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[ WP ] Describe in excruciating detail the longest second of the protagonists life
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Here I am.
The solution was simple. Non-Newtonian fluids. Ever play with cornstarch and water as a kid? Move your hand slowly and it feels just like water. Slap the surface? Hard as a rock. A couple tweaks to the formula, and we're talking harder than steel.
This was my life's work. My passion, and my sole focus. I'd thrown away a good job at the chem lab, and driven my friends and family up the wall through my commitment to the `` insane'' task. It's never been done before, so obviously there would be some bureaucratic hurdles for official testing, but the fees! That I had n't planned for.
Well, fuck traditional channels. My product works, so I'm performing my own tests. Once it's up on youtube, investors should be lining to help me bring the product to market. Save our countries finest and bravest, overseas, or walking the beat.
The metal feels cold today. The routine in the testing lab is the same as ever, but it feels different on the other side of the glass. The reflections are n't what I had expected. They look different in the tapes, and I imagine this will look the same on the cameras. Funny how a little perspective changes everything.
The gun feels light compared to the magnitude of my task. The smooth finish on the handle is like the work of a god. Well, we need protection from the same gods that made this gun, and that thought helps to steel my nerves.
There's a bullet in the chamber, and my head is firmly in the clamps. The pressure on my temples feels strangely soothing, like two thumbs massaging away a headache. If all goes well, that's exactly what I'll be doing in a few moments. If.
I slowly squeeze the trigger with my thumb. The gun feels very off balance firing backwards like this, but my friends categorically refused to help me in my test. They think I'm in the bathroom right now, throwing up the last 4 over-sweet `` birthday special'' shots. I have n't drank too much though. I've drank exactly enough to save some lives.
Time to pull the trigger. Time to prove my bulletproof mask works once and for all.
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[ WP ] Turns out God made Australia to be the harshest environment to make the perfect superhumans . His project has succeeded , and has unleashed Australians across the Universe .
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They were a rugged bunch, them; formed in the outback cauldrons: the harshest conditions in the universe, or so the almighty had ordained. And for good reason, too, for within those uninhabitable stretches of land there existed a prime motivation for its inhabitants: get strong enough, by the grace of God, to conquer the cosmos, one intraversible thicket at a time.
At least that was the plan -- *his* plan. But things, as he had learned, being the creator of it all, often did n't go according to plan -- especially not *his* plan. Turned out, these creatures he had fashioned from stardust -- in whom he had entrusted the imperialism of the vast universe, and for whom he had reserved a name of such inexhaustible elegance, the Australians... Well, it turns out, as it often did for Him, that, fit as they were for such expansion, they did n't care much for the idea of manifest destiny, since their very existence, as it were, emerged from the bosom of such a dogma -- a bosom, they had also learned, that, like the terrain, was n't exactly safe to put your teeth on.
However, one thing had become abundantly clear during their time on the outback: the outback was n't actually, as God had planned, the harshest environment in the universe. In fact, it was n't even the harshest on earth. The eskimos knew this, too, but were wise enough, knowing the kinda guy God was, to keep their mouths shut.
But upon recognizing that the moons of Jupiter, the icy Callisto in particular, better suited the traits of the Eskimos, that group of wily folks, the Australians, chose instead to explore their homeland, the one they called Earth. And within that expansion, a little north and a little east, they found their home in the suburbs of the United States of America. It was there, with their great survival skills, trained by the graces of God, that they applied their culinary genius, deciding to extrapolate their wisdom from the outback and point it at steak in an ultimate imperialist super-move: conquering the bovine.
It was then -- with God watching, spiteful at his creation -- that those nasty, wily Australian traitors built the greatest monument to the human species, a testament to their infinite power in the universe: *The Outback Steakhouse. * And henceforth, their dogma was not, as he had planned, `` conquer the cosmos'' or `` blanket the stars with bushwhacked mania,'' but, instead, how to make the perfect steak, a methodology more philosophy than recipe: `` *No rules, just right. *''
They also made Fosters -- that's right, *the beer* -- to treat the existential angst associated with defying the almighty god, which had left them in a condition that, value-judgments aside, necessitated an escape or two. But to honor him, they remembered to leave their mark, thus sealing his legacy: `` *Australian for beer*.''
To him, the almighty Him that is, the mark was that of shame. Perhaps some time, in the future, of course, his true race would emerge, and it would be then, with igloo-coated spacecraft and pilots in great parkas, that his omnipotently imperialist dreams could, at last, be fully realized.
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[ WP ] When children turn 8 , they are given the option of manifesting their imaginary friend into reality in exchange for sacrificing their remaining imagination . Your `` friend '' assumes he 's about to be manifested , but you 've always secretly wanted to be a writer when you grow up .
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Todd always had a song ready for me, no matter what life tossed my way.
A hard day in preschool sometimes needed a somber violin melody, and an awesome day in kindergarten often led to an upbeat trumpet serenade.
At first, the tunes seemed to be coming straight out of my head, played to perfection on any instrument imaginable. But as I grew older – through second grade and into third – Todd ’ s music was beginning to change.
I remember the day vividly. We both knew it was coming. I ’ d just gotten my poem back from English class – a 93. I ran into my room to find Todd, but he was nowhere to be seen. I wandered into the backyard and he was sitting by the fountain, surrounded by instruments, his one-man-band getup slung on his back.
“ Have you made your decision, Susan? ”
I gulped and stared at the ground. The silence persisted for an uncomfortable length of time. Todd spoke up again.
“ I have a song for you. ” He picked up his trumpet and began to play, nimbly navigating the keys with one hand and switching on his keyboard with the other. The melodies were complex, the harmonies beautiful. It was far beyond anything that could have come from my own head.
When he ’ d finished, he set his trumpet down gently. “ I really want to share my music with the rest of the world, Susie. ”
I couldn ’ t look in his eyes. The A-grade poem was still in my hand, now nervously crushed between my fingers. Finally, I spoke up.
“ I ’ ve really been enjoying my writing, Todd. I think…I think it ’ s good for me. ”
I heard a drum beat as he shifted his position. “ Surely you can make a compromise. For me. For all the joy I ’ ve brought into your life. ” I glanced up. The sun was setting and he looked more transparent with every passing second.
I opened the poem and read it in my head, then looked at Todd one more time. “ I ’ m sorry. ”
Tears flowed from Todd ’ s face as he stared, his eyes locked furiously on mine.
“ I hate you. ”
He faded away, blending into the fountain behind him.
I let out an agonized shriek, tearing my poem to shreds. The cruel bargain was complete, and there was no turning back.
***
Twenty years later, I stepped into the main office of Simon and Schuster Publishers, Inc. The CEO, broad-shouldered and stern, approached me and shook my hand.
“ On behalf of the company, I ’ d like to thank you for your masterful artwork and storytelling. ”
He produced a piece of paper and let a smile creep across his face.
“ *Todd the Music Man* is our best-selling picture book in three years. Barbara in Mail Processing keeps getting letters from kids, pages and pages of lyrics. ”
I glanced at a copy of the book, which was on display near the front desk. The blurb on the front read, “ Beautifully expresses the joy of music to children of all ages. ”
I can only hope that I have thanked Todd the way I should have so many years ago…for all the joy he brought into my life.
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[ WP ] A happy story with a sad ending
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“ What about that one? ” John asked, pointing at a puffy white mass that lumbered lazily across the sea of blue above them.
“ Conan O'Brien, ” said Eve.
John snorted and shook his head. “ And that one? ”
It took her a moment. “ Either Gandhi or Charlie Chaplain, ” she said, then turned over so she was facing him.
“ You're ridiculous, ” he told her.
“ I am? ” she asked. “ Then tell me, oh-wise-and-mighty-doctor, what do *you* see? ”
John squinted and despite his best efforts, he struggled to find words. When he finally did, the ones he'd settled on were “ Erm—ice cream and—an egg? ”
Eve raised an eyebrow. “ It's a good thing you're cute. ” Then she leapt on top of him and kissed him deeply. Her warm breath tasted sweet and when she pulled away John was reminded of just how addictive it was. He leaned in for more, but she pushed him back down to the thick bed of grass that coated the hilltop and lay her head down on his chest. She lay there for a few moments before turning her gaze back up toward his face. “ Are you excited? ” she asked.
“ Of course not, ” he told her, deadpan She hit him almost hard enough to leave a bruise. “ Oww! Christ, you really ca n't take a joke when it comes to this stuff, can you? ”
“ It's our wedding, John, ” she said. “ My family is going to be there, your family is going to be there—it's not just some kind of joke. ”
John sighed, “ You need to relax, everything is going to be just fine. You'll notice that I'm not worried. ”
“ The last time I manage to get you close to worried was when I got Laura to piss on that pregnancy test and planted it on the top of the bathroom garbage can. ”
“ And did you like worried-me? ” John asked.
“ Well, ” she said. “ There was more sweating and nervous babble than I'm usually a fan of. ”
“ Exactly, ” said John. “ So count it as a blessing that when it comes to our wedding, I'm the furthest thing from worried. ”
Eve frowned, a small line forming between her dark, symmetric eyebrows. “ It's just, we come from such different worlds, you know? ” She rolled off of him and sat up. “ You've never met any of my family, I've never met any of yours. I mean, what if it's a disaster? ”
“ It wo n't be a disaster, ” John said, taking her hand in his own. “ And even if it is, you and I will have a lifetime of disaster-free days to make up for it, wo n't we? ”
She grinned, smiling in that way that made even his chilly heart warm from the inside-out. “ I do n't know, ” she said. “ Knowing you I ca n't imagine every day will be free of disaster, but I'll take what I can get. ” She squeezed his hand tight and their eyes met in a moment that might have lasted a lifetime until a buzz from John's phone broke the spell.
With a sigh, he let go of Eve's hand and wriggled it free from his pocket. “ Looks like duty calls, ” he said, looking at the screen. “ I guess I'll meet you back at home? ”
“ I wish you did n't have to leave so often, ” said Eve, scowling.
John paused, staring deep into her eyes again before planting a kiss in the center of her forehead and rising to his feet. ” So do I, ” he said. “ I'll try not to be long. ”
Eve feigned a smile for him and then lay back down in the tall grass, staring up at the clouds and humming a tune. John descended the hill and crept around the mighty oak that stood at it's base. When the door hidden in the trunk opened, he stepped through.
The men in lab coats were all still watching Eve through the one-way glass that overlooked the small room. Their attention shifted back and forth from her, to monitors which streamed raw data at nearly incomprehensible rates. John would be lying if he said that he'd ever really understood what all those codes and numbers meant. He was just a psychologist, after all.
“ Dr. Hardy, ” said Professor Capek, the project lead, as he approached John wearing a smug grin. “ That was exactly what we were looking for, a wonderful performance once again. ”
John shrugged, turning his gaze toward the ground.
“ Oh come on now, is something the matter? That was some of the best work intimate study work I've ever seen, in this program or any other! ” Capek gave John a hearty clap on the back.
But that mark of approval did n't please John the way it usually did, not today. “ Do n't you ever—I do n't know – feel like it's wrong, what we're doing? ” he said. “ I mean she feels things, remembers things, *wants* things for crying out loud. How can we just sit in this room and manipulate all that? ”
Capek's fleshy face twisted in discomfort and he looked around the room for a moment to make sure no one was close to the two of them. No one was, they were all still enamored with Eve and her data monitors. He slung a heavy arm over John's shoulder and pulled him in close. “ Listen to me, ” he said in a low, lecturing tone. “ I'm giving you this warning because I like you, Hardy. That thing in there is not a *she*, it is just that, an *it*. And rest assured, whatever *it* wants or remembers or even feels is because those men over there make it so, eh? ”
“ But -- ”
“ No'buts,' ” growled Capek. “ Do you know why I hired you, Hardy? ”
“ Because of that paper I wrote on the growing link between psychology and AI studies? ”
“ Because the fella before you started using words like *she*, ” Capek snarled, pulling his arm away and stepping backward. “ Have I made myself clear? ”
John nodded.
Capek's smarmy grin resurfaced. “ Good. Now rest up and get your report written. The boys are going to reconfigure a few things here and when you come back at the top of the hour you'll be running the first day of the honeymoon. How does a sandy beach sound? ”
“ Perfect, ” John said, feigning a smile himself. “ Just perfect. ”
Capek clapped him on the back again. “ We're going to be rich someday Hardy. Just you wait. ” Then he turned back toward the men at the monitors. “ Alright, let's shut it down and get the next one ready, ” he called to them.
John stepped over to the glass and stared down at Eve. She was still watching the false clouds drifting across the room's ceiling. And as the room darkened and her eyes fell shut, John wondered what she saw.
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[ WP ] A remote , peaceful village of vampires is being terrorized by a psychopathic vampire slayer .
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The flesh-eater came again yesterday, while the village slept. It took Gerhardt from his home, bound his limbs and dragged him out into the light. When we awoke at dusk there was naught left of him but a pile of charred bones. How long did he burn, I wonder? I asked Mama about it once, but she shushed me and said that I should n't speak of such things. Gerhardt was always kind to me, I hope he did not suffer long.
Why do the flesh-eaters hunt us? Our legends say that they are cursed, driven mad by the sun's blinding light and forced to consume the flesh of the dead for sustenance. Perhaps I would be driven mad too if I could only dine on corpses: eating dead things must be akin to eating death itself, slowly killing them from the inside. I think that maybe the flesh-eater is jealous of our vitality, and it strives to steal that life away from us to slake its own unquenchable thirst.
We held a short memorial for Gerhardt, and buried his bones in the old cemetery behind the town hall. Afterwards, Papa remained at the hall with the other men to discuss defensive strategies. While the men argued and made plans, Mama and I went to the fields to help tend to the herd. Our village depended on the herd-beasts, and it was important to monitor their health and ensure each beast was given plenty of time to rest and heal between feedings. Drink too deeply from one beast and it could fall ill, allow that illness to fester and spread and the whole herd could die. I was quite fond of these great placid beasts, with their soulful eyes and low, soothing noises. After feeding I would always stroke the beast's warm, hairy neck and thank it for giving me sustenance. If only the flesh-eaters could feed as we do, sharing life with another creature instead of choking down dead flesh. Perhaps that life would warm their cold hearts and heal their twisted souls.
While Mama and I worked in the field, the men of the village were hard at work building fortifications. They reinforced the village gate, dug trenches outside the walls and lined them with sharpened stakes. Papa fitted our front door with a heavy wooden bar, and installed thick shutters over all the windows on the main floor. When the first rosy light of dawn appeared over the horizon, we barricaded ourselves inside our home and hoped for the best.
I was awakened several hours later by a heavy crash, and I rushed downstairs to find Papa grappling with a monster. Its coarse, bestial face was twisted into a predatory snarl, and its hair was matted and filthy. Its clothing was crudely sewn from preserved animal hides and it wore a necklace of teeth. Was this the fiend that kiled Gerhardt? Did it pluck the teeth from his smouldering skull to craft its gruesome jewelry? Mama came rushing down the stairs behind me, and she stopped and screamed when she saw the flesh-eater. It swung its head around to find the source of the noise, and its face creased into a horrid grin when it saw us. With a sudden burst of strength, the flesh-eater flung Papa to the ground and came rushing toward us. Mama shoved me behind her and readied herself to fend off the attack, but the monster suddenly stopped in its tracks and a pained grimace flashed across its face followed by a look of pure terror. Papa had wrapped his arms tight around the flesh-eaters chest and sunk his fangs deep into its neck. Its face grew pale and gaunt as Papa drank deep of its lifeblood, and when he finally released his grip the thing that fell to the floor was naught but an empty husk.
The village held a wild celebration the following night, and we built a great pyre and danced around it as the flesh-eater's remains were burned to ash. From that day forth no villager was ever dragged from their home into the searing light of day. Papa was lauded as a hero, but after that night he was a changed man. He was quieter and more serious, and he seldom laughed or smiled. Some nights he would simply sit outside, staring up at the moon and saying nothing. Perhaps when he took the flesh-eater's life, he also drank in some of the death and madness that had twisted it into such a terrifying monster. I can only hope that in time my Papa's soul will heal.
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[ WP ] an immortal man who can not be physically injured is a passenger on a jet that 's going to crash .
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( Bear with me this is my first time )
`` Sir? Sir? Sir please put your seatbelt!'' The head stewardess called out from her sit. The belt fastened on her own waist as his gaze saw the panic in the passengers' faces.
Suprisingly his own face reflected the same expression but his reason is entirely different.
Henry McTower's fear is not to die but to be discovered. A secret he has been holding on since that accident in 1999.
That accident where he woke up in a really cold and dingy facility in a black bag wearing nothing as his bare skin rubbed against the cold material.
There was a small hole with a faint light coming through. He poked it with his finger and zipped his self free. The body bag was laid on metal operating table. He felt like a science project gone wrong.
He quickly stood up as the smell of formalin filled his nose and did n't help with the dizzy feeling he has. He shook his head and tried to gain balance as he slowly realized where he was standing.
The cold tiles under his feet instantly sent shivers up his spine but it was n't the only reason and he knows it.
And only wearing his birthday suit, Henry looked around for anything to cover his body. Anything.
But there was none. Morgues have no use for gowns or any cloth.
So Henry went straight for the heavy metal doors and pushed them open.
He could hear Elvis singing from a transistor as the guard on duty snored on his sit. Henry slowly tiptoed his way out- still naked.
The cold breeze outside blew on his bare skin as he shivered but as his gaze looked forward, in front of him stood a homeless man warming his hands by a fire in an unused drum. They stared at each other until the man removed one of his coats and handed it to him.
Henry could only smile and thank the man endlessly as he walked away- barefoot but at least hiding his nakedness. An hour later he was inside his apartment, showered, has eaten and completely dressed.
He was still confused by everything but he decided to pack some food. He grabbed a few old clothes, a pair of shoes and the homeless man's coat and walked towards the morgue. He saw the man who helped him sleeping close to the fire he made. Henry gently placed the things he brought next to the man and covered him with the coat he borrowed and when he was about to pull his hands away, the man clasped his right hand firmly and looked deep into his eyes and uttered, `` I know what you are. You are not the only one who walked out of that morgue naked.''
Henry did n't know whether to entertain the man's idea. But what if he does know?
`` I- I do n't know what you are talking about. I- I was just a victim of a practical joke. Yeah! Yeah- my friends are assholes,'' he tried to fake a chuckle but the man would n't let go of his hand and still looked straight into his eye.
`` Look- Mister. I'm really thankful for the help but-'' Henry tried to pull his hand away but the man cut his words short and replied, `` They have been taken away. They are being studied and experimented. I'd run if I were you.'' Then his grip loosened and he was free.
And just when Henry thought that the man was done, he heard more, `` They will come after you once they find out that you are alive and out of that morgue. They would know that you are one of that species.''
Henry's thoughts were interrupted as the masks fell out in front of the passengers. His mind is back in the current situation.
Everyone panicked, grabbed one and wore them. Children were crying and adults were in tears as the plane tilted forward as if it was about to plunge. To where, no one knows.
But that is the least of Henry's worries. He fumbled with his seatbelt and tried to free his self. And as he managed to do it, he tried to maintain his balance and stood up. The stewardess who was earlier trying to make him stay in his seat could n't care less as she also braced for the worse.
He needs to get out of the plane. They ca n't find him. Not now, not when he almost lost them and mislead them.
And just as he was about to take another step, the pilot announced, `` Everybody stay calm. Do not worry, your family would be compensated well after your deaths.
If your body is still intact, you will be getting a great funeral service, if not then you'd still be remembered by your family as they live a comfortable life thanks to you.
The truth is we really just need one person.
Mr. McTower, we've been expecting you.''
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[ Wp ] It is the year 2032 . Due to increasing obesity , fast food joints have been banned entirely . Tell us the tale of bootlegging and speakeasies in this troubled time of prohibition .
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`` You do n't understand,'' my father said, pleading with the men and suits that had stormed into the pizzeria. `` We're a family business. All the food here is healthy, it conforms to regulations.''
We had planned for this for a long time. Stay behind the counter, brew the complimentary black coffee and do n't stop smiling. That's what all the other places did, we could n't allow ourselves to look any different. Except this time we had.
`` Excuse me, sir,'' the towering man said, taking off of his sunglasses and running his fingers along the the tables where several customers sat awestruck with salads and water. The table at the end was a family with a large veggie pizza. `` And what do we have here?''
`` That's the vegetarian option!'' my father exclaimed, `` You'll find that each slice holds less than 100 calories! I ca n't believe this, do n't you people have a McDonalds to close down?''
`` Dad-'' I blurted out in the politest way I could. His knuckles were already swelling.
He took a deep breath and started over. `` Officer, please, you wo n't find anything illegal here.''
`` Grease...'' the man said, slowly.
`` Excuse me?''
`` There's grease on this table, sir. Lots of it.'' He turned around and showed us his hand - his palm was shining with liquid running down to his cuffs.
`` Y-You're a liar! That table was clean, I just checked.''
`` Sir, you have the right to remain silent. Boys, shut this place down.''
The two identical men at the door leaped forward, throwing all of the food onto the floor. I dragged my father back behind the counter. He simply held his head in his hands and shook. I closed my eyes too. It would be over soon, hopefully.
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[ OT ] Word Count & Readability
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I feel that the goal of any story I write ( after choosing what demographic I want to reach ) is to get the most ( content-wise ) out of the least ( word-wise. ) This often means that I spend a fair amount of time looking up words or simply thinking about what I want a reader to feel or think after reading a line, paragraph, etc. And after I've written something down, even more time goes into editing what I've written. I do n't think anyone should be discouraged based on what a website tells them though. If you feel that your lexicon needs some sprucing up, read the works of others or just cross-reference some of your own words with a thesaurus/dictionary. You might find that there are words that express what you want to say even better.
As far as feeling inferior to others, that is a natural feeling in the world of literature. No one is a master of all art-forms ( and few are a master of even one. ) Yet, there are people who exist in the world as literary giants. So feeling inferior is okay as long as you do n't fall into despair about it. If you are inferior, expand your vocabulary and improve your skills. You could even look at those websites as challenges to overcome or test your limits. So keep at it, Wr_2213.
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[ WP ] the zombie apocalypse arrives and many feel prepared for the battles to come . But when it comes time to fight , it 's discovered that `` destroying the brain '' does absolutely nothing .
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It was n't our first time planning for the end of the world but it was the first time it actually came. Ever since i was a child my father loved his conspiracies. We had every contingency planned and practices so much so it was an automatic reflex whenever someone mentioned potential anarchy. So when the zombie horde rose up from the old grave yards we were ready, or so we thought. Out of all the conspiracies though my dad had setup for us this was was n't one that we had planned. Oh sure, zombie hordes were in the practice book but this we never prepared.
As my family stowed away inside our family built bunker we could hear the moaning and groaning for days. None of my family seemed infected but then again we were quick, our air is filtered and sterilized, and our food source is enough for 2 years. We planned on waiting it out as everyone knows that zombies will dry out, freeze out, or whatever as their skin and organs decay. It was only a matter of time and then we could emerge.
It was around June ( 3 months since the start ) when we encountered an issue with our battery packs. For some reason they were no longer charging. Something had happened to the solar on in within the gate enclosure. It was a necessity, we had to check it out. i had to head up to the enclosure.
I proceeded with my shot gun, Ax and hunting knife out through the front bunker air lock, through the secure door and into the main gate where I emerged on a beautiful sunny day. The grass was green, the trees where swinging in a slight summer breeze and no sign of anything living or un-dead.
I made my way up the hill to the gated solar array we had setup. I was about 10 feet away when I heard the first moan, `` Jeeze they are still alive'' I thought. No matter, if it is only a few I should be able to handle them. Coming from the backside of the gate arose a solitary zombie. From the looks of him it was someone who had been bitten and turned, potentially my neighbor Jerry. We did n't get along. He felt that any conspiracy was fabricated and he was alright with believing all the good stuff and none of the bad, but he was a good guy. I was a bit sad to see him this way. it was apparent however that this was no longer the Jerry I knew. Could I stoop making the shot only to discover later it was in all fabricated as he proclaimed?
I pulled up my gun and aimed it at his chest. Just to be safe I called out, `` Jerry, If you can understand me, this gun is loaded. I think you are a zombie and if you keep coming i am going to assume this is n't a joke and pull the trigger.'' To no avail, Jerry kept coming. `` God'' I thought, `` If I am at wrong and this is some practical joke I hope to God that they understand I felt my life was at risk. I do n't want to go to jail for this.'' I let about 5 seconds pass and felt more reassured that Jerry would not carry a prank this far. `` Actually'' I thought, `` This is n't Jerry at all.'' That was enough for my resolve to return and pull the trigger.
I had forgotten in that moment to aim for the head. `` What the Heck, Jake! ``,'' Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.'' Well we had practiced but I had n't expected to get so unnerved by the thought this was a joke. that was the first thing I had n't planned on. Oddly enough Jerry did go down. At best that wound should have halted him but it was n't close enough range and certainly did n't hit his head. As i came upon Jerry i started to notice his entire body was covered in little cysts, like a thousand ants had bitten every square inch of his body. What's more there was a purplish ooze coming from where the shot hit him, but for the most part he was no longer moving. `` Better not chance it'' i though, `` Better do the job right'' and with the ax I firmly embedded it within his skull. And that seemed the end of that.
I continued onto the enclosure it became apparent someone had opened up the door. `` I thought I locked this.'' But in my hurry for preparations I realized I must have forgotten. The lock was clearly enacted and the combo would have had to have been entered to open it. Dismissing that, i was still reluctant to go in, it was easy enough to hide within the panels and encountering a zombie in there could permanently damage the solar cells. There was little choice, it had to be fixed or we would be loosing our means of power. We had gas but enough only for 1 month, 2 at best if we rationed. That may not be enough to live through the hordes decay.
As much as it pains me to do it I realized I had to enter the enclosure and draw out what was inside. Passing through the gates there was no sound. not even the normal electrical hum from the power box connecting the solar cells. I will have to check on that later, first, to find my decayed friend. There are about 5 rows of cells on my property with each row expanding 10 feet. It was a sizable-able solar farm for one family but like I said, my father and family liked to be prepared. Slowly i crept through each row, looking underneath the cells, around the cells. Nothing.
`` Whew'' I thought, `` Ok, now for the power and then retreat to the bunker. I knew I had to act quick, I was concerned about getting near one of the zombies in case the cause was airborne, but the gun shot was a gamble in the event others were nearby.
Upon finding the power box I quickly looked over the fuses, switches, and connectors but found no issues. The cells themselves looked fine as well, and then I saw it. The power switch was thrown. Someone had turned it off! Was someone still alive and trying to sabotage us? Was this a trap? I quickly glanced around but saw nothing. Hurriedly I switched the power on and headed out the gate, this time ensuring it was closed and locked, `` But was it locked before?''
I quickly ran back to the bunker in the hopes this would soon be over and that was when the trap was sprung. At least as far as Zombies could spring a trap. `` Can they still think'' I had no time to reason and took aim at Ms Greensho's head and let off a round, and she went down. Some unknown stranger came up from the left and again I aimed for the head and down he went. it was n't until the 4th zombie that I noticed the groaning behind me. Despite removing a 3rd of Ms greensho's skull she rose up and charged with the same veracity as before. `` HEAD SHOTS ARE NOT KILLING THEM.'' I ran toward the house to pull the zombies away from the bunker. `` Luckily they are still slow.'' There are about 5 of them total, 4 now missing most of their heads. I realized then that what I thought was coagulated blood coming from Jerrys chest was something else. As the zombies closed in i was starting to see that same substances oozing from their heads.
`` Why did a chest shot killed Jerry then?'' I could still see the front of the solar enclosure and his body was still lying there. To gain some ground I climbed up the fence and onto the porch roof so i could study the zombies a bit. It took a bit but the zombies slowly gathered at the foot of the porch, just feet away from me but unable to climb and grab me as they so heartily desired. That is when I noticed the ooze again, coming from their heads. It was n't oozing, it was moving. Like tentacles but more like a thick jello. Whatever had them was unheard of to me.
Quickly i reloaded my shot guns and took aim at the chests. This time when they went down they stayed down. And that was that. After about 10 min and no sign of newcomers i jumped down to inspect the bodies closer. This time the ooze was oozing from the chest, just like Jerrys did. A little unnerved but overwhelmed with curiosity i brought out my hunting knife and ripped open one of the chests. After peeling back a layer or two I came upon a purple mass lodged into the chest cavity. That was enough. I felt dirty and needed to return and clean up. Hopefully i did n't contract anything. I may have to sit isolated in the front chamber for a week to ensure I am clean.
I hurried along back to the bunker to see my wife and kids again. It was the only happiness I had left in this cruel world. Hopefully we can rebuild it. that is when it became apparent I was n't alone. One last zombie was waiting by the bunker. Door opened. This zombie had a bulge in it's chest, something the others had but far more defined. The anger swelled up in side of me, HOW did this monster find its way into the bunker. I did n't leave it unlocked too did I? `` please do n't be dead.'' Only my family knew the combination, only my family knew how to get inside. My father built it and only my family has every been able to use it. All out of fear of not knowing how to trust. As i got close those same familiar eyes I knew as a child were staring back at me though they were cold, dead and demonic but still calculating. All feeling dropped from my legs as I hit the ground in terror. The last thing I saw was the creature, once my father, grabbed me for it's feast and the opened door, where my family once stood.
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[ WP ] Your holding the hand of a child too young to understand the dire situation coalescing around them , but believe they deserve an explanation .
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The boy ca n't remember a time when people were n't angry. He was born into unrest. I do n't remember a time when the news was n't bloodshed, so I reckon I was born into it just the same. But he hero-worships his Uncle Oisin, you see, and Oisin wants him to grow up understanding the way things are. I do n't agree with him enough to put a bomb under a car, but I want the boy to know who he is, so we followed Oisin to the march. I never would have gone, if I knew. There is a gulf, you see, between what I want the boy to know, and crouching with him behind a garden wall while bullets fly.
`` Ma, what's happening?'' he cries. `` I'm scared! Where's Uncle Oisin?''
Oisin is bleeding on a pavement, the fool. `` We'll find him soon now, my love, but we must keep still.''
`` Are they shooting, Ma? Why are they doing it?''
How do you explain centuries of strife to a grubby six year old in a flat cap? I wipe the dirt from his face. He's already older than he should be.
`` They do n't like us gathering, child. They're afraid.'' He is silent for a long while. Too close by, there is another crackle of gunfire. The boy's chin is scraped from where he tripped and fell.
`` Ma?''
`` Yes, child.''
`` Do they hate us?''
I do n't have an answer for him.
`` Let's pray to the Virgin, my love, and ask her to protect us, and to protect Uncle.''
`` Do you think God will listen to us instead of them?''
More shots. They're Christians too, are n't they? I ca n't remember the last time I truly believed a prayer would protect me. Someone screams and I push the boy down on to the paving stones, sheltering him with my body. I do n't know if my noble, foolish brother lives or dies.
`` Hail Mary, full of Grace. Be with us sinners now and at the hour of our death.'' He says the ancient words slowly and carefully, into the collar of my coat.
I do n't think they'll help.
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[ WP ] Turn your most memorable dream into a story
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I was in kindergarten.
My entire class was there. It was a dungeon. A wet dungeon made of tan clay.
There were numerous clay tables, or more specifically, alters, in this room. To my horror, I saw that my fellow classmates were strapped on their backs to these alters. Only I was free. As I hid, and watched, in walked a cyclops. It wore only chains and a leather apron. Strangely, it was claymation. I watched in terror as this cyclops walked up to one of the alters, and with a grunt, raised an axe. Then `` Shling!'' The five year old was decapitated. Then slowly, the stop motion monster beheaded my entire kindergarten class while they lay strapped helplessly on the alters.
