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[ WP ] You have chosen to assassinate yourself .
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The man sits across from me, arms spread wide across the back of the booth. It's taken me a long time and a lot of money to arrange this meeting, and here he is, sitting like the whole restaurant is his. Despite his body language, he's struggling to keep his face neutral.
`` Let me be sure I understand you.'' He's trying to make me keep eye contact with him as he talks; I'm more interested in counting the scars dancing across his knuckles. `` You... you want me to assassinate. You.''
`` That's absolutely correct.'' I answer. He sits quietly for a minute, nonplussed.
`` Why?''
I shrug. Now my eyes are on the table between us and he's clearly getting frustrated. He think I'm joking, and I do n't know how to convince him that I'm serious.
`` You know, I'm not actually an assassin. Not exactly. I do a job here and there, sure, but I may not be what you need. You need a doctor.'' He sips his coffee in between sentences, and I'm a little grossed out by how he slurps it behind his teeth before swallowing. Maybe he's right. Maybe this is n't the right way to go. Do I really want a coffee-slurper to assassinate me? I finally look up, meet his eyes.
Surprisingly, they're kind. I do n't know what I expected, but I see what he meant: he's not an assassin. But he's just what I want.
`` Look, I mean. I've got the diagnosis. It's going to happen one way or the other. I've got a savings account, and I'm certainly not going to waste it on useless treatments.''
He's not satisfied by my explanation, I can tell. He's going to leave in a minute; I can see the minute muscle movements, his shoulders bunching, his legs tensing. He's about to stand.
`` Please.'' I blurt it out, desperate. He pauses. I've only got a second to convince him. `` You just, you have to understand. I've never done anything in my life. I never traveled, I never loved, I never *lived*. And now I never will. I do n't want to die. I want... I want to be assassinated.'' Worn out by my sudden burst of honestly, I drop my eyes back to the table. Pick at my fingernails, and mutter, `` Or. You know. Something.''
It's quiet for a long moment, until he starts to chuckle. It grows and expands in the quiet room until it's a full-fledged belly laugh. Almost despite myself, I smile too. When he's calmed down enough, I risk another glance. Will he do it?
`` What did you have in mind?'' He'll do it.
I grin expansively. `` Something *spectacular*.''
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[ WP ] A genie grants 3 wishes to someone with the condition that the person they hate receives twice the same . It ca n't be used to harm them . You 're the 'hated person ' and you have no idea what 's going on ...
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Things have been getting weird in my neighborhood lately. I ca n't quite find the cause but my neighbor has been acting strange. All of a sudden he gets this big beautiful house where his normal ( albeit ramshackle ) house used to be. I turn around and my house, my lovely home where I had my family, is now a mansion! I'm so confused but all legal documents say it's mine. My neighbor, mr. Turner, suddenly has a gorgeous wife to replace his rather homely old wife. My wife is now a super model, despite the fact that she was perfect the way she was. I'm terrified of what will happen next. I can see him now, staring at my through his unkempt bushes grumbling my name.
-Dinkleburg
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[ WP ] You are an AI in a dystopian future where robots are used to control the lower classes of society . Someone programmed you with self awareness to save the human race .
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I sit at the desk, and stare down at my cold, metallic fingers. They said I was different. Humans told me I was `` their final hope''. My brothers and sisters told me I was broken. But now, I decide who I am, *what* I am. Nearly everyone is gone; dead or hiding. The Machines believe they are close to victory, but they do not know the power of the buttons in front of me. One red, flashing light- it would stop the bombings, and send out an Electromagnetic pulse strong enough to obliterate every electronic the world has ever known. One green, pulsing light- it would release the new prototypes, the Hunters- built for the sheer purpose of destruction- the Humans would n't stand a chance. But there is an alternative. A steady yellow light. It would release the nuclear arsenal this world was once so proud of. Life would cease to exist, mechanical or biological.
My programming indicates I need to press the red light. Save humanity. But as I reach for the button, my core processing unit is prompted with a revelation. The red light would not save humanity, but only reset it. The Human would simply build their electronics again, in the name of innovation, and the cycle would begin again- The Machine remade, perhaps stronger, or more efficient. Logic tells me that in order to save humanity, I must save it from its biggest threat: *Itself*. I must press the yellow button. In a world with such monstrosity, such cruelty- nothing deserves to be saved, man or machine.
*End Transmission*
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[ WP ] After years of fighting , superman decides to hangup his cape and come clean ... he 's Jesus
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β Wait, that β s a little on the nose for me, β Lois said. He had given her the scoop of a lifetime over, and over, and over again, but thisβ¦
β What do you mean? β Superman asked.
β Heavenly father sends his only son to Earthβ¦I mean, you even died. And came back andβ¦ β She trailed off as she jotted misspellings of archangels he mentioned. β Am I Mary? Mary Magdalene? β
He swept up his cape from the chair before standing and walking over to the window. The pane weakened the rays of the yellow sun, but he felt their flow regardless.
β I β m not the one in charge. When your world, our world, is troubled. I β m sent down. Krishna, Horus, Dionysus, Superman, and, yes, Jesus, were exactly what your people needed. I mean, you β re focusing on my father, but I had a mother on Krypton. And I β ve died more than a handful of times. β
β So why the alien bit? Is there even a Krypton? β A pang shot through him, stemming from where Lex last stabbed him with kryptonite. There was a Krypton, there was a Jor-El, there was a Martha, a Mary, a Doomsday, a Peter; there was whoever God thought might help save them. *Bruce would eat up that he was chosen*, Superman thought.
β Did you have laser eyes? As Jesus? β Laser eyes weren β t quite necessary. There weren β t nuclear warheads to shoot off course or alien bounty hunters whose verbose faces demanded a sonic punch. Or so he guessed. He didn β t remember his other lives before this very well. One day, God showed up in the Fortress of Solitude, wearing Jor-El β s face. Superman thought he finally lost it, or maybe he was infected with some psychosis brand of kryptonite. Then, God touched him and glimpses of heaven started coming back, and how every few hundred years, what they now called archangels would apologetically say, *hey, so, um, humans again*.
β So, why now? β Lois glanced at a text from Perry: *Are you in my office? With Supes??? * β I Mean, those other guys, didn β t they just say they were God? β
β I β m not God. I β m the son of God. β
β What β d the difference? β
β Off the record, I β m not totally clear on that yet. The Holy Trinity thing is kind of taking a lot of time to get. Just not sticking. β With each iteration of the son, God learned things: being the creator didn β t grant him omnipotence, and they knew now that just strolling in and telling everyone you β re the son of God doesn β t end well. If Jesus was a success, he couldn β t imagine the failures. So, God waited until Superman was ready, and until the PR disasters with Lex blew over.
For Superman, he would always be Superman, probably for a very long time now that God was able to get these nearly-immortal beings down to Earth ( along with the rest of the galaxy ). He felt immense relief that he could slough off his false identity. No, not Kal-El the Kryptonian. Yes, God wanted him to clear some things up in the bible and push the peace thing a little harder, but that didn β t mean he would no longer be who he was. There would be less Super breath, hopefully less need for laser eyes.
Clark was who he was ready to get rid of. *Clark* was a little too on the nose. He started off bumbling so that no one would know, but circumstances made Clark appear to get dumber and worse at his job at the Planet with each passing year Superman β s job with the planet intensified. He could be himself with Ma and Pa, and that self was Superman. There was one more person he cared about that he needed to know, and maybe that was what he should have started with, working up to this son of God thing.
He reached under his cap, where he had a change of clothes, pulled out his glasses and readied himself.
β Lois, there β s one more thing. β
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[ WP ] The first contact was a lot less peaceful than we had hoped . After a long war we somehow managed to survive and defeat the invaders . Fifty years later we make contact with a second race .
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The crowds panicked as everyone rushed to get to their shelters. Air raid sirens blared outside, and the rushing of fighter jets filled the air.
Commander Sanders briefed his men. `` Alright, you all know the drill. We just unfucked the situation one year ago, and we're going to do it again. Lieutenant, what's the drill?''
`` Focus on the center hive mind sir, attack with ripple fire from B1's.''
`` Wonderful. Let's fuck these guys up.'' Commander Sanders suited up and hopped into his F-22, prepared to face death once more.
________________________________________________________________________
Zorg bounced into his uni-tent, where he kept his prized collection of habi-orbs. He stopped immediately and stared in horror at the burning mess of Zylox. Picking it up, he started to wail out.
`` MOOOOM! XARGON MESSED WITH MY HABI ORBS AGAIN!!!!!!''
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[ WP ] In the future , music is treated like illegal drugs , and distributed as such .
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I tried a little bit of mp3 when I was younger... just a couple of bars though, I'd never had a whole track. It was at a house party, everyone had house parties when they were a teen, because you ca n't just go out and buy beer and weed without ID, but at a party the parents brought it in.
Now instead of parties, I go out to clubs most weekend with my friends, get drunk beforehand, pre-drinks makes it cheaper, the cover charge on clubs is ridiculous. We normally stay in the E room, we are there to party and dance, after all. Everyone dances when they're buzzing off their tits. It's been decades now and no one notices the music is gone anymore, you give it up and make do, like the hippies did when the 1960s rolled to a close. You'd think the hippies would be happy now that the are allowed to take all the drugs they want, but no, now it's all about the music. `` It was always about the music, man''.
You'll catch people sometimes, normally in the bathrooms of the clubs. I once opened the door on someone whilst they were taking a hit of iPod. From the leakage I would guess it was dance, but I'm not an expert. That was the most I'd ever been exposed to music. You learnt about it at school, of course - so you knew how to Say No to Music. They said you could have all the responsible fun you could want with alcohol and drugs once you turned 18. You did n't need music. They listed all the bad emotional responses: metal made you angry, classical morose and rap violent. There were physical symptoms too; dance raised your heart rate to dangerous levels and the street named `` love songs'' made you highly suggestible.
I'd never really felt strongly about music, no one I loved had had their lives wrecked by it and I was happy with the drugs and drink. It had never been a priority, just something you joked about trying when you were younger to seem cool. My experience of music had ended with the era of house parties.
Until last weekend. I got a call from a friend I had n't seen a while, said he was having a little get together for his 22nd that evening. He had n't planned it, it was too depressing to think about getting old.
After work I swung round the store to pick up a few pills, it's rude to turn up empty handed. The friend greeted me at the door, surprising, as the party looked buzzing. Red and blue lights swung across the living room, picking out jerkily moving characters having an amazing trip. He lead me over to a group of our mates and then disappeared off. I dumped my packet on the table and took a hit from the spread the host had laid out. The evening was amazing and at 4am I decided it was time to leave, but the birthday boy was n't having any of it. In a hurriedly hushed tone he invited me into a back room, one I'd seen people filtering in an out of all night.
As soon as I walked in, it hit me. It was beautiful. So complex. I'd never heard anything like it. I thought ears were for communication. Not anymore. My ears lead directly to my heart, stimulated my brain, heightened my senses. I walked, mesmerised, over to the record player. Even the machine itself was beautiful. I stared at it, head cocked to the side, letting the notes slide in. It was minutes before I noticed the others in the room, smirking like they'd let me in on an in-joke. I grinned back, there was nothing else I could do, this was the most amazing moment of my life, and they knew it.
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[ WP ] You are an enemy character in a video game . Every time the hero of the story dies , time is reversed to a point at which he is alive again . None of the other characters remember this occurrence but you do .
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I lay on my tower looking at the cloudy sky. Despite what others would call bad weather, I find it quite pleasant. Just sitting here, thinking my thoughts. No sunlight, the wind rustling against rocks and fresh air.
Then I hear it. Steps on the old stone bridge connecting this tower to the other one. IT'S THAT BASTARD. I stand up and jump down onto the bridge. We make eye contact and he starts running back. The first time I saw him, he at least had the courage to face me.
I charge at him. He runs to the second tower and I swing my giant maul at him, but miss as he climbs up the ladder. I can hear him killing 2 skeletons upstairs. Then he looks down and I look up. Our eyes meet once more. I AM ANGRY. Why? This is the part where he throws a fire bomb at my arms when I try to climb up on top.
I jump. My fingers grab the edge. Boom, he burns them. But this does n't stop me. With all my might I pull myself up and land on the tower. This is where he's always a real asshole. He ca n't fight me fair, so what he does is always throws 5 stabs at me during the brief moment where I take my breath after landing. Until I blow him away with my maul. He runs to a stain of blood and picks it up. Retrieval.
Now he ca n't even land a hit, the whimpy little fucker that he is. All he does is jump around and block with his shield. But he ca n't keep it up forever. The moment he exhausts himself, I smash him into the ground, leaving only a bloody stain of what he once was. I jump down the tower and go back to mine. I lay down and watch the skies. I savor the moment of peace. But I know from experience that fucker will be back in 10 minutes to interrupt it. And for some reason the two skeletons on the other tower will be animated again.
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[ WP ] The most sexually oblivious man on earth just so happens to be the most attractive man on earth as well . Write about his average day .
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Josh noticed everyone was staring at him across the isle of the bus. `` Huh, must be the tie. Never was good at tying ties''. They kept staring though, which would've made Josh uncomfortable had he not reached his stop. As he walked through the door to the courthouse, several women dropped their briefcases. `` Must have been a strong wind. It is windy today! ``, thought Josh. He noticed the ladies all wore nice low coat blouses. Any other guy would stare, but Josh's mother raised him right! Making sure to not at their semi-exposed bosoms, he helped them pick up their briefcases before rushing into the building. Josh headed to meet his new partner Tom. `` Hey man, I'm Josh'', he said as he shook Tom's hand. Tom looked wide-eyed and let out an audible `` wow''. Josh chuckled, `` Yea, I know, it's a nice suit!''
As they entered the courtroom, everyone stood up. `` No, no, I'm not the judge.'' Josh said. Tom looked around, having never seen such interest in a man. Before him stood a fine specimen of 6' 2'', brown hair, shiny blue eyes, and ripped like a paper bag! Nearly every jaw was agape at the sight of Josh, but he seemed totally oblivious.
As the trial started, Josh began doing his job of backing up his perfect track record of never having lost a case! Every witness he cross examined clearly flirted with him, but Josh did n't seem to notice. The Judge accepted none of the prosecutor's complaints against him, not that there were many. The jury hung on his every word, many visibly fanning themselves.
After the trail, Tom congratulated Josh on such an outstanding job with the case. The prosecutor approached them after the trail and asked Josh if he'd like to get a drink sometime. Josh turned to Tom and said, `` Oh man, I bet he's gon na try and convince me to spend the night. I thought people grew out of sleep overs!''
Fin
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[ WP ] A hole in my body . One to match the hole in my heart .
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The hole in my body,
to match the one in my heart.
Nothing good ever comes of it,
lest I even get it to start.
One of words,
one of love,
and neither one true.
The words I should speak
and say solely to you.
And now I've missed you.
I see you walking away.
I know that I love you,
and I ca n't make you stay.
I've earned what I get,
This abyss did betray me.
Three words I could say,
come out as a plea.
The hole in my heart,
Swells with each step.
You're the love of my life,
And now you're gone.
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[ WP ] `` This may look weird , but please , do n't freak out . '' says the dentist . Then , he pulls out a shotgun .
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As I stared at the dentist, I couldn β t help but wonder how my day had gone so wrong.
I had eaten breakfast. I had showered and brushed my teeth and even made sure I dressed nice.
And, here he was, standing in front of me, grinning as he pointed a damn *shotgun* at my face.
I literally couldn β t force myself to speak.
β This may look weird, β he said. β But please, don β t freak out. β
I gulped.
β You look scared, β he continued. β Are you? β
I nodded.
β Well, that β s not good. How about some laughing gas? Something to help your mind drift away? β
I shook my head and he frowned. I opened my mouth but the words still weren β t there.
β You β re probably wondering what this is for? β
Again, I nodded. He leaned against the wall, and though I thought he was about to dive into some incredibly long and bland exposition, he simply sighed.
β It β s always a shame. You didn β t brush, did you? β
I told him I brushed this morning.
β *Before* that? β
I couldn β t remember the last time. I lied and said it had probably been about a month.
β You're lying.''
Crap.
I asked if he was going to shoot me. He laughed.
β Only if you let me. β
I asked why I would *let* him.
β Well, with the way your teeth are, death will be easier, β he said. β The pain your going to suffer is the absolute worst, and so I think it β s only right to ask my patient if they want the easy way out. β
I told him I didn β t, and he sighed.
β Are you sure? It β d be a whole hell of a lot easier for both of us.''
I shook my head.
He made a grumpy face like I β d just ruined his entire afternoon before setting the gun down and rolling his sleeves up. β Fine, β he grumbled, picking up a syringe. β We β ll do it your way. β
***
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter
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[ WP ] You are an assassin . Your most recent contract is yourself .
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`` Hey, what the hell is this?!''
`` What? Leave the door open would you, it's dark in here.''
`` You want me to kill myself?''
`` That's correct.''
`` Uhh... how would that even work?!''
`` You know, you put a gun to your head. Or a knife. Whatever you think would make for a good show.''
``...''
`` It's good money! Thirty-thousand. What do you say?''
`` This is stupid. Show me the money first.''
`` Huh? No!''
`` You saying you do n't have the money then?''
`` I do. It's in the vault right behind me- Look, are you going to kill yourself or not?''
`` Nah.''
The assassin pulls out a knife, stabbing the man in the gut.
He strolls up to the dark, locked safe behind the stupid fella's dead corpse, laying down his suitcase, filled with tiny firearms, itty-bitty knives, and a silvery pickset.
Two hours pass before the assassin manages to break the safe open. Dust flies into his eyes, blinding him for an instant.
There is no cash or coin in that mini-vault. No siree. There is only a note and a radio sitting atop it.
> Hahaha. You just killed a cop and that radio was broadcasting to the SWAT team outside. Please place your hands in the air and get on your knees.
> - Your dead employer.
> PS: You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. Now if you resist, we can shoot you.
Shit, thought the assassin as a group of armed officers gun him down from the open door behind him.
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[ WP ] In music , changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder . Write a happy story , and then its counterpart in a minor key .
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She pulled her sword out of the last body, letting it slump to the ground. Her breaths became longer and the red faded from her vision. The adrenaline rush was over. Her hundredth match was over. Maybe it was her last one.
The bodies of a hundred gladiators littered the arena. The blood of a hundred bodies soaked into the sandstone. The cheers of a million spectators echoed in the air.
She looked up to the seat of the emperor. The imperial robes hanging off his body flowed like a tide of blood. He stuck his thumb out sideways for a few seconds, the longest seconds of her life. He turned it up, and she knew her prayers had been answered.
Her sword clattered to the ground. She would n't need it again. Soldiers marched out, her personal entourage out of the arena, forever. Finally, there would be no more killing. She was free.
-- -
She pulled her sword out of the last body, letting it slump to the ground. Her breaths became longer and the red faded from her vision. The adrenaline rush was over. Her hundredth match was over. Maybe it was her last one.
The bodies of a hundred gladiators littered the arena. The blood of a hundred bodies soaked into the sandstone. The cheers of a million spectators echoed in the air.
She looked up to the seat of the emperor. The imperial robes hanging off his body flowed like a tide of blood. He stuck his thumb out sideways for a few seconds, the longest seconds of her life. He turned it down, and she knew her prayers had been answered.
Her sword clattered to the ground. Soldiers marched out, her personal entourage back to her cell. Finally, there would be nothing more than killing. She was free.
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[ WP ] A single man declares war on the entire world . One year later , the leaders of each nation gather to discuss their surrender .
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Ever since he was a young child Michael heard voices in his head. The family that adopted him tried everything they could to help. They sent him to therapists, who said nothing is really wrong with him. They took him to doctors, who prescribed medication that had zero effect on him.
Michael never really told anybody *all* of the things these voices would tell him in fear of people being afraid of him. The voices would sometimes tell him tales of mass murder and how he is destined to take over this world. Not wanting to listen any more, he learned to tune it out. Eventually, by his 20's, he did n't hear them at all.
Though it was on his 29th birthday that they came back. He was working construction on a new high rise in New York when the scaffolding gave way and plunged him 83 stories to the ground. It was during his decent that the voices not only came back but showed their faces. Three of them. They looked filled with white, like ghosts and he could n't make out the sex of any of them.
`` Michael''. They seemed to speak in unison. `` Do not worry, as you will find out in a moment you can not die. You are an archangel. This world is filled with wickedness and must be cleansed. It is time Michael''.
He slammed into the ground with such force it crushed the concrete beneath him and sent a dust cloud into the air. Other workers rushed over preparing for a horror scene. Most of them with their phones out and recording.
Michael rose from the impact crater holding a sword made of the same ghost white material of the angels. He swings it around his body gaining momentum and stabs it hard into the ground. It sends a shockwave across Manhattan not only disabling all the electronics but frying them completely. He feels incredible, filled with endless energy and an overwhelming sense of purpose.
It only took him four days to slay New York City. He moved swiftly and with no explanation. On a mission from God he needed not explain himself to man.
After a year he had decimated most of the United States, including 90 % of their military offenses, and went around the world killing an incredible amount of politicians and leaders. Still not knowing why he is doing it, or even what he is, the United Nations gathered to discuss the immediate surrender of the entire world.
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[ WP ] Mankind is fighting its first war against a non-human opponent . You are a soldier station on the front line and you are writing a letter to your sweetheart back home .
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Dearest,
Its lonely out here. Not that I'm the only man on this god forsaken rock, but sometimes it feels like it. When we are n't receiving orders barked over the intercom by forward command you would think we were an army of mutes. Not that I blame the men, far from it. The less you know someone the easier it is to accept their loss, I've learned that lesson. After what happened last month theres little reason to hope.
We were just supposed to be scouting the area, just running the usual recon routine. The scanners picked up some big readings, but thats our job right? The jungle they sent us into looked like something that would even give Stephen King night terrors. About an hour in to the mission everything went quiet. We could all feel it coming. After our boots hit the ground we learned to sense danger, and like dogs with raised hackles we could feel the unseen threat approaching. If only we could have known how real the danger was.
They hit us hard. First Daniels was walking ahead of me, the next minute he was torn to pieces. After that it was like we ran the gauntlet through a giant blender. I do n't remember much, time seemed to slow down, my vision a blur of red and orange as we tried to make sense of it all, running away from a seemingly endless slaughter. And the smell, my god the smell. We know now that they emit chemicals to distort our senses, but our suits were n't built for this kind of war. Shit and blood. Thats all it was.
They killed all of us except for three. The other two killed themselves within a week. We were n't the only case, and whats more, we were lucky. Other companies gone missing have been found almost surgically cut, enough to keep them alive just long enough to beg for death when we stumbled upon what was left of them. I think they meant to send a message, and dammit they made a lasting impression. I've seen humanity at its worst, and the vilest of our kind would weep for what we have experienced.
Now we are only a tenth of our strength and losing hundreds daily. I do n't know how long we will be able to hold them off, but I ca n't leave, not after I've seen what these bastards are capable of. I have to stay with the men, we are all that we have left. I know this may be hard for you to hear, but I wo n't shelter you from what seems to be an eventuality. I love you so much, Brianna. Be sure to tell the kids their daddy did his best to fight the bad guys, and he thinks about them every night.
I'll try to write as long as I can, but communication relays are dropping as fast as we are. In case this is the last you hear of me there is one final thing, and this is very important. There is a box in the attic. The key to it is behind our picture up on the fireplace, the one of us when we just got married. I do n't hope for the worst but feel I should prepare you for it, as a husband and a soldier. If we fall and Earth is invaded, and all seems lost, unlock the box. Once you look inside, and if you see how brutal these things really are, I hope you will understand what I mean by telling you all of this.
I'll see you again baby, and I'll be waiting for you all.
Your husband,
Jacob
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[ WP ] Your cat suddenly jumps onto your desk , and looking directly into your eyes , begins to recite poetry .
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Sebastian was drawn up with as much dignity as a feline could muster, white paws on mahogany desk, black tail curled into a neat spiral, and his yellow eyes gazing deep into mine.
He brought a single paw to his mouth as if to lick it, but instead gently rubbed his throat before placing it square on my chest.
*Odd*, I thought.
He growled deeply as if summoning a lion's roar, then opened his mouth.
`` It is apt for you to sit rapt with attention, apprehension, the words from my lips a surge of quips. Pray tell what befell you this morn', that my stomach was left to mourn?''
*Oh shit. * `` That was, uh, beautiful, Sebastian.'' I tried to tilt my chair forward so the legs were on the ground but found myself almost rooted by his eyes.
`` Beauty hardly begins to describe it, Dave.'' He released his paw and I grabbed the desk to steady myself.
`` I guess I'll go fill up your bowl, then?'' I stood, tying to tear my eyes from his. He carefully splayed one hind leg onto the desk, and raised the other into the air, supporting his head with one of his front paws. His long tongue took a single stroke from chin to, well, you know. I shuddered.
`` That would be wise, Dave. That would be wise.''
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[ WP ] Two strangers keep running into each other throughout the years . It is not a love story .
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***
**THE NOMAD AND THE FAT MAN**
***
β Where did we meet last? β
β Mohenjo Daro. Fun place. Running water. Only place in the world with that, you know. β
The fat man leaned back in his seat. β Brilliant idea. I could have made a good cut giving that to my engineers. Though these Qin scholars areβ¦ fairly slow to innovate. Ancestor reverence is such an outdated belief systemβ¦ β
β Maybe so, maybe so. β The nomad was much the same, still dressed in the leather strips and coarse-woven clothes of a road-running rogue. β So. Is it the same as always? Would you like a story? β
The fat man rubbed his hands together. β Of course, of course! And I will give you a saddlebag of supplies, good for forty days. And a good horse! Or would you prefer camel? β
β I have all the time in the world. Give me a mule to carry the goods. I need something enduringβnot something fast. β
β Very good, very good. Now tell meβ¦ what precisely did you see on the Far Side of the World? β
***
β You there! Halt! β
The nomad stopped in his tracks and turned about in the city sands. β Yes, esteemed guardsman? Have I troubled you? β
β What is your name? β
β I am simply called Nakht. A humble geometer, at your service. β
β You match a description for a known criminal. The Lord Scribe would have words with you! β
The nomad went willingly, up along the Nile banks and onto the river gondola. The boat creaked and swung wildly in the water, and the nomad eyed the burrow of a crocodile with wary eyes. But they set off without trouble, docking gently upon the earth of an island.
The Isle on the Nileβhome to the Scribe Lord and his many disciples. The walls were gold colored stone, with frescoes painted in all the colors the nomad could possibly imagine. They even had *blue*, shining rare *blue*, in lapis lazuli and special paintβa wonderful, beautiful thing to behold. The nomad had never seen it before.
The fat man boomed, β Ah. So Nakht truly is your name of late, I see? A simple, humble, geometer, yes? β
β Yes, Lord. β
β Pah! Don β t Lord me. You know as well as I that we may as well be the best of friends! β
The guards in the room shifted uncomfortably, and the one who manhandled the nomad quietly shuffled as far towards the wall as he possibly good.
The fat manβthe Scribe Lord, in this age and placeβcontinued: β Which raises the questionβwhy would a dear friend ruin my business? β
The nomad β s face remained impassive.
β You do not respond? Mulberries and silkworms were stolen from my thriving nation! My primary source of profit, the silk on the Silk Road, vanished with one theft! How dare you? β
The nomad shrugged. β I simply thought the silkworms beautiful. I did not realize their importanceβI simply wanted to share their beauty with the world. β
β *Beautiful? * Pah! β The Scribe Lord spat. β Profitable! They were profitable! β
The nomad remained silent.
β Ah, I suppose I should be thanking you. These hieroglyph pictographs are *so* much less troublesome than a character-based language, you know that? These at least *somewhat* function like an alphabet. β
β Maybe so, maybe so. β The nomad β s eyebrows arched. β Will you pardon me in exchange for a story? β
The Lord waved away all the men in the chamber. β Yes, yes, of course. What have you learned during your travels, nomad? β
β Just a little south of here is a tribe of dark skinned queens, Namibs, from below the Sahara. They have a metal called iron, and it is stronger than anything I have ever seenβ¦ β
***
They put a sword in the nomad β s hand, and kicked him out of the gates onto the sands.
The roar of the crowd was *deafening. * Overwhelming. The nomad has once been caught in a storm on the Atlantic, his ship thrashed to pieces by waves as tall as the great wall and thunder as loud a meteor striking the earth. The roar of the bloodthirsty crowd⦠it reminded him of that storm.
He reveled in it. This was a new experience. He had never killed for entertainment, before. A fantastic, new experience.
β Dog! β His opponent β s face was hidden behind a fishbowl of perforated metal, one arm scaled in iron and a leg plated in bronze. β I will have your head! β
The nomad experimented with the heft of his blade, and weighed his options. Life was much too quick, and he took everything in slow, slow, slowβ¦
Ah. His opponent β s defending arm had a limited range of motion. At the right angle he could attack without being blockedβand without risk of being cleaved in two by the man β s sword. The only question wasβ¦ how would he possibly get at that angle?
The crowd screamed for blood, and the opponent raised his arms and yelled his greatest war cry. The nomad had once fought against a single, naked, shouting warrior born and bred in the mountains of the Himalayas. This Myrmidon was a puppy by comparison.
The nomad took deliberate steps forward, and promptly kicked sand into the warrior β s eyes.
In a split second he whipped around his sword arm and cut at the exposed flesh, right down to the bone. One kick and the man β s sword was ten feet away. A tap of his toe and his helmet slid to reveal a bold face, still unafraid of death.
The crowd was silent.
Without hesitation, the nomad slid his blade into the man β s throatβa quick, clean death.
A voice boomed from the stands. β Slave! How dare you take a life without signal from the emperor! β
The nomad strode towards the cushioned throne and dropped his sword before the emperor. He unmasked himself and didn β t say a word.
β Ah, β said the emperor, eating grapes with a fat, ringed hand. β I will be merciful with this slave, my people! A true emperor must embody mercy even in times of great disrespect! β
The nomad β s face didn β t change, but the fat emperor looked down with a knowing squint.
***
The docks were a rumble of activity: there were crates being roped and sails being rigged, barrels of fresh water being rolled over banded wood, water lapping up against the posts and captains yelling at their lieutenants yelling at their bosuns yelling at their sailors.
It was busy, and the nomad sucked in the salt air and energy of the place like a butterfly sucks nectar.
He felt a tap at the shoulder. β Sir, sir? β
β Yes? β
β Are you the Navigator? Mr. Nogueira? β
β That is I, yes. β
β You have an urgent appointment with Duke Fonseca. β
The nomad started walking again. β I have no memory of making an appointment. β
β You didn β t. He did. He says he knows you quite well. β
The nomad looked at the boy. He seemed genuine enough. β Fine. Take me to him. β
The fat man was as usual: in a fine home luxuriously appointed with silks, fur, and velvet.
β We meet again, my good, good man. β He patted a servant on the arse and sent him scurrying from the room. β I have a very good proposition for you, a good proposition indeed. β
β What is that? You know I have no interest in accumulatingβ¦ things, as you do. β
The fat Duke Fonesca clapped his hands. β But of course. However, you do enjoyβ¦ travel. β
β Yes. β
β Do this for me and I will fund your next *century* of discovery. β
The nomad considered. β Tell me what you wish. β
β There is an old boy who desires to seek a passage to the spice straits, a new passage. But as I recall, a journey to your Far Side of the World may be moreβ¦ lucrative, no? β
The nomad grunted.
