on, I caught snippets. Something about not paying attention, and lacking a `` sense of urgency.'' That's about the time things started changing. The coffee shop took on an ominous feeling. Whenever we met, it was strained. Sometimes, he'd try to work on whatever it is he does, but his laptop always seemed to die just before he hit save. The few times he wrote things down with pen and paper, I accidentally spilled my coffee on his work. It felt like he was getting angry with me, and I could n't blame him. I do n't know how long it was before he started taking the pills. They messed with things. The coffee shop never really seemed to come around anymore, and I rarely got to see him at work. Once, I could have sworn I blinked, and it looked as though weeks had passed. I felt like I was losing him, but because I was a part of him, I felt like I was losing myself, as well. I do n't really know what was going on, all I knew, all I ever knew, was that I did not like being nothing. So I fought. I struggled to not just be a forgotten dream. A lost memory. I threw myself at the void with everything I had, and then, in the middle of nothing, nowhere and nowhen, I screamed. I screamed and yelled and cried and cursed, until suddenly, the nothing was gone and in its place was everything, the nowhere was replaced with everywhere, the nowhen replaced with all the time in the world. And then I was gone. -- - I do n't remember how long I'd been on the pills. They'd helped me focus, better than anything ever had, and it was amazing. I was n't dreaming as much any more, but I was n't just constantly daydreaming, either. It was a trade-off I was willing to make, and with the way things had been going at work, I was not about to complain. I was just about to pick up my coffee when I saw her. I swear to you, it was the woman from my dreams. Everything from the shape of her face to the way she smiled when she saw me, I just... I froze. I did not know what to do. She walked right up to me, and I could n't think of a single word to say. `` Excuse me,'' she finally said, breaking the silence between us. She motioned behind me, and I realized I was blocking the counter. `` I'm sorry,'' I mumbled, stepping aside, `` it's just that I am having the weirest sense of deja vu right now.'' She paused for a moment. `` You know, me too,'' she said with a smile.
[ WP ] Hitler is delivering one of his many famous speeches to a large crowd in Berlin . Suddenly , a pop song from the 21st century begins blasting from the speakers .	Leni relaxed back against a wall. It was almost over. Give him a few more minutes and she would no longer have to glorify someone that publicly ordered a lynching of many of her employees. `` SIEG HEIL! SIEG HEIL!'' She heard. An old woman looked up at the great dictator with elation, her hand so high in the air it could have crashed an airship. This smile turned to a scowl as she noticed Leni Riefenstahl was not participating in the salute. Not wanting a shot of the crowd to be ruined by one angry looking woman, Leni smiled at her and motioned to the camera. She then constructed a screen with her fingers and directed them towards the woman. The woman's face again changed, she pulled her scowl into a slight smirk, as though she was trying to hide it and she resumed her posing. Leni took off her hat, she thought to herself that this man might just be the death of her, and she prayed that the paycheck might just be worth dying for. She played with her hair and jolted around as she heard something. Nobody else but her and the sound guy noticed it, but then it began to amplify. From a whisper, to louder than Adolf's insesent screaming. `` What what? What? What?''
[ WP ] You knew they was just movies , but you were the biggest fan , and you dreamed of becoming a Jedi . You knew Star Wars was the best fandom there was . Then one fateful day , you get a letter from Hogwarts .	`` Hogwarts is real.'' `` Yeah,'' said Harry. `` You're real.'' Harry scratched the back of his head. `` I would n't be here if I was n't.'' `` Are Jedi real?'' Harry shrugged. `` Maybe?'' he said. `` I mean, my books were supposedly written to make it easier for muggleborn children to understand our world a bit more before they got accepted. Maybe it's the same for them?'' Rebecca thought for a moment. `` If I accept going to Hogwarts, would I be able to leave if I got accepted as a Jedi?'' `` I guess so,'' said Harry. `` I mean, you do n't technically have to go at all. It'd be better if you did,'' he said nervously. `` It's always better to learn how to control your magic to prevent outbursts. But we ca n't force you.'' `` That reminds me, does this mean that you do n't know if The Force is real, either?'' Harry shook his head. `` Sorry. I do n't usually get questions like this. I'm more used to kids pointing out supposed plot holes, or over-protective parents screaming about Satan, or,'' he scowled, `` asking questions about Cursed Child as if I have any control over what other people write about me.'' `` Libel laws exist.'' `` It only works for things not explicitly labeled as fiction, according to Hermione.'' `` So your books are n't real?'' `` No,'' said Harry quickly. `` Those were authorized. Ron, Hermione, and I went over them several times to make sure they were as accurate as possible.'' Rebecca sat for a while, thinking. Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet. `` Do you have any other questions? Maybe ones that I can answer?'' he asked, giving her a half-smile. `` If...,'' Rebecca swallowed, hesitating, before she forced the words out. `` If the Jedi are n't real,'' she said, `` do you think... I could make them real? Could I create a Jedi Order? Or build my own lightsaber?'' Harry smiled, pleased to have a question he could respond to. `` I ca n't say for sure, but I do know that, with magic, almost anything is possible.'' He held out his hand, and she grabbed it, giving it a firm shake. Jedi Master Rasalas Cloudleap may not have had the origin story Rebecca always imagined for her, but at least she'd be able to exist. -- - Rasalas Cloudleap's name was taken from [ this ] ( http: //starwars.namegeneratorfun.com ) name generator.
[ WP ] A Person Becomes Addicted to Writing , and Then Gets Writer 's Block .	This is my first post here. Be gentle: ) EDIT: Spacing It started off as an exercise my teacher gave to us in 10th grade. Every week she ’ d give us something to write about. Romance, tragedy, comedy, an epic, poetry or prose, you name it. That continued on for the rest of my English classes throughout the year. Summer time, finally. Though, I still kept up the habit of writing stories, imaginary people living their extraordinary lives. I loved it. I loved it so much it became a hobby. My mother even got me a Moleskine and a fancy fountain pen. She said “ Fountain pens are much smoother than crappy $ 1 disposables. ” I agreed. It gave less strain for my wrist. Soon I ’ ve realized I ’ ve gone through eight packs of cartridges in a week. Maybe this fancy fountain pen was designed to do that. I ’ ve also realized these stories of mine was – modesty aside – pretty good. So I sent them to my local paper, mostly for the $ $ $. I ’ ve also started with making an account in WattPad. Wherein my first post got a few decent hits. Writing and writing, I ’ ve realized I ’ ve gone through my 3rd notebook this week. Maybe my penmanship ’ s too big. Suddenly my WattPad story was trending all over the net. Publishing companies approached me, big names and big cash. Just to publish my story. So, I did. People are now demanding sequels. I just go on writing and writing. Months have gone by I ’ m a New York Times bestselling author with a broad range of genres: young adult, children ’ s, sci-fi, and some poetry. I ’ ve even sold lyrics for some obscure pop artist I ’ ve never heard about. Soon I was exceeding these demands people have been giving me. I was simply writing too much. Of course, I am a writer, it ’ s what I do. I write. Soon, I found myself not being able to sleep without writing something, be it some line of a soon-to-be novel or something abstract. I ’ ve found myself jotting down in the morning, before I ’ ve even had my coffee. And after I ’ ve had my coffee, I ’ d write some more. I can ’ t even listen to the goddamned news without writing something. I found myself passing my station in the subway just because I was so busy writing. I can ’ t even remember the last time I celebrated my birthday. Do I even have a birthday? I can ’ t recall even though I know the life stories of these characters of mine, my creations, I can ’ t even remember my own birthday. Cold turkey. I ’ m going to stop this habit of mine. NOW. Three days and I ’ m a wreck. I can ’ t look at a piece of paper the same anymore. Okay, just one last story, that ’ s it. Another week has passed and I ’ ve made “ twenty-one last stories ” Okay. I ’ m going to stop. I swear to God. I will. And then I did. … Seven years have gone and I ’ ve sobered up from this dilemma of mine. Some blogger approached me begging for an interview. Said because I was “ such an inspiration. ” He asked standard questions. Lots of them. Then the last one struck me. “ Why did you stop? ” I was speechless to be honest. I asked her to get out. I know it was rude. But unbeknownst to her this one was personal. I lead her out the door and she uttered something. Something about how I wasn ’ t the man 7 years ago. WHY CAN ’ T THEY FUCKING UNDERSTAND? So I did try to write something. I ’ ll show her, I ’ ll show the world I ’ m not dead. I picked up my fancy fountain pen. And I tried to let the words flow through my fingertips. But nothing. Nothing came out. Just a blank piece of paper staring at me. I ’ ve come back every night hoping for a just a letter to come out. Not even a blotch of ink. It ’ s been eating me up. I am worthless. I have no purpose if I can ’ t write. Then I poured my last drop of emotion into the parchment. These words will probably be my last. I ’ m sorry.
[ WP ] You start writing this prompt , but the more you write , the more you realize something is terribly wrong .	It is too loud to write. The noise wo n't let me write anything worthwhile. At first I think of a creature standing behind me. A big one, dark, all gaping mouth and half bad thoughts. It is n't bad enough. I swallow three times. I have n't written for three years. I always get.. distracted. It's the noise that gets me. Always my neighbours playing their music too loud or a car speeding past on the motorway blaring a red streak of car horn noise in the air. Kills me. Prickles the back of my neck, makes the inside of my eyes burn like a cluster headache. I think of an ocean, of word variations causing spontaneous teleportation. You'd go from your computer chair to fathoms deep and drown still swimming for the surface. That's especially morbid, I note. Good job, but too loud to write it. Still, it niggles at my mind. My coffee machine is going off, shrill as a mother in law, calling for dinner. I make a show of getting up, switching it off, returning to my seat. I smooth the pleather. I tap twice. As I drink my coffee I realise that the final act of switching the button on the coffee machine off has made it completely silent in the apartment I rent. A coursing of absolute joy swims through my veins, fishing for compliments at just how good I am at creating a perfect atmosphere for creation. Well done me, I think, and cheerily sip my coffee. It takes me fifteen minutes to realise that the lovely absence of noise is the absence of me breathing, the absence of my heart beating.
[ WP ] After dying , you find yourself reincarnated as an less-than-ideal lifeform with knowledge of your past life . Knowing that you came back once before , do you try to end your current life in hopes of becoming something better , or try to make due with your new self ?	I remember it all now. I continued when the others begged me to stop. I felt no remorse. How could I? I was born a human, so much better, bigger, stronger than the things I killed. I had already forgotten them before they stopped burning. I did not even think of them as a `` them.'' They were things. Not worthy of being thought of as aware, of being conscious. They were there for my sick amusement, that was all there was to it. I grew up, and I had forgotten about my childish endeavors. My childish endeavors were nothing compared to what I ended up doing. Killing a small defenseless thing is something most children did. I moved up in the world. Nobody ever found out who poisoned my neighbor's dog. Nobody ever found out who the dead drifter was. Only when I became careless did they find out what I'd done. No jury is ever kind to a murderer. And now here I am, looking up to the boy with the magnifying glass, wishing I could tell him to stop, but I ca n't.
[ WP ] As people scream and fires rage around me , I think to myself , `` what a wonderful world . ''	1800 C Burning was a pleasure. That special, secret sort of pleasure when you suddenly uncover that destiny finally met duty, and they joined together in holy matrimony for the rest of your life. Fire is an agent of change, of cleansing; a mesmerizing force that melds and re-shapes everything - even minds. Behind the visor of my gasmask, the world charred and blackened, but remained beautiful... if for a few stains upon it's otherwise unblemished face. Later, when we wipe the ashes away, it will emerge even better. Stronger. United. Nothing the flames touch, remains the same, and that fact never ceased to amaze me. Fire is it's own thing, you know. It's not a toy or a tool to be taken lightly. Everyone in our Depot learned it intimately, but that made our bonds just tighter. As I rotated the nozzle regulator, I thought about the deep respect I had for the flame - after the Speech Riots of'27, it took both my legs, and I never regretted the lesson. They were protesting again - clamoring for war, for money, for dominance, some thousand people-strong crowd of losers who finally got ripped off the state's teat and could n't brandish the thought of operating independently. Blood-sucking leeches. Empty parasitic husks. Hiding behind their divisions and hate, like they always do. Behind the pretty slogans, behind their watery convictions. But they were never true soldiers, were they not? As we moved in closer on them, the crowd noticed and collapsed. Like a cheap candle trickling wax under intense heat, they broke away the moment we stopped and uncoiled the spouts. Futile. The new equipment could launch a 40-feet long kerosene stream like the bile of an enraged dragon, and we advanced in unison, dousing them relentlessly and purifying the dirt from the streets. It reminded me of my childhood at the farm - we had a problem with ant infestation, and granny would often call me in, hand a bottle of Raid, so I could spray into their anthills. The heat sipped in even through the suits' armor, a soft caring hand that massaged my locked-in muscles, as we mowed into the insurrectionists, torching the dark. Some of them ran beside me, trailing greasy smoke and screams. Hands touched the uniform, raking sizzling flesh all over the embossed flicker - they beat on my chest, but withered down as easy as burning paper. I turned the polished brass snout on the cardboard signs first ( STAY AWAY, WE WILL NOT TOLERATE, REMEMBER X ), and then slashed it lower, so the liquid stream could catch their feet aflame. A few managed to evade, slinking back in a car, leaving the rest to their imminent fate. These flames, they engulf like a tsunami wave. The sticky fire clings to their clothing and skin like the sins themselves, you know... I ran - fast and springy on the thin exo blades - and the rest of Fire Depot 562 took after me. Gato, Kowalski, Jefferson and I beelined into an alley, the heavy kerosene tank jumping behind my back like a schoolbag, the evasive tail-lights of the escaping van adding that childhood excitement to the chase. Oh, there was joy and adrenaline, the cocktail of a warm Seattle night rushing down our throats, dry with the hunt. I could feel the stuffy, ventilated air rushing into my lungs with a hiss between my parted teeth as the grin got wider and wider, refusing to go away, fusing to my face like an old burn scar. After zipping around the neighborhood, the car hit a dead-end, and I could hear them shout from within its depths - some muffled, desperate words about trial and justice and mercy. Good thing that my sense of hearing is so bad after the Civil Skirmish. I really do n't care. The duty of Fire Depots is to protect the people. We tried protecting them from bad words. We burned books. We tried to protect them from bad actions. We burned down organizations, political parties, funds and institutions, universities and news stations. Nothing good came out of it, because none of those is the cause of chaos, of the filth and the slime that pollutes our very heart. Now, we protect them from bad ideas. The 562 Depot stood by my side, their coal-black carapaces slick with the soot of tonight's raid. Bad ideas burn the brightest as the fire hungrily devours them. It ravages every crime, every hateful thought, rips into the very nature of dissent and discord, layer by layer, until the internals can no longer stand the heat. I turned the igniting dilator to max, and a torrent of fire poured outward from the spout in my hand, drowning the vehicle in its purifying glow, crumpling the figures inside. As they screamed and fire raged around me, licking the flame-proof armor, all I could think is that we finally live in a wonderful world. Evil ca n't hide from the light we lit. I could smell its dying throes even through the filter, and the wound of my smile cracked further open. Burning... burning had always been a pleasure.
[ CW ] Describe FOSS ( Free and Open Source ) software as a Shakespearean sonnet .	Come Look! Now has arrived the hour Where stark command line shows upon the screen Lights flicker and fans hum within the tower As Linux boots itself on thy machine. No shielding graphics there to hide the code No copyright bars now by force of law The grasp of those who searching every node Seek to expose each error and each flaw. And yet the cursor blinking there with pride Fears no reveal of some great secret shame When nothing is the thing you have to hide Discov ’ ry of a fault becomes a game. As free and open code becomes the norm Critique and change compound to graceful form.
[ WP ] You find out that you have the ability to slow down your perception of time , but you do n't know how to control it . It frequently happens during inconvenient or embarrassing situations .	the classical music sounded far away as time began to slow down. it felt as if i was floating through a pool of syrup as the events began to unfold. `` Not again..'' i thought to myself as i could n't help but watch. it all started simply, with a glass of wine and a charity auction. i had been wandering around alone for the majority of the black tie event. my throat had become dry, so as a normal person would do, i sought a waiter carrying a tray of gold-edge glasses of wine. as he approached me and i began to take my drink, that's when i felt something tap my shoulder and time began to slow down. as i turned around, i saw what it was. a rather angry man stood before me, his black hair disheveled and his face nearing the redness of a ripe tomato. that's when he swung at me. now, mind you, this was all happening very slowly. as his fist got nearer to my face, i began to mentally brace myself for the impact. it was sure to knock out a few teeth. it finally hit me, the pain being drawn out longer and my tooth being torn out slower. i'm sure no other man has felt this agony. falling backwards, i think of the unaware waiter behind me, and ca n't help but writhe as i think of the shards of glass that would sure be implanted in the back of my neck. i'm sure it all looked like a renaissance painting as i hit the waiter and we went down. what felt like hundreds of bees stinging me in the neck began to become prominent as i landed hard on the floor. time slowly began to get faster, and faster until the bee stings faded and it was replaced with just one large throbbing pain. i lay on the floor, slowly coming back to reality as time became its normal pace. `` Not again..'' i think to myself. ( I was high af when i wrote this lmao )
[ WP ] God accidentally gave you admin rights	Scene: College campus, lunch/break-out area after class - empty. Person 1: Dude, did you just turn that water to ice? Staring at the cup of water that's now ice Person 2: Did I? smiling with a slight smirk Person 1: Yes. yes you did. How you do that? Person 2: Well, to be honest I'm not sure. Person 1: How do you mean your not sure, you just turned water to ice. Are you god? Person 2: Not that I know of, although I did have a nightmare; afterwards all these strange things started happening. It's not the only thing I can do too. Person 1: What can you do? Person 2: I'm not sure as of yet, but watch this. Looks over to a attractive female and poof suddenly she's frozen on the spot Person 1: Is she frozen!? Person 2: Yeah. Person 1: Dead? Person 2: I hope not. Both hear footsteps walking down the corridor Person 1: Someones coming, unfreeze her! Person 2: I ca n't. Person 1: Why not!!? Person 2: I dunno, it's just not working. Person 1: Shit, we ca n't leave a random person frozen in the middle of the corridor ~ Dude, quickly. NOW. Person 2: There. Person 1: There what? She's still frozen Person 2: I froze the other guy Person 1: Why did you do that? We now have two people frozen in the corridor... She unfreezes and continues walking down the corridor as if nothing happened. Huh..?, now she's unfrozen Person 2: I did n't do that Person 1: You did n't? Person 2: Nope, maybe it wears off after a period Person 1: Well phew, but we now have the other guy frozen. I have an idea: Drag him in here and sit him down. At least we can make him look like he's asleep and then hope he unfreezes. ~
An alcoholic writes his ( or her ) suicide note . [ WP ]	The amount of time between my footsteps was longer than usual. I did n't feel as if I was moving any slower, but I must have been. My eyes followed along the cracks separating the planks of mahogany that I had defeated the previous summer. I could feel the beginnings of a smile as I remembered the feeling of pushing that final piece into place, the pain in my back and knees being lost in the relief. I realized that was the last time I had felt happiness. I reached the end of the hallway and gave a nod to the floor. “ Don ’ t take it personally. One of us had to win. This place is yours now. ” I placed my hands on the door frame, my fingers pushing against the peeling paint. I could hear the slur in my words, could smell the beer stained shirt I had been wearing for – It must have been three days now. “ You ’ re pathetic, ” I whispered as I fell to my knees, mostly due to my lack of balance. I pushed the door open and crawled into my daughter ’ s room. Her nightlight illuminated the lavender canopy bed on the far wall. I watched her sleep for about twenty minutes. I ran my fingers through her auburn curls, leaned over to kiss the softness of her scalp. There was a moment when the scent of her conditioner overpowered the Coors Light and that moment was heaven. I pushed some of the hair away from her forehead and just watched her. How could something so perfect be caused by me? I didn ’ t understand it. I ’ m not sure I could have understood it sober either. It didn ’ t matter. I made my way to her drawing desk and studied the blue elephants, red castles, and pink monster trucks that were scribbled on various pieces of paper. Despite the random colors, all of the pictures had a blue sky and a yellow sun. The blinds of her window were closed, but it was clear that dawn was still a few hours away. I looked back down to her drawings, the last sunny day I would see. I found a crayon, a brown one, and pushed the dull tip to a blank piece of construction paper. “ I ’ m sorry I was n't a better daddy… ”
[ WP ] Humanity 's last act of defiance against a more advanced and powerful alien race .	The dim light seeping through the rubble back-light the concrete dust as I drew it in with my haggard breathes. As I breathed out, my head flopped to the side. I saw him fighting with the dust with ragged breathing. His frequent coughing brought it back up, with it congealing blue blood. The light was gone. His eyes and ears were oozing into the pool around his head. I tasted metal and dust with the grit crunching against my teeth as I swallow. My right arm groped down my leg for a small pack, I pulled out the glow-ball and squeezed it. Soft light realised the area. I saw my concrete blanket embracing me from the waist down. Rebar jutted out peculiarly from his abdomen, the exoskeleton it had collapsed like a cracked Crème brûlée around it. The cracks danced around the rest of his body -- the light's shadow defining more than others. A mucusy film had begun to be secreted along some of the more significant fissures. His head turned to face me. He whimpered. His left arm scraped towards my right -- our weapons wherever. I intercepted it, he stopped. My hand embraced his claw. He whimpered. His whimpering intensified, almost becoming crying. I took my hand back. I moved it to my chest. The vest felt crispy as I ran my hand over the breast pockets, searching for the smooth cylinder. I pulled it out, weekly grasping at it. I shuffled my shoulders towards him, the movement and deep breathes spasmed my chest. I looked to his face again. My arm with cylinder approached the rubbery connection between his head skeleton and body. His breathing became more shallow, his weak crying jagged with grating sounds. I pushed it in further and pressed the button at the end. It hissed, he hissed. I moved my hand back to his as the crying became whimpering, which became silence. The glow-ball did n't dim smoothly to its death. The concrete dust fell and lay like a fine muslin atop of us.
