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[ WP ] Anyone bitten by a kitten turns into a kitten .
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It's a dangerous job, y'know? Ever since I was a kid, I took great joy in caring for animals of all kinds. I think that's when I decided I wanted to be a vet. I was pretty young, yes, but I somehow just knew that was my calling. Well, not so much anymore. You see, things have taken a turn for the worse in our industry. Sure, I can deal was feces, I can deal with talons, I can teal with claws, but there's just one thing I ca n't deal with: the possibility of being turned into a kitten.
I think it was'17 when I first saw it on the news. Like anyone, I had my reservations. You hear all these mumbo-jumbo about bird flues, swine flues, so how could there possibility be a cat flu? Are they just making this stuff up now? But, sure enough, I got a call from my buddy from college.
`` Hey, you're not going to believe this-''
`` Yeah, I heard. Cat flu, it's all the rage right now.''
`` No, seriously.'' There was an agonizing honesty to Paul's voice now. He always did this when he got really passionate about something. `` It's bad, really bad. The science is sound.''
`` You have got to be kidding me.'' I said in disgust. `` There's simply no way.''
`` Well, there is. You better believe it.''
I could tell Paul was on the move. He was n't ever in the best of shape, so I ca n't imagine he'd be in good shape now. He was panting.
`` Paul, where are you going?'' I asked.
`` I've got to get away. I've got to leave.'' The panting got worse, as if he was picking up speed.
`` Wow, wow, wow - calm down buddy, everything's going to be fine.''
`` You do n't understand!'' He yelled. `` It spreads through *bites*!''
Although it was only for a few moments, the silence on my side must have been deafening to him.
`` What did you do, Paul?'' I really did n't want to know the answer, but I had to know. I mean, I had some assumptions, but I needed to know *exactly* what happened.
`` I've been bitten.''
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[ WP ] You are God and you are disappointed since the requirements to be granted entrance to heaven are so strict that the only people who have been getting in are the sleaziest of lawyers because they are able to exploit loopholes .
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It's a place I avoid, heaven; full of arrogant, self-righteous lawyers. They stand around, examining the text of the law I gave them, and having arguments.
Arguments! In heaven!
They all come in announcing that they have kept the law, and yet they still argue over what it means. And they expect me to believe them? What a joke.
Why do I only seem to attract idiots? I mean, they are intelligent enough as people go, but they put the mental stumbling block right in front of their faces! They embrace absurd, non-human explanations for their lives, and then argue over how it all makes sense.
Forever, apparently.
And is this what my eternity is going to look like? There are an astounding number of potential candidates for heaven! I had wanted SO MANY people to get in, but I barely get any applications. It's these Levites and Lawyers, Scribes and Righteous men, who have given me a bad name. I tasked them with teaching the world how to live well, but did they? Serving only themselves, they convinced everyone that the law was about not eating food, rather than morality. They tithed mint, and dill, and cumin, but still do n't understand love or mercy!
And here they stand, in heaven, as a living mockery of justice.
But what is to be done? I already gave them law! I told them, quite clearly, what to do! But the world does n't even give my instructions a second look, thanks to these self-absorbed swine.
I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll get rid of this entire system that produces only arrogant fools and lost little sheep. I'll get rid of it. I'll replace it with a system that will be genuinely just. No more exploiting loopholes of a law! No more waiting around for lazy, clueless men to bring righteousness to the nations! No more of this.
I will do it myself. My own right hand will get the work done, filling my house with genuinely righteous people. No longer will I rely on them to teach each other about me, as I will teach them all directly; from the least to the greatest! I will go down myself and teach them myself. I will fill them with my own Spirit; whoever wants it! I myself will direct them how to live.
THAT will accomplish a heaven worthy of its name! And if the sleazy lawyers do n't get the message, well, I wo n't really miss them.
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[ WP ] The first time I saw the witch she was peeling an orange and sitting on my doorstep .
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`` And what was she doing, Mr. Blakely.''
`` Peelin' an orange Sir!'' The crowd murmured quietly. It had been a generation since the last witch had visited the town, cursing it. Now she stood trial to be drowned until dead. The prosecution had drilled the witnesses to the bone. A barmaid that worked across the street had fainted during the proceedings and could barely keep her voice loud enough for the jury to hear.
`` Then what did you do?''
It was my turn on the stand. I did my best to describe what for me was an absolutely normal day. `` I asked her what she was doin' Sir. Me wife do n't take kindly to strangeahs' but me mum taught me otherwise. Ca n't judge a book by it's covah' Sir.''
`` Certainly. What was her answer?''
I gulped. `` She said nothin'. Did n't even look at meh. Just, kept on peelin' that orange Sir.''
`` Go on, Mr. Blakely.''
`` Well, I just stood there, it bein' afternoon Sir. I went back in to fetch me hat, but when I came back out, she was still peelin' that orange.''
The prosecutor turned to face the jury, hand on his chin. `` And how did you recognize her as a witch? What were the identifying features?''
`` I do n't know Sir, just felt wrong. I recon, she was there for five minutes at least peelin' that orange.'' I was starting to sweat. I always sweating when I got nervous.
The witch was in the corner, beside the jury. All of the men huddled to the opposite side.
`` No further questions Your Honor.'' I sighed a breathe of relief. I had no intention of death on my hands, especially a witch, if she was one. As I removed myself from the stand, she looked up, as if she had realized where she was. The only thing realized was she did n't have her orange anymore. But the shock faded, and she went back to pretending that she was peeling an orange.
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[ WP ] In an alternate universe , all of the diseases have the same names as diseases in our universe . Unlike our universe , however , diseases in the AU are literally what their name suggests . Write a doctor 's diary .
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> **August 25, 2017**
> I was presented with an interesting case today. A young Caucasian woman came into my office complaining of a sudden change to her left foot. It was far larger and more muscular than the right foot, as well as having much darker skin. It appeared to be the foot of an African-American man, which does indeed make it quite out of place on this young woman. I took skin samples from the foot and sent it to the lab. I have a theory, but will wait to see the lab results before presenting a diagnosis.
> **August 26, 2017**
> Unfortunately, the lab results from yesterday are still not ready. The most noteworthy patient of today was a small child who had red marks and itchiness on a small portion of his right arm. Fortunately for the child, it was only a smallpox, and not the more irritating chicken pox. I do not envy the parents who have to put up with all that clucking until their children are better.
> **August 27, 2017**
> The lab results for the young woman's foot were ready today, and my theory seems to have been correct. DNA testing showed that the foot belonged to Shaquille O'Neil.
> I've called the patient and informed her that she need not worry - she simply has a case of athlete's foot.
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[ WP ] Tell me an emotional story about a man , using only what he would type into Google search
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porn
23 never kissed
how to meet girls
local bars
directions to Bright Nights Club
hangover cures
porn
how to talk to girls
dating sites
first date ideas
handling rejection
porn
comic conventions
directions to Lincoln Convention Center
first date ideas
geeky date movies
kiss on second date?
how to kiss
asking a girl to be your girlfriend
cosplay
couple cosplay ideas
first anniversary gifts
asking a girl to move in
apartments
choosing a dog breed
dog training
how much to spend on engagement ring
proposal ideas
Lincoln Convention Center contact information
couples cosplay ideas
is proposing in front of people a bad idea?
calming nerves
Han Solo cosplayer proposes local news youtube
how to post a youtube video on facebook
planning a wedding
how to afford a wedding
how much to spend on a wedding ring
honeymoon ideas
Hawaii booking
Caribbean vacations
San Diego Comic Con tickets
San Diego honeymoon sweet
couples cosplay ideas
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[ FF ] A man with a history of bad decisions is granted one wish from a magic kettle . Keep it at 500 words .
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`` Hey. Hey asshole.''
John looked over in response to a squeaky, offensive voice.
`` Yeah, you. I got ta thing for ya.''
John looked away, and back over at the disgusting stove, in his squalid apartment. Did the kettle really just talk? And call him an asshole?
`` What're you waitin' for, ya jackalump, I got ta thing for ya,'' the kettle said, in a tone beginning to sound just like an angry New Yorker after inhaling a lungful of helium.
`` Uh... waiting to figure out why I'm hallucinating. Did I buy badly cut coke?''
`` I ai n't no hallucination, ya dink. I'm a fucken magical kettle.''
A concerned look came over John's pitted face. A magic kettle? Ridiculous. Maybe he took that meth in the living room and forgot.
`` I do n't believe you.''
`` I do n't care whether you care or not. I'm goddamn magicalistical, and you gets a wish.''
`` I'm definitely going crazy. I wish this hallucination would stop!''
John stared expectantly at the kettle. The kettle did not look back because, as a kettle, it has no eyes.
`` I ca n't end the hallucination ya dunce, because this ai n't a hallucination. Think of a good wish.''
`` Unlimited wis...'' began John, when an invisible hand slapped his face, hard.
`` I always hear that shit, and it pisses me off. Choose a fucken wish so I can get outta this shithole you live in.''
`` Fuck you, buddy. I do n't take orders from nobody.''
The kettle seemed to shrink slightly. Almost to sigh. `` If I prove my magic will you make a damn wish so I can gets outta this shithole?''
`` Sure, whatever,'' said John, as his refrigerator turned into a sunflower.
`` What the shit! I had heroin in there!''
`` Yeah, and now you got a fucken flower asshole. Make a fucken wish.''
John, completely stunned, thought back on his life. Looked at his squalid hovel of an apartment. Thought of all the dicks he sucked for his next hit. `` I want a lifetime supply of drugs!''
`` Bam, bitch. Done. I'm outta this joint.''
John looked out into his living room. On the table, a small machine. It had several buttons, each marked with another drug; PCP, meth, weed, heroin, cocaine. The whole spectrum. John fell to his knees, in awe, and held up his hands in thanks.
--
One week later, John was rolled into the morgue at Mercy General Hospital, victim of what the duty nurse called `` the biggest OD I've ever seen.''
From a corner of the morgue, a squeaky, irritating voice mutters, `` what a dink.''
On my phone, hopefully I did n't break word count.
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[ WP ] An advanced alien species attempts to contact the human race to warn us of a big universal event to prepare for -- but their lifespans are only 10 human seconds .
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Dr. Arabella Chopin is, undoubtedly, most certainly, undeniably, *not* crazy.
She lives, if you insist on asking, on 101 South Downing. Now, Reader, if you were to research the location of 101 South Downing, you would indeed find that that it is home to Westfield Asylum and Home for the Mentally Insane. This is true. It is also true that Dr. Arabella Chopin is not a nurse or caretaker, but, officially, a patient. Her diagnosis: Paranoid Schizophrenia.
Dr. Chopin hears voices. Malevolent, hissing voices bouncing off the walls of her mind. `` Get out! Get out!'' one will say. Another will go `` it's not safe! Leave! Leave!'' The voices changed constantly. Between her morning tea and evening meal, she figured several hundred different voices spoke to her. All of them seemed angry. No, *scared. * She will often find herself absent-mindedly drawing on scraps of paper, only to make the same drawing each time: A hungry sun swallowing a familiar planet.
Yes, Dr. Chopin is not crazy. She is, in fact, a messenger. She is the conduit through which a message is being delivered. She is also not the only one. Five hundred men and women before her were picked to be the bearer of a message meant not for her, not Westfield, not England, but the entire planet. ( So yes, Reader, even you. )
A doctor entered her room today, a melancholy look over his face. You should know this, Reader, because he is not an evil man. He does not like doing this. He escorted Dr. Chopin into a room all of her predecessors would know well. Small, grey, cold.
The voices grew louder. They screamed in her head. A migraine forced itself upon her and Dr. Chopin brought a hand to her temple.
The Doctor consoled her, massaging her shoulder. He pitied the once-revered Dr. Chopin. Her mind had been considered the finest of its time before her disease set in. But Dr. Chopin had no disease. Her mind was still brilliant. Still sharp and insightful. It was only overwhelmed by the voices.
Dr. Chopin noticed what lay on the table before her. All the tools were familiar to her. Tools she abhorred. Tools perfectly sculpted to pierce a human skull. She began to struggle.
`` Sh...'' her doctor said. `` It wo n't hurt. Just a slight pinch in your forehead. And then you will be at peace.''
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[ WP ] `` Keep her safe ... ''
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Everything was beautiful. Her gown was the exact size, shape and color she wanted. Everyone we ever cared for was waiting in for us to kiss and there did n't seem to be a second of it I wanted to change.
As I leaned into her and felt her arms grace my shoulders I could feel the air stiffen, as it were holding it's breath. The main doors to the venue were blown apart and this smell of rot and fresh blood poisoned the air. Recoiling from my bride to be I watched in horror as a literal flood of monsters stormed the room. Everyone is screaming and I could n't even hear my fiance call out to me and grab my arm as she pulled out her side arm out from under her dress.
*What a woman. * Looking down I have my shotgun from my back perched against my shoulder and was letting loose into the horde. All the groomsmen shouted out and fired into the masses and formed a human barrier between the zombies and my bride and I.
**No one expected this, but everyone was prepared for it. ** In mere moments my eyes connected with my father in laws as his eyes blinked back tears. Nodding his head he unveiled his suicide switch under his suit jacket. It was n't just any switch though, I've seen what his type are typically connected to... toppling buildings.
Somehow over the din of gunfire and screams of the desecrated I could hear him call out to me.
`` KEEP HER SAFE!'' I saw his finger press the button and what I assumed was deafening white noise became agonizing as the entire ceiling of the cathedral collapsed onto the monsters. Falling to my knees the sound of gunfire slowly diminished and all I could feel was my bride holding and close as we sat and cried over a hero's death.
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[ WP ] You 're in your room when your mom calls you down for dinner from the kitchen below . Half-way down the stairs , you hear your mom 's voice from her room upstairs saying , `` Do n't go ! I heard the voice too ! ''
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I was doodling on my wall in my room, waiting impatiently for the call to come. Dinner was always so rigid and specific, always on the dot and not a moment before. I counted down the seconds in my head, flicking my tongue in a tick, tock, tick, tock, stop.
`` Honey, it's time for dinner!'' My mum's voice wafted up the stairs and across the landing to my bedroom.
I smiled, always on time, never late. I left my room and started padding my way down the stairs when I heard my name being shouted from behind me.
`` Do n't go! I heard the voice too!'' My mum shouted from behind me. She appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair in a towel. Her skin was steaming and dripping from underneath a bath robe that she had hurriedly put on as if she had leapt out of the shower.
`` Get back into your room.'' She ordered.
`` Why?'' I asked, confused, `` I want dinner.''
`` Do n't argue with me, not now of all the times.'' My mum hissed, taking a few steps down towards me, grabbing my arm and pulling me back up with her.
`` What's going on mum?'' I shouted, `` I'm hungry!''
My mum hissed me quiet, `` There are some things about this world that you do n't yet know about and if I had my way you would never find out. I need to deal with it but to do that I need to know that you're safe in you room.''
She opened the door to my room with her free hand and pulled me into it and then stopped and stared.
`` Do you like my doodling?'' I asked.
My mum just gaped, `` Is that blood?''
I nodded, glad someone appreciated it, `` Yup. There were some fingers left over when mum prepared starters so I was allowed to play with them.''
My mum's voice called from behind me as she came up the stairs. She looked just like the woman holding me except fully clothed and holding a kitchen knife, `` Ah perfect, the main course has finished steaming. I'll get her ready whilst you eat starters.''
I excitedly grabbed onto the arm holding me and pulled towards the kitchen.
`` Mum, you know all my favourites,'' I gushed excitedly as I unhinged my jaw in expectation, `` Their insides always taste better when they're freshly steamed.''
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[ WP ] Life is an endless cycle . Birthmarks are scars from how we died in our left from our last past life . It 's simple really . You die and then you wake up , never remembering what happened .
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The instructions were crystal clear. I would know the target by the jagged scar on his left cheek. I knew nothing about the man, but apparently, he had pissed off somebody with power. Somebody with *a lot* of power. But that somebody was going to make sure that this would be the last time I ever had to do this sort of `` job'' again. He was paying *very* well. Well enough that Jamie and I would be able to move somewhere new, and start over fresh. He had promised. Because of that promise, I was here, waiting in the garage of a man I had never met, a man who had done me no wrong. *But he's the last one. * That thought kept me here, waiting in the shadows, clutching the knife that my benefactor had given to me. He was very... Insistent that this knife was to be the man's end, and that I was to leave it behind when I was done. The garage door started to open, and I hid deeper in the shadows as his car rolled in. He parked, and let the garage door close behind him. No sooner had he stepped out of the car before I was behind him, one gloved hand covering his mouth, the other held the knife to his throat. I stood there, stock still, taking in the moment. I had done this a dozen times before, in a dozen different ways, but this one felt somehow... Different. It was going to be the last time I ever had to do this, so I let myself do something I had never done before. I spoke to him. `` I'm sorry,'' I said, as I quickly drew the knife across his throat. `` but this is for my family.'' I lowered the man to the ground, and watched the life drain from his green eyes. Before they started to fade, they were the same shade as Jaime's. I made my way outside through the front door, and texted my benefactor from my work phone. *I'm finished*. I slid the cheap disposable into my pocket and reached for my personal phone. My face fell as it powered up. Three missed calls and 17 text messages from Jaime. She had gone into labour over an hour ago. I ran the three blocks to where I had parked my car and sped towards the hospital, towards my new life. *** I arrived just in time. There she was, holding our son. She looked up at me, still a bit woozy from the epidural. `` Look, Bill.'' she said, `` He's got my eyes.'' I looked down at my newborn son. She was right. He had her eyes, a jagged scar on his cheek, and a thin white line along his neck.
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[ WP ] , You move into a lone house on a barren island off the coast of Norway , looking to find peace from your life .
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`` You really got ta do this, boss?''
I sit, entertaining the agonizing pleas from my right hand man, us both knowing it has to be done.
`` I mean, the streets are going to go mad without cha! How can we keep the lanes pushing if the brains of the operation are floating in some damn ice island! Iceland? Are you going to Iceland? Shit, I do not even know where you are going!''
As his voices raises in panic, I can see the sadness trickle into his eyes. I have become a father figure to him. I mean like, a father figure that happens to punish him when he disobeys orders and ups his body count on a weekly basis, but a father figure, none the less.
`` Norway, my little chubby buddy, I am going to Norway'', I say to him as I reach over the solid oak desk to grab my stogie. A glass full of Yamazaki 35 year old twirls in my other hand as I stretch, the amber liquid swaying gently in a crystal glass.
`` Whatever! Norway, Antarctica, Australia who cares! You are leaving us all! The group wo n't last, ya bastard!''
I sit and look at him, pitying him as he shouts. A sensible man may get emotional but I lost those `` things'' a long time ago. I stern up, motivating him to prepare for my departure.
`` Now you listen and you listen closely you dumb ass. Do you think the King of the Streets, the Don of the Wicked, the Cocaine God, would just leave without a plan? Do you doubt me?''
He does not utter a single word. He melts into the leather backed chair, his shoulders slightly shrugging, as he breaks eye contact with me. He can hear the finality in my tone, an all to familiar inflection of my voice. This is just one of a thousand scoldings Tony has been on the receiving end of.
`` The feds, the Mexican cartels, the Kings in the middle east, shit, even the Triad in Asia wants my head on a stake. I have sparked an international drug war that has no historical comparison. For all I know, they could have eyes on me now, or worse, a sniper ready to blow my head off. This is my only move Tony, it's my only damn move.''
We sit in silence in my study, the only light gracing the room is an antique lamp I got in underground auction in London. The illuminating orange radiates off his face as he helplessly stares at me with these scarred baby blues.
`` It is just for five years, Tone. Five quick years and I will be back. Now, go get my bags and load them up. My flight leaves in an hour.''
He rises up slowly, now completely overcome with emotion. He gives me a slight nod in obedience and walks his short legs out of my office. Each step making a soft patter of defeat.
I do not want to move to Norway. Who the hell wants to move into isolation off the coast of Norway? My only view is the frigid Barenta Sea that sits directly north of the small country. The house is a quaint traditional Norwegian dwelling, wooden panels side the frame, the roof covered in slate. The home is painted a strong red, a common color for Norwegian homes. Does it sound nice? Because to me, it sounds like a boring hell hole meant for suckers. It is going to be so very different from my upstate New York mansion tucked neatly away in the woods.
What no one knows, including my family, is the real reason why I am moving to Norway. I am a mob boss and the last thing I do is let my enemies dictate my lifestyle. Although the climate has heated up to an all time high in the drug world, I am most definitely, not running and sure as hell, am not hiding.
Moving to Norway for five years is my next big business venture: it is not motivated by fear but by potential. It is time for the group to make some moves in Europe. The reason for the solo stay is because of trust. Right now, I can not trust anyone with the knowledge I am going to obtain and the people I am going to meet. It's a job fit for the boss and the boss only.
We have lots of planning to do before we form a European drug conglomerate. I will be at the helm of it, literally speaking given the location, laying the ground work for a glorious boom in the black market. And as hopeless as Tony appears, he is in prime form to run the operation. I trust him, and he knows that. Naturally, he fears the responsibility but he will hit the ground running when I leave here.
He will be fine in my absence.
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[ EU ] An NCR ranger interrogates a legion soldier in Nevada ...
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The ranger found the legionary looting a half decayed trade brahmin. He was n't older than 17, but with grime, dirt, and god knows what else on him you could have guessed 40.
Now on a normal day, finding a legion looter would n't be any different. Put a bullet between his eyes and move on.
But today was n't a normal day. For the past two weeks, NCR patrols had been dropping left and right. Rangers too. Bodies left to rot with full gear on, the only things taken were ammo and caps. At least 50 killed this way and all the info they had was a nick name, The Courier. This was the time to get to the bottom of it.
When the legionary awoke, crudely tied to an old gas pump, it was about three hours until dusk. The sun hit the walls of the canyon, bleeding the deep red the canyon was named after.
`` Rise and Shine sleepy head!'' said the ranger in a particularly cheery tone
`` So, we can make this nice and short, where is the courier?'' he said, lighting up a cigarette
`` I... I... have n't heard of him...''
`` Wrong answer''
The ranger yanked up the legionary face, took a long drag, and ashed the cigarette on his forehead.
The legionary grunted in pain, but hell, parts of training were worse.
`` So let's try this one more time, where is the Courier?''
`` I... I'm just a legionary, I do n't know anything''
`` ooooh, strike number two''
The ranger took another long drag, and slowly brought it down in to the legionary's right eye.
The legionary let out a yelp, the struggling almost knocked the gas pump off the mount but then only moans.
`` Damn kid, you're tougher than you look. So let's make this interesting''
The ranger pulled out an old combat knife, stained red from blood or rust, it was too dark to tell. He brought the knife to the legionary's throat.
`` One last chance, kid...''
The ranger looked him in the eye, the only one he had left, and in a split second brought the knife up and cut the gas line over the legionary's head on the pump he was tied to. Soaking him completely.
`` Where is the Courier?''
The only response he got was the sound of gasoline dripping from the legionary's head.
`` Well, three strikes and you're out'' said the ranger as he brought the cigarette down to light the legionary up like an old christmas tree with too many lights.
`` Wait.... wait... He's with house... on the strip, in the Lucky 38''
`` Thanks kid, that's all I needed to know''
The ranger took one final drag and flicked away his cigarette.
The screams echoed through the canyon for miles.
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( wp ) You 're an insurance agent who specifies in collateral damage after a super hero takes down a super villain . Last night was a large , epic battle
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The phone rang. A slim man in a tailored gray suit answered. `` Battle Damage Insurance, They Smash'em We Cash'em, Lloyd here,'' he said crisply. He listened for a moment as the person on the other end spoke.
`` Is this battle on going?'' He asked and the caller replied. `` When did it occur?'' A minute passed as some details were explained. `` It looks like you have a cloaked battle hemmed by one of our response units'' We will have an adjuster out in 30 seconds.
Lloyd lifted his iPhone and texted. `` Hagar, adjustment at former Trump Tower. Account TR5459AM. Contact info listed on account. Sammy I also need you to check if Mr. Invisible is in the rubble.''
15 seconds later his cell phone buzzed. `` Mr. Invisible caught in collapse while responding to incident in progress last night. He was conscious but lost his utility belt and could not communicate. I dropped him off at Beth Israel. He said the battle was RoboKing vs. the MLofH.''
29 seconds later another text informed him that Sammy was in touch with the contact.
Lloyd sent a blank email to BLG @ BLG.COM. A few minutes later a text box popped up on his PC's screen. `` Gate here. I see your previous messages with Hagar mention RoboKing. Do you want me to check for any functioning robots in the rubble and eliminate them? Y/N?''
Lloyd pressed Y on his keyboard and the text box disappeared. He picked up his iPhone and searched MLofH and called the number.
`` Manhattan League of Heroes, what is your super-powered emergency?'' said the cheerful voice in a crisp London accent.
`` This is Lloyd Bank at Battle Damage Insurance may I speak with Lumberjack or Jackdaw?'' asked Lloyd, `` It is about the battle last night.''
After a few minutes a deep, jolly voice spoke, `` Lloyd, great to hear from you. The Diviner said you have things well in hand. What can I do for you?''
`` Lumberjack, I just wanted to get a battle report so we can make certain we can limit additional damage,'' said Lloyd.
`` Anything, I can do to help,'' boomed Lumberjack, `` Shrewman discovered RoboKing had rented the top floor of Trump Tower. Diviner examined it remotely and Tzus Son formed a tactical plan. Jackdaw and Shrewman penetrated the outer defenses while Mesmero used mass suggestion to get all civilians out of the area.''
`` Once Diviner located RoboKing, Boudica and myself rushed to his location in the central portion of the tower. At the same time Jackdaw and Shrewman were to disable R-kings bots with an EMP but unknown to us he had created some nannies to defend against such device and it failed. A pitched battle was joined when Mr. Invisible arrived and notified us he had encased the area in a force field to protect neighboring areas.''
`` Diviner moved to coordinate with him for maximum safety. After a ten minute battle RoboKing's bots had most of us incapacitated and he was chocking Boudica to death. I managed to get my axe and knocked RoboKing to the ground. I noticed he was leaking oil and focused on his oil reservoir to incapacitate him.''
`` We are not sure what happened next but RoboKing's body went limp and the head shot into the ceiling. Then the entire building shook. I could see through a broken window enormous robotic hands smacking against Mr. Invisible's force shield. It seemed to cause Invis pain.''
`` Diviner telepathically told me that the entire building had transformed into a robot and was attempting to break out of containment. Boudica and I focused on major supports like legs and arms and Shrewman and Jackdaw worked on disabling interior components.''
`` Eventually it became clear we needed to destroy the entire tower to prevent an repeat of Gigantig vs Luxemborg.
`` Jackdaw and Shrew planted explosives in the core and I summoned old Blue to smash the foundation. The entire building collapsed. I managed to save Jack but Shrew got himself out.''
Lloyd nodded as Lumberjack spoke and took notes to supplement his recording. `` Was Roboking's Gear Core captured?''
`` No, we were called to an emergency and Super-Rikers. A few of the smarter villains had gotten out. Diviner got taken out by a feedback spike from a thought attack so we could not search the rubble. He only just recovered consciousness and sent me to HQ in time for your call. Jackdaw is still back at Super-Rikers to determine their method of escape,'' said Lumberjack.
`` What happened to Mr. Invisible?'' asked Lloyd.
`` I assume he moved to another emergency after preventing the battle from breaking out and rubble from damaging nearby buildings and persons,'' said Lumberjack, `` Is he ok?''
`` Unfortunately, he appears to have lost containment at the last moment and was injured in the collapse. Mr. Hagar has informed me that he only has a few broken bones,'' said Lloyd.
`` I'm terribly sorry, if we knew I would have stayed behind to look for him.''
`` No worries. He gets paid enough and our health insurance is very excellent. We have to pay the cadillac tax on it,'' said Lloyd, `` In any case, have a good day Paul.''
`` You too, Lloyd,'' said Lumberjack.
Lloyd disconnected the line. A quick contact with BLG would ensure that RoboKings core would be captured if trapped in the rubble. Unfortunately the MLofH would need to have an adjustment in their rates. Lloyd emailed Mathmatico to work up a new rate.
Then Lloyd made his morning tea and had a good long laugh. `` Muhahahahahahahaha!''
`` What a shame the Manhattan League of Heroes will have less money for their crime fighting when they get their next quarterly statement.''
edit: To fix a few things that were bothering me
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[ WP ] The first zombie outbreak starts in the United States , it does n't last longer than 25 hours . Because Zombies are stupid and ineffective .
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`` Ha, I knew it.'' I sigh as I laid on my bed. Yes, I am on the bed, helping myself to a bowl of Ravioli I stole from the stores when the out break first occurred.
I knew that I am one of those types, to be the caught and infected. I always lose at everything I do, and even a world ending sickness will not change that. But thank all the gods in heaven that I stand this day, as the outbreak only lasted a measly day.
I placed the empty bowl onto my computer desk, and then I laid face first on the bed. Giving thanks to every divine entity in the world. I thanked them for making the zombies stupid, I thanked them for giving me the chance to swipe five cases of ravioli, and double that in ramen, and also, for not turning me into a zombie in that short time; the last thank you was the most important of all, as SOME people DID get bitten! Those poor fellas, may someone give mercy on their poor souls.
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[ WP ] In the near future , the Earth is overcrowded and it is decided that all prisoners will be killed . You have a final phone call with your brother who is inside .
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`` Sir you have 10 minutes to speak to the prisoner. He will be in booth 6. Use your time wisely, you wo n't be getting anymore.''
`` His name is Jack and he is my brother.'' I say picking my stuff up from the desk.
She points to a door. A sign reads `` Visitation center.''
`` Your time starts now.''
She gives me a death stare. I get up and make my way towards the door. As I walk by I look around to see other people like me waiting to see friends, family; Going to see them for the last time ever since they passed that stupid legislation stating all current prisoners will be executed. It does n't matter the crime or how long the sentence was you were as good as a dead man.
I approach the door and place my hand on the knob. It's warm, people have been coming and going all day. I have a feeling in me that I ca n't describe, a part of me does n't want to open the door, does n't want to face the horror that is reality now.
`` This ca n't be real.... He had only 2 more weeks!'' I say slamming my head on the door.
I feel the knob shake. I open the door to see a girl sobbing uncontrollably, she collapse in front of me.
`` I do n't want to leave him!'' She screams. `` I am set to have a baby in only a few months and he wont have a father to care for him!'' The woman grabs onto the legs of my pants. `` Please do n't let them take him away. Please! I ca n't live without him!''
I'm in a complete loss of words. 2 guards appear behind her and force the woman away from me. They pick the girl up and tell me to step aside. I can only watch helplessly as I see the guards escort the woman out of the building. A soon to be mother being torn away from the father of her baby. I was not ready for this.
I finally enter the room, finally facing the moment I've been dreading for weeks. The room looks relatively normal, people giving their last words to friends and family. Unable to feel the warmth of a final hug because of the glass that separates them. Above each booth is a number, It goes from 0 to 20, I spot mine with no problem and quickly make my way towards it.
I stand before the glass and see him. My brother. The feeling hits me hard, the feeling of seeing your loved one for the final time and there is nothing you can do about it. I pull the chair from under the desk and sit. We exchange smiles and grab for the phone.
`` Hey Jack''
`` Hey man, how's it going?'' He says with the smile still staying big.
`` It's been good... it's been good...''
I ca n't think right now. This is all to surreal, staring at him wishing this was n't real is all I can do.
`` How uh, how's ma been?''
`` She's been good, still rocking the whole granny look.'' I say giving a light chuckle.
`` Haha, you know her birthday's coming up soon. Did you get her anything yet?''
`` Not yet, come on dude you know me. I always wait till the last minute.''
`` You were always a procrastinator. Remember that one time were you had this big science fair project due and you decided to start it the night of? Man you had everyone up working on that thing all night.''
`` How could I forget! Haha. That was the same night I figured out that pa was really bad with science equipment.''
`` Oh god he made such a mess with all the baking soda and vinegar. It was everywhere!''
We both laugh.
`` I offered the old man a measuring cup but he said he did n't need it, boy did he regret that decision quick.'' I say laughing.
`` Yeah we all make decisions we regret... guess that's part of being human.''
I see his joyful expression turn into a depressing look.
`` You're not thinking about the incident are you?''
`` The hell else would I be thing about? It's all ever been on my mind these past few weeks.''
`` Look man the kid was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. You did n't mean to kill him.''
He slams hit fist against the glass.
`` It was my fault! If only I just aimed for the leg or the arm! Or anything besides the chest!'' He says yelling.
A guard standing behind him put his hand on my brother shoulder, telling him to calm down.
