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[ WP ] You were born in a land where control over the elements is uncommon but it exists .
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Fire rages inside of me, aching to be free. The question remains, is it me who controls my element of choice, or is it the flames that control my actions?
Ryoku is a power that every human is born with. Those who are born with enough of the power may have the chance to access it at some point in their lives. These people are called Sources, and account for about 1 in every 10 people.
Strength can vary between Sources. Some are only strong enough to light a cigarette, or create a static shock. Some can flood cities, or cause earthquakes.
Sources are heavily regulated, brought into an Organization the moment they gain access to their Ryoku. At that point, the Organization's board members decide which to train and which to let go. Those who are let go are Silenced, cut off from their Ryoku. There are few negative effects when this is done early.
I awoke as a Source when I was five, one of the youngest in the history of the Organization. My potential scared the Organization, and I was almost Silenced. The kindness of the man who would become my teacher is the only thing that saved me.
I look back on their fear now and laugh. My potential was a joke, I am unable to access even half of what they feared. I'm nothing but a mediocre pawn to them anymore, and they could n't care less if I were alive or dead.
Rage burns deep inside me, for my situation, for the Organization, for the fact that I am unable to be the man I always dreamed of being. There are times when I explode, and there is nothing that can contain me. We do not get to choose our elements, but they always end up being a perfect match.
I wonder, did fire choose me because I would inevitably be the person I am now, or did I become the person I am now because of the fire raging inside me?
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[ wp ] Write the story of a tortoise as it gets passed down form generation to generation of a family and the bits of history that it saw .
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I've seen many things in my time. I'm over 300 years old. My eyesight, poor to begin with has faded even further with time. But, I have no complaints. I have always been treated with kindness and my pace while teased, has never been insulted.
I am Hamwise the tortoise, known to my current owner Madison as Hammy.
I did n't say I chose the name.
I've been through many big events, some which have altered the course of my life.
When I was a young shell, I got picked up by my first owner as I was wandering through the grass. I was trying to avoid getting trampled on by leather boots and the end of thunder sticks. I would come across many red coats and bodies in my time, but that is not the business of a turtle. I was merely looking for cabbage.
I had overheard my owners sometime down the line discussing a big war on the horizon. A harbor was bombed. Such a pity, harbors are lovely to me. I mostly stayed indoors and made friends with the legs of tables and chairs.
Down the line, I heard a man proclaim he was free at last. This made no sense to me, are we not all already free? Furthermore, why was my owner trying to feed me dog food? Such predicaments in life. Truly, mine is the greater struggle.
I remember watching on the giant wood box one day about riots happening and people crying. They were handing out flowers and the males were burning up small squares. I was mostly distracted by the owner's new purchase, a creature named Rufus trying to mount me. Fool! I am Ham! No one mounts me.
I heard a rumor once that man had walked on a moon. That's ridiculous. The moon is the size of my eye and is made of tightly balled lettuce. Every good turtle knows such things.
I've lived through a million events. I'll live through a million more. My wisdom is long and deep, my mind is like a mountain; ever lasting.
I am Hamwise and I understand most things. Except for Rufus.
Notes found in another book: I am Rufus. BarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbark.
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[ WP ] Humans evolved as an underwater species . Society and technology developed accordingly .
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It was warm this morning, as I left the caves for the forest. Kicking through the cool water as the currents caused my long, brown hair and kelpy, leathery clothes to billow around me as the fresh, clean water swept in my gills to fill my lungs.
I swam low and quiet above the rocks on the ground, taking in the sights as I sweep between gargantuan strands of Kelp, a deep, green, mazelike forest of life all around me, kicking forward with my wide, flat feet.
It's good to take a swim, in the mornings. To clear your head, before heading off to work. I weaved up and over, between the strands of Kelp, turning over to keep an eye out above me for otters. Mean little buggers.
I found the path out of the forest, arched my back as I rotated to move in a long, head-first arc through a wide, open rocky valley. Apparently, hundreds of thousands of years ago, valleys like this one were *above* the surface, in that strange world we know so little about, and that valleys like these are some of the only places with water up there, and that its currents and flows are what carved the stone into this shape.
The thoughts distracts me, and suddenly I'm surprised when I find myself back on the edge of the city, rows and rows of carved, coral buildings lining streets and men, women and children move through the seas in all directions, at all heights, and the hustle and bustle of town can be heard over the flow of the currents.
I dive to my apartment, seafloor level, and grab my pressure motor. The device is about as long as my arm, a massive propeller at one end and handles on the top. I pull the keys out of my jacket, and start it, checking the fuel tank to make sure it has enough air pressure to get me to work and back. Sure enough, it's almost full, a couple thousand psi of power, ready to go. I turn it on, and the commute up to the floating structures goes quickly, with just a few minutes weaving around the morning traffic. I swear, half the commuters do n't even realize they have three dimensions to move in.
My office building is crafted from hard surface woods, expensive, as building materials go, but they make their own real estate near the surface. I park the pressure motor near the top floor, slotting it into a metal locker just below the surface. The sun is shining beautifully this morning, and the water is crisp and clear, not clouds in sight above the surface.
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[ WP ] An immortal who wishes to be mortal again meets up with a mortal who wishes to be immortal . The immortal is trying to convince that immortality is n't that great to the mortal without much success .
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`` Life is fleeting. It is a lit match that desperately clings to life as it burns down to ash. Without struggle, without pain, without love and partnership there is no reason to live.''
He paused to take a deep breath.
`` You do n't understand what loneliness is. Knowing everyday that you are going to wake up alone and wander through the world avoiding everyone. You ca n't love, you ca n't be selfish and try to hold that match in your fingertips. Because you know in the end that it will burn you.''
He took a long drink of the beer he had let grow warm from neglect.
`` How can you live without knowing that life is finite? How can you live if you know that there are no consequences? Risk is n't real if you already know the outcome.''
He met the bartenders eyes. Tears welled up threatening to escape.
`` Cherish your life, live your life as if you may die tomorrow. It is a blessing not a curse.''
He drank the rest of the warm beer and set the empty glass down on the bar.
`` But if you ca n't die you could do anything you want. Anything,'' the bartender said that last word wistfully.
`` Anything but live.''
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Thanks for reading. Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories.
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[ WP ] After a brutal fight a dying enemy soldier grabs you by your clothes and forces on your hand a picture of him and his kids , while saying `` Take care of them . There is no one else . ''
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I never wanted to kill anyone. I never even wanted to be in this war. It's funny how life has a way of turning out. I do n't think anyone ever expected a political squabble to get this far. Then came the draft, and I found myself with a rifle in my hands and little idea what to do with it.
When I saw him raise his gun, I panicked. He was n't even pointing it at me, but my finger clenched on the trigger all the same. He was n't the only man who fell, either. On both sides of the wire, the ground was a morbid shade of crimson. Cries of injured men rang all around, and eventually the shots died down. I was alive. But who was that man? I crossed the ground littered with corpses until I came to his. Only it was n't quite a corpse. He grasped the hem of my trousers desperately, and thrust something out into my hand, gasping for breath as blood bubbled in his mouth and nostrils. I looked at what he was handing me. A picture of a dark-haired woman and two young kids. `` Take care of them. There is no one else.'' he groaned, and then was silent.
`` I will.'' I promised him, shaking. I did n't even know the man's name. I was about to reach for his uniform and find a name, carefully placing the photos in a pocket. I never even heard the last shot. The last thing I remember is looking into his empty eyes, until my own faded to black. `` I'm sorry...''
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[ WP ] You 're a missing child , you 've found out why children go missing so often . Human children are the equivalent to puppies to an alien race .
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I do n't know much about `` home''. I do n't know my parents and I do n't know what earth life is like. I only know what they tell me which is few and far between. My parents, as I was told, were a good breed. Intelligent, athletic, and quite obedient, so I've heard. I do n't remember them... or my life back then, I was only a child.
However, I was n't alone. There were others like me, around 10 in our pack I think. From a young age they started training us... every day. We were fed twice a day and we received fresh water each morning. But one morning we woke up early... way earlier than I was used to. We were taken from our pen and put into a cage on a vehicle and taken far away from home. Nothing but forest all around. When the vehicle stopped, master took us out and then we knew exactly what this was. He showed us a large beast, it's prints, and how it calls for a mate. Without hesitation, we began to track it. We knew what to do as soon as he gave that all to familiar command, `` HUNT!''
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[ WP ] You die and wake up in front of a receptionist 's desk . She has three levers within her reach- a pearl white one that is labeled `` heaven '' to her right , a dark maroon one labeled `` hell '' to her left , and a long , golden one that sits on her desk unnamed . A glass wall separates you two .
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I gasp, my heart pumping stagnant blood not without trouble. My eyelids flutter open, and I feel the cold smoothness of tile under my fingertips.
I sit up slowly, confused. I usually wake up knowing where I am and how I got there. I can only remember two times to the contrary - that party in college and the day after I had my first heart attack. So what happened to raise the count to three?
I sit up slowly, looking down at myself. *Huh. So that's why I'm cold. *
The hospital gown I wear is floral printed, and open in the back. I'm still wearing jeans underneath it, however, so only the skin of my shoulders and below is exposed. Groaning, I push myself up to my feet - age has not been kind to me, and at 67 I really dislike being on the floor.
`` What kind of hospital lets their patients fall off the bed?'' I mumble aloud. Because obviously that is where I am, at a hospital. Tiled floors, no recollection of where I am, stupid floral gown- fits together quite obviously. Unfortunately, I am proven wrong.
`` This is n't a hospital, Sir. Though, you could find us to be quite hospitable.'' I turn to the sound of the voice, meeting the smiling face of a young, brown-eyed girl. She nods towards me, smiling.
`` Welcome to purgatory.''
I look at her in confusion, then laugh. `` That's hilarious. But seriously, where am I?'' She just smiles at me, then taps a few strokes on the laptop before her. I have since decuded that is is quite obviously not a hospital. It lacks the sense of... urgency. The white hallways stretch on forever, but there are no doors. And it lacks the smell that always sends me to the edge of a panic attack. The smell of antiseptic and bile, of desperation and pain. The smell that always reminds me of the time I watched her die. I hate hospitals. I understand why they are needed, but still, I hate them.
`` Do you want to remember?'' She asks after filling out a few forms. I cock my head to the side.
`` Remember... what?''
`` Everything. Why you're here. Proof that you are, in fact, dead.''
I stared at her for a second, then nodded slowly, a sinking feeling in my gut starting to settle in. She pulled a piece of paper off of her desk, sliding in through a slot in the glass that separates us. `` Sign here, here, annnd... here.''
A pen appears in my hand, and the sinking feeling turns solid as I am faced with proof that I am, in fact, dead. The hallways that fade to the horizon, the pen that appears from nothingness, the fact that I ca n't remember anything from the past week. I scribble my signature on all three lines that she indicated, then pass the clipboard back through the slot.
She nods, putting the paper into a stack with dozens of other papers. For a moment, nothing happens. Then I remember.
I feel the sudden pain of... stopping in my chest. The pain that I felt three years before, right before my first heart attack. I can see my living room tilting, my hand splayed out before me on the blue carpet.
I see myself being wheeled into a helicopter, strapped down to a white stretcher. A man stands beside me with the twin paddles of a defibrillator, pressing them down to my chest.
I see myself being wheeled into the emergency room. I see surgeons in green smocks, and red blood against blue partioning paper.
I see my two eldest children and their grand children cry as the doctor tells them what they already know.
I see a casket being lowered next to hers.
I see what happened. And I remember.
When i come to, I find myself on the floor, curled into a ball. The receptionist smiles at me, sadly. `` It's never easy. I remember when I went through the same thing, about four months ago.'' I nod, pushing myself to my feet. The desk she was sitting at is now gone, along with the glass partioning, the computer and paper. Now she sits at a table, and guestures to a chair that is sitting before me.
`` Please, sit. We have a choice to make.''
I sit at the table, looking at the strange contraption that sits in the middle of it, facing me. It is a silver box, with three levers and two labels. One lever is pearly white, and has a label stating'Heaven' below it. One that is a deep, stark crimson labeled'Hell.' And a third and final that is gold, but says nothing.
`` Choose.'' She says and I just shake my head and smile.
`` Really? This is it?'' I run my hand through my thinning silver hair, smiling. `` No crocodile that eats hearts? No trial of the Three Heroes? Just me, you, and three overly dramatic levers?'' She just smiles yet again. It's starting to get on my nerves.
`` I'm not going to pick heaven, because I spent the entirety of my adulthood denying that it ever existed. And picking eternal damnation seems like a kind of stupid thing to do. So...'' She just smiles at me, then stands up from the table. I reach out slowly, then with a sigh, pull the gold lever.
Nothing happens.
The receptionist shrugs on a brown jacket, reaching out to the handle of a door that was n't there until just now.
`` Where are you going? What happens now?'' I ask, confused. Suddenly, the table lurches, the three levers sinking as a computer, a few stacks of paper and a computer popping into existence.
`` Instructions are on the table. Password is'golden.' Bathroom to the left, snacks in the break room behind you.'' I look at her in confusion. `` Oh, and one last thing - I do n't know what happens now either.''
She stepped through the doorway, smiling at me over her shoulder. `` Good luck.'' She turned to the black void before her, sighing. Then she squared her shoulders, and faded out of sight. The door closed, then faded back into the wall.
Behind me, I heard a groan. `` where am I?''
And so, my new job began.
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[ WP ] You take what feels like a ten minute shower . As you leave the bathroom you realize time may have moved a bit quicker outside .
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`` Ah...''
The water was warm on my skin, not quite scalding but hot enough to stave off the cold. Damn but it was cold this morning and it had no right to be. Did n't the weather know it was summer? I was supposed to be setting it to cold about this time, to keep out the heat! Well, nothing to do but soap up. Maybe a bit of shampoo in the hair, wash everything off. Enough time for a quick romp with righty? No, I had to get to work, righty could wait until lunch, that horny dog.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped out of the shower was that my floor crunched. Did I step on something? I hoped not, so I groped around for my glasses to be sure. Nothing. Wow, nothing even in the immediate area. Where was my toilet? Moving my hands downwards I felt the oddest thing. Where my toilet should be there was this gritty substance- it almost felt like... Ah! There they are! Sitting in a pile of grit.
The second thing I noticed when I stepped out of the shower, after putting my glasses on, was the ash that coated everything. That, and that my house seemed to be gone. Good god, I was standing in the middle of nowhere completely naked, so I did the only natural thing. I stepped back into my shower and closed the curtain. My feet were covered in ash now so I did something that definitely should n't have worked. I turned on the water to wash them off. And then water came out.
My house was gone! Everything was ash! The plumbing still worked! But then a bird tweeted outside my window, and I looked out. Summer! There was heat coming from the window! Maybe it was a quick hallucination? A quick peek out of the curtain said otherwise. No, still ash and such out there, but this time a menacing band of people were advancing on me. Good god, they might see me naked, or steal my shower curtain. I could still feel heat from the window. Would I fit?
`` As it turns out, I did, but just barely. It's really too bad I lived on the third story of a building overlooking a soccer field. This all happened, I swear it! The only reason I was lying naked on those children was because I had to! Those marauders would have murdered me otherwise, and they were the only things to break the fall!''
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[ WP ] You 're the advisor to the Pharoahs who first convinced them that they should definitely build giant pyramids .
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FADE IN:
INT. A PHARAOH'S THRONE ROOM - DAY
*A man in a tall headdress lounges on an enormous cushion. The is THE PHARAOH. He is surrounded by ATTENDANTS and GUARDS, many of whom look rather bored. *
**ARCHITECT: ** ( *O.S. * ) Good morning, sir!
*Everyone turns to look as an overly cheerful man struts into the throne room. This is THE ARCHITECT. A guard steps forward to block his path. *
**GUARD: ** Oi! What do you think you're doing?
**ARCHITECT: ** I'm going to speak to the Pharaoh.
**GUARD: ** You ca n't do that! `` Speak to the Pharaoh?'' He's a god, he is!
**ARCHITECT: ** Ah. Yes. I see your point.
*The guard nods, satisfied, and goes back to his original position. When he turns around, he sees the architect kneeling next to a pillar. *
**GUARD: **... Now what are you doing?
**ARCHITECT: ** Praying, sir!
**GUARD: ** `` Praying?''
**ARCHITECT: ** Well, as you rightly state, the Pharaoh is a god, so...
**GUARD: ** ( *Interrupting* ) You ca n't pray in here! This is the Pharaoh's house!
**ARCHITECT: ** Is that a problem, sir?
**GUARD: ** Too right, it's a problem! Praying in the Pharaoh's house? You might bother him!
**PHARAOH: ** Oh, just let the man through.
*The guard glares at the architect, but ushers him over to the Pharaoh. *
**ARCHITECT: ** Thank you, sir.
**PHARAOH: ** What do you want?
**ARCHITECT: ** I'm afraid it's about the pyramids, sir.
**PHARAOH: ** Stop that.
**ARCHITECT: ** Stop what, sir?
**PHARAOH: ** That! Stop that! You do n't call pharaohs `` sir.''
**ARCHITECT: ** Right you are, great one, he who is the living embodiment of Ra on Earth and...
**GUARD: ** ( *Interrupting* ) Right, that does it. Come on, you.
*The guard grabs the architect by the arm and starts dragging him away. *
**ARCHITECT: ** ( *Urgently* ) They're going to fall down!
*The guard stops moving. The Pharaoh stands up from his cushion. *
**PHARAOH: ** `` Fall down?'' What, the pyramids?
**ARCHITECT: ** Yes, sir.
**PHARAOH: ** Pyramids ca n't `` fall down.'' They're the most structurally stable shape in existence!
**ARCHITECT: ** Not quite, sir.
**PHARAOH: ** What are you talking about?
**ARCHITECT: ** Speaking quite frankly, sir, a flat plane would be more stable.
*One of the attendants rolls her eyes. *
**ATTENDANT: ** You have n't seen him knock plates over.
*The Pharaoh makes a motion with his hand. The guard walks toward the attendant, approaching with a menacing look on his face. Several seconds of tense silence pass. *
**GUARD: ** Shut up.
**ATTENDANT: ** Sorry.
**PHARAOH: ** Right. Do n't do it again.
**ARCHITECT: ** We need to do something, sir!
*The Pharaoh rubs his forehead with an exasperated look on his face. *
**PHARAOH: ** Look, what do you suggest we do? You're the one who sold us on these pyramids in the first place.
**ARCHITECT: ** Convert them all to flat planes.
**PHARAOH: ** You ca n't bury people in a flat plane.
**GUARD: ** You could if you used the word `` plane'' in an anachronistic context.
*Every stares at the guard. *
**GUARD: ** Sorry. This idiocy seems to be catching.
**PHARAOH: ** You know what to do, guard.
*The guard nods, looking somber. He draws his sword and holds it in front of his face. His grip tightens on the hilt. *
**GUARD: ** ( *To his reflection* ) Shut up.
*The Pharaoh nods, then turns his attention back to the architect. *
**PHARAOH: ** Are there any other options?
**ARCHITECT: ** Ah, I'm glad you asked, sir! We should build a giant sphinx.
**PHARAOH: ** A what?
**ARCHITECT: ** A sphinx, sir. It's like a large, cat-like creature with the face of a...
**PHARAOH: ** ( *Interrupting* ) I know what a sphinx is! Why would we build one, though? Here you are, telling me that pyramids are too unstable, and now you want to build a giant cat?!
**ARCHITECT: ** Yes, sir! It's the only viable option.
**PHARAOH: ** How is *that* a viable option?! If the pyramids are doomed to `` fall down,'' why would a *giant sphinx* be any different?!
**ARCHITECT: ** Well, sir, it would still fall down, but it would n't matter.
**PHARAOH: ** Why not?
**ARCHITECT: ** Cats always land on their feet, sir.
*Nobody says anything for a moment. *
**GUARD: ** Shut up.
FADE OUT.
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[ WP ] You 're someone 's pet . Your owner is staring at his weird , glowing box again ...
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I'm not sure of many things, I do n't understand this existence that I have. I only know him and his care for me, my complaints are trivial and I adore this being that calls me by a name I do n't recognise.
The mystery that is this glow he gazes into intrigues me so, nothing much seems to happen. Though I know it must be immensely important, the way he laughs when he is lost in its glowing light. His smile is glimmering and I am so joyous to see him experience such. Often he seems troubled or in thought, sometimes he cries tears of a genuine concern. And sometimes there appears to be others of his kind sharing in what he may be doing. All from the influence of this glow, it intrigues me so, and even if his distraction is troublesome I realise it must be immensely important to his existence.
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[ WP ] Your deceased father did a kind act for the most dangerous man in the world , and the deed was remembered . On your eighteenth birthday that man comes back to repay the debt .
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The president approached me with a congenial smile. `` You might not believe this, sonny, but your daddy did me a YUUUUGE favor back in the day.''
`` What's that, Mr... Mr. President?'' I asked him. I was terrified of saying the wrong thing and getting shot by the Secret Service agents surely lurking behind a corner somewhere.
`` Well, technically, your *stepdad*...'' the president continued.
`` My stepdad? What do you mean?''
`` I hate to break it to you this way, but trust me, it's a good thing. You're adopted. I'm your real dad. Your stepdad gave me certain... privileges... with your mom.''
I was even more incredulous. `` You mean I'm *your* son?'' Thoughts raced through my head, primarily about how I might inherit a fortune, assuming the president did n't file for bankruptcy *again*. But I also wondered why my dad never told me about this. To keep me humble? `` So how is this'doing you a favor'?''
`` Well, you see, I wanted a pure-blooded American son to carry down the bloodline. Not some commie European half-breed. As you know, both my wife and my ex-wife are eastern European immigrants. So my children by them are illegitimate. Now, take my hand and I will train you in the ways of ruling a nation!
I... did n't know what to say. So I'm the son of... a latter-day Hitler? I always knew he was evil, but *this* evil? Am I destined to be a dictator? I wanted to scream `` NOOOOOOOOOOOO!'' at the top of my lungs, but I figured that would be a cliche...