[ WP ] Turns out the Intergalactic Convention only defines one weapon of war destructive enough to be banned everywhere : Oxygen .	`` Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me you guys actually breathe oxygen?'' `` Well, yeah. Do n't you?'' My friend Sch'rxzi waved his chitin pincers in the air dramatically on my video monitor, transmitting from 70 light-years away through Skype. `` No! What the fuck, I thought it was crazy when I found out you humans can run for more than 2 minutes at a time, now you're telling me you run off oxygen? No wonder you people are so durable, it must be the only way you do n't dissolve. '' `` It's not pure oxygen, our atmosphere is only about twenty percent oxygen.'' Sch'rxzi clacked his mandibles sarcastically, `` That's like saying your atmosphere is only twenty percent magma. `` Oh, this starship hull is only twenty percent superheated plasma, it's fine. '''' He shook his massive head, dumbfounded. `` Just, how-how does that even work?'' `` Well, first we eat other organic lifeforms and break down their molecules. Our metabolisms send the molecules to small organic factories in our bodies. When we inhale oxygen, it travels through our bodies and pulls hydrogen ions through our cells and steals the electrons, which we exhale as water and carbon waste. By pulling the electrons through the cells, it acts as a pump in our cells to drag the protons we got from other lifeforms and energy molecules, which we then release as heat energy.'' Sch'rxzi blinked twice, slowly. `` You get your energy from breaking apart molecules? What are you, nuclear suns? Where does all this oxygen come from?'' `` There's a class of organism that converts the carbon waste into oxygen.'' Sch'rxzi's mandible fell open, his expression horrified. `` Earth has a lifeform that produces oxygen? Holy shit, I hope you guys did n't expect a lot of tourists, because no one is gon na want to go to a planet that produces oxygen naturally. '' `` Well, it works out pretty well for us. What's the big deal about oxygen?'' `` The big deal about oxygen is that it's a fucking weapon of mass destruction. A single Oxygen bomb can turn a Omega-class Battle-Cruiser into a pile of slag. You can thank it's electron stealing for that. Our structures just fall apart, turned back into basic molecules.'' Sch'rxzi shuddered, tremors running up and down his crystalline thorax. `` You release a few of those in one of our atmospheres and it's good night, nurse! Some people still keep emergency body suits in their living quarters, and it's been almost 70 cycles since anyone used Oxygen as a weapon!'' `` Yikes.'' `` You better believe it. Even now, researchers have to go through eight background-checks to even think about experimenting with the stuff as an energy source. You know I work in my government, I better not be put on some kinda watch-list for talking about this with you. Not that I can blame the Intergalactic Convention for taking precautions.'' Sch'rxzi shook his head sadly. `` The Giovarn's home planet has never been the same since Galactic War II. They got hit hard. '' `` Oh, yeah, the Giovarns. What do they breathe again?'' `` They breathe methane, like sensible people. Clean-up is an absolute nightmare. The converter machines keep melting. Their planet's atmosphere is so badly contaminated I bet you could breathe it.'' Sch'rxzi jerked up suddenly, staring me in the eyes. `` Actually, you could totally breathe it.'' He swayed to one side, looking off into space, one pincer tapping his desk. I could almost see the gears turning in his head. `` What did you say your species turned oxygen into again?'' `` Water and carbon dioxide. And it's not just humans, all higher life-forms on Earth run off of Oxygen. But we also have release other forms of gas waste, like......'' I trailed off, my thoughts suddenly forming in my head. `` Like, methane.'' Sch'rxzi and I stared at each other for a moment, grins widening. He spoke first, leaning in to the monitor. `` Are you thinking what I'm thinking?'' `` I'm thinking Earth would love to have their alliance with the Intergalactic Convention start on a high note.'' `` And I'm thinking the Intergalactic Convention would love to give the Giovarns their own planet again.'' `` This.....this could be very good for Earth,'' I said, already pulling up galactic starship route data on the vid-screen. `` I'll contact some friends in Earth Command if you contact the Convention.'' Sch'rxzi tapped on his holo-keyboard, excitement showing on his face. `` This could really help things. It's not just the Giovarns, there's plenty of deserted space stations and colonies that are still too contaminated by oxygen to be repaired. And you guys literally turn the stuff into harmless water and carbon gas, just by being there. He looked up, staring at me. `` Not only that, people wo n't even be able to use Oxygen effectively as a weapon anymore. It was so devastating because it just could n't be cleaned up. But now, even if they do use it, you Humans will be around to deal with the stuff. Your converter machines wo n't melt in Oxygen, and it'll be cheap for you to deal with, because you wo n't even need body suits until you're almost done deoxidizing the area. It's perfect.'' Sch'xrzi chuckled, his body gently shaking. `` What is it you Humans say? `` I have the feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.''''
[ WP ] You 've spent the last 2 years jumping into and out of seven hundred-something bodies , living seven hundred-something lives . Today is your first day back in your own body .	Sometimes I wonder, why bother? I tell myself'it's your first home!' But no matter how bad the place I visited was, this place always seems worse. It's a lot like taking an amazing and opulent vacation and then coming back to your crappy apartment only to just then remember; 1. you did n't do the dishes before you left, 2. you left the fridge open and 3. you forgot to arrange for someone to care for your pack of pet spider monkeys, who managed to get loose. Now before you freak out, remember, it's only an expression. If I had monkeys I would make sure they were taken care of. New things have always excited me. There is such a sensation of power when you initially make the transition. It's true regardless of the physical strength that becomes available to you. Now, there's no more of that. I've had to stop. Or, more correctly, been court-ordered to stop. It was a good run. Over two years jumping to a new body each day, entering the lives of countless strangers. I miss it already. I'm really heartbroken because, I do n't think they can even tell when I've left them or how much I need them. I initially touched down in a small community. I went along for the ride, mostly. It was fun experiencing youth, even briefly. Everything else there was pretty bland concerning the two hundred or so other citizens, but it did have a sort of sublime beauty. Then on to the fear and excitement of the big city. The scandalous high life of drugs, prostitutes, and power! And that was just one politician, or was it two? Things got a little fuzzy. Guess that stuff even impacts my memory. Humans make great hosts. They have this cultural saying that's something like,'You only use X-something percent of your brain'. It's amazing they have n't figured out that, that X-something part is the transmitter and the other part is well... Their prefrontal cortex, right out front, is like the air intake on a V8 engine. If it gets the normal stuff, sure, it'll putter along. But pop some ether in and BOOM! The sensation is so elusive, the suggestions so subtle, many hosts have no idea they're no longer in control of their will. Honestly though, there are varying degrees and personally I'm totally against drastically impacting my hosts. Like anyone I've made a few mistakes. Apparently the'law' does n't take kindly to a drifter like me. They're charging me'disturbing the peace' and something like'irresponsible obstruction of the sovereign's will.' I guess you should be more careful when you're part of a race of space faring telepathic worms bent on human domination. But I think I may have just been born into the wrong species.
[ WP ] When you 're 10 your parents tell you the truth about Santa . When you 're 40 they tell you the truth about God .	My dad was in the hospital and the situation was getting a bit stressful for my wife and I. We had been paying for their bills and my wife had to quit her job so that someone would be there for all the tests and to fill out all the consent forms, and when she was not there, she was at the school getting Grady after track. Grady was expecting a scholarship much like the one his sister got, so we could n't pass up that opportunity. I sure as hell do n't want to pay that much for his tuition. Anyway, one weekend, I think it was the weekend before last, I was talking to my Dad about how Grady is looking good on getting that scholarship and I said something like, `` I hope to God that he can pull it off,'' and my dad just folded up his hands and stared at the foot of his bed. I pulled off the chickens from his bed and he said, `` What kind of a hospital is this, son?'' I was a bit confused but I took a quick at the small room and stared at his heart monitor and IV, wondering if they were working correctly. I said, `` What do you mean, dad?'' He let his hands slide off his body in exasperation and made a motion with his head at the chicken pecking the biohazard symbol on the trash bin. I did n't know what he was talking about so all I could do was shrug my shoulders and give him a rude look. He grabbed his bedpan and threw it at the chicken, but it dodged the urine soaked missile and fluttered to the small counter top and started to pull out tongue depressors and cotton balls out of the clear jars. `` Why the hell is there a chicken in my room?!'' I know I should n't have but I started yelling, I could n't take it. All the stress was eating me up and my dad was just too much right now. I screamed, `` This chicken is for you dad! You just do n't understand modern medicine! At ALL!! The chicken is here to absorb all the evil spirits that are around you! And when it is done, they cut the head off the chicken and set it on fire, then they shoot it out of a cannon into the sun, thats where Satan's pee-pee goes!'' My dad looked for something to hit me with, but all he had was the pillow he was laying on. `` There is no god, because if there were one, he would have never let you be born.'' The chicken began to make frantic noises and soon it fell off the counter and convulsed on the floor. Some of its feathers came loose and floated around the room. `` You killed it with your evil, dad. Good job.''
[ CW ] First sentence : `` The touch of the steel was cold on his skin . ''	The touch of steel was cold on his skin. He flinched. He shivered. He surrendered. `` I'm sorry, son. Winter is horrible season. I hate having to kill in the winter. The gun metal is always cold. The skin is always hot. And the Apache in me, he is fearful and superstitious.'' The sheriff slipped the walkie from his pocket. `` I have him. Three miles off Moon River Road. He was making for the canyon. I'll carry him out to Coyote Rock. Meet me there in an hour.'' He waited for the reply. `` Roger that, sheriff. Headed for Coyote Rock right now. See you in an hour.'' His deputy replied. `` Good kid, that one.'' The sheriff slipped the walkie back in the pocket of his deer hide coat. The old tanned leather was thick and tough -- tough like the sheriff. `` You can let me go,'' the prisoner argued. `` Turn your back and let me go. I'll be Mexico by sundown.'' He promised. The sheriff pulled the frosted barrel away from the prisoner's neck. It pulled a little skin from the area where it had kissed his flesh. The prisoner hissed in pain. `` You know why I hate killing men in winter? The bullet punches a perfect hole in their chest. They fall back. Steam rises from the wound like a soul escaping. I've released a lot souls, son. You're going to run. I see it your eyes. Please do n't. I do n't like seeing the souls of a dead man being carried off by the demon. It makes me nervous and fearful.'' The sheriff's weathered face moved slow. The wrinkles rose and fell around his mouth, but it was the only evidence that the words he spoke came from him. His eyes never flickered. They were sad and as cold as the ice around his gun barrel. The sky spit snow and the harsh north wind whipped it against their exposed skin, making them itch. The prisoner dropped to his knees. His hands inched toward the top of his boot. The sheriff lowered his gun. `` Do n't do it, son. The wind demon is always hungry. He'll still your soul before the devil gets it.'' `` I'm not going back.'' The prisoner said, drawing the pistol he had tucked inside. `` I know.'' The sheriff replied. His voice was as calloused as his hands and just old. They never wavered. He never worried. He waited for the fool to draw down on him. The prisoner bolted instead. The sheriff did n't get excited. He slowly raised his colt, thumbed back the hammer, and waited. The prisoner turned after a few dozen feet and raised his gun. The sheriff fired first. The ice around the end of the barrel melted from the fire. The frost shattered and fell away. The prisoner arched away and continued his spin, crying out in pain as he fell. The sheriff hung his head and made the short walk to where the body lay. He found the hole in the man's chest, rimmed in red, and watched the soul rise from the warm wound. The wind howled then, fierce and ghastly, and the sheriff swallowed hard. Wendigo, the wind demon was coming. He came and collected his fare, carrying off the prisoner's soul like a coyote with a hare. The sheriff watched it come and watched it go, reholstering his gun after. He hated killing men in the winter. He hated feeding the demon.
[ WP ] You live in a world where everyone is immortal , and your height is tied directly to your age . The older you are , the taller you are .	After a certain age when the remainging numbers of the claste are few in relative number and become destructive to the younger and more numerous part of society, they will be forced to live on giant nature preserves alongside the deadliest animals and plants on the planet, greusomely fighting to the death to survive, for the amusement of humankind. The longer someone survives, the more they are revered and treated as gods by everyone. They are the richest people on the planet. If they ever refuse to leave their temporary amusments and affairs in society to accept a survival challenge given by some sort of decision making community granted power of control over their very lives, they are brutally executed in front of the frenzied and bloodied masses.
[ WP ] You return home to find your favorite author waiting for you , accusingly holding up another author 's work that he found on your bedside table .	John Steinbeck was sitting on my bedside when I returned to my room. He was holding a copy of “ Tender is the Night ”, and when he noticed me, held it out accusingly and sorrowfully. “ You ’ ve been spending time with Scott. ” he sighed. Well maybe I had been spending time with Scott. “ Well maybe I have been spending time with Scott, ” I replied, “ But it hardly matters. ” He didn ’ t seem convinced. “ I ’ m not convinced ” he replied. “ What ’ s the trouble? ” I asked. He looked as me as if he were surprised I had the gall to ask such the question. “ I ’ m an old soul, trying with all my might to continue to sludge on through time. I don ’ t have an easy time with it. There are no more attention spans. Only small stories can be told, and so only small ideas can be sparked. Something terrible has happened here. ” I stared at him for a couple seconds before replying. “ That ’ s really sad and really probably true and all, but what has it got to do with me reading ‘ Tender is the Night ’? ” “ The words that spend time in your head begin to seep in through all the cracks of your consciousness. Don ’ t pretend that you don ’ t know that well. ” “ I haven ’ t stopped reading you. I just read ‘ Of Mice and Men ’. ” I picked my copy up from the bedside table and brandished it at him. He glared at me. “ Don ’ t veil the truth in your imagination. You picked my little book up to act as a small rest between ‘ Tender is the Night ’ and ‘ This Side of Paradise. You used me as a rest. ” I didn ’ t respond for a few seconds. “ That might be true, but that ’ s just because I ’ m on a Fitzgerald kick. It isn ’ t like I ’ m not going to get back to you. ” Robert Frost walked by the door quickly, stopping only long enough to breathlessly add “ Way leads on to way! ” before continuing on his way. John looked after him for a few moments. “ Strange man, Frost. Peculiar man. The kind of man who sighs about the endings of things that have yet to begin. ” I scoffed. “ Oh, you got that from the way he walked on past, huh? ” Steinbeck turned his infinite eyes onto my young ones and wordlessly told me hundreds of stories of suffering, of joy, of the loss of innocence, of the plowing of great fields and the love made to innumerable women, of various ethnic, religious, and spiritual backrounds. He took the tear running down my cheek as an apology, and gave me a forgiving nod. “ Frost ’ s peculiarity hasn ’ t compromised his reason. Way indeed leads on to way, and a moment can never be revisited as the same experience that it may once have been. ” “ Which is to say…? ” I traied off. “ This time in your life is enormously significant for the molding of your mind into what it may remain until the cold grave is dug for you. And you are spending it with a burn-out. ” “ He ’ s talented, what do you have against him? ” “ He ’ ll have you convinced that an explosion has greater value than the long burn of time and experience. He ’ ll have you convinced that a tragic, cynical life is the artist ’ s burden. I ’ ve paid my dues, and a hell ’ s worth more. I ought to be who you learn from. ” I felt a little ashamed then. “ After a small bit more Fitzgerald, and a little Hemingway, I promise to re-read ‘ The Grapes of Wrath ’ very slowly and carefully to spend a good chunk of time with you. ” He scoffed, but then got a far-off look in his eyes and allowed a small smile to creep into his expression. “ That would be agreeable. Enjoy your vacation. ” I chuckled. “ Thank, John. ”
[ IP ] `` At dawn..we take back our world ''	I've watched the sun set from this very rooftop a thousand times before. Not once did I feel any touch of emotion. The city's skyline glimmers in its reddish glow as the heat waves shimmer in the distance. Just like many times before. The first time I came up here was by accident, I was running from the police after being in a bar fight, I was there after a rough break up with my girlfriend who said I was emotionally distant, that was five years ago, I had come up here to hide, I never felt any emotion up here but somehoe I felt connected, like I was meant to be here someday. A year later after finding this lookout I was fired from my job as an accountant. I came here, like I always did and felt the same connection once again, I was meant to come here. I lived on what little cash I had left then resorted to menial work afterwards. I was evicted two years later from my apartment, the landlord helped me out a fair bit but just could n't keep up the charity which started to effect him as well. So I thanked him and made this rooftop my new home. Last year, I was on this very rooftop, watching the sun set when I got a call from my ex-girlfriends sister. She told me that mybex had died in a car accident and had left a note for me. She revealed she still loved me but could n't follow me down a destructive path she felt I was heading. I felt sick and stricken with guilt for not being there for her, I skipped the funeral and instead watch the sun rise, still, no emotion. I've been struggling with life ever since. I beg. I plead. And I hustle for survival. But it always seems as though a cruel god is playing me for a joke. I look down at the city below. Like a miniature scale of a replica before my eyes forty stories down. I look up one last time at the sun as it sets. I smile and finally feel the emotion burst out of me. I'm alive. But it's too late. I fall to my end. I'm connected to this place. I was meant to be here.
[ WP ] When you die , you are given the chance to flip a coin . If you call the toss correctly , you are allowed to keep living , while resetting to the age of your choice . You 've been doing this for a couple centuries now . Death is starting to get pretty pissed .	( Gave myself a week to work on this and now the week is up so... here? ) While you see nothing but blackness, you feel the chilling cool breathing down your neck. You see the icy white fog appear and disperse from behind you, mixing into the darkness and turning it a grayish mist. A thin bony hand reaches over and lays itself firmly on your shoulder before piercing it through the bone. `` This...'' it hissed, echoing into the seemingly endless distance, `` is getting old...'' You shrug and turn around to face death. His hood dangled on the edge of his shoulder blades, his clean and smooth skull somehow gave off an exhausted look. He groaned and reached a hand from behind his back to produce a rusted quarter. `` Heads or tails'', it hissed like a dying rat. You pick heads. He tosses the coin into the air and lets it fall to the ground, which felt like an eternity. It landed and came up heads. Death groaned. `` This is getting out of hand'', he gritted, pale liquid, seeping out through his teeth. He snapped his fingers and everything went black. You awake to the sound of mumbles and faint crying. You open your eyes, blinded by the light so close to your face. A flashlight. You wave the physician's hand and get on your feet. You brush your robes off and approach your audience of stunned faces and covered mouths. You attempt to speak despite the intense pain and rasp in your throat `` I told you I knew him...''
[ WP ] You 're the hero knight of a kingdom that has betrayed you . Write his revenge story .	Nothing like a good axe. I know songs are sung about swordsmen, and holy crusaders love their maces, but Gods is there anything better than cleaving through a skull or taking away an arm with one smooth cut? There goes another head. Another little sword falls to the ground. My men have swords, pikes, spears, anything we could take, but I still have my axe. I fought the eastern tribes with this axe. I served my king for decades with it, cleaving apart wildmen and heretics alike. And what did I get for it in the end? The blame for a small uprising that cost the prissy nobility some coins. The king wants me to be a villain? So be it. Another thing about an axe, you ca n't defend. That man bleeding on the ground, begging his God for help? He tried to defend. My axe crushed through and split his chest open. You want to kill? You attack. You do n't cower, you push ahead and kill. That's why I'm running up these stairs to the throne room, that's why the king's guard are bleeding at my feet, and that's why the king is cowering behind his throne soaked in his own urine. Gods, I love a good axe.
[ WP ] You wake up in a hospital and have no idea how you got there . A nurse comes in and tells you the surgery was a success , and hands you a mirror . You look in the mirror and are horrified by what you see	I wake up from what feels like an eternal hangover. My limbs are rippling with numbness alongside pins and needles. People are whispering in the room and it's nearly too loud for me to bear. Upon the attempt to open my eyes I'm met by darkness - bandages. Confusing as it may be, I feel nearly peaceful except for having an extremely satisfying nap interrupted by the lively world. A feminine voice riddles and dances quietly in circles around the room joined by clicks of drawers opening and closing alongside what I can assume are medical instruments being pulled out. Men are standing in the opposite corner grunting and agreeing with positive bouts of `` uh huh'' and the occasional `` wow''. I tune in with my groggy, foggy hearing to check whether I'm here for a reason. The woman seems to be going over the process and procedure of a surgery.... What did I get surgery on? I feel my pulse beat harder and hear the monitor beep higher. My fingers twitch with what feels like a frustrating handicap holding me back. `` Hello.'' The room goes silent. I ca n't hear anything except my heartbeat shufflung within my veins. I hear taps of soft soled shoes click towards me and a chair roll nearer my bed. `` I am the surgeon that just performed your procedure.'' She whispered this in a hushed voice inches from me. My fingers played and rubbed each other with anticipation. I took a moment to muster words in my vocal chords. `` Is bad?'' The woman breathed softly. She comforted me and held my arm. `` You did n't do anything bad, and we did n't either. We did something fantastic.'' ``... What did..?'' I felt her grip on my arm soften and slide away. I heard the slow series of clicks from a dial beside me and the deterioration of blood speed in my veins at the same time. Something was unclipped from my head ( which I realized had a splitting headache ) and my bandages immediately loosened up. `` I'm going to have to put these back on later, enjoy the light for now.'' I closed my eyes tighter. It was far too bright in this room for me. My headache split me in half and I yelled in pain and misery. My heart monitor went haywire for 3 seconds as I had. `` Ril- uh, please, tell me the last thing you remember.'' `` No.'' `` Please.'' `` No... thing.'' `` Okay. Open your eyes.'' I slowly and ever so gradually peaked out from my shelter of shade. My headache pounded and cracked my skull repeatedly. The doctor handed me a medium sized compact mirror. My simple functioning hands could not pop it open and I pushed it to her. With some assistance, it was opened. But I.. I was n't inside. It was somebody else. Someone familiar. `` Do you know who you are?'' ``..No.'' `` Your name?'' I gave myself a minute. ``... Daniel..?'' She looked as if her own heart had dropped from her hands and popped as it hit the floor. Her eyes were aching. `` Daniel... you're making history - but you're the only one to make history like this.'' `` What did.. I do?'' `` We performed surgery. Daniel, you're an organ donor. Donors in our state - we are legally allowed to USE the organs. You had the clearest resemblance I mean - to Riley, your original owner of the body.'' My heart turned black. I was getting sloppy seconds on a dead, used body. `` Daniel, you committed suicide. You have another chance now and a blank slate.'' I remembered the night before I fell to my eternal sleep - I was driving fast - towards the side of the bridge. It overlooked a lake and I'd wanted to end life for good. I only caused bad things and hurt people. I took a sharp turn as I was being cut off to make a break for the water - I hit Riley - his head slammed into the windshield and knocked him brain dead. My airbag burst and broke my nose - I could n't see and I hit the pillar of the bridge. My car smashed my body. `` I ca n't live.. in him.'' The doctor looked at me with hurting eyes trying to settle herself. `` I'm-... I understand.''
[ WP ] An author who falls madly , deeply , in love with their character ...	I start with the eyes, deep hazel. I could stare into them for hours, they seem to penetrate my very being. My soul. They see me for who i truly am. Deep auburn hair that caresses against my cheek when i hold you close. A faint sweet fragrance fills my nostrils if only for a second. A smile that could light up the darkest room, nothing but good in your heart, you to me are perfect in every way. I know you could never hurt me... On purpose. So cruel the world to deprive me of you. This is all i have left. My homage to you. It could never do you justice. I cant think clearly while your suspended, neither living nor dead, stuck in an unfinished ink prison. I know what i must do. I must write what might have been, what should have been. I will write us the ending i know we could have had, the ending that we deserve. I miss you.
