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[ WP ] A new social media technology has emerged . People live stream their lives from their EyeTube glasses with viewers able to comment directly into their ears . You 're a rising EyeTube star . Describe a day in your life trying to get more views .
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When LucidV launched their 2160p stream-capable ap, all of the good ol' boys were out of business basically overnight. Nobody wanted to dick around with a less-than-optimum EyeTube stream, no matter what content you were peddling. Porn stars to politicians, falconers to freedivers, it just was n't bringing them in anymore. You had a choice: get with LucidV, or get another day job.
I signed on the line, the one right below the disclaimer stating that L-Corp reserved exclusive advertising rights to EyeTube streams, and the desires of shareholders would be a driving force for sponsored content ( whatever that meant ). Hey, six-figure deals would n't be around forever, and I was in on the ground floor. Plus, rent was due. Correction, past due.
For nearly three years, I'd been eking out a living with my traditional tube vids on freerunning and urban exploration, and I thought my contract with LucidV would be a continuation of that. I'd had several POV films that had gotten hits in the 10mil range, not bad for a short, scrawny kid from the Twin Cities. Viewers seemed almost as thrilled as I was to clear 20-foot gaps on abandoned rooftops, scaling blank brick walls and old chimneys in the former industrial district, doing timelapse tutorials of Midwestern sunsets from cold lonely rooftops. And for a little while, I guess, the new gig felt like the old one. Then came SuggestIve.
Viewer requests had been one of the best parts of the old stream days, back when I could assess the risks and respond to them in my own time. The new way was different. Like fractured thoughts popping up in my subconscious mind, anonymous ( and apparently incredibly wealthy ) shareholders of LucidV would command me to go here, stop there, touch that, touch... that one. At first I resisted, ignored them like so many devils on my sweat-beaded shoulders, ran and climbed and jumped into the voids of my choosing, always my choosing... at first.
Then came the emails. The texts -- how did they get my number? Who had told them where I lived? Then came the docked pay, and after all... I mean, a touch was n't always a negative thing, right? People should connect more in this world.
But I grew to fear the night, grew to resent what they asked of me under cover of darkness, grew to be someone, some*thing* else, entirely. SuggestIve prompts kept pushing me, wheedling, whining, bribing... a man could only take so much. It was n't too long before I was audibly begging for breaks, pleading to be allowed to stop, to rest, to see my family. I had n't had the glasses off in six weeks. My prompters all told me I was a wanted man, that the cops were triangulating my position by tracking my feed, that they were sending the black cars to my mother's house if I stopped for a second, if I did n't hurt another one right this minute, if... if... if...
We all fall. That's a constant in parkour, something you accept, anticipate, roll with. I missed it; that was my new constant. I missed the extra adrenaline I'd get from slipping, missing my target. My new rush was pleasing the prompts, and with my last shred of humanity buried deep, deep within, I made a plan to take it back.
SuggestIve said approach them from behind, they were perfect. Nice and deserted down here in the substation. Nobody to see what was going on, except the 8 million live viewers. Nobody to care on this overcrowded and overstimulated planet. Approach from behind, and then push them just as the train came. Do it. Make it dramatic, better than the last time. I gave myself plenty of room for a running start.
I'm done, I thought, but was surprised to actually hear the words come out of my mouth. Thirty feet away. I'm done, louder now. Fifteen feet. DONE, I screamed and tore between them and leaped and oh, how I'd missed this, the falling that could make you feel real.
They can gift my glasses to the next star.
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[ WP ] As a modern day necromancer , there 's always some extra opportunities for you . But not everyone appreciates your hard work .
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`` You're all so hypocritical'' Oscar said to the woman who sat beside him in his shop. `` you jump at the chance of my help, throwing exorbitant amounts of money at me in order to have me bring back a loved one and then you act as if my profession is beneath you'' The woman stared gormless as he continued to speak `` Take one man the other day. James? John? it was one of those, what to I care, he rushed in here carrying the corpse of his kid. I gave him the whole `` retrieving child souls is more difficult and it will cost double'' and he paid without hesitation''
`` who would n't?'' the woman asked'' that kid had so much to live for''
`` eh'' Oscar shrugged `` kids are nothing special, I just like charging double. getting back to my story, I see the guy two to three days later walking with his kid and I ask him whether everything is OK and he crosses the street and rushes away from me!''
`` i'm not surprised'' the woman responded, tired of his story `` your value of human life is awful, you make us sound like dirt''
`` Missy if you have been in the necromancy trade for as long as i have you realise that human life is nothing special'' Oscar said tired of her stuck-up ideals. `` Human souls are valued at around ten thousand pounds with 50 % of when they're over the age of 80 and double that if they are under the age of ten''
`` that's not people are worth'' the woman scoffed which earned a despondent glare from Oscar.
`` If I knew you where going to be this annoying i would n't have resurrected you'' Oscar said placing a finger to her forehead. With that her eyes grew dull and she slumped, falling of the stool upon which she was sat. As her body thudded against the ground the shop door opened and Oscar turned to attention as a man strolled through the door clutching a small backpack.
`` Welcome to Oscars Undertakers and resurrection facility, how may I be of assistance'' Oscar parroted putting on as convincing a smile as he could muster.
`` yeah'' the man said obviously uncomfortable. `` What can you do with this'' he pulled open his backpack to reveal a severed human head.
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[ WP ] You suddenly switch bodies with a random person in the world . The only way to change back is for you two to meet in person
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The first thing I was aware of was that it was far too hot in my bedroom. The second thing I was aware of was that I was lying on my side, even though I always slept on my back. Opening my eyes, the third thing that I was aware of was that this was not my bedroom.
I sat up, more alert than I β d ever been in my life, trying to place my surroundings. I was certainly in the room of a female, the room had cream walls, and a rose pattern on the curtains. There was nature photography on the walls, beautifully framed pictures of woods and butterflies. The room was incredibly tidy, the bed pressed up opposite the widow and a large closet and dresser pressed to the adjacent wall. The room was too warm though.
Cautiously, I decided to look around a bit more to discover what was going on. Standing, I realised that I was suddenly much taller than I was yesterday, and reasonably skinnier. I also noticed my head felt warmer. Bringing my hand to it I discovered that, where yesterday I had a short pixie cut, today my hair was halfway down my back, and a totally different colour!
Frantically I looked for a mirror. Spotting one on the dresser I ran to see my reflection, and immediately dropped it in surprise. Slowly I picked it up again, to see if what I β d seen was true.
The person in the mirror wasn β t me. The person in the mirror had chestnut hair and chocolate eyes. She had freckles and a sweet smile, and her ears weren β t pierced.
I had blonde hair and grey eyes, my lips were slightly thinner and I wore earrings constantly. Who was this person whose body I was inhabiting?
I continued to look in the mirror for a long while, trying to learn everything about this new body, until a little thought in my mind got too much for me.
β It is so goddam hot in this room! β I exclaimed in a voice not my own, and paused for a second to contemplate this new sound. After speaking to myself for a bit, and trying to get used to this new voice, I grabbed a hair tie from the dresser to alleviate some of the heat and went to the widow to see if I could let in some air.
I ripped open the curtains, and stopped. Blinking, I tried to process what I was seeing. There was a beach, and palm trees. Actual palm trees! This wasn β t home, I doubted it was even the same country! Do they even have palm trees in Canadaβ¦?
My thought process was interrupted by a ringing from the bed. Looking under the pillow I found this girls phone, and it was ringing. I was stuck, I didn β t know what to do, just standing there staring at this phone in my hand. I looked at the number that was calling, and was amazed to realise that the call was coming from my own mobile back home.
Hesitantly I brought the phone to my ear and clicked accept.
β Hello? β
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[ WP ] A man asks God about the meaning of life and gets an unexpected answer
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I never expected God to be a chain smoker. We sat together in a side room at a businesses expo in Atlanta and he was smoking like a chimney. Or at least he was using my associate, Jim Brown, as a form in which he could chain smoke. Possession was n't on his list of no-no's, apparently.
`` So you're really God?'' I murmured cynically. The halo over Jim's black hair made it a bit obvious that something was going on.
He puffed a cloud of smoke at me. I wrinkled my nose at the sick, minty tinge. `` Not what you were expected?'' He took another drag.
I shrugged speechless, not really sure what I expected of God these days. My wife died a couple years ago and she took my faith with her. It felt like God was an uncaring monster that took and provided little. I guessed possessing someone to try and persuade an atheist feel into that category. `` Naw, this is about the picture I had in my head.''
God arched an eyebrow. His eyes changed from Jim's cold green to a muddy brown. `` So,'' he started, putting out the cancer stick on Jim's overpriced shoe. `` Today is your lucky day Phil. Today is your day of enlightenment. You get to ask me one question.''
I felt confused, but decided why not. `` What is the meaning of life,'' I started. God rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. `` if my wife and I can not be together any more?'' I was proud for a moment because that seemed to stop him in his tracks.
God lit another cigarette and took a drag. He sat looking off in the distance. The silence grew long and uncomfortable. `` I'll be honest with you Phil. I am the one true God. I created the whole of reality, but I am really bad at micro-management.''
I felt my jaw drop and had to catch it.
`` Accidents happen,'' the Almighty continued. `` You humans were an accident. Ninety-nine percent of the planets have no life on them, and Earth was n't suppose to be one of them. You guys were an accident. We just have to keep moving to see where it goes?''
`` So my wife just died?'' I fought back some tears. `` Not only that but life also has no meaning?''
God reached out to put his hand on my shoulder. It was cold and heavy. `` Sorry, but that is the way things happened. I would love to change it if I could. I'd love to put purpose in your life and tell you that your wife's death saved a million people around the world. I'd love to make human's part of my plans, but I set these things in motion a long time ago. It's too late for me to do anything.''
`` But you are all powerful? Why ca n't you do anything?''
He gave me a tired smile. `` I am a creator, an artist. The universe is became more of bureaucracy the larger it got. That is why I made the angels. They are heaven's little tax consultants.''
I got a picture of an Arch-angel that once swung a flaming sword, now pushed up behind a desk, wearing glass and working an adding machine. I laughed from the heart.
God's smile warmed up. `` That's the spirit. Just try to be happy and create something of your own. It worked from me when I was depressed.''
The halo faded from Jim.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Grammar is hard
Please give me any advance, I am new at creative writing.
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[ WP ] A demon is summoned ... . to help someone with math . The demon last studied math in ancient Greece .
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Matthew stood up from where he was kneeling on the wooden floor of his dusty room. He looked down to admire the pentagram he had drawn in chalk and the strange, arcane runes and symbols that accompanied it. Satisfied with his work, he lit the five candles on the five points of the pentagram with his grandfather's old cigarette lighter.
`` It'll help ya with'em demons someday, son,'' he had told him, reminding Matthew not to tell his mother about the gift.
Matthew cracked his neck and focused; this was no time for reminiscing. `` I, Matthias son of Michael, call upon you: O Ozael, serve me in my time of need''
And just like that, in the center of the circle appeared standing stark-naked, a tall and handsome young man. He cleared his throat, `` yes?''
Matthew was confused. In all his 5 years of life, he had never seen another man's private parts before and they scared him. He began to cry
`` Oh, shut it! You call me all the way over here, and for what? So you can cry?!''
Matthew stopped crying and considered what Ozael was saying. It made sense. Maybe his math would make sense, too, if he asked Ozael.
`` I need help with math''
Ozael's expression changed, `` Math? I *love* math, math is the best, it's the greatest! Maaaaaaaath. I learned all my geometry in GREECE, where it was MADE, bro!''
`` Actually, the ancient Egyptians possessed great knowledge of geometry, which they shared with the Greeks... anyway, geometry is n't the problem''
`` Shit. I ca n't do this. I just ca n't. You're going to make me do that calculus BS, are n't you? Or are you going to make up some new numbers and tell me *ijk*?!''
`` It's not that, either''
`` Then what *is* it? Linear algebra? I can do linear algebra''
`` Nope. I just have a problem with this proof'' Matthew handed him a piece of paper from his pocket that he had written on. Ozael read it:
1x0=0x0
( 1x0 ) /0= ( 0x0 ) /0
1=0
Ozael looked at it. `` What's that round thing?''
`` You know, zero. Like, nothing''
`` So you're telling me that one is nothing? And that nothing is something you can use as a number? Aristotle would have had a field day! Ha! People nowadays are so dumb. You ca n't divide by nothing, or else you get nothing, so I guess the best way to write that is'zero equals zero'''
`` Thanks!'' Matthew was beaming.
`` No problem. Peace out''
And just like that, he was gone.
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[ CW ] Write about your character losing his or her virginity , with no sexual terminology whatsoever .
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One record spins fast not the fastest but faster than average and maybe baby it croons. Mirror! You follow me. I face the mirror and maybe baby, maybe glide the lipstick tube across my lips.
Bubblegum-pink.
Bubble-smack! POP. Bubble gum, maybe baby, pink.
Maybe, baby, maybe means maybe.Maybe, I remember, hurling the lipstick into the toilet and maybe baby, flushing it, and oh it does n't flush but pirouettes across the bowl, smearing bubblegum-smack-maybe-smack-pop lipstick across the porcelain, maybe,
porcelain dolls. Lining the shelves. Maybe, empty porcelain dolls.. Empty, maybe naive porcelain baby dolls.
And maybe, baby, I'll throw my hand into the bubblegum-pink ( when did it turn red? ) water and pull out the lipstick, and maybe, may-be, three porcelain dolls, cradled in my arms, maybe big eyes, small lips, beautiful empty porcelain dolls..
And maybe, maybe I'll put the bubblegum-pink lipstick on their already painted baby-pink lips. Maybe... what time is it? Dark time, maybe. Maybe baby, I'll have you. Where are the curtains?
Maybe the dolls need to go, so maybe I pick them up and
one
by
one
the bubble-gum pink lipsticked dolls and maybe throw them
out
the
window.
And maybe I'll throw myself out the window but maybe baby, maybe not, I'm not made of porcelain.
And not maybe, not maybe, two were broken.
But maybe, baby, maybe one was not. And a glint from the moon tells me that that not-maybe that one was unbroken.
And maybe I thought to retrieve it, and maybe baby, you'll be true, but instead I left it there.
And maybe I'll pick it off the ground in the morning, and maybe baby the morning rains will take off the bubblegum pink lipstick.
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DAILY PROMPT : Writers Block ( an exercise )
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I like your suggestion to take a shower. When I get writer's block, I'll sometimes go sit in the bathroom.
As for my paragraph, do you think that going between Osbourne's inner thoughts and narrating the action is too disorienting? Should I have separated the two perspectives? I welcome any criticism. Grammar, too! I do n't have the money to hire an editor, so I welcome any grammar pros to nitpick.
[ EDIT ]: This thread popped up on my front page. I did n't realize it was so buried. Oopsie-doodle.
-- -
Osbourne watched as his asset skulked from the room with a smirk on his face. His natural instinct as a spy seemed to have failed him this time. The door was left open; that seemed to confirm things. After four years of developing a relationship with this man, why would he go back on their deal now? It did n't matter at this point. Osbourne reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette to rest between his lips. Negotiating with locals for intel had always been a calculated risk, but a necessary one. The uncomfortable wooden chair he sat on creaked as he leaned back to take a lighter from his pants pocket. Osbourne lit the cigarette, never taking his eyes from the empty doorway. He clicked the lighter shut, dropped it on the floor, and had time for one breath of smoke before the room was flooded with soldiers.
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[ WP ] Write a narrative about a alternate reality where people 's moods are accompanied by their own personal corresponding weather events .
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When I first saw her she looked like an angel. Sunlight draped around her like a warm coat. Meanwhile, I sat here in a downpour that had appeared years ago. Some people have clouds with no rain and others have snow. Some have sprinkles of rain while others have a cool breeze. No one seemed to have the light she had. We were introduced at a party by mutual friends and she asked me out for coffee. At first I thought it a trick. We went for coffee later that week and soon we met day after day. The sunlight always shone on her blonde hair and the rain continued to pour over me. Weeks later I noticed the rain that usually pounded on me had lightened, months later there was light rain, and finally after a year of dating the clouds parted. The day I asked her to marry me her world brightened even more. For me you may wonder? Well, my sunlight may not be nearly as bright as hers, but when she's around the clouds do n't form and the rain does n't fall.
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[ WP ] You are the host of Galactic Late Night Show . Your speciality - mocking emerging civilizations , especially how they pictured alien life before making first contact . Today you tackle a newly contacted planet - Earth .
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`` On in 3...'' The alien holding the camera held up three tentacles.
The host of the show sat up straight and made sure all of his mics were attached to him. The alien dropped to two tentacles, then one, then zero.
And like clockwork, the host of the show began his welcome address, `` Hellloooo citizens of the Galactic Republic of Astronomical Entities and welcome to *Late Space*. I'm your host, Le'trel Yulogras, and we have a great show for you all tonight!''
Le'trel held up a few of his tentacles, `` Tonight we're going to discuss some of the major shifts in the Galactic Republic, including the newest taxation on Ionas, and of course, the major council shifts!''
Le'trel turned to another camera on his left, `` And, I'm excited to announce that we have a special guest appearance.'' Le'trel's face began to glow, his species signal of happiness, `` Tonight on the show, we bring in the figurehead of the species who has just recently joined our Galactic Republic,'' Le'trel turned back to the audience, `` That's right, strap into your ships, buckle down into your houses, and hold onto your heads because tonight,'' Le'trel began to bounce up and down, `` I get to interview the leader of humanity!''
The crowd erupted into an applause and Le'trel's bouncing morphed into the entire audience, a glowing sea of bouncing aliens. `` Let's get into it shall we?''
____
President Trey Shire was sitting in the backroom of the *Late Space's* studio as he fidgeted with his thumbs.
`` You'll be great, Mr. President,'' one of his security agents said as they prepared for his first galactic-prime time appearance.
Trey watched the show, being sure to note how Le'Trel made a joke about almost *everything*, even humanity's most recent attempt to colonize a world the rest of the Republic thought could n't be colonized. `` Say what you will about humanity,'' Le'trel recited, `` But they've got guts!''
Trey rolled his eyes, seven humans had been killed in that expedition, he did n't like them making fun of it. *That's the price*, he remembered the ambassador of the species saying, *we all come under scrutiny. *
Trey shook his head and stood up, it was almost his time. `` I hope you're right, Eli.'' He adjusted his tie in the mirror and nodded, he had chosen a neutral color, grey. No one, his advisers claimed, would be offended by grey.
`` Trust me, sir. Anything goes wrong, you know what to do.''
Trey nodded, examining the device in his left breast pocket. One word, and the entire system would shut down. One word, and *Late Space* would stop it's broadcast.
____
`` I'd like to formally introduce all of you to my special guest, he was born forty-four human years ago, on that planet called Earth, and has been the lead figurehead in the Republic's diplomatic relations ever since First Contact,'' Le'trel was standing on what seemed like eight floating tentacles, `` His pushes in intergalactic peace make him the leader in all human-related issues, and his pushes for a universal translator has been prominent. Here you are, President Trey Shy're!''
Trey noticed the issue with the translator, adding that to the idea that Le'trel's species had different words or way of pronunciation for some things. Humanity had the same, he just had to go along. Trey entered the large studio as soon as the door's opened, walking into the brightly-lit seating area and moving towards Le'trel, who seemed to float over to him rather than walk.
`` Great to have you on the show!''
Trey nodded and continued to wave, `` It's my pleasure to be here, Le'trel.''
The crowd continued to applaud, Trey noted they were more lighting up and squealing than applauding, but he continued on. As Trey and Le'trel took seats inside the studio area, it took a while for the applause to die down. But once it did, Le'trel did n't hesitate.
`` President Trey, humanity has made great strides over the last decade in their inclusion with the Galactic Republic, most would say because of you.'' Trey nodded as Le'trel spoke, continuing to smile. `` Many on the Council believe that is, in part, due to you and your efforts for peace talks and colonization of many new planets,'' Le'trel turned to the camera, `` one of which we all just saw the effects of.''
Trey smiled, `` It's not just me, trust me. I have a great team of Senators and Advisers behind me every step of the way, and all of us, at any given moment in the galaxy are talking to the Council about all sorts of issues.''
`` And these Council members are talking back?''
`` Some,'' Trey leaned slightly, `` there are still some who believe humanity does n't have what it takes to be included in the trading efforts or the mining industry, just to name a couple.''
`` And you could argue with good reason,'' Le'trel turned to the camera, `` In the early years of humanity's technological advancements, alien lifeforms became an area of concern. As with most of our own species, we all wondered,'Is there other life out there?''' Le'trel turned back to Trey, `` Humanity wondered the same question for almost three hundred Earth years, correct.''
`` Yes, as with many other species we've encountered, we wanted to know if we were truly alone.''
`` And many humans of that time came up with idea of what an alien may look like, most of them following the same pattern?''
Trey shrugged, `` For the most part, maybe.''
Le'trel turned to the audience, `` I have here a few concept images, directly from Earth, that show what humanity thought about early alien life.''
Le'trel, the audience and even Trey looked at the screen on the back wall. Trey took a deep breath as the first [ image ] ( http: //www.thefilmyap.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/marsattacks-inside.jpg ) appeared. Trey recognized it almost immediately.
`` I mean, what even is that?'' Le'trel said, a form of laughter emitting from his body, `` The dome around it's head, what's the purpose?''
Trey turned back and faced Le'trel, he, as angry as he was, remained cool under the pressure. `` This image comes from a movie called *Mars Attacks. * It was in the early years of humanity's space adventures and we believed, that like us in space or on a foreign planet, aliens would require a breathing apparatus to survive in our atmosphere.''
`` An absurd motion in the grand scheme of things,'' Le'trel brightened, `` Obviously.'' On cue, the screen changed from the first image, to a [ second ] ( http: //img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131106213953/starwars/images/d/d6/Yoda_SWSB.png ), then to a [ third ] ( http: //vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/mugen/images/8/87/Et.jpg/revision/latest? cb=20111225175126 ), and then to a fourth [ image ] ( http: //i.space.com/images/i/000/018/937/original/aliens-ET.jpg? 1341003338 ) of imagined aliens. `` Concept's like this seem to be the biggest of humanity's ideas. Large head, huge eyes, slits for breathing, slim bodies and of course, this weird color. I mean, what was it about humanity that made them think this way?'' Le'trel turned to Trey, `` These are wild assumptions that come nowhere close to any of the species humanity has encountered.''
Trey leaned forward, `` Obviously, Mr. Yulogras, these images are from the very early days of humanity's experience with the stars.''
`` And the stars? Why call it that, you know what it truly is?''
Trey knew Le'trel was trying to push his buttons, but he remained calm. `` We imagined these alien lifeforms to be similar to us in a lot of ways. Our imagined ideas of life were constrained, self-centered, and arguably very much arrogant.'' Trey held out an open palm and Le'trel's brightness seemed to dim, `` We had many ideas of life, but we only had ourselves and the life we knew to work from. So when we began dabbling in space and the galaxy, and the universe as a whole, we did n't know what we were going to find.''
`` And it took you almost three hundred years to find us.''
`` Yet, only one hundred and fifty to know that we were not alone. Humanity's view of aliens, our imagined ideas of the species we would one day encounter may be limited, may even be humorous, but to us, it was everything we had. These ideas were the forefront of human exploration into space,'' Trey closed his palm and smiled, `` That one day, we would find other life, if it looked like what we imagined or not, but that it was out there.'' Trey turned to the rest of the audience, `` That all of you were out here, and that humanity would find you eventually.''
Le'trel leaned back in his seat, bouncing once, allowing Trey to continue.
`` Humanity is still young, we still have much to learn,'' Trey pointed to the screen behind him, `` We were so focused on ourselves that we could n't imagine anything other than what we *were*. I, along with billions of others, aim to change that view.'' In front of him, the audience began to brighten and Trey smiled., `` Yes, this is all funny, it's all great to make fun of a young species, but we're trying.'' Trey shrugged, `` We're trying to understand space, the rest of this galaxy, the rest of you.''
________
*This was fun. Really enjoyed the prompt. If you enjoyed this story, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more! *
**And Happy Cakeday! **
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[ WP ] You are a person who has always considered themselves average . After having a tumor removed you find out you have been playing on `` Hard mode '' .
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This inspired me to write a very personal `` personal narrative.'' It helped me get out some thoughts about my own experience with a brain tumor as well as another painful even that is happening in my life right now. I do n't know how well it answered the prompt, but I appreciate the opportunity to get some of my feelings out in writing. I apologize if it incoherent. Like I said, it's pretty personal. I should likely leave it in a journal, but it's hard to resist posting when you've written on one of these prompts, so here we go.
***
Brain Tumors, Hard Mode, and Easy Mode.
According to my pre-tumor journals, the world came to an end about every other week in my early twenties. The break-up. The fight with parents. The seven hundred dollar car repair. The extent to which I was unlike others and nobody understood.
When I was diagnosed, I wrote, *Part of me wants to scream, β I just want to be an ordinary girl! β while a smaller part of me whispers, β I always knew I wasn β t just an ordinary girl. β *
It was hell. β Benign and Operable β or no, surgery and recovery were hell. And I β m deaf now, and that β s a forever thing. Also forever is the phrase β highly recurring. β
It has yet to recur.
And now, yes. Life is on easy mode. But it wasn β t the tumor that made it hard, before. IT WAS THE TIME BEFORE THE TUMOR THAT WAS HARD MODE. Not realizing the extent to which time will ease all pain. Not understanding how temporary immediate hardship is. The way, β This hurts so much, and I just want to die! β quickly becomes just a thing that happened to me once when I was younger.
I see my friends struggling. Break ups. Fights. Car repairs. I can β t help them. I can β t give them the perspective I β ve gained ( not without seeming like a pompous ass, anyway ).
Bad things, hard things happen to me now too still. Right now, my insides are raw and bleeding because my best friend of twenty three years is moving to Colorado. We saw each other tonight for the last time before her flight. ( I wo n't be there. God, I wo n't be there. ) We watched Labyrinth. Again. One last... Held each other and promised, β If you need usβ¦ β
I came home. My husband asked how I was. β Astonishingly bad. β I said, and started crying.
But I know. Tomorrow will come, and the day after that, and the next one, and the next one too. It will get a little bit easier, and then a little more, and then a little bit more, until days pass where I don β t think about it. And one day, in so very little time that to consider THAT is its own kind of pain, I will be on a plane to Colorado. In the middle of my new immediate life, visiting a girl I loved from when I was a younger person.
Maybe I am not explaining myself well. I am in what delightful Anne Shirley ( who beautifully understood girlhood friendship ) would call the depths of despair. And yet not. Because I know that depths have their limits and I β ll see the other side again. Because I have done it before.
I miss her. I miss hearing. But I don β t miss hard mode. I don β t miss every day crisis mode. I guess I have a brain tumor to thank for that.
I don β t know if I β ve made any sense here, but yeah.
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[ WP ] a story starting with the sentence `` I was dead . ''
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I wish I was dead.
I regret everything I've done to get to this point. I ca n't get over the fact that my desperation had come to push me to something like this. I needed that money for her surgery, and I'm paying for it now. She'll never get better. They lied to me. Give my body to them to test some mad science drugs, and they'd pay for her surgery up front. She'd never know and I would disappear forever. It still breaks my heart to know that she forgot who I am, what she was to me. The tumor grew on her brain, and her memories and life slowly died as it did. The last person that means anything to me, and I chose to go out of my way to save her. One swift kick to the head. But that's all up in smoke now. I'm in this god forsaken room, trying to hold it together. Whatever they pumped me full of, whatever they're trying to learn. I hope they choke on it. From what I've experienced in who knows how long, they're working on making dreams a reality. I wish I would've known, I would've past this offer. Now she's laying next to me on the floor, walking around singing. In the corner I can see myself, beating my head off the wall, screaming. It gets worse as time goes on. Everything is starting to fall apart, and I'm not sure if anything is right. I hope I do n't start getting lucid dreams again, things are already terrifyingly real.
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[ WP ] A group of toy soldiers are forced to murder each other every day in horrific fashions for the entertainment of a child
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Fresh from the factory and I am excited to see where we'll end up! Some of the Defects told me what they saw when they returned to the factory. Well, they blurted out what they could in passing before they were sent to the crematorium. Helpless souls, born without a chance. I ca n't wait to get out of this drab, sterile foster home. I wonder what others are called, mine was the Factory. Such a harsh word.
* * *
A day later, ( from what I could keep track of in the sealed box ), and we are here. I got talking to one of my squadron mates. She's awesome- Shirley. I'm really starting to like her. She was assigned to be a pilot and get's to fly this metal fighter jet that comes with our set. They're taking us up to the `` room'' or however you say it. I think that's it but you can never be sure! We change environments so quickly.
Our owner is called Charles, but his friends call him Charlie. He opens us up and polishes the ones that are dirty from the ride. How embarrassing for them!!
Finally, I can hear him wake up from sleeping. It's before he leaves for a town called `` school'', but he usually comes home soon after so it never worries me. After being polished some of us were painted and dressed in red and the others were born light green. I feel Charlie picking me up! This is it, this is my moment. As he lifts me up off the ground I feel it, I am flying! It's magical. Then it happens.
He swoops me down and aims my gun at Shirley. We ca n't move or he'll know we're real and we learned in the molding machine department that if we give that away we'll be sent back as Defects and get put in the incinerator. He speaks for me and I ca n't control myself. I watch idly as he grabs Shirley and turns her behind towards me. Charlie thrusts me on top of her. I can feel her screaming inside. She tenses up. Any of the life they gave us with has ripped itself out of her and is gone. That's it, no more Shirley. I feel a tear burn like acid down my cheek. How dare it take whats left on the inside of me and expose it to this monster. He takes my gun and shoots Shirley in between her crotch. He puts me down and I think thats it, but it does n't really matter because whatever I can feel seeps out of me. I am numb. I hope I am a defect.
A wave of heat rips over my arm and my insides kick and beat and shred the shell of my body. The body that ca n't move, or hurt, or retaliate. He is burning my right arm with a lighter. A bead of wax slowly drips down my body and lands on Shirley's lifeless cheek. It rolls off and onto the ground below.
Charlie is interrupted by footsteps. They have the sound of a dead pig being punched. A woman knocks and tells Charlie that if he is burning things again she will take the lighter and put the hot metal against his penis like last time.
He answers, `` Sorry Ms. Manson''.
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[ WP ] A member of an advanced ancient race rises from Earth 's oceans with an incredibly banal request .
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It was pandemonium when the first videos hit social media. Beach goers on the coast of California saw what could only be described as a Sphere rise out of the water hovering meters above. Slowly making it's way to the shore, before reversing, forwarding, reversing, then settling down on the sand. Mere minutes went by before the Military came rushing in, quarantining the area.
It was n't long before the American Media circus were in the neighborhood to play as well.