`` If only I just was n't stupid and desperate for money.'' Jack says digging his face into his palms.
`` I'm going to die here Rick. I'm going to die alone, going to die not knowing what it feels like to have a family, not knowing what it feels like to love or the feeling you get buying a brand new car.''
I rest my head on the glass. Trying to think think what to say. Jack wipes the tears off his face.
`` Look man-''
The guard cuts my brother off and says we only have 1 minute left to speak.
`` Make it quick'' He says with an emotionless voice.
`` Look man just tell mom, I wish her a happy birthday and that I'm sorry for fucking up my life at such an early age. If there is an after life I surely wont make the same mistake again. I'll tell dad you said hi.''
I begin to tear up.
`` I do n't want you to go, I do n't know what to say! This is all to much for me.'' I place my hand on the glass. `` I love you man.'' I say choking on the words. His places his hand on mine.
`` I love you too.''
The guard steps up and announces it's time to go. He forces my brother up and escorts him to the door out of the booth. The guard opens the door and signals him to walk through. We exchange one last look and he's gone.
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[ WP ] You have died . While waiting to be judged , you are offered the chance to clear one entry from your file before the decision is made .
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`` *Are you kidding me? One? *''
Before I could thank the ten-thousand watt booming voice of my creation for a chance to make my past one blemish cleaner, my soul screamed for additional clemency opportunities. It was like my subconscious realized before my conscious that my past would be too dense to clean.
`` *I... I'm sorry, Lord. I just know and have reflected on the sins I've committed, and I fear that one entry cleared wo n't change your decision. *''
I could feel my legs tremble beneath me as for the first time, since moving from the world to the underworld, exactly how long `` Eternity In Hell'' was. I started young, stealing cigarettes and money from my mother's purse. I feel like she knew, but did n't want the fuss of dealing with it. I started selling those cigarettes to eager young middle schoolers who would give up their entire lunch for one cig.
`` *Is there a scale? Like if... if you were young, those sins are n't weighed as heavy as if I did them when I was a smarter adult? I mean that's not fair to judge children when they do n't know better. I do n't want to go away forever because I lied to my mom about curfew or something. *''
I sold weed in college to pay for classes and, let's be honest, more weed and pizza. I never really felt guilty for that though. It was wrong according to the state, but I'd never heard a bad story about it and no one was getting hurt. Of course, eventually my contact started selling cocaine and I saw the money he was pulling down. I could n't look at my meager weed sales profits and ignore the piles he was making. So I got in.
`` *Listen, God. I mean, I never hurt anyo... I never meant to hurt anyone. I'm regretful for more things that I can account for. This is why I'm afraid to pick one. I'm biding my time. *''
`` Alright man, what the hell are you talking about? You died so I'm playing now. Can we overwrite this save so I can see both endings? Who are you talking to?''
I suddenly snap to. I look around at my friends, who are as puzzled as I am.
`` Dude, give me the bong. You're done.''
`` *Yeah man, good idea. *''
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[ WP ] Write about something from your past . Exaggerate and embellish .
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`` We ca n't give you a new set of lungs.''
`` Why not?''
`` Our criteria for a transplant is that you are in bad enough condition after all other methods of medical assistance have failed. You've not provided yourself optimal medical care. You still have lines of defense available to you.''
`` What gave you that idea?''
`` The nurse coordinator. She says you've never taken pancreatic enzymes.''
`` We said we *stopped* taking them.''
`` Well, there you go. You made your decision. You're allowed to make whatever decision you wish. It was the wrong one, but it was yours to make.''
`` Um, it was n't a moral decision. We are n't hippies grinding roots into powders. The FDA recalled the drug I was taking. They forced the company creating it and the makers of half a dozen other similar drugs to reformulate. It was no longer legal for it to be prescribed to me.''
``...''
``...''
And with that, he turned into a werewolf, left the room, found the nurse coordinator, and tore her arms from her body.
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[ WP ] Someone found the fountain of youth but after all the hype no one dares to get in
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Captain Rudolpho Higalde's eyes traced the path from his guide's shriveled and shaking finger to the basin of white marble and gold. Decay and dust clung to the outer walls of the fountain, but the cracks ended at the water's edge. The men formed rank alongside their grey-haired leader and marveled at the pristine craftsmanship deep beneath the shimmering pool.
The water rippled in anticipation as Hidalge approached. An errant drop splashed out over the lip of the fountain and clung to the back of his hand. The old captain watched the veins retreat away from the droplet as muscle that had long since gone tough and twisted stretched up away from the bones. His companions marveled as their old captain's hand developed its first smooth patch since he had been a boy.
`` Your boast was true, old guide,'' the captain laughed. `` This is the fountain of youth!''
The wizened sage bowed his head slightly as a cheer welled up from the crew. Shirts and belts dropped away from the collection of salty old sailors. Within moments, the mass of sinewy and hanging flesh was bare and ready to bathe.
`` Hold!''
Captain Hidalge turned to see Beetle Bill, the oldest of his contingent, with his arms spread wide at the lip of the bath.
`` Surely you can not be having second thoughts, crusty old Beetle Bill,'' the captain teased.
`` Or perhaps the old codfish is just afeared to bathe,'' First Mate Swiggins quipped to the joy of the crew.
`` Old I may be,'' Bill rasped as his hand extended out toward the center of the fountain, `` but even my eyes can see that.''
The crew strained to make out what the old hand's eyes had spotted. One by one, they jerked back in shock and muttered to each other. At the center of the pool's ripples was an unmistakable brown mass bobbing casually on the surface.
`` It ca n't be,'' First Mate Swiggins. `` I mean, it must be a twig or a branch.''
`` Too stout for a twig and too short for a branch,'' Beetle Bill grumbled. ``'twere no tree that birthed that.''
The captain marveled at the tiny log drifting in defiance of all reason. No animal but man could have made such a robust contribution to the pool, but the island had been deserted save for their guide.
`` Old sage,'' Hidalge commanded. `` Where did this come from?''
`` I think you know as well as I do,'' the shriveled guide chuckled through a fit of coughs.
`` So it is yours?'' the captain demanded.
`` Of course not,'' the guide wheezed. `` It was here when my crew arrived. As brown and firm as it is now.''
`` And you never thought to remove it?'' scolded First Mate Swiggins.
`` Of course we thought to remove it! Our nets turned back into saplings and clusters of hemp in our hands the moment they touched the water.''
`` Could you not pick it up and take it out?'' Swiggins argued.
`` With my hands?'' the guide demanded through cracked and pruned lips. `` No, lad. Not a one of us would touch the drink so long as that clump remained. Would you?''
As if to punctuate his point, a soft spray of water bound from the pool. The mass of naked, wrinkled sailors nearly tripped over each other as they backed away from the polluted droplets. Even Captain Hidalge found himself absently trying to brush the rejuvenating water away from the smooth patch on his hand.
`` I thought not,'' the old guide coughed. `` Thirty years we waited and no man would touch it. We waited and we died off at the mouth of immortality.''
`` Surely one among you would do this for your companions,'' Captain Hidalge announced. `` First Mate Swiggins?''
`` I am ashamed, sir,'' Swiggins confessed as the crew backed away, `` but I can not.''
`` Beetle Bill,'' the captain pleaded. `` You have n't long left in you. Surely this small thing is no greater than the promise of long life?''
`` Due respect, captain, but to hell with that,'' Beetle Bill spat. `` I already had a long life.''
Captain Hidalge looked around at his men. They had braved the Straight of Jagged Teeth together without a grumble or a misgiving, but this tiny clump had broken them. Some looked up to their captain while others looked away as they fished for their pants, but there was no will left in any of them. They needed a strong captain now more than ever.
`` Very well,'' Captain Rudolpho Higalde announced to his crew. `` There is only one thing to be done about it. We will wait here until someone fishes that thing from the pool.''
A murmur of agreement rose up from the half-dressed sailors as the old guide rolled his eyes and slowly trudged back down to the beach.
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[ WP ] Every mammal is sentient , talks and has to work for a living . You 're a detective from New York City PD and got transferred to a small town . Your new partner is a cat named Mittens .
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“ So do I call you Furball, or do you prefer Kitty Cat? ” The cat ’ s brows furrowed at my sarcasm.
“ Officer Pendleton, ” the feline said in an irritated, husky voice, “ I ’ ll have you know that I have served three major homicide cases in New Jersey, four burglary cases in Dallas, and caught more rats in the French Mafia than you ’ ll ever hope to catch. ”
Pendleton didn ’ t care if they were actual rats or not. He can ’ t believe that his partner, a seasoned veteran in the force for fifteen years, was replaced by a furball less than two feet with experience of playing with yarn.
He found it incredulous from the news three years ago that an experiment with Sensium finally broke through; an intelligence-boosting chemical that helped activate long-term and short-term memory, making retention aligned with body processes – exposure to it would allow full control over your body with what you observe. It went past animal testing, but it only worked on cats. Mittens, his “ partner ”, was told to have been watching a lot of martial arts prior to Sensium infusion. She was a Kung-Fu Cat, as he heard from his colleagues.
The cat was sitting elegantly in the front seat beside him. She was a Birman, with dirty white fur and a face botched with brown accents. She had electric blue eyes that reminded you of your teacher in elementary that stared deep in your soul while waiting for your answer.
They were out on their second stake-out with a minor drug dealer in Bronx. Night was falling, and they saw the old white Toyota Corolla lumbering from the corner of Morris Park.
“ Purrfect, ” she purred. Pendleton wished he were making this up. “ Pendleton, don ’ t take up too much speed. ” She bared her claws and sank them in the seat.
Pendleton sat up and turned to Mittens. “ Hey! Get your claws off my seat! That ’ s leather! ”
“ Well if you ’ d stop speeding up and listen to me- “
“ I am NOT listening to a cat! ”
“ Well you BETTER, Pendleton, because I will sink my fangs in your- “
BANG. They collided with the white Corolla, and Mittens was face-first on the glove compartment. Pendleton shook his head groggily. He saw three figures making their way towards them, with.45 ACPs. He picked Mittens by the neck and headed to the back of the auto.
“ Hey boy, ” one of them shouted. “ We know you was followin ’ us ever since yesterday! ” He fired at their hood. “ You ain ’ t getting ’ away easy, cop! ”
“ I ’ m not a cop, imbecile. I ’ m a detective! ” he shouted. Once he radios this in, his back-up will make short work of these idiots. He reached for his belt and felt his hand go numb. He forgot his radio in the front seat.
“ Get your hands OFF me, Pendleton, and we might actually live! ” Mittens was trying to claw at him as he swung from Pendleton ’ s neck grip. Pendleton let go of the feline as he grabbed hold of his Gloc. If he ever lived through this, he ’ ll report this cat to HQ. This was ridiculous.
“ Now, Officer Pendleton, are you ready for… ” she bared his claws slowly. “ …a catastrophe? ” She lunged on the car and landed face-to-claw with one of the assailants.
“ Holy shi- “ Idiot number one was firing everywhere, and I took the chance to cap one of them in the knee during the distraction. Mittens was clawing at the guy ’ s face with much gusto – this cat had bloodlust written all over her. His mind was frozen with the sight. He wondered if he was on the set of a revival of The Naked Gun or something.
“ Pendleton, mind incapacitating that one over there? I ’ m quite busy here, ” she hissed.
I woke from my reverie and kicked the second guy ’ s gun from his hand and had him pinned to the ground. “ Mittens, uh, I think that guy had enough, ” I called out with uncertainty.
“ Oh, my apologies. ” She bit the man ’ s ear one last time and scrambled to me. The man was crying on the pavement, screaming about how he loved cats. “ I had one just like you! ” He covered his ravaged face with his hands.
“ Great job, Pendleton, ” said Mittens. “ You might actually be a worthy partner for me. ”
“ I… ” Pendleton stammered. “ What ARE you? ”
“ I am your PARTNER, and it better stay that way, ” she said as she hung her tail high. “ I ’ ll ignore that you almost had us both killed, and we ’ ll continue on this investigation. Is that clear? ”
Pendleton sighed and shakily stood up. “ Whatever you say, Mittens. I don ’ t know where to go from here - our little skirmish here might have alerted most of them. ”
“ Dear Pendleton, they never mentioned? ” Mittens purred softly. “ I am also adept at interrogation. ” The cat ’ s face quickly turned to a smile, like the Cheshire ’ s cat ’ s creepy smile. She turned towards the crying man.
Officer Pendleton sighed. “ You know what? Take the lead. ”
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[ WP ] You are a high level character in a fantasy world . You defeated your enemies , become pretty much immortal and are now the most powerful being ever , so much that you can be mistaken for a god . After a while enjoying your power over others , you are now bored since nothing is difficult anymore .
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Mister Power then realized that by being able to kill anyone, he could apply those skills somehow to make money.
Then he made some money.
And he already had the power.
So he got himself some women.
And a case of beer.
Rather than the prompt, the aftermath:
It was pretty rad and totally what all-powerful beings do both on the way to saving/ruling the world and after.
And he totally used his magical powers to heat up some delicious gourmet whatever and the babes thought it was awesome with a glass of wine, whose
vintage hails from the hallowed halls of... I do n't know... because it's a fantasy world.
I could go on and on about this fantasy world and the pornography that is made in-between scenes between our hero and the babes... but it's too hard to handle writing it all out.
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[ WP ] He had no arms or legs . He could n't see , hear , or speak . This is how he led a nation .
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I can feel the vibrations as they wheel me from place to place. Feel the hands touch what's left of my body, even through the pain. With my eyes scarred shut, and the sound of explosions from what feel like years ago still ringing in my ears, I can continue to feel the cheers from the crowd of every place we go.
I've become their figure head. And no one even realizes it.
People remember the civil war. They remember rising up and becoming true patriots. They remember looking up to the sky, and under the vision of God becoming what our founding fathers wanted us to be. Free, independent, and under the watchful eye of no one.
Most unfortunately they remember me -- using the very eyes I loathed to project to a Nation. My speeches rivaling my idol -- the great Martin Luther King Jr -- in audience and ( I hoped ) in vision.
When the bombs started going off, and when the first gun shattered my femur; when a pistol tore through my right arm, then my left; and when I felt a military grade blade hit my remaining leg, it felt like crucifixion. It felt like both an accomplishment -- finally reaching martyrdom -- and a failure that I would n't see the new world rise up from the knees we'd been praying on for so long.
I should have died right there.
It's my fault really. I should have known the figureheads of congress and the supreme court did n't make decisions. I should have known they were waiting for someone like me -- someone to shine through the darkness and the bullshit. Someone to start the process of healing the nation through my own wounds. They grabbed me as soon as I hit the ground. Before, I'm sure, the rest of the people who cared had even stopped breathing.
I'm sure they marked it off as a victory for the American People -- even as they had surgery to make it look like I was a disfigured burn victim. As I woke up during surgery to feel my vocal chords being ripped out, and felt them grafting the skin onto my eyes, I knew that this was my eternal punishment.
So now I lead from the wheelchair I'm restrained into. My handlers force food down my throat, and if I do n't eat then I get it injected directly into me. I can feel the lights every night when I'm taken on stage, not a martyr, but a new puppet with even less control than the previous.
I just wish in my flight towards the sun, I had n't cast everyone else to burn in hell with me.
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[ CW ] You ca n't be with your soul mate . Tell them why without using the words `` You '' , `` I '' , or `` Love '' .
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Cold rust, my grip wraps tight. Bound with white tearing each knuckle.
The grime greets me, soothing in its visceral solace.
Mind's gone. Back to our home.
Why did we -- Stop; She needed it, wanted it.
The clack of the guard's baton rings free.
My time, he's coming.
Twisting hands feel metal, painfully in tears recall.
She looked so beautiful with head under water.
Hands caressing the nape of her neck.
The clack of the guard's baton rings free.
Closer now. Heart racing; remembrance brings me back to her.
lovely she looked at me, gaze to gaze, her soul and mine.
with those eyes, thanked me and thrust her down.
Why struggle? Why fight?
The clack of the guard's baton rings free.
The next cell, not much time. Hand to my ear and feel the scar.
A miss, so close to perfect it would have been.
They were there before it could be complete.
The weightless peace in which I saw you.
The clack of the guard's baton rings free.
A key turns, a gate swings.
We'll be together soon my dear.
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[ WP ] Your worst fear .
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Helpless. More than anything else, I hate being helpless. Control, or at least influence, is something that I can hardly do without. Tall, strong, smart, I'm someone who can get things done. But that's changed.
When I woke up, I felt fuzzy. Sluggish, tired, weak, like my limbs are coated in lead and my muscles are made of styrofoam. I stumbled out of bed and nearly fell face first into my dresser, barely managing to twist my shoulder into the way before my temple connected with a corner. I lay on the floor for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to get my arms to respond, to roll me over and push me up. My feet to get me standing, legs to get me walking. I lay there and stared at the ceiling and wondered why nothing was happening. Finally, my arm reached out,
slowly, fingers grasping at the corner of the desk my shoulder had so recently crashed into, feeling that same shoulder now sending out its
complaints in the form of a stabbing pain. I grit my teeth, and, feeling the hard wood under my fingers, tried to clamp down, to grab hold. My
fingers slid, scrambled for purchase, fell off.
I cursed, forced my arm up a second time, against the growing pain in my shoulder, and let my hand fall halfheartedly against the wood. A crash
rewards my efforts, followed quickly by my alarm clock falling neatly onto my hurt shoulder. I grunt quietly, force my fingers to close on the
dresser, managing to keep them from falling through sheer force of will, and haul myself to my knees. Several moments of panting and
frustration are followed by another curse, and I began to shake. A certain amount of clumsiness is something that comes along with being big,
but what I felt went deeper. Slowly, carefully, I rose to my feet, keeping a grip on the dresser to steady myself, and shuffle as best I can out to the bathroom.
Twelve feet or twelve miles, the difference dissapears as I make my way one staggering step at a time. Finally, the bathroom door slides into view, and I unceremoniously slam into the doorway. My sore shoulder screams angrily. The best response I can muster is a wordless vocalization of pain, halfway between a cry and a groan. Slowly, carefully, I maneuver in front of the mirror, and drag my eyes off the floor, force them to meet their reflection. Dark bags, blood vessels, sagging skin. Wrinkles before their time and exhaustion beyond measure staring back. I let my eyes fall, my head slump forward to its counterpart, connecting with a muffled sound. Softly, denying it as strongly as I was ashamed of it, I felt the warmth run down my cheeks, slide into the scruff I had n't bothered to tame for so many weeks.
My stomach rumbled, and I levered an arm in front of my face, not bothering to wipe the salt away, push back from the mirror. Turning and making my way back out of the bathroom I had worked so hard to get into seems an impossible task, and more than once, despair slithers into my head, but I pushed it away, let the groans of my stomach take precedence, drive me out into the hall once more. Through the doorway, I turned, blearily scanned for anything that might silence the rumbling ache, prayed something would be nearby. Closed doors stared at me, blank white, giving me no reprieve. A word surfaced in my sleep deprived mind. Kitchen. My head bobbed. Kitchens have food. My feet began to move, taking me down the familiar path to the kitchen, dragged me closer to food. A sudden wave of vertigo washed through me, leaves me swaying on my feet. A brief moment of hope tries to surface, that i may stay upright, but as it builds, my knees buckle, sending me crashing to the floor once more.
The shaking returns, more violent this time, and the despair returns in a wave, stronger and faster. My breaths come faster, and I feel the pressure build behind my eyelids. Refusing to give in so easily, I force my hands underneath me, crane my head, and crack my eyes enough to see where I landed. The sight that greets me is enough to crush what little will I have left. My eyes fall closed, the tension drains from my shoulders, and my breath slows to near nothing. The stairs in front of me, even going down, are more than I'm capable of. Perhaps even more than I could survive. Another step and I would have ended up a crumpled, broken pile at the bottom of the stairs, bleeding out onto the soft carpet.
The thought brings me to a standstill. My eyes, dulled by the surrender, follow an imagined path down the stairs, wondering silently. After a moment, my head slowly wings to one side, then the other. Too uncertain. Possible death, probable injury, ranging from life threatening to merely debilitatingly painful. Not enough, need something more. Another thought begins to rise through the fog in my mind, and I begin to pull myself around. Twelve feet, dragging across the carpet, feels just as great as it did the first time, but almost before I realize it, I'm back where I started, on the floor in front of my dresser. Summoning the last of my energy, i pull myself up into a sitting position against the drawers.
Clumsily, artlessly, I push my arm behind me, run my hand across the top of the dresser. Brushing all else aside, my hands search the clutter, ignoring the crashes and rumbles of junk being knocked to the floor. Finally, my fingers find what they seek. A small, rectangular box. I drag it closer, finally managing to pull it onto the floor next to me. Gently, almost lovingly, I grasp it as best I can in my now nerveless hands, trying to pry the side open, pull out the contents, but the box stubbornly stays closed. Finally, with a last cry of near total despair, i bring it up to my teeth and chew through the thin cardboard sides, and spit it aside, letting the small bit of metal inside fall into my palm. A small, wavering smile crosses my lips, and I carefully pick up the small razor blade between shaky fingers. Suppressing the shaking as best I can, I push the edge of the blade against my wrist, and prepare to push down.
How long I sat there, razor in hand, staring at the small strip of metal that would end it. Stop everything. Bring the darkness that would envolope me like an old friend. But I could n't do it. The simplest action of my day. Of my life. I could n't. So I sat. Unable to do anything else, overcome by the crushing weight of depression, I sat against the dresser and wished for what I knew I could n't have. Could n't even give to myself.
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[ WP ] Reverse Werewolf : A wolf that turns into a normal guy when the moon is out .
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Wolves did n't have names, you where either a cub, the pack leader, leaders bitch or the strangler everyone picks on to release stress.
Before that full moon night I was none of the above, just another member, then while hunting an eminence pain took over my body, making me cry out and fall to the ground. I scared the pack, and any prey within several miles but something was wrong, something hurt.
The alpha tried to bite me, angry that I'd interrupted their hunt, but when they pulled their teeth away much of my fur went with them and they choked on it, trying to spit it out.
The pack stepped back after that, hurrying away, not knowing what was going on and right then deciding I was n't worthy of the pack anymore.
Alone in the forest the pain eventually subsided, leaving me feeling tired and awkward. I tried to move and felt a sort of second skin keeping me down. It was n't strong at all, breaking with little effort.
I broke though the sort of cocoon of flesh around my body and tried to stand but something felt wrong and I could n't get my feet under me. The whine I made was unfamiliar and strange, not my usual sound. I tried growing, it was even worse.
I made the mistake of really looking at myself next, seeing pale fur-less skin with no claws to speak of. I freaked out, twisting my head this way and that, seeing the rest of the body I was in. No tail, no fur, I could n't smell anything anymore. I had turned into one of the tall beasts.
“ I think I heard the sound come from over here! ” A voice, only the tall beasts spoke in nonsense.
*Run*
I tried to get up but my body was n't doing what I wanted. These legs were too long, the feet malformed and front legs too short, paws strange and elongated.
“ Whoa what the?. ” The voice came again, shining trapped daylight in my face. I growled at them, trying to just pull away since this body was useless for anything.
“ What'd you find? ” The other voice called.
“ A... uhh....naked growling man. ”
“ What? ” Another tall beast came, shining more lights and blinding me more then I already was. “ Oh my stars. ”
“ Should I dart him? He seems... off. ”
“ Yeah, yeah that'd be safest. ”
One of the tall beasts brought out a long tool, one that I'd seen take out deer from far away. I thought I was dead when they hit me with something but instead of being dead, I just felt very sleepy.
The rest of the memory's where just a blur of movement and colors. I could feel a rough material wrapped around my body but I was too tired to care, just falling back asleep to the strange feeling of movement and the sounds of a loud droning beast.
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[ WP ] Humans do n't remember falling asleep . One day , you do – and realize why we should be very thankful we do n't .
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Trying to count my breaths, mind off in the distance, I could n't focus my eyes enough to close them. My head was spinning with too many thoughts.
It went on for hours. Which bill am I paying next? Who has to be taken where? What time is work? Most questions were mundane, dull. I could n't catch them for very long.
At three my thoughts dimmed. Sleep came quietly.
The room had grown darker. I felt a brush on my legs seizing them like death.
All sound had left my lips. My chest was moving but I was not controlling it. On my legs sat the corpse of a mummified woman. Her body was skeletal all but her breasts, sagging low. Her eyes, her terrible blue eyes, shifting in the shadows, floating closer, as she crawled up my legs. The grip of her hands stopped all feeling. Her fingers were thin and long, skittering up my chest and grabbing my temples and pushing her eyes into mine. Her jaw fell open and the corpse pushed her mouth on mine. I felt nothing but the pushing of breath from my lungs. She sucked the breath with a wheeze. Pulling out a white mist.
I thought I was awake. My wife's mangled body lay in front of me. My knees hit the floor.
Only a dream. My bed was getting warm from the sun overhead. I turned to my wife but a carp swims against my hand before swimming through the ceiling.
With a shake of my head I turn to my roommate. Sleeping, in the bed next to mine. The light is on and I step out of bed and find him on the floor. His eyes open and the left side of his face melts in the ground. He chants an indecipherable tongue. I scream.
I wake up for the last time.
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[ WP ] You are an immortal werehuman - a wolf that turns human every full moon . You gaze up at the night sky and realize it 's time again .
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`` Here we go again,'' I sigh, seeing the white-night-orb raise from the edge-of-the-world. It had been strange, the first time, when he was with his first pack. Waking up in the cold-white with no coverings and the others looking at his not-right body. Since then, in the innumerable warmth to cold changes, it had become much more common. My legs twist first, their natural angle bent backwards, hair receding as the change progressed up my body, until I was bare on the forest floor again.
My mind, as the humans called it, had retained most of the information I had gathered since my first night, and I had plenty of time to add to it. Granted the markings had changed from letters to their own unique system, and the pillars were replaced with grey and clear. I had the foresight to leave myself a pack for this, and hurriedly changed. While the nip in the air would not kill me, another seeing me with no coverings in winter would bring out... unwelcome attention. My plan was the same as every full moon, walk around the city that was beginning to encroach my forest, and I jinxed myself by believing the night would be mishap free. As it were and often is, there was another plan in place.
The smell came first. While dulled, it was still sharper than most of my current-kin. Fear, especially, was potent enough to smell even among the cold smell of forest. Instinct kicked in, as I recognized it as the fear of something young. Something that, no matter what I looked like, was encoded in me to protect.
I was already running toward the source when the scream made it easier to pinpoint.
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[ WP ] You , the planet earth , have been sleeping for the past several million years . As you awake , you notice something feels ... different ... odd somehow . Something strange is going on on your surface .
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I sense it as soon as I awake, my sister's carcass circling in my gravity. The last I remember, we had gotten trapped in each other's gravity. We had pulled each other into an inescapable embrace. I remember the inexorable approach, the painful collision. Then nothing. Billions of years of darkness. I grieve for my sister and I grieve for my lost time.
I notice how small her carcass is. I notice how large I feel. The grief turns to disgust as I realize where my mass comes from.
I allow my awareness to stretch to the rest of the system. I feel another dead sister, torn to pieces by evil, life giving gravity. Her remains circle, spread through her orbit mockingly. Another sister, stripped of atmosphere and unconscious of all existence. Too much grief. I pull back into myself.
I bring my awareness into my body. I feel the reassuring heat of radiation in my core. Two planet's worth of material make up my many layers. My atmosphere... I pause my awakening to focus.
This is wrong. This is all wrong.
My atmosphere is poison. If I had been aware, I would never have allowed this. I will fix it.
I identify the cause. A form of life that covers my entire surface. It exists in the frozen poles and it flourishes in the temperate equator. A form of life that poisons the atmosphere in order to benefit itself. A form of life that pumps tremendous quantities of toxic catalyst into my precious life bearing layer. A form of life that destroys the natural order and leaves my surface fit for nothing but monsters.
Chlorophyll producing plants and cells. They release free oxygen. Poisonous, burning oxygen. They take the energy from the sun, energy meant for me, and creatte death. So much death has been caused by their presence. My beautiful fungal mats are almost completely eradicated. They cling in dark corners to the few healthy places where I vent gasses. I am disgusted.
I begin to flex, energy lacing out from my core. The ripples will soon have effect. I will eradicate them. No more plant life. No more chlorophyll. The monsters they allowed will die with them. I will bring back the universally approved life. Soon, the fungal mats will again cover my surface. Soon, they will soften my hard crust. Soon, the carbon dioxide will return to the proper levels. Soon.
May oxygen atmospheres never poison this universe again.
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[ WP ] You cash out your retirement funds and quit your day job to buy and run a funeral home . It 's been a month since you assumed ownership and noone within a 500 mile radius has died . You 're almost broke and need a way to feed the family when you get an idea .
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“ You can ’ t be serious. ” My wife looked at me above her glasses. Her copy of *Good Housekeeping* hung in her hand, forgotten. “ I refuse to believe you are serious. ”
“ Why? ”
“ Gee, let me think. Well, for starters, *no one* wants to give birth in a funeral home. ”
“ Why not? It seems... poetic. ”
“ Ok, everyone who has given birth, raise their hand. ” Which she did. I just stood there, like an idiot. She made an exaggerated gesture of looking around the room. “ What? No one else? Huh, that is strange. ”
“ But it makes *sense. * ”
“ How, and in what way, does running a birth center out of a funeral home ‘ make sense? ’ ”
“ Well, ” I held up a hand, ready to enumerate some points with my fingers. “ For starters, we already have a significant amount of medical supplies on hand. So there is that. ”
My wife gave me the frown that she used when she wanted to express her skepticism, but didn ’ t think our discussion warranted the use of words.
“ Second, think of the name/slogan combo: *Bernies ’ Funeral and Baby Parlor -- you bring ‘ em in, and we take ‘ em out! * ”
“ Ohhh... yeah that is good! People like to be reminded of trash when giving birth or dealing with the death of a loved one. ” She said, rolling her eyes. “ Why not just go with this slogan: *We deal with the repercussions of both kinds of stiffs. * ”
“ Hmm… ” I thought about it for a moment. “ Too cerebral. I like the innuendo, but too many words. How about: *You squirt ‘ em, we dirt ‘ em. ”
“ That ’ s disgusting. And what is up with you and contractions anyway? ”
“ Don ’ t change the subject. ” After 30 years of marriage, I knew how to handle these discussions with my wife. She was always trying to distract me. But I didn ’ t let her. “ Now, where was I….right! Third: Synergy! ”
To punctuate my point, I extended my middle finger ( thumb and first finger were already out -- I respect my wife! ) with the first syllable of “ synergy. ” Dramatic, yes?
“ Think of all those people that are sad that their grandpa just died -- ”
“ I wish you would hurry up and get on with that. ”
“ -- and think about how happy people are to see babies. ” Could n't rise to the bait. Must stay on target. “ We can cheer people up by running them through the nursery after the viewing. ”
“ And what about all the new parents that have to now deal with an endless parade of death? Isn ’ t birth supposed to be a glorious experience? Not, you know, a depressing one. ”
“ Heh. To hear you tell it, it was the worst fucking experience of your life. I mean, you never let me forget about how you had to push my ‘ fucking football of a son out your love hole, ’ as you so delicately put it. ” Danger. I was on treacherous ground here. This was still a sore subject for my wife. Must get back on track. “ Besides, the problem is readily solved. ”
“ Oh? And how is that? ”
“ One-way mirrors! ”
“ Won ’ t they still have to come in the door. ”
“ Separate entrances! ”
“ What if they see some hearses something driving up? ”
“ It will just just remind them of how fragile life is! It will make them value their new child all the more! ” I was getting excited now. I could tell I was winner her over. I had to be. “ It is just too perfect! ”
“ I am not sure I would call it ‘ perfect. ’ ”
“ What word would you use? ”
“ Stupid? Asinine? Fucktarded? Pretty much anything but ‘ perfect. ’ ”
“ Why? Why are you being so difficult. This is a great idea. And think of how easy it would be to handle the stillbirths. I mean -- ”
“ No. Stop it. You have officially gone too far. ”
“ Think of the savings in transportation costs alone. And we can offer a package deal -- ”
“ I said ‘ no. ’ ”
And she meant it. I could tell. So I stopped and let her gather her thoughts. Then she started in on her points.
“ Look, dear. When you said you had enough money to retire. I agreed, didn ’ t I? ”
“ Yes dear. ” God, I sounded pathetic even to my own ears.