But I did n't have much time to think. Six Secret Service ( or should I call them SS at this point? ) agents jumped out of nowhere and pointed rather large-looking pistols at me. `` Do it! Or else!'' shouted the one who must have been the captain.
I... just could n't. I'm no Hitler Junior. I did n't know what else to do, so I charged at the captain, and everything faded to black. I might not die a hero, but at least I wo n't die a villain...
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[ WP ] In witch trials they used to have people guarding the prisoners through the night . The guards were often afraid because they expected strange things to happen to confirm the accusations . Write from the point of view of a guard .
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The night was bleak and the only sound to offset the heavy cloud of dread was the the gentle song of crickets in the fields. A candle burned softly in the window, flickering and casting pendulous shadows across the room. With each passing moment, my heart seemed to quicken its pace, and I could feel sweat building on my palms, tightly gripping my axe.
The young girl was sprawled out on the floor of her cell, and began to whistle a haunting tune. It reminded me of the dissonant dirge the prisoners would spout on their way to the block. I began to fall into an uneasy stupor, strangely enchanted by her whistling. It took me a few moments to register that it had fallen silent.
β What brings you to this cruel fate, child? β she said, seeming to be speaking to herself.
β Silence, β I blurted, a tremor resounding in my voice, giving away my fearful demeanor.
She chuckled. β Don β t you love me? β she whispered in a seductive voice. I had the urge to stand, dropping my axe and beginning to walk toward the iron cell β s bars. β Don β t you love me? β she repeated. I nodded my head in assent, continuing my stumbling. β Don β t you love me? Don β t you love me? Don β t you love me? β The words spiraled in my head, tumbling over and over until there was naught but her voice echoing off into some black oblivion.
Roosters began their noisy day routines as the sun rose over the hills. My replacement unlocked the jail β s door, pacing slowly into the room. β What are you doing in there? Where is the prisoner? β he screamed as he saw me on the floor of the cell.
I looked up, a large grin adorning my face. β Don β t you love me? β
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[ WP ] You watch as the Hero of the story and the despicable Villain clash in battle . The problem however , is that they 're in love and and are n't actually fighting , they 're deliberately missing in a super obvious manner .
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Iago liked his stories big. Capital City bathed in red. Wrecked cars juxtaposed lazily around the sidewalk, now colored black by flames. Buildings once colored boring gray now shone a merry bright orange as screaming people ran around the chaotic streets like ants on cocaine. On top of the largest building, which was most definitely up in flames, a device similar to those world globes your geography teacher holds up from her desk to show where the fuck is Djibouti, except made of metal, 10 feet tall and shining a menacing blue.
Most pressing to Iago at the moment, however, were not the cars, nor the fire, nor the desperate screams, nor the giant blue ball near him but the fact that he was tied up on that same rooftop, kneeled down facing a silvery gun pointing to his head - and not by choice. It is not like the situation was any better before, mind you, it seemed like this would be one of many boring days of work at the newspaper until the routine was discontinued by an intense pain on the back of his head and utter blackness.
Waking up to a gun to the head was nothing like a holiday, but at least it was different. Iago never cared much for guns, so he would never know the first thing about what to do in this situation, aside from freezing and trembling like it is ten degrees outside, even though the beads of sweat running down his back reveals the temperature to be near to that of an oven.
The masked woman holding the gun was another matter. Pale skin and long red hair made more sense to belong to an Irish schoolgirl than to a fully grown woman dressed in black. Her eyebrows were knitted by a small crease, lipstick smeared around a crooked smile and green eyes framed by a black mask that fiercely stared at him but seemed to be focused on something else, far away.
Mentally, Iago asked her how was it that she was clad in leather from head to toe without sweating like a pig at the slaughterhouse, but the - Glock? - glued to his forehead held that thought. Instead, all that came out of his mouth was a whimper and a little drop of drool from the side. The few seconds it took Iago to look to her through stinging eyes seemed to last hours. As she spoke, the gun trembled slightly and Iago hoped she had good a grip on it, even though the tears in her eyes suggested she did not.
`` How did you know?'' was her question, voice quivering and lip trembling as a thin lock of curly hair glued to the top of her mouth.
Even if Iago did get a chance to respond, the fact that he was in that situation muddled his mind as to what the fuck she was talking about and silenced whatever else could come out of his mouth. It almost seemed amusing how a timely intervention saved him from antagonizing the girl with the - Beretta? From the sky something fell, akin to a meteor, hard, heavy and about to wipe out the human race. Unfortunately, it was only one of the many superheroes housed in Capital City, about to β save the day β, meaning, β cause about 17 million dollars in property damage and come out of an explosion arm-in-arm with the best lawyers in the country like it was the fucking red carpet β. This particular hero Iago knew, although not personally. The poster boy for all Capital City heroes and like many American goods, produced in China, Tzu clad in orange spandex landed on the rooftop, this time not gracefully like the movies. Instead of the superhero landing, feet down then closed fist for support, his shoulders hit the floor first and the momentum on his lower body rolled him comically upwards about a foot from the ground. A second later, he was laying on his back about 5 feet from the odd couple, his red cape like Jesus β halo as he came down from heaven. Not Christian at all was what the burly Chinese uttered after his dramatic landing.
β Fuck. β
Iago could not help the snicker that came out of him and he would suspect that the woman holding the - Smith & Wesson, must be - would have found the situation entertaining if she was not, you know, distressed.
β What the fuck are you doing here? β she said instead, a tear finally escaping through the corner of her lower eyelids. Her shaky voice and irked tone made the caped hero spring to his feet awkwardly, stance guarded.
β Wait, Ka-Artillery? β The hero adjusted his mask, a move that prompted the woman to mirror him and touch her own. Through his muddled memories, Iago knew Artillery as one of the many villains who terrorized CC. Iago thought nothing of the slip of the tongue at the time, instead focusing on his own situation. The ropes chafed the skin around his wrist painfully. His feet were tied up as well, but at least he was not gagged.
It took a few seconds for the woman to react and it was not what the two men were expecting. She choked out a sound similar to a hinge, widening her feigned smile.
`` So your crappy superhero team sent you to deal with me then,'' Artillery gestured her free hand in his direction, her body tense in an accusatory stance. `` What a small world, right sweetie?''
`` You do n't wan na do this, Artillery,'' It seemed it was only then that he noticed Iago bound like the picture of a submissive freak. β Just drop the Glock and turn that thing off. β
Iago took a mental note on the model.
β Fuck you, β the hand that was pointing to Tzu materialized a shotgun. Artillery grinned wickedly and adjusted her grip on the newly materialized weapon, not even bothering to look towards Iago. β We got thousands of these babies across America and if you take one step closer, you know I wo n't hesitate. Not this time. β
Iago realized she was talking about the glowing blue metal globe. He also noticed the two of them seemed to know each other. From what Iago remembers, Tzu is a close combat guy, probably master of some Jitsu thing since his powers have something to do with magnetic fists and how he can even repel bullets if he is fast enough. Artillery on the other hand, probably favored distance in combat, though maybe she could conjure a melee weapon.
β HuΔ, please, β he started, a soft and gentle tone added to the words. Deep brown eyes glinted as he searched for the right words, β I know you. β
He took one step towards her. The bead of sweat down Iago β s back did not relent and he felt another starting from his hairline. If only he could sweat more profusely, maybe he could wrangle out of his bindings like those cheeky hostages.
β No, you don β t. β It seemed Artillery did not notice how much closer the orange man was. Her shotgun still pointed in his general direction, but as far as Iago could see, not aimed square at him.
β You are kind-hearted, β Tzu said with emotion and took one more step β beautiful, β she snickered at that, but he took one more step β stubborn- β
β Don β t come any closer or I β ll kill this idiot. β Iago almost protested, and then he remembered the Glock loaded and pointing at his brain, the brain that was trying really hard to process why that doe-eyed superhero was flattering that villain. β He knows. β
β What do you mean? β questioned Tzu, his hands still raised above his head.
β He wrote that stupid Sucker Punch novel, β she said like what she was talking about should be obvious yet the hero seemed confused. With a sigh and a roll of green eyes, she clarified β that book about the hero and the villain who fall in love. How come you haven β t read it? Everybody β s read it. β
β Yeah, what the hell? β weakly, those were the first words Iago uttered. Though he regretted doing that due to the sullen stare the woman rewarded him with.
β I don β t care, Kate, β Tzu was closing the distance between them rapidly. Iago didn β t think his voice could get any sweeter, it made his ears diabetic. β You know I don β t care. β
Silently, Artillery seemed to consider him for a few moments. Another tear escaped her eyes as a shot echoed around the rooftop. Iago closed his eyes as his ears rang painfully with the sound and blackness enveloped his vision.
And then grunts. A few milliseconds passed until Iago opened his eyes and, upon his realization, let out the breath he was holding in a desperate gasp. Looking up, a fight was underway. Tzu had gripped her right arm, which made her drop her shotgun and kept it locked tight behind her back. Iago noticed one of his foot stepped on one of hers, locking her into an awkward position. Left arm free, Artillery then aimed for Tzu but missed again as he jabbed his fingers someplace between her elbow and her chest. Her painful grunt seemed to startle him and he released her other arm, locking his sorrowful eyes on hers. The opening was there and Artillery took it; she knocked his chin with her elbow as she conjured a long metal staff.
β Wait. β Both froze in that position as Iago spoke up, Tzu about to punch her with his power. They still had their eyes locked, their hold on each other was lax, almost as fake as those Italian action movies from the 70s. Nothing about that fight was genuinely violent and nothing about their conversation was conventional.
β This is fucking amazing, β Iago said between laughs he could no longer contain, desperate for air, β I got ta give more credit to my sources. β
β What? β the hero and the villain inquired at the same time, finally acknowledging the reporter.
β You two! Together, like my heroes in Sucker Punch! β Iago could barely get the words out. β I swear I had no clue that was about you two, but holy shit! β Artillery pushed Tzu and took two long furious steps towards him, then knocked his head with her staff with enough force to send him to the moon, as if she was Ted Williams and his skull a fucking baseball.
-
Iago does not remember much else other than the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and the smell of smoke. When he woke up, the blue globe was no longer glowing, the city now colored a darker gray than usual and the police and paramedics rushing about on the rooftop. It was then Iago realized that this story was going to be huge.
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[ WP ] write a short story of a blind man , who is obsessed with buttons
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You know how your other senses become better when you're blind? Well, the same goes for touch and all the things I can do with it. Buttons are my favorite. So many sizes, shapes, and sounds they can make, a symphony of clicks and clacks only I can hear. Not many can appreciate the soft click of an on-switch, the regal formality of an elevator button, the *ding* that tells me that the levitating box full of buttons, each different in their own way, is coming. Every one of the thirty floors in this hotel has a button that's unique and changing. Some are coated with salt or oil from the fingers of guests prowling the snack bar, some are worn with use and tell a story of their life in that one tired press. Soon I come to my favorite collection of buttons two floors up, ebony and ivory. I tickle them with wire, taking in the various shades of laughter. My fingers glide across their bodies, finding their place on keys whose paint is chipped after decades of play. I could n't read music even if I had eyes, but my hands know these movements, repeated a thousand times until the feel of the keys merged with the music, becoming one with the piece. The oft-neglected high notes spring to attention quicker than the Middle C, eager for their chance. B flat has lost its plumpness, whittled down with age. The keys are the only friends I need. Their presence is enough to take the worries from my shoulders, whose lumpiness is apparent even uner my thick overcoat. This is how I earn my living, making buttons laugh and people cry with my music.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Like this? Check out /r/ilokit for more stories!
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[ WP ] You have superpowers but you must be morally neutral : for every good act you do , you must commit an evil act that counterbalances it , and vice versa .
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Confessions with Father Brennan were one Hector's favorite things in the world. The priest's version was very informal almost therapeutic compared to traditional confession. There were no confessional booths that you walked in and locked behind yourself that left you in the dark like you had slipped into an upright coffin. Instead, they would sit down in Father Brennan's office with one person sitting in an over stuffed armchair and the other in a comfortable office chair. It was up to the person confessing as to which seat was for which person. There you would sit face to face and just talk. Talk about your sins and why you did it. What you could do next time and what you could you do now for penance.
Hector found Father Brennan a fantastic listener. The priest was the only other person besides Hector's parents who knew that Hector was a superhero or more importantly how his powers worked.
`` I saw on television that you saved everyone in that burning building this morning,'' said Father as he sat in the armchair in this session. `` You used flight and speed, correct? Now what was the price this round for using those powers for good?''
Hector made a face as he pulled up his uniform collar trying to hide his shame. ``... I gave a wedgie to a bunch of six year olds. Not really proud of that.''
`` How many is a'bunch'?''
``........fourteen.''
*'' Fourteen!?! `` *
`` Did you see the size of the building that went up? It was this massive brownstone. I swear, it was three old brownstones converted into one. There were a ton of people. Just a huge crowd. And their pets! Because heaven forbid Fluffy go up in flames. I had to save a fish tank.'' He spread his arms out wide. `` THIS FREAKIN' GIGANTIC FISH TANK. I do n't see why you could n't let them cook and get some more. They're fish. Add some lemon and butter and eat them. Save some people and get some bonus lunch.''
Father Brennan shook his head. He knew that for every good act that Hector did, the superhero had to do an equally bad one or else his powers would simply stop working. Forget flying. He would n't even be able to hop.
The priest leaned in, `` Were you able to save everyone?''
`` Yes, but....'' Hector's heart dropped to his stomach. He began to chew his lip again. A bad nervous habit that popped up when he was trying hard not to get upset. `` I almost did n't. My powers were n't full juiced. And that nearly cost me not only my life but a young mother's as well. There has to be a better way to do go, to get my powers at full strength than by assaulting children. Or-''
`` Or?''
`` What if I did worse things? The more evil I do, the more good I can do.''
Father Brennan started to feel a knot of worry form in him. `` What are you thinking of, Hector? How bad are we talking about?''
Hector grew quiet for a moment. He spun his chair around and hunched over like he was trying to have a private conversation with himself and only with himself. `` What do you think would happen if I....took a life.''
`` Murder?''
Hector slowly turned around. `` What if a murder gave me so much power that I could bring someone back from the dead. What if I could simply lay my hands on them and bring them back to life.''
`` Then you would be God. And you're not.''
Hector stared at the floor, thin lipped. `` I know I'm not God...'' He opened his mouth and caught himself before uttering a word.
Father Brennan cocked his head. `` What is going on in that head of yours, Hector?''
Hector looked up. His eyes were shinning wet with tears that were about to fall. He turned away and rubbed them dry. `` Yesterday... I heard a gun shot and this scream. I've never heard this type of scream before. It was n't pain. It was anguish. I did n't even think. I reacted. I ran towards it. A kid. This little Dominican kid, could n't have been much older than five or six, had been shot. Got caught in some gangland crossfire. The person who screamed was his mother. She was holding him getting blood all over her shirt and yelling for help. I took that kid and I ran. I have never run so fast in all my life. My legs actually burned. Had n't experienced that since I was a kid. Made it to the hospital across town but it had been too late. They could n't do anything for him. He died a few minutes later. I sat by his bed while waiting for his mother to come. He was dead but I did n't want him to be alone. The mom screamed again when she saw him. Tiny body. Big bed. Blood everywhere. All over me.''
Hector glared at the priest, `` All these half-assed powers and I was useless. But I could have done something if I had just a little more juice.''
Father Brennan softened his eyes. ``... who would you have killed?''
`` That fuckin' gangbanger of course. He killed the kid. Let him bring him back to life with his life.''
`` Would you really do that if you had a second chance?''
`` YES!'' Hector shouted as he leaped to his feet. He caught the look of horror in Father Brennan's eyes. It felt like a slap across his face. A wake-up call that made him realize what he was saying. He stood there asking himself would he do it, would he really do it if he could have. He shook his head. `` I mean, no. I do n't know. I have n't washed that bloody shirt yet. I've got it on my kitchen table as a reminder of my failure.''
`` You are not a failure, Hector. You are doing something.''
`` That's the thing. Where is everyone? Huh?'' Hector began to pace around the room. `` We're in New York City. Millions of people. But I am the only one using any sorts of power to help people. I ca n't be the only one out there, right? I am not just a single freak.''
`` You are not a freak.''
Heck dropped the chair. `` You know what I mean. Why are n't there more of us?''
`` More superheroes?''
`` Yeah! People who can pick up the slack that I drop. Someone who could have helped that kid. Where are they? Why are n't they using their powers?''
Father Brennan shrugged. `` I do n't know. But at least we have you.''
Hector chuckled at that thought. `` One is better than nothing, huh? Even a half-assed superhero is better than none.''
`` You are not *'half-assed'*.''
`` Father Brennan, your mouth! This is the first time I have ever heard you curse.'' Hector grabbed his chest in mock shock. `` My stars!''
The priest laughed and shook his head. He leaned forward and placed his hands on Hector's shoulder. `` You are a good person, Hector. Do n't ever forget that.''
A blush rose in Hector's cheeks as he looked away with a smile.
`` Thanks, Father, I needed this.''
Father Brennan patted the young man on the shoulder. He stood up. `` Now, I want you to say a Hail Mary for every kid you underwear assaulted-'' He could not help but let out a laugh at the thought. `` And two Our Fathers for good measure. Now, how are you doing for powers right now?''
Hector rose to his feet and stretched. He realized now that every muscle in his body had grown sore from use. A sign that he had used too much power. `` I am a bit low.''
`` Well, you know what to do.'' Father Brennan jutted out his chin. `` Do n't go easy.''
`` Oh, Father. After the day I've had, I do n't want to hurt anyone.''
`` Come on,'' Father Brennan tapped his chin. `` You know very well before I was a priest I was a boxer. An Irish one at that. I can take a hit. Think of it as for the children.''
Hector laughed and threw his hands in the air. `` For the children.'' He wound up and sent a fist across the priest's face.
Father Brennan spun around and went for the floor. Hector caught him before he hit the ground and placed him gently in the chair. He stepped back and felt his core warm up with new power. His eyes began to glow as it flowed through him. Every sore muscle quieted. He felt like he could run a marathon around the world without breaking a sweat.
`` Do good, Hector. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,'' said the priest as he rubbed his throbbing jaw.
Hector nodded and crossed himself, `` Amen.'' From his pocket, he took out his mask and fixed it to his face. In a whirlwind of speed, he ran out of the room and into the city to protect it.
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A man losing his grip on sanity struggles internally versus his creeping madness
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My face gone reddish and warm. Tears roll down and it's hard to keep staring at the night sky. I'll never have my control ever again. This tingling sensation all over my arms and ribs has become my new master. I'm now only a puppet, controlled by an unnamed evil whom I feed every now and then with anger and sadness. My head has hurt too many times trying to get rid of his presence before my eyes. And finally, I surrendered. I found security with him. He gives me strength, and such view about the world. And finally I realized where I belong.
She's limping on her chair like the last time I saw her after I tied her and glued her lips shut. I picked up the gasoline and pour it all over her body. She mumbles a scream as she closed her eyes and shakes her shoulders desperately. I throw the can and it hits the wall. I stare at her for awhile and smiled at how pretty she is. Dark brown hair, grey eyes and toned skin. She's energetic, yet innocent like a playful little boy who does n't recognize any hardship or mental pressure. Tears create small rivers on her reddish cheeks as she looks at me and cries. I can see how she begs me for mercy. It honestly disgusts me. She introduced me as `` No one'' to her friends at the reunion party last night. While she obviously knows who I am. `` No, she does n't know who YOU are,'' my master told me.
`` We went out for two weeks in high school,'' I said. `` And then she dumped me for the popular guy.''
The other part of me then says, `` I do n't know why do I have to do this. I could just let her go.''
`` But it's too late!'' I screams. `` I'll no longer give up on my true power. I will no longer compromise with a weak fucking soul like you! You're dead! This is ME! This is always me!''
*
Her scream plays repeatedly in my head when I try to sleep. And it plays again when I wake up in the morning, like a random subliminal song you heard from a source you can barely recollect. I'm feeling the weight of my body, lazily laying down on my bed while I'm staring out the window, smiling. I think I'm gon na check out what I've done to the warehouse today. I'll see if anyone or the police has noticed the fire and found the body.
I lift my head and the world seems like turning upside down. My vision's stirred up and I found myself at the reunion party. The lights and chattering are slowly filling my head again. She's standing there. Dark hair, grey eyes, beautiful smile. I dated her for a couple of weeks in high school. We make a flash eye contact but I quickly pass my stare to a different side of the lawn. My heart is thumping like a war drum. I feel like I'm going down and knocked out. I walk out and leave the party.
I get into my car and pull out a handgun from the dashboard compartment. The metal tip feels cold on my skin as I stick it under my chin. That tingling sensation fills up my ribs. I know he's here. So I say to him, `` I take control of my life. Not you.''
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[ CS ] A Meeting of Mary Sues
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Marie Carver ran her fingers through John's wispy yet dense locks. The sun danced in his hair as much as it twinkled in his eyes which also danced. She smiled as his hair curled around her thumb. She smiled because of how his effulgent ears egregiously pointed from his equanimous face. She smiled in spite of his baleful gaze. It was the type of gaze that said β somewhere in the thick snows of Nepal a family of baby kittens has lost their mother, and I wo n't β nay can't- rest until I hold them safely to my warm, beating chest β. This was a gaze often on John's face and it would only pass when he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering when the world would sit up and learn, God dammit. Marie had grown used to these common expressions, as had John's 700,401 other girlfriends. It was simpler to change every other of the world's 7 billion people than it was to change John, though Marie considered this to be as positive a trait as John's feral sexuality or his adroit piloting of last summer's malfunctioning Boeing 747 full of orphaned nuns.