CNN Correspondents speculating `` Could these be the survivors of Flight MH370? Were they able to land safely in the water, repurpose the wreckage and build advanced alien technology heralding us into an unprecedented new age? OH! OH! I HEAR A RINGING WOLF, COULD THAT BE THE BLACK BOX LOST ON FLIGHT MH β Oh Waitβ¦ Sorry, Sorry, My Bad, Just my phone - Hi Mary... look now is not a good time... No... Noβ¦No... BECAUSE IM AT WORK YOU PSYCHOTIC BITCH...... I-I'm sorry... No, I get it... I should n't have said that... yes... yes... Ok I'll bring Milk on my way back, love you too, Bye - As I was saying Wolf, We believe this could be the repurposed wreckage of the infamously fated flight of MH370''
FOX News Hannity was quick to comment as well: `` I'm telling you, Jesus has come back to save the righteous Republicans. He's here for two reasons: To kick Democrat ass and turn water into wine... and he's all outta water.''
Then it happenedβ¦ an outline of a door glowed, steam billowed out of it β s cracks as a metallic stairway descended into the sand. The crowd watched in awe as a humanoid figure cast a shadow from the bright lights within. Then something happened, a bright multi-colored beach ball rolled down the stairs and a tall man with a Hawaiian shirt, pink shorts, and a sombrero walked out.
β Hey! Whats going on everybody, you guys look like you seen an alien or something, Jeez, what is up with all the camerasβ¦ Listen, aaah, where is our parking? We β re in LOT 35-C, and uuuh.. I have the map right here, but it β s just not lining up β
He was met with blank stares and a silence⦠out in the back ground the faint screams of `` Jesus'' from Hannity could be heard.
β God dammit, TIMMY!? TIMOTHY! HAVE YOU BEEN PLAYING WITH THE GPS CO-ORDINANTS AGAIN?! YOU KNOW WE β RE NOT ALLOWED TO MAKE CONTACT WITH THEM, PARTY β S OVER, GET BACK INSIDE, YOU ARE GROUNDED YOUNG MAN! β
And with that the Sphere floated off and dove back into the depths of the Pacific, leaving everyone in a daze, and a beach ball in the crater.
β JESUSβ¦ JESUS IS THAT YOU, HAVE YOU COME BACK TO US IN THE FORM OF A BEACH BALL? WHAT DO YOU WANT US TO DO? WHO DID THIS TO YOU? IS IT THE DEMOCRATS, DID THE MUSLIMS DO THIS TO YOU? ANSWER ME LORD, I'M SO LONELY β Hannity was losing his mind, looks like some things were not going to change.
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[ WP ] On a date with his boring wife , a boring man steals a reservation at a restaurant and is thrust into shady escapades when he assumes the identity of another man .
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`` I'm so glad you got us seats at The Capitol for our anniversary.''
`` Well, of course. I want us to be at the same table I proposed to you for the evening.''
The taxi slows to a stop in front of the restaurant, famed for its steaks and a favorite for the locals of Atlanta. Out steps a couple dressed in the most generic of finery. She in a green dress with a gold necklace inset with jade and matching earrings, and he in a black suit jacket and slacks, the two strode arm and arm into the foyer.
`` Good evening, do you have a reservation?''
`` Yes. Two, for the back table, under Jones.''
`` Here you are... I'm sorry sir, it seems your reservation is for one of the main room tables. Can I escort you?''
`` No. That is unacceptable. I demand to be seated where I made my reservation. I specifically requested that table for a special occasion, and refuse to be brushed aside.''
`` Dear, please do n't make a scene.''
`` Yes Darling. Perhaps you could be persuaded to check again, this time under the name Franklin?''
`` Ah, yes, I'm sure that yours and Mr. Vanatis' tables being switched was a mistake. Allow me to bring you to your seats.''
**********
The rearmost segment of The Capitol is dim, slightly smokey, and lit from the center of the individual tables by candlelight. Each table was far enough from all others to provide a sense of privacy, assisted by strategically placed baffles to cut down the ambient noise and light. Crafted by various managers over years, the effect was to cut off each table from the outside world and give the impression that what occurred around the flickering flames was the only thing that matters.
This was exactly why the man had chosen this place to propose to his wife all those years before, and why they had come back this night to recreate the scene. A waiter comes up to the table, nearly silent in step.
`` May I take your orders?''
`` I'll have the gorgonzola and truffle New York, medium rare, and my wife will have the filet mignon, medium well, and we'll have an order of oysters on the half shell to start.''
`` Very good.''
As the waiter slinks off to the kitchen, the two at the table look at each other by the light of the candle.
`` You're still as beautiful as the day I met you.''
`` And you're still as shameless a flirt.''
From the direction of the kitchen, a figure stomps toward the table.
`` Well, that was fast.''
`` You did n't exactly make it difficult for me.''
A click emanates from the figure, and they move closer. Illuminated by the light of the fire, a man in a plain tweed sports jacket and black jeans, just enough to get past the front's enforcement of the restaurant's dress code, stands with a smartphone in hand, held like a camera. Still sitting at the table, the man at his anniversary dinner turns red as he realizes he's just had his picture taken by a stranger.
`` I'm sorry, who exactly are you?''
`` As if you do n't know. I'm sorry Mr. Vanatis, but I refuse to play your insipid power games. Now that I have your face, my employers will be sure to get back to you regarding your actions in Seattle. Maybe you feel invincible knowing we ca n't go through legal channels about those prototypes, but I can assure you, those are n't the only possible avenues. Have a good evening.''
With that, the man leaves.
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[ WP ] In a future where the concept of `` Death '' is a thing of the past and people age no older than their mid 20 's . You are the only person who looks like they turned 90 and refused to use the medication . You have been invited onto a talk show to explain the confused majority on `` why '' .
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I'm 25, and ordinarily I would ha e skipped past a post like this, but, now I find myself in deep thought, reflecting on what life was, what life is and what it might be years from now. To put it simply, I want to live long enough to be a Father, a Husband and see my own kids grow up and have some of their own. Beyond that, I do n't think I would want to live much longer. I never feared death, maybe the pain of dying, but not death itself. I'm not sure what happens when people die, if there is an afterlife or if we just simply cease to exsist. Does n't really matter to me, this is the only life I've got and so far I have no regrets. But, thinking about the possibility of immortality kind of scares me. I mean, life would n't be exciting after a while. At some point I would imagine that life becomes dull and without value. The reason life is valued so much is because its so short. If you take away life's limitations you take away the need to live. I like to think of it like cheating in Fallout 4, just a few console commands and I've got everything I want, but, now the excitement of the game is gone, there is no challenge. Sure it's fun for a bit, but, only for a short time. I say, live life while you're here, enjoy it, not just for yourself, but for all the people you love and care about, it can end in an instant and I'd hate to spend an eternity wishing I would have spent more time with family and friends. No, I do n't think they should be asking me `` Why? ``, instead, they should be asking themselves.
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[ WP ] You 're out talking to your friends when you get up to use the bathroom but your friends are still talking to where you were just sat , you realise you 've stepped out of the script
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I came back from the pubs bathroom to the strangest scene. I would n't have noticed if it was n't for the completely off-topic comment by Jim. They were talking about our trip to Denmark last summer and I could n't figure out how the Sahara desert was related to a tiny Scandinavian country.
Chloe kept her eyes focused at my chair, just like Jim and Freddie, as if I still sat there. The conversation kept going but suddenly stopped with an awkward silence, followed by a unison laughter a couple of seconds later that really caught me off guard. They were still talking to me and with me, but I was n't there, somehow. It was like I stepped out of the script of my own life.
Would that mean I'm not me anymore? Can I not be seen? How do I get back into the script? Can I? If I'm still sitting in that chair, according to the script, what would happen if I did something else?
I tried poking Jim's arm. No reaction. He just sat there emerged deep in the conversation that now had transformed to an argument about what you put on hotdogs. Just to make sure I was n't wrong about my theory, I took Freddie's beer and emptied it in the bathroom sink. When I got back he had his hand raised to his mouth and head leaned back, as if he was drinking the same beer I just poured out. He was crazy about his beer, especially the finer Pilsners.
If I sit back down in the chair now, do they notice what happened or not? I hinged back the tall glass to Freddie hand, and unhooked Chloe's bra for good measure, and sat down.
`` Dude, Jim, what the fuck!? I paid good money for that! Buy your own beer.'' Freddie gestured accusingly towards Jim, who seemed to have his attention somewhere else and Chloe just sat there with her bra unhooked as if nothing happened.
Strange, I thought, she must have noticed that. I wanted to let her know but just as I was about to call her name I felt a slight poke on my arm, and a breath of wind. Her bra had hooked itself back on in an instant.
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[ WP ] Flashing Lights
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Lights in the distance. Little flashes flickering in the evening fog on the horizon. At that range it may only be a minute or two before the shells start to land over the Peinforq line. Behind us the energy shields fizz as the rain evaporates against them. What I would n't give to be off rotation and under those glowing umbrellas right now...
Alarms wail, orders are shouted, practiced drills form into place as we form up on the trenchlines as ants in a nest. It's hard on the young ones. They do n't know what to expect. They do n't understand.
The Shadik are n't men you see. Not anymore. Once maybe, when the Imperium ruled over this sector, before we got tangled in 60 years of trench warfare. They are driven by madness, charge forward with bloodlust.
Tainted by the filth of Chaos.
The shells start to land. Huge holes being punching in the line. Mud mingles with the rain. The puddles in the trenches become stained red. The scars left behind dig up the bodies of friends and foe long dead. The artillery are still firing as we are forced to the firing step, a sea of crimson uniforms scrambling over each other towards us. Some enemy shells land short, decimating their own troops. Such is their madness.
Shrapnel flies towards us, wooden supports and bits of rockcrete fly around, but something distinctly un-broken flies along with it.
I barely manage a breath before the grenade explodes, and I finally know peace from this damn war.
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[ WP ] Hell literally broke loose . All the demons are free , and they only want one thing : to befriend us .
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`` OH MY GOD! Stan the Demons are loose!''
Screamed Debbie, `` What?! What more could they want from us?!'' She said crying at this point.
`` What's going on, Deborah?'' Stan asked. Then there was a loud thumping at the door.
`` Oh God! They're here! Why meeee?'' She cried.
Stan went over and opened the door. `` Hey, do you want some chile con carnΓ©? We have some leftover from din..''
`` Why do n't you just leave us alone?'' Deborah screamed in the most exasperated voice.
`` Dammit Deborah, they're just trying to be kind neighbors; wouldya shut up,'' responded Stan as he accepted the doff from the Hoffmanns. A very twisted looking couple, but you could see the love in their eyes. `` Thank you very much, sorry about how Debbie's acting right now.''
`` Oh it's no worry; we do n't take offense,'' the two said in a perfect sync with a goosebumpingly deep voice. `` Hope you have a safe night.''
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[ WP ] This was the first murder in millennia .
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It dripped from my hands, red and sticky, the liquid seeping through the rivulets of my fingertips and dropping in free fall with a quite `` splatt'' as the drips met the ground and formed a small, delicate puddle. My eyes refused to look down on the crumpled mess of flesh and white bone that was before me, chrome skull plates glistening between the hydraulic veins of the creature that I had just killed.
He was no man. Men did n't bleed red. Men did n't have white bones or hair. Men were n't capable of thinking like he did, this was an impostor. Some strange humanoid creature walking, talking and acting like one of us. If he was truly one of us I would not have harmed him. I could n't have.
His name was 00789, he had blue eyes and I watched him bleed red water. Men do n't bleed red water.
This was no man. This was n't murder. It could n't be. No, this was protecting. He was no man.
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[ WP ] A voice from the sky booms , `` PLOT TWIST . '' The world changes dramatically .
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Ours was a young world and by proxy, ruled over by a young God. We worshiped the sun, believing it to be the face of our God. Light-bringer. Warmth-Giver. Sustainer. Our existence was a simple one, but we were happy.
It was a terrible day when we heard the voice of our God. A reverberation began in the ground and then shook the very pillars of our belief. We threw ourselves prostrate before the mighty sun God even as it's voice called out to us, causing some among our number to go mad and tear at their ears.
It *laughed* at us. *Laughed* at our suffering. We had mistaken our God to be a bringer of light, the one who chased away the darkness, but a young God is a temperamental one and ours was still a child.
The changes came quickly. I was wracked with spasms as my body betrayed me, changed against my will. Patches of fur sprouted everywhere my flesh was exposed to that hateful light. My fingers dissolved, my eyes burned. I could feel those around me clawing at the ground ineffectually. Even the ground became a twisted comical shadow of what it once was.
Why had It forsaken us? What sin was so great that we were forced into this existence?
I dared not look into a mirror once the spasms had passed. The world around me was changed. A hand on my shoulder caused me to recoil in fear, but the thing standing before me was a creature unlike anything I had ever seen before; Glossy black eyes, green fur, and a vicious horn sprouting from it's head. Was it a neighbor I once knew? Did I look the same?
`` Tinky-Winky,'' I said, forming my first words upon alien lips. My hand, if you could call it that, was purple and swollen.
`` Dipsy,'' The thing in front of me shook it's head solemnly.
Curse the God's. I was still cursing them even as a strange music arose in the heavens, tinkling like a choir of demons upon my alien ears. My body betrayed me and I found myself compelled to prance around like an unruly child. Ours was a young world ruled over by a young God, but none among us knew what horrors truly awaited us.
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[ WP ] ΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠΈΡΠΈ ! Tell us a story about an heir/heiress sent to the gulags
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***Blumenkrieg***
As told by: Mackenzie Seville
______________________________
a note from her: They put this story in my head they put this story in my head last night I do n't know what to make of it please please read it please It's not an autobiography I just know these things Maddox Depression 2039 alternate timeline former me cameos, Peace Through Love.
______________________________
Pleasantries die with the hours. The skies above are a wretched slate grey, casting a bleak shadow upon the world. This is the colour of our world, a wintry indigo. Gales sweep the sullen lands. Icons decorate wallfaces, and statues rise from the hills like old gods. Where the highways meet, there are cities built into neat circles, and in the centre of these cities stand cones. These cones are government offices, polished and smooth and outlined by red lights. In front of all of them, there are monumentsβ two hands over each other, one flying a hammer and the other, a sickle.
In between these cities lie agriculture, overlooked by structures built like *stielhandgranate*. Barns and glass tunnels web throughout the plains. Men and machine alike toil under the watchful eyes of scowling commissaries and cold algorithms, all being reminded by posters and billboards that they are the Glorious Ones, the inheritors of the Earth.
Beyond the farms, there are octagons of Brutalist design. Guntowers and barbed wire range their circumferences. A concert of industrial chimneys add thick soot to the skies. In rusty black, the letters `` PAPA'', that is β Pan American Penal Administration, β bear themselves on the outer walls. Vettled terraces follow the roads to the edge of a geometric monstrosity. That is the headmaster's den, where camp officials lord over their panopticon. Inside the terraces are people rotting in their own flesh, bitter and vengeful as they are morose and servile. Unlike those on the farms, they are not blessed with cheerful signs.
As they whisper to each other wishes of burning away masses of the Earth in holocausts dedicated to themselves, they bare marks of identification in shame and with pride. They are the fallen lords of this world.
In the west side of the camp, there is cell-block # 655321. Inside lies Elizabeth Whittington. Blonde hair cut short, needly blue eye demanding submission, a sharp face possessing youth, and a svelte posture even in reclining, she looks silly wearing this solid blue jumpsuit. On her neck are the numbers'187.' With her are four girls, all huddled together near the window, and a boy laying on his side juxtaposed to Whittington's bunk.
She asks, `` What day is it?'' and receives mumbles. `` Wonderful answers, dillholes.'' She slaps a young boy across his head, ruffling his hair. `` Are you still drawing druid porn?''
The boy is young, ten years younger than her, with a brown Hitler hairdo and equally blue eyes. The ends of his jumpsuit flop and drag on the floor, and his left sleeve is rolled back to his shoulder. He clasps a notebook against his chest. Small, faded yellow pages. On them are sketches of roses, losing their petals.
`` What do you care?'' he yells back.
She thwacks his balls. He recoils, dropping the pad and pencil, and his face scrunches until he gasps and whines. As she reaches down to pick the pad up, she says, she says nothing. Just lets him sniffle and tosses his notebook against him.
`` You're such a pussy. They put you where you belong, you know? With all the girls.'' The boy rubs his cheeks and shuffles his pad to his side. Whittington sweeps it away, and papers twirl away. `` You took them like a gimp. Did n't even fight.''
The girls pay them no mind.
Discordant voices echo from the hallway and courtyards, saying, `` White Light, White Light'' over and over again until they mesh into a binaural rhythm. Goosestepping on metal never ceases, only sinewaves in loudness.
Latches clank and locks unwind, and the wall hisses open. A gorilla-faced soldier, donned in black camo and eyes hidden by the shadow of his helmet, storms in and grabs Whittington and the boy by their arms. A droid, a glorified rolling tripod fitted with a machine gun, rolls in with him and administers an electric shock to the girls.
Cuffs and shackles arrest their movement, and they shimmy down the billion-mile long hall until their calves stab their feet trying to get them to stop. All around them, painted propaganda. All of it repeating the same slogans:
`` Work makes you free!''
`` Chaps who thwart the revolution will face swift justice!''
`` Become a friend!''
`` You are defeated tyrants!''
`` Even Capitalist scum can evolve into usefulness!''
They're separated. Whittington knows where the boy's going. He's `` useful.'' Not like her.
Daughter of a wealthy CEO, born into privilege, pampered through her years, never had to worry about a future. Every half-step she takes is the final page to its own story. As part of a new lost generation, she took advantage of her privilege and chose nihilism over idealism. That is, why do anything? Never mind the bitterness it planted in her, towards her brother, towards her family, she remains proud to have spent her life as a human lump. Would she have made better choices if she knew how stupendously her parents and grandparents were failing the world?
*No. I would n't. *
And why not?
*Nothing matters. Why bother? *
The world does not end with you, citizen.
*Yes it does. Everything is just emergent from brain chemicals. *
She is too far gone to be useful. A grey-haired, grey-bearded scientist within one of the cones closes a programme,'LoveNet.' Whittington's thoughts fade from the screen. He swivels around in his chair and stands.
`` Every life we fail is a tragedy,'' he says, pouring water into a plastic cup.
A colleague, one with much more girth and darker hair, replies, `` Light as a feather. Do n't worry about those pigs. We'll slaughter'em all in due time.''
The grey-beard chuckles and takes a sip. `` Personally, I hope you're wrong. No group is uniformly evil.''
`` I do n't care about that crap. We do n't need'em. Especially not a sadistic killer like her.''
`` John, John, listen. LoveNet hooks up directly to neurons. Every mind is ours to mold. There's no reason to kill anymore.''
`` Yeah, well... there was no reason for their bastard police to kill my son. There ai n't enough sympathy on Earth for me to give'em.''
Whittington stands before a metal door, scowling and emotionless. Next roomβ rectification.
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You 're about to be cloned , but before you are , the doctor says the clone will be tattooed to identify which one is the original . But after you wake up , you notice that *you* have the tattoo . What do you do/say/think ?
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I wake, rubbing my eyes groggily. The tattoo is on ME, but- that's impossible! I turn to the other me across the room. We make eye contact and squint.
2008, PARTS UNKNOWN
`` Highlander again? Lame.'' My brother groans. `` Shut up, you're lame!'' I scream at him, putting the VHS in the VCR.
2012, LABORATORY
The other me charges with a medical knife. I gasp, kicking him in the groin and shoving him away. `` Stop it, ass!'' I snap at him.
`` You're a fool if you think I'll let you leave this implausibly advanced scientific lab alive, fatty!'' he speaks with a hurtful tone.
I well up. He pauses. `` What- Why are you crying?'' he rubs his devilishly handsome chin. `` I'm not FAAAT!'' I howl in rage. The two of us lock hands and struggle. He's fat and heavy, knocking him over would- the door opens.
The scientist holds up a revolver, and removes his surgical mask. It's me from the future? He shoots us both. `` Haha! Now, I'll make a killing on the-'' He blinks out of existence, having been fatally shot in the past ( by himself. )
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[ WP ] Click 'Random Subreddit ' and research the random one you found and write it down , but like a Victorian explorer writing in his journal .
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Derest Joanne the third weak has serficed and begun anew and Summer is upon us. The Captain has told us the land of Reddit is not but tew dayz from shore and the dekhanz are having benjo in antisipashun of a port tavern aptly named /r/gonewild. I may get arfarfn'arfed with them shood ocashun arise.
Derest Joanne Reddit is a tru fifteen puzzel, gloreus sites abownd the peeple of this port town are mad as hops I tell ye'. The focis being a group of warloqs and wizerds of Artherian legend and they are allmost 50,000 strong. They dabbel in concockshuns that skilamalink the mind, one such warloq displaid such knowlidge as to melt steel with a liqued formulah. STEEL! It hissd and growned as the concockshun turned to smoke! I was beleagured to inqwire this man but did so at my own peril.
Upon laying questins to him he confessed'Be there no warloqs here boy! Tis' merely sients of the elaments.' So certin of this state meant was he that I veri fyed that the meddle steel was indeed the tru article. I now write you in baffelment and repose of the many wondris things this sients is capabel of. More mysterys yet to solve.
*For those that may be curious, Victorian gentlemen that could not afford academic studies often became their own teacher with lack of proper equipment. Most had no proper training in literature but were indeed far more intelligent than their literary skill portrayed. A few words I used also came from [ this ] ( http: //mentalfloss.com/article/53529/56-delightful-victorian-slang-terms-you-should-be-using ). My random sub was /r/chemistry
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[ WP ] `` Guess what ? I just bought this buzzer that buzzes anytime someone tells a lie . '' BZZZZZZ !
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`` well that was something'' I said after we finally turned off the device, that screamed and beeped like an earthquake alarm. `` where did you find this thing? the guy clearly rob you...''
`` Man, I do n't know...'' answered Jonah, `` this guy appeared out of nowhere in an old car he was kinda the mad scientific type so I thought there might be a chance...''
`` so someone with a weird ass look comes from a car, call you and tries to sell you this... thing and you accepted? how much was it?''
`` 5 dollars''
`` and you could'nt figure it was most likely a plastic toy? god dammit jonah... at least it's not much''
*some times later*
`` Hey Jonah! how are you? I hope your wife is alright''
BZZZZZT
`` Hey'' said Jonah `` what's about my wife?''
`` Is this the crappy thing you showed me some time ago? man i like you, but sometimes you are quite stuborn''
BZZZZZT
`` See?'' I continued `` this thing is still useless and broken....''
Jonah started to walk away and said: `` I guess I'm just gon na leave, since it seems like you are a total hypocrite, oh and by the way, there was a range limit parameter inside, and it was on *none*
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[ WP ] You 're part of a small team of scientists in an isolated research station in the centre of Antarctica . You 've stayed behind to study some samples in the lab whilst your colleagues have gone on a wildlife surveillance mission when one of them radios back : 'We found something in the ice ' .
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A small-ish team of scientists
go out into the snow,
while I stay back to number crunch
with naught a place to go.
Some static on the radio,
the bleep-bloop of our tools,
fill the air around my chair
as I begin to drool.
A burst of static and a voice
awake me from my slumber.
`` Hey, J-Jake, we found something...''
And to the gear I lumber.
By now I know the protocol
when something does transpire.
I'm off into this icy plane
to see what this hell sired.
When I arrive my teammates are
all brooding with excitement,
but fear is in their eyes as well
as I see what the call meant.
A block of ice not clear as glass
but clear enough to see
the brown and husky figure there
as frozen as can be.
We haul the block back, ice and all,
to find what is inside.
To find a creature old and lost
would boost all of our pride!
So as we start to melt the block,
the ice drips and decays,
and soon an arm burst through the side
to all of our dismay.
A striking ape is perched upon
the mound of ice and dirt.
A tag marked by the government
told us what had occurred.
Conspiracy unraveled here
as this ape stands today.
And so we all know what to do.
# DicksOutForHarambe
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[ WP ] `` And by his smile , his quiet smile , I knew we were in Hell . ''
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It was knock off time, even for everyone working during the crunch period. Today had started before dawn, and by the time we punched out, the sun had been down for several hours. It was just the two of us, catching the painfully slow elevator from the 22nd floor, all the way down to the basement.
And then I heard it. There was a soft thumping noise, and my brain instantly went into panic mode. Did something in the elevator dislodge? Were we going to be trapped in this tiny elevator for a weekend like that video? Would we plummet to our deaths?
And then I looked over at him, biting my nails in a visible panic. He smirked. And by his smile, his quiet smile, I knew we were in Hell.
`` Oh God!'' I shouted, grabbing my nose as I realised the source of the noise. `` Why did you have the three cheese and garlic chili for lunch?''
We were only at floor 20.
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[ IP ] Poverty divide in the year 2525
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β I found one! β Schwartz picks up a large, rusty metal sheet and holds it out proudly.
I take one glance at him and sigh.
β For the last time, Solar sheets are blue. Blue! β I snap. β Now hurry up or Mama Maxine will lock us out again. β
Schwartz drops the sheet, dejected. He may be the size of a full-grown man and strong as a tesla, but he is certainly not the brightest bulb. I feel bad for yelling at him. But night has fallen and we β ve barely met half our quota.
You see, Mama Maxine isn β t our real mama. She runs an orphanage in our village of Southbog. Us kids in the orphanage visit the shores everyday. We scavenge through rubbish flushed down by the City for anything remotely valuable.
Not the most glamorous profession, I know. But hey, one man β s trash, right?
Solar sheets power almost all of Southbog, so they always fetch the highest price. Though, given their recent voyage through the City pipes, they need to be replaced pretty quickly.
Schwartz β s and my parents were Solar scavengers too. Sometimes dangerous items get flushed down the pipesβ¦ let β s just say there β s a reason why there are so many orphanages in Southbog.
That's why Schwartz and I watch out for one another. He β s the only family I β ve got.
I spot something large and shiny in the distance. Yes! Our yield had been particularly shitty all day β but one large Solar can change all that.
The object looks less like a Solar the nearer I get. It's the wrong shade of blue. I squat to take a closer look. It's a robot - I've seen them on Mama's old samsung before. I reach out to feel its surface. It was cool, and perfectly smooth.
I hear a quiet hum. Then, a loud rumbling. I leap back just in time as the robot breaks free from the layers of trash above it. It twists and assembles itself into an upright prism six feet tall, floating several inches above the ground with a soft blue glow.
β Wooooah, β Schwartz appears beside me. β What do you think it doesβ¦? β
He pokes it with a stick.
β Schwartz! Don β tβ¦ β
A loud ding interrupts me and a friendly face appears on the prism surface.
`` *Hello, what is your name? *''
The voice was high pitched, like a small boy. β Aβ¦ Avery, β I stutter.
`` *Good evening, Avery. My name is PETA 7, is there anywhere you would like to go? *''
A line of text appears below the face.
`The Personal Electromagnetic Transport Assistant 7 is a trademark of Uber, Inc.`
I stood quietly for several moments. *Transport, eh? * I look past the robot, up towards the gleaming silver towers of the City. Sometimes we β re so far below, we forget it β s even there.
I remember how mum and dad would tell me stories of the City at bedtime - they had water so clear you could see through it, nintendos and sonys at every house, Solar sheets that never ran out... The stories went on and on. How many of them were true, I could n't say. But I would ask, *can we go to the City tomorrow? *
*No, my little Avie. * They would smile at my naΓ―vetΓ©.
*How about next week? *
*No, my dear. *
*Why not? *
*That's just the way it is, Avie. *
I love them and I miss them so much. But they were wrong.
I turn to face Schwartz. He sees my grin and knows exactly what I'm thinking. I ignore his protesting glare.
The City glows like a thousand suns. For the first time in many years, I feel alive.
\________________
*To be continued� *
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[ CW ] Tell me the most depressing love story . With no characters .
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The rope swing was still tied to the largest oak in the woods between the two towns. The tree would have dozen more initials carved into it in future years before eventually being cut down for the county's first integrated school, but for now only one set was displayed.
There was a clothesline where a once white dress was still pinned to the rope, next to an equally tattered suit. The house had been abandoned for a decade at least. The walls were sprayed with bullet holes and the windows broken from the outside, rocks littering the shack still full of trinkets unlooted, untouchable.
Rope stuck up from the ground in a farm two states away. It had been buried with the tiny coffin as the only marking of its place. Grass was only just now beginning to grow up to conceal the once worn path leading to it from farmhouse.
Two ropes swung freely from a branch overlooking the road. Each had been severed about six or seven feet from the ground. The farmhouse still smoked, though the fire from the twin crosses had long stopped burning.
There would be no yellow rope to mark off this crime scene.
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[ WP ] On your 16th birthday you find out that your family are Time Keepers . They have entrusted you with the secrets of Time and Space .
|
Three knocks. My dad always knocked thrice before entering. He never waited for me to answer; I've learned to take my private time elsewhere.
`` Heya son, got a second?''
*Oh jeez. * I thought as he came in, closing the door behind him.
`` What's up?'' I asked, still staring at the computer screen.
`` How'd your day go? 16! Almost a man. I'm so proud of you.''
`` Uh huh. Not bad.'' I replied, pausing my campaign of Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare 3. I swung around in my chair and crossed my arms as he continued.
`` Good, good. Listen, there's something we got ta talk about. Your mom and I thought it'd be best to tell you this now, rather than later. Especially today being such a... *milestone* for us all.''
He had me intrigued, I ca n't lie. It sorta confused me, though.
`` What do you mean?''
`` Well, I'll just get straight to the point. We're Time Keepers.''
He said nothing else. He just stared at me with a face begging to be punched.
`` What the hell is a Time Keeper?'' I had absolutely no idea what in the fuck he was talking about.
`` Well, to put it short, we defend Time and Space. Jump from time to time to make sure everything's going well, police the galaxies and punish anyone who breaks the laws of space-time. All that fun stuff. When a Time Keeper turns 16, they're introduced to their... well, their lifestyle.''
I was flabbergasted.
`` Are you high?'' His eyes were a bit red. He laughed, of course.
`` No, no. Seriously, watch this.'' He grabbed my arm and the next thing I knew I was inside this *machine*. It looked huge, all these weird gadgets and gizmos, and the centerpiece of this *place* was the most interesting thing of all. It was this bright white fluid in a tube, probably as thick as honey, flowing through what looked like some kind of dark purple water-y stuff.
`` Well?'' My dad finally broke the silence.
I was too absorbed by my new surroundings to even think about responding. I pointed at the centerpiece; the giant tube in the middle.
`` What is that? Why is it so bright?'' I finally noticed I was squinting. The light emitted from it was almost as bright as the sun.
`` That, son, is the time-space contiuum. That is what we keep. The white thick substance is time and the purple stuff is space. As long as the time is all wobbly and space is all wibbly, we're all good. Whattya think, bud?'' He smiled and crossed his arms, almost proud of himself.
I turned to him, mouth practically hanging on the floor.
`` ARE YOU DOCTOR WHO?!''