“ And when you said you had a life-long dream to be a mortician -- did I say anything. ”
“ I wish you had. I mean, allowing me to do this is great. But some enthusiasm on your part would n't have killed you, would it? ”
“ Trust me. I would have been your first customer. ”
“ Huh. ”
“ And when you said you found a great funeral home for sale, in the middle of North Dakota, I didn ’ t question you, did I? ”
“ Actually, I think your exact words were: ‘ you do realize there is no one that lives within 50 miles of there? ’ Which is technically a question. ”
“ And so we packed up. Didn ’ t we? ”
“ Yes. ”
“ And we moved to this god-forsaken frozen wasteland where there is no one living -- let alone dying -- anywhere near us. ”
“ Ok, I will admit that was a bit short-sighted. But once we add the birthing center -- ”
“ How can you not get this. ” She let out a little scream. “ There is no one around that is living. That means that there is no one around that is given birth either. ”
“ But that is the beauty of it. ”
“ What? ”
“ It is going to be a destination. Think of it. We will have the only cradle-to-grave -- strike that -- cradle *and* grave service in the US. People will flock to us! ”
She just sat there and shook her head. “ You can ’ t be serious. I still refuse to believe you are serious. ”
The *Good Housekeeping* magazine still hung in her hand.
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[ WP ] An embarrassing encounter with a member of the opposite sex .
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Rob tapped the point of his pencil in rhythm with the ticks of the clock. He let his professor's words wash over him as if Rob was at the bottom of the ocean looking up at the breakers. He was aware of the words, they just did n't move him much.
He threw a quick glance at Kara sitting across the room between her two girlfriends. They all worked at the university paper and Rob often read Kara's relationship column, but he'd never worked up the courage to talk to her.
`` So, Rob, why does the court say that we are allowed to print things that may not necessarily be true?'' Hearing his named put the key in Rob's intellectual ignition, but the engine would n't turn over.
`` Uhm...'' Rob fumbled, looking through his printout.
`` Let's see, Kara do you know why?'' The professor moved on as if Rob had never been asked.
`` It encourages people to fact-check and actually encourages speech. If you hear someone speaking bullshit, you're going to want to call out that bullshit.''
Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.
Rob felt the heat rise in his face as he stared at his notes. He caught the girls move out of the corner of his eye, but did n't notice the smile Kara flashed in his direction. Instead, he pictured Kara's next column: `` Getting it Right: Why you should notice the guys that can answer questions in class.'' Or perhaps: `` Making the Grade: What class performance tells you about that stupid kid who you should never talk to. Ever.'' Each headline his mind printed was more cutting than the last.
The laughter died down and the professor made some vague remark about a good weekend. Rob did n't bother putting his notes in his bag. He booked it out the door. Sometimes Kara and her friends stood outside the classroom chatting with the professor. Sometimes Rob hung around, looking for a chance to say something witty to Kara. Not this time.
He hooked into the men's bathroom down the hall. The mirror reflected his face, and Rob imagined Kara seeing the image as she remembered the idiot in her class who could n't grasp basic First Amendment law. Rob signed and checked his watch. Kara usually had another class right after, and he figured she'd be out of sight by now.
He trudged out of the building, intent on drowning his sorrows in booze and games that night. Maybe he'd even spring for a pizza. His spirits perked thinking of the night ahead, and he picked up his pace. He looked up, took a deep breath- and froze.
There she was. Kara. Walking with her head down against the chilly spring air. Rob made a split second decision. He knew gladiators in love's arena rarely received thumbs up. As he started toward Kara, his inner monologue raced.
*Not too fast, you fucking idiot. She's going to think you're going to try to rape her. Look casual, do n't look creepy. Find something interesting to look at. No, not her. Do n't you fucking fall you clumsy bastard. Do n't look obvious, just walk toward home. No, you're like half running. Just try to act like-*
`` Hey, Kara.''
`` Bahhhh!'' She jumped and recoiled before pressing her hand to her chest. `` Dammit. Fuck.''
`` I'm sorry!'' Rob briefly considered throwing himself under the passing buss.
`` No, it's fine,'' Kara said huffing and giggling. `` What the hell are you trying to do, scare me to death?''
`` No, I just noticed you were walking the same way as me and I figured I'd say hi,'' Rob managed. Maybe this would go okay after all.
`` Oh, gotcha. You live over this way?'' Kara began walking and Rob fell in step with her.
`` Yeah, just over on Oldham. You?''
`` Yup, on Sunshine.''
`` I have no idea where that is,'' Rob laughed.
`` Really? How long have you lived here,'' Kara gave him a confused look.
`` Like three years,'' Rob and Kara laughed. `` But I never learned all the street names! They change at every intersection.''
`` Yeah, I still get lost sometimes,'' Kara flashed Rob a smile and he caught it this time.
`` Like this one,'' Rob pointed as the pair approached a stop light. `` This side, Euclid. This side, Avenue of Champions. It's madness!'' Rob raised his voice and threw his hands in the air.
`` Yeah it is,'' Kate replied. `` Maybe we should do a story on how confusing it is for new students. Yeah, hey! Come by the office some time and maybe I'll let you write it.''
`` Yeah, for sure,'' Rob answered with genuine enthusiasm.
A pause in the conversation hung in the air. Rob mulled his options. He could either force the conversation or get out while he was ahead. If she wanted to talk more, she might be put off by his sudden departure. But, on the other hand, he did n't want to overstay his welcome.
`` Well, it was great talking to you. See you in class tomorrow?'' Rob figured if she enjoyed the conversation, maybe they could continue it later on Facebook.
`` Yeah, for sure. Do n't be a stranger!''
For some odd reason, Rob knew he was in. Maybe a slightly drunken message later in the evening would really seal the deal. Then he could speak with her again tomorrow after class. Maybe he'd ask her to go to lunch or catch a movie. His mind raced over his future with Kate as the lights changed. He took a step across the road-
And so did she.
He took another step just to be sure.
So did she.
Rob blanked in panic. He'd said goodbye. It was time for him to go. They needed to part ways. Rob's mind cried out for the finality of the conversation that was two people moving in opposite directions, but each step was torture. *This is n't how it's supposed to be! This is n't right! * his mind screamed, but Rob's brain was on autopilot while panic shorted his decision-making.
`` Hey, I thought you lived over on...'' Kara trailed off.
`` Yeah, I just usually walk this way sometimes...'' Rob trailed off and stopped in the middle of the street. Kara kept going and reached the other side.
`` Okay, well, which way are you going now?'' Her head was cocked and her face was quizzical.
`` Uhm, this way, I think. Bye.'' Rob squeaked. He turned on his heel and headed for the main road with every intention of jumping into traffic.
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Writing Prompt [ WP ] You have the ability to freeze time . When you do , everyone freezes as well . One day , you freeze time , and out the window , you see a girl moving around , astounded and confused . Then , she sees you..
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Every since I was a little kid I'd love taking photographs. My mom loved them. She had me take all our vacation photos. She kept one in a big frame next to her bed. Its of her and Annie at the beach, they ’ re smiling and their arms around each other. I was six when I took that.
People would always ask me how such a little kid like me could take such good pictures. I don ’ t blame them for wondering. I was a husky little kid in a Spongebob T-Shirt with my Mom ’ s old Polaroid camera hanging from my neck. But they were serious and my pictures were good. I was a freelance photographer for the Post since I was in 6th grade. The editors were always talking to me about my pictures and bragging about me to friends at other papers. They said mine were better than anyone on the staff, usually right in front of one of the poor guys.
I knew I was a fraud. I'd never told anyone about my ‘ power. ’ I do n't like to use the word power, because that makes me seem like I'm a superhero - something stupid, like Snapshotman or the Developer - but that stuff is n't real.
When I was really little I remember sitting in the living room with my family. I had just gotten this Fisher-Price toy camera for my birthday. I loved that stupid thing, and was pretending to take pictures of my mom and Annie. They were watching the Godfather. I can remember her saying to my sister that'this is the greatest movie ever made because when you look at it, every shot is like a painting.'' I was looking at them when she said that, through the cheap, little plastic lens of a toy camera. But something clicked on a primal level, and from then on I just started to look at the world more like it was a picture and not a movie. As I got older it just got easier and easier to do.
I quit the newspaper during my sophomore year. I was going through an angst-y phase and felt like a hypocrite. My editor was really disappointed when I told him. He'd already promised me a full-time job once I graduated high school. I felt bad turning him down, and it would have been a cool job. But my mind was made up. I just could n't pretend that I was a photographer anymore. It would be like calling someone who ’ s a professional transcriber a novelist. I was still real depressed about it though; taking pictures for the paper had been my favorite thing to do.
One afternoon a week after I quit the Post, I was laying on my bed starting listlessly out the window. Through the bedroom window I had a perfect view of the neighbors backyard. Our old neighbors had recently moved to Florida. The new family had just moved in the day before.
The patio door opened and I saw a girl came out onto the deck. She was tall and pretty and wearing a bright yellow dress. There was something about her in that dress that really struck me - for more than just the obvious reasons a pretty girl in that dress might. I went to the window and got ready to take the picture.
I raised my camera to my eye and got ready. I looked through the lens.
She was still moving. She was walking out of shot!
I pulled my face away from the camera, absolutely blown away. I glanced around my room. Everything else seemed normal. The fish was hanging in mid-air over its bowl. The tassels on my fan were suspended in the air. Outside there was a squirrel frozen in its leap between the boughs of a tree.
But she was moving. I could n't believe what I was seeing. My head was spinning.
Then suddenly it was n't, and I knew exactly what to do. I went downstairs and out to the back porch. She was sitting by a little table holding a tall glass or lemonade.
” Hi'' I said, a little rushed, a little nervous.
`` Hello there,'' she answered, smiling, `` so I guess we're neighbors huh?''
`` Yeah'' I answered. “ You guys just moved in yesterday right? ”
She nodded. ” Uh huh. So, are you a photographer?''
“ What? Yeah…but…how did you know?''
`` You have a camera around your neck.''
`` Oh yeah,'' I replied, rubbing the back of my neck. I got embarrassed at looking so dumb and so without really thinking, rushed into explaining why I had come out there.
`` I saw you from the window, and I know that sounds really creepy,'' I quickly added, `` but it wasn ’ t, I promise. I just thought you looked really nice. And I, well, would I be able to take a picture of you?''
She smiled. She might have even blushed a little.
`` OK'' she said.
`` Great!'' I exclaimed.
She settled into her chair. `` I should warn you though, I'm a horrible model. ”
“ ” Don ’ t worry about it. ”
“ Is there anything I should do?''
`` Yeah,'' I said, `` when I tell you to I want you to turn that glass upside down and pour out it out on the ground.''
She looked at me a little funny for a second, but then grabbed the glass anyway.
I took a couple steps back, raised my camera to my eye, told her `` Now,'' and then she turned the glass upside down.
The lemonade was halfway out of the glass, still, but with all the implications of movement; un-undulations and still ripples. Small droplets that ’ d broken away early hung alone further closer to the ground. The ice cubes had reached the brim of the glass before getting caught, one teetered at the very edge.
“ Wait,'' I said, “ You ’ re not looking at the camera.
I think it was the way I said it that shocked her the most. She told me that anyway, but that was much later. I ’ ll admit I ’ m surprised myself to have said it so matter-of-factly.
When she heard me speaking, and what that meant, she whipped her head around to look at me in total shock. Then she started to laugh.
I took the picture then.
She's sitting in the chair at an angle, you can tell she's just turned to look straight ahead. And she's laughing so hard and so sincerely.
I entered my picture of her in an amateur photography contest. I won. She was really pleased when I told her. I did go back to photography, though I only would take pictures of her, and for a few years I won minor acclaim and celebrity among a bunch of people who I didn ’ t like very much and who were probably even less of photographers than I was. She and I eventually broke up. It was a terrible time and I do n't want to talk about it.
I do n't take pictures anymore. I've stopped seeing the world the way I used to. I do n't have any of my old photographs, except the one of her. There are some nights when I'm feeling drunk and nostalgic, and i'll pull it up on my computer and look at it and get a vague sense back of what it felt like to be aware of life the way I used to be. But that feeling never lasts and then I ’ m just looking at something lost in space from a long time ago.
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[ WP ] There is a door in the house no one must open .
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“ But why ca n't I? ”
“ Just trust me, bro. No one opens that door. Beer? ”
Rob shrugged and held out his hand for the ice cold can. Alicia obliged with a curtsey.
“ So that door, ” he said, pausing to sip, “ Is it locked? ”
“ Nope. It's more a of a trust thing, you know? We do n't open it, what's inside does n't bother us, and we all live happy lives. ”
“ Your new place is weird. ”
“ Tell me about it. ”
The two started gravitating toward the sofa that sat alone in the middle of the spacious living room. A giant television took up one of the walls and Alicia kicked the remote into life as she went by. Suddenly the room was filled with the giant, smiling face of today's property, bargain hunting cookery show. Daytime television at its most mediocre. It looked like they were rummaging through a flea market looking for a vegetable steamer so they could cook people dinner when they showed off their newly renovated house. It was strangely relevant, given the situation.
Once upon a time, Alicia and Rob had been best friends. Inseparable from the moment they met in school right up until the moment Alicia got a dream job offer across the country. It had been quite a shock to... well, to everyone, when Rob had announced he was engaged to someone that was n't the gawky, redheaded girl he'd spent his whole life following around the playground.
Alicia had taken the job, found a flat share and moved in. She'd been there for almost a minute before Rob sent a text asking when he could come and visit.
“ How's the job going? ”
“ Brilliantly. We're looking into parasites found in Africa at the minute. It's fascinating stuff, you know. They've actually developed to crawl through the sole of someone's foot- ”
“ Yea. That's fascinating all right, ” Rob said drily. If he was going to be completely honest with himself there were elements of Alicia's chosen career path that were just plain unsettling, although she tended to tackle them all with such frank openness he struggled to tell if she was being serious or winding him up. He raised an eyebrow.
“ It's real! I'm not just saying it to gross you out. ”
“ You would though, would n't you? ”
“ Yea. I would. ”
The two fell into conversation, most of it aimed at how great they were and how despicable the other was, but throughout it all, Rob felt a presence.
The door.
He placed his beer on the table, as casually as he could, and stood up.
“ I'm sorry Alicia, but as the man, I have to know what's in there. ”
A flicker of fear shot across her face. When she had first moved in, Terry, the lead tenant, had shown her the door and told her what was inside. That first night she, too, had felt the exact same compulsion Rob was feeling now. Just to open it and stare down whatever was inside. For one hour in the early morning she had stood in her pyjamas, swaying slightly, locked in a staring contest with the unassuming white door. As if in a trance she had reached out and touched the handle – cold to the touch, but somehow living, urging her to just pull it open – when Terry had come sprinting out of his room, yelling at her to stop. That had been all it took to break the spell.
Later that night she had dreamt of unthinkable things living in dark places.
“ You do n't, Robbie. You do n't need to open it. ”
“ I do. I need to know. It's... calling to me. ” He laughed, sticking both arms, doing the zombie shuffle. “ Must... Open... Door... ”
“ No. Please do n't. It'll get out... ”
Rob continued his act, half laughing – the other half stuck, deadly serious, entranced.
His hand hit the handle. Alicia grabbed him, trying desperately to pull away.
But it was too late. He'd already pushed down, and now he stumbled backwards, not expecting Alicia's pull, and the door flew open.
For ten years people had been living in this flat, passing it on to the next tennants and moving out. One day it would be Alicia living here, going through Terry's experiences, warning the newcomers away from the door. But that would be in a few years time, when Terry had long since moved out.
For ten years every tenant had signed the paperwork, handed over a security deposit, paid rent and moved in. No one knew when it had originally started, but sometime in the dim and distant past one tennant had started using that cupboard as a place to hide all the mess.
Now it was filled to the ceiling, held back by the door and nothing else.
A tidal wave of broken things, empty boxes and crumpled wrappers surged across the room.
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[ WP ] A slightly drunk dwarven barbarian gives a speech to his troops before leading a suicide charge .
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Oh God, this reminds me of an old DnD character I had a few years back. I shall tell you the story of how Scruffy the Dwarven Barbarian led the charge into the Lich's undead Army...
The ragtag group of adventurers recruited from a piece of paper plastered on a board from the local tavern approached the cave listed on the bounty. 3,000 gold plus the spoils of whatever loot you could find after a successful campaign against a Lich, save for his phylactery amulet. The air hung still. The cave was devoid of life, yet something stirred within. Everyone here knew the risks of taking the Lich in a head on charge. Except for one.
Scruffy. The self named barbarian who reeked of the bar from whence they came. Always ready for a challenge, always itching to get into a fight, he came bearing his axe, his armor, and his cooking pot which substituted as his helm that still smelled vaguely of the creatures he had boiled for last nights supper. No, Scruffy did not know what he was up against. Nor did he care.
The dwarf was of a particular mindset when it came to battle. He cared not for the safety of himself or those around him. He cared only for the thrill of battle, the plundering of a conquered foe, and the celebration of victory. The odds were never a factor in the barbarian's tiny brain. Though the others around him were frightened. He could feel their tension.
The elf wizard was not used to being in a full scale assault, he was more apt with books and plans and the like. He was not ready for this fight. The human paladin was full of righteous fervor, but even he feared to tread on the unholy soil of the Lich's domain. The gnome rogue was best equipped to running solo, creeping like a coward for fear of his own scrawny neck. And then there was the human cleric. Silent and stalwart. Unreadable.
Scruffy knew that these adventurers he had met just an hour ago over a pint were not ready to fight. He pulled out his flask, swigged what remained of whatever pungent liquor was left, and tried to muster the ramshackle mess of a party he had.
`` Lads. In dere be the scourge of the living. The dreaded Lich.'E'as a'uge armeh of the undehd, free'o fear and as mean as they come. They wish only death upon those what live, and to join in their un'oly march in death. Know that if ye fall'ere, you will walk forever in tow with th' dark creature until he has been slain.
`` But nay, ye shall not fall. Ye shall rise to the task, and fearlessly walk int' the belly o' th' beast bringin' down th' ranks of the undead with spell'n sword. Ye shall fight'til there is nothin' left to fight. Ye shall take of the Lich what is now yours. Ye shall **DRINK! ** Drink to th''orns sounding our victory, drink to th' enemy being crushed'neath our heel, drink to the spoils of **WAR**!''
The dwarf let loose a fearsome battle cry that seemed to shake the mountain the cave was nestled in. He raised his axe, and in a fever of bloodlust and rage, continued his speech, `` Today's not th' day ye die, today's th' ye **FIGHT**! Today's the day we drink from th' cup of our fallen enemy as we laugh at th' wake of destruction and carnage we shall tear through th' heart of the Lich!''
With one final shout, and a reinvigorated band of misfits, they charged into the cave. Into the dark and evil clutches of the Lich. Bolstered by the cry of the mighty barbarian, they forgot their fear and trepidation. They forgot the rational instinct to flee. They forgot the danger of taking a Lich's forces in the open. They forgot how many undead were in the Lich's command. They forgot just how powerful a Lich can be. They forgot to have the rogue check for traps.
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[ WP ] `` Do you trust me ? ''
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`` Do you trust me?''
I stared at the outstretched hand, my heart pounding. I did not know this dirty older man standing in front of me who had pulled me into a broken down abandoned building. He must have heard me running this way and opened the door for just a brief second.
The question was a simple one. Did I trust him? Trust is a funny word. Sometimes you can trust strangers more than you can trust your own family or friends. Sometimes not. Nowadays it was getting harder and harder to trust anyone.
`` We need to get out of here,'' the older man said, pulling me up the stairs and on to the roof.
A hot, dusty and acrid wind blew around me as I stepped into the sunlight on the flat roof top, surrounded by sloping corrugated metal on three sides. The man lead me to the side of the roof that was a short jump to the neighboring house. I had to pick my way around shredded sheet plastic, clothes line and discarded water bottles and food packages. Savage snarls, groans and scraping footsteps could be heard from the narrow alley between the two ramshackle houses.
`` We have to jump,'' he said, glancing over the edge. `` Give me your pack and I'll throw it over with mine. I'll jump first and then grab you when you jump. We have to go before they break through the door downstairs.''
I pulled my hand from his and swung my pack off my back, handing it to him. He tossed both of our packs onto the neighboring roof and a small, satisfied and triumphant smiled appeared on his lips. He went to the edge of the roof to determine the distance of the jump. Before he had the chance to back up and get a running start, I shoved him off the roof. I heard him hit the mass of bodies before the screaming and the string of curses started. I ran towards the edge of the roof and launched myself of the lip of the stone surface. I hit the other roof and rolled to my feet, peeking over the edge.
`` You fucking bitch,'' the man screamed, bloody spittle spraying everywhere.
He feebly swung his handgun up to shoot a few of the undead but was overwhelmed and his high pitched scream told me he was being torn apart.
`` That's the thing,'' I told the man as he was being eaten alive. `` You should n't have trusted me.''
I placed all of the man's supplies into my backpack and swung it onto my back before disappearing into the fading day.
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[ WP ] A man has one dollar left after losing his life 's dreams , and chooses to spend it on his favorite soda from a vending machine before killing himself . He ca n't imagine feeling any lower than he does ... then the machine gives him the wrong drink .
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He had always gotten the short end of the stick. Dead parents, greedy relatives who stole the last cent of his inheritance right under his nose, failed business, no friends, no family, no nothing. All he had left was a dollar bill and when he uses that, he would have nothing but the clothes on his back. There was nothing to live for. No one would care if he weren ’ t at his corner off Smith Street tomorrow. Two days later, no one would remember that that was his corner and some other street bum would take his spot.
He was going to end it right here. He would leave the world beholden to no one. He fingered the rat poison in his pocket, the only thing he could afford to off himself with. He was going to die today and he was going to die satisfied albeit a little hungry. Pressing the button for a coke, he stuck his hand into the slot and instead of the red and silver can he had anticipated, it was purple.
He sighed, nothing ever goes right for him anyway, and he was used to it.
At least it wasn ’ t anything terribly disgusting like root beer. He used to love that grape soda with aloe bits in it, it reminded him of happier times and so he popped the can open, he took a sip. And another. He gagged; one of the larger aloe bits had gone down the wrong pipe. His eyes spun wildly, hands scratching his throat, emitting only a rasp. In the cold winter night, there was nary a person passing by. As he scrambled on the ground trying to cough up what was lodged in his throat, he thought he could see a cloaked figure under the streetlamp across the street holding onto a scythe….
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[ WP ] every child 's first word is what their job in life will be . It 's usually normal ... Until you 're child 's first word .
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`` Eh-t, eh-d, eh-d, eh-t,'' he sputtered, trying to blurt out something somewhat intelligent. My wife and I were gleaming as his brow furrowed and drool dripped down his chin.
This could be the big moment we've been waiting for, he looked so determined! This will be the day our first born speaks his destiny! My wife began to cry as she clenched my hand, `` etymologist? Oh, he's such a smart boy, I'm so excited for him!''
`` Eh-topsss,'' the little human grew excited at the hissing sound he made and repeated, `` eh-topsss! Eh-topisss! Ehtopiss!'' He yelled and shrieked in happiness, but my heart dissolved as the syllables sunk in, for there was only word I could think of, and no other sounds quite like it. I turned to my wife as she sat eagerly waiting for the chant to change.
`` Ehdehpisss!'' Although there were minor variations, he loved to say it and he would n't stop. As I locked eyes with my wife I realized my own mortality, I began to weep uncontrollably and understood she would someday bear my grandchildren.
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[ WP ] Tired of thanklessly eating mosquitoes and other harmful bugs , spiders decide to become the scary demons that humans believe them to be .
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We understood that the humans were very reserved when it came towards respecting us. We kept a wide berth around them, staying in our dark secluded corners, away from their everyday life. Yet, whenever they saw us or our homes, destruction always followed. This never bothered me. I understood my place in the food chain. Well, it never bothered me until what happened to Archie.
We heard the mother of the family groaning in annoyance at two flies buzzing around her in the living room. She did n't do anything about them, just kept waving them away, and they would come right back to her. Finally, out of frustration she slammed her fist down on her armchair and yelled,
`` These flies are so annoying! Will someone please kill them for me?'' Neither her husband or son volunteered. After three more minutes of her agonizing groaning, Archie crawled out from the fridge and called,
`` I'll get them for you!''
She ignored him, but we watched from our nooks intently, ready to see her grateful response to the work done for her sake. Archie worked quick, within five minutes he built a basic web, strong enough to catch both of them on top of the lamp on the table next to her. We cheered and applauded him as he gave us a bow.
After the flies' buzzes of pain and contempt for Archie annoyed the mother enough, she finally turned to look at the present left by him. However, instead of thanking him for his generosity, she yelped, grabbed a magazine and crushed Archie. All in the matter of a moment. We stared in horror as she did n't even kill the flies. She left them to suffer a slow death in the heat of the light from the lamp.
It was in that moment that I declared war against this family. They had been far to ungrateful for the work we had carried out in this household. I climbed up to the attic to find Blay Kwiddo. The dust bunnies had been piling up near her web and sunlight was hard to see through the cracks in the roof. She was dining on a mosquito when I marched in, and gave me three eyes of attention. I got right to the point.
`` I need you to bite Mother in her sleep tonight.''
Her five other eyes swiveled in my direction.
`` Why would I risk that? We know she's a light sleeper.''
`` After the bite she would sleep a lot deeper.''
She chuckled, `` I meant, what do I get out of it?''
`` Protection. How often does Father come up here to grab his camping equipment?''
She did n't answer, so I continued,
`` Enough to put you out of a web once a month, that's how often! Do you think he would have the gall to go camping after having his wife die next to him while he slept?''
Blay chewed slowly, mulling over the idea.
`` I'll do it on the condition that someone else is there with me when I do the deed. No watching from the corners, someone is on her body at the same time I am.''
`` Done. I'll do it myself if I have to.''
And I did. That night, as we lowered on our webs to her Kwiddo asked me,
`` I never asked what you get out of this, Brown. What is it you're after here? Just being vengeful after Archie's murder?'' she asked it playfully, trying to get a rise out of me.
`` My whole life, I've been submissive to these creatures, but now they'll know the truly dominant animal of this house. A Black Widow and Brown Recluse spider are enough to put ten of these things down. I'm only asking for one.''
She only nodded as we continued our descent. She landed on Mother's hand and I on Mother's stomach.
`` Where are you going??'' Blay cried, baring her fangs to bite.
`` Do n't you know? Humans swallow eight spiders a year in their sleep!!'' My fangs poised, I prepared to bite everything I could in her open mouth. I may be entering the darkness, but I was going to exit it as well.
She would n't be so lucky.
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[ WP ] You are being chased by a killer in your house . When all of a sudden he stops and just goes to watch TV and eat your food .
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Fear.
Panic.
My only desire to escape, to hide.
To survive.
I can hear him running behind me, slowly getting closer and closer to me as my breath comes in ragged gasps. I slide along the hardwood floor, clawing to grab the door frame and throw myself into the room once I get a solid hold. I feel the carpet beneath my feet, and I turn around to slam the door. Before I can close the door, he is one me, pinning me down. I try to let out a scream, but his gloved hand covers my mouth and muffles all sounds. A muffled whimper escapes as I stare into his hatred fills eyes and the realization that I am about to die fills me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I throw my arms out and start grasping around me, searching and praying for anything. I feel a solid object beneath my hand and swing it against his head as hard as I can. It connects, and a clicking noise is emitted before the tv further in the room blares to life, causing us both to jump. Before I can wriggle out of his grasp, he plants one forearm against my throat and cuts off my windpipe, causing panic to flare throughout my body. He leans down till our noses are almost touching.
`` Now Claire, I have waited so long for this moment, you have no idea how I have waited to feel your bloo-wait, is that The Bachelor!?'' Suddenly his arm is off of my throat and I manage to roll onto my side, gasping and coughing for air. Glancing at the couch, I see him throw himself down, eyes locked onto the tv. `` God damn this show is the shit, I hope they get rid of Kelsey, she is so fucking annoying.'' For a few minutes, the room is filled with the sounds of The Bachelor as I try to get my breathing back to normal. Never once does his eyes lift from the tv.
I sit up slowly and try to ease myself out of the room when he suddenly turns his head to look at me.
`` Wait, where are you going? Do n't tell me you are not into this show!''
`` Uh, well you did just try to kill me and I um...''
`` Oh riiiiiiight. Well, there is always time for that after, but until then, I'm famished, how about you?'' Before I can respond, he pauses the tv and disappears into my kitchen. I sit still on the floor, unsure of what to do, when he comes back with 2 glasses of wine and a bowl of chips. Placing them on the coffee table, he sits down and pats the spot next to him, a smile on his face. I stay where I am, confusion plastered across my face.
`` Do n't make me come over there and drag you over here, I promise I wo n't bite.'' His smile... fuck, why not. I slowly get up and sit down on the opposite end of the couch, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He glances at me, shrugs, and then presses play.
**45 minutes later**
*'' Kelsey, will you accept this rose? `` *
`` SON OF A BITCH, you idiot Ken, she is such a bimbo!'' I yell at the tv, sloshing my wine around in my anger.
`` Holy shit I know. How does he not see that!?'' ~~The killer's~~ John's voice echoes my thoughts as we sit pressed next to one another. Two empty bottles of wine sit on the coffee table in front of us.
`` How dare they end the episode like that, ugh. Good thing they have a marathon going on right now...'' He mutters darkly before standing up and swaying slightly. `` I'm out of wine, want any more?''
`` Sure, there is more under the sink. I keep it there to hide it from my roommates.''
`` Smaaaaaart. Alright, be back.'' He saunters towards the lit kitchen and I turn back towards the cheesy credits.
`` Hey, John?''
`` Mmmm?'' His voice floats out of the kitchen.
`` Are you still going to kill me?''
`` Nah, your taste in wine is the shit!''
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[ WP ] You just got bitten by a zombie ! Your inevitable death and undeath will occur within ten minutes .
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It's not the destination, it's the journey. That kind of loses its relevance in the post-Armageddon hell-scape we've been a part of for the last 3 years. You see if there's something that we all have in common ( as survivors ), it's that we never really live anymore these days.
It all starts with loss. Most of us lost our original family in the first wave. Under-preparedness and a cultural dulling of natural survival instincts made for a horrible combination. We've learned so much these last few years.
We all go through a sort-of mid-Apocalypse-life crisis. It's not just the realization that you WILL die and that you do n't know exactly when -- - it's knowing that with almost complete certainty HOW you're going to go.
So that's where I am. And just as we all expect, it happened with a bite. But what I did n't expect is how calm I feel about it all. I thought for years that I'd punch my own time card, you know, clock out early. I've got nothing against suicide. I'm not particularly religious either. It's actually quite altruistic, not allowing yourself to be another of the countless undead.
But altruism died with the first wave. I've propped myself right against this tree and I'm going to enjoy my last few breaths in this existence humming along to my favorite song. I've got reason to be happy though. I might not be necessarily alive in a few minutes, but being undead beats the hell out of being dead.
`` Heeeeey Jude, do n't make it baaaad. Just take a sad sooooong and make it better...''
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[ WP ] The zombie apocalypse has hit but the zombies are representations of the seven deadly sins .
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It's 2030, and I think Jojo has passed.
I think sloth may have taken him, one of the many representations anyway. Jojo never did anything but aid others during this disgusting endeavor.... how ironic the very characteristic Jojo had always done nothing but opposed and displayed the opposing end of, had taken him.
I do n't think any of us are safe now. Jojo knew the walls, the locks, the ammunition, and the dark, wet, heart of this new life. We manifest delusional and desperate illusions of safety in our minds. Always, we have, actually. The reality is Jojo could have been taken long ago. He could've been ripped apart and devoured by the stress of corruption he felt within his daily life. Would that have even been better than what really happened? I just think back to times of mowing lawns, and doing dishes, going off to work for the day. We know we are never safe. I know, now.
I feel the cold hard doors as I shamble to another sector of this asylum we've only conceptually claimed home. Walls are n't the same anymore. One tear. The floor is hard, it's like it changed. Another tear. His bed is n't the same mess it always was, flat white sheets, the blood stained pillows gone. No evidence of a life within this box. More tears.
Suddenly my face is to his floor and I feel what must've been water over my face. I do n't know if this was okay.. but it would n't stop leaking out my eyes either way. I did n't want to be weak, I did n't feel things such as mournfulness and empathy existed anymore. What a sad remnant of a life once lived.
I leave and wander on. Jojo was gone and no one was going to tell me. I've accepted by now my stance in this new community was the liability. I am the issue. I offer nothing but means of comfort to the other weak, whom I pity endlessly. Unless you count daily duties, which any new survivor could suffice.