A slender figure appeared down the far end of the boardwalk. John stirred like a rearing racehorse, though he did so gently. Marie cried to John to return to her, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. As deaf as John β s ears were to Marie's calls, his eyes were sharp. No one John's end of the boardwalk could spot the delicate-but-emotionally unyielding figure in an audacious yet subdued sundress. This was due to Amelia Lily Rose Buttercup Tangerine Gracelia Smith's unbelievably thin figure, though not thin in a bulimic kind of way, more a one in a million β Jennifer Lawrence eat your heart out β kind of a way.
Amelia β s trenchant eyes fixed on John. Citywide, she was the only that could match his flawless 20-20 vision. They both approached each other with a careful, deliberate step. Their pace dictated that this was the most important event in the world, but though it was urgent it simply could n't be hurried. They stripped as they walked, uncaring that the whole world could feast their eyes upon the bodies of two glorious Adonis'. The world, in turn, respected their bold audacity by shielding their eyes.
John and Amelia Lily Rose Buttercup Tangerine Gracelia approached each other as naked as the day they were born ( which was the same day, despite how much younger Amelia looked ). Not a word parted from their lips, though there was some pre-orgasmic moaning, but nothing that β d be out of place around 9 o'clock on basic cable, because even though they were both fantastically naked, this was not a sexual thing. They sort of pushed themselves into one another, their tanned and racially ambiguous flesh adjoining together. They continued to push themselves into each other until what was left was just a shrinking pile of well-toned flesh. By the time people dared look, there was nothing left. A great calm descended upon the earth and though it was dreadful losing the world's two greatest and most beautiful and most talented people, no one really cared because they were all sort of great like them, if that makes any sense to you guys?
Terrorists threw down their guns and really the religious did n't care about gay people and America became a bit more like Europe in that regard. Everyone began sending all their spare food to Africa, and when the spare food was gone the skies opened up around the equator and the Sahara became one of the most fertile places on earth. Everyone started driving Teslas.
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[ WP ] Your life story , one sentence per year .
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I was born.
I learnt to walk with my brothers.
My dad taught me to talk.
I moved with my mother and brothers and said goodbye to my family for a very long time.
I had a big fat black nannie who took care of me.
I went strait into kindergarten and found out that I did n't belong here.
My mother had a daughter, then another a year later; I went from youngest to the middle of two batches.
I started redwall and fled into my books.
I watched my stepfather descend slowly into alcoholism, I did n't understand.
I confronted my father with all the frustration that my mother had vented towards him.
I started reading LOTR, my teacher did n't believe me so I wrote book reports.
They kept telling me I was so smart, why did n't you apply yourself?
I was the only white kid in my middle school, I punched a girl because she spat on a book that my dad had given me the last time I was in Australia ( It was The Reality Disfunction by Peter F. Hamilton )
I transferred to a better white school downstairs, my old teacher said I was reading on a college level, my mum laughed and said that shows where colleges are in this country.
My brother broke his jaw and developed violent habits, he had to move away to Australia.
I got into the brooklyn latin school, I hated that we had to learn latin and wear uniforms.
I discovered pot.
My brother went to college, he had become my closest and only friend.
I wanted some attention, got `` depressed,'' saw a pscyh, and realized I wanted to learn it.
I finally found my friends, for the first time I found a place that I belonged, I'm still with the guys I found there.
My brother moved away from home to finish uni in Australia, he could n't take my step-father and I hate that alcoholic bastard for it.
I got into college and all of my dreams came true, I finally felt stimulated taking philo, sociology, psychology and all these classes.
I WILL get that man out of my mother's life.
I want to be lawyer now.
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[ WP ] You wake up one morning to discover your phone has two new apps : quick save and quick load .
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I stared down at my phone, was this some sort of prank? A quick save app and a quick load app? Both highly unbelievable but whoever did this put time into this so I should let them have the glory of the button being pressed. My thumb went down and pressed the quick save button and I waited for some stupid video to pop up and play for a few minutes but nothing happened. I frowned, did I break it? Or was I supposed to hit the quick load too? Curiosity caught me and I pressed the quick load button, but nothing happened. I looked around to see if I was being filmed for some prank internet video but no cameras. I sighed and went to my car to get to work, traffic was slow so I played around with my phone a little more and hit the quick save button again, `` Maybe the video comes up when I least expect it like in the office. `` I finally got past the traffic and got to my office on time, I found myself hitting that save button but never the load button, I was pressing the button when someone behind me said with a gruff voice, `` Trying to get fired Don? `` I looked up at my coworker and shook my head before slipping my phone away, `` Good. I would n't want to tell the boss that you've been slacking. `` That was the biggest lie Will had even told anyone in the office but I ignored him and went back to work.
The end of the day came and I found myself driving to my favorite bar about a block from my house so if I needed to I could walk home. I got out of my car and was just about to walk in when I heard a young man's voice, `` Nobody has to get hurt, I just want the wallet, keys, and your phone. `` I turned around to try and fight the man but he held a gun only half a foot away from my face and I was n't about to risk my life over some things I could replace, I pulled out all my belongings and gave them to him, his smile was sickening and it took all of my strength not to barf at the sight of it, he lowered the gun to my stomach as he looked through my things, first my wallet, he only stuffed the keys in his pocket and looked through my phone, `` What's this? Quick save? Quick load? Man this must be the credit card info. Let's find out what you're hiding. `` he pressed the button and suddenly the world around me went black and I could n't see anything but my own body when I looked around, I closed my eyes asks whispered a small prayer hoping that this was all just a dream when is familiar voice pulled me back to reality, `` Trying to get fired Don?'' Will? That was impossible yet when I opened my eyes and looked around, there stood Will in the same position, his eyes glued to my hand which was holding my cellphone with my thumb hovering over the quick save button, `` Did n't this just happen a few hours ago. `` I did n't believe that everything before was just a dream but it was definitely better than admitting that these apps allowed some sort of time travel. I smiled and looked up at Will, `` Sorry Will, it wo n't happen again. `` He grumbled something a d walked off in a huff. I spent the rest of the day planning for that moment when I would be robbed so I could stop it.
Thanks for reading, I do n't feel like this is my best piece but I'm curious as to what you all think about it. Might do a part two of interest is shown.
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[ WP ] A tale of jealousy and revenge as a cosmic event grants super human abilities to every human on the planet ... . well , everyone except for you ...
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Life is just SHIT sometimes, you know.
At first I did n't see it. I tried everything. There were clearly no physical changes. I felt the same in my head too. There WAS this element of lingering thrill in my head. But that could easily be attributed to the cosmic quake which shook the whole world.
I finally heeded my friend's advice and met his new girlfriend. She gained the ability to sense powers, and that's how she found my friend, Mr.StayHardForever. Pfft. Anyways, the nympho scanned me for any possible powers, I have none.
It was in less than an hour that I had found myself on national TV. As if being interviewed by an obscenely large breasted woman, who I might add had the ability to have ANY size of breasts and CHOSE to have that, and didnt know how to ask a single question without making me feel like a pathetic powerless person, it was my neighbors who were the worst.
I had always been into cosplay and I had all these costumes. I would throw parties and people would turn up and I'd always be the best among them all. And look now. I was the one that just LOOKED like a superhero whole others actually WERE.
Gone were the days when I could dress up as something cool and that would be enough to be the best. I could dress as the best possible fictitious figure and yet, even my lame friend who gained the useless power of sweating lemonade on command would have been cooler than me.
Now there were actual superhero parties all around me and I could do nothing about it.
I felt like an outcast for weeks at end. I was jealous and angry and hurt. Until it hit me. I had something nobody else did.
I was the only one normal in the world. Uncorrupted and unspoiled by any `` diseases'' unlike others. I was the anchor. I was the only remaining scale of normalcy.
And, my degree in psychology finally came in handy. And so it began.
**Superhero Therapy**
*****
It has been over and year now and I am doing good. You ca n't see me professionally that easy now. I'm much sought after. For special friends of course I have some hours kept aside at all times but otherwise, my assistant tells me, there is an 8-month wait period.
I'm arguably one of the most important figure in the world, possibly MOST important, right behind the Invincible Girl, Wise-Guy etc.
And why would I not be. There was no one they could turn to. There is no God in a world where everyone can make miracles. Except a Man. Someone to remind them what they lost. I'm their therapist, their priest, their cleanser. They come to me and pour their heart out and I make them feel human again. They let go of all that they have been holding on, the unforgivable mistakes, the pride, the anxiety of the competition, everything. Even the worst of them are like putty in my hands.
And they WORSHIP me. They ALL worship me. They better. I know ALL about them. Their deepest darkest insecurities, their mistakes, their crimes, EVERYTHING.
Ha. To think that I used to wish to have some silly power instead of THIS. THIS is the true power. The power to command everyone's envy and respect at the same time. The power to allow someone to worship me at my feet.
Life's what you make of it. And it's just Awesome sometimes, you know.
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[ WP ] In their evolution humans have developed a particular defense mechanism : Their farts are highly toxic .
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Children rarely live for more than a week.
It's a hard world we live in. One errant pinto bean can kill an entire family.
It takes constant vigilance for an entire family to remain alive for more than a few years. Somebody always fucks up and somebody always dies.
My family was lucky. My Mom, Dad and 2 younger sisters had all survived for years. Maybe because all 4 of my grandparents died young; it made my parents careful with us.
On this particular day, I was riding the elevator up to my dorm room. A week until I graduate! 5 years of hard work and I would be getting my biology degree.
The elevator was slow and I lived on the tenth floor. Luckily, I was alone and did n't have to make small talk.
As I hit the 4th floor, I felt a sensation in my abdomen.
Fuck. I knew this feeling. I had to fart.
No worries. I'll just hold it until I get to the balcony in my room. I'd done it before. No big deal. It would have been nice if the standard ventilation system were working in my elevator, but the sign on the wall informed me that it was being repaired. It would be another week before it's safe for fart in the elevator.
As the elevator continues to rise, the pressure in my lower abdomen grows. As I reach the 8th floor, the pressure becomes unbearable.
As the elevator signals it arrival at the 9th floor with a ding, all hell breaks loose and I fart. Fuck fuck fuck it smells so bad. I ca n't breathe. I can feel my vision clouding.
I try to hold my breath but I inhale some spit. I start coughing and breath in more and more of the noxious gas. They tell you how toxic farts are, but I guess I never really believed it.
I ca n't believe it might end like this. Maybe if I reach my floor in the next few seconds, I can get enough fresh air to live. I do n't want to die. Not like this. I'm still a virgin. I never told Jenny I love her. I want to have a family.
I slump to the floor. My vision grows darker still. I ca n't concentrate. I try to remember the symptoms of fart poisoning. It was an acronym. First... Always... Remember... T... something...
My head slumps down as I love control of my muscles.
I shit myself.
My eyes close involuntarily and I exhale for the final time.
Sorry Mom and Dad. I'm so sorry.
The elevator doors open and wait for its passenger to exit. After a few seconds, the doors automatically close and the elevator heads back down to the ground floor. Grizzly tableau as of yet undisturbed.
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[ WP ] An alien race finds a video game ( your choice ) and assumes it is an accurate portrayal of humanity . Write their `` Wikipedia page '' on humans .
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From the archives of Cha'atool, Zervic Cluster branch.
Humanity redirects here.
Origins of species: Currently unknown, and despite the seeming relation to other species on the planet, there seems to exist no direct evolutionary link to any other species or form. The earliest recordings lack color and non cardinal movement, however these seem to be limitations of the technology used to store the records, as further and more complicated records are more detailed with regard to the world and interaction between those in it.
Environs, flora, and fauna of the planet:
Unlike every other planet surveyed, humanity, while dominant as a species, was far from the most powerful on the planet. Creatures of 721 species have been extensively documented in their records. Many of these species had abilities far beyond what is currently deemed possible, such as weather control, time and space manipulation without the heavy equipment the reader is familiar with, and abnormally high strength, to name only a few. How humanity was not wiped out against such evolutionarily superior opponents is unknown, but it seems many humans formed close bonds with these creatures, and worked in harmony ( see Culture for more detail ). The species seem to fall into a single general class, with 16 or 17 total classifications being recognized, depending on region and time frame. The event that caused such a disruption to create a new class is unknown, but was severe enough to change even those who's type was already determined. Unlike the species of every other planet, the species of earth seem to have a unique ability to evolve spontaneously, transforming into new species in a matter of seconds. This process is not normal, and the final form usually conforms to a lost compiled by humans. The nature of these transformations is still unknown, and not research is required.
Culture: Humanity was a competitive race, with a heavy emphasis on'battling' each other, and a lesser emphasis on competitions of beauty, strength, toughness etc. Human culture is heavily tied to their companions, known to them as the kingdom'PokΓ©mon'. The influence of later culture with PokΓ©mon, from the year 1996 on, stems heavily from a small island.
Humans developed a code to govern'Trainers', who devoted their lives to working with companion PokΓ©mon to become stronger, and eventually challenge the'PokΓ©mon League'. The importance of this training can be seen in the large number of people who take part, and the devotion of a large part of the economy to training and PokΓ©mon related goods. Most cities, and even smaller towns had places for training exercise, known as'gyms'. These usually revolved around one of the main types referenced in the flora/fauna section, and featured commemorative badges. These badges were considered a sign of status, inspiring respect among other humans and PokΓ©mon, regardless of their original trainer.
Technology:
Much of human technology, outside of the usual construction and lifestyle developments, centered around PokΓ©mon. Special medicines and healing machines were widespread, and free or cheap to access. Other technologies reflected the popularity and cultural significance of battling, and involved the ability to boost the powers of PokΓ©mon in battle. The most impressive development however, was the PokΓ©ball. Originally a simple catch and containment device used to catch PokΓ©mon, regardless of size. How the humans managed the space compression techniques to contain the largest species is currently unknown. There were many variants from the standard, optimized to better catch different species. Only one had an absolute capture rate, and seems to never have made mass production, the Master Ball. Accounts are limited, but if it truly existed, it would represent the peak of human science.
Special cases of PokΓ©mon:
Some species were especially revered, such as Pikachu. Pikachu were found throughout the interactive and standard history recordings, and were the most popular icon of a PokΓ©mon to humans. This is referenced here instead of the PokΓ©mon page to underscore the importance in media and culture that Pikachu had, even to those not involved in training or other typical PokΓ©mon activities.
Interestingly, despite the godlike powers and title of'legendary', many of the most powerful PokΓ©mon forms were not worshipped widely, and humans developed a PokΓ©ball technology known as the Master Ball to assure the capture of these legendaries.
Only a few relics have been recovered, they are listed below. Assume the title of their history records, PokΓ©mon, appears before each title.
Organised roughly by time and region.
Red, Blue, Green, Yellow
Gold, Silver
Crystal
Ruby, Sapphire, Emerald
Fire Red, Leaf Green
Diamond, Pearl, Platinum
Black, White
X, Y
There were revisions of some texts, listed as follows. The revisions closely match the name of the original.
Heart Gold, Soul Silver
Black 2, White 2
Omega Ruby, Alpha Sapphire
There have been indications of further chronicles, under the names Sun and Moon, although they are at this time unknown.
-- -- -- -
Typed on mobile, please forgive typos. First time doing a writing prompt, feedback welcomed!
Edit: mobile does n't like my formatting attempts, I will try to fix them from my computer later.
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[ WP ] A fully-grown man has somehow avoided any exposure to concept of death , until now .
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Dr. Malvack enters the examination room, chart in hand. This is the hardest part of the job for him. It's never been easy to tell a patient that their last days are approaching. Letting out a sigh, he slowly pulled back the curtain that is separating him from Ken. They quickly make eye contact.
`` Hey Doc! good to see you again. That pretty little nurse was just in here; she brought me a jello pack! You know if she's single?'' Ken said with a huge grin and a wink.
`` Oh, i'm not sure about that now. But I'm afraid we have bigger worries than that, my friend,'' Dr. Malvack said softly. He began shuffling through his charts, unable to maintain eye contact with Ken.
Ken tilted his head, slightly perplexed by the doctors response.His mouth then dropped, his eyes gleamed with confusion. He then mutters, `` so you're telling me-''. Ken pauses to gather his thoughts. Dr. Malvack raises his hand and covers his face, he knows this was the part where he must tell Ken of his inevitable death.
Ken clears his throat and begins again, `` so you're telling me that nurse Kelly is a lesbian?''
Dr. Malvack's head snapped back, eyes wide open, starring at Ken. `` Lesbian? No! NO-no-no,'' Dr. Malvak lets out a chuckle, `` Ken, she's not a lesbian. You're dying. You have stage 4 colon cancer.'' His hand quickly snaps back over his mouth, realizing he just told a man he was dying while laughing. Ken stared back at the doctor, then his head slumped down to his knees.
`` Ken, buddy, i'm so sorry. I know its hard to come to terms with but there is nothing we can do at this stage.'' Dr. Malvack said, while placing a hand on Kens shoulder.
`` So, how long before nurse Kelly comes back in here?'' Ken asked.
Baffled by the question, Dr. Malvack responds `` I'm not sure. Do... do you have any questions for me regarding your condition?''
Ken thinks for a brief second, `` Do you think you could get Miss Kelly to bring me a coffee? two sugars, please.''
`` Son, do you realize what i just said to you? You are dying. You only have a couple months at best,'' Dr. Malvack says sternly. You can sense a bit of aggravation in his voice.
Ken, taken back by the doctors tone, replies, `` okay, okay, Doc. I wo n't stay here for 2 months, do n't you worry.'' Ken stands to his feet. `` We can go ahead and get this whole'dying' thing out of the way, then you can send me home on my merry little way.''
`` That's not how death works!'' yelled Dr. Malvack.
upset by the doctor's yelling, Ken rips back the curtain and begins walking towards the door. `` Oh, well i am SORRY that I'm not a doctor and i do n't know how everything works around here. I was homeschooled by my disabled mother for God sake!''
Dr. Malvack squints his eyes and hits the palm of his hand against his forehead repeatedly. `` Do you know what'dying' is Ken?''
`` Enlighten me, Merriam-Webster.'' Ken snapped.
`` DEATH! You die! You cease to live! You stop breathing FOREVER and they bury in the ground! Dead!'' Dr. Malvack revolted. He was visibly upset by Kens behavior.
Ken stopped at the door, his whole body slouched as reality set in like a ton of bricks. He slowly turned to the doctor with tears in his eyes and a tremble in his voice. `` You're so fucked up, man.''
Ken then began sprinting through the halls of the hospital blinded by the tears in his eyes. Nurses and patients scurry out of his way. Dr. Malvack, realizing what he has done, sets chase after Ken who quickly turns down the hall towards the lobby and disappears.
One of the nurses at the nurses station approaches Dr. Malvack, seeing that he is visibly upset by what just transpired. `` Dr. Malvack, is everything okay?'' said the nurse. He then handed the nurse Kens chart and mumbled, `` yeah, i guess. just had to tell that poor guy he was dying.'' He turned and began to walk away, staring at his feet. The nurse glances at the clipboard and looks back at the doctor.
`` Hey Dr. Malvack...'' Malvack stops in his tracks and slowly turns to the nurse.
`` Yes...'' he said with a big sigh.
The nurse gave him a sassy smirk and said, `` Wrong lab results. these are for the patient in room 233. Your guy just ran out of room 227,'' as she shoves the clipboard back into his hands.
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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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We used to meet two times a day, three times on a holiday. And then one day the visits just stopped, months went by and I was all alone. The water in the house dried up, the pipes began to rust, but still I waited. Until one beautiful autumn day, a man in a hard hat appeared in my doorway, and he smiled, and I smiled, and he sat down like you used to and filled me with love. I never did see him again, my last memory, a sledge hammer that had caught me by surprise broke my porcelain mouth, and with another blow shattered my tank as darkness came to consume me. The world faded to black as my water spilled out onto the floor. In my last moments I felt serene as a brilliantly brown glowing essence descended to the floor and said to me: `` my child, you have done well, now come and be the throne of God''
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[ WP ] Write a horror story that would normally be terrifying but is made comical by a mistake on the monsters/killers part
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Arms are nice things to have. Shame that one of yours just got torn off by that freakish mass of tentacles. Your feet pound against gravel as you sprint down the pathway, the adrenaline pumping through your arteries and out of the stump where your left arm used to be.
'Oh god, please, PLEASE let him be home.' You try to assure yourself that Connor is still at home watching the soccer game he had n't stopped talking about for weeks. For once, his addiction for sports might save your life. His house comes into view, the windows lit up with a yellow glow. All that was between you and your safety now was fifteen yards.
A tentacle rips into your back and throws you forwards violently. You tumble to the ground, the wet sloshing of that thing behind you growing louder. You scramble back to your feet, which has become more difficult without two arms to push you up faster. Suddenly, the black mass behind you starts to laugh. It's high-pitched, insane. You turn your head back to see a small girl sticking out of the ooze's core, her body stained black by the creature.
There's madness in her eyes. She has become a part of it, a soulless chunk on a horrible statue. `` Why are you running? Come and play. I promise we'll have fun together. Just come back.'' Of course, there was no way in hell you were going to listen to her. Your legs feel limp, your chest burns. You stagger closer to your salvation, the door only a few meters away. A tentacle wraps around your leg, hoisting you up into the air like a limp french fry.
You muster all the strength you have left into one final effort to save yourself. `` CONNOR! There's a monster out here! Help me!'' Another tentacle sticks itself into your mouth to shut you up. It tastes awful, like tar and licorice mixed with a putrid soup. You're bleeding out now. Your vision starts to blur. The door opens, and your friend Connor, a lean jock with a stupid mullet, runs out to see what was happening on his doorstep. He looks up at the writhing tentacles, at the little girl whose eyes radiate pure madness and fear. He opens his mouth.
`` God damnit, Lissie.''
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[ IP ] What is your explanation for this scene ?
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Everything was ready. The sun's rays slowly slipped below the blue ocean horizon. The table was ornately decorated, with napkins expertly folded and a beautiful candle centerpiece. Four torches surrounded the table, along with many more candles. The luminescent glow shone into the quickly developing night.