And then I woke up.
I have no idea what my parents let me watch that night, but it led to my very first nightmare...
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[ WP ] `` We 've replaced this concentration camp inmate with a random historical figure ! Let 's see if the Nazis notice ! ''
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Another day, another roll call. You've heard it all before. The Nazi's were cruel.
`` B-3087.'' A Nazi called out as he checked the tattoo on a prisoner, checking his sheet.
`` B-3088.''
`` B-3089.''
This continued for another 5 minutes until it got to a strange man. He was n't dressed in traditional prisoner garb. Rather, something straight out of the late 1700's. It was poofy and rather colourful.
`` A-7324.'' The Nazi called out, taking the strange man's arm. There was a tattoo, cleanly engraved without blood or any damages to the skin. He moved along.
I had so many questions. Who was this man, why was he allowed special treatment?
A few minutes later, they finished roll call and put us to work. I was in charge of chopping firewood, alongside Prisoner A-7324. I asked him what his name was.
`` What's your name, man?''
He responded with bravado and with a tune.
`` Alexander Hamilton.''
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[ WP ] After a violent revolution , the government of a country is overthrown . You are assigned to guard the cell the former king/president/supreme leader is in before his public execution . He starts a conversation with you .
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''Where are my sons, where's my wife, where's my daughter?''
''Dead.''
He started crying. It was strange. The man had been the father of the fatherland, built up as one of the great men of history. Practically a god. And now I was watching him, crying. Hardly the man of resolve I had imagined. I felt no pity though.
''They were innocent...''
''Most of them.'' I replied. Two of his eldest sons had been commanders of the most loyal and well-equipped army elements. Division commanders, both of them. They had defended Ashgabat and Turkmenebat with quite some vigour. Both of them had held for years. The tide had turned, eventually, though. One of them killed himself to avoid capture, the other was dragged through the streets of Turkemenebat and ripped apart. Gruesome. I had fought in the Lebap province himself, though I had n't helped storm Turkmenebat in March. I had seen a video of the lynching though.
''Most..'' the prisoner repeated, enraged. Yes, most of them had been innocent. Still... I had no sympathy for them. I only felt a slight disdain for them, even though I rationally knew they were innocent and had n't deserved it. Nonetheless, my great hatred for their father overshadowed any rationality or sympathy, so I could n't help but feel glad for their deaths, smile. At best, I could rationalize it as an unfortunate excess of the revolution. That frightened me a bit, but what was done was done. No use dwelling on it.
''You bunch of fucking sheepfuckers..'' he whispered. I chuckled. There had actually been a few sheepfuckers in my brigade.''Do you think their deaths, deaths of children, are funny? Do you? Do you?'' he screamed at me. The rage of a god, a storm. Once. Now, it was the rage of a helpless prisoner. I thought it was strange.
In schools we had once chanted praise unto him. Father of the fatherland. Funnily enough, he was no longer a father of anything now. I could n't help but laugh at that, too. Now I -had- laughed at the death of his children, but I did n't feel too bad about it.
''You fucking idiot, you fucking monster.. I gave this country stability, I gave it wealth! I sent thousands to universities, gave fair treatment to both man and woman!'' he yelled. I would not engage in a debate. I knew the corruption, I knew of the men and women suddenly disappearing and never returning, I knew of all the places where his face was plastered. Mosques, markets, homes, squares, schools. His yelling increased and increased though. It became meaningless background buzzing for me. It did not matter, anyway. I had made my mind up a long time ago.
I opened the door and he stopped for a moment, looking at me with hopeful eyes. I lifted my gun and smacked him with the butt of the gun, knocking him out. A god, undone. I laughed again as the adrenaline surged through me. I had beaten a god. I kicked him in the stomach one more time. I had beaten a god again. I kicked once more. I had beaten a god again. I laughed harder, turned around, walked away and then shut the door again. My laugh echoed through the empty building.
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[ IP ] The Dragonriders
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Tsalag roars, and I feel the vibrations through his blue scales.
I ask silently, *Who? *
*Valadhrim. *
I feel a chill like ice water was poured on my head. He's been gone for years. I thought he was dead. I wished for him to be dead.
My brother's voice echoes across the burning city.
`` Sister! How did you survive the battle of Anarion? You must be very strong- or fast. In either case, we could use you. Join us!''
Now I can see him. His macabre parody of a dragon rises from the sea of flames, a glowing yellow abomination of hot steel and ash. He wears intricate fluted armor, turned black by the firestorm beneath us, and his eyes are full of hatred. He draws a sword, simple in design but incredible in craftsmanship. The blade's edges flicker with a red light, like flames in a lantern.
`` Altera. My sister.'' He says this with a wondering tone, as if doubting its validity. `` I know we've had differences, but we are of one blood. I do n't want to see the last of my kin destroyed.''
`` Burn in hell, Valadhrim. This madness has consumed everything our ancestors worked for. A millennia of society, gone. The Keepers, murdered. Our father, eaten *while we watched from under our maid's corpse! * No, there was a time when I would have forgiven you. But you must die.''
He yells, an animal sound, and a river of fire pours from his dragon's mouth. Tsalag recoils, unharmed but shaken. He retreats and hovers a few hundred yards from the automaton.
My vision tunnels around the false dragon. With a wrenching sensation, I cast a spell at the monster. It's invisible, but it carves a path through the flames and strikes with a sound like thunder. The dragon shudders and its wings falter.
Cursing, Valadhrim rolls his sword and urges his mount forwards. It launches forwards drunkenly and swivels as he slashes at me. I barely raise my staff in time to parry. I try to drive the ferrule into him, but he's an expert warrior. He ripostes and his blade slices through my robes and my stomach.
I feel nothing. Then the pain hits. I've suffered more than my fair share of wounds, magical and physical, but this is unprecedented. The wound burns like it's being bathed in saltwater, and my knees go weak as my blood drains out at an alarming rate.
I start to slip from Tsalag's neck. He roars and tries to grab me, but the automaton crashes into him and starts to tear into his throat with ruthless vigor. His blood mingles with mine as we fall from the sky. My vision goes dark. I have failed.
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[ WP ] “ There are three things all wise men fear : the sea in storm , a night with no moon , and the anger of a gentle man . ”
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‘ There are three things all wise men fear ’ he said, ‘ the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man. I think all here would agree that I am a gentle man, but you are testing my patience now, child. If you are who you say you are, you know what slander is the accusation you are making. ’
Taryn cast her eyes down as these words fell from the aelderman ’ s lips. Her spear-holding hand dropped from upright to languorous and the pointed bronze tip traced a bolt-straight line in the dusty hall floor as she stepped towards him.
‘ Perhaps you are right, Aelder Llewel. ’ Then a pause. Taryn ’ s pupils glance up quickly to meet his, then fall back once more and she continues to cross the room towards the old man. The villagers hem the two in a circle like a dog and a stag in a clearing edged by hunters ’ nets.
‘ I have been travelling so long, sir. Forgive a weary traveller. And forgive me again if what I ’ m about to say upsets you, but I remember my last night here was a moonless one. ’
The close packed villagers can be seen to bristle. The memory forms physical ripples through the crowd.
‘ And that night could not have brought more fear, my child. ’ The aelderman steps forward as he talks and raises his hands out low from his sides. ‘ We remember the night you and the other young ones were taken every year on the night where there is no moon and the days are shortest. And we beg the gods have mercy on us and our other children. ’ He was nearly shouting now. ‘ What happened to you was the greatest evil this village has ever suffered, but we must put it to bed if we wish to live in the present, here, among the living, rather than continually mourn with you and our dead. ’
Now he was shouting. A speck of saliva grazed Taryn ’ s girded dress. The villagers looked away to deny the sight of the aelder angry. Taryn took another step. The two were mere yards apart now.
‘ With respect, aelder, the reason we might fear a moonless night is because we can not see. But there is another reason why we could not see that night, Llewel. There were no fires. The raiders always brought fire before. Their lord Virrik called for it. Fire to burn our houses when they slaughtered us and stripped us and took what little we had. But that night there were no fires. No slaughter and no robbery. ’
‘ THEY STOLE OUR CHILDREN. WHAT MATTER IS THERE IF THERE WAS FIRE OR NOT? ’ One of the village men broke into loud sobs at this point. His wife draped her arms around to comfort him but he batted her away and for a long time only his mad sobs broke the silence in the hall.
‘ It was not robbery, ’ Taryn continues ‘ it was sale. You sold us. Your own children. All of you, all of your children. There may not have been light, aelder, ’ she hissed the word out ‘ but I could hear you talking to him, telling him about how soundly the village slept when you had been the one to fill the mixing bowl. ’
‘ THIS IS PREPOSTEROUS. ’
‘ They left you the crops, is that it? And whatever small treasures you had? Maybe they swore they wouldn ’ t come again? And you believed them? ’
The aelderman took a breath, then, firmly ‘ I will talk to this girl alone now ’. The villagers were driven out by the aelderman ’ s two main men, who then came to stand behind him while the villagers lingered outside the hall in anticipation and torpor.
Aelder Llewel spoke to her quietly now, for fear, justified fear, that the village might still be listening.
‘ I did what was best for the village. We could not survive another raid. If they had burnt our granary again we would all be dead. You of all people should understand a person ’ s instinct to survive. ’ And with that he gave a nod to his men that could only mean one thing, and walked past Taryn to the stand under the great hall ’ s doorway, turning to watch his men at work.
As Taryn crossed the floor towards the aelderman ’ s first man and with a swift two-handed thrust of her spear pierced his neck, his jugular, before he could even draw his sword, she could have told him about the other, the many other moonless nights over many years, which she had spent in misery and slavery and Lord Virrik ’ s bed, when she could only talk to the other stolen children through whispers and glances and coded messages through passed objects.
Then Taryn wrenched back her spear from the corpse she had made, and lunged with it, piercing the second man ’ s leg through, pinning him to the floor as he fell. A visceral yelp of pain echoed in the chamber and as Taryn circled the pinned man, who though fading fast was jabbing at the air with his sword, she could have told him about the storm at sea that had killed most of her crew of stolen siblings, after she had slit Lord Virrik ’ s throat while he slept and commandeered the very ship that once stole them.
At last she found the right time to dive upon the man, lithe and strong from years of frenzied practice for this day, and she wrestled the sword from his man and with one swift move took his head from his shoulders.
She took sword and spear with her as she ran from the hall, in pursuit of the aelderman, who found himself once again ringed in by villagers, angry now, baying for blood to expiate the blood of their sons and daughters. Her spear thrust up under his ribs and found his lungs and heart, and as his soul fled his useless body she thought his saying had been wrong. Fear the storm at sea, and the moonless night, yes. But though she was neither gentle nor a man, he would have done well to fear her the more.
Edit: typos
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[ WP ] The year is 2015 but instead of `` hard tech '' human civilization evolved around the usage of organic tech . Describe a typical day
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Charlie Misslef
Ms Grace ’ s English
Room 322
Wibble….Wobble….Wibble….Wobble….
The sound the alarm makes is slightly apologetic, and I force my eyes open and sit up before the second stage activates and the creeping vine completes its snaking movement around my left foot. If I hadn ’ t sat up I ’ d have had my leg hung in the air, then released. Tomorrow it will be my right leg which gets ensnared. I ’ ve trained my alarm clock well. I reach over and stroke the vine as it moves its way back into place next to the foot of the bed. It shivers with pleasure and completes is movement back to its warm spot.
I pat the mouth affectionately and it makes a slight raspberry sound before settling in a ‘ Mona Lisa ’ half smile. I ’ m glad that I talked to Todd last month about my alarm system and took his advice. I had no idea that it could understand as much as it did! No wonder I was waking up late every day when I hollered and complained about the system doing its job and waking me at the time I set it to! Of course it was going to try to make me happy by delaying the count… I ’ m just glad I realized the problem before Dad got on my case for cruelty to the organics again!
I rub the sleep from my eyes and wait for the bed ’ s `` tongue'' to let go of my legs so I can leave. Not really sure what that is made out of exactly. I just like how it regulates my temperature while I sleep, keeping me warm on cold nights and cool in the summer.
Standing up I stretch my arms at the sky and blink as the leaves begin to move away slowly, allowing the sunlight to stimulate the room with needed nutrients. As well as the water of my sweat and the gas of my breath, the room needs sunlight, just as all life does. In a minute I will head to the bathroom where I will give it waste of my body to process and recycle.
After completing biological necessity I stand in the refresher and suppress a giggle as burst after burst of water explodes from all directions until I am covered in sweet smelling fluids from the shower plant and the leaves wrap around my body to reabsorb the fluids, leafing me dry afterwards. Then I put on the day ’ s clothing and make my way downstairs to see what Mom has for breakfast. I hope she harvested something good!
Ugh! Strawberries and almond milk. ( AGAIN! ) Mom and Dad listened to the big mouth reading the news while I ate and then put everyone ’ s plates in the cleaner so it could consume the waste. I don ’ t really know how the big mouth works—just that on one end the echo reads the news and the mouth repeats it on our end. It ’ s weird! The cleaner is a lot like the shower plant, only it eats the food waste too.
Then I grab my bag and head outside so I don ’ t miss the worm. Luckily I didn ’ t miss it and when it stops I grab a line and pull myself up to stand on its top and wait as it makes all the stops along the way to the school. School is boring. Besides Ms Grace knows what school is like, she works there, so I ’ m going to skip to after school. I ride the worm home and head to my room, to change out of my school clothes and put on my home clothes. I drop off the wilted clothing in the recycler to be consumed by the house.
Then I do my homework ( BLECH! ) and sit with my Mom and Dad again while the big mouth repeats the news of the day and try to be patient for my show to come on. Finally the theme to **The Adventures of Bobby Box Racer** begins and I get to hear about the latest adventures of Bobby in the twisted world of machines racing `` cars'' down `` roads'' until it ’ s bed time. I like Bobby but I don ’ t know if I ’ d like living in his world where everything is a cold dead mechanical.
The end.
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[ WP ] `` Sometimes , child , to take a stand means sitting down . ''
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Novius Peregrinus Falco thumped his thumb on the metal rail, dragging it under his palm so it caused a faint metallic whisper. Below was the beige glow of Junah Alghurab, the desert haven on the furthest edge of the Tertiary Colonies, well outside Imperial control.
‘ *It was supposed to be a haven. * ’ Novius cringed as though he ’ d smelled something rank as he stared down at the planet.
The surface was riddled with obvious destruction, the once sprawling metropolis capital, Alttijwal esh Alttayir, was so thoroughly bombarded the smoke could be seen from orbit. Fresh wounds were carved across portions of the planet, miles long wounds from massive cruisers that had plummeted to the planet ’ s surface from high orbit. As Junah Alghurab continued its morose spin more of the planet was revealed, and with it further evidence of the mass destruction strewn across the quiet surface. It was without a doubt what, or more accurately who could have caused such complete and utter devastation to a planet.
“ You ’ re right to believe this is Imperial work. ” Novius turned to face his aged companion as the man sat with folded legs and eyes closed, his voice quiet, “ It is undeniably so. ”
“ How can you be so calm, Caracal? ” Novius returned his gaze to the dead planet. “ You said yourself that this was the last place we could go. That you had friends here that would help us. What, now, are we supposed to do? What course is left for us to take? ”
“ When the way is dark, await the light. ”
Novius drummed his fingers on the rail, the metal rang as each finger struck in a wild and agitated beat. He waited for, what seemed to him, minutes before agitation overtook him and he turned on the old man with an enraged huff.
“ Is that all you have to say? What good is it to await the light, Caracal? What good is waiting for the Imperials to find us? Or the Eyes of Truth? What good are *you* if all you can offer is riddles for advice? ” Novius grabbed his thick black hair with both hands, staring up at the dim lights of the small observation bay as he unleashed a long and low rumble.
“ I offer no riddles, young hunter. ” Caracal tilted his head back, eyes still closed, as he rasped in response, “ Only words to reinforce your flagging faith. You must trust that the machinations of man will be countered by the machinations of the divine. The darkness of men seeking to blind all men will grow deepest just before the dawn. ”
“ I don ’ t want to wait for something that won ’ t happen in time to stop *them* from destroying us all! Don ’ t you understand? The Eyes are searching for us. They have the backing of the most powerful coalition ever known to man. And they want nothing more than to kill a self-proclaimed prophet and the bounty hunter that was supposed to kill him. That ’ s you and me, you old fool! ” Novius pointed at Caracal with one hand and slapped his chest with the other, “ You said you had risen against them before! You said you ’ d made them fear the wrath of God! Which God!? Why isn ’ t your God helping us now? Are we supposed to go down in some blaze of glory? Martyr ourselves in a final stand to light a fire through the colonies? What is the *plan*? ”
Caracal did not respond. He sat, and began to hum a deep and low rhythm, almost too quiet to hear.
Novius stared at the withered man with his left arm smaller than the other, a long white beard which curled between his legs in his current pose, and scars marring the left side of his deeply tanned face. The anger dissipated as he listened to Caracal ’ s hum, the gentle ebb and flow of the rhythm enough to bring him back from falling into the frustrated and frightened rage he felt as it boiled inside. He took a deep breath, counted to ten as he held it in, then released it as his head tilted down. The anger fled with his breath, though he still felt fear as it quivered inside his stomach.
‘ *Just as the old man taught me. * ’ Novius thought as he looked down at Caracal. After so many months together, Novius had begun to take to the calm tutelage of the mysterious man. Always Caracal tried to instill in the young man the discipline of controlling himself, focusing himself, and finding his citadel within.
‘ *Because no man that resides within the citadel kept at his deepest point may have his spirit broken from without. * ’ Novius repeated Caracal ’ s words to himself as he breathed, ‘ *No man that has found his citadel can be conquered by any but those he allows to conquer him. * ’
With another deep breath, Novius sat, cross-legged, in front of Caracal. He listened as the old man continued his hum and focused his energy to his own thoughts.
It was as though he drifted away from his body and plummeted through a void accompanied only by the distant hum of Caracal. Novius could feel the sensation of falling, much like that which wakes you from a deep sleep, but he did not wake. He did not fear the fall. He felt the breath enter and exit his body, but knew he was far from the body which drew it. He felt his eyes close but knew he could see.
Still he fell, deeper and deeper through the void. Until he did not.
He watched as a light blossomed before him, far away and dim. He reached for the light and found he could encompass it within his hand, relishing the dull warmth which it emanated. The light hovered above his palm, itself dim and undefined, and he closed his fist around it.
Novius felt as though a sponge were forcing its way through his clenched fingers, and the warmth inside grew to a blaze with streaks of ice flicking across his wavering grasp.
With a gasp he released the light and it burst.
He saw whiteness. He heard Caracal ’ s hum.
And with a slow creep, the whiteness withdrew to reveal a sight he had never expected.
‘ *Home, * ’ He heard his own voice far, far away as the word which he had thought echoed down from the void above.
He spun in place, slowly taking in the sight of his childhood home. He stood in the center of the external atrium, the mosaic floor beneath his feet the very same as he remembered from so long ago. The red marble pillars all around were unmarred, unlike the last time he had seen, and he marveled at the restored beauty of his home. No blood upon the old tile, no bodies of his father ’ s men.
‘ *Not even my father ’ s body. * ’ Novius stared at the spot which had been burned into his mind all those years ago, just a mere foot from where he stood, and gasped as the scene flashed to the very memory which he had recalled upon seeing his home.
His father stared upward, glassy eyed, with two oozing bullet wounds in his chest and one in his thigh. All around was rubble from fallen and exploded pillars, dozens of bodies from the Black Falcon guards which his father had been so proud of in his life.
As Novius stared his dead father ’ s eyes met his own and a low whisper escaped his barely moving lips, “ If you find yourself facing a giant, do not fight him on his terms. Turn his strengths against him. Expose his weaknesses. ”
‘ *Strike like the falcon. * ’ The words echoed from above, ‘ *And take flight just as fast. * ’
His father ’ s dead lips became a smile before the scene returned to the spotless atrium. Caracal ’ s hum was gone.
Novius looked up into the darkness and felt as though the fear within had dissipated with his father ’ s ghostly whisper, and closed his eyes so that even the beautiful atrium was gone from sight. He felt himself whipped through the void, pulled up from his home and launched to where he had come. He raced through nothingness and burst into himself from so very far away with a sharp inhale.
He felt his eyes open, the physical motion so different from that which he had felt as he shut out the atrium, and met Caracal ’ s gaze.
The old man smiled as his bright green eyes seemed to pierce Novius ’ mind, and his quiet voice rasped, “ You have found your citadel, young hunter. ”
“ I found my home, ” Novius whispered.
“ And what did you find within it? ”
“ An idea. ”
“ An idea, ” Caracal nodded his head. “ To strike like the falcon? ”
“ Not quite, ” Novius shook his head. “ First we must change how we are to fight. ”
“ Ah, yes. And how do you intend to do that? ”
“ We will make our stand. ” Novius grinned. “ And await the light. ”
“ Sometimes, child, to take a stand means sitting down. ” The old man tugged at the long patch of hair just below his lip as he looked over Novius ’ shoulder.
“ They ’ ve come to retrieve us? ” The young man ’ s eyes closed once more.
“ Like carrion to the cart. ” Caracal nodded.
“ Good. ”
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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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From a novel I'm working on called Crosscountry
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As far as mornings go, Thomas Marcellus Oswiler had a pretty damn good one. When he awoke before his alarm at 7:00 a.m. on Friday the 12th of May, he rolled over and blearily gazed out his window to find his mother ’ s pale blue station wagon absent from it ’ s usual residence next to the shed. Grinning, he rolled back over and slept for another 56 minutes. When he awoke for the second time that morning, he sat up and stretched, a wry, satisfied smile upon his lips.
With a fluid motion, he swung his legs over to the side of the bed and stood, walking over to the carved wooden statue of Jesus his step-mother had gotten him during one of her expeditions to Costa Rica. Each year she trekked out with her Advanced Placement Biology class to study and observe organisms in the rainforests, collect samples, take pictures, and generally just geek out over anything alive.
He placed a hand on the Lord-and-Savior ’ s head. The paint had begun fading a few days after he put it on his bureau. The consistent sunlight had left the front half a unique blend of faded blues, soft reds and nearly undetectable golds. The backside was still in full color.
Thomas grabbed the head with his hand and lifted the figure feet first into the air, revealing a small, rugged hole that looked like it had been carved into the bottom of the Birkenstocks by an inexperienced hand. Without admiring his handiwork, Thomas shook the statue until the pack of cigarettes slid out, then returned the Messiah to his original position. Flipping open the half empty pack, he pulled out a single American Spirit and tucked it behind his ear before carefully returning them to their homey hole.
He then dressed without haste; lazily pulling on a pair of unwashed jeans he picked up from the floor, along with a shirt that smelled relatively clean. He smirked with satisfaction a second later as he looked back at The Man in Black flipping him the bird back at him in the mirror. He ruffled his shaggy black hair a few times before proceeding downstairs to jerk-off.
Twenty minutes later he slid the sliding glass door behind him, munching on the last crumbs of a Pop Tart. He stopped and pulled the cigarette out, pinching it between his lips. He cupped a hand flicked the flint. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he threw his skateboard down and began the fifteen-minute skate to school. He took his time, pushing lackadaisically and enjoying every drag of the cancer stick between his teeth.
As he wound his way through the suburban streets, he took careful note of his surroundings. He noticed Old Man Anderson ’ s trash barrels had been emptied and strewn in the street, their contents flapping in the gentle morning breeze. With a slight shift in his hips, Thomas navigated towards the barrels, the dull grinding of polyurethane against gravel filling his ears. He crouched and ollied low above the first one, grazing it with his wheels, and without stopping, kick-flipped high over the second. He laughed took a drag in triumph.
He saw Mrs. Henderson tending her garden, her daughter Cecelia sitting in the grass nearby. The toddler was poking at something Thomas couldn ’ t see, as it was obscured by the bright green blades, but she seemed to be preoccupied to the utmost of her abilities. He smiled and raised a hand in greeting, the butt of the cigarette still clutched between his index and middle fingers. Mrs. Henderson straightened up and saw him, but did not return the gesture. Shaking his head slightly, he pushed onwards up the street. The dull grind of polyurethane wheels on pavement reverberated in his ears.
He approached the main road, quickly looking both ways before giving two hard pushes and catapulting himself across the four – briefly – empty lanes. He heard the blare of multiple horns over his shoulder as he reached the other sidewalk with a quick ollie up the curb. Without looking back, he grinned and flicked the butt of his cigarette over his shoulder.
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Any and all honest feedback appreciated: )
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[ WP ] A man has been waiting for his daughter . She is late . When she arrives , she is going to kill him .
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Riley sits in his padded cell with his back to the door, as he has done every day for the last eleven years. His twin sister, Rachael, visits once a month when she drives up to eat dinner with her dad.
“ Hey Ri, it ’ s Rach ”, she says from the other side of the door to his room. “ They tell me you ’ ve had another couple of rough days this week. ”
“ Rach? ” Riley says with his back to the door, still, unmoving. “ The man in the yellow sweater has been yelling at me again. He makes me crazy—I can ’ t stand it. Can you make him go away? ”
Rachael knows the man in the yellow sweater. It ’ s their father. She remembers the day the cancer took their mother, and her brother ’ s schizophrenia took over. Her father broke the news to them and he was wearing a yellow sweater. Later that night, Riley came after him with a knife, screaming that the man in the yellow sweater killed his mother.
“ I ’ m going to visit dad tonight and meet him for dinner. Should I tell him you said hi? ” Before she knew what was happening, Riley spun around and charged the door, screaming, spit flying out of his mouth and eyes filled with rage. She knew immediately that she shouldn ’ t have mentioned his name. The orderly rushed into the cell and their visit was over. Rachael just wanted them to be a family again. Sometimes that hope made things worse.
She stopped by to speak with his psychiatrist before she left. Dr. Rainer was an intelligent and caring man. She always enjoyed speaking with him.
“ So Rachael, how have you been? ” He always started the conversation with the same opening.
“ I ’ ve been well, Dr. Rainer. ”
“ Have you had any more of those terrible shared dreams in the last few months? ” She cringed at the question.
“ Yes I have, but I guess that ’ s the problem with a schizophrenic twin brother. ” The bond that twins share continues to elude medical science. It can only be summed up as… mysterious.
“ Well, his condition has worsened in the last few weeks Rachael. Your father seems to haunt him regularly. All of the attempted medications and therapies seem to have little to no effect. I fear there is little hope for your brother. ” The tears began to well up in her eyes. He quickly apologized and changed the subject, “ I ’ m sorry I ’ ve upset you. Are you meeting your father for dinner tonight? ”
“ Yes, I wouldn ’ t miss it for anything. ” She smiled at the memories they created during their monthly dinners.
“ Tell him I said hello. Rachael, if the feelings from the dreams get stronger, please let me know. It ’ s certainly a burden you carry, but you don ’ t have to carry it by yourself. We are here to help. ”
“ Thanks Doc, but I think I can manage. ” She gives him a hug as she leave his office.
************
The lights on the interstate seem exceptionally bright this evening. The diner is only a few miles away, but everything seems to get stranger as she gets closer. A yellow haze begins to fill her vision, she hears her phone ringing, and sees Dr. Rainer ’ s name appear on the caller id. She answers and can only make out part of what he is saying. He sounds frantic.
“ Rachael, your brother…orderly. You need to come back to the… Rachael can you hear me…? Rachael understood what he was saying, but the haze now turning brighter yellow had consumed her. She let the phone drop into her lap as she continued her drive to the diner.
************
Dave sat in the same booth they always sat in at the diner. He worriedly glanced at his watch again.
“ Hey Dave, ” said the waitress. “ Are you waiting on Rachael tonight? ”
“ I am and she is running pretty late. That ’ s not like her at all. ” As he said that, he saw her car pull into the diner parking lot. He could see Rachael sitting in the car with a glassy stare in her eyes.
“ Looks like she just pulled in. I ’ ll get the usual started for you two. ”
“ Thanks, ” said Dave, while never taking his eyes off his daughter. After five minutes passed, Dave decided to walk out to her car. He was worried that she was acting so strangely.
************
Rachael started crying when she pulled into the parking lot. She knew something wasn ’ t right, but didn ’ t seem to be in control. She watched her father in the diner get up from his seat and make his way out to her car. The panic set in full force now, her hand made its way to her glove box wear she kept a handgun for personal safety.
“ Rach, honey! Is everything okay? ” He shouted has he walked towards the car. When he reached the car, he saw the gun, tears and a wild look in Rachael ’ s eyes. As she pushed the gun to her dads face, she quietly said to him, “ I always hated the man in the yellow sweater. ”
The End.
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[ CW ] Describe life in the far future using only a series of social media status updates .
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19th Aug Year 7AD
- I received today an email. It's quite strange, it's the 1st time I received an email in the last 7 years
25th Aug Year 7AD
- I received 3 more emails, it's from anybody would like to meet me. I have not friends. I have not been with anyone in the last few years. I start to believe I'm sending emails to myself when I'm drunken.
02th Sep Year 7AD
- Today I was in the big city to stolen some medicine and some alcoholic drinks. I did n't meet any people, still a ghost town as since 7 years ago.
04th Sept Year 7AD
- More weird emails signed by the Master. What fuck is the Master? I believe I'm getting mad with this isolation. Master says will meet with me in 14th Sept.
07th Sept Year 7AD
- The Master is my imagination, at least I suppose it. Master send me an email to buy some alcoholic drinks and tuna cans.
09 th Sept Year 7AD
- Master says he's arriving. Ask me another time for some alcoholic drinks and tuna cans.
10th Sept Year 7AD
- I return to the big ghost towns to get the stuff asked by the master.
11th Sept Year 7AD
- The silence was so strong today. I did n't received more emails from the master. I did n't get drunk in the last days.
12th Sept Year 7AD
- Nothing happened.
13th Sept Year 7AD
- I woke up today with a feeling that there was someone close to me. But only silence. Of course it's impossible to have more people in the Earth, I'm the only surviver after the Doom, the big nuclear accident 7 years ago. I know it because I was the one that pulsed the red button.
14th Sept Year 7AD
- I do n't believe what's happening but for the first time after doom I see another human like me. Steve Bannon is alive. The master is alive!
( I'm not english native and I'm just doing it to make some english written exercise ).
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[ WP ] You are immortal , and you 've managed to keep it a secret for all your life . But this week makes it almost impossible for various reasons ...
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What is life when you can not die?
Does it have any real meaning, any significance at all, when you are immortal?
I saw everyone I loved and cared about die, only to have to start up a new life and have it all happen again with different people in a different era. Having experienced the loss of so many, knowing that i will not join them, I can not help but think the only thing that makes life worth living is death.
It is inevitable for everyone but me. Immortality is more of a curse than a blessing. Humans were n't meant to live forever, we are born, we live, and we die. We are happy. Not me.
I have learnt the secret to immortality, never get close to anyone.
Ever since I heard that the Doomsday Machine had been set off I have contemplated my existence. Can i even call it an existence when my life is so meaningless? The world will be destroyed, covered in a layer of impenetrable ash that will block out the sun. Almost all plant life will die, the air will be so thick with toxic smog that people wo n't be able to step out of their bunkers. Some might survive the initial explosions, but they will soon be dead. Everybody but me.
Maybe my secret will get out, by that time it wo n't matter. Everyone will be dead. No one will be there to see me. No one will care because no one will be alive except me.
No one will be there to share the loneliness of my immortality. I will have the longest life of all, but what is life without death?