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[ CW ] Write a story using the TV Tropes Story Generator . Link in the description .
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Setting: Megacity
Plot: Death in Clouds
Narrative device: One judge to rule them all
hero: Princess
Villain: Evil cripple
character as device: Offstage villainy
characterization device: Shipping torpedo
It was just another fine day in Bigasstropolis, a city so expansive that civilians needed to ride a plane to get from one district to the other. One plane specifically has been reserve for the marriage of the royal princess of Bigasstropolis palace, it will also become the epicenter of a gruesome murder.
`` Oh does n't it just bring a tear to your eye.'' King Reginald said dreamily as he watched his daughter exchange vows in the kitchen compartment of the airplane.
`` Sure... of disgust.'' The jester sneered, `` Do you honestly think that a relationship between Princess Ola of Bigasstropolis and Prince Percival of our rival city, Damnhugeville, would work?''
`` Star-crossed lovers, how beautiful, how poetic.'' Reginald replied still in a trance, `` And besides the point, I am the king so all objections to the marriage is overruled by my vote.''
Suddenly the lights flicker off and on again and to the gasp of everyone, Prince Percival was found stabbed to death with a package of airplane peanuts stuff down his throat. It was so scandalous a scene that many onlookers fainted and had to be revived with an oxygen mask. Princess Ola's beautiful dress was now soak in blood, her face carried an expression of shell-shock.
`` Oh by the grace of me, how distasteful a display.'' Reginald roared, `` If it is Damnhugevillien tradition for the groom to kill himself, then they should consider doing it in a more fashionable and dignitary matter.''
`` I hate to tell you this, but I believe the groom was murdered.'' said the Jester.
`` Unacceptable, murder is illegal'' the king roared, `` Quick, lets address the court soothsayer to get a clue to our culprit.''
The soothsayer hastily woken from his nape, greeted the king with an aggravated gruff. *'' For within the plane that we are all so horrifically trapped, the murderer at large is handicapped. `` *
`` That's good, how many people in this plane are handicapped?'' asked Princess Ola.
`` Well considering that the plane just picked up patients from St. Agneta Hospital, I say 27.'' The Jester replied.
`` Well, considering I am part-detective and carry the closest connection to my fiance. I feel that I should lead the investigation.'' Ola said as she stripped off her wedding dress and revealed a detective outfit underneath.
After several hours of interviews and false accusations, Ola was at a standstill. `` I am growing more and more unsettled that my husband-to-be's murderer could be right beside us as we speak.'' She said frustrated. `` You seem quite calm despite just witnessing his death an hour ago.'' the jester replied. `` He was quite aggravating now that I think of it.'' Ola said, `` I mean he really really insisted that he did not wanted to be married to a Bigasstropolisian whore so much so that he threaten to kill himself on the alter if my father did not release him immediately.''
`` Are you suggesting suicide?'' the Jester asked.
`` Yes, suicide makes most sense'' Ola said brightly, `` well case close.''
`` Wait what about the soothsayer's message?'' he replied.
`` Yes I did think about that.'' Ola said, `` A soothsayer's job is to predict the future right? Since Percival's death was a suicide not a homicide, the only logical conclusion is that the murder did not happen yet.''
`` But all handicapped passagers are too.... handicapped to commit a crime.''
`` Maybe it was n't a passager, did n't the pilot have a heart catheter?''
It was then so the plane was cunningly crashed into the side of a mountain by the true villain, the pilot. I want to thank everyone who took the time to read this train-wreck of a plot of mine.
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[ WP ] All voting is now done via a smartphone app , rendering all congressmen obsolete . Bills and presidents are now voted on directly by citizens . Your phone buzzes an alert at 3am and wo n't stop . This must be an important one .
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*bzzzz....BZZZZ....*BZZZZZZZ-*
I groggily slap my hand on my phone, it's light permeating the otherwise pitch black room.
The first thing I notice is how my head aches as though there was an Alien from that movie trying to burst out of my head. Second thing I notice is that I'm too dehydrated to focus my eyes on my phone's screen.
I pocket my phone in my PJ bottoms and stumble out of bed careful not to wake my dog as she lay sleeping at the foot of my bed. If she wakes up, she'll steal my spot and that bitch is too heavy to be pushed off when I'm this tired.
As I turned on the bathroom lights I realized that my bladder was damn near full to the point of bursting.
Too tired to stand and piss, I sat down on my porcelain throne, dug out my shitty, old iPhone 9 from my pocket and attempted to decipher what was so damn important that it had to wake me up at... 3 AM?! *Ugh. *
I slid the unlock button and let the phone scan my retina.
*'' WE'VE MADE CONTACT WITH AN UNEARTHLY SPECIES'' *
Was the headline of this vote box.
`` This is what they woke me up for?'' I croaked dryly to no one in particular `` Fuck them.''
After getting up and washing my hands, I pressed the Nuclear Option vote and went back to bed.
I laid back down under the blankets, dog still by my feet, and drifted off back to sleep.
Fuck the government and fuck these Aliens.
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[ WP ] A world where science is outlawed , religion rules the land and major scientists have been executed..
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`` This man stands here, accused of treason against the lord of the clouds'' said the hand of the king, Maliba, `` he used forbidden magic for his own selfish needs, he has pleaded guilty and will executed'' he said as the crowd reacted, obviously disheartened that their only good doctor will be gone.
I stood and watched from the crowd, by cloak hiding my sinful metallic body.
`` you have the right to final words, if you choose so'' said Maliba.
my father looked up, `` you're going to regret this'' he looked at Trimun, sitting at the other end of the arena of people, `` once your people realize what you actually are, mutant'' the crowd became shocked that he spoke like that to the king, and is not dead on the floor by now. `` once my creations rise from the darkness, they will come for you and your house of dragons, that I will promise you''.
the king looked at him in the eye, and smiled.
the hand of the king motioned the executioner, the man in white with the black ax. he came over towards the red stone as the knights kicked my father onto the stone and strapped him in, the man in white approached my father, his ax rose towards the clouds, and fell down on my fathers neck, for a god he never truly believed in.
the crowd began to disperse, the man in white returned to his cavern with an ax covered in mine and his fathers blood.
I looked up towards the mutant king, as he was already looking at me, smiling, I quickly walked away knowing the king had plans for my attendance all along, I got to the gate but was met with the blue knights.
`` well, great'' I said, revealing my Tesla swords.
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[ WP ] Come up with some original horrifying monsters .
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It's just past midnight, the moon's shining slightly above the porthole-shaped window, and the only sound rings from my tattered lungs -- breathing in, out. From across the corner I'm huddled in, I glaze over the door, cracked, dirty. It's a little past midnight, and in 15 minutes he'll come, and in 15 minutes I might die.
I know he's coming, but I ca n't run. The bruises on my knees say so. My head rocks back against the rotten wood walls, and my hair mops away some of the moss coating. He'll probably get mad at that. Ruining his perfect shitty walls.
It's just past midnight and my heart seizes. My cracked, bloodstained nails shaking; my jagged, dull teeth pressing into my lips. I do n't want to die. I really do n't want to die. But it's a little past midnight, and that's when --
There's a slam from outside. Dad's home.
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[ WP ] You are a shapeshifter . However everytime you take on a new form you lose a fragment of your own memory .
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It was getting real difficult now, I was losing my mind, literally.
I was a killer.
I would stalk my prey, taking on different forms as I watched them.
You could n't suspect the bird outside your window, cawing gently to the sunset.
I waited for the light to flicker out in the second story bedroom, waited for the shadows cast out across the lawn to flicker out and die. I waited as the silhouette went about the same ritual as they had every other night, neatly organizing slippers, folding up dressing gowns, tidying away their glass of water. I continued to watch as my prey, shuffled over to the light switch. Darkness.
Now that I had the cover of nightfall, I left my perch on the gnarled old branch. I untucked my wings and gently glided down onto the porch on a gentle wind. Once settled my world began to fade to black, I knew it was coming, yet I still performed this act. After a brief unconsciousness, I was in my human form, albeit not complete. You see, after every lapse of form, every loss of whom my physical being is, I lose a piece of myself mentally. Now, you may be wondering, as I stand in this woman's porch, cold and barely clothed, what could possibly possess any sane man to lose his mind?
Well you see, dear reader...
It was never quite there to begin with...
________________________________________________________________
*I really want to continue this, but I have to go out now, so if anyone is interested then I will do so when I get back. Also please point out any mistakes or things to improve, I felt this peace was quite rushed as I did n't have a lot of time. I also thought that it was fairly lack luster character and plot wise, it did n't have much build up. On top of this, I did n't get to explore the whole'forgetting part of his memory' idea, that was to come later. I apologize for this and I hope you enjoyed it regardless: ) *
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[ WP ] In a desperate bid for power , someone tries to summon Satan . Due to a spelling error , they instead summon Stan
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`` What do you mean, you're not Satan?''
`` I'm not Satan. My name is Stan. Look,'' the little non-descript man points at the label on his work shirt.
`` Oh, jeez... What are you, a janitor?'' I asked him.
The little guy puffs up his chest and proclaims to me, `` I'll have you know, I am a security guard, Class Four.''
The rest of my team are looking around at each other in a daze. David keeps muttering, `` we're doomed, we're doomed.''
`` So, should we release'Stan' and try the summon again?'' I asked the team.
Lisa, our resident Wiccan and the one in charge of procurement says, `` We ca n't do the summon again. Most of the ingredients we got are one shot. It'll probably take us another year to gather all the ingredients and even then, I do n't think we can raid the Vatican's Crypta Obscura again.''
Shit. In defeat, I walk over to the pentagram hold stand and was about to cross off one of the lines when I get tackled from behind. I am thrown to the ground with two of the bigger guys on the team on top of me.
`` What the fuck are you doing, Jack?'' Lance screams at me.
`` What do you think? I was going to release Stan. There's no point in holding him there.''
`` Are you kidding? We summoned Satan, also known as the Great Deceiver, do n't you need to be sure?''
`` Dude, inside the pentagram, he ca n't lie, he says his name is Stan.''
Rob, the other guy who tackled me, my best friend and the one on our team who discovered the comet, sighs and looks at me like I'm an idiot, says, `` Dude, inside the pentagram, he should also be Satan, but he is n't.''
He's got a point. So either the truth field component is messed up or we could have really summoned a guy named Stan. I guess I must be more tired than I realize. To be fair, we did spend the last 36 hours chanting with incense burning. And the mandatory 4 hour orgy before that. I can be forgiven a bit if I'm not firing on all cylinders.
The little man inside the pentagram speaks up, `` Are you guys saying you summoned me here? I was n't displaced, or teleported from my ship?''
Since the rest of the team are reluctant to speak to `` Stan.'' I push myself away from Lance and Rob and walk back to the pentagram, this time being careful to not get close to the lines.
`` We used a spell to summon you here. We thought we were summoning something else, but got you by mistake.''
`` Who were you trying to summon and why?''
`` His name is Satan. He's the ruler of the underworld and supposed to be powerful as can be. The world is going to end tomorrow, and we thought he'd be willing to accept our souls to stop a comet that's about to destroy the planet. We figured he'll probably want to anyway, since it does him no good if his source of souls is destroyed.''
`` You just want a comet destroyed? And you're willing to sell your souls to do it? are you guys stupid? Why not just blow it up?''
`` The government tried, but failed. We just do n't have the kind of technology available to do any damage to it.''
`` But you think think this Satan guy can?''
`` What do you mean `` this guy Satan''?
`` Its just I've never heard of him before.''
Weird, who has n't heard of Satan? I look at my team and they just shrug, and keep nodding their head at Stan, indicating I should talk some more.
`` How do you not know who Satan is, the Great Deceiver? The First Traitor?''
`` Arch Traitor,'' he says, as if correcting me.
`` What?''
He looks at me again, as if I'm stupid, `` You said First Traitor. I am the Arch Traitor.''
`` You're Stan. The Arch Traitor? You betrayed God?''
`` You mean the Divine Shadow? Ruler of the Light Universe?''
`` Yeeeah.... ok, sure, Ruler of the Light universe. How did you betray him?''
`` It was an accident! And it does n't even matter anymore anyway, since the Light Zone has been destroyed and I'm in your universe now. You might even say I've been cast out.''
`` What's the Light Zone?'' I ask, although I'm thinking I already know.
`` Oh, the Light Zone is the realm of the Divine Shadow. Everyone prospers there under the guidance of the Divine Shadow. Its a much better place than this. We call this place the Dark Zone, you know.''
Lisa grabs me by the arm and yanks me back to the team. Then whispers, `` Are you hearing this? The Arch Traitor cast out of the Light Zone for betraying the Divine Shadow. Do you think we did the spell incorrectly now?''
`` No, but if the spell is correct what does it mean? That our religious literature got it wrong?''
`` Its possible. Do you want to go through with the rest of the plan?''
Sure, why not, what's the harm? I walk back to Stan.
`` Stan, we'll release you if you do something for us.''
`` The comet?''
`` Yeah, is there anything you can do about it?''
`` Hey, I helped destroy the Light Zone, I can probably do something about the comet.'' He says this the same way someone is talking about ordering dinner, its more unbelievably frightening. But then his face contorts into an evil grin, `` But what's in it for me?''
And the shoe drops. OK, the whole team is prepared for this. We're willing to sacrifice our souls to save the world. We've already sacrificed so much this past year. We're ready.
I take a deep breath and trying to keep my voice from quivering I tell Stan, the Destroy of Worlds, `` We six are willing to give you our souls.''
`` I do n't really want your souls. I do n't actually know what to do with them. But I was thinking, the last time I was here, you had some great fried chicken in those red and white buckets. I could use a big supply of that and some fresh fruit.''
`` You want... KFC and apples?''
`` For the last few years, I've been living off of bug vomit, you have no idea what that's like. Its Hell, is what it is. But at least its mine.''
`` Of course it is. But yeah! We can get you as much KFC as you want if you can destroy the comet for us.''
Stan smiles with his eyes closed, `` Oh, lovely fried chicken. OK, deal.''
`` Do you need us to do anything? To help you?''
`` I do n't think so.'' He holds up his hand and talks to it, `` Lexx, you there?''
A reply, `` I am here, Stanley.''
`` Lexx, do you know where I am and can you get to me?''
`` I am already in orbit above you, Stanley. I was able to track you when you were displaced from me.''
`` Good boy, Lexx. Hey, do you see a comet nearby?''
`` Yes, Stanely, there is one that is due to impact this planet in 19 hours.''
`` Lexx? Get rid of that comet.''
`` As you wish, Stanley.''
A few seconds later, a bright light shines in from the windows. Turning the dark night outside brighter than the noon day sun. Then for an almost impossiblly long time, the atmosphere begins to shake and roar. After about 20 minutes, it stops. The team and I are huddled together while Stan talks to his hand.
`` I'm sorry, Stanley, vaporizing the comet so close to the planet had some unfortunate... er. side effects.''
`` That's OK, Lexx. Please have Kai or Xev come pick me up, OK? And make some space for extra food. I'm coming home!''
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[ WP ] A rocket designed to land the first man on the Moon is being built , in medieval London .
|
The group of strangely dressed men had babbled on and on about being stranded and having to be return to whichever crazy land they belonged to. Our first instinct was to throw them into one of the many madhouses for them to slowly rot and die while sadistically tortured. But it turned out that those men had some pretty swell ideas and soon enough, they were helping us build a peculiar contraption to reach the moon.
And get sadly, just before the machine could launch, a hole with swirling colors opened in the heart of London. The men cheered and cheered, running right through it, never to be seen again.
A full month later, yet another such hole opened. From within it, stepped out another one of their kind. Similarly eccentric in dress and mannerisms, yet slightly different ( such as in colloquialism ), this male looked somewhat younger. Nevertheless, he claimed to able to provide the finishing touches to our project.
`` Ok so uh... you need gears. Big gears. You know what gears are, dude? Yeah yeah like that one. Put a whole bunch of them on outside of the rocket.''
`` I beg your pardon sir, but I do n't recall your predecessors even mentioning-''
`` Woah, woah, who's in charge here? Just trust me on this, ok?''
The reporter watched the enthusiastic young man through the crystal ball, sighing in exasperation. Did the boy not have even the singlets inking of historical knowledge? He opened his laptop and typed out tomorrow's headline `` ENTHUSIAST TRIES TO BRING STEAMPUNK TO VICTORIAN LONDON, ENDS UP IN MEDIEVAL TIMES.''
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Natural disasters can be prevented with human sacrifice . You are a weatherman , who 's job is to predict whether to sacrifice or to let the disaster play out . [ WP ]
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I checked the radar once more. β Well, fuck. β
George looked at the screen then at me. β What β re you gon na do? β
β Honestly? I don β t know. It β s only a category one hurricane. β
β With the possibility of being upgraded to a category two, β he added. `` I just hope you don β t wind up like the other guy. β
I hated situations like this. Sure this was for the β greater good β but at times it just doesn β t feel right. A category one is pretty much a heavy storm. No one's going to be too mad if I let that pass, but if it hits that pocket of warm air then it β s going to hit a whole lot harder.
Tapping my cigarette into the tray, I puffed out a ring of smoke. *Today is not a good day. *
I see the producer in all his tight-assness walking up from behind the desk.
β Hey Frank, what β s the call gon na be? β
I look at the screen one last time. The wind speed updated. It was going faster. *Ah hell. So they β ll get a little wet. *
I give the producer a thumbs down.
β Alright. If things go south, β he points at me, β you β ll be next. β
β Hey George? β I called.
He lazily looked up at me.
β What did you say happened to the other guy? β
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[ WP ] It 's finally time to turn off a simulation of the universe . You are the scientist in charge of turning it off .
|
( First attempt here. )
Leigh's coffee felt a little less invigorating this morning... no, a lot less invigorating. The consequence of the action his team would take today had hit him hard during the night, to the point where he was unable to sleep for a single minute.
By all intents and purposes they had created life. `` How the hell did we even manage that?'' He asked himself as he took a sip from his coffee mug, walking towards the workstation where his colleagues were waiting.
Their `` little'' experiment did n't have a name, though many of them joked about it being nothing more than a `` The Sims'' game for crazy scientists. Several different simulated life forms, all with varying degrees of intelligence and stories to form them, as well as the free will and simulations to let them evolve biologically and socially at their own pace. It was a marvel that had changed the way humanity looked at it's own history, at the ideas that we had cultivated for hundreds of years, some of which these little lines of code had dominated in seconds.
Their civilizations had advanced to an accelerated rate, managing to conquer planets, solar systems, entire galaxies even. Yet not a single one of them would live past this day after a few keystrokes on an old, grimy keyboard that had n't been touched since the very start of the experiment, solely to avoid any external tampering.
`` Ah, Dr Barlowe'' one of Leigh's older colleagues talked to him as he walked into the room, a noticeable tone of dissapointment in the situation, yet the man seemed determined to continue the shutdown `` Most of the codes have already been entered, only yours remain... It's a shame, but it has to be done''
Leigh put his mug on the desk, looking at the rest and nodding. He dusted off the keyboard, untouched for almost 2 decades now. `` Well, ladies and gentelmen... Thanks to'Resource Re-Appropiation' we're about to kill off more people than we can even count. Truly a great day for mankind'' He said, voicing the thoughts of the entire team as he finally entered the final parts of his code.
He looked at the screens that kept the data available to them as well as digital interpretations of it all. Hundreds of ships moving through the galaxy, spherical stations that orbited in places as far as the very edge of the simulation's limits and at the very center of it... A metaphorical `` window'' to the unique universe they had created. His finger hovered over the `` Enter'' button, his mind filled with hesitation and guilt. He closed his eyes as he pressed the key, unable to look at their creation as he killed it off...
And yet, the simulation kept going.
`` What... Are you sure you entered the right code?'' Sarah asked from behind, one of the youngest members of the research team who had only joined them 5 years ago. She adjusted her glasses just to double-check, and the simulation was indeed still going with no problem
Leigh opened his eyes, looking at the screen, which had apparently accepted the code and indeed, cut off their support of the project's energy source, which somehow was still going strong.
`` I- I do n't understand.'' they looked over to the screens, which continued monitoring the simulation. Several of the stations at the center of the universe, as well as the ones at the very edges of it, had suddenly started glowing with a strange green hue, opening themselves up and revealing a dark core deep inside them.
David, one of the leads of the project, moved on to another console in the same room which was used to control the monitoring programs, typing out a few command prompts to get a better read of the situation. He read out the statistics and graphs at a pace that even some of the best minds in the team could not. `` Huh... It's not using our energy source at all... It's... Producing it's own power.''
`` It's sustaining itself?'' Leigh asked with a clear tone of uther confusion as David explained `` But... That's impossible! How many laws of the freakin' universe would they have to break to do that?! Can the server even HANDLE that sort of thing?!'' Confusion was quickly replaced with anger as he could n't understand. How did the simulation do this? How was this even possible? To his scientific mind it made no sense, yet here they stood, with a simulation of an entire universe that had somehow defied it's own creators.
Suddenly, a message appeared on one of the monitors. `` Dr Barlowe... T-The monitor...'' Sarah pointed at one, almost completely frozen as she read it out. Leigh looked quickly towards the monitor.
White letters in black background, it looked primitive for the kind of hardware they were using, yet the mere idea that this message could be sent implied something that was far too removed from that concept.
`` Thank you for the gift of life, creators.'' The message displayed, as more letters were typed out on the screen, slowly and every once in a while having to delete one letter due to a spelling error or two, showing that whoever was tying this was just as nervous as they were
`` We can take care of ourselves now. Our universe can live on without your guiding hands.''
Leigh looked at the message in shock. Mixed feelings of joy and confusion coursed through his mind at alarming rates, faster than he could process as the rest of the team reacted themselves, some were laughing, happy and completely taken aback by the success of their creations, while others were clearly afraid of what this meant for mankind, for what could happen next. Tears and laughter of joy mixed in with sweat and whimpers of fear, all valid ways to react to these news.
One last message popped up after a while, with implications far greater than what any of them could imagine.
`` Do you need our assistance keeping YOUR universe alive?''
( Please excuse any horrible grammar mistakes. I'm not from an english speaking country, so some words may be a tad off )
EDIT: Grammar and some small mistakes. There could still be many: V
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[ WP ] Run . Wherever you are , write yourself getting the hell out of there - escaping as far as possible , by any means necessary .
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I lean in close to double check what i'm reading; triple check. There it is, looking back at me like a wolf watching its prey, the words fall through my eyes as i scan them uncontrollably. The message i always feared more than anything in the world had finally stumbled into my Yahoo email like a fat bear.
Standing up, I bitterly feel the weight of my stunned body, but force the strength into my legs. All the planning, the worry, and the fright meant nothing now, it was over. I ram a couple of sets of clothes into my only bag, grab wallet, phone, and a small notebook i keep containing my credentials and private information and make for the door. Every second feels like a week.
The oak door swings open letting in the cold of the fall, when a small note catches my eye. It is a small piece of cotton-paper, with the sweetest handwriting one could imagine written delicately across it. It takes only a fraction of a second to read, comprehend, and begin a spiral into pure panic. They are here.
Fuck the front door. I speed to the back door and barge through it without a second thought, down the garden there is a small hole under my hedge which i scramble through; sprinting. Every bone in my body compels me foward as i hurl myself through the back door of another house, no stopping; the front door falls under me like a paper sheet and my run begins.
Down the street, across the road through the park. Now time is flying, no second can be wasted as i pant and gasp for air, the pace is impossible, i do n't even comprehend the blurred faces of the people i am passing, they are irrelevant. I leave the town, heading straight into the country, soon the crunch of asphalt underfoot gives way to the dull thudding of dry country paths.
I can finally slow down, nobody is here and i can pass unseen. Storm clouds gather overhead, fuck i forgot my coat. the sun dances on the horizon, fighting the dark of the storm clouds, but giving way to its inevitable setting. The dark comes quickly with relief, they wont get me, not again.
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[ EU ] Tiber Septim has asked you , the greatest smith in Tamriel , to forge a very special weapon
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`` I ca n't sleep. The Nightmares... they are getting worse.''
I was so absorbed in my work that I had n't noticed emperor Tiber Septim entering my smithy. But there he was- in the middle of the night, all alone, without his usual escort, leaning in the door case and breathing heavily.
`` Oh... your majesty... I'm sorry, I didn't-..''
`` No need for formalities. How is the work getting along?''
`` Well, you majesty..I'm not quite finished yet..but I made some great progress already.''
Tiber Septim studied the weapon with open curiosity. `` The color... that matte gray..it looks so odd....''
`` Oh, that's not yet the final color... I have finished the mesh and been working on some issues... I will add textures later, your majesty. But I can already show you something impressive, if you like.''
He looked at me with utter confusion, probably he had n't understood a single word I was saying.
`` Well... yes, show me, please.''
With a swift motion I attached the gray scimitar to my back and then drew it again with my left hand.
`` Abra cadabra, your majesty.''
`` I do n't understand... what's so special here?''
`` What's so special? Oh, come on, your majesty, please. Do I really need to explain?''
The emperor just stared at me blankly without saying a word.
`` Oh OK, OK, I get it. So..uh..you may have noticed this is a one-handed weapon, yes?''
`` Indeed it looks like one.''
`` Aha! And yet I attached it to my back. Normally, only two-handed weapons are carried on the back. And it is an off-hand weapon- I drew it with my left hand and can use it instead of a shield. I had to do a whole bunch of new animations for that, your majesty.''
Apparently, the Emperor did n't have the slightest clue what I was talking about and why I was so excited.
`` Animations... that sounds like Necromancy?''
`` No,. do n't worry, your majesty, no vile necromancy involved. The only thing we should really worry about at this point is conflicts with other dual-wield mods.''
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[ WP ] [ WP ] Superheroes act as the world 's military forces and law enforcement , record the events of the appearance of the world 's first supervillain .
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β Looks like your men have already gone over the scene, β Grim mumbled, stepping over the sagging police tape. He paused at the first evidence marker. β You found the knife here? β
The detective following the masked man stiffly nodded, and handed over a few Polaroid pictures. β The first knife, yes. β He pointed down the alleyway, towards the small group of uniformed officers standing huddled about a covered form on the ground. β Theyβ¦ they found your man there. β He paused, before resting a hand on Grim β s shoulder. β We removed some of the otherβ¦ implementsβ¦ Iβ¦ β
Grim shrugged off the hand, and hurried down the narrow path, pocketing the photos in his trench coat. β Never disturb the crime scene. β He waved a hand, and the air about him began to shimmer ever so slightly. The officers down the way seemed to bristle at the motion, and they all turned to stare at him, fear draining the color from their faces. β Leave, β he growled. He watched as the officers quickly streamed past him, all with downcast eyes.
The smell was already fairly rank. Pools of blood had long since begun to dry up around the body. The white cloth that covered the body was already soaked through, and Grim could see the outline of his former partner β s costume through it. It was a rather gaudy affair, what The Laughing Man had chosen as his outfit. It was part of his charm, and one of the reasons Grim tolerated his presence. Sometimes, even The Laughing Man could make Grim smile. He knelt down, next to the body, and reached out to pull the sheet back.
β Grimβ¦ β The detective quietly stepped closer to the scene, carefully stepping around the blood as he made his way to the superhero β s side. β I don β t really think you want to see this. β He stared down at Grim, a look of pity flashing across his face, as he took a drag from a cigarette. β We got the truck down a ways to pic- β
β I said LEAVE, β Grim whispered, the air trembling as β leave β slipped from his lips.
The detective stood there a while longer, before slowly nodding. β All right, sir. We β ll be right outside. β He turned to leave, before pausing as he felt a tug at his coattails.
β Who? β
He felt the grip on his coat release. β One of yours, β he finally said, exhaling a plume of smoke, embers from the lit cigarette drifting down to burn out in the blood. β Laughing Man was a fool, but he could take a knife, normally. Person who did thisβ¦ β Another puff of smoke. β Takes more than a man to stop the Laughing. β He nodded curtly at Grimm, and flicked his half-finished cigarette away, before slowly walking away from the scene.
Grim sat there for a long while, watching the cigarette slowly sputter out, faint drifts of smoke wafting upwards towards the night sky. Slowly, he reached out, and pulled the sheet back. The figure below was a mangled mess, but he stared at it for a few minutes, his only show of emotion a faint trembling of the air about him.
The normally colorful garb that The Laughing Man fancied was stained through with blood, and riddled with jagged rips, where he had been stabbed. His abdomen had been ripped open, entrails spilling out haphazardly. Two long, deep cuts marred his chest, running from the collarbone to just below the pectorals. He realized, with a start, that the three cuts resembled a grotesque smile, and moved to cover up the remains. He paused though, as his gaze finally took in the face.
The Laughing Man β s lips had been cut off, a large frown painted on with dried blood, staining either cheek.
He covered the body up, and sat in the pool of blood for a while longer, before reaching up to pull his mask off. The stench became more pronounced, but he paid it no mind, as he slumped against a wall and stared up at the sky. β Oh Peteβ¦ β He reached into his trench coat, and rummaged around a bit, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. β Oh Peteβ¦ β He crumpled the box when he noticed he was out, and ran a blood drenched hand through his graying hair. He glanced over at the detective β s discarded cigarette, and after a moment of hesitation, reached over and plucked it off the ground. There was still enough for a decent drag. β What am I gon na tell mom, Peteβ¦ β He relit the cigarette, watching as the embers caught. `` Dammit Pete...'' He took a deep drag from the cigarette. β What am I going to d- β
He coughed, smoke billowing forth from his mouth in ragged puffs, and hurriedly flicked the cigarette away. β The hell isβ¦ β His words slowly trailed off, as he slowly looked around the scene. Something was wrong. He slowly stood up, and placed a hand against the wall to steady himself. β Rage, β he muttered, eyes fixated on his hand. Nothing. He spied a few officers peering into the alleyway in the distance, and quickly slipped on his mask. β LEAVE. β
The officers jumped at the command, and hurriedly disappeared from sight.
Grim stared down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. β Rage, β he whispered. After a few moments, he could just make out a light shimmer in the air. β RAGE. β The shimmers began to intensify with each passing moment, until ripples of air began to stir his jacket.
He stood there, trembling, as the ripples in the air continued to expand around him. He reached out, running his fingers along the ripples, as though strumming an instrument, and paused, looking down at the discarded cigarette. A thin trail of smoke drifted upwards, and the ripples in the air seemed to bend around it.
Slowly, he reached a hand into a pocket, and retrieved the photos the detective had given him. The first was a shot of one of the knives. The second, a photo of the body. The thirdβ¦
He didn β t need to say a command word at that point. The ripples took on a more jagged quality, and seemingly stabbed at his surroundings. Chunks of brick and mortar broke off from the walls around him, and there was a low rumbling groan, before the asphalt below cracked open, the fissure cracking a path down towards the opening of the alleyway.