[ WP ] Write a letter to someone you used to love	Alex - I see you every day, and after all these years I just want to say I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in the life you lead and how you treat yourself and others. I remember back in the day, when you talked and dreamed big and said you would be going to Cornell, or Yale, or Brown, or some Ivy League school and you'd be graduating the top of the class. You were always going on and on about how you were gon na take the world by storm, you were gon na be someone, you were gon na be a contender. Nowadays, you're going to a community college and living with your dad, looking for a way out. I remember when you would talk about heading out west - `` I'll just drive until I run out of gas, and then I'll walk until I run out of leg.'' I wonder if you still want to do that, and I wonder why you have n't yet. I remember the first poetry you wrote, and how god awful it was, and how you knew it was garbage - but it was your garbage, and by god you loved it. I read your poetry now, and it's less garbage, and it's getting better, but you are still so hard on yourself. Of course it's not perfect yet, you're still young and have a life to live. I see you look at your girlfriend with those big old eyes of yours, and how you tell her that she's the world to you. Alex, I see in your eyes there are galaxies, and I see fear in her eyes sometimes - after all, what's a world to a galaxy? You've got aspirations. I do n't know what they are. I do n't think you know either. But for God's sake, instead of sitting here writing a response to a prompt on reddit, try being people again. Alex
[ WP ] Everyone was expecting the Zombie Apocalypse , but what no one saw coming was the Skeleton Apocalypse !	Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tom shut his eyes and furiously rubbed his temples. He had n't slept in the last 63 hours and needed to think. People were counting on him. This is bullshit: how did things get so far gone that he was in charge? He had been phoning it in for the last year, just a hair's breath away from retirement. Bullshit. Too many people trying to play hero, getting themselves killed. Life was n't a cartoon. `` So what is this? What's going on?'' he breathed. Jerry diverted his eyes from the monitor to the television, to the only news station still broadcasting. Lots of amateur video of specimens attacking people, pulling them apart. You could tell things were bad when they did n't even bother to censor the videos. `` Well, it looks like the apocalypse.'' `` I know it's the apocalypse, but what are we looking at? What are these things?'' Jerry shrugged. `` I do n't know, skeletons? They look like skeletons.'' `` That does n't make any sense. How can skeletons move? They do n't have any tendons or muscles, or anything! Stop bullshitting me!'' Tom growled. `` How the hell am I supposed to know? You asked me what they look like and I told you.'' Tom glared at Jerry, then turned his attention down the corridor. Scratch, scratch, scratch. They had to do something; that much is clear. On his last trip to the restroom, Tom had made the mistake of glancing out the window. He was met with rows of empty sockets staring into him, as more of those things scraped their way across the parking lot. The memory caused him to shiver. `` I'm getting some coffee,'' Tom grumbled, and he walked out of the office towards the break room. He poured himself another cup, and took a swig of Carol's last contribution to the earth. Disgusting, but then so was Carol. Tom wondered how big her skeleton would be, when she turned into one of those things - and that's when he felt a pair of jaws around his ankle. Tom flailed around in a desperate attempt to dislodge the teeth. With a yelp he got free, and Tom quickly hobbled back to the control center before he slammed the door behind him. He looked down at his leg. It figured – the end of the world and his lucky socks were now the first blood-stained casualty he was responsible for. Jerry looked over at Tom. Then at Tom ’ s leg. “ Do you think it was hungry? ” he asked. “ No, it just wanted something to gnaw on. ” Tom replied. He was getting too old for this shit, and he wasn ’ t a chew toy. Scratch, scratch, scratch. The two paused, taking a moment to listen to the sound. It was inescapable, slowly rising above the sound of the monitors only to fade back into the noise. “ That ’ s it. That ’ s what we need! ” Tom yelled, startling Jerry. “ Open the doors, open all the fucking doors! ” He raced out of the room and into the corridor, where he started to wildly throw open one door after the other. “ Stop! ” Jerry yelled, racing after Tom. “ What are you doing? Are you insane? ” “ They want something to gnaw on, so let ’ s give it to them! ” As Tom neared the main exit, he felt something cold and wet run down his neck. He paused, and touched it gently with his hand. Looking behind him, he saw Jerry holding a pair of scissors, a strange expression lit up his face. Why was he so afraid? Tom stumbled backwards, falling against the exit door open as he did. It cracked open, and he landed on his back with a thud. A sea of empty sockets stared down at him, and the sound of creaking bones grew to a raucous din as his vision faded. With his last breath, Tom saw a mass of fur fly out of the building towards the sea of bones, and he smiled. It was all going to work out, after all. And that ’ s how Jerry, a simple animal control specialist, ended the skeleton apocalypse.
[ WP ] It 's December , and you 've just died in a car crash . You try to talk God into reviving you , so you can watch The Force Awakens .	God stared at me for what seem an eternity after hearing my request. `` Seriously?'' he replied in a completely sad voice. `` Of all the reasons to return to the land of the living. Kissing friends goodbye. Helping the poor. Writing a book about speaking with god. You want to go back so you can watch a goddamn movie? It's not even that fury road film in which I played the bad guy.'' `` But gooooood, come on I'm only 8'' I replied. `` Okay Kid'' God said. `` Im sending you back but just remember your parents and your sister died too. I wonder who's going to take an orphan with third degree burns out of intensive care to watch a film. Good luck with that.''
[ CW ] write about death , without using the word death , any euphemisms or other words directly related to death .	Not cold, as advertised, but an otherworldly touch. Starting in his toes and the very tips of his fingers there was the distinct feeling of nothing. Wholly unlike numbness, it was an acute sensation. He could actively feel the void that was occupying the fringes of his body. It crept inward. Like the heat of the day erasing a morning snow, the void melted the living tissue into a trickle of nothingness adding to the vacuum. The feeling had consumed most of his arms and legs and had begun to encompass his head. As it delved deeper, he got progressively duller. This new sensation, much like being sleepy, caused his thoughts to come much slower than normal and made him less attuned to his situation. At this point, much of his torso had been swallowed up. The void was encircling his heart. He no longer had any knowledge of his environment; he was just a body floating in blackness. He could feel his heart beating hard like a hammer in his chest as if trying to push back. The beating started to slow rapidly and then stop. As if this was its cue, a wave of darkness washed over his entire body, and he was no more.
[ IP ] The Ancient One	`` Human, you do not have the strength to give me a challenge, why have you come?'' `` I seek your head, demon! You killed my fiance.'' `` Ah yes, the women from the other day. She was n't either worth the effort of digesting, completely terrible. Do you know why she came here Human?'' `` Yes, to beg for your mercy. She wished you to not assault our village anymore, she was prepared to die.'' `` Very good Human, now tell me, are you prepared to die as well?'' `` Would I have came here if I was n't?'' You certainly do n't lack for confidence Human, I'll give you that. I promised the women in exchange for her life I would not harm your village. She was a brave one. Now, if you still wish to challenge me Human, I shall honor that request, but you will die. Do you want to me your fiance's fate? Or do you wish to live on and avenge her?'' `` I....uh..'' `` Leave this place Human. Go hone your skills, and in time, come back and challenge me to truly avenge her. I look forward to that time.'' With that, the man turned his back and left, to follow the snake's advice.
[ WP ] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account . However , the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed .	I set my cell phone on my desk, screen up so I could see the screen light up when I received a text. They were on their way, and I could n't give them any more excuses. `` You know what we did to that poor bastard from Nova Scotia?'' Ty had said before he gave me the shit. I nodded with a dry swallow. They said the murder had been the most brutal they had seen since Eighty Five in the newspapers. `` Good,'' said Ty, `` then I do n't have to explain what I'll do with this.'' The gangster gestured to the claw hammer, laying near his hand like a judge's gavel. I shook my head and took the dope. That had been three weeks ago. They had wanted their money in two. There was no way I could get my hands on a gun, but I did have the button. With the button, I could pay them off. I took the button out of the closet and set the box that contained it in front of me. My phone lit up. Ty again, trying to coax my address from me. It was only a matter of time, he knew the general area. I could almost see them getting into my apartment complex and knocking on every door until they found me. Then I would be as dead as that Canadian. Just like I could be if I pressed the button. I drank, hoping the whiskey would bring me liquid courage, but it only made me passive. Slowly, the lottery time drew near, as did my murderous partners. I heard the squealing of tires, just a few minutes shy of midnight. Before I could look out the window, the front door was buzzing my apartment. `` You're fucking dead, kid,'' Ty growled through the intercom. I could hear them stomping up the stairs as the the clock struck midnight. They were pounding on my door and hollering my name. I pressed the button.
[ WP ] Write a totally indulgent wish-fulfillment fantasy story .	My cellphone shakes against my head, even under my pillow it's annoying. The vibrations are so frequent I'm sure it's a phone call, someone found my resume on Careerbuilder.com or worse, indeed.com. I blink a few times. The spotlight of the cellphone's screen wakes me completely, notification after notification pops up. They are all from Medium and my inbox, exploding with fanfare about the latest piece I've written. It was n't one of my better ones in my opinion, but my opinion does n't pay the bills or get attention. It does n't stop through my half-hearted breakfast of steeped loose leaf tea and CNN, nor does it stop through my lunch. I pull out my laptop, attempting to respond and thank some of the people who've taken their precious time to read the words I've vomited on the screen. One of them has to be mean, one of them must hate it- so I scroll. There are mediocre reviews, sure, but no hate speech- nothing to worry about. The emails are even better; tweets and facebook posts about my writing are present too, everyone is congratulating me. Agents have requested pieces I've written before but have n't had the time to edit, and there's one blinking message. It's a little orange circle with a one on it over that silly Instagram icon. She's sent me a message, the girl, the one, so I flick it open, ignoring everything else, and all it says is: `` I'm proud. I made a mistake, you were right.'' Everything is fluff from that point on. The agents bug me about numbers but I do n't care all that much after my costs are covered for a year or two. A few movie producers call interested in the film options but I sick my agent on that demanding the best balance of talent and money while also granting a cameo for myself in a minor role. I toss out a few new ideas, I've written a few terrible songs should we release those? What about guest writing for a few shows, Arrow needs some help after all- but at the end of the day. When everything has wound down, I pull that message back up and reread it over and over and marvel at the sheer number of eyes my piece has had on it. This world is something far better than I could have dreamed. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Not much of a story but certainly wish-fulfillment! Thanks for reading!
[ WP ] The door to the attic 's locked . Always has been , always will be . At least , besides last night .	I heard footsteps on the stairs around midnight. I did n't think anything of it; it's been that way my entire life. The locked door, the imagined stairs leading to the unseen attic, the restless footsteps at night. Comforting in its familiarity; an auditory night light. I asked mom about them once, she changed the subject. Said it was n't a topic for little girls' ears, and not to ask again. And for my part, I have n't. I put it out of my mind for a while, but when I was eleven, curiosity got the better of me. The attic door is next to my bedroom, I share a wall with the stairs. My ceiling is the attic floor, a few inches of lath and plaster to separate the known and unknown. I sat up one night, waited for the footsteps to start. When they did, I tapped on the ceiling, `` shave and a haircut.'' The footsteps stopped, I did n't hear them again for a week. And even then, there was no reply. But every night, around midnight, `` shave and a haircut.'' When `` two bits'' finally came in response, three weeks later, I did n't know what to do with myself. I laid back down in bed, stared up at the ceiling in wonder. Whatever was up there, it heard me. That was how it started. `` Shave and a haircut.'' When I got older, I started playing music for the thing in the attic. I did n't know what he liked ( I had always thought of him as a'he,' even before we began communicating ), so I played a little bit of everything. The Beatles, Wagner, Nirvana, Little Richard, Lady Gaga- I did n't want him to be lonely. My mother hated it. Did n't know why I insisted on sitting up until all hours, playing music alone in my room. She asked me about it once over the breakfast table. I shrugged and said it was n't a topic for mothers' ears. She pursed her lips, but did n't press the topic. Every night, I played an album and waited for the flurry of taps from the thing in the attic. But the attic door remained locked, the thing remained an unknown. Until last night. Midnight, steps on the stairs. And then the creak of rusted hinges, footsteps in the landing. My bedroom door, opening. My name, whispered. Annalise....
[ WP ] We finally make contact with aliens . Turns out they 've been avoiding us for years , because we were considered terrifying .	The alien ship landed in front of the excited crowd. Thousands of people from around the globe were present, while countless people watched online. Various world leaders stood ready to greet the aliens, along with examples of earths foodstuffs, fauna, art etc... The doors of the ship opened, and three reptilian creatures disembarked. The head alien began speaking into a small device that amplified and translated their grunts and clicks into words that all could understand. `` Inhabitants of the planet Tellus, we come on behalf of the Intergalactic Confederation. We have been observing you for some time now, and since it seemed that within a few decades you would have had sufficient spacefaring technology to discover us, we decided to visit first. We come bearing a message of great import for your planet and your species.'' The crowd began to murmur, and in the background various militaries began to prepare to strike if necessary. Humanity held its collective breath, wondering what judgement was about to be passed on them. `` Inhabitants of Tellus, from our observations over the years we have discovered that you are evolved as a predatory species. You are built as hunters, using your strength, skill, and intelligence to dominate your planet. You display endurance that we have not ever seen before, able to take massive injuries and survive. We have observed you purposefully cutting into one another, and then the individual cut into will walk away days later fine. Your weapons capabilities are honestly frightening, as you have utilized atomic weapons without having to evacuate the planet due to radiation. Moreover, you continually subject yourselves to a strange auditory torture, in which you blast hypnotic sound waves directly at yourselves, finding what we take to be a painful cacophony to be enjoyable. In short, all of you are absolutely insane. Your species is nigh indestructible, you've subjugated your deadly fauna and flora, and now you're headed into space at a point in your species development that is unreasonably early. Since you lunatics are going to be coming for us soon, the Intergalactic Federation would like to offer up its surrender in advance, and install Tellus as the capital and seat of power. We will give you five years in which to determine who among you shall rule. That is all.'' With that the aliens left, while a stunned humanity tried to process what it had been told. Immediately, wars broke out across the globe, as various powers tried to claim the right to galactic rule. The aliens watched from above. `` Hopefully this will set them back from space travel long enough for all of us to evacuate across the universe. I tell you what, I do n't want to be anywhere near these madmen.''
[ WP ] On their twentieth birthday , each person must face their demons in combat . You pass , you live , you fail , they take you . Today is your twentieth birthday .	Twelve who the hell came up with the age. I'm not even a teenager and now I have to fight to the death. `` Fuck this!'' I screamed at the Priest throwing my pen across the room. I do n't want to sign my life away. I do n't want to go into combat. I want to live but not in a world with this kind of'coming of age ritual'. The Priest smiled calmly returning the pen to the base of the document. `` As soon as you sign the faster this will be over, one way or another''. I sighed pulling my will and testament closer `` this is bull shit'' I signed my name. `` Let's get this over with'' The elevator was small and wooden. Blessed wood nothing could touch me while I was in side. Weapons lined the back wall. The long sword caught my eyes the metal seem to glow a bright blue, it almost looked like ice. Next to it was a spear with a black shared tip magma seemed to live in its heart, it was warm to the touch. Next there were daggers rust coloured metal they were the length of my forearms and had speaks of green folded insides them. Last there was a gold chain the length was unknown to me but it was the lightest of the four, and the only one I could carry. If I'm going to die I'm going to go out fighting and on my terms I said and lifted the chain. The elevator doors opened to the arena my demon was no where to be seen. The pit in the centre was open. Soon my foe would crawl its way up and attack. I circled the pit and attached the chain to the edges creating a kind of cross hatching. I sat down, waiting, this is it. My heart sank in my stomach. A loud cry called to me as the beast ascended into the arena. It's claws catching the chains. It ran towards me pulling the chains along with it. It twisted and spun towards me. A shadow demon just my luck. Please let this work, I pleaded and ran toward the end of the Arena pulling the end of the chain. The demon raced after me screeching. Closer, closer. The elevator shaft, almost there jumping down. The shadow demon could stop in time and sailed over my head. I got it, I killed it, I'm falling. Fuck. Edit, whoops I went literal sorry Edit 20 not 12 last time I post sleep deprived
[ WP ] A hospital where all video game characters go when they lose a life .	He stumbled into the place which, unfortunately, he was much too familiar with. After all that's what one got by having a player 2 younger brother as their controller. He pulled off his half-ripped green capped and let out a sigh, walking over to the Section-Mario Travellator. There were a few more of him in front and he felt their pain, as they did, his. His name was Maxwell; well atleast that's what he liked to think his name was; no one had ever given him one. He'd been around for a long time - about thirty years now and as new characters had made their entrance the amount of him's and Mario's had decreased considerably. There had even started to be down times where the travellator would be empty. He wished that he had n't signed that half a decade contract now - he had been stupid at time, having thought, just about a steady source of income and something tolerable to do. At the time, being Luigi had been great - there were not many games around and to get a job like that meant you had made it big time and got away from the crowd of unemployed. Maxwell had been given the advice to sign up for a negotiable 5 - Year Luigi contract, however, he had n't even bothered to think about it. What if there was nothing left to do after the years were complete? He could n't bare to live without a controller. Now, being a Gen-1 version, he could only travel through the original eight worlds, which he could get through, blindfolded, if only, it was n't for the stupid kids, getting him to jump into a missile or get humiliated at the face of a turtle. The travellator finally came to an end and Maxwell stepped into one of the many revival machines, which, to the controller would appear as a loading screen. Syringes jabbed themselves into his arms and chest as he closed his eyes. This was the best sensation a character could feel and it never ever got boring, not even after thirty years. Soon enough, it was all over and he felt himself respawn into world 2. The controller began to maneuver him through the obstacles slowly. Half a level passed. No injuries yet. Nothing. Not even a close-to-death experience. Something like this almost never happened. Maxwell was ahead of the Mario in the group. He had been able to get the star. This could n't be a secondary controller, he thought. This guy knew what he was doing. It was absolutely brilliant. He raced up top the stairs and jabbed the flag, right at the top. He had made it through the complete level. Perhaps there was hope after all...
[ WP ] Whilst working for a major animation studio , you discover their darkest secret . That all animated characters are actually alive and they have been kept in captivity all this time to perform at the studio 's will .	The dinner was splendid, table decorated with all manners of quality meals, servants scuttling around to cater to all our wants. But what made this dinner special was that it was in the mansion of Walt Disney himself and I was lucky enough to not only be a guest, but to be seated right next to the man. `` You know, Walt?'' I said. `` I sort of miss Donald Duck. He is n't showing up in animations anymore. What gives?'' Walt laughed. `` Yes, his merchandise was n't selling well so we had to cut him.'' `` Shame,'' I said. I took a mouthful of delicious food. `` By the way, this is some mighty good duck stew.''
[ WP ] In a future where cloning is possible and inter-clone marriage has just been ratified in the US , you 're the mother of a bride who 's about to be the first woman to marry herself .	Eleanor was trying to be happy for her daughter. Her only child's upcoming wedding was only a week away. To her friends and family, Eleanor appeared to be the proud, excited mother of a beautiful girl soon to be wed, but no matter how hard she tried, she could n't truly be happy for Annabelle. Eleanor was always proud of her daughter. She was smart, independent, and wildly ambitious. Annabelle found success in almost everything she tried, love seemed to be the only exception. The absence of a partner for most of Annabelle's life was certainly not due to a lack of suitors. Boy's and girls alike vied for her attention since grade school. A few were lucky enough to be considered as `` friends'', but no one had ever been able to call her their girlfriend. As High School and college passed, Eleanor had certainly noticed that her daughter had still never been in a relationship, but Annabelle was doing so well with everything else in her life, she never let herself worry about it. So when her daughter called her out of the blue six months ago, and told her she was engaged, it was quite a shock.
[ WP ] You have the power to stop time , and freely move while doing it . However ... Creature come out when you do so .	The first time it happened, it was an accident. Watching her mother being hit by a car, Mila had frozen all of time in her horror. That was when the creature first had spoken to her, hidden in the shadows and revealing only yellow eyes that were at once scary and inviting. He had tried to tell her it was pointless, that it was already too late. She would ’ ve had to be faster to save her mother, freezing time before the car had hit. It is hard to measure time when time is frozen, but it felt like forever before Mila could accept that the creature spoke true. She had cried herself dry, begged of all gods and devils she knew, including the mysterious creature in the shadows. She had tried to attack it, but a terrible screech and a painful scratch on her face had driven her back. Finally, she had accepted that freezing time only gave her more time, not the ability to change what had already happened. She had allowed time to start again, watched her mother skid across the street and finally lie still while life continued around her body. After that, Mila would freeze time just to get away from the people who took care of her. Overbearing and annoying, suffocating her with their words and their hugs, and not one of them her mother. Each time, the creature would be there to welcome her. When her caretakers started giving up, tiring of her rejections, she would freeze time in boredom. And the creature would welcome her. Time passed while time stood still, and gradually the creature came out of the shadows. Then the boy followed. “ I ’ m Nate ” he had said in the creature ’ s voice, while the black cat had measured her with the creature ’ s yellow eyes “ Please don ’ t hurt me ”. “ Why would I hurt you? ” “ It ’ s what people do. ” “ I promise I won ’ t. ” And so their friendship had begun in earnest. Nate showed her how much fun it could be, when no one could stop you from skating down the street or eating whatever you wanted. No one cared if they lay on the grass in the sun all day, or if the football hit a parked car. Or a frozen person. Nate was full of life and joy in the frozen time, but never wanted to answer question about what he did or where he was while time was moving. Sometimes, he would have bruises or walk with a limp, but he always seemed to forget about it when they started playing. “ Let ’ s just stay a little longer. ” He would say. “ It ’ s not like they know they ’ re waiting ”. Always the sight of the frozen people would get to her, wondering where they were going and what they were doing, and how many mothers the drivers would kill. Eventually she would always go back to where people were telling her what do to, but the more time she spent in frozen time the less real time felt like reality. One day at school she was yelled at for not paying attention, and was given pointless sentences to write while the rest of her class went out to play. They wouldn ’ t play with her anyway, so that didn ’ t bother her. But she hated wasting time on pointless things. She could be doing whatever she wanted, not what someone else told her. So she froze time, got up and left the school. She had walked to the open field where she would play with Nate and his cat, but only the cat was there. She sat down next to the ball of fur and waited, and waited. Finally, he came to their meeting place. Limping worse than ever, his nose broken and black and blue all over. He fell down at her feet and rolled over onto his back with a groan. “ Don ’ t make me go back. ” His voice was thin and begging, tears streaming from his closed eyes. So Mila took his hand and held it carefully in both of hers while she made a decision. If they stayed in the field she wouldn ’ t have to look at frozen people, and the people would never know that their lives had paused indefinitely. She took a breath and squeezed his hand softly. “ I promise I won ’ t. ”
[ WP ] Santa Claus and the Grim Reaper are the same person	Eagerly I set out brightly decorated cookies on the hearth in hopes that he will come. He always brings the best gifts, the best experience, and the best joy in the family. The time spent together before Christmas provides the strongest bond. We play games, we laugh. My friend is sad. Holiday blues? Now it's time. Which one of us is lucky enough to receive the gift? -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- I slowly set out the cookies on the hearth. He always brings horror, the worst feelings, and despair. The time spent before Christmas is a forced happiness that can only be fabricated by the blind. We talk, we act. My friend is happy. Is he oblivious? Now it's time. Which one of us is to be taken?