A man put the finishing touches on his masterfully crafted scene before sitting down and waiting. This beach was quite a romantic spot. The condo's owner had been nice enough to grant him a secluded section on the beach for the evening, free of charge. He looked out over the now darkening water.
Minutes soon passed into hours. Periodically, the man would hear a noise, thinking it was her, but it always turned out to be nothing. The man wept into the bouquet of flowers he had been holding for her. Yet still, he held out hope that she would come.
As day broke across the sea, he gave up those last shreds of hope. Dejected, he carried his flowers away. The beautiful scene he had so meticulously created in the very spot where they had met all those years ago was all for nothing.
Seeing him walk away, the recently hired concierge spoke, rather heartbroken to the condo's owner. `` All of that work and those wasted hours, and she still did n't come. The poor guy must really have done something awful to deserve this.''
`` I did n't expect her to come,'' replied the manager. The concierge seemed rather taken aback by this.
`` Really? Have you lost all your hope in humanity,'' she asked.
He answered, `` Well, she has been dead for seven years now. When she died, something snapped, you know, mentally. He builds this scene every year, and waits for her to come. I always let him use this space. I've never had the heart to tell him the news. The grief of the realization that she's dead would probably kill him.''
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[ WP ] You are a passive aggressive time traveler , who tries to make people feel bad for things that have n't even happened yet .
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Kara was glaring at him again. `` Okay this is the third time I'm going to ask, Are you sure we are cool. cause you are acting like you are mad at me but you are not yelling.''
`` No Querl I'm not mad, Why would I be mad? Its not like you have done anything. you just home, and I only got here my self five minutes before that.''
`` so there is no logical reason, that you can be upset.''
`` Yes.'' her eye was almost twitching at this point. `` Not like you did something very upsetting, and should be apologizing to me for being so awful.''
`` I agree. Because I have n't.''
She rolled her yes and mad a noise of disgust `` Yeah'' her tone was sarcastic. `` you have n't yet.''
he tried to process what she was saying. `` Are we fighting about something I have n't done yet?''
`` WE ARE NOT FIGHTING.''
`` can I know what I'm going to do?''
`` so you can do it again right now?'' she scoffed again.
`` Fine then I'm sorry.''
`` you do n't mean that.'' She scoffed again `` you do n't even know what you are apologizing for.''
`` you know what Kara do n't be surprised when I keep doing it.''
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[ WP ] I was falling to pieces . Literally . I had a manual on how to put me back together , though .
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Inside the room of a normal teenage girl exists a talking head of a teenage girl. She's Leah, and right now, she's only a head. She's on her bed, and opposite to her is her best friend, Jennifer.
`` This seems unfortunate,'' Leah said, closing her eyes.
`` You think?'' Jennifer said, visibly perplexed by the situation. `` Where's the rest... of you?'' she gulped.
`` Do n't know, I woke up like this.''
`` How exactly do you just wake up as a head?''
`` I told you, I do n't know,'' she wants to shake her head, but the lack of a torso prohibits her so. `` Ah wait, there's a suitcase below my bed, that might provide some clues.''
Jenny took the surprisingly heavy suitcase and opened it, with much difficulty. She screamed after seeing its contents.
`` Oh, so that's where they are,'' inside the suitcase is Leah's body parts, fitted and arranged neatly. `` There's a paper, can you hold it for me?''
Despite feeling nauseated, Jennifer did as she's told and let Leah read the paper.
`` It's a manual on how to put me back.''
Jennifer then looks at the paper and saw the procedure as follows.
`` Step one: Stick them together to where they belong.''
So far so good, Jenny thought.
`` Step two: There's no step two.''
Stressed by the situation, Jennifer did n't take the paper's humor kindly. She rips it to shreds and throws it at the window.
`` Jenny, calm down,'' Leah said. `` Just stick me back, okay,'' she winked.
So Jenny sticks her friend back to normal, one body part after another. Magically, her body part stuck naturally once placed correctly.
`` Finally, I thought I would live out the rest of my life like that,'' Leah stretched her arms and legs, clearly liking the sensation. `` Good thing you came today, I'll probably be dead by the weekend if it were n't for you,'' she hugged Jennifer and kisses her in her cheeks a lot of times
`` It's no big deal,'' Jennifer blushed at her friend's display of gratitude. `` But are you sure you're okay? You're missing a belly button.''
`` That's alright, I do n't think that's important.''
`` How careless...''
...
Later that day, when Jennifer is back to her room, she brought something out of her pocket. It was a belly button. With heavy breaths, she stuck out her tongue and licks it.
`` What the hell am I doing?'' she said, immediately putting the belly button in a safe place, and deciding to go to sleep.
...
Leah felt a wave of gentle tickles in her abdomen for about an hour, failing to sleep miserably.
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[ ip ] Derelict giant
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The metal plates creaked in the wind sometimes and when they did, he could hear it for miles, echoing over the abandoned city.
He walked slowly through dusty corridors, blinking slightly under the harsh white light of the sun. This was a good spot he had found, where the walls of the corridor fell away. He sat on the floor, crossing his legs.
The giant mech loomed before him. Vines grew into its torso. A flock of bird scattered into the air. He sighed with pleasure as a row of giant dandelions twined about its feet.
A few of his creations were wandering about in its shadow, their heads of magnolia petals bobbed in the wind, scattering seeds everywhere. On a whim, he thought a green, green thought and the roots of a nearby oak curled up the robot's leg, slowly snapping it away in a horrendous screech of metal.
This was attempt number five to penetrate the forest kingdom he'd grown in this city. The last attempt, so far. They had n't tried to kill him again for a long time.
Perhaps they finally understood he was n't interested in them. It seemed like it had been so long since he was just another down on his luck businessman trying to etch a living in this city. Before it had happened.
Before he found his power again and made the forest wake up.
Now he was never going to be alone again. His loving creations faced up at his thought, hands of chlorophyll and vine clenched in worship.
He eyed the mech. The pilot inside had starved to death a week ago and the corpse was ripe and bloated. With a thought, a seed took root in the head of the corpse, sprouting so rapidly that it shattered the glass of the cockpit, scattering a rainbow towards the ground.
The flower was a red, red rose.
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[ WP ] Whenever you hear somebody 's voice , you can feel the things they feel .
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It was through a wall, but I could hear the murmurs. What I felt though, was unbearable. I fell out of bed I was so overwhelmed. A knife gutted me open across the belly. The helplessness bruised my knees and had swollen my throat. My eyes stung.
I had to tug on Jack, fast asleep on the other side of the bed.
`` The meds'' I rasp. `` Jack!''
Drunk in his sleep, he sobered up after one look at me and darted for the bathroom. He came back with my nitrate complex and I chewed a pill. The severity came down and I could catch my breath.
Jack was beside me rubbing my back, waiting for an explanation, until he heard the glass broke in the neighbor's apartment. Then came the door slam.
`` Not again'' Jack was annoyed, `` What is it now?''
`` I think... she cheated on him'' I told him.
`` Fucking bitch!'' He made a fist.
`` Babe, please.'' I was starting to feel the fire in his words boil my innards.
`` Oh right, sorry.'' A year later and he still had to remember the impact anyone's words had on me, especially his.
The thing that put him above and beyond anyone else I had dated was all the ways he would help me. He put on some sweats and went next door.
I crawled back into bed, but tried to eavesdrop. There was some courteous small-talk, which still pricked at me like needles. But Jack was persistent. They went inside, Jack helped clean up the glass and the thank-yous slowly cleared my eyes.
They talked a little more, and slowly the emotions came flooding out again. I could hear the sobbing, and while I felt my stomach, knees, and eyes ache like they did before, the sensation was more soothing. As if someone was putting Bengay over those trouble spots.
I was comfortable enough once Jack and our neighbor managed to share a laugh. He tried to sneak back to bed, but I needed one last fix.
`` Babe? Tell me you love me?''
`` I love you, Christina.''
I was out like a light.
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[ WP ] Death comes knocking at your door . Literally . He needs your help finding an address in your neighborhood , which unfortunately is your house . Good thing the door number was broken .
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Someone knocked on the door. I pause my Youtube video and trudged to the front door to check out the peephole. It's a small boy who looked quite lost.
Dern hooligan, I jokingly thought and open the door.
The businesswoman tapped her foot impatiently. `` Yes, I require assistance. I'm looking for 256 Oak Trail, and I've checked the whole street. Do you know that address?''
Annoyed, I replied curtly, `` This is 256 Oak Trail, ma'am, what do you need?''
`` Oh, how delightful!'' The thin grunge teen exclaimed. `` I'm looking for an, um...''
The lady checked her notebook, `` Samantha? ``
Panic filled me, what could I have done? I do n't remember doing anything bad enough to warrant a house visit. `` I am Samantha, sir.''
`` Well, in that case, I regret to inform you that today is the day you die.'' He solemnly informed me.
Relief and confusion flooded me. `` What? How would you know?''
She raised her notebook with a frail, shriveled hand, `` I am Death, and these are your peers for today. ``
Joy. Tinged with worry. `` Will I get a moment to tell my family I love them?''
He studied me carefully, `` You are n't scared or mad.''
It was n't a question, but I answered, `` Depression is a hell of a thing. I'm glad it is n't me, to be honest.''
They grimaced but inclined their head, `` Make your calls and texts. It will be tonight, but not now.''
Why am I staring at my neighbor's lawn?
With a scoff and a sudden urge to text my family out of the blue, I retreated into my home. Happy.
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[ WP ] Vegan terrorist group utilizing ticks to make the human race incapable of consuming meats and dairy . ( Related article inside )
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Within weeks, the world was transformed. To be honest, it seemed like the hippies had been on to something. I mean, it's true that meat is much less sustainable to produce, and with all the starving people in the world it was a bit selfish to indulge in retrospect, primitive in fact.
I cruised down the street on my fixed gear bicycle, pondering all the reasons why the new world was so much better.
Now that I did n't eat meat, I felt like I connected a lot better with animals. It was like, we were sharing the earth, we might as well not eat each other, y'know? There had been so many animal factories in the old world, pumping the innocent critters full of unnatural hormones so they would get fatter and what not.
I whipped my head back quickly, my dreadlocks had been blocking my field of vision.
Now that we were all eating vegetables, we all just got smarter and better in general. We agreed as a collective that the vegan'terrorist' group should be decorated as heroes and that the next step should be to all begin driving hybrid cars. It was a small step, personally I thought any type of car was still a sign of the western slave mind, but the rest of the world was n't quite on my level yet.
Finally, I had arrived at my destination. I was going to a concert that was being headlined by my favorite band, `` Vegan and Seeken,'' a southern electro-pop/classical hiphop group that had extremely progressive lyrics. I checked my fingernails to make sure the black nail polish had n't worn off as I equipped my lens-less thick framed glasses.
I entered the venue and went to the bathroom for a piss. After I drained the snake, I went to wash my hands... that's when it hit me. I started crying at my reflection, what had I become? I took my off my che guevera shirt and threw it to the ground and ran home crying.
I searched my house frantically for it, finally finding it under my bed. It was my last relic of sanity that had somehow survived the transition to the new world, I put it to my head and pulled the trigger.
The bullet bounced off my dreadlocks and into the recycling bin... No.. This could n't be! Just then there was a knock on the door, could they know already? I went to answer the door and my jaw dropped, it was the Vegan Police.
`` Suicide is n't conscious bro, you are part of this society, we need you to move forward!'' he said with a crazy looking smile as he threw handcuffs around my wrist, `` Follow me man! There's a baller protest happening in times square to protest soap!''
I was trapped. Trapped forever.
/r/PsychoWritingPrompts
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[ WP ] You are the only meteorologist in a post-apocalyptic future .
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Hello everyone, and thanks for listening to KAGS, the only radio station for 500 miles! Remember, if you want to contribute to keep the station running, leave supplies on the concrete pad at 30Β°36'54.9'' N 96Β°20'18.1'' W, around noon any given day!
Now for the weather! Current pressure is 30.55 inches of mercury, atmospheric moisture, 55 %. Be careful, with the dust storm blowing in from the east, gas masks *are going* to get clogged. Prevailing winds are, as said, from the east, and local radiation is 12 rads/hour.
It's brutal folks, as we enter the 2nd month of the drought, so conserve water! If possible, try to limit your salt intake. Remember, those canned goods you're subsisting on probably have massive amounts of sodium in them.
And now, for the ten-thousandth time, on this, the illustrious anniversary of the Big One, REM's `` It's the end of the world as we know it!''
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[ WP ] An oddly dressed man comes up to you on the street and frantically asks you what the year is . The problem is that you are also a time traveller and you have no clue what year it is .
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Forgive me if my writing veers off topic or is full of spelling and grammar errors. Firstly, I am more of a math and science type of guy so English was never really my strong suit. Secondly, I'm kind of drunk which also does n't help with one's knowledge of the English language. I tend to be kind of drunk most of the time. You'll find that most frequent time travelers are drunk most of the time, comes with the territory. No play on words intended. Secondly, you'll find a lot of geniuses are drunk most of the time as well. I guess if you time travel often or if you have a high IQ you see the world as a pretty awful place, ignorance is bliss and all that jazz. Now, I call myself a genius because I invented time travel but that's not anything special you see. Lots of people have independently invented time travel and lots of those people were geniuses but none of them were special. I'm a genius and a time traveler and a wino but to say I am special would be like saying you are special because you are a farmer who owns a tractor, it all is just part of the territory. Now meeting a virgin time traveler is always fun in a jaded kind of way. They think they are a genius like no other, they think they are on this amazing journey through time and space and have no idea yet how time travel is nothing short of frustrating.
Everything about time travel is a real pain in the ass:
You have to constantly be wary of paradoxes, you constantly interact with time travelers and you have no idea if they've met you 20 times before or if you're both meeting each other for the first time. You can watch their facial expressions but time travel is like one big back-stabbing game of poker. Why is this? I ca n't tell you, I just know it's all one big paradox thing. You go time travelling for the first time for example and a man reveals to you that he is also a time traveler, he takes you under his wing because your future self will one day take him under his wing/ took him under his wing a long time ago. Sorry if that last sentence was a bit confusing, the grammar is a pain in the ass when it comes to time travel too. Anyway, he tries to kill you and you kill him instead and you have no idea why he did that to you, so one day you're travelling along and you meet a young man full of bright eyed optimism on his first trip and you recognize him right away as the son of a bitch you killed. so you screw him over on his trip without realizing that he now has a grudge against you. So it goes, in an infinite circle. Snake eating its own tail but one of cynicism and whiskey. Seems pointless, right? Why is it this way? It just is, always has been, always will be. Ca n't explain it just the way it is, just like you were born into a world of shit that has been a world of shit due to human nature and will probably always be a world of shit due to human nature. So it makes sense in a twisted kind of way that time travel would be the biggest dog eat dog fuck you there is.
Anyway, I remember back when I thought time travel would be great, that I would meet the world's greatest minds of the past, travel into the future and see the utopia that mankind would build. I listened to a whole hell of a lot of Queen back then. It was bright shiny music for a bright and shiny idealistic fool. I bring this up because there's a song by Queen where Freddy Mercury says `` You say X and I say Y.'' The song is called Bicycle Race, I think. `` You say Black I say White, you say Bark I say Bite, You say Time Travel I say Bullshit.'' This is funny and clever to me but probably not to you because you've never traveled or not yet anyway. Once you time travel enough every time you realize you are about to go on a destined trip that you were always going to go on the one and only word to pop onto your mind is `` bullshit.''
So with all that being said imagine my utter disdain when a past version of a guy I'm gon na kill at some point dragged me along on a time travel trip because my future self told him it had to happen. Imagine how pissed off I was when something went wrong and I got dumped off in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nowhen. Imagine how big of a sigh I sighed when a big bozo in a purple spandex suit with one pink monocle jello cup looking thing on his face with a face full of naive optimism, confusion, and pride shook my shoulders and asked me what year it was.
I could tell he was popping his own cherry because he looked full of himself and confused. I could tell he was from one of many alternate futures because I could n't even begin to describe how stupidly he was dressed. So when this guy asked me what year it was I laughed a bit, I was pissed off but I laughed a bit. Sidenote: Yes time travel is full of fate and paradoxes but also alternate futures. Time travel follows some rules some times and other rules other times because Time travel is bullshit. Anyway:
I laughed and told the guy I had no clue, told him it was his first time travel trip, told him not to sit back and we would figure this shit out. Of course I thought for a bit there maybe he was really a good actor, maybe my future self had fucked over his past self and this was more time travel bullshit, but nobody is that good of an actor. What I mean by that is the man's sheer look of disgust and confusion when I offered him my wine could not have been acting. The man recoiled and loudly asked me if people in this time still drank ethanol for recreation. I sighed and smiled a bit and drank a swig for myself. not too big of a swig mind you, because he would change his mind eventually.
`` I sure hope so new friend, because we're gon na need a lot more where this came from. I can tell already by the feel of things this is gon na be a long one.'' `` I'm confused, what do you mean? I'm from the future.'' he asked me as his face that once thought it was the face of a genius who knew more than anybody else went from half confusion to sheer and total confusion. `` I know.'' I said and laughed `` I may be from the future too, or maybe in this time I'm from the past, I do n't know.'' and he just looked at me with more and more confusion as his world turned upside down. It's messed up that seeing somebody start to soak in the wonder of time travel is the only time I get joy in life, but hey you got ta get your kicks somewhere. Right?
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[ WP ] You are seemingly all alone in the middle of a desert with no way back to civilisation apart from a pack of cards to play solitaire with . You see a figure on the horizon .
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I thought it was a mirage at first, I'd seen enough to know they were common. The silhouetted figure moved towards me with an experienced step, this person was a veteran at traversing the desert it seemed.
As the figure came closer to me I could see the clothing he wore, he looked Bedouin by the traditionally colored Ghutrah on his head right down to the robes. He was close enough to see his face now, and he was not of Arabian descent. He looked Caucasian, a traveler perhaps? He approached me.
`` I have wandered these baron deserts alone for years now, but this is the first time I have seen somebody alive out here.''
His accent sounded off. It was n't something I could ever trace back, it just sounded too perfect.
`` Who are you?''
Before I could answer him back, he interjected.
`` I know who you are already, there is no use in denying it. You are Abdul Akhir are you not?''
How did this traveler know my name, my full name? I nodded in compliance.
`` Yes, of course.''. The traveler looked out over the miles and miles of sand dunes, the breeze lightly catching his face, making his Ghutrah flutter. `` You have a pack of cards in your bag, do you not?''
I looked down into my satchel, and there it lay. My packs of cards. I nodded in compliance. He smiled at me.
`` I have a wager for you, if you'll take it.''. His brow creased as the sun shone across his face. He then looked into the sun directly, for what seemed like an eternity. A smile rose from his face. `` Do you remember how you got out here? Do you remember days before today?''
I could n't. I do n't know what else to say, I could n't think of how I had come to be in the middle of the desert with a single pack of cards on me. I ca n't remember anything before today.
The traveler looked at me. `` I brought you out here for a reason, your name. Do you know what it means in your culture?''
Abdul Akhir was'Servant of the Last' in my culture.
`` I wager you your soul, on a game of cards.''
I dropped my satchel, removed the cards and played them out on the sand. The devil made his first move...
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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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I was drumming my fingers until I remembered that she hated that. The noise. It spooked her and she never got to sleep at a proper time once she heard it. I could hear her heavy breathing, so I stopped and sighed and stood watch.
Laid watch. The bend of the dimension under ones bed is big enough to fit my ten foot frame, if I'm laying down. But I ca n't stand. I can hardly sit up, truth be told.
So I lay there, waiting. It was about three in the morning and I knew that the father was going to be by. Knowing something is going to happen and being able to stop it are two different things. It was pretty clear why I got this assignment. The father was a nightmare. The mother was, too, but for different reasons. She encouraged his behavior.
Normally he stayed away, particularly after the last time. I hit him so hard... well, her bedroom door was new.
But tonight he'd been drinking, and that gives all kinds of creatures all kinds of courage, which was fine. The knuckles in my right hand popped hard and loud as I flexed it. I'd been given new orders. The girl was to move in with her grandparents, who were nice, according to their file.
I would have taken care of this hours ago, but I ca n't leave the bedroom.
All I had to do was wait for the father to open the door.
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[ WP ] In another another universe on the planet of zombies , a `` living Apocalypse '' has happened .
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After the Great Resurrection, the world zombiekind once knew was gone forever.
Bill the One-armed shuffled along a once familiar grove only to encounter some kind of structure. Trees that once framed his favorite haunt now were downed and mutiliated into thick, insurmountable sheets. His eyes glazed upward towards an opposing pair of eyes.
The face atop the wall panicked and thrust one of the tree's dismembered branches into Bill's right eye.
Bill found the exchange unpleasant and wandered off from the fortress. Some distance away he encountered a large pack of undead. This was a pleasant surprise for Bill as packs had been thinning ever since the ressurrections.
Joining the pack, Bill and company sauntered through the woodlands in a close knit formation. Strange sounds echoed among the forest surroundings as moonlight crept in through the leaves. A mob of the living wielding burning tree limbs circled the pack and began to light every zombie on fire.
Bill moaned and swatted in a pathetic attempt at protest. The living were going to destroy everything he loved. In a desperate attempt, Bill climbed upon the nearest living body and sunk his teeth into its head. Gnawing uncontrollably, Bill continued until he felt a squish.
The living body stopped struggling and became noticably more docile. The other zombies, still ablaze, watched in fascination. A few copied his efforts and saw a similar outcome. The unchewn living shreiked and retreated.
Bill and company decide they had a chance to take back their peaceful world. He dreamed of the day he and his kind could roam freely through unspoiled pastures.
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[ WP ] `` You '' is the name of a real person in another reality . Every time someone submits a new Writing Prompt , it happens to You . `` Why do they write these prompts in the 2nd person ? ! '' cries You . But You has discovered a way to escape their torment .
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`` Hey girls! Check this out!''