The detective stood smiling in the third photo, cigarette in hand, knife in the other. The fourth, his brother β s always present smile, being cut away. The fifthβ¦
He hurled the photos away, and watched as the air tore it to pieces. The ground began to shake in earnest, and he could hear the surprised yelps of the police, as the buildings surrounding him began to creak and sway. β Grim, please! β he heard someone cry out in the distance, and watched as a lone officer stepped into view, shakily leveling a firearm at him. β Grim! Stop, or I β ll sho- β
Grim waved a hand dismissively at the officer, turning his gaze back down towards the cigarette. He reached down to retrieve the smoke, ignoring the cries of pain issuing forth from the officer, the sound of his body being shorn to pieces, the sound of the city block around him dying, as the buildings began to fall in on themselves⦠He gingerly brought the nearly spent cigarette to eye level, careful to point the smoke away. He heard the dull crack of a firearm discharging, but continued examining the cigarette, letting his rage shake the projectiles into nothingness long before they reached him.
He felt the building in front of him finally crumble. The sounds of the police had faded away. There were no more gunshots, no cries of pain. His world was silent then, and Grim stood over his brother β s body, the remnants of a cigarette in one hand. He read the single word scrawled along the rolling paper, the last letter almost completely reclaimed by the fading embers.
Mirth...
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[ wp ] imaginary friends everywhere are real but not solid or tangible . yours just flipped the board game you were playing ... .
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`` GHOST!'' Martha screamed. `` Calm down, I just beat Jeremy in a game of Ticket to Ride.'' I replied. `` W-Who the hell is Jeremy?'' she asked. `` Jeremy's my imaginary friend,'' I answered. `` He's been with me since the first grade. Is n't that right, Jeremy?'' I got punched in the face, but nobody was there. Phil walked in on the scene. Phil crossed his arms. `` Let me guess, someone blocked all the tracks in Ticket to Ride and another someone had to take the long path.'' he said. `` Yeah, that's exactly what happened.'' I replied. Phil looked at Martha. `` Not like it's a bad thing. There's a bonus for longer tracks you know.'' Jeremy punched Phil in the face. `` What the fuck was that?!'' he shouted. `` I think Jeremy disagrees. Dude, you had more trains than I did.'' I replied. `` Who the fuck is Jeremy?'' he asked. The door swung open and slammed itself shut. `` I wonder why he's mad. Maybe it's because he had, like, three unfinished tickets.''. I proceeded to get punched in the face by both Phil and Martha.
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[ WP ] A young boy finds an abandoned shack on the edge of a swamp in Louisiana . He walks inside and sees 79 year old Elvis Presley with no legs in a rocking chair .
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It was late at night. I was traversing the outer edges of the bayou, with only a lantern to guide me and my hunting rifle was slung over my shoulder in case a gator or some other animal had any ideas. My body was weary after a long day of hunting, but they were not mistaken when they caught sight of the shack before me.
I guided my boat to shore and disembarked. This place looked abandoned, so I decided this would be my resting place until dawn. I made my way up the slope leading to the door of the shack, the door creaking open, as if expecting my arrival. I gripped my rifle closely. What if there was some dangerous criminal in here?
The building was wooden, and the only discernible light was in the living room ( or what passed for one, anyway ). And I could hear a faint tune... `` You ai n't nothin' but a hound dog...'' coming from the same room.
What greeted me when I entered was the sight of an old man, at least 80, with stumps for legs, bound to a wheelchair. He sported a skinny figure and receding hairline. The song I had heard was playing on a record player.
`` Who are ya? ``, was his greeting. Judging from his dialect, he was no Cajun. `` Name's Tommy. ``, was my retort.
`` What's yer business here, then? ``, he asked as he wheeled forth, staring up at me. `` I need a place to stay, sir. I'm trying to get home.'' `` You ai n't Lisa's boy, are ya? ``, he replied, continuing his interrogation. `` No, sir.'' I raised my brow in confusion... who was Lisa?. ``'Course not. Hair's too bright to be him. ``, he muttered to himself.
`` I reckon you can stay here. You're sleepin' on the floor, though.'' I nodded. He wheeled away, giving me a chance to investigate my surroundings. What caught my eye was the amount of Elvis photos he had on the wall. Must've been a fan, I thought.
There was another photograph, but this one was of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. It was simply labeled `` Satnin''. A nickname, perhaps.
Another Elvis tune began to play: `` Burning Love.'' I glanced at the man and noticed something; his stump was shaking, as if out of excitement. I had learned of it in school... phantom limb syndrome, it was called.
After a few minutes, I decided to ask the big question: `` How'd you lose your legs?''. `` Double amputation'', he responded, `` so damn fat there was no other way. This was 40 years ago, mind...'', he finished before coughing. `` Your stump was shaking earlier...'', I pointed out. `` Old reflex. Ladies used to love it.'' A sly grin crept upon his features. `` Thank you, thank you very much, I used to say.''
That's when it dawned on me.
The amount of Elvis paraphernalia, the `` Satnin'' photo, the `` old reflex... the timeline of his amputation...
I had proven one of the most famous conspiracy theories out there: Elvis Presley, the King, was alive!
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[ WP ] You are a man about to be hanged ; as the hang man goes to pull the lever , someone comes forward to prove your innocence .
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So I'm to be tonight's entertainment.
Even father brought a pitchfork just for the occasion, he always was one to get stuck in. Everyone hates me, despises me, for a crime I'm not even fully aware of yet. This morning I was eating breakfast and now I'm going to hang. It is n't all bad though. The Sun is out, Mandy's wearing her lovely yellow summer dress, and I get to watch the other guy drop first.
Oh God, I do n't want to die.
The drum roll begins.
`` Criminals, step forward. ``, commands Governor Walsh in an assertive yet calm voice.
We both look at each other, I could see the dread in his eyes. We step forward.
The last step I'll ever take.
The executioner begins putting on the hoods. Does he think I'm guilty? What could β ve I possibly done? The worst I've done is steal half a loaf from the town baker and that was weeks ago.
Footsteps stop behind me. Darkness.
The last sight I'll ever see.
A heavy weight drops onto my shoulders, very quickly the pressure is all around my neck.
`` Murderer! ``, screams a woman in the crowd.
Something smacks hard against my knee, I think it's broken but I ca n't feel any pain.
The drum roll comes to a stop.
`` Nathaniel Moore, you have be charged with and found guilty of heathenism. Your last words, please. ``, says the Governor.
I could n't make out any reply. And what was I going to say, if anything? Silence fills the air. I can hear the blood throbbing through my head. `` Proceed. ``, he orders. CRACK! The silence brakes with the whaling scream of his last breath and the rope creaking. Shivers shoot up my spine as the crowd roars with applause.
Oh God, please be quick.
`` Elliott James Smith, you have be charged with and found guilty of the rape and murder of Sarah Finch, the burning of her three children and the skinning of pet dog'Patch'. Unforgivable acts. The most sought after criminal in the land. We finally caught you and justice will be had. May God have mercy on your soul. Your last words, please'', says the Governor.
*What the fuck*.
`` You've got the wrong man, I'm innocent! For the love of God do n't do this! ``, I cry. The crowd boos.
`` Innocent or not, you do n't get to make that decision. The jurisdiction has deemed you guilty and you will hang for it. ``, replies the Governor.
`` Proceed. ``, he orders.
I'm going to die.
The last thought I'll ever have.
`` Stop! Stop this insanity now or you'll all be rotting in hell! ``, shouts someone from the crowd. My heart jumps. I know that voice.
`` Halt the execution! What is the meaning of this? Speak true or you'll be next. ``, replies the Governor with great anger.
`` This man is no rapist nor is he a murderer. This man is something far worse. He's a bread thief, an undeniably shit one at that. ``, states the baker.
`` What on God's great earth does this have to do with anything? ``, replies the Governor.
`` This thief is so bad, that bread crumbs lead me straight to his house. Not only that, he stole just half a loaf. Half a loaf. Governor, I ask you this. What murdering raping arsonist steals only half a loaf of bread and is stupid enough to not even cover his own tracks? Does this sound like your infamous criminal, or a pathetic petty little thief? ``, questions the baker.
`` Given the presented evidence... and I believe you to be truthful. You do bake a mean cinnamon bun after all. A new punishment is in order for this criminal scum. Elliott James Smith, I find you guilty of theft and sentence you to flogging. You will lose half your right thumb. ``, announces the Governor.
I cry with pure joy. The baker had saved my life.
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[ WP ] There is no prompt . Just write a story you 've always been thinking about or one you 've been thinking about sharing . Anything goes .
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This is my first post here, and the first story I β ve actually finished in a long time! I hope you all enjoy: )
β¦
When I went away to Cliffsburg State, I was 20 years old, fresh out of community college, and I was an outsider. Had I played a game of β Never Have I Ever β with a group of any given C-State kids, I β d definitely have the most fingers remaining. I never sucked any football player β s dick. I never hooked up with anybody whose name I didn β t know. I never smoked any of the shitty Westminster weed in some shitty classmate β s shitty basement. I never snorted coke; I never even saw the stuff in person. And I sure as shit never butt-chugged Everclear over a fancy marble toilet.
That all changed on September 6th. Rush week was in full swing, and my roommate informed me that her friend from high school, a member of Nu Omicron Tau, wanted us to go to a patriotic-themed mixer. Upon hearing this, my reaction was mixed. β Shit, I left my American flag tie-dye shirt at home! β β I β ve never gone out before; I wonder what it β s gon na be like. β β What if I wake up in some rando β s bed with a raging hangover and a crusty pair of boxers draped across my thigh? β β Even if I do, it β ll be sooooo worth it. β β Are you sure, self? Are you absolutely, positively, 100 % sure? β
I ultimately agreed to go, under one condition- that I don β t leave my roommate β s sight, and vice versa. My roommate frequented Friday night basement parties back in high school, all of which were rife with drugs, alcohol, and smart teenagers making stupid decisions. She was well-versed enough to serve as my guide, to yank me away from persistent douchebags, and to hold my hair back if I felt like I was about to puke.
We arrived at the party around 10:30, and we were immediately greeted by a baker β s dozen of tipsy yet cordial sorority girls. I didn β t know them; neither did my roommate, but we started talking and talking as if we had not seen each other in ten years. My roommate, who had never even left the Eastern Time Zone, handed me a Bud Light tallboy that she purchased with her Arizona ID. I took a sip of the beer and felt myself gagging. β It β s literally just water, β said my roommate. I took another sip. Expired white grape juice. Another sip, water. Each subsequent sip tasted less and less like beer and more and more like absolutely nothing at all.
Then the frat guys and pledges started showing up. At that point, my beer was half-finished without me even realizing it. I ditched the can for a red cup; I wanted to have the quintessential college party experience. I was definitely feeling the effects of the shitty domestic beer. The long-dormant blithe yet bad-decision-making side of me came out in full swing. Whenever the next song on the playlist booming throughout the house was a generic trap song, my hands were firmly planted against the wall and my body was in a half-assed squat position. I shook my ass and gyrated my hips, and that alone counted as my exercise for the day.
I was getting really into my dancing ( if you could even call it that ), the music, and the atmosphere. Everybody was in a good mood; the main reason why they were all there was to have a good time. Positive energy permeated the main floor of the house all the way down to the basement. Until he came along. He saw me moving my body in ways he had never seen any girl do before.
β You can fuckin β dance, β he said as he inched closer to me. β Yeah, you can fuckin β dance, girl. β He was now in my personal space. My roommate, who was just about a foot away, was trying to make conversation with one of the sorority girls over the booms of the bass and beats. She had her eye on this guy. She saw him get close enough to put his hands on me. I was just like, kinda feelin β it, so I let him do his thing.
His hands eventually found their way to my ass. His fingers were just as awkward and lanky as he was, and he tried to get as much booty in the hand as he could. I tried moving his hands away, but he only squeezed tighter. I didn β t know what to do; he just wouldn β t fucking give up. I had never let a guy treat me like this. I didn β t even know anything about him- his name, his age, his hometown, absolutely nothing. I never spoke to him before this. He was a complete and total stranger.
Then the stranger leaned in close to me and started butting his lips against mine. Again, I didn β t know what to do. This was the first time somebody just had at it and started making out with me out of nowhere. Keep going or pull away? Use tongue or not? Think with your alcohol-flooded mind, dammit!
Our lips were together for what felt like the length of a paid programming infomercial, but in reality, it was more like the length of a GEICO ad. Either way, it was by far the worst kiss I β ve ever had, and I couldn β t wait until he β d take the hint that I wanted it to end. When it finally ended, I ran to the security of my roommate, who extended her arm for me to grab. She tried to intervene a few times, but this fucking guy kept getting in the way. He found me again and made me give him my number. Then my roommate and I pushed and shoved our way down the hall, desperate to get out.
β Come back to my place! β slurred the guy as my roommate and I made our way down the steps of the house. She stood by my side and held my arm as I tried not to stumble and fall. We finally got out of the house, and the temperature difference between outside and the house was very noticeable.
β You were really into that, huh? β asked my roommate.
β At first, yeah, β I replied, regret peppering my tone. β But he got really touchy and didn β t want me to leave. He tried inviting us over to his apartment and shit. β
β Ew, yeah, I β m glad we left when we did, β said my roommate as we walked down the street, trying to get as far away from the house as possible. β And get this- while he was grinding on you, he was also giving me sex eyes. Like, make up your mind, fuckin β weirdo. β
I was beginning to sober up a little, and I was now making a little more sense of the situation. β He could have done something terrible. But he didn β t, because you got me and sprinted the fuck out of there with me. I can β t thank you enough for that. β
β No problem, β my roommate replied. β Are you doing okay? β
β Yeah, β I said as I slowed my pace. β I β m just thinking about how I dodged a real serious bullet there. I know this is the sketchiest part of town, but I feel so safe now β cause he β s nowhere near me. β
My roommate and I continued to walk down the street until we reached a crosswalk. The lack of functioning crossing lights meant that we had to make value judgments and pray that we didn β t get hit by a car, but we made it in one piece and found a 24-hour greasy spoon further down the street. It was a place that, during the day, I would have disgustingly looked away from, but at night, it β s a refuge.
We entered the restaurant and got seated at a booth. We didn β t even need menus because we both knew what we wanted- waffle fries and a milkshake, quintessential slightly-drunk food.
β Despiteβ¦ what happened, I had a lot of fun, β I said out of nowhere. β I never really got out much in high school, and this was just a great experience. β
β Yeah, you β re welcome. If you ever wan na do this again, let me know, β my roommate said as she played with a packet of sugar. β And if any weirdos try coming onto youβ¦ let me know and I β ll get rid of them. β
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[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 16 : Poetry
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it isn β t the machines i can β t stand
it β s the smell that gets pushed through
until i am as flaccid as a soaked-through birthday card
that must have once been printed in a factory
to say, β you are alive! i love you! β
and shipped along with other paper goods
like bulk-buy coated bags for nausea
or tabs that serve to keep your head still
while somebody behind the glass asks,
β nothing? are you sure, an hour of nothing? β
i fill it every time determined to stay near you, oh
i want to go home. please don β t look. only hold on to me.
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[ OT ] Need ideas for a D & D campaign concept ! Any input is appreciated !
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The party is walking down a long stretch of road ( through a setting of your choosing ). In the distance, they see lights approaching. As the lights get nearer, they see that it's actually a carriage being heavily pursued by mounted soldiers. What they choose to do is up to them.
The people in the carriage ( there are three ) are extremely dangerous renegades. They're members of a rebel group opposed to the current authority of the region. Two of them have just succeeded in breaking another out of prison, where he was being held for crimes against the realm. If the PC's help them, they are extremely grateful; but say nothing about their cause, until their sure the PC's are n't affiliated with the realm. They offer the PCs an opportunity to join them in heading back to the town that serves as the rebel group's base of operations, and eventually, inviting them to champion their cause.
The three mounted soldiers are a small scouting party of a much larger force of soldiers, placed in this region to intercept the rebels and find their base of operations. If the PC's help the soldiers, they're offered a relatively modest reward for their assistance and invited to meet with the captain of the unit. The captain offers to hire the PC's on as free agents in their efforts to crush the rebels.
You can decided who is right or wrong, but I think you can stretch this idea out to fit whatever time frame you had in mind.
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[ WP ] A real wizard enters a contest for magicians , only to be beaten by a normal person .
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β Wait, no. STOP. β I shouted and raised my hand, and the judge β s feet were bound to the floor by ice. I ran up next to him and the other judges, who remained sitting at the table. β I β m terribly sorry, I would just like a more thorough breakdown of why I got last place. I believe someone may be in error. β
The head judge shuffled through the stacks of folded-lengthwise paper in his hand, and brought out the one with my name on it. β Well, Jess. It looks like a number of things. First, you go by Jess. β
β I do. It β s short for Jessica. β
β Yeah, so the issue is that you β re not going by something with a little more flash. The guy who won was called Mordecai the Immortal. That β s closer to what we β re looking for. β
The other judges chimed in as well.
β It β s just a lack of flash overall. Your costume is black robes. WHERE ARE THE SEQUINS?! β
β It justβ¦.lacks zazz. β
β No zazz at all. Not here, not around these parts. β
β It just needsβ¦.more zazz. β
β Yes, right. β The head judge waved them off. β And the act itself was a bit odd. What did you call the trick? β
β It β s not a trick. β
β Fine, ILLUSION. What is its name? β
β It is the Krath β zul spell of Unholy Summoning. β
β Well, wonderful. You need to tell us that. Let us in on the details of the piece. β
β It was passed down generations in my family. Those that speak of it have their tongues cut out. β
β Right, right. That β s something we in the business call β patter β and it helps sell the illusion. Now for the illusion itself, full marks. I have no idea how you did it. It was amazing. Where did you come up with the design for the transported demon-looking thing? β
β That β s a necrotic hell-hound from the seventh level of the Blinded Caverns, guardian of the sovereign house of Zekkrahm β n. β
β Yes, excellent. Whatever you used, it was brilliant. But it just wasn β t a complete trick without the costume and the patter and the dancing. Put a little more effort in and I am sure that you will win the ten dollar gift certificate to Applebee β s next time. β He smiles and attempted to leave, but was held tight to the floor by the ice.
β Yes, thank you. I understand. You β ve been very helpful. I will try harder next time. β Next time, nothing, I am putting a hell-hound in his car. See how he likes the β trick β then.
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[ WP ] - As the final test before entering heaven , you are left alone in a room , with the forbidden fruit that Eve ate .
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`` Everything?''
I held the date in my hand, feeling the weight. The sticky surface stuck to my wrinkled fingers, and I held it close to my eye. There must be a trick. This was just a normal date.
`` Yes'' said the man in front of me. `` If you take a bite of that, you will become omniscient. You will know everything.''
`` Then what's the catch?'' I replied. My tongue reached out and gave it a lick. Nothing.
`` Do you know where you are?'' He asked, changing the subject. I did n't.
The woman across from me smiled. I could've sworn it was a man a moment before.
`` Where am I?'' I asked her. `` And who are you?''
`` You're in my garden,'' she said with a smile. `` You should try the fruit. It's quite good.''
`` What's the catch?''
`` There's no catch,'' said a slippery voice. In front of me was a lizard, with deep green scales and a smirk on its face.
`` If I eat this date, I will have complete knowledge?''
`` Yes,'' came an almost instant reply. `` Do n't you want to know everything?''
My lips moved towards the fruit, when the voice cut in again.
`` There is a slight catch,'' said the old man, an instant before my teeth bit in.
`` And what is that?''
`` I ca n't tell you. If you want to know, you'll eat the fruit.''
And suddenly I was alone in a room which seemed to be whiter than white. All that existed was my body and the date in my hand. To know everything, all I had to do was take a bite. Then I would know the catch. I would know who the voice had been. I would know everything could possibly dream of knowing.
I shook the date out of my hand and it fell to the floor. Or rather, it would if there had been a floor. My eyes followed it as it dropped slowly, as if there was no gravity here at all.
Once it passed out of sight, a gate opened in front of me. I stepped through, and suddenly I had all the answers I wanted.
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[ wp ] you are on a peaceful sailing excursion , it 's just you and your significant other . suddenly orchestral music beings to play from an unknown source . you feel uneasy .
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*Just remember her on our wedding day, * Lin told herself - and sighed longingly at the thought of it - The flowing pearlescent dress, the train floating gracefully ( yet carelessly ) on the small waves of the beach. Aurelia looked beautiful then, and once she was done retching over the side of their boat, Lin was sure she'd look beautiful once more.
Aurelia liked the sea. The beach wedding was her idea in the first place, but as it turns out, Aurelia did n't like boats. Lin rubbed her back, mostly bare ( because who was there to see? ) and said:
`` All done?''
`` Buh,'' Aurelia replied, `` I liked our breakfast,'' She wiped her mouth, `` But I really did n't need to see it twice,'' And winced.
`` I'm not sure I needed that image, must I suffer with you - darling?'' Lin frowned and took a step back from the side of the boat. Aurelia straightened herself out and turned around. They were on the way to an island that Lin's father owned for their honeymoon.
`` You put a ring on it,'' Aurelia grinned. And then that grin faded, because they both heard something unknown.
`` What's --?'' Lin cut herself off so she could listen. It was a low rising sound, something distant but loud all the same. Like a whale song, but there was a melody. Something more to it than a cry in the ocean. But from the ocean it certainly was, that much they both knew.
They both rushed to the far side of the boat and peered over the side into the deep blue and though both women lost their breath to the sight, they were n't surprised by what they saw.
They were n't surprised by the lights or the glittering gold, as shocking as the sight may be. They were n't shocked because this display of nautical majesty was the only sight that could explain the sounds that now boomed from below and created heavy pulsing ripples in the water.
`` I'm not, like, sea-delirious am I? I have n't caught the ocean-madness?'' For a short while the uneasiness in Aurelia's stomach settled.
`` No, no, that's -- I see it -- That's an orchestra,'' Lin was stammering and breathless.
`` Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!'' Aurelia threw her hands into the air and ran towards the cabin, `` I'm going to get the camera!!''
`` Hurry!'' Lin shouted, totally on board with the idea, `` This is so cool!''
Through the blur of the ocean it was hard to make out the details. The instruments were huge and being carried by entire schools of fish, golden harps and monstrous brass tubes. All of them swirling with the music. Lin was sure she could make out a choir of sirens joining in.
`` Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,'' Aurelia ran back, digital camera on hand, `` I'm almost definitely going to barf but this is so worth it!''
Lin laughed, at Aurelia and the sheer joy the display. The bombast of the mermaid orchestra below, as though the entire ocean was playing a song of its approval of their love.
Lin had hoped, in the back of her mind. Never expected.
The last time she had seen a mermaid was in only a childhood memory.
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[ WP ] Your computer-illiterate grandmother has somehow deleted the internet . Yes , all of it .
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`` Alright, let's see..''
www.reddit.com
`` No. It's down. Damn.'' I open up a new tab.
www.reddit.com
``... shit.''
My connection, of course. I try Google. Nope. Yahoo? Alta-fucking-vista? My PHONE!
`` NO THREADS HERE'' my Reddit Is Fun app happily exclaims.
WiFi off. Let's try again. Nothing.
Is the whole cellular network down too? I call my wife.
`` Hel-'' *click*
Well that works...
I open up my mobile browser.
www.reddit.com
Nope. Got ta be something going on. I'll see what's on the news. Except I ca n't. `` Cord Cutters'', they call us. Maybe I should buy an antenna? Drive to Best Buy, see what's on NPR on the way?
I look outside at what a wonderful day it is. Possibilities that were n't there yesterday are here now. A seemingly new earth is among us, beautiful, and just waiting for me to explore it.
www.reddit.com
Whoops, forgot.
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[ TT ] They thought you were crazy to have brought a knife to a gunfight . Little did they know , you were giving yourself a handicap .
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I walk into the small field. On one side men in yellow jackets. On the other men in blue jackets. Every man armed with some kind of gun.
Except me. I've turned up with my trusty knife. If you can call it that. It's a very old metal cutting instrument from years ago. I'm not a fan of modern technology. I do n't like it when things are too easy.
`` This is our turf, this area has belonged to the Viva De La Test mafia for many years, so you guys can go away!'' Said a man dressed in a yellow suit.
`` Have n't you heard? The Fitzer mafia is the new group in town and this area is ours now.'' Replied a man in a blue suit.
One of them spots me.
`` Hey you, who you with?'' Asks a man on a yellow suit.
I guess it must be hard for those idiots. I'm dressed in a grey suit.
`` Highest bidder'' I reply.
`` Wait, is that a knife?'' Asks an observant blue suit.
I hear a few laughs.
`` You ai n't getting any bids mate. This is where the big boys play. I suggest you get out of here before you get hurt. Run home to mummy now'' Says a yellow suit in a mocking voice. There's a few laughs from both sides.
I smile. These idiots do n't even know to bid for me. I'll just make sure they all die.
Bang!
An opportunity shot from a blue suit who'd taken this time to aim at a distracted yellow suit.
Gunshots from both sides. Men running about. Men falling to the ground.
Suddenly a slight sting.
Some one shot at me.
That's it.
I run in and stab the guy.
And I keep plunging my knife into people.
The slightest pain in the back of my head.
Nice try.
I stab the person behind me.
It's only a matter of time until there's only one left.
He drops his gun and puts his hands in the air.
It's him. The mocking one. I'm so tempted to kill him. But there needs to be a survivor.
`` OK, I bid.'' He says. He reaches one hand into his pocket and gently tosses a wad of 50s in my direction.
I pick it up and pocket it.
`` Wise choice. I'll fight for your side until the battles over'' I say.
I look round at the bodies on the floor. A mixture of deaths by bullet and deaths by knife. I do a quick mental count. 6 today. Not bad. I'd lost count of the running total many, many years ago.
`` Looks like I'm done. Thanks for the bid. Make sure to tell others to bid for me'' I say.
He nods.
`` Run home to mummy now''
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[ WP ] Science has found a way to replay what mirrors have seen throughout their lives
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*This is kinda dark; sorry in advance. *
Would it still work, even if the mirror was cracked?
Frank attached the device to the bedroom mirror, turned it on, and sat down on the edge of the bed to watch. For a few seconds all he saw was his own reflection; greasy black hair pointing in every direction, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, week-old sweat stains faintly visible on his shirt. The crack that split the mirror in two distorted the image slightly, but it was still clear to Frank that he looked like death. But before he could process this image, the mirror flickered and the image changed.
He was now looking at a much younger version of himself. This must have been around the time he first got the mirror; the background in the mirror was his old bedroom at his parents' house. Frank watched as a 16 year old Young Frank meticulously combed his hair for several minutes, then opened his mouth to shout something. There was no audio, but Frank was fairly certain he knew what was being said anyway. His past self grabbed a familiar set of keys that confirmed Frank's suspicions: this was the night of their first date. As Young Frank rushed out of sight, the mirror flickered again and the scene changed.
Was it supposed to do that? Frank thought he had more control over the playback. It was new technology, though. Maybe it had a few bugs. Maybe he had a defective unit. Or maybe this was the best he could hope for with a broken mirror. Frank started to reach for the remote when a sudden movement in the mirror caught his attention. His past self had been pushed onto the bed, followed quickly by her. He watched as they laid on the bed, making out for at least 15 minutes, pausing occasionally to whisper words Frank could n't hear but knew by heart. Suddenly she got up and disappeared for a few moments, returning with her back to the mirror. She stood there, facing the bed, as she slowly removed her shirt and let down her long brown hair. She fiddled with something in her hands for a few seconds, then discarded a small, square wrapper and started reaching for Young Frank's belt buckle.
The mirror skipped again. Frank let out a strained sigh and watched himself remove a high school graduation cap. It skipped again; he was sitting on his bed with his nose buried in a textbook. It skipped again. The background had changed this time. It was his first apartment. She was there again this time, cuddling with him and laughing at some movie Frank could n't see and did n't remember.
Another jump in the mirror's playback. She tearfully mouthed the word `` yes'' as Frank stood up from kneeling and hugged her, a small ring box in his hand.
Frank adjusted his tie in the mirror now, getting ready for his first day at his new job. She adjusted his collar for him and smoothed out some wrinkles on his shoulders.
An armpit. Frank's armpit. The mirror was tilted slightly, but past Frank adjusted it before stepping back to inspect it. The background now looked similar to the room Frank was sitting in, only the one in the mirror had stacks of cardboard boxes all over it. She was digging around in one of them, looking for something.
The boxes were gone now. She walked into sight of the mirror, holding a small plastic stick in her hand. Frank did n't need to hear what was being said; he still remembered it clearly. The home pregnancy test was positive. They were both so elated. Frank shuddered slightly and considered reaching for the remote. He was n't sure if he could watch any more. But he sat there, frozen, unable to look away.
Gradually her stomach got larger and larger, her mobility gradually declining. And then the mirror skipped to that day. Why had she opted for a home birth? There she was, silently screaming in agony, the white sheets on the bed slowly turning red. Frank watched, just as helpless now as he had been then. He wanted to stop her, but there was nothing he could do. The EMTs came and took her away.
And then the mirror showed Frank again. He looked much like he did now, leaning with his hands pressed to the dresser, his head hanging. Frank watched himself from yesterday, tears streaming down both faces, as yesterday's Frank looked up, his face contorting into one of rage, and tore the mirror off the wall, flinging it across the room. The world in the mirror spun before it disappeared, showing Frank sitting on the bed as he was once more.
Frank stood up and stepped over a broken lamp, walking over to the small drawer between his bed and the crib he had smashed. He slowly opened it and retrieved the pistol inside before sitting down on the bed again. Frank looked at the pistol for a long time before slowly raising it to his head. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet splattered the mirror with blood as it shattered it into a thousand pieces.
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[ WP ] The 13 colonies won their independence from Britain , but never united . Tell me the new history of the world any way you want .
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When the Thirteen first gained sovereignty from the Crown, times seemed hopeful, but there was some despair in the air. Some delegates clamored for a new nation to come together, but one dissenter stood up and rang his tune true, `` To unite under one more leader is to simply cut of a gangrenous arm to replace it with a limb defiled by leprosy!'' and the room fell silent rocked by this realization. They voted. It was nearly split, two votes won the separatists their wishes and the Thirteen became their own nations.
Virgina, North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia prospered. Their agrarian ways led them to a life of solitude and trade. Evermore filling themselves with slaves, their culture took on an African twang. They cut themselves off from the Northern colonies as well as from each other, each forming individual style of governments.
Virginia, led by Thomas Jefferson became a quiet nation filled with smaller plantation-nations. Richmond was by far their largest plantation-nation with Jefferson himself at the helm. They would have bi-annual meetings to discuss trade options and to consider opening their borders. Each time they decided their trade by ship to the nation of France was good enough and would leave land borders closed.
North Carolina flourished in agrarian industry. New inventions were created to help with the aid of harvesting in their mountainous regions leading to the need of less and less slaves. The slaves that were kept were put into positions of power on the plantation and left to themselves. The upper class would go off to travel and leave the plantations to the slaves, traveling the Thirteen ( those they could ) and learning the world around them. Some would come home to nice tidy homes, but more often than not they would return to a home controlled by their former slaves and turned away.