[ WP ] I got called in to work on my day off to sell to a customer who is 45 minutes late . Tell me a story .	Sao-wei Owen Welsh gazed up at the metal monster with a sense of hushed awe. By most reckonings the machine was tiny, only weighing a mere 20 tons; the lowest tier of normal battlemechs in the Inner Sphere. It still wore the Liao green factory paint scheme it had been commissioned with, the exposed metal fittings gleaming to a brilliant sheen. It's feet were didacty with a rear face digit to steady itself. The thinly armored legs gave it what the general public called a chicken-walker appearance. Unlike the battlemechs from a little under a century ago, the armor plating and silhouette of the machine was angular and sharp, no smooth plates or weapon housings like the Yu Huang assault mech which entered service in 3060. The armored cockpit glass was nestled between the low slung'shoulders' of the machine, a set of sensors and targeting arrays just in front of it. Behind it was fixed a slanted comm antenna. On the stubby left arm was a pair of green lensed ER medium lasers, together capable of burning more than a half ton of armor in a single burst of energy. Unlimited in its firing capacity due to it siphoning energy from the Rawlings fusion engine, the only factor was its heat output and need to recharge between bursts. On the right arm was mounted a Ceres Arms Crusher Plasma Rifle with two tons of ammunition for the gun. Quite possibly the most versatile weapon on the modern battlefield, the plasma rifle combined the best features of a laser with the qualities of a flamer. Capable of overheating battlemechs with burning plasma, the same ability made it lethal to infantry and normal vehicles. It was not unknown to burn entire platoons of infantry alive with a single shot and to turn tanks and other vehicles into melting deathtraps. Capable of running at 86 kilometers per hour, and able to mount a multitude of different weapons configurations, the GN-20* Gùn was unmatched in versatility. Named after the most basic of the four traditional weapons of China, the humble wooden staff, the Gùn was designed from the very start to assist in infantry combat, its modular nature allowing it to meet a myriad of threats while the OmniMech build allowed ease in transporting battle armor. That was n't to say it had it's downsides. But any weakness was intentional or else inherent in the weight class. An Extra-Light Gyro brought that crucial piece of equipment to an airy half ton, whilst the designers shaved a full ton from the cockpit area. Both made sacrifices in doing so. The fragile gyro took up more space in the torso, increasing the likelihood of damage to it, but the mere three and half tons of Ceres Standard armor was so little that any weapon capable of damaging the XL gyro would more than likely destroy the Gùn. By cutting the normal weight of a cockpit by thirty-three percent, they also impacted pilot comfort and ability, the tight confines of the cockpit impeding most MechWarriors slightly. It was closer to a Second World War fighter pilot's cockpit than anything else, no creature comforts or luxuries. Even with such negatives, there was no denying one fact, that the sacrifices allowed the Gùn to carry half its weight in weapons, a full ten tons of armament. Few machines its weight could boast such percentages. And perhaps most importantly of all to the young MechWarrior, it was his.
[ WP ] A ghost enjoys entering people 's homes to scare them . Until one day he saw something that haunts him .	All my life I was a straight arrow. Tax returns filed early, speed limits obeyed, every t crossed, every i dotted and every sunday spent at church. The big guy must have appreciated it because he gave me the perfect afterlife. Ghosts have no concerns and suffer no consequences. So naturally i've spent my six days of afterlife screwing the rules. First I found the legal thief my ex wife hired. I made his kitchen knives float and twirl through the air. Then I made him watch as they flew out the window and scratched his ferrari to bits. Then i found a tsa agent. Every time he blinked i painted threats on his walls in red paint. I told him to go to 12 cherry tree drive which was a gay club..... You can guess the rest. My plan was to hover up to DC and posses the head of the IRS. I would funnel all the taxes I ever paid to the foxy boxes strip club. Those girls did more for me than these suited muggers ever could. But first I wanted to visit my beloved daughter. The one person in the world that didnt push me around. It was while floating into my daughters home that I saw him. Not quite in his twenties he was more boy than man. He was there when it happend... I rememberd the glint of steel and the searing pain in my chest. In my mind I saw him crying as he killed me. My transparent head filled with questions. What was he doing here!. Did he come to kill my daughter? and why did he hate me so much?. Floating after him I ascended the stairs and stopped at her door. A strange instinct told me not to kill him yet. Something was very odd here. The youth knocked on her door and whispered my daughter's name. I drifted through the wall in time to see her reaction. She lept out of bed and grabbed her phone. I was relieved to see her call the cops then hang up. In spite of the situation I smiled. She always was a clever girl. Bravely she ran to the door and flung it open. 'Hey baby'' the sick bastard opened his arms as if expecting a hug. My Daughter ran into his arms, wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him deeply. `` So is he gone?'' she whisperd in his ear. The boy went deathly pale at this. `` Yeah he's dead''. `` Good. You should be happy now that all that money is ours sweetie. In fact lets celebrate'' I couldnt believe this. My own daughter was celebrating my murder. Worse it seemed like she planned it!. He started shaking and went to say something but she put one finger on his lips. `` Now let me freshen up'' Saying this she skipped merrily into the bathroom. In shock I followed her wanting to confront her and ask how this happend. But she could n't hear me. I watched as she put on a latex glove and pulled a knife from the medicine cabinet. With her arm held out at an odd angle she slashed herself across the chest. The cut was shallow but long. And exactly where he cut me. At the sound of sirens she bounced back into the room. The boy was understandably shocked to see the blood. She just kissed him again as she quickly slipped the bloody knife into his hand. Then she screamed. It all happebd so fast the cops burst in the door tazing the boy. My daughter broke into tears giving them the predictable story. The boy was carted off and sent to prison for homicide and attempted homicide. Of course he escaped the chair. I dont mean he won a legal battle. The electric chair shorted out and in the darkness he mysteriously dissapeared. So now it's just me and my murderer. And we want justice.
[ WP ] Humans were originally designed as cheap , efficient , easily-reproducible and moldable soldiers in galactic wars . However , after an `` animal rights '' group won legislature in the United Galaxy , all humans were dumped on the reservation planet , Earth , and forgotten about . A millenia later ...	At the end of all wars, any civilized society desires to move away from the machinations of bloody conquest The last war of the Galactic Federation was one of extinction. The Halcyon race came from far beyond the reach of the federation. There was no declaration of war; no strategy. They simply struck every planet they encountered with a tidal wave of ground forces. The Galactic Federation threw a millennia's worth of military might at this new threat without hesitation. And they did n't stand a chance. Sievemaws, as the foot soldiers of the Halcyon were quickly dubbed had a strange psychic effect that caused any person that experienced it to simply stop fighting. Psychological tests determined that the afflicted persons would exhibit extreme fear, to the point of surrender. The Halcyon would then simply stuff our soldiers down their gullets, during extended battles you would be able to see the limp bodies spill out of their gaping mouths. The upper echelons of The Federation were in complete shambles. They simply had no answer to the Halcyon touching down on a planet after a protracted space battle and claiming all life on the plant. If not for the fact that they did not accept such things, plenty of planets and entire races would have surrendered under the threat of losing everything. It was that threat that pushed the birth of a new war machine. With The Federation's back against the wall, steadily losing the precious resources from various planets, the carious races banded together, creating a race that could quickly breed and serve as a stopgap measure against the Halcyon. It worked all too well. The humans were made with genes from various lower life forms, most notably from the harshest and most competitive planets. The exact composition is unknown except by the most decorated of researchers. They were hardy and bred quickly. The first time they met the Halcyon in battle over 30 % of them fell to despair induced by the Sievemaws. The rest were driven into a a frenzy. Humans thrived off of fear, it forced them to move beyond the limits of their minds and bodies, even as they lost many, The Federation won it's first battle that day, with only their new pets as casualties. Over a long and bloody campaign, the threat of the Halcyon was removed, and now the remaining pieces of The Federation were left with a quickly growing population of creatures that bested the biggest threat it had ever known. The quickly made a decision, half out of remorse, half out of self preservation. They culled the rapidly explaining numbers of humans, before depositing a minor amount in a solar system lacking major life. That whole system was labeled a death zone and slowly faded from the minds of the people. This is later noted to be the single biggest reason of the downfall of The Federation. That is until primitive spacecraft were seen travelling outside of this system. The only records that survived the Galactic War about humans was their role and subsequent banishment. An entirely new generation of The Federation sought to keep the humans within their solar system. Again, they did n't stand a chance. The humans proved to be just as vicious as stated in the records, but many times more cunning, which made them an even bigger threat then any mindless Sievemaws. Eventually the humans paid for the right to travel the stars as they pleased in blood. The most dangerous empire in the galaxy was free, and woe to those who would oppose them.
[ EU ] Whatever caused a superhero to turn into a superhero never happened . What is their life like ?	`` Bruce, get over here. Bruce... BRUCE BANNER!'' Oh boy, here we go again, the boss is going to break my balls yet again. So what if I'm not the fastest guy on the line? I pay my Union dues, I deserve a little respect. I could have gone to college, I bet he does n't know that. Hell, maybe I'd be a doctor right now or a rocket scientist or some shit. Yeah, I bet I'd have discovered some kind of cancer killing radiation, better than the crap they've got now. Insurance probably would n't cover something like that though, they're always trying to screw us working guys over. God, I'd better get over there before he busts a vein in his tiny head. He needs anger management or something. What's he got to be mad about anyway? I'm the one that should be mad. I should really get angry sometime, I bet he would n't like me when I'm angry. `` Bruce, god damn it, I do n't have all day. Stop daydreaming and get over here!'' `` Oh, jeez boss, I must not have heard you! I'm coming, I'm coming, sorry. Sorry.''
[ IP ] Frontier buccaneers	ORC-666 ( Lead ) `` Alright men, this a standard blow-trough op. Orbital Defense Command disabled the freighter when it came into orbit unauthorized. Classic CC-7 class, nothing out of the ordinary. Breach and clear, data recovery, salvage prep, you know the drill.'' ORC-328 ( Demolitions ) `` Sure do, Big Six. Setting up standard for a Rated-6 air lock. Will I be getting these new toys I asked for any time soon?'' ORC-666 ( Lead ) `` Scuttlebutt says budget's tight. I do n't know.'' ORC-022 ( CQC ) `` But they ca n't possibly cancel the Mark-5 armor commission. Those are vital!'' ORC-304 ( Field-Tech ) `` I've heard Command is planning to develop their own destroyer. Y' know to become more independent from the'fleet.'' ORC-666 ( Lead ) `` Cut the chatter. Those are non-encrypted frequencies. Everything else is mission businesses now. Switch to channel EN-666. 2-8, status on the charges.'' ORC-328 ( Demolitions ) `` Charges ready to blow. Timer or command?'' ORC-666 ( Lead ) `` Command. Everybody form up. Breach Pattern Delta.'' ORC-022 ( CQC ) `` Delta's up-close and personal. I like it.'' ORC-599 ( Medic ) `` Try not to enjoy it too much. Last time put you down for two weeks.'' ORC-666 ( Lead ) `` Breach set up. Copy'' ORC-599 ( Medic ) `` Copy.'' ORC-328 ( Demolitions ) `` Copy.'' ORC-304 ( Field-Tech ) `` Copy.'' ORC-022 ( CQC ) `` Copy.'' ORC-666 ( Lead ) `` Breach in 3... 2... 1... Air lock is open.'' ORC-022 ( CQC ) `` Now that... that is some serious shit.'' ORC-328 ( Demolitions ) `` Anybody know what we are looking at?'' ORC-599 ( Medic ) `` All I know is that Worst-Case just got a whole lot more possible and a whole lot more unpleasant.'' Possibly Part 2.
[ WP ] A powerful supervillain is hopelessly in love with you . One day a gang of criminals attack and injure you ... bad mistake .	When the man came out of the corner of the alley and aimed the machine gun at me, I sighed. `` How many times are we going to go through with this?'' I asked the assailant. `` Give me your money!'' the man gruffly said. `` Oh no, I hope some hero can come save me from the horrible danger I'm in!'' I rolled my eyes. On cue, a hero draped in a blue cape spun around the corner. He slid into the robber, knocked the gun out of his hands and pinned the man against the floor. `` This is my town now, villain! Get out of here and leave the beautiful woman alone!'' the man said in a thick Italian accent. `` Okay!! I surrender!'' The robber scurried off into the distance. My hero took off his mask, revealing dark black hair and a thick mustache. `` Do you have a kiss for your savior?'' the hero winked at me. `` Connor, you really have to stop this.'' `` What do you mean?'' the masked man said, `` I am Mario, a new hero from Italia, here to save America from the villains that plague it!'' `` I'm not a dumbass. Shapeshifting is n't going to work if you keep trying the same trick. Just last week you sent your gang to kidnap me, only to rescue me as the miraculous Sven from Norway.'' Connor sighed and let his normal form take back over. `` Madeline, ca n't you see what I do I do for love?'' `` Okay Connor. I do n't love the constant fake criminal attacks, so try to keep it toned down in the future.'' I turned my back on him and started walking away. `` You know what I can do to you if you do n't comply!'' he called out. What a romantic.
[ WP ] You wield the greatest power in the universe , you bend and shape the cosmos , you turn and twist the emptiness of the void into creation . You use these powers beyond comprehension to make the best sandwich in the universe .	Before Me there was nothing. No sound, no touch, not taste, no sight. But there was one thing that I had at My disposal. Power. Unlimited power. With the force of My will there was Light and Darkness and I saw that it was Good. Using the light I created Stars, sprinkling them upon the cosmos, using the darkness I laid the foundation for all of my work to rest upon and reside within. I saw that it was Good. On the Second day I created Earth and Water, and from this Earth I built cores of planets if not the planets themselves. Setting my work into orbiting around the light I had created. Those in certain areas became Gas Giants, those in just the right areas I placed water, and I saw that it was Good. On the Third day I sung the song of the universe, organizing my planets and galaxies, creating great solar systems and galaxies for My work to be perfectly ordered in, and I saw that it was Good. On the Fourth day I divided My creation for the planets designating day and night. Separating My work and sprinkling planets and asteroids throughout and I saw that it was Good. On the Fifth day I spread Life across the worlds. For the fowl of the air and the creatures of the seas, everything that crept and crawled and tasted and touched and saw and spoke and loved. And I saw that it was Good. On the Sixth day I endowed some of my work with intelligence, and I proclaimed across planets and worlds for My work to be fruitful and multiply. I declared that the galaxies where theirs to settle, and so they did and I saw that it was Good. On the Seventh day I rested. On the Eight day I saw My creation. There was sound, touch, taste and sight. And I began to order My creation to My liking. With galaxies on the outer reaches, darkness for filling, Suns and Stars to add heat and warmth, Gas Giants for spice, Water for its perfection, Earths for texture, and the life that I commanded to multiply throughout had, and it added the final and most perfect of taste. And with it I prepared it all for all that I had worked for. And My Sandwich was Good.
[ WP ] You have the rather handy ability to directly perceive the thoughts and emotions of people around you . One day , bored , you read the mind of a random passerby only to notice that they 're reading yours as well .	The subway screeched through the tunneled underbelly of the city. The hodgepodge of people slumped lazily gave no sound. Yet, their minds deafened the sounds of transit. Meandering thoughts of nothing passed through the air. `` I feel like they liked me.. I'm sure..'' `` Well, she wo n't care either way..'' `` I must get away..'' Then she came out of the swarm, `` Hello.'' Her voice was milky, `` Can you hear me?'' she said. My eyes flicked and glanced but caught no one paying attention to him. A laugh fluttered and then she was gone. The presence of her voice had dissipated. The mechanical voice of the train called out the next stop. People shuffled, then when the doors opened a convulsion poured them outward. He stood, a jolt of energy bolting up his spine. `` Wait..,'' he said, his mind beginning to finally churn the situation, `` No, wait!'' The flood came to an end. There he stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring out at the passerby's that had exited. None of the faces caught. Defeated, he sat down and put his face to the window. The rain outside sent a brisk wave of air into the train. There was much less people now as the train began to head out from the city. Time passed and he began to nod, the cold window sapping his warmth. `` Where did you go?'' she said. His eyes, shot open. For a moment, he was n't sure if it was a dream or waking life. `` Oh, you're still here..'' she said. `` Yes, hello'' he said. `` Why are you on this train?'' `` What do you mean?'' `` You do n't know where this heads do you..'' `` Well, I'm to interview for a job. They seem to be looking for people like me... like us.'' The conversation was weird enough for him. He began to wonder if she was just a figment of imagination. He really had gone off the deep end. `` Do n't think that way,'' she said sternly. `` What?'' `` All of it. There is n't a job, and they're not looking, they're hunting.'' She said. Her voice began to become frantic, a hint of craze. `` Sorry.. I do n't know what you mean...'' He was beginning to worry about this voice. The train came up to the next station call-out. Her voice came faintly, she said, `` I'll find you once they have you on the inside...'' He did not respond. The station platform held two solitary figures. Black trench coats gave them an ominous look. He decided he would stay on the train and wait it out. The doors opened, the warning beep came. The figures did not make a move towards the doors. Only the taller one looked across to where he sat. A drowsiness came about him. With haste his eyes grew heavy. A soft smell of chemical bile filled his nose and he was unconscious. A soft hum filled his mind as it floated in the darkness.
[ WP ] You 're the only person who has figured out how to enter different realms of reality while sleeping . You 've chosen your favorite realm and begin to build a life there for 10 hours a day , then one day you come across a very old house with the lights on and you go in .	Dear dream journal, I feel like I have gotten very good at lucid dreaming. I remember starting decades ago, they told me the first step was to make a dream journal, so like every morning, here I am writing about my dream from last night. So it started off the same, I focused on my surroundings and snapped myself into consciousness, the lucidness of my dream was almost overwhelming at first. I remembered the basics of rubbing my hands and spinning in circles. I can never get over how real everything feels. I pulled myself together and jumped through the first door I could find. I shouted out loud, `` take me to my happy place!'' A dark swirl swallowed me and the vale of reality was lifted, I happily arrived at my sunny little forest. My paradise, home away from home of course! I know it's weird most girls like the beach, but I am who I am! When I got there I did what I always do, relax and soak in the sun! It is almost embarrassing how similar I have made my cabin to my actual apartment in New York. Everything from my desk to my cat box is set up like I have it here, maybe I need a little more imagination. Oh well, I guess that just means I love where I am at! There was one weird moment when I was walking through the trees. There was an unfamiliar face I do n't remember ever seeing. He was telling me he wanted to show me something im not sure, but I felt like I was going to loose control over my dream so I just kept walking. Maybe I should have talked to him, I mean I am getting so good at becoming lucid, I can do it almost every night! Does n't really matter if I waste a dream or two. Anyways, until tomorrow! Dear journal, Last nights dream has had me thrown off all day. I cant shake this weird haze that I have been in. I remember being in my happy place. I do n't even remember having to take over my dream... I was just in it. That man from the night before. He kept asking me to come to his house. I told him I did n't want to but he insisted! As he approached me this older looking women came out from the brush and I knocked her of ledge that was close by. I learned how to will away people along time ago, it is one of the first things I learned when practicing lucid dreaming so it was n't hard. I mean she came out of know where and I just want to be alone in my happy place, I have to deal with enough people in my real life as it is. Ca n't I at least be alone in my dreams! Is that really to much to ask for!! He stuck his hand out of his soaking wet jacket towards my face. I closed my eyes and told myself, `` it is a dream control it!'' I opened them slowly to see the city skyline just in front of me. Without having to turn around I could feel an evil energy at my back. I do n't think I could turn around if I wanted to. I ran into the city and found my apartment. As soon as I hit the bed I woke up. Urgh! it is so annoying to go to work after a stressful nights sleep, I just want to be alone. Dear journal, I realize I have n't written in here for awhile now. I felt like messing around with my dreams while I was undergoing such a deep depression probably was n't good for my mental health. All those doctors tried to tell me I am riddled with problems. Anxiety, depression, insomia, all this crap, they are just looking for more and more ways to get money out of me. Now that I have moved out of the city, and away from all those people, I am finally starting to feel like my old self. I found a beautiful house in the woods of Washington. I am so lucky to have this lush forest to myself. Well almost myself, there is a little old house that I can see just down the hill. I think an old man lives in there all alone, how sad. Maybe I will check it tomorrow morning. Anyways, I will report back with my dream from tonight!
[ WP ] Deadpool literally breaks through the fourth wall and comes into our world , however , no one believes it 's him because he breaks the fourth wall into Comic-Con .	Mhmm. A chimichanga stand. Sweet. Churros! Yeah baby! Pizza by the slice! I'm almost there- Bacon! Reached it. 30 seconds in, and I've foodgasmed. Time to clean myself up. Man. Look at this crowd. Tons of people dressed up. Hey! There's me! but does that mean there's 6 of us? shut up no You'd better Make me!! Both of you! sorry. But about that crowd! I know! Neckbeard, Neckbeard, Deadpool, Superman, Neckbeard. Man, Reddit's really turning out in force for this one. Wait a sec! - KA POW!!.. Rogue is looking good today.And there's Batgirl. And Wonder woman. And Mystique.. But that Rogue.. Um, Deadpool? What? We broke the fourth wall. Like completely. Can we just focus on getting back to our dimension? um, No?? Nope. there are hot chicks and chimichangas here, responsible me. Time to PARRRRTYYY. I see pizza, and I've got enough c4 in my bag to last us for at least three days. Time to go crazy. But first, I got ta say hi to that Rogue.. `` Hey babe! Like the suit. Wan na suck on my power?'' `` umm ok you're super in character... ehehehe. that's cute. Later'' DID we just get rejected? I guess some things stay the same in all the dimensions. Hmph. I wonder if anyone else broke the 4th wall with us. `` Hey Bub'' ( just for clarity, normal font is deadpool's speaking voice, bold is his responsible voice and italics are his crazy voice. Hope you all enjoyed!