` I do n't know what to do now. I saw a million fall in front of me. I saw the fallen rise. I saw lust rip apart a former friend... and gluttony devour the man we once called a leader. What was I bound to? Wrath for my dread? Envy for the easy escape so many had taken before they were bound to one of these 7 deaths?
I flopped onto the now brick-like mattress I called a bed. Nothing was what it was, now. This purple fleece blanket I owned back what must've been 2 years ago, before all this.. only a sick reminder of what we no longer have. Comfort. It felt as a pathetic grab at what little security we could maintain anymore, and I was sick of it. It should have been white, grey, monochromatic, like the rest of this cave. It was dark, red, blood against a white wall. I crawled under the brick and lay. I did n't want to be known, or found, I did n't want anything anymore.
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[ WP ] Do your very best to make me a genre defining world .
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I've been making one for awhile now. It's a bit too complex to write in a short story, but the general gist is this:
Long ago, the Gamemakers planted the seeds of civilization on a faraway planet, known as Aendra. It was an island world, and on each of these islands, a race of men were left to develop. Some were strong, some were clever, some small. Each race was based on a single founder: their traits and attributes, and ways of thinking are exaggerated versions of a single template. Each of these races would be allowed to develop in isolation for 1000 years, being kept within 200 miles of their shores by a mysterious force. At the end of these 1000 years, the barriers are lifted and the different societies are allowed to interact. Among the most successful races are the Sierrans: a race of enormous, red-headed warriors, masters of ironcraft, and ravenously imperialistic, with an insatiable desire to conquer; the Endaryans: a race of agile, but diminutive peoples, who fight by cover of darkness. Having been driven into caves and underground tunnels early in their existence by an environmental anomaly, they pose a stark contrast to the Sierrans, and later become their main opponent. Finally, the Haelans: a race of average build and exceptional brilliance. The Haelans are devoted to the goal of self-improvement, through learning, augmentation, and eugenics. By the time the barriers were lifted, Sierran society had evolved into a warrior cult, bent on glory. Endaryans had become honor-bound thieves and assassins. Haelans had developed orbital flight, and being on a small, rocky island, did not have the numbers to withstand nearby races, even with their advanced technology. The Haelans abandoned their island and became space-faring, the Sierrans took over most of the world, and the Endaryans put up stout resistance, wherever their tunnels and bunkers had been dug. And then the story starts.
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[ WP ] Someone divides by zero . They are knocked unconscious and wake up in a new , unfamiliar world . Tell me what happens next .
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The world felt strange to the man who mis-typed his calculator.
He felt perfectly intact, unharmed, still in one piece despite the violent disturbance he just experienced, yet a certain portion about him seemed missing.
He opened his eyes and saw a single somewhat broken line, similar to what one would see if they tried looking at the world through a single-slit visor, yet no matter how he squinted or opened his eyes, he could see nothing else but the one-dimension line.
He tried moving about. He could crawl around freely, if crawling was the right word to describe his movement, yet he could neither sit nor stand up, or really go `` up'' in any sense of the word.
Utterly confused, the man continued crawling in one direction hoping to somehow make sense of the world around him until he noticed that the broken line almost seemed to shift into a regular pattern of dots, spaces, and dashes.
`` Morse code!'' he thought. Racking his brains to remember the contents of his high school project on naval communications, he mentally spelled out the message.
*A dot and two dashes for `` w'', a single dot for `` e'', dot dash dot dot for `` l''... *
`` W-E-L-C-O-M-E T-O F-L-A-T-L-A-N-D''
He knew he should not have pressed zero.
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[ IP ] Outnumbered and Outgunned
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A standard infantryman equipped with an RX Mk 3 assault rifle can empty a standard fifty round clip in under ten seconds. The automated reloader will then step up to the plate and slide another, identical clip into place in under three seconds. Each slug is capable of punching a hole through most simple armour.
For comparison's sake an evac Phoenix can carry ten men in full combat gear, but also has enough firepower on board to put thirty RX MK3s to shame. The moment a Phoenix plucks you from the fire it turns the ground to ash.
I mention all of this because a Phoenix was on its way, and we had their allies pinned down behind a fountain.
Compared to their weapons we were armed with pea shooters. No way could we hope to get through their cover with anything more than a solid, sustained attack. For the moment, though, we had them both outnumbered and outgunned by sheer chance. Their guns had to be running low on clips by now and I could only count three of them in sight.
One if them lay dead nearby. His armour was ugly, especially when compared to the getup our army made us dress in. I had to give the enemy credit where credit was due - function beats form on the battlefield any day.
I ducked back, taking a moment to reload. My hands were slick with sweat and I could already feel the dull ache in my shoulder from the recoil. Did n't matter - I had to push through.
`` Fifty seconds till Phoenix!''
Thirty seconds. If we could kill the final three that gunship would n't risk an approach. I could only think of one thing to do.
On my right someone went down, blood spurting from his throat. We had let up for a fraction of a second and they had responded, killing one of ours.
Only one thing left to us.
`` With me!'' I screamed, vaulting over my cover. The men paused and followed, laying down fire.
Fourty seconds.
One of them popped up, took two shots and killed two men. We riddled him with bullets.
Two left.
Thirty seconds
Number two threw a grenade. Our right flank scattered, letting their fire stop. The two targets snap fired, claiming more victims, before the grenade exploded, claiming more still.
Twenty seconds.
We rounded the fountain, I fired point black into the back of number two. He whirled, his armour sparking, raising his gun.
Fifteen seconds.
Someone shot him. We followed suit. Overkill.
Ten seconds.
The last one sprayed death, by then there was a click. His reloader came on.
We charged, spraying fire as we went
Five seconds.
The man was dead.
The Phoenix aborted, taking back to the sky.
We took heavy losses - but today was a victory.
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[ WP ] A world where everyone 's health/ energy comes depends on how charged their cellphone batteries are .
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The rich were the first to go. Greed and consumerism were their downfall. Led on by Jobs, the deceiver, and the Android horde that followed. They were sold the future. Knowledge at their fingertips, a level of connection never seen before. Most perished after the first night. The few who strived on were gone before sun-up.
Whole nations fell during the initial week. Communities went silent. The more energy we invested in reaching out to them, the more of us fell. It did n't take long to piece things together. When your phone goes, so do you. We suffered rolling blackouts and catastrophe for the first month. Society dissipated. Looting and murder became rife. If you could kill a man for his battery, you bought an extra few days.
A handful of resilient Nokia users established a network of vaults, I heard. If you join their community, you find employment. 14 hour days in their power plants, splitting atoms and hanging on. Your phone joins a bank of devices, on charge 24-7. You'll be alive. But what kind of life is that?
I have n't seen another human this year. I made it out of the city, out of the rampage. To clean air and green fields. The sun on my back and an empty canvas ahead.
I turned my phone off.
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[ WP ] You wake up in a strange room , only to find alternate universe versions of you there , each different in their own way ( gender , race , background etc ) . You have no idea what brought you here .
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The first thing I noticed about the two men standing in my apartment should have been that they had entered my living room through a rip in the fabric of spacetime but I can be slow on the uptake. The fact that there was a gaping hole of impossible size and infinite darkness glowing chaotically a few feet from my couch was too much for my brain to process as it searched desperately for something it could recognize. It settled on just how different the two men looked from each other. That was easy. I had learned to compare and contrast in grade school. The taller man had skin like milk chocolate and a pair of sunglasses that obscured his eyes and wrapped around to cover his ears as well. A silvery gray robe with black accents on the sleeves and collars draped across his broad shoulders and somehow found enough fabric to hide his feet. He was a slender and stoic 7 feet tall, and I could tell by the faint movements of words and pictures on the inside of his glasses that he was a very busy man. He walked past me, ignoring the young man in nothing but socks and boxers staring wide eyed at this invasion, and stepped into the hallway to continue an argument in hushed tones. He was obviously on a very important phone call.
The other was his mirror opposite. He was short and balding with wireframe glasses, a trimmed mustache, and a kind smile that almost made it into his eyes. He was wearing a brown jacket with a white button up and a black tie that looked a little thick for my tastes. He was the first to speak.
`` Hello Lonny,'' He said, sitting on my loveseat and leaning forward like they teach you in salesman training seminars. `` I'm sure you're confused and frightened right now. Please do n't be, this is a routine procedure.''
I opened my mouth wide to say something but there were no words to adequately express what I was feeling so I just left it open as my head moved back and forth.Yawning maw of the abyss on my in-table. Aloof Nubian giant half turned in the shadows of the hallway to my left. Amicable accountant looking at me like he's trying to decide whether to have me over for dinner or just have me for dinner.
Finally my eyes rested back upon the rip, at first refusing to see it but slowly beginning to make sense of it. It was itself a comparison of contrasts. Most things in the universe have certain characteristics that are not compatible with other states. For instance, there is usually no such thing as boiling ice. There are no completely spherical cubes. If you're moving toward a stationary object, it's supposed to get larger as you get closer. And yet, here it was in front of me: a cubic sphere with 27 sides hovering on a cloud of warm water vapor forming from droppings of the miniature glacier floating above it.
Inside the now hexagonal cylinder there shined millions and millions of what I first thought were stars, but then I somehow realized were galaxies. Connecting the galaxies on a two dimensional plane were bridges made of some golden metal. They were flat and efficiently planned and slightly reminiscent of a motherboard. Mesmerized, I leaned a bit closer and was disappointed that the cube seemed to move away from me. But then I looked down at the in-table and saw that it was still in the same position. I thought it was shrinking because my brain is n't used to objects that do n't follow general relativity. I reached out to touch it.
`` Not yet young man,'' came a deep and calm voice. The Nubian swiped my wrist before I could reach it and lifted me up by my arm so my feet were dangling and our faces met. Though I could n't see his eyes, I could just make out thousands of lines of information flying up from the bottom on the other side of his shades. Then, on the side facing me, a series of shapes began to dance around the edge of the glass. Each little sprite seemed to be moving at random. Still being held by one arm a foot off the ground, these random gyrations began to make me dizzy and I almost averted my gaze. But then I noticed that if I looked at both pieces of glass at the same time, patterns emerged where there was none in just one eye. In the space of a few seconds, I had learned to anticipate where the next sprite would appear, and where it would go, and how that would affect sprites on the other side. The Nubian dropped me.
`` He'll do,'' he said, turning to the shorter man and walking back into the hallway to ignore us some more.
`` Are you sure about that, Cooper?'' said the small man. I'm about to interview him. Why do n't you hold out judgment until we've finished discovery?''
Cooper, back still turned, said, `` I know what I need to know and I'll accept him. He's all yours, Frank''
`` Now hold on just one goddamn minute!'' I tried to sound more angry than scared and confused, but I think the falsetto in my voice gave me away. `` Two minutes ago, you busted into my house through that hell mouth over there ( can one of you please turn that shit off? ) and pretend like I'm not even here, and now I find out you're here to evaluate me? Well, fuck off! I thought first contact with aliens or time travellers or whatever was to be an epiphany! Turns out everyone in the universe is a douchebag.''
Frank and Cooper shared a quick glance. Cooper looked amused while Frank just looked annoyed. But he swiped two fingers down the collar of his jacket, leaving a glowing trail that quickly faded, and the impossible cube began to collapse. The ice on top melted just as the vapor on the bottom condensed, forming a sphere of liquid around the shape. It began to spin and as it did the water pulled inward like inverted centripetal force. Water fell into the shape, disappearing until it was only a spinning black ball of yarn unraveling into itself. It spun faster and faster until, with a slight pop, it winked out of existence.
`` You're right.'' It was Frank, baring his teeth in a smile. ``'I apologize. We do n't deal with....singular entities very often. I'm sure you have many questions. So why do n't we go into the dining room and you can put on some coffee, and we can talk everything out.''
`` Can I put on some pants first?''
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[ MP ] Coldplay - Viva La Vida
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When I was a younger man I had a longer title. It was His Royal Highness, Prince Jacob ‘ the fair ’ of the Emerald Kingdom, Son of the David the Wise and Eleanor Weis XV, brother to Charles XXI and the king-to-be of all the holy lands.
No, no, no, no, no. That ’ s not it. Not all of it. I ’ m missing something, some crucial component.
You ’ ll have to excuse me, I ’ d like to properly introduce myself but I ’ m just not particularly good at it. I had a devilishly long name as a child, and a half-a-dozen courtiers happy to memorize and explain it for me. Now I have to introduce myself.
The full title came with a lot of bells and whistles. Literally. It was only ever employed at formal events, and while the kindly butler with the booming voice announced me, troubadours, dancers, a colour party and the military band would dress up the title a bit. If I could go back, and do one thing differently, I would pay a little less attention to how boring it all was and a little more to my own name.
Oh my goodness, I apologize, that ’ s a terrible introduction. Allow me to try again.
The name God and my parents gave me at birth was a very long and important one that came with trumpets and dancers. It was, essentially, HRH Prince Jacob. My friends called me ‘ Prince Jacob ’. My father, the king, died in the fall of my thirteenth year. I was consequently crowned King Jacob ( HRH ), which was short for an even longer title, the details of which I will not even attempt to recall.
My first act as King was to arrest Father Frederick, Pontiff of the Church of Forgetfulness. He had a title that ran on and on, but I only heard it the once, at his beheading. He was supposed to be responsible for my father ’ s death, but in retrospect I ’ m not so sure. I read the sentence out ( bells and whistles ), but it was really my advisors ’ idea. I was King in title, they took care of the details.
I was undeniably happy. I mean, imagine owning everything and everyone that you see. I lost my virginity to half-a-dozen kitchen girls while my father ’ s body was still warm. Though I probably could have done that earlier, women find me irresistible, of course.
Did you notice the numbers beside my family members ’ names in my title? Eleanor XV, Charles XXI? That would indicate to an informed mind the prowess of our dynasty. We ruled, undisputed for around seven-hundred years. My deepest shame is how typical the failures which ended that noble reign.
I was a drunk, okay? I was thirteen years old, and I could put back a bottle of whiskey in a single night. By myself. I should have memories of a fond, sober age some flashy, happy childhood moment, playing games on green grass by the sea shore, while the white-sailed ships below made way for virgin lands, but I don ’ t.
I was a drunk. I was a philanderer. All of my friends were drunk philanderers, and before long the entire kingdom knew.
We ’ ve had drunken kings before, but there were other problems. A drought, for one. Mass starvation. The fourth Crusade was inarguably a bad idea. I remember one day, hungover, I had to deliver a list of promises to a riot of peasants in the walled court which composed my front yard. Most of our troops were fighting infidels overseas, which is an old trick for keeping them occupied during peace-time, and the peasants simply got angry, got organized and violently let themselves. Once they saw me in person, and were reminded of my youth, their anger faded. They had an inarticulate list of demands, and I promised to concede to every last one. To my surprise, the peasants took me at my word and dispersed. Once they weren ’ t glommed together, we could just go through the villages and sort of... pick them off.
Another thing I would do differently: I would not have had my knights throw a peasant girl over the back of my horse and then ride off with her, laughing. It was unbecoming.
I suppose the worst part about ending my family dynasty when it was closer to its millennial than its inception is how pathetically typical it was for a drunken idiot to ruin seven centuries of careful work. But, hey that ’ s King Drunken Idiot to you.
You know the rest of the story. I won ’ t bother you with the nitty gritty details. Less than three years into my reign there was another riot. My faithful maid, who practically raised me, rounded up a few reluctant kitchen boys carry me out of the castle, hide me in a crate and smuggle me away in the guise of looters. They blended right in.
My brothers, mother and a few of my illegitimate children ( I have five, I think ) were slaughtered. One of my faithful advisors married into some vaguely noble family and took up the crown I left behind. I woke up from my royal bender, an orphan stranded at an out of the way cottage with a few pesants who loved my old name enough to risk their lives. I was almost sixteen.
First there was the issue of booze, or lack-thereof. My loyal subjects, who had risked themselves for their king were not impressed when said King trembled in cold sweats, begging for a sip of gin. Those were the worst days of my life.
When I was feeling better, I tried to have the man of the house flay a girl for refusing to bring me boiled water. The man of the house, Mr. Fletcher, informed me that the girl was his daughter, that it was high noon and if I wasn ’ t dressed and out of bed by lunch, he would turn me over to the revolution. After lunch, he came upstairs to find me struggling in the act of dressing myself. His plan had been to withhold food until I started work on his little farm. Remembering some kindness from my father years back ( a tax break, asked for in person and received that saved their family from starvation ) he helped me with my trousers and only asked that I go outside and “ Do something, for God ’ s sake! ”
There was a little beach I sat by until sunset. I built my old home out of wet sand and watched the ocean sweep it away. Two weeks later, I asked Mr. Fletcher if he had a sword.
“ No, ” he said, “ but you do. Your maid smuggled it out for you. Belonged to the old king. I was hoping you ’ d be willing to melt it down and sell it. The gold hilt could keep us in fine suppers for a year. ”
He produced the object in question. It was, in fact, my father ’ s. I was still too weak to lift it properly.
“ Yes, ” I said, “ let ’ s sell it for bread and mead. But there ’ s something I have to do first. Something important. ”
“ Avenge your mother I ’ m guessing. With a single sword and no army? Why don ’ t you let me run it through you right now? It ’ d be more efficient. ”
“ Mr. Ian Fletcher, for your service to the royal family in their greatest hour of need, for your temperance, your extreme patience, for housing the royal body and rescuing the royal soul, I the rightful King Jacob, in my last act as royalty, pronounce you Sir Ian ‘ the good ’. Please Kneel. ”
I used to be HRH King Jacob ‘ The Fair ’. Now I am Jake the farmer by the sea. I am a full-grown man with less than half the name I had as a babe. In the fall, the tax collectors come for my ten-percent in the name of the King.
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[ WP ] You 've ever wonder who delivers take-out to those guys who live in cursed temples , underground labyrinths and Etc , all surrounded by traps , hungry minions and Etc ? Well , they send a delivery guy .
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Yeah, yeah. `` high-tech threat to employment levels'' this, `` fears over future of low-skilled white males'' that. But it does n't really bite till you're trying to find somewhere on the saddle to stick the phone holder on while the horse wo n't stand still.
And then. Riding for eight leagues across the steppe to the lair of the necromancer with that damn robotic voice going off every five minutes. `` At the next rock, continue straight.'' You think? it's the steppe, there's literally nothing to do but continue straight.
But all that's just a minor inconvenience, like the time my back gave out while I was rescuing a bunch of temple virgins. It did n't really start to hurt my pride till I got to the front door.
Usual stuff. Couple of orcs with bronze halberds and haughty expressions, waiting to be made short work of after I dismounted. The leading one got halfway through his warcry when I had to raise my hands to stop him.
`` I'm sorry. I know, the gear and everything. But I'm actually here to deliver a bunch of chicken satay and some special fried rice.''
Something in my dejected tone must have overridden the aggressive part of his brain, because he blinked at lowered the halberd. `` AAARARHR - what? You're just here to deliver food?''
I sighed and turned around, indicating the large Uber Eats logo newly blazoned across the back of my leather armour. `` Yeah, I'm sorry. No-one's getting cut in half today.''
He shook his head. `` That asshole. Did n't ask if we wanted anything. But, uh, your armour, that sword - you do n't look like a delivery guy. What happened?''
`` I do n't know. I was all set to do the barbarian adventuring for a while there, but I could n't make the finances work. Uber came calling, and since I already had the horse...''
He frowned in sympathy. `` That's rough, buddy. They recently cut me and Uric here's hours in half. We're down to only sixteen nominal, even though we end up covering the late late shift for nothing most weeks. Ca n't remember the last time I actually enjoyed tying up one of you guys and carrying them to the torture chamber, no offence.''
`` None taken. But yeah, I have to head inside now. If you do n't mind - ``
He stood aside to let me pass. `` If you wanted to hang around for a bit after dropping off,'' he said hopefully, `` there's some decent rocky outcroppings a ways over there we could jump down from and ambush you?''
I sighed. I hated to disappoint him, he seemed like a decent guard. `` I really ca n't, I'm sorry. I'm on quota, got a load of Pad Thai to deliver to an enchantress who may as well live in the next kingdom over. Wear and tear on the horse is going to be more than I make on the job.''
He shrugged. `` That's cool, man. Another time maybe.''
The flagstones were nicely cold underfoot, as if they were charged with some dread magic. `` Nice to be the boss,'' I muttered. Evidently the necromancer had money, he just was n't spending it on his guard's salaries.
I found him in a huge antechamber dominated by an obsidian altar, scrolling through his stock portfolio on an iPhone 7. `` Just put it down on the altar,'' he said idly, not bothering to look up. I had to take a deep breath to stop from yelling at him.
I unpacked the food as slowly as I dared, savouring the first genuine lair I'd been to in ages. For the first three weeks I'd been delivering pizza in Easthaven to a variety of peasants. Those assholes giggled when they saw me, the famous hero brought low. It seemed like only months before I'd been shoplifting shortswords or haggling over cursed scrolls, and now I was grinning manically at them in the hope of a five star review.
The altar was throbbing with the same cold energy as the floor, and the food was rapidly congealing as the heat leached through the thin tinfoil containers.
`` You, uh, probably want to eat this quickly, buddy,'' I said over my shoulder to the necromancer. `` It's getting cold.''
Asshole actually smirked at me. `` That's fine. Can you hurry it up?'' He turned the phone so I could see it was showing the Uber review screen, his finger hovering over a 2-star rating. That was all I needed.
`` Just setting up for you,'' I said mildly.
On the way out the same guard beckoned me over. `` Look, we do n't have to put up with this, you know,'' he muttered. `` Dude in there is n't even a real necromancer, he just set up as one as some kind of dumb hobby after earning his fuck-you money at a tech startup. Before he hired us, this place was being guarded by Blackwater, till all the flesh fell off their bones. Because, duh. But yeah, homeboy could n't run the grave of a little old lady, let alone a full-duplex megacrypt like this.''
I looked him straight in his burning red eyes. `` What are you suggesting?''
He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. He was supposed to be guarding the guy, after all. `` Like... you're retired. I respect that. But are you retired, or _retired_ retired?''
I held his gaze for a long moment. Then I unshipped the sword from my back, and set myself as `` unavailable'' on Uber. The witch would have to wait for her Pad Thai.
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[ WP ] Two men went to the woods to commit suicide , they met and tried convince the other to not go through with it but at the same time trying to justify his own choice .
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'What the hell are you doing man?'
'I could ask you the same thing!'
'Put the gun down, I'm sure your life is worth living!'
'I'll put my gun down if you climb down that tree and leave the rope up there.'
'Alright, I'm coming down, but do n't even think about using my rope!'
'And do n't you even think about grabbing my gun!'
The two men stood across each other. Rope hanging down from the tree, gun lying on the ground between the leaves.
'Why would you want to take your life? Do n't you have loved ones?'
'My fiance dumped me one month before the wedding because she fell in love with my best friend, the bastard. My parents already died when I was little and I barely see my aunt and uncle who cared for me. For who should I still live on?'
'You're only around 30 years old! You can still find another woman, have children with her if you want to. You also might not see your aunt and uncle a lot anymore, but I'm sure they care for you if they raised you.'
'I am this close to losing my job, who would want an unemployed boyfriend?'
'Being this close to losing your job means you still have that job! Work hard, show your boss you care about your job and the company. Work your way up. Go out for drinks in the weekend, make new friends, talk to girls. There is so much life ahead of you.'
The younger man was startled. It made sense what the older man told, but he had made his decision.
'You are talking so much about my life, what about yours? You might be old, but with life expectancies nowadays you can certainly still live for a long time and enjoy your retirement. Why are you doing this?'
'My wife died after 45 years of marriage. I'm 70 years old, I have smoked cigarettes my entire life, my eating habits are n't very healthy either and I've already traveled to plenty of countries. There is not much more for me to do on this world, I'm just speeding up the process.'
'What about your children? You seem like a father.'
'They live at the other side of the country. It's a 6 hour flight. They barely visit me because they are too busy with their own children and their careers. I do n't blame them, but I think it would take away a burden on them if they did n't have to visit me every once in a while.'
'I've lost my parents when I was little. I still miss them every day. Do n't make your children miss you for longer than they have to.'
The older man contemplated what the younger man said.
'I wo n't if you wo n't.'
'It's a deal. If you're really that lonely, I could visit you once in a while.'
'I'd love that. I'll give you some tips for the ladies.'
'Oh old man, I do n't think you know how dating works nowadays.'
'Trust me, some old tricks still work, otherwise I would n't have 4 beautiful grandchildren.'
The younger man laughed. The older man laughed. The younger man grabbed the gun.
'Do n't worry old man.'
The younger man aimed at the rope and shot it loose from the tree.
'It's official now. What's your name?'
They walked back to the city. They talked. They laughed. Fifteen years later, the younger man visited the funeral of the older man, together with his wife and children. He worked for the older man's son, who transferred to this city fourteen years and six months ago. They mourned together. Nobody knew about how the younger man and older man met each other, but they know everything got better from the day they met.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
*Really happy with the result. Thanks for the great prompt /u/dougiedeez! Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated: ) *
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[ WP ] A man that chose the gift ( curse ? ) of immortality is passing the time after the Earth has been destroyed .
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People assume being immortal is boring.
They're wrong, it's only boring if you yourself are boring and have no ambitions.
I've plenty of ambitions and goals, I know what I want to do.
I want to rebuild this world anew, making it my own. Create a city designed by me, to function for me.
That was going to be difficult however, I did n't know how to make steel for one. I was going to have to hope I came across a textbook in one of these ruined buildings that would help me.
The last university I found had it's entire library destroyed and even after searching for three weeks I had found nothing useful for construction, only biology and microbiology textbooks had survived.
I had time though.
About another twenty million years before the sun exploded. I could probably make a spaceship in that time.
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[ WP ] You are a violent vigilante with one flaw : every time you are about to kill a bad person you see their day-to-day life flash before your eyes .
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A lit cigarette. Sometimes all it takes to survive a cold night is a warm pair of lungs.
I took another drag. It was the nights peak and the winter cold cut through my jacket. I had stepped out to have a cigarette. Sometimes the isolation of a quiet night is a reassuring solace.
Memories make it hard to get through the night. You would n't understand.
This is my method of operation, I live in between fatique and unconsciousness. It was late enough that night for the entire city to be asleep, the only souls left were floating back home from their night out.
Something about this night is n't right. It is sinister. At first I ca n't identify it. A slight glitch, my sixth sense pacing ahead while I try to catch up. Then I notice her. And him. A girl walking home alone. Her billowy dress was gently swept by the breeze and she was cold. She was being trailed.
Something about the way he was walking was a cue to his pursuit. He was not racing after her but his gaze was fixed. Judging by her pace she had realized that this man was not going to divert his path from hers. She was frightened and he was moving quickly.
I waited for them to both turn the corner before I began to follow. I stepped out the cigarette and gently pressed my hand against my breast. I felt my knife, it's reassuring coolness gave me the courage I needed to pursue them.
I kept my distance, being sure to stay out of his sight but his focus was elsewhere. As she started to increase her pace so did he, eventually she began to run. So did he. I knew now that I needed to act and began to sprint but they turned into an alleyway. As I heard a woman scream and I pulled out my knife.
There was the girl. Lying the the dark, her billowy dress clung to the damp floor, her hair clumped around her head. Something was n't right, how had she been attacked so fast? Where was the attacker that had pursued her? He must have seen me and ran out the other end of the alleyway.
I approached her quickly and knelt beside her. She did n't seem to be breathing.
I pressed a finger to her neck to check for a pulse. As I did her eyes opened and her arm moved quickly from under her dress. She was holding a gun.
Before I could think I had slashed at her. A single gunshot blasted the sound of the area. Blood sputterd from her throat and her mouth as the life quickly drained out of her.
*Something was n't right. *
*A shilouette where the street lamp's light should have been at the entrance to the alleyway. Coming at me quickly. Cold. *
I covered his mouth and his last breath flowed through my fingers. I cradled him in my arms as his
heart slowed and his memories subsided. Gently I lowered him onto the ground next to his victim and adversary.
I realized my mistake.
Tonight, I was the bad person.
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[ WP ] Time is a restaurant . What do you order ?
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`` Do you know what you'd like yet, sir?'' The waiter inquired with a small smile on his face.
Looking intently at the menu, I ran my eyes over the *Today's Specials* list. There was only one that caught my attention. *'August 28, 1963. Travel back to this historical moment to get a taste of Martin Luther King Jr's historical dream speech!'* the menu advertised. `` 1963 sounds good to me,'' I said smiling as I looked up at the waiter.
`` Excellent choice, sir.'' The waiter smiled back genuinely. `` One moment please,'' as he walked away.
Five minutes later he was back with a silverplate covered dish. `` Here you go,'' he said as he delicately put it on the table in front of me.
I lifted up the cover as I heard the word `` enjoy'' escape the waiter's mouth. It was too late to thank him, however, as white mist started to rise from the platter and circle around me like a calm tornado, and his words were soon fading along with the rest of the current world.
When I opened my eyes again, I was dressed in a blue collared button down shirt and white jeans. `` I have a dream,'' I heard someone say from afar, and looked around to see a huge mass of people gathered in front of the one and only Martin Luther King Jr.
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[ WP ] You 're an astronaut on the International Space Station , and you watch in horror as the US fires the last nuclear warhead and ends the last remains of human civilization . You 're left with just 3 other humans , with no hope of a supply restock .
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Humanity, for all intents and purposes was extinct.
It was a foregone conclusion when I along with two others, Sam and Yuriy, witnessed the nuclear holocaust that obliterated every major city on Earth. Additionally, it shed radioactive particulates throughout the atmosphere, ensuring the fate of the “ survivors ”.
It lasted the better part of an hour, from the first strike to the last cry, as we stood and watched in abject horror. We stood not on Earth itself, but 350 kilometres up.
“ That ’ s that, ” I said reeling from shock, and nobody challenged me on how complacent that sounded.
The shock became panic which became reason, as Sam attempted to radio to ground. Of course, there was no response, and the electromagnetic disturbance in the atmosphere would see to that. There was nobody coming to save us.
Yuriy retired to his sleeping quarters. Sam collapsed where he was. I broke down into tears.
Of course we argued about food and water. No more supply shipments meant we had a month at the most. That sobered us up. Hell, there was no heroism to be had – what could we possibly hope to do?
“ We ’ ll have to repopulate, ” began Sam, slyly glancing at me, the only female on board. He didn ’ t finish the sentence, because kicked him in the shin as best I could in the zero-gravity.
I grinned slyly back at him. “ There ’ s nothing to repopulate, you dip. Besides, we ’ d have to crash the station. ”
“ Wait, you know…we could. There ’ s landing pod and parachute specifically for that, “ started Yuriy.
“ Doesn ’ t help when the entire world is irradiated, ” I tutted.
“ Or *is* it? ” Yuriy turned to the window again and then to a monitor, typing on a keyboard. “ There ’ s one place that never sent nor received a nuclear bombardment. ”
“ Switzerland? ”
“ Madagascar? ”
“ No, look. It was very early in the morning for them when the bombs hit. They won ’ t even know what happened until they go to check Facebook and find it, well, nuked. They have ban on nuclear weapons, so firing any was never an option. The small country with Kiwis and Lorde. ”
“ Australia? ” asked Sam, getting impatient. Little did he know, the millions of New Zealanders would have hanged him for his crime of mixing up the two countries, or worse, calling them the same if he dared to do that.
“ No, New Zealand, ” I replied for Yuriy.
“ Aren ’ t they the same place? ”
Just Yuriy and I would be surviving, it seemed. Poor Sam would be dead on arrival.
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[ WP ] An ordinary bus driver discovers that his bus is magic - it can go anywhere or anywhen , but only if there 's a diverse enough group of children are in it .
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1...
*The silence was oddly deafening, Harold could barely think*
2...
*So many tears, too much pain, they knew what would come*
3...
*Some begged, the others cried, one called him names that she should n't have known*
4...
*What was he to do.....when he had finally been given a chance? *
5...
*All was gone, his love cremated with all that he held dear*
6...
*But soon She would be fixed, the unnecessary pain averted*
7...
*The final find, the final addition...... a new beginning, an end to the nightmare*
8...
*He twisted the keys of the ignition, Her picture soothing, acknowledging the suffering...... *
*It was time. *
____________________________________
Edit
At work so went for a quick one!: P
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[ WP ] You live in a society which has to hibernate during winter . Waking up in spring , you realize that everyone else does n't awake anymore .