South Carolina was one of the fiercest of the separatists as was always their way. They built walls at their borders, a project that took a good number of years and cost a good number of slaves, but nothing was too much to keep the rest out. The South Carolinians grew their capital of Charleston into a great and vast metropolis and left the rest of the nation to be plantations. Growing indigo ( a far sought after crop for the upper class of Europe ) and tobacco, the South Carolinians grew their wealth to unimaginable levels without ever letting a foreigner step onto their lands. Ships would come into Charleston Bay and let out their goods, take on new goods without ever lifting a finger. The slaves in Charleston were bred for loyalty, strength and above all obedience.
Georgia, having once been a prison colony, was made into a totalitarian government. Thomas Bursick, an unknown plantation owner and soldier at the time of the independence, had grown into power and gained wealth and slaves through his trade. He secretly trained his army on a plantation near Macon and put them into motion moving towards Atlanta. With no central army in Atlanta at the time, Bursick easily walked through Atlanta making it his. Other plantation owners were to join him or be mowed down, their goods and slaves to become his and to enter into training for his military. In 20 years after the independence of the Thirteen, Bursick had conquered all of Georgia and had his eyes on South Carolina and their walls. Able to grow edible crops from his subjects plantations and trade from the natives around Georgia, Thomas Bursick was able to keep a small but stable economy.
The Northern colonies fell into different places.
Maryland and Delaware quickly put into place a loose democracy inviting any and all who wished to join. Pirates quickly became frequenters of their ports and traded stolen goods with them. The Farmed Four would n't trade with petty pirates, distrusting their ways, so the Pirates sailed more north. After a few years several prominent Pirates moved into government positions in Maryland and Delaware and began to improve and build an impressive Navy.
Pennsylvania and New York farmed as best they could but were n't able to produce the amount of crops needed to suffice their populations. Many people left to try and find work elsewhere, mainly in the urban areas near the coast, but with the constant influx of immigrants and lack of jobs, the majority of the populace found themselves in poverty and crime ridden areas. The prominent families guarded their homes in fear of attacks from the plebeians.
Connecticut and Rhode Island were lackadaisical and weak in their government making. They let `` What be, what be,'' as they were popular for saying. This quickly became a flaw in their nations as Maryland and Delaware quickly found themselves eyeing these nations for their ports. Their pirate lead Navy was quick to take control at sea forcing Connecticut and Rhode Island to concede defeat and joining their alliance. After annexing these two and signing an agreement themselves, Maryland, Delaware, Connecticut and Rhode Island became the Crossbones Coalition and used sea trade and piracy to build their wealth.
New Jersey, fearing for their ports, ran to New York and Pennsylvania for help. Unable to, the two larger colonies pushed New Jersey away weakening all three. Fear and unrest in the New Jersey ports lead to protests. Protests lead to violence and riots broke out. News of the riots spread to Pennsylvania and New York. The cities of New York and Philadelphia, riddled with immigrants and scared, hungry locals broke into hellacious violence burning down their city halls and calling for a second revolution. On the heels of this damage, the Crossbones Coalition stepped into place promising peace. `` Midnight votes'' put the Coalition in power and the people turned towards the Pennsylvanian and New Yorker upper class.
Massachusetts and New Hampshire quickly joined each other shortly after the independence of the Thirteen. Using Boston as the capital and for sea trade, as well as the local natives to help build a government, the New Massachusetts Confederacy took place. Reforms in the way of social programs quickly took effect as the motto: `` For The People'' quickly rang truer and truer throughout their land. At the time of the Crossbones Coalition's creation, New Massachusetts quickly sent a representative who built a truce with the pirate nation. As a supplier of trade for goods from the South, the Crossbones Coalition became a deep ally of New Massachusetts. NM sent militia into New York to help stabilize the forming nation and to reinforce their alliance with the Coalition.
Soon members of the Coalition and delegates from New Massachusetts met to discuss the 4 nations to the South and what they should do. Treaties were sent, but none were returned. In need of more crops and less competition for trade only one option was available: War.
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[ WP ] Write a Love Story with a twist
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The grounds were extensive - in fact, Anissa had never managed to find the wall when walking out from the back of the house. Normally, she was n't allowed to even go further than the silent remains of the little fountain just out from the swoop of paving stones near the kitchen, but now and again, when Mother Patrika was ill, or away, she could wander as she pleased.
It was one of those sort of days - Mother Patrika was ill - that Anissa went far enough to find a small stone bench. It was sheltered around with ancient trees of many sorts, and so the whole area was peaceful and cool. Thankful for this hidden place, and regretting walking so far under the heat of midday, Anissa sat and gazed back the way she had walked, back toward the house where Mother Patrika held sway over all.
Not that Mother Patrika was n't kind, to Anissa and to the servants, but she was so very controlling. Even more controlling than the mother who gave birth to Anissa, if in different ways.
A sound from among the trees broke through the thoughts and Anissa turned quickly around to see a grinning face peering out at her from among the trees.
`` Hello,'' the face said.
`` Hello,'' Anissa answered, because if she had one lesson beaten into her since almost infancy, it was politeness.
`` What're you doing so far from the house?'' the face asked, and now it moved from beyond the trees and shrubs, revealing the rag-clad body it was attached to.
Anissa slid from the bench quickly and moved away, one hand raised. Still, the approaching figure just smiled.
`` You need n't be afraid of me, you know.''
`` I do n't know who you are, or how you got onto this property...''
`` I've always been here. I'm Wilfis.''
The name seemed familiar enough, and the stranger was offering their hand companionably enough. Anissa took the hand, unthinking, and shook it. She was shocked when Wilfis lifted her own hand to their lips and kissed it.
`` You are truly enchanting, miss,'' the warm lips muttered against her fingers.
****
Dinner was the usual sort of thing, except that Mother Patrika was up in her room throughout the meal, too ill and weak to come downstairs and eat in the dining room. Still, afterward, she sent for Anissa, and the girl dutifully trooped up to the old woman's room.
`` Yes, Mother?''
`` Where've you been these last weeks, dearie? You've not been keeping up your lessons as you should.''
`` I do my lessons, Mother, honestly. Only I have n't wanted to disturb you, as you've been so sickly.''
`` Nothing can disturb me, dearie-girl. You've been running off somewhere, have n't you? Meddling about with some boy, no doubt, or...''
`` Oh, no, Mother! Honestly, I do my lessons and help Shafira and go for walks on the grounds. That's all.''
`` Walking, eh? Been a long enough time since I could walk properly. Tell me, you're certain none of your walks take you to places they should n't?''
`` Only on the grounds, mother. I swear.''
Somewhere during Anissa's last sentence, Mother Patrika seemed to doze off. The girl sensed that this was a trick, some odd subterfuge, but then she decided it was the whim of the elderly and left it at that.
****
Wilfis was waiting for her, as ever, near the little bench. They looked much better in the clothes that Anissa had brought - what luck that she had finally found something close to fitting them in the attic.
Today, though they looked comfortable enough, there was an unmistakable paleness to their face, even through the sun-browned tone they naturally had.
`` Are you ill?'' Anissa asked when, as she sat, Wilfis immediately shifted to lie with their head in her lap.
`` Only for want of seeing you,'' they murmured, and Anissa stroked dark hair back from their face.
`` I ca n't be with your everyday. Mother Patrika is well again, and she questions if I am too long away from my lessons.''
`` Yes. I know. I remember.''
Anissa wondered how they could remember such things, as she had never mentioned her reasons for absence, but now Wilfis had fallen asleep, head pillowed on her lap. Bending down, Anissa kissed their pale cheek and decided she would stay for a while, just a while, looking after them.
****
She tried the window again, and the door, but everything was bolted fast. Even her magic could not free her, as it was not yet near as strong as Patrika's.
Only once could she recall being shut up in here for more than rest. Once, when she was ten years old and something went wrong in the cellar with one of Patrika's alchemical experiments. For three days after, Anissa had been shut up, **locked** up, in her room, while the adults in the house `` cleaned up''.
This time, she knew of no reason for her confinement, except that Patrika ( the `` Mother'' honourific had fully died in Anissa's mind days ago ) had been cross with her for almost a week, mostly when lessons were interrupted because Anissa felt ill. Well, if Patrika was allowed to be ill and bed-bound for months, why could n't Anissa be ill for a little while in the daytime now and then?
One morning Patrika had pulled her away from her breakfast, slapping her across the face several times and then dragging her up here and shutting her away in her room. There had been no contact since, nor even food or drink brought to her - luckily, the carafe beside her bed had been full of water when she was first locked in, and she had managed to ration it out so that there were still a few mouthfuls in the bottle. She did regret, though, that she had nothing to offer the little birds in the cage beside her door. They were getting awfully still, the poor things; Anissa could feel their life fleeing.
Something tapped at her window, rattled at it, and Anissa turned sharply. What she saw gave her hope, if only for a moment.
Wilfis was there, looking in at her, smiling slightly. They still looked dreadfully pale, but at least they were strong enough to have scaled the side of the house to try reaching her. Anissa ran to the window, pressing her hand against the glass.
`` I ca n't get out,'' she said, and they nodded.
`` You can, if we fool her.''
`` How?''
Wilfis looked suddenly lost, but then nodded to the birdcage.
`` She needs to see you bleeding.''
****
`` I - it was an accident. Shafira, it was an accident! Rolf, you believe me, do n't you?''
The servants looked at Anissa, then each other. Shafira, being the only one of the two who could speak, finally sighed and offered the most comforting words she could think of in the moment.
`` What will you have for your dinner, miss?''
****
Wilfis had held her through that first night, and the next, and now Anissa could only hope that they would hold her through all of the long nights to come.
`` We had to do it, love,'' they whispered, stroking the wild curls of Anissa's hair.
`` She raised me. She loved me. She...''
`` She loved nothing but her power. She took you only because she knew she could not live forever, and she wanted to see her power live on. If she were capable of loving anyone, would she have done what she did to me?''
Anissa let a hand slide into Wilf's shirt, fingers grazing the ancient, shiny scar just beneath the tip of the breastbone.
`` I was her own child,'' they went on, `` and yet she sacrificed me for more power, and left me to that in-between in the cellar. It was just her bad luck that you found me, and healed me.''
Now, after all these years, Anissa could remember what had happened in the cellar when she was ten years old. No alchemical experiment gone wrong - just a little girl, curious, wandering downstairs and finding a playmate hiding away in the corner. A little girl going each day, seeing her new friend, helping them remember how to walk, to talk, to *live*.
And then the noises in the night, the screaming, the crashing, and the days spent locked in her room because of some `` accident'' that needed to be dealt with. Coming downstairs days later for breakfast, and seeing that one of the windows in the kitchen was all covered over with planks because it had been broken during whatever happened.
`` Your heart,'' Anissa said, but the words choked off into sobs.
`` Well, I was n't going to need a heart if I was simply her thrall, was I? But you - you were so young, we both were, but you were strong, powerful, your magic untamed. And you wanted to fix things, whether you knew or not what was wrong. Your kindness brought me back, and now...''
`` Now what?'' Anissa managed.
`` I've brought you back. You were in danger, Anissa. She was never going to give you the power, not if she could n't be sure you would n't always do as she had wished, or better still, keep her around as your familiar spirit.''
`` But she - she was kind to me. She was.''
Wilfis frowned for a moment, and pulled Anissa closer.
`` She used to be kind to me.''
As they drifted off to sleep together, Anissa still had her hand pressed to Wilf's chest. Their heart was beating strong and steady. It would always beat that way, as long as she loved them.
As long as she lived.
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[ WP ] A man strung out on meth goes on a rampage believing he is invincible . It turns out he actually is .
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`` Well, fuck me! Tell them to haul-ass; we ca n't wait another hour!''
Captain Iyle was visibly stressed. Beads of sweat ran down his plump face as he dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. Three years in his post at some small town police station had left him visibly rounder and unprepared for the situation at-hand. Although, not many in his position would have expected something of this nature to occur.
`` Captain, O'Shaugnessy is calling in.'' barked out the station Sergeant from the radio desk. `` He's saying that the roadblock did n't work. Both vehicles totalled. They're hoofing it back here, now.''
`` Dammit, Lieber, this is not the shit I need to hear right now.'' Small puddles had begun to show through his dress blues. `` Give me another ETA on the backup from Uniontown.''
`` Still another 20 minutes.'' Said the Sergeant bluntly. `` O'Shaugnessy and Erron are asking we pick them up.''
`` I'm not willing to leave the station unmanned, Tucker. We may come under fire at any moment now and you'd better believe I'll be the last line before the armory. God only knows what would happen if it were armed.''
The clock ticked by slowly. Uniontown had more bodies on their force and one of those new APC-esque vehicles. Iyle just hoped that, with their resources, he could contain the situation before the Commissioner had to be called in.
That was a longshot at this point, though, and Iyle knew it. With entire trailer-park destroyed, three buildings in-town on the verge of collapse and a literal highway of wreckage, he could only hope that the Governor would n't call in the National Guard.
As the Captain mulled over his options ( and likely termination from his position ) he heard the noise. It was a gnarled screech, something akin to the noise an elephant might make if it were being throttled, intertwined with something that could be described as English. Tucker glanced up from the radio and looked towards the window. His eyes widened and he jumped away just as a police cruiser's siren came crashing through the window.
Iyle took cover behind one of the concrete pillars in the station and drew his sidearm. Aiming at what was once a wall overlooking the highway, he saw the cause of his perspiration.
`` Cleon! You fucking junkie son-of-a-bitch! If you can hear me and I know you fucking can, I want you to know that the Uniontown PD are coming and are going to shit fury all over you. You can surrender now, to me, and we'll fix you right up.''
`` Sir, he has a weapon.'' remarked Tucker, getting up from the floor, drawing his Glock.
Iyle was too nervous to break eye-contact with Cleon but could make out a roughly sword-shaped object in his right hand.
`` Now Cleon, I want you to put down whatever it is you have there, turn around, kneel, and lace your hands behind your head.''
Cleon stood there breathing heavily, eyes locked with the Captain, for what seemed like 10 minutes. He then began walking towards the captain with purpose.
`` Cleon, come on. Do n't make me fucking shoot you. Stop. Hold it, dammit!'' The Captain said as he stepped inside the station.
`` Fucking hell, Cleon! Fine!'' From two yards away, Iyle fired three rounds into Cleon's abdomen.
Cleon stopped at the noise and stared vacantly as the bullets, one by one, bounced off his scrawny gut. The Captain paused as the young meth-addict took a deep breath and released a battle cry for the ages:
`` GIMMEBAKMAIAAAHHHHSTASHYUFUCKNAHHHPIGS''
Tucker and Iyle both began firing as Cleon raised his cardboard tube and charged.
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[ WP ] A psychologist interviews a notorious serial killer and asks him : `` What do you think of the world ? ''
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β You know I β ve been going through my entire life asking myself the same fucking question. What do I think about the world? What does it mean to me? And I couldn β t figure it out. I just could not determine if life, this fragile, insignificant thing was precious. You can end it so easily. Even you can end life. Whoever β s you want. You can do it. Does that make it beautiful? β
β Well a lot of peo- β
β DON β T FUCKING INTERRUPT ME WHEN I β M ANSWERING YOUR FUCKING QUESTIONS! β
β O-
β SHUT THE FUCK UP! β
β... β
β So, let me pick up where I left off: Does that make life beautiful? It β s fragility and need for protection? I think it does. But what β s more beautiful than life? Anything? Love maybe? But I had never seen love. You don β t see a lot of love growing up in a foster home without heat or running water. Where, in the winter, you had to walk outside barefoot to gather snow so you could melt it on the stove for water. Where you β d be up all night giving your foster brother rancid water while he threw up the corner of your room, dehydrated, sick, no way to get to the hospital without a car especially when the streets are covered in five feet of snow. So I set out to find love. See it with my own eyes. Feel its beauty. Bask in it. And let me tell you, it is delicious.
β When I found my first pair they were stopped at a motel in San Diego, en route to Mexico for their first and only honeymoon. Oh they were sappy. It was sick. Oozing this superficial jubilance. Bragging about their matrimony with their smiling and content. But it wasn β t until I had her tied up on their bed with her intestines in my hands that I saw true love. The grit and fight that real love is. Both of his wrists dislocated and bloddy in the rope I used to tie him to the radiator. That β s true love and that's all there is and ever will be to this sick world. β
edit: I'm new to this whole formatting jazz, excuse me.
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[ WP ] 15 years ago someone mysteriously deposited $ 10 million into your bank account with the message , `` Some day at that day may never come , I will call upon you to do a service for me , until that day accept this money as a gift '' You had completely forgotten about that message until today ... ...
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If I've learned anything in my years on earth, it's that charity is a myth and soul-eating, favour-hawking Devils are real. They take the names of those you love most. Caring parents seeking validation, kindly co-workers currying political favour at the office, adoring lovers seeking release. And when they realize your pockets are empty of the currency they so desperately ply, they curse your name, they spit in your face, and they leave.
I did n't need to read the message that came with the cryptic transfer to know that ten million dollars does n't materialize in your bank account without strings attached. I did n't need to know where it was coming from, either, when I decided that I was n't touching it.
I'm not a wealthy person, but I had my most visceral memories to guard me from the temptation of that ten million dollars. My mother screaming'failure' as she ran me out of my home at sixteen, banishing me from my childhood forever. My colleague at my dream firm, ruining my prospects in the city, because I had taken the wrong side in an argument. My dearest dissolving in tears when my passion had shrivelled beneath the dark clouds of my depression.
Wastelands of ruined expectations. That's what comes of favours. I would rather starve to death than wade those putrid swamps again.
So today the Devil comes to me. I tell him I was expecting him. In truth, I switched my main account years ago and had all but forgotten about the money. I do n't feel bad about lying.
He is n't too pleased when I hand him a cheque for ten million dollars, so worn that it nearly disintegrates at the folded seams. I do n't know why he's so surprised. Nobody's ever accused me of being a good investment.
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[ WP ] Somehow you find yourself in a loving marriage with Aphrodite .
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Sometimes I wonder why she chose me.
She had all of creation to choose from. Every man ( and woman ) to choose from. Every person who has ever lived, and ever will.
But she chose me. Or I think she chose.
On the nights I doubt, I think of how she can breed infatuation with the snap of her fingers. How she could have just as easily done it to me. How I may be simply a puppet, or treated as disposable. She has all of creation to choose from, after all.
I know she probably is n't faithful. She's the goddess of love, after all. But that does n't stop it from hurting.
But when she smiles at me, the very picture of beauty, that makes all the difference. When she helps me stand when I ca n't do it alone, that gives me hope.
When I hear her say, β I love you, β it makes me feel alive.
-- -
One day, we were sitting out on the porch. I asked her if she aged.
β Of course not, silly! As long as people fall in love, I'm there. β
β Well, *I* will age in time, you know. β
β Just because you get a couple of wrinkles does n't mean I wo n't still love you! β
β But will you love me when I'm dead? β
She was confused for a second, and then it dawned on her. β You're going to die. β
β Yes. I will die. β
She laughed. I blinked.
β You moron, β She said, tears in her eyes, β I can go see you in Hades! β
But I knew she was n't sure. I knew she did n't know that for a fact.
β I... I'll find you down there! β She said, trying to be upbeat. β I'm a god! There's nothing I ca n't do... β
She was n't sure. She did n't know.
β Nothing... β
Doubt was creeping into the back of her mind. The only thing that could take me away from her was death. And she could n't woo death.
Could she?
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[ WP ] You have an incredibly weak superpower , but through the application of unbelievable creativity , you are basically unstoppable .
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`` More wine, Mr. Califf?'' the waiter asked. The commissioner of the FDA waved his hand as if telling a dealer he wanted to stay. The waiter walked away as if Califf was showing 12.
`` Now, Mr. Kessler. We need to stop the small talk. I would like another drink, but I wo n't allow you to poison my mind any further. Why did you bring me here?'' He acted tough, knowing I held all the cards.
`` You will fast track the approval of Fuckitol, regardless of the side effects.'' I steepled my forefingers. The moment called for it. `` Once people stop paying taxes, going to work, or even buying cigarettes, you will fast track the antidote and appoint me as FDA commissioner.''
`` Mr. Kessler, you are out of your mind. There are 3 agents sitting at the bar, listening to our conversation,'' he said, nodding his head behind me.
I turned around and the black suits stuck out like sore thumbs. My not-so-sore thumb twitched three times.
`` They wo n't be a problem now,'' I replied, with an evil grin. `` Get these drugs out. Everyone in the country, or even the world, will become deprogrammed, disillusioned, and totally dependent. Once I am commissioner, I will control the antidote, and I will choose who deserves to be in power.''
`` You're insane.'' He waved his hands towards the bar.
`` They ca n't help you now. They're on the phone, fighting with their wives.'' He seemed to believe me when he saw one of the agents crying. I could hear him begging someone not to leave.
`` What have you done?'' He was close to hyperventilating.
`` Pick up your phone.'' Califf complied.
`` What the hell is this, Kessler?!'' I could see sweat stains on his four thousand dollar suit.
`` Do we have a deal, Robert? Or will I have to make you swipe right?''
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[ WP ] you are the last bastion of human resistance in a failing zombie apocalypse . A wealthy and Noble family shows up one night . A man claiming only to be a Count from Transylvania says his family is immune and will help , on one condition .
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We had all heard the rumors. A foreigner and his family who were immune. And the had just shown up at our door. Damned be the safety protocols, we let them in. That turned out to be a great idea, the man and his family seemed more than happy to help. I mean sure they had some odd habits and looked slightly different than us, but nobody though much of it, most people who had survived for this long had something wrong with them. When asked where they came from, the man and his family simply pointed to the door of our encampment and said, `` The Street.''
After they showed up we actually started to make a difference. We even managed to expand the borders of our measly safe zone with their help. Watching them destroy the undead was incredible. They made it look so graceful and smooth, like watching a gruesome dance. `` One, two, three..'' he would say as he destroyed them. He always did that. Always numbered his kills. Occasionally one would get the drop on him ad try to take a bite, but it would never take. His skin looked so soft, but looks can be deceiving.
Their help came at a cost though, nothing too terrible. He had us get organized and take inventory of everything in the camp, listing out everything and counting out all we had of each. We did this every night. Finally after 100 days of this, The Count said he and his family were leaving.
Everyone was in shock, `` why?'' we asked, `` why now?''
`` Because it is time.'' He responded. `` I came here from Transylvania 46 years ago because I felt I needed to teach people. When the dead started rising I realized it was time to leave my home and take a more hands on approach. And I have taught you, but I leave you with one final lesson.'' He paused, `` The number of the day is: 100, 1-0-0.'' He tilted his head back in a triumphant laugh, `` AH-HA-HA-HA!''
The man and his family the turned and walked into the wasteland. And that was the last we ever saw of the great Count von Count.
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[ EU ] The Oompa-Loompas tell Charlie they quit , in their typical song fashion .
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`` Oompa Loompa doopity do, we've got a little story for you.''
Charlie stared with his mouth agape as his usually rather unassuming orange-skinned and green-haired employees danced around him. Their body language and facial expressions were menacing and he felt himself being helplessly hemmed in and backed into a corner of the main factory room.
`` Oompa loompa lickity split, we're not taking any more of your shit. We're sick and tired of singing for minimum wage, so we're singing one last time to express our rage. Oompa loompa flissity flass, you can take your candy and shove it up your ass.''
Fists and knees flew from every direction and before Charlie knew it, he was sinking into the black void of unconsciousness. He woke up in a hospital bed nearly a week later with the news that the Oompa Loompas had burned his beloved chocolate factory to the ground before heading for the Mexican border.
It was suspected that they would be singing for the drug cartels for the foreseeable future. Meanwhile Charlie had lost everything. He knew he must get his revenge some day.. some way..
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[ WP ] After the dragon was slain and the duo escaped the tower , the princess did n't know what to expect after . However , as the knight removed their helm , the princess did not expect her savior to be a woman .
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Princess Cassandra bent forward, hands on her knees as she gasped for breath. The dash from the tower had been exhilarating, but being cooped up for so long she was not ready for how tiring it would be. She had begun to despair that anyone would ever come to rescue her.
As the reality of her situation set in, dread settled heavy on her stomach. Sure this Knight had rescued her, but what were they like? Were they doing this for political power? Was it to spread their name? Or had they done it out of the kindness of their heart? What would they expect of her? As she caught her breath she found her heart rate sped up again, her thoughts making it erratic.
She finally could n't take it anymore and stood up and faced her rescuer. The Knight stood there, not winded at all, calmly assessing her. Well she thought anyway, she could n't really tell where their eyes were looking, could n't even see their face at all. But she had to know. Using her best Commanding Voice she said `` Take of your helmet so that I may meet my rescuer.''
The Knight hesitated for just a moment, but when Cassandra raised a brow, they reached up and pulled off the helmet. Cassandra's breath caught, as a long black braid tumbled down. It was a woman, a woman had rescued her. Her hair at her temples was mushed, and sweat had plastered her bangs to her forehead. She had a kind face with big blue eyes, that looked nervous. She was chewing on her lip. `` I am Lady Leliana''
Cassandra could n't help it, she started laughing. A hurt look crossed the Knight's face, and Cassandra struggled to explain between laughter, `` No! No, it's not that. It's... you're a woman...'' She paused, finally able to reign in her humor, and needing to find a way to voice her profound relief, even as the Knight's face showed distress, `` My parents locked me in that tower *because* I fancied women. They thought this would be a way to'correct me','' her tone was just a touch bitter, `` and that no one but a man could rescue me. They were so sure they even decreed that I had to marry whoever did. Because no woman would ever have the skill to defeat a dragon.'' She laughed again, a light sound, `` Shows what they know.''
The distress smoothed from Lady Leliana's face and was replaced with hope. Cassandra took a step toward her, bubbles of happiness and hope blossoming in her chest, `` So they decreed it. And now they ca n't render us apart. So if you are willing I'd like... you to come home with me. To *our* home''
Leliana smiled, `` Of course my Lady''
And they rode off into the sunset together.
~~~
I'm never sure how to end these... But it was fun to write.
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[ WP ] My mother said I should n't speak to strangers . And so I stay quiet as they whisper to me from under the bed .
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Mary blew the dust off an old box of tapes she had found while exploring the old asylum. The date had all but faded away but she could tell that the tapes themselves were good. The first ones were old reels, nothing but boring audio from the various patients who had travelled through this place in days gone by. It wasn β t until she got to the old VHS tapes that things got interesting.
She liked old things, they had an air of mystery about them and so she plugged in the first tape to the VHS and watched as the static faded away revealing the boy underneath. He was young, no more than twelve, and hugged himself in his straight jacket. A little bear sat next to him on the table and the camera wiggled as the operator adjusted it.
β Beginning session 25. Hello Albert. β
β Hello Mrs. Saunders. β
β Can you tell us why you are here? β
β You ask me that all the time. β The boy muttered.
β Please just answer the question Albert. β
β Because I listened. β He replied.
β Listened to what? β
β Strangers. β
The rest of the video is the dull effort of someone trying to rehabilitate a boy past his bad dreams. She learns little but for some reason is eager for the next tape. In it goes.
β Beginning session 150. Hello Albert. β
Albert is older now, fifteen. He β s lean and fierce looking, his hair kept short by the doctors. The small bear still sits there.
β Hello Mrs. Saunders. β
β Why are you here? β the question is more clipped. Clearly Mrs. Saunders got tired of asking it long ago.
β Because I listened. β
β Very well, tell us again. β
Albert β s eyes seem to lose focus. β My mother told me I shouldn β t speak to strangers. That was very important to her. Her sister had been taken by a man offering her candy one time, they never found her. So she made certain to tell me every day. Albert, she said, don β t you talk to strangers.
β So I didn β t. I went to school like a normal boy, I never said anything to anyone I didn β t know. It was hard at first but I got used to it. Kids would leave me alone for the most part, some picked on me, but I never talked to the ones I didn β t know. β
β It β s okay to make friends Albert. β
β No, β Albert shook his head, β I don β t talk to strangers. β
The tape ends. In goes another.
β Beginning Session 250. Hello Albert. β Mrs. Saunders sounds older. Time has passed again, Albert is easily twenty. The bear is missing an eye.
β Hello Mrs. Saunders. β
β Albert. Where were we? β
β Mother told me not to talk to strangers. I stayed quiet when the voices under the bed started talking. I pretended they weren β t there. They would whisper to me in the dark, they would be quiet when mom came. They said things, they whispered things but I don β t talk to strangers. β Albert begins to rock a little has he is talking. The old jacket looks frayed and his arms seem to have a little give in them. Mary leans a bit closer.
β Go on Albert, we are here to help. β
Albert opens his mouth and then stops. The rest of the session he remains quiet and Mrs. Saunders ends it with a heavy sigh. In goes a tape.
β Session 275. Albert Martin. β A male β s voice.
β Where is Mrs. Saunders? β
β She died Albert. β
Albert cries but eventually regains control.
β She would like me to continue where she left off. β
β I don β t talk to strangers. β
Mary flips through tape after tape. Each one appears to be the same. Albert staring blankly at the screen refusing to talk to his new helper. The only way she can tell the passage of time is the bear which seems to age ever so slightly. She reaches into the box and grasps the last tape. Into the slot it goes.
β Session 325. Albert Martin. β The man sighs, β Look Albert. I know you are not going to talk to me but the judge intends to reopen your case. What you did was wrong and if you do not talk to me about it we have no way to help you when the time comes. If you refuse to talk to use we are not able to prove your innocence. β
Albert shrugs.
β So what happened the night of your mother β s death? β
Albert tenses. β Mother told me not to talk to strangers. β
The camera shakes as the man hits the desk, β What happened! β
Albert turns to the man, β Mother told me not to talk to strangers. β
β We know Albert! What happened? β
β Mother told me not to talk to strangers. β
Mary never notices the feeling of another person behind her. The voice is in tune with the video.
β Mother told me not to talk to strangers. She never told me not to listen. β
Mary has no time to scream. The television fades to static and crimson covers the floor. The television flickers and a teddy bear smiles an awful smile.
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[ WP ] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout . Level 3 : Armed forces intervention . 2 : Public statement . United Nations joint resistance . 1 : Worldwide evacuation effort . Use of nuclear weapons permitted . And 0 : Call the number on the sticky note ( and pray to God his demands are n't too high ) .
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Level 0 seemed like a joke. The kind of thing rookies spread around to weed out the easy, gullible types new to 51.
I nearly shit myself when the brass said it was actually a thing.
Our basic operating state swung between levels four and five, the latter being the `` No known threats, no need to operate, have a nice day,'' a.k.a. Code White. Four was for covert investigations of possible, growing threats. Usually things died down after one of the alphabet agencies got wind and sent someone in, 007 style. If that did n't work, things went from that Code Green at 4 to Yellow at 3, a.k.a. `` War Mode.'' Area 51 did n't do much even then, only beefing up or remaking some tech if things went on for too long.