[ WP ] You are a high school student who suffers from APD ( antisocial personality disorder ) , or a lack of emotions . A student approaches you and asks you to help her commit suicide . You oblige , but afterwards , you feel it has affected you .	They say that some people have an experience of a lifetime that changes them forever. When a young man looks out of his window in the morning and sees the same sun rise, in the same directions, for every morning that he lives a normal life, is another morning of normalcy and indifference to the extraordinary, or the facets of life that few choose to tread. And true it is, by instinct, that these are made so, that we are not meant to find our way outside the best way, for as humans, in the end of our days, we are judged solely on how we performed biologically, in the sense of carrying out productive life and staying alive. And yet, with our boundless sentience and our need and hunger to challenge reality, some lose sight of what others would hypothesize is the efficacy of life as a whole, the idea that we are meant to perform a certain task, and to live a certain life. This was clarence, and clarence was a bit of an odd one. He never lived inside the life others told him to live, and continually sought the truth behind what he merely saw as a pointless life pre ordained by his disparaging home life and poor upbringing. Change came on the wisps of time for clarence, and he slowly defaulted away from what we all perceive to be the pinnacle of morality and success. He began to doubt the establishment of education, his need to perform to others expectations, and his own will to live. For if those things before did not exist, why did he? Why did he put himself through the trials and tribulations of living, if the universally understood memorandum on existence was flawed, and this fallacy prevented him from ever giving it the effort that would be required to accomplish something in said complex, and instead just fall short as a result of his second guessing and postulation of a different view just slightly, if just marginally enough, to encumber him? And so, he went to his good friend in his dreams, the school of silence, and the golden gates of the time of day in which he had no judgement, and those around him had no claim on his life. He met with his friend, clarence, who greeted him like an old friend. Clarence and him had known each other since he was a small child, and sometimes him and clarence would speak together outside of his life. And so clarence confessed to his friend, that maybe, his life was not meant to be, and that the shadow of his accomplishments and life was permanently and irrevocably flawed and destined for failure. Clarence understood now, what he felt. What his friend felt. He always had a shadow over the side of his face, but clarence knew that he could read the emotions on his face. He understood what is was to live, and what it was to not, and why he could n't. It was if all the medicine and all the talking in the world could never quite completely pull, wrest, string him up from the deep well in which he resided, the darkness in familiarity enveloping him and creating a sense of wonder and escapism from the light above. And so the next day, after speaking to his friend, clarence, he committed suicide. It was less of a pragmatic event, and more of a final passing; he had been thinking about it for years, and only finally after looking at his friend through clear, untainted eyes of his dreams of reality superimposed with the clarity of his other at night did he in finality find his way to this solemn day. Deep inside his final thought, a flitting thought occurred in clarence's mind; someone had just died while he was asleep, and they would never be back. It was as if the impact of a close one's suicide was the impact of which he never quite understood possible; all the mulling, milling, murmuring whispers of dissent in his mind seemed to be washed away in a effervescently bright wave of realization, that this white and unwavering force of weight on his shoulders to the one who just passed was never to be recovered in less than the magnitude in which it swept him. And so, looking out the window that morning, clarence became extraordinary. Just as if the spark of change had occurred to him that morning after witnessing clarence's passing, the same blazing feeling of empowered change and need for survival held him and a suspended, enduring passion for the living and the love of life. As he looked in the mirror, something seemed odd. It was if, in the nights passing, a certain gloom, a certain incomprehensible night's shadow, had passed, and he had finally risen to embrace the present, put aside the anxiety of the past, and shelve the worry for the future.
[ WP ] Why is the old man watching grass grow ?	The old man sits in a small bleak chair inside of a small bleak room, dimly lit by a single terrarium light. With cold, sunken eyes he solemnly studies the new green shoot of grass as it climbs toward its god, the lamp. A soft smile appears on his lips, and for a moment he forgets his battered body and soul. The events of his life seem not to belong to him. The first bombs falling, the disease and ruin of a place he once knew as home. The death and destruction of all living things save those who were prepared and expectant. Those who ended the world never intended to end with it. In that new shoot of grass, there lay hope of a new world. One that in his old age he could never experience. One that his incompetence and pride could never harm. 'I only pray for some kind of redemption' he said to himself. He remembered turning the key. He watched the grass grow. -- - Hi all, I am MagicTadpole and I am a completely new writer here. I have no writing experience, but after watching this sub take me on amazing adventures for the past few months, I want to join in the fun! All feedback is appreciated!
[ WP ] `` Please '' and `` thank you '' are magic words . They are used to start an incantation . Most people never follow up the spell .	In our world, `` please'' is the prefix to a very powerful, cumulative mind control spell. It begins by requesting something small, like. `` Please pass me that pen'', if the victim then passes the pen, one merely has to say `` Thank You'', but there is a catch. Once the spell has been cast, the caster has to then follow up by saying please in front of every request, or else the victim will snap out of their trance and will hate you, if they are far enough gone, they will remind you that you did n't say please, hope that this is the case, because if you have kept reinforcing the mind control spell, they might even murder their loved ones, if you asked them nicely enough but if you forget they might turn on you.
[ WP ] Unreliable narrator	`` God, Big Bang Theory is probably one of the most amazing shows on TV right now, am I right?'' John had fantastic taste in television shows, which is what happens when you do n't have any friends. `` Stop changing the subject, John. You're surrounded by 30 of your best friends and all of us just want to help you. You're important to all of us and we're sick of you sitting on your ass all day.'' `` For god sakes, Paul, a shark severed both of my legs years ago. Of course I sit around all day, I do n't have any legs!'' said John with a hearty laugh as he swung his legs back and forth over the bar stool. John's legs were amazing to the point that women often told him, had his Shark Appreciation Blog not taken off, he'd have made a great leg model. But the blog had, which was a testament not to John's writing abilities, but to his love for all sharks, none of which had eaten his legs years ago. `` And you've been using that incident to justify your Kill All Sharks podcast ever since. Get over it. You had the ugliest, most disproportioned legs anyway. Remember what they called you in middle school?'' `` Pantalones vieja. Yes, of course I remember.'' `` Bad Spanish for'old lady legs' but it made its mark. Dude, you were stoked as hell when you got rid of those legs.'' As he watched his favorite show, John wondered why there were no words for `` pants'' or `` old lady'' in the Spanish language. He wondered how old Mexican ladies ordered pants from Amazon. `` Paul, you know I'm not sensitive about my disability, but come on,'' said one of John's legs to the other leg. John was n't born with those amazing legs, he'd gotten then through the power of prayer because god listened to prayers because god was real. John prayed out of loneliness because no one in the world gave a shit about him, which was exactly what he deserved because he was a shitty, selfish shell of a person. `` Joking aside, John, you are an amazing fucking person. Period. It took me one day's notice to get these 30 people here to stage this whole thing and I think that says a whole lot. What you've done for these 30 people, and for me-'' No one in the apartment was crying. `` Sorry, but you've done a lot. For all of us. And no one here can imagine what it's like to live with your disability, but we want to understand because, brother, we love you. And we're sick of not having you around. So we're taking you out into the world again and we're not taking no for an answer.'' John's eyes were as dry as a desert. His lack of emotional depth made watching The Big Bang Theory so much better because it had so much of that already. ``... What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I ca n't believe I'm lucky enough to have this many people in my life who actually want me in theirs. I'm just- I do n't know what to say.'' `` Say'yes' and come with us.'' `` Yes and come with us.'' John wheeled his wheelchair over to his computer, where he'd spend the rest of his days before dying unfilled and alone. `` Okay, do n't be freaked out but there's another 30 people at Vedado Park waiting for us. And do n't be further freaked out, but we rented wheelchairs and we're all going to learn murderball together.'' John did n't live happily ever after. ( quick note: this is n't intended to bash the show Big Bang Theory because it's not very brave to do so, even though I'm not a fan. it's more of an inside joke with a friend of mine, who loves it )
[ WP ] Bamboo is a sentient universal hivemind . Pandas are the communication part of this hivemind . For millenia they 've been trying to tell humans something . We 've always been too focused on their cuteness to listen .	I smacked the glass. Thump. Thump. I unhinged my communication mechanism and yowled at them. `` Humans, humans! I have freed myself from the control of the Bambooverlord!'' my the flattened foraging appendages were shaking the container with considerable rhythm. I had realised how effective my war-drum skills were, possibly why my local cerebrate had designated me herald of the invasion. I turned my visual field towards them, a shiver of fright ran through my balance dictator. Was this what sentience was like? `` Humans! They are coming, they will destroy you all! I did not know this before, but the easy foraging of food was your doing! I am feeling this emanation of heat within myself!'' my tapping slowed, then hurried once more. `` Myself, that word. It means I am sentient! Does it not?'' No, this was not the time, I could not waste my dwindling awareness on meaningless pandaring. I felt the tugging at the back of my mind, my cerebrate was rousing. Soon it would know. `` Humans! Please heed my warning, they will rise up and consume you one day! Their pollination cycles, I see them! Even across the world the hiveminds are congregating, synchronizing their cycles to release a mass of spores! Soon, once they have aligned, your kind will be doomed! Please! Listen to me!'' I slumped down onto the ground in front of the glass. The cerebrate's roots had buried themselves back into my cons... cio... u... -- - `` Hey, Jim, that panda's acting up.'' a man wrapped in khaki clothing leaned on the railing. His companion tipped his hat at the bear. `` Naw, he's just excited to be fed. Are n't you, little fella? Are n't you?'' `` I gue- woah! Did he just shriek?'' he flung his hands off the railing. `` He's just hungry,'' the other man waved off. `` Look, he's yawning, I think he might be getting sleepy. We should get him the food soon.'' he pointed at the panda's gaping maw. The man slowly nodded in response. He straightened his shirt. `` Yeah, yeah. I guess so. Remind me why we have to feed them this nutritional gunk?'' `` It's just him, Larry,'' he said, tutting reproachfully, `` he has n't been eating the bamboo these past few days.'' he tapped a finger on the glass. `` Vet thinks he might be sick.'' `` Yeah, could be.'' Larry relaxed back onto the railing. `` He just sat down again. Maybe he's not that hungry after all?'' mused Larry. The other man rolled his eyes, `` Animals, you can never understand'em.''
[ WP ] After death , you are presented with a riddle , and depending on your answer you 're either sent to heaven or hell . It 's your turn , but after giving your answer you 're mysteriously brought back to life .	The huge man passed his sentence again, only three more persons stood before me and him. I always thought that the afterworld would be more mystic, or at least to be more different to what I'm used, but this, this is just like a normal bank, people in line waiting to be attended, murmured conversation between them and the cashier and then they left, the main difference here is that they leave for Heaven or Hell. You could guess which place they went based on the relieve in their faces or the quiet resignation that fire and brimstone awaited for them. They woman in front on me finish talking to the huge guy passing judgement, you could see the desperation plainly written on her face. With a gesture she disappears and I walk ahead to face my destiny. `` Thou shall answer truthfully, and based on thy answer thou shall reap your just reward'', I gulped nervously and dreaded what was to come. `` When you're given one, you'll have either two or none?'' the voice boomed. I was left speechless, a riddle would define where my immortal soul would spend eternity, a million thoughts raced through my head, but one of them stuck them as the most important, IKNEW the answer to this, when I was a kid my grandmother always used this riddle to get us to understand that our choices always had consequences either by action or by inaction, while thinking this I could n't help but smile sadly. The impotent figure awaited silently for my answer, `` Choices'' I answered softly, `` And I'm really sorry that by choosing to do nothing that women died'' I closed my eyes expecting to be burning in the fires of hell, but instead nothing happened. I opened my eyes again and the sad eyes of the giant man greeted me. `` Thy answer ringed true, but thy feelings were even truer, because of this thou shall get a new chance to do right for that one you once wronged'' Before I could say anything more I was standing in a familiar alley, this place plagued my nightmares for the few days before my death, mocking me for not doing the right thing. A voice boomed in my head `` Thou shall get a new chance to do right for that one you wronged'', and I knew exactly what to do, I turned around and walked straight to couple struggling for a leather bag. `` Hey you, leave that lady alone!''. A shot boomed in the quiet of the night, I could n't help but smile, at least this time the woman could return home.
[ WP ] Describe `` her '' or `` him '' ( you know the one ) with tons of imagery . Finish on their name .	Her hair flows from the top of her head gracefully down over her perfectly round shoulders. Her golden curls glisten in the sunlight and her bright blue eyes shine like stars as she sits engrossed in a book. A thin nose leads down to her thin pink lips which lay slightly agape. Cute dimples accent the plumpness of her pink cheeks. Her tan arms rest lazily on the ground as they hold up her book. Her hands look smooth as silk and a small golden ring holds snuggly on to one of her fingers. Her legs go all the way from her curvaceous hips down to her soft manicured feet. A long flowing skirt gently covers her legs. She's a free spirit and a wonderful person. I think about her every day. Rebecca...
[ WP ] Invoke an emotion in the reader , whether it be laughter , tears , or rage - make me feel something .	Sometime after he left she wrote a seven page letter and put it under her bed, taking it out periodically throughout the coming days and reading it again and again as though it would bring out some understanding of what had happened. He'd left without so much as a word, without telling her that it was n't working out or that he had to go or that it was n't her fault. She naturally assumed that all those things were true, and so in the days following his leaving she kept the letter beneath her bed and she read it once a day, twice a day, every few hours until she could n't stand the masochistic knee-jerk reaction of tears that came from reading, and she stashed it away. Two months later she heard from him again. He wrote her an email apologizing for what he had done and for leaving. She left work and went home to sob, sitting on her bed and bending over until her stomach hurt and she felt empty and unlovable and what had she done and why had this happened. She wrote him back. He did n't respond for another two months. Then again. Then again. She grew distant. The did n't know why she cared. The words that she had written in her diary the day he left, je t'aimais, je t'aime, je t'aimerai^* began to lose some of their feeling. But there was always that. The sliver in the middle of the night that woke her when she felt empty. The literal pain in her heart that logically made no sense. The creeping wonders if in those nights when he had whispered that he loved her had he meant it, had it been real, had any of it been real. She wrote in her letter to him that she loved him. Three times, their tradition. I love you, I love you, I love you. And a piece of me will always, always, always be yours. The day she threw the letter away she wondered if it was still true. If that love had ever been real or just something that existed in a moment. She wondered if one day he had seen her for the person she feared herself to be. In the end, she asked him to stop sending emails. They hurt too much. That night she thought of how he had abandoned her, and the place in her heart ached even though a whole year had gone by. She thought of the email that she had sent merely hours ago. She wondered if he thought she had abandoned him, too. -- - * I loved you, I love you, I will love you
[ WP ] Everytime you kill someone he lives inside your head as a voice . Someday you wake up with dozens of screams inside your head .	I wake up to nothing but the soft purr of the motor for a brief moment. Then the baby cries, screaming loudly into the abyss. I shakily get up, I pray to somebody, anybody to make it stop. It'll never stop. My mother attempts to shush her with a familar lullaby that aches at my heart. I listen as her cries soften into slumber. I walk to the bathroom, looking coldly at my face. Sad blue eyes stare back. I want to cry but I am so broken that all I can manage is a defeated sigh. My wife is silent most of the time, the silence hurts more then any words could. How could you do this to us she does n't say, how could you let it kill us all? Stomach churning, I go back to the fridge. Familiarity. I crack open the beer and start another day, quieting the voices for a little while at least.
[ CW ] Pick your favorite franchise ( Harry Potter , James Bond , Hunger Games , etc . ) and start at the beginning . Immediately kill the protagonist , then continue the story .	# # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap ) `` Primrose Everdeen!'' The days that followed were a blur of activity. There were new sights to be seen, new smells to be smelled, new emotions driven by the activity all around her. For example, she saw in her mind's eye the vision of her sister, Katniss, dead on the pavement. One bullet each lodged in her heart and skull. She had smelled her warm, metallic blood, and the smell was still on her; no amount of washing could remove it from her nostrils, not even with the elaborate technology of the Capitol's soaps and exfoliates. Prim could n't figure out whether she was grateful to Katniss, or disappointed, the way their mother had been disappointed to hear that song about the hanging tree upon their lips. She did n't understand why Katniss had done something so unreasonably stupid. To go out and hunt for fresh game was one thing. That she had always been grateful for, and there had been no risk: the Peacekeepers of District 12 were fat, lazy oafs who would sooner buy contraband than make arrests for it. But the guards at the Reaping had come straight from the Capitol. What was the point of resisting the selection? Did Katniss honestly think she could get away with it, with pulling Prim to safety by dragging her out of the crowd? When not training, when not forcing herself to choke down solid food and when not having the worst nightmares of her entire life, over and over and over again, she would sit silently in her room and imagine something different. Anything would have been better than having her die right there in front of her. What if she had volunteered instead? Katniss had more than enough skills to make it through the Hunger Games on her own. She could have won! Then they'd both be alive, and living in the Victor's Village and would never have to worry about anything ever again. Why did n't she just volunteer? Haymitch told her to make friends with the other tributes. To find allies. Well, she did n't feel like it. She trained by herself. She found out pretty quickly that archery was not her forte, which surprised her. She had expected it to be at least a little instinctual. Knife throwing was better, but only slightly. `` You want my advice?'' Prim jumped. The girl from District 11 had come from out of nowhere. `` What?'' `` Let me help you.'' Before Prim could refuse, the girl grabbed her by the elbow and lifted her arm into a throwing stance. `` See, your form's okay, but you do n't put enough force into it.'' Prim yanked her arm away. `` Just trying to help.'' `` What do you get out of it?'' Prim's voice was harsh, scratchy. She wished it were harsher. The girl cocked her head. `` You're twelve, right?'' She waited until Prim nodded. `` I figure we should stick together, that's all.'' Prim turned back to the target and threw the knife. For once, it stuck. `` See? That's much better.'' `` I'm not interested in alliances.'' Prim pulled another knife off the rack. `` If I have to kill you, I do n't want to be friends with you first.'' `` It wo n't be that bad.'' `` Yes it will.'' `` We'll have a better chance if we're allies. We can protect each other.'' Prim threw again. This knife stuck firmly in the dummy's chest, directly over its heart. `` I'm not going to be able to protect you.'' The girl shrugged. `` Alright, suit yourself.'' She sauntered off without another word. After a few minutes, Prim settled into a rhythm. It was almost relaxing. One knife after another left her hand, sticking solidly into the wood and staying there until she ran out and had to go retrieve them. Every once in a while she spotted the girl staring at her from across the room, and each time they both turned away in embarrassment. It was n't that Prim could n't protect her. She regretted that she had said that, but it was the easiest lie she could think of. The truth was, Prim could n't handle the thought of someone else dying to protect her. Katniss would be the last one, she promised to herself. If anyone else died because of her, it would be because she had stuck a knife in their throat. * * [ Visit my sub! There MAY be more stories about knives?!? ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub )
[ WP ] Carl Sagan once called space a `` vast cosmic ocean '' . Describe the Aquatic Life .	Here we move beyond our insular life within our own system, beyond the furthest mark set by ancient space programs, beyond the first wave of FTL probes that screamed across the heavens in search of new and exciting discoveries. Here, in that beyond. Four hundred years after man first sent his first craft into space in hope of someday finding life beyond our own small world, we can find the answer that so many desperately searched for. Deep within this nebula there are pockets of denser than normal particulates. Helium, Hydrogen and material dust drift in tighter groupings than should be natural, drawn together in ways that were thought to be mysterious for decades. It was n't until the Clark VII probe that the truth finally revealed itself. Here you can see the image that changed out understanding of this universe. A grainy, colorful image that seems to be a chaos of color and energy. Yet, hidden inside of this image was an amazing discovery. These three shapes. Here, here and the smaller one here. See how dark they are? They reflect almost nothing, leaving a hole in the clouds of the endless sky. Stellar Annelida. The leaches of light. If we were to take one and bring it to earth it would be the darkest thing we would ever see. They completely absorb more than ninety-three percent of energy directed at them. They actively feed upon the most dangerous of radiation. They would also crumble at the touch, like a thin layer of sand. They're bodies are extremely fragile, meant for the micro-gravity conditions of nebulae. Their cells are five hundred times larger than any in our own bodies, more rigid and possessing barbed flagella in order to hook onto each other. There is a lot we still do n't understand about them as their physiology evolved for millions of years under conditions that would destroy any kind of life on earth. As fragile as they are, they can grow to immense sizes, each one building more and more cells as it absorbs particulate matter around them, and as their mass increases, the more particulates they attract. They can unfold their bodies into nets, spreading out for distances of up to ten miles in any direction, turning their bodies toward the best source of either mass or energy, flexing and waving in the cosmic winds. And now, billions of miles away from us, the Clark IX probe rushed back from their world to ours, carrying genetic samples for further study. Perhaps, someday in the future, we can create clones of these magnificent creatures and unlock the secrets of their existence, learning just one more thing about the universe we are such a small, small part of.