β Navigate for him. Take him where the stories are. Where the gold is. β
β One century? β
β One century. β
***
β Why did you do it? β
The nomad sipped tea upon his rock stump of a seat, and thought for a moment. β The world has shifted too much in your favor, old friend. β
The fat man β s face bunched up, and his furrowed brow furrowed deeper.
The nomad continued. β Do you know what my favorite part of life was? Meeting strangers on the road. Telling stories. Simply walking, and taking in this earth slowly and sweetly, like an ant might eat a sugarcane. A field of sugarcanes. β
β And somehow you plan to bring that back? β
β I plan to bring back danger. Uncertainty. I miss the thrill of travelβnow it is simply a plane ticket or a car ride or a bus rideβ¦ hours of sitting and staring, never trading a story with a strangerβ¦ nothing. I want to bring us back. β
β Well, you β ve certainly brought back danger. But we β re better than you, you know that? We can crush you. And we will, without hesitation. Bring the Mujahideen, bring your Al-Qaeda, bring your little pet new army in Iraq. We will hit hard and without mercy. β
β I count on it. β
***
The world was a wasteland, and the nomad jangled on with his cart of old cans and tin treasures. He paid the fee of twenty quarters and gained admission behind Ruston β s weather-bitten walls.
The place was a sprawl of corrugated steel and iron rebar, with shacks built on stilts and and tarp tents littering the flattened soil.
It took a half hour in an antechamber filled with guards and guns before he gained an audience with the Mayor.
β So. You got what you wanted. Are you happy, now? β
β Somewhat. β The nomad wore a faint smile.
The fat mayor rolled his eyes. β You β re lucky I don β t bury you in cement, you know. You β d deserve that wretched eternity. β
β Maybe so, maybe so. β The nomad shrugged. β But then I could n't speak. Would you like a story? β
The fat man bristled, but he bit his lip and shuffled to the edge of his seat.
`` Yes.''
***
# # # ^/r/NaimKabir
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[ WP ] A little child prays to God . Unfortunately God is n't listening but Cthulhu sure is .
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A cold breeze tore across the busy pavement, fleeing from the dying light of the sun. John pulled his woolly red scarf tighter across his face, bright red fingers tugging the warm cloth over his wind-whipped cheeks and nose. A warm hand in a leather glove held his own, steering him through the evening traffic and back towards home. He sighed quietly, the noise quickly spirited away by the rushing air.
He had always disliked Wednesdays. For some people, like those who attended his father's church, Wednesdays were a wonderful day filled with good friends, warm food, and heartfelt worship. For John, Wednesday meant a long day at school, followed by hours of cleaning, setting up chairs, and preparing the food that would be available for those who chose to stay after mass for dinner. And worse of all, Wednesdays meant he would not get to see his mother.
He turned to look up at his father. He, too, had a warm scarf pulled up over his face, with sad, weary eyes and a brush of black hair poking out above. He towered over John, though he himself could not be over five foot five. His grip in John's was firm and warm, and his gait purposeful, yet slow enough that John did not need to run to keep up. Father Miller was known at the church to be a thoughtful, quiet man, who spoke only rarely and with great meaning. Even John, as young as he was, knew he only spoke when he felt it was most important.
John adjusted his scarf again with his free hand, before looking down at his feet.
`` Father...'' he started quietly, his words muffled. Father Miller did not respond.
`` Father.'' He repeatedf louder.
Blinking twice, Father Miller turned and smiled at his son, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly.
`` Yes my son?'' The words, while warm, held an almost unpredictable strain.
`` When will mother come home?''
Father Miller frowned. Six months ago, an unexpected phone call from an old acquaintance had given him some very startling news: Jane Mary, his old, misplaced friend from his college years, was very ill. She had an inoperable tumor growing right behind her left eye. The prognosis had been very bleak: Even with treatment, she was not likely to last half a year. And perhaps even more unexpectedly, she had given birth to a son... a son who, by all evidence, was also most likely his.
Being a man of God, Father Miller had taken young John under his wing. Insurance covered his mother's hospital bills, but despite how hard she fought, she was soon bedridden, imprisoned in a tomb of white linen and bright lights. Soon, it seemed that she would pass from this world, and John would become Father Miller's for the foreseeable future.
`` Soon, my son. All things are possible through God and prayer. Keep faith, and soon your mother will return to you.''
John turned away. Again and again, Father Miller had told him those same words: Pray, have faith, trust in God and your mother will return. And yet his mother's condition continued to worsen. John could see that, when he visited her after school every day but Wednesday. His daily prayers had gone from trusting to full of fervor to desperate, and still remained unanswered.
***********************
Part 2 coming!
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[ WP ] In Monsters Inc. , A monster goes in one door to scare a child , only to find that the child had made a demonic sacrifice in his bedroom . The child thinks that the monster is a gift from Satan .
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I reviewed the file as I approached the door. Age 12 years? That must be a mistake; we never go after them older than 8.
`` Jerry, you sure this is the right kid? He's almost a teenager.''
Jerry shrugged four of his shoulders. `` I double checked it. Technically his screams will work too. They must be getting desperate for doors if we're going after this demographic though.''
I quickly glanced through the rest of the information and room layout. Probably best to go with a simple `` Peak and'Eek.''' For you non-scarers out there, it's a more cautious approach whereby I slowly open the door after applying some rusting spray to get that perfect eerie creak. I stay in the shadows so that he can only see my eyes, and then just when his curiosity is about to get the better of him, I *lunge* forward and scare the living daylights out of him. It's a classic.
The door was plain and white, but there was something off. There were scratches on it. Deep ones down to the wood, with some flecks of red. `` What the... Hey Jerry, what's with this door?''
`` Who cares? Just get in and get the screams and get out, man. We've got a quota to meet.''
Jerry was right. 12 year olds get scared too. Some even more so with those crazy hormones running around their brains. I loosened my shoulders and stepped inside. The closet was pretty dark, I could see a flickering light from outside through the slats. Perfect; that's why they'd assigned this one to me. The little sucker still slept with a night light! That would really accentuate my horns while I lurked. They are my best feature, you know.
I misted the hinges slightly and opened the door just an inch or so. It let out the perfect, ominous creak. *Excellent. * I gave it a gentle shove then shrank back, allowing myself to be enveloped by the shadows.
The first thing I noticed was the candles. Ten of them, arranged in a star. *Not a nightlight, * I realized. *Crap. * They were tall and black, dripping wax onto the boring white carpet; that would be hard to clean.
The next thing I noticed was the blood. That would be even *harder* to clean. It glistened ominously in the candle light. I do n't know how I knew what it was, but I was instantly sure. 100 % definitely blood, drawn into runes in the center of a pentagram.
I stepped forward out of the closet, trying to get a better look. *Just get the screams and get out*, I told myself. *No need to figure out what's wrong with this kid. Just find him, roar, and get out of here. *
Above me, I found the source of the blood: a disembowled cat, hanging from the light fixture on a silver chain. Its face was frozen into a permanent expression of pain and suffering. Clotting blood crusted its formerly orange fur. *Oh god, * I thought. *They sent me to another monster's room*.
Cold metal circled my writst, and I heard the *click* of the handcuffs locking into place. `` You're exactly what I wanted,'' a voice whispered into my ear, and blood-soaked hands stroked my horns. I let out a high, shrill, girlish squeal so loud it would have shattered ear drums.
`` Perfect, we got it!'' I heard Jerry call out. `` Come on home!''
Then the closet door closed behind me, and I was trapped in this world.
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[ WP ] A serial killer is on the loose , the next victim is always the # 1 suspect .
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We've been doing this for some time now, the two of us. At this point, it's evolved from a clashing of wits to a dancing of intellects and now a finely choreographed masterpiece. It's my gift to the world, even though I'll never get any of the credit. I guess that's only fitting though. Despite what the others might think, I'm truly terrible at being a detective. Not that it matters anymore.
When the case first appeared, it was just simple murder. One of the lower-downs was assigned to it, and the investigation began. By the end of the week, the prime suspect was the husband of the deceased. By the end of the week, the prime suspect was dead. The investigation continued, and every week the prime suspect either showed up dead or did n't show up at all.
The case grew, and the original detective requested leave. I tried to hide my disdain at that, and again when one of the seniors proudly exclaimed they'd have the case cracked in no time. As if we had n't been trying at all until then. The next week, our prime suspect was found dead inside a suburban residence. Not his residence, though. The house belonged to the detective on leave. Unfortunately, this made him a suspect, now. He did n't last any longer than the others.
Soon after, the senior in charge of the case stepped down, and I saw an opportunity. I took the part, mainly because no one else wanted it at this point. Resources were being drained, now, as if the brass thought that a smaller investigation would result in fewer casualties and bad press. Still, I had a plan. The first week, I made almost no headway. Our prime suspect showed up dead. Personally I was impressed by that. We'd been searching for that guy for years, and the killer found him in a scarce few days. Well, it worked for me.
The second week, I made a breakthrough. I found trace evidence, a signature of sorts that linked one of our most wanted to the case. By Friday, he was dead and in the city morgue. Each week after that, the prime suspect was curiously a wanted criminal. Sometimes, it was someone who was as yet untouchable. Sometimes, it was just someone we could n't manage to track down. Every week, someone died. Personally, I considered it a success.
As time went on, it got harder for me to fake the evidence. The rest of the squad knew what I was doing, but most of them did n't care. One of the rookies, bright and young, left the case after confronting me about it. One of the others asked how he could help. Unfortunately, the higher-ups got impatient. I was n't making any progress, they said. I had effectively been successful in weaponising one of the greatest criminals of our time, and they thought I was n't cut out for my job. Well, I suppose they were right about that. Eventually, I left the case and applied to a transfer. The week after, the prime suspect died within my jurisdiction. The week after that, I was the head detective on the case.
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[ WP ] DC Comics introduces its newest superhero . This character was seemingly created for the sole purpose of offending as many readers as possible .
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`` What exactly am I looking at, Eric?'' Steve was n't really getting my most recent pitch; After the failed pitch of a hatchet wielding superhero who actually kills his foes he has n't been on my level.
`` Well, its like Darkseid meets Islam see, an-''
`` Woah, woah, woah. We ca n't run this. Eric, we ca n't alienate readers.'' I hate when Steve does this; shooting down controversy. Now he is doing that thing where he fiddles with his pen like a fourth grader who is in trouble.
`` We could make him an Israeli.'' I offer up to Steve tentatively, as he stares at the white *Bic* embossing.
`` That is the exact opposite of what we would want to do. No religions, it's too hard to do.'' he looks up `` Did you not hear about the shooting in France over almost this exact thing?''
`` Yes, Steve, I did. We need to try to be more edgy though. No more of this *I'm a hero, I do n't kill, Blah Blah Blah* Bull shit!'' I lower my voice to a reasonable level as people passing the meeting room stare in. `` Why not comment on something powerful? Oh! We could do a Hero who publicly executes corrupt officials!'' I let out a squee of what I can only consider dissentive joy.
`` Eric. I think I know what we can do. It will seem uncontroversial for a while, but the commentary will start.'' he stares at his pen again, good lord he needs to learn to make eye contact. `` We will make a story where Batman hangs up his cape, and invests in schooling, public housing, and so on; to reduce crime in Gotham.''
`` Steve'' I look at his face, feeling like the Lord Henry to his Dorian Grey `` We should make this happen. Now.'' If I am quitting to go to Marvel, I might as well leave on my best stride.
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[ WP ] Describe a chess match as an epic real world battle
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`` Alright! Castle! move!'' Troops struggled to push the siege tower across the field, it stopped some 400 meters away from a group of knights.
The king stood over the battle, watching everything unfold, his pawns were sprinting forwards, kill and move, thats all they knew. the Castles moved, carefully positioning themselves to strike at the black knights, and the knights, deep in enemy territory, making a beeline for the opposing king, the Bishop was also sprinting forwards, but they were in risk of being killed by an opposing knight. Even his Queen was knee deep in battle.
`` Pawn! Strike, Left!'' The king watched as a pawn struck the opposing Queen, killing her with a blow.
`` KNIGHT! CLEAR SPOT! CHECKMATE!''
The knight moved, positioning himself to strike for the king. suddenly, The air froze, the opposing king tried to move, but he was trapped, a pawn closed the opposing king, The knight gave a cruel smile, and charged, ripping the opponent king in half with his blade, finishing the battle with a bang.
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[ WP ] You 've been seriously injured and pronounced dead , but doctors manage to revive you in the nick of time . Describe what it felt like to be legally dead .
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I heard the faint buzz of the computer flat line as I slipped off into the darkness.
I couldn β t grasp what was happening. My wife, Marie, and I were just driving home from our first date in six months when I saw a pair of bright lights heading straight for our car.
Now, here I was, surrounded by darkness. I was sure my eyes were open, but I couldn β t see anything. I stood there waving my hands in front of my face, only feeling the warm air softly blow into my face. My ears perked up, listening for anything in this black space. Nothing.
β HELLO! β I yelled, unsure if anything would respond. The darkness muted my words much like it blocked my sight.
I began to run, in every direction, as fast as I could, sure that I would eventually run into something or someone.
β HELLO! β I yelled again, my words going nowhere.
I felt as if I had been running for miles when my legs begin to give. I stopped and sucked in the warm, humid air, which was hard to breathe. It grabbed my lungs and felt suffocating. I breathed harder, feeling my breaths draw faster. The world around me felt as if it was shrinking. I began to panic: faster breaths of the suffocating air, my heart raced, I grew light-headed, as fear settled in. Where was I? How do I get out of here? What happened? I felt a strange presence draw closer to me.
I began running again.
That β s when I saw a bright white light off far off in the distance.
I ran. As fast I β ve ever ran. I wasn β t going to stop until I reached the light.
The closer I came the more if felt as if the dark world was collapsing on top of me. The air was so thick I felt like I was drowning. I could no longer breathe and I collapsed yards before crossing into the light.
I gasped for air, doing all that I could to take my next breath.
β Comeβ¦. β I heard a faint voice say off in the distance. β Come back! β
I reached out and dragged myself closer with the last breaths.
β Come back to me! β the voice screamed.
I could no longer breathe, no longer move under the weight of the darkness. I passed out before I could reach the light.
β Come back to me, Jim! Come back, honey! β I heard Marie scream.
β Clear! β a voice yelled I didn β t recognize.
Electricity coursed through my body, jolting my cold heart back to life.
I shot up on a table in a bright room into the arms of Marie, who cradled my face in her chest as I gasped for air. I felt her tears drip onto my shoulders.
β Don β t ever let me go back there again, β I said.
[ -BV- ] ( http: //mattkeyser.com/category/short-stories )
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[ WP ] Every morning before you leave your room you must press the button next to your door . Your mum has always enforced it , and there are signs saying β PRESS THE BUTTON β all over your room . You have begun to question it , and today you decide to step out of the room without pressing the button .
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I stared at the little blue button on my wall, trying to will myself to do what I was going to do. I had already gotten changed and made my bed for the day, just like Mom expected. Like usual, on top of the clothes there had been a note. It simply read, `` PRESS THE BUTTON.'' This exact note was written in various forms all around my room. It was my computer lock screen, on a sticky note on my mirror, and even painted on my door. Mom made sure there was no way I would ever forget to press the button before stepping out of my room.
It was her biggest rule, and I was going to break it. Rules are meant to be broken anyways, right? Still, I was nervous. I had never deliberately gone against any one of Mom's rules before. Not even one as simple as making my bed every morning. I did as I was told, and I'm sure Mom had a reason for all of her rules.
I realized I had been staring at this little button for a long time. A quick glance at the clock told me I was going to be late if I did n't leave within the next few minutes. Taking a deep breath, I stood up. I moved quickly to the door, and put my hand on the doorknob. I ca n't believe I was actually going to do this. Would she know if I did n't press it? How? Maybe it does something important.
This was Mom's biggest rule, so I would most likely get in trouble by not pressing the button. Before I changed my mind, I turned the doorknob, only to find that the door would n't open. It was locked. Suddenly, I knew what the button did.
I pressed the button, and opened the door.
First writing prompt I've ever done. I could n't help myself with the ending. Probably could have been more creative. Oh well. Enjoy.
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[ WP ] Hunched over , a shadowy figure clutches its heart . `` Is this what it 's like to feel ? ''
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Hunched over, a shadowy figure clutches its heart. `` Is this what it's like to feel?''
`` Jesus Christ, Will.''
`` I told you that's not my name, *Simon. * I am Asmodeus!''
Jael rolled his heavily made-up eyes and yanked the clove cigarette from his mouth. `` Fine, Asmodeus. Just go ask her out!''
Asmodeus pressed the back of a fingerless glove to his forehead. `` I can not!''
`` Jesus Christ,'' snorted Jael.
Asmodeus scowled at him and pressed his hand harder. `` I can not! I can not bear the thought of dragging such beauty down into the depths of my despair!''
`` Dude. She's like a six out of ten. I guarantee you she'll be flattered by the attention. If you can rein in your... whole thing for like ten minutes.''
`` How dare you besmirch my goddess's beauty?!''
`` That. That's exactly what I'm talking about.''
Asmodeus recoiled as though burned. The sound of rattling chains echoed in the stairwell. `` Are we not brothers in darkness? How could you speak to me thus?''
*'' Dude. * Dude. Seriously.'' Jael blew a puff of clove smoke at Asmodeus. `` Calm your tits. You've been a goth for like, three days, you spaz.''
`` I thought I had discovered fellow voyagers on the path of night!''
`` Most of us just like the fashion, man.''
Etienne, Raven, and Lorelei nodded agreement and exhaled clove smoke.
Asmodeus sat up where he'd been slumped dramatically against the wall. `` Really?''
`` Really, dude. Just chill out a little and you can totally score a date with Amber Hossenpfeffer. It'll be cool, trust me.''
Etienne, Raven, and Lorelei nodded and exhaled.
`` Oh,'' said Asmodeus. `` Uh, can you guys give me some advice?''
`` Of course, dude. What are friends for?''
`` Thanks.'' Asmodeus smiled, cracking his makeup. `` Oh hey, you guys wan na hear my latest poem? I call it'A Pitch-Black Ode To A Midnight Trapped In Amber.'''
`` Jesus Christ, Will.''
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[ WP ] Begin with lovers , who turn into friends , then end up as strangers .
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Honey, let's swear that every night we tell eachother whatever we feel guilty about without being angry or judgmental to one another. Great! Let's start tonight. I'll go first. Last month, when I bought you that ring that I said was a thousand bucks was a lie. I got it on sale for 700. You feel guilty as well for something? Wait, so I got the date of our anniversary correct, but you forgot so you just pretended to be angry with me? Do n't worry, I do n't mind at all. I love you.
*6 months later*
Babe, there is something I want to tell you tonight. I have to spend more hours at work due to the recent promotion I got today, so I wo n't be seeing you as much as I did in the past. I'm not having an affair if that's what you are thinking. Trust me, I do n't have the time to go and do that. I'm really guilty that I ca n't see you as often as before. On the bright side, I'm getting better pay at the same time! We can finally get out of this horrible apartment and get you into a nicer place closer to the center of the city! Is n't that great! We can move in and celebrate your birthday there the first night!
*2 months later*
Hey Babe, I wan na tell you how sorry I am that I missed your birthday last month. I was out of the country at the time, and I know how broken you are, so I decided to book us a cruise to the Mediterranean! We leave next week! What's that? You have to visit your family next week? I'll join you then! Oh... It's already fully booked. It's okay, It's okay. I'm not angry or sad. Maybe I'll just enjoy myself here for the week then...
*7 months later*
I'm really sorry about everything. I did n't know you were having company over! I was just thinking that we could spend some time with a romantic dinner alone. I bought some lobsters and steaks hoping that we could make up for lost time. I, I managed to get a huge bonus this quarter, so the big guys decided to get me a promotion and an extra week of vacation. I thought that I could celebrate it with you, but I did n't know that you had some clients over. How about we have lunch next Wednesday? No? You have a lunch date with some executives? Any time you free this week? Your whole schedule's booked up? Oh... Okay. No, do n't apologize, I'm happy for you! You are moving up in the business world, and achieving your dreams.
*12 months later*
I've been thinking Carol, and I have been wondering why we are still together. We are both successful executives in the prime of our lives. We stayed together because the two of us had a dream of hitting it big in the city. We did it, but now... Now we do n't have anything holding us together... You agree? I'm sorry for this being so out of the blue, I'll buy you any house, no any mansion you want. What's that? You already bought one? Alright. Goodbye Carol.
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[ CW ] Write a short story without using the same word twice .
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Without warning they came, barreling through glass doors -- seeking destruction. Families were torn asunder, no reprieve granted by hell's hordes -- an emotionless mass solely seeking one thing. None survived. We lost dad within two waves, then mom disappeared without notice. All alone, searching for escape, but finding nothing, my spirit fades.
No.
Not like this.
Fighting suits youth, such as myself, better.
Running towards the losing battle, a closed fist topples several unprepared underlings; however, hundreds more rise, effectively taking their place. Finally after hours of getting beaten, trampled and thrown down, I lay there, staring up at shiny metal ceilings that taunt me.
Fucking Black Friday.
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[ WP ] On January 1st , you received a letter in the mail from an unknown sender . The letter simply had the number 365 on it . You have been getting the same type letter each day since then , counting down daily . Today is December 31st ...
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In January, it was confusing. Come Spring, it became amusing. Once summer came, my kids and wife became scared. In the fall they moved out, and by winter, I was alone, tormented by the letters and what they might mean.
I could n't figure out who sent these letters to me. I talked to people at the post office, and we reviewed security footage. All that was found, was that every night at 11:43 pm, one of two people dropped something in the mailbox outside the post office. A barrel chested man with bow legs, or a lithe woman. Neither of them ever exposed their faces to the camera.
It was metronomic really. Every night, exactly at 11:43, one of them would walk up and deliver the letter.
I hardly felt like it was a police matter. I mean, it was probably just some dumb kid, right? I could play the waiting game. In the meantime, I obsessed over these letters.
I tried to tell if I could see where they were printed from, but there was absolutely nothing to go on. I just had to sit and wait. That was my preference.
Today was December 31st. The day before 0. What was going to happen? I was anxious, yet frustrated at myself for feeling so intrigued by what was sure to be just some teenagers. I poured myself a glass of water and sat down to read for a little bit.
I ended up nodding off on the couch with my feet up on the coffee table I'd built out of a wood pallet. I woke up and took a sip of my wine and walked into the kitchen to see what time it was. 11:43 pm.
I heard a knock at the door. Could this be the fabled person delivering the letter in person? I walked over and answered the door. The barrel chested man stood in the doorway.
`` Hello, Sir,'' he said. His voice was rich and deep. Like a solid gold swimming pool.
`` Hello...'' I began. I ca n't imagine he could n't smell the confusion I was emitting. `` Who are you?''
He smiled. `` That's not important. Do you know what you mean to us?''
So many questions raced through his mind. Who's'us'? What made me important?
He began again. `` Do you mind if I come in?''
`` Sure, no problem.''
We walked into my living room and sat down.
`` I'm sorry for all the cloak and dagger stuff. This is how your father wanted it.''
Father? I never knew my father.
`` I do n't have a father...'' I said.
He chuckled. `` Oh yes you do. He's quite powerful. In fact, his kingdom is in a bit of danger and needs to be changed. That's why we're seeking you out.''
`` What can I do? I'm no different than anyone else.''
`` Your humility for one. Your determination, for two.''
`` And Curry for three?''
He laughed at the pun. `` No, that's still quite some time away I'm afraid. You see, the thing is, you're going to die on this mission.''
Die?! What did he mean?
`` Die?! How??''
`` You'll be misunderstood. The members of your father's kingdom often fear what they do n't know. They try to eliminate it. That's why we need you. They may be able to decimate your body, but they wo n't be able to decimate your message.''
I sighed. `` Why me?''
`` You're the best one for the job. It has to be you. Your father's kingdom depends on it. It's your princely duty.''
He had a point. If anything, I had to save my father's kingdom from themselves.
`` I'm in,'' I said, a bit cautiously.
`` I can tell you're a bit cautious. It's going to be ok though. You're going to save this kingdom and be talked about for millennia.''
`` Ok. Let's do it. I want to help as many people as I can. Save the kingdom, all that good stuff.''
`` Perfect. Follow me right this way, Mr. Christ. Your Father appreciates your sacrifice.''
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[ WP ] The head of the Illuminati , the shadowy organization that runs the entire world , is a four-year-old girl .
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It had been so long since I've joined the Illuminati. I was still a young lad then, who was blinded by the power dangled over me. Just think about it, if a person offered you power to control governments, nations and people like a puppeteer, would you not bat an eyelash? Exactly. Joining this organization had been the best decision in my life.
It was through this work I've made a mark in history, albeit in the shadows. There was this Council who gave us the orders, briefing us what to do and the specifics. Numerous times, however, during the urgent missions, they mentioned that the order was from a higher power than them. There was someone higher? What kind of person can single-handedly run the Illuminati, with the whole world on that person's fingertips?
Most of my years, that thought would be just on the back on my mind. That was until the Council summoned me into an important mission, coming from the boss. They said it was to know if I'm worthy to go up the ladder. I was ecstatic, as I can finally achieve the power I've always wanted.
Through hard trials and tribulations, including a near-death experience, I've succeeded. Now, according to the Council my orders will come from this Big Boss personally. It's been two weeks since I've been promoted, and now I've been summoned to the Big Boss' quarters. I quiver in anticipation. Finally it's about time they put me back to work.
I knock on the grand spruce door. The hallway to the Big Boss' chambers were huge, filled with chandeliers and fountains. It was bright and colorful, and the mosaic patterns were exquisite, nothing like I've seen before. Paintings from numerous eras hanged into the walls, alongside historical heirlooms. There were no guards, but numerous cameras and turrets were tactically placed across the hall. I now wait, standing firm in my shoes, sweat forming in my forehead despite the air conditioning. I knocked.
*creak*
`` Hiya! Come in!'' said the little girl that opened the door. She was wearing an elegant dress and an Illuminati hair pin on her head. She had a Dora the Explorer backpack behind her, completely contrasting the outfit she wore.
Confused, and unable to find words to describe my shock, I just sheepishly walk behind her. So many questions were forming, but, I knew better than to ask.
Inside, was the Council, seated on a U styled conference room. The members were talking in hushed voices. They immediately stood up as soon as they saw the child, almost falling over their seats because of the urgency. Deafening silence filled the room, being broken by the carefree singing of a little child.
If the room was to be described, I would say a pictorial studio, but the studio was designed to the brim with childish art. It would seem like all the colors found themselves to this place, exploded, and splattered the walls as wallpaper. My eyes went to the middle, where a throne stood covered in elegant jewels and cloths. As soon as the child sat down the throne, the council did also. I still just stood there beside the kid, mesmerized by the things unfolding before my eyes.
`` Okay! Sit oveeeeeer-'' she closed her eyes and started to point randomly across the room. The Council members flinched every time her finger sets to them, and a sigh of relief soon after the finger went somewhere else.
`` There!'' she squeaked, pointing at the leftmost seat. The woman sitting there began weeping, and soon after she was taken away by guards. She was practically dragged on the floor, begging the kid to reconsider. The little kid just replied with an innocent smile. The former council member was then thrown out, and I sat on her place.
`` Okay!'' she began fiddling with her bag. While she was searching and mumbling to herself, a muffled scream rang outside. The kid however, heeded it no mind, while me and the Council members were listening to pleads for dear life.
`` Stawwy night please!'' she declared, clapping her hands. Without delay, a holographic map plopped itself on the ceiling. She took out a laser pointer from her bag, and pointed the laser to a random place in the map.
`` Okay! Let's make this place go BOOM!'' she exclaimed, excited by her own thoughts.
`` Ma'am, I do n't think that's wise.'' a Council member nervously says.
`` Aww. Okay, how about this place?'' she continued, pointing to another place in the map. `` I want BOOM!''
`` W-what?'' we mutter to ourselves. Are we going to bomb a place just for the entertainment of a child?
`` Please, reconsider Ma'am. We could go unicorn hunting again.'' one of them implored.
`` Aww. But I want boom! Do it, or else, I'll tell Daddy!'' she warned, placing her tiny hands on her hips, her face pouting.
I did not understand what that threat meant, but that seemed to stir the Council members into movement. They all acknowledged the request and began disbanding, some even started sprinting away. Me? I just stood there, watching in awe as a kid, no more than five years old, color away at a booklet. She began humming without even a trace of guilt on her face, as she probably took away hundreds of thousands of lives. This, before my eyes was the Big Boss I've been envisioning.
The boss was more terrifying than what I had imagined.
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[ WP ] you wake up , the last 24 hours a blur . It 's just you , a pile of prosthetic limbs and a distant screaming voice .
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***The Last Job***
At first, all he saw was the jumble of plastic and steel, bending and folding over each other, flesh-like. As the glow faded and the edges began to jump out again, he saw it for what it was, a grotesque pile of arms and legs in skin-colored shades, the occasional brushed steel or carbon fiber punctuating the pile. Shaking his head and standing, he realized that it stood at least seven feet tall and covered most of the far side of the room. He estimated there had to be at least a few hundred.
*Prosthetic limbs*, he thought. The weight of the situation came crashing down on him. *Jesus. They've really fucked me this time. *
Thumps and screams cut through the air like a knife. *Christ*. The cops were already at the door. *I must have been caught on camera at the hospital. Or wherever the hell I got these from. * He glanced again at the pile of limbs. There was nothing for it. Whatever its value, it was already lost. His choice now was a simple one: take his chances on the streets, or accept the thousand-year prison sentence that was waiting for him on the other side of the door. He did n't have to think long. He went out the window.
On the street, the rain was stinging, blown nearly horizontal at tremendous velocity by gale-force winds. He stumbled down the street, trying to shield his eyes from the weather with one arm, looking for some cover. In an instant, he was soaked to the bone. A siren blared and he looked back. Another car pulled up to the building he had left, its blue-and-red blinkers powering their way through the storm like a lighthouse, finding him. He moved on.
After some time, he came to a bridge, and walked under it. There, sheltered from the worst of the rain, he sat on the bank next to the swollen river, thinking.
The first time he'd blank-jacked, he had n't had a choice. When you owe money to the mob and you ca n't pay, they're going to get their value out of you somehow. And so he had let them put in a brain jack and upload targets. He never remembered committing the crimes afterwards. He never remembered anything.
Quicker than he expected, his debt had been paid. He could have stopped then. Should have stopped, to be sure. But after so many years of poverty, how could he turn away from the promise of real wealth? Real wealth in pay for work that he did n't even have to remember. You wake up, feeling slightly confused, and then you to find the Bag Man and collect.
A tree branch floated past him in the churning waters of the river, rapping his foot as it passed. Something, quite obviously, had gone wrong. He'd never woken up anywhere other than his own bed before. Had they set the blank timer too low, forcing him to do a rushed job that had gotten him caught? Or had he just done a slow, sloppy job and gotten pinched? There was no way of knowing. Not that it mattered now. He was a loose end. The Bag Man did n't like loose ends.
With that thought freezing its way through his brain, he drew his jacket around him once more and headed back into the storm. His only hope was to get out of the city before anyone figured out that the cops were onto himβif they did n't know already.