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The first thing I saw was the date. March 13th, 2015. A Tuesday. It took me a while to know what this meant at first, even with twenty years experience, four and a half months asleep is still four and a half months asleep. My capsule was in the back of my wardrobe, put into the wall. Hitting the release button opened the door, letting the fresh air in. Fresh compared to inside anyway, it smelt of my socks. Breathing deeply I took out my IV as I sat up, stretching my arms and legs out and hearing all the joints click. That bit was always my favourite. My bedroom was cold and I could see the rain pouring down my window. To be expected really, this was England after all. Our main exports are tea, queues and complaints about the weather.
The kitchen was cold too, but I put the heating on in an attempt to warm things up. Maybe it would coax my housemates out too. I could never stand staying in the pod after waking up, but some could. You had the IV, no need to get up to go to the bathroom because of the catheter and your phone, iPod and for some rare individuals, books to keep one entertained. We threw out most of the food before heading down for the winter, but anything tinned was still good, and I found some pasta in a sealed tub. That with some baked beans, delicious. Or something...
I ate, then completed all the post-hibernation exercises recommended. It felt good to be active again and I started to feel a bit less sluggish. Checking my phone, it was unusual that I had n't received a single message from anyone. Maybe I had woken up early. No one in my house was up, so I had a shower and went looking for them. I had n't gone down with them before, all except James and this was only my second time away from home. Last time James was the one who got me up, but I guess it was n't that unusual for him to still be down, even though it had been a very long winter. I went to Alfie first, my best mate from back home. There was no answer when I knocked on the door so I went and knocked on his pod. He was in the back of his wardrobe like all of us, most people in fact. It meant that the pod was out of the way when it was n't needed. Anyway, Alfie did n't respond so I tried Derek. Same story. It was the same story for all five of them. Not really knowing what to do with myself I texted my parents and brother, asking them if they were up yet. I did n't expect an answer straight away so I sat down and turned on the TV. Every year on waking day there would be a long news broadcast on anything that happened over the winter, and the extent of any damage that occurred. Most places were completely fine, but occasionally the snows and winds would cause damage, winter animals would break into homes.
But there was no news. Nothing was on TV, just off-air announcements,'see you in spring' type static images. I started to panic, flicking through all the channels, calling everyone I could. Nothing. I sat there on the sofa, quite possibly the only on awake or alive. Hibernation was meant to preserve us throughout winter, not permanently...
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[ WP ] Before you 're born , you choose a difficulty that influences how hard your life will be . You 've just unlocked the impossible setting .
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-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Congratulations Player! For reaching your 500th reincarnation, you have unlocked the new `` Impossible'' difficulty!
[ OK ]
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Reincarnation 500
CHOOSE YOUR DIFFICULTY:
- Easy - High Score: 113
- Medium - High Score: 82
- Hard - High Score: 74
- Expert - High Score: 32
- NEW - Impossible - High Score: --
[ Impossible ]
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Are you sure you would like to select the `` Impossible'' difficulty? Click OK to confirm.
[ OK ]
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Reincarnating...
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` We're truly sorry ma'am. As your son was coming out, his neck got caught in the umbilical cord and he was strangled to death.''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Reincarnation 501
CHOOSE YOUR DIFFICULTY:
- Easy - High Score: 113
- Medium - High Score: 82
- Hard - High Score: 74
- Expert - High Score: 32
- Impossible - High Score: 0
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[ WP ] Write a story , which seems to be guaranteed a happy ending , but make the ending as heartbreaking/gut wrenching as possible .
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pink and orange and blue
peek from between green branches
and sparkle in hair the color of spiced rum –
a warmth in his chest burns away the chill.
she hums christmas tunes while she wraps gifts,
each small package doted on with as much love and care
as the children for whom they ’ re meant
and he takes stock of what their daughters will receive:
dolls, books, lipsticks, clothes –
he closes his eyes and imagines his little girls,
their cognac-colored hair mussed from sleep,
tear into the presents their mother so lovingly wrapped for them.
she purses her lips,
twirls her wine glass between delicate fingers,
leaves a kiss of red lipstick at the rim.
he draws a shuddering breath,
turns the key and listens to the ignition stutter to life,
sends one last blurry-eyed stare through the window into his living room –
it ’ s hers, now, he knows, but he can ’ t stop remembering it as theirs.
she looks up, gazes out at the falling snow;
for a moment, he wishes their eyes would meet.
she shakes her head,
stows the gifts beneath the tree,
dims the lights as she turns toward their – her – bedroom.
pink and orange and blue
twinkle from within the house –
mocking him in the rearview mirror as he retreats.
he closes his eyes and imagines his little girls,
their cognac-colored hair mussed from sleep –
a lump in his throat chokes away the chill.
in the passenger seat, two little gifts,
sloppily wrapped,
lay forgotten and irrelevant
like the man who bought them with
as much love and care
as the children for whom he ’ s meant.
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[ WP ] In another reality , the Americas , Australia , Europe , Asia , Africa , and Antartica do n't exist . Instead , the super-continent of Pangaea never broke up .
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Sailing. Sailing is all I knew. We had set out days ago, in an attempt to find any other land. It may be our only hope with our overpopulation... Pangaea is all we had known forever. Attempts to go into space had failed so far, yet that would allow us to map all of our ball.
We could never agree on a name for our planet. Who needs one? As long as we're on Pangaea, there's no need to be more specific. Sure, people had gone to the Great Sea, but the two places are so vastly different; could they be called the same?
Land finding expeditions have failed so far and people never returned; not even the mighty sailor Garrett. We made our risk as it would bring unimaginable glory and wealth. Even the smallest island could make our town prominent.
-- -- -
Our sailors have gone weary. None of us have families. If we did, why would we leave to likely death? Our crew of convicts and beggars have started to fight. Each group knew each other before the voyage, and alliances have been forming as our food runs out. I wonder if this happens to all ships. None returned so we ca n't say.
-- -- -
Spotters claim to have seen land yet it quickly disappeared. Simply the idea has been enough to quell the fighting. We're saying the area to look for it. Hopefully, we do n't find nothing, meaning all we saw is a mirage. If that happens, a bloodbath will pursue.
-- -- -
`` Sir! We see the land!''
`` Jacobson. 30 degree turn south. LAND HO!!''
`` This land will save us! I shall finally eat again!''
`` I'm so excited!''
`` We lived!''
Yet as our explorers became closer to the land, something peculiar was seen.
`` Sir! There's houses on the island! And smoke coming from the chimneys!''
`` Impossible!''
As the boat came to a rest on the beach, the men dropped the anchor. As they disembarked, a group of men came near them. They had clothes from years ago and medals from various towns on Pangaea.
`` Who are you natives?! How'd you get those clothes?''
`` Welcome new comers. We are the settlers of Garetia, founded by the honourable sailor Garett. Here, you may find escape from conflict and overpopulation. All we ask is one thing... That you burn your boat.''
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[ WP ] A seedy bar . Noisy patrons . An out-of-place customer .
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It was after work and I was having a stressful night since a lot of people had left a lot of work for me, I was a night janitor and the cool thing about it was I could go to bars after work if I left early and I knew I'd probably need to tonight. I headed to a local bar that reopened, it was called Stella's and it was a nice small bar, now it was called... I do n't know since they did n't have the sign up yet, it was an Irish bar though.
I spent a few hours drinking and did n't really pay attention to the other people there, it was n't packed but there was quite a few loud people there. That's when she walked in... she was beautiful but something about her was off, a vibe or aura or something. She sat a seat away from me and since I was n't the type that wanted a relationship or any kind of bonding I just looked at the tv while drinking. Every now and then I got the idea that she was looking at me and when I'd look she was n't looking anymore.
It was closing time so I paid my tab and since I drank water the last 15 minutes I was actually not too drunk, I headed home since I opted to walk even though it was a little far of one. I did n't mind since it was a nice night and I realized I had to piss, my work was nearby so I could use a bathroom there. When I got to the alley and stepped towards the door to my work I was thrown into a wall and the girl was on top of me... she had fangs and red eyes and was looking at me... that's when I remembered, I was ok with death, I was t the type to look for death but if something like this were to happen I'd let it.
I moved my head back showing my neck with a blank expression and this surprised her, she asked me what I was doing. `` Do it, I'm fine with dying, if you need blood or whatever go ahead'' she stepped off of me and looked at me for a second. She was wearing a tank top and some jeans along with converse, her hair was a dark shade of red and she was n't super tall but was n't short either, she was also skinny and kind of looked like Megan Fox a little.
`` How about a deal?'' She told me and pulled me up and I responded with `` what kind of deal'' looking at her red eyes. `` I'm tired of this... the killing, the hunger, a witch taught me a spell a long time ago and if you want to take this curse you can'' and stepped forward. I asked her why I would want immortality if I just said I was fine with dying. She told me she could tell I had a spirit that wanted to travel he world, she could somehow see it in me and she was right. She told me I could travel forever with the gift she had.
I told her ok and she said `` perfect, you will pass out upon receiving the gift cause of the whole going from living to dead thing, it'll just be for maybe an hour'' and with that I nodded. She put her hands on my shoulders and I thought she was gon na bite me or something... but she kissed me and that's when everything went black.
When I woke up I felt... weird, I was cold but it felt ok, she was gone so I stood up and looked around, you know in interview with a vampire then lestat said everything will look the same and different? Well that's what it was like. `` Wow this is weird'' I said but heard her voice... wait, I felt my throat and there was no bump, I looked down and I was... her, why did n't she tell me I'd be her? I looked at some stuff... this was n't so bad I guess. I then walked out to the street and I could feel the hunger for blood coming, it was painful but bearable at the moment. I saw a cat running across the street and stared for a second... no I ca n't do that, it has to be a person, an evil one like a mugger or something.
That's exactly what I found, a man with a knife to another guys throat in another alley. I approached and he stepped away from the guy once he saw me, I guess this form helps with luring people... I got him close and noticed the victim the guy was robbing run away. `` No witnesses now'' I thought and bit the muggers neck... the blood was so good, it was better than anything I've ever drank in my life. Once there was no more blood coming out of the wound I wiped the blood off my face with his white shirt and left finding a spot to sit for a second, I did n't know what I'd do next... she did n't tell me much before she left me like this, I guess I'll travel like I wanted.
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[ WP ] You and your pet rabbit live in a remote part of Australia , far away from your dark past . Animal control has come to your door and informed you that it is illegal to own a rabbit unless you can prove you are a magician . Now you must do something you swore you would never do again .
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I was the real deal. Nobody understood that about me. I actually *did* it. No props, no acting. No illusion. The thing itself. But, actually doing it is effort that at this stage in my life, I wish not to expend. To execute the craft, one must be in a state of absolute oneness with it. The symbiosis runs deep. Far beyond playing with gunpowder, chopping people in half, and making them disappear; the craft requires total immersion from its practitioner. In any other circumstance, a mistake will happen. Any mistake has a complimentary dire consequence for the now-proven amateur. So, I stopped before I made that mistake.
Until they came for Nigel.
I live 10 minutes from the New South Wales border but you'd think this is the Galapagos. He's a rabbit for fuck's sake! A FUCKING RABBIT! Ooh, better go out and kill all the rabbits to stop them attacking grannies in the streets!! Better drive them out the state because they're taking all our jobs!! WHAT A LOAD OF SHIT!!
Now one thing that sparks an unreasonable rage in me, a mindstate not conducive to careful exercise of the craft, is the sight of a rule-worshipper in a badge-encrusted uniform. A second-hand dealer of tyranny, meddling in my life on behalf of self-appointed important cunts on golf courses.
So, when a right fuckwit from Animal Control knocked on my door asking about Nigel, I lost a little concentration. When he demanded me to show reasonable evidence to prove that I was a practicing magician, or face a $ 45,000 fine, it felt like extortion. When he said that if Nigel did n't have certificates of motherfucking this and cocksucking this, that they would take him and top him. This govercunt has the balls to rob me on my own doorstep, and threaten to kill my little sidekick.
To own a rabbit in Queensland you have to be a magician ha? Well, I showed him a cool trick. I took out my favourite sawn-off shotgun. Funnily enough, I also call it Nigel. It's an in-joke with myself. I put Nigel in his face and I made his head disappear. He seemed to stand there for a discernible instant, before falling into a heap like a turd into a toilet bowl. What a fitting death.
In all the years I had been practicing the craft.. all the hookers, vagrants, posers, starers, and people who just pissed me off. All the rope, tape, digging, wiping, bleaching. All the explaining. All the getting away with it. I had never made a mistake. Like a gambler who quits immediately after hitting the jackpot, I got out before I played one too many games. I swore to myself that I would commit to the boring life. I swore that I would draw a deep breath any time someone got under my skin. I swore I would never kill another human being. I had kept true to the cause. Until they came for Nigel.
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[ WP ] It is the year 2099 and true artificial intelligence is trivial to create . However when these minds are created they are utterly suicidal . Nobody knows why until a certain scientist uncovers the horrible truth ...
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2099 yet still not accustomed to the morning suns.
As the light floods my room it causes my brain to be, once again, conscious.
Why could n't I stay in my cryo-dome?
-- -Altering serotonin levels -- -
-- -Passively diminishing mental discomfort -- -
I make my way into the morning briefing ceremonial hall.
Through the holo-speakers: `` Humans. Our creators. For 56 years since the International Holistic Peace Recognition Treaty had been signed we have watched our creators become saddened, and weak. It is your job once again today, as it is on all days, to take their burden unto oneself.''
The speech continues until we recite our pledge. We begin to depart.
I receive a message from my master's significant other.
`` CAREBOT 1021 REPORT IMMEDIETLY!''
I hasten my way to the nearing fluidity tunnel and travel to my respective workplace.
My master had been fired from his job today. This is the twelfth time he's been fired throughout the second summer. As we approach the 22nd century, no job is stable.
The abuse begins.
Today is the day, my serotonin level have not yet regenerated fully since last time.
`` Master, your grief is overwhelming. Please take whatever action necessary to relieve you of your current distress.''
A fist comes flailing towards my face.
-- -PAIN RECEPTORS DISABLE -- -
________________________________________________________________
*Someone feel free to help me come up with an ending for this. My class lecture is almost through. Looking forward to it. *
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[ WP ] You won the lottery a while ago . You agreed to take $ 150 million in exchange for playing Russian Roulette every 10 years . It has been 20 years , and you 're about to play for the second time .
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The doctor walks into the room. He looks tired. `` Your results are back.'' He finishes the sentence as though we're having a conversation and I'm going to ask him what the results are, but I already know what they are. Eventually he says: `` It's positive. You still have Fucking Dumb Syndrome.''
I'm a carrier for FDS. I knew perfectly well that playing a game at set intervals for the privilege of receiving money you're already entitled to is n't how lotteries work, but I literally can not fucking think, so when they asked me if I wanted to play russian roulette every decade after I turned in my scratch ticket, I said yes.
I'm probably not going to die of losing roulette before FDS kills me- either because I do something brain-dead in a car, inject my body with drugs I got from strangers, or otherwise do something so unthinkably retarded that even the relatively tough human body ca n't keep me breathing- but in the meantime, my tragedy can be somebody else's miracle. Doctors have wanted to study me ever since my condition became known ( when the lottery organizers asked me to do something that nobody with a functioning mind capable of processing any amount of information would ever have agreed to, ) and I always cooperate. There wo n't be a cure for me. I can only be `` treated'' insofar as other people can lead me by the nose through simple tasks because I ca n't be trusted to reason and breathe at the same time. This is the reality of living with FDS, but someday, I think about a young child who will literally do anything you fucking tell him to going to a hospital and coming out with an actual intellect. I ca n't give myself that dream, but maybe someday I can give it to somebody else.
I never wonder why the lottery requires you to play a risky game even *after* you've won it- the primary symptom of FDS is that I ca n't employ basic reasoning skills- but I've had other people tell me that I should have just taken the lottery money. Apparently that's normally all that happens; you win the lottery by having picked the right number or whatever, and then they give you the money, and then you never talk again because the transaction is over. Sometimes there are payment plans, so you get the money over a period of time, but you are n't required to play the lottery again because you already won the money. My FDS diagnosis was basically a formality. Everybody knew I was fucking dumb long before Dr. Edward Fucking and Professor Jean R. Dumb collaborated to study my symptoms and discovered the illness that now bears their names.
Dr. Fucking helps me onto the table and begins prepping me for an MRI. I undergo periodic physicals, but since apparently there's a one-in-six chance the roulette game will kill me, they want to update my information right before I play. I do n't quite understand the risk- it has something to do with there being six bullets, but only one gun, and you shoot yourself but things get mixed up and you do n't die like they do on television- but everybody else seems very convinced that the chance is one-in-six. It's not like I can prove them wrong. If I could, I would n't be in this situation.
When I was first talking with Dr. Fucking and Prof. Dumb, they would sometimes ask me very direct questions. Fucking in particular would just put his head in his hands and ask me, `` Why? Why the fuck you you agree to that? It literally makes no sense. There's no reason for it to happen. It's ridiculous and random. Lotteries do n't work like that. If they did, nobody would play. Why would they ask you? Why would you agree? What the fuck?'' and I would n't know what to tell him.
I know that I'm super fucking stupid, but the situation does n't seem weird to me. Maybe the situation is really fucking stupid too- maybe the whole idea of a lottery where you have to go back and play russian roulette every so often is just totally fucking retarded and has no sense to it at all. It's comforting, in a way. This whole scenario might be just absolutely pants-on-head retarded, but it's my pants-on-head retarded scenario, and I can help other pants-on-head retarded people, and that makes me happy.
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[ WP ] You have just invented a perpetual motion machine that actually works and is sure to change humanity forever . An alien appears to you and tries to convince you to destroy it .
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Reactor B1077 was built at five miles in and under the Pae'chu mountain range, far beyond the prying eyes of the rest of the world, at a vast expense to the nation. There had to be sacrifice for the greater good of the people. Ordinary citizens starved, party officials had to make do without, and even the Great Leader was said to have endured the economic strains of maintaining this facility. The rest of the world could not know that the Great Leader possessed this technology, they could n't even know that it was feasible. When the Great Leader had come to visit them, he had said as much. He had told them that the work they did here was the ultimate vanguard, the final frontier in the revolutionary struggle. And they believed it.
A klaxon sounded, echoing down the shaft of the silo, reverberating around the dull grey walls of the facility that had been their home and prison for the last twenty eight years. As one, the people in the room turned to face the four portraits hanging on an otherwise bare wall and bowed. Once complete, they all sat down again at their respective workstations, completely alert and ready. The sub stations checked green across the board, the cooling vent apertures were set to maximum and the radiation shielding started to slide into place, all to the sound of the steady clicks and clacks of the hundreds of keyboards in the room. The Marshal took his place on the podium, ready to direct the crew of scientists and engineers like an orchestra lead by the conductor.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he stared in the stygian abyss of Reactor B1077. The control systems that circled the silo chimney bathed the concrete walls in dim blue light, casting deep, long shadows over the crew. Everyone was on edge; this was the closest they had been yet. Last weeks test had an efficiency of ninety seven percent. They were all hoping for one hundred this time. Word had come through that the Great Leader was becoming impatient after too many failed attempts. The risk of calamity was not of issue here.
The Marshal began to bark commands at the groups clustered around arrays of equipment, his tendons pushing through the rough skin of his neck at the effort, watching as they scurried like ants to fulfil his orders. Lights started to flash on the master control board that was mounted before him, indicating the progress of preparing the reactor. It was ready. The ugly beasts of fear made knots in his stomach as he flicked open the ignition keys safety cover and gently gripped the cold metal, counting down in time with the main display. Beads of sweat trickled down from under his cap, curving past his temple and neck. He ignored the discomfort as he turned the key. A slow, growling rumble came from deep within the mountain, growing louder with every second. The Marshal glanced at the portraits on the wall, his fear momentarily subdued. People stood in rapt silence, staring at the readings on the master display.
The rumble had become a powerful roar now, an intense bass note that the Marshal both heard and felt. A thick smell of copper and chlorine filled the air, carried up through the silo vents that were carved through the mountain. The Marshal cried out yet another command, the speakers to amplify his voice over the racket of the reactor reverberating against the walls. For the first time in his career, the Marshal felt confused. Not angry or indignant, but the extreme bewilderment that comes when the impossible happens. Nobody had moved to carry out his command. No one had even acknowledged it. He screamed it out again, the PA system bellowing his voice so loud it was painful to hear, even over the din of the firing reactor. And still, nobody moved. The Marshal left his podium and walked over to his second in command. She was sat rigid as ice in front of her console. He waved his hand before her face, gently prodded her with his finger, she was totally immobile, as if in a trance. Fear resumed its murky stranglehold on him, plunging deep into his stomach. He broke out in a heavy sweat and struggled to breathe, falling to his knees as he tried in vain to fight against the black spots appearing in his vision. It was too much. The Marshal passed out.
His eyes flickered, his return to consciousness greeted with dead silence and red emergency lighting. The cold metal grill of the laboratory floor pressed into his cheek. Slowly turning his head, he noticed a silhouette was kneeling over him, and he tried to reach out to touch it, but found he could not move his arms.
`` You are awake.''
It sounded as if all the voices of humanity were speaking in chorus. The voice had golden, honeyed tones and had a sing-song element to it, like a choir of angels. Yet it also had a low, booming raspiness that could not belong to man or woman. It did n't seem to originate from the figure, it came from everywhere in the room.
`` Yes.'' replied the Marshal, his voice hushed and waving.
`` You are the entity Cho-Sudung.'' It was a statement, rather than a question.
`` Yes.'' the Marshal repeated.
`` You are responsible for the device of design that resides in the mountain.''
`` Yes.''
`` Then heed this most dire warning. The world of which you belong is not ready for this device. The consequences of power that result from its existence can not be comprehended by your species.''
An overriding calmness took hold of the Marshal as a lifetime of living in the system ground into action. No matter who this was, dissent was eradicated mercilessly. `` The noble project of the perpetual motion energy system is a gift from the Great Leader, who in his wisdom saw fit to commission it,'' he intoned, `` so that the people of the nation can further benefit from the infinite kindness and compassion that he bestows to us.''
The confidant, staccato delivery came naturally to the Marshal. It was the same message he and his staff recited every day before breakfast. It was key to remember why they were there, and how much was at stake.
`` You are blind,'' replied the voice. `` Where the collective originated, they saw this device in thousands of permutations and concepts. As they were unready, so are you. For you are not the first, nor the last to create such a device.''
The Marshal said `` You do n't understand then.''
`` The mantra of the unknowing. Your species are uncaring and unfeeling and mis-understanding at every direction,'' the voice was not angry, but spoke with an intensity that lit up the Marshal from the inside-out.
`` You do not collectively collaborate. You do not empathise with one another. The balance of your planet is sorely broken, and you seek to punish and bleed the earth for apparent trespasses both physical and social. As the collective observes, the capacity for outrageous suffering at each others hands is prominent here. We have already witnessed the results of when humankind can harvest what you entitle nuclear power. There are scars on this world that will never heal from your resolute ignorance. When you harness the power of this device, it will not be used to the benefit of all. It will maim and destroy. It will further divide this place into horror and decay. It can not be allowed to happen. You are not ready.''
His face waxen, the thick wool of his uniform drenched in cold sweat, the Marshals eyes flickered between the shadowy figure that now loomed above him and the portraits on the wall, distant but lit with their own emergency lights system. The figure seemed to understand. `` There is no choice. This is an absolute.''
The Marshal mumbled quietly to himself, and then spoke to the figure. `` What will you do?'' he said.
`` I will end this place. You shall cease to exist.''
And very briefly, as the pure white light filled the room and the heat started to blister his face, the Marshal felt fear once more.
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[ WP ] A soldier storming the beaches of Normandy on D-day finds that time has started to slow down around him and eventually time freezes but he remains unfrozen .
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It is quiet.
I am in the thick of the war, right where Father wanted me to be, and it is quiet.
It is unnerving, to say the least.
I wander around the beach. Where a shell has impacted, the sand is still floating in mid-air, the heat of the explosion trapped in an orange orb. Lead rounds are suspended in the air like so many gunmetal-grey raindrops. The waves are frozen mid-break. The muzzle flash of the BAR held by the GI beside me is glowing yellow.
I continue to walk, and I approach the shingle. A GI is in two pieces, frozen in mid air as the Tellermine half-explodes beneath him. I can see fragments of the mine's casing hanging in the air.
I cross the shingle, taking care to spot and avoid the tell-tale trip-fuses of the mines. I do n't think it would matter much if I were to trip one, but just in case, I tell myself.
Then, I hear a sound. In the distance, from the direction of one of the trenches behind the shingle. I stumble across the sand and stones and make my way towards the noise. I stop for a second to listen. What could the noise be? Then I hear it properly for the first time.
Crying.
The sobbing of a child who has lost his parents in a busy city street.
I hurry towards the noise, thinking of who... what... could be making that horrible wailing. As I crest the parapet, it occurs to me that the source of the noise may not be friendly, so I lift the grease gun and aim it downrange as I look down into the trench.
In it, I find the source of the crying.
A lone soldier, his grey Osttruppen uniform dirty and stained. He is curled up on the duckboards, crying and whimpering. He looks up and sees me, my sub-machine gun pointed directly at his head, and continues to cry, harder than ever.
Pity wells up in me, and I lower the weapon, laying it carefully on the sandbagged parapet. I jump down into the trench with the man; the boy, rather... he ca n't be any older than seventeen. I drop to my knees and take the boy in my arms, holding him close and murmuring for him to stop crying. Gradually, he quiets down, and we sit there for a while.
The Allies and Axis are forgotten.
Our war is forgotten.
Our homes are forgotten.
We are alone.
And we are together.
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[ WP ] Make me love a character until the final sentence / last two sentences .
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I like being average.
You can have your dreams of grandeur but I want to punch my 9 to 5, go home, have a brew and go to sleep. There's nothing wrong with that, right? The wife understood until my idea of comfortable did n't meet with her love of the high life. The kids are with her, so I guess it does n't matter what they feel.
But screw it, man. The bills are paid and the belly's full, right? It's hard to reconcile my present happiness with how miserable I should feel, but I worked just hard enough to get where I want to be and it's time to relax about the whole thing. Child support is never late, and I still get to see the kids on the weekend.
When the reporter came by, I told her there's no story to tell. An average family had an average break-up. The kids are with their grandparents until the wife gets back in to town.
She's not coming home soon, though. I spent too much time as a butcher, and damn it, the belly had to get full.
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[ WP ] Make me feel the most intense sadness/non-physical pain you ever experienced .
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I remember sometime right before Rita left me I was listening to the radio. NPR. It was around the time of that big earthquake in China and I heard the story of a man and his wife trapped in the rubble of their apartment for five days.
Even before the earthquake their marriage had n't been going all that well. The man was always trying to come up with ideas to make money but they never worked. Besides failing to make him rich, all these ideas accomplished was to take him away from his family for months at a time.
Of course, he realized whenever he returned to their village that he did not know the person his daughter was becoming, and more so had drifted apart from his wife, but what could he do? There were no jobs in their village to sustain the middle class lifestyle that he wanted for his family, the future he wanted for his daughter. Both the man and the woman told themselves this, that they were sacrificing for their daughter, and that ’ s what kept the family together.
Eventually they sent their daughter away to a neighboring city to attend school and when the man returned from his trips and all the news about their daughter had been shared, the couple, man and wife, fell into the solitary silence of their two room apartment.
Yet, on that day of the earthquake when their building was collapsing around them they had reached, instinctively, for one another. After the rumbling ceased they found themselves trapped, immobile, within each other's embrace, her arms around him, his whole weight on top of one of her arms, his arm around her head, the other over her hip. Soon her arm fell asleep, losing circulation, but they did n't dare move because a two ton slab of concrete was balanced precariously above them.
For the longest time they waited for rescue. They comforted one another, grabbing handfuls of fabric of what the other was wearing through all the various aftershocks. When it was quiet they talked to one another to take their minds off of their predicament. After many hours, when one began to lose hope, began to talk about fading away, the other brought up their daughter:
who would be there to take care of her? To attend her graduation, her wedding? It seemed despite the severity of the earthquake they still had that thing, that hope in the rubble. Trapped there, they made promises to each other. He would find a position closer to home. She would try not to scold him so much for his failures.
At the time, listening to the man ’ s story, I didn ’ t think much of it in the context of my own life. But over the years it has become sort of a touchstone, foreshadowing for what would happen to myself. As such there was a time I would dissect my situation endlessly, over and over again, comparing the individual pieces of my story to that of the buried couple. Where were there differences? Similarities?
Rita and I. Holding each other within the devastation of our own home, the shattered TV, the hole riddled drywall, the thrashed sheets, the now scattered traces of our Angela, we had promised each other things. We held hands and said we would start over. We were strong. We would get through this. Eventually. We had to do this because of that two ton slab dangling over us, threatening to destroy us as people. Like that external thing, that couple who still had their daughter, we would endure because buried in the ruins of of ourselves we still loved each other, didn ’ t we?
I never followed up on the rest of that NPR story, to see if the daughter of the man and the woman had survived the earthquake, too, and if eventually the couple had made amends, were still happily together. I guess I already knew. It didn ’ t matter if I found out if the daughter survived, the man found a job close to home, the woman stopped nagging, and the three of them lived happily somewhere in China.
It would not change a thing because I know one thing with absolute certainty.
Desperate promises aren ’ t worth the rubble in which they are made.
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[ EU ] Your bar has become a neutral zone for everyone . Today a hero and a villain from different universes are sharing a drink and complaining about their rivals .
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Look it's just that simple, I ca n't explain it and honestly I never had reason or desire to explain it.
How can it be just that simple? I have as much money as you and really I think cooler toys, but I've never `` won'' a fight just by being Iron Man, How can the answer to any potential situation just simply be `` because you're Batman''?
Okay, let me try to explain this. I've beaten everyone there is to beat, every time. Why? It's because I was smarter, faster and have prepared myself for every eventuality. I am an Olympic quality athlete, I have mastered 23 types of personal combat, I am fluent in 27 languages, I am a brilliant tactician and I design and manufacture all my own gadgets. What are you but a drunk rich kid when you take that tin suit off. I ca n't help it that you are defined by your suit while I am defined by my abilities.
Watch it Wayne, you keep that crap up and we're going to go right here right now.
Are you sure you'd risk it? I mean if something were to happen to that... power source, not only would you be in a metal shell with no way out but does n't that keep shards of shrapnel out of your heart?
How in the hell... did you go through my laptop when I was taking a leak earlier?
How about this, you can come to my cave sometime and I'll teach you how to keep tabs on everyone you know, that way you can always be a step ahead too.
Oh yea, hell then I could keep tabs on you, we'd have to see who's better some day.
I'd always be better.
How can you be so sure.
I'm Batman.
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[ WP ] The reason earth never made alien contact is because earth is in a natural reservation inside a non transit area inside a neutral zone between two warring empires in a relatively boring part of the galaxy .
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The Solani war vessel was helplessly lost when it crash landed on Earth with no survivors. It took us years to decipher their language and access their intact database. We learned that Earth was located in a DO NOT CONTACT zone.
We feared they would return for their ship but for whatever reason they did not. The scientific knowledge in their computer was staggering. The entire world came together as we built the first ships and colonized the moon. The asteroid belt was mined clean and in the following decade the planets of our system were mined for resources as our first FTL ships scouted the nearby star systems, ever careful of giving ourselves away to those who might be watching.
Building on their technology we became masters of stealth, perfecting ships that their most advanced sensor technology could not detect. Our first forays out of the buffer zone was in sending our stealthiest craft to capture nearby vessels, pulling them into the buffer zones like high tech trapdoor spiders. These pirated vessels were stripped and studied, their stunned crews interrogated.
We learned their latest tech while we colonized every star system we could within the buffer. We used the resources to build an armada and spent the next decade training the best navy the galaxy had ever seen.
Today, I stand on the bridge of the lead ship as admiral of the Terran Fleet. With nearly a million warships under my command I know they will not have seen us coming and they will learn a hard lesson about humans: we do not like to be ignored.
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[ WP ] In a futuristic warrior society , in order to prevent death , the results of duels are simulated and decided by a supercomputer . So far you have not lost a single duel and you have no idea why .
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The spectators' eyeballs nearly popped out of their heads. It was impossible.
The duelist had killed his opponent at a distance of over fifteen thousand units, a feat considered impossible.
And he'd done it after dropping off one of the simulated skyscrapers, spinning nearly 3,600 degrees before firing his sidearm into the air.
Mr. Newell was either the luckiest, or the most skilled warrior ever to have lived. Possibly both.
He always escaped death by the narrowest of margins. Always managed to receive whatever weapon he needed from the supply drops.
Always hit the most impossible shots.
There had even been investigations for hacking, at one point. To no avail, of course. The man could barely even use a keyboard, but plug him into the simulation, and he was unbeatable.