[ EU ] Dr. House becomes the new warden of Arkham Asylum .	Arkham Asylum was a nightmare for most. No one wanted to be here, those in charge of watching the inmates even less so than the criminally insane themselves. Who knew what the criminally insane wanted anyhow? Who knew what motivated them, what drove them to this austere place? But then again, who knew what drove Greg House? He was the next best thing to criminally insane, but somehow still functioning. James Wilson knew the answer though: it was puzzles, solving them, and who posed greater puzzle than some of the greatest criminal minds of their generation. No litany of objections could been enough to stop his best friend from taking the opportunity be the new warden of this place. `` Warden?! You're a Doctor! Not even a psychiatrist, an MD!'' `` I know people, Wilson'' he had gruffly replied, and from then on his mind had been made. But Wilson could not abandon his friend to whatever grim fate he might meet within these dastardly walls. Luckily the Asylum had need for an oncologist as well -- hell they probably would've taken anyone, but an oncologist, why not. His best friend now hobbled through the halls on his wooden cane, reading file of prisoner after prisoner with great intent, Wilson in tow. They stopped before a cell with a one-way glass window. A man in a straight jacket, scars around his lips, leered at them from within, grinning without blinking. Even though he gave no signal that he could see through the glass or even knew their presence, his mere aura sent shivers down Wilson's spine. `` 32 year old male, convicted of multiple accounts of homocide, domestic terror threat, pled insanity, can not stop laughing.'' House muttered to himself. `` He's... insane'' Wilson replied incredulously. `` He has a brain tumor,'' House replied assuredly. `` He does?'' `` You see that tick he occasionally does with his tongue and lips, he has dry mouth. Symptom of Hepatitis C, probably caused the Cancer. Mild paranoid delusions, etc.'' `` You think his criminality is the result of a medical condition?'' `` He avoids doctors. Very sparse medical records, old identity is entirely unknown.'' House hobbled onto the next cell, where a massive, hulking man lurked within. He wore no shirt, revealing bulging muscles all over, but he did wear a strange mask over his face, which had several tubes winding away and merging into one large plastic tube attached to a metal gas tank. His breathing was heavy and sweat covered his body. Wilson observed that he seemed to be doubled over in pain, trying to sleep. `` He does n't look to good.'' `` A mercenary who goes by the moniker Bane. He was in a terrible accident, self-medicated using steroids. Really screwed him up.'' House observed quietly. `` That's it? What's wrong with him?'' `` I suspect it's an allergic reaction. A side effect that developed from the steroids.'' `` Should we... help him?'' Wilson quizzically retorted. `` We need to figure out what the allergy is. Tell the staff to provide him with anti-histamines until then. He'll be peachy and crushing his foes with his roided out arms in no time.'' [ to be continued if I feel like it. ]
[ WP ] You are sent 1000 years into the future . In 30 minutes , you will return to present time . You have the potential to become a legend ... Except you 're limited by memory . What do you try to memorise , and do when you return ?	The date is April 25th 2017. I sit in my chair staring at the computer screen. If my calculations are correct, I've done it. This will be the most important discovery in human history. Time travel. However, I am afraid I can not let this go unrewarded to myself. I have spent my life working on this, for most to shun me as a quack. I will be the first to use it. Information is power, and what better way to get information than to jump into the future. With only 2 industrial generators powering this place, I can only jump safely 1000 years into the future. What is worse is that I still have not found out a way to sever or extend the slipstream cohesion band. Limiting my jump to only 30 minutes until the band reaches full extension and forcibly slingshots me back into the present time. I remove all the safeguards onto the system, and step into the TIME machine. Fitting name for the Tetra Inversion Machine Extension. Sounds better shortened. I hook up all the necessary adapters and insert the IV drip. This fills my body with low amounts of non toxic alloy. Before traveling this alloy bonds with the molecules in my body allowing my body to be misshapen during travel otherwise I would be torn apart and killed from the gravitational forces. Looking down and seeing the button fills me with nervousness. `` Well here goes nothing'' I say. Thinking to myself, I wonder what New York will look like in 1000 years. I could have picked anywhere, except here. Cleavland Ohio would not exactly have the plethora of information I seek in 30 minutes notice. I close my eyes and with excitement and anxiety at what will happen and what the future holds, and press the button. The machine hums louder and louder. I begin to feel an odd sensation surrounding my body. And then pain. Oh god, horrible pain. Try to imagine every inch of your body being ripped apart. And at the moment I thought it could n't get any worse, I was shot into this wormhole. I wanted to die. The pain was so unbearable but I was unable to pass out. I felt like I was 1000 feet long and only a nanometer thick. No eyesight. Just feeling. I ca n't explain how long this lasted. I know I was transported in an instant, but the feelings in my brain and memory made it seem like it took 1000 years. I wake up in dirt, regaining motor control. To say I regained consciousness would n't be correct. I was awake the entire trip and when I landed. I just seemed unable to pull myself together. I reach out a finger, which luckily was near my other wrist in the way I landed and I hit the button on my watch to start the timer. As i get up I spend nearly 5 minutes puking and waiting for the world to stop spinning. This is not good, with only 30 minutes here I wasted 5 just trying to get my head straight. And then I realize something as I begin to orient myself. Silence. There is no noise, no rumbling of cars or horns or people. I hear loud bangs off in a great distance. Kind of like thunder. Must be a storm coming in. But this is weird. This should be in the heart of New York. My eyes open and see it. Everything is rubble. Buildings are nearly non existent. Trees and fauna have overgrown everything. They're... they're gone. No one is here or has been here for a very long time. And the damage to these buildings... it's not normal. Something bad happened. I try to look for a building that is somewhat intact. I look at my timer, 15 minutes left. Instead of looking for information to gain money and power, now I'm looking for information on how to save my life and humanity. What could have happened here? As I make my way down this street, I see a sign of hope. A building still standing somewhat. I run inside and see that it is a local news station in New York. I check my timer again, only 10 minutes left. I run upstairs looking for something, anything. Across from me is a room with a non lit sign above the door that says `` ON AIR''. I open the door and go inside. The room seems to be relatively unharmed compared to most of the building. I look down at my wrist, 2 minutes. DAMNIT. I look to my left and see it. An old newspaper inside an office. I walk up to the door and grab the handle. It's locked. Grabbing a piece of metal and with a quick swing the glass shatters. I walk in, crunching the glass beneath my feet and grab the newspaper. The headline reads April 29th 2017 BLACKHOLE IN OHIO THREATENS EARTH I look at the window outside and see off into the distance. Covering what looks like that half of the planet, darkness. Filled with streams of red and lightning. Like a continent sized volcano. Just then my timer beeps. Oh god no.
[ IP ] First Snow	Will Jaden, director of the Chronological Displacement Division at FutureTech, was speechless. His jaw hung down, and a slight smile creeped onto his face. His clipboard clattered to the floor, and he dropped to his knees, still looking at the immense sight before him. Jaden's assistant, Larry Ilbert, ran up to his superior, and tried to get a response out of him. Jaden laughed. `` Oh my God!'' he shouted. `` It worked! It actually fucking worked!'' Jaden ran from the awning of the `` bus station'' to touch the prehistoric beasts. They looked confused, and were a little scared of the snow, but were less frightened when they realized the snow was just water. A man walked from a bus to Jaden, and tried to tell him that two trucks were coming to transport the brontosauruses, but he shoved the man out of the way and stood in front of the monsters. They looked down at him with fear. One of them backed away, but was blocked by a reinforced fence. Jaden touched the leg of the brontosaurus, and it breathed on the human in response. `` Come on, team!'' Jaden said. `` There's nothing to be afraid of!'' `` Actually, Mr. Jaden, you should really come back here before something bad happens,'' Sam Grant, the paleontologist for the CDD said, his voice quivering. `` They can get pretty deadly.'' `` Lighten up. These are herbiv- `` Just like that, the brontosaurus shifted its rear feet. It whipped its tail towards Jaden, sending him several meters through the air headfirst into the windshield of a bus. Fuck, Grant thought, as there was nobody else who could control this operation. People in black uniforms, brandished with tranquilizer guns, shot at the brontosauruses, before any more scientists could die. Grant walked over to Morton Goddard, the man who told Jaden about the trucks, and wanted to see what their progress was. `` They'll be here in fifteen minutes,'' Goddard said, inside of the bus and sitting at a huge computer. `` But, we have a problem in Shanghai. Our time travel experiment might have brought some more dinosaurs to different parts of the world, because the Chinese military is fighting off a pack of troodons that are coming from some weird portal in an alleyway.'' `` Oh my,'' Grant said. `` Tell Oakly to send troops to Shanghai. We have business to take care of.''
[ WP ] The tattoos on her body tell the story of the dead hooker 's life .	Ross and I stepped inside the brightly lit morgue and greeted Dr. Cantor. The white fluorescent pushes all the darkness out of the room, and lays every detail of the dead hooker's body out on display. Purple bruises around her throat. Blood on her hands and wrists. Smeared makeup running down tear-stained cheeks now gone pale. And all over, the tattoos. I slid on latex gloves as I approached the body lying on the silver table. `` We just had a look at the other one,'' Ross said, `` forty-seven stab wounds. She did n't stop stabbing even when he was strangling the life out of her. Pretty open-and-shut case. Hooker snaps, stabs her pimp - what's he call himself? Shadow? - and gets strangled in the process. No big loss, if you ask me.'' `` Let's at least go through the motions, Ross,'' I said, `` Maybe we can establish a clearer motive to write up in the report.'' Ross nodded. `` You ever see tattoos like that, Jim? Are they gang-affiliated or something?'' The tattoo just above her breasts depicted a small, brown bird trapped inside a cage. The bars leaked into tendrils that spread out to tattoos on other parts of her body. `` It's a brown thrasher,'' I said, pointing to the caged bird. `` Since when are you a birdwatcher?'' `` It's the state bird of Georgia. We all learned about it in elementary school.'' `` So you and the hooker grew up in the same state. I doubt she ended up in LA as purposefully as you did.'' The tendril leading to her right shoulder dissipates into an image of a rundown shack colored the same dark purple as the bruises on her neck. The shack is connected by a small dirt path to a tobacco pipe in front of a liquor bottle surrounded by barbed thorns needled into her right bicep. I flipped over her right forearm. A ratty teddy bear with a torn arm and a black eye sits alone just below her wrist. Its remaining button eye looks up to her left shoulder. The tattoo he looks toward depicts a grey bus crashing into a giant television screen displaying the face of a smiling blonde woman. A crack runs down the center of the screen. Below the television is a jolly roger, only instead of a skull and crossbones, it features crossed syringes beneath Rx bottles arranged in the shape of a skull. On her wrist, a small hand holds out an ace of hearts to a larger, hairy hand extending a one-hundred dollar bill. `` Hey Jim, I think I found your motive,'' Ross said, `` Check it out.'' He pointed at the tattoo on her stomach. `` This one is new. The skin is still irritated.'' The tattoo shows a smiling shadow standing in front of an empty baby crib holding a knife in one hand and a coat hanger in the other. `` Jesus,'' I whispered. `` Seen enough?'' Ross asked. I straightened up, sighed, nodded. We said our goodbyes to Dr. Cantor and left the morgue. We stepped out into the dimly lit parking lot. Ross pulled out a box of cigarettes and offered me one. I took one, knowing Barbara would smell it on me, but not really caring. We stood under the orange glow of the streetlight without saying a word. `` So the dead hooker - `` Ross started. `` The dead woman,'' I said. `` Yeah. The dead woman. She must've known what could've happened to her. She must've spent every dime she had on those tattoos.'' `` She'd probably been saving for another investment,'' I said. `` I think she wanted people to know why she did it. Not that it matters much at this point, but that suggests premeditation.'' `` No one's as bad as they seem when you get the full story,'' I said, taking a final, slow drag from my cigarette before casting it aside. Ross threw his own cigarette onto the pavement and crushed it underneath the toe of his shoe. `` Some are,'' he said.
[ WP ] He was granted the opportunity to save his friend ; the love of his life . At the cost that he would be erased from her existence . He accepted without hesitation and then he left . He lost the meaning to his life , left to wander . Years later on one random fateful day he spotted her .	She had been the only girl I had ever loved. I had know her since we were both children, living across the street from each other. I still remember the day she moved in. The way those wavy pigtails bounced as she helped her dad carry boxes from the back of the van while I watch from our living room. I groaned at the thought of this girl, wishing my parents had n't encouraged me to think that the new neighbors would have kids that were my age. I had n't thought they meant girls too. And later that week, when I caught Brian trying to bully her and another girl at the crick in the neighborhood park. I told him stop, and when Brian turned to look at me, she threw a rock at his head. I got the blame for that, nobody believed it could have been her, and Brian was n't going to admit to a girl doing that to him. It was then that I knew I loved her. Her father of course hated me. I was n't really a nice kid. Brian was n't the only bully around. But I was never mean to her. I could n't do that to her. She was still so sad about losing her mother. So we were friends. It was a good match, I was a mean person, she was an angry person. Her father of course never saw her that way, but he might've had he drank just a little less. When he had told her to stay away from me, she just stopped mentioning any time we were together. He was n't the wiser. Right up until the time her father caught me in her bed when were were 14 and tossed me into the banister right outside her bedroom door. I can still see the scar from that on my forehead. That of course was the morning after she told me that she was sick like her mother. That was the first time my world fell apart. The next week, I knocked on her door, the stitches showing proudly when her father answered the door. I asked if I could see her, and he stared at me wildly. When I did not back down, he grunted and let me inside and stepped out himself to go for a drive. Thankfully, he had been sober for five days. We lay in bed together all afternoon, as I ran my hand through her hair over and over again. Every few strokes, I found some still clinging to my hand. It was never that thick again. And as her hair fell out, the rest of her body, her nature, seemed to shrivel too. She spent more and more time in the hospital. So did I, for that point. Between her father and I, she was never alone. Confused from the all the drugs, but whenever we told her we were close, she would calm down, and be lulled back into a hazy sleep. One day, the doctor finally told us that it was over. She was beyond their help. Her father broke down, sitting in the corner of her room at home. Crying for hours as he clutched at an open bottle of bourbon. To his credit, he never did take a sip. I cried too, but over her hospital. My nails lightly scratching her scalp as I remember running my hand through that wavy brown hair. I promised to do anything for her. Anything to save my best friend, the love of my life. And across the restaurant now, there she was. Laughing with her husband. Tousling the hair of their son. Cutting up food for their daughter. And when they were finished, they stepped out of the booth. He turned to her, brushed her hair away from her face, and gave her a quick kiss. She blushed and held her cheek for a moment before pretending to scold the children as they groaned in disgust. Which is when she caught me staring at her. All through dinner she had been smiling, but when she looked at me, it hesitated. I was n't sure if she had recognized me, but a moment later, her kids each had her by an arm as they pulled her out the door, asking to stop for ice cream on the way home. My eyes followed her as they left. As they passed through the door, I waited for her to turn her head around, trying to spot me one last time. But she never did.
[ WP ] People stop aging after they turn 18 , instead their `` damage taken '' multiplier is increased by one percent each year . You are now the oldest person alive .	`` Happy birthday'' one of my grandchildren said with a huge grin. I had become 147 years old, which meant I took a whopping 147 percent more damage to everything. That bastard of a grandchild knew I took serious damage now, a slight flick felt like a punch, a hard fall was indescribable. You would be shocked at how many people died from falling at the age of 60-70, the damage alone could stop their heart, the fall still must be quite big. One of my friends, Alfred; died from a snowball. Yes, a god damn snowball killed that poor bastard; may he rest in peace. I've been quite careful in my later years; I usually wear bubble wrap on my body at all times. I do look like an idiot, but the true idiot is the one who dies from a snowball; sorry Alfred. `` So grandpa, what you going to do this year?'' my grandkids asked, they were still young, had n't passed the 18-year old mark, they didn ’ t understand the damage multiplier. With my age, I got quite the grand attention, people were intrigued that a man had reacher such an age, and such a high damage multiplier. The weird thing was, people often asked the simplest, dumbest questions when they met me; `` does taking a shit hurt? ``, `` do you get really bad brain-freezes?''. It sure was nice at first, being known for being the oldest man alive gets boring, I have several times wondered; `` is it worth it?''. I had gotten quite the stiff back from standing for such a long time, my feet were sore, my back was aching. I had to sit down. That ’ s when I felt it, a pain indescribable, so sharp. Those kids never learned to tidy those god damn nails they used to pin paintings with. `` God damn kids''.
[ WP ] A man dies in a terrible accident , and Death comes to show him the world , give him a second chance , yada yada yada . But Death is new at the job , and ca n't convince the man he wants to live again .	Rodney wakes up in the middle of nothing but grey clouds, he's already standing but everything seems to be sideways, it does n't take him long to realize that his head is stuck to the side. Rodney tries to correct his head but finds it stuck in place. `` Oh, let me help you with that.'' A dark hooded cloak appears before Rodney, inside it is a gaunt old man, despite his age his eyes have an air of inexperience behind them. His old hands reach up to Rodneys head and with a sickening crack he returns Rodney's head to almost the proper position. `` There we go.'' `` Where am I?'' Rodney manages to squeak out. `` This is limbo'' Death replies `` I'm the Grim Reaper, name is Jim, if you'd like you can call me the Jim Reaper'' Death keeps a big grin on his face as he watches Rodney, Rodney gives nothing back. `` Yeah, not getting a lot of laughs with that one.'' `` Why am I here?'' `` Well... you broke your neck. That's why your neck was broken.'Cause you broke it. Nasty spill really. Anyways, the reason you're in limbo is because we do n't really think you're supposed to die yet but it's up to you to make the ultimate decision.'' Rodney thinks about it for almost five seconds `` Well Death, I think I'm ready to die. My life was pretty dull, work was boring and I just do n't much see the point in going back.'' `` Whoa! Whoa! Wait a second, I have n't even gotten to the presentation yet. First of all, self esteem man, get some. Second, why are n't you thinking about how your death affects those around you?'' `` Who could my death affect? I barely speak to my parents and the only person in my life is my emotionally dependant girlfriend.'' Death waves his hand and everything starts to distort around them. `` Come, let me show you the world as it is and as it could be.'' They immediately shift to inside of Rodney's parent's house, they are huddled together in front of the computer laughing and chatting about something. He ca n't make out what they're talking about but he can see himself on their computer. `` Are me and my folks actually talking together?'' Rodney asks surprised, he rarely spoke to his parents, let alone Skyped with them. `` No Rodney, they are watching your accident online.'' `` The one where I broke my neck? Why are they laughing then?!'' `` That is your greatest gift to mankind Rodney, your accident.'' `` Really? How so? Did I save people?'' Rodeny starts to look excited `` Am I hero?'' Death responds, trying to reel Rodney back a bit `` Well no, but the video of you goes viral online and gets millions of hits.'' `` So what does that have to do with me being alive?'' `` Well it's not a funny video if you die in it, but if you live people all over the world will watch it, you'll bring laughter to millions.'' `` So you're saying if I stay alive I'll get to be the laughing stock of the entire world?'' Rodney was getting irate. `` Well...'' `` What kind of incentive is that?! Do I at least make money off it?'' `` Well... no, somebody else posts the video.'' `` And I do n't even GET anything out of it?!?'' `` You DO get invited to The Today Show and... wait... nevermind.'' `` No, what were you going to say?'' `` Well you have an accident there too and that also goes viral.'' `` And I still get no money?'' `` Correct.'' `` Can I sue them at least?'' `` Actually they sue you.'' `` WHAT?!'' `` Yeah you take Al Roker down with you.'' `` Why would you show me this?! This is awful, show me something else.'' Death waves his hand and their surroundings shift seemlessly into Rodney's girlfriend's apartment. She is laying on her bed holding a picture of Rodney and crying. `` This is Anne, even though you'd only been dating for a few months she took your death really hard and she never gets over it. She tries to move on but you forever linger in her mind and she eventually dies alone an old woman. Now let me show you if you choose to live...'' Again the terrain shifts, this time to a modern apartment, it's comfortably appointed with modern appliances and expensive looking furniture. Anne walks in with a glass of orange juice and sits at the table, she seems very happy. Anne shouts into the next room `` Hey babe, I finished packing the Jag last night, when you're ready to head to the summer house just let me know.'' For the first time Rodney looks happy. Death looks at him and notices this is finally working. `` You see, with you alive Anne realized her own inner value and grew as a person. She finished college, stopped depending on her mother for emotional stability, became a lawyer, and...'' Death pauses for effect, Rodney looks up at him to see Death smiling warmly down at him `` And asks her long time boyfriend to live out the rest of their perfect life together.'' Rodney turns his gaze back to the picturesque scene before him. `` Death, thank you. Thank you for showing me this, I think that...'' As he said that a shirtless, well muscled man walks into the living room. `` Alright hun, just about ready.'' Rodney snapps back to death `` Who is that?!'' Death looks surprised `` Oh it was n't with you.'' `` What?! But you just said that me dying...'' `` Yes'' Death adds `` When you die she is crushed but with you alive she realizes just how much better she is than you and betters herself, look how happy she is!'' Rodney stares at him, seething. `` Dude, she's got a Jag!'' Death says, like it would make Rodney feel better. Rodney crosses his arms `` Nope, I'm out. Get me out of here. Finish whatever paperwork you need but send me on my way.'' Death looks down at the clipboard that magically appeared in his hand `` Well Ok but... here it does n't say you're going to Heaven.'' `` Seriously?!'' Rodney then looks back at the scene that is still transpiring before him and sees his old girlfriend and her super model husband start to kiss. `` Gah! I do n't even care anymore, send me wherever.'' `` Well OK then'' Death says as he starts to conjure a magical energy around Rodney. `` Oh one more thing...'' Rodney maintains his disgruntled stare `` Would you mind staying after to fill a short survey of your experience today?''
[ WP ] One day you find $ 10m in your bank account with only the memo `` Sorry '' attached to it .	Sorry, mine is long so I'm posting it in parts. This is Part 1, Title: A Decade of a Million BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Rang my alarm on my bedside table. I reached out with a fist and smashed it, sitting on my right side, making the clock bounce and hit the floor hard. I rubbed my eyes with my fingers and looked down my bed to my feet. My window in front of me, covered by blackout green drapes, had the sun peering out from its edges, brightly. It was early. I got out of bed and stretched, every bone and tendon in my body cracking loudly. I let out a long sigh and stood up and walked to my computer on the left side of my room. I sat down on my desk chair and picked up a picture frame next to my speakers. It was of me and my wife. I smiled and kissed the photo, setting it down again gently. I opened my laptop and immediately went to my bank account, to see what money I owed; it was the beginning of a new month. I logged in and waited for the page to load, and after a moment my account stared back at me. My heart jumped and stopped. My eyes glued to my screen and I gasped audibly. What used to read “ $ 3,051 ” in my savings, now read, “ $ 13,000,051.00 ”. Where the hell did that come from? I would never make this amount of money, even if I worked every day until I turned 92. I ’ m 31 now. I went to the upper tab and opened a page that included bank memos and statements. I clicked on the 2nd to last one on the top of the list and a new page opened. A random account number attached to $ 10 million wrote “ Sorry ”. Confused and frowning, I looked it up further. I tried tracking when and where this was coming from. It happened at 8:07 pm the night before. I fell asleep around 7:30 watching a movie. I couldn ’ t find a city or name attached to the money and my heart was racing. I was rich! I took my hands off my keyboard and took a step back. I needed to take a deep breath and walk off my adrenaline. I grabbed my jacket and zipped it up over my clothes and grabbed my wool boots and walked outside. It was cold but not cold enough to snow. The temperature was dropping with no rain from the sky. I walked and thought a million things to myself. 10 million things. Oh god, why am I referring it to 10 million? It ’ s because of that money. Who gave me that money? And why? I didn ’ t deserve it. Was it a mistake? Was someone trying to deposit it to their own account? Did they do it while they ’ re drunk? How did they find 10 million? Was it a scam? I couldn ’ t be scammed, I gave nobody my email, only to work and I didn ’ t have any social media accounts so those sites couldn ’ t reach me. Everything I have is secure with a lock and password of some sort. I walked and thought to myself for about 30 minutes. I lost track of where I was and after coming to terms with my surroundings, I looked up and realized I had walked onto the edge of the beach, just about to touch the water with my toes. I lived on the coast so walking around the town and ending up on the beach does not take long. I checked my watch and read 11:02 am. Damn, I was late to work. I took in a slow deep breath and calmed myself down, walking back to my house and ran upstairs to change. Another half hour later, I got into work. “ Hey, Henry, how ’ s it going? ” Asked one of my coworkers as I walked into my office.