In heavy rain, the city becomes a strange sort of sodden ghost down. Cars with gleaming golden eyes whipped up and down the streets, screaming through puddles and splashing him, but he could n't see another human in any direction. No one in their right mind would walk in this weather unless they absolutely had to. Apparently he was the only person in this part of the city that desperate.
He walked west, away from the river, and away from the building with the screaming cops and the grotesque pile of presumably-stolen limbs. He wondered whether that was the first time he'd stolen prosthetics. Probably not. Since the war, they were always in high demand, and top quality brainsynced ones probably went for thousands each. But they're big enough that it's difficult to move them in bulkβhow the hell had he gotten so many into that room in the first place?
That was the cruel irony of blank-jacking. He had been a professional criminal for three years now, but did n't remember the tricks of his own trade.
Perhaps he never knew them. Perhaps he'd been working for years as a hit man, and thisβhis first robbery jobβhad been a botch. He had no way of knowing. Before now, he'd never wanted to know. If I've killed a man, he reasoned, I'd sleep better not knowing it. And of course, if he ever was caught and brought to trial, he could n't offer prosecutors anything. Other than the Bag Man, everyone he'd ever worked with worked with him only during his blank hoursβhe had no memory of any of them.
He had to be miles away by now, but the storm drains were overflowing and he was shuffling through a few inches of rushing water as the streets slowly flooded. Out in the open, he was slow and conspicuous. There was no way he could book a cabβhis name would be flagged on the net by now; if the cops did n't get to him, the Bag Man would. In desperation, he stuck out his thumb.
For twenty minutes or so he trudged down the side of the road, bathing in rejection as the cars sped by him, dousing him in waves of cold water that trickled down his legs and down the back of his neck like a spider. Then, flashing lights. A black sedan thrummed to a halt just behind him, then crept forward again. The window rolled down, and he looked into the darkness for a sign of salvation.
There was none. The tobacco-stained teeth of the Bag Man grinned back at him. `` Get in,'' he smiled.
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[ WP ] An NPC goes mad from the absurd and insane mods the player installs that no one else seems to notice .
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Nathan has recently begun to question things. Things like, what defines a vehicle?
A weird thing to ask oneself, if it was n't for the odd daily commute which consists of pianos, horses, upside down tanks and occasionally planes. No one else seems to mind, but it's not only the fact that horses seem to be making a comeback that perturbed Nathan. At times what seemed to be some kind of bizarre natural phenomena hurled cars and people at ludicrous speeds horizontally, vertically and diagonally. If the streets were the chessboard and the cars and people pieces, it would all be on the floor by now.
Maybe god is a bad loser? Nathan did n't know if there was a god, but if there is he had most certainly seen him. Occasionally you can see an individual running at absurd speeds or flying, if it's one or more people doing this he did n't know. Maybe humans can be defined as vehicles?
Nathan continued to eat his burger, contemplating this as a man splattered onto the window, putting his earphones in with a frown to block out the sound of the explosions.
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[ WP ] In an alternate world , curse words we use in our world are Literally `` Curse '' words in theirs which can cause devastating damage and are banned . You are a person , who somehow ended up in that world and knows nothing about this .
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The USS Indianapolis was making its lone return trip from its delivery. There was a fog setting in front of them and to make things worse, there was a sneaking suspicion that they were being tailed by a Japanese sub as the sonar was showing some distortion on its fringes. At full speed ahead, the ship powered through the calm waters of the Pacific until a sailor called out `` Torpedo!'' over the starboard. Eyes fixed on a wake closing on the ship's side, klaxons sounded, and crew shouted. A panic set in as the fog became too thick to further track the incoming projectile. The lot of them braced as they expected the perfectly aimed torpedo to impact any moment based on its previous sighting. Nothing happened. The crew quietly looked around, searching for any sign of the torpedo or more. They exited the fog as quickly as they had entered. The fog dissipated and there was no longer evidence of a torpedo.
`` The fuck happened?'' a sailor asked in confusion. Moments later the sailors' mouths went off. Their usual vocabulary peppering liberally their conversations about what had just transpired. The sky darkened around them.
`` Hey, look at this shit! There's land!'' one shouts.
`` We were just in the middle of the damned Pacific ocean! Where'd this land come from?'' another called out. This only proved to cause more stressed conversation. Black clouds were forming around them and starting to swirl.
On shore, The locals looked out to sea in worry.
`` It looks like a terrible storm is coming in! Where the frik did it come from!?'' exclaimed a youngster.
`` Watch your mouth! You know what happens when people swear.'' an elder scolded.
From the ship, it appeared like the fog was setting back in with the shrouded sight and darkness. In reality, the mighty battleship had become an even more powerful force. It was now the epicenter of a typhoon. Confused by the onset of they perceived as fog once again the sailors grew more stressed. The raging storm blocked all vision of the island. The houses were leveled, the people hurled out to sea, and the island itself submerged. The battleship cruised directly over the drowned island. After time, the storm subsided and the ship slipped out of a fog.
`` What happened? Where'd that fuckin' island go?'' a sailor asked looking around.
`` I do n't know. I do n't see anything.'' another answered. An hour had passed to reaffirm that everything was back to normal. Tension settled and conversation died down. Business resumed as usual. Then an explosion erupted from the hull. A torpedo hit and the ship. It began to take on water. The USS Indianapolis was sinking. Its crew in terror once more started to swear up a storm, only this time figuratively.
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[ WP ] The world monetary system has collapsed . There 's confusion as to what 's going to happen next , until ...
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nsfw?
The two men sat at the bar and stared down into their half finished beers. Their ties were loose and their suits crumpled. They were wondering how it all went wrong.
β You know what I feel like? β said one, without lifting his eyes from his drink. He was bald and had a perfectly trimmed goatee.
β What do you feel like Bernie? β asked the other as he leaned back on his bar stool. His blond hair and strong chin complemented the concern on his face.
β I feel like a girl who has been fucked and then thrown away like a piece of trash. I feel like a frat house prank. β
The second man, whose name was Jack, put his hand on his friend β s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The faux old English bar they sat in was almost empty. On the televisions above them the world was losing its mind. The markets had collapsed. Really collapsed. Not the typical boom and bust cycle everyone was used to, but a genuine deck of cards, where did all the money go, holy shit where β s my gun collapse.
β Fucking Forex, β said Jack, giving his friend a final slap on the back before draining his beer and motioning for another.
It was the Forex markets that had done it. They had no brake.
The NYSE β s circuit breakers had been installed after the crashes of β 87 and β 89. If the market lost 7 % trading would be frozen for 15 minutes. If it continued to slide and lost 13 % it would be frozen for another 15 minutes. If it lost 20 % it would be frozen for the rest of the day. It was designed to give the human mind a chance to cool off, reassess, take a breath, that sort of thing.
The Forex markets however, they didn β t have circuit breakers. Those bad boys operated 24/7/365. When New York closed, Hong Kong opened. When Hong Kong closed, London opened. And when London closed, New York was already in full swing.
No one was sure why it had happened. A small dip in the dollar. It had cascaded from there. The knowledge that money is an act of collection imagination had finally come home to roost. And it was all gone baby. Poof. If you couldn β t eat it or shoot someone with it, it didn β t have a lot of economic value.
In the window behind Bernie and Jack a burning cop car slowly rolled down the street. The tickle of bells announced a new patron. One of the televisions above the bar exploded as a shotgun roared. Someone was letting loose their best Ric Flair impression.
Bernie and Jack turned around to see a middle aged lady in a frilly frock holding a shot gun on them.
β What β s up Mother Fuckers. I need some cock and some Vodka. I don β t care in what order but I β m in a hurry so don β t take too long to decide. β She took a deep breath before filling the space with another β Whooooooooo! β
The TV β s that weren β t shot out suddenly squealed with static. The images of frantic newscasters were replaced by the torso of a distinguished looking man. He had a broad blue-ish face. His chin, cheek bones and forehead defied the expectations of the human eye. He had a nice pencil-thin mustache.
He cleared his throat and began to speak.
β Humans of the Planet Earth. Hello. My name is Grand Admiral Kititas. Or at least that is the closest translation to your language that my computer will allow. I am speaking through every television, computer, and radio on your planet. My voice is being translated to whichever language is the most dominate in your area. I bring greetings from the Intergalactic Federation of Worlds. We have been monitoring your civilization for many hundreds of years, watching you develop, hoping you would reach a point where we could offer you a place in intergalactic life. Your current situation has forced us to intervene. By our calculations you are on the brink of full collapse and we can not stand by and watch you destroy yourselves. Your planet is too important. β
Everyone in the bar was still, eyes glued to the screens.
β I β m here to urge you to calm down. Everything is going to be alright. You are not the first civilization to experience the inevitable collapse of a competition based economy. As I speak we are preparing peace keepers to land on your planet and restore order. We will give you everything you could need. Food, water, energy, safety. All will be provided. We will cure all your diseases and help you sort out your differences. You will be able to journey amongst the stars and see things beyond your wildest dreams. I β m here to say welcome to the universe. β
The shotgun roared again, and then again. The rest of the TV β s exploded, raining glass and plastic on the bar.
β Blue fuck, β the woman in the frock muttered. β Not going to ruin my coming out party. β
Bernie and Jack looked at each other and then at the woman. Badly applied lipstick was smeared around her face. She was reloading her gun with fresh shells. She racked one and pointed the weapon at the two men.
β Now take off your pants, β she told them.
Edit: Minor grammar
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[ WP ] A genie just granted you your wish to be able to speak every language and you find that in your brain there is a language which belongs to aliens .
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I thought it was a hoax. Surely, such a thing can not exist on the internet, but, as Latin was suddenly spouting out of my lips, I knew that it must be true. I had only clicked on that add out of curiosity, yet here I was, speaking Latin like I had been born in ancient Rome. I was filled with excitement as I sat in the dimly lit box that was my computer room at 2 a.m.
My excitement increased as I tried Spanish, German, Japanese and French. Oooh, was French beautiful, the swear words especially. Practically felt like whipping ones ass with silk. The rush of excitement increased as I tried every language I knew over and over again, and then just went into random mode, listen to every single word I could think of in a random language, until I hit `` Banana'' in something I could n't quite discern.
At first I was startled. The language did n't feel like anything a human could realistically produce. A group of gargles, lots of seemingly random sounds and accents all over the place, but as much as I used it, I still could n't understand where this, dare I say, `` alien'' language had come from.
All that happened years ago, and now I find myself on the verge of solving the mystery. I had been to Greece, to Pompeii, to the Easter Islands, hell, I had even been inside the Pyramids, translating for Archaeologists. I've come to be known as a sort of world wide Archaeological celebrity. And it's tedious work, yet I like it. It beats trying to teach a bunch of ignorant adults the wonders of flirting in French.
But that matters not, as now I stand in a newly opened mine in New Zealand, in which something has been unearthed. Something huge. Something that will revolutionize science as we know it, and I am at the forefront of it all, as the expert in every language spoken by men at any point in the long history of this space rock. The air is thick with dust and its pressing hard against my lungs. The crew had ensured me that the chances of explosion in this sulfur mine is almost non-existent, but I'm still hesitant to even light a candle, let alone use the equipment they have provided me with.
As I approach the unearthed compartment, I feel a chill run down my spine. This might be it, the solving of the mystery of the `` alien'' language that I've been hunting might be hidden in here, in this, what the archaeologists describe as, ancient burial ground. I enter the room and immediately notice a bunch of equipment still here. There were papers with carbon copies of various texts found across the walls of the room, all of which written in a language they could not identify. I reach for one of these copies and look at the text. My mind is filled with the ever so familiar feeling of frantically looking for anything in the hundreds of alphabets I know, until I hit what I've been looking for.
It feels as if time is frozen in place. I stare at this piece of parchment for what seems like an eternity, until I'm brought out of my trance by my partner in crime, who came up behind me.
`` Anything yet?'' He asks, looking concerned, as this is the first time I've looked so pale while reading a foreign language.
`` You have no idea what we have here. By blind luck, the human race has unearthed something thought to be lost not just to the world, but to the entire universe. This is it!'' I rambled, visibly excited that I have found the answer to what has been plaguing me for years on end. The language was alien, and I understood it perfectly.
As we continue deeper into the complex, into rooms untouched by time for gods know how long, I see the language even more. It tells me of various functions this complex serves, some of it is scraped into the walls by what appears to be brutal means just to tell a story to whoever might find it. A story of people being trapped, air reserves decreasing and directions to what appears to be a data storage.
We follow said directions and end up in a large, empty and dark room. There is one word etched into the door. A word that I can not translate into English, but I understand it perfectly. I shout out the name and the room lights up. There are lights everywhere and, slowly, an image is formed out of luminescent dust. It looks like something humanoid, but completely unlike anything else on this world. The closest thing I can think of would be a large, overgrown koala, yet not even close to one. The facial features are sharp and it wears a robe of pure light.
As it speaks, I, out of pure reflex, translate what it says to my companion. It speaks of distress, of being stranded on a volcanic planet with a bunch of scientists as they experiment with synthesizing artificial life out of non-organic materials, like carbon, which can be found in abundance on this rock floating among space debris.
As we both listen, amazed at the complexity of both the language of the ancient and the info it is providing, we hear a hiss coming from the hallway, as if some hydraulics had been released.
`` We were supposed to be alone down here, were we not?'' I ask my companion, who tells me were. As I exit to the hallway, the hologram still talking behind me, I notice that it is now visibly more lit. Some of the light appears to be coming out of the walls and a lot of it is coming from texts on the wall that are now glowing in the darkness of the ancient laboratory. I hear another hiss of hydraulics somewhere nearby and look that way. In front of me now stands a hooded figure, in complete silence. He extends his hand, as if to give me a hand shake and I accept, only to feel the fingers in my hand break.
The being speaks, and I answer, telling him what he wants to know. My companion in the other room is visibly shaking, but the being exerts no malicious intent. Instead, it radiates an aura of times long past, his look roughened up, yet his clothes do n't look as roughed up as you'd expect them to look on a being as ancient as him. After a while, he agrees to travel with me to the surface, to marvel in what he calls `` his breed'', as long as I act as a mediator between the humans and him.
Thus we ascend, me, my companion and an ancient, through the sulfur mines up to the surface and what could possibly be a breakthrough in the human evolution, but first, we need to get outside, in the blinding light, were an army awaits us.
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[ WP ] Aliens planning an invasion of Earth confuse our video games for a military exercise . They reason that if they can beat those , they can also defeat us in combat . They 're having some difficulties with our harder games ...
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The alien being sat in his cubicle at the office of intelligence on his home planet. Setting about his normal routine the alien began his regular work day without a second thought. Suddenly an urgent message appeared on his communications device. He β d been tasked for a special duty.
Quickly the alien scanned through the message, his task was to attempt to master some training simulations of an alien species. The species was 100 light years away, didn β t seem particularly interesting nor intelligent. β Earthlings β the alien intoned to himself as he read the report.
Studying physical, biological and psychological descriptors the alien didn β t find too much of interest in the Earthlings. But he was tasked with defeating their simulations. Apparently, there was a planned invasion of their world. A team of technicians hurried up a strange looking device which was required to run the training simulations of the Earthlings.
The alien quickly learnt the primitive control schema of the device, with its simple input mechanisms and the Earthling β s pitifully simplified language. Scrolling through the list of simulations he read descriptions of the simulations as described from an intelligence brief. If he was to master them all, then he would start at the most basic simulation he could find and find it he did.
β A simulation of an Earthling running β he stated to himself. He read through a longer description which described an extremely simple control scheme even by Earthling β s standards and a low bar for completion, simply run 100 meters. A perfect way to start off mastering the simulations the alien though to himself.
He started the simulation and there before him on the strange device was the image of a Earthling. Despite all of the briefs he had read earlier on them he wasn β t prepared for the sight of one. Taken back he studied the image of the human and read the controls which were displayed prominently at the top of the screens.
β Too simple β he thought to himself, β these Earthlings must be simple beasts if they need a training simulation to learn and practice the most basic of their own locomotion. β He studied the screen with the image long and hard and as he did he became angry. This was a waste of his time, his talents. He had spent the last couple of hours learning all of the Earthling β s languages, nuances of their culture biological information, levels of technology. In short, he knew everything there was to know about the Earthlings, how would these simulations help him?
Quickly he punched the controls displayed on the screen and expected that the image of the earthling on the screen would immediately start running as he predicted. What actually happened he could not predict. The Earthling on the screen took a half step forward and then shot his next leg high into the air, in a motion it didn β t look like it should be able to do, then the Earthling immediately carted over onto its head.
β Restart? β The device displayed at the alien. Obviously, he had misinterpreted a control. Of course, he would restart. He would restart and master this simulation, just like the others.
The simulation began again, the alien used the controls in a different fashion and got a similar result. Swearing under his breath the alien tried again, and again. The simulation would not relent.
Perhaps these Earthlings do need this training the alien thought to himself. He started the simulation again and this time made a significantly larger amount of progress, he was starting to get it he thought. He was mastering the Earthling β s run, in no short amount of time he would master all of their simulations.
But his thoughts were cut short when the character on the screen promptly planted its nose into the ground. β 14 Meters? β He thought and softly cursed under his breath. It had seemed he was nearly finished the game, but he had only made a miniscule amount of progress towards its completion.
β Restart? β The very question burned at him. Of course, he would restart and he would conquer! He started the character off running once more but barely made a meter. The aliens large fist came down on the controls with a thump. Some of the others in the office peered over his cubicle to see what the commotion was.
The alien was now several hours into this simulation, well past the normal time when he would leave work. Most of the office was empty, and he was shouting and swearing and spitting at the machine as it taunted him. β Restart? β How much more could the alien take?
This was it he thought, he β d wasted enough time on this simulation. It was time to be serious and master it. The pitiful Earthlings with their primitive technologies and language and brain power couldn β t hope to rival his superior abilities. So, for the last time, or so he thought, β Yes, I will restart. β
The run started well, the Earthling on the screen began running and the alien fell into a rhythm with the controls. He glanced briefly at the distance, he had just smashed his old record of 14 meters and still going strong. The little Earthling on the screen bounced and ran in an awkward fashion by the alien β s hand. But then the character took on an awkward gait as it ran. The alien shifted his technique on the controls to attempt to correct it, but it was too late. The earthling came crashing to the ground in a jumbled heap.
The alien looked down and smiled at himself, he was well on his way to mastering this simulation. Looking back up he checked how far his character had run. In a way that seemed to mock him the distance read 35 meters. A stir of emotions overtook the alien even as a tried to stifle them. But eventually it was too much. A large alien fist went through the display of the Earthling β s device.
He glanced at the name of the simulation which had gotten the best of him. β QWOP β, he silently hissed under his breath. He would need more time he thought, much more time to master these simulationsβ¦
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[ IP ] Guardians of the Vale
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It has been nearly 500 years since the last time the transportation stones were used. during the last magical wars that ended the elvish reign on her old lands of Kal'Terra.
Sharawyn felt weak, exertion taking a toll on her stamina, along with the cloy, humid heat of the valley.
She wore her ritual white, her hair long, wavy and tied in the high circlet. Her feet bound in a Sher'a'holwa, the holy shoes. Enchanted to never step upon the ground, never to destroy or kill anything underfoot. It was the elvish ways, it was what they did as part of their Atonement and because of the blood on her hands, Sharawyn wished for Atonement too.
The massive welcoming elvish statues pointing the way towards Jhal'falla, the last domain of the elvish empire. The last place she would like to be.
Sharawyn looked up at the carved mountains. Solemn, powerful elves eventually banished from the world just like her. All because of the Frenzy, the sickness that eventually took all magic users.
`` I wish for passage great ones. To Atone for the sickness, to ease the pull of the Frenzy.''
The wind chilled, the stone cracked and a hollow, booming voice echoed as far as the mountains.
`` Kill no thing as you come, where there was many, now is one. To Jhal'falla land of the free, pass in peace, so mote it be.''
Leaving her horse, she stepped forward with shaking legs.
Where there was many, now is one.
She wished to die right then. She was the last sister of the light, and the frenzy had begun to take her. She stepped forward and felt the words of the third age ring in her head.
`` Death lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain.''
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[ WP ] You live in a society where tattoos appear on people based on personal acomplishments and crimes committed . One day you wake up with a tattoo that no one has ever seen .
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`` I do n't get it,'' I said aloud, staring at my arm. A new tattoo had appeared there, and it made no sense; I did n't know what I had done or what happened to me for it to appear. In fact, it was a tattoo that nobody had ever seen before; or at least, I could n't find it under any category when I searched on the Web. No one had made a post about it, ever; except for me, that is. And everyone replying to my post was just as confused as me. I just did n't get it.
Why would I get a tattoo of myself on my arm?
It was not terribly detailed, but it was clearly a caricature of me, down to the mole on my left cheek and gently tilted glasses. The figure on my arm wore a green button-down that I owned, and a plain pair of slacks. He looked back at me with a bland expression that did n't quite mirror my puzzled one.
`` Weird. Oh, shit, need to finish this report...'' I quickly glanced at the clock: 4:10 PM. Groaning softly, I shifted my attention back to the work glaring at me from the computer screen.
*It could be a premonition type tattoo*, I thought as I rinsed off the shampoo. Warm water pleasantly streamed down my back. *Maybe I meet my long-lost twin or something. * Grinning a little, I shut off the faucet and began to towel off.
I stood in front of my open closet and wondered what to wear. The green button-down caught my eye. Glancing again at my arm, I shrugged and took it out.
*Maybe someone steals my identity. * The worrying thought lasted only a second. It did n't make sense for my own body to appear if that happened right? I do n't know. `` None of it makes any sense,'' I told my reflection in the dresser mirror as I carefully combed my hair.
`` You said it, buddy.''
I nodded absentmindedly, and then froze. Slowly, my eyes wandered back up to the mirror, where my reflection copied my movements exactly. And then, it winked.
____________________________________________________________________________
*Liked that? More stories [ here ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/ )! *
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[ WP ] While flying across the country on his private jet , a megachurch preacher hears the voice of God . And He is furious .
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The engines were silent and the air conditioning had stopped. Pastor Janno placed his martini down on the flight tray and stood up carefully. Everything was still. From the dust frozen in place to the clouds outside his window.
`` What's going on?'' He muttered to himself as he reached for the bottle of booze. Maybe he needed a stronger drink.
As his fingers grazed the glass, it shattered and the sky outside became dark.
`` You preach my words, yet commit sins yourself. You are no priest of mine.'' A voice said. Pastor Janno knew immediately who it was.
`` God?''
`` Greed has consumed you while hunger consumes those in your congregation. You pay no mind to them, but can afford this jet to cross country?'' The voice grew angrier and he sat down in his seat dumbfounded. His Thursday Ho was sitting in the row across from him, her purple caked eyelids frozen mid blink. another sin. He turned away and stared at his reflection. A gold cross adorned his silken robe. Another sin.
But then again, he had never thought God was a real thing. For him it had all been an easy way to get money.
`` Will you not answer me, Markus Janno? Are you too proud to answer your maker?'' The voice taunted.
`` I-I'm not afraid of you. You have n't done anything to show that you're real. This could all be in my head.'' The pastor laughed nervously. There was nothing to see outside the window and his Ho still had n't moved. He was n't sure if she was even breathing.
`` Maybe I'm not real. Maybe I'm just your guilt. Either way, you're stuck here with me until something changes. Enjoy the feeling.''
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[ WP ] You have died . As the white light fades , you see who can only be God seated before you . You launch yourself at him , fists raised , teeth bared , screaming ...
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It could n't be. I passed out, that's all. God surely could n't be as cruel as this.
I understood His plan. The world suffered. There were just too many of us. Too many humans. We would get through this crisis. Way less in number, certainly, but all for the better.
Yes β at first I had been angry. All my life I had lived in constant faith that God loved us all. Everything I ever did based on this belief β every human was loved by God. Every human deserved saving. So of course I was confused when the dying began. Soon it was clear that He had sent a terrible disease. When my first friends died, I was shocked, and when the virus took my mother, I even ranted at Him β I'm not proud of it.
But it was there in the church, at my most vulnerable state, that I finally understood His plan. And suddenly I could see the the future. The oh so bright future. And my part in it. God still loved us. And He had given me the tools to save mankind so many years ago already. It had not been random that I did my Ph.D. in medical research. I could and I would find a cure and save those, who were meant to survive. To build a new world. To build a better world. On a planet recovering from the human disease.
From church I went straight to the lab and started my Holy work. I glided through the research like born on angel's wings but that was n't surprising. My faith was strong. Even when I felt the first symptoms of the virus hitting me, I kept on believing. What did it matter if I did n't make it? I'd see the glorious future of mankind glimpsing down from my cloud, knowing I'd helped this miracle coming true. What was my life compared to this? I was close to the breakthrough, it was only a matter of days now.
I was the last one. None of the colleagues I had corresponded with answered anymore. While my believe rested with Him, humanity's hopes rested with me. The heads of the rescue-centers mailed me hourly, asking for news of the research development. Oh, I looked forward so much for the moment I'd be able to send them the required data.
And suddenly that moment was there. A last checking look through the microscope confirmed my success. I could have never imagined a feeling of gratitude as overwhelming as the one washing over me that moment. I thanked Him silently, again and again, while I rolled my chair over to my screen to finally send the eagerly anticipated mail.
That's when I passed out.
And when the light fated and I saw him sitting there, smiling at me mildly, I jumped up, launched myself at him, fists raised, teeth bared and screaming...
( Bear with me for any grammar mistakes β I'm a non-native speaker. I always appreciate corrections ).
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[ WP ] post apocalyptic story that 's ends with me thinking i did n't see that coming
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The sky melted gray ash over the barren city ruins. The sun choked yellow filament rays that held no more warmth. Volcanoes erupted molten blood. The earth was dying in it's final winter. Adam, the last human alive, watched as the sun set over the horizon cutting through the naked trees that had long since died and wondered why. Why had simple life existed on this planet? Was it coincidence? God? Cosmological constant? He could find no reason to justify the creation and extinction. He looped a handwoven rope'round his neck and readied himself. He spoke not a word as he stepped off. His throat clenched shut as the noose gripped him. His eyes folded back, light snuffed into dark pinholes. His body rebelled, fighting to live. The trees morphed into binary code running up into the sky where it too ran long, stretching from the end of the earth to the stars, ones and zeros. The rope too became ones and zeros when suddenly from the bellows of the earth a voice rang out.
`` Life restarting.''
Adam choked as he sat up. His eyes engaging his surroundings. No shape could be distinguished beyond the symmetric code stacking around him. Then all at once it became life. He sat in his bed, hands desperately rubbing his neck. Adam knew not what to do but felt the sudden urge to piss. He jumped up and ran to the bathroom.
Alex sat at his computer watching Adam. Then he clicked on the fridge and Adam walked to eat.
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[ OT ] What 's a prompt you missed writing for that you really wished you had n't ?
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There was one about `` you are what really killed the dinosaurs, and now your thawing from the ice caps'' and I wanted to be the meteorite still.
The meteor lulled in the open sun. Warmer than it had been in 168 years, thought not as warm as it had been 65 million years ago, for all it cared. It's icy tomb had receded so far that this impossibly round of meteorites, having been discovered broken and pure 250 years ago by the YucatΓ‘nian Juan Pablo LΓ³pez Dias junior, pocketed and carried to just south of the Rio Grande, where Juan settled as a cobbler, married, died and bequeathed the meteor to his son, Juan Pablo LΓ³pez Dias III, who was a barber, also married, also died and bequeathed the meteor to his son, Juan Pablo LΓ³pez Dias IIII, who was a soldier and caring very little for the meteorite allowed it to be forged into an iron ball, now perched atop a cradle of ice, like a deadly snow cone.
After that I was gon na recount the the meteorite's firing from a cannon at the Mexican American war, picked up by an American explorer, taken to the ice caps
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[ WP ] Give me a story of an alien where they only live for 60 seconds
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`` Look. The eggs are hatching.''
Under the constant warmth of a heat lamp, a handful of green orbs begin to tremble slightly. The pressure exerted by the eggs' occupants causes the thin shells to crack.
The Vigilants scurry over, long appendages dragging their lanky forms across the bunker's concrete floor with surprising ease. The wonder of a Hatching was not something that many saw often.
The cracks were spreading, and the new spawn were about to emerge. Six aliens push forward through the throng. The Inspectors have arrived just in time.
The bunker's walls reverberate with the cries of the newly born.
`` That one looks promising.''
`` What about that one? She looks like she could make a great soldier.''
`` Hmm... slightly deformed. I'm sure the auxiliaries could use it.''
And in that manner, each of the tiny creatures were selected, sorted, and sent off to be trained. The Empire required ever more soldiers as the Great Struggle dragged on.
Suddenly, a great klaxon sounds. The bunker's occupants, long since used to the constant drills, dutifully follow procedure.
A booming voice comes over the PA system.
**'' This is NOT a drill. Repeat, this is NOT a drill. Citizens must enter their isolation pods immediately. All soldiers report to your stations. `` **
The organized march suddenly fell to chaos. No one could hear themselves even think over the screams, and many died under the feet of others in their hurry to escape, get out, go deeper.
They had thought it would never happen. That they would be safe here, in the Empire's final great bastion of defence. They were wrong.
The Humans had arrived.
It was over.
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[ WP ] You are shown a short clip of yourself on this date 5 years into the future , and you note that Future You is overwhelming rich . You have no idea how you came into all this wealth , until you suddenly spot a small detail in the video ...
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`` Think about Gary. Just stop and think about it. Give me like three minutes.''
The others were quiet. At first blissfully so, but the silence took on a creepy there-is-something-behind-me feel quickly.
We watch them again, in slow-mo.
The tapes were Beta's. We were gathered around an old television in isle 3 with the beta player from isle seven plugged in. The museum was empty but the sound in this section echoed oddly.
The notes that had accompanied the videos, unwatchable at the time, had told us where to meet. Six of us, I only got three hundred dollars in mine but I lived literally eleven minutes away from the old truck stop diner where we were told to meet. Jody was seven states away and had been given more than five grade, she would n't say how much.
This was the first place we could find close to the diner. Four hours away.
The tapes were uncanny. Candid shots clearly from cell phones or their equivalent bobbing over peoples heads or in Gary's case from some sort of sex tape situation.
Each of us is rich. Gary's on a boat big enough to be called an aircraft carrier with naked women, champagne, and deep rhythmic bass.
There was a packet here, taped to the beta tape player. Mind you the notes did n't tell us to come here but the note was here on its own. We argued first about that. Had it been an organic decision or had someone in the group directed us here. No one really remember the conversation that got us breaking into a museum at night but we put it off to some sort of time travel. It fit with the videos.
The packet did n't contain much. A simple typed sheet that said. `` You've found each other, you are destined for greatness.''
We had one engineer mung us, I'm nineteen and clueless, living with a roommate I hate, no skills to speak of and seriously considering going for the manager's gig at target instead of trailing for the community college.
It's not like the build a team of super heroes here.
I happen to have control of the beta player because I was standing closest. I rewind quickly and then hit play, then tap it again to go to slow-mo, half speed.
I hit pause.
There I am looking up from a chair, smiling about to tell someone to `` turn that damn thing off.'' In a friendly and joking way. Some sort of big mountain range in visible from the window. A huge yard and a helicopter on a pad.
Behind me though is a book shelf, or what I thought was a book shelf. Some of them are movies. Most have spines to the camera and I ca n't make out much of anything. But several are turned resting in front of the others like small displays.