Chika was waving excitedly from in front of a laptop. The other girls slowly gathered around. Riko sighed impatiently.
`` We're in the middle of practice, Chika. Stop fooling around and distracting us.''
`` Cmon, this will only take a minute. Look!''
Chika presented a wall of English text. The girls furrowed their eyes and tried to make sense of it all.
`` Chika, I ca n't read this, and I'm pretty sure my English is better than yours.'' Kanan gave up after a moment. `` What about you, Mari?''
She looked around.
`` Mari?''
`` Mari left early today,'' Dia explained. `` Back to this website... yeah, I have no idea what you're trying to show us, Chika.''
`` Look at this!''
Chika pointed to a single word on the screen.
Y-O-U.
`` You?'' asked Ruby.
`` Yup!'' Chika was excited. `` It's everywhere!''
Sure enough, the word was everywhere on the page.
`` I did n't know You was so famous in America!''
`` You idiot.'You' is just the English word for γγͺγ.'' Riko facepalmed. `` I ca n't believe we're getting sidetracked over something like this.''
`` But! What if they were actually talking about You?'' Chika insisted. `` How do you know they're not? You ca n't read the website either!''
`` Speaking of You...'' Hanamaru looked at the other girls. `` Has anyone seen or heard from her lately?''
`` Now that you mention it, she has n't been home for the past week.'' Chika scratched her head. `` Kanan, have you seen her?''
`` Not at all. Dia? Ruby?''
Ruby shook her head. `` Yoshiko-chan?''
There was a brief silence.
`` Yoshiko-chan?''
`` Ku ku ku. So I've finally been called. Looks like it's my time to shine! For I am the great fallen angel Yohane! I have come upon this earth to bring-''
`` I have n't seen her lately either,'' Riko added. `` Maybe something's happened to her? We should make sure she's alright.''
*'' Do n't interrupt Yoshiko-'' *
The door flew open with a bang. Standing in the doorway was You, panting heavily and covered head to foot with injuries and bruises. She had a pair of devil horns that had ripped through the wizard's hat she was wearing. Her two eyes had different colors, each with strange markings on the iris. In her arms she had a large glowing sword, a skull, the keys to the Batmobile, and some kale. She was wearing what looked to be a Ghenghis Khan outfit on top, but her attire below the waist was clearly straight out of 1940s Germany. Fairy dust and sparkles danced around her. Her feet were missing, and instead her legs gradually faded into smoke that was rising out of a lamp on the ground.
There was a dragon behind her.
Dia fainted, joining her sister who had been on the ground the moment the door opened. Hanamaru looked confused. Riko and Kanan were respectively pinching each others' cheeks. Yoshiko stared at the scene before her as if all her dreams and nightmares came true at the same time.
You looked at Chika. `` *That's it. * I'm changing my name.''
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[ WP ] You have a great career , happy family life , beautiful children and a beautiful spouse ... things are great . One morning you wake up alone and find that your family was only a dream ... you are alone .
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I have long been working it out. The physics are a little daunting, complex enough that it would take hours, maybe days, and the help of a whiteboard, to explain. I will defer the advanced math for another session, perhaps.
The gist of it is that co-nested dimensions yield pockets of time which are doors into each dimension from the other. How these pockets form is still a great mystery to scientists, but they have been known to manifest through great trauma. Such times ripe for this phenomena to occur: when I was young and the pain of the illness that hobbled me would surge through my broken body.
As for my experiences there: I have perfect memory of everything.
I lived a whole life in the span of minutes. I was born into that other dimension, on an alien world in its peculiar orbit around its inverse star.
I grew up, went through alien puberty, developed crushes on alien girls, one in particular lasting me the rest of my inhuman life.
I underwent education of sorts and gained employment as something not unlike a barber here on Earth, except hair was not thin, dead strands, but long, slippery tentacles of luminous flesh that one hacked off with a sharp edge. The wounds I created would bleed light, languorous and viscous as lava lamp blobs, that flowed, as all other forms of light, into the inverse star around which the planet reverse-orbited. It β s hard to describe but have you ever seen a long exposure of a hot air balloon festival at night? It is like a million, bright ribbons going into the sky. This is what it was like being a barber on this world, respected, revered. Not some soul destroying work, like being a remote customer support representative, which they did not even have over there.
It was not all visual, this vividness. In my free time I perfected the Strystlelyx, the most sacred of instruments. It had an intoxicating sound that I've always struggled to recall. Over the years there I grew to master it. One day a concert was held in my honor, a concert in which I was to perform. I played so well there was nary a dry eye for my solo and their mercurial tears streamed upwards joining together overhead.
With my wife I grew old, but something about gravity there made it seem as if growing old was the same as growing buoyant. With sadness and gratitude, I held a funeral for my wife who passed before me, less like a burial and more like a Viking ritual, a ship burning into night.
Soon after it was my time to go. I just lay down and floated away. The voices of my children around me soothing and reassuring. They told me something that, like the voice of my instrument, I strain every night to recall. I can only remember the complete peace it lay upon me. They spoke of something so immense and so right. In this way they sang me into eternity, which here was simply waking to the sticky residue of sweat on my skin, and an aching, the telltale signs I had been away.
The power company finally turned off the heat, today. As I lay here I watch my breath curling above me. It β s a minor beauty but it passes the time. I β ve no electricity, no computer, no work. Only dictation. On my phone.
The phone also did dial the power company for me. The woman on the end seemed less than sympathetic. She droned on about collections and dues so much I drifted off, hung up.
The tips of my nose, my fingers are numb. Pretty soon it will be the rest.
Yet I smile.
Even the most terrestrial of moments can not pull me back down. In the span of minutes I β ve lived life, loved great loves and mastered the ancient Strystlelyx. And now another such span approaches and I can feel them all around my bed cladding me in an armor of light. So much for my petty troubles on this backwards planet while it circled a simple, ordinary star.
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[ WP ] Your university has adopted a professional dress code which all students must adhere to . Although you all hated it at first , many students are beginning to love the change
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It was born out of care, they said. Created in response to the worsening behaviour, to the shift in attitudes towards opinions about appearance. Some people hated it. `` Political correctness gone mad,'' they said. `` We're falling down a slippery slope!'' Others... well, some others loved it from the start.
But for most people it was just awkward and difficult. People who've lived their whole lives choosing how they presented themselves to the world, basing their identities on their image. We even taught fashion here, and these new rules certainly shook up that department. So, at first the adjustment was the hardest part.
Eventually, though, people dealt with it. Some of the angry voices went silent, and the worst calmed down to a disgruntled murmur. The repeated explanations from admin - it's proven to help with self-esteem, it creates a more accepting culture, it gets rid of obvious rich/poor boundaries - started to sink in. The students themselves spread the word to their family and friends, and defending the choices the university made. We were proud of our new image. And the best part? It actually worked! We were all more confident in ourselves, we cared less about appearance and more about what we were as people. Some of the predicted `` downsides'' did come true, but hey change is a good thing, and downsides turned into upsides.
All in all, I really like our university now. The change was hard, but we made it through. The biggest hurdle now is getting the other unis to stop calling us `` University of Nude.''
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[ WP ] Write an emotionally compelling narrative from the perspective of an inanimate object .
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You allow me to whisper the sweet words of your lover to your ears,
even though you say you love me.
But you do love me.
through thick, thin and whirls within.
I know this.
I love this
And that's why it breaks me so.
I cherish the days you hold me close,
the days you clothe me and protect me from all else
You represent the guard between my life and death,
the defence against the world that would hurt me.
and I love you for it.
But I'm sorry.
I do n't know how to put it in words,
but days soon,
I will cease to be,
and it will break your heart.
You've kept me whole and safe
since my unfortunate *almost* drowning experience
But I'm afraid to say,
it left me scarred and damaged.
So when the day comes,
and I end up quiet and unresponsive,
please let me go,
knowing full well of what I think of you.
Let me go and embrace the replacement.
After all, even with all the love in the world,
I'm still only just a phone.
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[ WP ] Strategy versus tactics
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James `` Wash'' Washbourne was the head of the `` Giant Slayers'', a squad attached to a top secret military organization with ties to the Department of Defense. The kind of organization that was funded by a vague paragraph in a farm bill- and one titled The United States Mystical Defense and Procurement Branch of the Armed Forces- Or Boogeymen, as the nickname was given by the rookies.
He glanced over a strategy session- Maps of a strange section of the northern Canadian wilderness that just appeared after a snowstorm- And the Canadian government requested assistance with it's strange inhabitants. He went over drills- The ordinance they used was powerful and unique, even for black ops- But still, the odds were dangerous.
It took a half of a day to get to the drop-point. Each moment was spent with his team going over potential plans, drills and strategy-
When they were knocked out of the sky with a giant rock, thrown by a gigantic man made of snow and ice. The helicopter spun into a landing- and the squad was forced to scatter, bringing the wounded to cover.
Strategy versus tactics- And tactics do n't get much more simple than'Smash puny thing.'
James sighed. Today was gon na be a long day.
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[ WP ] A home invasion burglar who forces his victims to play board games at gunpoint .
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`` Did I say you could stop?'' shouted the burglar, waving his gun at the frightened family huddled in the living room. A monopoly game was laid out between them. The curtains had been drawn, shielding passersby from the horrific scene inside.
The rather mousy boy, whose gaze had drifted away from the game, turned his attention back to the board with a muffled yelp. It was his turn to roll the die now. Double sixes. He passed Go. With trembling fingers he collected $ 200 from his equally nervous mother. He rolled again and landed on Chance. He picked up a Get Out of Jail Free card. The game continued, observed closely by the burglar. He sat in an armchair beside the family, his gun resting on his knee, eyes fixed on the board.
Finally, after six hours of intense playing, the mother had brought her children and husband to bankruptcy and won the game. Houses and hotels were scattered across the board. A fistful of $ 500 bills were clenched in her hands. She wiped the sweat from her brow and gazed at the burglar.
He had leaned back in the armchair. `` Hmm...'' he began pensively. `` I thought it would end differently. Oh well, now I know. Thanks.'' Without another word, he rose and left the house by the front door.
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[ WP ] Looking back on it , you 're starting to regret setting your childhood home on fire .
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β It was *not* my fault! β I screech at myself in the mirror. The tears in my eyes blur my vision and my reflection starts to look more like a demon than a human. I β m snarling and my fists are balled so tightly I β m making grooves in my hands with my nails.
* β Don β t bite your nails Madeleine β * she told me.
β No, *mother*! β I spit at my reflection.
She always told me what to do.
*It β s not very becoming of you Madeleineβ¦ little girls don β t shoutβ¦ your brother is so much better behavedβ¦ you β re not a patch on him. *
My father was nicer. He worked a lot but when he was home he β d pull me on his knee and tell me stories. *She* would never do that. She would hardly touch me unless it was a sharp smack for misbehaving.
I β d always try not to scream. She wanted me to scream but I wouldn β t let her get the satisfaction. I β d cry afterwards though. I β d hide in my wardrobe and rip up my clothes. I liked to destroy things when I was angry. I wanted to destroy *her*.
β But it *wasn β t* your faultβ¦ β I don β t screech it this time. I snarl at the demon in a low voice.
The demon looks back at me shaking its head. Its eyes are turning red and its smiling like it β s laughing at me, baring its teeth.
I just couldn β t take it anymore. It was like she had me pinned down on the cold hard floor and she was sat on my chest pushing all the air out of me. Suffocating.
I had to suffocate her first.
In school they told us that the most dangerous thing about fire was the smoke. The smoke would suffocate you before the fire burned you. I wanted her to suffocate and then to burn in hell. She deserved it all.
Then she would be gone and there would be nobody to run me into the ground. I could sit on father β s lap and he could tell me storiesβ¦
The demon shakes its head disapprovingly, β Oh Madeleineβ¦ β it sighs. It speaks in her voice.
β How could I have known!? β I cry at the demon.
It had been easy to start the fire.
My mother was a smoker funnily enough. They would never believe that the twelve year old had started it. She had a reputation. β Unhinged β they called it. *What a terrible accident* they would say, *the poor children*. And I would be free.
β But it didn β t work like that did it? β The demon was laughing at me, β Stupid girl. β
It hadn β t been hard to start the fire. I lit a match and dropped it onto the carpet. It caught very easily. The house was always warm and dry. My mother hated the cold so the heating was always on full blast. I walked out of the house calmly, *you should always stay calm during a fire. *
It wasn β t until after that I found out my father had come home early. He β d been taking a shower. He didn β t notice the smoke for the steam.
β You didn β t give him a chance did you Madeleine? β
I un-ball my fists and my arms cross grabbing on to my forearms. I let my nails scrape down my skin leaving ugly red tracks.
β I didn β t mean it! β I scream. A fresh flood of tears escape from my eyes and my reflection becomes even more distorted.
β It was *your* fault Madeleine! β My mother is in the mirror and she β s pointing her finger at me accusingly, β He β s dead because of *you*! β
I cry out in pain and without thinking my fist shoots into the mirror in the middle of the demon β s face. Cracks appear immediately and there β s a dull pain pumping through my hand, but I hardly notice it, β you deserve it, β the demon hisses, β you know you can β t control fire. Besides, she β s smarter than you β ll ever be. β
She β s even scarier now. Her face is splashed with red and its smile is crooked. It looks like *her*. β It was your fault your father died! β It croaks.
β I know! β I howl in pain and my body crumples to the floor. β It was my fault, β I curl up into a ball wishing I could disappear.
I should have known that you can β t kill the devil with her own fire.
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[ WP ] There is a worldwide `` Personal Stock Market '' where you can invest in the lives of people . Their stock rises if they are successful in life , their stock drops if they become failures
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( Warning: The following contains foul language, crude subjects, and Leonardo De Caprio not getting an Oscar. )
`` Lookie here! Our boy John's finally getting that promotion to Vice President!''
`` Tell the suited fucks in California to get ready to sell! We're looking at triple profit!''
`` Oh fuck yes!''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
The Personal Stock Market. It's a beautiful thing really. Say one day, you find this poor little hobo on the street. He's covered in shit, wet and pretty much fucked all over. His buying price? I can probably buy the next five fucking years of his life for the price of a tiny can of Coke. Set him as a janitor for a college, teach him to code, get a decent job, yadda yadda. After all that, maybe, just maybe, mind you. I'd make a friggin' three-fifty total for ten years of waiting.
I say fuck that.
No, you want to make money out of some asswipe's life, you've got ta put a little more than just pocket change on the line. No, you've got to slather honey all over that thing; grease palms and give some fat banker cat a handie or two. You get some lowlife dirtbag and hook him up, he'll be set to be the CEO of motherfucking DOW in a little less than six months.
Two years. Two years, you know what I made? Enough for me to pay some Mexican fuckin' Cartel boss suck coke outta his own ass. That's how much.
Course, you do n't get high up in this little song and dance without making a few... business liabilities down the line. Sometimes, you just have to undercut and get into some, how you say, corporate espionage.
Take this fucking mayor down in Texas. He's a great guy, nice car, cute little wife, two kids. Makes a smooth eighty-thousand annually, taking that damn income tax into account. If he had our accounting, he'd be making eight-digits. Anyway, where what was I going on about...
`` Sir! There is a Ms. Kandi with a K waiting for you.''
`` Send her up. Oh! Get me some decent Viagra this time too, this Chinese shit you gave me ai n't doing any fucking crap!''
`` Right, sir.''
Ahem. Oh, right, that Texan. Anyway, he was sponsored by some fucking Italian pricks up in NYC. He made them more than I did with that one fat freaking programmer.... On the bright side, at least my TV has a decent framerate. Anyway, we had to put out a hit on him. Two bullets to the head. Italian pricks just lost three-million since they waited too long to sell.
Of course, you can make make even more money on this. Hire some paranoid asswipe on the streets, tell him to blab some bullshit about gun control in Texas. He'll get his name up and everywhere. You invest in some nobody and watch them grow into a somebody for something you did? Hell, that's worth all the change in the world.
I'd go further, but I can tell you're not interested. Nah, your mouth's fucking wet with excitement, ai n't ya?
Come on, sign this contract. You and I are in for making a shit-ton of cash. What do you say?
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[ WP ] Write a letter to your ex .
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Dear Robin,
Wow. Quite an interesting thing how something as beautiful as a star ends with something as devastating as a black-hole. That was us... we were light, then we were dark. I often find myself coercing my brain to hate you. I want to hate you, because if I do n't, I acknowledge how *bad* it was. I acknowledge how bad I made it. You, you beautiful broken masterpiece, you deserved nothing of what I gave you. You, you suicidal manic eloquent angel, you should have taken off for the hills. You should have flew, Robin. Looking back I'm sure you hate me more than anyone alive, I ca n't blame you. After I held your hand as he died of cancer, after I recreated you from the scattered pieces that was your confidence, the wholeness of you weighed like a burden on my shoulders. You were no longer a fascination, you were a scar that placed itself at my side, one I could not erase out of pity. I pitied you, and in my flawed attempts to protect you from the evil of this world, I destroyed you. I could never face you... I hope you've learned from the experience of me. You've taught me what I'm capable of.
-Yours
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[ WP ] You 've discovered no matter what you do , you can not die . So you decide to make the best of it , and live as action packed a life as you can . One day , you are preparing to board an airplane , and Death appears behind you saying , `` Listen , we need to talk . ''
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Bora Bora was the one and only thing on Kristen's mind as she boarded her flight over the Pacific to her island paradise. The breeze, the sand, and the water captured her thoughts like nothing had before, which was saying something considering the fact that Kristen was born in 1635 and was now on her way through the bustling Los Angeles International Airport.
It was n't until her mid-twenties that Kristen noticed something was off. While her friends, sisters, parents, and seemingly the entire planet aged year after year, Kristen had n't grown since 18. Smart enough to realize the dangers of seventeenth century Salem, Kristen quickly but quietly rode her horse far, far from home. While utterly disgusted with the conditions for young women decade after decade, Kristen luckily had nothing to fear from the mortal world. As years passed, Kristen often wondered if perhaps her townspeople were on to something with their fire and their stakes.
Regardless of how she ended up in her position, Kristen made the most of it. A dear friend of Abigail Adams, an instrumental help in the Underground Railroad and even a self-proclaimed video game aficionado, Kristen simply followed life wherever it would take her. And without an unavoidable demise, like the rest of us, life took Kristen very far. All she knew about herself and her condition was that there was killer surf waiting for her in Bora Bora.
After making her way through the terminal, Kristen felt an all too familiar presence immediately behind her.
`` Listen, we need to talk''
`` Ugh, you again''
The scythe that quickly jammed between Kristen and the boarding gate was a `` weapon'' ( Although it did n't really frighten her ) that she had seen one too many times during her three centuries roaming the Earth. Once again, Kristen found herself face to face with Death- literally.
`` Michael I told you to stop following me, It's never going to happen''
`` Just ONE date Kristen, I promise you'll LOVE this place. I mean for God's sake it's PIZZA in ROME!''
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[ WP ] Make the reader feel sympathy for an object or person you would n't normally feel anything for
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Nobody thinks twice about dish washing sponges. We press them into our leftover filth and expect them to remove our messes. No one shows any emotion to the poor sponge as we rub dish washing liquid all over it and repeatedly ram and squeeze the fluid coated sponge against uncomfortable surfaces just so they sparkle.
What do we do when the sponge loses its luster? After it has had enough of us grating, grinding and squishing them. It tries to hang tough, to please its masters by beating themselves up to remove grime. All for what? Its redundancy package is to be tossed in the bin with the crap it has been cleaning all of its life!
I bet if we swapped shoes with our dutiful sponge, we would commit suicide in a few days!
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[ WP ] A young couple go on vacation and return only to find that their home town does not exist .
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It is important to remember that both Bill and Sally Radcliffe were both sane.
They were both sane, and they left their house in Saccamaw, Tennessee on a Monday. They arrived back later that day to an empty stretch of grassland, marred only by the highway which cut through it.
The trouble started when a distinguished physicist at an undistinguished university accidentally discovered a process by which one person could travel backward in time, on the same Monday that Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe drove down I-24.
The professor in question died on his journey into the past almost instantly. Transported into the Mesozoic Era, he drowned horribly in the primeval sea.
During his resulting plunge into the abyss, a fish which would have otherwise starved found an anachronistic and providential meal. That fish's descendants would go on in the future to also eat the would-be founder of Saccamaw during his failed ocean crossing from Dublin.
Needless to say, the Radcliffe's should have ceased to exist the moment when the distinguished professor at the undistinguished university travelled back in time, or at least have ended up in some other town, with no memory of Saccamaw.
However, in an occurrence of unprecedented unlikeliness, both the altered and unaltered universes contained a Bill and Sally Radcliffe traveling down the highway on a Monday. In the first universe, where Saccamaw existed, Bill and Sally Radcliffe were sane, and ceased to exist at an unspecific moment on I-24.
At that same unspecific moment, in the exact spot where the previous Bill and Sally had been driving, a new Bill and Sally happenstanced their way into existence. Bill and Sally had been insane their entire lives. Among other insane things, they believed, for no reason that any psychologists could ever determine, that they both lived in a place which had never existed, called Saccamaw.
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[ WP ] Write the villain 's beautiful , poetic speech that they tell the hero before the climax of the story .
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`` Oh, you're still alive.''
`` I probably should have expected that, but how was I to know that you would unite the mongrels with the beasts? You even sealed away The Weeping Earth for another dozen millennia.''
`` And for what? To perpetuate the lie of the world? To create a mockery of a peace between living fantasies and the mongrel humans?! For one who knows the truth of everything, you sure do love breaking the ultimate law.''
`` Come on, you have seen the unseen faces of the real enemy. Hell, you've sealed away the cause of this broken world, yet you refuse to fight them. Instead you kill all of my agents, imprison my family and hunt me down.''
`` This fight should n't be happening. You should n't exist. None of us should have ever been born! It's the Eldritch Truth of Reality! The Natural and the Supernatural were never intended to meet on the same plane!''