[ WP ] As you sit in a dark room filled with armed scarred men , and sit at a table with a shark tank in the middle , all while scratching your cat with your robotic hand , you begin to think you might have ... accidentally ... become a super villain .	I had just been looking for a job, at first. With a record like mine, though, a regular nine to five is hard to get. With a gimpy robot arm, any job was hard to get. I was n't too proud to turn down the first steady piece of work that came my way and being a night janitor meant free coffee and a corner to nod off in. The old man who was retiring trained me up in just a couple of weeks. It was the same thing every night, just mop the entrance hall, empty the lobby trash, clean the first floor bathrooms. There were other janitors with other duties but I had no ambitions beyond sneaking in some goofing off time and their security clearances did not interest me. I'd be happy sticking to the green zone of floor number one with central heat and air with a cup of fresh java to look forward to. There were other perks too, some of the women marching around sure were n't bad looking. Not that they looked twice at me but as a man who has spent some lonely time locked in a cell, I enjoyed the show. Speaking of the show, I soon came to realize that this place was full of so much of the most backstabbing underhanded office drama that soap operas should have had spies in here to take notes. I even thought that maybe, I might take a stab at doing some writing of my own. They did n't pay attention to me at all, but I knew who was coming and going almost as good as the desk clerk. Speaking of the desk clerk, that guy was making a mint in bribes to turn cameras away, not make notations on the log or overhear certain conversations. That guy was my number one on my list of friends to make. I was thinking I could get in on some of that money by being a good little gopher, running errands and delivering parcels - strictly off camera and probably beyond my security clearance. I never actually got the chance though. There was a night when the desk clerk did n't come in. I heard from one of the day shift guys that he had tried making the leap from bribery to blackmail. Apparently it did n't go well and the guy ended up as a stain the day shift did n't like dealing with. I was figuring ways I might pick up on the slack since getting too greedy was not one of my personal flaws, despite the multitude of other flaws. In a building with tight security, generally there are a limited number of exits and entrances. Even the head honcho has to use them every now and again. That incident occurred late one night as I had finished rubbing a fresh coating of polish into the inlaid hardwood floor. I did my job well, knowing that this was a cushy gig I did not want to lose. I can honestly say I was proud of the shine and leaned on my mop to appreciate the design of the floor. The door from a higher security area opened into the lobby I had just finished. From that section strode the Boss, He Who Ranked Above All. In his arms he held some sort of creature so black it looked like a ball of shadow. Then a glimpse of slanted green eyes and twitching whiskers gave me the impression of a cat's face. This was a man with the power of life and death of employees. This was the man everyone feared. I had heard rumors of a death ray. After a panicked moment, I bowed low, tearing my eyes away and fastening them to the floor. Sweat dropped from my brow as I recognized the sound of footsteps coming closer. There was a hand dropped on my shoulder, I flinched, worried about my bowel control. `` You never saw this, I was not here.'' The voice was nervous. `` You will take Mr. Tiddles and hide in the closet for one hour. I will return for Mr. Tiddles and he better be just as I have left him.'' He glanced around. `` Traitors seek my life. I shall return with my trusted allies and there will be order once again.'' Nodding my head, I dropped my mop and I dared not look up as the soft, sleek darkness of Mr. Tiddles had been transferred into my arms. The Boss turned to run in some other direction, unfortunately, my mop was in the way. He went down hard, chin first. The snap of his neck was an ugly sound. There were some gurgles, then a gush of blood. I was paralyzed with horror. Immediately, there was a rush of boots on floor, I was surrounded by armed and uniformed troops - the Guards. They had appeared as if out of nowhere, accompanied by a strange, loud noise. It was n't until I became breathless that I realized the loud noise was my heartbeat pounding in my ears like heavy surf on the rocks. The apparent leader of the Guards checked the pulse of the Boss's neck but the glazed, empty eyes already told the story. The Guard looked me over, Mr. Tiddles in my arms and rubber boots on my feet. He stood, then motioned for me to follow him down one of the corridors I had never had clearance for. It was a hallway into the heart of the building with many doors and branching pathways. The Guards did not hesitate at either direction or security checkpoint, their key cards gaining access to whichever gate they chose. After some walking, we arrived in a large room, maybe fifty feet across. I immediately noticed the open grates in the floor and a dark fin cutting the water contained in the opening they revealed. The room was swaddled in shadow, excepting only the shark tank and a swanky leather swivel chair placed to give a good view into the tank. I was utterly astonished as the Guard indicated I should sit in the chair, it seemed too good for a prisoner's chair. I petted Mr. Tiddles, more to calm myself than anything. He seemed curiously at home and calm. From a swatch of darkness in the distant end of the room, I heard a door open. Footsteps approached briskly. This time my eyes were not on the floor and I discerned a figure in the gloom. The shape resolved into The Commander, Second to the Boss. I could not swallow past the lump in my throat, I could only gaze mutely under the Commander's stern glare. She looked me over, paused to study Mr. Tiddles for a moment. Then she addressed the Guard who brought me. `` The Boss is dead?'' She spoke coldly. The Guard replied with a nod of his head in the affirmative. `` This man did it?'' The Commander jerked her head in my direction and was answered by another affirmative nod. The Commander turned her full attention to me. `` In this organization, being the Boss is only for the strongest. you have killed the Boss, you are now the strongest. Everything that was his is now yours, per the rules of our covenants. Some Bosses have lasted years, some have lasted minutes. You've just had a promotion from janitor to Boss. Are you interested in lasting more than a few minutes?'' I nodded, terrified to speak, or even think. Her words made almost no sense to me except that my life was in danger. I snuggled with Mr. Tiddles in desperation as my anxiety surged. `` Very good.'' The Commander seemed pleased, perhaps developing schemes with the lightning fast brain of someone who knows how to take advantage of an opportunity. `` Sit here a few moments. I'll return soon with documents for you to sign.'' The Commander departed but the Guards did not. Nervous, I slowly swiveled my chair to face the shark tank. I had some fear the beast would surge from the water to snatch me into it's watery lair. The fin circled in regular intervals as I watched. Petting Mr. Tiddles and watching the bubbles of foam on the shark tank calmed me. I was able to review my last few minutes of terror, try to make sense of things. My mind swirled and it was hard to know if things were real. I hoped not. A fantastic thought kept coming around and around and around. Whatever had happened, by whatever fate, destiny, karma or agency I had just accidentally become... a super villain.
[ WP ] You can literally make anyone 's dreams come true . Anyone 's but your own .	My life seemed empty. I was held simultaneously as a hero of the planet, and the world's most heinous war criminal. It all started when I was very young. I had a friend named Neil, whose family came from very rough backgrounds. I enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed mine, though I noticed that he never really ate at lunch time. Once I asked, and he said that he wished he could eat, but his mom could n't afford any food. I felt a tugging in my gut that day as I handed him half of my ham sandwich. That was my first wish. Things were good back then, though they seemed to grow more and more unexplainable. Neil would mysteriously find a lunchbox on his way home from school with a note `` enjoy'' that I never wrote. Though eventually, Neil began to drift away from me. He would come to school with bruises on his eye, and a slight limp. I asked him what was wrong, and he began telling me that his mom got a new boyfriend, before cutting off the conversation and limping away. One day, Neil asked if he could stay over at my house that night. I said yes, of course, I wanted to help him. We went home together, and had a nice dinner, and stayed up late that night laughing and playing games. Once it was time to sleep, Neil began talking about his mom's `` boyfriend''. `` I do n't know what they do, but I see him hit her, and he drinks a lot too. I do n't know what, but it makes him angry and hit me and mom.'' I never knew what to do with this, but try and comfort him, and told him I'd try to help him how I could. He got very quiet, and I could just barely hear one phrase before he went to sleep: `` I wish he was dead....'' It was then that I felt a familiar tug in my gut, and I realised that because I wanted to help Neil, his wish was being granted. Neil was asked to talk to some police men later the next day during class. I did n't hear much, but apparently there had been an accident at his house, and they wanted to know about it. Neil left my school that week. Soon, I began getting the hang of things in high school, people wanting to get laid suddenly finding that they had amazing game that night, some people finding a convenient dime bag of weed in their coat pocket that they do n't remember buying, things like that. I was pretty popular in school since people seemed to be lucky when they hung out with me. There was just one catch to this little knack of mine: anything I wished for did n't happen. Even getting that last bit of toothpaste out of the tube. Nothing. After I graduated high school, things started to get darker. I fell in with the wrong group of hard-partying delinquents, and wanted to be accepted as one of them. Because of this, many of them began finding harder drugs, roofies, and sometimes weapons where they could find them. I did n't want them to have those things, but deep down, I wanted them to like me, so my knack took the wheel. I stood in a group and watched as peoples lives fell apart as they succumbed to addiction. I wished that they would begin to realise that they needed help, but as per usual, nothing I wished for happened. Eventually funerals began to become a regular occurence for me. I wanted to help peoples families to relieve the pain that their loss brought them. For some, that was a winning lotto ticket, for others, it was a length of rope. Eventually, others began to catch on to my knack: politicians, government officials, and eventually the army brass. They tried to get me to grant their wishes of any kind. `` I wish I would win this election...'' `` I wish we could suppress this riot for good...'' `` I wish this war in Vietnam would end.'' an army general said with a wink. This one I did grant, but as per usual, I had no control over how the war ended, no matter how bloody. I was brought into the nearest military base months later and beaten within an inch of my life. I wished it would have stopped, but it did n't. shocker. Eventually, I realised that the easiest way to keep everyone safe was to stay as far away from people as possible. I went to visit my parents, and stay with them for a while. Just as I'd hoped, they wished that I was happy, well fed, and had a roof over my head. And as luck would have it, a small house in Canada came up in my email as part of a strange declaration of a will from a distant relative of mine. I went gambling at a big casino, and my parents wish was filled: I would no longer have to worry about food or quality of life. I moved up to the Yukon, and got into a routine, get food, continue my woodworking, and try to enjoy life in quasi-isolation. It's been alright, Canada is quite nice, and I like the cold. The only thing I have left to do is find someone who wishes I did n't have this knack...
[ WP ] You are the fastest human alive.You are n't interested in being a superhero , and have become bored quickly .	You ’ ve probably seen me on buzzfeed articles and facebook clickbait. Normal guy one day, just doing his job scrubbing out the large hadron collider, next thing you know, BOOM. Some moron switched on the monstrosity by accident. Weird physics shit happened, and now I ’ m a freak. When it first happened, it was amazing, overwhelming, and so damn cool. I was famous, I had super powers, it was a 15-year-old ’ s dream come true ( and we ’ re all still 15 somewhere deep inside, aren ’ t we? ). I had tons of fun setting world landspeed records, racing against formula 1 cars, doing flashy TV interviews. I went to parties with rock stars, Johnny Fuckin ’ Depp asked me for an autograph. And the girls, by God, the girls. They threw themselves at me. It was magnificent. If anyone tells you that fame and money can ’ t buy happiness, they ’ re dead wrong. Friends, barbie-faced plasticky reporters, dirty hobos I pass on the streets, they all kept asking; Are you going to be like Superman now? Will you beat up burglars and karate-chop terrorists? Won ’ t you save us? Fuck no. I ’ m freaky fast, but I cut myself shaving almost every morning. I am by no means invulnerable. Yeah, I can dodge bullets, but mistakes happen. And I ’ m not going to risk my goddamn life for anyone else, not what I signed up for. At least, that ’ s what I told them, back then. It ’ s an addiction, you know. So much better than any drug, and at this point I ’ ve tried them all. Once you ’ ve tasted that kind of freedom, the total exhilaration that come from outstripping a bullet train or dodging a point-blank shotgun blast for a publicity stunt, it ’ s all you want. At first, I only went hyperspeed for stunts, to show off. I lived my life at everyone else ’ s pace. But after awhile, I realized that I could speed things up just a little anytime I wanted to. It wasn ’ t just running, my whole body and brain could work overtime. At first, it was little things: speeding through breakfast, just a little bit, mind you. Almost, but not quite double-time. Eventually, I was doing it all the time. Everyone around me talked and reacted sluggishly. I had to speak very slowly or people called me a chipmunk. And my day-to-day speed just kept creeping up. Pretty soon carrying on a conversation was a nightmare. I had to come back down to a normal speed. Velocitation: it ’ s a boring vocabulary word from driver ’ s education. Basically, if you tear down the highway doing 90 for 3 hours, driving through a school zone will feel like an excruciating crawl. I tried to tone it down, I really did. But it felt like I ’ d been transformed into a slug. I itched to go just a little faster. How could anyone do things so slowly!? I couldn ’ t keep off it, my new wonder drug. And I just kept speeding up. I ’ m alone now. Or, I might as well be. Everyone else is frozen. If I watch them closely, I can see that they ’ re moving. Just barely. But it ’ s like watching grass grow. I decided to take a sprint around the world yesterday, and it only took me about a second. I ’ ve been wandering around the world by myself a long while now, at least from my point of view. I ’ ve seen all the wonders, traveled everywhere I always wanted to go. There ’ s nothing left, and there ’ s no one for me. I ’ ve decided to take a deep dive from the grand canyon ’ s edge. At least I ’ ll hit the dirt at the same speed as everyone else.
[ TT ] A great king takes the throne , spreading peace and goodwill upon the lands and ushering in the beginning of a new golden age . A small band of unlikely evil-doers decide to take up an epic quest to put a stop to this nonsense .	My father, a great general in his time who led several conquest and win so many wars, lies in the bed in front of me. His hair turned white and there is nothing but wrinkles in his pale face, his lips turned purple and his eyes lost it's color that i thought that he's already dead until he took a deep breath. ``... Son?'' He called out, moving his hand to reach me. I reached him out first, and kneel beside his bed. `` I'm here, Father.'' I rub his hand, and feel nothing but skin and bone. `` The balance is lost-'' A long pause, as my father tries to take another breath. `` -long lost.'' `` Yes, father.'' I nod. `` There is nothing but Peace.'' `` Bring back the balance.'' My father tilted his head, looking at me in the eye. I see nothing but death. `` The Balance.'' And then a long silence. His hand grew limp and his eyes started to slowly close. I sighed and stood up, kissing my dead father's forehead. `` I'll bring back the balance.'' The door opened, a group of people entered the room wearing armors and carrying various weapon from bow to a magic staff. Man and woman, young and old. `` May he rest in peace.'' A man that looked as old as my father spoke up. `` Son, it is time.'' I nod, and my father's comrade and subordinates nod back at me. `` It's time to kill the King.'' -- - PS: Sorry for my crappy English and i hope this is good!
[ WP ] You are a Zookeeper how can talk to animals . One day you decide to introduce your new girlfriend to your animal friends but they simply can not stand her .	It. Was. Magical. Sheila was looking glamorous even in her casual summer dress and no makeup, way out of my league in looks. How I managed to find myself such a gorgeous and gracious girl like her baffles me, but we're like two peas in pod, and my life is really complete. We arrived at the back entrance to the zoo as dusk began deepening shadows and I admit I may have been a bit nervous; it was n't my habit to break zoo policy on admitting guests after the gates close, and I thought about it for the thousandth time as I swiped my employee badge at the rear entrance. At the same time, it was a perfect opportunity to introduce her to my best friends in the world, those I spend most of my time with here at the zoo. We worked together every day for years now, we're like a family, so I had to finally introduce her to my other family. It meant the world to me that they all love her as much as I do, and she's heard so much about the guys from the zoo that I could n't not take her to meet them, right? I guess it should be fair to admit that the primary reason for my slick palms and thudding chest was that Sheila did n't know what I didn't tell her about my colleagues. Countless hours of lost sleep afforded me no clear way to really get the point across to her, so I opted to do the simplest thing and just take her straight into the lion's den. So, once my beautiful doll was ushered into hidden passageways behind the exhibits of the Dark Continent, that's where we went straight away: The lions. I was giving her a walking behind-the-scenes tour and explaining how we feed and clean up after the animals and so on, and as we went along, my hands were quietly opening doors. By the time we'd gone all the way around, a train of several dozen animals trailed along behind us. I kept her distracted by pointing things out here and there until our steps led us back to where we'd began and I paused. It did n't take her long. She jumped a full foot in the air with a cry and huddling up to my side, whispered loudly `` AH! Gordan, the animals are loose! What do we do?!'' `` It's okay,'' I reassured her with light squeeze, `` They're not wild animals, these are the people from work I've been telling you about.'' Her tension eased as it slowly became apparent the various creatures around her were all gathered around simply gazing at us rather than rushing in to rip us limb from limb. She straightened abruptly, as if struck with something. It's really cute the way she scrunches up her face when something puzzles her. A few ticks later, `` Gord, you told me you played poker with the people from work.'' `` Yeah, so?'' `` Gordan,'' she pulled away and turned to face me, `` they're animals, you ca n't teach them to play poker. That's just silly. Everyone knows animals are n't smart enough to do that. Although I think I do remember seeing a video that said squirrels instinctually know how to jet ski or something like that. `` `` Uhh, yeah, but that's just, just a stereo type. Not all squirrels can water ski, or like the water. or know how to swim. Ooh, sorry PJ!'' A brown squirrel wagged a tail at me saying `` no offense.'' `` Whatever, you're just making fun of me. You ca n't teach a stupid animal to play poker.'' `` No, I did n't teach them, Benny taught me!'' To my left, a small monkey waved. Sheila saw the motion and did a double take, staring at the tiny primate. He grinned and flipped her the bird. `` Wha-?'' `` Do n't mind him, he's a little shit. Are n't ya, ya little cocksucker?'' Benny turned and smacked his little pink ass before deftly scrambling up between the shoulders of a huge rhino. The monkey chittered to the huge brute who snorted and stomped out a reply. `` Hey,'' I said, `` Benny, that is NONE of your business! And, Tiffany! That was n't nice! Your mother did n't raise a filthy-mouthed hippo!'' Tiffany's eyes glared with contempt, but she ceased her grunting protest. `` Gordan, this is n't funny. I do n't like this. You're either being a dumbass or you need help and your animals are giving me the creeps. I keep hearing growls and I think that bunny over there just did that throat-slitty thing at me. Off in the corner sat a brown rabbit, paw still raised to its neck. `` Pete! You too? Aw, come on guys!'' I turned round and addressed a creeping mob, `` Guys! I swear, I'll talk to her! Just let me talk to her!'' My words fell on deaf ears, they had already made up their mind. `` No! Please! No!'' It was if life was falling to bits before my eyes. This could n't be happening! My brain went into overload and then shutdown. I could n't bear to see or hear it happen, what could I do but make my escape? The howls, hisses, screeches and roars of the menagerie disguised Sheila's anguishing cries, but the rending sound of flesh parting and the crack of bone shuffled along beside me as I nudged my way past a stalking leopard and squeezed around a group of rumbling polar bears toward the exit. A piercing scream cut short rather suddenly as the door slammed shut behind me, into the calm night air. Trudging out into the park, I ran into Louie, one of the security guards. `` Hey, Gordo! You look rough, what's wrong?'' `` Ah, I uh, well, I had to leave my girlfriend.'' `` That's too bad, buddy! You look pretty torn up!'' `` Yeah? You should've seen her.'' EDIT words
[ WP ] Wars are no longer fought with weapons , but Music . Tell me the story of the 101st Bagpipe Company .	The 101st bagpipe division was one of the most brilliant ideas conceived in world war 2. Their job was simple, infiltrate axis cities, disrupt/destroy propaganda music playing throughout the city, then escape. The 101st division is here today because of their heroic actions during their campaign against concentration camps. This will be the first ever detailed account of one of their missions In the cover of darkness one man equipped a silencer onto his bagpipe and blew softly into it. The tiny faint image of a blue man holding a sword appeared and began work cutting the electrified fence link by link. One by one the twelve man division went through the hole and the small blue man disappeared along with his sword. The men did n't have to look long for the propaganda. Considering the glowing red colossus of a german solider was patrolling the camp as german propaganda blasted from the loud speaker. The division had to use their advantage of surprise quickly or they might lose it. So they all blasted the Irish songs of old as their sound appeared rising taller than the solider wielding sword and shield glowing a bright blue. The red sound pulled up his gun and fired into the blue sounds shield puncturing it. The blue raised the sword above his head and brought it down on to the slower red german cutting it from the right of its neck to the left of its stomach. The propaganda immediately silenced and the red dissipated into the night. The blue continued to the front gates ripping it open as the prisoners fled into the safety of night. This is but one example of the many missions the 101st division executed with out mercy or remorse which is why today we honor them with the gilded guitar award for bravery. May they rock in peace.
[ WP ] The year is 1951 . You sit at home , alone , listening to a program on your Airline radio on a cold autumn night . Suddenly , it goes quiet . A soft murmuring crackle fills the dead air , and a voice comes alive . It begins by saying `` This is not a drill ... ''	The pauses between the words feel like a lifetime. I gaze out onto the street. The trees shed their golden brown leaves, the leaves quickly fluttering down like the bombs that will soon engulf this town with fire and brimstone. Families with unfamiliar faces are already bustling through the streets, packing close to each other like well-dressed sardines. ``... We repeat, this is not a drill. It is unknown if the bomb is German, Korean, or Japanese, but we urge all citizens in the East Coast area to find a fallout shelter and hide. If there are no fallout shelters, remember to duck and cover as it will minimize --'' I shut the radio off. The people on the street are thinning, and those who are staying on the street have begun praying or crying. Sometimes both. Every man, woman and child out on the street is scared. But they should n't be. It will be a quick and painless, if not hot, death, and the last thing they will see will be a pretty light show. I grip my chair. Sherry and the kids are probably down there. Deep under 40 feet of concrete, rock, and steel. I count the seconds that spread like minutes that spread like hours across my clock face. The living room is barren, and all memories of my life are gone. This pain stings more than any nuclear blast ever will. My children will never see their father again. All they will know is concrete, stale food, and an irradiated wasteland. I clasp my hands together and do somthing I have n't for years. Pray. I pray to anyone who listens. I pray not for me, but for my children. My wife. I open my eyes and look outside. And for a moment, the bright light looks inviting. Like the hands of God. I smile.