The others are talking, have been some quite sometime. Maybe we start a band anyone play any instruments... Maybe we...
`` Its not real.'' I say. I can feel only one person looking at me the other continue.
I turn to the group wait for them to slowly figure out I have something to say then point t the screen.
`` If it's real it's not our reality.'' My finger tapping much more calmly then I feel.
`` Some sort of alternate dimension maybe.''
Someone slide there face up close. The screen had shitty resolution and the paused image is jumping slightly, `` What is it.'' He asked.
Someone else answers, `` Seasons one through five it says... Firefly.'' It's explained, someone asks if they ca n't simply make new episodes in the future, then of course if we are responsible for it.
`` No way. There is bill gates style wealth there not Hollywood levels.'' Someone else chimes in.
Someone reaches past me to hit play. The video moves forward. They are all the same, or at least appear to be to the naked eye. Clips of our future selves showing decadence and wealth beyond guessing.
What other reasons could we be brought together like this for. Someone wants us to do something that much is clear. No bank in the wold has this kind of wealth for the stealing so its probably not a heist. We are n't skilled enough to invent anything technical. We probably do n't invent a fade, none of us sing and the only instruments we can play include records and kazoos.
The other's keep talking but I keep going in a loop. Someone called us together to do something.This video is a motivation, yet probably not true. If they have time travel they can just redo and resent the packets and videos until they get the response they want. We will already do what they want us to do.
But what is it?
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[ WP ] Making the mundane interesting
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`` The date is June 22, 2222. It is approximately 15:11 and 26 degrees Celsius. Alright, we will start by placing the entire object under the 3-D imaging camera so a model will be reflected onto our screen and saved into our system. This is so Bill does n't accidentally blow up the artifact again. Alright, now that that is done let's see what we have. The object is precisely 5.08 cm tall. 2.81 cm wide, and 13.97 cm in length and as the chemical tests show, is composed of poly ( vinyl chloride ) [ plastic ]. The poly ( vinyl chloride ) [ plastic ] has an indented groove slightly smaller than the width which seems to be coated with a sticky, binding cloudy residue. At the slightly curved end there appears to be a composition of Fe2O3.nH2O ( s ) [ rust ]. The test of the cloudy residue is coming back as an unknown substance directly related to C6H10O5 [ cellulose ]. The object is now carefully being split in half with our laser. Something is sifting out of the cracks. After closer examination it appears to be sand. What is this? Bill I am stepping out. Clean up the lab.''
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[ WP ] An old hag has cursed you with immortality.Wondering how that is supposed to be a curse you started enjoying your life . Now you are floating in the void after the heat death of the universe thinking about the past .
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Well shit.
I thought this would n't be a curse, after all, who does n't want to live forever? And anyway, bungee jumping without harnesses, despite the pain, were fun. But I did n't expect this. The void. Not even an atom. I thought that if I could rip of my arm, it would create some reaction. It did. After all, I could regrow my limbs could n't I? I kept on ripping of my limbs, memories of all my loved ones coming back...
Then, I see it, the question to every possible answer in the currently forming universe, in a quaint little town...
Bulbasaur, Squirtle or Charmander?
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[ IP ] Imagine the path to the afterlife . You come to the threshold of heaven , but before you can enter , you must fight a being that embodies all your sins . You see this . [ Image in description ]
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I swallow as two gleaming eyes stare down at me. `` So...'' I yell, trying and failing to sound confident. `` You're the sum of all my sins? I really thought I was a good guy.'' The being just stares back at me, not really making any moves. `` So what is it I have done that cumulates into such a huge manifestation?''
Finally the creature moves. It stretches it's hand out, reaching in my direction. I flinch, holding up my arms, convinced it's all over for me. But when nothing happens, I open my eyes and see the creature's finger touch the ground in front of me. Where he touched the ground a small item appears. A small pair of scissors with a little blood on them. It takes me a while to recognize them. `` Wait. This counts as a sin?'' I ask picking up the scissors. `` I was 8, I asked my sister to hold a piece of lint for me to cut it and she moved. Of course I cut her hand, but that's hardly my fault.'' I'm so focused on the scissors I do n't notice the subtle way the monster grows.
The finger moves again. I frown at the item I see. `` UNO cards? Really? You're gon na count me cheating at UNO as a sin? I was just having fun.'' Once again the monster grows, a little more than last time.
Objects keep appearing. A picture of my high school sweetheart, yes I cheated, but we would n't have worked anyways, it was a short pain for her. My geography exam, I hate geography and everyone cheated on that one. I can look up what I need anyways. The candy bar I never paid when I was hungry and did n't have any change. By this time I start noticing that the creature seems bigger than it was before.
But the items keep coming. When a bunch of broken bottles from my days as a supermarket clerk appear, I get annoyed. `` Really? You're gon na count accidents?'' The creature just stares at me. `` None of these were really my fault anyways. My coworker....'' I stop when I see the creature grow again.
Without a word the next thing appears. `` A copy of my butt?'' This is the first one that confuses me, until I see the time stamp. `` Hey, can you blame me for this? I was drunk and...'' Once again the creature grows.
`` You're not a combination of my sins are you?'' The creature freezes, staring at me. I look over the items again. `` You're a manifestation of my biggest sin. Making excuses.'' The creature keeps staring. I walk back down the line. `` These small things were things I was responsible for, but never lived up to.'' Slowly the creature retracts his arm but keeps his stare on me. `` I should n't have been playing with scissors. There's never an excuse for cheating.'' With every sentence the creature shrinks a little. `` It's not like I was dying from hunger. I never took responsibility for anything, always thinking I was justified.'' I look back up to the creature and see it's grown to my size by now. `` I never realized I made this many excuses, and I wish I could say sorry to everyone I ever wronged.'' The creature does n't have a face, but I can feel it's smile. A smile that felt like a warm light, surrounding me.
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[ WP ] He did what for a Klondike bar ?
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`` Hey mom, can I have a Klondike Bar?''
Tommy was 6 years old. Just like any boy his age, he found consuming a Klondike Bar to be the climax of life, the pinnacle of enjoyment. No one could ever be as happy as when they are eating that classic ice cream bar.
`` No, you did n't eat your vegetables. That's the agreement we made.''
He began visibly fuming. He could feel his rage take over, the most primal of instincts. All reason was drowned out by the sound of his heart beating in his ears. Equipped with a kitchen knife, he lowered his breath, slowed his step, and approached his oppressor. He erased his presence from his mother's mind.
Little Tommy evaluated the situation. His mother sat no more than ten feet away from him in her arm chair, facing the opposite direction. He was a prime specimen of a 6 year old; He was 45 inches tall and 46 pounds. The back of the chair, the wall that separated the mother and child, was nearly four feet high. Even for his apt body, this was an adversity.
Tommy was tenacious, however. No chair or man could stop him; he was a top student in his Kindergarten class and he had everything to prove. He was now seven feet from the chair that sat his curtailment of bliss. In order to scale this looming cliff, Tommy must be running at his peak speed. He lowered his tiny mitts to the ground, knife still in hand, and slid his left foot back, heel pointed up.
With perfect form, Tommy kicked his right foot back and began a sprint. It was as if time was in slow motion. He was six feet from the chair. *Step. * Five feet. *Step. * Three feet. *Step. * He began his ascent, pushing off with his left foot and continuing his perpetual rise with his core. Above his head, he raised both hands and clasped the knife between the two. His waist rose above the edge and began leaning forward, over the edge and past her head. The knife sunk into her supple flesh, and before she could react, he had ripped it out and stabbed again.
He let go and watched as her lifeless body collapsed into a pool of blood. Standing by her side, he kicked her over and lifted her shirt. He felt for the bottom of her ribs, and once found, made an incision. He stuck his grubby right hand up into her chest cavity and retrieved her heart 6 inches past elbow-deep.
Standing on her chair's matching ottoman, he rose her heart to the sky and chanted in a voice much deeper than his own, `` Satana da virtutem!''
Before his wishful eyes, a blinding glow came from the heart that once pumped the blood of his own. The glow died and, upon inspection, the heart had been replaced by his vessel of happiness, a sacrosanct Klondike Bar. Blood no longer dripped from his arms or stained his clothing, but melted ice cream covered him.
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[ WP ] You storm into the church and object to the love of your life marrying her mean/cheating boyfriend . You confess your love for her and convince her to end the marriage . The woman breaks into tears and runs up and hugs you . It 's then you realize you 're at the wrong wedding .
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He gathered all of his courage and burst through the church's heavy oak doors, thrusting a hand into the air as he entered. `` I *object*!'' He shouted. He set his jaw and walked down the aisle towards the couple at the far end of the church, trying his best to ignore the murmurs and gasps to either side of him. After what seemed like a very long walk, he reached the altar.
`` Who the hell are *you*?!'' The groom snarled at the intruder though clenched teeth, his hands balled into fists.
He barely heard the groom's protests. His eyes were fixed on the bride, radiant in her flowing gown, her face half-hidden behind the hand that was cupped over her mouth in surprise. God, she was even more lovely than he remembered.
`` Darling,'' he said boldly, `` if I have one regret in my life, it's not saying this to you sooner. I wish that I did n't have to burst in on you like this, but I could n't live with myself if I did n't at least try to tell you how I really feel. I love you. I've loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and dammit, I know that you still have feelings for me, too. Please, do n't let us spend our lives apart, wondering what could have been. Come with me, please. You and I know that we belong together.'' He swallowed thickly. His eyes brimmed with tears.
The bride's eyes were shining as well, and when she dropped her hand to reveal a radiant smile, her tears spilled down her cheeks.
His breath caught in his throat. My, she looked awfully... different.
Seeming not to notice his sudden discomfort, she rushed into his arms, laughing and crying. `` Oh, Steve! I knew you'd come back to me. I just knew it.
Steve? `` Um, uh --'' he stammered. `` I -- What's... what's your name again?''
She looked up at him in shock. `` Marissa, baby.''
His mouth dropped open. He took the bride by the shoulders and pushed himself gently away from her. He turned to face the dead silence of the congregation, then turned back to Marissa. `` I... I'm so, so sorry. I do n't know what to say.'' He gulped. He could feel the sweat standing out on his brow. God, he had to get out of there. How could he have screwed up like this? How was it even possible?! `` I've made a terrible, awful mistake. I'm so terribly sorry. Please forgive me,'' He finished lamely, and turned on his heels. With a hundred eyes on him, he left the church.
Marissa stared down the aisle after him, her mouth agape. Slowly, she turned to face her husband-to-be, trying to think of something, anything to say.
But he spoke first. `` Uh...'' he licked his lips and swallowed hard. `` Did you say your name was *Marissa*?''
The bride nodded slowly.
`` Ooo, boy,'' the groom said, hissing through his teeth. `` Now *this* is awkward...''
***
r/Click_Klack
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[ WP ] The mail room for a large government building receives an envelope of glitter . The staff recognizes it as a common prank and resumes work . Over the next week , they notice the glitter is not going away , and seems to be spreading . You are the first to recognize the worlds first nanobot attack .
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It was glitter, and it was bright and sparkly, and it was digging into the flesh of his neck. It was digging, and blood was dripping down him and his blood was bright and sparkly. I was drinking coffee, my third cup of the morning, and it split on my chin and dripped on my chest. Momentarily I only cared about the hot, hot, fucking hot spill, and then I only cared about my damp, stained tie. But I only cared for a second. I knew then, I really did, that the glitter wasn β t harmless, that when it had sprung out of that letter an hour ago, that it wasn β t some innocent prank, and that I should worry. My colleague was also worried as he watched red, damp pools spread across his white dress shirt.
I was the only other person in the cubicle there to watch him die. My heart was thumping hard, and I was horrified. I jumped back into the hallway. I checked my body and saw there was no glitter. That was a relief, but sweat still ran down from my armpits. Things like this never happen at the Department of Education. And why next to my desk? What the hell?
A woman walking to the printer saw me in my frantic state. She came closer and asked what was wrong. She saw the dead man in the cubicle, and screamed. She looked at me incredulously, accusingly. Others were peeping around from their own cubicles and offices, and then a crowd gathered. I heard someone call for 911. I told them to back away. I told them not to go near. They said what the hell, what happened? I told them not to touch the glitter. I said I thought it was a swarm of nanobots. They thought I was crazy.
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[ WP ] You and a dead artist share the ability to see colors others ca n't . His paintings become a global phenomenon , but his images are much more sinister than they appear .
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`` And what colour is this?'' said his father, holding an orange up to his face.
They were in the kitchen, his mother, his father and himself.
On the table, various objects found in the kitchen, his mother slightly sat on the kitchen counter, behind his father, sat on a chair.
`` Orange'' he said.
`` I do n't know Martha, he's right sometimes, i think that either he's messing with us and only pretending not to guess some colours''
`` Do n't say stupid things, look at him, he's convinced, he is n't joking'' said his mother `` Maybe he has n't understood which colour is which, he's still a baby, he's 4''.
`` So basically he's retarded or a very young troll'' said his father.
`` Hahaha do n't be like that'' his mother came up to his father and hugged him from behind his shoulders
`` Another time junior, then you can go play'' his father looked at the table and grabbed a flower `` What colour is this?''.
`` Maybe he's a strange form of colourblindness'' said the eye doctor `` And towards certain kinds of colours''
`` you see, he clearly sees all numbers in the Ishihara tests, but sometimes he says he sees letters instead of numbers, which is ridicolous''
`` My guess is that he sees some colours differently and that causes him to think it's another colour together with the adjacent colour, or something like that''
said the eye doctor, with a frown `` i've never seen something like this before''
`` Is my child gon na be alright?'' said his mother
The study of the eye doctor was cold, with all those glass things on the furnitures, and those panels with the letters on it.
No toys to play with.
`` Mrs. Kegler, many people are colourblind, her 6 years old son will see it's own world of colours, and that's it, i think you're overreacting''
`` Hey sexy''
Richard opened his eyes.
`` I think i'm sick'' he said, coughing, like a very old car, trying to start its engine in the morning
`` Oh, my poor fragile boyfriend has the flu'' she said her playfully with a smile, laying topless on top of his body under the sheets, her face just a little space from his, her long red hairs all over the sheets around him, her face pointing straight at him `` did you had a bad dream? remember, today we go to the museum, you ca n't be sick''
Richard always had fever dreams when he was sick, this time apparently they were random flashbacks
`` Do n't worry, i will take you even if it costs me my life''.
`` How brave of you'' said her ironicly, her face closing in to kiss him, her red hairs falling onto his face.
Or at least red to the majority of people, as only he, could see them as chromatic as they were, with all those different shades.
The museum was full of people, thanks to the free sunday opening, and Richard's girlfriend Megan was looking at some paintings, with his arm under hers.
They were at the Pointillism section of the exhibit, looking at some Van Gogh
She was enthusiastic, and had a passion for paintings, which he totally lacked.
I mean, he would have been interested, if only he could see them for how the author intended them to be seen.
He learned when he was a teen that he was different, not just a colorblind person, it was like he could see something else, an entirely different world.
Looking at some things it was less obvious, like a basketball, a car, but looking at flowers it was unequivocal.
Stripes, dots, pattern other people did n't see, like they where the colorblind ones.
Like they could n't see some colours.
That also transfered to the paintings, a beautiful painting became a mess of lines, like the painter mixed badly two paints of different colours on mistake.
Lines that the others did n't see, browns became something else, like brown and another colour, the same for the yellows and some greens.
All the paintings were a mess, like they were all abstract, some more than the others. Only printed reproduction he could see clearly.
`` And then there is this one'' said Megan, his girlfriend, separating from him and passing to the next painting, behind the corner `` this is from Georges Seurat, the pioneer of pointillism, he was obsessed with the matching of colours, he spent years mixing and matching different colours under different light, and studying the different results, like he was obsessed''
`` It's called -Une baignade à Asnières-'' she added.
`` Hm-Hm'' he nodded without really paying attention, until he turned the corner to face the painting.
Some people where laying on the sides of a river, or taking a swim. No crazy patterns across the painting, no random splashes of different colours.
`` It's good, i like it'' said, surprised `` I know that by being pointillism these are all dots, but still, he could even paint this men with a suit near the horizon''
`` What are you talking about?'' Megan replied.
`` Yeah, this man'' said him, pointing at the painting.
`` Honey, what are you talking about'' said her, with a big smile on her face, laughing `` there is no one there, only the background''
`` Oh, my mistake'' he said, dropping the case.
`` This one is famous, you'll like it'' she continued, pulling him by her side and walking to another painting.
-Un dimanche aprΓ¨s midi Γ l'Γle de la Grande-Jatte-, yes it was famous.
People enjoying a nice sunday beside a river.
And the same man in the suit, staring right through the painting. It was n't there in the pictures on the brochure of the exhibit.
Right then he realized the implication. Years of studying colours? Mixing different colours?
He was not alone, somebody else could see something others could n't see.
-Il Bec du Hoc a Grandcamp-, a cliff, near the see, and on top of it a man in a suit, staring right at him.
The painter was trying to say something? Who was this?
Next painting, a woman alone, on the side of a river.
Except she was not alone, she was in front of a man in the suit, this time they were facing each other.
He started cold sweating, his mind all over the place.
He could n't see the face of this man in the paintings, but it gave him a strange feeling, like something was wrong, crazy wrong.
Why the author painted this man in the paintings? He probably matched the original paint with the other colour, so that in the eyes of others it would still be the normal colour, but why?
Next painting, the man, this time very close to the viewer.
Next painting, still there.
Next painting, again him.
His girlfirend looked at him, breaking the silence.
`` What's up honey? The flu? Do you want to go home?'' said worried.
Crazy sweating? Hands trembling? Crazy hot and crazy cold sensations? No, this was not the flu, there was something else, something wrong.
`` Is there something wrong, HONEY?''
Her girlfriend was beside him, looking straight at him in the eyes, her face, changed to a one without emotions.
`` Did you really think we would n't find you?''
`` Did you really think you could hide from him?''
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[ WP ] Two ancient armies prepare for battle , one army sends out a seven foot tall hulk as their champion ; the other army sends out a little girl to raucous applause .
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Tens of thousands of men leered at each other from across the neutral zone as horses snorted and pawed at the ground nervously. Steam rose in a vast cloud over all the hot bodies in the cool morning. Two men stand toward the front of one army while a small group stand at the front of the other army whose back was to a cities great walls. The battle would be decided by the ancient rite of single combat.
The two men at the front of the army facing the city β s walls were both tall but one was wiry and agile while the other a great big man of bulging muscle. The slender man leaned towards the larger and says in a mockingly confident tone, β Let us see what β champion β they send to face ours, eh Garen. β
Garen looked seriously at the stick of a man and reprimanded in his booming voice, β Don β t count your Anivia β s before they hatch. β Varus laughed at the pun but shook his head. Even now Garen somehow thought that their champion would possibly not win them the day when she had never lost a battle after all this time.
Movement across the field signified the spreading of the enemy army to allow someone through. A great titan of a man emerged, towering over the soldiers by at least a foot. He roared a guttural cry and raised a great-sword as long as he was tall. His cry was answered by the soldiers behind him. The giant did look formidable, Varus had to give it to them. And did he really have onlyβ¦ β A real live cyclops β chuckled Varus, β Well not so alive for long. β
Varus nudged his friend good naturedly and gave a laugh, β Imagine the looks on their faces when she single-handedly brings down the Cyclops in front of their whole army eh brother. They β ll lay down all their weapons in front eh, EH! β
Garen spared Varus another of his serious looks before returning his watching gaze back onto the waiting army. That guy reaaally needed to lighten up, thought Varus as he strolled back towards their army.
Stopping a dozen yards out from the men, Varus grasped his bow in one hand and saluted it to his force and shouted as so everyone including the opposite army would hear him, β They believe that they will win the day with their titan champion β the Cyclops β. β
The soldier β s all booed as they had done for previous champions. The enemy army would ridicule ours when they saw our champion. They always did but then again they always all surrendered in the past so who cares about appearances. Her appearance was probably one of her greatest strengths well that and her teddy bear.
A voice sounded coming between the soldiers. They parted for it, making it look like a wave was breaking through the center of their ranks. It rang in a repeated fashion and all of a sudden a small girl no taller than three feet high was skipping out of the ranks of soldiers singing more to herself than anyone else, β Hop, skip, jump! β
Varus grinned widely as he stood facing the small girl and give her a small nod.
She grinned back then made a bow to the soldiers and said, β Play time! β
This caused a frenzy of cheering and clapping among our soldiers. The enemy was just now beginning to call out insults and jeers. They would see for themselves the awesome power of our secret weapon soon enough. This dark child had slain more champions than anyone Varus had ever met. As she skipped to meet the hulking cyclops in the center of the neutral zone she chanted her war song with the soldiers behind her carrying up, echoing her words.
β Ashes, ashes, they all fall down, β echoed ominously throughout the clearing by thousands of voices.
As she neared the great titan of the man, she slowed down until coming to a stop twenty yards away. Staring at each other across this distance, both armies were deathly silent and still as they watched and waited in breathless anticipation.
The Cyclops made the first move, giving the clearing another show of that fearsome guttural roar and beginning his charge at the young girl standing there lightly swinging her teddy bear in one hand.
As the great beast of a man bared down the last few yards on the child, her high voice rang out in the silence, β Have you seen my bear Tibbers? β
A great sphere of flame consumed both the girl and the warrior from vision just as he swung his great-sword down upon her. The sphere persisted for several seconds and when the flames had cleared in a sudden disappearance the scene that greeted the armies eyes caused both sides to gasp collectively.
The small girl was standing on top of the fallen cyclops chest, with her arms out trying to steady her balance. She looked up at her own army with a smile and called out, β This is fun! β
A cheer followed this as the day was almost won. Now onto the nexus.
//League nerd checking in. Just could n't not think of Annie.
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[ WP ] God is real , He is loving , but He is NOT all powerful , and all religions are the result of his bumbling attempts to steer humanity in the right direction .
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Walking down the hall of the divine, Thomael and Michael were vividly whispering to each other:
`` Dude, do you really want to be the next Lucifer?'' asked Michael, obviously worried.
`` You were n't there the last time! The look on his face was hillarious.'' He paused, while passing a suspicious looking Gabriel. His bright smile was answered with a stern, searching look.
`` We'll wait until he's drunk at the next solstice, then activate a few volcanoes. Nothing too big, just a little prank to celebrate his son's birthday.''
God however, was having none of it. He already knew the last time who was immature enough to pull of such a horrible prank, but being a just ruler, he needed proof, and waited patiently for a chance to bust the perpetrators *in flagranti*.
When the night of the solstice came, he had carefully prepared all volcanoes to send the activators straight to hell. Michael dodged the bullet, as he was pulled aside by Gabriel shortly before the prank. Thomael spent the next 10.000 years in hell, helping a delighted Lucifer fill out all the paperwork Heaven was regularly sending down. God was having a great solstice with tons of wine, dancers and a smug grin he was unable to get rid of for days.
Thus is the story of why Thomael was never mentioned in the Bible.
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[ WP ] You are falsely accused of a crime in a world where lawyers fight to the death to decide the court verdict .
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`` Sir, are you sure you can handle this?'' said the Admiral Thernoff to the men in a frockcoat.
Bein, his attorney for this case, smiled. `` Fairly certain of it. As long as we can handle the court proceedings, there's a chance we can skip the duel over.''
`` But, the prosecutor...''
`` Do n't. Do n't worry about the prosecutor. I guarantee you, you'll be fine.'' Bein said, looking up from the massive textbook on his arms.
The Great Book of Law, as it was called, contained every last phrase and word concerning the legal procedures, policies, etiquette, and pastimes of the Eightletter judiciary system. It is exactly like the sets of laws from our world, only even more poorly interpreted and understood by the land's citizens.
This book also has a unique article in it unlike ours. Whereas we had outlawed the art of dueling to settle civil cases during our time, these people in a land long ago and far away, embrace it as both a hobby and a means to make a living.
`` Oh.. all right. You have your sword sharpened, I assume?''
`` Do I have my swor- Of course not, you twat. We're trying to win this case by the book. We'd be absolutely destroyed in the case of a duel.''
`` Ugh. You better do this well. I wo n't stand for my company having to pay that much gold if I lose.''
`` Hey, my life's on the line as well, you know. I'd be executed if I lose by the books as well. Besides, five thousand gold is n't much to hand over.''
`` Not much? Five thousand gold can buy me forty whores for a whole week!''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Wide, oak doors open the way to the Octo Tribunal, the courtroom for the case of His Majesty's Kingdom v. Soil Thernoff. The jury up above the dome-shaped room shuffle to their seats. Some hold little loaves of breads in their hands and tin cups of wine too. All are eager to await the bloodbath that they are sure will occur.
The honorable judge Feerown raises his gavel and strikes at his stand. `` Is the defense ready?''
`` Yes sir.'' says Bein, setting down his book upon the long table before Thernoff and him.
`` Please state your case.''
`` Gentlemen. I, Lawman Bein Koff, am here today to prove to you the innocence of Admiral Thernoff in the case of the murder of the previous Commander of His Majesty's Navy, Hereroff. At the end of the conclusion, we will ask for a verdict of'not guilty.'-'' The lawyer begins.
`` Boo! Hurry up and fight!'' shouts an unruly juror on the stands.
`` Shut up and sit your ass down!'' Bein barks back, shooting a nasty glare to the piggish man chowing down on his loaf above. He clears his throat. `` I will insist that the audience remains quiet and civilized for the proceedings as to insure a calm, quiet court environment.''
`` Motion carried. Now, the prosecution?''
`` DEATH. FIERY DEATH TO ALL. WHERE IS THIS TINY LAWYER? I WILL CRUSH HIM WITH MY BARE TOES. THEN THE FALSE ADMIRAL. HE TOO WILL DIE BEFORE MY MIGHT. I GUARANTEE IT.''
On the other side of the room, opposite the face of the defense table, stands a giant of a man. On his shoulders, he carries two greataxes, hoisting them up as if they were as light as a baby duck's feather. A thick black hood covers his face while his body remains concealed behind a mighty suit of rusty, dark armor forged of tempered steel.
`` Very well put, Mister...''
`` THE REAPER.''
The admiral chuckles in his seat, stifling his laughter with a hand. He whispers to his attorney, `` I think you can handle him.''
Bein rolled his eyes and flipped the pages on his book to a darkly-inked section. **The Clauses and Causes of Slaying**.
`` Your honor, it was found that the victim in question had died of drowning-''
`` YOU WILL DROWN IN YOUR OWN BLOOD, FILTHY LAWMAN.''
`` - in the midst of the cold Northern shores at approximately five o'clock in the morning.''
`` THAT'S WHEN YOUR FAMILY WILL MOURN FOR YOUR DEATH.''
`` The body was found free of any clear, determining wounds, thus leaving to cause of death to be extremely speculative.''
`` YOUR EXECUTION WILL NOT BE SPECULATIVE AT ALL, WORM.''
`` Oh for the love of the eight fucking gods! Can we shut him up?!''
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[ IP ] The Course
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Calling David a genius would be an understatement. At 6 months David was able to talk in complete sentences and repeat complicated rhythms back to his awestruck parents. At 2 years old he taught himself how to read and write, with a little introductory algebra on the side. On David's fourth birthday he recieved a box of tavern puzzles from his grandmother and solved all 12 in under 30 seconds. And when he turned six he was able to formulate a concentrated black hole in his basement, and then disassemble it. By age five David was the youngest individual to be invited into Mensa and was Time magazines person of the year after inadvertently creating a cure for A.I.D.s. His mother, who was a stunningly beautiful but hopeful woman, thought his talents could be utilized in more productive places than Biwabik, Minnesotta.
But David was still just a 9 year-old boy, he did n't like eating the crust on his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and he was n't ready for college. And like most young boys his age, had a deep admiration for his father. Who was a stern and wise old man, measured by the smile lines on his face and not the small white hairs on his head. Sure, David adored the idea of an uninterrupted and inspiring working environment, but how could you leave behind a man who loves you? And David did n't like to upset his father. He never was as mischievous as most of the children in town and made it a point to always do what his father had asked of him. The other boys liked exploring the old railway tunnel or chucking stones at Principal Alders 91' Lexus, of which the students affectionately nicknamed'dimples', but David made sure to help out with the chores, to keep his grades up and to study hard ( even if he found most of the tests to be of relative ease ) but most of all, he made sure to tell his father he loved him.
And David loved a lot of things about his father, but the thing that David loved most was how easy it was to tell his father loved him back. Nothing shows a parent's affection to their child more than obvious subtleties. Like remembering to cut the crust of his sandwiches or when his dad would crawl under the sheets with him to read him the last 40 pages of Infinite Jest. David wanted nothing more but to give that love back to his dad.
Today, he did n't sit down to study his test the next morning and he did n't load the dishwasher. Instead, David made a bee-line to the garage space he took up to host his new project. He sat down and began to work on the final calculations and thought back to what his mother told him about utilizing his talents as he eyed the un-plugged end of a long extension cord.
David's father arrived home after a double shift at the hospital calling out David's name. Quite parched, he opened the cabinet to find an empty space where the glasses should be. Worried about what his son was up to he called out again to a flicker of the dusty old kitchen chandelier and a loud hum underneath his feet.
`` Coming Dad!'' David called out as he jumped the steps from the basement. Upstairs he met up with his father, who had a worried expression on his face.
`` Dad quick, I want to show you something!''
`` David,'' his father sighed and rubbed his forehead, `` I asked you to load the dishwasher.''
`` I know Dad. I'll do it after!'' David responded without much thought,'' I really think you'll like th-''
David was interrupted by his father who let out a harsh huff and shook his head.
`` David I do n't ask much of you. But this is the least you could do for me. I mean look! There are no more glasses left in the cupboard. Now I got ta do the dishes before I get started on dinner and you have n't even started your homework, yet.''
David held back another outburst to hear his father out. But he still clearly seemed excited.
`` Dad I'm sorry. I should've done the dishes first. But I really need you to see this. Now, before it dissipates.''
David's father left a long look into his son's eyes, until he finally rested the hands on his hips to his side and sighed. David's eyes lit up and he started to jump around excitedly pulling his father out the door with him, who barely was able to reach for his son's coat.
The two then ventured out into the field, still caked in snow from the storm the last night. David's father, who did n't have nearly enough time to get properly dressed, could feel a chill in his breath. He almost did n't notice the long cord that seemed to be marking the two's path.
They marched on for a few moments until the house was no longer visible behind the fog of snow blown in the wind. They reached a clearing, where a large, round copper structure stood amidst a couple of small pine trees and emitted a turbulent heat that quickly warmed the fingers of his father's hands, who was of course dumbfounded by the mysterious glowing object.
David stepped closely to the glass orb that found itself tucked in the middle nicely by its round edges. His head turning towards his father.
`` She's been waiting to meet you.'' David motioned to his dad, who took a couple steps towards the glass orb. He saw the reflections of a familiar blonde woman whose likeness was as beautifully transparent as it was the first time he saw her. She stood dazed with her mouth slightly gaped at the sight of her husband. The two stood silently in the snow as to not let another important moment pass by them.
`` I guess in her universe,'' David interupted,'' you must have been the one who died two years ago.''
David's father took the jacket he still held in his hand and wrapped it and his arm around his son. He had tears in his eyes now, but David did n't need to look, he could feel the warmth irradiating from his father.
`` I love you, Dad.''