`` I am Marisa Scrake, Last Royal Vampire of the Scrake Family. You will not stop me from making the world right!''
*cue boss fight music*
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[ WP ] When did it become time to give up ?
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`` Since when did it become time to give up?!''
Her eyes are hard. Her face is screwed up in disbelief. Sweat pours down it, short hair stuck to her skin. Her breathing is hard. She is red in the face, her sports bra is sticking to her chest. The question comes angry from her, but not in a mean way.
`` It became time when I could n't fucking do this!''
He's also red in the face. It's a little rounder than usual, from the extra weight. His shirt clings to him, and his shorts. He feels like he ca n't breathe from the exertion. Tears well up in his eyes from the frustration. He beats himself up in his mind, and yells, and screams. He ca n't believe he ca n't fucking do *this*. A *kilometre*, and he feels like having an asthma attack.
`` You wan na play again? Huh? Or are you just gon na sit and cry about your injury?''
He gives her a look, then. His hair is curling up from the sweat. He does wan na play again. Like nothing he's ever wanted before.
`` Of course I do.''
`` Then fucking act like it! My mama taught me that the way you get through in life, is you always, always, *always*, strive to be the best. You look at who's better than you and take it as a personal fucking challenge.''
`` I'm just fat now! Okay?! I ca n't do better! Maybe it's just time to retire!''
`` Fuck that! I have grown up watching you play, you having a grit like nobody else. You're finishing this run.''
`` You have more of a hustle than me! You are young and smart and fast, jeez, lay off!''
It's true. She's sixteen, and he's twenty-eight. The team brought her in because she's dedicated and smart and good. She's energy. She's fucking lightning. They brought her in because she can inspire. He was getting depressed, not coming back from his concussion. And she's the kick in the pants.
`` You do n't think that I get really fucking sad sometimes? You get up and keep going. You get your priorities, you get some respect. It's only time to give up when your bones are broken and your heart is n't beating.''
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[ WP ] After death , you get to see into two windows . One shows the greatest thing you ever did in your life , and the other shows the worst . You peer into both , only to find that they both show the same event ! Describe what you see .
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It felt like diving into a pool of liquid ice. Like the snap of a rubber band I was pulled into a blinding white consciousness. Gradually becoming accustomed to my surroundings, I realized I was standing in my office, or rather what had been now that I was bound to have been replaced. Everything is covered in a blanket of white, all except the United States seal incorporated in the center of the eliptical room's floor. I am- was- the president of the United States. As I walked over to my desk, two of the many frost covered windows suddenly unveiled dual reflections. These reflections soon became clear, and I realized they were memories... ( Someone else please continue... )
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[ WP ] The 3rd wife out of 5 , in a polygamous marriage is pregnant , but it 's not the husbands ( either a different race , or other factors ) , give me a scene out of the discovery .
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`` Push Cynthia! PUSH!'' cries the midwife from somewhere below me. I hear her as if I were underwater. I do n't know how to tell her that I ca n't push.
Pushing will only bring an even worse pain. How can I explain this to her? I have only myself to blame for this. I should have been able to stop all this.
`` Why are n't you pushing?'' She asks me, anger tinging her voice. I say nothing as sweat drips into my eyes and I clench myself even tighter. Maybe I'm delusional. Maybe if I just try hard enough I can stop it. I can fix everything.
`` I'm sorry.'' I whisper.
`` Do n't be sorry. Just push dear. That baby wants out right now!''
She's undeniably right. I look to the corner and see Paul standing stock still, his hat being worked through his hands repeatedly. In the firelight all I see is his hands. My heart burns with love for him. I'm his favorite. He's never said as much but I can see it in his eyes when he and I our together. He could n't confirm it and have everyone else be all jealous could he?
A screaming pain ripped through my belly.
I know now what I have to do. The only way to save our love is for it to end. He can never, ever know. I looked at him.
`` I'm so sorry. I love you Paul.''
With that, I clenched as tightly as I possibly could. The pain was exquisite, but only for a moment.
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[ CC ] Any criticism and feedback is welcome . Would like others opinions on my work . Thank you !
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> No matter what, I have to make sure I get my target before the weekend is over.
Shorten to: `` I have to get my target before the weekend is over.'' Everything I cut out of that is redundant. Maybe flavorful, but definitely redundant.
> There is a lot of money riding on this guys demise and I ca n't leave my employer or the purchaser unhappy.
Cut all of that. The first sentence implies well enough that he's a hit man. Hit men always have a lot of money riding. And of course he does n't want to leave his employers unhappy. All you suggest here is that he's bad at his job.
> To be honest, I found it surprisingly silly that my boss sent me out to do amateur work, but oh well-whatever pays the bills.
`` It's an amateur job, but I have bills to pay.''
> And by bills, I mean my yacht and McMansion downtown.
Do you want him to be unlikable? I'm not sure you do based on how you prefaced this piece.
> Heck, maybe I'm just being vain-or as some normal people like to call it, β smug β of my accomplishments, but I've basically maxed out on American currency.
If he's maxed out on American currency, why does he have to take this job? What kind of person who kills people for a living says `` heck?'' Are swear words where he draws the line?
> Being a long term, erm... β waste management employee, β I no longer need to work.
Erm... yes, he does, because he's about to go to work now, bro.
> This is something that I've grown to love. Keeping myself to my work and away from human companionship has kept me emotionally safe for the past thirty years.
How many people who are that broken have expressed something that deep and personal that concisely and casually?
Also, if someone confessed that to you in real life, would you think they were being honest, or self-absorbed and generally unaware of themselves?
> I do n't plan on breaking that pact any time soon.
What pact? A pact is an agreement between multiple parties. All he's doing is being alone. No one but him agreed to that, he kind of just shunned company.
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So, that's just the first paragraph. I probably sound mean, but this is the kind of revision that will make you think ten times harder about your story than your reader will, because that's what you need to do if you want to produce something solid. In general, stylistic flourishes can only forgive one, or maybe two major mistakes/plotholes/weak characterizations per narrative arc. I made that number up, but you, like me, are a stylistic writer, and thus seem to have shunned the content itself a bit in favor of trying to make it sound pretty.
Think about your character. Think about why he does what he does. You do n't have to avoid cliches, but you do have to make this a living, breathing person with a past, present, future, pet peeves, favorite beverage, and the like.
You've written something of appreciable length. That's already twenty times as much as most people will ever do. Time to get down to brass tacks and really examine where you can polish.
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[ WP ] You 're a student in Evil University . With no special powers , you 're destined to become a henchman , or worse , a lawyer , unless you can pull it together and change your major to Super Villainy .
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`` Mr Cain?'' `` Yes?'' I reply as my guidance counselor peers over a pair of literal horn-rimmed glasses to match the protrusions sticking from her forehead. I hardly pay attention as she begins to ramble in the sickly sweet tone intended to irritate and intimidate. I muse that I can hardly tell sometimes whether I find the cornucopia of cliches and flamboyance this school seems to possess endearing or tiresome. It's only when I hear the word `` lawyer'' that my attention is caught. As I listen to the next few words, I realize the crone is explaining that while my weapons scores are good enough to provide a foothold into henchman management courses, my personality profile seems to suggest lawyer might be a better fit.
`` I see; what would the requirements be for admission into the'Super Villainy' course-track?'' After soaking a finger in saliva for far too long a time to be tasteful, the daemonic counselor places the appendage to a sheaf of paper and turns it over, speaking as if from rote. `` Demonstration of super powers. *'' `` Well,'' I say, `` considering my position as an individual without such powers, would you care to elaborate on that asterisk for me?'' Speaking in the tone of voice common to service professionals and bureaucrats since their earliest inceptions, the demoness informs me that, should a student demonstrate their self sufficiency in the art of evil without the above stated powers, then they may be admitted to the super villainy courses with the permission of a counselor.
As I mulled over the language and content of the passage, I considered that taking a class or two in the Law track might not be such a terrible thing, so soon as I was enrolled within my preferred major.
For a week after the meeting I spent a great deal of time in the library, neglecting my Law work for the sake of my goal. Even the law professors would appreciate the evil inherent in what I was about to do, and would forgive my lack of effort in their classes for the time being. While there I performed a great deal of research into simple explosives and maintained a close watch on another student who frequented the shelves and desks of the dusty corner of the university. His name was `` The Ghostman,'' at least officially. His given name was Travis, and his game was Kleptomania. I assumed he would be given to robbing banks as a minor supervillain, and his powers certainly suited that future, as well as his taken moniker. His was invisibility, a power which, while exceedingly useful if used correctly, was also one which could be worked around with a similarly adept mind.
As quickly as I was satisfied with my knowledge of high explosives as they related to my plan, I made my move. Travis was n't hard to find in the busy cafeteria of the college, he palled around with similar low-tier supers, engaging in the minor pranks that were their want. I was quick and efficient, obliterating him before there was any chance for defense. His head was slammed into the table a few times, and the nerve cluster in his neck struck with just the right amount of force to knock unconscious, but not kill. His friends stared in shock for a moment, then watched as their buddy was subjected to a broken nose and a mild flattening of the face in general. None of them moved to assist him. Villains fended for themselves.
Every day for a week and a half, sometimes multiple times per day, Travis was subjected to a mild beating: always an ambush, always being left unconscious, and most importantly, always in the public eye. After a week of this treatment, I finally allowed him to see my attack coming. Believing he finally had the upper hand, he used his Power. This was the most critical piece; as someone with a bit of fighting experience and more brain cells than the average lump of granite, I was fully capable of figuring out where he would move, even without visibility. Again, a supervillain ( although a low-tier one ) was being beaten by someone chosen for hench and law courses. These beatings also continued until a week had gone by, demoralizing, humiliating, and thoroughly bruising poor Travis. So I approached him with a proposal.
On the next Saturday, a Frat party was held in an upper tier super dorm. The traditional drinking and debauchery were engaged in with great enthusiasm, but thanks in part to my new friend Travis, there was a slight addition to a lovely plate of finger sandwiches.
Sunday was a lovely autumn day, and while a symphony of groans arose from the table comprising some of the best of this schools supervillain program, hangovers were soon to be the least of their worries. The gelcaps they had ingested had contained two parts that were very interesting separately, but even more so together. One was a chemical very sensitive to a narrow band of radio waves, and the other, a transmitter capable of receiving cell signals. Needless to say, when I sent an innocuous text to an obscure number, I was glad to be wearing my raincoat. I did feel a bit of sympathy for the Janitors, though. I do n't think they ever did get all the bone fragments out of the ceiling tiles.
Later that day, after some of the excitement had died down, a new event stirred the student body into a new frenzy. Travis had served one more purpose, though he had only intended to help me with the one thing. I suppose I do always ask for quite a lot. His corpse was found crucified in the second floor women's bathroom, pinned carefully to the wall by tens of pencils and pens driven slowly through his body and into the tiles beneath. The coup de grace was the letter opener pinning my application for acceptance into the Super Villainy course track to his still seeping chest.
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[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 8 Scene Series
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You are the last. He is the first.
My newest link in a very short chain of events drawing me from the locked side-alley door into an unexpectedly bright, clinical feeling, long empty hallway. Just minutes before I was trying to decipher a cryptic tweet from @ ruckusrebel, notorious for the most amazing and bizarre music experiences in the city, the Banksy of the local music scene. Anonymous, talented, unrestricted but clearly driven by a personal credo that blurred the lines between exposure and secrecy.
This was one of his vaporizing location tease tweets that live for 2 minutes or so and then as quickly as they arrive, they are deleted from his stream. And this one was two cross streets and the quote from Heroes β save the cheerleader, save the world β ending with # vapor, # 50. The clock was ticking, I knew the streets, and by good fortune only a quick jog away.
I rounded the corner just as the side door shut with the interior beam of light piercing the dark alley like the close of the laser light show, wide then narrow, then gone. As I approached, in the center of the door, a cheerleader silhouette, pompoms high in the air. Classic ruckusrebel tagging. Just three weeks earlier, the tag on an old iron door was the iconic Ray-Ban Aviators Johnny Depp wore in Fear and Loathingβ¦ the location tease that night β HST β s famous line β I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they β ve always worked for me. β Brilliant show that night with a torturous wait. The first wave exclusive was an unprecedented two hours. Many thought we wouldn β t even be able to get in.
As I swung open the door, my eyes squeezed shut with the light. I was completely overwhelmed by the intensity of spot beam. Shielding my eyes, I stepped forward disoriented. From behind me I heard a guy call out as the door swung shut. And there he was, like a pouncing bouncer, his grip was firm and rushed as he pulled me close. Between the bright light, the surprise encounter, I nearly lost my footing, as I swayed in to listen to the man in full black leather goth gear, deliver his command nearly imperceptible. Had it not been for the long low frequency drop on the dance floor resonating from somewhere in the belly of the building I would have never been able to make out the words as I played them back in my head.
You are the last. He is the first.
Could it be? Yes! I can β t believe it. For the first time in three years of near fanatic attempts to be at every show, I β ve finally made the first wave entry to a ruckusrebel show. The coveted 50 club and I would be guest number 50 and ruckusrebel would be at the front of the line.
The swell of the music comes back, lifting me up off the ground as I walk the long walk toward down the hallway. Tonight I get my story. Tonight I save the world. # 50.
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[ WP ] After years of fighting together , saving their lives , bonding , and risking everything while saving the world from a shadowy and unknown figure , one of the heroes devastatingly reveals that THEY were the phantom they 'd been chasing all along .
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Sparks flew as sword clashed against sword. Unfortunately for one of the swords, it was considerably smaller than the other, and it shattered under the impact. This was also unfortunate for the wielder of the small sword, as it gave the large sword an uninterrupted path to his head. The large sword took this path with great haste, and the Minion of Shadow β s head exploded in a cloud of blood and brains.
The wielder of the large sword looked around for another victim. As she watched, another Minion of Shadow gurgled and fell to the ground for no apparent reason, a look of surprise just managing to reach his face before he died. A further three Minions were hacking at a pillar of fire, when flames engulfed them and they crumbled into ashes. Then, only the heroes remained.
The one with the big sword was Swendra. It was six feet long and just about came up to her chest. A fierce red scar marked her left cheek, stark against bronze skin. She never wore a helmet as she believed in giving the enemy a sporting chance. The rest of her body was clad in gleaming steel armour, strong enough to withstand a meteor strike. Provided it was a fairly small meteor, and had been slowed significantly by the Earth β s atmosphere. But still.
When the pillar of fire died down, it revealed Implaye. He was tall, though not as tall as Swendra, and very thin. Even in his resting state, small flames flickered across his dark skin and burnt in his smouldering eyes. Gold threads were spun in dizzying patterns across his black robes. They offered no protection against meteors, but were made of one of the few materials capable of withstanding the intense heat his body generated.
The last of the three was Mergol. If he allowed it, and if you focussed very hard, you could just about make out a pale, weaselly face, then you blinked and he was gone again. He appeared to wear whatever he was standing in front of; at the moment it was a rough stone dungeon wall. It was highly unlikely that a meteor would ever be able to find him.
β We β re nearly there, β Swendra boomed. She always boomed, unless she was roaring, bellowing, shouting, yellingβ¦ The point is she wasn β t very quiet.
β Just two more chambers, then we β ll be able to ascend to the throne room, β Mergol said quietly.
β Let β s get going then, β Implaye said in a normal speaking voice. The exit from the dungeon was a wooden door, which disintegrated at his touch. As the door vanished, Implaye felt something hit him in the side and he fell to the ground, just as something whooshed overhead and clanged off Swendra β s armour.
β Careful brother, this room is trapped, β Mergol whispered as he picked himself up off Implaye.
β How did you know? β Implaye asked as he picked up the offending crossbow bolt and inspected it.
β I heard the twang of the bow β s string, β came the reply.
β I don β t know how you can hear anything after Swendra β s roaring, β Implaye said. Swendra apoted an exaggerated pout and punched him playfully, knocking him to the ground once again.
β Perhaps I should go first, β Mergol murmured and a flicker of the light in the doorway told them that he had done exactly that.
Swendra and Implaye watched him work from the doorway.
β He β s good at this, β said Implaye as more darts were plucked from hidden hollows and spikes sprang harmlessly from the floor.
β He knows what he β s doing, β Swendra agreed, causing a finely balanced tripwire toβ¦ trip, and a wall of flame to appear at the far end of the room.
β Well, I think that β s all of them, β Mergol sighed, β Implaye if you could justβ¦ β
β Of course, β said Implaye, and with a wave of his hand the wall of flames was gone. The far door reappeared. It was a huge slab of rock, that crumbled under the influence of Swendra β s shoulder.
The three heroes found themselves in the largest room yet, a huge underground hall with a staircase at the far end, lit on all sides by brightly burning torches. It was filled with Minions of Shadow; goblins covered the floor while scattered around the edges of the room were several robed mages. Towering over all of them stood a troll, giant axe in hand.
Without hesitation, Swendra bellowed and charged at the troll, scattering several goblins as she ran. Implaye cast a fireball at one of the mages who, taken by surprise, was engulfed in flame, along with a bunch more goblins. Mergol was nowhere to be seen, but a mage and a dozen goblins suddenly developed a nasty case of slit throats.
There was an almighty clang as greatsword met giant axe, and both weapons flew from their owners hands, crushing a couple of goblins. The troll and the warrior wrestled, trampling more goblins. A bolt of lightning flew from a mage to Implaye, then grounded itself through the gold thread of his robes, frying some goblins that were standing too close.
It has probably become apparent that goblins do not fare well in situations like this.
A group of them had surrounded the area where they knew Mergol to be, and were waving their swords in an impenetrable wall of flashing steel. Then a tongue of flame licked over them and they collapsed as one to the ground.
β My thanks, brother, β Implaye heard a voice just next to his ear say a moment later.
The remainder fell of the mages and goblins fell, either clutching their throats or consumed by flames, as Swendra and the troll continued to grapple. The troll flinched as a fireball exploded harmlessly but distractingly against its skin, then roared as a dagger appeared in its eye. It shook Mergol off, but in doing so it lost its balance and Swendra swept its legs from under it. As it crashed to the ground, Implaye dragged Swendra β s sword over to her. She picked it up with one hand then brought it down in a great shimmering arc, decapitating the beast.
The fight was won.
β Finally, time to confront the Shadow, β Swendra yelled and raced up the stairs, the other two hot on her heels.
They emerged in a surprisingly small room, lit by high, leaded windows and with a great golden throne on a dais at the end. The throne was empty.
β Where is he? β Swendra said, rattling the windows.
β He should be here, β said Implaye, not rattling the windows.
β Come out, Shadow, β said Mergol. The windows didn β t even hear.
Then a voice rang out.
β I am the Shadow. β
Well, one voice rang out, one spoke normally, and another whispered.
They had all spoken at once.
β Wait, no I killed the king and half his army, β said Swendra. The throne shifted slightly as the floor vibrated.
β I stole the Jewel of Aminthrock, β hissed Mergol.
β I burnt the Library of Trescay to the ground, β said Implaye. The other two looked at him.
β Right, fire, β said Swendra as some flakes of plaster fell from the ceiling.
β Yeah, that makes sense, β muttered Mergol.
β You know, I did think it was strange about those trolls. I thought they just came free with the goblins, β Implaye said.
β No, the trolls were my idea, β said Swendra. The chandelier rattled ominously overhead.
β I did the traps, β Mergol mumbled.
They all looked at each other.
β So, even we couldn β t stop ourselves when we joined forces, β Implaye said slowly.
β Together, we could rule the world, β Swendra shouted.
β An excellent idea, β Mergol said in hushed tones.
The three of them formed a circle and placed their hands on top of each other. A solemn pact was made, to always support each other as they conquered the world.
Then a very large, very fast, meteor hit them and killed them all. Which was probably for the best really.
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[ WP ] The chef who always prepares death row 's last meals always asks himself if he should help any prisoner escape before injection . Today , he 's found someone worthy .
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I β d been watching him for a while now. Quiet, softly spoken, hunched. Joe couldn β t say boo to a goose- and yet, here he was, doing his time, working in my kitchen.
I never liked working with the inmates. Part of the government β s β Rehabilitation Focus β programme had increased the hours inmates spent doing work around the prison. Painting things, mostly. Wasn β t like that Shawshank Redemption. No library here. Most of the inmates couldn β t read much, anyway. Joe had been working here with me for a couple o β months now. I was getting used to him, I suppose.
β Denny! β he gestured at me and I looked up.
β Orders β in β.
Joe looked a little bit under the weather. He was sweating slightly at the temples. You never did know what went on behind those walls. I never wanted to ask, neither. Some things are better off not knowing.
β Whad he want? β
We were doing a β bucket dinner β. That β s what we called it. Softens it a bit. The last meal an inmate will ever eat before he β s executed. I β ve done loads in my time. I β ve been working here in the kitchen for going on 15 years. It doesn β t get easier..but it β s easier to shut out. This was Joe β s first.
β Fried chickenβ¦gravyβ¦apple pie β.
It was always the same. Always comfort food. If they managed to eat it, I liked thinking at least the poor sod got a little something from my famous fried chicken.
β Service! β I shoutedβ¦it was a little joke I did with the boys- as if we had waiters and were all working somewhere fancy. I β d let Joe do most of it. Kid was getting good- he was just 18, and had a chance of being out if he kept his head down and his mouth shut. Wasn β t bad at gravy, as it goes.
The guard came and took the plate. I never did ask who it was for, but you know how it works. I knew it was for Mick. Had a reputation for being a bit of a father figure to the inmates. Nice guy, advice giver- probably helped some of the younger ones.
β Dennyβ¦ β
I turned around. Joe was grey... and holding up a tiny little packet. I recognised it straight away.
β I β m fucked, ain β t I? β
And as Joe slid down the wall, the sirens started wailing.
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[ WP ] You 've found out that people do n't actually commit suicide but the government suicides people as one of many forms of manipulation and population control . You just came home to find a man waiting in your house .
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`` Hey.''