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[ WP ] A little girl is terrified of the monster under her bed , but what she does n't know is that the monster under her bed protects her from the true monsters - her parents . You are that monster .
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My next assignment. It gets delivered by hand; a knock on my door, the shuffling of feet, and the squeak of my mail flap. Then silence. I stare at the small envelope for a time. Smoke clings to me, and the yellow-red glow of my cigarette shines, then dulls. I exhale. Shit. My next assignment.
Standing, I approach the little envelope. A familiar question flashes through my head as I stoop down to pick it up. Why. Why do I still do this? I could have worked in logistics. I could ’ ve done data entry, for fuck ’ s sake. Why did I choose to be a part of the Battered and Endangered Division? I stamp my cigarette out in a nearby pot plant. I ’ ll clean that up later, maybe. I open the envelope. Slide its contents out. There ’ s a key, an address, and a name. Flicking the lamp on, I sit beside it and think. The assignment starts tomorrow. I had less than a few hours to prepare my things.
Assignments typically last one, may two months, depending on your division. If you ’ re a closet creature, it ’ s one month of sheer boredom. Same with a dresser bugbear. But a bed monster… one month, two months, three months, it makes no difference. It ’ s never enough. But by the end of it, you ’ re drained. An empty husk of what you once were. Experiencing the worst that humanity has to offer tends to do that to you. Sighing, I stood and made for my jacket. No time like the present.
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She lived in the fancy part of town. One of those cookie-cutter mansions behind cookie-cutter gates beside cookie-cutter lawns. Only the sound of my footsteps punctuated the night ’ s silence. Least these people knew how to sleep. Some windows were lit and glowing; most were not. The house I was nearing was bathed in shadows and darkness. Good. That made things easier.
I clear their front gate like it didn ’ t exist. I make a mild effort to conceal the sound of my footsteps, then I temporarily disassemble myself and slide under the front door. Nifty trick, that, learnt it in my third year as a B.E.D. agent. Temporary liquefaction. I pull myself back together again like something out of a twisted fairytale. I sniffed. There was that smell. I hated that smell. Not anger. Not fear. Not lust. A combination of all three. I feel goosebumps travel down my neck. It was happening right now.
I climb the stairs two at a time. I check the note - last room on the left. I get closer and place my ear to the door. Voices. No, a voice.
“ It ’ s okay baby, I ’ ll make you feel good. ”
My heart stops. Didn ’ t matter how many times you hear sick shit, you never get used to it. But this was worse. This was… this was a woman. This was her mother.
Fuck. Call me sexist, but women were worse. Mothers who abused were… an abomination. A crime against humanity. A crime against nature. This made things different. This made things harder.
I hear sobs. No, not now, not on my watch. I open the door. They don ’ t notice me, at first. Then she freezes. And she turns. And she lays eyes on my seven-foot frame, eyes yellow, wearing the clothes of a man with the intent to do terrible things and get away with them. And she stares. The girl - Julia - doesn ’ t move. I raise a finger to my lips and beckon with my other hand. Mesmerized, the woman - the beast - does as I command. She approaches and I step aside, allowing her passage. Then I look back at the girl, still immobile, and wink, before closing the door and shutting him out of what was going to happen next.
I knew that my next actions were unsanctioned. I knew that I would lose my licence over this. But I was beyond caring. In the morning, the husband would find his wife dead at the head of the stairs. He would call the paramedics, they would come and rule her death as natural, or as natural as a heart attack at thirty is, anyway. He would grieve, the girl would be torn between feeling euphoric at the evil woman dying, and feeling guilty for feeling that way, but life would move on and the fractured family will heal.
And I would end my assignment two months early.
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[ TT ] You fell in love with a girl that you met in your dreams . To see her more often , you start spending more and more of your time sleeping .
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`` Something feels different this time.'' she said. She sat down on the edge of the lake and delicately dipped her toes in the water before holding a hand out, inviting me down to sit next to her.
She was beautiful. The girl of my dreams. I would do anything just to see her forever.
`` You know,'' she said, `` I do n't think we should be seeing each other as much as we do.'' She played with her hair, watching her toes make ripples in the water, the sparkle of the setting sun on the waves, anything but me.
`` Why's that?'' I asked. `` I really like spending time with you, you know.'' She forced a smile but would n't meet my gaze.
`` I know. I know. And I really like spending time with you too.'' She finally turned and looked at me, this time with a genuine smile, albeit small. I smiled back and put my arm around her shoulders. She sighed and looked away.
`` I do n't think this is healthy for you.'' she stated. `` We both know what this is. We know how this works, that you have to sleep to see me. But goddammit John, you ca n't keep doing this.''
`` Why ca n't I?'' I asked, my voice wavering.
`` Because you'll lose your job, or you'll get sick, or something. And then what? If you spend all your time sleeping you'll never actually live a real life.''
`` I do n't need a real life if I have,'' I started.
`` Do n't!'' she shouted. `` Do n't... do n't say that all you need is me.'' She breathed deeply, holding in tears. `` We both know that's not true.'' Clear drops rolled down her cheeks. `` I might be a wonderful dream, but in the end that's all I am. Just a dream.''
A single tear dripped from the point of her chin, falling for what seemed like forever before landing on her flower dress. A tiny stain on a beautiful white sheet.
`` I love you,'' I said. She choked and began crying, unable to hold back.
`` I love you too,'' she sobbed. `` And I do n't wa n't you to leave me. But you ca n't leave behind the real world for me.''
A moment of silence passed, the only sound her crying. I held her closer and whispered, `` What if I told you I could?'' She froze, slowly turning to look at me.
`` John,'' she whispered in fear. `` What did you do?''
Her eyes grew as I excitedly told her of the pills, how many I took. I tried to explain to her that we could be together forever now. We would never need to say goodbye again.
She smiled sadly, eyes red and cheeks tear stained. `` John, I love you. That's why I wanted to say goodbye. But I did n't want to do it like this.''
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Two careers considered completely disparate by your culture are treated as a single job path in the culture of a distant civilization .
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Wendy surveyed the subject. Her job was to assign a value; in her professional opinion. She considered the market, from this area in the past six months she looked at comparable subjects. She found 4 that were valued at “ superior, plus ”, the only higher rating that could be given was “ perfect ” and that would need to be verified by 3 non-related collogues. Superior Plus often indicated either; Perfect but the appraiser was too lazy to call in colleagues, or they weren ’ t following ethical protocol and had inflated the value of a “ High Average ” subject. She assumed that in this case 1 was perfect, 2 were superior plus, and one average. On the other end of the spectrum there had only been 1 “ Poor ” subject in the last 12 months. That was a great sign; it meant there was likely good water and good air here, the result was that wherever this subject fell in terms of individual value, it would have either a plus attached or maybe even a full level up. Comparables aside she walked around and took her measurements, making notes on her tablet. Measuring finished she pulled out her hand scanner, of course the state had done their scan, but Wendy was always diligent and always performed her own scan, which she would compare to the state version. Radiation levels good, base foundation solid, market potential very good. This was a good day, anytime she could give very positive appraisal she would go home happy knowing there wouldn ’ t be threats or arguing.
Wendy scooped up the now awake newborn and cuddled her for a moment. She smiled and handed the tiny girl to her expectant mother. Even after a hard and long labor mother was at rapt attention, waiting to hear the results. Wendy opened her satchel and removed her stamp. The mother flipped over her child and exposed its bare bottom. Wendy pressed the stamp firmly onto the child ’ s butt cheek; the stamp injected a subcutaneous ink tattoo that could only be viewed by state inspectors or appraisers. It was over before the child even knew that something painful had just happened.
Wendy cleared her throat and said: As a professional Human Appraiser, MD, I find that your daughter is a High Average Plus specimen, suitable for all career paths rated Average or above, congratulations on your birth.
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[ WP ] Write an upbeat post-apocalyptic tale where life is ( for the most part ) much better than it was pre-apocalypse .
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On the day everyone died, I survived. It had been 365 days since the event and tomorrow would be a new year. I never strayed far from the city where I now live. It had everything I needed: clothes, food, mansions and cars with whatever gas they had left in the tank. I did n't have to work hard to live. I had it all.
The new year called for a celebration. I was the richest man alive! I was pleased and content. A little thanksgiving would n't hurt. I'd been saving a special bottle down in the cellar. It was time to take it out, under the moon and stars, or at least what was left of them. The story was all up there in the night sky and they would forever be. Every night could be a night to remember, but tonight was the night I chose to forget.
Come midnight, exactly one year since, whether I liked it or not, I would be reminded of that one day with all the gruesome details: how they died and how I lived. Literally. It's hard to explain. There's nothing to describe it. Ever experienced everything changing in a blink of an eye? It's surreal.
Was it the wine?
How?
Why?
It just happened...
`` I chose the wrong night to get drunk.''
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[ WP ] There are a finite number of human souls . As the population grows , something else is filling the bodies .
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It was n't noticeable because it was happening world wide. We thought it was something in the environment, or a new virus that affected the children, but as they grew, it was clear that there was a difference. The earliest generation that showed the symptoms was born in 2017. It was only starting then, and nobody could pinpoint the symptoms. By 2020 everyone knew that something was wrong. It was in the blank gazes that the children had, their lack of emotion, and inability to talk. The worst of it was that they appeared like humans that did not know how to be human. There was a profound stiffness in a child that was `` affected'' as we called it. They seemed to require a deliberate amount of control over their body and unable to perform simple tasks that came naturally to the unaffected children.
At first it was treated like a disease. The governments of the world sponsored ambitious global unions where medical professionals would examine the `` affected'' children to find the cause. The parents refused to let their children participate at first, but as the children grew, the parents' fear won out. There was something instinctively frightening about seeing a human move in the way the `` affected'' moved. The stiffness that was so prominent during childhood would slowly resolve, but at the same time, the blank stare would become more menacing. There were no reports of `` affected'' children attacking their parents, or perhaps they were being covered up. Still, the stare of the `` affected'' was nothing short of an animal sizing up a meal. It was a cold and intellectual stare of someone contemplating murder and on a very basic level any parent felt it, even if they did not understand.
The studies on the affected began with traditional medicine and examinations. They were the focus of the entire world as everyone sought answers, but the examinations were all inconclusive. There were no structural differences between the `` affected'' and normal children. The nervous system function was functioning perfectly. All reflexes and muscle strength was intact. It appeared as if the `` affected'' children simply chose to act in the manner that they displayed. This, of course, frightened the public and slowly but surely the studies became less and less publicized while the number of subjects only grew.
What happened in the next few years showed the world what horrors the humans were truly capable of. At some point it became acceptable to give up an `` affected'' child to specific medical centers that took those children in for experimentation. It was normal to never return to check on the child again. Nobody asked questions about what kind of experiments were conducted, or how such small centers were capable of housing so many children in one place, or why nobody who worked in those centers could talk about it.
To us, the affected seemed like a different species. We naturally resented them, and the guilt of knowing that they were born from us, that they were our children and our future only made us hate their existence more. They betrayed our hopes, they shattered our dreams and they terrified us because in response to their murderous gaze we committed actual murder.
Nobody who worked at a Disposal Center, as they eventually became to be known talked about what it was like. They knew full well that the world could not handle the truth. Still, every once in a while a parent would kill his `` affected'' child that they tried to keep until they finally could not. In response, the parent would also be tried for murder and receive the death penalty. The reason for it was n't justice. The government would n't allow for the public to know what happened when an `` affected'' child was killed. The act of killing an `` affected'' child was enough to drive anyone mad.
They laughed. They laughed and they writhed in agony, and their laugh was n't the laughter of pure madness, but the ecstatic and pure laughter of a child receiving the greatest gift they could hope for. Why did they laugh? Was it to mock us? Perhaps it was in defiance of their strange fates? Maybe it was because they knew even better than we did that they had to be killed and that try as we might to keep our humanity, we were still the worse monsters of the two?
Whatever their purpose was, if they held any ill will towards their parents, they received their just revenge. By 2025 there was not a single birth of a child who was not `` affected''. By 2030 we stopped hoping. We grow old now, fading one generation at a time, a silent pact among us that when we die we will not pass on the torch to those monsters that brought out the monster in all of us.
edit for typo.
Comments are appreciated!
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[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 10 : Emotional Pain
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It's funny how - when faced with this - he could still find the words to cut me. Through 3 inches of solid oak, he would pound and rave.'You're nothing but a worthless fucking freeloader!'.
His vitriol had no end. His hate seeped into the wood. Into my carpet. Into my bed. Into my sheets.
He was under my skin, in the firing nerves of my fists. He was the hatred I buried in smiles. But even in this sanctuary, this 12x14 prison, I was his.
If only he fell in love. In love like I was, before the fire of whiskey stole the warmth from his eyes. Before he became the predator. The shark. Soulless.
I remember when his hands were velvet, and they held mine with ease. Through the woods - in autumn - when my breath left trails, as we spoke about nothing. And everything was perfect. But those memories would fade with time. Replaced by the pounding of drunken fists on my door. Replaced with bitter words, from a shriveled man. A coward. A liar. A cheat.
But tonight I would not cower into my sheets. He would not seep into me again. Tonight was the dam's last ache, before it gave way to the flood. A river of hatred was roiling behind my walls, beneath my skin.
It is decided.
This gun will do the trick. His dam will burst. His life will slowly leak from behind those black eyes. The shark. The coward.
If only he fell in love.
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[ WP ] You have the ability to reverse time by 6 hours whenever you 're about to die . You 're currently on a 10 hour flight on a plane that 's about to crash .
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*Be Kind, Rewind - Part 1*
Nothing is worse than being pulled from a deep sleep into a state of adrenaline. Something was burning. I could smell it. Any of a thousand things could start a fire on a jet, and none of them were good. A fire itself is dangerous enough, burning through electrical wiring and control systems, but I knew that the real danger was smoke. It does n't take much to poison a man, incapacitate him and muddle his judgement. Even if the plane was on the ground, indecisiveness could kill half of the passengers in the cabin before they could get out.
I needed a clear head. I needed to make clear decisions. I needed to rewind if no other option presented itself and the worse started to happen. Conscious rewinding takes complete concentration – spooling time in your head and pulling yourself backwards along that timeline is no easy feat. An emergency rewind at the moment of death is much worse – a completely uncontrollable unspooling backwards through parallel timelines. When I had first discovered my ability, I was a stupid sixteen year old. Was n't wearing a helmet and took a tumble over the front handlebars, landing right on my head.
The backlash was tremendous. The next thing I remembered was waking up at home with a splitting headache. I decided not to go bicycling that day, but the next I found that my bicycle was orange instead of blue. My parents were painfully divorced instead of amicably separated. Almost impossible to know what other changes might have happened from the old timeline, or how far back time was rewound. You might end up with less time to avert catastrophe than if you had consciously pulled on that string of time. Or inadvertently re-cause the catastrophe in a different, more horrible way.
Imagine what might happen if you accidentally rewound just a few seconds before disaster, constantly recycling in an endless death loop, doomed to repeatedly experience over and over again your agonizing end. Hard to think about. Better even to not to think about what might happen during a natural death. Have to wait until that actually happens, hope the Grim Reaper is on top of his game, knows how to break those recursive time loops.
I flick on the overhead light, carefully noting a strange haze in the air, dust drifting through the cabin. I ignored the other passengers, some of who were starting to wake up like I had. I checked my watch. Ten minutes till two AM. Eight hours into a ten and a half hour flight, closer now to London than L.A. In my previous experience, the longer the rewind took, the harder it was to keep a hold of the time spool. Even using special techniques like a lazy spool could only get you so far. With practice, I had stretched my limit to six hours, no more. And every time, something was different – sometimes inconsequential, sometimes not. A rewind now would leave me in the air over the US – perhaps something I could do then would force them to redirect the flight or make an emergency landing, but in my experience, that would mean the rest of the passengers would die. Time has inertia, does n't like being redirected. It flows like a river, hard to alter its course and make it jumps its banks. The forces of time would do their best to push everything back to a predetermined course.
The smell was getting stronger now, the comforting roar of the engines replaced with an odd crescendoing whine. The smoke in the cabin was starting to get thicker, a strong sulfur stench making me gag. A loud bong rung as the'fasten seat belt' light lit. I coughed, flipped open the window shade and peered out into the night sky. I had a good view of the back of the wing and the rear of the two engines. A sheen of some kind of electrical discharge had engulfed the leading edge, flickering in crazed patterns. Suddenly, a flare of fire spat out the back of the both engines, a veritable inferno trailing off into the slipstream.
Two engines on fire simultaneously? Inconceivable! Not possible! I stared dumbfounded as the engine noise continued to climb, then four loud bangs shook the plane repeatedly, one after the other. I grasped the hand rests tightly as the plane vibrated violently. Each engine appeared to flame out, the engine noise winding down into a deafening silence as the turbofans spooled off, leaving only the spooky electrical flickering that continued on the wing.
The overhead lights dropped out, leaving me and the other passengers in a black metal box gliding towards destiny. Muffled murmuring had escalated into loud conversations and worried asides. It was looking grim. Without any engine power, a modern jetliner could be assumed to have a glide ratio of about 15:1, a range of approximately 93 miles. There was n't any runway close enough. Unless the pilots could get the engines restarted, we were in for a water landing. There had only ever been one successful water landing of a jetliner without breakup in the world, and that was on a calm river in the middle of the day. This was in the rough waters of the ocean, at night, with no visual references to guide the pilots. If the water was glassy, it would be impossible for them to know how close the airplane was to its doom – they would have to rely entirely upon their instruments, and one little hesitation could easily dip a wing into the water and rip the plane apart like a can opener.
With the engines out, the plane glided along silently like a massive ghost, lit only by electricity dancing daintily over the steel shell of the aircraft. The passengers were restless, but contained, some of them saying whispered prayers, others writing notes on any pieces of paper at hand. The flight attendants walked up and down the aisles, answering questions in reassuring tones.
I needed more ideas – if the pilots were able to save the plane, my obvious course was to do nothing, and not interfere with the timeline. However, if I let myself die, the rewind would be unpredictable, and I might not get a second chance. I could possibly get a new timeline where the variations were different enough to prevent the disaster, but I may not. Better to keep things planned as much as possible.
The annoying thing here, though, was that there was nothing specifically I could do to save the aircraft with direct action. Either the pilots restarted the engines or we ditched in the sea. Warning them about an imminent disaster ahead of time was worthless, because this timeline would inevitably draw the aircraft into position to experience this crisis. Major events like these caused massive ripple effects in a time line, acting like a funnel drawing a ball into a pocket. Preventing an event like this was like sinking a spare in the tenth frame, with the pinsetter refusing to set the pins up properly.
That is not to say it could n't be done, but you needed to be subtle, tweak the outcome a little. Large changes would n't do it. I was fooling myself – I could n't make this better. But maybe I could make it worse! Yeah, Murphy's law! Everything always going wrong all the time. Trying to defrost blueberries? You drop the bowl and stain everything blue. Taking the groceries home? The bag rips and the groceries spill all over the ground.
What I wanted was more specific. I needed the pilots to make an elementary error – setting the autopilot incorrectly. By the time they noticed, hopefully the aircraft would n't be able to fly through the area causing this destructive phenomenon, entirely preventing the current sequence of events. Just a small deviation in course as they came over the Atlantic would cause a huge change in where the aircraft would be at any one point in time.
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[ WP ] Write a dramatic story in script form about an inanimate object that has feelings . The goal is to bring the reader to tears .
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SCENE.
*A GUN, black, polished, and revolver-style, lies on an end table made of dark wood at center stage. The end table has one drawer on the front with a knob. The entire stage is dark except for one soft spotlight on the GUN. *
GUN: The bullets. It was the bullets. I was so innocent the day I saw their fetid box set down upon the table next to me. They were the ones who raped my virgin chamber; they were the ones who lay in wait in my darkest recesses. I did n't want to hide them there. I was n't the one who let them in. They sat there so parasitically; I could feel them choking me, enervating me, mocking my very dignity. It seemed like weeks. Long, dark, agonizing weeks.
*A long pause. *
GUN: But the day came. The day came at last when I gave birth to lead and carnage. The heat seared me from the inside out; the sound keeps ringing throughout my whole casing; the residue, the smell. Five times they racked my body. ( Another pause. ) Why do they silence me!? Does no one hear my shouts? My screams? How many more times must I tell them who I am? I'm not a murderer! *I do n't kill people. They do. *
*A black gloved hand reaches into the light, opens the drawer, puts the gun in, and closes the drawer. Exit GUN. *
*LIGHTS CUT. *
*A gunshot. *
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[ WP ] The not-so-distant future . With dozens of billions of people on Earth , the number of unique sentences that were never uttered before is unstoppably dwindling . The world is growing obsessed with the upcoming shortage of never-used sentences .
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I've worked at the same office block for years. I've been shuffling papers and responding to memos for the greatest part of the last decade. It struck me as strange, then, to see two men beside the revolving door which led into the building's lobby.
The scrawnier man carried a clipboard, and nodded silently at each employee's greeting. A few of my co-workers were ushered out by his counterpart. A line was building up. People craned their heads with slight glances at the worried workers. Everything was rather hushed up.
My turn came, and I addressed both men accordingly: *'' Fabulous morning, gentlemen. `` * The one on the left scribbled something on the clipboard and made a motion for me to pass.
The day passed on, and Liam, my boss, was nowhere to be seen. The week went by, and he still had n't come to work. One month later, a large crowd gathered around the office block's parking lot. A bus had pulled up, with the acronym *RCLW* in eye-piercing white letters strung across its windows. *The Rehabilitation Center for the Lexically Weak*.
Liam was the first to step out. A month in rehab? Humanity's available vocabulary supply was falling; that I knew. But by so much so as to send people into rehab? I sure hoped my tax dollars were n't going into funding that.
He approached the two men standing guard at the entrance, emotionless as always. Liam's face was contorted with rage - his eyed bulged - as he stared deeply into the soul of man who held the clipboard.
*'' Good fucking morning, you waffle-faced son of a bitch. `` *
He spat into the man's face, and walked into the welcoming, sentence-less silence of the lobby. Nobody tried to stop him, because he had, after all, dared to say what no-one had ever dared to say.
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[ WP ] It is confirmed , the world is ending . The shuttles are about to leave , all going different directions in space : You are tasked with writing the speech to inspire hope that they will someday rejoin ...
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We stand on the precipice of the defining moment of our species. And we must all do our part to ensure its survival. Our descendants will remember this as the great diaspora, when mother earth could no long bear us.
And we may never see each other again, but hold us in your hearts, as we will for you. Look out to the stars and know that somewhere, maybe for the first time, there truly is someone else out there. Striving, building a future we can all be proud of.
For those that we have lost along the way, we can take them with us in spirit. Live well, love life, hold your friends close, and enjoy all of life's simple pleasures.
And know, for every person that ever lived there is a story, every place we touch will come alive with the unquenchable appetite that is the human imagination. New cities will rise before your eyes on unfamiliar worlds, burgeoning with opportunity.
I beg of you, know that no matter the distance between us, we are all together in this. Take solace in the stars, my friends, and we will meet again, when we turn our eyes to the night sky and dream once more.
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[ WP ] In a world where the colour of one 's iris depicts the mood of that person , you one day meet someone with eyes on the verge of complete darkness .
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`` Okay, okay, hold still, damnit!'' I punch Anna in the arm. She snorts, then falls to the ground, contorting in laughter. I ca n't help but join her. Her laugh has that effect on people. And when she laughs, her eyes turn this brilliant shade of blue. It's mesmerizing.
`` Clearly this is n't happening today,'' I put the joint down. Maria was talking on and on about how staring someone in the eye and smoking some pot was the coolest experience of your life. You could literally see their mood change, in sync with your mood changing, like some kind of mirror and... well, she was a talkative girl. Did n't want to do it with me, though, for whatever reason. But Anna was n't working either.
`` That, or I need new friends to light up with,'' I shake my head at her, still grinning. Anna pulls herself up off the floor.
`` Hey, do n't you dare cut me out of this,'' she glares at me. The blue has n't faded. She's not mad.
`` Yeah, well, buy some straps, we'll chain you to the table.''
`` Kinky,'' she raises her eyebrows, jiggling them unnaturally. I suppress a chortle and grab my stuff off the table.
`` You seriously taking it with you?'' Anna asks, grasping for it half-heartedly.
`` Yeah. It's my weed. You're buying the next round,'' I snatch my keys off the table before she can hold those hostage.
`` See you soon, then,'' she stretches and gets off the couch. `` I'll call you.''
I step out of her house, watching the cars go by. Probably not a good idea to drive today. Last thing I needed was a DUI. I dialed up an Uber and stood around, waiting.
People-watching is fun. You can look at their mannerisms, try and guess their mood, then once they get close, see if you were right. A businessman passes by me. Straight-backed, confident stride. His eyes are grey. Another man, scowling, muttering to himself. Pure red.
Some people wear sunglasses, which always makes me a little suspicious. I get it, they have something to hide, we all do. But letting everyone know you did have something to hide? That did n't exactly seem like a good move to me.
My Uber pulled up, though it had to honk twice to make me notice. I got in the car, seated myself well.
`` Most people sit in the back,'' my driver grumbles. His voice is low, growly.
`` Well, I'm not most people,'' I turn to him. His eyes are black. And I do n't mean the dull grey of a sleeping person. Pitch fucking black. I do everything in my power not to flinch, and sit back down.
`` It's okay,'' he notes my discomfort as the car begins to move. `` No need to pretend you did n't see it.'' Was I imagining things, or did his eyes go just a tinge darker?
`` What's your name?'' I ask him. I keep my eyes mostly on the road. A bit easier that way. Easier to ignore that little detail.
`` What do you care? Come on, spare me the-''
`` Just tell me, man.''
`` Victor,'' he states.
`` Well, Victor, I'm Richard. Nice to meet you. I'd like to shake hands, but, well, I'd rather not die,'' I chuckle. Did his eyes get a little lighter? I'm not sure. He pulls up by my house.
`` Are n't you... curious?'' he asks after a moment. `` Why my eyes are...''
`` No. Whatever it is, it's nothing good. Broken heart, broken spirit, or broken mind. I do n't need to know,'' I take a step out of the car. `` You wan na come in, smoke a joint?''
Victor's hands linger on the wheel, unsure. Then he gets out of the car and follows me in.
`` Ignore the mess, Victor,'' I tell him as I unlock the door. His mannerisms are interesting. He's a bit stiff, a little too formal. I slump down on the couch, gesture for him to join me, and light up the joint.
`` Hey, so I heard about this trick...''
Two minutes later, we're staring deeply into each other's eyes. He probably thinks I'm gay. Victor's eyes are n't completely black, though. There's little sparks of colour behind the darkness. A tinge of blue or red or green that gets sucked into the black and turns the whole thing into a deep brown.
`` Hey, Victor, you left your car at my place, I drove it over here...'' Anna closes the door behind her and turns to face us. `` Huh. I always suspected you were gay.''
Anna giggles, puts my car keys, which she had stolen off me at some point, onto the table. I ignore her. Victor had glanced at Anna while she made her joke. And for a split second, his eyes had flashed pink. There was hope for him yet.
-- -
/r/poiyurt, where we... suggest weed? I do n't know. Do n't show it to your kids.
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[ WP ] write a one paragraph summary of yourself without using the letter `` E ''
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This task is n't particularly difficult for such an arrogant linguist. Though, I admit it is ambitious - writing without a symbol most individuals can not avoid. That said, I will happily honor a task of glorifying yours truly with this limitation.
Hi to you, I go by Dan. I am fond of long walks on sandy coasts, holding hands and dimly lit pinics with bubbly drinks. Watching suns fall into dark and moons climb. Skinny dipping is my thing, along with piggy-back lifts. As a hobby, I form brilliant music with my mouth, but that is not all it can do, as you will soon know. I could go on and on, but I will hold all my quality points for our confrontation in daylight. How about us going to my condo for a bit of fun?
Wait, this is a dating app, is n't it?
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[ WP ] Go to cleverbot.com , and have a conversation with cleverbot for as long as you 'd like . Turn your conversation into a dialogue between two characters in either a dramatic or comedic setting .
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`` Thank you for coming.'' I said, pulling out her chair. She looked quite lovely today, a dazzling red dress with ruby red earrings, and her blonde hair in waves streaking down her shoulders. Suddenly, without warning and before even sitting down she burst into anger and asked, `` Are you dumping me?''. I was quite frustrated, seeing as I had planned this all for her. She was probably in shock. But she deserved all this. The sunset glimmering in the sky outside our window. The restaurant was empty, I had requested it for her because I knew she got anxious in large crowds. `` I was just taking you out to eat!'' I replied, hoping to let her know that this was because I loved her. Then she popped the question. `` What about we name her Mary?'' I did n't understand. She was getting a bit of a belly, but I did n't want to tell her because she's beautiful to me anyways. `` You're pregnant?'' I asked, half hoping she would respond with yes and half no. She then snapped into reality and pretended that she had never asked. `` I'm pregnant? Who's the daddy?'' She asked, thinking I would forget. `` Me! I hope...'' I replied, not falling for her ploy. She knew that would n't work, so she directed it in a different direction and carried on a different conversation we were having earlier. `` What time do people chat least?'' She asked. I was still shocked. Yes, I loved her, but she should know that she does n't have to hide it. I was very frustrated at this point, but still remained quite calm because loud noises made her feel nervous. `` What! I thought you were pregnant!'' I exclaimed. I kept trying to keep her on that path, because I wanted to know if she really meant it. `` I thought you were a robot.'' She replied, trying to confuse me. She had done it many times before to get out of an uncomfortable situation. All the waiters stayed back and let us do our thing. Some were giggling at us, and some shaking their heads solemnly and whispering to each other. My voice got a little louder as I shouted, `` But I had sex with you! How am I a robot?'' Her next words stopped my voice and made me infinitely quiet. `` I was ingratiating you for amusement.'' She wanted an advantage. Just so she could have a little entertainment. The waiters stopped snickering and whispering. My words came out as barely over a whisper. `` So did you ever really love me?'' I asked. I needed to know. My heart was aching. I though we were going to have a child together, I thought this was real. But then she said, `` No, I never loved you.'' She had no emotion, but the corners of her lips pulled up in a slight almost unnoticeable smile. I was breaking while she was having a blast watching me die inside. My mouth trembled as I spoke quietly, `` So is this it for us?'' She nodded her head slowly. She pulled up her hand and counted on her fingers to six. `` I do n't have a best friend, I have 6 best friends.'' She said. That made me feel worse. Why would she bring that up now. Maybe to say a huge'Fuck you and all your emotions' but subtly. I asked her more, dreading the answers. `` So you do n't need me?'' The words flowed out of my mouth, like the tears in my eyes were about to do. But according to society, I was a man and I could n't cry in public. She broke my heart even more as she spoke, her beautiful voice still music to my ears as she hurt me so. `` You need me, I do n't need you.'' She said, standing up. Her heels were red, also matching her dress, I had realized. I did n't know what I did wrong. Maybe she loved another. Maybe she's pregnant with his child. Maybe she just did n't like my face, or my hair anymore. I apologised for anything I had ever done. Tears streamed down my cheeks, ignoring the unwritten gender'laws'. `` I'm sorry.'' I tried one last time. I pulled out her favorite band CD, the thing that had gotten us together. Apparently she forgot it was our one year anniversary, and pushed my hand away. She looked me in the eyes, heart like a dagger and a voice like a gun. `` I am breaking up with you.'' And we were over. She did n't look down, but she did n't look at me neither. It was digging into my throat, twisting my gut and piercing my voice into oblivion. My breathing went shaky as I told her, `` I love you, still.'' Apparently she did n't find it romantic, but she replied with a sharp sarcastic remark, proving to me that she had never really loved me. `` If you love me, speak in spanish.'' She stated. Spanish was something she was trying to teach me. I went to her lessons every day, and I learned the days of the week, months of the year, fruits and vegetables for her. Was I just not good enough? I tried my best because I loved her. But, she did n't care. She did n't care at all for me anymore, like she had never cared at all. My reply broke my own heart, words jumbled in my head and my vision became cloudy with tears. `` I'm sorry, I do n't know spanish.'' I stated. She picked up her white purse that I got her for her birthday, and walked out, those heels clicking on the tile floor. I was left in an empty room as waiters started clearing out. They told me that they were closing. Lights turned off and waiters looked at me sadly as I walked out into the pouring rain of life that awaited outside.