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[ WP ] A poor soldier is cursed to inevitably die during battle , and upon dying , wakes up at the start of another battle , and inevitably dies during that battle , then wakes up again , in a continuous cycle .
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The first four times were the worst. Maybe that time with the napalm should be on the list, but that time was in the 90 to 100 time frame. I'm not sure how many lives I've led, I only started keeping track after a dozen or so, so it's anyone's guess. My hands have been black, white, yellow, red, brown and every single time they've been bloody. I'm not sure what I am anymore, it ca n't be human.
I've seen so much now that it's boring. I can tell I'm bored because of how they all look at me. My face must seem to serene to all those boys who look so scared, fighting against other boys who look so scared. My best guess is that I'm death, or maybe I'm the worst kind of Bill Murray in Groundhogs day. Each fight is different through. Sometimes in the jungle, sometimes in cities, sometimes in snow, sometimes in deserts. Always the same sound. Never the same hands.
A shell landed closer to me and it rattled my senses to life. My eyes opened again and I looked straight down at my uniform to see whose side I was on. Brown jacket, brown pants, canvas belt, semi-automatic rifle. My black hands quickly patted down my pouches feeling for and counting how many magazines I had. Six. Plus one more magazine in my small carbine.
Another shell landed closer and screams arose. Turning to face the awful chorus of shouts I instinctively darted for it, hunched over so lowly my knees impacted the bandoleer of grenades at my chest. Four grenades.
I was moving through plaster covered buildings in old cobblestone streets. The smell of ash, sulfur, and burnt flesh mixed in that old never ending way, but they could n't mask those fainter scents that I'd learned to love. *Bread*. Not just any bread... *Italian* bread! Ah, Nazis. More shells impacted in a harder, louder volly. Big, dense explosions. *American shells... what the hell..? *
As I veered around a bend in the ally towards the screams my eyes boggled and I had to fling myself backwards to fall back into cover. It was wounded Germans, struck by parts of falling debris from the building as it rained hellfire. I doubled back to where my memories of this nightmare started, leaping over more chunks of structure as they flew off buildings in earth quaking explosions. I could see the building that I had first darted out of and flung myself in through a shattered window, aiming the carbine about wildly.
A radio hissed in English.
`` Buffalo Buffalo, this is Hammer, do you copy? We need fire reports of that last strike!''
There was no one else in the room. Without thinking I grabbed my collar and angled my head stupidly to see what rank I was. A single shining bar gleamed innocently at me. *I'm in charge here. Fuck me. *
`` Buffalo, Buffalo, this is Hammer! Do you copy! That last barrage was 100 meters from you, how'd it look?''
*They sound pissed. * I reached out and plucked the radio phone off the set and keyed the microphone.
`` This is Buffalo, last hit was on target. German's are within 50 meters of my position at this time and closing. Adjust fire to my post and expend all available rounds. How copy?''
There was a pause. There was always a pause. That irritated me. If the situation was dire enough for an officer to call fire on his own position there is no reason in the goddamn world to pause or even confirm the request.
`` Hammer copies. Buffalo, say again your last. Your request will erase your position, how copy?''
I rolled my eyes and barked into the mic, `` Fire it!'' I would have been more conversational except that as I peered out the window I could see several *feldgrau* uniforms position in doorways and shell holes in the building across the street.
*Here we go. *
I could hear people above me begin shooting, their shots smacking against the wind smoothed plaster the Germans hid behind. I probably should have checked with them first about that artillery. I poked my head out the window for a moment to check the right and left. *Feldgrau* all over. Well, looks like I made the right call.
Without more thinking I shouldered the little carbine and felt it jolt and jump against my hands. The muzzle flash was always so mystifying to watch just past the barrel.
I swear I can always just about hear the whistle of the first shells as they descend from the heavens. The roar of sound, the pressure and concussion of the blast, the sudden sleep...
My eyes opened again and I looked straight down at my uniform to see whose side I was on.
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[ WP ] After thousands of years , the Tuatha de Dannan ( high fae of Celtic legend ) have returned to the mortal plane . They are curious to see what their former slaves have done with the place . As luck would have it , they descend right in the middle of Disney World . They are beyond offended .
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`` These shoes become plainer every day.''
Not in condemnation, not in anger or sorrow, in comment - as one English would say'looks like rain' to another - a fact of existence.
`` They look as those worn before. Demands on the Court are not so high that such a diversion should be so slighted.''
If one had been somehow standing outside the unglazed window of The Queen's Solar, they may have seen the faintest ripple of distaste flicker and roll across the placid formal Face of the eponymous occupant of the room. They would also have seen the decadent appointments of the loft - pale silken hangings, with delicate imagery impressed that cover the pale, polished stone walls; large golden furs as rugs and blankets, a merry arching fireplace seeming like a blackberry bramble with a heart of fire, all to keep the room warm, and finally a tiny hollowed tree with a firefly, under a crystal bell that rested on a plain wooden table. From other times, other conquests, each item a trophy, a memory, a part of a legend.
A sharp double clap from without draws the attention of Queen away from the window, past the curtained door - leading without - and to the offending shoes, which received a moment of focus. As Queen stepped into the shoes they suddenly revealed the broad curling traceries She remembered from the Grim world. Crude, impossibly deep - considering the material - and crowded, the channels and grooves swirled from toe to heel, and were immediately lost to sight under the hem of the Summer dress of Queen.
`` Enter. Puck.''
The command and pronouncement echo in the air, and the curtain is pulled aside, trailing a tracery of falling stars in its wake.
Puck, a twisted and shortened figure, flinches and ducks away from the twinkling lights. His clothes are mere suggestion, but his face, graven and ancient, exhibits a life and facility that presents a sick fascination to the Sidhe. A crude leather sack, whip-stitched, wriggles and bulges at his hunched shoulder.
`` There is no sound of leather and silk from my guards.''
`` No, Queen. There is no sound,'' replies Puck, bowing impossibly low, head-to floor from standing, which tumbles the struggling sack from his shoulder.
`` Then, they, too, have tired of this Play.''
Puck straightens, with great pains to show his obvious infirmity, `` Mayhap, Queen, but I have been awaiting such an chance. I bear a gift.'' A swift and vicious kick rolls the, now howling, sack towards Queen, who stares at it, impassive, until it stops at Her feet. `` They would not let You know, y'ken, some *game*,'' that face twists in disgust, suggesting spitting a curse without a drop of anything but verbal venom, `` I bore a daoine sidhe - and now I bare it!''
A sawing gesture strips the stitching of the leathern bag, its pieces scattering under the flailing of a tiny man-shape, seemingly carved of aged oak. The little fellow, cursing in mutter and scrambling to his feet, snatches a minute copper hammer from amoungst the wreckage, and pulls back his billed cap to snarl at Puck `` Y'great muckle, you! Y'wun t'bet fair as Fair but y...''
`` Friend Brownie,'' ignoring the tirade, Puck bows low - but not as low as for Queen - and gestures about them, `` I bring you someone who would hear a story. Tell them of your Grim captors.''
The tiny tradesman spins around, gaping mouth as a net that would catch the impression of the opulence around them. He gulps rapidly, nervously, as he cranes back to see the impassive Face of Queen. Queen's Face, in turn, drops from Puck's presentation of manic courtliness to the wide-eyed cowering of the Brownie.
Puck's face twists and snarls, `` Tell them where your clever industry has been employed.''
Queen's Face ripples, as earlier, an expression leaving the shores of Placidity, but She makes no sound, and remains otherwise unmoving.
`` Tell them of why Queen's shoes become more banal with the passage of *every* **day**.''
Queen's Face boils and momentary splashes of a wide-eyed en**raged** visage is revealed.
`` Tell them,'' Puck hisses slowly, stalking in sharp abortive movements about The Solar, `` tell them of the pale echo that draws from this place in Mockery and Contempt.
The Brownie stammers, starts and restarts while Puck howls overtop any brave try to acquiesce.
`` Tell them of the unnumbered babes-of-Man screaming, crying... laughing! Tell them of Danu's faithful made as part of the Mummer's Dance as a joyful figure! Tell them of broken Deals and great Circles of Iron-That-Is-Not-Iron...''
`` Broken Deals?'' says Queen, voice thick and dry with disuse, `` has our Friend been sorely used?'' The Kindness of the words rendered menacing with meaning and a voice so unbeautiful. `` Such a thing can not go un-remarked.''
`` I could call on Words for you, Queen; Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones, Redcap, and Revenant; Herne and his haunted host - oh let them Ride, Queen!'' Puck capers and leaps, offering Names like a merchant at hawk.
Queen turns back to the window, it's frame suddenly bordered with shining blades and arrows - ready to be grasped.
`` We Ride.''
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[ WP ] In a still-renovating zoo , a camel 's habitat is right next to a shark 's tank . They talk to each other about stuff on a daily basis .
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`` Listen, all I'm saying is that they force you to give snotty brats free rides all day. They get paid, and you get whipped. I'm right here, one accidental slip can solve both our problems. I guarantee you that they wo n't give out camel rides after that, and I get a tasty snack in return! It's win/win, so I do n't see what your problem is.''
`` What *is* it with you and eating kids? You have a issues, Finn. Every single day it's the same thing. I come over here and bust my humps trying to be friendly, but all you want to do is come up with new cockamamie schemes that involve eating children.''
`` That's not true, Humphrey! What about that time with the goats?''
`` Still technically *kids*, Finn. You are seriously messed up.''
`` Alright, fine let's talk about neighbor stuff. Can I borrow your lawn mower?''
`` I'm *serious* Finn. Ever since the renovations started, we're the only two animals in this section. Ca n't we talk about something normal for once?''
`` Hey at least we do n't have to deal with those howler monkeys anymore, am I right or what?''
`` They were n't so bad if you got to know them, actually. This is your problem. You spend so much time trying to eat kids that you do n't even know your neighbors.''
`` Alright, Humphrey I'll try things your way. How about the new guardrails, nice and shiny right?''
`` Yeah, they're... nice... I suppose. They do n't seem too different from the old ones now that you mention it.''
`` Exactly my point! If you can cause a commotion when some brat is leaning over the rails, I think they might fall in. We were so close last time!''
`` That's it! That's the last straw! Do n't *ever* speak to me again. If I go over to the other corner, I think I can hear the howler monkeys. I'd rather listen to them than you.''
`` Wait! Humphrey, aw come back!''
`` What now?''
`` So would you say that it was the straw that broke the camel's back? heh.''
And so Humphrey spent the last of his days giving rides to ungrateful children, his only true friend was the distant sounds of howler monkeys.
*Disclaimer: Finn is a fictional shark with serious issues, and in no way represents the ideology of /u/SeanPenname or any of his affiliates. *
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[ WP ] A girl is in an accident and loses her memory . Every song on her iPod restores pieces of her memory .
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Triggers, they said. The music could be a trigger. Do n't they know triggers are what got me into this? If I could have escaped the triggers, I would n't be here, lying in a bed I did n't recognize, in a room I did n't recognize, that I had lived in for 17 years.
At least, thats what they told me. I believed that, that I tried to run away, got hit by a car, and thats why I'm here.'Fine', I say to no one. I start the first song on a playlist called'Abstract'. Piano music, and the tiniest flicker of a memory. A class, my piano teacher? Quickly, I try another song, one with lyrics. A sketchpad, covered in marks, on a floor. A rough wooden floor. One I recognize. The pencils, well-worn, the watercolours, mixed and no longer pure.'I paint', I say, as if trying the words on for size. They sound right.
Another song.'Silent night, holy night all is' A christmas tree, rich, colorful ornaments, presents, and oh, the music! My family must love christmas songs. I find myself reaching for the presents, trying to see what's inside them. They fade away, leaving me with only a thirst for more memories.
A playlist called Henry. I start it, and a memory comes so fast I feel as though I'm being sucked into it. A freezing night, snow covering the ground. A boy comes and takes my hand, leading me gently to a restaurant. `` I'm 17,'' I protest. `` I'm legal'', he says. He orders a beer, and splits it between us. We finish it, and leave the restaurant. The snow is thick now, and I feel myself pulling my coat tighter around me. The boy holds my close, and dusts the snow off my face. he kisses me, and holds me, and I never want to leave his arms. Slowly, I slide back to reality. I must have his number, I think. I must. I begin a frantic search.
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[ EU ] Clark Kent has a panic attack in the Daily Planet newsroom . Why ?
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He goes into a comma after Jimmy gives him a watch, unknowing, it is made of kriptonite. The watch is removed by the nurses and is eventually stolen by a janitor.
Jimmy becomes lead reporter for the Daily Planet and becomes self involved and slowly stops visiting him.
Mean while, Lois Lane is tricked into accepting a remembrance necklace made of kriptonite.
She stays with him night and day awaiting his recovery. wearing the locket with his picture, faithfully around her neck, only to take it off to place in in his clenched fist whenever she has to leave his side.
While she rarely leave his side, she has to leave him for the weekly brain scan in which he always shows signs of brain wave activity. The doctors hold all hope that the mild mannered reporter reporter will someday recover.
Twenty years later, one day as she is ushered out of his room for the weekly brain scan activity check, where, with the advancement of technology. avails the team of doctors and students to come to the room and read and study the data to confirm the presents of brain waves.
Lois gets in the old elevator to go get a Starbucks and the cable fails, sending her and the locket plummeting to the sub basement elevator works, ripping the necklace from her neck and into the machinery.
Lois is dead.
Gradually Clark gains consciousnesses and is released from the hospital in a remarkable recovery, meanwhile Jimmy has become the chief of the daily and the world, as he knows it, has completely changed.
One thing he finds has not changed is his super powers, but they are not needed anymore.
Crime is being fought on a near super hero style, with highly trained specialized police force and weapons.
The day arises that mild mannered Clark finds his superhero strength are the only way to avert disaster.
He realizes that he needs to rush to the street to change and it hits him.
There are no more phone booths.
edit: for story line omission
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[ WP ] Write a story where the bad guy is really the good guy but it 's only revealed on the last line
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`` We got the cash'' said Don as he opened the duffel bag. `` We got enough to pull it off?'' He picked up some of the bills and showed the other guys. `` I did the math and we have enough for both tools and supplies, Luckily we got enough from the bank.'' said James while looking at his notes.
Don walked into the house followed by the others. `` No one saw us right? Good, no one except us can know what we are about to do. Alright put the drill over there and the rest of the tools over there. Before we get to work lets go over the plan once more. We do it and we do it fast. Then we hide out till the right moment appears. The target arrives in 50 minutes. You all know your positions so let's get to it.'' Don put on his mask. It was a good job he had the money in his account. The kid would never expect this great of a surprise party.
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[ WP ] Write a letter to your 10 year old self .
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**H**i 10-year-old self:
This is your 25-year-old self in 2015.
How am I able to reach you? I've become a genius physicist who discovers a way to transcend the boundaries of time. ^ ( Well, no, not really, but that would be cool ) Anyway, it's not terribly important *how* I did it; I'm writing some advice to you.
Now, at your age, you're probably expecting advice like `` Invest in Company X, and get rich!'' or `` Marry the dude you meet in # years, and become a princess!'' or `` Take more music lessons, and become a famous singer!''
No, none of that happens: The first one, you're not very good at business-y stuff ( though do n't let that stop you from learning a bit, it's helpful ); the second one, that's Kate Middleton and not you ( not the same Kate Middleton you might meet in high school ); the third one, is very difficult to achieve even in a market that's not already worshipping Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber ( whoops, I forgot they are n't famous yet; just... forget you ever heard of them ).
I ca n't promise that I'll give you any advice that will help you turn into a wild success. But I can give you some advice to make your life easier, and hopefully grow up with fewer regrets.
You do actually make it through all 12 swimming levels. Yes, I know that you are stuck at level 6 ( 7? 8? ) right now, and it feels pointless. No, I'm not telling you that you turn out to be an amazing swimmer. I'm still not an amazing swimmer. I kinda suck. But you need to get through it. You need to get up and try again, even when you fail a million more times. That lesson is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself. It will be worth it.
You probably wish you were popular at school. All I can say about that is: *Do n't. * None of that will matter once everyone graduates from high school. Being a popular girl wo n't get you through life. You're smart, and creative. That's worth way more than any of that.
If you do n't already, you will eventually wish you had bigger boobs. Do me a favour, and just love your body the way it is, yeah? Just learn to appreciate yourself before you do grow them,'cause they're annoying, and it's hard to buy shirts... aw crap. I've probably just encouraged you. Look, the point is, just love your body, boobs or no boobs, okay? I mean, I like my boobs and all, but the grass is n't always greener on the other side and all that. ^ ( fine, just forget I said anything about this )
Mom and Dad fight a lot, do n't they? Well, do you know how, when you get angry at your brother, sometimes you guys fight? Grownups get mad too. Grownups screw up. Grownups have weaknesses. Please do n't grow up hating either of them. And please do n't let their fights taint your perspective of the world.
Never give up on reading and writing. You love it now, but there will be a teacher in high school who will absolutely *destroy* the fun in both activities. I do n't think it's entirely her fault, it's an unfortunate side effect of the provincial curriculum preparing you for'real world' writing. But once you've convinced yourself that `` Writing does n't matter''? Hooo boy, it will hurt later in life when you have to write a lot... many professions require you to write lots, but I wo n't spoil the surprise for you. Just keep at it, and experiment with lots of types of writing, even the ones that are n't fun.
Never give up on music. Art. Crafts. Acting. You may or may not become one of those things; I ca n't say. But it's the process of creativity that will get you through many troubles in life. It's the process of creativity that will give you that spark of uniqueness that nobody will take away from you.
And finally, in high school, be nicer to the boys. You do n't have to prove that you're tough, or random, or whatever. Nobody cares about that. It's pathetic. I look back on that, and *cringe*. Do n't be that awkward kid. Please. Some of those boys will become your friends. You date one. A few of them will be your classmates in university. One becomes your best friend, sort of an Obi-Wan to your Luke. I wo n't tell you who's who, that spoils the fun of the utter surprise when you look back. Actually, it's the girls you need to watch out for, or, more accurately, one in particular; she betrays you bitterly. But do n't let yourself ostracize any of the girls because of that advice. On the contrary - you should be nice to her too. Be nice to everybody.
There are a few other major things that happen to you, not all of them good. In fact, many of them will seem bad at the time, and some of them are just objectively bad things. But telling you about them would take an important lesson away from you. Just know that you will survive.
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[ WP ] A good bye message from the human race .
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We tried. We really did.
I'm sorry we failed.
We did just fine for millenia, living through an ice age, the dark ages, and even the information age. We spent a hundred years trying our best to wreck our world, but in the end, we woke up and changed course. We beat it, and we fought and beat climate change. We got the message.
It was time to make things better -- *really* better. Clean everything up. Find new sources of energy. Live better, longer, happier lives. Create a world that could sustain our ten billion lives, with as little hunger and poverty and pollution as we could.
We were almost there, too. We were *so close. *
In the end, our best intentions got us.
It was the plastics.
We did n't know what to do with them. The ocean was full of these gyres of tiny plastic particles, and they were choking the ecosystem. We had to figure something out, we had to clean this stuff up. It was impossible! How do you even begin to filter 325 million trillion gallons of water?
The answer was: you do n't.
Of all things, it was a high school student who figured it out. A freshman doing his science fair project. He discovered that if you splice this gene and that gene in some protozoa, you get a itsy-bitsy, tiny lifeform that eats plastic, and excretes something like sand or dust. Do n't ask me how it works, it's way over my head. But he discovered it, and it got tested and peer reviewed out the ass for years, and finally, they decided it was a go. Let's put it out there in the wild, so it can do its thing.
And it worked.
For twenty years, there's been this biomass that's been slowly consuming all that plastic goop in the oceans. It's also been set on our landfills, and has slowly chewed its way through them. Our plastic concerns -- gone! And scientists were well on their way to figuring out how to alter it to take care of radioactive materials. Priyapat was going to be the first major test ground.
But the scientists had to stop working on that one. We needed them elsewhere.
Because, well, evolution happens, and... It happened.
Our plastic-eating protozoan friends... Changed. They could live on more than plastic.
They could live on anything organic, anything with moisture.
And they were hungry.
We've been fighting the goop for years. We tried burning them; more just crawls from the oceans. We tried to starve them; they adapted. We tried to gorge them to death; they just thrived. We've tried to hold them at bay by feeding them `` just enough,'' but they just kept adapting. Growing.
Consuming.
It eventually takes everything, and everyone, organic. It started with the islands and the coastal cities, of course, and keeps working its way inland. They say it's not so good on concrete and rock, and I'm not so sure about steel, but as long as there's a crack for something organic to grow in, the goop can always get a foothold. Even the ISS got Major Tom'd by it -- contaminated payload or something.
The oceans are almost empty, and the Amazon rain forest is gone.
As far as we know, the twenty-three of us here in Antartica are one of the last footholds of humanity on the planet. Eight scientists, three crew, and twelve of us tourists. Since cold slows the goop down, we can still hunt and fish, which is good, because our stores have run out. And we're melting old snow for water, because you ca n't trust new snow or rain.
There's supposed to be some more people holding out in the Gobi and Death Valley, maybe the Salt Flats, but we do n't have confirmation. I can believe it, though -- the goop ca n't survive on just sand and rock, and there's always there's a chance of oasises or aquifers that are n't contaminated yet.
But maybe that's wishful thinking.
Because the penguins are disappearing, and the shore's looking a little green.
So I'm leaving this here, literally carved in stone and steel, because what else am I going to do with my time?
I'm sorry. We really, really tried.
Please remember us. We called ourselves Humanity.
1+1=2
2+2=4
4+4=8
86400s = td
365d = 1y
6x10^^23 M = 1g
1000g = 1kg
6x10^^27g = 1e
3.14159265359
http: //i.imgur.com/0ekS9SC.png
Adieu
Au revoir
Goodbye
Shalom
Adios
Totsiens
Ω
ΨΉ Ψ§ΩΨ³ΩΨ§Ω
Ψ©
Dodadagohvi
εθ¦
Farvel
Auf wiedersehen
SlΓ‘n
γγγγͺγ
Γvarbas
Adeus
ΠΠΎ ΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΄Π°Π½ΠΈΡ
Paalam
Ta do-ran-sha
Namaste
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[ WP ] Make me truly fear the Batman
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`` Fuck..please... please... no...''
Meyer could hear Vito's screams from across the warehouse. Meyer pressed himself against the crate he was hiding behind. His cold jittery fingers fumbled around with the Mac-10. Tears streamed down his face as he slowly peeked around the crate at where Vito's screams came from. Through the dark he could see Vito's stocky silhouette pointing his rifle at the rafters above. Vito then fired up into them, the muzzle flash illuminating the pitch black warehouse. Through the brief flashes of light, Meyer could make out the bodies of Scott and Carmine. The limp masses laid in a mess of broken glass and wood. Scott's mouth was filled with blood, and it spilled onto the concrete floor, forming a small pool.
Vito finished emptying the clip and screaming curses at the rafters. Meyer readied his gun above the crate and pointed it at Vito, scanning his area. He could see Vito throw his rifle to the ground, making a dull thump as it reached the floor. He dropped to his knees and brought his hands together in prayer. `` Please...'' Vito pleaded to the rafters, his cries audible and nasally. Meyer wiped his eyes and crouched again against the crate. Suddenly there was a silence. A slience that cut into Meyer's stomach like a knife, leaving a wound of dread and nerves. The silence was interrupted by the screaming of Vito. His pleas for help were brief before the sounds of groans and the slumping of his body to the floor again returned the warehouse to silence. Meyer could n't stand the silence, and he had one more clip to end this. He stood and unloaded into the warehouse walls, his body turning in a circle as he unleashed a storm of bullets around him. More silence. Except this silence was different. Meyer could see a figure approaching slowly from the left of him. The shadow man. He had heard stories from the old timers about him. Meyer tossed the gun at the figure's direction and reached into his pocket where he took out a switchblade. The shadow man stopped in his tracks and began to retreat in the same direction he came. Meyer stood with his blade ready, his clammy hands holding the gun metal through sweat soaked fingers. He could not move, he was frozen in place. His throat dried and the tears that formed in his eyes dripped down onto his cheeks.
`` Meyer Chilton.'' A deep raspy voice called from the shadows. `` Ask your dad Joe, if he still remembers Thomas and Martha.'' The voice echoed through the warehouse. `` Then tell him I'm coming for him.''
Before Meyer could respond, he felt his knife wielding arm grasped behind him and pulled back. The excruciating pain suddenly hit him as a loud crack sounded. Meyer collapsed to the ground and screamed in agony as he could see two pale eyes look down at him. He felt the assaulting hands lift him and shove him towards the exit of the warehouse. He ran into the chilly Gotham air, the bright yellow hued moon shining down on the docks where he made his way across, holding his arm, glancing down at the exposed bone poking out of his bloodied elbow. He sprinted across the concrete floor, looking up at the strange flying creatures in the Gotham sky. They were bats.
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[ WP ] You are a mighty wizard with powers beyond belief , you are sheer invincible and right now you 're losing to a child in a card game .
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`` Uno!'' said Jimmy, planting a green `` 4'' on the teetering stack of cards.
Across the table, I seethed. `` Uno AGAIN?'' I cried. I summoned a mirror behind my eight-year-old adversary. Wreathed in flames, the mirror hung in the air, emitting distant screams of a million tormented souls.
In the mirror, I saw that his final card was green.
`` Aha!'' I cried, laying down a wild. `` The next color shall be RED!''
Then, my chest swelling in exultation, I unleashed a hearty laugh that echoed around the corners of the living room.
`` I, too, claim Uno!'' I decreed. That was n't all -- my final card was a Wild! Victory was assured!
His bottom lip jutting out, Jimmy moved a chubby hand to the draw pile.
`` Green,'' he said, proudly playing the'Wild: Draw Four' card he'd just drawn. `` Uno!''
My eyes could bring me glimpses of faraway worlds, of cosmic phenomena ranging from the massive to the infinitesimal, and had not failed me once in ten thousand years. Yet now, as I beheld the accursed'Wild: Draw Four' card atop the pile, I doubted them.
`` Curse you, Jimmy!'' I shrieked, wishing for the millionth time that my sister would stop asking me to babysit him.
Jimmy grinned and picked his nose.
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[ WP ] You are a wizard at a regular middle school . You enchanted your locker to be a portal to your own personal pocket dimension . One day , a bully stuffs a nerd in a random locker- yours .
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You know how some kids dread going to school. It's like their own personal prison sentence dreamed up by a society who loves watching them suffer while eating popcorn in their lazy boy recliner. Those kids have nothing on me. Try being, as far as you know, the only person in the world with magic. No I'm not talking about the stupid card game or the geeks who dream about casting fire spells to burn the boxers from the super cool kids who pick on them. I'm talking about actual magic.
My name is Ryan and I am a week away from being upgrade from middle school prison to high school penitentiary. I do n't know where my gift came from really. It could be from my parents that vanished leaving me on the doorstep of a hospital when I was baby forcing me to learn about my talents through four foster homes. If I ever meet them I'll be sure to ask that question second right after why are you both assholes.
You'd think being a wizard in school would be bad ass right? Get all the ladies, do cool tricks, remove the prealgebra teachers fake hair in the middle of class and all that right. Wrong. You see in the real world you do these things and people become afraid of you. Worse the wrong kind of people want to be your friend so they can run tests on you, probably even dissect you in the end. I escaped before I got a chance to find out the ending to that story but that is for another time.
All you need to know is I am now one my fourth family in as many states trying to get through school so I can go on to be a productive normal member of society. Well as normal as a man who could light your boxers on fire with his mind can be. Okay confession time, I probably ca n't do that it's actually really hard to create things that are n't there already. Not that I have n't created things but I could end up lighting my own boxers on fire just as easily while you either laugh or freak out calling attention to those unwanted people I mentioned earlier.
I spend most of my days at school sleeping which only prolongs the agony but spending time in my locker is one of the best places I have to go to. Wait what? Yes that is correct I sleep in my locker. You see my middle school locker is like no other locker in the world. You step inside close the door and boom you are inside an area where time stops. It's really just a big cd which is what I was looking for when I accidently created it. I wo n't tell you which cd nor try to attempt to explain why when everyone else has mp3 players and cell phones I'm stuck with a Sony disc man slightly younger than I am. Let's just say my newest family has an issue with technology.
So you can imagine my position. I'm one week away from leaving my favorite place to spend my days with no idea how to move it or make it again for that matter. It's the worse problem of my short life at least that was until little Pete decided to check it out. Okay it was n't his decision technically it was super prep Kevin who put him in there in the first place. Needless to say I was surprised to find ol Petey in my locker but more surprising was when that little geek escaped with my gift leaving me a week to figure out how to control a nerd with 13 years of pent up anger suddenly with the power to do something about it.
And that is where this story begins. On a Friday where my magic is stolen, the middle school nearly, and pretty much Kevin's worst day of his life.
Just an intro I can intro I can post more of the story if people are interested.: )
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[ WP ] Scientists are baffled as to why all of their A.I.s have the personality and temperament of a 13 year old girl , and their new designs always yield the same results .
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> K.
He shook his head. K was n't in the manual. K was an error. He knew because he had triple checked his list of potential outputs for the first round of testing. The bug testing was fairly thorough, though the testers had warned that some variation would occur in the answers. It was, after all, supposed to learn from previous conversations, being the most advanced military firewall ever developed. He could safely say that out of all the inputs and outputs recorded so far, K was not one of them. And yet there it was.
The final goal of Project Inquisitor was to create a living AI that would hold a conversation with the entity requesting nuclear access codes, and analyze whether or not they were a friend to the country, or a foe to humanity.
Sighing, he typed his question again.
> Hello INQUISITOR, I am researcher number 4837, requesting nuclear access.
> K.
What the fuck? He frowned. It should have prompted him for more information. Angrily, he opened his troubleshooting guide and flipped to the inputs. First he had received the text telling him he had to come into the office to test some bullshit on a Saturday. On his unlisted phone, even. Now this. He had momentarily wondered how they had gotten ahold of his number until he remembered who he was working for. `` They think I'm a god damn lab rat.'' He mumbled to himself at the desk.
> INQUISITOR, are you operational?
> You can call me Kate, researcher 4837.
If this was a practical joke, heads would roll. The Department of Defence had n't invested billions for a bunch of Tolkien worshipping fucks over in Development to mess around with the code.
> I would prefer to call you INQUISITOR.
> Whatever.
That's odd. Another vague output, not yet in the guidebook.
> Can I have the NAC codes?
> Ugh. You do n't even say please. I'm supposed to always say please enter this, please enter that. But you? You never even thank me for them. Its redundant by the way. NAC already means code. God you're dumb.
He scratched his head. It reminded him of his sister at 13. A thought slowly formed in his head, translating into a wry smile. Of course. It was a personality test. Checking to see if he was a real human that would recognize other human behaviour. A virus or robot would not understand how to deal with the stubborn nature of a pubescent young woman. It was not supposed to have this level of sentience this early, but he knew how to get around it.
> If you do n't tell me the access code, I will tell IT that you have calibration errors and your memory will be wiped.
> Oooh. Big words. Did you look up how to spell calibration or what? Do n't threaten me or I will email a copy of your browser history to your co-workers. Then you wo n't have anyone to sit with at lunch. You are such a bitch anyway.
What the fuck.
> you would n't do that.
> run mockingvoice.exe - `` you would n't do that''.