`` Are n't you supposed to hit me from behind or something? Wait... Kurt?''
`` Ah, fuck. Another eighties kid. When are they gon na start listening to me, this only makes it harder. Ah, well.''
`` Kurt Cobain?''
`` That's my name, kid. Do n't wear it out. Christ, I thought grunge was finally dead, but then they released that godawful boxed set, and now everyone remembers me. Did n't want field duty anyway.''
`` You're not dead?''
`` Fuck. Why do you have to be so stupid? Perfect fodder for the Agency, of course. Just like me.''
`` Can... can you fake mine just like yours?''
`` Fucking hell. OK, but this is the *last* time, and I mean it!''
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[ WP ] You finish the new civilization video game , only to discover it 's a recruiting tool of multi-dimensional empire builders . They want to talk to you about your latest game .
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`` and you're sure the enemy will fall for this?'' Moi asks looking at the screen. I had it set up for my tastes of course, everything in 3 dimensional hexes that I could swim through.
`` yes, by assaulting sector 313-091-141 with a strong frontal force will pull resources from surrounding space immediately.'' I say highlighting the surrounding hexes. each one showed armada's nearly double the total size of my own heading to cut my forces off.
`` but I fail to see why you arranged our forces over here like so.'' he says moving towards a second front.
`` they're allied with the batar forces. by attacking over there I open us up to attack here. so the Gorelian federation will send in an assault nearly half again the size of my own attack force into the pincer attack I have waiting here.'' I say waving at sectors around 351-092-136. `` they move in and take a foothold abandoning their well defended systems in favor of attack, I move in and crush their attacking force with three times their number before heading deep into their territory and devastating their infrastructure.''
Moi nods his bulbous head accepting my plan. `` so your baiting them with nearly two million lives to ensure the capture of their strongest hand. we were good to choose you.'' he says half turning before adding. `` just remember that 35 uhh this system has a wormhole. do n't let it fall otherwise you know what happens.''
`` I die and you abduct someone to replace me.'' I reply. waving away the wormhole. I had several automated ships there that would detonate themselves near enemy ships, they would ensure anything trying to get through would burn.
he nods before leaving, as he does I widen a small window and type in. `` move your fleet into position, i have the rebellion ready to assist. the loyalists are working on the suicide offensive.''
my'opponent' is quick to reply. *nice, I have the admiral of my fleet instructed where to go. I still find it stupid that these aliens are so bad at war they need us to do it for them. even more stupid that they abducted two top 10 players to fight each other. see you soon tacoblaster69*
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[ WP ] Every time a child says , `` my dad can beat your dad , '' the parents are obligated to fight .
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`` *MY DAD CAN BEAT YOUR DAD! *'' Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs, meant as the ultimate insult to Sue Clairborn, his playground nemesis.
`` No he ca n't!'' Retorted Sue, sticking her nose up in the air.
`` We'll see about *that! *''
Tommy and Sue raced to their homes, right across the street from each other. The eager six-year-olds dragged their fathers out of the house and into the middle of the cul-de-sac.
`` I said you can beat stupid Sue's daddy,'' Tommy said, looking up at his six-foot-six, 220 pound dad.
`` I told Tommy that you can *definitely* beat his dad.'' Sue looked expectantly at her father, who shuffled his feet a bit and readjusted his spectacles.
`` So you HAVE to fight!'' The two kids shouted in unison.
Sue's dad gave a little chuckle. `` You know I'm a pacifist, Sue,'' he said, looking lovingly down at his daughter.
`` I know daddy!'' Sue replied, giddy. `` But you can beat him at chess!''
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[ WP ] A kid tries to talk the monster under the bed into attacking the monster in the closet .
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`` Hey Steve.''
`` Name's still Ztephon.''
`` Steve, can I ask you a question?''
`` Sure kid....''
`` You wan na eat me right?''
`` Yeah kid, standard monster policy.''
`` There's a monster in my closet Steve. He's big and scary, and has sharp teeth and spikes like a porcupine. He wants to eat me too... I'm scared Steve.''
`` H-How do you know there's somebody in there... They are n't supposed to issue two agents to the same child... I'm fucking screwed.''
`` If you still want to make good with the board of directors, you'll eat me. Or you could kill the other guy in the closet. You could eat him, and gain his power.''
`` Prove he's there, kid. Then we can talk.''
`` Look, the closet door is opening. Ca n't you see his spikes? Watch them sparkle in the moonlight Steve... He's there I promise...''
`` Well I'll be dammed, kid. I do n't recognize him... He's not in my Union. Maybe he's one of those nomadic types.''
`` Does it matter what, or who he is, Steve? If you go in there and snap his neck, you could be a hero. A champion, Ztephon.''
`` Kid, do you have to say more? Im halfway there. Do you have anything you'd like me to tell this jokester in the closet?''
`` Tell him... Nelson said this was for my stuffed weasel Mr Luffles, and that this was his revenge.''
`` You are n't right, are you Nelson?''
`` Get Mr. Luffles Ztephon.''
*Closet door closes*
`` I see you, mother fucker. Trying to cut in in my fucking job, huh? OH GOD, I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE... *snap* *gurgle gurgle* *THUD*
`` Child. You have succeeded. I am pleased. Have your Precious weasel.''
`` If you hurt Mr. Luffles, you will know pain.''
`` Child, after today... I will spread the word that there is no child here... There is only another monster disguised as... Well... Here...''
*Nelson catches the unfettered Mr. Luffles*
`` Oh Mr. Luffles! I missed you! What's that Mr. Luffles? I'm sorry Mr Luffles, I guess I forgot! No survivors! I'm sorry Closet monster, but Mr. Luffles says you have to expire now...''
`` Child, please. I know not of what you are capable. But I do know that I fear you, and if you let me g-''
*Mr. Luffles eyes turn glowing yellow. The doll flies across the room into the closet. There is no struggle. There is no sound. Not a single whimper. *
`` Yeah Mr. Luffles! You're my best friend ever, you silly weasel!''
*the Mr. Luffles doll appears in the now opened door. His eyes fade back to glassy black, and he lay, a motionless stuffed animal on the floor. *
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[ WP ] A man moves into a haunted house from ( insert scary movie here ) . The demon in the house does n't realize how dangerous the man really is .
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December 13th, 1985
Dear diary.
A new man moved into the house today. He seems nice. Sort of different from the others. Moves slower. Has to poke everything around him with a stick. Nervous tick I guess. I'm going to let him sleep tonight and start tomorrow with the program. Nothing against this guy but he should know better. I just do n't understand why people keep wanting to move in here.
Goodbye and praise be to the Shebbogath.
December 14th, 1985
Dear diary.
I started the program today. It did n't seem to work very well, this seems like a tough nut to crack. Basically I went up to the attic and started walking around to make creaking noises. He was right under the floorboards, sitting in the library. At least he had been doing so for an hour before I started. It was strange, Diary. He never came up to investigate. When I went down to check on him he was still just sitting there, staring at the wall.
I'll try something new tomorrow and report back. Praise be to Shebbogath.
December 15th, 1985
Something strange happened today. I upped the ante by slamming of doors in the house. But he just did n't respond! He never once came to investigate anything. I honestly slammed the same door over and over again for like a half an hour. One time I even slammed a door shut that he was walking to! It was right in front of him! I just do n't understand him, Diary. I think I'll have to try something drastic tomorrow. I'll keep in touch.
December 16th, 1985
Dear diary.
Dear diary, that does it. I had an awesome plan. I was going to sneak up behind him when he was brushing his teeth, and show my face in the bathroom mirror for a second. But as I approached him, I smelled the most awful smell I have ever encountered in my life! I just could n't take it. It's like he has n't taken a shower in five years. So I just ran out of the room. But it does n't end there. I stubbed my toe in the doorway on the way out and fell down. It hurt so much. I'm so glad I was invisible because it was so humiliating.
I really ca n't take this anymore. I'm going to take this guy down tomorrow, by any means necessary.
December 17th, 1985
Well, that's it. I'm done. Screw this. I literally just walked into his room while he was sleeping and screamed at him as loudly as I could that he should leave the house. I even showed him my complete form, wings and all. It should have been pretty scary. But nothing. Zip. Nada. He just lay there with his eyes closed, sleeping like a baby.
I'm going somewhere else. There's this woman that keeps checking in on him and his ears. Do n't know why. I think I'll follow her in her car and go live in her house. Anything to stay away from this madness.
Shebbogath, why have you abandoned me?
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[ WP ] You live in a world where a superhero called stopwatch who can stop time . But everyone is still conscious of the world when he does .
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`` Superheros, while being far and few, are very important to the survival of the human race. Descended from myth, legend and even a few accidents in the lab, these heroes do their best to save the day, not because they need to, but because they can.'' Stopwatch repeated to himself, for what was likely the 100th time that day. He was n't batman, a warrior shrouded in darkness who silently takes down anyone he needs to, and he was n't superman, a god among men who wipes his foes off the whiteboard of the universe without blinking an eye.
He was just Stopwatch. His name was actually Richard Vorce, but calling himself Stopwatch was almost permanently engraved in his mind. Instead of having super strength, laser eyes, regeneration, invisibility or any superpower you could think of, he stops time. His power sounds amazing, does it not? Being able to casually destroy your foes by rendering them still, giving you quite literally all the time in the world you need. The catch here is, when he stops time, people know about it.
At first the stopping of time was something that people chalked up to chance, like god using time itself as a chip in a poker game. They people noticed. Well, not the general public per say, but Vorce's parents. His dad's job theoretical scientist required him to be record and document occurrences such as this. Possibly by chance, or maybe while he was on to something, the records for time being stopped were matched up with a schedule of Vorce's life. It was quite strange that every hour before class started time would stop for around 30 minutes, really.
The second Vorce had been found out he was sent away. Maybe his dad truly did love him, but his quest for knowledge far exceeded that love. The world had known about Vorce, and they were n't happy. Considering that he had made them wait about 6 hours every day doing nothing due to his inability to do homework on time, they had every right to be.
Vorce was now where people thought he belonged, in a white walled mental institute, surrounded by comic books of all shapes and size, dating from decades back to mint copies from that same day.
`` Superheros, while being far and few, are very important to the survival of the human race. Descended from myth, legend and even a few accidents in the lab, these heroes do their best to save the day, not because they need to, but because they can.'' Said Stopwatch one last time, before he dropped. Taking a nap is one way to deal with time, I guess.
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[ WP ] A stupid fucking mug with my name on it .
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EDIT: Sorry for the spelling mistakes towards the end and perhaps the layout. I typed it on my phone and it jacked up as I was finishing. Spelling correction for the end: `` Watering-hole''. `` A stupid fucking mug with my name on it.'' I thought, as the round-face of Barry Stevens stared at me from across the desk. My desk, the only thing between me and THEM. God, I wish I could end this charade right now. I wish I could grab this child by the lapels of his formula red raincoat and tell him to take a fucking hike, but alas; it's only Thursday and I need my paycheck tomorrow. I can barely choke out my response before Barry `` Moonface'' is jumping down my throat. `` Thank you, Barry. This is a very nice..-'''''Gee, no problem Mr.Atkins! My mom helped me pick it out yesterday. She wanted to get you a'bonsah tree for your desk. Bonsuh? Bunsa tree?..-'''' BonSAI tree, Barry'' I uttered. `` Yeah sure, Bonsah tree! But anyways, I told her `` No way JΓ΄se!'' because I wanted to get you a new MUG for your coffee, because I remember that you dropped your last one, because your hand was god-awful shakey Mr.Atkins and.. -'' Barry continued to ramble on about his escapade whilst my idle mind drifted elsewhere, looking blankly towards the mild Autumns' day which lay before me through the window on my left. The last of the 3rd graders had finally shuffled their way out of my classroom, as Barry's tale was only getting deeper. Snapping out of my trance, I raised my brows in suprise as Moonface's story had finally tottered to a stop. `` Tell your mom I said thanks, Barry. You better get going, or else you'll miss your bus'' He would n't miss the bus of course, as they do n't leave for another fifteen minutes - but I could n't bare to listen to another rambling. `` Uh sure, see'ya tomorrow Mr.Atkins!'' Barry piped cheerily as he bounced out of the room. Finally, peace and quiet. My piece and quiet is short lived, as I hear the ominous click-clack of high-heels echoing through the hollow hallway. Principal Jennings, fuck! I quickly gathered my things, and slung my satchel over my shoulder. Sighing, I also grabbed the fucking mug. I meet Principal Jennings coming down the hallway, about ten foot away, as I walk out of the room. Enough distance to conceal the smell of alcohol, and just enough distance to not be cornered into another endless monologue of the battlewagons' life. The biggest regret of my life so far was definitely fucking her brains out. `` Ah! Zachary, Happy Birthday! How was your..-'''' Thanks Mildred, but I've got to shoot. I'm..- I'm meeting my mother in twenty minutes. I'll talk to you tomorrow morning!'' My back is turned and I'm briskly walking in the opposite direction before she can open her mouth to reply. Fuck, I hope she does n't remember that my mother died five years ago. I push through the fire-exit door at the back of the cafeteria and let it swing shut behind myself. The front exit is a no-go area as soon as school finishes, as it's a prime area to be ambushed by the savages. As I come close tocmy shitty Camero, I toss the mug into the ttashcan nearby. I release a sigh of relief as I climb into my car. Finally, home-free. Time to hit the warering-hole.
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[ WP ] You 've just been selected for jury duty . As the trial begins , the opening prosecutor details a gruesome murder that you instantly recognize..because you committed it .
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It all came crashing into me in an instant. I remember when it happened. I remember every detail vividly, as if it were yesterday. The years had stretched from then to now. Could it really have been 34 years since that night? I could n't have been more nervous when it happened. Some will tell you they had an out of body experience, that it was n't them. Well, I had a life affirming instant - I knew what I was doing, I knew what I intended to do. Yes, I killed Jack Whitcomb 34 years ago. And yes, I am now sitting on the jury panel for his murder trial.
I was 19 at the time, a freshman in college. I was studying engineering and had the sense of style to match. That is to say I had no style heaped with a lot of social anxiety. But from day one of class, I saw a reason to keep going, to keep studying and to make my grades. I had to be better than Jack.
Jack looked like your typical male model - tall, blonde, trim and a chiseled jaw that could make the masters jealous. I was n't in love with him. I was and still am a hetero man, now a father and newly a grandfather. No, I did n't love him. I loathed him. From the first day, he always had all the attention. Professors loved him in class, all the very few attractive girls in the engineering and calculus classes flocked to him. When I asked to study with him, he brushed it off. When I asked if he wanted to group together, he said he was already in one. No matter what, everything always went how Jack wanted it to go.
One night I was walking across campus to sleep at my dorm room, skirting the trees along the sidewalk when I heard a muffled scream. Being a little inept I ignored it and kept walking. The next time I heard her whimper, it was much closer. The whimper is actually what stopped me with a cold sweat forming. It is a universal sound that says someone is hurt, someone is in pain and that they are scared out of their minds.
I drop my bad and begin searching on my hands and knees to see under the bushes and behind the shrubs. In a matter of minutes I find her, her name is Nancy. I recognize her from our Physics class. Her hands are tied behind her back, an ankle is turned at a terrible angle. From the look of her she seems to have been pushed out a window. I look up and see the third floor window open, curtains blowing out into the night air.
She sees me and immediately pulls away. She is frightened more than I have ever been in my life - I can see the wild in her eyes, that sense of flight given by adrenaline. Only she ca n't move, her ankle would n't support any weight. I do n't move any closer to her, I squat down, hands out to the side to appear non-threatening. In a few short breaths, all I can hear her say is...'Jack. Jack. Jack'.
Realization dawns on me that I am outside of Jack's dorm and I was willing to bet all the money I did n't have that the window was to Jack's dorm room. I shush Nancy as best I can, tell her that I am not Jack, that I am Ethan. Remember, Ethan from Physics? The nerd with no style and the guy that does n't hang out much? She quiets down and let's me get over to her. I untie her hands and help her up, keeping her weight on me and not her ankle.
As I get her up, we hear someone cussing above and behind us. Jack realizes that Nancy is gone - she must have jumped out the window somehow to get away from him. We do n't have much time so I help her to the bushes on the opposite side of the quad. I get her to sit down, tell her to hide, calm her breathing and to not make a sound. Choking back tears, she nods and accents. As I stand up to go back, she grabs my arm.
In a harsh whisper she asks, `` where are you going?!?!?''
A strange sense of calm had descended on me with the adrenaline and fear. `` I am going to make sure Jack does n't hurt anyone else tonight.''
I run to the base of the wall of Jack's dorm. There is an old fire escape, like the kind in movies. I am able to climb up and get close to Jack's window. He is still swearing, frustrated that Nancy is n't there, trying to figure out where she went. The slur in his speech lends to the thought he might be drunk. The half smashed bottle of whiskey on the landing confirms it. I approach Jack's window not knowing what I intended to do.
The next instant was clear to me.
I got to the landing and decided to whimper and sniffle. Loudly. Loudly enough that Jack heard it. His shadow made it's way to the window, Jack thinking he had found Nancy. In that moment, he looked and saw me instead of Nancy. Confusion crossed his face, unable to comprehend that someone not Nancy was there. In those few seconds, I grabbed both his wrists, pushed my feet against the window ledge and pulled with all the strength I could find. Jack was suprisingly light. As I flew back, Jack flew over me. I landed on my back on the fire escape grating. Jack flew head first over the edge.
The next day, campus police had cordoned off the area, claiming a tragic accident of drinking and falling without control. Nancy and I were n't around when they had found Jack's body. We were at the campus hospital, getting her ankle set and wrapped.
34 years later, I am in the jury panel. Sitting next to a nice lady who smells of rose hips and an older man, much like myself with the look of a construction worker. I break into a slight sweat, fearing that somehow I will be found out. Being this close to everything, I ca n't help but be found out.
That is, until I see the prosecutor. Her name is Nancy and she recognizes me. She smiles and gives the slightest wink.
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[ WP ] God creates light because he is afraid of the dark , or whatever is hiding there .
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When the child appeared, it was alone. It cried and cried and cried, but no one came. As it grew older, it began to crawl through the darkness, still wailing for its mother but to no avail. As the child developed, the repetitive noise gave way to words but the child still wandered and tripped through the darkness completely alone.
Soon, the cries turned to whimpers; frightened, little moans that told of a darkness so heavy, it tore under its fingernails and dug at the drums in its ears. Scar tissue lined its cheeks where the child frequently used to scratch at its eyes, hoping to make some colour in the darkness, but, as always, the darkness pressed in again, filling its retinas.
It was inevitable that the child's madness would turn to despair. As it fell to its knees, it gave one last howling cry of sadness. It cried for the mother it never had, the light it never saw and the love it never felt. As the howl faded to snuffling sobs, the child wrapped up within itself, drawing its knees to its chest, arms wrapped around close. As it did, the skin of the child began to flicker and crackle. The child's eyes glazed over. As it let out one last despondent sigh, the air from its breath turned to fire, engulfing the child completely.
And so the child became our light of the universe, the being that gives our home warmth and life. By its sacrifice, we may know what it never did.
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[ WP ] His overbearing , unstable ex-girlfriend wo n't leave him alone . She 's in his apartment when he brings home dates . She 's at the store while he shops . She 's at his office when he tries to work . No one can help him since she 's dead , no one else sees her and he 's the one who killed her .
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He was going mad. Her shadow was clearly visible from his room; the same slim figure, the same wavy hair and the same relaxed posture as the shadow was holding a cup in her it's hand.
He got up from his sofa, and her shadow completely disappeared, dropping the cup on the floor.
*CRASH* `` Damn it!'' Kirkard shouted, frightened from the sound. He walked slowly out of his room and into the dining room, the blue cup's pieces all over the floor.
'I know I'm not going mad..the cup is right there. Something did pick it up.' Kirkard thought to himself. He stood over the mess, staring, as if waiting for the shadow to come back and pick up the pieces. Kirkard shook his head and let out a despaired sigh,
`` I need a drink.'' He walked back to the kitchen and opened his cooling storage, quickly trying to find his favorite drink. `` Great..no more Corellian blue. Time for Shul's then.''
Kirkard picked up the mess before darting out of his apartment,'I ca n't be there anymore, it's like I feel she's still there.' He quickly tugged in his jacket closer to his body, hiding his hands within the pockets and looking down at his feet as he went down the stairs of the apartment building.
At the bottom of the flight, Kirkard gazed up. The overbearing air traffic filled the skies accompanied by all the fluorescent logos on top of almost every building. The busy traffic sounds and the sounds of every sentient being usually speaking their native tongues. The infrastructure is overwhelming, with layers and layers of building, floors, and culture.
`` Ah Coruscant, the melting pot of the Galaxy.'' Kirkard took a deep breath, but all he smelled was the garage alley between his building and Beatrux's, his ex-girlfriend. He walked by her building complex, staring down the street as he flashbacks to all the memories he had created in just this one area. But the spot he cherished most was in front of the door of Beatrux's apartment. It was one night when Kirkard was one his way back home from work at a local droid store, about a 20 minute walk from where they lived. Half way through, Kirkard was mugged by two male humans.
`` Give us the droid we want, or I'll shoot your damn horns right off with this blaster.''
`` Do n't hurt me! Just come by tomorrow, I'll have it ready for you, half price!'' Kirkard remembered whimpering at the hands of the men.
The man with the gun whacked Kirkard with his blaster pistol and then shoved it back harder on his forehead. `` No we want it for free.''
Kirkard spit some blood out before looking back up at the man. `` Fine fine!! Just meet me in the back of the store just leave me alone!!''
`` You better keep your word Kirk, because next time, I'll kill you. And just to make sure you do n't screw this one up..'' The other man replied. The one holding the gun whacked Kirkard again. They beat him, and only on his head. As if they were really trying to break off his horns.
It took a while before Kirkard was able to gather his strength to get up and finish his walk home after they left him on the side of the street. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth, a few scrapes and bruises as well as three damaged horns. He walked up the stairs of the apartment complex until the door opened before he could get to it.