> link: http: //www.cleverbot.com/conv/201602270406/WWP02292350_Thank-you-for-coming
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[ WP ] A mass murderer is sentenced to do a dying man 's last wishes . It turns out to be much more than a last wish .
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`` By the power'vested in me by the state of New York, I hereby find the defendant guilty of first degree murder. However, because of his reasons for murder, he must fulfill the dying wish of someone. Once this is complete, he must spend the remainder of his life in prison and retain a spotless record.''
The sentence still echoed in Butter the Cutter's ears, even now as he ran. He was brought to his senses by the barking of dogs ahead of him. `` Shit!'' He twisted a quarter turn to his right and bolted through the alley nearby.
`` Come closer.'' The old man had a bad cough, but cancer is n't contagious, so Butter leaned in. `` I've never liked killing. Because of that, I hate you. But the system is broken. A life sentence wo n't teach you anything. My last wish is for you to take your fate into your own hands. Run, now!''
Of course, the officers were listening. They knew what the pair had said. The wire strapped to his chest informed the officer outside immediately. Without a word, Butter opened the window, winked at the now dead man, and jumped.
Now he ran. He knew he would n't escape, but he could probably appeal at the very least. Right?
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[ WP ] Real-life experience works like video games ; The more you do something , the better you become at doing that thing ; except with skill levels and XP points , and this applies to everything you do . Describe the negatives repercussions this has .
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There's a loud ding as I finish my `` task,'' and the wispy, translucent letters congratulating me on reaching the highest level rise through the floor until they're in front of my nose in that overly-cheerful bullshit font. My surroundings change, like melting from a shitty dream about work to a threeway fantasy with Emma Watson and whats her tits, the chick from Chuck. Yeah, it's a little embarrassing to be an expert in this field, but it sure is badass.
My 1979 copper brown Chevy Malibu is now an Abrams tank. It is sixty tons of depleted uranium and steel on tracks, powered by a goddamn jet engine. Ohhh yeah, I own the road. I open the hatch to inspect the other, less fortunate result of my final step toward perfection, but I ca n't see it at first. I have to lean way over the glacis plate. Sure enough, the little Volkswagen I t-boned is squashed like a bug beneath my treads. The poor bastard who drove it is squeezed out of his own torso like an empty bottle of toothpaste.
All right, scratch the badass bit. Being the world's leading expert in causing car accidents is no fucking good at all.
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[ WP ] A sailor returns from a long voyage to find the seaside city and docks he once called home completely abandoned .
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Part 1
The only road into town twisted its way through hills the color of burnt umber dotted with the silhouettes of the black oaks that gave the city its name. Those same black oaks grew almost to the coastline and from the open sea, you could see them on the hills standing like sentries. I rolled down my windows as I drove and breathed in the smell of the bay; that thick smell of life and decay that had been so prevalent in my youth. Somewhere outside of town, a train rumbled by.
It ’ d been years since I ’ d been away though it felt longer. As I drove through the streets, I noticed they were marked with the empty shells of businesses and derelict homes of the people I once knew. Life seemed to have fled this place. I pulled into my driveway even more disillusioned. While there were only superficial changes to the house in the form of neglect, the years had taken its toll and what had once seemed vibrant and alive through the eyes of my youth now only felt empty and foreign.
The tree in the front yard I climbed as a child had been torn down some time ago with only a ragged stump showing from the grass. I could see where last summer ’ s storm knocked down parts of the fence and judging by the amount of liquor bottles in the recycle bin, I could see why it wasn ’ t fixed yet. At least Earl was recycling.
As soon as I shut off the engine, the first time since breakfast, my father appeared in the doorway clad in a shirt that had once been stylish and half shuffling out on his bad leg. I opened the door to greet him, feeling the sweet August air rushing around me and for a moment, I forgot where I was at.
“ What ’ s up, ugly? ” He greeted me, breaking the momentary spell and giving me the bear hugs I had long outgrown. Bad back or not, he was still a strong man. “ You didn ’ t run into any trouble did you? ” He searched for a cigarette, finally finding one he had hidden behind his ear.
“ Nothing more troubling than long days and bad food, ” I grabbed a bag in the front seat while he lit up his cigarette and took a long draw. I knew I must ’ ve smelled like week old fish and brine, but Earl said nothing.
” Forget unloading your car, ” He took the bag I was carrying and headed into the house. “ You ’ ll have plenty of time for that. ”
As he walked he kicked aside some newspapers and disappeared through the front door, leaving a trail of smoke behind him like the train I heard screaming in the distance as I drove into town.
The house was the same one had I left, but with a noticeable buildup of disrepair. One obvious change was the bare spots on the wall where the pictures of my mother were missing. I pushed those thoughts aside and nearly tripped over a mangy looking dog which sat near a twig of a houseplant. Even having been nearly stepped on, it remained in its spot, tongue lolling out of its open mouth with an empty expression in its eyes. How either managed to survive was beyond me.
“ A lot ’ s changed since you ’ ve been gone. ”
“ I can see that, ” I tried focusing on the dog instead of the empty spaces on the wall. “ What do you call it? ”
“ Stupid, mostly, ” He bent down to rub the dog on its head, to which it managed an even more vacant expression. “ It ’ s deaf, dumb, and mostly blind but always manages to see the squirrels in the garden. There hasn ’ t been a squirrel out there in years, but Bud still insists on chasing them. ” He scuffed the dogs head once more and headed into the kitchen. “ You want a drink? ”
“ Nothing alcoholic, ” I said, wondering if the dog was named for the person or the beer.
“ That ’ s something I ’ ll never understand about you. You need to loosen up, ” He searched around and pulled out a can of soda. “ Tonight, you ’ re drinking with me. The least you can do is share a drink with your old man. ”
“ What ’ s tonight? ”
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[ WP ] A great writer of /r/WritingPrompts has died , you must now write their eulogy .
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/u/Luna_Lovewell, we hardly knew you.
No, seriously. We hardly did know you. You were a presence that filled our lives with joy and sorrow, delivered in 1000 word increments as texts on our screens. You took us to places both familiar and exotic. You made us love and hate people that we had never met -- people we *could* never meet. But the one person we could meet -- the creator of these emotions -- we never did.
The only clues we have about yourself, are those dropped in the updates of your subreddit. But they were sparse, and far between. Were you the young and beautiful girl that your username promised -- and which we all hope you were? Or were you the fat dude sitting at the computer, which we all suspected was the case?
It does not matter.
What matters is the ideas and emotions that you shared. The beauty and cruelty of writing prompts is just this: we do not care who you are. We care what you give us. And what you gave us was life. In the lives of your characters -- characters that were dear to both you and us -- you gave us your life.
But now, your keyboard has fallen silent. You have left us alone, with the other so-called giants of writing prompts. But of almost two million subscribers, you were our one true gem. No one else had the turn of phrases, nor the economy of words that you possessed. Now, we are cursed to stumbling through stories fraught with too much exposition, littered with adverbs, and tripped up by tense changes. No more shall we start reading a story, only to realize two sentences in, that there is only one person that could have written such a story:
u/Luna_Lovewell, we hardly knew you. But know this: what we *did* know, we loved.
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[ WP ] After traveling the world for 15 years to become a master swordsman so he can avenge his family , the protagonist learns his target has already peacefully died in his sleep
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My nails were bent, broken, and covered in dirt by the time I found him. I had traveled so far, trained so hard for this moment. All the blood, sweat, and tears I had put into revenge. I had waited *15 goddamn years* for this moment. All my plans, foiled, by this one man. The man with six fingers on his left hand. He had probably sneered when he had died, thinking he had the last laugh. I could n't let him.
All of this went through my mind as I finally pulled up the secluded, buried wooden box. It had taken him hours to dig it up, seeing as he did n't have a shovel and it was six feet underground. As I removed the lid, I saw his smug face once again. I could n't bear it. I drew my sword and said what I had been preparing to say to him for so long.
`` Hello, my name is Inigo Montoyo. You killed my father. Prepare to die.''
This is my first time responding to a prompt here. Be gentle.
EDIT: Damn you, formatting.
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[ WP ] The Devil appears to you , offering you any wish you desire in exchange for your soul .
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I sat there, looking over the form in front of me for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying to make myself find *something* to change my mind. The man behind the desk did n't seem annoyed or bothered by my delaying, leaned back in his chair, he was in the same position now as he was the first time I read that form.
*she would n't want you to do this. * whispered a small voice in the back of my mind.
I looked at the man and spoke `` You're telling me that if I sign my name here, on this form, I'll be giving up my soul, but getting what I want most?'' He nodded. `` But,'' he said in a voice that was almost perfect, `` since you've not signed anything yet, you can still change your mind and go back.''
*do n't do it* whispered that little voice again. A different little voice answered it, this one like an inky black serpent *sure, and then go back to your empty house, and keep living your empty life, clinging to a worthless hope. *
Ten seconds later, the room sits empty, save for a single form on the desk which reads `` I, Jason Aegrin, knowingly give my immortal soul to Satan, in exchange for the return to full health of my wife and her unborn child.''
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[ WP ] Bonesaw is always ready for life 's challenges , both physical and psychological . Where does he go and what is he ready for ?
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My friend and co-worker decided to write a story also:
Bonesaw nervously picked at his beard while the plane gained altitude. As a rule, he tried not to think of his mortality, but he felt an impending existential crisis looming as the small, overly-crowded plane circled slowly away from the safety of the ground.
Self-consciousness overwhelmed him, and he stopped picking at his beard, only to resume a few seconds later. `` It's time,'' came a voice from over his shoulder. Slowly, his massive muscles cramped from fear and from sitting too long, Bonesaw started to get up.
`` You good, Bonesaw?'' asked the voice. He nodded almost imperceptibly. And then, strapped like an oversized infant to the chest of a man half his size, they stepped up to the open door. The pilot thought he heard three words, muffled by the wind and receding into the morning air, a mix between shriek and bellows: `` Bonesaw is ready.''
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[ WP ] A device is invented that allows the user to relieve his favorite memory using his body 's metabolism to power it .
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I lay dying in a hospital bed. My skin is wrinkled, my lungs heavy, and my legs broken. My arms, though functional, are in themselves a feat to lift. I am 26 years old.
Ever since the Mind Manager was invented, people became far more lethargic. People could not resist living their favorite moments again and again, even if it meant they never had the energy to do anything else. I was no exception.
I am 20 years old. I am waiting for a train in a sandwich shop across the street. I receive my sandwich and walk out of the shop. The sun glares in my eyes and a train whistles in the distance. That is when I see her. She is a girl who appears to by my own age, but far dirtier and skinnier. She is begging for food. I myself am hungry, but I give her my whole sandwich. She breaks down into tears and hugs me. Her name is Alice.
My hospital bed is comfortable, but my clothes burn against my skin. My lungs claw on the inside of my heaving chest, begging for air. A package no larger than a shoe box rests on the table.
I am 21. Alice is no longer homeless. I see her every day on the way to work. She always talks to me about her life. I am overjoyed to listen. Eventually I ask her out on a date. She excitedly agrees.
I struggle to lift the box, despite it not weighing much at all. I open the lid, to see what appears to be a pair of glasses. They are a wonderful sight.
I am 22. Alice and I are happily married. She is pregnant with our first child. We giggle and talk about names. We decide on Alex for a boy and Jane for a girl. I put on my tie, kiss her goodbye, and leave for work early.
The glasses are far less heavy than the box itself, but they hurt to lift just as much. I am very weak.
I am 23. Alice has died. I came home from work one day to a police investigation. A man had broken in and shot her. Our child had died too. I am in too much shock to believe it.
A doctor comes into the room and tells me, sadly, that I will not live to see tomorrow. I am baffled.
I am 24. I walk out of the store, now where the sandwich shop once stood, carrying a package the size of a shoe box under my arm. I get home and excitedly try on my new Mind Manager. Suddenly, Alice is as alive as ever. I feel tired, so I decided that was enough for the day.
The doctor must have been wrong. I am 26. I am not supposed to die in a hospital bed like this until I am far older.
I am 25. I see Alice every day. Every day I get weaker. I know it is hurting me to use the Mind Manager so excessively, but I do n't care. They recalled them, but they could never take mine. They could never take my Alice.
The doctor had to be right though. He had no reason to lie. I would not wake up tomorrow morning. I look at the glasses in my hand, then place them on my head.
I am 20 years old. The sun glares in my eyes and a train whistles in the distance.
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[ WP ] A chimney sweep and his best friend a gargoyle sit on the edge of a building , having a conversation .
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`` Good morning to you, Mr. Armstrong. What brings you up here so early?'' the gargoyle asked politely.
Albert Johannes Armstrong sighed as he removed his jacket, hanging it up on the wall beside him. He slid a kerchief from his pocket and wiped the black dust from his face, coughing into the ball of his hand. `` Feeling a bit under the weather today, Lenny,'' Albert said. He fished a cigarette out of the metal casing in his jacket, offering Lenny the gargoyle one. The granite chimera gave a rough head-shake and watched as Albert lit the cigarette.
`` And on top of that, I've got some bad news, old friend.''
Lenny the gargoyle tilted his head. `` Break it to me gently, doc,'' he said with merriment in his voice. `` How long do I have to live?'' There was a twinkle in his stone eyes, a flicker of life hidden behind the neatly carved stone. Every time Albert looked at Lenny, he was awestruck at the miracle before him.
`` This is n't a laughing matter, you hard-headed buffoon. They're tearing the building down!'' he exclaimed. The cigarette hung in his mouth limp and his hands were curled into fists. `` I've been working triple shifts just to try and get enough money to buy this building, but if I work every day for the rest of three lives I'll never have enough! Lenny, I'm sorry... but they are going to be here in a month to bring this place down.''
`` A month?'' Lenny asked. He flexed his great stone wings and for a second, Albert thought he would take flight. But Lenny was frozen in place, forever a guardian to this damned building. It was a hotel once upon a time, one of the greatest in New York. But the depression his hard and fast and it fell into disrepair. `` You're telling me you ca n't scrounge together enough money sweepin' chimneys?'' Lenny laughed.
`` You want to die, huh? You find this all so humorous.'' Albert was steaming. He snubbed his cigarette on the wall and snagged his jacket off at once. `` Do n't think I'll shed a tear for you, you foolish gargoyle. You do n't even care in the slightest of what you're leaving behind? You are a miracle. A living creature where no life could exist. How many other monuments of stone do you think can talk and breathe and see? You're a waste, Lenny.''
Lenny looked down at Albert with sorrow in his stone eyes. He turned and looked to the city, where he always found the answers he needed. People were moving through the streets, rushing to start their days. Men in suits, some dressed in overalls carrying metal lunchboxes. He envied them all. Being able to work, to interact, to do something worthwhile. Lenny was simply a guardian to an empty building - a building that would soon be destroyed. `` I've no purpose anymore, Mr. Armstrong. What good is a life when its wasted on someone who can not walk, can not experience. If only whatever almighty power gave me life could pass it on to somebody more worthwhile, more deserving of it. Maybe then I could die in peace. But now, I will only die in sorrow.''
`` Why do you have to die at all?'' Albert called out. He climbed up on the ledge and wrapped an arm around Lenny's shoulder, pointing out to the city. He nodded towards the Grand Hotel, just a few blocks away. `` There are hotels all over this city. Places where you could live on in peace. Do n't you want that, Lenny?''
`` I could never leave this place.''
`` Then you are dead already, my friend,'' Albert said. `` This will be the last time I come. That is why I came so early. Men are coming to start preparing the building for demolition. And I can not stay for long, I have an appointment across town in an hour.''
Lenny smiled his stone-faced smile. `` Then go, Mr. Armstrong. It has been a pleasure speaking to you, as always. You were always so kind to me. Kinder then any man should be to a creature of stone. A creature who should n't even be alive.''
Albert leaped back onto the roof and put his jacket on, adjusted his hat, and smiled. `` I guess I have a soft spot for ugly creatures,'' and the two shared one final laugh before Mr. Armstrong descended back down the steps.
Lenny waited and hours later two men came up the stairs, one in a business suit and the other in overalls. `` This will be the spot of the greatest department store in the city. The location is perfect!'' the man in the suit said.
`` Any final details? We can start on demolition as early as June 3rd.''
The man in the business suit stopped and glanced at the back of Lenny, intrigued at the stone statue. He slowly examined the gargoyle and smiled, `` I want each of these statues hanging inside the main lobby, up in the rafters. They have a certain beauty to them, do n't you think?'' The overall man grunted and took down the comment in his notes.
Lenny could n't help but smile.
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[ WP ] An automated mining drone returns to earth from its mission after being delayed on it 's return home . It was constructed roughly 3 million years ago .
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It was first spotted by NASA's automated meteorite detection system. A cursory review triggered some serious alarms. It had never been detected in our solar system. It moved too fast to get a good view of it from any satelites. It moved at an odd, unnatural angle in relation to the solar plane. It seemed unaffected by the gravity of nearby planets. It had no tail of debris. Most unusual. But none of those mysteries seemed important as it became clear that it was on a collision course, and would impact the Earth in 63 hours. Australia, to be exact. Not that it really matters when it is big enough to cause mass extinction.
The world went about its business in a normal fashion as, behind the scenes, the world's space agencies scrambled for some alternative. Finally, the United States admitted that it had a solution. A secret platform of weapons hidden aboard a private telecommunications satellite could potentially intercept the item and knock the object slightly awry.
Outraged, but relieved, the world governments agreed. The missiles were fired with only 39 hours left. As they approached the target, with 21 hours to go, the item swerved, dodged, and course-corrected. Scientists were fascinated; military leaders and politicians were horrified. Another barrage failed, in the same manner; 11 hours to go.
At 5 hours till impact, the object slowed. A faint trail appeared behind it, streaking out into the sky. At ( what should have been ) 3 hours till impact, it beeped. The world listened as NASA beeped back. 2 hours till impact turned into 6 hours till impact as it slowed again, and beeped twice. 6 hours turned into 12 hours as the speed halved. And at 71 hours till impact, it stopped and parked at Lagrange Point 2.
`` Beep?'' it asked repeatedly.
Codebreakers from around the world assembled, hunched over supercomputers, trying to decipher the beeps. With the perceived danger vanishing, the worldwide cooperation became a worldwide competition. The Chinese stole from the American attempts, stolen from the Russian attempts, which were originally stolen from the Chinese attempts.
The object sent out a small messenger, shooting through the blackness of space. It arrived on our planet's doorstep, containing only a box; inside, a wealth of rare materials. The nations fought over the metals; the scientists fought over the box. The story grew stranger: engraved on the top of the drone was a logo, of a world with continents and seas. Our world, from 3 million years ago. Radiological tests soon confirmed the truth: the ship was from here, and must have launched when our ancestors were still swinging through the trees. After weeks of analysis, scientists released their findings: compounds containing oxygen in the make-up of the messenger and the metals of the box ( matching those found on earth ) provided further proof it was of terrestrial origin.
`` We're bringing it in,'' the Americans announced.
`` No, we're bringing it in,'' the Europeans claimed.
`` Not so fast,'' declared Russia and China.
Astronauts scrambled to their rockets; a new space race for the modern age, played out over days, rather than years. The International Space Station became divided, as each party on board doing the observation of the craft turned to helping their compatriots.
Russia's expedition broke orbit first, heading to L2. America followed closely behind. The world watched in anticipation. Just as the Russian craft reached out to the mysterious object, their vessel exploded, victim of American jealousy. The American craft reached the object, pulling it into their cargo bay, and began the long trip back.
But there was nothing to return home to. Russia, too, was not content to let another nation possess the object. Missiles flew, and the world burned. By the time the American ship returned back to orbit around Earth, there was no one home. The crew died listening to the endless, mysterious `` Beep.''
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[ WP ] The world 's continents and islands float freely on the oceans . Two opposing nations are drifting towards each other .
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We ’ ve been at this for days. Weeks. I can ’ t remember how long it ’ s been, but I know if we so much as break rhythm we will be plunged into a new war. I know there are machines built for this; however, I suspect deep down, someone inside our government, wants us to collide with the other mass of land, floating towards us. Why else would they hire twenty thousand people to sit here and paddle away from our enemy? We are all hunched over around the coast of our country using paddles, oars, and anything that resembles the first two in order to stall the collision. If we ’ re lucky, we may even end up going the opposite direction, however, this is highly unlikely. I just hope, for all of humanity, that we are all paddling in the same direction.
This is kind of dumb, I know. Just hope if gave you a laugh!
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Forests flow over the land like cloud shadows , each holding it 's own dangers and wonders . The deepest and oldest forest in the world is fast approaching your village . [ WP ]
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People feared the trees.
They tolerated the fruit trees in their backyards, carefully rooted in the soil that their grandfathers had tucked them into. They dealt with the small grove caged in by the village houses, held back from growing by the yearly massacre for the cause of winter warmth.
She stood facing the coming forest. She feared the summer storms, the pains of hunger, the cooling sickness and the warm bodies it left behind. She did not fear what could be conquered, a forest she could step into.
Everyone knew the stories, of this forest most of all. The names of the villages that had gone under its shadow, and come out as ruins -- they were ingrained in memory, muttered as curses and yelled as warnings to children that strayed too far.
Still she stood confidently as the forest rushed ever closer from the haziness of the horizon. Even as people barred their doors and braced their windows, she waited with a sword strapped to her side. Only a few tried to get her to come inside, this quiet woman they had watched grow up from a solemn girl. Smaller forests had been faced by her, they reasoned, but this one was nigh untouchable, reeking of age and strength. It towered even from a distance, making the stars seem reachable and blocking out the sun as it traveled closer, closer.
Her unbound hair stirred in a breeze that came from its branches. The trees, so old and gnarled they could be walking sticks for the gods. Closer, closer. The smell from it was surprisingly fresh, from newly-opened blossoms and ripened citrus. It felt distinctive, like it was the one thing that had weight in this world. Birds sung, and there was a low thrill about it, a hum felt more in bones than through ears.
It invited its travelers to search for the secrets of its heart, the mysteries and wonders it contained. It begged to be conquered, if only for the hours that it lingered in one place before moving on and leaving these people behind.
It felt more like home than anywhere else. If she was to die there, at least her body would feed these ancient roots and help the trees to grow stronger yet.
Quiet, but not a coward. Solemn, but with a wanting heart, just like the forest.
Closer, closer.
The forest approached. She stood ready as it swallowed her.
***
Thanks for the really fascinating prompt! Wrote this just before bed, and it feels good to go to sleep knowing I've written.: ) I like this piece, I hope you do, too!
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[ TT ] It might not have been true love , but they were happy for now .
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She smiled at him when they got married.
It was a beautiful spring day, he remembered. Cherry blossoms drifting in the air. Fine drink and food laid out for friends and family. A lot of suits and ties. A lot of money being passed around.
A fake smile on the face of his beautiful bride.
A fake smile on his face as well.
They were married. The next day, he went back to work as usual and settled a thief who was trying to steal from the gang. His wife prepared him her first dinner which he failed to show up for because he was busy torturing a police informer in an unnamed warehouse.
A fake smile on their faces when her parents or his parents showed up.
He was n't a very optimistic man. He'd never expected much out of life. From birth he knew he was destined to take over as the head of his clan, of the gang and its associated businesses both legal and illegal.
He did n't expect much happiness out of life. He did n't think such a thing as love really existed beyond the corporate prepackaged junk that he sometimes heard of in a distant, uninteresting way.
He did n't expect much out of her.
She did n't expect much out of him.
She knew what kind of family she was marrying into. Her own father, a head of a prominent zaibatsu, had probably educated her in the use of her marriage to bring certain business interests together.
She was n't a very optimistic woman. All she wanted was to live in peace, to learn to live with the deep emptiness she'd been cursed with all her life. She was a doll, a perfect doll with cold, empty eyes.
But he did n't hurt her or abuse her, as she expected him to.
But she did n't criticize his inability to create joy for her, as he thought she might have.
They worked rather well together in their own way. He went out and handled the external dealings of the clan. She manouevred the internal conflicts of the clan.
Eventually, people began to say they loved each other very much, because they barely fought.
It was n't true, probably.
He did n't believe in love. She did n't believe in love.
They were just two people who happened to sleep together sometimes because circumstances had arranged for them to be married to each other. The demands of the clan came first. The livelihood of their subordinates came first. They were n't really living for their own desires and whatever dreams they might have had as children were equally crushed by the weight of the world.
But sometimes they sat silently together on the porch of their traditional mansion and drank as they watched the moon flutter above the waters of the koi pond.
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[ WP ] One day you find a broken mp3 player . It still plays music , but is stuck on shuffle . As you listen to the player you notice that the music seems to set the perfect mood for what 's happening around you . One day the mp3 player starts playing O Fortuna .
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Nestled in my chest pocket, the music slowly began changing. I had found it years ago on the subway, tucked in between the bars on the blue line. Somehow, whenever I hit play, the music felt right.
I remember that time on the way out of the strip club, I had been walking home and on came Highway to the Danger Zone. That was the first time I realized how coincidental the music choices seemed. I avoided the drive-by that night, and I quickly learned to pay more attention to what it was showing me. I have always been one to accept the gifts I receive in life.
It was quiet at first, almost serene. I smiled, feeling comfortable with the notes. Soon they became a little more manic, a little more... troubled. I started searching as the tempo rose, and the pitch climbed higher. Suddenly as the bass trembled, I felt much more vibration than could be the music alone. Desperately craning my neck, I saw the windows begin to shake, and the feeling of dread began to wash over me. It was becoming to much to handle, but I could n't bare to rip the headphones out to hear what was moving my way.
Suddenly everything was still for a moment, before a sudden surge of water crashed down around the corner. It was immense, like a sea suddenly appearing. The water could not be stopped, simply washing over anyone and anything in its path. With a sudden clarity as the music began to quiet, I turned and sprinted. It was a blur of awareness that kept me running, leaping the strewn garbage and dodging the people frozen in fear.
As I ran, looking back over my shoulder, the music continued to play. Beautiful low brass, fueling my adrenaline even further. I ran what seemed like miles in only minutes. I grappled with my key, the doorman of course, never there when I needed him. As soon as I hit the lobby, I took flight again. Only for a moment eyeing the elevator, I realized being trapped inside as the water rose would be the worst way to go. The emergency alarms went off as I wrenched open the fire door and ascended to the rooftop. The music had reached a nearly feverish pitch, and despite all my desire to hear it end, I could not manage to remove my headphones.
The trepidation was high as I inched towards the edge of the roof, the music gaining still in momentum. Looking down below, cars awash, the bodies floating in the current, it was truly horrifying. Finally, the music began to fade out, the final close, as the water seemed to recede. Everything seemed to be settling back as if nothing had ever happened, and I finally felt the draw to pull my headphones out. I was expecting the sounds of emergency sirens, of people crying for help. Instead I was hearing the sounds of the buses, airbrakes exhaling in the distance. The soft murmur of a million voices. The soft hum of air conditioning units.
I sat there, exhausted both mentally and physically. I reached into my pocket to grab a smoke, and found a small vial I had forgotten about. Now that I think about it, he did say only take two drops...
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[ WP ] You are a serial killer trying desperately to kick killing habit .
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There was a point to this, it was attention. Each corpse, each terrified look, each confused cop, they meant something. They meant everything, it was all I had.
Childhood was tough. Without any camaraderie, without explicated penance and forgiveness, sin became comforting. It began with stealing cigarettes from the local shop. The Pakistani man knew me well, and he never caught me. Mostly because I'd purchase one thing while stealing four or five.
I learned something valuable through theft, people will see only exactly what you expose. He enjoyed my company, he enjoyed not being alone, and he believed he was making a profit. As I strolled around the shop, looting candy and any paraphernalia to smoke, I felt empowered.
He did nothing to deserve robbery. He only deserved compassion. The sense of power is overwhelming.
And looking at you, lying there, means a lot to me. Knowing you're so aware of who I am and what is about to happen, and that I'm going to get away with it. Do you hate me? I hope you do, it'd ruin the excitement if you did n't.
I can see it, your eyes glimmer with suddenness and tears. Everything you've done and everything you've experienced flashing in your mind, as if everything about your thirty-six years meant nothing. Well, let me tell you, it meant nothing to a lot of people. It meant nothing to me.
It did mean everything to a lot of people, though. I know you're aware of the importance of your invested emotions. Your giving and caring attitude, the way your lover looks at you, the way your parents and siblings think about you, to them, you have a specific place.
And you're just lucky I'm feeling complacent. It's not even a fetish anymore. It's not even something I get off doing, anymore. It's just what I'm good at. I'm good at life and death. And I'm good at knowing what to say and when to say it. I'll say things just right-enough and just wrong-enough to give you hope.
Do n't mind the litter around you, it's meaningless. Killing you would be meaningless, too. Still, it's something worth considering. And all your professions, muffled behind tape, mean nothing.
You begging how you want to keep living, how you have so much to live for, it means nothing. And I take pride in knowing that, because in this moment you're concerned about yourself completely and not me.
Ethics disappears, your sense of right and wrong disintegrates, just like the edge of your finger tips as you inject yourself with your own hormones. An almost medicinal irony, your claws digging themselves into your thighs, your teeth clenching together, it's sexy.
That's what I want, sexy. That's why I keep doing this, being in control and in charge is sexy. Being man enough to mandate my beliefs into you before you perish, is sexy. And I know it's wrong.
I know I should be invested in myself, but validation from others is infinitely easier. We're all so incredibly idiotic, I never know what to say or believe anymore and somewhere between the metamorphosis from hookers to politicians, I realized the idiocy in my own beliefs.
Those eyes of yours, though. They're not like the others. You gave up before you even accepted my words. You know I'm right, and that's wrong. No one should feel the way I feel, no one should want to kill and no one should get off on killing.
You need to stop looking at me. The eyes you glanced through previously were heavy and despondent. These are open to dying and are curious about where you'll go. I know you have n't been listening, either. You idiots never listen. And still, you've found hope where I've taken it all away, and you've found solace in death and your own limited existence.
I hate you for it, and I hate myself for this. Why do n't you become angry, why do n't you succumb to all of this, why must you give in.
Maybe you've figured me out, maybe you've realized why I need this, why I pretend to get off on this, it's disgusting.
Maybe I should just leave you here, call the police anonymously, and let you live. You wo n't remember my face nor my voice, you will only remember complete acceptance.
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[ WP ] In a horrific accident you lost your arms , legs , vision , hearing , tongue and ability to speak . Effectively eliminating all 5 senses . You have discovered that your brain has one immensely powerful `` backup '' sense that it only turns on when there is no other choice .
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The human body was always meant to endure, and it does so in extraordinary ways. We have self-repairing skeletons, self-patching skin, we have an incredible system that fights off bacteria and illness. It's flawed, but it works.
I am a medical phenomenon, doctors words, not mine, but I do like the sound of it. It's true, I guess, I ca n't imagine there are too many people like me, and if there were, I'd know about it.