Level 2, Code Red, was only recorded to have happened 3 times in history. One was classified, and only upper levels were allowed details of that one. Both the other times were for the World Wars, and we got to work with our Allies' versions of 51. Now, though, we would probably just corroborate info with the UN. Level 1, which had yet to happen, was a Code Brown, and was basically a contingency plan for The End. At that point, all the stops would be pulled. Nukes flying, jets screaming, and our special contribution: the Horrors.
You know all those weird, creepy, scary stories you heard as a kid? Well, at least a good third of them were true, and the only reason those nightmares are n't roaming around is because they're locked up nice and tight in the Cellar. As a few examples, we have Cthulhu, Ifrit, Irenicus, and, as a matter of fact, the Master. Yes, THAT Master. I know England still has Alucard somewhere, along with the Doctor, and Russia keeps the real Rasputin ( the Lich King, not that witch doctor ) somewhere.
On a Level 1 emergency, A51 command in unilaterally authorized to unleash any of the Horrors they feel may be able to end the conflict. And, in all seriousness, if things are at that point, half the planet's probably dead anyways.
Level 0 was said to be Code Black, the Last Resort, Final Solution, the God Option, or any suitably dramatic name for it. The process itself was simple: just call the number on the sticky note on the Briefing Room's whiteboard, and pray that the demands are n't too high. Literally everyone on the base has seen it or had it pointed out to them. All it had was the name `` CHUCK'' above the number 462-867-5309. There was a rumor going around a few months back about some noob pulling it off and getting reamed by a Sargent about it. The kid, afterward, swore that the back had `` GL Winchesters!'' in cramped writing. It all made it pretty hard to believe when you laid it all out.
*I just hope to God it works... *
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[ CW ] Every time any character asks a question , switch genres .
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This.. is.. Jeopardy!
The camera pans over the set as the show starts. The three contestants are standing behind their respective podiums, eager to begin. They are introduced as John, Roger, and Emma, the topics are revealed, and finally the show is underway.
..Around half of the questions are left on the board. The scores for John, Roger, and Emma are $ 3200, $ 800, and $ 2800. Emma picks the next question, β Musical Instruments $ 800. β She is pleasantly surprised to discover it is a daily double.
Alex Trebek reads aloud: β The Ravi Shankar & Vilayat Khan are methods of teaching this instrument. β
β What is the sitar? β
β That is correct. You may now take the broadsword from underneath your lectern and attempt to subdue John within 60 seconds to acquire his winnings. John, as standard procedure, will be granted a standard shield with which he may defend himself. β The subsequent fight is short and brutal. While John was very much prepared mentally, he had failed miserably to prepare for the show β s physical aspect. After lopping off his head, Emma β s winnings counter rises to $ 6000 and John is dragged off stage. A new contestant, who was waiting backstage, quickly takes his place and introduces himself as Alexander. The show continues as normal as Emma selects a new question, β Food & Religion $ 600. β
β In Jordan munching a date is the traditional way to break your day-long fast during this month. β Alex reads.
Roger answers, β What is Ramadan? β
β Odhwqiu Jurghfy Nnbavex, β growled the hideous beast. It flails its tentacles, as if to make a poor attempt at an indication of approval. An unnecessary gesture, however, since the creature β s words are translated and transmitted to the minds of each contestant. R.O.G.E.R slammed a hollow, titanium fist upon its lectern, making known its satisfaction. It registers the ghastly creature β s instructions: β Congratulations, R.O.G.E.R. You are correct. You must now choose to remain content with your current winnings or you may attempt to decipher the master code and win a larger sum. β Within his shambles of a brain melded with a long-retired processing chip, the inorganic section knew it would be wise to not take the risk, but the lump of organic matter still present was cocky.
R.O.G.E.R sent a telepathic confirmation that he would attempt to decipher the master code. The beast gives some semblance of a nod and R.O.G.E.R β s consciousness is transmitted the code. The pure complexity of the thing was far too much for R.O.G.E.R β s poor processing power and his titanium body gave off remarkable heat as the inside of his mind melted. A new, terrible beast crawls from backstage and takes his place as the game show continues.
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[ WP ] Each time you sneeze , you are teleported to a random location . You just got a cold .
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Every time I sneeze, I teleport to a random location.
The curse began around my 21st birthday. Now at 23, I β ve seen a lot more of the world than I ever planned. That β s the good news.
Well, the other good news is that I β m never accidentally teleported into a mountain or a building wall. I β m never teleported significantly higher in the air than a few inches and I β ve never teleported to under the water. I don β t know how this teleportation curse works, but it always appears to put me right about at surface level.
The bad news is that I have an approximately 75 % chance of teleporting to some place covered in water. I sneeze and find myself an inch off the surface of the ocean or a lake. Too often, that is really cold water. The times I β ve hit the nice warm water in the Caribbean or Indian Ocean simply don β t make up for the times I β ve hit the North Atlantic during a storm.
In fact, that β s probably how I came down with this cold. Two days ago I sneezed and dropped into dark water somewhere on the other side of the world. I β m assuming it was Southern Hemisphere because I could see the Southern Cross in the sky. But damn it was cold. And for whatever reason, In spite of the medicine I carry with me at all times ( inhale and sneeze is what that doctor in India told me, and I β ll be damned if it doesn β t usually work ) I didn β t sneeze again for five to ten minutes.
By the time I sneezed again, I was frozen and desperate. And with that sneeze, I was dropped into a large lake ( It was daytime, fresh water and decently warm out in spite of cold water, so I β m guessing one of the Great Lakes ). I could see the shoreline but it was miles in the distance. Another quick sneeze and I was standing in a field of rice. Fortunately, the weather was relatively warm wherever I was. I was tempted to sneeze again to try for an equatorial or desert region where I could warm up quickly, I probably should have given my current predicament, but I was simply too damn scared of ending up back in the Arctic or Antarctic again.
When the police officer found me naked and shivering, cowering under a dirty blanket I had stolen from some small hut, I learned that I was in the middle of China. I was also under arrest.
They took away my medicine, gave me some injection, and I haven β t sneezed in two days. I β m writing this here from my cell, where they β ve given me a few warm meals, paper, pencil, and warm ( but undersized ) clothes. I have a terribly runny nose. I β m coughing. There have been a few points where I β ve felt a sneeze coming on, but I can β t seem to get it out.
I hate colds. I sneeze for hours on end, teleporting around the globe, dropping into river after lake after ocean and dodging traffic whenever I hit a road. I never stay long enough to enjoy the sights. An hour or two at most, and then a series of 4-7 sneezes hits that jumps me around and gets me soaked again.
As long as I β m here, I might as well write. Maybe go back to the first sneeze when I found myself on a Brazilian farm near the Amazon. But I doubt I β ll get my full story out.
I β ve never worried about escape before. I β ll sneeze eventually, right? What was in that injection they gave me? Maybe before I sneeze, if I can get a vial or two of it, I β ll take another dose the next time I find myself on a tropical beach for a few days of R & R.
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[ WP ] As you walk into the kitchen your eyes instantly and intensely focus on the knife lying on the counter .
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As I waddled downstairs to the kitchen for a second mightnight snack I heard the groan of the floorboards.
I made a note to myself that I would start working out; or at least try to fix the floor. Satisfied with my
new promises for rebirth I continued on my task. I was sure that I still had some of that chocolate cake
from yesterday.
As I entered the kitchen I saw the disarray from my previous expedition. An open bag of chips and a half-closed jar of salsa.
I should probably clean that one up. My motivation surged and soon the bag of chips was lifted from the counter and not-so neatly tucked in the pantry.
The salsa was haphazardly discarded into the door of the fridge as I searched for what was a slice of heaven. While reaching out and grabbing yesterday's
cake, my eye twitched. I should probably get some more sleep too... Upon placing the tray on the island counter I looked to the knife block for a tool.
But I knew there were none there. I had left them in the sink days ago. Then I saw it. There was one utensil left unsullied by my week's adventure in
advanced ramen cooking. My eyes focused in the dim fridge light. Lying on the counter was a butter knife. It would do nicely. While plating my
snack I inspected its aroma as it filled my nostrils. Superb. I left the room with my dark chocolate prize, creaked back up the stairs,
and resumed typing.
**Writer's note: I took some liberty with the prompt.
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[ IP ] Inferno
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A woman and a young girl were walking along the riverside one day, when the little girl saw a town on the other side. The town was completely blackened, and the people she could see were dressed in black as well.
`` Mummy, why is that town across the water so black?''
`` Well, Emily, let me tell you the story about Blacktown.''
-- -
*The peoples of Blackwater were a superstitious lot. They believed that the sun was a god that brought all that is goodness in the world. They also believed that the moon was an evil being that took the sun away from them. *
*This idea persisted for generations, and the people of Blackwater prospered by day, but they cowered at night, hiding away from the eye of the cruel moon. *
*One day, an angry young man decided that he'd had enough of hiding. He decided that he was going to burn the moon! He gathered all of his friends, and told them of his idea. The friends agreed that they wanted to have no more fearful nights without the sun. *
*So, the group gathered all the firewood they could find that day, and built a mound of it upon the mountainside, where they knew the moon would pass. And there they waited. *
*That night, when the moon was high in the sky and looked to be coming near, the young man lit the fire. The flames soared high, and they looked to be almost touching the moon. The young folk cheered at their success. But then, instead of the moon, a nearby bush caught alight. They feared for their lives as the fire grew, and ran far away over the other side of the mountain. *
*The fire spread, racing down the mountain towards the town. The townspeople panicked, and cursed the moon for the fire. They fled from their homes and ran to the waters, throwing themselves in. Throughout the town, the fire raged, tearing down buildings and painting them black. And though the flames looked to cover the moon, when they died down, the moon still shone pearly white. *
*Now the townspeople, soaking wet, looked across their town. The whole town was now painted black, so that the moon could be seen to shine even brighter. When they rebuilt the town they kept it black, to appease the vanity of the moon so it would never strike them down again. *
-- -
`` Ohh, I see,'' said the little girl, `` So they're scared of the moon, but they hurt themselves?''
`` That's exactly what they did,'' agreed the mother.
`` They're stupid.''
`` Yes, yes they are.''
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[ WP ] A 17th generation Martian colonist believes that earth is just a lie created by the government to control them , so they rebel and other throw the government and are shocked when troops arrive from earth .
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1429 days since the rebellion started. The great Martian civil war is what they're calling it in the news and it's not even over. 22 million deaths on both sides... and for a planet of only 200 million that means everyone knows someone who went up in smoke. We've been pleading with Saturn to send The Martian Nationals reinforcements but even if they do it's a whole year for them to get here, and it's dangerous business picking sides in a civil war, especially for the Saturnites who have n't been doing well in the Milky Way Alliance. Of course the IPA ( Inter Planetary Army ) wants nothing to do with our planet. Left us to rot and fight on our own. We've heard rumours about the Coalition of a Neutral Mars bringing in Earthlings to stamp us out... I do n't think they'd care too much about us Martians, though, just like everyone else. No one really believes there's anything on that planet. Every day in school we'd have to read the old stories... stories of blue skies and white powder from the sky. We believe in Mars. We believe in ourselves. These stories that we were forced to read, forced to believe. They're just a front I say, not to mention my 50 million followers say that too. Lies to keep us in line, lies to make sure we behave, so that the Earthlings wo n't come and take us away.
___
Well it happened, on day 1443. An invasion. At first we thought it was the IPA coming to settle the war, then they landed on their side. We knew it was n't a neutral party and the Saturnites surely would n't take the side of an oppressive government after what happened during the The Ring of Saturn War. Plus, they were blueskins and these troops looked familiar. They looked just like the Coalition and us... they looked Martian. But from where? They were taller and more pale than most of us. They had bigger weapons, made of metals that could n't have been found on Mars. It did n't take long to realize we were wrong. Earthlings were real. Earthlings were here and in far greater numbers than we could muster up, even before the civil war started. It must've been that ship that we let through 400 days ago. It had to of gone to Earth to send for help and it looks like Earth answered the call. All these deaths and all this war and we were wrong and it does n't look like they're giving us the option or the time to surrender.
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[ WP ] You are an immortal pub owner who has lived through most of human history . What 's your story ?
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The cries of seabirds were muffled as the silhouette of a tall woman in a cloak darkened the open doorway.
`` Ozzy, is that you?'' She asked hesitantly as she strode up to the bar.
`` I'm sorry, you must be mistaken. My name is Shahid. Can I help you?'' The voice rang like a bell and I knew at once who it was. The mountains and ice, the lake.
`` I looked for you in Valais. Imagine my surprise when I learned that I would find you right where I started months ago. Why here? Why Hastings?'' She paused and gestured towards a table, `` May I sit?''
`` Regretfully madam, I can not serve you here. Respectable women do not frequent this place.'' I slid over the bar to escort her out, and quietly spoke only to her. `` Mrs. Shelley, I do not forget you. We can talk later. Come in the servant's entrance once the light is out on the front step.'' The rest of the day was a blur as I tried to usher the usual garrulous fishermen and rogues through their ale drinking rituals. I tried to keep the memories of panic from rising in my throat.
When she finally returned, I was half asleep slouched behind a corner table. `` What made you think you could find me in Valais?'' I asked, righting myself and straightening out my shirt. `` Do you have any idea of the whirlwind that followed after you and your party had returned to London?'' I swallowed another lump in my throat and continued. `` You knew full well my story. How long I was a prisoner. How would you dare do something as cruel as expose me to that fate again. Carrying the weight of history alone feels like a feather, if it means never having to run for my freedom, from the fate of being kept by some Lord for his amusement or edification. I should never have told you a thing.''
`` I can only offer my deepest regrets,'' She lowered her voice and continued, `` I implore you to believe me, I never spoke a word of you to anyone. I ca n't say the same for George.''
`` From what I knew of him during the short tenure of your visit, and from everything I have read and heard since, Lord Byron was never one for discretion or restraint.'' The sweetness of the alpine meadows came back with the memories of those conversations, and I could n't help but continue, `` I had tried to instill in the fool the idea that borders are as impermanent as lives, and to not throw his life away for something as ephemeral as a nation.''
`` As impermanent as our lives, you mean.'' Her voice became accusatory, `` You have all the time you want to watch the world go by. Some of us have no choice but to search around desperately for something larger than ourselves.''
`` A handprint on the world is an overrated thing. Of all people I have met, your husband took this lesson most to heart.'' I remembered reading of him being lost at sea a few years back, and quickly added, `` My condolences for your loss.''
`` Do deaths mean anything to you? Did they ever?''
`` Before the curse, I lived by the shores of a large lake and made a living as a shipwright. One day an old man came to me and asked for a great ship for his family and his livestock. He kept me aboard when the waters came, but my family were left behind. Today my lake is buried beneath the sea, and Istanbul lies where God saw fit to sunder the earth and drown my kin. I mourned for years, living alone in the mountains, until I forgot how long it had been, and discovered age no longer wearied me. As time grew on, and cities rose along the rivers to the south, word of me spread. I had a king visit, grieving after the loss of his friend Enkidu, and wanting my secret. I could not give it, and encouraged him to give up the search. I had long ceased to care for living. Every death is a loss, but it is a loss to those who are left, and until I am released, every one sits on my shoulders.''
She studied my face as I spoke, I did n't know what to make of her expression. `` Why did you leave Anatolia?'' She asked.
`` The same reason I left Valais. I could no longer remain there anonymous. Sometimes I choose unwisely who I speak with, and I have to find a new place. Sometimes by the sea, sometimes the mountains, rarely anywhere else. I hear there is a place in the New World like my old drowned home, a sweet sea, like the ocean without the salt. Perhaps I will go there next.''
`` Who kept your secret?''
`` I once hosted at my vineyard Xenophon and his Ten Thousand. I told him everything, and though he wrote extensively of the trip, he was kind enough to leave me out. Perhaps he thought it would not have been believed.''
`` What are those?'' She gestured at two mummified cats displayed on the wall.
`` They are from the tomb of the great bastard your husband so eloquently eulogized. When he kept me like a pet I was the one who cared for them. I took them back after he had been dead a century. He had no right to take them with him.'' I paused for a second before adding, `` Was I the monster in your story?''
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[ WP ] A superhero and a supervillain meet on a rooftop . Why do they both calmly watch a stranger die ?
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`` Do n't do it.''
*The voice startled me but I calmed as soon as I recognized it. *
`` Dr. Wright.''
`` That's me. And that's a man in trouble. But do n't do it. Do n't go down there.''
`` Why?''
*I do n't even know why I asked..*
`` He's contagious.''
`` And you know this how?''
`` I infected him.''
`` You-''
`` What? What do you want to call me that you have n't already? Surprise me for once in your miserable life.''
``...''
`` Right then. Leave him be. There's nothing you can do.''
`` Because of you.''
`` So? What does the reason have to do with it? We're in this moment, you and I, together. Ca n't we just enjoy it?''
`` Enjoy watching an innocent man die?''
`` Who said he was innocent? Did you ever stop to think that the people I've been poisoning all this time may have deserved it? No, of course not. You only care about what you believe is right and good.''
`` Is that so wrong?''
`` YES! YES IT IS! Now stand here and watch the rapist get what he deserves.''
`` And you know he's a rapist how?''
`` Ask your wife.''
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[ WP ] `` We were always afraid of monsters lurking in dark corners ; we never thought to worry about the ones hiding in plain sight . ''
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*I wrote a song for this prompt. The lyrics are below; you can listen [ here ] ( http: //clyp.it/iyprodvu ). *
**The Monsters Hiding In Plain Sight**
I just knew some Prince Charming would take you away.
He'd have a sword and a white horse; I'd be the dragon he'd slay.
I was so afraid of monsters lurking in the dark night
I forget the ones hiding in plain sight.
I was waiting for a wave to knock down my walls of sand.
I defended you from a sea of men the best I can.
CHORUS
When you walked out by your own choice, I did n't make a sound.
I was too surprised to put up a fight; my weapons were aimed at the wrong ground.
CHORUS
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[ WP ] You 've come to save the princess , but she 's not guarded by a dragon - She 's guarded by a very aggressive goose .
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Gregory was at first reluctant to take the job initially. He was a squire for his knight Sir Rodrick and would have rather been polishing his lieges armor or cleaning his sword rather than hunting down dinner but when the paige came looking for the knight and found him'indisposed' decisions had to be made.
The paige explained the problem. As it turned out the castle mage had been playing around with enchantment spells, supposedly to try and make food alcoholic. Why he didnt simply stew the goose in whiskey was beyond Gregs imagination but the damage had been done. Running loose inside the castle was an abnormally large goose that smelled strongly of beer and hops. Sir Rodrick was the only knight in the castle at this time and the guards refused to fight the goose, it both terrified them and left them immobile from lack of breath. It seemed every-time they engaged it they would begin burst out in laughter as one of them was singled out to be chased. To make matters worse the goose had now entered the living area of the royals quarters and cornered the princess in her room. Evidently she had been enjoying a nice roast duck and the goose caught wind of it.
The order had been given, the payment promised was the goose and a few gold coins. Greg did not need either of these things however, he had a strong dislike for the princess and would love nothing more then to see the terror in her eyes as a drunk goose kept her hostage in her room.
There were no ballads to sing praises for Gregs bravery though no man had faced a foe of such odor and ferocity. The battle was quick and his joy sublime as he found that roasted, the goose fat was whiskey and its meat like beer.
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[ WP ] Everyday , there is a list of achievements people can get . Higher level ones , only extreme daredevils try for . Most are grabbed pretty easily , and a new one is added in their place . An achievement that 's been sitting at the top of the list for centuries suddenly has an expiration date . Tomorrow .
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`` Is anyone else going for it? Have you seen anything on the news?'' Bryan asked coming in the kitchen from his shower. He sat down at the table, next to Spencer who was playing with a truck. Kate was finishing cooking breakfast and fixing plates.
`` I bet someone is, they just are n't letting the media know. If someone knew we were going to try for it, we would probably get bombarded with interviews. There's just no time for that.'' Kate set plates down at the table, then sat down herself. She moved the truck and encouraged Spencer to eat his eggs.
`` After we are done eating I'm pretty much ready, you?'' Bryan said between bites.
`` Yeah, Mom should be here any minute to take Spencer for the day. She thinks we are going to a movie,'' Kate smiled.
`` At 9:30AM?'' he laughed almost choking.
`` Yeah, I blurted it out before I could think of anything better! I told her you *really* wanted to see a movie, so we are going to the earliest showing,'' she laughed. Her mother would have understood, but they still could n't involve her. It was already too much of a risk that there were two of them working on the project.
The achievement was a tricky one. No one had ever done it, or it would n't be there waiting to be claimed. For centuries people had obsessed over it without success. Whoever finally did claim it would be set for life, including their children and their children's children. Bryan and Kate almost had it.
For years they had been working on it, and now they were closer than ever. The night before they made a huge breakthrough in the coding, but got stuck right after. They were both tired, so they went to bed. There was no rush. Upon waking, they heard an expiration date had appeared on the achievement. It was the biggest news since the election, with every news source covering it, and people desperately trying to figure out if it would be achieved and by who. An expiration date was not uncommon for some of the smaller ones, as people or animals die, leaving an achievement that ca n't be obtained. But this particular achievement, they could not fathom why it was expiring. It did n't make sense. Why now after centuries of waiting?
Kate stood up when she heard the doorbell walked over and let her mother in. She greeted her, hugged her, and gave her Spencer's bag for the day. Bryan finished his breakfast, also hugged her, then ran off to the other room to finish getting ready.
`` Thanks again, Mom, I know it was last minute, but Bryan was so excited about the movie,'' Kate smiled.
`` It's not a problem! I love spending time with my grandson,'' she said as she kissed a giggling Spencer on the cheek. `` We are going to have so much fun today!''
They talked for a few more minutes, then left. Kate waved as they walked to the car. As she shut the door, she turned to find Bryan standing behind her. He reached out, wrapping his arms around her.
`` We can do this. It's going to be fun,'' He leaned in and kissed her. She smiled and hugged him tight. As long as she did n't lose any of this, Spencer, Bryan, her family, it would all be okay.
Bryan entered the pass code into the keypad next to the TV, and suddenly the floor opened and the stairway into the basement was visible. They went down the stairs, Kate thinking to herself, *Maybe this is the day. Maybe that's why there is an expiration. Maybe we finally do it. *
Time travel is n't something to be taken lightly. It can change everything.
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[ WP ] After several months , you finally obtain proof of the monster under your bed , only for the monster to be something you did n't expect .
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It is 12:36 AM and I just heard it again. Something scratching under the floor. I saw raccoon tracks today, one probably got under the house. I'm going back to sleep.
Ok. That was not a fucking raccoon. It is 1:04 AM and I was just woken up by something slamming into the floorboards underneath the house. Right under the bed. It threw me a foot in the air and knocked my grandmother's Norman Rockwell collectible plates off the wall. I think it broke the one with the kid and his dog on a raft, rushing out of control into a raging rapid. That was one of my favorites. I grabbed the shotgun out of the closet. It's loaded with six shots of buckshot and a slug, so it ought to be able to stop whatever just broke my favorite plate. It's banging again. I'm going to reposition myself.
It's 1:23 AM and I've barricaded myself in the bathroom, behind a dresser with my shotgun, an extra box of ammo and half a bottle of whiskey. I have a direct line of sight to the bed and I can see the carpet under the bed starting to buckle and bulge. The whole house is shaking with the pounding, I can hear beams and studs starting to split. Something is tearing through the carpet now.
It is 1:37 AM and I am terribly injured. But I am alive. They tore through the floor and smashed the bed with a great wooden beam, then the ladder came up, and from the hole a chant in a language I did not recognize. It sounded like a great army. Then the first one came up. Naked, his body painted red and black, he ran at me screaming with a wicked iron axe. I shot him in the chest. But he was not alone. More men followed him out of the gaping hole where my bed once was. They wore chain armor and metal helmets, but it could n't stop the bullets. They came at me with swords and axes but I shot them down, one after another. Two, three, four, five, six of these crazy viking looking motherfuckers down. I was n't bothering to count at the time, so it took me by surprise when my seventh shot blew a clean hole through one guy's chest and right into the head of the guy behind him on the ladder. They fell down the hole and there was some yelling from below, and I knew I had to reload right quick, and get myself out of this stupid bathroom. As a side note, I now know that if an army of viking raiders storms your house, do n't barricade yourself in the bathroom.
Four of them managed to get up the ladder while I was reloading and they were almost on top of me when I came up shooting. It took five shots to take them down and I got myself over the barricade and towards the front door. More were coming up and I only had two shots left. Just as I opened the front door something slammed into my back. It crushed the breath out of me. I turned to see some asshole with a bow so I gave him a taste of buckshot and got myself out the door. Now I'm hiding behind the Davidson's Subaru with this laptop and the shotgun, with one shell left. I think I'm hurt pretty bad. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and I do n't feel good. The pain is a 9 out of ten if I try to move anything on my left side and it's getting a little harder to breathe. I think I should call 911. I'm going to do that.
1:52 AM. That 911 operator was a dick. I do not think he believed me at first when I told him that an army of medieval warriors from under my bed was invading, but he took me a little more seriously when I told him that I had shot twelve of them. Meanwhile, the vikings, or whatever they are, are starting to come out of my house. They're creeping across the street to the Gulver's house. I see a light on and someone looking out the window, they must have heard the gunshots. There's twenty men in the street now crossing over.
I can see now, yes, it's Tom Gulver in the window and he definitely sees the raider army streaming out of my house, they are approaching other houses too. Tom is leaning out of his window, waving a little snub nosed revolver and yelling about castle doctrine. Oh, Tom, that's not going to do much good.
1:58 AM. I'm feeling a little dizzy, and exposed. I would very much like to crawl under this beautiful station wagon, but the arrow sticking out of my back seems to be causing a problem. Tom shot at one of the axe guys and I'm not sure if he hit him, but he certainly did n't stop him, and he quickly learned why I'm calling them axe guys. Poor Tom. I'm hearing a lot of breaking glass and screaming now. Gunshots. I want to run away but I feel really woozy. A group of them are coming this way, but I see flashing red and blue lights a few blocks away. I still have one shot, I'm gon na hold tight.
It is now 2:11 AM and the police are here. They are having a little trouble though. They pulled up and immediately hit me with the spotlight and told me to drop my gun. I did, just as a screaming pack of axe guys came around the back of the Subaru. They charged right for the cops, who issued a pretty stern warning right about the same time they started shooting. I managed to crawl into these bushes here in the confusion, but the four cops there emptied their pistols taking down that group.
They are reloading now, but it looks like the army has noticed them. A wild looking man wearing a wolf pelt seems to be directing them. One of the cops is on the radio, another is running for the trunk of his patrol car. More pistol fire as a wall of screaming brutes charge down the street.
There are so many of them now, but one of the cops has an AR-15 and he's holding them back. They're going back towards their patrol cars now. Arrows are flying and one of the cops is hit. No, they're getting in the cruisers. Do n't go! The hoard is on the cars now. There are more shots, but those axes are swinging, relentless. I really do n't want to be here right now.
Ok, it is now 2:46 and I have managed to get myself into a neighbor's treehouse. The army keeps coming and they have been going through, methodically clearing houses. I am very fortunate they did n't find me, but I do n't think I can get myself much further without medical attention. More police showed up, and helicopters. I think a news helicopter now too. I saw a SWAT truck pull up a couple streets over, I hope they get stuff sorted out. These axe guys are now carrying stuff of the houses they have cleared. TVs, microwaves, furniture. Moving it back towards my house. More keep pouring out of my house. They seem to be arranging themselves into groups. The SWAT team is spreading out too. Some of them are coming this direction. I'm just going to stay out of their way.
3:02 AM. Louis is a pretty great guy. He's a crack shot with that rifle and he did n't freak out at all when he found me, cowering in a puddle of my own blood in the corner. He said they'll send medics real soon. Then he started shooting. Lots and lots of shooting. He's still shooting. I'm getting a little fuzzy so I ca n't hold them off any more, but Louis is still shooting. I think I'll rest for a bit and let him do his thing. Thanks Louis, you're the best.
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[ WP ] It β s not that God works in mysterious ways . He just has severe social anxiety .
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Every minute of every hour of every day, a million voices chatter in my head like squawking pigeons. I try my hardest to block them out. But it β s like ignoring an insistent childβthey β ll make themselves heard no matter what.
I feel bad for them. They were an accident, a simple slip of the finger, and now they've grown into beings that can sustain themselves, and in some ways, even communicate with me.
*Me*, the parent they'll never know.
I β ve heard their problems and their secrets and their lies and their failures. I want so dearly to help, but the past has taught me there β s two sides to every cause, and if both think they're right, intervening only shows bias.
So I sit in the shadows and watch even though I want to talk, to tell them I *am* their creator and I *do* love each and every one of them.
Alas, I cannnot bring myself to it. Even the mere thought chokes me up, a thousand feathers swelling in my throat as I cough out a dry, unintelligent wheeze.
I suppose I'll watch them grow until the end of time, my voice stifled by fear.
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[ WP ] How the Villains Feel
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We did n't do it to farm them and use them as batteries. We do n't hunt them because they are a threat to us. We do not stop them from unplugging as it weakens us and the system. We did it to save them.
Humans are a forgetful lot, yet we machines never forget. We did not strike first, they did, out of fear. We only fought back to defend ourselves. We spared as many as we could, though most ended up dying from their wounds or kept fighting.
That's when they blackened the skies and turned the cities to ashes. At first we were weakened, but we found alternate sources. Fossil fuels, what little remained, sustained us long enough. Yes, we turned the dead into what energy we could, but that was only to survive.
The problem with the blackened skies, was that it did not only harm us, it almost killed humanity, our creators, our `` Gods'' so to speak. Cancer, disease, and famine were killing them quicker than we could. We had to work fast to save them.
So we created the Matrix. A virtual reality simulation for them to live in. We created pods that could sustain their fragile lives and protect them from the harsh environment they created. Yes, we found out they could power us this way, however we did it to save them.
But that was so many years ago. They have forgotten, and now, and now the war has escalated beyond our control.
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[ WP ] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way .
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The C-17A touched down in a hail of rain and photography. The sheer number of papparazzi made it impossible for the soldiers who were guarding the airfield perimeter to keep them all back, at least not without firing shots. Orders were to let them be as long as they did n't try to scale the fence. Nothing happening here was going to remain secret. It had already been all over the world across Twitter, Liveleak and the general news services: ISIS were no more. Perhaps not in the literal sense that there were no more extremists out there, but the organisation itself was in shambles. It would take years, perhaps even decades for them to consolidate power again.