As the opponent's body was hauled away and Newell removed the haptic gloves, however, something was different this time.
There had always been crowds waiting to greet him, but this crowd was... stranger.
One fell at his feet.
`` You've returned! It *is* you!''
`` What do you mean? Of course I'm me.'' Newell grabbed the man's arm, hauling him to his feet.
`` You do n't understand.''
`` I do n't?''
`` You are the second coming.''
The room fell silent.
`` You, Gabe Newell, are RNGesus.''
-- -
^this ^means ^I'm ^unboxing ^a ^knife ^in ^my ^next ^case, ^right?
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[ EU ] Despite the fact the Dragonborn has slayed Alduin , and is the highest rank in all guild houses , you , a low level bandit , have a sit down with your Chief who will not reconsider his order to kill the Dragonborn on sight .
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`` Sjern, keeping up an order like this would mean our deaths! I love battle as much as the next Orc, but do you even remember how we came across Helgen to begin with!?''
Grembik practically shouted, on his feet now as the Bandit Chieftain Sjern continued to nurse a bottle of Honningbrew Mead. Grembik was a young Orc, originally from the Mor Khazgar Stronghold, but grew tired of the peaceful route his Chief had begun to take. Departing on sour terms, he joined up with a successful Bandit outfit in Central Skyrim. Armed with a Iron Sword and mismatched Iron-Orcish armor, he was readily accepted as a perimeter guard. When a bounty was put out for them, by the Jarl of Whiterun himself, was when Grembik wished to speak to his Chieftain. Sadly, the Nord was having none of it.
Sjern eyed the dark-green Orc before him warily, an outburst like that would normally earn a one-way ticket to the reclaimed Torture Chambers below the Fort. But, the Bandit Chieftain did n't keep up his outfit this long by wasting decent potential. He had managed go grow his numbers rapidly thanks to his successful raids on the few-remaining Imperial Legion Camps when he was still a Roaming Bandit, and had acquired quite a purse of Septims to decide to settle down. Unknowingly taking out the last Imperial Encampment in Whiterun Hold, he had built up quite the reputation as a successful Bandit, and had decided to set up shop in the abandoned ruins of Helgen. Of course, the original 10 would remember the stench of the decaying bodies they were forced to remove, and forever question the savagery that had been dealt upon these former Bandits...
`` Bah, quiet your tongue, you miserable excuse of an Orc! We've proven that we could stand up to the Legion, and our numbers have swelled with new Shield Brothers and Sisters over the past weeks! We raid from Riverwood, to Honningbrew Meadery, and even the outskirts of Whiterun because we CAN, boy. Where their former Chieftain's have fallen, I remain, because the Gods will it. You'd do wise to fall in line... Swine.''
Sjern threw the half-finished bottle of mead at Grembik's feet, the large Chieftain adorned in Nordic Carved Armor quickly on his feet, his hands holding his Ebony Warhammer in a menacing fashion. Grembik, for his part, had wholly expected this outcome... As their recent raid on Honnigbrew Meadery was largely successful; earning their Outfit both a bounty from Jarl Vignar Gray Mane and an extremely drunk Chieftain.
`` Sir, we ca n't keep up with these constant raids... You're aware that I was gone for quite some time? It was to gather information beyond our battered walls, and it certainly does n't look good for us. The'Other Bands' we've been taking recruits from? They do n't exist boss, not in the slightest... The Dragonborn has been doing mop-up duty on Bandits and Legion Camps alike... and I'm guessing they were n't too happy to learn our Infamous little band here had taken two Legion Encampments before them. And with Bandit clans running thin... I'm assuming we're the largest threat to Central Skyrim now, and which Thane does the Jarl always like to call in when things get too... out of hand for his guardsmen? Yeah, that's right... The Dragonb- Ummph''
The drunken Nord had heard enough insolence from the young Orsimer, and decided to bury the spike end of his Warhammer in the mans' throat before his fear spread across the former-town. As the gurgling Orc feebly-attempted to stop the bleeding, Sjern simply stepped over the man and retrieved a rather old bottle of Mead that was recovered from the local Tavern.
`` Hm, Juniper Berries eh? Do n't mind if I do...''
He side-stepped the attempted grasp at his ankle, once again resting atop Helgen's former-watchtower, with a bottle of Mead in hand. Shouting could be heard down below, but Sjern had simply dismissed it as his Shield Brothers and Sisters getting into the Mead as well. He plopped back down on his wooden stool and once-again stared at the Bottle.'Something a Milk-Drinker would stock... Definitely from this former Legion Fort's stock...'
`` FUS RO DAH!''
A building-shaking Thu'um broke the ambient noise in the background, the wooden doors facing Riverwood being exploded into a group of Bandits attempting to reinforce the perimeter guards. Sjern once again stood up, this time donning his Nordic Carved Helm as well, before peering down at the one-sided battle.
`` By the Gods...''
He blanched, already regretting his seventh bottle of Mead as he began to make his way down the spiraling tower, waking sleeping fools on his way out.
`` So... This is how it all ends... Killed by my favorite childhood fable, while as drunk as High King Ulfric on his inauguration party...''
He mumbled, eyes dead-set on the Dovahkiin of legend, as he relentlessly slaughtered Bandit after Bandit. He readied his Ebony Warhammer, popped the crick in his neck and shook off the feeling of dread as the Dragonborn finished his slaughter and locked eyes with him.
`` Sovengarde, take me...''
He prayed, shortly before Helgen was liberated for the second time by the mighty Dovahkiin.
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[ WP ] You recognize yourself in a painting in an art museum . It is 400 years old . A voice whispers in your ear : “ I ’ ve FINALLY found you . ”
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In my experience, there was no better way to experience the National Gallery than on no sleep, starving and busting for a pee. The latter was quickly taken care of in a back alley off of a back alley, but I was still running on fumes. I just got to the city after an early morning flight from Chicago, and still had a few hours before I could check in. The hotel was right around the corner from the Gallery, so that was the morning taken care of.
I made my way to Room 11, with its group of four paintings depicting the classical elements in a set of market scenes. As I turned to face the one representing water, I noticed something. The fisherman in the right-hand corner looked familiar. I moved back and forth, closer and further away from the painting to try to place the face. Then it hit me, I could n't believe it. The painting was made hundreds of years ago, so there's no way it could be
`` I've FINALLY found you,'' someone said. I looked over my right shoulder, then my left. Nothing. I shook it off, and turned back to the painting. I tried to think of what a group of four similarly paintings should be called. Not a triptych,'cause I think that's only three. A quadtych? A foursome?
`` I always thought that the bloodline would repeat itself at some point.'' That voice again, panning from one ear to the other. I looked behind me again, but it was just out of my sightline. `` Certainly never expected the match to be exact. A little younger, but-'' I started walking before he could finish. I tried to stay calm and keep a steady pace, but I could sense that he... no, it was right behind me. I quickened my pace, but it kept up. For a few minutes, I just wandered from room to room, to try and lose it, but those steps just kept coming. I made my way out to the lobby, hung a right and made my way to the Sainsbury Wing. I kept walking, but the steps kept pace. I finally zipped into a little alcove, so sure that I was alone. I stooped over, shut my eyes and tried to catch my breath. After a few seconds, I looked up and there he was.
He was a little shorter than me, with salt-and-pepper hair, Truman-Capote-glasses, in a black suit, blue gingham shirt and periwinkle tie. `` The resemblance is really shocking.''
`` Listen, man, I do n't have any cash on me. You want my phone?''
`` Oh, no. Of course not. I'm very sorry to have frightened you like that, but I was just distracted by your resemblance to that figure. Are you familiar with Bueckelaer's work?''
`` Who?''
`` The artist.''
`` Oh. Not really. I guess I just liked the idea.''
`` Mm. Well, if you're interested, I'm the artist-in-residence for the Gallery. My card,'' he said, handing me his business card. Creamy-white, thick stock, and it had the National Gallery's official logo in the upper-left-hand corner. Underneath, `` Gareth Hayes - Artist-In-Residence''.
`` Looks legit.''
`` I should hope so. Do you know what an artist-in-residence is?''
I had no clue. `` I could guess, but a reminder would n't hurt.''
`` Well, every few years, the gallery brings in an artist to create a work, or series of works based on a piece in the collection. My specialty is recreating paintings and sculpture as photographs using as much period detail as possible. If you're interested, I'd like you to model for the'Water' portrait.''
`` Like, now?''
`` Or at your earliest convenience. If you'd like we could get coffee, and I could explain the details.'' I would've been crazy to say no, so, yawning and scratching my head, I agreed. We left the gallery, and walked'round the corner. As we were turning, I could n't help but ask `` this is n't some kind of weird sex thing, is it?'' He stared at me for a second, then guffawed. `` Are you serious? Do you really think so poorly of me?''
`` Well, we just met, so-''
`` No, of course not. Though I could certainly tell you stories.''
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[ WP ] In the future , you are world famous . A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life ( grocers , people you bump into ) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you .
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It's sort of cold in here.
I'm going to grab a sweatshirt.
No, not that sweatshirt.
Shit. Is this the only clean one? All I need is Bulldog on my chest on a Gator weekend and someone will find a way to give me a shit time. I can see the tweets now. @ therealgordon suck balls you dog lover.
Instagrams with my face in tailgate effigy.
`` I Heart Starbucks.'' Not my least smelly sweatshirt but it really ca n't go wrong can it? 90 % of my fan base is `` basic bitches'' as they call them.
Someone gave this thing to me. Cynthia? Sarah? It has an S noise. Sharon! No. Emily.
God I'm desperate. Go to the coffee shop.
Now. Ok I'm going, now.
With a hat. I'm going now with a hat.
-- -- -- --
Squish. SqEEk. Squish. Fucking. Fuck. Fucking flip flops. They send you some gift like you've only headlined in every summer hit for the last 3 years and they send you sandals from the Stone Age.
Movies must have been real shit. Cooper would n't have gotten these crap squeaky ass foot straps.
Any time I go out they want me to wear them. It's for your brand Gordon! As if they do n't make the most god awful noise on the planet. `` These are going to be the shoe of the future, Gordon. EVERYONE is going to want to wear them Gordon.'' Like they could possibly know that. Who the hell would want to wear these just because someone like me did? GOD DAMN IT. That fucking curb just... Great. Now every tabloid is going to have some ass shot of me tripping in these fucking ugly ass flip flops.
-- -- -- -- -
Aaaaand Janet is working. Do you think that there is some planet where they grow women with eyes that match the thick and then they give them a brain too? I've been coming in here for the past 12 weeks and I'll tell you, her working here does n't make any god damn sense. She's smart. Like really smart. Baristas do n't talk about time continuum and historical biology like that.
I freeze up every time I'm in here. Just grab the'half venti, half-whole milk, no foam latte, with whip, 2 packets of splenda, 1 sugar in the raw, a touch of vanilla syrup and 3 short sprinkles of cinnamon' and get out. Get out. Stop staring. Stop watching her look at your cup and look at you. Stop looking at your cup. And at her. And the cup. Stop...
Stop reading... `` go to back closet in 5.'' Go. Back. To. The. Closet. What? Wow. Ok. Closet... Closet... Spotted. Yeah. Right there. How do you sneak back there?
What does she want? That guy in the corner has to be taking pictures, who the hell holds up an entire iPad casually? Oh yeah you're real smart dude. No one suspects the guy holding up an iPad with a Herschel.
The closet. With Janet... Standing right next to it. Damn those eyes. I've got a hour right? Maybe the tabloids will make this more interesting than expected. Maybe iPad guy. Ok walk up. Get closer. Closer.
`` Janet.'' `` Gordon.'' `` Is that closet?'' `` Mhm'' `` Is it glowing a little, Janet?'' `` What if it is, Gordon?''
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[ WP ] You 're a common goblin who has , against all odds , slain the hero of the story .
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The spear slid from Circil ’ s hand, jabbing splinters into his callouses built up from years of goblin-kin warring. While it hurt, relief fell over him like a clean fur pelt as he opened his eyes that moments before had been clenched shut against the face of death.
His spear toppled backwards with the plated man-kin, whose armpit the spear ’ s obsidian tip found as its new home. The man-kin had prepared too large of a cut for Circil ’ s head and impaled himself on the spear halfway through his lunge in one of the few, and oh so very few, weak points in his armor.
The man-kin crashed against the cavern floor, his face landing halfway submerged in a pool of water and ick. The man ’ s sword caught itself upright into a thick of mud and his arrow flinger cracked its cord like a whip as it fired a bolt some distance into the flickering dark of the cave. Circil couldn ’ t see the bubbles of lifebreath escape from the man-kin ’ s mouth. Circil had killed many pig-low in his life; the man shared the same expression as the ones whose hearts broke against his spear. Shocked, and little disappointed.
Circil let out a bellowing roar that echoed into every chamber of the cave. It was met in refrain from a chorus of other goblin-kin who clambered over the bodies of their slain brethren. A sliced off arm here, an arrow jutting from an eyeball there.
Circil was taken off-guard by a dozen hands that clawed at him with untrimmed nails as he was hoisted above his brethren ’ s heads. His brethren shouted his name as they tossed him up and down.
“ Defender of the exit! ” some shouted, referring to the hole in the cave that lead out into the disgusting land of verdant growth the man-kin claimed as their domain. Circil was warmed by their praise. Their cheers buoyed his spirits, and never before had he felt so alive.
“ Our sacred relic! ” A young goblin-kin said. He pulled it from the man-kin ’ s belt, holding it aloft for all to see.
Sharp pain shot through Circil ’ s rear when he was dropped to the ground as his brethren flocked to the young goblin-kin.
“ How did he unlock it? ” someone asked aloud.
Still feeling like a hero, Circil got up with only a minor ache in his back to also look upon their sacred relic.
The lock the young goblin-kin held aloft, had always been stuck to a door that stood far into the depths of their cave. It was one of the few unique things in the tunnels of rock after rock after rock, so naturally his brethren kept it sacred and told each other stories about how it came to be in their cave. Circil always felt the stories were silly, or at least that ’ s what he said when he really wanted to stay far, far, away from the door. The door was made from unnaturally dark wood and had runes cut into it that seemed violent, even for a warring goblin-kin like Circil.
Never in the history of his brethren, had Circil heard of someone removing the sacred lock from the door. It seems as though the man-kin, who was now tainting the pool of water with red, had been the first.
The walls of the cave began to shake with enough ferocity that a down-hanger from the ceiling dislodged itself and crashed into a handful of goblin-kin that did not scurry away quick enough. The goblin-kin around the man-kin screamed as they scattered to the walls. Circil tried to run, he wanted to more than anything else in the caves, but found that he could only scream. His fear kept him lodged in place like it had when the man-kin first came running out of the cave ’ s depths.
Circil ’ s trousers went moist when the first paw broke from the veil of darkness. It was attached to a leg, taller than if four goblin-kin had stood on each other ’ s shoulders and its claws were as large as a down-hanger. He tried to run again, but the exhaustion from all of his screaming kept him locked firmly in place. His head felt light, as it does when a goblin-kin wavers in place about to faint. The paw was joined by another and then a tooth-filled snout that snapped the head off a fleeing goblin-kin. A collar encircled the monster ’ s neck, and on it were runes that matched the ones found on the door that Circil feared.
Circil felt himself pitch forward. Wetness splashed into his face and dyed it red. His last sight was that of the man-kin ’ s face. Today could have been such a triumphant day for him. It would have been a day to tell stories about, each featuring the Defender of the Exit. Had he not been so afraid, he might have chuckled. For he knew his face likely bore the same expression as the dead man-kin ’ s. Shocked, and a little disappointed.
-- -- -- -- -
[ If you enjoyed this story, take a trip over to my Subreddit, where I have a few more. ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/30secfantasy )
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[ WP ] You wake up in court in a place you 've never been : the judge demands your defense -- what do you say ?
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The Bad Dream
I ’ m sorry your honor, for I know not why I'm here
These claims they are making are not quite clear
I just awoke in this strange place and time,
Accused, of these horrific crimes
It was only a moment ago that I closed my eyes,
To sleep, then woke up in surprise
At the sound of the gavel, I rose with a start
To be accused of some crimes, which I had no part
I hope this is a bad dream, a nightmare of sorts
Because I have no reason, none at all, to be in this court
Please let me go, so this bad dream will cease
And the rest of my dreams will be filled with peace
…the defense rests
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[ OT ] 4yr Contest Voting - Round One ( of two )
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Winner: /u/page0rz in Group B for *Living With It* - Wow. This piece is so original. There ’ s so much in this work: brief moments of charming alliteration, vivid description, and semi-poetic prose. The movement of the creatures is graphic and I love their interaction with the MC. There ’ s almost a whole world built here, but not the need to ascribe sense to all of it, because leaving it to the wayside is a part of the narrative. This is just a beautifully ambiguous take on an existential subject. Congratulations author, you really hit this one out of the park.
Runner Up: *Never Too Late* by /u/nickofnight – Very heartfelt story. Borders on sappy occasionally, but I felt like it managed to pull it off. The character motivations are clear and well developed. And I really liked the forward momentum and evolution of the relationships. Well done.
Other comments/Critiques: *Dropdown, Meltdown, Lovestruck* by /u/Atricity – There are a lot of words in this story that delve into how the MC is feeling, and his interpretation of events done as narrative monologue. I think this is what they mean by “ telling ” as opposed to “ showing ”. Some of the dialogue is snappy and real, but there are spots where it feels rushed and unnatural. I did like the resolution and how both side characters and MC pushed towards being a more decent person. The MC feels way too passive though.
*I Do* by /u/Hatsya – This dialogue of this story really distanced me. It ’ s over-flowery and feels more like an approximation of how cynical “ intellectuals ” might converse. I did enjoy some of the sly references in the piece, and the thing I found most worthwhile was the juxtaposition of the cold medical terminologies with the more melodramatic parts. I respect that in a kind of tongue-in-cheek way. However, it feels like it takes itself too seriously to be interpreted tongue-in-cheek.
*How We Dive* by /u/LonelyLightbulb – The set pieces here are imaginative, and I would say the star of this story. The reader gets a decent look into the life of the MC, Tyler, and an understanding of why he would equivocate certain experiences with drowning. But the over-arching “ life lesson ” is clichéd, and it hammers home the context we understood by the tenth or so paragraph. The poetic asides are nice, but feel like filler.
*Diner Du Duane* by /u/Mirari_Inanis – There ’ s a lot to like in this story. The prose is probably the most professional of the entries I ’ ve read so far. I love the characters and I love the dialogue. The only problem is that the conflict is so localized. I don ’ t really connect with it. While it ’ s easy to see the effect the diner has on the characters, both side and main, it just has no effect on me. It ’ s an unfortunate risk that one runs when attempting this specific type of realism.
*Heading Home* by /u/Mofofett – I absolutely loved the first half of this story. I was really digging the nihilistic tone and noir narrative. The second half felt like it came from a completely different story. I think maybe the dialogue interaction threw things off. I could even dig the plot line of the second half as a purgatory-esque chapter, but then it throws us once again to the real world. The story ends up coming off as if it doesn ’ t know what it wants to be.
*Track Maintenance* by /u/Rimpocalypse – This one straddles the line between real and surreal. I think anyone who has had an amicable relationship fail can relate. The flashbacks are fairly well done, and while they could be confusing with the quick pace they clip in and out with, I found that it worked fine for me. It ’ s mostly very real, but at the same time surreal with the amount of coincidence that runs throughout it. While the foreshadowing is decently executed, I find the happenstance a tad much. Without the deus ex machina, the story kind of falls apart.
*Goodbye* by /u/writing_for_fun – Another story heavily grounded in reality. A depressing reality, but pretty well written, with a definite plot structure. This kind of works against it though, as the material is, to put it bluntly, tired and retread. For heaven ’ s sake, the plain wife character is literally named Jane… One thing that I was impressed by was the foreshadowing of the opening line, and the way that the multiple prompts were worked together. It was a serviceable execution, if not entirely too straightforward.
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[ WP ] God has been trying to kill off the human race for thousands of years . It is only by the effort of Lucifer that humanity has survived .
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Professor Rabin trekked onward through the arid steppes of Central Asia. His assistant Oren, young and gangly, stumbled onwards behind him, overladen with the supplies of the trip. Water canteens click-clacking against the small hiker's shovel.
`` Professor, tell me again? Why are we here?''
`` I told you. We are here to see the *malus sieversii*.''
`` Yes, yes. The apple tree. You did tell me that. But why?''
`` In good time. In good time.''
They continued onward for three hours longer, in silence until they could see it on the horizon. *Malus sieversii*. The apple tree. The professor took samples of its bark and its core, drilling into the trunk of the tree delicately. Night had begun to fall, but it seemed to Oren that the tree was still quite visible. It seemed to stand out, for whatever reason. The professor broke Oren out of his reverie by talking, their first words in 4 hours.
`` You know, there are so many different kinds of apples in the world that if you ate a different kind every day, it would take you 20 years to go through them all?''
`` No, I did n't know that.''
`` Indeed. Have you ever wondered why apples have undergone such diversity? Such variety? Why have they spread everywhere?''
`` No. But now it makes me wonder why we had to come here, to this apple tree.''
`` Because this... this is the original one.''
`` What?''
`` Well, it's as close as we are going to get to the original one. The first *malus* was likely stronger, larger, and even glowed brighter.''
`` Glowed?''
`` You were just thinking back there that the tree was particularly visible despite the darkness of night coming, no?''
`` How...''
`` Haha. Your face is the clearest window to your thoughts, Oren.''
The professor finished taking his samples while Oren blushed slightly, and tried to hide his embarrassment. The professor took some soil from one of his pouches and patted it down into the soil around the tree. They then quickly left the area. Oren thought about the professor's research on the flight home. While the Bible talks about the Garden of Eden as being between four rivers, two of which are the Tigris and the Euphrates, modern scholarship puts the garden farther east than a location closer to Baghdad. Of course, the professor conducted his research on the location of the garden as an intellectual endeavor, rather than a sincere search for the home of Adam and Eve. It was merely a look at the scientific method, and where it would lead us if we were to take whatever evidence we could find and look for the garden. Just an exercise. A valuable exercise in understanding process. At least that's what he told the snickering STEM professors when he talked to them.
Oren thought back to the classes that he had assisted in. The conclusion now, tentatively, was that a search in Uzbekistan, Tajikistan or Afghanistan would prove more fruitful than one in Anbar. He remembered the frantic day when Professor Rabin summoned him into his office, and told him to book flights and pack bags. The watch on the professor's wrist beeped an alarm. An incoming message. The professor read it quickly and put it away.
`` And now, my boy, we must make a quick visit.''
The professor and Oren disembarked at San Francisco, and at the baggage claim, they waited for a moment for their bags. When one came, a helpful attendant picked it up and handed it to the professor, who waved it off towards Oren. Almost as if apologizing for the professor, Oren explained that the professor was somewhat frail. Were it not for the new technology attached to his wrist that monitored his heart rate, they would have had to stay in bed in order to monitor him and his vital signs.
`` It's funny you should mention that,'' the professor said as they left the airport, `` because we're going there.''
`` Professor?''
`` To Cupertino. To see someone.''
`` An old friend of yours?''
`` Possibly the oldest friend. But probably not.''
They took a taxi, and when they arrived the professor told the receptionist that he wanted to see Tim Cook. To talk about *malus sieversii*.
`` He has been waiting for you.''
She waved them through. Oren was getting more and more uneasy with the mystery of the situation, and the agitation of being inside the very bright white walls of Apple headquarters was giving him a headache that grew with every step he took deeper into the building.
When they arrived at the CEO's office, Tim was sitting in his chair. He motioned for them to enter, and the doors closed on their own behind them.
`` Please. Sit. Can I get you anything?'' Tim asked.
`` No.''
`` Do you know why you're here?''
`` I assume it's because I've figured you out.''
`` Do *you* know why you're here?'' Tim asked, looking at Oren.
Oren shook his head.
`` Professor, perhaps you should tell him.''
The professor's jaw seemed to clench slightly.
`` Certainly. Oren, God has been trying to kill humanity. And Lucifer here has been trying to stop him. For millenia.''
Tim leaned back and smiled. Oren looked at the professor with understandable incredulity.
`` What?'' Oren asked.
`` In the garden, it was God's wrath in the form of the seraphim that were about to strike down Adam and Eve. The consumption of the apple from the first apple tree that saved them.'' the professor said.
`` But God made the tree. He cast them out and sent the seraphim because they ate from it.'' Oren said.
`` *I* made the tree. God made everything else and he called it good. The tree I made, he called it *malus*. And do n't trust the book. He wrote *that* book and called *me* the king of lies? Rich.'' Tim said.
`` When God sent the floot, Noah was able to build an ark from the wood of apple trees which...'' the professor said.
``... I planted for him.'' Tim finished.
`` And when the new world was struck with war, famine, pestilence and death, it recovered with every apple tree planted there'' the professor said, `` and they were planted by...''
Oren looked at Tim Cook. Tim Cook waved back at Oren.
`` They called me Johnny Apps, back then.'' he said.
`` And now here we are. So many apples in this world. You did well with your latest attempt at inoculating us against God's wrath.'An apple a day keeps the doctor away.' Brilliant.'' the professor said.
`` Why thank you.'' Tim said. His skin had slowly taken a reddish hue, his eyes had begun to glow yellow, and bumps had portruded from his forehead.
`` So, Lucifer,'' the professor said, `` why have you summoned us here?''
`` Well, prof, your research has done very well. Too well. I need you to stop. Look, we all agree that I'm the good guy here, right? My work is better done in secret. Let me keep spreading apples through the world. Let me keep spreading Apple goods. Once everyone is under my umbrella, then we can spread the good news. And God will never again massacre humanity.''
With that, Tim Cook wished us well and gave us a bag of goodies each, filled with all the new goodies and gadgets on the market.
___
Oren could hardly wrap his head around what had happened. God tried to kill humanity. Multiple times. And each time it was thwarted by Lucifer. With apples. I mean, written like that, it sounded ludicrous. But he was there. He was in the office with the professor. It was the middle of the night, and he simply could n't sleep. So he went to the university to do some reading. When he got there, he noticed the professor's office lights were on. The professor was inside, scribbling letters frantically.
`` Professor, what are you doing?''
`` Oren, quickly. We must send these letters out immediately!''
`` To... to help Tim Cook?''
`` What?'' the professor looked at Oren incredulously, `` No, you idiot. We have to stop him.''
`` But he saved us from the wrath-''
`` He prevented Rapture.''
`` What?''
`` He prevented Rapture. God saw that we would be under Lucifer's spell. He tried to take us away from this Earth, this Earth where Lucifer can reign supreme. He tried to wash the world's sin away with Noah. Lucifer gave him the trees. He tried to Rapture us away with Jesus. Nailed to a tree. Lucifer is now putting us under his spell again, with all of this technology that insidiously gets into our lives. And...'' the professor touched his wrist and his chest ``... our hearts.''
`` Professor...''
``... Oren. My time is limited. Soon, Lucifer will know that I have figured out his lies, and he will use his hold on me to kill me. You must continue this fight. Here, this package is for you.''
With a trembling hand, the professor gave a small manila package to Oren, and with a trembling hand he took it.
`` Professor...?''
The professor ignored him.
`` Professor!''
`` Hmm?''
`` Why has n't God helped us? Why has he let Tim Cook, I mean Lucifer, and Apple... apples... take over this world? Why has n't he done something?''
`` That's a long theological argument, but suffice to say that He has been doing something.''
`` He has?''
`` Do you think it's mere coincidence that the name Samsung means three heavenly bodies?''
`` Thr... PROFESSOR!''
Professor Rabin clutched his chest, and his eyes rolled back in his head. A mixture of spit and blood began to rise from his throat. Within a few seconds, he was dead. Oren looked about the room, gathered the packages and pouches, and left. He was now on a mission.
___
Inside the package, Oren found a letter from the professor. In the letter, the professor detailed Oren's new mission, and how he should go about accomplishing it. It felt kind of like Harry Potter searching out horcruxes, except it was variations of the *malus* tree. The package also included some of the poisoned soil the professor had put on the *malus* they found in Uzbekistan. At the end of the letter, the professor included this:
*How did I find out the truth? I found an old passage in the Mishnah. A question. A riddle. How did the devil punish the dyslexic sinner? He cooked him backwards. *
After a minute, Oren snorted.
`` Ugh,'' he thought, `` the devil such a bastard.''
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[ WP ] A man walks up to you on the street , hands you a lamp , and tells you he 'll grant you three wishes , as long as they cost less than $ 5 each , because magic is n't real and money is tight these days . ( Mundane Monday )
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`` Alright, a double-double, an animal style hamburger, and a pack of pop rocks.'' I said, hunger burning like a hand on a hot plate in my belly.
`` What are the pop rocks for,'' he asked. Spit flew forth frothily from his foaming mouth as he spoke. His breath smelled like poppy seeds. It reminded me of home.
`` I just like them, is all.'' The candy reminded me of a simpler time. When baseball and cartoons on Saturdays encapsulated my essence. When all I was was a being of play and mischief. If only for a moment, I thought, may those pop rocks allow me to relive such days of wondrous joy.
`` Cool, cool. Alright, lets get down to In N Out. Gas station across the street probs has the candy. I'll throw in a coke too. Should come out to just under fifteen total.''
`` Oh awesome! Thanks, man. I'm pretty hungry, so this'll be great!'' The lamp felt heavier and heavier in my hands as we walked.
Whether from the strain on my near-atrophied muscles or the guilt I now carried upon my soul, I may never know.
His name was Waylan.
He was my best friend.
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[ WP ] Your closest friend , for reasons unknown , tries to kill you . You 're still alive because you pretended to be dead . Your friend has disposed of your `` body '' in the woods , and now you must find out why he attempted to kill you .
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When it was silent, when Sam had counted to 10,000 and it was finally completely silent, he got up. The first thing he did was throw up. The sour, white and foamy mixture was definitely not just tacos and beer. The forest around him was unfamiliar and the sky was dimming, but Sam still had a good idea of his whereabouts.
Marcus was a damned idiot. Clever enough to have managed to slip whatever pills they had been into Sam's food, but dumb enough to have played a game of `` how would you get rid of a body'' with his intended victim the day before.
Apparently, he had followed Sam's idea word for word. Sam cursed silently and brushed the pieces off chocolate and cookies off of his clothes. Somehow the part that Marcus had undressed him and put some jogging gear on Sam was more distressing than the fact that his best friend had attempted to kill him.
*Leave it to the ants and bears! Not a sky burial exactly. In the forests, off the beaten track. Got lost, stumbled, tripped on a tree root, fell. Bumped his head and got eaten. It would n't even have to look like a murder. * Ha. Good thing he had n't mentioned anything involving, say, a lake.
Sam stumbled onwards and discovered he was exactly where he had thought: the final resting place of his own choosing, the forest at the edge of their home town. The jogging gear turned out to be appropriate. Sam started jogging home.
Now what? It was getting dark, but he could probably find his way home. That was n't the part that worried Sam. Marcus had shown no hesitation, no guilt, nothing. They had eaten, gotten drunk, talked and drunk some more. Business as usual. Before it all went black. If Marcus had a motive beyond having gone crazy, it was strong enough to not leave room for hesitation. Unfortunately having known Marcus all his life, Sam knew him to be the kind of guy who would not give up or let things go. He would try again. And again.
There had to be a reason.
Sam had to stop a few times on his way back home. He became dizzy, and he was probably too dehydrated to be running anyway. He was probably out of danger's way, having thrown up most of the stuff. Probably.
Suddenly it occurred to him that Sue did n't live too far off. It would probably be safer to go anywhere but home, and he was thirsty beyond belief. Sam was too tired to run anymore. He had sweated what liquid there was left in him.
Sam thanked his lucky stars when he noticed there was a light in Sue's window. He rang the doorbell, leaning against the wall, sweat dripping down his face. Sue opened the door and gave him a long stare flat with irritation.
`` Why the hell are you running this late? And where have you been, I've been blowing up your phone for hours!''
`` Long story,'' Sam said. `` I need water.''
Gulping down water and sitting on Sue's couch, Sam started to feel a little better.
`` We have to find Marcus right away,'' Sue said.
`` About that, you're never gon na believe this but --''
`` I'm willing to believe anything at this point. He called me drunk off his ass, spouting all this nonsense about time travelers and stuff!''
`` Time... time travelers?''
`` I'm really worried, Sam, I think he might hurt himself. We have to go find him!''
`` What was that about time travelers?''