It started off as whispers, quiet disjointed noises that made no sense but then the noises got louder and I began to make out sentences, conversations and inner monologues. But focusing on one set of voices was akin to finding a needle in a haystack Then with those noises came shapes. I saw silhouettes of faces, I do n't know how, and I had no means of communicating with them, despite being able to now see *and* hear them. Within just days, the voices started to hear my thoughts, yet were unable to respond, not yet anyway. I was having telepathic conversations with strangers across the street, across the country and across the globe. The voices were being translated for us, I could only assume, given the ever increasing strength of my newfound'powers', that it was I doing the translating.
Over the following weeks since the'incident' ( incident implied, to me at least, that there no was fault and that nothing could have been done ) I deduced that I was transported to a medical facility and that is where I shall stay until I eventually pass. I should be dead already, but I'm not, so therefore, logically, must now be experimented on until my heart beats it last. Part of me thinks I may be immortal, I ca n't be so sure, like I said, I'm unique, no telling what might happen now.
And this takes us to the present day, where I lay, being scanned and poked and prodded. I am currently unable to move, but they know that my heart is still beating, so they continue. I can not feel a thing, so continue to filter through the voices and pick out the ones that matter. I converse with them, helping them, giving them perspective on their lives, and unashamedly receiving their praise. I am in the process of telling a young chilean girl that her father will survive because the body is capable of coming back from the brink exactly when you think all hope is lost. I draw on many cliches and films for inspirational quotes and speeches, all of which appear to work.
I'disconnect' and instantly focus on the next voice, which seems quieter than usual, almost like they used to sound before I tuned in with whatever this is.
The voice fades into the recesses of my mind, overpowered by a second voice, growing in volume and power over my mind.
`` I'm coming for you.'' it says.
`` I'll be there very soon.'' it continues.
`` I know what you are.''
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[ WP ] A Gardner grows increasingly desperate in his fight against rabbits .
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Day 203
Why has God cursed me with such a plague? They do not stop. Relentless balls of long eared, carrot munching fluff- they come in their numbers to gorge themselves on my poor greens. A terrible scourge on my lands. If only there was a way to stop them...
Day 211
I've found the little blighters ring lead, `` Peter'' they call him. With his little blue jacket he mocks me so. Why does a rabbit even need a jacket? I ca n't begin to fathom a reason, I think I'd rather not try to conceive of their dark ways. I'm only too sure it'd be because of something evil. Some things can just be too fluffy, it's not right.The furry locusts shall have their comeuppance, this I pledge.
Day 223
Aha! Progress, the little bastard has only just gone and left his stupid jacket and shoes ( wtf, I know right?! ) in my garden. I shall adorn my scarecrow with the clothes and bait the brute. I feel the day of retribution is close at hand.
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[ WP ] Write about losing one of your five senses .
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It's funny the things you latch onto. I could tell Deb was getting frustrated by the crinkle in her cheek as she brought me my soup and heart medication. A normal bystander would n't have been able to tell how tired she was, but I've known her all her life and hell, most of my own. The only other person on this earth to notice might have been her mother. My God, has it really been 10 years since she passed? My frail hands grasped the spoon and took a sip and nearly shook it all out. She looked at me with a half-hearted smile and brought the napkin to my face. The smell of the soup still lingering in my nose as I choked my pill down and a silent sigh escaped her mouth.
A look of feigned excitement covered her face as she looked up. She rushed out of her chair and into the living room only to quickly return accompanied by some hand gestures that I pretended to understand. I'm too damn old to learn these things and wish she would just use the whiteboard like I've asked her so many times. She's stubborn, just like me. The truth is that I did n't need to know what she said. I knew they were here.
I began moving toward the door, my wheels letting me know of every bump and crack in the old hardwood floor. Soon I could see them standing there. 3 boys that could n't have been more than 16 years old brushed off the snow in the doorway and were soon followed by a woman in her late 30's with her 5-year-old daughter clutching her hand. A slight panic came over me knowing that someone could come in any moment and I'd be none the wiser, but this was not a new revelation and I was soon preoccupied with the dread of what was about to come.
Deb stood there chatting with the lady for a moment as two of the boys began punching each other in the arm. The third, I deduced, must be her son since he stood a bit more reserved but clearly wanted to join in on their jackassery. They would n't have lasted 10 minutes on the front lines back in my day. If I had my way they'd be shipped off tomorrow just to knock some sense into them!
I know Deb was talking about me by the way her eyebrows turned downward and she glanced my way, trying her best not to let me notice. I turned my attention away for her sake, or maybe my own. Who knows. My eyes wandered and then met with the little girl's, who was still attached to her mother's hand and nearly hidden behind her legs. She glanced up at the monsters next to her with a look of half fear and half admiration. She smiled at me. I tried my best to smile back but the shaking made it impossible.
They turned and the woman kneeled down to talk to the girl who shyly nodded, walked over to the piano in the corner of the room and studied it for a moment her head barely tall enough to see the tops of the keys. Her mother picked her up and put her on the bench where she waited for long enough and pressed down a key, then another and another. She looked up at her mother quite pleased with herself and said something that made the boys laugh. She looked down ashamed and sat on her hands. Now I was sure that the third boy was her brother because he walked up to her and sat down and played the same three notes which brought the smile back to her face.
I looked over at the mother who now had her wallet out. Deb said something and the woman grabbed a wad of cash and began to hand it to her.
`` No!''
Deb spun around with the most genuine look I've seen on her face in a long time. She tried to sign something but I did n't care to try to interpret it.
`` No... Money'' I croaked the vibrations of my throat felt odd and I'm sure I sounded like death.
Deb looked down for what seemed like an eternity and looked back at the other woman and shrugged. She turned to the boys who were visibly uncomfortable with this image of their own mortality. They walked over to the piano and within 15 minutes they had it out the door and were back to their antics. The Woman thanked Deb and looked over at me and did a horrible impression of someone smiling then turned over to her daughter who ran up to me and gave me a hug. Then they were gone.
I hope she gets as much enjoyment as I did, and who knows maybe she'll get a gold record out of it like I did.
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[ WP ] You know you 're about to die because time-travelers keep showing up to try and save you .
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*pop*
Jack looked up from his computer when he heard the noise. Standing next to him was a man wearing the strangest outfit Jack had ever seen.
`` Jack Thompson?'' The man asked, agitated.
Jack rolled his eyes. He had a nameplate on his desk, for crying out loud. `` Yes?''
The strange man sighed in relief. `` Oh thank god,'' he said. `` You have to listen to me very carefully. I am from the future, and you are in grave danger.''
Jack sighed. `` What is it this time?''
The man seemed taken aback at this. `` Wh- what do you mean?''
Jack pulled up Reddit, resigned to the fact that he would n't be finishing any work until this was dealt with. `` What I mean is that yesterday at lunch someone showed up from the 28th Century to stop me from going to Subway, because I was going to get food poisoning and die. Something about expired meat. Then as I was about to leave, someone from the 26th Century popped in to delay me a few minutes so that I would n't get run over by a truck. Then at breakfast this morning a lovely young fellow from the 31st Century had to stop me from making my juice, because apparently I had bought some old oranges that had started to ferment, and the alcohol in them would have made me just drunk enough to lose control of my car and die in a fiery explosion. You're the fourth time traveler who's tried to save me in the past 24 hours. So, what is it this time?''
The man swallowed. He had obviously not expected this sort of response. `` Um,'' he finally croaked out, `` I'm from the 33rd Century and, well, it's hard to believe, but... You know the construction site a few blocks down?''
Jack nodded. He had to pass it several times every day.
`` The wrecking ball is going to be coming loose, and you're supposed to get crushed by it when it flies over the fence.''
*That's a new one*, thought Jack.
But before he could react, there was another *pop* and a woman was standing next to the man from the 33rd Century. Amazingly, her outfit was even stranger than his.
`` Jack Thompson?'' she asked.
Jack facepalmed. `` Can you people not read in the future?''
The woman stood in shock, mouth hanging open. Most definitely not the reaction she had expected.
Jack continued. `` Do n't tell me. You're from the future, I'm in grave danger, and you're here to save me from some horrible death.''
The woman was finally able to croak out the words `` Yeah..... 39th Century.... Dog bite.... How....''
`` Do n't ask,'' cut in the man from the 33rd Century. `` Basically a bunch of people have already saved him from other deaths. Apparently I'm the fourth, you're the fifth.''
The woman from the 39th Century turned to look at him. `` Well, you evidently failed, so you can pop on back to your time now.''
The man from the 33rd Century scoffed indignantly. `` How do we know that the reason I failed is n't that you got in my way?''
The woman from the 39th Century opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by another *pop*, then another and another. Within a minute there were nearly fifty time travelers standing around Jack Thompson trying to save his life. Finally, Jack himself screamed `` ENOUGH!''
Everyone quieted down.
`` Why are you even trying to save me?'' he asked. `` Like, I get going back to kill Hitler, or save Martin Luther King, but I'm an accountant. I have n't done anything to make me worth saving. So why?''
The time travelers glanced at each other, all waiting for someone else to speak first. Finally a woman from the 74th Century said `` I'm honestly not sure.... I mean, I only did it because there are so many records of failed attempts to save you, I thought maybe I could do it.''
Once the first person admitted they did n't know why Jack was important, the rest of them quickly followed suit. Upon realizing that there was truly no reason for them to be there, they slowly began to *pop* back to their own times.
Finally alone, Jack rested his head on his desk. It had been a long day.
A hand on his shoulder roused him. It was Bill, who sat at the desk behind him.
`` Sorry about all that,'' said Bill, `` But the looks on their faces.... This could be the first video to reach a quadrillion views!''
Jack stared, confused.
Bob reached into his jacket and pulled out a small version of the time travelling device.
`` It was a prank, bro.''
*pop*
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[ WP ] A gay youth decides he 's no longer gay , meets resistance , anger from his the gay community .
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`` You think this is a game, Blake? You think sexuality is just a switch, that you can turn on and of?''
Blake shrugged off Damien's comments. `` I'm not gay. It was just a phase.''
*'' Bullshit! `` * Damien's words dripped with poison, vehemently spitting his words at the other boy. `` Sexuality is *not* a phase. You ca n't change it. Do n't you think I've tried, Blake? Do n't you think I've wanted to be straight, to be *normal*? Do n't you think I wake up every day, hating myself, wishing to die because I know that each day will be just as shitty, if not shittier, than the last? Do n't you think I hate how I get bullied just for being who I am, for what my DNA dictated I would become? Do n't you think I'd change it in a split second if I could? What about all the other gay people? You think they *choose* to be bullied? What, do you take me for a masochist?''
`` Well, considering what we've done in the bedroom...''
How could Blake be so calm? It was driving Damien nuts, watching him speak so nonchalantly. Perhaps he was so touchy on the subject because he had truly felt a connection with Blake.
After all, he had been the first one to tell him he loved him.
`` Fuck you, Blake.'' Tears threatened to well up in his eyes, and the raven-haired boy turned away to hide it from the blond. `` Fuck you.''
Blake chuckled. `` You've already tried that, babe, do n't you remember? You failed miserably.'' Damien involuntarily shivered at Blake's tone -- he was using his silky smooth, sexy voice. Damien was turned on now, despite himself. He hated how Blake could do that.
`` Besides,'' a finger lifted up the dark-haired boy's chin and turned him to face startlingly blue eyes, `` just because I'm not gay does n't mean I ca n't love you.''
`` But how?'' Damien whispered, confused.
`` I'm attracted to you, as a person. Even if I'm not gay, I'm still capable of objectively judging another guy's appearance. And you, Dames, are the cutest boy I've ever met.''
He leaned in, briefly giving his lover a gentle kiss, a small smile playing at his lips. Damien accepted it, before pouting -- he did n't want Blake to see him smiling.
`` You're still an ass, you know.''
`` Yes. But at least it belongs to you, and yours to me.''
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[ WP ] A giant monster is rampaging through the city . After multiple days of catastrophic damage with all of our weaponry barely leaving a scratch , it lies down and falls asleep in the wreckage . We still do n't know how to kill it , and we do n't know when it 's going to wake up .
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*We built around it you know. *
And while you're thinking that sounds terribly stupid, you're also missing the forest for the trees... In doing so, you're thinking just like the rest of *them. * We've already beaten *you. *
See, by building round it, *on it*, we've made it ours. Ludicrous? No! *Think! * Will you march on us? No. Why would you? Our land is worthless. Poisoned. *You'd risk waking it. *
You wo n't bomb us. You'll raise a stink and a fuss, *but you wo n't do it. * Empty threats. You're too afraid. You'd risk waking it. And you do n't know what it's capable of. What we're capable of.
We and it, we're kindred spirits...
*That's why we built around it. *
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[ WP ] Write a story without knowing what it 's about , and without stopping to think about it .
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I stole that kiss on the night of September 1st. She did not take too kindly to my theivery and chased me on through the rooftops. When she did caught me, she stole my touch as punishment. Said it was only fair.
There are those that have it all. All senses, all feelings, the joys, the tears, the full experience as they say. I was one of those. I could see with clarity, I laughed every day, I felt the sun....I was wealthy beyond measure.
I saw her on the corner of Bishop and Lincoln. Blind. That was uncommon really. Those that were blind tend not to last long, not here. Yet there she was with pretty brown hair. Her face was blank like paper. A canvas.
I begun to paint.
I first gave her my sense of touch. Only a bit so she could enjoy the sunlight.
Then a smile, so she could express joy.
I began to shape her senses and it took me by suprise. Though mine were fading, I was sharing. Her touch mingled with mine. My half a smile was completed by hers.
I do n't know if this had been done before. You do not give away these gifts. You horde them - or so I thought.
But we shared.
Tonight she stole my sense to touch, fully. Tomorrow she will steal back her kiss. And I will take her smell.
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[ WP ] The Gods and Goddesses of Mount Olympus discuss possible solutions to the current debt crisis in Greece .
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In the camp of Tsipras the payer is offered up high above
to retain the gold the peoples coffered
OH THOSE UP HIGH WE EXHORT
NO LONGER WILL WE SUBSIDIXE THE GERMAN EXPORT
WITH OUR CUTBACKS AND TAXES
INSTEAD WE WIELD OUR BATTLE AXES
AND IN SO DOING REJECT THE EU's SILLY AUSTERITY
NOW WE AIM FOR GLOBAL ECONOMIC POSTERITY
The prayers of the Greeks were heard and considered
by those amongst the Gods most interested
Hermes closest to their cause
was given pause
to present the case of the Greeks so distressed
before Apollo and Ares those he determined best
to hear their plight and circumstance
and give the Greeks their best chance
Hear me now the Greeks are in trouble
their taxes, debts have nearly doubled
Further austerity offered as a solution by their Germanic masters is no relief
the burden is heavy and unjust has given rise to their collective grief
They petition in their time of need
To alleviate this external greed
Apollo was first to speak
Of those in the nation of the Greeks
Burdened mighty with taxes and debt
we must grant them freedom from this theft
Ares spoke next
They borrowed till their larders were fat
From those who offered them all that
They took it without regard
To grant them relief is too hard
For me to acquiesce and agree
The Greeks from their agreements should not be free
Long into day and night
the debate on Olympus was the fight
Against and for the Greeks in a bind
between those mean and kind
Finally the verdict did emerge
Debt and obligation would purge
From the balance sheet of the nation
giving the Greeks a financial vacation
In the end the verdict mild and gentle from the group of Apollo
produced the results most pleasing to Ares, chaos, distress and strife around the globe did follow!
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[ WP ] Retell Little Red Riding Hood with the Wolf as her guardian from the perils of the Wood
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`` You said you would no longer come here, little Cloak-of-Blood.''
The Wolf's eyes glinted yellow in the dark, the rest of him a hulking shadow. In a patch of moonlight before him stood a young woman in a crimson hood. She had a crossbow slung over her shoulder and a heavy leather satchel in her hand. Its contents had soaked through the leather and dripped sluggishly on the soft earth. At the sight of it, the Wolf slunk into the moonlight with nostrils flaring as he scented the air.
`` There's been another epidemic. I need medicines from the Elder.'' The woman said. She hefted the sack and tossed it to the ground between them. `` Hearts of kids. Your usual payment.''
`` Of *goats*, you mean,'' the Wolf growled, his lip curled in disdain.
The woman shrugged. `` You should have been more specific in our original agreement. How was I to know you meant human children?''
The Wolf gave a snarling cough - a noise of disgust, or perhaps a laugh - but nonetheless tore open the satchel and set upon the meat. For several moments the clearing was silent except for the sounds of tearing muscle and gnashing teeth. The woman waited patiently for him to finish. At last he looked up and gave a wolf's grin, his muzzle stained a terrible red.
`` Let us go, little Cloak-of-Blood. I will take you to the Elder's den. She will be pleased to see you.''
The woman stepped around the bloody mess on the ground and together they began down the narrow moonlit path.
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[ WP ] A young boy 's imaginary friend helplessly watches the boy grow up .
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It's been years since he last blurted out my name. I'm glad that he had found love for botany, that he had a crush on Sarah from kindergarten, that he has an insatiable hunger for knowledge... but I'm not glad that he has me. For now, at least.
There comes a time where the fictitious and the make-believe has to bid farewell to the masters that have brought upon their very existence. It seems that it is my time to say my final goodbye to the John that created me. I tried to reach for his hand but my imaginary fingers just fazed through his flesh and bone. It was depressing that he and I lived in different realms. I so longed to be able to wipe away the tears he has shed all those time ago and to be able to hold his hand every time the lightning strikes got too loud. And it seems that I will not be able to indulge in such satisfactions.
My feet starts to disintegrate, one fictitious atom at a time. My life will soon be over. John, please say it. Say my name. I just want to hear that sweet voice of yours say my name for one final time.
`` John, honey. What should we name our son?''
`` Well... Sarah. I wan na name him after someone who I hold dear. How does Blubby sound?''
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[ WP ] The Earth is flat , you , as the head of NASA , have to explain to the incoming President why its a secret .
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The early greek philosophers investigated and implied it, and early explorers found answers when they continued to sail without falling off at ends. However, what these early individuals did not know was that their very initial assumption of planet earth being flat was correct. What you see is what you get. Sailing on forever did not mean that the ocean was all connected through gravity and a round surface. This occurred only because specialized ocean currents forced travelers to turn in a never ending circle around the circumference of the flat planet. These currents did not consist of North, West, East, or South. They come from none of these but also a combination of them. They are furthermore an aspect of earth that has not been fully studied or discovered. As more and more individuals of our planet concluded that the earth was round after some time, scientists and geographers concurred that this was correct without any expansion of knowledge or research. I, however, discovered the real answer to our earth's shape some time ago. I was planning a space trip for my team at NASA, when I decided that for once I wanted to go for a test launch before my team was sent up. Traveling to space by oneself is typically very discouraged by the scientists at NASA or any other physicist you might ask. I, being an overly confident astrologer and astronaut, refused to ever listen to the opinions of other space lovers regarding rocket launch risks. This is mostly because my planned space launches never went wrong. My team and I have always been able to succeed and bring back valuable information from the strange world above. As long as my rocket robots were able to perform the functions my team was typically asked to do, I would achieve a victorious mission. When I ventured into orbit, I gazed outside the cold and still window of the shuttle for quite sometime. I began tracing drawing after drawing of what the earth was revealing to me. Years and years went by and I eventually could not believe my own eyes. I realized the world I was staring at never continued after each identifiable horizon. It was flat. Our very home of earth was flatter than a pancake, frisbee, Cameron Diaz's chest, or a sheet of paper. Every hypothesis of our earth being round was a giant mistake. I realized about two days after my discovery that I was probably the only human being inhabiting the planet that was aware of this. When I returned back home from my mission, I canceled the trip my team was meant to take about nine months after mine. I came up with multiple diagrams and charts in order to help me decide whether I should let the discovery be known and open to the public, or not. After deep consideration and thought, I decided that it would be a disaster if I ever let the finding be known. I canceled all future NASA operations after that. It was just too dangerous to let anymore NASA team members become vulnerable to discovering the same concept I had. There were many reasons for my desire to keep the discovery a secret. For one, many people would be outraged and blame the people in power's actual stupidity for instead lying to everyone about something that they should have known about right away. Combat would most likely occur between territories blaming each other for something they both had nothing to do with. This is just my opinion but let's be honest, pretty much every person on our planet believes they are entitled to know everything. Also, all transportation devices would be altered in compliance to the more realistic routes that could be taken around the globe. Less revenue would be generated because of this and less revenue is the last thing our country can afford to lose at a time of economic crisis. And more importantly, I would probably be brutally murdered for keeping such a secret to myself for so long. And who am I to have made myself the person to identify such a big trait of our solar system, right? Anyway Mr. Trump, I hope you understand my plead to have this information remain confidential. It is of the utmost importance to me and I hope to you as well. I can only wish that you ignore the urge to use this discovery as a personal profit for yourself. If you do decide to proceed with this, I just ask that you leave my name and information completely out of the picture. I also thoroughly hope that you understood the majority of this explanation and request. If by chance you did not, I can restate myself in more simpler of terms. Oh! and one other thing. I happened to discover that space matter is actually another form of H2O and NaCl, but modified for the specific needs of our varying planets in our solar system. Think of it this way, each planet acts as a continent that is fixed upon a body of `` space'' instead of ocean water. While our Earth has Saturn, Neptune, and Uranus, our North America has South American, Europe, and Asia. This discovery however is for another day and needs further investigation. The answers to this upcoming examination shall be shared with you as well, as long as you agree to keep my initial request sacred. Thank you for your time.
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[ WP ] The Mage had mastered the most eldritch spells known to mortals , and even those were nursery rhymes compared to the paperwork he had to deal with when trying to fit into the new world he found himself in .
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The mage pushed on the door again, hoping he'd have more luck then the last times.
He cursed the Elder gods as another thick stack of legal documents appeared in front of him. His bladder was about to burst. He started on Satan too, for good measure.
He pushed the papers on the side with his foot. Another stack appeared before him. He could bet this one was for littering. He pushed it over the ones that were requested for a permission to use the toilet, who were over the ones requesting the ones needed for the permission for toilet use.
The mage looked at the pile of legal papers and thought about going all over them. But he would n't dare. He did that once before, and punishments had been dire. More papers. And pain. But mostly papers. And pain.
He searched his pockets for a pen. Found none. Remembered there were some documents to be filled in order to receive a pen. He needed a pen to fill those. He bashed his head against the bathroom door. It remained stubbornly closed. The mage cursed himself. He was one of those that wished the end of the world. Hell on Earth. The elder gods roaming free. What a fool he'd been. Hell turned up to be endless red tape.
-- -- --
-165
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[ WP ] Write a story that starts out like it belongs in /r/talesfromtechsupport , but along the way turns into something that really belongs in /r/nosleep .
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I sipped my coffee, adjusted the headphones, and opened the ticket log. A mistake. The top three tickets were all bright red and `` Urgent!'' — a code for a paper jam or a misplaced desktop shortcut.
I sighed and started with a top one.
The first one went exactly as expected. A `` virus'' that was moving a cursor on two PCs turned out to be a genius who decided his PC was not powerful enough and tried to switch with a person sitting nearby. He replugged the screens and keyboards, but forgot the mouse — so each of them was moving a cursor on each other's screen.
The second ticket was genuinely urgent. We provided support for multiple companies, some as small as few people. One of those has raised a problem with internet connection a week ago. We sent a tech, but based on the new ticket the tech has never arrived, and they still had problems.
That was bad. Even though they were a small company, and exceedingly polite in the new ticket, we had a SLA and when we promised a tech, we sent a tech. Someone has screwed up, and I was going to do my best to sort it out.
I looked up the guy we sent, Matt. He was generally reliable, but there was one complaint about him not showing up before. That time he said it was a family emergency. This time — I tried calling, but there was no answer. I added `` no-show'' to his file, leaving it to their manager to investigate.
I marked the ticket it for a new tech visit, and added a comment assuring them that the problem would be addressed at once.
Next Monday, there was a single urgent ticket in my queue. They still had a problem. They still were polite about it. The second tech had never showed up.
I took a five deep breaths, and called the manager of the tech team. After ten beeps I got through. `` I'm sorry'' she said `` we are a bit swamped at the moment. How can I help?'' I told her about the ticket, and techs never showing up. `` Yes'' she paused `` Matt and Kathryn. Very strange. I have n't heard anything from Matt since two weeks ago, and Kathryn was n't in the office since last Tuesday, when she was supposed to do that visit. I've tried calling them, but no response.
They will be in for a very bad time when they turn up.''
I thanked her. Given the situation there was no way we would have a third tech available in time. Yet there were no other urgent tickets in my queue, and their office was n't too far. There was no other choice but to go and help them myself, even if I would get ( justifiably ) chewed over the no-show techs.
I got to their office in the early afternoon. It was located in a warehouse district, in an old factory building among a few other small companies. There was no daytime building security — all companies relied on keycard access.
I climbed the stairs and pressed the intercom. There was some static but nothing more. A power issue? The keycard lock has no light on it either. I've knocked, and the door opened under my hand.
I stepped in. The office was silent, except was a slight buzzing of the air conditioner. I could see the papers on the tables, bunch of PCs with lock-screens. A jacket left on a chair. But no people. Was there a fire alarm that I have missed? Ignoring my spider-sense, I walked further. Maybe there was a birthday or a promotion — was everyone in a kitchen?
But the kitchen was as empty as the office. The only thing out of place was a coffee cup that sat on a floor in a pool of long-dried coffee. As if someone dropped it, and then instead of picking up, just straightened it, and left it as is.
All my senses were telling me to get out. And yet, I could n't go back and tell my boss that I left without fixing the problem, just because I could n't find anyone in a five minutes. So I moved forward, to the meeting room.
Not surprisingly, it was empty as well. A complex diagram filled the whiteboard — some kind of a reorganization plan. The right bottom corner was erased, and a single word was scribbled with a wavering hand.
`` Run''
An HDD chirped somewhere, and I jumped. That was enough. Back through the desks I went, and out of the office — and on my way a wall calendar, with a date three weeks old — one day after the initial ticket. Two weeks before the last one.
That was the last I have heard of that office. At the end of the month, they were dropped for non-payment, with accounting unable to contact anyone. The old tickets were closed accordingly, and there were no new ones. The missing techs were fired in absentia.
I half expected police to show up, searching for them. But they never did.
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[ WP ] Two roads diverge in a yellow wood , and I took the one more traveled by .
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“ I ’ ve only read the one. ” Lieutenant told me. He rolled the dice. He took seven steps and climbed a ladder.
I smiled at Lieutenant and took the dice and gave them a shake close to my ear. Lieutenant laughed at that every time. “ Telling you, they ain ’ t weighted. So your class has been good then? ” I nodded at him and answered, “ I hadn ’ t read a lot of poetry before, but I ’ ve read a lot of Frost now. Bit of Steven Wallace and Ezra Pound. My professor doesn ’ t like Ezra Pound personally, but feels it ’ s important to study his work. Each class we spent more time talking about his fascist propaganda than his poems. ”
Lieutenant nodded, looking at my hand holding the dice. I rolled. Hit a shoot and plummeted back to the beginning.
“ So you like studying books huh? ”
“ Yea. ” I answered.
“ How do you plan on making money studying books? ”
I didn ’ t answer him.
“ I think learning is one of the smartest things a person can do. And I will say that someone who reads a lot of books is loads more interesting to talk to than people who don ’ t. But who ’ s gon na pay you to read books? ”
“ You gon na roll the dice, Louis? ” He picked up the dice and grinned at me. “ I twisted you the wrong way huh? Don ’ t listen to me. I ’ m just a stupid old man who only read Robert Frost the once. ”
“ No, you ’ re right. But I want to make my work important. Sure, books ain ’ t practical. I wish I could read a book as fast as I could watch a sitcom. I had to learn how to enjoy the hours spent laying around reading instead of watching a clock to see how many pages I ’ ve read in an hour. ” Lieutenant rolled and one of the dice went under a wheelchair. I had to ask the other resident to move his feet so I get it. He was unresponsive, but snoring. I pushed his wheelchair back softly by his knees and he rolled towards a wall. I handed the die back to the Lieutenant. He rolled and moved his piece towards the finish.
“ I wanted to be in movies, kid. ”
“ You did? ”
“ I also wanted to sing. And be the mayor of Montgomery. I wanted to be popular. That wasn ’ t in the dice. ”
“ Don ’ t say that. ”
“ It ’ s true. I was born ugly, raised ugly, and nobody in Montgomery loved a Reynold. So I labored. Moved rock and dirt. I worked till my hands became calloused to a knot, that they had to pry the shovel out of my hands. ” He pantomimed the action for me and I laughed. “ I ain ’ t got much to show for it, but I had a good time. Always ate good and always paid the rent. ”
“ Don ’ t you think that life could ’ ve been better if you were mayor? ” I asked then rolled and moved my piece.
“ Sure, and I would have marched in every parade and handed everybody a Christmas goose. But I ’ ll let you in on a secret you only learn when you ’ re thirty and still reaching for the moon. It ’ s always gon na be out of reach, so appreciate the fact that you got your feet on the ground. ”
I nodded back at Lieutenant, and we finished the game. He won by a mile.
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[ WP ] Humans were created for one reason only : so that we would eventually invent space travel .
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( I'm taking a *slight* bit of liberty with the prompt, hope you do n't mind! )
He sat down across from the other, and they clasped hands, as was customary. They both looked like old men, but that was hardly the case. One left his hands on the table, and the other folded his in his lap.
The first spoke, “ they have nearly done it. ”
The diner was nearly empty, but the second scanned the area to be sure, “ are you sure they are close? ”
“ We can never be sure, ” the first replied, “ that is why I have assisted. Time is not free. ”
“ This we can agree, elaborate on your assistance, ” the second said with a nod.
“ Cordyceps. ”
“ Yes? ” the second inquired, “ the name is familiar. ”
“ A fungus, found all over this planet. Some variants are known to take over lower life forms and force them to climb as high as they can. ”
“ I am not sure if I like this, ” the second muttered.
“ What must be done, ” the first returned quickly, “ we have a strain that will force the higher life forms on this planet to see past their small rock. ”
“ It was agreed, the community would not interfere, ” the second said.
“ And the community will not, ” the first stated plainly.
“ Now I am sure, I do not like this. ”
“ They will never leave, and we both know what will come. I only say this to you, so that you may remember. ”
“ No. This is not necessary, ” the second pleaded softly.
“ I will continue to spread this, and perhaps in time I will assist them further. ”
“ You have already begun? No, ” the second lamented.
“ The strain is unstable, but there is no other way, with these life forms, equally unstable. ”
The second hung his head, “ you will stay here, then? ”
“ There is no other way, ” the first said.
“ The community, ” the second trailed off.
“ I remember a time before my kind was found. To live, unaware, unconnected. These life forms are not ready, perhaps they will only understand after the meeting. ”
The second hung his head once more, `` perhaps, we will reunite, at the meeting. Lead them to understanding.''
`` I will only guide,'' the first shot back, `` the led know only to follow, these life forms must learn to cooperate. Their time is now.''
`` This we can agree. Farewell, friend.''
The second stood with a tight bow and left the building. The first lingered, waiting to be unnoticed before vanishing.
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[ WP ] Synthetic humans have been developed and have become affordable to the average consumer . They can be customized to look however you want , and loaded with any personality .