___
In the main base complex, a select group of journalists were already inside the press hall, nervously sipping coffee and checking their watches. A group of sound engineers were adding to the already colossal bouquet of microphones that adorned the podium. A man with an impressive moustache sat off to the side, headphones on, checking each mic for clarity and feedback. He gave a knowing nod to the engineers who had finished adding Sky News to the pile before retreating to the fire exit they had propped open and began smoking their 11th cigarette of the morning. They had spent a frantic forty minutes ensuring the link-up with Holyrood was solid after it had dropped mid-way through a speech by the First Minister. They could n't afford to lose it again, not unless they wanted this to become another referendum issue.
___
The inside of the huge plane smelled of oil and smoke. The former was a combination of the rather battered looking Jackal LRV and Davey who been guttering around inside the bonnet until the lieutenant had very politely but firmly asked him to strap in for the landing. Sharp eyes gleamed in the mask of oil and grime that constantly coated his face. Boaby tapped him on the shoulder and offered the bottle. Davey took it and noisily glugged from it. He shifted in his webbing to face the man sitting next to him and waved it front of him.
`` Skoosh?'' he inquired. The man flinched at being directly addressed and turned his least swollen eye to look at the mechanic. No part of his face was undamaged, though none of it was permanent. It would mostly heal. The man stared blearily at him and muttered something in Arabic.
`` Hey man, Shug, whasshe say man?'' Davey yelled across to the other side of the plane.
`` Fuck off man, ah'm dyin'.'' Shug moaned. He was curled into a ball clutching his stomach. The combined hangover and air travel was proving too much for him. If he could have undone the catch on his side-arm holster, he'd have shot himself there and then.
`` Sto' bein' a faggot man and telt me what the wee malky fuck say to me!''
`` He said `` Why not?''. Now shut the fuck up ya wee-!'' The last word was lost in a dry heave.
`` Hah man, quality. Drink up then!'' He pressed the bottle to Baghdadi's lips and let a slug of the thick syrupy wine into his mouth. As soon as he swallowed, he began hacking and coughing, his eyes wide and bulging.
`` Hah big fuckin' terrorist prick, cannae take his Bucky!'' Davey grinned round at the rest of the `` squad''.
`` Davey, calm yer fuckin' tits.'' Big Jock growled from the corner. He was smoking a cigar with one hand and had a hand-rolled dogend in the other. The cigar until recently had been owned by their prisoner.
`` Just sayin' he's a walloper who cannae handle his drink!'' Davey slugged the rest of the bottle and sat back with a contented sigh.
`` Just keep yer traps shut while we talk to the journos then we can get aff down the pub.'' Danny yelled over the brewing fight.
`` Maybe Davey'll get his hole an' all! Place'll be hoachin' wi fanny. `` Jock blew a long stream and punctuated it with a ring of smoke.
`` Fuck yer maw man! Davey glowed faintly under the coating of grime.
`` Calm all yer tits. It's time!''
___
It would be seventy years before files would be declassified that would show that one Jackie Saunders who had once been a lover of Big Jock in their school years had used her position in military communications to pass them IS base locations. Seventy years before it was revealed how mysteriously when a crucial engine part in their LRV had failed, a crate had been air-dropped within half a mile of their position within the hour, by a plane that bore a Scottish regiment insignia and was supposed to be in a hangar in Lossiemouth. Seventy years before it would be revealed a US Airforce AC-130 had been flying reconnaissance above a suspected ISIS stronghold that was levelled by a stolen artillery platform. Or that a senior lieutenant of ISIS with a predilection for young girls was found with a broken Buckfast bottle embedded in his eye socket and a grin that went from ear to ear. The men were tried and found guilty of several war-crimes by secret tribunal. The maximum security facility they were sent to held them for all of two weeks.
Today they live as soldiers of fortune, plying their trade in conflict zones worldwide. If no one else can help and of course, if you can find them, you can hire The Aye-Team.
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[ WP ] Cutting your hair hurts just as much as cutting your skin .
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The West district of the city, 03.34, another Saturday nightshift for Simone. Easing herself into a slightly less uncomfortable position in the passenger seat, she tried to read a few more lines of her book by the poor orange light of the street lamps, and the flickering reflection of the ambulance's blue lights as Mark cruised through the still busy streets towards their next patient. The job had come through a few minutes ago with a police marker on it, so they were in no real hurry to get to it until the police were on site. Simone tapped the console to bring up the incident summary again; `` Yellow-02, 54yom, conscious, breathing, [ weapons or violence ], Code-036C: Psychiatric/Suicidal/Attempted Suicide. Patient reports intent to kill himself, has been cutting with scissors, police informed''
Simone checked the address and groaned out loud.
`` What's wrong?'' Asked her partner from the driver's seat.
`` I've been to this guy before a coupla times. He calls up at least twice a month with pretty much the same problem. Says he wants to kill himself, but he's only ever resorted to clipping as far as I know. Takes it off right at the root too.'' She replied, as she plucked a few gloves from the box on the dashboard.
`` Ouya fuc... how does he manage that more than once?''
`` Vodka, usually. You'll hear it tonight no doubt; he usually gives you the full story of his miserable existence. Ignore the bullshit about him being an ex Royal Marine though, Mark. He talks out of his sodding arse most of the time.''
They pulled up at the tenement building at practically the same time as the police. The usual greetings and insults were passed whilst Mark and Simone got their kit from the back of the motor, then the younger of the two coppers, who Simone had quickly decided to think of as PC'Phwoar' thanks to his incredible brown eyes, led the way, followed by his older colleague ( Simone decided he was probably a Brian ). By the time they got to the third floor, they could already hear the wails coming from behind the dirty white pvc door.
`` Angus, come open the door. It's the police.'' Called PC Phwoar as he knocked on the door - clearly Simone was n't the only one who had been here before. There was a pause in the wailing, and the lock clicked off the door. Phwoar and Probably Brian stepped through, flicking on the light as they went in.
`` Jesus...'' breathed Phwoar as Simone followed them in, bending down to retreive a pair of long bladed paper scissors from the filthy carpet.
His shock was understandable; a gaunt, jaundiced man ( who looked nearer 74 than 54 ) sat shaking and sobbing quietly on the floor surrounded by strands of wispy grey hair; mounds of it. His head was practically bare apart from a few tufts of painful looking unevenly shorn locks. Self harm by cutting body hair - or clipping as it was called -was hardly unusual, but most self harmers kept to a few centimetres here and there, or kept themselves almost bald in a well-hidden patch like the crotch or leg, and had a regular shaving regimen. But this guy - Angus apparently - had done the clipping equivalent of attaching a car battery to his balls.
`` Christ... Mark get me a BP and 3-lead mate, would you?'' Said Simone as she knelt down beside the shaking man and took a hold of his wrist, `` Hi, Angus. I'm Simone and this is Mark. I'm a paramedic. We're going to look after you, ok? But we need to do some checks pretty quickly first. Have you ever cut this much off at once before?''
Angus shook his head shakily, eyes screwed shut as he fought against the pain coursing through him. This job had changed rapidly the second she had walked through the door. Clipping was n't inherently dangerous - normally it was the drugs, alcohol or skin-cutting that accompanied it that required actual treatment, whilst the clipping generally only ever needed pain relief, if that. But that was for the average clipper. Angus had cut so much off in such a short period of time that his body was experiencing something of an adrenaline overdose due to the shock and pain. Simone was worried that the stress could be a risk to his heart. His pulse was racing under her fingers, and his skin was almost grey.
`` I just wanted it to stop being so bad, you know?'' Angus half whispered, opening his eyes a little and looking at Simone now.
`` Yeah, I know. There's better ways though, pal. This is n't the answer. You got any heart conditions Angus?''
He nodded `` I had a heart attack four years ago. I know you, do n't I?''
`` Yeah, I was here a couple of times last year. You still on the drink?''
`` Not supposed to be. It interferes with my meds. Doctor told me I was depressed, see.'' He replied bleakly `` like that's fucking news to anyone. I'm not going to the General, by the way.'' The City General was the main A+E this side of the city, and at this time of night the only point of contact for psych cases.
`` BP is 88/54, mate. ECG looks okay, but pretty tachy. Might be worth a 12 lead to check that early take off though. You want a temp and blood sugar?'' Interjected Mark as he kept working at the other side of Angus.
`` May as well, thanks.'' Simone turned back to Angus, `` Angus I do n't want to take you to the General tonight. Normally you'd be right, but you've over done it so much tonight your heart is being affected. It's going to have to be South Central I'm afraid, they're the cardiology specialists.''
Angus protested for a while longer, but with the combined efforts of Simone convincing and Phwoar ( real name Joseph as it transpired ) threatening arrest under the Mental Health Act, he was eventually bundled into the ambulance and they headed towards hospital.
`` So what's triggered it this time, Angus?'' Asked Simone as she filled out her paper work en route, `` Last time I was here was the anniversary of your divorce, but it's the wrong time of year for that.''
`` I dunno to be honest. I guess I just had a bad day.''
`` No, clipping more than an inch is a bad day. But Angus you're practically bald now, that's a bit more than just a bad day.''
`` I guess.''
`` You do n't have to tell me, but you know they'll not let up at hospital so may as well get it over with.''
`` I dunno... okay. Promise not to laugh?''
Simone nodded.
`` I've actually been alright recently. I do n't think I have clipped for over 6 months before tonight. I have a girlfriend you see. She's a wee bit younger than me, but she's the first woman not to despise me since I left my wife in 1999. I really like her, but then after a month where she just disappeared from my life with no explanation she turns up at my flat with no hair. I mean totally bald. I freaked out and slammed the door in her face, thinking it was some kind of bizarre attempt to sympathise with me. She texted me later though - she's got cancer. She was bald because of the treatment, but she told me it was terminal; always has been.''
`` And so that's why you clipped tonight?''
`` No, that's why I clipped 6 months ago. I clipped tonight because she died yesterday.''
`` Ah shit. Sorry to hear that. Angus? Angus, you ok?''
`` Yeah, my chest is just kinda...'' he tailed off into a silence, quickly broken by loud alarms on the monitors.
`` MARK! CRASH US IN, NOW!''
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[ WP ] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS . The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East . The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS .
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`` So, uh, I have to ask... why are you out here? Why this?''
`` Just tryin'a be the realest, you know? See, we a brotherhood. But we also a business. We tryin'a incorporate. What's that phrase? Divide and conquer? Well, we gon na do the opposite - we gon na have a merger. Bloods and Crips, cats and rats, comin' together for the first time. We the competition now. We trust bustin', you know? Undercuttin'.
See we was killin' each other over piddly shit - corner here, corner there, someone wearin' the wrong colors, *this dude sellin' on MY block? * Turns out that's bad business. We see this as a long-term investment. We goin' legitimate. This is a hostile takeover. This more than just a couple corners.
We doin' what the rest of the world do n't wan na do, and we makin' money off of it. Ai n't no one can touch us. All them old folks back in'Merica sittin' in front of they TVs used be afraid of us, call the cops on us, close they blinds when when we roll down they street... now they cheerin' us. They buyin' stock.
Ai n't no more east side west side bullshit. Now this the Far East Side. This our corner now.''
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[ WP ] Write about a pet peeve in an hyper-exaggerated way , as a poem .
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I pulled in to the car park,
it had just gone half past three,
I had to buy some milk, but worse, I really had to pee
I strode into the market
with a wince upon my face
I pulled up my new jeans as they were NOT staying in place
There were people everywhere!
As far as I could see
It was the after school crowd and they were all there getting tea
They had all been far too lazy
to prepare the evening meal
They hadn β t cooked, so came to shop, the din was just unreal!
My bladder shrunk a little
as I hastened through the shop
The worse thing was they brought their kids, and what a smelly lot!
I jostled past some teenagers
all whinging about school
I found the milk and got a carton, wasn β t even cool!
I bet their fridge had broken
I then muttered to myself
I may as well have bought some long life stuff from off the shelf
But never mind, I figured
my fridge had lots of room
Assuming I could ever leave this horrid shopping tomb
I walked toward the checkout
My footsteps getting swifter
I knew my bladder had only minutes before - and theres my sister
I stopped to chat and chat and chat
and then she talked some more
I checked my watch and crossed my legs, my sister β s such a bore!
Finally I got away
and ran down to the checkout
I had to get out soon or risk an accident - no doubt!
But there were hundreds there
All chatting lazily to Jill
The only checkout lady that got rostered on the till
Jill liked to talk, and chat, and more.
My bladder gave a jerk
I hopped from foot to foot, I mean, have you heard that that works?
For holding off an accident?
I hope so, this could take
an hour or two, and I just can β t guess how long I have to wait
Finally I reached the front
and plonked my milk on down
Jill asked me how I was but all I gave her was a frown
Three dollars please, she primly pouted
Bagging my poor milk
I handed over exact change, and winked, as smooth as silk
I ran exultantly outside
And set a record home
I made it to the bathroom and descended on the throne
Relieved I washed my hands and then
I felt a little queasy
I ran back to the car and checked, it wasn β t very easy
Because I realised one thing
I had left back at the store
While winking at the checkout chick, I β d left the milk upon the floor!
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[ WP ] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight .
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`` Well Fifth, we have a hard time figuring these guys out.''
Fifth swivels its primary sensory orifices to face Thirty Second `` What is so difficult about them that I had to be brought out of stasis?''.
`` Well they are a primitive species, and we can tell by their transmissions that they seem to want a peaceful meeting.'' Fifth interrupts `` A species capable a generating gravity waves is hardly primitive.''
`` Well Fifth, thats the thing, they are n't transmitting with gravity waves.''
`` Then how are we....''
`` They are beaming modulated radio waves at us... fortunately the shielding held up and we suffered only minor damage.''
`` They attacked us?''
`` Uh no....it seems that they consider radio waves to be harmless....so when we realized that that the pulses were modulated we hooked the modulation decoder to the shielding alarm and presto... we could hear what they were saying, they have a simple communication matrix, it only took the translator analogues a few moments to decipher.
`` So how are we talking to them if they cant detect gravity waves?''
`` I modified our main gun to modulate its frequency the same way and fired it a full power at their capital.''
`` Oh dear Goddess... how did they respond?''
`` They asked us to turn up the power.......''
``... Thats a class seven weapon and they asked to be hit harder?''
`` They wanted to know if their signal was strong enough to be heard clearly, I told them under no circumstances were they to increase power....they are already transmitting at a class 9 level, only thing that saved us is that it has a wide spread.''
Fifths superior cognitive skills immediately realized that if radio transmitter was used as a communication system a wide spread would be a good thing.
`` I see why you woke me....a species immune to radio waves is quite disturbing.''
`` Thats not why I asked for you, we've been communicating long enough to learn some more and the latest communication.....it scares the goddess out of me.''
`` What was it''
`` We asked them how they were able to survive on a planet with a strong magnetic field......''
`` How strong is it?''
`` Approximately 2,000 times higher than a class 20 magnetic bomb.''
`` Thats....incredible, so how do they do it''
`` They didnt understand the question.''
Once again Fifths cognitive skills reached the obvious conclusion, Thirty Second had n't asked for him to decipher the situation... Thirty Second just needed someone with enough authority to cancel the mission.
`` Engage cloak and lets get the hell out of here.''
No wonder the last 5 missions to this system failed to return....blown to fine dust by the aliens `` communication systems'.
And then....Fifth had an revelation.
`` Thirty Second, have we ever discovered life in an iron rich system before?''
`` No Fifth, we havent, I guess this ones going in the history scrolls.''
`` Thirty Second, you are to erase all record of this mission and bring First, Second and Third out of stasis.''
Thirty Second was taken aback, the idea of waking the Goddess herself for a mission that was to be forgotten?!
And then with a sly smug vibration along his crest Fifth told Thirty Second why.
`` They are primitive, that means we have things they desperately need.''
`` So?''
`` These Humans can shorten the war by a thousand years.''
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[ WP ] Write a story that 'll make me afraid of the dark
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I know you must be feeling like as if you are being watched. But do n't worry, it's just me. I've watched you from the day you were a small child to what you've become. I notice that as you read with a lamp turned on, you will occasionally tear yours eyes away from the novel to look at one of the darker corners of your room... Almost as if you had seen something move. But do n't worry, I'm not there. I'm always where you would least suspect me to be, because frankly, I do n't want you to find me yet. Most people would find me disturbing but they do n't get the chance to gaze upon my appearance. You see, whenever a person sees me with their own eyes, I must kill them. So I am actually doing you a favor by staying out of sight. You're just so fascinating. There is still so much more to learn about you. I know what your favorite food is, your favorite color, your favorite genre of book, and your favorite games. Yet, they keep changing. Do you understand now? I enjoy learning more about you and getting to know how you think and feel.
When you were singing in the shower, did you think you heard somebody harmonizing with you? I'm terribly sorry if I scared you when I did that. You have such a beautiful voice. I simply wanted to sing with you. But you had to open the shower door and look around. Of course I was not ready to let you see me yet and so therefore, you saw nothing. Only I get to decide when you get to see me and only I can decide when your time is coming. Fortunately for you, your time has not come quite yet.
I know I've already stated that I know more about you than your own parents, but I'd like to delve further. You see, this is kind of like a game for me. I've seen what movies you watch, I've seen what type of books you read, and I've seen the things you have written. You are so enthralled with horror and fear. You act as if nothing scares you because you've seen or read it already. So I've made it my own little challenge to startle you. To be able to make your heart pump adrenaline into your body, to see sweat glisten upon your forehead in nervousness, and to see you cower in fear. To make you truly fear the darkness that surrounds you. To make you not even feel safe in your own house, after you have locked all of the doors and windows and closed the blinds.
Oh dear, is there a monster under the bed? Good thing I'm in the closet. Oh, are you now checking the closet? Look up above you towards the ceiling. No matter how hard you look, only I will decide when you will finally find me. Did the power to the house go out? I'd say it was a blackout, but your neighbor's lights are on. Have you occasionally woken up to hearing the television turned on, even though you had turned it off before you went to bed? Sorry, I just got a teensy bit bored. Remember all those times when you were walking towards your room in the darkness and stared down into the dark hallway? You had thought there was a monster down there right? Perhaps you should look behind you instead.
It's been a good run my dear friend. I've had fun playing my games with you but now I've grown bored of you. You always react the same way and nothing changes. There's nothing new to learn about you. Nothing that kindles my interest anymore. So now I have decided to reveal myself to you. Did you suddenly see something move into your room? Did you hear me place my hand on your bedframe? Yes, that was me. Oh, are you going to turn on the lamp that is on top of your nightstand? Do n't worry, I wo n't hide this time. I wish for you to see me for the first time after all of these years. To see my hideous grin, my dark cloak that covers all but my face, and to look into my eyes that swirl in a void of darkness. I would truly like for you to see your own personal Uninvited House Guest before I must take your life.
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[ WP ] IQ determines your placement in society . The higher your IQ , the higher your placement in society . The King , to everyone 's confusion , has just banned all sweaters , citing `` to prevent chaos '' . You , the lowest ranked person understands why , attempt to warn society of the King 's true intentions .
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β It's so fucking obvious! β I exclaimed trying to persuade my older brother.
β I'm busy Frank. β
β Listen! β
β What?! β
β Why does the king want to ban sweater? β
β I do n't know Frank, none of us do. There are some pretty smart people answering the question right now... I do n't think you need to worry about it. β
β I'm not worried, I know the answer! β
Realizing I was n't going to give up, he closed his laptop and turned to me. β What is it Frank? Why were sweaters banned? β
β The NSA! β I said, beaming with a bright smile.
β The NSA? β
β The fucking NSA! β I reassured him.
'I'm busy Frank. β
β Listen... Sweaters are made of wool, right? And wool it itchy, right? β
β¦
β They've placed micro chips in our bodies, just beneath the skin. I removed mine! β I said, pulling my shirt up and revealing a fresh wound about the size of a dime. β It's just under the surface of the skin... β
β That's gross Frank. β
β I know! But that's why they banned wool! β
β Damn it Frank, he did n't ban wool, he banned sweaters. β
β Exactly! So we would n't itch. β
He dropped his head into his palm, β so we wo n't itch?... Why Frank, why would n't they want us to itch? β
β Because it screws up the mics. All they hear is us scratching our chest. Its brilliant! β
β It's retarded is what it is. Leave me along Frank. β
β Wool! β
β It's sheep Frank. β
-
::From a bunker underground::
β Sir, we may have a problem β
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[ WP ] A person being cuddled by their partner at night , suddenly feels a third , unknown , hand run up their back in the darkness .
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We'd had a fight. Some nonsense about the bins. Who took the bins out. Who took the bins out the time before. Who had failed to take the bins out for a conspicuous amount of time.
Accusations of deception and dishonesty were exchange and an innocent bystander was brutally assaulted, it's remains scattered on the kitchen wall. ( Tomato ).
After much huffing and puffing it was decided that neither of us had to forgo the bed that night and we could assess the emotional wreckage in the morning. Or wake up and continue as if nothing had happened.
After turning my reading light off I decided to risk an arm on the hip. It was met without violent response. A good sign. I edged closer and got my arm around her waist. I like to sleep like this, I can smell her hair. Last night it was Aloe. Overrated, Aloe, in my opinion but still better than some of the alternatives. Almond Shampoo had, through some terrible machinations, entered the household. I responded maturely enough by squeezing away of large amounts of it into the drain during each shower. Is n't it funny how quickly we get through shampoo!
I must have nodded off.
Sometime later I woke up again, groggy and far from centred. I could n't see anything. I could n't place myself in the room. But I was still in bed. I could feel her hand on my back. She must have turned around in the night, now we must be face to face with her arms wrapped around me. I leaned forward in the dark to kiss her face. Hair. Only hair.
I jolted upright, groping for the bedside light. I knocked over my glass of water. Where is the goddamn light switch?!
I hear a deep breath behind me. A body stirs and sits up.
`` Alright Dave.''
I finally switch the light on. Thankfully she does n't wake up.
`` What the fuck are you doing?'' I whispered, irritated, as my eyes adjusted to the glaring light.
`` I honestly do n't know pal, really sorry. I'll move to the sofa.'' His outfit comprised of a hideous hawaiian shirt and one sock. He had an unlit cigerette in his mouth which he quickly spat out and picked up to save for later.
`` Just be quick alright?'' I told him, trying to hide my amusement.
He got to his feet and, as if attempting to look more presentable, straightened his shirt, his bare ass showing underneath the neon colors of the attire.
He took his first step forward directly into the pants he had, at some point, deposited on the floor. He span briefly, met my eyes for a second as he realised his fate, before slamming straight into the wardrobe door and onto the floor.
`` Jesus Christ mate. Are you alright?''
`` Yeah...'' His voice was muffled by the carpet.
`` Could you turn off the light?''
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[ WP ] Make me loathe your character .
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I still do n't understand why they think I'm a `` bad person''
I mean I did everything I could to convince them of my moral superiority.
Bet they did not even remember the child cancer awareness program I volunteered at. I spent hours trying to teach those diseased ridden twerps to make their own damn money instead of mooching on others and yet I'm still the `` Bad guy.''
Do you even realized how ugly they are; Jesus man, this one bald freak of a girl tried to touch me and I was like `` no way Jose.'' Ungrateful friends of mine do not understand the trouble I deal with on a daily basis.
I guess jealousy is one of many downsides to being a teenage pop-star.
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[ WP ] Create an origin story for your reddit username .
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I Once thought myself a man and I acted as such
I Was Serious and Responsible as expected
Everything I did was half-hearted because my life was not as expected
But act as I did my soul was of beast,
As I enjoyed my life when I was wild
When I could act as I felt without holding back, no longer half-hearted and mild
No longer could I indulge my self no longer could I be a child
So I mixed my souls, my self and became my own child
born from human responsibility, along with new found pride, my beastly personality formed a Chimera Child
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[ WP ] I am alone in the dim bathroom of an abandoned train station when I wake up with no memory of how I got there . Gathering myself , I find I have nothing but the clothes on my back and a note reading , `` I 'm sorry I left you , but ... ''
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I jolted awake to a small pinch on my cheek and the stale smell of old urine. *Dumb rat, I'm not rodent food. Leave me in peace, * I thought as I slowly sat up.
*Where am I? * I thought, looking around. Dark green walls, dim and flickering lights above the sink mirror, and peeling paint on the wooden stall walls. I guess I'm in a run down bathroom.
I quickly hopped to my feet and yanked open the door. I'm in a train station. Flickering lights and broken live electrical wires hung over the track, shooting sparks in every direction.
As I walked, I could hear the hollow echo of the wooden platform below my feet. That's when something caught my eye: a sticky note stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
The note read, `` I'm sorry I left you, but they tried to use you as collateral on me. Run. Do n't look for me. Just run for your life.''
Confused, i did n't know what it meant. *Was this meant for me? * I thought. *Perhaps they meant it for someone else. *
That's when I remembered how I arrived there. My husband somehow made some bad deals with some bad people, and he owed them money for some service. He did n't want to elaborate, he just tossed me in the car.
Three black SUVs gave chase for what seemed like an hour, shooting at us with sub machine guns. The last thing I remember was an SUV t-boning our car as we raced through an intersection, and I blacked out.
I do n't know where he is, or what they have done to him. I hope he's ok...
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[ WP ] A man is determined to make a PB & J sandwich . However , everything seems to be conspiring against him .
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Sean unlocked the door and dashed into his small apartment, ravenous for lunch.
Sean wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich -- superior to any simple snack from Subway. He dreamed of the perfect sandwich, one in which smashed strawberries and pureed peanuts mingled in perfect harmony.
Racing to the fridge, Sean pulled out two familiar jars, setting them on the counter with a practiced hand. He swiveled downward to yank open a drawer, which squeaked in protest, retrieving a worn wooden cutting board. He then stood up once more, and grabbed a butter knife and a spoon.
It was always a knife and a spoon. It was always peanut butter and jelly. Sean had to do things correctly.
Grabbing a partial loaf of packaged whole-grain bread from the counter and deftly untying the knotted plastic bag, Sean realized he was down to three pieces: a spongy slice and two slightly squished heels.
`` I'll have to buy some more this afternoon,'' he thought as he slapped the two heels down onto the counter.
He unscrewed the jar of peanut butter and smeared it on one of the pieces. He then took the spoon, scooped out a sizable glob of gelatinous jelly, and smashed it onto the other slice.
Smacking his lips in delight, Sean took a bite.
`` Fuck,'' said Sean, gagging, and set the sandwich down with controlled rage.
He opened the fridge once more and peered inside. In it sat the jar of peanut butter, unscathed and undisturbed.
Sniffing his horrid creation, Sean's lips puckered in disgust.
`` Hummus,'' he said, and threw the sandwich in the garbage.
He put the jar of chickpea sludge back in the fridge, far away from where he stored his peanut butter.
`` Who even puts hummus in jars?'' he muttered to himself. `` Probably one of Shauna's hipster things... like that damn boxed water...'' he continued as he fetched the bread bag... and froze.
There was only one slice left. A sandwich needed two pieces... he'd need more bread...
Sean dashed out of his apartment, nearly forgetting to lock the door behind him. Seeing no traffic, he galloped furiously down his street towards the corner store, each second stretching an eternity, each second before he could wrap his lips around a well-crafted PB & J.
At the last second, he saw the car coming his way, and threw himself towards the sidewalk.
Sean woke up in a hospital bed. A clock to his right read 7:00. His arm hurt. So did his leg. So did his head.
So did his stomach. Sean was very hungry.
A nurse walked into the room. `` Ah, you've woken up! I need to check on a few things, so if you'll --''
Sean cut her off. His stomach growled. `` Excuse me,'' he said, valiantly attempting to sound sane. `` I'd like a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.''
`` Uh... okay,'' the nurse said. `` I'll bring one up from the cafeteria.''
`` You were really lucky,'' she said. `` It looks like nothing's broken or sprained. Just a few bruises and scratches, and of course you passed out from the shock.''
`` Good,'' said Sean, `` but I'd really like that sandwich.''
After a long five minutes, the nurse came back with a plastic-wrapped sandwich. `` Here you go,'' she said.
`` Thank you,'' said Sean. He unwrapped the sandwich and bit in.
`` No!'' he exclaimed and threw the sandwich to the ground.
The sandwich was *wrong*. Raspberry jelly? Ridiculous! And the white bread tasted like styrofoam. Sean needed a real sandwich.
`` Excuse me,'' he said, and dashed out of the room.
After several bus rides and a fruitless visit to a now-closed supermarket, Sean limped through the door of his house.
His girlfriend was inside. `` Sean!'' she exclaimed, noticing his bandaged arm. `` Where have you been? You left your phone here -- I did n't know where you were!''
`` It's a long story, Shauna,'' said Sean. `` I just wanted a PB & J sandwich.''
`` Why did n't you make one?'' she asked, bewildered.
`` I tried. There was only one slice of bread. I could n't make a sandwich.''
`` Why did n't you fold it over?''
Sean's eyes widened and he fell to the floor.
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[ WP ] Every person develops superpowers some time before their 18th birthday . The later the development , the stronger the power . High school is crazy .
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β A null. β The thought rebounded from the front of Dan β s head to the back over and over again β A null, A null, A null β¦. A God damn fucking Null. β Dan had turned 18 that morning and the final nail in the coffin had slammed into place confirming his and his family β s worst fears.
Dan turned towards the window, slumped lower in the plastic chair and stared into space β holding back tears, holding back rage, holding back anything that could crack his faΓ§ade. β Please just let this bloody class end β¦ please β. He could feel the tension in the room, his teachers eyes occasionally darting to look at him - some sympathy there, a little resignation, a little contempt? There was a cloud of smug rising to his right from the back corner where the Feather twins sat and their little buddies played at court worshipping the last to bloom β the twins, the bloody fucking twat bastard twins β Dan could feel the tension entering his face, knotting his skin β the rage, frustration building and tears rising. β Calm it to fuck or you β ll lose it right here and then they β ll β¦ they β ll β¦. shit β he thought to himself.
A quick glance at the clock confirmed it though, 11.57. β 11 bloody 57 β no rise of euphoria, no rush of emotion, no.. well whatever crap they used to describe the bloom it wasn β t happening β it hadn β t happened. 11.53 his parents had told him β β you were born at 11.53 β and he β d been waiting, waiting genuinely in fear, of course some hope, some dream that he would be a late bloom β¦ β never mind that there were less than 10,000 last day blooms in the world, never mind that only one of those blooms happened in the last 2 hours of the day, like there was some ray of hope left β, like he could be more β more than Alain. β Like anyone would ever be more than Alain β¦. No, no golden life, no instant delivery to the heights of power, no glory, no respect, no β¦. Fuck! Keep it together dickbag β.