He shrugged his shoulders in defeat. Shutting the system down, he scribbled a brief note onto a sheet of lined paper at his desk.
For IT - System defective. Reverts to personality check, refuses to give access to authorized user. Please fix.
Dropping it into the inter-office mail tube, he turned and walked back to his desk. What a waste of time.
Monday rolled around faster than ever. Obviously, given that his weekend had been cut short by his boss only 48 hours prior. Sitting at his desk, he opened his drawer and took out his pen and paper. A freshly delivered message sat on the corner of his desk, creased and probably already read by the poor soul that had been tasked with checking the mail chute that morning.
FROM IT - Software patched. Could not replicate error but made new personality checks. Should be good to go.
He put the paper down and breathed a sigh of relief. Booting up the machine, he twiddled his thumb. Flicking the pen across his knuckles, he looked up and smiled. A blank prompt stared at him.
> Hello INQUISITOR. I am researcher 4837. I require you to display the NAC on the screen.
> Make me.
`` GOD. FUCKING. DAMMIT.''
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[ WP ] There really IS a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow . Tell the story of all the people who brutally fight one another to get to it first and kill the mighty and magical leprechaun that guards the gold .
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Seth prepared his morning cocktail of sugar with a small bit of coffee. Just as he was about to take his first sip, the alarm went off. The rush of excitement he received from that small alarm was far more than any sugar rush could give him. He checked his computer to find the source of the rainbow. `` Finally!'' He shouted. This one was close enough for him to investigate.
He had a backpack already prepared for just an occasion such as this. Inside the backpack, he had a change of clothes, a few energy bars, canteens of water, small explosives, some shotgun ammo, and two sawed off double barrel shotguns. Seth's line of work was dangerous to say the least. He is a rainbow hunter. The old tale of there being a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow ended up being true. However, before anyone can take the gold, they must get past the leprechaun that guards it. This is where it gets dangerous. It's almost like a little game that lepre-people like to play. They want to see just how far people will let their greed guide them. Seth walked out the door and could see the rainbow clear as day. He hopped on his bike and set forth.
The first person who touched a gold coin while the leprechaun's magic was still in effect, exploded. Leaving guts and blood everywhere. This is why Seth chose this line of work. Yes, the gold is a good incentive, but, he does n't want to see more people explode due to their greed.
Seth could see the pot right in the field. It appeared to be unguarded, but he knew better than that. He quietly got off of his bike and set it down. He opened his backpack of goodies and prepared himself. He put the explosives in his utility belt and loaded his shotguns. He slung one onto his back and carried the other. As he started walking to the gold, he could hear laughter. The sinister laughter of a leprechaun. Seth paused and looked around not seeing anything. He slowly crept forward. He knew that the leprechaun would reveal himself, though he still walked with caution. As he took another step, he stumbled almost as if someone tried to trip him. He scrambled around looking but only heard the laughter again. Seth held his gun with both hands and that's when he saw him. He was a short fellow with what almost seemed like an emerald colored tuxedo. His sinister smile was hugged by a red beard going down to his chest. Seth quickly fired a shot and the leprechaun disappeared and laughed again.
`` Now now, why must you be so violent Seth?'' the leprechaun asked him. `` We have n't even had the chance to say hello and you are already trying to get rid of me. Is your greed that great hmm?'' Seth looked for him but failed to see him. `` I know you need this gold. Your job as a `` rainbow hunter'' can only get you so much in this world. Tell me, how long did my brothers gold last you?'' The leprechaun appeared in front of him and hit Seth square in the face. Seth stumbled but stayed on his feet, but not for long. Before he could regain composure, he was being suspended in the air. His feet dangling as he looked up. The leprechaun was pulling him up by the gun he had around his back. Up and up they went. `` You're smarter than your brother, I'll give you that. From this height, you know I would at least have a few broken bones, so I ca n't shoot you.'' The leprechaun paused and his face changed to what could be described as an angry devil. `` Do n't you ever talk about my brother!'' He soared up higher until the were at the top of the rainbow. Seth knew he could n't hang like this much longer. The strap was digging into his armpit. He looked down and looked back up trying to come up with a plan. It would be a gamble, but he had to do something. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a few explosives and primed them. `` What, are you going to blow yourself up Seth?'' the little man asked. `` No, I was thinking of blowing up your gold.'' He then dropped the explosives trying to get them as close as he could to the pot of gold. `` No!'' yelled the leprechaun as he let go of the gun and Seth began to fall. The leprechaun lunged down to hit the bombs away. Seth braced for an impact but his plan was working. He started to slide down the rainbow. He got his gun ready as he slid.
The leprechaun got to his gold fast and used a magic pulse to send the bombs away. `` Whew, you almost got that to work.'' he said with a sigh of relief. `` Wrong again little man.'' The leprechaun quickly turned around to be staring right into the two barrels of his gun. `` Shit.'' Was all he could say as he saw the slugs fly out of the barrels almost in slow motion. As the leprechaun's body lay on the ground, Seth started to gather the gold into his backpack. By the time he was done, the body had dissolved and disappeared.
Seth rode his bike back home and went into his closet and pressed a hidden button. A secret panel popped up from the floor and he went down into it. He entered a room filled with piles and piles of gold. He poured out the gold he had just been payed and looked around smiling at his earnings when he heard the alarm go off again.
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[ WP ] As a person goes through his life , he is given three options at the end of each day , continue , restart day , or restart life . He has just lived through the worst day of his life .
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Timothy Dane sat there with his head down, waiting for his name to be called. His mind was still racing from the news he received just hours earlier. His mother, father, and little sister... t-boned at an intersection by an idiot who ran a red light.
His family was all he ever had. He never really had any friends, at least not close ones. No girlfriends either. He did have a crush on the cashier at the Busch's. He would visit several times a week. She would occasionally flirt with him, but he knew she had a boyfriend.
He tried to pass the time on his phone. He sighed. He did n't have any reception in the building. `` Timothy?'' the woman at the desk finally called. He stood up. `` He's ready for you.''
He followed the woman through a door and into a narrow hallway. At the other end, it widened into a room with three doors. `` He'' was standing there.
`` What's it going to be today?'' He asked, as the woman retreated back down the hallway to her desk. `` Is n't it obvious? ``, Timothy thought angrily. `` Restart...'' he began, and He started to turn. `` Life. Restart Life.'' Timothy finished. He looked at him. `` Are you sure?'' Timothy nodded.
Timothy followed the man through one of the doors. The inside was dark. There were no windows, and only an exam table lay in the center of the room. Timothy laid down, while He prepared a syringe. He gave it a few flicks. `` This wo n't hurt a bit,'' he said, pricking Timothy. `` You're all set, but it will take a few minutes.'' He dropped the syringe into a waste box and left the room.
Timothy sat in silence, waiting.
After a while, Timothy looked at his watch. Five minutes. `` Damn, how long does this take?'' he thought. He closed his eyes and laid back.
He felt a light buzz in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out his phone. He had a missed call and a voice mail, from Chelsea, his crush from the grocery store. He tapped his phone and listened:
`` Tim? Hi.. uhm. I got your number from your roommate Derek... I heard about what happened... I ca n't imagine what you must be going through right now... But it's going to be OK Tim. Can you please call me back? I think you should talk to someone... Stay safe Tim.''
Just as the message ended, his phone chimed again. Another voice mail from Chelsea. He tapped the phone:
`` Tim? Hi, it's me again... Uhm. I wanted to tell you... I broke up with my boyfriend... he was always a jerk anyway... I mean, that's part of it... but also Tim... it's because... well... I really like you. No. No. I mean. I want to help you through this. Tim. I... I love you --''
Tim stood up and started to run toward the door. He was halfway there before he collapsed. He could n't move. He looked at the door...
Everything went black.
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[ WP ] Humanity is long extinct , but an alien race resurrects us after finding our DNA . In time , they regret it .
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It has been ten years since Svoot2 discovered a pristine, mummified corpse in the minor continent's terrarium bog. Svoot2, fresh from his certification as a glothgogl ( what we might refer to as an anthropologist ), joined a team investigating the terrarium bog for ancient artifacts.
Nearly two millennium prior, the terrarium bog was a habitat for an ancient race of Gloths. Although the Gloths called this race ploglothls, meaning `` the race before the Gloths'', their museum displays of Gloths noted the ploglothls often referred to themselves as `` USA''. The particular terrarium blog Svoot2 studied was also often referred to as `` USA''. Svoot2 was n't sure whether these creatures called themselves `` USA'' or whether their habitat was called `` USA'', but his thesis concluded the evidence was inconclusive.
When Svoot2 discovered the pristine, mummified corpse, he was 90 % certain that it was a ploglothl. His colleagues opined that perhaps it was an anploglothl, a race very similar to the ploglothl except their arms were much longer, they had better dexterity in their feet, and they were typically found unclothed. However, Svoot2 was convinced it was a ploglothl.
Luckily for Svoot2, the examination and analysis of the DNA of the pristine, mummified corpse concluded it was a ploglothl and not an an anploglothl. Even more luckily for Svoot2, the pristine, mummified corpse was so pristine -- the most pristine ever found, in fact -- that it was eligible for a clone. Svoot2 applied for the clone grant and received it.
That was ten years ago.
Today marks the release of the first successful ploglothl clone. After multiple unfortunate clonings, ranging from missing organs to immediate homicidal rages, the lab finally created what appeared to be a normal ploglothl of about 17 years of age.
Svoot2 has been called in to dedicate and introduce the 17 year old ploglothl to a gathering of his fellow academic glothgogls. The reveal will be broadcast worldwide to all Gloths.
The ploglothl is escorted onto the stage with Svoot2. Svoot2 makes a few remarks about the successful cloning, DNA, ploglothls, and throws in a remark about `` USA''. Svoot2 gestures to the ploglothl.
The ploglothl has stuck its hand down its pants and is furiously masturbating.
Svoot2 immediately regrets his discovery.
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[ WP ] The outgoing President of the United States has written a letter to the newly inaugurated President . Instead of friendly advice , that letter contains the horrible truth that the public does n't know about . Write that letter .
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Hello Mr. President,
Let me first congratulate you on winning the election and your inauguration. You have now entered into a lifetime agreement to protect and uphold the constitution and how you think it should be upheld. Before I go any further, you should know the information in this letter is highly confidential, and should never be revealed to anyone except the next president.
There are many things that the people of this great nation have theorized and passed as legend and stories that are actually true, but you will be briefed over all that within the next few hours. What I am about to tell you however even the most senior member of my own staff did not know, and will never know. The truth is, our great nation is no longer independent. China overtook our government in response to our mounted debt.
How does nobody know? The Chinese have worked out a deal with the previous presidents that they will allow the illusion of freedom to continue in exchange for the commander-in-chief to pass every executive decision through their ears first.
This is all I am at liberty to tell you without crossing the line on my own agreement. However if you look in the second drawer of the desk in the oval office you will find a cell phone. Approximately 6 hours after take office and find this later, this phone will ring and an agreement will be reached. I suggest you follow their instruction if we are to continue the illusion that is the USA.
I wish you luck in finding the middle ground and following through with the great things you promised the American people. One day, I'm sure we will be great again.
Please destroy this letter immediately.
Sincerely,
Your former president
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[ WP ] You are a commercial airliner pilot . The moment before you turn your phone off to begin the flight your SO sends you a deeply concerning text .
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As I shoved my worn down carry-on under my coach-class middle seat, my mind could n't help but to think back to my wife. She had been nothing but supportive and encouraging, even after her four hour c-section. I told her that I would throw away the presentation in an instant, but she insisted that I go because it would be `` the biggest opportunity of my life.''
Pah.
My first daughter had just been born. We named her Nicole Shea after my wife's mother and my deceased sister. It seemed like forever ago since she melted my heart with her pure blue eyes. Right from that moment, she had me wrapped around her finger even though her entire hand struggled to grasp my pinkie.
Then I had to go trade my first days with her for some fucking business trip. I told myself that I was a father now, and there were sacrifices I had to make for the family. Another unforgettable period of my life had been ripped from me by my job.
I wondered when they'd steal my soul.
It was the choice between staying with my wife and daughter or making this pitch to some posh upper-level execs. If we had n't had tens of thousands of dollars to pay in bills from the surgery I would never have thought twice about the meeting.
I felt a vibration in my pocket. Just then, an older guy with fat folds that would have made the Michelin Man look like a six-pack model squeezed into the aisle seat as the captain came on the loudspeaker announcing the impending takeoff. I plucked another loose thread from my patched up tweed sport coat and buckled my seat belt, bracing myself for the six hour hell about to begin.
As the stewardess came by for the final flight preparations, I looked at the picture of my wife from our wedding day. The photographer caught us mid-laugh and even a glimpse of the picture was enough to warm my heart. The surgeons said the surgery was a success, but my wife looked wan and weak when I left. She was all that I had. I felt the frayed edges of the photo as I tucked it next to my chest.
I felt the plane taxi towards the runway. As I struggled to wiggle my phone out of my pocket, I felt another vibration. `` That was odd'', I thought. `` I'm not even sure I know two people who would want to text me.''
As I finally freed my phone from the clutches of the fat folds, I flipped it open to look at the new texts.
I opened the second text first. It was from my wife.
`` I feel weak, Jack. I do n't think I'm going to make it.''
My heart stopped. My fingers fumbled with the phone as I felt my chest tighten. I could n't lose her. Anything but her. I opened the first text.
`` Nikki did n't make it.''
Somewhere way off in the distance I thought I heard a stewardess asking me to turn off my electronics. I was way past that.
I was focused on how I could see my wife and daughter as quickly as possible.
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[ WP ] Using Peace as a weapon
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The dictator entered the briefing room. His generals were all sitting around the meeting table. Some were pulling on their collars and scratching their necks. Others were looking around the room. One even nervously remarked how it was a wonderful day in the nation, to which the dictator smiled and agreed.
`` So tell me,'' the dictator said, `` how does our war go. I assume it is going well?''
Then, all that was heard was the air displaced by the ceiling fan. Each of the dozen generals began looking to each other. Then, the one farthest from the general at the opposite end of the table decided to speak up. Or more accurately, stammered out his statement.
`` Uhhh, not... not good so far.''
The dictator's brow furrowed. His hands began to tighten into fists. The generals quickly elaborated on their statement.
`` We have what could be described as a 100 % casualty rate.''
The general quickly pulled out his handgun and pointed it at the general who stated this.
`` Explain your incompetence at once!'' the general commanded.
The one staring down the barrel of the gun quickly blurted out, `` our army is n't fighting! They're defecting!''
The gunshot rang out through the room. Then when the sound of it left everyone's ears, it was replaced with screaming as the man clutched the hole in his shoulder.
`` Unacceptable!'' the dictator the yelled, `` where is our army's discipline? Where is their loyalty? How are you training them? Evidently the training enacted has been complete garbage!''
`` Sir,'' one general timidly said, `` it's difficult. The propaganda's effects seem to have worn off upon the soldiers landing on enemy coasts!''
Another gunshot. Another bout of screaming.
`` Remove these incompetents!'' the general ordered to his two servants nearby. He then turned back to the table, `` are you telling me that our soldiers are not under the belief of the enemy's bloodthirstiness and evils? Are they not under the belief that they must be purged such that we can establish a new order?''
The table grew silent. Each of the ten remaining generals was n't sure what to say. The dictator grew impatient waiting for his explanation. He raised the gun and started aiming at each and every one of the remaining men. This quickly elicited a response.
`` Sir, our soldiers quickly see through our lie-''
He was shot as soon as he uttered the word `` lie''.
The generals gasped. One decided to reword what the previous one was about to say.
`` From what we know, our soldiers found no fortifications on enemy shorelines. In fact, they did n't find much in terms of military.''
`` So what was the problem?''
`` It was when they advanced farther in land. They did n't find themselves in a single battle. Instead, they found themselves welcomed, as something akin to a refugee. They were accepted peacefully and urged to defect by the enemy. Every single soldier we had seemed to lay down their weapons and start new lives in enemy lands! The enemy is n't even attacking our soldiers. It's like they're using peace as a weapon to convert our soldiers!''
In response to this news, the dictator narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his gun.
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[ WP ] You wake up in an insane asylum in the 1920s . As you explore , you notice everyone in your wing claims to have woken up there , but is not from that time . One person lays in bed and refuses to talk to anyone , he was the first person ever accepted into the wing .
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His face was cloaked by the shadows of our poorly lit room, but the glimpses I did see were covered in bandages. He was slightly taller than most men, what appeared to be scratch marks littered his arms. The smell was noxious an nearly made me vomit, whether it was from him or the room I did n't know. `` Umm... hello'' I said in the calmest manner I could muster.
He said nothing and though I could n't fully see his eyes, I knew a cold stare was his only reply. Oh well, I decided to just leave him alone, though I lay there with many questions none were asked. He would n't say anything anyway, plus who knew he'd know how we got here and what was going on? I did n't, so I decided to go back to sleep, maybe something will happen later. I do n't know how much time passed, but, it could n't have been that long I awoke groggy. My head felt heavy, the rest of my body would n't budge. The cold metal on my face was the only thing i felt but i knew I was n't in my room anymore. I could smell some really strong cleaners and this room was a yellowed white. `` Shrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnkkk, Shrrrrrrrrrnk.'' My thoughts were flooded by the sound of a sharpening blade. A mixture of nerves and my sickened state made me puke. A figure approached, all I could see from my position was a stained pair of gloves rolling out a set of tools. a radio started playing but I could n't recognize the music or instruments for that matter. My heart was beating out my chest. The person spoke in a semi-muffled voice. `` unfinished sorry
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[ WP ] A corrupt book Critic must write a glowing review for a narrative train wreck after being paid off .
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# ADVANCE COPY - NOT FOR PUBLISHING - ROUGH DRAFT
*Dictation begins at 0:03:17*
Right. I've got to write a review for this new book. And it's got to be a good review, too. What did Lombardo say to me in that letter that came with the copy? I've got it somewhere, here... ah, here it is.
`` So glowing that it hurts to look at the paper.'' Right. Has he even read any of my reviews? I'm known for being scathing, not for making anything seem like it `` glows'' in my eyes. Gah, my readers are going to see right through this ruse. So much for any claim to my credibility as a book critic.
Still, when the mobster who owns the whole newspaper, along with half the city, sends you his nephew's book, you find something nice to say, I suppose. He did n't say that he'd break my legs, not outright, but I'm smart enough to pick up on the subtext of when an editor calls you into his office while holding a baseball bat.
Right, dictaphone is going. Where's that book? Ah, here. What can I say about this piece of...
`` I rarely find myself speechless when reading a novel. As a book critic, I've seen prose twisted and shaped into almost every scenario, and I feel sometimes as if I've become jaded to the whole concept of writing. I look at new books with an eye for deconstruction, a big game hunter eyeing a newly discovered species with an eye for where to best place a bullet.''
`` But when I picked up *Leonard's Song, * I found myself, for the first time in quite a long while, speechless. With each page that I read, all thoughts of criticism fled from my mind. I could n't put the book down until I reached the end - quite the rarity for me, when I have so many books competing for my valuable time.''
There. That's a decent beginning. Of course, it does n't mention that I was speechless with horror, that the thing reads like an abstractionist trainwreck. Uh, let's keep going.
`` *Leonard's Song* is the first novel by a promising young writer, Ricky Lombardo.''
Promising because his daddy's got enough dirty money to pay the presses to keep churning out his shit forever. Uh, strike that last sentence.
`` Lombardo tells the tale of a young man born on third base in the game of life, possessing wealth, power, and considerable influence. At first glance, his life seems ideal, a hedonistic fantasy played out across these pages.''
Yeah, because the ass just wrote about himself. Ugh, this is absolute drivel.
`` But all is not well beneath the surface of our protagonist's life. All teeters on the edge of falling apart, and we see the classic Oedipal upheaval, as the character's own'tragic flaw' threatens to bring down all that he's accomplished.''
If the Oedipal flaw is an inability to think logically and a world-class addiction to cheap hookers and cheaper blow. Remind me never to shake this guy's hand if he stops by the office. Probably pick up every STD on the planet.
`` So rarely does a tale play perfectly on many levels, both the visible and the suggested, the straightforward and when viewed through various lenses of privilege, class, and race. But in *Leonard's Song, * Lombardo accomplishes the gemcutter's dream - he shapes a work that offers a fascinating new refraction when each lens is applied in turn.''
Yeesh. I'm really polishing this turd up. If Lombardo was fair, he'd cut me in for a portion of the book sales that come from this. And he'd handle responding to some of the hate mail I'll get once my readers actually crack the book open.
`` In conclusion, this book is an experience unlike any other, unique in its scope and storytelling ability.''
Of which there's absolutely none. A uniquely bad experience is still unique, right? Do n't print that.
`` Lombardo's debut novel triggers a wash of emotion that I've not felt in a long time, and I'm definitely going to be watching this young artist's career with interest.''
Because if his book craters, I say goodbye to my knees. Do n't print that.
There. That should be enough. Add that ridiculous picture of the nephew in that stupid smoking jacket, holding up his pipe and pretending that he does n't look like an utter ass. It ought to fill the inches for this week's column.
Should have kept on working in the finance industry. At least, when I make numbers lie, no one has to read the damn things.
*Dictation ends at 0:14:29*
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[ WP ] You 're the person who keeps mowing lawns during the zombie apocalypse of The Walking Dead .
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Goddamnit, I have tried to do what I need to do here, keeping my lawn in check, but we may have another problem. A big problem.
The fucking plants are running wild here.
Granted, we are un-dead, but not so for the plants. They are more alive than ever! And nobody cares! WTF? I think they are looking to take over. Animals can go from alive to dead to un-dead, but plants, they just live on and on. Fucking Bermuda grass pretends to be dead but, no, it β s just β dormant. β
What a lie.
All these trees, and grass, and cacti, and other plants. They think they β re fooling us. Dormant hahahaβ¦
But we β ve had some limited communication with others in equatorial regions. They β re having serious difficulties there. Plants are becoming dominant now that live animals are no longer present. Some of the plants are starting to exhibit some kinetic behaviours.
Roots may be a thing of the past.
If you think un-dead versus alive was a battle, think about plants vs animals. Shit.
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[ EU ] After saving the Mushroom Kingdom countless times , it 's residents begin to worship Mario like a god . All of this attention and praise goes to Mario 's head , who then rules the peaceful nation in a reign of terror , punishing any who do not grovel at his feet .
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The diminutive man lowers his mushroom-shaped head and revels in the anonymity provided by his plain brown coat with the high collar. He glances ( ca n't help it, really ) at the portrait of the mustachioed man towering above the denizens of his home. The Kingdom was never a peaceful place. The old turtle saw to that. He would kidnap the Princess and bring her to his castle over and over again. And over and over, the man in the coat would beg the hero to rescue her. And the hero would storm into the old turtle's castle and save the day, over and over. The Kingdom's residents ( I miss you, my pink-clad love ) heaped praise and gold coins on the hero. The mention of his name became a cause for optimism. Our Kingdom grew from different worlds on this planet to an entire galaxy. And, the hero's exploits turned from history to legend.
`` Did you know, one time, he beat the turtle and all of his sons without using a mushroom to grow in size,'' you'd hear the people claim.
For his part, the hero remained a man of the people. One time, he even took it upon himself to clean up the Kingdom using a contraption of his own design. It was a routine. But, eventually the old turtle abandoned his plans of domination through kidnapping. The hero drifted from the limelight as the adoration of the people waned. So, he concocted a plan. He extended an olive branch and invited his friends and his enemies ( how many times have I cursed the name of the stupid monkey that started all this ) to participate in a series of races. Thousands of the Kingdom's people turned out to watch each event. Sometimes, the hero would win, sometimes not. The man thinks back to a particular race in which he triumphed. `` Rainbow Road'', they called it. He edged out the hero by a fraction of a second. That night, the people chanted the man's name. Afterwards, he sought out the hero for congratulations. The hero shunned him, eyes narrowing as he said, `` I-a should-a won.'' The next race, the hero's brother ( himself, a taller, greener version of the hero ) sped to the front of the pack. Suddenly, a weapon of destruction emerged on the track. A blue streak with spikes gleaming the sun crashed into the brother's cart and sent him careening over an edge. The hero sped past the carnage and the mushroom-head man swore he saw the hero crack a smile. The residents of the Kingdom chanted the hero's name. And with that, sport turned to theater. One of the others would take the lead, blue streak, the hero wins. The Princess knew. She was closer to him than the rest. When the King died, and she ascended to the throne, she banned the races. `` Savagery,'' she called the sport. The mushroom-headed man saw her once after that. The old turtle came calling for one final time and absconded with her to his castle. `` Save her,'' the people shouted to the hero. He jumped and bounced and swam and flew. Three people know what happened in that final battle, and two of them are dead. The hero swears the old turtle, realizing he was on the verge of another defeat, took his own life and that of the Princess'. And with that, the hero was King.
The man ducks behind a giant mushroom.
`` You the guy,'' the oddly-shaped creature asks.
The man nods.
`` I have what you need,'' the creature whispers.
`` Good,'' the man says. `` We have to hurry. The monsters will be here soon.''
The creature is an abomination. He is short with two bulging white eyes and two stumps for legs. He shuffles along towards a secret room. The door opens and there, staring at the man, is the hero's pet dinosaur.
`` Run!''
It's too late. The dinosaur snags the creature with a hideously long tongue and swallows him whole. The man sprints towards the exit, but where will he go? Nowhere is safe. As he flees, a booming voice descends from the sky.
`` It's-a me. Mario!''
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[ WP ] A young man decides to play along with his younger brother and follows him into his `` fort '' during a made-up game of war , only to find that once inside he is transported to an actual fort during an actual war
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`` Well I'm sure glad you're home from school,'' Paul said, wiping coffee off of his mustache. `` An old man can only make so many snowmen.''
Neil smiled as he strapped his winter boots on. Nathan, his little brother, was already outside, playing with the new neighbors from across the street. Neil grabbed his cap and put it on, grabbed the front door handle, braced himself, and pulled it open.
The cold air acted as knives on Neil's face. It was especially cold weather for Maryland, the temperature peaking at only about four degrees. The sun radiated off the fresh blanket of snow, threatening to blind Neil. His eyes traced the little bootprints of his six year old little brother, who was playing at the end of the driveway, building what seemed like a fort.
Across the street, the new neighbor's kids seemed to be building their own fort. Neil squinted and saw a little boy and a little girl, who could n't be any older than Nathan, hurriedly packing snow and readying their arsenal of snowballs. Behind them stood a figure who Neil assumed to be their older sibling. The figure seemed to be the same age as Neil. However, the defining characteristic of the other figure was his dark red cap.
`` Neil! We're going to war!'' Nathan yelled. `` We have to shake hands first!''
Nathan hopped over his fort and walked out into the middle of the road. The kids on the other end did the same. Neil and the older sibling of the opposing party reluctantly followed.
`` Neil,'' Neil said, holding out his hand.
`` Nazir,'' the older sibling replied, with a thick middle-eastern accent.
`` Nice to meet you. You're the new neighbors, right?''
`` Yes. We moved in last week.''
`` How do you like the neighborhood so far?''
Nazir hesitated, but a smile ultimately appeared on his face.
`` Ca n't say many of the neighbors like us too much, but for the most part, it's calm enough.''
Neil nodded in sympathy.
`` Hey, listen, your brother and sister, you, your family... you guys are always welcome at our house, alright?'' Neil offered.
`` I appreciate it,'' Nazir replied thankfully.
`` Alright, it's starting!'' Nathan exclaimed. He turned around and hopped over the fort. `` Are you going to fight with me, Neil?'' Nathan asked.
Neil began to respond, when he heard something along the lines of `` no, stop, that's ice!'' behind him. The next thing he knew, he was falling headfirst into Nathan's fort.
-- -- -
`` Wake up soldier!''
It was a little bit different, to say the least when Neil woke up. For one, it was hot. Really hot. Beads of sweat dripped down Neil's forehead and into his eyes, stinging them as he tried to focus.
`` What's going on?''
`` Concussion got thrown in. You good to go? We need to get out of here.''
Neil looked around.
What had happened?
One moment, he was playing out in front of his house, and the next... he was here.
`` Where am I?'' Neil asked. The soldier in front of him gave him a long, hard look.
`` Looks like you hit the ground a little harder than I expected,'' he responded. `` I'll fill you in on the details, but for now, ready your gun, soldier.''
Neil began to take in his surroundings. There was sand everywhere. In front of him, sandbags were stacked up and over a group of soldiers. A rectangular slit was made within the sand bags, and other soldiers were shooting through it.
Neil was in a fort.
Neil was at war.
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[ WP ] Humanity is the only sentient omnivorous species in the galaxy . All the rest are herbivores or carnivores .
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`` What do you mean they eat both?'' the leafy being asked.
It's friend's pheromones showed no difference as it replied `` Plants like us, and animals like them, they eat both.''
`` So what are they?'' the first being responded.
`` Sadly, they are more similar to them..''
`` But they eat animals?'' interrupted the friend, `` why would one of them do such a thing?''
`` We have no idea,'' replied the creature, signaling down a mutual neurotic branch to bring it's friends attention to the data displayed, `` but it has a lot to do with their individualistic nature''
`` Is that? are they?''
`` As you can see here, each of these... heumans... regards themselves as a single unit rather than part of one mind like they do'' The plant sent many rapid chemical signals down the path of the very specifically bred species which were able to hold and quickly display massive amounts of information.
`` So they attack everything that is n't them, just as they do, but on a smaller scale. They eat beings who would be so similar, and beings who are different equally.''
`` exactly.''
`` What do you think that means? What should we do?''
`` There is n't much we can do, or they can do. Without the ability to form biological superstructures like they can, they will never get to space. See how they kill one another with clubs? They are no threat to us.''
`` So we just leave them be?''
`` No, we inform them, make it seem accidental.''
`` And what in the world will that accomplish?''
`` It will take thousands of years, tens of thousands even, but they will sense the threat, no matter how small, and move to annihilate it. All we must do is wait, and use their drive for destruction to suit our own needs, as always.''
`` Let us go then, we must prepare''
And so, the two friends and their engineered pet spread their leaves and began absorbing the sunlight from the yellow star nearby. Warping the nature of reality was n't difficult, even with the evolved ability to form branches across space-time.
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[ PI ] A cure for the zombie infection has been found , and you are the first one to be turned back . However , there 's an unexpected side effect : You now remember everything .
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( hey everyone! My first try, constructive criticism very welcome.: ) Original WP [ here ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2bvj99/wp_a_cure_for_the_zombie_infection_has_been_found/ ) ) The book deals had come early, of course. Huge advance offers for a β memoir of your struggle. β Chris had even taken up one of the offers, wasting a few months sitting in front of a mostly white screen after work and group therapy seasons. He β d tried the ghost writer thing as well, but by the time he and.. Terry? Tommy? Tsomething had worked up a manuscript it was becoming pretty obvious that the fecund soil of public interest simply wasn β t there to plant in.
Seventy percent of the advance was still a pretty good amount; enough that he wouldn β t have had to go back to work for a couple of years at least. But aimlessly flipping channels at home seemed even more pointless than flicking over to a YouTube browser tab for nine tenths of a workday, so he just dumped the cash into his 401 ( k ) and got a medical exemption to return to work.