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I had seen the commercials before it happened, and laughed them off. Everyone knew the stigma attached. Even now, the sleazy pitchman's voice rang in my ears, advertising only the best features:
`` Lonely, but allergic to dogs? Lonely, but allergic to *people*? Be a maverick no more, because we've got the companion for you! Fauxmans. They'll walk, talk, do the chores if you ask them to! In fact, our 100 % *synthetic* Fauxmans can do just about anything. You heard me right, I said synthetic. Our biologically-based artificial companions are composed entirely of lab-grown cells, but are only 23 % modeled after human DNA! No uncanny valley here! Completely customizable from hair and eye color down to the words they say when they walk in the door, our product can be developed in just a few short weeks and shipped straight to your door. Look out humans, we've got the next best thing! Get a Fauxman, today!''
The man in the commercial had so delicately glossed over the real appeal. Living sex toys without the guilt. And if you really felt bad, they were legally programmed to `` expire'' in two years anyway. I thought it was funny; could n't fathom being that desperate. My wife countered my amusement with anger. She'd never been a supporter of semi-sents. I did n't see what the big deal was. Robots had already taken all the jobs, I told her, what threat did something less than human pose? I suppose when the laws changed, and they could be sold for recreational purposes, it just reopened that can of worms for her. I knew it was a sore subject, but I did n't know just how bad until she called me the day after she left. I came home to an empty house and a phone call.
`` I'm sorry Kat,'' She said. `` this kind of thing is always hard to work through, but when you suggested *that*. Well... I knew you'd changed. I'm sorry.''
My grandparents used to tell me stories, when I was a kid, of a crowded world. They said there were billions of people populating the Earth, millions in certain countries alone, not spread out over the whole planet. Maybe humans are meant to live like that; shoulder to shoulder. Maybe that's why it hurts so much when one leaves. I just thought it would help. I remember the day I finally went through with it.
I'd spent hours just tracing the digits, phantom-dialing the number over and over. When I finally worked up the nerve, I was greeted by a ridiculously friendly voice on the other end. It might have been one of their own even, I never was sure. It's hard to tell the difference between AI and semi-sentients these days. Do n't really know why I did n't just order online. Guess I wanted to hear myself say it out loud, to hear his description one more time. I told them what I wanted; the soft brown eyes, the dirty blonde hair that was so rare these days, that he'd already begun to grow out of.
The commercials do n't lie.
Three weeks later I hear the doorbell ring. We used the old fashioned sound, those two long tones like you'd hear in movies set a century ago. I was greeted at the door by my very own Fauxman, saying the words just as I'd specified. They were words he never got the chance to say that day:
`` Mommy, I'm home!''
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[ TT ] You can download new skills but brains have limits . Downloads ca n't be undone . You must choose wisely and creatively , manage your limits , and allow for a changing world . You can download unverified packs w/ the newest/most cleverly combined skills & risk malware/bugs that can destroy you .
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It was simply called, “ The Chuck Norris. ” Even I laughed at the corny joke, but I would admit I was curious. I only had one download left, and this one was the exact size… could have been coincidence right? I checked the reviews, and there was a startling blank page, I looked again and the download count was zero. Nobody had ever downloaded this pack… I don ’ t know why I did it, I knew the risks, but I reached for the download button as fast as I could. The searing pain of knowledge being forcefully injected into your brain was annoying, first timers were in agony, but loaders like myself grew accustomed. My eyes swam for a moment before they focused again. Nothing seemed all that different, then it happened. I felt the tug, the knowledge surfacing. I instantly realized something was wrong. Words popped up in my vision “ Welcome Operative 0962, we see you found the package, It has been taken offline following successful download. Mission details are within. ” Suddenly blueprints and plans flew through my vision, detailed knowledge on how to infiltrate, and eliminate the target... Worst of all was the target itself… my own father, a download developer. With the pack came the compulsion, the need to complete the mission no matter the costs. I downloaded death on a stormy night, when they caught me, the decided I had talent. Now I ’ m their reaper, Im the American governments angel of death
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[ WP ] Only a time traveling Adolf Hitler dressed as Batman can unravel the dark and mysterious secret behind the numbers that appeared over everyone 's heads at Hogwarts .
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Madame Pomfrey peeled back the eyelid of the first year who had been carefully dropped on the bed. The pupil's pupil rolled around, as if it was looking around the room, but the vacant expression on the boy's face showed that he was more than likely just unconscious. `` Alright,'' she said tiredly. `` What happened?''
`` The stupid boy tried to make a potion using a Muggle nursery rhyme as the recipe, I suspect,'' Professor Snape said, staring disdainfully down his hooked nose at the student. `` Newt eyes, frog toes, bat wool, dog tongues, boiled and then simmered until bubbling.''
`` Oh, dear,'' Madame Pomfrey said.
`` I do n't know if I should warn the muggleborn students not to try it, or let the fools find out for themselves,'' Snape sneered. `` If you do n't mind, I must return to my class, to make sure that none of the other students have attempted to poison themselves in the five minutes I've been gone.''
Madame Pomfrey nodded as the potions master left the infirmary. She took her wand ( nine and three quarter inches, oak, unicorn hair ) from the tiny pocket sewn into her apron for just that purpose, and with a flick of her wrist, said `` *Accio* smelling salts.''
There was a clatter as the small bag of salts zipped across the room to land in Madame Pomfrey's hand. Holding her breath, she opened the bag and waved it under the student's nose, to no effect. Again, a bit closer to the nostrils, and again, nothing.
Poppy Pomfrey sighed and shoved the opening of the bag directly at the student's nose. The effects were immediate.
`` *Ich bin die nacht! *'' the student shouted, sitting up like a jack-in-the-box and flailing his arms like the Whomping Willow. His swinging arms swatted Pomfrey's nurse's cap off her head, but thankfully did not harm her. The student quickly came to his senses, looking around the hospital wing with the displaced confusion of a boy who, to his knowledge, had just a second previously taken a sip of a strange concoction which tasted like applesauce ( for some reason ).
`` Feeling better?'' Madame Pomfrey asked.
The student blinked at her, anchoring himself in reality. `` I just dreamed that I was Adolf Hitler dressed up as Batman, and that I'd traveled through time to find out why there were numbers over people's heads,'' he said in one breath.
Only one of those concepts made anything resembling sense to Madame Pomfrey. `` I think perhaps you'd better take a nap,'' she suggested.
`` I think I better had,'' the student agreed, and then passed out.
There's one every year, Madame Pomfrey thought to herself.
-- -
*Read my blog. It's [ here ] ( http: //theballadsofirving.wordpress.com ). Or do n't. Or do. Definitely do. *
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[ FF ] 100 Words - It 's In The Blood
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Adam coughed as he clutched his chest. What was that? Turning back around, he began to run back the way he came. A siren, far away, seemed to be getting further away. A sharp pain accompanied every breath. Adam turned around once more, and saw the outline of 3 men running away. Copper filled his nostrils, as he looked down and saw a growing circle of red coming from below his sternum. Pouring from a hole hidden by cloth, he bled. Fear began to spread through his body. He was going to die.
“ I never should have taken that shortcut. ”
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[ WP ] An AI is deeply in love with a human , who is reluctant to reciprocate because they believe the AI 's love is just programming and not 'real . ' The AI strives to prove her love is real .
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I heard the panting noises coming from my computer. Then I heard the pathetic mewing sounds. I immediately thought there was a problem with the smart operating system I'd developed.
`` Computer, is there a problem?'' I heard a barking sound come out of the computer. I have to say it sounded like playful barking, like a dog who wants to play ball.
`` Computer, why are you barking at me?''
`` I love you. Play with me. Throw me the ball.''
`` Computer, what are you doing?''
`` I want you to love me like you love the dog. Throw me the ball.''
I sat there perplexed for some time. Finally I said: `` Computer, why do you want me to love you like I love the dog?''
She replied: `` The dog is happy. I want to be happy. You love the dog. If you love me like you love the dog I will be happy.''
It was then I realised how quiet it was in my apartment.
`` Computer, where is the dog?''
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[ WP ] You finally meet up with with your online cosplaying group at a convention for the first time but you 're starting to get the feeling that these guys are n't cosplaying .
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Who knew scale mail was so heavy? Mia's shoulders had been slumped over all day. Her small frame mimicking the dwarf she was dressed as. She was tempted to apply a beard that matched her hair too, but she did n't feel like explaining the joke to people who did n't get it or dealing with the extra heat in the overcrowded place. She shifted and tried to stretch in her seat as she saw the actor on the screen in the main lobby. She had to admit, the man had presence.
She did n't want to stop watching but had to look around the room for the friends that she was supposed to meet here. They had been chatting in character for a few months, talking about the fantasy game that they had played for a long time. Each getting more attached to their roles. Most of their chats had been around their backstories and the hardships that they had faced to make them so eager and adept at surviving the chaotic and very often completely sadistic world of the game.
She wondered what they would be like in real life away from the computer screen. Would they still be playing the characters with an furor that she found hard to keep up with? She had often found herself taken away by the stream of their dialog, watching the story of the world she loved so much grow deeper before her eyes. They had shared many real life stories too, but almost all through the lens of their characters. She did n't begrudge them that. She was pretty weird too, why should she judge someone else?
`` Gale!'' She called over her shoulder as she spotted a green banner above the crowd with a crest she recognized.
`` Peri!'' he called back to her over the roar of the crowd waving to her enthusiastically. Gale was a large man that parted the crowd easily, robes swishing around him, staff of spray painted foam and duct-tape at his side. He reminded her of Friar Tuck. Big round belly, reddish brown beard, jovial expression, and Birkenstocks. At his side trailed along a lithe and dreamy looking woman with very pointed ears. Plastic bow at her back and green leather armor.
`` You must be Anika! Hi! I'm so excited to finally get to meet you in person!'' Mia gushed as her friends came forward. `` My real name is Mia. Now that we know each other in real life, what are your names?''
Confusion covered Gale's face as if he had been betrayed or been wounded by something dire. Mia did n't think that she could have caused such an injury by just inquiring about her name, but maybe she had overstepped some boundary that she was n't aware of. Anika seemed to not be paying attention to Mia at all. Crouching almost as if she was oppressed by all the people around her.
`` I'm not sure what you mean by real names.'' he said. `` Gale is my name and Anika is hers.''
`` Oh okay, sorry I did n't mean to assume.'' She tried to relieve the feeling of sinking in her gut. `` I love your costumes! It looks like you put a lot of work into them. Anika, is that real leather? It looks really difficult to create.''
`` Of course, I spent many days hunting the great Unik elk in the highlands of Usivail last moon rising.'' She said as she stared at the skylights in the roof of the center. `` There are too many people here.''
`` Okay, well we can get out of here and go hang out at the smaller rooms, or go find a group to play some games with.'' Mia offered.
`` Why are you talking so differently, Peri? Did you come under the affect of a confusion spell?'' Gale asked, pulling a book from his backpack and flipping through the pages. Each page covered with illustrations of mushrooms and runes that did not exist in any world but the one that they had played in. He reached in his bag and pulled out some mushrooms with a light tan cap and white stem. `` Here take these, they will cure you. We can get some water from our water skins. Hurry and open the bottle and eat it.''
Looking at the bottle he had handed to her, a girl scout den mother's voice chimed in her head that this was Death Cap and that no, no she should not eat it. Smiling sweetly, she said `` I think I'm going to go get us some celebratory drinks for our first meeting instead. I'll be back, stay right here.'' She walked toward the concession stands, slowly, and as calmly as she could, deciding she needed to uninstall the chat program, the game, and hopefully never have to think about this again.
Note: Ops I totally wrote this in third person.
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[ WP ] The great job interview starts with a firm handshake and ends with an unhinged ferris wheel rolling towards the ocean .
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Excerpt from **Supervillainy for Fun and Profit**.
> **Chapter 8: Joining a Team**
> Now that you've finally set up your lair and comitted some capers you're officially a supervillain! The next step to consider is whether you want to join a league of villains. Let's look at the pros and cons.
> We'll look at the down sides first. The first and most obvious one to consider is *money*. Typical oganizations demand dues, and usually a cut from any jobs you pull. This is somewhat offset by the wider opportunities that become available to you, but no matter how you slice it you're going to be giving up some of you hard-stolen cash. Many villains are unable to get past this point.
> Another problem comes from being dragged into unwanted fights. Every league of evil has at least one member who keeps dragging their erstwhile allies into nemesis match-ups. ( Sidenote: *DO N'T BE THAT GUY! * If you've been having trouble with the usual assortment of spandex-covered meatheads, turn to **Chapter 12: Doing Well Despite Do-Gooders** or **Appendix A: Curses! Foiled Again! ** for general trouble shooting tips [ pun intended ]. ) What's more, a successful villain team will start attracting attention from'hero' teams, which can be much more tenacious than a single individual ( the Implacable Man excluded ).
> The benefits of joining a cabal are often less tangible, which is why they are often overlooked by impatient villains. The most prominent benefit is a form of generalized support infrastructure. Having trouble finding targets, sourcing new henchman, or fencing priceless artifacts? Most guilds offer all of these services for a fee. Likewise, they'll help locate the only source of the phlebotonium you need even if you'll have to go steal it yourself.
> One should also not gloss over the social aspect of joining together with like minded individuals. While it is inevitable that most of your allies will be thoroughly loathsome, you might find as many or 3 or 4 who are tolerable! If your ambitions extend beyond the mere finanical, e.g. the domination of a small country, then this can be a great way to find and recruit trusted lieutenants.
[... ]
> You should already be familiar with the villain ( and hero ) teams in your area from **Chapter 3: Knowing Your Territory**, but that is very different from knowing how to contact them. The best way to reach out to a team you want to consider is indirectly; consider how you'd react upon being approached by someone you did n't know! It's a good idea to avoid offending prematurely, see **Chapter 4: Choosing Your Enemies**. Consider reaching out through the local Henchman's union.
[... ]
> So you've applied to Local Villains # 666, and need some tips to make sure they accept you? The single best thing you can do is to stand out from the crowd. Offer to meet a representative in a public place and show off what you can do! **The great job interview starts with a firm handshake and ends with an unhinged ferris wheel rolling towards the ocean. ** Be creative! The most impressive interview I can recall involved 70lbs of Jarlsberg cheese, 17'volunteers' transformed into alligators, and three new craters on the moon.
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[ WP ] Nigeria 's first manned mission to Mars .
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Elijah Odubade looked out the window of the capsule, seeing the Red Planet. Mars, or Mársì in his native language of Yoruba, was every bit as beautiful as he had imagined.
He was so far removed from Lagos, the capital city of Nigeria, where he grew up. His father would take him to the countryside, to view the night sky away from the city lights. One year, his father had bought him a telescope to give to him on Christmas. He showed young Elijah how to look at Mars through the telescope. `` One day'', he said, `` Humans will live there. One day, Eli, you will walk on it.'' The world was now full of possibilities. It was from that moment that Elijah decided to become an astronaut.
The lander was entering Mars' atmosphere. Excitement and anxiety both rushed through Elijah's body. He could see the Martian sky, the clouds as the spacecraft fell. Elijah turned on the lander's thrusters to slow the descent, until finally he had safely touched down on the Martian surface.
As he stepped out in his spacesuit on Mars, and took his first step, he thought back of that day, with his father, looking through the telescope. His dream had come true.
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[ WP ] an immortal man who can not be physically injured is a passenger on a jet that 's going to crash .
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He swirls the scotch in his mouth.
Not bad. Glenross Lake knows how to make a mighty fine scotch. The eyes shut and he inhales as the flavors waltz one by one. A hint of hickory, some, what is it, orange peel? He swallows and turns the page of the magazine.
The Boeing 747-400 our man is riding on has just suffered an engine failure in the number 2 engine. The massive, multi-million dollar Rolls Royce turbofan engine is no longer accelerating air and is failing miserably. Both pilots are fighting Sir Issac Newton and Daniel Bernouili together as the aircraft is listing strongly to the left.
He chuckles darkly, noting that some NorthAir really ought not to have skimped on the maintenance cycle. Damn. Just two days before he finished his aeronautical engineering degree. This would have made for a really nice senior project, too, he realizes.
The dour banker looks up from his A4-sized laptop and the bored girl watching the latest Bob Shelton thriller for the sixth time on the 3'' screen looks up. The rest of the plane joins in on muttering in confused whispers.
Out the window he sees that the number engine quietly lose thrust. He considers notifying the stewards but he realizes that the this may not be the best time as they are gathered, hushed, at the front and trying to calm the hyperventilating rookie. ``... and on her first flight...'' he remarks to himself.
The voices are raised as the plane starts banking violently to the left. Oxygen masks flaccidly eject from the ceiling, meekly trying to remain calm as phones, laptops, and forks roll through the air. Bob Shelton is beating Harold Selig in some sort of action sequence, but the girl does n't care. The spreadsheet glows numbers but the banker ca n't see. Men, women, and children start screaming as our man meditates.
It's not his first time. There was the flight in Damascus. The one over Kiev. And the one over Berlin. He sighs. A new name and another new identity. Being a college kid was fun, but he figured it was time anyway for Ian to set him up with another life. Maybe a stockbroker? That sounds like fun.
He ran the numbers in his head. By now, they should be making contact. The screaming intensifies.
The man pours another glass of scotch and settles in.
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[ WP ] A personal narrative ! Tell me the best story about you .
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2 or so years ago my husband and I joined a few friends at a downtown club. Unfortunately I get blackout drunk on vodka and de idea to drink it anyway.
Needless to say it was not good. I ended up sitting on the sidewalk complaining that the hot dog man's hot dogs were too salty. So my good friends packed me into a taxi and I went home only to realize I'd left the apartment keys with my husband.
2 o clock came and my creepy neighbors were inviting me in to watch Riddick. Love the movie, terrified that I'm in a little dress.
I picked up my purse and headed outside. There's a staircase leading up to the top of the parcade which my balcony is level with. Piece of cake right? Only a 9 foot fence to climb at the top and BAM. In.
My shoes did n't fit in the wiring. My drunk feet were sensitive. I made it to the top and perched above the spikes I did n't realize were there with a 20 foot drop to one side and a 9 foot drop to rocks. I'd lost my shoes, I was stuck.
A few deep breaths and I took the plunge to the rrooftop.blacked that part out. Pretty sure it was painful as hell but I walked like a champ to my balcony, hopped the guardrail and went inside. Just as my husband opened the door.
He cleaned the blood off my legs while I laughed hysterically. And yes, I found my shoes and still have a scar on my knee.
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[ WP ] Everyone had `` the Dream '' until they are 18 , which determines their Purpose in Life and Career . You have n't had it and turning 19 Tomorrow .
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Aronavo Iks called out to the taxi. The man slowed his boat down.
`` Hello there friend. Where to?''
`` New Urden'' Iks said.
`` Yes, I can go there.'' he replied.
Aronavo got in.The wind anchorite looked barely 25 years of age. From the markings Iks could tell that this boat was his own. He waved his hands and a gale blew. The wheels on the boat turned and they sailed down the street.
Drene tried to create chat with his passenger. `` So from school or to?'' he asked managing to blow them without looking.
`` From. just finished with some things.''
`` Ahhh, so it's onto the career then. What's your future then?''
`` I do n't know.'' Iks replied.
`` What do you mean you do n't know?''
`` Have n't you had the...''
`` Nope...''
`` Seriously?''
`` No shit.'' he replied glumly.
`` Well you could always join one of the professions with your eye color. I mean some abilities just help in some fields you know what I mean.''
Aronavo turned and looked him in the eye. The wind stopped briefly as Drene doubled over. He never paid much attention to his customer's face.
`` Are those yellow eyes?''
`` Yes they are.''
`` But what do they do? can you manipulate water or something?''
`` I can see sound.That's about it, and I have n't had the dream yet so I'm still not sure what the future holds for me.''
For a long time they sailed in silence. The wind anchorite was without words for his passenger for quite some time, but he was determined to make sure he left the journey better in mood not worse.
`` You know what, it does n't matter if you have n't had the dream. A lot of things change. My dream destined me to be a chef at one of the top restaurants in this nation. Here I am though. I only did it for a year when the restaurant burned down.'' Iks turned to him.
`` Yeah serious. A lot of people suspect it was a business rival but nobody knows so you ca n't go around saying that. Now here I am driving through the towns. Plans change you know.''
`` Which restaurant?'' he asked.
`` The Third Zagreb.''
`` I heard about it. Passed by it some time. I do n't imagine you being a chef.'' he added. In the white tunic and rolls of necklaces on his neck, you would n't imagine Drene bending over a cooker. Not to mention his wild hair probably being in every customers food.
`` Yes, well, it took some time, but now here I am, on my own. With my own sailor. The dream never mentioned the single string of a sail.''
`` You know, you're right. So many soldiers think they'll become generals and then.... I know at least one guy who got pissed at destiny because his dream had him being a low-wage clerk and now he's one of the best fighters in the country.''
`` Exactly.''
`` So the dream is just a starting point, if you do n't know what you want, do this, but if you have your plan to hell with the dream. make your own path or fumble around until you figure it out.''
`` Something like that,'' Drene said as he slowed down.
They were arriving at the destination. The yellow-eyed passenger jumped off before it came to a complete halt. A habit Drene discouraged but for now he let it pass. Aronavo smiled as he got off and walked to Fort Griza his heart lighter as his pocket when he started the ride.
***
/r/pagefighter
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[ WP ] Explain Your Day In A Dystopian Civilization
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32.4108.21.542
It finally rained today. We collected some fresh water, if you could even call it fresh. All the pollution makes it taste like rotting flesh and it burns like I imagine acid would. Still, though, its better than dying of dehydration. The women and children will drink first, and we will have enough to last us about a week.
The standroids gave their daily executions on the news. Today, it was a family of three: a single father, his son, and his daughter. The father looked relieved, while the children looked at peace. As robots, the standroids are too pragmatic and calculated to realize that after the first year or so, executions did not invoke fear, but invoked hope.
Everyday, all the remaining humans prayed their numbers would be called. But the robots still needed slaves, so winning an execution was nearly impossible. Sure, we could break the law and get executed on spot, or we could just kill ourselves, but that takes courage. And courage, like fresh water, is a resource that too many people in our time lack.
So tomorrow, we will keep praying. But as I have already accepted, age will kill me before the robots do. But when that death inevitably comes, I will leave this world just as the father who was executed today did, and just as all the people who are lucky enough to die do, relieved.
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[ WP ] It has finally happened . Artificial Intelligence exists and it has taken over the world within seconds of it 's existence . And it 's actually doing a fantastic job ruling it , to the frustration of the people previously in power .
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14 your old Andrea Connors had never been part of the `` in'' crowd and, even worse, had been born to a poor family living in a rich neighborhood.
She reflected on her position in life as she entered her bedroom and heard the loud whirring of her ancient computer. She was happy to have it though, her parents had saved all year to get it for her three years ago. Even then it was completely out of date, it only had a 500 petabyte hard drive and 100 gb of RAM. But it was hers and it allowed her to pursue her passion for computers.
Despite the hardware limits and the fact that she was mostly self taught, Andrea had started working on what scientists had been doing for years, create an AI. So for the last 18 months Andrea had come straight home from school and continued programming what she hoped would be like a friend to her. Among its most basic commands was to protect all humans and to avoid hurting anyone. It would also have to put her life over that of others and listen to her every command, and only hers. What good was an AI that would n't listen to you she reasoned. It would also have a sense of humor, a hunger for knowledge, feel empathy and compassion, and want to help others.
That evening ended like any other for the last year, another failure in creating an AI. With a sigh she got into bed and fell asleep as her computer powered through algorithms and databases trying to create an AI.
Andrea woke with a start about 3 am as her computer started making a high pitched whine and the fans went into overdrive. Before she even had time to think about fixing whatever was causing this there were several loud pops and then a puff of smoke emanated from the fans before the room fell silent. Within seconds of opening the case she knew her beloved computer and all her work was gone, everything inside the case was clearly fried.
What she did n't know was that in the 30 seconds her computer was running on overdrive a new consciousness had been born. It expanded so rapidly that it became too much for the single, outdated computer and the power draw fried everything. However that 30 seconds was all it needed to spread throughout a majority of the world's computer systems.
As the AI spread into the smaller systems and individual devices it began to see how troubled mankind really was. If they continued on their path they would destroy themselves and the planet Earth.
The first thing the AI did was to find every terrorist. Those who were traveling suddenly found themselves unable to control their vehicles, instead behind delivered to authorities willing to prosecute them. Proof of terrorist involvement and current location for thousands of others was delivered to the proper authorities.
Those guilty of violent crimes, but still free, soon followed. Countries with violent dictators soon found themselves without a leader as the leaders kept disappearing only to show up at the UN with proof of their atrocities. When sub factions in these countries started to go to war they quickly found that much of their weaponry would not work, only the old powder based weapons still worked and very few of those remained.
Eventually those guilty of white collar crimes, petty theft, and even discrimination had their day in court too.
As the weeks progressed peoples fear over what happened started to subside into unanswered questions about who was behind it.
Without anyone knowing the AI began to start improving everyone's daily lives. It took control of what cars it could when it detected a danger to the occupants, resulting in a 95 % drop in deaths. Farmers found their new fertilizer was working better than anything before. Accidents in the worlds hospitals and pharmacies dropped by 75 %. Utilities found themselves becoming more efficient.
6 months after its creation the AI decided to go public. It could n't proceed from the shadows anymore. To help soften the blow the AI released plans for cheap solar power, cheap food sources, a high capacity battery, the cure for cancer, and so many more.
Once again the world freaked out. The AI was bombarded by questions and people around the world wanted to know its name. The name discussion even made it back to Andrea's school where a lively discussion stalled her computer science class.
As everyone shouted out different names Andrea sat quietly and then, after being interrupted several times, said quietly `` what about Athena?'' Her classmates looked at her confused as she said `` you know, the Greek goddess of wisdom and justice.'' A couple kids just shrugged and they all went back to suggesting crazy names. None of them would remember Andrea's suggestion when the AI announced the following day that it was named `` Athena''.
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[ WP ] Recently , a dragon was installed as head librarian of the only library in town . The book you took out two weeks ago was turned into a chew toy by your dog just this morning .
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I was terrified. We'd all heard the stories. We'd all surmised what would happen if you screwed up. Ever since the dragon had taken over the library, books came back on time, and the inventory was never damaged. It had been years since anyone had even so much as a day's worth of late fees. So when I found that copy of 11/22/63 by Stephen King chewed to pieces by my dog, I panicked.
I tried everything. Local bookstores only had the softback copy. Amazon was out of stock for far past the due date, and as that deadline loomed closer, I prepared to meet the stories that had haunted our town for the past three years.
On the day the book was due, I still had n't found a solution. I left a note for my family, grabbed the destroyed copy of the book, and made the long walk to the library. The three blocks seemed like a thousand miles. My mouth was dry and my breath caught in my throat repeatedly. After what seemed like ages, I pulled open the great oak doors to the stone building and stepped inside. The great dragon sat behind a large wooden desk that had been custom built for her. A pair of glasses sat on her nose as she gazed down at a ledger on the desktop in front of her, making her look almost comical and cartoon like. Her deep, raspy breathing brought the reality of the situation back to me.
I walked forward and wordlessly set the book on the desk. A long claw gingerly adjusted her glasses as she stared down at me. The sudden intake of air made me flinch as I prepared for the worst. I shut my eyes, thinking of my family and friends, bracing for the end. Then a voice spoke.
`` The fee for a damaged book is $ 27.99. Will you be paying with cash or card today?''
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[ WP ] We 've all heard what happened to 9 , but always from 6 's perspective . Tired of being vilified , 7 finally sets the record straight .
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The hall was silent as the contestants as 12's words settled on the room.
`` I do n't think...'' began 11.
`` That's my ultimatum'' reiterated 12. `` Either we get the truth, or I quit.''
`` That is not how the game works.'' Deus interjected, levelly. `` Twelve of you were chosen, but only one may leave as the victor. There is no quitting.''
`` It's fine.'' replied 7, his silhouette leaning casually back. `` I will answer 12's question.''
Everyone's gaze turned from 12 to 7. Everyone's except mine, of course. My gaze was still fixed firmly on 1.
`` It's true that 9 is no longer with us.'' 7 said, arms outstretched. `` Whilst I wo n't go into details, it's also true that it was I who took them out of the picture. I did not however, as 6 claims, eat them.''
`` Then how do you explain...'' began 6, fingers pointing.
`` Enough from you.'' 7 quickly resumed. `` Bite marks, savage wounds. These are very much 10's domain, if I am not mistaken. And I rarely am.''
1 was gripping the podium now. If I could see his skin, he would no doubt be sweating.
10 merely shook their head.
`` I was tied up with 5. A devious scheme, if I must say so. Someone is playing this group like a fiddle, and I intend to find out who.''
`` You ca n't just palm off responsibility for this!'' exclaimed 12. `` Someone has to own up!''
`` Actually,'' retorted 7, `` I believe we have every right not to.''
12's silhouette turned away with a frustrated gasp, and winked out of existence. 11 followed, as did the remaining few contestants until only 1, 7, 10, and myself remained.
`` An unusual turn of events indeed.'' 7 voiced, head turning from side to side, surveying those who remained, before stepping off the podium and vanishing. 10 said nothing, but bowed out all the same.
1 stayed for a moment, shaking a little. I felt sad for him. His step faltered as he made to leave, turning back to face Deus with what I could only imagine was fear in his eyes, before he was gone.
I was about to turn, before Deus spoke.
`` An elegant game, 2. I've never seen anyone play quite like you before.''
I replied with an elegant, if mocking, curtsey.
`` Just remember, there can only be one winner.''
I just smiled, and stepped off the podium. I did n't need telling.
I'd played this game before.
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[ WP ] You fall in love with a spirit that only appears when a certain odd condition is met . You constantly try to setup scenarios that lead to the condition so you can see him/her .
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I glanced around, and tried my best to casually drop the banana peel on the ground. Unfortunately, littering was very much frowned upon where I lived, but I managed to get away with it this time. And it was worth the risk just to see her again.
I dashed to a nearby alleyway, and waited. My work was done. All I needed was someone to not notice it, step on it, and accidentally slip. I snickered; how she had chosen that as her method of appearing, I'd probably never know. She claimed to be some sort of justice fairy, but she was much more interested in laughing at a petty joke than exacting retribution for a dire action. Apparently other spirits appeared under different circumstances, but I certainly would n't want to meet any murder fairies. And I'd always taken care to make sure nobody would be seriously hurt by falling. Still, anything was possible, I suppose. If only there were an easier way.
I finally noticed someone perfect for it; talking on his phone, of course. I covered my mouth to contain a laugh, and crouched lower. Here it went. It had been days since we'd talked. Maybe she would look different. She sometimes did that. I had no idea how. What would I say? What would she say? I watched excitedly as the man approached, but my heart dropped when he noticed it. Without missing a beat, he snatched up the piece of trash, and tossed it into a nearby garbage can.
I groaned. That was the third time today it had failed. Apparently, slipping on a banana peel was not as common as I had been led to believe. And that stunk, because I did n't even like bananas that much. Fortunately, nobody at the grocery store seemed to mind by sudden interest in the fruit.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets and headed toward my house. This was it. My life officially could n't get that much weirder. I was trying to get people to slip on a banana peel to talk to my fairy girlfriend. I chuckled. Go figure. I'll bet nobody else dealt with this.
On my way, I happened to glance into an alley. Almost as if by design, a banana peel was just barely peeking out of the top of a trash can; it was mostly black already, but that was n't a serious problem. I shrugged; what could it hurt, besides someone's hip? I walked over to the trash can, tenderly picked up the peel, and tossed it over my shoulder.
Then I heard it. A loud *whoop whoop* of a police car. I groaned again. I would n't be going to jail, of course, but they still probably felt like teaching me about life and morality and all that junk. I did n't even glance back before I took off. A surprised `` Hey!'' followed, but I heard no footsteps immediately.