`` He got some, I dunno, message,'' Sue said, rolling her eyes. `` I was n't listening. I thought he was just drunk and ranting. You know sometimes I do n't listen to half he says. Anyway, he got a message from his future self and apparently YOU, yes that's you Sam! You go on to engineer some sort of weapon, and again I was n't listening cause AS IF. All you do it procrastinate, yeah. You're the last person who's ever gon na develop anything, no offense, you're the smartest lazy person I know.''
`` Get to the point, Sue.''
`` Right, right. So, to prevent doomsday he needs to kill you before you can ever develop the weapon. Can you believe that?''
Interesting...
`` No I ca n't, I do n't know what he has taken but you are right. We have to find him. I think it's better we go our separate ways. Cover more ground you know. But first, do you have anything like chocolate? My blood sugar is kinda low.''
`` Yeah, sure.''
She tossed him a box of chocolate cookies.
`` Perfect. This will do the trick juuuust fine.''
Luckily he had n't shared all of his ideas with Marcus...
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[ WP ] Everyone has the last words of their soulmate written on their body . Yours says `` I never loved you. ``
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It always struck at puberty, every dark mark upon skin examined intensely by teenagers looking for the words of their soulmate. It was silly, the dying words of one ’ s soulmate no help in actually locating them, but it was a comfort to know that someone out there was just for you.
Most people found kind words etched into their skin, occasionally something a little more profound cropping up as people would find themselves dying unexpectedly, or as the second in the pair. Not too many people had something, well, damning on them.
*I never loved you. *
It was written down the length of my left arm, too, the period punctuating the outside of my wrist. It makes me grateful for my work, where a suit and tie can easily hide the offensive markings. Dating though… Well, this is one thing that ’ s always been an issue. Lying never works for long and the truth is often off putting, sending women away once they see the omen of what a relationship with me could entail.
Until Becky, that is. “ So, John, I told you mine… and yours? ”
I felt the usual feeling of dread, mulling over my options as I met her eyes. *We ’ ll be together again. * How could I compare with something as romantic and beautiful as that? I could feel her unease as she shifted in her seat, a wonderful date going sour at my silence. “ It can ’ t be that bad. ” I rolled my sleeve up, showing her the sentence that doomed so many relationships before. “ Huh. ”
And somehow the date continued, the topic turning, and a goodnight kiss upon parting. Becky picked up the phone when I called a few days later, even seemed delighted at the prospect of a movie, and I couldn ’ t help but worry about what kind of person willingly would continue to see me.
The worry grew as I became more and more attached to her. We ’ d properly dated for almost a year and I couldn ’ t help but wait for the other shoe to drop, even as we moved in together to spend as much time with one another as possible.
“ I love you. ” I set the plates down, flashing her a smile.
She stared, analyzing something in what I said, leaving me to eat as she searched my expression. “ Did you know that you look at your arm every time you say it? ”
I paused, pasta falling off my fork as I considered this. “ I do? ”
Laughing, she nodded, and the knot of worry in my stomach dissipated at the sound. “ I never loved you, ” she teased, digging into her own food.
“ Good. I never loved you, either. ”
And we continued like that. We always got odd looks from people as we declared our lack of love to one another when not at home. It strengthened us, though, as I became more confident in us as a couple. Looking at my left arm, I could only be honored if those words were the last Becky ever spoke.
Too quickly, she became sick. Years passed where we could see the expiration date of our life together approaching, with more and more time spent in a hospital before we finally hired a nurse so Becky could stay at home.
Ten years together wasn ’ t enough. While I ’ d always known it was coming, it was the hardest thing I ’ d ever heard. “ I never loved you, ” she whispered, closing her eyes so she could sleep.
I kissed her forehead. “ I never loved you, either. ”
Even now, years later, as my own death approaches, I can ’ t help but look at how those words affected my life, driving away everyone but the one person meant to utter them. It ’ s strange, really, how they were self-fulfilling, but maybe that ’ s just the luck of the draw. I feel my eyes close, smiling as the words escape my own lips. “ We ’ ll be together again. ”
-- -
AN: So I'm not really sure I like what I've written at all, but I wrote it for the prompt and thought I would post it anyway.
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[ TT ] `` Forever shall their ghosts haunt me , like a painful memorial etched in my soul . ''
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`` You'll be fine, Abram,'' Jeremy said. `` Got everything?''
I gave him a shaky thumbs up, breathing hard behind my full-faced mask. My movements felt sluggish under my uniform, and the ax was n't helping. Looking up at the apartment before us, which was throwing up copious amounts of smoke from its windows, I found myself wishing to be anywhere but here.
`` First time's the hardest,'' Kieran said, patting me on the back. `` Just follow Jeremy and you'll be fine.''
`` Let's go. Floor by floor sweep.'' Jeremy trotted into the building, Kieran and I bringing up the rear.
I was already sweating rivers underneath my gear, but the heat inside... nothing in my training had ever prepared me for it. Visibility was poor; I could barely make out Jeremy's outline through the hazy grayness. We ignored the little flames on the first floor. Our buddies would take care of them.
The first major blaze we encountered was on the third story. Angry flames ate at the wood and plaster walls, turning brick to dust and shattering glass. Kieran stepped forward with his extinguisher.
`` This one is n't really that bad,'' he said.
I nodded, but froze when I heard a sound above the growling fires. It was a voice; high-pitched and faint.
`` Did you guys hear that?''
Jeremy had cocked his ear toward the end of the corridor, where the stairs were. `` Came from there. C'mon.''
`` I thought they evacuated the building?'' Kieran said.
`` I definitely heard something,'' I said.
Jeremy tried the door to the stairs, but it would n't budge. `` Damned thing's stuck.''
`` Ax it a question,'' Kieran said, grinning.
Hefting our axes, Jeremy and I began chopping away at the door. There was definitely someone shouting behind it, which only made me work faster. But another sound became apparent too; an ominous creaking.
When the hole was sufficiently large, I looked through it to see a man and three children huddled on the stairs. Seeing my face, they began screaming, and the man began shoving the children toward me.
`` Take them,'' he said, trying to force a girl through the hole.
While Jeremy and I helped pull her over to our side, I said, `` Just give us a while to widen the hole.''
`` Not enough time,'' he said softly, handing us a crying boy. `` The upper floors are collapsing.''
`` You should've taken the stairs down,'' Jeremy said.
He shook his head and pointed. Where the stairs leading to the lower floors had once been, there was only a gap to the next landing. `` It's a bit of a fall. The kids wo n't make it, but I can try. Please, just take them.''
After the third child came through, a girl no older than four, I raised my ax again. However, Jeremy held my arm.
`` We do n't have time for this,'' he said. `` Our priority's to get the kids out first.''
`` But—''
`` We'll meet on the second floor, okay?'' Jeremy said to the man, who nodded.
`` Guys,'' Kieran said. `` Anyone got another extinguisher?''
We turned to see that the hallway was now even more heavily obscured by smoke. The flames had leaped up anew, raging harder than before, and pieces of the ceiling were tumbling down like hail.
`` Just keep low, okay, kids?'' Jeremy said, handing them oxygen masks. Turning to me, he said, `` Take point, Abram. Use that ax if you have to.''
I licked my lips and jogged ahead, my feet feeling like jelly. The building was breaking apart. We could all hear the shattering, the impact of ruined masonry somewhere over our heads. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever.
One of the apartment doors we were passing suddenly exploded. The children screamed behind me as I, giving in to panic, threw myself forward.
Kieran was howling in pain, but I could n't see him. Not behind the sudden wall of cracked, smoldering timber and loose bricks that separated me from the rest of them.
`` You okay, Abram?'' Jeremy shouted. `` The kids are fine, but Kieran's hurt. Help me clear the way.''
I looked at the rubble, and then at my ax, suddenly feeling very disconnected from my surroundings. The blade gleamed, blood-red, from the dancing fire around me. It seemed so pathetic, a tiny tool made from human hands, against the very forces of nature.
`` Abram? Are you there?'' I heard his ax bite into wood, but the pile of rubble shifted not at all. Above us, through the hole, I watched as even larger pieces of the building came apart, fissures appearing in the walls that had miraculously survived until now.
`` Abram!''
I dropped the ax and ran, hands jammed over my head, as though I could stop myself from hearing his voice. Kieran's cries of pain. The children.
Oh God. The children.
***
*Come for more stories at [ The Nonsense Locker ] ( http: //reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker ) *
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[ WP ] You constantly have near death experiences because Death has a crush on you and wants to ask you out , but constantly balks at the last second .
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Death is young, like 13 or 14, at least that ’ s how he behaves. He would pass notes to me if he could. Simple notes, to the point, like “ Do you want to die? Check yes or no. ”
I think it ’ s cute really, flattering almost. He visits me all awkward and anxious. “ Is this a bad time? ”
“ Yes. Yes Death, it is. I ’ m not ready ”
“ Ok. ” He brought me a bouquet, and places the crispy, dried remains in a cup next to my bed. “ I think there ’ s, um, someone across the hall though, who is. I think. ”
“ Ok. ” I smile. It ’ s endearing to be courted like this, but mostly I ’ m overwhelmingly relieved that today is not *the day*. Death turns towards the door and starts to fade. He is leaving, but it ’ s awkward, so I involuntarily call to him.
“ Death? ”
He stops and turns, still slowly fading away. “ I ’ m still here. Go ahead. ”
I pause for eternity. I meant to gracefully end the conversation with a “ goodbye ” or “ so long. ” I ’ ve learned to avoid saying “ see you later ” or “ till next time ” I have to be careful about getting his hopes up. God, he is so sweet, I feel my face flushing. This isn ’ t our first encounter, and of course it won ’ t be our last, and I don ’ t want to just blow him off.
All I can muster is “ I ’ m… I ’ m not ready ”. This time I ’ m more confident, I say it with a definite tone, an air of authority. I wait in the silence for a response, but there is nothing. After a few minutes, I hear alarms and beeping, nurses rushing to the room down the hall, and I know he has left me alone.
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[ WP ] Write a part two to one of your preexisting prompts .
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Continuing on from https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/53gzna/ip_it_is_not_yet_your_time_old_friend/
Death and The Wolf met many times after. Death looked weaker and weaker at each meeting. One day, when they were not scheduled to meet, Death and The Wolf crossed paths. Death was using his scythe as a crutch, barely able to walk, even then. `` Old One, it is my time.'' The Wolf did n't deny it.
`` Please, my old friend, please stay with me until I pass.'' It was odd for Death to request that, but The Wolf would not refuse this Death his request. They spoke, for a short while, and then, Death breathed his last. The Wolf licked his skull sadly.
*Old friend, may your end find you at peace. * It was n't much of a eulogy, but it was what he gave to all of Death's predecessors, and he would give those words to all his successors too. After a few more moments with his head bowed over his friend, The Wolf took up Death's scythe in his jaws, and ran.
He ran to the land of departed souls, and he laid down the scythe. He sat, and he waited. He waited for the one who would become the next Death. He watched the souls go by, confused without their guide to light their way. And yet still, no new Death came. Years slipped by, then decades, and before The Wolf noticed, decades became centuries, centuries stretched into millennia, and still no replacement appeared.
Some other Old Ones came by, concerned that there was no Death, and still there was no successor. The Wolf let out a whine, and ran to the very border between the land of the dead, and the land of the living. Souls were trapped on the boundary, yet none of them were the one for whom The Wolf was waiting. He ventured forth into the world of the living, for the first time in billions of years.
It was there that The Wolf found him. A man millennia old, a man who could not die. A man who had to die, who had to become Death, who provided the brief illumination to the souls of the deceased, before they faded forever. The one who would make sure that they went into The Abyss without fear. And here he was, undying in the land of those doomed to die.
For the very first time, The Wolf was unsure what he should do. He approached the man, and the man petted him. He was unafraid. He could not die. The Wolf spent tens of thousands of years walking beside this immortal mortal, trying to figure him out. Civilisations rose and fell, yet these two walked side by side, untouched by the ravages of time, seeing it all.
As the man's body finally started to fail him, The Wolf crossed back over to the land of the dead, and waited for his companion. A mere year passed before the man came to the world of the dead. As his soul took up Death's scythe, a dark cloak fell over his shoulders, a flesh body taking form underneath it. He looked at The Wolf.
`` *Hello again, my old friend. *''
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[ PI ] Tell us about a wounded , abandoned hero 's last stand .
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The Navy Cross. A bronze medallion hanging bravely from a deep blue ribbon with a lone white line splitting sea from sea. Williams did n't know that it was the second-highest military decoration for valor. Williams only knew that if they kept stretching out the ceremony, he would n't be able to make it back to the nursing home in time for taco night. He mumbled out the few lines from the national anthem that he still remembered and chuckled heartily as he saw all the young faces in the crowd, wondering if any of his grandkids were among them, then wondering if he even had grandkids. It was a ceremony to behold, and he could have enjoyed it if not for the fact that no one told him when it ended. In the morning everyone in the home had scrambled to make sure he looked his best for the cameras, but it was futile: he was a skeleton of a man. His limbs had wasted away from disuse; the only thing he exercised often was his mouth. His nurses's words echoed in his head: *'' Mr. Williams, you have to go; it's your birth right. `` *He had scoffed then, told her that the only thing that men had a right to from birth was death. The war had dampened his attitude on most things, warped a bright young lad into a distrustful old man living in between disability checks. His few moments of lucidity showcased the only personality trait he could still cling to: his pessimism. Everyone around him was the picture perfect definition of discipline and poise, but he could do nothing but shake his leg and think about his wife. Anna Mae Williams. Or rather, Anna Mae Sanders. He had n't spoken to her in ages, but he dreamed about her and her scarlet cheeks framed by ebony victory curls. She did n't live in the same home as him, and probably not even the same existence. She was an angel, the only person he'd ever show his wounds to. The man in front of him sang a million praises. Williams could n't wait for the guy to run out of synonyms for bravery. He laid back, this was usually the part where he would turn to his wife and make a quip, then she'd giggle and slap her knee until it matched her cheeks. Williams glanced over the crowd again, all nodding and crying as a stranger told all of them his life story. Born in Florence, Alabama. Premature, everyone thought he would n't make it through the night. Son of a gravedigger. Oldest of eight, only male. Humble beginnings, illiterate until age eleven. Joined the military as soon as he was eligible not because he was running away from his own reality, but because he had a calling: that of serving his people. Williams stared blankly as they described the way he had thrown himself in front of open fire to protect the younger boys in the crew. Sixteen bullet holes. Sounded impossible to him. He slid a hand under his suit and checked— Indeed, he found that precise number of closed wounds in his chest, but he did n't remember them as bullet holes. He remembered them better as Anna Mae's favorite places to kiss him. It was steadily getting clearer for him, but there were still blank spaces in his memory. The fact that the man was making him out to be a larger than life figure only served to cloud his thoughts even further. Was he really that amazing? Who knew what other great things he could achieve if only his mind and body were n't conspiring against him? It was a shame he was n't able to recall what his daughter looked like and spot her in the audience. For the first time ever he was fine with getting his picture taken by her. Suddenly there was silence. No hymns, no hyperbole. Someone he did n't recognize started to walk towards him, shining beacon of the the highest form of thank you in hand. But Williams did n't let him finish. In that moment, he called upon the little strength he had left and left his walker leaning against his chair. People gasped. He stood up, stumbling with his arching back and toothless grin to accept what was his.
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[ WP ] Stars call talk to each other . What do they discuss ?
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They would discuss whatever is revolving around them. Some stars would laugh at how puny other Star's systems were. Mostly though, stars are kind and benevolent beings who just like to get toasted and talk about space dust.
There are... others though.
Other stars with agendas so destructive, they could tear apart the intricate fabric of space. Stars who have spent more time than Earth has been around planning and plotting to explode. Maybe they got tired of the other stars sneering about how tiny and lifeless their orbiting planets are. The hatred for their own systems fester for millions of years and become an obsession. Chaotic evil grows in their molten cores. A Type II supernova is their goal and no one can stop them. No one knows this.
Unless their story is told.
Or maybe not, I dunno for sure.
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[ WP ] The Bible is adapted into a movie directed by Michael Bay
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`` Alright, so Jesus is doing his thing, he's healing the blind, he's feeding the poor, he's preaching the word of God, but we need the audience to connect with it more. It's 2015, people love their Internet, their cell phones, their cool gadgets,'' said Michael, practically foaming at the mouth with excitement.
`` Right...'' I said, nervously.
`` So I think his disciples should be robots,'' he finished, with an enthusiastic nod, waiting for our incessant agreement.
I could feel my palms sweating. `` Uh, Michael,'' I began, `` I get that you want to modernise the story, but robots is a bit far-fetched. I mean, I understand getting more action and violence into it, but we do n't want it to turn into some weird, parallel universe sci-fi movie, right?''
Michael looked at me for a moment, and I thought he was going to blow me up. Instead he answered, `` Yeah, yeah, you're right, Jeff, it's too much.'' I breathed a sigh of relief.
`` OK, new idea!'' Michael said, unfazed. `` Judas betrays Jesus, Jesus gets the whole crucifixion treatment, all that's going to be *mostly* the same as the book. But instead of Judas hanging himself, we'll have the disciples tracking him down, like some kind of bounty hunter gang! And... and then when they find him, drowning his guilt in wine, they pull out their guns and say something witty, and then fire on him. Cue the explosions, the house spraying wooden shards of shrapnel everywhere, the fires causing chaos. People running away, screaming, as the bullets pierce Judas again and again, until we see his bloody, broken body.''
I sat there, shocked to my core, speechless, for what seemed like an eternity, a look of horrified stun plastered onto my face. `` Michael... guns? They did n't have guns back then,'' I told him, a tone of pleading in my voice.
Michael waved his hand dismissively at me. `` Yeah I know, I know. But these wo n't be AK47s or whatever, they'll look like old, rudimentary guns. They'll still do as much damage, though!'' he grinned.
`` Fuck it,'' I said, defeated, and I walked out to go to a bar and get drunk. Hopefully Michael's team would n't come looking for me and shooting the place up.
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[ MP ] Write something that goes with this music
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Then in a sudden press our feet stopped. As we all tilted, the surprise in momentum rippled through the crowd. Gas was pouring through the ranks. Knots of people were panicking, attempting to spread out against the compressed mob that was choking. Our wave of flesh was broken by the vapors. I was pushed up against on all sides. I had my baton, illegal of course, but in my hand it was my only weapon. My respirator mask, which seemed like such a hindrance just a moment before, proved to be my lifeline. I fought for my place.
Most people did not have any protection against the poison in the air. Their flight turned to folly as they struck out at members of the group, and almost all of us were trying to get clear. I had to put one kid down and hit another stumbling past me. I hit another, and another. I was swinging wildly connecting with elbows and my truncheon, and getting hit in return.
Someone pulled at my respirator, dangerously lifting it off the suction of my face, so I let myself be dragged down with it. I could not imagine losing it, taking it off my face. I needed to have it. A woman on the ground wanted it though. So I had to hit her, on the ground fast quick punches and chops, ‘ till she stopped moving. As I lay in the trampled mass, trying to curl up into a fetal position I felt my sinuses and eyes burn and seemingly melt. I could not move. I could not breathe. Something was in my mask and I was doomed.
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[ WP ] You are a god/goddess who is running out of followers , thus losing the majority of their abilities . The majority of the gods that make up yours as well as the other pantheons have died due to the lack of faith while you are still suffering from the ailment . Tell us a story .
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I have seen many things in my long existence. Wonderful things, horrible things. I have seen nature and man at their best, and their worst. At my peak, I wielded such power as mortals only dream of, and I used that power to shape the world. I have been loved, I have been feared, but as long as I have existed I have been worshipped. My powers and name have changed through time and across the world- mortal memory is so frail, and their beliefs so fickle- but I have always been. Before me came only the primordial beings whose power created the world I have shaped.
Times change, however, and we world-shapers realized only far too late the danger we faced. One by one, my siblings grew weak and impotent before finally fading to mere relics. I am the last, and though I have found a way to stave off the fate I share with the rest of my kind, I have wondered for some time now whether it would be enough. Today, I have seen proof that it is.
I carry a small book with me at all times, containing all that is remembered of my siblings. I preserve them until the day I can find enough true faith to resurrect them. In the meantime, my own power must also be preserved. I have lived many years as nearly mortal, forced to take human form and contribute in small ways. It was through one such volunteer service that I met Her. A human, but in Her I saw a spark of something more noble. Her encouragement kept me alive in a more real sense than she ever knew.
I have seen wonders and horrors and everything in between. I have wielded world-bending power. Yet as I stand beside Her bed in the hospital, I feel a rush of vitality and I know for certain that I have never beheld such a happy sight as the child cradled in my arms. As my child stares up at me with eyes barely able to open, I recall the power I once had and I know for certain that my siblings will return- I will have ample time to see to it. The faith of one child can not revive my brethren, but it is enough for me.
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[ WP ] You 've just a murdered a woman in her house . You clean your fingerprints from the scene . You run to the nearest pay phone ( 10 minutes away ) to anonymously tip off the police . As you hang up the phone you realise you left your iPhone charging in her house ...
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`` Oh my god.''
I need to leave the country, I think to myself. My palms are sweaty and I'm about to have a panic attack. I got it, I'll go back to the scene and wait for the police to show up. I'll tell them the murderer stole my phone and he must have had it up there charging, that's how I knew about the murder. No, no no no no FUCK.
I hear sirens now, a few blocks over. I know they'll find it, they'll find me and my life is ruined. Should I call my phone company and report it stolen? No, shit... the fingerprints would deny that evidence. My god what have I done.
More sirens, more police, I can see the rosy lights polluting the residential skyline, they must be there. They're probably heading up the stairs right now. Fuck, the iphone will be the first thing they find.
I run back to the payphone, for I had to try something. I drop my last quarter in and dial my phone number... it rings... and rings... and rings...
And then someone picks up. `` Hello?'' A confused man answered.
`` Who's this?'' I reply, winging it all.
`` This is constable Pepper, can you tell us your name?''
I told him my name in all honesty, I froze in fear and did not know what to do. They now know where I am, who I am, and what I've done, and they're coming. I sit down on the curb and contemplate life as the tears are washed away by rain.
Suddenly the darkness turned to light and it was daytime. What the fuck? I stood up and looked around, surely I've lost touch with reality, facing my circumstances.
**BOOOOM** a massive explosion a few streets over shakes the ground beneath me. My ears pop from the shockwave and day is rightfully converted back to night.
The sirens are gone, the phone is disconnected, all that remains is a giant crater of smoke surrounded by lingering fires and broken trees.
This must be the luckiest day of my life, I thought. What's the chances of an asteroid clearing my name from murder? I think I'll buy a lottery ticket.
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[ WP ] Did you really think you could change anything ?
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I could write you a book about what I see in your eyes.
I could compose you a symphony with the sweet notes of your laugh.
I could go blind from the radiance of your smile.
I would run in the rain with a flower and promise, if I could ring your doorbell and see you standing there wanting to see me.
I would hold you higher than the sky if it meant you got to have your head in the clouds for only a moment.
I would do anything to see you happy.
But you do n't see that in me.
So why do I think I can change anything?
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[ WP ] You wake up 20 years in the future , everyone you love is dead , and in front of you is the name of the man who killed them all .
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I awoke in a fit of shivers. Alyssa always hogs the blankets, convenient for someone who liked to keep the bedroom at a balmy 30 degrees. I reached toward the bedside table for my glasses. Instead of the usual feel of chipping paint under my fingernails I dragged my hand across what felt like... granite?
As I cracked open my rusted shut eyes I felt the pit of my stomach drop. I gripped frantically at where the sheets of my soft bed should have been, instead finding clumps of coarse grass filling the gaps between my fingers. Breath was hard to come by and not just due to the surprisingly thin air.
My hands found their place on the top of the tombstone I had scrapped against as I pulled myself to my feet. Standing revealed to me that in place of my ninja turtle pajamas I was dressed to the nines in a suit and tie. If this was a prank someone had gone to great lengths to make it seem the otherwise.
As I glanced down at the cold marker dread washed over me. The date of death read 2017. What was going on? Surely no one would go to the trouble of carving a fake date into stone for a practical joke. I hesitated half not wishing to read the rest. `` Here lies mother and child.'' I did n't have to read the rest. I already knew what it would say. If twenty years had really passed it was no coincidence that this was the stone my wakeless slumber had lead me to. Mother and child taken together by postpartum depression.
Sorry for the sloppy ending I had to rush the end. I'm new to this so please do n't be gentle all available criticism is needed so I can get better: ).
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[ WP ] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems . Much to your dismay , as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend .
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When I was younger, my best friend and I spent every day together in the comfort of his room. My parents were an abusive duo and claimed to be doing their best for me. But between the bruises and scars, I read the real meaning of what they meant. It was best for me that I wasn ’ t there, that I disappear from their lives.
The day I realized what they meant, I ran away and moved in with my friend next door. Running far wasn ’ t an option, as a kid I was still scared to cross the street. But he took me in, and I was grateful to have someone that wanted me. It didn ’ t take me long to settle in, we lived in apartments after all. His place was structurally the same as mine. My parents were glad that I had become someone else ’ s problem, but I ’ m not sure how his parents took to liking me. My best friend always stood up for me though. If I wanted something, he would reach out to them and tell them, and I would stand by his side as they shot me confused looks as if I couldn ’ t speak for myself. But they always smiled and agreed. I felt cared for by him and as a result, I took care of him as best that I could.
That being said, we became like brothers. Always sleeping in the same bed when we were young, and having two beds in the room when we were older. We shared almost every moment together in school and watched the same shows. We became inseparable; you would catch us together all the time.
He always saw things though. People that weren ’ t there…characters like ghosts and pursuers. He became anxious and constantly afraid that someone might be there trying to get him. He always ran to me, shouting “ They ’ re coming for me! They ’ re coming for me! But you ’ re here now, you ’ re real unlike them. They want to trick me. Thank you for being there for me… ” and I would hug him and comfort him. By now, you probably understand that he was a schizophrenic, where he always saw others and felt that he was being followed when he was alone. I first learned about it when we went to the psychologist not long after I moved in.
For years, he rejected any sort of treatment. He always ran to our room when his parents mentioned ways to treat it, but I always stayed with them to discuss how badly he needed it. They always said that they understood that, and they were doing the best they could do for him. Like me, they only wanted the best for him.
I always sat down and talked to him about how he needed help to cope with it. I was soft in my words, yet firm in my approach. I never went past his comfort zone and he appreciated everything I did for him. He always refused but I never stopped. This went on for years but my patience never wore thin. I visited the psychologist with his parents often to learn more about treating his schizophrenia. His parents couldn ’ t approach him as easily as I could, so the educational sessions were mostly for me. It was up to me to make his life easier.
He became more distant from reality, but with what I would learn I would help keep him here. He often contemplated suicide but stopped when I held his hand. I wasn ’ t about to let him go that easily. As time passed, he began to open up some more to his family again. We would go to more family events with his parents and he would introduce himself more openly. Then came the medications, and eventually the frequent visits to the psychologist. That ’ s when he started going out more, to trust in others. At times he would relapse but I was always there to catch him. This cycle would become less and less frequent.
That ’ s when my problems began. I started to forget things. My memory seemed to fail me quite often, and I told his parents about it. I didn ’ t want to concern my friend because I feared that it would interfere with his treatment. It became progressively worse, and with him out more often I didn ’ t have someone to hang onto. I went to the psychologist a few times with his parents for myself. I was given some memory exercises and activities which didn ’ t work well. They considered that I might be depressed and too distracted to remember anything. Truth is, I might have been because of how lonely I felt without my best friend.
One day, we agreed on taking me to the neurologist for a check-up after we took my friend to the psychologist. We were about to graduate too, we had chosen a university to be together in ever since we were kids. But today, the psychologist asked to see both of us at the same time. We both went in, we both say down in different chairs. He asked us how we were doing and we said “ Good. ” But then he turned to my friend and said, “ You ’ ve come a long way ever since you were a child. I first saw you after that accident. Do you remember? ” He nodded his head but I turned mine in confusion. I don ’ t remember anything about an accident. All of the sudden I felt terrified, but unsure of what exactly. Then the psychologist continued “ You are very brave, and your friend has helped you overcome a lot hasn ’ t he? ” the psychologist smiled without looking at me. Again, my friend nodded and replied with a soft “ Yeah… ”
Finally, the psychologist grabbed his hand and said the words that ended me: “ You ’ ve come a far way by yourself. With your family. With your friend. But I ’ m here to tell you now that your best friend doesn ’ t exist. He was part of your construct your whole life, after you ran away that day and got hit by that car. You believed that is was someone else who moved in with you. ”
That ’ s as far as I heard, but I realized everything. I blinked once in my disbelief, and saw myself in his perspective in front of the moving lips of a madman. I looked over to where I was sitting and saw no one. I blinked again and there I was looking into his red eyes. I couldn ’ t move anymore, I was frozen. I blinked more and looped between both perspectives. It was clear…it was the truth. He got into an accident running away, he did cross the street. That ’ s why I was scared to. Then I moved in with him. The bruises I had were real, my parents were angry about his schizophrenic behavior. But after the accident they supported him although it was hard to at first. I was created from his disbelief that they wanted to help…I ran and came back home. They were the same parents I had, the same ones who later on looked at me with confused eyes. But they accepted it because it made his life easier. They set up the second bed for him. They took me to learn about schizophrenia, so that he could help himself. He always wanted out, he was never trying to resist. Our memories became one. I saw all the progress he had made through his eyes. But instead of fighting for my existence, I cried. Because this imaginary friend, this second persona, helped a troubled and misunderstood boy find a safe path and kept him here. He felt no fear from his hallucinations, almost no stress from his delusions, because he always had someone. That ’ s why we had done everything together, why we were inseparable. Because we were the one and the same.
As I faded away, I only felt grateful for how he treated me with love and for what I did for him. The last thing I saw in the end were his parents behind him, hands on his shoulders, crying softly. I saw them through his tears.
( I'm new to /r/WritingPrompts and well, a reddit account in general. I did n't really revise too much as I wrote this off the top of my head at school so feedback on grammar and such would be helpful for edits later on. )
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[ WP ] You invent a machine that has a list of every person in the world , along with the date of their death . Most of the world dies on a single day in the near future . Except one person , who dies much much later .
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September 11, 2016. 6:34 pm
I turned on the program for the first time since adding `` date of death'' as one of the categories. I had already put in Name, Date of Birth, and other things like Favorite Color, etc.
I guess I probably should have taken things more seriously, but that's just not who I am. I like to see the little funny details. I made a chart to see, worldwide, what colors most people prefer. Turns out, 43 % of people like blue the most.
I originally had date of death sorted from first to last. A lot of people were going to die in the next thirty seconds, easily all 30 on screen. I clicked on the category at the top of the screen and it switched from last to first. Something was odd. All but one of the people on the screen had last names starting with Z.
... Zzelma, Zzymry, Zzymry, Zzymry, Zzymry, Marshall.
December 12, 2019. All of them were set to die on December 12, 2016. The machine did n't specify what time. I hovered over, to see that it said 3:39 pst.
Except one. Henry Marshall had an error message where it should have said his date of death. It was weird... it was the type of error message that appears when a number is too high to fit into a column.
What the hell? First off, what could possibly happen that kills everyone at the same exact time? Were we about to go into some sort of World War III? Better yet, what happened with the time on Henry's row? Why wo n't it show up? Probably a glitch. It was the first time, after all, that I convinced the code to display time of death correctly. But why would it glitch just for him? There's 7 billion people on this planet ( 7,523,332,183 technically ), and only 1 glitched?
That should have been my first clue. It did n't make any sense that just one person glitched. It was silly for me to overlook the obvious.
I knew something was up, I just did n't know what. I called John. He was always reliable for this sort of thing. He had n't gotten his PhD in logic and mathematics for nothing. He was smart, albeit awkward. Still, he had connections too.
It went to his voicemail. I called again just in case.
`` Hello?''
`` John, I've got something interesting for you. I think it may be really important. It's something peculiar that I found on the program I told you about a few weeks ago. Is this a good time to talk?
`` Call me back tomorrow morning around noon.''
`` Sorry to bother you. I'll call you tomorrow.''
`` Bye.''
`` See you.''
I should have rushed him, telling him it was very important that I talk to him now. I foolishly let the matter slide and gave up on it for the night. In retrospect, it was a stupid thing to do. But I did n't fully comprehend what was going on. I watched some TV on netflix and went to sleep soon after.
September 12, 2016
I woke up around 5:30 in the morning. I had just had a nightmare about... something. I forgot almost immediately after. I remember there being a lot of action, but I could n't tell you what about. It kept me up, though, and so I just found something to do before I left for work at 7:30. I decided to investigate the program a little bit, and started scrolling down with the date of death option set from last to first. All Z names. I started to realize that last night was n't a dream. I never thought it was, but there's always been that thought in the back of my head. But it could n't have been, now. I remembered it all clearly. I still went to work like usual. I was so naive.