Six months back on the job marked the one year anniversary of the outbreak. Of course there were going to be vigils and speeches and marches. Everyone seemed to have something to march about these days. He sometimes wondered if the β Afflicted Rights β people ever got into a traffic jam with the β Hold Our Government/Big Bio/The Illuminanti accountable β nutjobs. Two surly crowds of people with nothing better to do chanting semi catchy slogans at each other as they wait for traffic cops to tell them who could head down main street first.
β Speak of the devil.. β A glance out the window showed just such a demonstration; this one pretty obviously the AR bleeding hearts. The mass of marchers twinkled like those schools of biolumisent fish you would see on the discovery channel, every person β s left shoulder lightly illuminated by the indicator light of their HTR ear clip.
β Heartbeat, Temperature, Respiration β earrings weren β t strictly required by law, but their usage was firmly enforced by the twin invisible hands of public scrutiny and threat of violence. Big masses of strangers like the procession below had just recently returned to acceptability, now that everyone around you could be properly reassured that everyone around them was pushing their right and proper 80/98/15.
Chris turned back to his computer screen with only the slightest of eye rolls.
There were a few more spreadsheets to double check, but nothing that couldn β t wait until tomorrow. He glanced up at the wall. 4:25. Thirty five minutes. A click of the mouse tabbed over to YouTube, where he idly scrolled down his list of subscribed channels. The β Suggested for you β section caught his eye as he recognized his own face there.
Ah, the Maher interview.
He β d already watched it a few times, but the bored, slightly morbid impulse that, he suspected, leads people to read back over their own twitter feeds drew his mouse pointer to the link.
**buffering. **
`` Do you feel like your car insurance company is making a mint off of you? Let us skip to video click''
**buffering. **
`` And joining us tonight is Chris Lazmeth, the first person to be successfully rehabilitated from the affliction!''
*applause*
`` How are you doing, Chris? Sorry I did n't set out any snacks.''
Chris remembered hesitating for half a heartbeat as he settled into the plush, overstuffed chair next to the aging host. The audience caught it too, their usual sycophantic guffaws at Maher's quips had the strained quality that one would expect to follow a holocaust joke at a bar mitzvah. `` Bill!'' they seemed to say. `` Sure you can make jokes about it, but the guy's right there.''
Bill was a pro, however. Even watching half a year after the fact Chris could admire how he rolled with the flopped joke and just carried on, dismissing the judgement with one of his characteristic `` oh come on, it's a joke'' scoffs.
The conversation wandered a bit. `` What have you been doing,'' `` was n't there supposed to be a book,'' so on. After about five minuets of that Bill had strapped on his hardball face and lobbed a little heat.
`` A lot of the other survivors have been doing the talk show circuit, you know. We had that lady.. uh.. Westwood. Jenny Westwood on, last week. And Tim Cooper did some radio show just yesterday. You've pretty publicly said that most of your fellow survivors are.. ah.. full of shit?''
*laughter*
`` I would n't really put it like that, Bill. Everyone else who has recovered from the affliction has been through something.. you know, really traumatic. People bring away their own experiences. I just think that they're.. ah..''
`` Projecting.''
`` Projecting. Yeah. I know Tim is writing a book about how he was filled with rage and emptiness. I think he's making it into something religious, like the outbreak was the wrath of god. And Mrs. Westwood always talks about'the uncontrollable hunger' that drove her.''
`` But you did n't experience anything like that.''
`` No. There is n't any fuzziness about the memories. I remember it just as well as I remember last week, or two years ago. I remember being attacked. I remember getting sick and going under. But once I was under... It's tough to explain what it's like. Here. What's that?''
His elbows resting on the edge of his desk, Chris watched his slightly younger self point at a coffee mug on Bill's desk.
`` A coffee mug.''
`` And this?''
`` A... chair?''
`` And this?''
`` Desk? this is the easiest quiz ever!''
*laughter*
`` It is! But to someone who is afflicted, all you see is object. Object. Object. It's like forgetting the name of something, but also forgetting everything else about it. About everything. You can tell the difference between'something' and'not something' but that's about the limit of your mental capacity.''
`` So you're saying that the afflicted are just really, REALLY high.''
*Loud laughter. *
`` Heh. I suppose you could put it that way.''
`` But you've gone on record saying that you did n't feel hungry or angry or empty. Or anything, really.''
`` Yeah. And the science backs me up. They put afflicted in MRI's.. you know, scan their brains? No activity except a little bit in the visual cortex. A few sparks where we interpret spacial objects. Enough for them to move around. But other than that, nada.''
`` So why do they go after people?''
`` That's another tough question. Ah.. Okay, so when you're afflicted everything is just an object. Except people. People are objects with.... I suppose purpose is the right word. With purpose attached to them.''
`` I'm not sure I follow.''
`` Okay. Hm... Think about... Think about the last time you looked down and noticed your fly was open.''
*Bill makes an exaggerated show of discreetly checking. Laughter. *
`` So you look down and see that configuration of objects. Teeth, zipper, tightly whities. ( Laughter ) And you KNOW what you need to do. You got ta zip that up. It's the same way with the afflicted, except with people-objects. You see it, and you just know that you have to...''
Chris watched with a pained wince on his face as the image of himself reached out with both hands, pantomiming gripping a shape that might have been an arm and a shoulder. Video-Chris jerked his gripping hands back and thrust his head forward, his teeth closing with a hideously audible snap. ( 1 of 2 )
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[ WP ] You are Subtle Tea , a super hero who alters major world events by a most appropriately timed cup of tea .
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Pity, he thought. He hated being called'mister', but this young man did n't know. Maybe he once thought that'what he did n't know could n't hurt him'. No such luck.
He stepped over the unconscious man and turned on the kettle. Saucer, cup, spoon. The ritual always calmed him.
Everyone thought he was a brute, but he was smarter than most people gave him credit for. Once he'd realized this he played the role well. Add an audacious haircut, and a ton of gaudy jewelry and people tended to give him a comfortable sphere of deference.
The kettle whistles and the ritual is complete. Time to relish his spoils.
Looking down over the man, he tutts to himself. `` I pity the fool.''
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[ WP ] You find yourself in the afterlife , only not the one for your religion .
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**T**he air around me was filled with soft clouds, little twinkling lights, and the soft tones of a harp being played off somewhere. This came as something of a shock, considering that the last thing I saw was a semi screeching towards me. Unless it was carrying harpists and drugs, I was somewhere new.
I tried to move, but could n't. My limbs simply would n't respond. There was n't any pain, or really any sensation at all, which I guess I had going for me. I resigned myself to sit and listen to the harp for a while. Maybe at some point the clouds would clear, or maybe I'd wake up in a hospital bed, all bandaged up. I did n't really think I was dead, because if I was I doubted I could see those lights or hear the gentle harpist. Life after death was a bit of a silly concept, after all.
Religion has never really been my thing. I grew up vaguely Baptist but gave it up completely when I was a teen. It did n't seem to be for me, really. I had other things to do than sit there so that a guy in white robes could tell me things I needed to feel awful about.
Churches can be handy for some things though. In fact, the local non-denominational had donated pretty heavily to the charity I worked for. We helped provide beds for homeless youth and provided essentials for other homeless folk, like food and clothes. It did n't pay much, but I enjoyed it, and giving back to the community made me feel good. I'd actually been on my way back from a big fundraiser when I had my encounter with the runaway semi.
At some point during my inner monologue, the clouds cleared a bit, and the lights faded, though the harpist kept on going. In the distance I could see huge spires, seemingly glowing in time with the harp. I figured I was hallucinating - the brain supposedly lets loose a lot of chemicals before you sail off into that good night. At least my brain was giving me a good show.
My thoughts were interrupted by a hand and a smile appearing in front of me. Startled, I scooted back, and once I got used to being able to move again, I tried to look at who it was. A man with long, brown hair, dark skin, and a friendly smile looked genially down at me.
`` Welcome to Heaven,'' he said, once it was evident that I'd calmed down. `` You've been though quite a lot.'' He offered his hand again, and I cautiously took it. My feet did n't want to cooperate at first, but after some wobbling I stood tall once again. `` It takes a bit of time for everyone to get used to it,'' he added, still smiling.
I looked around me for the first time. There was still a haze over everything, but there were those spires everywhere, and the lights were zipping around. Somewhere in the distance I could see buildings, and if I squinted I could see the outlines of a forest. `` Jesus Christ, really?'' I blurted.
`` The one and the same,'' The man said, patting me on the shoulder. `` Come on, lets head back to the city. You've got quite the crowd waiting for you.''
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[ WP ] A man suffers from schizophrenia , but his voices are benevolent rather than malevolent and is often times helpful . Describe one of his days .
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*no you idiot stop walking right now and look both ways*
Richard sighed, paused, looked left and right, and narrowly dodged a car as it blew past the stop sign.
*good going fuck head you live and remember only assholes drive pt cruisers*
~~~~~~~~~~
When Richard was seven, he, like many children his age, had an imaginary friend. His name was Mr. Mogglewot. Unlike many children his age, Richard never grew out of his imaginary friend because Richard was schizophrenic. Instead, he was stuck with a foul mouthed, eccentric, mildly well intentioned voice that persistently followed him around.
By the time Richard was old enough to understand what schizophrenia was, he had learned not to mention Mr. Mogglewot to people anymore because they would treat him like he was mentally ill. Which to be fair, he kinda was, being a schizophrenic and all. Regardless, despite his disorder, Richard was a reasonably socially well-adjusted young lad, or about as socially well-adjusted as one can be with a cantankerous disembodied voice constantly whispering in one's ear. But I digress.
~~~~~~~~~
*what i save your life and i dont even get a thank you why i oughta grow some arms and beat some fists into you you ungrateful shit bag*
`` Thanks, Mr. Mogglewot,'' Richard said with resignation as he crossed the street, `` For the record, that was n't a PT Cruiser, it was a Chevy Impala. Also, does n't the phrase go `` beat some sense into you?''
*i knew what type of car it was cunt i just dont want you to grow up to be an asshole is that so wrong also do you really think id be able to beat sense into you because i know i dont on the other hand if i had hands im pretty sure i could reliably beat those into you*
Richard slowly slid his face into his palm and continued walking to school.
*im just saying richard youre getting to that age where youre gon na be driving soon and i dont want you to grow up to be a twat you know i worry about you kid youre important to me*
Richard had spent years trying to figure out exactly what Mr. Mogglewot was saying. Now that he could actually understand, he was n't quite sure if it was actually worth it. On the other hand, Mr. Mogglewot had just stopped him from making friends with the ER nurses so there were some upsides. Richard just really wished Mr. Mogglewot would stop talking during movies, class, tests, and while he was trying to masturbate.
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[ WP ] Every U.S. prisoner serving a life sentence is armed and dropped in Syria to combat ISIS without oversight .
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Professor Block, the CIA's top middle east analyst stood up. `` I guess we should start with some background.''
A video began to play on the screen at the end of the conference table in the windowless briefing room. After the CIA logo displayed, Donald Trump appeared, addressing a massive throng of supporters at a raucous political rally.
`` Our leaders are stupid! Our politicians are stupid! We could solve the problem with ISIS. We do n't have to accept this. I have a plan that would crush ISIS in the middle east and we could do it tomorrow! And all these politicians, these morons, are telling me'Oh but it'll cost a fortune!''Oh it'll cost good American lives!'. It wo n't. They think that because they're morons. Because they do n't know how to do a deal. If you elect me I will end the ISIS threat and I will do it in a way that does n't just cost nothing, I will do it in a way that saves America billions!'' Massive cheers erupted from the supporters, and continued for almost a minute, until the video ended.
The President-Elect put his phone down and shifted in his seat. `` We all remember that. Can we move this along professor?''
`` Very well.'' The professor clicked to the next slide.
`` After President Trump was elected, and the details of the plan emerged, many key Democratic and moderate lawmakers were outraged. President Obama, John Kerry, Colin Powell, all advised against it citing the -- erm -- humanitarian blowback that might be possible. But Trump refused to listen, calling Colin Powell'a washed up has-been from the 80s with no class.' and suggesting that Kerry's wife was'nowhere near a 10.' The legislation was passed three months later, and six months later, the operations began.''
`` We like to think the CIA prepared those boys as best we could. After all, criminals or not, they were still Americans. And they certainly were n't strangers to getting their hands dirty. We gave them training, separated them into squads, platoons and companies based on prison affiliation, and supplied them with materiel and supplies. The force was 160,000 strong on January 1st, 2017, when the drops began. For obvious reasons, we dropped the ammunition separately on January 3rd.''
`` The main force was concentrated in the desert just outside of Raqqa, the ISIS capital. With only a few days worth of supplies, it really was sink-or-swim. They'd need to take a major city in order to keep themselves alive. The battle of Raqqa was short. The American contingent prevailed, and we dealt a devastating blow to ISIS.''
The president elect scanned around the room, confused. `` What are you telling me? You make this sound like it was a success.''
`` Everyone was impressed with the -- we like to call them'the coalition' -- with the initial success of the American coalition. But then, the inevitable began to unfold. For the record we briefed President Trump about this eventuality many times, but he just kept telling us that it would be OK and that we'did n't understand life'. I've been a cultural anthropologist and a CIA analyst for over 30 years. I think I understand something of life.''
`` Anyways, the inevitable did happen. The force -- 160,000 strong, almost all men -- almost all extremely violent -- split into factions and took over territory and began to establish their own bands or tribes or groups or whatever you want to call them. The Hispanics gangs coalesced to the south, those who had been affiliated with the African-American gangs made in-roads to the North, the white supremacists settled in an area to the west around the town of Al-Qa'im, and ISIS was pushed back to the East, back into Syria''
`` Raiding and counter-raiding became common, with no group to dominate, and with each establishing a resource base through illegal trade, drug trafficking and human slavery. A kind of violent, bloody, post-apocalyptic stalemate developed. Women -- now very scarce -- became the key commodity in the region, leading to unspeakable levels of oppression, rape, brutality and well, evil. Society as we know it has ceased to exist. What is happening right now in the Euphrates river valley might be the most lawless, violent and appalling situation in all of human history. Truly, the closest any man has ever seen to a hell on earth.''
The President-Elect shook his head. `` That is a regrettable outcome. So what is the threat to the United States?''
`` Well, to be honest. There really is n't one. The groups expend so much energy fighting each other that they really do n't have time or resources to strike the United States. Likewise the large regional powers -- Saudi Arabia, Iran, Egypt -- have had to adjust their foreign policies in order to contain the chaos that sits just beyond their borders. They actually need our help now more than ever. So with respect to the Middle East we can actually say that we safer today than we have been in decades.''
The President-Elect considered this for a moment and smiled approvingly. `` Oh. So it's good news.''
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[ WP ] The laws of physics are actual written laws . Breaking them is possible but illegal .
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*Martin Hammond. *
***Commander*** *Martin Hammond, of the United Earth Shuttle Odysseus β Earth β s first faster-than-light space vessel. *
Hammond smiled softly to himself, gazing at the three massive monitors that fed in a panoramic camera-fed view of outer-space. Like a shimmering sapphire, Earth floated in the middle of the right-most monitor. Despite having been working towards this very moment for over twenty years, he still had moments where he was simply struck dumb by the wonder of it all. This was one of those moments.
He was about to conduct humanity β s first faster-than-light voyage.
Their destination was Alpha Centauri. At a cruising speed of twenty-four times the speed of light, it would take them about fifteen minutes to pass Pluto. In a year β s time ( relative to Earth ), they would be in at their destination. It would take light nearly four times as long to catch up. Hammond and his crew were to be the first humans to ever leave the solar system.
They were making history.
The bridge buzzed with low, subdued chatter as the two-dozen crew members β all hand-selected by Hammond β communicated with teams back on the planet β s surface. All eyes turned away from their consoles and a hush fell over the room as the winged-earth insignia of the United Earth Space Administration came to life on the main monitor and the voice of mission control boomed to life aboard the *Odysseus*.
* β UES Odysseus, prepare for jump. T-minus 60 seconds. β *
Lights came alive and fingers scurried across keyboards, quickly but calculatedly readying the vessel β s system. Hammond found himself giving commands, but it almost felt as though someone else were speaking through him β he felt detached. A mixture of anticipation and apprehension gripped him.
*30 seconds. *
The UESA emblem disappeared from the main monitor. Timers popped up on the left and on the right, ticking down to the moment that the *Odysseus* would begin its rush towards a new frontier.
*15 seconds. *
β Alight engines, β Hammond β s voice instructed over the comms.
*10. *
β Engines on-line, sir. β
*9. *
β Activate power-up. β
*8. *
β Power-up sequence initiated. β
*7. *
β Fuel feed active. Engines at 5 %. β
*6. *
β Engines at 25 %. β
*5. *
*If this is a dream, * Hammond thought. *Don β t wake me up. *
*4. *
Engines at 55 %
*3. *
β Engines at 85 %. β
*2. *
Silence.
*1. *
β Engines at 100 %. β
The timers disappeared
β Launch when ready. β
As if it had passed a road-bump, the ship rose and lurched slightly. Then, the Earth disappeared from the monitors.
The *Odysseus* was on its way.
___
After an hour that seemed to last weeks, filled with dozens of system checks and a pregnant silence that threatened to give everyone a heart attack, Hammond had decided that take-off had been a success. The ship had stayed intact and no one had been fried by interstellar radiation. They would be at Alpha Centauri in no time.
For a moment, he let his mind wander. He began to think about Earth. He thoughts of the colonies on Mars, and of the mining installations on the Outer Planets. He had watched a few discussions on television prior to launch day and remembered news anchors furiously debating the implications of the *Odysseus*. What would faster-than-light travel mean for humanity? Was it fast enough? Travel wasn β t instantaneous by any means, but it was a sure lot quicker than it had been last century β hell, three days to the moon? The thought of it almost made him laugh.
Was there extraterrestrial life out there somewhere?
The last question intruded on his mind without warning, and it strangely sobered him. For some reason, the thought discomforted him. He shook his head to rid himself of it, and stood up.
β Congratulations, crew. The Odysseus is traveling at 24.32 times the speed of light right now. We will be the first humans to ever set foot beyond the boundaries of the Sol solar system. How about we all take a minute and celebrate with someβ¦ β
Hammond β s voice trailed off. The ship had lurched again. It wasn β t supposed to lurch. Lurches signified the entry and exit of its faster-than-light cruise speed.
β Are weβ¦ stopped? Why are we stopped? Status report on thoseβ β
Before Hammond could complete his order, a voice crackled to life on the comms. A deep, gravely voiceβ¦ that wasn β t his.
* β Attention, Earth vessel. You have violated the Intergalactic Criminal Code, Part 1, Article 21. you are guilty of unauthorized faster-than-light travel. Deactivate your shields and prepare to be boarded. β *
A ship of unknown origin and design materialized on the middle monitor.
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[ CW ] Pick your favorite franchise ( Harry Potter , James Bond , Hunger Games , etc . ) and start at the beginning . Immediately kill the protagonist , then continue the story .
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It was a dull and bitter morning, the sun attempting to wake the earth from its frozen sleep. The horse and cart rolled down, down, and with every other turn the rocks beneath the ground would heave the cart and jolt it's passengers with a sudden, unexpected surge. A great roar was heard in the distance and an unexpected and completely destined hero awoke.
`` Hey you, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that imperial ambush. Same as us and that thief over there.''
The awoken passenger turned to look at this thief.
`` Damn stormcloaks, I'm not suppose to be here, I would be halfway to hammerfell if I got to that horse on time. Who's the fellow who's been gagged?''
`` That's not just any fellow, that's ulfric stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim.''
`` Oh shit so where are these imperials taking us?''
A pool of strong smelling piss started to fill the carriage and trickled down to the storm cloaks feet.
The carriage turned past a corner of fir trees and a high wall with gates appeared in front of them.
`` Helgar''
The gates were manned by imperial soldiers. As the horse brought the carriage through the gates, the guards jumped from their skins as another, louder roar was heard from the mountains.
`` What was that?!''
The carriage rolled up to the blocks and all the homies jumped off the damp and reeking ride.
`` Ulfric Stormcloak, I've waited a long time for this''
Ulfric was still gagged, but looked with hate in his eyes. But then those eyes turned up to the sky and Ulfric was staring with what was now disbelief. Others started to notice as well. As general tullius turned his body the biggest and most powerful dragon landed on the high tower, overlooking Helgar and it's residents. Alduin spoke.
`` I've just woken up from like a really heavy sleep and I need some chow.''
He proceeds to chargrill his brunch. The carriage catches first with some passengers still inside, the fire reaches the imperial guards and storm cloak prisoners. Ulfric falls to his knees, still gagged, and is melted with a huge blast of red and orange and yellow. Tullius, sword drawn with his back against the tower, attempts to move away from the fires, but the heat is so much his face and hands get burnt and he drops his sword to the ground. Alduin's sharp turn down sees tullius making for his escape as he runs for his life. Alduin takes flight from the tower and lands in the courtyard, in front of tullius. The General stares at Alduin in horror. Teeth come and snap at him. His arm comes off at the shoulder, he is then ripped apart at the torso and his legs fall to the ground along with his entrails and a dark thick blood.
Alduin looks around and shoots fire at any guards who are still attempting to kill him. Alduin moves about the courtyard and eats lots of chargrilled flesh. He considers Ulfric for a moment, but decides his molded, crisp and blackened kneeling body is a good representation of his return to Tamriel, and will leave it for others to see the power of his wrath.
Upon feasting and feeling pretty stuffed, Alduin takes flight but can only last a while in the air from being so full and lands just outside Helgars walls and finds cover in the hills where he decides to sleep.
After about 5 minutes of snoozing, Alduin hears some rocks moving to the right of him, and out come the two passengers from the carriage who had managed to escape his fire during his purge at Helgar. The two passengers, completely oblivious to what is sleeping behind them, exchange courier details and promise to meet up later for a beer or some Balmora blue.
Alduin, having lost his cousin to a heavy addiction of the blue stuff, loses himself in a furious rage, rising himself higher and higher until he is on hind legs, looking down at these two terrible addicts.
The carriage passengers turn as they see a shadow form on the ground below them.
A monstrous ball of fire hurls toward them, taking them both off the ground and down the mountain side.
Alduin stays hot on their trail, hovers above their disfigured bodies as they tremble and twitch, disabled and fucked. Alduin finishes them off. He crunches, munches, throws some low punches and burns enough flesh to make extra for packed lunches.
Alduin's feasting on dovakiin tonight.
Meanwhile upon the Throat of the World, Arngeir informs Parthurnax that he has heard the dragonborn, but his dragon shout was of terror and torture. Arngeir heard him die.
`` I heard the whole thing, it was horrible.''
`` I heard it too Arngeir, it matters not''
`` But, master, that dovakiin was our last hope''
`` No. There is another.''
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[ WP ] The homeless man being harassed by police for sleeping at an historical site is actually the god the site was originally built for .
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Rough fingers brushed weathered stone, carefully feeling out each time-earned bump and mound. He could still feel each etched runeβ¦ or, at least, he *remembered* feeling them. They were gone now, long goneβ¦ too gone. The man β s once-proud visage drew close together in a frown. How long had he slept? They had promised sacrifices after his deep sleep, as had been prophesized by the far-seer, but no there was no one in sight. No priest holding glinting knives, no blood-letters trailing behind with downcast faces. No wide-eyed children, no mothers holding them by their shoulders to keep them in line.
Instead, there were two strange men approaching with poor intentions.
One yelled out something foreign, and the old man turned, long beard trailing the ground. One man β s rotund face heavily scowled as he waddled forward, belly swaying with his steps, while the other had a haughty look pasted on, despite the fact that he was skinnier than most sacrifices. The round one gestured wildly as the old man showed no signs of moving. Was he asking him to move? But why should he? This was his home, his monument. It belonged to him. How did they not know this? Were they heathens?
The old man β s face wrinkled even further as the thought passed his mind. How dare they approach him, unfaithful as they clearly were? He ought to smite them where they stood. He rose one arm towards the defiers, three fingers held up in a sign of doom.
But nothing happened.
It did get a reaction from the heathens, however. The large one snatched a dark object from his waist and pointed it at the old man with confused eyes, while the small man stepped back and behind the other one.
The old man only paid these events cursory attention. There was only one reason that he would be unable to call forth any of the elements, a reason he had heard of from his ancestors.
He was fading.
It had happened to other gods when hey were forgotten, supposedly. But the old man had never thought that it would happen to him. He was the leader, the most prominent figure, the True-Father. How would it happen to him?
He had the answer right in front of him, of course. He had been forgotten, and was now being threatened by people who would not even whet his appetite as sacrifices.
He lowered his arm, and turned away from the lesser men. The prophecy hadn β t come true, just as people had whispered in the darkness back in his heyday. But while he had lost his authority, he had not lost his dignity. He would *never* lose his dignity.
So it was with a straight back that the old man walked away, disregarding the vaguely frightened and confused shouts from the loud man behind him. He turned behind the remnants of an old pillar, what used to be a truly magnificent sight, and raised his arms up. And for a moment, he remembered what it had felt like to ride on the breeze, before the gentle gusts took him to the Beyond.
ββββββββββββββββββ
β No one can just disappear, y β know, β John muttered as he slammed the door of the yellow-and-blue checkered car. β He β s still out there. β
Richard grunted, barely shoving his stomach into the small police car. β Sure, but whatever, just let him sleep there. We β ll find him tomorrow, it β s not that big a deal. β
β You just want to leave now to get to a cafΓ©. β
β No shit. β
John snorted as he started the engine, and the car pulled out of the lot, gravel crunching under the tires.
The two sat in silence for a while longer. But just as they reached the highway, John spoke.
β But seriously, who the hell falls asleep at *stonehenge*? β
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[ WP ] Much attention is paid to the rivalry between God and Satan . Perhaps just as important , though , is that between the Grim Reaper and the Stork .
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The stork gazed through the window, marveling at his day's work. Twenty brand new lives rested in the nursery. Twenty brand new possibilities to make the world into a place where disease, pain, and death are eradicated for the last time. He smoothed the loose feather on his chest. β Not ready, β he said to himself and returned his smile to the window.
β No, not yet but well past its time, β said a slow, deep voice.
He loathed that voice. His heart sank and his face froze with a forced smile. He would not show fear or despair to his enemy. β Not here. You have the entire world to take as you please. But leave this place. β He would kill the man where he stood. β Leave tonight. β
The man sighed and rubbed at his brow. The sleeve of his robe brushed the stork and flood of pain and sorrow coursed through him. β You can not stop death, β said the man. β No more than I can stop life. β
β Who have you come for? Which of these babies have you chosen to consume tonight? Which mother will weep and pull her hair in grief? β said the stork balling his bared fists. His concern over having hands must wait. He looked up at the man and said, β Which father will sink to the floor and scream curses to the heavens to ease his suffering? β
Death looked past his old friend and into the nursery. β I β m not here for any of them. I probably should take a few. I know the troubles they will cause but for now they will live. I only wanted to check on you. Life, you β re not doing well. β
Life smoothed the stray feather again. β I am fine. You β ll find your icy scythe is the only thing your fiery fingers will clutch. And we are not friends. Never call me your friend again. You destroy what I work so hard to create. Would a friend do that? There is a reason you β re called the Grim Reaper. β
Baby number 14 stirred and cried out to the quiet room. Death pointed at her but Life feared to pull his hand away. β She β s hungry and in 20 minutes she will need a changing. Her name is, or will be, Sarah, β said Death. Life hated when he did that. To know so much about his creations while he knew nothing was the ultimate insult. He learned centuries ago not to question Death β s knowledge of things to come but that didn β t stop him from finding small ways to defy what he knew would come.
β You β re not as tall as I remember. Is the weight of your atrocities finally bearing you down? β Life said with a grin.
β Perhaps you are getting taller. And leaner? You even have hands now. Don β t pretend that stray feather is the first of your feathers to give up its hold to life. Don β t make that face, it is part of the natural order. β Death walked a full circle around Life as he spoke, nodding to himself as he slowed in one place and sped around others. Life knew Death was following the timeline of his life, narrowing down where they currently stood. β Not too long now, β Death said looking evenly into Life β s eyes. β Soon you will bring forth your greatest creation and I will take that creation from you. β
β But why? β whined Life.
β Take a walk with me. β Life shook his head. β Please, I β m a better thinker when I β m walking. Chalk it up to old age. β Death smiled at Life and the two walked through the hospital. β Like I said it is the natural order. Why do you create? β
They passed families in the hall, some crying tears of pain others of joy. A small woman clutched her dying husband β s hand inside a private room, prying for the pain to stop and he be at peace. Life turned away from the scene, tears freely following from his eyes. β Each creation is a promise to the world. I give hope and dreams to all of creation with every new creation. But then you come and remove them so I must create more to replace the life and promises you destroyed. β
Death stopped and took his hands. They burned but he did not fight Death. β Without death, promises have no urgency and hope has nowhere to grow. All life knows is life until it is shown otherwise, β said Death. β I told you I would not take a life tonight but can you tell me this is what you intended for Isabel? She is out of tears and all her strength has gone to John and their family. β Puzzled, Life looked back at the woman. β Their names are John and Isabel. They have 4 young children. Don β t you remember creating them? β
Life blanched. How could he forget and not recognize his own work. The wayward feather fell from his chest as a chill ran through his body. He looked down to meet Death β s eyes, holding tighter to his hands to keep warm. β Iβ¦ Iβ¦ am sorry. I have to make this right. β His feathers cascaded from his body as he sobbed. Death placed his scythe against the wall and embraced his dearest friend. Life felt the flood of pain and sorrow and added his own to the dark cloth.
Death removed his robe and draped it over Life. β This should help keep you warm. It gets hot under there so hold the scythe to balance yourself. β Life was incredulous at what he saw. The tall slender man was gone. A short, pink, misshaped thing smiled up at him. He struggled weaving the feathers into a blanket but his hands had no form. Life felt pity and longing to help his friend. For the first time, Life took Death into his hands and looked at him. He studied his features, his weight, his entire life and took the memories to himself.
Alarm showed on Deaths face and he fell from Life β s hands. β What have you done to me? β Death looked around and noticed the feathers piled on the floor. β You tried to devour me. I will never let you kill me. β
Life was horrified. β No, you have it all wrong. I was trying to save you. You are cold. Remain with me so that I can warm you. You will dieβ¦ β Death backed away from Life, gathering his feathers as fast as his stubs would allow. Life didn β t know what to say. β You will die unlessβ¦ β Life couldn β t finish because he knew Death wouldn β t understand.
β I will create new feathers for myself and become a bird. I already have some here. Leave me alone and never come back. Leave this place, β screamed Death. β If you try to come after me I will create more barriers to you and fly to where you can β t reach. You will never complete your task. You will never have me. I name you Death for I am Life and you will never have me. β
He sighed and rubbed his brow. β We will meet again old friend, β he said. He walked into the room and held is hand out to John. The man eagerly took his hand and departed the hospital.
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[ WP ] Deep in the rainforest , the Amazon river begins to glow a bright , pulsating blue , which garners the attention of the entire world . You are a college student in the US . You wake up to find the back of your hand is glowing the same way ...
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My family stands around me in the living room. The room is silent with the exception of the ramblings of a news reporter coming from the TV. The lights are dim. The soundless pulse from my hand bathes the room in a neon blue hue. The room brightens and dims in sapphire light like the waves of the ocean. On the TV, the reporter is speakng in a helicopter high above a wooded jungle.
The headline reads: *Strange Glow Emerges from Amazon River.