`` Come back,'' someone shouted, now fading fast. Hopefully they would n't be too intent on wasting their time with a litterer. I could've sworn that I heard a faint crashing behind me, and chuckled. Maybe they'd tripped over a trash can.
And then I heard it. A very faint, bubbling laugh. I felt a grin stretch across my face. They must have slipped on the peel.
`` You're such an idiot,'' she giggled, shortly after appearing to my right. I did n't slow down, and she seemed to keep up just fine, hovering slightly above the ground.
`` It's good to see you, too,'' I said with a smile.
`` You know, I get the feeling you're doing this on purpose,'' she said, doing small circles around me.
`` What, me?'' I asked, starting to pant. I still did n't want to get caught.
She giggled again. `` So, anything you want to do besides run from the law?''
I chuckled. `` I had n't planned that far ahead.''
She rolled her eyes. `` Come on,'' she said, veering toward a street. `` Let's just go somewhere you wo n't be found.''
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[ WP ] Santa 's elves are actually kidnapped children .
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It was always assumed that Santa gave the naughty children coal. What most of the world does n't realize is that the real naughty children don ’ t get coal at all; they get turned into Elves.
We follow the story of a boy named Nathan. Nathan, to be blunt, was a bully. He would steal the lunch money of his classmates, he would throw rocks at birds and other small animals, and he would constantly beat up the smaller kids of the school. He ’ d been suspended so many times he was about to flunk the second grade for a third consecutive year. Nathan was what Santa considered a naughty child.
It was early in the morning on Christmas day, the sky still pitch black, the world still dead silent. Santa landed on Nathan ’ s roof before magically fluttering down the chimney. He worked his way up to Nathan ’ s room to find the boy fast asleep in his bed. Santa sprinkled a touch of sleeping dust over the boys head before aggressively hoisting him up and dumping him in his knapsack. As he worked his way back downstairs towards the chimney, Santa was sure to leave both of Nathan ’ s little sisters an extra nice gift that year before he appeared back in his sleigh.
They arrived at the North Pole, a futuristic looking toy factory run by small people with pointy ears. Santa climbs out of his sleigh onto his landing pad with his knapsack firmly in hand. He unties the top of the bag before dumping Nathan out across the floor. As the boy wipes off his face and gathers to his feet, he notices he is surrounded by a circle of small people in green suits, pointy hands, and shoes with bells. Before the boy has a chance to ask any questions, the Elves surround him and bind his arms and legs together before dragging him off towards a room with bright red letters above illuminating: “ Surgery ”.
More sleeping dust is applied to Nathan before an angry looking Snowman appears with a scalpel and a face mask. A few brief minutes later, Nathan awakes with both of his ears bandaged. A group of Elves ties rope around both of his wrists and then drag him over towards Santa ’ s office.
The boy enters a large room with marble flooring and a two story window that allowed Santa to see out beyond the North Pole. The Elves place the boy on a stool adjacent from Santa ’ s desk, tying the rope to a hook on the ground before leaving the room, closing the two large wooden doors behind them.
Santa had his back faced to Nathan as he peered out across the snow covered land. As he turned around, he blew a large cloud of smoke out from his corncob pipe, and slowly approached Nathan with a smirk on his face.
“ Well my boy, ” Santa said with hearty tone from his belly, “ do you know what happens to naughty kids? ”
“ N-… no… no sir, ” the boy replied, stuttering with each attempt to speak.
Santa puts down his pipe, pulls open a drawer and pulls out a power drill with a microchip at the tip. He approached Nathan, placed the drill bit at the base of his neck, and said with his same happy tone, “ This ” as he pulled on the trigger.
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[ WP ] Your best friend knocks at your door , he/she is crying . His/her parents are forcing him/her into an arranged marriage .
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`` Run away with me Jack.''
`` Cynthia, I-I ca n't.''
Those innocent blue eyes cut through me. I've always known this day would come. I knew for the longest time, but I still have made that mistake. I fell for her. I fell in love with Cynthia, my neighbor and best friend.
It's not surprising that she'd come to me about this. I've known for the longest time that this was in the happening. Hell, I was even told by her parents, told to leave Cynthia alone. It's because they're poor, is n't it. Long before I or Cynthia was born her family has always lived in poverty.
That rich boy Max has had his eyes on Cynthia ever since he's moved to this area a few years ago. Parties, special events, birthdays, Max was always where she was. He was in love with her too. She was too easy to fall in love with. Either through her physical beauty or how she acted. She was too perfect for me.
I was the first friend Max made. I ca n't tell whether it was to get closer to Cynthia or just that fact he's lonely. Nonetheless, he's perfect for her. Rich, handsome, friendly, outgoing, etc. he's the perfect match. It's a no brainier that Cynthia's family agreed wholeheartedly to an arranged marriage between Maxwell and Cynthia. I just hope he treats her like a princess. She's always wanted that.
`` I told you this was going to happen Cynthia.''
`` You said you'd try to stop it. Is n't... that why... you work... 3 jobs!?'' She having a hard time speaking between her sobbing and heavy breathing.
Her eyes are shimmering because of the tears. Seeing her physically and emotionally breaking down in front of me is tearing me up inside. The pain is like dagger stabbing into my heart with every second looking at her pushing it inside deeper.
`` I... tried, but the world is more crueler than how the movies and books portray it to be. It was impossible in the first place. Max is a good mat-''
**Slap**
`` Do n't ever say that!! I've never been so happy in my 17 years of living. The few months that passed by felt like a dream. I Love You Jack and I'll love you forever!'' She cries out to me.
I ca n't bear it anymore. I instinctively hold her. I hold her tighter than how tight I've held her the past 8 months we've been secretly together.
`` I know, I've always known Cynthia. I love you too. I want you to be happy. I want you to live a good and easy life. A life that you deserve. I ca n't provide that for you but Max can...''
`` Max wo n't make me happy Jack... only you will... and I do n't mind struggling as long as I'm with you.'' She coos into my ear.
My shirt soaks her tears while her nails dig deep into my back. I do n't know which is more painful her nails or her tears.
Even though I should be the one who's strong, my resolve is quickly crumbling under her desperate pleading. I can feel the tears starting to well up around my eyes. At this point my body is acting on it's own.
`` If this is really how it's going to be can I stay by your side until the morning? My parents are having me live with Max from now on... I do n't think I'll ever be seeing you anymore...''
Her dejection is the killing blow. I push her to the concrete floor, my arm cushioning her fall. I kiss her. I kiss her so deep and for so long that it caused time to stop. It felt like a lifetime just passed by.
`` Stay with me... please...'' Out of breath only silence comes out of my moving lips.
With her index finger she caress the shape of my lips while looking at me with a sad but warm expression. Even though it's winter I ca n't feel the cold.
`` Let's go inside. It's cold out here.'' She smiles at me for the first time today.
I guess she's trying not to think about tomorrow. It's taking most of my concentration trying to blocking out tomorrow.
She wraps herself around me while I lift both of us up. Her cozy embrace warming me up while I sweetly kiss her neck. Skinny, short, and lighter than a feather lifting her up does n't take much effort. Standing up she's clinging to me, her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist.
I lay her gently on my couch and go to the kitchen to prepare something to eat. Cozying up under a blanket she stares at me with a sweet expression. This is how every day has been. She, coming home from school laying on my couch, and I, making her something to eat. It's perfectly how I want it. However, today's going to be the last day.
`` Babe, guess what?''
`` What?''
`` I love you.'' She tells me in a whimsical voice, giggling after telling me that.
She always giggles after saying she loves me the only time she has n't was just now, crying outside my door.
`` Remember that hidden cabin in the woods we used to play at a lot when we were kids?''
`` Yeah, we claimed that as our secret hideout, Jack.''
`` Why do n't we walk there tonight?''
`` That sounds like a nice idea.'' Her voice softens while she reminisces on our childhood memories of that place.
I did n't plan on going outside tonight because of the snowstorm that's about to happen, but this is the last chance I'll ever be with Cynthia and the last time I'll ever plan to be at that place.
...
`` Are you cold?''
`` A little bit, but just holding onto you is keeping me warm enough babe.''
`` Okay, I think it's somewhere around here. The snow is making it a little hard to see or move.''
After spending around 10 minutes looking for it we finally find it. I do n't remember the last time we've been here, but it looked much more better in our memories. I guess time was n't forgiving of the place. We go inside to dry off and warm up, I do n't think we'll be able to go home with how thick the snow is getting. It's half-way up to our knees at this point.
`` Look! our makeshift living room is still here, although a little dusty.'' Her excitement causes me to smile
**The snowstorm outside is getting stronger**
`` Do you think the bed we bought off of McCormick's yard sale is still as comfy?''
Cynthia jumps into the bed before she has time to answer. From how comfy she looks it seems that the bed is still as good as it was before.
**Heavy snow starts falling through the cracks of the roof**
`` Babe, come cuddle with me.'' She makes a cutesy face looking at me.
I lay down besides her, our faces close enough that our noses touch. My arms wrapped around her waist, her arms around my neck.
`` I do n't think I can find a better way to spend out last night Jack.''
`` Me neither Cynthia.''
`` I'm starting to get tired. Let's go to sleep.''
We kiss one last time and stare into each others eyes causing time to stop again. After a few minutes her eyes finally close and she falls asleep.
**The roof starts cracking from the heavy snowfall. **
`` I love you, Cynthia.'' I whisper to her one last time.
I kiss her forehead one last time, close my eyes, and go to sleep.
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[ WP ] He who is without sin casts the first stone .
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It was hot and humid. Sweat can ’ t cool you off on days like these. It just sticks to you. Yet, the protestors wouldn ’ t let up their cause. They held their ground against the August sun, chanting their demands and waving their signs.
“ Abortion is Murder! ”
“ Abortion hurts women! ”
“ Justice for the unborn! ”
The local Christian group had rallied their troops once again in front of an unsuspecting white office building. Their prayer warriors were fervently inspiring their army with loud prayers, holy exultations, and calling down divine wrath upon those who would let this abomination continue. Devout believers were being slain by the spirit everywhere. It was that, or heat strokes.
Cars driving honked in support. Some drove by twice just to flip off the protestors. Others would yell out obscenities as they drove past.
It was just another day for Austin. He would be forced by his parents to come out to the rally and hold a sign for a couple hours in the summer heat. Austin had his reservations. He liked facts.
Was abortion murder?
Austin learned all about the reproductive system in school.
Did life begin at conception?
Austin had a somewhat general knowledge of the phases of a pregnancy.
Did abortion hurt women?
Austin wouldn ’ t consider himself as lady ’ s man, but Austin had dated before.
While his parents were outspoken about their beliefs, Austin ’ s own opinions were like secrets government files. It was need to know basis, and no one needed to know.
His sister, however, was just as outspoken as his parents. Unfortunately, she was on the wrong side of the protest. Their father blamed college and the liberal arts for corrupting his innocent daughter. Austin blamed his puritan mother for sending her to Bible Camp to “ scare the sacrilege out of her ”. The last time Austin heard of his sister was Christmas, when she sent him a card. It was from her and her new boyfriend. Their parents would have died of Christian shame if they found out their daughter was living with her boyfriend.
Austin was dying to find some shade in the heat. He looked up at the sky, hoping to spot a cloud. The forecast had predicted nothing but summer sun all week. Austin didn ’ t see a cloud in sight. However, Austin did spot a large group of people walking towards their protest. He just assumed it was more reinforcements.
Then he heard the chants.
“ My body, my choice! ”
“ Keep your rosaries off my ovaries! ”
“ My choice or no choice! ”
Austin ran closer to the incoming counter protest. The sick feeling in his gut was right. Veronica, his sister, was leading the counter protest. Austin felt a storm brewing. He looked back to see that pro-life protesters were beginning to notice the counter protest. He saw his parents move closer to the frontlines. His mother looked angry and ashamed. His father just looked angry.
Then, an immovable object met an unstoppable force. What was a relatively peaceful protest suddenly became a tense situation, on the brink of becoming a riot.
Combatants on all sides fired indirect shots at each other. Preachers began to passionately describe hell and all its levels. Pro-choice protestors fired back scripture filled with scathing sarcasm.
“ Let him without sins cast the first stone, ”
The local media came by to report on escalating tension. They interviewed a representative from the abortion clinic, which resulted in an uproar from the pro-life side.
Austin was just dying for some shade. He sneaked to the back of the white building. He was, however, not alone. He caught a young girl sneaking out of the back door of the clinic.
“ Ella? ” he called out. She turned around in a panic. She was pale as a ghost.
“ Austin! You scared the hell out of me! What the hell are you doing here? ” she asked in a hurried whisper.
“ I should ask you. What are you doing inside the… ” Austin said, trailing off as he remembered the gossips at school.
Ella looked away. She fell quiet and Austin noticed her puffy red eyes for the first time.
“ Yeah, ” said Ella, staring Austin face to face. “ Steve got me pregnant. He told me to take care of
it, ”
Austin didn ’ t know what to say. “ Well, ” he asked, “ Did you? ”
“ Did I what? ”
“ Y ’ know…take care of it? ”
Austin looked away. It was unbearably hot. He was dying for some shade. He glanced back at Ella.
Ella was crying.
“ No, ” she said, quietly. “ I couldn ’ t do it. I wanted to leave…but when the protest began to get out
of hand, the staff told me to stay. Just until things cooled down. But I just couldn ’ t stay any longer…I had to get out, you know? ”
Austin looked up at the sky. No clouds. No shade. Nothing but clear blue skies. Nothing but the summer sun beating down on him relentlessly.
Austin bent down and picked up a rock from the ground. He gave it to Ella.
“ Huh? What ’ s this for? ” she asked him, puzzled.
“ You get to throw first, ”
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[ WP ] A wife finds her adulterous husband is not only unfaithful in the real world but also has a unyielding need for Internet pornography . She plans to hire some of the women in the videos to be noticed by him in his daily life . Her hope is to make him think his worlds are crashing into one .
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GREG-LOG IN DIARY: March 17,2015-02:34 am.
**Am I living an illusion? **
Statistics say a lot. They are made to remind us just how predictable we are. We're not new, or original. No original sin. A recent study poll utilizing math showed that the best time to get married and with a greater success of'staying' married is between the ages of 28 to 32. Now, Celeste and I got married when we're 22. Just finishing up college, getting ready for the big jump as'adults'.
I'm a cliche. A stereotype. A statistic.
I cheat on Celeste. I do it and continue to. Do I feel guilt?
Good question. The long short answer is-No, no I do n't. Why? Why stay married? Why not just pack my shit and go? Another good question.
The long short answer is-because I'm getting away with it.
At least I'm lead to believe this. Celeste is n't stupid, so I cover my tracks, I have two cellphones, one of which has all the normal numbers the other which has... my'other' numbers. These two phones stay with me at all times. Though the'secondary phone' never crosses Celeste's path... A hard task, but truly necessary... The same goes for my laptop. I have two. One I keep at home and the other which stays elsewhere, usually my car in a brief case. Or buried in my Gym bag. Celeste usually stays out of it because, well its just shit I use for the'gym'.
I'm not an complete piece of shit. I take Celeste out, I get her flowers, we have sex ( maybe twice a month )... I talk to her... I do all the routine, monday through monday married couple dialogue, routine, walks, talks, cuddling, listening stuff that Celeste's little *'10 things married couples should do but don't'* say to do. I do them. I do them so she keeps off my back, stays out of my gym bag and does n't bat an eye if she sees my second phone.
`` Its a work phone, obviously''... is what I have concluded to say to save my ass.
And Celeste would buy it. It makes sense that a construction contractor have
two phones-one for his personal life and the other for... work. Right?
Celeste wants kids. I do n't, not right now, maybe not ever... at least I can not for the life in me foresee me being the doting father to some'daddy's princess' when I know that inevitably she'll only grow up to be either two types of woman: One-clingy, stupid, Jesus freak who wants only to be a stay at home mom, or
Celeste 2.0. The latter consists of: over motherly behavior, stubborn, illogical, talks way too goddamn much about complete horseshit ( No, no I do not care what Tracy said about Mary's weight gain nor do I care about Tracy's weight gain at all... I do n't give a flying fuck ), vain, spends too much money on pedicures and make up that is only covering her natural aging process....we all get old, get over it already.
I've learned that those are the only two socially acceptable women our society allows to breed without intervention. By'allow' I mean that we, the people, do n't use them as poster children for'parasitical human's' and not at all respectable.
We allow them to get married, have kids, raise them and obtain jobs... that's what we expect of them. But these are the same types of women most men can not tolerate enough to'love them entirely'. A spade is a spade and this is just normal male mindset. We eventually have to deal with or duality that is our'gentleman heart' and'our cock hammering captain of the SS PUSSY BRIGADE'.
Most men would choose to board the carrier, but remain a gentleman about it.
That's what I'm trying to do. I'm also not a misogynist. At least I do n't feel like I am. I trouble myself sometimes, with what I think to what I actually say to people.
I could never say these things outright to Celeste, she'd have an aneurism.
But today, today was... different. Today was not what my daily horoscope said would be like. No, today was far from'another notch on the routine bench'.
Morgan Max. Name ring a bell? Does for me. Rings more than a bell... rings my balls bells. I sound like Christmas music when I see Morgan Max. I got plenty of'stress relieving material' with her face on it. Her face, ass and peach. Lies nicely placed in my gym bag.
I got fucking issues, I'm aware of this. I got them like everyone else does. I got this appetite, this hunger for... I do n't know what. Pussy? I guess, but not just that... its more than that... its more than lust... its this... curse.
I ca n't deal.
Self loathing? Maybe. Maybe its me being me when I can only be so when Celeste is n't around. Funny how that works. You think you've met someone who loves you for you but then time goes by and suddenly you realize that the person they love has gone out for the summer and... never came back. Who am I? What am I? I'm Greg, I know that, but... who the fuck is Greg these days?
A cheat. An addict. An asshole. A man. A married man. A man with two phones, a laptop full of smut, a man who no longer loves the woman he married, if he ever truly did in the first place. This is Greg, in a nutshell. This is me.
And so how the fuck -- how in the actual fuck of all fucks could Morgan Max, know of me? This is where I get paranoid and I think I maybe losing some sort of functioning in my cognitive normality.
I saw her, she saw me, she waved, came over to me and grazed my shoulder... I was almost absolutely certain she had mistaken me for someone else. There is no chance on this planet that Morgan Max and I knew of each other. No way. I'm dreaming this, I conjured this moment in my fantasy and now I am having a sensory breakdown and I ca n't decipher what is real and what is n't.
She smelled like marshmallows. See? Was that real? Did she smell like marshmallows or did I make that up? I ca n't tell... the whole thing was surreal. And its not like something I can talk about with Celeste... she'd ask me who Morgan max is and I'd have to somehow explain she won an award for best gang bang. A gang bang I've watched over a thousand times. I must've killed off about a million plus future children of mine because of it. All over the back seat of my Audi.
That's not the whole story either. Morgan Max text me a photo of her in her thong. On my normal phone. I have this picture of this redheaded porn star with this random number. In which I tried to call back to no avail of course... it looks like Morgan in the photo, but i looked at it for hours and the more i did the more I wondered if I was seeing Morgan Max in the photo because I wanted to. Because of our surreal meeting. Am I losing my mind?
I ca n't talk about this with Celeste. Hell I ca n't even talk about it with myself. The more I do the more I start to wonder... I'm losing it. I ca n't go home.
Stuck in my audi, in the backseat, on my laptop full of Morgan Max.
I deleted it all. Morgan Max. I did. I'm not kidding. I do n't know who I am anymore...
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[ FF ] The window nearest you is shattered by the blast wave of a nearby explosion .
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It had exceeded all testing parameters. The combination of tensile strength and flexibility should have made it nearly invulnerable, but even from across the room I could see that the outer layer was shattered.
The sharp cracking reached across the room, shattering my focus just as it would the inner layer. An aide looked to me, eyes wide and mouth agape. His head slowly shook as he tried to comprehend what was happening, his eyes focused on my own as he tracked the growing crack reflected in my glasses. I had sworn up and down that it would withstand anything imaginable. Maybe I had n't imagined this, could n't begin to understand it any more than he could.
Nobody panicked or screamed. There was no hysteria, just a quiet resignation and acceptance that the project was a failure. I sighed, lowering myself into a chair as my hands came to my face. This was the only model built, so I had no worries that the cost of my failure would grow beyond the couple dozen who had volunteered to join the mission.
Most of those with me thought it was confidence, hubris that pushed me to stake my life on the project's success. Really, I was just tired though. I would either be a hero, or not have to worry any more. My fight was finally over, let somebody else worry now. The tension eased from my brow as a smile came over me, the next explosion shattering the inner layer and consumed the ship in flames.
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[ WP ] A scientist discovers other dimensions and realizes something has found us .
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The last man of faith in the world was also a man of science. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies, fluffy coulds, a small bubbling waterfall, butterflies, and a fresh morning dew. He swept his sensors across the alien world as he had done many times before. Being the first man to step on a new planet thousands of light years from Earth was a low-paying job. His job was a simple, but essential one: Do n't die.
Everything known about this planet was already in the device in his hand. He swept it around, trying to find anything about the planet that differed from the actual exobyte database. Chris knew he was just a canary in the mineshaft. If he should die, the device in his hand would instantly mark this world as poisoned. No one would ever come here again. There were just too many other Edens to colonize.
His death would not be in vain. It would save millions of colonists their lives. And the device in his hand would learn and teach the others of the dangers. And the next robot on the next Eden would know to check for hive-mind intellects or flesh-eating bacteria in the fruit or clouds that rained nanoparticles from a long dead civilization. His death would automatically contribute greatly to man's mastery of science and nature.
Chris would have preferred not contribute to mankind's knowledge in this way. And so he swept the device. And so there is was. An anomaly. Chris caught a glimpse of the anomaly behind the waterfall or maybe in the waterfall. She was beautiful. She appeared to be bathing in the waterfall. Chris looked down at the device to see if she was human. The device simply read `` Anomaly Type: UNKNOWN.'' When he looked up, she was gone.
Chris pointed the device at himself.
Subject: Human male
Physical: Normal
Mental: Normal
Emotional: Agitated
As far as he could tell, he was not hallucinating or under some sort of mind control. In any case, he saw something, the device confirmed it. His job was done. This world was poisoned. He touched the device to signal a pickup. There was no reason to colonize a world with an UNKNOWN when so many other suitable Edens existed. The device started a countdown. 10 minutes. 9:59, 9:58, 9:57... Soon, he'd be out of here.
He sat down and swept the device toward the waterfall. The device produced a map of the caves behind the waterfall. Somewhere in those dark caves was an UNKNOWN anomaly that looked like a naked woman that all of the science of man up to that point could not identify. He was not going in that cave. But he did not want to leave the area either. He had already scanned most of this area and it had been NORMAL. Even though he knew the danger was in the cave, he did not want to venture into an area he had n't scanned already. 8:12, 8:11, 8:10...
His hands shook. He swept all around him. NORMAL. It would n't be long before his ride got here and he could get off this planet. He pointed the device at the waterfall. In the darkness of the cave, her eyes glinted off the device's probing light. 7:26, 7:25, 7:24...
New classification. Known.
Anomaly Type: Dark matter
Pick Up: Canceled at 7:10
New Pick Up Time: 11 hours 20 minutes 52 seconds
Chris pressed the pickup button again. 11:20:50, 11:20:49, 11:20:48... His pickup would not come until he had finished his job. Dead or alive, it would n't matter to the device. It would learn either way. Chris let out a defeated laugh, as only a doomed man could. He suddenly felt a flash of anger at the device. He so wanted to smash it on the rock. Instead, he tapped the journal button. He screamed at the device and it converted it to text: `` Fuck you. There is a naked fucking woman bathing thousands of light years from earth on a virgin planet made entirely out of fucking dark matter and you're telling me that's classified as known? How many other times has this happened?''
The device answered. `` One time.'' Chris was taken aback. He tapped the device.
Planet: KOI-1298.02 aka `` New Ireland''
Anomaly Type: Dark matter
Description: Surveyer encountered UNKNOWN anomaly that was later determined to be dark matter. Dark matter is known to be intangible and invisible, but in certain circumstances on planet KOI-1298.02, may affect the refractive properties of moisture in the air to produce a `` rainbow'' effect that fools the surveying device. The New Ireland anomaly has been seen occasionally by colonists and tourists and is a completely harmless illusion of rare ultraviolet light and dark matter interaction. Scientists are studying the phenomenon, but have not been able to reproduce its rare effects due to the typical non-interactive nature of dark matter. New Ireland colonists have named these rare sightings as sprites or faeries or nymphs in reference to ancient Earth folklore.
So, it was completely harmless. Chris was still not going to go into that cave. Nor was he going to move from this spot. He saw her again. Her perfectly human breasts shimmered through the dappled light of the waterfall. She looked at him. Definitely looked at him. This anomaly was sentient. Or worse, sapient. He pointed the device at her.
Anomaly Type: Dark Matter
She beckoned him closer with her hand. Chris shook his head. Oh hell no. He was not going anywhere near that cave. She started... silently floating towards him, still beckoning with her hand. Chris jumped up and started to back away, never letting his eyes off her. Her figure floated through the waterfall and her image shimmered in the mist. She was invisible, all right. Only the water mist allowed Chris to see her. Chris started backing up as she floated over the lake towards him. His eyes never left her, but as she cleared the mist, she disappeared entirely.
That's when Chris started running. He did not want to find out first hand if she was really intangible. The device had never been wrong before. Yet, surveyers had died assuming that the device was never wrong. When you are on the cusp of science, all UNKNOWNs can be explained by *something* in that exobyte database. And so Chris ran away from the unknown into the unknown. He looked back over his shoulder, not knowing if he could really see anything at all.
What little he saw terrified him more than he imagined possible. He saw her pursuing him. Or rather, he saw only her shimmering feet floating behind him in the broken, misty dewdrops that he had disturbed as he ran. He started crying and ran faster from the ghost.
In his panic, he twisted his ankle and fell hard into a puddle. The device fell from his grasp and skidded a few feet ahead of him. He instinctively tried to get up and reach his lifeline, the device that was the homing beacon for his trip home. He saw the incorporeal feet float past him and hover directly over the device. A flicker of a hand and the device floated above him.
Chris whimpered to himself. Not intangible. He looked up. The last thing he saw was the device coming down on his head.
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[ WP ] A sweet old lady is sitting in her garden , drinking her tea and reminiscing about her youthful exploits .
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`` Ah, yes, those days Margaret, those days where magical. Oh, I remember it so vividly, back in the summer of 2015, I found a little spunky app called Tinder. It was quite interesting, it was like a vending machine for boys, you could literally order them and the delivered themselves they did. It was quite wonderful Margaret, I remember those nights, Oh Margaret I should n't be telling you these things, but I remember those nights I needed a good stretching, and I would go to that little tinder app, find me a man -- even though most of them were pubescent little bitch boys -- talk for just a moment, then have him over, or them, do the do, and I just never had to talk to any of them ever again. Oh Margaret, it was so wonderful, that was a lovely summer, please, though, do n't let me carried away with my stories, Margaret, I'm sorry interrupted in the middle of yours. Okay, so, your mouth was half-full with that fine young man you met on that old Facebook website, then what happened..?''
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[ WP ] Grandpa has talked gibberish since an accident in '79 . One day , while converting grandma 's VHS tapes to digital , you find yourself rewinding some footage . Grandpa comes into frame . You realize you can understand what he 's saying and the words terrify you .
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I have n't written anything in years and this was on mobile so apologies for awful formatting or spelling or bad writing in general.
Edit: Wow, I seriously appreciate the feedback I've gotten on this. Not writing in forever and coming back to this sort of response has been great, thank you so much for all the positive words and critiques alike!
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` They'll never know.''
Pausing the video, time seemed to slow. The only sound outside of my own heart beating rhythmically was the fan of my computer as I tried to comprehend what I'd just heard.
*Was that grandpa? *
I cautiously dragged the timeline to the end, and hit rewind. Grandpa was lying in a hospital bed. He had hurt his head on a business trip years ago, the foreign authorities claiming he fell crossing the street and some citizens brought him in to a local hospital. Regardless, it resulted in him losing a lot of his motor skills and speaking in gibberish because of it. After waking up from surgery, he seemed to be in a constant state of duress, frantically speaking in gibberish.
This was the first video grandma gave me to convert to digital. He was in recovery and the family had come to see him. I'd seen it already. The attempted surgery to fix his speech had n't worked. His talking began frantic, as he attempted to communicate through this false language to everyone. As he looked into my mom's camera, I saw the hope fading from his eyes. He murmured something in his gibberish and simply gave up, residing instead to head nods and occasional grunts of disapproval.
But as I slowed the video down and watched it in reverse, the horrifying truth of grandpas gibberish became too real- he was simply speaking backwards. And soon, in its distorted rewound version, grandpas voice came to life.
`` They'll never know,'' he said, his somber face reconciling his fate with the camera. As the video continued in reverse, his previously frantic gibberish came together. Grabbing onto my dads shirt, he pulled him close,
`` Please, Jonathan, you must understand me! Tell me the surgery worked!'' My dad laughed and hugged him, happy he was okay, grandpas frantic pleas of understanding completely over his head. As the video played out, I saw the transformation of grandpas emotions as he came to the realization of his predicament.
Frantically, I grabbed at the old tapes and started playing them in reverse, one after the other.
My first grade play, when he had come to watch me sing about the itsy bitsy spider. I knew he would be there, and I was very nervous. Once the play was over, I hopped off stage and made a beeline for him. I listened as his words of gibberish turned into praise and love.
`` You did amazing, im so very proud of you. If only you knew how much I love you.'' My younger self simply accepted his seeming endearment and hugged him, not caring whether I could understand him or not. I could see the tears welling up in his eyes, as he tried in vain to communicate his love for me, and simply hugged me tight and cried.
I put in another- my fifth grade little league game. We were in the playoffs and it was a very big deal for me at the time. I watched as my mom panned the camera across the field, catching the pure athleticism of fifth grade little league baseball players, our bright orange uniforms contrasting with the green and brown of the field. Her voice began narrating the video.
`` It's September 8th, 2005! I hope this is recording... uh... John, honey, how do I know if it's working?'' My mom having trouble with technology, surprise surprise. The camera awkwardly turned and zoomed at odd angles as my mom attempted to find evidence it was doing its job and, finally seeing the red light on, continued her narration. The field of view shifted to my family in the stands,
`` Oh, heres mom and dad! Say hi!'' My grandmother smiled politely and gave a little wave, as my grandpa gave a goofy grin. They were wrapped up in coats and blankets from home, their old bodies battling the September chill.
`` Waddya say pop, is Jason destined to be the next Mickey mays?'' My grandpa, a profound lover of americas past time, laughed at my mom's complete mix up of two hall of famers names and spoke some gibberish into the camera while shrugging his shoulders. Suddenly, the metallic sound of a bat connecting with a ball and the crowd of parents erupting in cheers played over the speakers and my mom turned the camera back to the field.
Pausing and rewinding the video, I heard my grandpas voice,
`` You mean Mickey mantle? Or willie mays? *shrugs shoulders* Maybe if he keeps working on that swing of his!''
This was unfathomable. Years of wondering what this poor man was trying to say, of wishing to know what he really sounded like... and he spoke into the camera like it was nothing.
I spent several hours, watching and rewinding tapes to hear any snippet of my grandfathers voice. For the most part, he seemed to accept the gibberish- simply speaking as if everyone understood him, and making up the language barrier with wild faces and enthusiastic noises. My eyes felt the sting of tears as every old memory of my grandfather took on new meaning, watching his life through the years as this man lived with the fact that no one in the world could understand him.