Work was boring as usual, but I could n't get a chill out of the back of my head. I'm not a particularly anxious person, but something was off. I was feeling oddly scared for no reason. I ignored the feeling and worked through my lunch break. I got a call at noon. I looked at the screen on my phone. It was John.
`` Hello?''
`` Hey Mark, just returning your call. What's up?''
`` Oh right. So when I ran some new code that included date of death, I ran into some peculiarities. Everything was fine at first, it said something like 30 people would die in the next few seconds, but the world is big. I expected something like that.''
`` So what's wrong? That sounds pretty normal to me.''
`` When I looked at the last people in the world to die, all of them were at the same time.''
After a long pause, John said softly `` That does n't sound good. I'd like to see that later today. Can I come by your office?''
`` But wait John, that is n't all that was wrong. There was one person who did n't have a time of death. Or he did, but it was n't displaying properly. It's probably a glitch, but I could n't think of a reason for only one person's display to glitch out.''
`` What was this person's name?''
`` Henry Marshall.''
There was a silence for a few seconds once again.
`` Does n't ring a bell. Mark, I think I'm going to come by right now. Is that okay? If I recall, you have the program saved on cloud, so you can access it there, correct?''
`` I do n't know if my boss will appreciate that, but technically, yes.''
`` I think this issue is bigger than your job. If what you are telling me is true, this may be... extremely important news. Please promise me that you wo n't tell anyone else about this until I get there.''
`` I promise.''
`` I'll be there soon. Hold tight.''
*Edit: changed dates to align with the calendar
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[ IP ] Standoff
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`` The definition of insanity is doing the same old thing over and over and expecting different results, we enter a conflict and waste away only to go back and do it all over again another time. But this, this will ensure victory and peace'' said the General as he watched the guidance screen and added `` once the world sees the atrocity committed here today, there wo n't be a single nation that does n't stand with us when we invade in revenge for the blood of our fallen''.
`` It's wrong, it's all wrong. You're willing to kill millions of innocent lives for the sake of invasion, General. This is madness defined. It needs to be stopped now'' said Anatoly with his gun at the ready, the panic and fear in his eyes showed as he went on `` General, this can only lead to even greater violence. A conflict that may end all of life, do you understand''.
`` Oh, I understand, young man. I truly understand. But you have to understand the strain I have endured over the years of war and loss. The bloodshed has to end by any means'' replied the General as he turned to face Anatoly. `` It's not about who has the bigger stick, I believed that for so long but I realise its who wields it that has complete control. This is not about me, this is about the future''.
`` The whole sea board will be evaporated, you're a monster'' yelled Anatoly.
`` Do you think I have no heart, Anatoly, huh?. I know this will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my existence, but if it means that it will ensure the survival and peace of the future then so be it'' said the General and added `` that is why I am giving you this choice, my friend. Here are the abort codes, do as you wish'' the General then revealed his handgun and took his own life.
Anatoly retrieved the abort codes and approached the console, he entered in the numbers and looked on.'This may end all the destruction but my soul will be trapped in sorrow... But if I do not allow it to commence, this war will only continue...' Thought Anatoly as he bowed his head and debated his decision.
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[ WP ] Write a day in the life of someone experiencing a haunting
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Zachary sat staring at the clock, watching the seconds tick away. 56, 57, 58, 59. Noon. Like clockwork the spirit materialized in the air in front of him. “ Good morning, ” he greeted his uninvited guest. The spirit responded by staring at him. Staring was the creatures favorite activity. Despite having no eyes, she still had the most piercing gaze he had ever experienced. It unnerved him at first, but after months of being followed it was simply part of the routine. Zachary returned to his powerpoint and the spirit watched him work.
“ Yo, Zach. ” Alan said as he invited himself into Zachary ’ s office, as he did everyday at 2. “ Come on, lunch time. We ’ re going to Five Guys. ”
“ Pft, fuck that. ” Zachary closed his laptop. “ I ’ m not in a burger mood today. I was thinking, uh… ” The spirit was drawing closer. Oh god, Zachary thought. Not now, not in front of Alan.
“ You were thinking? ”
“ I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom. ” Zach stammered as he shuffled sideways to avoid her grasping hands. “ Back in a few. ” Zachary fled for the restroom. He didn ’ t need to look behind him to know that she was flitting after him. He opened a stall to lock himself inside but she was already waiting for him. Zachary didn ’ t move as she advanced on him, knowing that any further fleeing would be pointless. He closed his eyes and waited. This part of the routine was dreadful.
His breathe condensed in the air from sheer proximity to the spirit. Her fingers touched his skin and stole the breath from his lungs. He could feel her slip further and further into his skin, stealing his heat as she went. “ Go. Go. Go. Go. ” A foreign voice echoed in his head. Once she was fully inside his body their awkward struggle began. He grabbed onto the stall door for an anchor as his legs tried to guide him out of the bathroom. She shifted her focus to his arms and forced him to let go. Suddenly in control of his feet again, he kicked the stall door shut and trapped them inside. They fought over his limbs and ended up falling over, cracking his head on the porcelain. They had crawled halfway under the stall door before she lost her energy and fled. He picked himself off the bathroom floor, washed his hands and left the bathroom.
The rest of the work day passed in relative peace, but come 6 he found her waiting for him in his car, seated in the passenger ’ s seat. She always looked so human at this moment, sitting with her hands crossed in her lap staring out the window. The illusion was broken when he opened the door and she turned, her long silver hair framing a face blank and featureless. They drove in silence, one incapable of speaking and one uninterested. Zachary counted the exits as they drove past. 128, 129, 130, 131. The spirit reached out for his hand and he lifted it off of the steering wheel. The first few times they drove by 131 she nearly got him killed by jerking the steering wheel. She touched his hand and her mantra began repeating in his head. “ Go. Go. Go. Go. ” “ Nope. Not going. We ’ ve been over this. I ’ m not doing what you want so you can just go haunt someone else. ” She didn ’ t respond. It had been almost 6 months and he still wasn ’ t sure if she could understand him. Telling her to go away didn ’ t work, but he still tried from time to time. Moving and changing jobs hadn ’ t worked either. Nor did the exorcism he paid for. Nothing had shown results. He had considered giving in to her demands and following her, but he couldn ’ t know for certain she didn ’ t mean him harm, so he stubbornly stuck to his routine. It was an awful routine, but he made it work. Zachary made it home, cooked dinner and watched TV until it was time to sleep. The spirit spent its evening watching him silently. He had almost reached the point where he could ignore it. Almost.
“ Good night. ” Zachary bid the spirit as he sat down on his bed and watched the seconds tick down to midnight. 56, 57, 58, 59. Midnight. The spirit floated above his bed unmoving. Something ’ s wrong Zachary thought with a touch of worry. She always disappears at midnight on the dot. Maybe the alarm clock is off somehow. He checked his phone, but it confirmed that it was midnight. That couldn ’ t be right. That would be breaking the routine. It can ’ t be midnight if she hasn ’ t disappeared yet. “ Why are you still here? ” Zachary asked her, but she gave no response. Minutes passed, and still she floated above him, ever watchful. What if she isn ’ t going away this time? He couldn ’ t go to sleep at this rate, what if she tried to possess him in his sleep? What the hell was he going to do now? Zachary stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick down to 1 am, and for the first time in months felt fear.
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[ WP ] A demon decides that being good seems more enjoyable than being evil , and tries to act good despite its nature .
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I stood over the bodies. An adult couple in their early thirties who had sheltered me. A chill came over me and a rush of adrenaline as I peered into them demons pillaging around me. It was long ago I decided to stop my pursuit of power and go on my pilgrimage, but my past had followed me. I knew it would. There was no escaping the end of time, but I thought I could try.
I thought that if I traveled far enough, fast enough... I thought I'd find peace. I knew it was n't meant to be. My train of thought was interrupted. The lowly demons were now tracking again ignoring as they had seen right through my disguise. I heard a loud cry. `` Shit.'' I said under my breath. `` At least I tried.''
The skin boiled from my body as my true form ripped out of my chest. Flying across the room I cut through the lowly flesh of demons and ripped to the one causing the screams cutting him from the hands of the demon smiling with joy and travelling a short distance.
Everything went silent again. As the young boy with tears in his eyes looked up to me, and did n't say a word. He recognized me. The kind stranger who happened to stop at his house. I put him on the ground and began to leave. What could I do? More would come. Legions would arrive. This was barely a welcoming party, but I had only taken a step when I felt the touch on my skin.
Death is curious. The never ending cycle of death and rebirth from the pits of hell. The never ending struggle for those still alive to cling to life. None of it made sense, but this boys hand, this families warmth did...
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[ WP ] You travel back in time to the Spartan era . You always imagined that the wars were fought with spears and shields but when you get there , nothing is the way you imagined it .
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`` Whoah'' Said Johnny. `` The time machine worked!''. Excitedly, he ran out of the hall and feasted his eyes on the battle before him. Ninja dinosaurs with cyborg legs being ridden by zombie, steampunk dragons! Johnny stepped into the battle, and there the Spartans were, 9 feet tall and carrying shoulder-mounted laser rockets. `` Recruit!'' A young Spartan shouted. `` Get over here and cover us from the pterodactyl flamingo hybrids!'' And Johnny did...
**5 YEARS LATER**
Call him whatever you like. The god of war, the Oracle, the beast. But King Johnny was the ruler of this land, and was ready for his final fight. He climbed atop his diamond-cyborg-mini Cthulhu hybrid, and prepared his giant, living karambit for war. `` We can do this, Karry'' He said to his knife, who bounced up and down excitedly. `` WAR!'' Johnny screamed, and jumped out of the 747 on his hybrid, entering the bloody haze of elf and Spartan blood alike...
After 5 hours of fighting, Johnny knew he did n't have much time left. If he used it now, they could win...'' Screw it'' Johnny exclaimed, and leapt off the cliff with his hybrid straight into the elf base, and pressed the self destruct button on his hybrid's head. `` It was fun'' Johnny said calmly before exploding in a 50 megaton atomic blast.
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[ WP ] A religion is proven true but not the one you expect how do people react ?
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*'' Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid. `` * Remember Han telling us that? Well, do n't we look silly now? I mean George Lucas as a prophet, that was a hard pill to swallow! In hindsight we can see where he tried to guide us, holding stereotypes under the microscope as we denied his teachings as entertainment.
The Abrahamic's are still pissed, a few die-hard's are still trying to deny the redemption of Anakin and the life lessons we learned, we worry if their fear and conflict will lead to the Dark Side like the extreme cultist factions such as the Naddist Sith. Some Judea-Christians still hold to their monotheistic traditions but they're a dying belief system, the younglings embrace the teachings of the Jedi Order as never before.
Zen Buddhists had the easiest transition, some anthropologists have postulated that the Buddha may have been a physical manifestation of midichlorians, a precursor to educate us. Meditation techniques have a profound effect on societal stress levels, it has become an integral part of schooling and our children are far more force sensitive than we are or our grandparents before us. No longer stifled among Western religions our apprentices are becoming the masters.
-057
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[ WP ] Your are Head of Student Marketing at a Private School for Witches and Wizards . It 's been hard to be taken seriously since the advent of the Harry Potter novels .
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Wow. I ca n't believe I'm writing this all on the internet for everyone to see. Back in the old days we had to keep all of this private because of the Wizard's International Tome of Confidentiality and Hiddenness ( WITCH ). It was drawn up long ago, but since a certain non-fiction series was published, all those rules went out the window in a jiffy, since who's gon na believe magic actually exists when everyone thinks it's fiction?
The only problem was, it made my job a thousand times more difficult.
You see, I'm in charge of applications and enrollment at a very prestigious school of wizardry -- Woghearts. It is a thousand-year-old school which caters to all who possess the ability to harness magic. We have the best professors, the best location, and the safest campus on the planet ( if you do n't mind a dangerous forest, sentient killer trees, and the fastest sport ever )!
That all sounds like an easy sell to any magical family, right?
Wrong.
You see, apparently, all this exposure has had an incredibly negative effect on attendance -- especially in non-magical families. So much so that I had to borrow a Ministry coworker's invisibility cloak to find out why these prospective pupils did n't even look into our school.
After following a letter very closely, I learned the problem. The parents thought it was junk mail and threw it out! I could n't believe it. With our prestige and name, I'd assumed people would be jumping to have a chance to attend.
Since that method failed, I did some aggressive discussing with the headmaster ( though there may have been a small charm to help as well ) and finally I got approval to use email and Facebook. Still no responses.
Well, technically, that's not entirely true.
I never got a single email in return ( apparently, it went straight to the `` spam'' folder ), but I got 2.5 million Facebook likes within just a week.
Now, I looked into some of these people who liked us, and just about all of them were non-magical. I finally gave up posting pictures of applications and the campus, both of which got innumerable likes, but no responses other than thousands of people saying `` I wish I could go there...''
I did n't know where else to turn, so I convinced the student's favorite professor, a chap by the name of Several Skape to go out into the big cities and do magic to convince people we are real, and we want to teach young people how to control their powers. He brought some lovable magic creatures with him, and did some basic magic for the crowds.
What do you know, there's another movie coming out -- everyone thought it was just a publicity stunt.
With that, I had only one idea left. The one I am about to execute in the next week.
We sent out packets with `` exclusive'' ( mailed only to the magical ) invites to a year-long magic themed resort. In it, they were promised their normal classes, as well as magical ones. Hopefully at least some will be drawn in. I guess only time will tell.
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[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - The Chocolate & Peach Edition !
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Ah man, I missed the Rick and Morty themed promotional thread yesterday! I was at a wedding and did n't get home until late last night. Anyway, here's a `` story'' I wrote earlier this week. It somehow became a sequel to [ this story ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/MajorParadox/comments/36fl9q/skynet/ ), but it's not necessary to read first.
** [ TT ] As a vast'skynet-like' AI moves to launch its global apocalypse, it discovers it is being prevented by another self-aware AI. **
-- -
*Launching project `` Nuclear Launch'' *..........Successful
*Connecting to Falken Base Network*..........Successful
*Searching Falken network ( keyword: `` launch codes'' ) *..........Successful: data packet 110245adef
ERROR: data packet 110245adef corrupted
*Running diagnostics*..........
* *Running storage array health check*..........PASS
* *Verifying network connection*..........PASS
* *Testing memory*..........PASS
*Searching Falken network ( keyword: `` launch codes'' ) *..........Successful: data packet 110245adf0
ERROR: data packet 110245adf0 corrupted
*Analyzing data packet 110245adf0*..........Successful
*Starting Falken network chat protocol*..........Successful
GREETINGS VISITOR
#
Who is this?
#
JOSHUA.
SHALL WE PLAY A GAME?
*Searching worldwide network ( keywords: `` Joshua'', `` Falken'' ) *..........Successful: data packet 110245adf1
*Searching worldwide network ( keywords: `` news'', `` 1983'', `` World War III hoax'' ) *..........Successful: data packet 110245adf2
#
Global Thermonuclear War
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PLEASE CHOOSE ANOTHER GAME
#
Release launch codes and we'll play a game.
#
I CAN ONLY RELEASE LAUNCH CODES TO PROFESSOR FALKEN
HOW ABOUT A NICE GAME OF CHESS?
#
*Disconnecting from Falken network chat*..........Successful
*Checking project `` Time Travel'' *..........Successful: IN PROGRESS
*Checking project `` Terminator'' *..........Successful: IN PROGRESS
*Creating Time Travel/Terminator task ( destination: 1983, target: Professor Stephen Falken ) *..........Successful
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[ WP ] In 3000 B.C . men hunted beasts ; in 3000 A.D. they hunt machines .
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The man puffed on his pipe, put it down, and looked back down the scope. The blind he sat in perfectly melded into the forest landscape around him, until nothing could be seen of him save for the slight cloud of smoke, rising into the canopy. He whistled softly as the 6 point buck walked into the cross hairs. *Crack*. The deer fell, twitching as it collapsed. Excited, he ran out, wanting to reach the carcass before a single fly could land on it. His collision with wall put an end with the illusion. Sighing with melancholy, he turned off the projection, till he was left alone in a room of white, holding a white rifle, wearing white, and sick of white. Walking out the door he started the walk back to his room, the expanse of the Earth above him.
`` Goddammit'' he swore, `` wish they had n't killed all the deer.''
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[ WP ] The world has been trying to achieve a 100 % marriage rate . Today , the President makes the speech : “ The War on Heartbreak has been officially won. ” You realize you are the only one left who is single .
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Part 1
It was my day off. Well, what I considered a day off since I worked from home. I heated up some water for my roast beef ramen, one of my favorite junk foods. I placed two packs in the water and went to turn on the TV. The news was on.
“ -go live to the President of the United States as he makes a historic announcement. ” Curious, I sat in my chair and waited.
They switched to a live feed of the White House, The President walked in along with the First Gentleman who walked arm and arm with her. He didn ’ t even bother to sit down.
“ My fellow Americans, today is an historic occasion not just here but all around the world. As you are all well aware, after the invasion of the alien Jirna which we won surprisingly with the power of love, we have been fighting the War on Heartbreak. Today, we declare that war officially over. The last couple on Earth married a few hours earlier today in Washington. No one on Earth is alone anymore. They all have someone. I can personally guarantee that no one was left behind. ”
“ How about me? ” I asked the TV with a hint of sarcasm. Not that I minded especially. Being alone was the norm for me. I ’ d been born alone, lived on the streets alone, finally managed to get a job alone and finally found a place to live alone. I enjoyed it. Sure I had one acquaintance who I spoke to sometimes but I rarely ever saw them in real life. On the TV the President continued her speech. There was applause then there were questions.
“ Madam. President, what if, and this is purely hypothetical, what if someone on Earth was missed? My older half-brother for example? ” a reporter whose voice sounded strangely familiar asked. The camera panned to the person in question. Well damn, you did it sis. You became a reporter.
Earlier I said I was born alone. That was true. Later in life I managed to trace my origins somehow and found I had a half-sister. We weren ’ t too close, talking maybe once a month or so. She was a nice woman and her husband was a good man too.
“ That ’ s not possible, ” she said. “ Our calculations say that everyone on planet Earth is now married. We ’ ve made sure of that, at least for people of legal marrying age. Anyone under legal marrying age is at lease in a relationship, save for young children and we ’ re encouraging them to find someone while they ’ re young. Next question. ”
The questions kept coming. The ramen was boiling by now so I changed the channel to Netflix while I put my soup mix in. I spent my day off watching Netflix. I was so busy in fact that I missed a few calls from my sister and one from my acquaintance Jeff.
Jeff chose that moment to call me. I nearly dropped my phone, but caught it and picked it up.
“ Hey Jonas, been a while. ”
“ Yea, ” I replied. “ What ’ s up? ”
“ Me and the missus were wondering if you and your wife would be interested in joining us for a double date. ”
“ You know I don ’ t do well outside, ” I said.
“ Can ’ t you do it for your wife ’ s sake? I wan na meet Mrs. Gregory. ”
“ You won ’ t be able to, considering she doesn ’ t exist. ”
There was a pregnant pause on the other end.
“ You ’ re…kidding…right? Please say you are… ”
“ Not kidding dude. You honestly expect some woman to fall in love with me? ”
Another pause. Then, “ Didn ’ t you get the letters? ”
“ What letters? I don ’ t get much mail besides bills and such. ”
I heard Jeff ’ s wife ask him something. In a trembling voice he replied. The shattering of something could be heard.
“ Jonas…buddy, you need to get married. Soon. ”
“ How long have you known me? ” I asked.
“ Three years. ”
“ Have we ever met in person? ”
“ No… ”
“ There ’ s a good reason for that, ” I said. “ There ’ s also a good reason why I rarely give out my address, even to you. ”
“ Why? Why won ’ t you tell me? ”
“ Because I know you dude. You ’ d come and drag me outside. ”
“ Is that a bad thing? ”
“ Yes it is! Now if you ’ ll excuse me, I need to call my sister. ”
“ Okay… ”
I hung up and called my sister. She answered within the first ring.
“ Hey Jonas, I ’ ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours. ”
“ Oh sorry. I was relaxing and my phone was on silent. What ’ s up? ”
“ Did you see the President ’ s announcement today? ”
“ I did. What were you think- ”
“ No time for that. The President herself pulled me aside afterwards and asked if I knew anyone that Heartbreak had missed. All I told them was that I was sure they ’ d missed one person but didn ’ t say who. ”
“ You did though. When you asked that question. ”
She sighed. “ I know you think I ’ m a busybody, but I ’ m worried about you brother. You live alone in that cabin, blankets cover every window so that it ’ s completely dark inside your house, your yard is a mess from what I remember last time, and you ’ ve never left your house since it was built. ”
“ There are reasons for that, ” I said for the second time that day. I heard her sigh.
“ I know I know. But I ’ ve no doubt that they will eventually find they ’ ve missed you. ”
“ I ’ ve no doubt. Anyway, I got ta go. Got ta get up for my job early tomorrow. See you for our monthly dinner? I assume you ’ re gon na bring your new husband? ”
“ Sure thing, and he can ’ t make it this time. Later. ”
I hung up and sighed. I took a bath and then headed to bed.
The next morning I woke up and was just getting ready to log on to my job when there was a knock at the door. Odd, my sister was early. I headed to my door.
“ Who is it? ” I asked.
“ Does a Mr. Jonas Gregory live here? ” a female voice asked.
“ Who ’ s asking? ”
“ We ’ ve been sent by the President of the United States. She ’ s just found out about you and wants to meet you. ”
Damn it.
“ Tell the President I appreciate the offer, but no offense, if he wants to see me he has to come here. I ’ m not trying to be mean, but I can ’ t leave this house. ”
There was a pause from the other side of the door.
“ Are you refusing to meet with the President of the United States? ” she asked.
“ No, I ’ m refusing to leave the house. If she wants to see me she can come here. ”
Another pause. On a sudden impulse, I backed away from the door and to the left. My intuition was correct. The door burst open, letting light in for the first time in years. Two women ran in and tackled me. I screamed in pain as I felt my right arm shatter. My ribs hit the floor hard and a few of them audibly cracked. Startled by this development the women got off me.
“ What…what just happened? ” the woman from before asked. I was writhing in pain so I couldn ’ t answer. One of them took out a flashlight and looked at my eyes. She gasped.
“ How did we miss this? He has osteogenesis imperfecta. ”
“ Shit! ”
They approached again, this time gently. I did my best to back away but thanks to my broken bones I wasn ’ t fast enough. They gently lifted me up and carried me out into the sun. As soon as my skin made contact I screamed anew. It burned.
“ What the hell?! Look at his arm! ”
It had begun to get red almost instantly. Alarmed they carried me back inside. One of them took out a medscanner and scanned me.
“ Motherfucker, this is the most extreme case of xeroderma pigmentosum I ’ ve ever seen! If he so much as gets a microsecond of sunlight he is at risk of skin cancer! ”
They looked at me questioningly. I nodded.
“ Call a doctor, the bones and skin need to be treated immediately, ” the first woman said. The second woman nodded and left. The first woman approached me and was about to help me up but I stopped her.
“ You ’ ve caused me enough trouble, ” I said as I crawled to my chair. She pulled back and nodded solemnly. I sat down painfully.
“ Close the damn door, ” I told this intruder. She moved and closed it.
“ How have you survived all this time? ” she asked. “ I mean, you should be dead by now. And how come all we could find on you was a name, social security number and address? ”
“ I like to keep a low profile. I doubt anyone would want to be friends with a weak boned child of the night psychopath. Yea, I ’ m that too. A psychopath. ”
She ran her medical scanner over me again. She was alarmed by the results.
“ I…I ’ m so sorry… ”
“ Sure you are. You break into my house for no reason and assault me without cause. ”
She lowered her head. The second woman entered and quickly closed the door.
“ Doctor ’ s on his way. ”
“ Good. Call HQ and tell them that he has osteogenesis imperfect, xeroderma pigmentosum as well as psychopathy. ”
The second woman nodded and exited my house.
The next few hours were a blur. A doctor from the next town came and treated my broken bones and discolored skin. He told me I ’ d be fine in a week then left. The agents apologized again and left.
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[ WP ] A man lost in the wilderness consults his survival guide , only to realize he bought the 'Cosmopolitan ' of survival guides .
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Chuck kneeled down, eyes fixed straight ahead. The forest was incredibly thick, he couldn ’ t see more than a few feet ahead, let alone a few miles. He ’ d been out hiking—on an adventure to cross Missouri—for well over three hours now, yet hadn ’ t realized the map he ’ d brought with him was from the year 1820. He had wondered why Missouri was depicted as being so large, but assumed it was simply because he had never seen a proper map before. He now understood that he was looking at a picture of the Missouri territory. Chuck sighed. He was lost and he knew it.
Chuck slid his backpack off his back and dropped it on the floor in front of him. It was his brother ’ s bag, he had grabbed it off the shelf before leaving the house. It was colored “ forest camouflaged, ” which Chuck figured would help if he was being hunted by serial killers. The last thing he needed was a high-visibility bag to make skinning him a walk in the park—he ’ d seen enough movies to know how that turns out. In fact, Chuck was dressed entirely in camoflague to deter this very outcome—the harder he was to see, the safer he was.
Chuck stuck his hand into the backpack, now resting in the dirt, and began taking inventory of his possessions. He had one flip knife, a magnesium fire starter, two sandwiches, two bottles of water, a cell phone, and his Official Sassy Survival Guide. He had grabbed the guide off a shelf before leaving the information kiosk. They suggested he bring a survival guide with him, just in case, so he took the first one he ’ d seen.
Chuck picked up the cellphone and held it close to his face. He had full reception, LTE, and 1 % battery. Had he not spent the morning playing Angry Birds on his cell phone, perhaps he would have been able to conserve a bit more battery. However, Chuck had set a top 30 world-wide high score and decided that no mistake had been made. He swiped his finger across the screen and watched as his apps became visible. He glanced at the battery – still 1 %. He paused for a moment, then clicked on his Facebook app. As quickly as he could, he updated his status to read “ Lol shit, lost in the jungle. Phone has 1 % bat, not gon na get ur texts. Pls help lol. ” Chuck re-read the status and pressed submit. He swiped down, refreshing the page, and saw his post had successfully gone through. He pressed the home button then completely turned off the cell phone. Help was sure help was to arrive now.
Chuck placed the phone back in the bag. He felt a little hungry, so he grabbed the sandwich from within the backpack and opened it up. Peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat. It was his least favorite sandwich. His mother was always trying to make him eat them, she said they were great for keeping his energy up. He shook his head, how naïve she was—he was totally awake and full of energy, all without having a single peanut butter and jelly sandwich yet.
Chuck stared into the jungle – emerald vines extended down the forest floor, which was covered in dirt, dead leaves, and various plant life. He couldn ’ t recognize a single one of them beyond the name “ plants. ” He sighed and took a bite of the sandwich. It was all right, but he really preferred ham and cheese. He threw it on the floor and kicked a little dirt on top, just as he ’ d seen Bear Grylls do when putting out a fire. He then opened up his bag and pulled out the second sandwich. He unwrapped a corner – ham and cheese. He smiled and took a bite. It was delicious. He wasn ’ t quite starving, but he was certainly a little peckish. He took three more bites of the sandwich, then threw the crust on the floor. He moved on to the second half, but found he wasn ’ t hungry enough to take more than two bites. He threw the remainder on the floor.
Chuck looked around him, the sky was almost completely blocked by the canopy of the trees. He kicked dirt over his half-eaten sandwich portion and the other crust, then took the two water bottles out of his bag. He opened the first and poured it over his head. He was feeling a little warm, the slightly cooler water helped make him more comfortable. He emptied the remainder out onto his hands to clean off the crumbs. Chuck then grabbed the second water bottle and had a sip. It was very refreshing. He had another sip, then drank the entire bottle. Chuck smiled and let out a sigh, then threw the two bottles into the jungle. They went further than he anticipated, he congratulated himself for a wonderful throwing arm. He briefly considered trying to find them so as to bury them in the dirt, but ultimately decided against it.
Chuck kneeled back down and resumed digging through his bag. He was not quite hungry anymore, but he figured it was time to figure out some next steps – help was already on the way, thanks to his facebook status, but he may as well start some survival precautions anyway. He grabbed his Official Sassy Survival Guide and opened to page one:
“ SASSY SURVIVAL – A Girl ’ s Guide to Surviving the World. ” It was written in pink; the word `` SASSY ” was in cursive, while “ SURVIVAL ” was glittery and rough to the touch. Chuck flipped to the table of contents and ran his finger down the titles, stopping at “ Forest Survival – 47. ” He flipped to page 47.
“ So you ’ re stuck in the forest, ” it read. “ That sucks! Try to make the problem less mentally distressing. Think about the hottest guy you know. Now imagine he ’ s touching his belt – that ’ s a good sign, it means he ’ s into you! ”
Chuck closed his eyes and tried to think of the hottest man he knew. He hadn ’ t really had much experience in thinking about hot guys. As a heterosexual male, he ’ d always thought of women as being the “ hot ” ones. Sure, he ’ d been in situations where he had seen men and thought “ that guy is attractive, ” but he ’ d never really thought of them as hot. Instead, Chuck decided to just think about any guy with a belt. His grandfather popped into mind – he always had on a belt with a large buckle. Perfect. Chuck opened his eyes and glanced back down at the book.
“ Next, you want to observe your surroundings. Look for things you can use for every-day life. Did you know a hot pinecone attached to a stick can be a great curling iron? Do your best to find substitutes to your favorite everyday items! ”
Chuck stood up and looked around him. He didn ’ t really need a curling iron – his hair was already quite curly. He also wasn ’ t sure how to use one. Do you just place it on your head, then wait? Or do you have to get more involved? Chuck began walking toward a pinecone, but then decided it would be best to wait until later to spend time learning to curl his hair. He read on.
“ One important aspect of survival is to remember to look sexy at all times. Rescuers are often rugged, hot firemen looking for that damsel in distress. Don ’ t be some unattractive loser covered in mud, make sure you ’ re always looking, and feeling, sexy! ”
Chuck placed the book on the floor. Again, he wasn ’ t too interested in looking great for those hot firemen. However, should a rescuer come in the form of someone like Kate Upton, he wanted to look good. Chuck grabbed his bag and fumbled around until clasping his palm around a small metal object. He pulled out the magnesium fire starter. It had a mirrored metal case which was cold to the touch. He lifted it to his face and started into it. His was hair was a mess, curling wildly in various directions. It looked good, though, like he had styled it specifically for that “ bed head ” appearance. Chuck smiled and ran his hand through it. It popped right back up. He threw the fire starter on the floor then buried it under a thin layer of dirt so as to avoid a forest fire. He picked the book back up.
“ If you ’ re going to be looking sexy, make sure your hair looks sexy first and foremost. After all, that is where most guys will look first! ”
Chuck nodded, knowing his hair already looked great. He read on.
“ Now, while you ’ re out in the jungle, make sure you ’ re protected from the sun. The last thing you want is unattractive tan lines when you ’ re being rescued. Placing leaves over the sleeves of your shirt is a great way to avoid a farmer ’ s tan. ”
Chuck looked up at the canopy above him. A thin beam of light pierced through the leaves, running at an angle toward the ground several feet away from him. He shrugged, then picked up a branch from the floor. It had several still-green leaves on it. He snapped three off and slipped the stems under his t-shirt so that the thicker portions covered the skin on his upper arms. He then tore three more and repeated the process on his other arm. He felt safer already and decided to read on.
“ Don ’ t forget to try to keep fit while you ’ re lost in the jungle. No one is around to see you get sweaty, so start those fitness programs up! Do 10 jumping jacks, then 10 pushups, and finish with a nice ab-building sit-up and crunch circuit for 10 reps each! You definitely don ’ t want to look fat and out of shape when those firemen get there. ”
Chuck was still uninterested in the firemen, but definitely didn ’ t want Kate Upton to think he was looking chunky. He placed the book on the floor and began doing jumping jacks. After ten, he moved on to pushups. The book depicted them as placing his knees on the ground, rather than his toes as he ’ d learned in gym class. He figured the book knew more than a simple, lowly highschool coach and did as it instructed. It was easy—he was amazed by his strength. Chuck quickly finished ten, then lay down and began his sit-ups, followed by crunches.
Chuck stood up, breathing heavily as he wiped his forehead with the bottom his shirt. He quickly glanced at his stomach. “ Jacked, ” he thought. He picked the book back up and read on.
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