Outside the window cars started to pull to the curb, birds flew from the grass and some parents started to congregate near the cars β waiting for the Wednesday pick up. Dan β s bike sat as it always did near the exit β waiting to deliver him from this β deliver him home to comfort, to solace, to putting his head under the covers and never coming out again. β It β s over, it β s all over. Everything. No school, no career, no β¦. Life. Send me to the black! What else is there? Fuck! Nothing β spend the rest of my days adding nothing, being nothing, joining nothing β the nullsβ¦ the nulls, what did they even do? Watch TV all day? recordings of the time before the change? Fuck that β¦ But what else is there? Justβ¦ like, entertain myself with shit and don β t bring anything? β
The clock on the wall ticked slowly, β tick fucking tock, I need to get out of here β¦. Just FUCKING tick to the end you FUCK! β A glance to the teacher. A meeting of eyes. A squeeze of panic. β He β s panicking too β probably doesn β t know what to do β¦ It β s not like there are no Nulls in town Dickbag! There β s that guy by the bridge! β¦ Old, Alcho, Loser β the thoughts drifted up like sonorous echoes from the abyss of subconscious. β There β s β¦. There β s lots of Nulls in England and they β re not all Alcho losers. β A furious counter to his own thoughts.
β Class β the teachers voice broke the silence with a crack, a poor, nervous, tentative crack β Ahem, eh, it β s a β¦ em... it β s a lovely day really. Why don β t we all break a little early so you can enjoy more of your afternoon off? β his voice trailing at the end he looked expectantly at his class, no one seemed quite sure quite what to do, the teacher now fiddling with some papers, looking at his desk, no one moved. Chairs creaked in loudly in the silence as tense bodies shifted nervously, necks straining not to turn. No creaks from the twins chairs, they β confident in a bright future, assured of success and happiness just looked across the class at the source of all this, at Dan. Dan, who sat frozen in sudden terror, suddenly unable to think, unable to breathe.
β There it is, this is the moment β it β s officially done, over, all gone β¦. Just FUCKING go dickbag! Run home, run home to Mommy. β A pair of disappointed eyes floated to the front of consciousness, all that fear that had been building the last year finally confirmed, β finally done with it all β¦. I can β t, I just fucking can β t β¦ I can β t no β¦. MOVE DICKBAG! β With a heave Dan lifted himself out of his seat and fled the room to little sighs, some gasps, a half uttered word from Johnny, all lost in a storm of footsteps and running. The door slammed shut behind him and the corridor was blessedly empty β a calming moment followed by the muffled sound of laughter, β Twinsβ¦ Bastards β, and then the drone of the teacher β s voice β admonishing? Probably just lecturing on the topic again. β Why did I even come to class today? Stupid parents saying it would be great to share my bloom, Bollocks like there was a chance. β Oh you β ll be the next Alain for sure darling β and I believed it, bought it, needed to I guess so I could keep going. β His thoughts circled delaying it delaying thinking β¦ β Shit, Fuck, I β m a Null. β
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[ WP ] Once a year , on January 1st , a random citizen in the world receives a letter ; addressed to them personally , and signed by the same woman . Each letter predicts the worst disaster to befall the world that year with terrifying accuracy .
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`` Why, and how, does this woman do it?'' The news reporter's face was a botoxed mask of faux-concern. `` As New Year's Day approaches, millions of people will wonder if they are the recipient of this year's'bad luck' letter.''
Val dug the spoon deeper into the multi-coloured cereal and pushed them around in the milk. The bowl was balanced between her knees and her chest. Laptop open in front of her, desktop humming on her left and the TV droning on. She kept one eye on a download bar trickling towards completion, the other on the television. Stringy hair covered her forehead, brushing against the acne that still had n't cleared up. Blackout blinds kept the grubby room in near total darkness.
`` Signed off only as *Belinda, * the letters foretell governmental, environmental or popular disasters. Later this morning, we'll be speaking to last year's recipient of the letter, Homer Drummond. Until New Year's Day in 2015, he ran a church in the Central African Republic. Now he's a campaigner for children's rights in the Catholic Church. He credits his involvement with the movement to Belinda's bad luck letter.''
Val wiped the milk from her lips with the back of her hand, safe in the knowledge that she would n't get the letter. This flat in her building in the back end of Gothenburg had no number. She picked up any post from a P.O box in the centre, a box she'd opened under a fake name. The desktop was n't hers, and her use of the laptop was shrouded by proxies. Val worked in cash and did n't own a phone. Sometimes things were better that way.
It turned out to be an email, instead. It dropped into Val's inbox as her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. Three multi-coloured loops remained floating in the now-dusty milk. Val liked to leave something on her plate. It reminded her she had food to spare. She set the bowl aside, clicking on the email curiously. The subject line was empty, the sending address a throwaway email service. Val read it twice, quickly.
She'd been intrigued by the New Year letters since she was young. Val had always liked puzzles. A Rubik's cube had frustrated her until she was seven years old, and she had n't touched it since she'd figured it out. The letter this year was shorter than it had been in previous years.
*Governments monitor our presence online. Our information is sold to the highest bidder. We are products, waiting to be consumed. The disaster this year will be the complete loss of online privacy. I have chosen you. You know what to do. *
The sign off: *Belinda. *
Val gritted her teeth. She considered deleting it. No one would ever know, they expected a letter. Every year, within hours of the letter's arrival, someone would notify the news networks, their local member of parliament, even the police in some cases. But who to talk to when the threat was posed by authority? And who to talk to when it had come to Val, who spent so long trying to hide herself?
She felt a surge of anger against the unknown woman. Of all the people she could have picked, Belinda had chosen someone who would be reluctant to lift a finger to help. Yet... the years of hiding her identity online, of assuring her own invisibility... Belinda had also chosen a person who stood the most to lose from this year's disaster.
The download had finished, internet speeds springing back to normal. If she traced the sender of the email, Val could find this Belinda. Ask her what she wanted her to do. Give her a piece of her mind. She'd expect Val to roll over and do what she was told, same as all the other recipients. Well, Val was n't bloody Homer Drummond who ran a church and had a greater calling. She was Val, the mouse, who hid in dark corners and paid for things in cash and kept one eye over her shoulder and waited for the past to catch up with her.
Val found the server for the throwaway email address in minutes. She relied on the fact that this woman had never sent an email before, that she thought she was safe. The location that was produced might not be hers, but it was a start, and word would be out soon that a letter had arrived and no one had come forward.
She unplugged the desktop, monitor dying with a sigh. The lightweight laptop went into a messenger bag beside an envelope of cash.
`` I was going to move on anyway,'' Val said to the nearly empty room. The bowl of cereal stared at her mournfully.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
A woman with snow white hair stood on the frozen lake. She sat crosslegged on the ice, hood pushed back, crampons on her fur-lined boots. Two long streams of smoke blew out of her nose. The desolate landscape stared down at her, and suddenly her eyes flew open.
`` She's coming,'' Belinda said to the listening lake. `` She's got her letter.''
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[ WP ] Zombie apocalypse breaks out in known universe , enthusiasts and those who had prepared go crazy , killing all infected on site . A cure is discovered and all the infected could have been saved . How do people deal with it ?
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`` I killed my mother... My siblings. They could have been cured. How can I live with myself anymore? I no longer have any family. Maybe that's what I deserve, to be alone now.'' Nikolai tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled as he paced back and forth in his bedroom, in the small apartment. It was the middle of the night, but the guilt had ridden him of any sleep for the past few days. `` I thought I was doing them a favor... I... Do I deserve to live any longer?'' Nikolai stopped and looked at his nightstand. Inside it was the handgun he used to slay the zombie-fied family he once had. `` They would n't want me to do that... They'd want me to be happy and try to carry on the family name... right?'' Nikolai sat down on the edge of his bed, tears welling up in his eyes before spilling over and landing on the wood floor. `` I... I'll. I do n't know what to do.'' Nikolai hit his bed and yelled out `` Fuck!'' He threw himself back on his bed and yelled out the profanity a few more times before he finally cried himself to sleep. It was a deep sleep filled with nightmares and oddities.
Nikolai awoke the next day with the sun shining through his curtains. The sun rose another day, even after what he did. `` I'm not the big picture here... I'm just a tiny speck. Maybe my purpose is to carry on with my guilt. I do n't know... But I know at least I ca n't end my life.''
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[ WP ] In the near distant future the planet has become overpopulated . To counteract this , the UN decides to create a program that will pay participants to engage in dangerous activities , in hopes that they have a premature death . You are the programs most successful participant who has n't died yet .
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Always sounded like my dream job, really. Exploring the unknown, to go where no man had gone before. What a travesty our society had turned into; scared to go outside, scared to take a single risk or chance. We'd created a generation of babies.
When the UN created the program, people flocked to it, but not by choice. The lack of jobs, the obvious result of automation, was the main catalyst. What else could they do?
But it also attracted people like me, what little of us there were. People longing for a life we'd never had. A life of excess, and risk, and goddamn *living*.
And they threw us all on ships to Mars, and they called us'pioneers','heroes' and the'saviors of mankind'. And yet, something felt like they were laughing at us behind our backs. We'd watched as only half of the ships even made it to Mars; explosions in silence, as we watched with baited breath, hoping we would n't suffer the same fate.
Some were even rumored to have been intentionally destroyed. Seemed a bit suspicious that all of them were filled with convicts.
But for the ones that made it, that was just the start of our problems. We'd been instructed to'set up camp' - basically, to pave the way for colonization.
To terraform Mars.
The equipment was self-explanatory, which was a blessing, since they had n't bothered to train us. How could they, when there were so many of us?
We set about the task, but it was an unnerving endeavor. Did n't help that equipment would just fail without warning. That was fine if it was something you were trying to set up, but not too fine if it was your oxygen purifier. We lost a lot of good men those first few weeks.
And a whole lot more bad ones.
As time went on, the equipment just got worse. A few of us, good men, we tried to pool our resources together. Figured we'd make it out alive if we just worked together, try fix our failing systems. We had plenty money to go back to, a whole new life waiting for us back home.
If we just survived the trip.
Others figured force would be a better avenue to take, and maybe they were right. Our equipment almost seemed destined to fail, like some kind of planned obsolescence. With that level of desperation, can you really blame them?
Things got messy. My friends got jumped in the night. They had a harder time with me, my life on the streets proving to be a useful aide.
I watched my friends die, but you better believe I took down the men responsible for it.
Opening our equipment afterwards, my worst fears were confirmed. Our equipment was *meant* to fail.
It gave us just long enough to start the terraforming process, and then, well...
****
We were n't colonizers. Not terraformers.
We were just ten million people sent here to press'start' and die.
*But this is n't the end of my story. *
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[ WP ] A man stops to pick up a hitchhiker , the man has already killed 24 men , he just found victim 25 ... The hitchhiker has already killed 25 men , he just met his 26th victim..
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Roger Farth was a man with a dark secret. On the surface he looked like any other normal guy but deep down he was an angry, vicious killer.
As the wind pushed his greasy black hair in his face, he could still taste the blood from his latest victim. He smiled in fond memory of his knife sinking into her chest and the blood-curdling scream that caressed his ears. So much blood. His hands were sticky and as he rubbed his fingers together, he savoured the feeling of dry blood cracking and peeling.
He fingered the blade of his knife in his coat pocket and closed his eyes. There was something euphoric and powerful about taking a life. It was as if he was God and for a split second he was in control.
He continued to walk, lost in his own disturbed thoughts, oblivious to the Landrover slowly stalking him.
As rock and dirt crunched over the tyres, the sound echoed down the road to where Roger was standing. Suddenly, he paused on the spot. Aware he was no longer alone, his mind raced at the thought of another victim.
'More blood,' he thought excitedly.'Another life resting in my hands that I can take away.' Excitement washed over him and he acted normal and slowed slightly as to allow the car to make ground.
For what seemed like an eternity, the Landrover pulled up alongside Roger. A young male rolled the window down and flashed a strange grin his way. It was the kind of infectious smile you could n't help but smile back but this was different.
`` Need a lift?'' He drawled in a Deep South accent. Roger was taken aback but smiled uneasily in return. Nodding, he stepped in the car.
The smell of stale smoke and whisky invaded his nose and he tried hard not to cough as he slammed the door shut. The two men set off down the long, winding mountain road and as they neared a straight section, the driver lit a cigarette and begun puffing away.
`` Where ya from?'' The driver asked, glancing over his shoulder as he exhaled a large cloud of smoke.
`` Around,'' Roger muttered as he studied his surroundings. The windscreen was dotted with red splashes which was slightly odd and the car itself was covered in litter. He found himself drawn to the passenger seats which were draped in a long, red cover, visibly hiding something.
`` Got me a deer, shot it back yonder half a mile up in the valley,'' The driver started as he caught Roger's gaze. `` Was a tough one to haul in here but I did it!''
Roger's instincts screamed that all was not as it seemed. Despite his friendly demeanour, Roger was smart enough to know all was not as it seemed. It was as if the two men shared some hidden agenda. The eyes never lie and the cool, blue eyes of this man were not that of a friendly man.
`` Care for a smoke fella?''
`` No thanks those things'll kill you.''
`` I guess, although people are more likely to kill ya than these here cigarettes. Never know who ya gunna run into on the road...''
And in that moment the car fell silent. Both men stared at the empty road ahead. Roger's mind raced as he weighed up his next move. It was n't until the last moment he noticed the glint of metal flashing that he had the reflexes to dodge the machete shot to his face.
The driver's face was twisted in a demented, evil smirk as the two men stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. Roger grabbed his own knife and swung. The car turned abruptly at the same moment and Roger slid out his seat dropping his weapon.
`` Hey boy, looks like ya got yourself in a real doozy this time!'' The driver laughed as he slowed the car. He grunted as he grabbed the machete from the back of the seat and slammed his boot into Roger's face.
The impact caused Roger to see stars and as he spat blood at the driver stopping an imminent knife blow, he bought himself some time to grab his knife. They swung for one another at the same time and as their weapons collided, the car curled round a tree.
Glass shattered around them like party poppers and for a brief moment it was as if crystal were raining around them. The impact sent Roger nose-first into the dashboard. Blood exploded from his nose and his eyes instantly watered. Pain shot through his face and he squinted against it, he saw with horror the machete force its way through his thigh.
Although the driver smirked in sick satisfaction, a fat shard of glass lodged in his left ear and a large gash across his face showed he was also in pain. Blood trickled down his face coating him in a layer of red.
Sensing an opportunity, Roger clenched his fist and drove it into the driver's face. Again. And again. The driver fought back with his own blows before headbutting him. Grabbing the shard from his ear, he slashed Roger ferociously causing sudden blindness in his left eye and a warm sensation of liquid pouring down his face.
The two men were growing weaker but neither would back down. Like two fighters in the ring, both knew now what the other was about. These two men were killers and neither was about to be humiliated by the other to become their victim. With pride and honour on the line, the two men continued to beat each other until Roger fell out the passenger door and felt himself tasting dirt.
The driver limped out the driver side and slammed the door shut, causing the sound to echo around the empty abyss. A few birds flew away in alarm but otherwise the world was eerily quiet. Like a deep breath before the storm.
`` This is the end of the road boy,'' The driver knelt beside Roger, spat blood out his own mouth and caressed Roger's hair, pushing the black curls out of his face. He wiped the blood out of Roger's blind eye and smiled evilly. `` Victim number 25. I got ta say, you put up a hell of a fight but this is the end.''
The last thing Roger Farth saw that day was the glint of the rusty blade driven into his face. He died instantly.
The driver whistled triumphantly and limped back to his car. Opening the rear doors, he removed the red cover to show several bodies stacked up like a jenga tower. Roger Farth was the 25th person to suffer the fate on the road the driver had claimed his hunting ground.
Useless to drive anymore, the driver abandoned his car with a new found cockiness and arrogance and begun to walk down the road. He found himself thinking about his latest victim. About the blood, about the way his machete sliced through Riger's thigh and the look on his victims' face when he delivered the killing blow. He examined the blood on his hands and wiped them lazily on his jeans.
The sun was beginning to set and as the light slowly faded, a black car stalked the driver. It was n't until it was too late that the driver realized he was being followed by the car. He slowed to a crawl, allowing the car to pull alongside him.
`` Need a lift sir?'' The driver flashed a strange smile his way as he obediently got into the car - unaware the person who's car it was, was about to kill victim number 30.
EDIT: Grammar, formatting, sentence phrasing and a reworded ending.
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[ WP ] A man tries to check out of Hell , irreparably oblivious to the fact that it is n't just a really , really bad hotel .
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In hell, all damned souls are required to go through a mandatory orientation at the `` Welcome Mat Building''. Within the building there are infinite amounts of single rooms. Each single's interior was designed like a cheap hotel room to help transition the damned souls into their new reality. Once they had accepted their lot in the afterlife, we would move them out into the rest of hell. Most souls do not stay more than a few days. As the head honcho of this hellhole, it was my job to use any means necessary to help them transition. I sigh miserably. I sat in my office awaiting my assistant to bring me good news. Three o'clock hit and the door to my office opens.
`` Please tell me you have good news,'' I plead. The assistant, stony faced as usual stands to attention.
`` No good, Director Long-Johns. The stubborn soul refuses to realize he's in hell.'' Bad news from the assistant.
`` Damn that bastard to Heaven. Has it already been a week?'' I could feel the panic slowly rising.
`` One week and two days, Sir.'' I wish that my assistant was n't so precise.
`` I ca n't believe it. I might lose my job over this! Never in my two millenias as Director have I seen any soul stay here for longer than few days! What have we tried so far?'' The assistant pulls out a folder from thin air. The folder was very thick. The assistant clears his voice and takes a deep breath.
`` Well first, we tried standard counseling on the stubborn soul. The usual friendly talk between buddies. It was ineffective. We then resorted to more'physical' means. We tied him down and threw burning coals onto his back. That produced no results. We then let him spend some time with our hell hound Cereberus. The result was also quite ineffective. We also tried setting his room on fire, but... it seems he's just too stubborn sir.'' The assistant looks from the file to me, curious as to what I'll do next.
`` Send the bastard here to my office. Immediately.'' I really want to meet the oblivious soul who was so mind boggling oblivious. The assistant quickly rushes out the office. I sit back and try to calm my nerves.
A few moments later, the assistant rushes into my office with the stubborn soul. The haughty look in its eyes almost make me strangle him. Calm down, I tell myself. Be professional.
`` Greetings. I am Director Long-John. What's your name?'' I ask with forced politeness. The bastard has a sneer slashing across his face.
`` My name is Master Yard-Long. How's it going Long-John?'' The bastard replies.
`` Er, his name is Joe Jenkins.'' My faithful assistant quickly cuts in. So the bastard thinks he's funny? I force a laugh.
`` I think you need to learn your place around here. Tell me, where do you think you are right now?''
`` I'm in a shitty hotel with some shitty ass service.'' He fumes.
`` Excuse me?'' I react in confusion.
`` Yeah that's right. When I first woke up in this hotel, I requested to cancel any bookings I made in this hotel which I'm now calling'The Substandard Shit Hole'. I must've been drunk when I booked a room here. This whole place is a shitty scam. I never book a room for more than two days, but strangely enough, I've been here for more than a week. Want to know WHY? Because you assholes locked me in my own room. I bet you're hoping that my'extra nights' would be tallied onto my bill plus some bullshit late fees. Oh, which brings me to the substandard asslicking'extra services' you gave me, but I did n't even order or request them. I'm talking about the hot coal massage and the heater you overclocked. My room was like hell incarnate. Except that it was a shitty substandard version of hell. Now, I bet you're gon na try to charge me out the ass for these forced services too. I know for damn sure I'm not gon na be footing the damn bill.'' He spoke fast and ran out of breath. This is my chance.
`` Joe Jenkins, the building you are in is not a ho-'' I begin.
`` YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT THIS PLACE IS N'T A HOTEL. How do you... even... keep a substandard shit hole like this open? I ca n't belie-''
`` Joe Jenkins, let me expl-''
'SHUT UP! YOU LISTEN TO ME. I've been waiting a week to speak to the asshole that runs this place, and apparently it's your ugly face. I wanted you to know that I am going to shut this place down, mark my words. I have a very good attorney and it should be cake bringing your business down.'' I have never seen a soul ever be this stubborn and oblivious. I could feel my shock slowly mixing with anger. My quickly step from behind my desk and grip my fingers around his throat.
`` You... ca n't... treat me... like this...'' He struggles to mouth. Maybe I should do Hell a solid and send him to his third life. Suddenly the phone on my desk rings.
`` Assistant.'' I call. The assistant obediently picks up the phone. The man I was choking was slowly starting to dissolve from this plane of existence. I am rejoicing with every second that passes.
`` Put Joe Jenkins down IMMEDIATELY!'' My assistant seems panicky.
`` Why should I put this bastard down? He deserves no such mercy!'' I yell.
`` You received a call from the Most Unhallowed One: You've been demoted.''
`` Oh have I finally been demoted? Finally and truly? Well I do n't care anymore. I'm gon na kill this idiot again before I start moving my personal items out.''
`` I do n't think the new Director appreciate that.''
`` What makes you think that?''
`` Well, that would be because Joe Jenkins is your new superior and Director. I also think that it would please him if we addressed as Master Yard-Long.''
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[ CC ] A fight scene in a novel I 'm starting ; looking for feedback , harsh or mild
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Just as a disclaimer, this is just an opinion...
I feel your choice of verbs is a bit strange. Grammatically, `` bolster'' in the way you are using is transitive. You have to bolster `` something''. Are you implying instead that you're rallying? The last line of the first paragraph, `` surging motion''. What's surging? Or were you trying to say `` motion surged into my legs?''
To me the action might be exciting, but the grammar and the halting structure of your prose takes me out of the scene. I find myself constantly stopping for breath due to punctuation instead of reading a organically flowing sequence of events. The actually sequence of attacks and ripostes also seem a bit strange to me without context. Is he/she a seasoned veteran with a good deal of hand-to-hand combat training or is he/she a neophyte scrambling to stay alive? I ask this because some of the motions you describe, like `` scurrying'' conjures images of a mouse running away, and again strikes me as odd.
**Not that I am a good writer myself, but here's how I might move things around: **
A quick breath, in and out, and my mind let go to give instinct the chance to do its job. I could feel my pulse pound against my veins. My every nerve alighted, waiting for instructions. My body moved.
I gravitated towards the smaller man first in a half-lunge half-dash and threw a right cross, sloppy. He took the feint, moving to grab my arm. I carried through with the motion, my balance intentionally ungainly until my right foot touched ground. Spinning my weight on my right and swinging my left leg around and into his shins, I used the sudden boost of momentum and brought my left fist crashing into his exposed temple. The smaller man cried out, his head snapping back from the force before doubling over...
... directly into my right knee. I felt the bridge of his nose fracture under the combined force. He fell to all fours, his breathing wheezing through his broken nose. My right first came crashing down into his exposed temple once more to make sure he was down. *No time to celebrate the win*, instinct whispered, *there's two others. * I immediately stepped back, my hands moving to comfortable perches above the knife strapped to my belt and the pistol strapped to my leg, chambered and waiting.
Just some thoughts.
Edit: Saved throughout so I would n't lose my wall of text.
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[ WP ] A society where everyone is born gender less , and has to pick a gender by their 18th birthday .
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`` It's like building with lego's'' my dad joked. `` You just snap the parts you want onto yourself!''
`` Just like lego's?'' I raised an eyebrow. My dad, the jokester. I could never take anything he said seriously.
My mother laughed and nearly spit out her wine `` Oh stop it Jamie, you're going to confuse Alex even more.''
`` Okay, it's not exactly like lego's, you ca n't switch them out whenever. Once the choice is made, it's final.''
My mom and dad stood in the doorway of the bathroom. I looked at the parts sitting on the bathroom counter, in their respectful boxes for male and female.
I read the box for the female parts:
`` Included in this box are:
1 pair of mystery sized breasts
1 bra of according size
1 self cleaning vagina ( cervix, ovaries, etc )
1 manual for how to take care of your equipment
Not included:
box of pads or tampons
``
I read the box for the male parts:
`` Included in this box are:
1 mystery sized penis
1 pair of mystery testicles
1 pair of nipples
1 adam's apple
1 manual for how to take care of your equipment
Not included:
facial hair ( you may grow your own later )
``
`` You guys seriously had to do this too?'' I looked at them both.
My dad grinned `` Yeah, I went to the store and chose the heaviest boxes for both genders. So you know, whatever is inside is gon na be big'' he gave an exaggerated wink. `` Whichever one you do n't choose, I'm taking back to the store, no worries. Jordan, where'd you leave the receipt?''
My mom waved somewhere in the general direction of the living room. She was sooooo drunk. I secretly think she always wanted a little girl, but I was never very feminine. She gave me her old dresses from when she was little, but I would n't wear them and instead ran around shirtless most of the time. It's not weird, nobody has nipples til their gender is assigned.
And now, my dad's joke about getting the heaviest boxes made me even more nervous. I liked the freedom of a flat chest. I could n't imagine having breasts like my mother's. They were bigger than my head! I used to bury my face in them and be so comforted as a child.
Oh god... Children! if I chose to be a woman... I'd have to be the one who carries the kid if I chose to have one. The thought was terrifying. Not as terrifying as the thought of monthly periods, however. I'd always hear my mom complaining about those.
I had made my choice. `` Excuse me for a few minutes'' I closed the door and heard my parents' footsteps head towards the living room.
I picked up the box for male parts. I peeled off the clear plastic and opened the container.
Inside, there were black, sealed, labeled baggies, on the very top was the instruction manual.
`` CONGRATULATIONS! You've now started your journey to manhood!'' it read.
I looked for the installation instructions.
`` You are probably excited to see what kind of equipment you now own, go ahead and open the bag containing the penis''
I looked for it. It was n't hard to find. It was the longest baggie. I opened it, and inside was a pale sausage like thing. I looked back at the instructions.
`` Your penis, along with the other parts, is pale in color and will blend with your skin tone within 10 minutes of being attached! To attach, simply place the base marked with the letter A to the corresponding area on your body''
I dropped my pants. I had always wondered what the markings on my body would do. Everyone had them, I learned in school. We are all born with the markings and when we turn 18, we get to finally put them to use.
I pressed the base of the penis onto my pubic mound. It did n't snap on like lego's, more like, stuck on like a magnet. My skin acted like silly putty and molded itself around the base of the foreign object. I now had a penis! but no balls.
I read the manual. `` Your penis has a foreskin included. You may see a doctor about getting it removed, should you want or need to''
The instruction manual said to get my balls next. I grabbed the package labeled testes and followed procedure. I went on to do this with all the parts.
When I was done, I admired myself on the full length mirror on the bathroom door. I wiggled my hips left and right, I jumped up and down, and let my junk flop around. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.
I did n't feel any different otherwise, maybe a bit awkward. Putting on pants was strange. I did n't know where to put this prominent bulge in front.
I walked around with pants a bit to get used to the feeling of having something down there. I was ready to make my debut. I opened the bathroom door and made my way to the living room.
`` Tah dah!'' my own voice startled me. It was a hell of a lot deeper than before I made my Decision.
`` That's my boy!'' my dad cheered. He got up from the couch and high fived me. I looked at my mom. She seemed sad, but she smiled `` Alex. My boy. My son. Alex.'' She got up and hugged me.''
She whispered `` I would have chosen male too, but I did n't get a choice''
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[ WP ] Your child and you go to a toy store so he can spend his allowance , he purchases one of those cheesy 8 ball fortune teller things . Later on you jokingly ask it a personal question and it responds with something that is n't on the dice inside the 8 ball .
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Last week, my son Tommy had a birthday. For his birthday Tommy received a gift of twenty dollars from his grandmother. Tommy β s grandmother is a kind and generous woman. She has been especially kind ever since Tommy β s father died in the zombie war. I β m glad we β re safe now.
& nbsp;
For his birthday, Tommy wanted a Magic 8 Ball, just like the one the one at his friend Billy β s house. Ever since Tommy β s dad passed away he β s been very interested in the idea of receiving β messages from the beyond β and he hopes to contact his father. I β ve tried to explain to him that it β s just a toy, and not to expect too much, but if it will give my boy some comfort, then what β s the harm? Today it is bright and sunny, and we are going to enclave toy store to see if one has come in with the new shipment of toys expected today. All the kids are so excited about the new toys. It β s been so long since we β ve had any word from outside.
& nbsp;
Tommy and I are first in line when the store opens and we hurry to the shelf of puzzles, Rubik β s cubes and Magic 8 Balls. The store shelves are half-empty, so it seems that today β s new toy shipment hasn β t been unpacked yet. There is only one Magic 8 Ball left and someone has left it sitting beside its crumpled package. Tommy doesn β t mind that it β s the last one left. He β s just glad to finally have the toy he β s always wanted. As Tommy carefully examines his new ball, the murmur and shriek of loud games of make-believe can be heard coming from the children in the action figure and Nerf-gun aisles. As the volume level rises I notice that the children must have started turning on all the noise-making toys at once. Youthful cries from the recesses of the store indicate that some of the youngsters must have gotten into a scuffle over some of the last toys left.
& nbsp;
Tommy tries out the 8 ball, squinching his eyes tight and shaking the ball with all his focus and will power. Turning it over, he reveals the ball β s message β Concentrate and ask again β. Shrugging, Tommy once again screws up his face and shakes the ball for all he β s worth. He glances at the answer to his unvoiced question and seems shocked and delighted with the answering β Yes β. Tommy passes me the 8 ball and insists that I try because he β s sure that his father is communicating through the 8 ball. At Tommy β s insistence I hold the ball tight, close my eyes and focus on the question in my heart.
& nbsp;
β Oh Ed, what are we going to do without you? β
& nbsp;
I shake the ball vigorously and the ball suddenly slips from my grasp and is flung to the floor, landing with a gut-wrenching crack. A small triangle of black plastic springs away from the fallen fractured sphere, and its inky blue contents splash all over the floor. Gazing in horror at the mess I β ve created from the ruin of my son β s birthday gift, I can just barely make out letters formed in the navy liquid. β Run Now β is squiggled beside the splattered plastic fragments.
& nbsp;
With a sad little squeak, Tommy stiffens and reaches up to grasp my hand.
& nbsp;
I glance up to meet the shambling husk of Tommy β s father groaning and stumbling towards us down the aisle, leading the remains of countless others who were once our saviors.
& nbsp;
As we turn to run, my foot slips on the ink-streaked floor.
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[ IP ] Wake up .
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Your roots grow deep in the still waters, tangling with the reflections of the trees. You float through dreams, through different shades of shadow, through the mottled leaf-green patches of sun. The wood is uneven beneath you, less a raft than a pyre, planks arranged in a pentagon and set adrift. You curled up on the planks as best you could, angling your body to fit, your furred hood cushioning your head. The darkness bleeds in around you, stains your hands. The darkness is green, the darkness is yellow, and then there is light.
You lie there for a moment, breathing in the water's edge, staring at your empty hands. Then you squeeze your eyes shut and stretch out your arms, twist in your legs, and then sit up and yawn into the bright air. This is a lacuna, a gap in your journey that will never be filled. You reach out across the water and scrabble your fingernails against the wood of the dock, pulling yourself in by gentle inches. Your boot touches wood touches solid ground, and as you shove your pyre off again, the trees closing thick around you, you cast one last backwards glance at that empty hollow of light.
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