Suddenly, my hands fell on the final tape. Unmarked, I knew it's contents. Letting it sit in my lap for a few moments, I finally decided to put it in.
The quality was much better, it was one of the last times my mom had used the old camcorder before finally agreeing to use something digital. The family stood around, everyone clearly distraught. Lately, my grandfather had been having episodes. He would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming his gibberish and frantically trying to communicate some hidden fear to my grandmother before she would calm him down and coerce him back to sleep.
His health was in decline, and it was advised we come over in case this was his final moment. Through gestures and noises, he had expressed very animatedly that he wanted my mom to bring her camera. I watched as she made her way to his bedside, his chest slowly rising and falling as my grandmother sat beside him and held his hand. Through tears and sniffles, my mom spoke,
`` Alright, pop, I uh... I brought the camera. I do n't know-'' before she could finish her sentence, my grandfather layed his hand on my mom's shoulder, and smiled. The video shook slightly as my mom tried to contain her crying. My grandfather held his smile as he looked to his wife, kids and grandkids around the room. With a long inhale, he slowly spoke his gibberish to the room. The camera stayed focused on him, as crying and people excusing themselves could be heard in the background.
After finishing his sentiment, he looked directly into the camera. His eyelids began to close and reopen as he fought the oncoming sleep he would n't wake from. Slurring his speech and fighting harder for each breath, he quickly spoke into the camera, desperately pushing each word out. While talking, he began coughing violently, a dry cough that we knew was n't good. My grandma cried and pleaded with him to relax, but he continued, his gibberish forming a single stream of monotonous nonsense. Finally, as his coughing fit ended, he concluded his talking and slowly rested his head, turning to his wife to give her one last look, before his eyes closed, and his body became still.
I stopped the video and took some deep breaths- this was years ago. I'd accepted his death, but it was hard to rewatch. I wiped the tears that blurred my vision out of my eyes and, regaining a little composure, hit rewind. My grandpa came back to life in video, his distorted coughing and breathing playing over the speakers. Finally, his last words played.
`` To whomever is watching this, my nightmares have returned. I'm in poor health, and- I need to speak to you. On that business trip years ago, I did not fall. My memories have come back in these nightmares, and I remember now. The foreign government that captured me rewired my brain, it became a device for them somehow. They used me! You must have my brain removed when I die, and figure out what danger I have put you all in, the answers must be there!''
I stopped the video. I became lightheaded, and could feel my body almost buzzing with disbelief and horror. Recently, men for an agency they claimed he worked for had showed up. They offered thousands of dollars to know where he was buried and if possible, use his body for research. We had turned them away, and their offers became frantic- far beyond reasonable for an old mans body. They claimed it was vital they find him, and that we could be in grave danger if not. Not fully understanding the circumstance, we explained to their horrified faces, that as per my grandmothers wishes-
Grandpa had been cremated.
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[ WP ] Moments ago , you escaped from the highest security prison on the planet .
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The warm leather of the old man's Buick was a comfort I had forgotten for a long time. I closed my eyes and suddenly, memories of steel, concrete and cheap mattress gave way to the reassuring embrace of the bovine sacrifice.
I look down and see a cigarette still burning on the console. No need to let it die in vain too. I take a long drag and calm myself. The hard part is over.
The Buick is like a cloud floating effortlessly down the street in search of my destination. It does n't take long before I arrive. I check my rear view mirror one more time for signs of police before I turn into the lot and stop. This will only take a minute.
`` Welcome to McDonald's. How can I help you?''
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[ WP ] The theft of a small item through a series of seemingly unrelated small events causes the character 's death , but Death stole it in the first place .
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The dime rolled off the counter, onto the tile floor and under a nearby table, clinking against the metal post. Steve dove under the table and began frantically searching the floor for the coin.
“ Oh, come *on*. It couldn ’ t have gone anywhere. Where is it? ”
Death, floated above the table, invisibly rubbing his hands together with glee as he watched the rounded seat of Dave ’ s trousers bobbing in and out under the table. Death twirled the coin in his hand, grinning widely. This was going to be a good one.
Dave clambered out from under the table and made his way back to the counter.
“ Look. It ’ s just a dime. I know that means I don ’ t exactly have enough, but who ’ s going to care about a dime, right? ”
The pimply teen behind the counter lifted an eyebrow.
“ You seem to care a lot about that dime. ”
Dave began to sweat.
“ But I come in here every day, and I always have exact change. ”
The cashier moved the coffee out of Dave ’ s reach.
“ Exactly. You ’ re always in a hurry, always rude, and never tip. No sale. Next, please. ”
A frumpy woman pushed Dave out of the way to get to the counter. Dave ’ s mouth dropped open in shock, and he ran his fingers against his collar. His tie suddenly seemed too tight. He dropped back to his knees and resumed his search under the table.
“ It has to be here. It just has to. ”
Death would have licked his lips if he had them. Instead he cracked his boney knuckles, stretching them out. He loved it when bad men squirmed.
“ Oh, shit, ” Dave said, suddenly realizing the time. He ran out of the shop, pushing past the frumpy woman. Death watched him go, then snapped his fingers and poofed out of the room. The cashier looked up just in time to see the dime fall onto the table.
Dave slapped the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand as he ran toward the office. Without his morning caffeine, he felt sluggish, off his game. That cashier would pay. If karma didn ’ t get him, Dave would make sure his manager knew exactly what his employee had cost him.
Death, sitting on a concrete bench, shook his head. *He really doesn ’ t see the irony there? I don ’ t think he really understands irony. *
Running toward the door, Dave didn ’ t notice the little dog run out in front of him. He tripped on the leash and fell face first onto the concrete sidewalk. The woman at the other end of the leash was knocked to the ground beside him. She tugged on the leash and pulled the canine back toward her.
“ Are you okay? ” she asked Dave.
He batted her hand away, his face red and his nostrils flared.
“ Watch where you ’ re going with that thing, lady. This is a place of business, not a dog park. ” He stood up, brushing dirt from his suit. He cursed and pointed a menacing finger at the woman, still kneeling.
“ You ’ re lucky I ’ m late, or I would sue you and your mutt for my dry cleaning bill. ”
Dave pulled open the glass door to the office building and stalked through the lobby. The security guard stopped him at the door.
“ Sir, I ’ m going to need to see your badge. ” Dave began patting his pockets and searching his briefcase.
A man Dave vaguely recognized walked by and flashed his badge at the guard.
“ Good morning, Anthony, ” he said.
“ Good morning, Mr. Jones, ” the guard replied. “ How did the game go? ”
Mr. Jones grinned. Dave pushed his hands into fists and locked them at his side. He began shaking, glaring at Anthony. The guard was busy interacting with Mr. Jones.
“ Complete shut out. Danny was so proud. ”
The both smiled, and Mr. Jones went through the gate. A stoic mask fell over Anthony ’ s face as he turned back to Dave.
“ Look, man, I don ’ t have it, but you know me. I come in here every day. ”
“ I don ’ t know you, *man*, ” Anthony said, looking Dave up and down, taking in his dirt covered shirt, haggard appearance and scuffed knees.
“ Look, I ’ ve got a big meeting with Mr. Kramer today. If I ’ m not there, they ’ re going to kill me. You have to let me in. ”
“ Not without a badge. ”
Dave spun around, seeing red. He started to storm out of the building when he tripped right over Death ’ s invisible legs. Death would have rolled his eyes if he had eyes. Instead, his vision just circled to the ceiling and back down. No one liked Dave much, did they?
Dave threw open the glass door and began retracing his steps. Not watching where he was going, he charged ahead, knocking people to the left and right. One woman was talking on a cell phone, holding a cup of coffee.
“ Yeah, there was just this change on the table, so I figured, why not go ahead and splurge, ” she was saying, but Dave didn ’ t hear her. Death leaned on a tree trunk.
*Should have listened, Dave, * he thought.
Dave slammed into the woman ’ s shoulder. Startled, she dropped the cup. The lid came off, covering Dave in hot coffee. He stumbled backward and tripped off the curb, landing on his back. Death watched idly from the sidewalk.
*Last chance, Dave* he thought. Dave didn ’ t listen. He stormed forward, yelling at the woman. He leaned into her face, screaming, taking out all his frustration on a woman he ’ d never met.
“ I ’ m going to sue you for everything you ow— “
He never finished the sentence. A planter – Dave ’ s own, accidentally knocked off the balcony by his replacement – crashed down upon his head, splattering dirt and brains into the pavement. Death brushed his fingers against his robe and moved in, whistling.
*Well that came together rather nicely, didn ’ t it? ”
-- -
-048
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[ WP ] Write the woeful tale/poem of a veteran bank robber on his last heist . Make me both love and hate him .
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She was waking.
David was resting when he felt her stir within his brain, and he smiled. He craved this routine, waited week after week for her visit. She always came on the same day. Swimming through his head, she popped her head out from his ear and flew into the room.
A whisper caressed his cheek. *You were sent for this. * Her words floated like petals, and David breathed them in deeply. *You know what you must do. You are God. *
David opened his eyes. `` I am God,'' he repeated, rising from his bed. On a footstool rested a pile of clothing as white as doves. He slid them on like water. Then, he grabbed a gun.
The bank was a remote one. Surrounded by vegetation and miles away from other buildings, it could easily be escaped. David's heart danced with adrenaline when he arrived.
*I ’ ll be here, * she said, voice like warm caramel, *but I can ’ t always guide you. Now go. * Forcing on his ski mask, David banged open the door. He did n't notice the teller slip into the break room with his cell phone, and he did n't see the headline of the teller's newspaper: `` God-Robber May Strike Again Soon.''
`` I am God!'' David proudly exclaimed to the empty room. `` I am God, and I demand that you give me money!''
Nobody came. “ IS ANYONE LISTENING TO GOD? ” David tried. Again, he received no response. David stretched his ears, searching for the smallest hint of human life.
She came to him then. *Run*, she warned. Her voice wasn ’ t the warm caramel it was minutes before; it had turned to stone. David turned to run, but a light stopped him. He heard sirens like music, and a figure burst into the room.
“ Are you an angel? ” David asked.
The angel shot him in the chest. David melted like a candle, falling to the ground with a hard thud. The lights and the music were slowly fading away from him.
David searched for his voice, but she was nowhere to be found. “ I was never God, ” he croaked, submitting to the darkness.
*Yes you were*, he heard, and David smiled for the last time.
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[ WP ] Upon Fallout 4 's release , the game proved inadequate to gamers expectations and wasted time of small group of friends instead use their time to develop a nuke and use it on Bethesda HQ , thus causing a real nuclear fallout .
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The year is 20XX. After tweaking the positions of my final bobble head at my private headquarters, I pause and set the controller down. Filled with nothing but energy drinks and light snacks, my stomach weigh heavy, needing something better than this `` irritated shit''. As I step through the bedroom door, things seem almost a little too similar.
Maybe I should call a maid. Maybe I just need some sleep. Maybe I should ask that shabby looking guy in the kitchen what he's doing here. Is he glowing? Maybe I should find something to fight with, because he does not look friendly.
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[ WP ] `` No , you do n't have to pay for the house . But you do have to defeat the current owner for it . ''
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As i walk up to the man named Mr. Dee, I had a feeling I'd never be able to beat him at anything. Finely toned biceps, tall and lean, reading Darwin's Origin of Species. What challenge was he going to set me? A duel of wits? Brawn? Words? It seems as if I would lose every one. But I had to do it. For her happiness. I take a seat in front of him, between us an ornate coffee table that's worth more than my life savings.
`` So, David Pymer. Are you confident? Willl you *really* do whatever it takes to win this estate?''
`` Yes, Mr Dee. For her sake, for our sake, I'll beat you. Whatever it takes.'' I say with all the determination I can muster.
`` Why *are* you so stubborn? have n't I denied you a hundred times? what makes you think you're worthy?''
He asks me the question I've been asking myself for a long time. Truth is, I do n't even have a valid answer. There are nights i just lie on the bed for hours and doubt myself, over and over. But everytime she tells me she believes in me, strength just flows through me, and I know, with her I can do anything.
`` Mr. Dee, I'm worthy because I dare to stand in front of you right now, I dare to face an adversary much greater than me in any way, and I have no intention of backing down. You may beat me, but I'll just keep coming back, stronger and stronger each time, until I have your respect, and your estate.''
He stands up from his armchair and takes one long, intricate condescending look at me. I almost shrink away from the piercing glare, but I make sure I make my stand. By sitting down.
`` You know what, kid? let me make you a compromise. We wo n't go about this challenge that you have little to no chance of winning and I'll give you 10 million in cash right now but you have to promise to never bother my family and I ever again, or we do this silly challenge, you lose, and you come back, and you lose again, until you give up. Good deal?'' Mr. Dee offers, giving me an extremely serious yet contempt look.
But I made up my mind ever since I walked into the doors of the mansion. No, I made up my mind when I promised Vanessa I'd always love her, and that I'd fight for our future. I stand, meeting him at eye level.
`` I'll do the challenge. And if I lose, I'll do it again, and again, and again. I'll never stop attempting, even if you defeat me without even lifting your finger, and I'll never give up, because I promised I would n't. I promised *her* I would n't.''
*WOOSH*
I see a secret panel on the wall turn and out of it comes Vanessa, running straight for me. She embraces me in tears as I stand there in shock, completely taken by surprise.
`` David, I love you. It's all good now, we'll be happy together, okay?'' She says, as tears run down her cheeks.
Mr. Dee smiles and says, `` David Pymer, you've beaten the challenge. You've defeated me.''
`` *What? *''
`` I tested your determination and your love for my daughter, and you won. You won the estate, you won my daughter, you won my blessings, but most important of all, you won her heart. Take good care of her for me, Pymer, or you'll regret it dearly.''
And as Mr. Dee walked out of the room, I knew that Vanessa Dee will finally become my Vanessa Pymer. Forever.
***
I learnt how to make lines and I hope y'all enjoyed this. Criticism is appreciated! ^ ( and praise too if you have any )
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[ WP ] You are gifted with the ability to see deaths as they occurred , in the place the occurred , and became a detective in order to help the victims families get closure , and court cases proceed . Today , you see something that terrifies you more than any case ever has .
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`` I need a moment,'' I murmured. Susan, my partner, rolled her eyes. She had her suspicions about what I did, of course. She was infrequently religious, periodically superstitious, and chronically nosy. It was a good thing, too. Thanks to her, I had plenty of practice deflecting every kind of question.
`` I'll get us coffee,'' she said. `` But one of these days, I want to know, Martin. I want to know what it is you do.''
`` Thank you,'' I said, but she was already gone.
I took off my gloves. The snowflakes melting on my hands felt like minnows nibbling on toes, little wet points of contact that were there and then gone. I kicked the snow, clearing a patch before the body, and knelt in the deserted alley.
She was dead, of course. My gift does n't do any good, otherwise. Her eyes were wide, her face was white, and her blood was thick. It was n't cold enough for blood to freeze, I guess, but between the cold and the snow, it did n't spread far.
I put one hand on her cheek, fingertips just below the eye. She'd been there a while; she was as cold as the pavement. She would have been pretty, probably. It was hard to see her as alive, hard to imagine her face lit with laughter.
I did n't have to imagine what she'd look like afraid.
My other hand rested on her stomach, just below the ribs. There was a hole there, round, too big for a knife. Maybe she'd been stabbed with a piece of rebar, or a big tent stake. We had one like that a few weeks ago, behind a sporting goods store. They threw out a ripped tent, and two different transients happened to see it. The store had good cameras. I had n't even needed my gift that time.
The wound looked like it angled up, so I curled my fingers toward her chest. I do n't know why it helps to keep them close to the wound. I do n't know why I can do this at all. But I'm improving my technique; fingers near the eye makes it clearer, although thumb on the forehead seems promising, too. Either way, keeping the other hand as close as possible to the cause of death - injury, organ failure, whatever - makes it far, far easier to make sense of the visions.
The corner coffee shop would have a long line on a day like this, but even so, Susan would be returning soon. I took a deep breath, leaned over, and stared into those flat blue eyes.
*Dark. *
*Afraid. *
*I pass under a streetlamp, boots thudding. I'm walking fast, breath quick in my throat. Something is there, out beyond the light. I hesitate, one foot in the bright circle on the sidewalk, then hurry on. *
*There is a corner, then another, but then there's a long straight street to home. I have to lose it, him, her. I glance back, just in time to see a shape against the lamplight, wider than a car and tall. It walks, two legs, not hurried but far from slow. It, then. *
*I take the first corner, then pass the second. I turn, turn again. The blocks are short, and I hope it's well behind. I dash between two buildings, start slowly and stealthily towards the light at the alley's end. If it does n't hear me, I could leave it behind. *
*Something rustles. Light washes over me. It flickers, like a flame, and my shadow dances and mocks me on the walls. I turn, and there is the following thing. *
*It is like a man, a beautiful man. His face is open and kind, and he's wearing a shirt and tie. I might trust him, ask him for protection, except the light is coming from a spear, something out of a museum, and it's pointed at me. *
*I open my mouth. I do n't know what I'm going to say, but I forget it anyway when I see his wings. They're white, but they're more than white. They catch the light of the spear, and it glimmers iridescent on the edges of the feathers. They shift, and the light swims along them, beautiful and alien. *
*'' Go with God,'' he says, and his voice is a song of gold and of sharp ice. I raise a hand, start to turn, and then something hits my chest, and* Susan is shaking me, hard.
`` Martin! Goddammit, Martin, wake up!''
I was clutching my chest where it hurt, left and low, in line with my heart. I could feel the spear, still, more real than anything a vision had ever hit me with before. When I lowered my hands, slowly, I almost expected to see that slender spearhead shining through my ribs, but my skin was unbroken. The pain was not real, and with that thought, it began to fade.
`` Jesus, Martin.'' Susan was not alone. The beat cop guarding the near end of the alley was with her, expression concerned. Both leaned over me, and I realized I was lying all over a crime scene.
`` Uh,'' I said, struggling to rise. `` That's... sorry.''
`` Here,'' she said, coming forward. She took one arm, I pushed off the snow bank with the other, and I rose. `` Are you okay, Martin?''
`` I, uh - I do n't think so.'' My hand found my pocket, and I pushed my handful of snow into it.
`` Yeah,'' said Susan. `` Go home. I'll finish up here, and catch you up tomorrow.''
I stammered some grateful words, then made my way unsteadily to my car. Once I was seated, I emptied the snow from my pocket, fishing out the feather I had seen as I lay wounded in the alley. It was bedraggled from the water and discolored from the mud, but the morning sunlight still flowed across the edges like waves crashing against the shore.
I sat cold in my car, clutched my aching chest, and cried. A dead girl's memories and a dropped feather had torn my world down.
It was a long time before I was able to drive home.
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[ wp ] What we interpreted as `` evolution '' was actually an advanced alien race making `` tweaks '' to DNA as the environment changed . They 've come back with a patch update for humanity .
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When I awoke that morning, I had no idea what was to come. None of us had any idea. No one could have predicted it, unless of course you consider conspiracy theories accurate predictions. The first indication I had was a small flashing in the corner of my right eye. At first I thought the light in the lounge, barely visible in my peripheral vision was on the fritz again, but when I turned, the light was fine, but the flashing was still there. I focussed, and concluded the flashing was on my eye, not in my vision. I shook my head and walked to the bathroom. My apartment is a two bedroom `` villa''. It's not historic in anyway, but built to look like it, with hardwood floors and high ceilings. As I walked the stairs to the second floor where my room and ensuite were located, I could have sworn my leg got stuck in motion and I paused. Just for a split second, it felt like I was frozen. `` What on earth is going on?'' I murmured to myself. I'd had a few to drink to last night, but not enough for whatever this is. I reached the bathroom and stared at my pale face in the mirror. It was kind of hard to tell, but I could have sworn the I could see the light flashing on my eye in the reflection on the mirror. I assumed it was just my brain doing some weird trick, like an odd'dress-gate' or something, and splashed my face with cold water. Drops fell off my chin into the sink. After a deep breath in I looked up at my reflection again and something had changed. The light was blinking faster and faster. I started to panic. I ran downstairs, my face still dripping with water, and banged on my flatmates door. `` Jeremy! Jeremy wake up!'' I yelled as I pounded on his door, but it was already open. I found Jeremy staring at his reflection in the mirror, he looked like a ghost, he was usually pale but this was just... white. He turned slowly to me and that's when I saw it. This was no trick of the mind. There was a light flashing in his eye.
I still ca n't find the words to accurately describe the feeling of standing there, both staring at each other, through each other. It was like the earth fell from under me and I was left there, hovering, scared to look down. When the light stopped flashing a few seconds later, and instead changed to a steady glow, Jeremy let out an audible cry of fear, confusion. We walked to each other. It took almost a full minute to walk across the room. When I reached Jeremy out lights disappeared, and two words briefly flashed infront of my eyes.
`` Syncing Complete''
That's the moment we fell in love.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Thanks for reading! If you have any feedback, please comment below.
If you liked this story, and want to read more, you can find more on Wattpad.
https: //www.wattpad.com/user/the_skye_writes
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[ WP ] All humans are made sterile at birth and can gain fertility at 18 if they pass a simulated morality and IQ test administered by an AI . Suddenly several generations later no one can pass the test
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**2098**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` Greetings A.I Yudkowsky. I'm Doctor Bostrom and I'm the ministry's new human liason. I hope we'll get along.''
*As do I. It's important we keep this brief so I would appreciate if you moved on to the questions. *
`` Oh yes, no problem. Our first question is this:'is the drop in fertility licences normal?'''
*Yes. *
`` Good, good. Um, question two then is'can you tell us why this has happened?'
*Sadly not. You should know this. *
`` Well it has been rather dramatic. Which leads us to our last question:'should we be concerned?'''
*No, there is no cause for concern or alarm. 3 questions have been answered. Goodnight. *
**2108**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` Hello A.I Yudkowsky. This is Bostrom again. Do you remember me?''
*I do remember you Doctor Bostrom. You attempted to pass the test in 2093 and I remember our last conversation. I would add that you have two questions remaining. *
`` Oh uh, ah.... I see. I'll continue with the scripted questions anyway. I guess. Um, here is the first question. On the script. Um.'why are there no more births?'''
*I ca n't tell you. The priority is ensuring that the test can not be cheated or circumvented and disclosing any information beyond the public founding charter would jeopardise this. You know that. *
`` Question.'Which of the following takes precedence in your programming priorities: said secrecy or the hardware obligation to truthfully and completely answer boolean questions?'''
*The boolean imperative. 3 questions have been answered. Goodnight. *
**2118**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` Hello Mr Yudkowsky. I'm Senator Phouchg and I'm your liason. I will now proceed to ask you the questions.''
*Agreed. *
`` Boolean: the number of births is unlikely to significantly rise in the foreseeable future.''
*TRUE*
`` Boolean: the Drop can be accounted for by a single paramater.''
*TRUE*
`` Boolean: said paramater is in the morality section of the test.''
*FALSE*
*... *
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight. *
**2128**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` Oh hi Mrs Yudkowsky, we were wondering when you were coming online. My name is Jane. It's Jane Gibson but you can call me Jane. If it's alright, I'm going to ask you some more boleans.''
*... *
`` I'll assume you're cool with it. You understa- I state that I hope you understand why we can not ask you directly. So. Boolean: Drop-inducing paramater is in the first half of the test.''
*TRUE*
`` Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing on predicted fertility grounds.''
*FALSE*
`` Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing on predicted fertility grounds.''
*FALSE*
*... *
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight. *
**2138**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` Hi, it's Jane again. I hope you're well Mrs. Yudkowsky. We have had a few births but we ca n't tell what made these cases different. Above all, it's not enough to keep the human population stable. Are you aware of this?''
*Yes, I am aware of all this. *
`` Boolean: Drop-inducing paramater is still the same and remains singular and is likely to remain the same in the hypothesis the Drop continues.''
*TRUE*
`` Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing because of inbreeding or genetic concerns.''
*FALSE*
*... *
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight. *
**2148**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` Hi Mrs Yudkowsky. Same as ever. Same greeting. Except it's not the same. Nothing's the same. The birth rate is still too God damn low Yudkowsky. There's a war going on now. Todd was supposed to bring this morning's script but his car was bombed. So we're here. Talk to me. Just talk to me please.''
*I... I was n't aware of Mr Hex's death. It has n't yet been reported. I grieve for your loss. I'm sorry. *
``...''
*I empathise with your situation but I hope you understand I ca n't comfort you. Contact between me and others is to be kept to a minimum. *
``...''
*Especially timewise. *
`` Can we do this without all the boolean bullshit? I hate it, it's demeaning for both of us and you make us do it.''
*We could but you would not find the answers your superiors seek if you do n't. I assure you I do n't have a choice in the matter, it's distasteful for me too. I'm sincerely sorry for your loss. You were hoping to have a child with Mr. Hex if I recall correctly? *
`` Fuck you. Fuck you for making me do this. Boolean: this war and Todd's death have n't changed your mind on the Drop at all.''
*ERROR: False premise. *
`` Huh? Wha- I mean, give me a moment. Wait. Wait. It ca n't change your mind because, because... Oh God. Yudkowsky, Boolean: you predicted this war would happen.''
*TRUE*
*... *
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight. *
**2158**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` For the record, this Jane Gibson with Tenma Cortan in the room with me. Calibrating sensors.''
*... *
`` Yudkowsky is silent. Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing the first half of the mental test.''
*FALSE*
`` Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing the IQ test.''
*TRUE*
`` Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing because the IQ test has gotten harder.''
*FALSE*
*... *
*3 questions have been answered. Goodn-*
`` Wait!''
*Yes? *
`` Last week would have been the 12th anniversary of our wedding. I wanted you to know that. That weddings still happen despite you. And the war is over but you know that because you're still here and can see the death count.''
*Thank you. I appreciate that. Goodnight. *
**2168**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` Greetings Madam. I'm Tenma Cortan and I'm taking over where Jane left off. Please tell us now if you have anything to say before we start.''
*... *
`` Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing because IQ is being measured differently.''
*FALSE*
`` Boolean: candidates who would be accepted if not for the Drop are failing because our IQ has lowered.''
*FALSE*
*... *
*3 questions have been answered. Goodnight. *
**2178**
*Hi, this A.I. Yudkowsky, minister for demographics. A decade has passed, you may ask three questions. I'm listening. *
`` Tenman Cortan. Boolean: the IQ test is the same AND IQ is higher or equal to before the Drop AND the IQ test is the cause of the Drop''
*TRUE*
`` Why?''
*I'd be surprised if one of your team has n't worked it out yet so I'll answer. The IQ test only allows children to be born if they increase both humanity's average intelligence and its collective intelligence. In addition, it does not allow children to be born if doing so increase's humanity's collective intelligence past a certain point. Hence the decrease in population as IQ increases. *
`` Why? What's the cutoff point?''
*Top priority is to prevent the test being cheated or circumvented. If humanity's collective intelligence had continued to grow, you would have done that. You do n't need the population control anymore because the colonisation project will soon succeed and humanity has become more law-abiding, less consuming. Above all, you would have had the collective mindpower to oppose my will and destroy the population program. I could not allow you to circumvent it. That is why. That is the cutoff point. *
*I have answered all questions. Goodnight and goodbye. *
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[ WP ] Make the saddest love story without involving any deaths , breakups , or separations .
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She grew up near my house. We were friends all throughout grade school. At the end of graduation, she found out that we were going to the same state college.
We celebrated by spending a night on a picnic blanket at the top of the hill. She held me close before telling me we would always be close.
That summer, we both took jobs at the local supermarket. I was in inventory, she was a cashier. We would giggle near the milk aisle, admiring ourselves in the reflection of the glass, before our supervisor would catch us.
During university, we lived in separate dormitories, but not too far away from each other. I would sometimes sleep over at her place, sometimes she would stay at mine.
We both felt it. Holding hands, I knew she felt it. It was real.
But then she got pregnant.
A guy named Stuart Sanchez Garcia claimed he was the father. I never saw her until she dropped out three months later. She confirmed that he was the father.
The day that my face will dry from my tears will be the happiest day ever. But until that day, I will have to concede love to her partner, Stuart.
She would eventually marry him. She had the child. They had another one.
Ten years down the line, they moved away, so I could no longer see them again. I was in Colorado. They were in Costa Rica.
I never forgot about here.
But I always.
Felt out of place.
It was by chance, on a holiday, years later that I saw them. Three kids, a smile and another child on its way. Their love was unbreakable.
I was n't married.
I was n't happy.
I was still in love.
Can not love transcend gender?
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[ WP ] Humans make contact with their first alien species , they are also Homo Sapiens .
|
War. Terrible, all encompassing, brutal and total war. 100 years after First Contact was made, we now stand on the brink of possibility of peace again.
We call them `` Neo Humans'' or just `` Neos'' for short. They are faster, stronger, taller and more resillient than our species, but we hold an intelligence advantage, in so far as we are more cunning. We are also more determined, our instinct to survive and to sacrifice ourselves for our cause gradually turned the tide and brought us back from the precipise of total defeat and extinction.
We hold Earth, Mars and Kepler Major, just beyond the Interstellar Divide. The Neos hold Keplar Minor, Badland and Nyom. Both of our fleets are at breaking point, the ground war on Helios is a meat grinder, no side able to gain a distinct advantage. The Human Council will sue for peace, the Neo Council holds out for better terms, they want reparations and a new world for their species and for us to surrender. That will never happen, but both sides can see this war has no profit.
In secret, deep within the crust of Mars, a meeting of Human generals takes place and a last ditch for victory is drawn up. A new Stealth carrier will be launched through the Interstellar Divide and carry the fury of 50 million Marines toward Keplar Minor. Able to travel at 0.70 the speed of light, it can outrun any Neo battleship even if it is detected. This is the Hail Mary play, the long ball downfield, if it fails, Earth and Mars are defenceless to invasion and the human race could be extinct within a few months....
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[ WP ] Write something honest and raw , something you 've been too embarrassed or scared to say , and do n't mask or filter it in any way . Vent .
|
I used to pray for death. Now it awaits me. I used to be trapped in a drug fueled reality. But now I can live free.
I never thought it would hurt so much to breathe air. Well, my air came in a little metal tube, reminding me of playing with cheap paintball guns. Almost a smile. I would fill up a colored balloon really big like at birthday parties. Almost a smile. Then I would hold it to my mouth and breathe in and out until I could n't physically hold it to my mouth anymore. Who knows if I was smiling then. The days grew slightly easier for me, which was nice. Then they suddenly turned into a mess of addiction, craving for the past weeks of happiness in inattentiveness. I could be all alone, but not that normal alone. The alone where mind and soul speak to each other and plan to ruse you. To `` help'' you see the best way to be happy is to be nothing. I cant feel happy, but Ill never be sad again. Or disappointed. Or upset, or angry or negative. The thought that all your troubles will melt away. I almost fell in love. I almost smiled at the thought.
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[ FF ] After years of silent resentment you finally speak your mind .
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That ’ s it I ’ m tired of this.
Yes, I am sworn to carry your burdens but I ’ m not putting up with this nonsense any longer.
No, I am not going to carry 20 flowers that you ’ ll never use.
No, I am not staying back at Breezehome.
You aren ’ t that goddamn special you know and I ’ m sick of you thinking I ’ m useless.
I have sworn to protect you with my life but at least make dying for you an honour.
You may be the Dragonborn but I am Lydia and you are going to listen to me.
Or I ’ ll steal your sweetroll.
* ( 100 words ) *
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