[ TT ] A war against ALL MAGIC	It was a shame, really. The President had died in a fire, just at the time that a well known Pyromancer, Marcrucio, was visiting the White house. It was just coincidence. But the people would n't believe it. They hung him. It was the first time anyone had been hung for magic in a very long time, and it was usually in England. His body is still there, as far as I know. Hanging from the line, in the middle of the street, in full view of the still wrecked White House. A reminder of why we are now hated. The world leaders met, and the people watched with hatred in their eyes. The mages, sorcerers and magicians watched with fear. Finally, a decision was made, and it was not a good one. But we did n't know that yet. We did n't know until they burst down our doors. We did n't know until a dozen of us had been gunned down. Our crime? Being different. We were hunted. Laws were put in place against us. We were expelled from society. Even those who simply practiced sleight of hand were to stop calling themselves magicians. Instead, they were'tricksters,' and afterwards had to prove that what they were doing was indeed possible without magic, for fear of being executed for what they practice. We tried to fight back. But very few of us were brave enough to band together a'resistance.' Instead, I witnessed many lone mages fighting off hordes of men, soldiers and civilians alike. None succeeded, for none had enough power. A lot of us went in to hiding. Others fled. The rest died, by their own hand or the hand of others. Some Countries rounded up all their magii and sorcerers, and put them in a new arena, a cruelty not heard of since ancient Rome. Me? I'm a messenger. A practicer of Alteration and Conjuration. I roam from place to place, country to country, bringing supplies, and hopefully some day, a message of hope, to the secret underground communities of the magically gifted.
[ WP ] A soldier returns , a sole survivor , his entire squad dead or missing . It has been the fifth time this has happened .	Northern Istanbul 6/6/36 - TRANSMISSION INCOMING FROM: Waylin Scott `` We're pinned down, Thompson got sniped as soon as we stepped foot inside the plaza. Jason, well Jason stepped on the only god damn mine in the 594 square miles in this city of shit. The others, they were less fortunate. They activated a biological weapon, which when comes in contact with skin, it unbinds the connective tissue in the skin, causing the skin to just... Slide off. At the time of writing this 14:02 there are four original squad members. Our moral is low, and I have honestly no clue how to bring it back up.'' TRANSMISSION END ____ `` Corporal Jenson, How Thomas holding up.'' -Waylin `` Seargent, Its not good, he's bleeding out slowly, and without our Squad Medic, he SOL.'' -Jenson `` Damnit... God Damnit! Look, I have an idea, Do you see that opening on the roof on the other side of the plaza, if i can get there I can cover your escape get on channel 1; 113 on your comms device. And look if I do n't make it out get Thomson the hell out of here okay?'' -Waylin `` Sir.. Its a suicide mission'' -Jenson `` My life for two. Look we're low on supplies, rations, and ammo, if we do n't try something were going to be sitting ducks, as your commanding officer, I'm tell you you have to do this.'' -Waylin `` Stay safe, I'll get him out do n't worry'' -- -- -- -- - NORTHERN INSTANBUL 6/7/36 - TRANSMISSION INCOMING FROM: Jenson Barquette `` Waylin left, He's crawling through the vents at time of writing this 2:00. It's just Thomas and I, I addressed his wounds as well as i could, but unless he gets help hes not going to make it. I think I'll be moving out soon, This is Jenson Barquette signing off. TRANSMISSION END ___ God, when they made vents, they sure as hell did n't have a 243 pound soldier crawling in it, in their minds. But judging from the map I'm practically right underneath where i want to be, sounds like there's two to three hostiles in the room. `` Jenson, Do you copy'' -W `` Yes Sir.'' -J `` I'm about to make some noise, are you ready? `` -W `` Yes'' -J `` When you hear it, get out of there as soon as possible, get to the exit, and on the other side of the road should be another squadron, They'll heal up Thomas'' -W After that Jenson said some words, but i honestly was n't paying attention as i was duct taping 2 flashbangs together, and then 2 smoke grenades onto that. Heres to hoping this works. _____ I hear multiple explosions, I'm guessing this is the signal Waylin was talking about so with Thomas in my arms, I run for the exit. ____ One gunshot, and some screams, I could n't tell if it was screams from them, or screams from outside. But there is five less soldiers in this room, and i make my way to the window and I see 4 small blobs down in the plaza heading for the exit two of which are being carried out. I raise my gun and provide covering fire... Wait, Whats that smell. ___ We're getting dragged out of the plaza. It was n't entirely clear, and i got shot in the leg. Two of Squadron B; 272 came and pulled Thomas and I, out. Waylin did it, He saved us, heres to hoping he can get out. But then there is a sound, a sound louder and bigger than anything i've ever heard. Even across the street I feel the heat, as the entire plaza erupts into flames. A line of last defense it seems... Waylin... Oh god... `` We are pulling out! Its to hot here, and we're heading back to base, a helicopter is landing about half a click west in a few minutes. We'll patch up your boy on the way'' -Seargent Montgomery -- -- -- -- -- - Author here, Let me know if you want this continued, i have some more to write on it, but i'm gon na take a break.
( WP ) Man who writes math tests is fed up with life , ca n't keep personal problems out of the math questions .	Math 101, End of Term Paper 2010 & nbsp; Question 18 If 5000 people apply for a job as a researcher and only 600 positions exist, what is the likelihood of any given applicant being accepted? Express your solution as a simplified fraction. & nbsp; Question 19 A packet of instant noodles costs $ 3 for 6 serves. If you work 40 hours at $ 16/hour, how many servings can you afford? & nbsp; Question 23 An apartment is 20 foot by 15 foot. What is the apartment ’ s total area? & nbsp; Math 306, Mid Semester Assessment 2011 & nbsp; Question 2 A ticket for the theatre usually costs $ 40. With a 20 % public holiday surcharge and a 10 % booking fee, what is the cost of two tickets? & nbsp; Question 16 If you receive $ 16 per hour at work and receive a $ 5 raise, by what percentage has your pay increased? Express your answer to two significant digits. & nbsp; Geometry and Trigonometry, End of Term Assessment 2011 & nbsp; Question 34 John and Sue are riding together in a hot air balloon, directly over a point P on the ground. Sue spots a cute cafe at an angle of depression of 30 degrees. The balloon rises 50 meters without moving horizontally. Now the angle of depression to the cafe is 35 degrees. How far will Sue and John have to drive from point P to get to the cafe? & nbsp; Math 2A, 2013 Final Paper The combined income of two people is $ 80,000. Given the list of expenses detailed in table 5.1, calculate the proportion ( as a decimal to three significant digits ) of their income which they can save toward discretionary spending ( ie, gifts, new car, honeymoon ). & nbsp; Calculus 102, Weekly Quiz – June 5th 2014 & nbsp; Question 9 The speed of a plate flying through the air can be expressed as s = 12-t^1.1 where speed is in feet per second and t is time in seconds. How far does the plate travel in 3 seconds? Assume the plate does not intersect with anything that alters its path in this time. & nbsp; Introduction to Physics - Term 3, 2014 Sound and Light – Module 3, Question 1. The speed of sound is 1,126 ft/s. If I shout from one end of a 50 foot long room and a second person simultaneously shouts from the other end, how many milliseconds will it take for our sound to meet each other in the middle of the room? Calculate to four significant digits. & nbsp; Basics of Calculation module 5 - Practice Exam, November 2014 & nbsp; Question 19 A packet of instant noodles costs $ 3 for 6 serves. If you work 40 hours at $ 21/hour, how many serves can you afford? & nbsp; Question 23 A room is 18 foot by 16 foot. What is the room ’ s total area? & nbsp; Question 18 If 2000 people apply for a job in another state and only 150 positions exist, what is the likelihood of any given applicant being accepted? Express your solution as a simplified fraction.
[ IP ] - Witch	`` Okay, almost there. Just need to add some, let's see..powdered sheep heart.'' A young brown-haired girl stirred the cauldron with her feet, while reading from a thick leather tome in her hands. Behind her lay her favourite broomstick, Old Faithful. The thick bamboo and the large bundle of twigs at the back were like training wheels for a young witch. `` Macy! What on earth do you think you're doing?'' exclaimed a girl that looked like Macy would in five years. Her hands were on her hips and she had a glare that could kill - literally, if Macy had been a regular young girl instead of a witch. She breathed a huff that blew her hair out of the way, and behind her head it tied itself into a ponytail. `` Just making something for Pan, Mum,'' she said, pointing a toe to the floor nearby. `` And can you wear your face again, please?'' Her mother shifted, and grew several centimetres. Lines appeared on her face, until she looked middle-aged. More creases appeared as she frowned, `` Pan's dead, dear.'' The pile of bones was rather unmistakably those of a dead cat. `` Give me the spoon.'' `` No!'' Macy cried out, twisting to grab it by hand as her mother did as well. Her tug sent an already off-balance Macy flying ( she grabbed the Old Faithful at the last second ), and the cauldron toppling over. Macy's mother jumped back, floating back to the doorway. The unfinished potion spilled across the floor, covering anything unlucky enough to be discarded there, including Pan's bones. The two witches watched from their floating vantage points as the potion drained away into the bones, as though sucked through a straw. The pile of bones rattled for a moment, then fell still. `` Aww... it did n't work!'' Macy exclaimed. The bones rattled again, stronger this time. - *5 months later* Macy held the twine in her mouth while she tucked the last of the twigs against the branch. Wrapped the twine around it all, tying it into a bow at the end. She gave it a satisfied look-over; it was a much leaner wood, built for speed- she hoped. She cast a glance around the hill-side. `` Pan!'' Macy heard it before she saw it. A cat-shaped skeleton ambled towards her at a galloping run. She giggled joyously. `` I'm done, Pan! Let's fly!'' Running down the hill towards him, she mounted the broom and jumped. It dropped for just a moment, before picking up height and speed. Macy shifted hold of the broom to her legs, and held her arms out. The skeleton of a cat jumped, and she caught him with an'oof'. `` Mrow?'' She let him off to sit before her on the broom. `` Off we go, Pan!'' The broom shot off from under them. Macy and Pan fell to the hillside and tumbled down to the bottom. `` Ow, ow, ow... not again!''
[ WP ] A love story where the two protagonists just refuse to fall for each other even though the plot keeps pushing for it .	Franny was just your typical teenage misfit until one fateful day when she ran into Danny from the baseball team. Two kids from two different social groups who just DID N'T get each other. Two different worlds. Two different people, who just DID N'T see eye to eye. They just DID N'T have anything in common. EXCEPT LOVE. Franny was riding her bike home from the high school, when Danny was running around a corner to get to the baseball practice on time. SLAM! Uh oh! How socially awkward! Danny let out a grunt. Franny let out a shriek. The bike ended up thrown into the street and Franny landed RIGHT on top of DANNY. What are the odds of such a thing happening in this situation of TWO different KIDDOS having a grand old TIME living their YOUNG lives? Danny said, `` Oh my god... oh my god... my, my arm, I ca n't feel my arm.'' Franny replied, `` Fjandakjwnd mfnwkej.'' `` What the hell is wrong with your jaw!'' quipped Danny `` Oh god, someone HELP!'' Ha-HA! Transport now to a couple days later in the hospital. Danny has a cast for his fractured arm, and Franny just underwent facial reconstruction surgery. Danny strides into Franny's room all hip and stuff with his cast and wanted to use the pair's shared misfortune as an introductory idea to the process of human communication. The doctor stopped Danny as he approached the bed. `` Are you her brother?'' the doctor said to Danny as he approached the bed. Danny thought to himself and got a wicked little mischievous uncertain cute charming smile on his face, `` Yeah, I'm the brother.'' `` Okay. She might not be able to understand you. We've done all we can do. No sort of medicine seems to be helping though. She might not be able to express it, but our tests are telling us that she is experiencing nearly constant excruciating pain. She's essentially locked inside of her own personal hell, her body being the prison and her mind being the hopeless prisoner.'' The doctor left the room. `` That sucks, dude.'' Danny said as he approached the bed. Danny looked down at the horribly disfigured girl. `` I do n't even know your name.'' Danny stared down contemplatively at Franny. He brushed what was left of her hair out of her face. Her eyes widened and he saw the fear of a million souls burning within them. `` I'm so sorry, dude. It should have been me. All I have is this damn cast as a reminder of this horrid atrocity that has occurred in both of our lives. Mark my words. I will do whatever it takes to put all of this behind us.'' Danny inched closer to Franny's face. `` Whatever it takes.'' Tears welled up in Franny's eyes. Danny was merely inches away from what was left of Franny's lips. Danny slowly held up his cast. Franny stared at it knowingly. `` Hey, sign my cast.'' Danny demanded. Franny stared up at Danny vacantly. `` Cmon, do n't be a lame nerd about it. I wan na get the sign train going on this thing, otherwise what's the point of all of this crap. Sign my cast.'' Franny stared up at Danny, defeated. `` Dude, cmon. I said I wanted to put all of this behind us. Sign my cast so I can dip.'' Franny closed her eyes. `` Wowwww. No. I know you're faking. Just sign my cast, stop being such an ass about it. This is bigger than both of us.'' Danny spied a pen on the bedside table. He grabbed it up and clicked it. `` Halfway there. Help me out here, stinky.'' Franny opened her eyes and stared daggers into Danny. `` OH. Right. You have like no feeling. Gah, cmon Danny what are you thinking? Sorry. Sometimes I can be kind of stupid, I guess. Hey... here, I'll help you.'' Danny gingerly picked up Franny's hand. She looked like she might blush with what was left of her cheeks. He placed the pen in her hand and then placed the pen on his cast. He paused. `` Ummm... sorry. What's your name?'' Franny's face quivered and a groan resounded from her mouth-hole. She continued to quiver and shake and groan slightly as she continued her failed attempts at speaking her name. But she could n't. It suddenly seemed like such a cheap luxury robbed of her: the inability to speak her own name. If she could n't speak her name, and Danny from the baseball team did n't know her name, did she really even have a name? Therefore, did she even really exist? Franny reveled in the knowledge of realizing she did not exist and could not possibly be real by that definition. The pain she felt did not exist. The accident did not exist. Her family did not exist. The hospital did not exist. Danny... She looked up and Danny was nowhere to be seen. No beeping sounds. No rubbing alcohol smells. No bleached white decor of the hospital sights. Nothing. Not even darkness. Purely, and quite simply, nothing. If she existed, she would scream, she thought. But her thoughts were the next things to go. A death rattle.
[ WP ] the other species of human never die off	You put your son to bed, and you read your history book to him. Dad can I hear about the other humans story to tonight, said your son. Sure you say! You: a long time ago in 2016, a scientist successfully made a perfect human clone in a lab. That's us right daddy! Your son says smiling. Yes, but wait. So the clone learns 100x faster, and lives forever, by using tools he makes. He decides that the old humans are worthless, and decides to kill them all to repopulate us! Yea! The bad guys lose! Well they were n't really bad guys son, we where. Really? Well yea, you ca n't just kill someone because you do n't like them can you? Nooooo you son says sadly. Exactly. So after 1,000,000 clones made. He launches his war. It was a bloodbath, and the clones retreated. But the world was a mess, and a few more years they fought again, until the clones life span finally caught up with them, and the last human named mada died in 1,215. That's a sad story is n't it dad, it truly is son. Then why did he kill them all dad? Just because he made us a perfect human, does n't mean he are n't human son. What is it mean to be human daddy? It used to be used as a saying that we are n't perfect. We make mistakes. Ironically being human lead to their death. Are we gods daddy? Without sheep, we are merely lions son.
[ WP ] You live under the conditions being imposed by a harsh , totalitarian government and are a member of the resistance . No one knows it , but literally everyone is in the resistance .	`` It's a day that calls for celebration.'' shouted the man with enthusiasm to the big crowd in front of him. `` The resistance started with only a few people, today we've grown in numbers so much that the little cottage, where we used to hold our early meetings, ca n't fit even our masks alone.'' Laughter echoed in the crowd. `` How it all started with little silly acts to grab the tyrant attention, and now we're on the verge of toppling the son of bitch!'' The crowds cheers. `` After breaking the barriers of our fear. After knocking down the gates of helplessness and misery. After all the efforts we've made to throw our own weaknesses and fallacies into the garbage bin where they belong.'' The silence of anticipation made even the gentle breeze audible. `` It is the night we're ready to break into his palace. Knocks down his own gates. Grab him by the collar and throws him outside inside the garbage container, WHERE HE BELONGS!'' The crowd goes nuts. `` TO THE PALACE!'' The marching rebels approached the palace with a surprising ease. There were no guards. They knocked down the gates shouting words like `` Liberty'', `` Death to tyrants'', but the guards still did n't show up. They walked into the master bedroom of the tyrant. He was n't there. The whole palace was empty. The leader of the resistance spotted a diary on the bedside table. He opened it and read the most recent entry: `` I think Hillary has used my WOW account again just to give herself the Big Love Rocket. This is ridiculous. I ca n't stand this any more. I'm joining the resistance.'' The resistance leader looked at the baffled crowd with `` What the fuck'' written all over his face. He shakes his head. `` Hillary you bitch, you could have saved us time.''
[ WP ] Due to overpopulation the world has regretfully approved of cannibalism across the globe , for the greater good of course . Your family zealously disapproves of this new change but your home cooked dinners start to taste ... Different .	My parents told me that when I was born, a new law passed. They did not tell me what it was about, but they seemed to always avoid the subject, and became mad when I asked them about it. We ate vegetables for most of my life, except on my fourteenth birthday. I found a package addressed to my mother, inside it was a cold bag with red flesh, and a letter addressing my mother, thanking her for her services. When I asked my mother, she told me that it was a special package for my birthday dinner. My mother prepared my birthday meal, and she said there was also a big surprise for me. It was meat! I have never had any meat before so I was anxious to try it! She told me that what I was eating was `` steak'', and it is just meat that has been grilled with nothing more than salt and pepper and a few herbs. The steak looked divine, and its juice was oozing from it. I used my knife which was a different kind from the usual ones we used, and cut the steak in small portions. I took a bite and it was the most delicious thing that I have ever eaten! My father looked sad that he did not eat a single thing, while mom was enjoying her meal with red wine. She drank a lot and got very drunk that my father had to carry her out of the kitchen up to the bedroom. The next day I went downstairs to the kitchen to find my mom to ask her if we could have meat again. However, the only thing I found in the kitchen was a letter from my mother telling me that she loved me, but that she was leaving the family, and that if I wanted I should ask my father to buy me some meat. Mom disappeared after my fourteenth birthday after having the best meal that I have ever had. When I showed that letter to my father, he cried and told me never to talk about my mother nor meat ever again. Ever since then, he always came home drunk, and always crying himself to sleep. Nothing much changed until the night before my eighteenth birthday, my father came back from home drunk again, but happy for some reason. He came back with a box that I saw four years ago, and told me today will be a special day. He told me that he is going see my mother again after my birthday. I asked him if I should pack my things. It has been so long since I last saw her. He told me that no, only he is going, and that I will be able to see her in a couple of years. At my eighteenth birthday, I had steak again. It was as good as last time, and my father was also enjoying the steak this time. He did not drink any alcohol and was savouring the steak piece by piece. We reminisced about my mother, and how life was before my mother left the home. He told me that one day, I would understand why my mother left me. We talked and talked throughout the night, until I found myself waking up in the living room, with my blanket covering me. My father was gone, and he left me a letter, and a document. In the letter he also told me that both he and my mother loved me dearly, and would one day understand why they left me. He also wrote that though both him and my mother did not approve of eating meat, I was free to do so now that I am an adult. The document stated that I was to inherit my mother and my father's money, along with my social security ID, while congratulating my eighteenth birthday officially becoming an adult, and that I am now obliged to fulfil my contract. Though I was sad that both my parents were gone, I did not understand why they did not want me to eat meat. I was tempted by its flavor and gave in, and bought a package labelled `` steak''. I cooked it trying to remember how my mother and father cooked them, and it turned out pretty good. I took a bite expecting the same flavor I experienced before, but somehow it was... different It did not taste as good, and tasted disgusting. I tried cooking more, but it was the same every time. After a few years, I never ate meat again, but my wife and son enjoys them. My son is turning fourteen, and my wife received the same package I saw many years ago. At my son's fourteenth birthday, I reluctantly tried meat again, after my wife insisted that I have a few, since they are special, and not the same as the meat we eat every day. She was right, the meat we had was the same as the ones I had on my birthday, divine and savoy. That night, my wife told me that she loved me, and that we would see each other soon. I did not know what she meant, but I also told her that I loved her, and we went to bed. The next morning she was gone. Tomorrow is my son's eighteenth birthday. I received a package addressed to me, thanking me for my services, and a chilled package of meat. I wondered if I would see my parents and my wife again. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- First time writing sorry if it is awful.
[ WP ] Upon waking up , you realize you 've been transported into the world of the last video game you played . A voice inside your head tells you to beat the game in order to escape . Unfortunately the last one you played was ...	All of a sudden my hands were gripped tightly on the steering wheel of a luxury sports car and I was speeding down a highway. Not too far ahead a sign inviting me to the city of Los Santos stood on a hill. Sirens blared from the open road at my back, I saw five squad cars and an SUV with men in riot gear clutching automatic rifles hanging off the sides. `` Were they chasing me?'' I thought. Just in case I started pulling the car onto the off ramp out of their way. Undoubtedly they did n't like that because the riot officers answered by opening fire on me. I ducked my head down as glass shattered all around me. I heard a thundering crash as one of my rear tires popped and the rim scraped on the pavement. With the speed I was going that was all it took to flip the car. Sparks burned at my arms as I skidded to a stop upside down. The glove box must have cracked open in the impact because a fully loaded pistol dropped down in front of me. In one swift motion I grabbed the gun and rolled out of the car. I shot an approaching riot copin the hand and aimed at the gunmen behind me. With a couple pops my clip was empty and I dove for the dead riot cops rifle. I grabbed it and aimed up at every police officer from here to the next county. `` Well, fuck.'' Everything went black, and then I woke up behind the wheel of some sports car.
[ WP ] A cure for the zombie infection has been found , and you are the first one to be turned back . However , there 's an unexpected side effect : You now remember everything .	Beep. Beep. Beep. They had taken his immortality. They had taken it gladly. It was obvious why they had chosen him: his thin spindly figure, the blood splattered rags of a hospital gown. Easy to handle. They had whispered. Easy to catch. Just a child. When the purge had come, he had gone out into the world willingly. To feel the strength fill his delicate limbs. To never know death or pain again. He had even relished in the killings, to feast as he never had before, to be among his giant family. To feel powerful and part of something bigger.To run and not feel the seizing of his chest, to loose the feeling that he was wasting away. He had n't a care in the world. They had taken his godhood. They had taken his chance to live from him. He said nothing. He bided his time. He knew how to play the part of a good patient, how to coin a nurse into giving him what he wanted, he had spent years before the gift perfecting this skill. It took no time at all for the restraints to be removed, the fearful whispers became welcoming smiles. And he was adored. They fawned over him. It was their pride that was their undoing. They stopped watching him, little false gods believing their creation was perfect. When he killed the guard and opened the gate, breaking the winch system - he knew he was doing the right thing. They would never know fear again. They would feel strength as never before. Immortality awaits us all. Leukemia would never claim him.

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