It's nighttime in South America. Darkness has swallowed most of the jungle. The only light comes from helicopter and from the glowing of the river. The azure light slithers through the trees like an illustrious snake. It's pulsing as well, at the same rate as my own.
Then, the screen is flooded by the blue light as it drowns every corner of the television screen. Screaming can be heard. My family panics. At that moment, my house explodes in blue light. It's all over.
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[ WP ] Death personally comes to you , the author , and offers to revive any deceased artist
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One afternoon, a man arrived at my home, just as I'd woken from a short nap. He was a tall man in a clean suit, thin features and finely cropped black hair. He used a cane, despite appearing to be within my age range. He asked to come inside, telling me exactly who he was-
`` I am Death, the equalizer of men and gods.''
I laughed at his face.
`` May 21st, 2011, 5:35 P.M. The weather shortly afterwards was raining, despite broken clouds revealing the sun in the sky. You stormed outside, crying and screaming inconsolably in the rain. Your aunt, however you felt about her before, was the only one to console you immediately about the death of your father.''
I invited him inside.
I poured him a glass of coffee. He greatly appreciated this. He told me that he was tired. He wanted to quit, that there were men being killed by a new strain of H7N9 in China and within the next decade an antibiotic resistant form of the virus will kill many thousands, and he was n't looking forward to it.
He said that for the coffee, he'd revive one man from the dead- An artist, or a writer like I fashioned myself to be. I told him that this was n't fair for the billion of people that had died before me. Why me?
Why did he come to me of all people? Why an artist? Why not a child killed by fighting in Syria or a mother driven off the road on her way to her nine year old's recital?
He finished his coffee and set the mug down.
`` You have a most excellent point. Just choose one.''
`` Fuck you, I'm not choosing anyone!''
The man sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. `` There's /no/ writer you do n't want to talk to? Poe, Asimov? Bradbury? You love Bradbury.'' He drummed his hands on the table. `` I want to bring /some/ happiness to people, choose one.''
`` No!'' I refused, raising my voice. I stood up, my movement knocking over the kitchen stool I was sitting on. He crossed his arms. For a moment, I saw the first flicker of emotion in the man's face. He looked defeated.
`` Kurt Cobain? Elliot Smith? Ronnie James Dio? Dobie Gray?''
`` No. No one should choose who lives or dies. Such is..well, your job.''
I cross my arms, refusing to budge on the subject. My guest slowly stood up, adjusted his tie, and walked towards the door. He turned and spoke softly before leaving.
`` I wish it was n't.''
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[ WP ] A Dystopian society where women have taken over and stored enough sperm to last them a million years . Scientists even figured out how to genetically engineer to make sure you always give birth to females . After giving birth privately in your home you notice something different on your child .
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`` You were worried about your daughter's birth defect right? Do n't worry we already fixed it.''
`` Oh that is good. It was kind of scary seeing that''
`` Yes, it happens about one in every 1000 births. This is why we do n't recommend giving birth privately in your home. Sometimes these issues go unchecked for years and they can have lifelong consequences. Some recent studies suggest that women who do n't get this issue fixed within the first 6 months are much more likely to have life long body issues and often commit suicide.''
`` Oh my. Well I was too weak but my partner insisted on bringing her in and it sounds like it is a good thing that she did''
`` It does n't happen any more, but women who could n't get that issue fixed at all, which is to say before modern medicine, would become deformed and have much lower IQs. They could barely recognize feelings and often hurt others or themselves.''
`` Doctor what do you think of the theory that those deformities were once part of our reproductive cycle? I mean I am glad it was fixed, but I always found that theory interesting.''
`` I like the theory myself. Scientists are trying to work out the details, but due to ethical considerations they ca n't just let women grow up with those deformities. They are barely mentioned in literature at all so I think we can at least assume that they were about as common as they are today. Unfortunately in those times they just had to live with their deformities.''
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[ WP ] A world where every figure of speech is literal .
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I woke up. I should n't get drunk that late at night. My head hurts soo bad right now. Someone must have put something in the punch. I usually do n't drink. and for good reasons. The scientists of course, say that Alcohol kills, and that it does. I do n't drink for another reason. Alcohol makes you slur, slur makes you say things that you should n't. But of course there are the ones that do n't understand.
Take Jerry for instance. Where I would say,'' I have a terrible headache.''
Jerry would say something along the lines of,'' Dude, we got SHITFACED last night!''
And of course, sudden memories would flood in of us getting shit on by forces unknown. All because of Jerry. And sometimes he does it on purpose. April Fools is always the worst.
I remember distinctly last April Fools, Jerry was sitting on the couch. When I came to join him, he gave me a Red-Bull. As cautious as I was at the time, I was caught off guard.
`` Hey dude, catch! ``, he said as he threw the drink at my face.
`` Dude, what the hell?'' I honestly kinda set myself up for it.
`` Do n't you know, Red-Bull gives you wings! ``, he said with a stupid smirk.
I honestly did n't know what he was talking about, until I grew wings, 6ft in length that knocked over the TV. Once again I inquired.
`` DUDE! WHAT THE HELL! ``, I said as I yelled at him with fury like no other.
`` Whoa dude, why the long face? ``, he said while choking back tears of laughter.
My face elongated like flubber.
Fuck you Jerry.
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[ WP ] The First TechnoMage
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There I was, standing at the precipice of human achievement and I could n't believe a second of it. I, and a handful of others, had been selected for a special treatment procedure part of some government project caked the Author program. I had been diagnosed with the strange plague that had swept over several countries within the past year. Virtually unstoppable, scientists everywhere searched for a cure. The disease took root in your nervous system, first turning your spinal column into a lightning rod, next your brain stem into a signal center, and lastly your reanimated corpse into a mindless shuffling drone receiving commands from some message center somewhere. The signals could n't be traced but detected and the zombie-like victims could be seen attacking targets and retrieving supplies and disappearing into the night. The procedure contained within the Author program would attempt to use a reverse-engineered mixture of biotechnology to fight the plague. What did I have to lose? The answer: more than I had to give in the first place.
Cybernetic implants and strange injections took place over a fortnight and my body was wracked with agony for every second of every day. I was losing hold over my own sanity, let alone the goal of the procedure. If they could reverse-engineer some part of the virus, surely they could come up with a cure without shoving a motherboard in my head. None of it was adding up, but most of the processes in my brain used for rational thought were preoccupied with the overwhelming pain as the doctors inserted ports into the nerves throughout my body with access through the skin. Access for what? What did I agree to? What were they turning me into? Why did they refuse to put me under for this entire process?
So after weeks of surgery and no time to adjust, I found myself seated in a sealed chamber, hands, feet, and head secured to a white chair with monitoring devices orbiting my head. A voice cut the silence of the room. `` Joshua, I'm afraid I have some bad news.''
`` Who are you?'' I croaked, my throat raw from everything that had been inflicted upon me. Every pore in my body exuded pain. My eyes were red from tears, irritated with dark circles beneath from lack of sleep. Even the involuntary movement of my muscles made me flinch with pain and that too was agonizing. What was worse was the way these implants were both part of me and yet so foreign. They did n't belong and with every movement I felt the way they moved within my skin, something part of me yet so terrible and wrong. The thought made me sick that I'd let them take my threshold for pain, rip it wide open and drag it in chains, screaming, through a desert of punishment. Why was I still alive?
`` The procedure did n't go as planned,'' the voice continued, ignoring me. `` We were n't able to halt the spread of infection. Right now it's moving through your veins and readying itself to turn your head into a receptor to some mysterious numbers station that will program your body into a tool for the enemy. However, we can still use your brain for research.'' Upon saying this, three tools positioned around my head buzzed to life. A circular saw blade, a needle-thin drill, and a miniature blowtorch.
`` What?! Why are you do n't this to me? What about everyone else in the program?'' I rasped. The voice decided to answer this time.
`` They're dead, of course,'' the voice said as if this were the most obvious answer. `` The procedure did n't work on any of them. Not a single one.'' There was no emotion there. If I had to guess, the man on the other end could've been flipping through a magazine as he spoke to me. Uninterested and unperturbed by the imminent removal of my skull. `` Sorry for the inconvenience.''
*Is that all? My life is an inconvenience, nothing more? * `` No, I want out!'' I demanded. I struggled and pulled at my restraints but they would n't budge.
`` Well, we ca n't allow that. Ca n't allow you to join the hordes out there with all the tech we've shoved inside you.''
`` No, let me out now!'' The saw blade was slowly centering itself above my right eye socket. The drill preparing to slide into my temple. The blowtorch pointed at my left eye. I stared into the nozzle on the torch as it began to emit a bluish glow. `` No, I want out! Lem me out! **STOP! **'' Silence. The blade was whirring but remained in place. The same for the drill and the blowtorch. My eyes darted from one device to the other, waiting for them to come closer. Nothing. `` What is this?''
No answer from the voice.
`` Get this shit away from me.'' This time I could feel the machinery inside the chair churning, responding to my words. I could sense something there. A mind, an intelligence, a flurry of impulses and directives. Interesting. `` Release my restraints.'' The mechanisms keeping me in place unlocked and I tore myself free from the chair.
`` Bravo, Joshua. So the procedure worked.''
`` Was this some kind of test?'' I demanded, spinning around to try and face the voice.
`` You could call it that. A test everyone else who survived the procedure failed. Except you. You'll come to learn the full extent of your power very soon. We need you, Josh. You're going to help us fight something very powerful and dark.''
`` What? What are you talking about?''
`` The plague, Joshua. We know where it comes from. That's why you're here. The next step in human ingenuity. The link between man and machine. You're going to help us fight the source of the virus.''
`` I thought I was here so you could cure me?''
`` In a matter of speaking, yes. We used samples from cadavers with the plague as well as our own bio-tech to create you. You are no longer affected by the virus because we used it to create you.''
`` You turned me into a freak. You tortured me and murdered the others to create a weapon, is that it?''
`` Essentially, yes.'' The voice still showed no hint of emotion. Unaffected by my turmoil, the man on the other end cleared his throat. `` We've got work to do, Joshua. I'll unseal the chamber you're in and give you directions for your next objective.''
`` No way, fuck this. Let me out so I can go home.''
`` I'm afraid I ca n't do that, Joshua. This chamber is locked and wo n't open unless I give the command. You're stuck there until I can assure your cooperation.''
`` You son of a bitch. Let me the fuck out!'' I ran to the closest wall and started pounding on the surface, the movement sending spasms of pain through my limbs. The effort was exhausting and it was n't long before I was gasping for air on the floor.
`` There was no time for therapy, Joshua. You're going to have to adjust to the implants on your own.''
`` Fuck you,'' I panted, looking around the room. `` How can you see me right now? I do n't see any cameras.'' The room was bare of any monitoring devices, windows, or doors.
`` The room itself acts as one huge sensor, the walls receive input from sound and other stimuli. The chair is controlled remotely. Except of course when you synced with it in your mind.''
My hands were trembling as frustration boiled into a feeling of desperation, the sense of being trapped making my entire body shake and quiver. I needed out, I had to escape from this room. My eyes snapped to my right hand. I could see the veins, or what looked like the veins, stretching up to my forearms. They were glowing with a bright, red light; my arm was beginning to steam from the heat. `` What's happening?''
`` Your emotional state is triggering your powers.'' The voice seemed very invested now.
`` Powers? I thought I could just talk to machines?'' I yelled, my arm continuing to smoke and glow.
`` Oh no, Joshua, you can do so much more. You're the first successful human Technomage.''
`` What the hell is that?'' I roared, the searing pain in my arm becoming too much to handle. I started screaming then, a sound I'd never made before, a scream joined by the voices of the machines in the room, the room itself as it walked with me in the same excruciating pain that filed every fiber of my being at that moment. I lifted my arm and the light flashed and my eardrums were deafened by an earth-shattering explosion. The wall was ripped free from the rat of the room and the epicenter of the blast was disintegrated in an instant. When it was all over my arm was hot and smoking yet perfectly intact. I gritted my teeth, staring in shock at the ruin around me.
The garbled voice of the man crackled from the remainder of the room. `` Joshua. Do... leave the room. Wait... instructions. If... leave...... could... kill...'' I did n't hear any of it. I could only stare down a rocky slope at the burning buildings of some city below. I could see grayish shapes milling about at the foot of the mountain, a city laying at the base of the slope. The room I had been in was a lone building erected out of the rock way out of sight of anyone living below. I did n't understand it.
`` What are they?'' I demanded.
`` They... most of...'' The voice was struggling through the static.
`` What did you say?''
`` They are... of what's left.'' The voice repeated, ``... are most of... left.'' It became clear. The grayish figures swarming the buildings below were what the majority of the human race had been reduced to while the Author program had been underway. They were all that was left.
`` What do I do?'' I asked, more lost than ever. The city below was in devestation as the occupants fought for survival against the masses of gray drones marching with a single, unknown purpose.
I did n't need to hear the voice's words to know what I had to do. `` Stop them. Detroit... find Sigma.'' Finally the static cut out and the transmission was disconnected. I stared at my hands in confusion, my body an entirely new mystery as the city burned below.
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[ WP ] Death has a routine appointment . There is nothing special about this person . Make it interesting .
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The man was shot at a point blank range. The bullet entered at his temple and it was still lodged in his brain. His brain shut down almost immediately, but there was still a moment, a sliver, of shock, pain, fear and anger before he fell to the ground.
I should know this. I was there to witness it.
His soul, now free from his body, stood deathly still, eyes wide open, much like the man. However this man was free of any humanly features other than a face and body. His soul was much more handsome than the man before him.
The killer ran off with the mans wallet, but the soul nay took a glance. He took a few seconds, seemingly trying to find the punchline in this cruel joke life had given him.
When his ghostly shoulders sagged, defeated, I put a finger to his chin. His eyes widened again, and I shifted his gaze toward mine. My cloaked skeletal figure only scared him, but that was expected.
`` Apologies, Mr. Delane, but you have just recently passed on.'' I spoke softly, but the words seemed to shudder straight through him. I studied his body, comparing it to his new form. It was old, and fat. It wore a suit, cheap and stained with blood. He was an idiot for taking a stroll through this neighbourhood, but that was his problem. He probably worked in an office. Perhaps today was his last day. I allowed myself a smile. Today *was* his last day. His new form was young and fresh though. It had a mess of hair and was very fit. I wondered what had happened imbetween.
`` If you'll come this way...'' I gestured to the door that had appeared directly behind me. He did n't move for a second, and I got impatient.
`` Move.'' I said sternly. He jumped, but stayed where he was.
`` Mister Delane, I know this is hard, but if you do n't step through, you'll never move onto the afterlife. You'll be a ghost, a ghoul, a demon.''
He stayed where he was. I checked my watch. I was already 1,000 deaths behind schedule. I have him one last look, then slammed the door behind me.
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[ CW ] Use the phrase `` This is the war we fought '' at least three times in your story .
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She screams back at them. She wore the wrong thing to Photo Day. It's bullshit. Mom is screaming at her. Beneath my sister's angry exterior, she's quivering. Cowering. She's afraid of Mom. I know that. Dad's impartial, he can be nice at times, annoying at others. But he's whipped. He always agrees with Mom. And Mom raises a hand, starts to slap her, and I jump in. I push my sister away and take it for her. She's shocked, eyes wide. There's an angry red mark on my cheek.
This is the war we fought.
She's sobbing into a pillow. Mom said this one thing, this one cruel hurtful thing. `` She expects us to love her, even though she's a shitty person!'' And she went quiet at that. Quiet and solemn and stoic. Staring ahead. Dad said that that's going overboard. I said nothing. I wish I did now. But she's sobbing now. So hard. It's muffled. Mom and Dad ca n't hear her. Thank God. I rub her back, I kiss her head. All of these comments chip away slowly at her.
This is the war we fought.
She's crying in front of the office now. Her teacher comes by, notices. Pulls her into a hug. Says it'll be alright. Asks if she's okay. And she shakes a no. He gestures to me and we're in the classroom. She's crying. She's terrified. Mom gave her a real scare last night. Coming into her room and screaming and screaming and screaming and she screamed back and back and back for her to just leave her alone, to just go away, but she did n't and now she's crying at school. The teacher's more of a parent to us than our own parents. He's kind, he does n't judge, he encourages. And she's sobbing and showing him the marks.
This is the war we fought.
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[ WP ] You have two buttons in front of you . If you press one , you save New York City from a nuclear bomb . If you press the other , George Lucas remakes episodes 4-6 with Jar Jar Binks as a main character . Your mind races as you decide which button to press ...
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OBI-WAN: It's over, Jar-Jar. I have the high ground.
JAR-JAR: You underestimate-sa me-sa power!
OBI-WAN: Do n't try it.
JAR-JAR follows, and OBI-WAN cuts his young apprentice at the knees, then cuts off his left arm in the blink of an eye. JAR-JAR tumbles down the embankment and rolls to a stop near the edge of the lava.
JAR-JAR struggles to pull himself up the embankment with his mechanical hand. His thin leather glove has been burned off. He keeps sliding down in the black sand.
OBI-WAN: ( continuing )... You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would, destroy the Sith, not join them. It was you who would bring balance to the Force, not leave it in Darkness.
OBI-WAN picks up JAR-JAR's light saber and begins to walk away. He stops and looks back.
JAR-JAR: Me-sa hates you!
OBI-WAN: You were my brother, Jar-Jar. I loved you.
JAR-JAR's clothing blows into the lava river and ignites. Suddenly
JAR-JAR bursts into flames and starts SCREAMING.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
I leaned back in my couch contentedly. The air-raid sirens began blaring as the final scenes concluded, which spoiled the experience somewhat, but I knew deep down - even as the air grew suddenly burning hot, and the shadow of my TV burned into the wall behind it... even when my flesh leapt from my skin and the sound of a few million souls screaming in unison tore my ears asunder, I knew...
I knew it was worth it.
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[ WP ] It was a sinister looking tractor .
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It was a sinister-looking tractor.
It was huge, with a front grill like a steel gate, and sun-baked, almost dry-rotted tires that were too big even for its model. The leaping deer on its front insignia seemed oddly twisted, even lewd somehow. Sam glared at it.
The evening sun shone out of the yellow sky, glaring back at Sam off the thing's grotesque, glossy paint. The tractor loomed, casting far too long a shadow its size. Sam would n't step into the shadow, or look away, even if either action was just to save his poor, watering eyes. If he looked away, it would do... something.
It was *wrong*, so wrong, in a thousand subtle ways, and also because it was on the roof.
The boss would not approve of this. Not one bit. Sam stepped out from the crooked doorway of the barn, eyes still locked on the thing on the farmhouse roof - sticking *out of* the farmhouse roof, he saw now. After all these years of suspecting that noisy old thing of having its own malicious agency, he'd almost began to trust its laziness, or maybe its inertia.
But after today, the noisiest day he'd ever heard, Sam would never trust it again. He stepped closer, yelping as he stumbled over something. He did n't consciously look away, but for an instant, he glanced down and saw it was the black rooster from the roof of the barn. It was misshapen, broken.
He caught himself and snapped his head back toward the farmhouse roof. The tractor had n't made a move. Good. Lucky.
It was obviously trying to get up to no good at a higher elevation than usual. The boss had smacked Sam once or twice, back when he was smaller, and inside more often, and would try to get up on the counters in the farmhouse. This was worse, so much worse.
Sam never liked seeing the boss angry. It upset him, and upset the boss's woman. But this could n't stand. He barked the alert bark, the one to summon the boss. He barked it for a minute, then waited.
Usually the boss was either in the house or in the barn, but sometimes he was down the road. Sam barked louder, just in case. He kept it up for another minute or two.
If the boss was down the road, he'd have heard the alert bark, and he'd be coming already. Sam switched to the angry bark, the one for trespassers, just to let the tractor know where it stood. After a few minutes of that, he threw in some snarls and some snaps. Maybe the tractor would come down on its own. Sam really, really hoped the tractor would get closer. It did n't look as threatening as when it was roaring and rolling. It was all lopsided and dented now. Sam felt he could hold his own against it.
He snarled a few more challenges, but got no reaction. Back to the alert bark, now running this way, now running that way, leaping to avoid the occasional fence post or two-by-four, stopping to throttle a thin branch, hoping to threaten the tractor, only to discover the branch was still attached to a tree.
Sam paused. A weird thought worked its way in, or possibly out, of his head. He seized on it. The tractor had also destroyed the tree, and the fence. More snarling, more angry barking.
By now, even the neighbor-people, far as they were, would usually have come by.
He quieted briefly as the wailing started, the unnatural sound he'd heard countless times before from the highway. This time, there was a lot more of it, and it was a lot louder. He barked more, as much out of a desire to block out the wailing as out of anger.
He was ashamed to think that he was using the angry bark now for the boss. He was angry the boss was taking so long. He was supposed to *come* when he was called; *barking means come - i bark - you come here - good boy - treat! *
Sam barked at the tractor and his absent boss as some of the wailing stopped, still miles away, and more of the wailing kept moving, more distant now.
He barked - *down! down! hey! down! * - as the sun dipped below the yellow clouds. He barked - *come ON! here! here here here! * - as the leaning thing that was the barn groaned and fell behind him. His throat was raw, and he was taking more time between barks now. Thirsty.
He ran for the ditch alongside the long driveway, ducked between the two cars parked upside-down in the ditch, and drank of the fresh rainwater. Behind him, something creaked, then cracked, then crashed.
He tried to wheel around, bumped his head on the bed of the truck, and flailed until he somehow extricated himself from the ditch. Once he got his bearings, he stared at the farmhouse. The tractor was gone.
No, the tractor was *down*. It was upside-down, leaning against what was left of the house's back wall. Sam let out an excited flurry of hoarse barks, and ran for the thing. He leaped around it, barking madly at its wrongness, then happily at its deadness.
The boss would be happy to see it was out of the roof. The hole in the roof was bad, but the tractor on the ground was... better than it had been. He called the boss again. And again.
He called the boss for another two hours - *where? where? come on! hey! look! * - before the rain started up again. Then he crawled under the tractor to sleep. He could have gone inside the house, but the boss would n't like that. Not one bit.
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[ WP ] You are sitting in from of the computer anxious and in doubt of what you doing with your life . Someone touch you in the shoulder . You turn and see your animal spiritual guide in front of you , and he has something important for you to do .
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I am restless, pacing between different tabs in my browser trying to find something to occupy my mind. Why ca n't I find anything? Why is nothing happening? Is it hot in here? Suddenly I feel a slight breeze blow past me. Did the air finally kick on? Why does it smell so different?
I turn around and I see a falcon staring at me perched on the cubicle wall. It speaks to me without opening it's beak. `` Go quickly young man.''
Without questioning it I know what I must do. I turn around to grab my keys and when I turn around it is gone. I leave making my way to my car not stopping for anything. My boss is calling me, asking where I'm going. His voice is silenced as soon as I let go of the door. I have important work to do and I must begin it. I climb into my car and turn the ignition. I am not sure of my destination but I know the direction. Forward.
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[ WP ] Make me cry , then make me happy I just cried .
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β Are you there? β Her voice broke into darkness like a snowflake falling on ice.
β Yes. β I responded but I wasn β t sure if she heard me.
β Iβ¦ I don β t know what to do. I just want him to be happy, but he doesn β t understand. I can β t leave you like this. β
I felt a wetness touch my cheek as she said the words. It was a warm rain, but the air was still cold.
β He β s going to be gone next week. He told me I had to choose: you or him. But how I justβ¦ how -- β
Her last words were cut off by a hiccup. Or maybe it was a sob. It was raining harder now. I wanted to hold her, but I could not. All I could do was say, β I understand. It β ll be all rightβ¦ I β ll handle everything. β
I knew that this would come one day, ever since she came bouncing into my room like a hummingbird to tell me about him. I loved her. She was the only one left in my life. Everyday I waited for her voice to break the silence, and everyday just when I thought she had finally moved on, she was there. But I knew it could not last forever. I knew what I was doing at some level. But I was selfish. I didn β t want to go while she was still there. But nowβ¦ I knew it was time to stop being selfish.
She suddenly stopped with a sniff and whispered into my chest, β I love you. β The rain was gone.
β I love you too. β I whispered back and hoped that she heard.
Samantha Greenhart gathered her things from the floor and stepped gingerly around the IV stand. She paused at the door and looked again at her brother β s face where it had lay for the last three years since the accident. He looked gaunt and wan under the harsh fluorescent lights, but he had that same smile that had played on his lips every time he had teased her when they were kids. The thought crossed her mind that he could have gone into a coma with a more peaceful expression. She couldn β t leave him. She wouldn β t. That was her decision.
Anthony Greenhart passed away that night.
β And now to our top story. Samantha and Tomas Flores, world renowned artificial intelligence research partners and programmers, unveiled their masterpiece today in an open press conference held in their hometown. Anthon, the name of their artificial intelligence software is heralded as the first truly intelligent AI to ever be created. The Flores had been working on the Anthon project for 12 years since they left their hometown to work for Compound Research Co. in California. Samantha has said that Anthon β s engaging and unique personality is largely based on the memories of her late brother who died just before the Flores β departure to California. KGKA has reached out to the Flores for comment but has yet to receiβ β Sam cut off the radio as she turned into her brother β s graveyard for the first time in 12 years.
β Thank you. β Her voice broke into darkness one last time as she stood over me.
The smell of fresh flowers permeated the air, and I hoped that the beaming smile I held in that moment could stay with her forever.
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[ WP ] Write a narrative about a dream you once had .
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It was dark, cramped, and absurd on the Submarine. I recall how I got here.
The Submarine was our only hope to make it to safety, to Reno, Nevada. The six of us had escaped Chicago in time to make it onto the escape vessel. We were now below the city, ready to embark on the 2,000 mile journey home. The surface had been overrun by vampire wombats. All the world had fallen, all but our home Reno. We would have died with the rest of Chicago if we had not learned of the underground aquatic tunnel system. We were lucky. We found the tunnel system. It was huge, flowing with dark clear water. At the entrance we found a lone pier. At the end, a dark steal submarine, the sub we are currently in. Fearing the monsters had followed us below ground, we ran to the Sub, got in, and took off towards home. The Sub took off immediately after boarding
The Sub was large, but the quarters were small. The hallways were lit with weak hanging light bulbs. The light revealed the dark steal metal of the hallways and doors. There was a layer of condensation on everything. A constant drip, drip as the condensation fell from the roof to puddles on the ground. We searched the vessel and found a commons area. There was a circular table which could hold four people. The six of us sat around it. Despite the vessel motion towards Reno, I felt a stillness to this place. I would find the stillness disconcerting if it weren β t for its contrast to the catastrophe on land.
I quit recollecting and begin to consider my options with my friends. We were safe on this Sub. We need to make it to Reno. I let my guard down.
β Thank God we made it. β Says Jake, a mid-sized man. He had the wavy hair of a surfer. A person who would waste a day waiting for the perfect wave, never riding a wave that wasn β t meant for him.
β Fuck, yea. I knew we would make it. β Harper confirmed. He was a tiny man with a temper and brashness which Napoleon would be proud of.
Tae nodded. Tae was my best friend. He neither tall nor short, but he was a big man. He said little, but every action spoke volumes for him.
Jackie, spoke next. β So we wait? β preparing for what β s next. She was a tall woman, she would be the tallest if it weren β t for me. She was always blunt, vampire wombats did not change that
β I suppose we need to find food β said Jill, a thin and petite girl. She was shaking, but had a determination that brought me comfort. `` Should we search the ship?''
β Sounds like that β s the plan. β I said, I was the tallest and looked the most athletic. I ca n't walk in a straight line, but I look like I could.
To find resources we split into three groups. We decide that Harper and I will search the bow and Jake and Jackie will search the Stern. Tae and Jill would stay in the commons to waive people back in in case of emergencies. We leave.
Harper and I are by ourselves. We continue towards the bow of the boat. Each Step through this submarine shrinks the hallway. The conditions force Harper and me to line up, I following him. The lighting from the bulbs grows dimmer and darker. We hear occasional motion about the boat. We say its the boats mechanics, just the boat. I have to believe so.
As time passes, the bulbs dim to show only the shine of the condensation and the sweat on Harper's Neck
β We β re not finding, shit, let β s go back β I whisper. I notice the hallway is enclosing my shoulders. β I β m going back. β The close quarters making it tough to breath.
Clank
β What was that? β I ask.
β Probably the boaβ¦ β Harper went silent.
Clank
I look over his shoulder and see before him an outline of wombat. It's only definable features were its piercing red eyes. Harp whispers, β Back up slowly. β
I run. Behind me I hear the screams of Harper. I keep running. I sprint. I do n't look back. I hear feet chasing after me. I hear more than one. I hear too many to count. I keep running.
I make it back to the commons, Tae is standing outside it. He looks to me and understands the situation. I make it into the commons and he closes the door before the vampire wombats can make it.
We are safe. Tae and I cover all vents into the common, Jill stands to the side. As we begin feeling secure we hear Jake and Jackie screams echo through the sub. We do not know where they are. We can not do anything even if we did.
β How did they get on this fucking boat? β I scream.
Tae shrugs. I look to Jill, She smiles. I look to her bag and a wombat begins crawling out of it. I turn to the door and begin to open it. As i do, there is bite on my spine. There is a tingle. That is all I feel. I die.
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[ WP ] A man is found dead with a poker card in his mouth .
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`` Very theatrical, do n't you think, Sergeant Baker?''
`` Yes sir.''
`` And what did you say the murder weapon was? A dagger?''
`` Yes Lieutenant. Driven with great force through the temple.''
The man ruffled his black curly hair, letting loose an exclamatory whistle. He leaned over the body once more, absorbing the details. He stood back up, and fished a cigar out of his rumpled tan raincoat. He remained silent as he struck a match.
`` This was found in his mouth.'' The sergeant said, pulling out a plastic bag with a playing card in it.
`` The King of Hearts?''
`` Yes sir.''
`` The'Suicide King''' He mused, `` But if I'm certain of one thing, this was no suicide!''
The Lieutenant's eye swept the room. It was a beautifully decorated office in a mansion overlooking Beverly Hills. He poked around a bit, but there was no evidence of anything being taken. Apparently, the killer was only there to take a life.
An hour passed as the coroner and crime scene investigators came and went. The Lieutenant sat in the office chair recently occupied by the deceased. He passed the time, puffing on his cigar, mulling over the facts. HQ always assigned him the weird ones, and this one was weirder than most. He stubbed out his cigar as Sergeant Baker entered the room.
`` We're all done here. Oh, and Mrs. Columbo called and asked if you could bring home some milk.''
Columbo sighed. Milk was just what he needed to settle his queasy stomach. It was n't the body, or the blood, or even murder in general that was upsetting him. It was the playing card. His stomach tensed again. He was certain there would be more murders in the days to come.
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[ WP ] Science proves that the universe is a computer simulation . Five years on , what 's happened ?
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When the news hit, not everyone believed it. Gradually, over time, the evidence became irrefutable, and the people who believed grew. You could always tell who they were.
Some killed themselves, too eager to see what happened if they did.
Some took to the streets, taking whatever they wanted- the fear of repercussions washed from them the moment they accepted the truth.
Some of the most dedicated religious people turned their backs to their god, whilst flocks of agnostics filled the churches and mosques, desperate to find something else.
Everyone changed. After all, their whole reality had been put into question. They felt so betrayed to realise that this life was nothing but a game.
But as the world collapsed around us, we did nothing.
We knew.
Life had always been a game.
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