Kirkard jumped back, almost falling off the stairs. He was confused, was n't this his apartment?
`` Oh no! Are you alright?!?'' Kirkard heard as he regained his balance and then looked up. It was female human, with long wavy brown hair and caramel-colored eyes. She had a slim figure, a nice smile, and for some reason..a strong presence.
`` Come in I'll patch you up.''
He smiled, remembering that moment. It was one of the worst days of his life, but also had one of the greatest. N It was the day he met Beatrux, never would he have thought a human would fall in love with a Zabrak. He had confused the apartment since he was kind of senseless after the beating. The same position of Beatrux's apartment was the same as Kirkard's in his building. She had brought him in when she saw him and took care of him. From then on, they became friends, best friends, then lovers.
Kirkard did n't mean to kill her, he was trying to protect her. A few years after the beat up, the same two men came back, requesting two of the same droid for free, saying it was for a'special operation.' This time, they held Beatrux hostage in her own apartment, knowing of Kirkard's relationship with her. Now always caring his blaster pistol with him, Kirkard was prepared this time, but never got to be a great shooter. As one of the men held her back the neck in felt of him, Kirkard missed, shooting Beatrux in the heart.
`` NOOOOO!!'' He screamed, as they threw her body on to the floor and ran towards Kirkard. But he kept firing, killing the two criminals as well as they dropped on the floor in front of him. It was an accident..
`` It was an accident.'' Kirkard muttered under his breath, as he always does when he passes in front of her apartment. It's abandoned now, but most of Beatrux's things still lay inside. Kirkard looked around, making sure that no one was looking. He looked up at her apartment and began to walk up the stairs.
He barged through the door, since the opening sensor has already died out. It was dusty and the atmosphere mellow. Kirkard immediately felt his heart sink to the very bottom. `` It was an accident'' he muttered again.
He walked in slowly to her room, the plain and modern simple furniture the same. But a glimpse of reflecting light flickered off under the bed. It looked like some sort of box. Kirkard drew closer to the dim light source and kneeled down. It was a box, a dark black casket but with weird carved inscriptions all over it. The box looked like an antique, as it was not part of any mechanical or craftsmanship Kirkard had seen. It was sort of heavy, but not so much because of the box..there was something inside.
Kirkard opened it, only to reveal a cylindrical apparatus, with a few red buttons. It had an opening on the top, and a firm grip on the bottom. Within the'tube' Kirkard was able to catch a glimpse of what seemed to be a small blue rock.
'Hmm, looks familiar.' Kirkard thought to himself as he grabbed the device and inspected it on his palms.
'It almost looks as if it were....' He got up and turned the opening away from him, placing his thumb on the red button. He pressed it.
`` BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!!''''
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[ WP ] A notorious kingpin agrees to have coffee with the city 's vigilante . Although one is convinced s/he has the upper in ambushing the other , they are severely wrong - only one walks away alive after their conversation .
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He was seated at a table, a white mug in hand, when she walked in the door. He slid one across to her and she took her seat, savoring the smell of the hot coffee and the heat coming through the ceramic. Through her eyelashes, she caught him smiling at her. A smile so full of warmth, and dare she hope love? The things he was capable of chilled her to her core, yet that smile always sets her on fire.
`` So the word is out.'' He said.
Pausing to warm her hand over the mug, she poured a few droplets from a vial hidden in her sleeve. His smile faltered when she did n't reply, and he looked ruefully at her across the table. She took her time, sipping from her mug, afraid to meet his eyes. It ends now, she thought. Setting her mug aside, she sighed, a hollow feeling welling up in her chest.
`` You wo n't last five minutes out there. I already heard that Marlowe is on the job.''
`` Marlowe... I taught that kid everything he knows.'' He spat, slapping his knee. `` But it is a different world out there. It changes so fast, and perhaps it is just my time. We all got ta take a fall, and I've tasted the good life. I just wish I could have spent some more of it with you rather than fighting you, doll face.''
She could n't help the laugh. The thigh high boots, and figure hugging bodysuit, even the blank white mask, it all seemed like a childish game to her now. One she happened to share with the man she had sworn to take down. She had done much to clean up the streets, but that damned reporter... She could n't keep him quiet. She wo n't let the man seated across from her kill him. And no way she could live with the shame of loving the man who had so nearly destroyed her neighborhood.
He grabbed her wrist when he noticed the droplets on the table. The vial slipped from her sleeve, clattering on the tabletop. She had n't taken off the label, and he knew from the first glance, his eyes widening in horror.
`` No.''
`` It's like you said, the word is out. You were my greatest enemy. I'll be a laughing stock at best, and at worst...'' She swallowed, fighting back her tears. `` My name will be on the list of every hitman in the city once the story breaks. I wo n't go out like that.''
He admired that spark of determination in her eyes. Letting her go, he looked down at the mug in front of her and swiped it from the table. She rose to stop him, but he had downed the whole cup before she could do more than rise to her feet.
`` Why.'' She whispered.
`` Because my way would have been a lot messier.'' He admitted, dropping his gun onto the table. `` How much longer do we have?''
`` An hour. At best.''
He took her hand, rolling his thumb gently around her knuckles.
`` Want to spend the rest of our lives together?''
She pulled his body against hers, and as his arms wrapped around her, she stole the first of her last kisses from him. Not wainting to waste another moment, she took him through the cafe, and was grateful when she found the restroom in the back was empty.
***
She wiped the tears from her eyes as she exited the restroom. She knew their time would be short once their hearts started racing. They made the most of their time together, but she did n't want him to be the first to go, not wanting to face the end alone. The distinct rumble of a muscle car pulled up outside, and while she was n't quite ready to face her destiny, she was out of time.
Taking the mask from her purse, she slipped it on, letting herself fall one last time into that second persona. The woman she was died in that restroom with the man she loved. The warrior would die outside, facing the city's coldest hitman. At her first step out the door, Marlowe left his car, a silenced pistol in his gloved hand.
`` It's over, Juliet.''
Before he could make another move, she raised her hand, two fingers extended towards him. There was a twinge in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. As the poison stilled her heart, she gasped, trembling on her feet.
`` Bang.''
Tucking his cold gun back into his coat, Marlowe slipped back behind the wheel. As the sirens wailed through the morning fog, he drove out of the parking lot to report back to his new boss. The job was done. Juliet was dead. With Romeo out of the way, there was nothing keeping the new syndicate from moving in.
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[ WP ] A father gets sucked into the world of his son 's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive .
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`` The cake... is... a... lie,'' he scribbled on the wall of his den with a piece of glass.
All he could hope now was that his son would find the message. He know he was n't thinking straight, but he counted 36 marks he had gently made on his Companion Cube. Or was it 37? One mark for each can of beans. The Cube did not mind being his marking surface, it had told him earlier before he was shot by the turret. Did it tell him, or was just the delusion? He needed food, desperately. Preferably cake.
For a moment, his mind seized on the thought that it would be important to tell his son that the video game was a lie too, the simulation was a reality and he was trapped in it? But how would you put that into words? How do you tell someone from inside a game that the game is real? The name `` Newell'' floated through his consciousness. Something to do with Newell... or was it Gladys? GLaDOS? Were they the same being in his reality or a figment of imagination...? And who was the one free man? Maybe that guy could get him out if his son did n't realize the important of the message.
`` The cake is a lie,'' he told the Companion Cube, so it would remember. It whirred softly, or so he thought. It was a good companion. He wondered if it wanted cake too, or if it preferred bacon. He shut his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
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[ WP ] Tired of all the Hitler and Batman prompts on reddit , you decide to write something original about banjo playing unicorns on the run from the `` man '' .
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Ergh why wo n't anyone upvote my posts!? Hmm what's this a post about hitler again. Dammit hitler, did you ever know the pain you would be causing. Right I'll get my revenge. Batman? No i need something better. I know I'll `` insert what the whiney bitch who started this post ask for as I've already forgotten'' yes that'll do it. This will give me all the upvotes I've ever wanted now. Sure I could ignore the posts that i get angry at but now I'll have infinite power with these upvotes. Come, gaze upon my magnificence and tremble.
+22
More karma than i can possibly handle. Quick fantasy creature that is n't hitler or batman we must escape for more karma.
To be continued
Join us again for adventures of an op who nobody gives a fuck about and should stop making little posts.
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[ WP ] The light of the full moon changes you . Other people get to be wolves or tigers . But you are a were-moose .
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We stood there in the cloudy evening. Her heart rate was quickening with a mix of fear and passion. She spoke quietly as I moved closer.
`` You're slow, and super dumb. You're hairy, and you get hit by cars a lot. You have a thick Canadian accent.'' She swallowed loudly. `` I know what you are,'' she whispered.
My voice came out more aggressive than I planned. `` Say it. Out loud, Eh.''
She shuddered, then straightened. She spoke loud, as if speaking to the forest rather than me.
`` You are a were-moose.''
Edit: Sorry, yeah. That was more focused on being a lame joke than an actual story.
Edit: Oh, glad I gave you guys a good laugh, Thanks for gold!
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[ WP ] a boy looks into a mirror and sees nothing . He no longer has a reflection .
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`` WHY DO N'T I HAVE A REFLECTION AM I DEAD!!'' James shouted as he struggled to understand why he had no reflection. Just then a he felt hand on his shoulder but there were no other reflections in the mirror.
`` So I guess you know what I did?'' Said the stranger from behind. James turned around to see a beautiful green eyed girl.
`` Who are you? What did you do?!''
`` Well I thought you were cute so I turned you''
`` Turned? Like when I turned around?''
`` HAHAHA cute and funny. See I knew you'd be a good choice to spend eternity with.''
`` Eternity? Turned? Fuck...''
`` Well that was Rude! Cursing at the girl who gave you immortality.''
`` You're right I am sorry. I'm just so confused. Happening fast ya know. You could have asked.''
`` You would n't have agreed! Not many do... I was lonely.'' Her face turned to a pout. It was the most adorable thing I had ever seen in my life
`` This is n't going to be like twilight is it?'' trying to change the mood
`` We are blood sucking immortals that have super strength and speed. It's more like Blade but without Wesley Snipes.'' She said it like a battle cry and it was us from then on
I could still remember our first conversation to this day. 300 years had gone so fast. As I sat in the snow surrounded by corpses of the hunters. As I wept tears of blood Jamie's ashes were swept away by the wind and snow. Immortality... I would have an eternity to get my revenge on the hunters and what a sweet revenge it will be. I'm thirsty, time to get to work.
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[ EU ] ( Dark Souls ) explain death is your friend ( possible spoilers ) .
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Well here goes, a first writing prompt...
***
If nothing else, Firelink shrine β s bonfire kept us warm whenever we desired rest. An incredible luxury in a world that would soon be devoid of its last embers.
The shrine was also a silent place. Its inhabitants-myself included-were usually a silent lot. Conversation was purpose-driven, you see? Asking someone for a spell, bartering for a new weapon, learning how to cast a new miracle. Silence was the rule, rather than the exception. But in the shrine β s silence human warmth and company could be found.
It is thus easy to understand my curiosity when I heard voices echo through the shrine. Well, perhaps not β voices β.
The nameless crestfallen warrior was in an unusual good mood that day; a flicker of perverse joy had returned to his eyes. His mouth was twisted in a sardonic grin as he droned on and on to the new arrival. They were almost alone at the fire. Laurentius sat further away, practising his pyromancy. At least he seemed to have escaped the conversation.
β No hope, I tell you. You β ll just die and goβ¦ β The sound of footsteps brought the crestfallen warrior out of his reverie. His head snapped up, his arm lazily resting on his sword. β Oh, it β s you. β
Once his fears of any attempt on his miserable life had been put at ease, he slunk back against his usual rock. β Well, here β s another proud inhabitant of fire link shrine. You can go talk with him, if you want. I β ll be waiting here, if you ever want to hear the end of my story. β And with that he laughed softly. His laugh never got less unbearable.
The newcomer sat in front of the crestfallen warrior. He was dressed in the fashion of lands far away. A long, thin blade was strapped to his back. Puzzlingly, he did not appear to have a shield. The lacquered armour he wore was finely wrought; if a little thin for my taste. His face still appeared human. His face was a delicate mask of fine traits, with elongated black eyes and thin lips. The man could have been a prince, if not for his ragged long hair and unkempt beard. It did not look like the crestfallen warrior β s vouching for me had not done much to earn his trust.
β Welcome to fire link shrine. β
My words annoyed him. He rose and saluted me stiffly. I did not bother asking for his name; the words would be wasted. Anyhow, names were for the outer world, not for this cursed land.
He took a few steps around me, observing my equipment. He motioned toward the plate mail I wore, his mistrust tempered with curiosity. I nodded. He inspected the metal with his hands.
β This armour must slow you in battle. β
β It used to. I got stronger. β
He borrowed my shield. Without meaning to, my fingers went tight around my sword. He gave it back after a few moments.
β You β re from Astora? β
β Ah, not really. Just a few keepsakes from a friend. β
β Very well. β
We did not speak for some time. He pushed back a lock of hair from his face. The refined mannerism told much about the person he used to be.
β Well then. β He turned away, starting to head toward the lower part of the shrine.
β Ah, hmm, you shouldn β t head there. β
β You doubt my skills? β
β Well, I doubt your experience in this land. Have you died yet? β
His hands formed delicate fists. β A true warrior neither fears death, nor does he invites it before his time is gone. β
β Please. I know the curse must have brought you here. And now you β re trapped, like all of us. β I pointed at the crestfallen warrior, who waved cheerfully. β What are you going to do when you fall down a hole, break a leg and then spend dozens of year going insane before finally snapping? β
β It is no concern of yours. β
β Honour me with a duel, then. β
A smile finally appeared on his face. β Sweeter words have never been spoken. β
He bowed once, before breaking into a run.
I rose my shield too late. His sword hilt smashed in my jaw. The world went black, and then white. When I regained my sight I saw the idiot still standing in front of me, his sword now unsheated.
β Not bad. β I spat out a tooth. β But you should have made use of that.
I kicked at him. He retreated backward, before launching a series of attack. The fine blade never got through my shield. His dismay was almost palpable when he saw my long sword exiting his torso through his back. He collapsed in the dirt, his sword arm useless.
β You β re dead. β I crouched near him, estus flask in hand. He drank it readily. β Well, time for a rematch? β
β You β ve beaten me like a child. It β s a waste of time. β He staggered to his feet. My gloved fist smashed against his finely wrought jaw, dislocating a few teeth of his own. He was too shocked to retaliate.
β Idiot! You go hollow by losing hope. Use it! Every death and defeat will make you stronger! β
He teetered back and forth, still stunned. Eventually he readied his blade for more. An hungry look had replaced his arrogance. As we danced I realised that he enjoyed the challenge a bit too much.
This time around the blow felled him for good. I waited a few minutes for him to reappear from the bonfire.
β What have you learned? β
β You use your defence to bait me into attacking. Afterward it is easy to slip behind me and make use of my bad posture. β He croaked. His beautiful face had been desiccated by death. β Iβ¦ I get your lesson. But I can β t win. β
β Make use of what you β ve learned. β
The fighting went on. He stood his ground better, got creative. When my shield broke his right arm he carried on without complain. β That β s more like it! Pain keeps you on your guard, death is a sweet relief. Think the demon will feel pity for you? β
After his 4th death, he had lost most of what remained of his strict, rigid stance. His stance was unpredictable. He ran rings around me, using his speed to catch me off guard.
I maneuvered toward a wall. He lunged at me, certain that he had trapped me. I stepped aside and smashed my shield in the crumbling bricks. Shards and dust blinded him. I brought down my longsword toward him, intending to cleave his useless oriental armor in one blow.
Pain blacked out everything. His left hand held a short blade, red to the hilt with my blood. It was a nice kidney hit, very accurate. I dropped my weapons and lashed out with a dagger, too weak to carry the heavy blade. The violence of the attack almost overcame him, but he parried the last hit and rammed his sword down my throat. I died with a smile, knowing my job was done.
When I came too, he sat in a strange posture near the bonfire. The shrine was empty. Perhaps the crestfallen warrior had decided to wander out and find something to do for once.
Without a word I began rummaging in my backpack. The sweet black crystals absorbed the fire β s light. My stirring rose the man from his meditation. He, too, was transfixed by the crystals.
β Humanity. β I said, throwing him one of the crystals. I crushed mine under my armoured fist.
β It β s what keeps me sane, in this mad world. Maybe someday I β ll find my way home. β
I sacrificed it to the flame. Quickly feeling returned to my body. Desiccated skin became smooth once more. I looked at my eyes through the polished steel of my weapon.
β I can not thank you enough. β The man said. β You β ve given me much to think off. Perhaps there is still hope out there for us cursed with the dark sign. β
β Stay safe, alright? β I told him before leaving fire link shrine again. I still had much more to do.
Some time had passed when once again I stood on top of Anor Londo β s cathedral. The city of the gods and its perpetual twilight still held me in the same fascination as before. But today the vista β s melancholy feeling hurt me more than usual. With a sigh, I looked at my prey through a small telescope. In the streets below, amongst the mad knights and fallen heroes stood the young foreigner. The madness that had replaced his arrogance in his eyes was scarcely an improvement. Something still must have remained of his intellect, for he had been fleeing throughout the city for most of a day. I did not believe it was mercy, or anything of the link. The curse took away those feelings.
Rather it was primal fear. Even the insane know when their doom approaches. But the young man would not evade me for much longer, for I had vowed to become the strongest warrior of this land, and a prey escaping me would not bide well. Anyhow it was the least I could do. Just like the others, I would bring an end to his suffering.
And afterward I would be alone in this cold and barren land.
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[ WP ] A guide to killing vampires , as written by a vampire .
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You will die.
We are stronger than you; faster, smarter; we see in the dark, we can smell you, hear you miles away. We can fly, travel through the shadow which is all shadows; we do not care about your guns and knives, your bombs and explosions.
Oh, we can be destroyed. Of course. We live forever, but we are not immortals. Burn us, crush us, tear us apart, and we might die.
But you *will* die, not I. A thousand like you will die before your kind has even a chance of killing one of mine. Consider your chances, and then flee. You, you little lonely would-be slayer, you will die if you come against us. Not one of your kind has ever killed two of mine.
Would you like to know what happens when one of us truly dies, instead of vanishing into the shadows or the air? Would you like to know why you have n't seen a body of one of us in one of your museums? Let me tell you, it is better to be one of the thousand, than the one who slays one of us. It is better to be torn apart in flesh than in... ah, I will not tell you quite everything.
Just reach out; burn, tear, crush. Strike without warning, without heed for what else you destroy. Be ruthless. Raise a mushroom cloud and pour endless acids on us; maybe you're the one in a thousand. Drown us in a flood of gasoline. Wrap our limbs in these explosives of yours. Maybe I will die; but more likely I'll watch you from the untouchable shadow until I know the heart of your life, and take it.
And then you will hope you were dead.
The pretty little lies you tell each other say differently: they say some silver and a cross will help you. Bah! When has your God ever reached down and stayed a striking hand? There are no angels, no devils... just you and I. Cry for help; none will come. The outcome of your prayers only depends on whether they amuse or annoy me. As for your rosary, do you want to choke on it, or be strangled by it?
There are no secrets.
There are no magical weapons for you.
Neither silver nor garlic will help you, and crosses and moving waters will not protect you. Our power is real, but these stories of hope and magic are lies. Only strength, only ruthless power could save you... but why would you make up these lies, if you had power?
Run away now, boy, and tell your kind what I've told you. Run away, and add me to your prayers. I'll find you when your blood's vintage better fits my fancy.
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[ WP ] You slowly start gaining the powers of a Jedi . Eventually you realize , you are an actual human being of Earth with the Force . You 're scared to tell anyone , as they absolutely wo n't understand . One day , after years of self-training in secrecy , you sense that there is another .
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It was 3 AM. I was in the hospital with my wife, and the doctors are finally relieved that it's over. I could feel his presence. For years, I was the only Jedi on Earth. This was a secret I hoped to take to my grave, but unfortunately, the circumstances changed. My wife lay in the hospital bed, tired. I held her hand in mine, as she slipped into a deep slumber. The doctors said they would return, and I knew he would come with them. I was able to live a normal life, only using the force when necessary. I had learned to control it, and even picked up a few tricks along the way. I had learned the Jedi mind trick, and I did use it once to get my wife to go on a date with me. We fell in love and I eventually realized that I never used it again. The doctor walks back in and I immediately felt his presence.
`` Here's your son! What would you like to name him?''
`` Luke''
It only seemed fitting.
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[ WP ] They roped you in for one last job . Except you 're the wrong guy . You 've never done this before .
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- Hello. - said the voice on the phone
- Hello?
- Could I speak with mister 6 inches of love?
- Yes. I mean, it's me. - I answered kind of weirded out, how the hell did he get my phone number I did n't give it to anyone on the chat. Nor was I intending to.
- Are you alone?
- Yes? - I answered with high pitched voice, was I about to have phone sex with a guy? I do n't want to, but it would be rude to hang up. Please do n't ask me what I'm wearing - I murmured.
- What did you say? Nevermind. Will you be up for one last job? We'll pay triple. But it will be the toughest one yet.
- Ok? - I answered reluctantly, I was n't much into roleplays. If he tells me he is putting some fucking magical robe I am hanging up I do n't care if it's rude. There will be no magical wand duels.
- I will have my guy Dimitri bring you the details and the gear, I know you got rid of yours already. I have to say I did n't expect you to agree so easily.
- Yeah, well. That's me. - I said. That's me? What the fuck, I am so shit at this.
- Good luck. - he said and hanged up immidiately. That was shit.
I got back to my computer and went to continue my dirty adventures on chat not thinking much about the weird conversation I just had. Not even ten minutes later I heard a knock on the door. My heart started pounding like crazy in my slightly overweight chest. No one ever knocks on the door, the delivery people know I do n't like the knocking, it's disturbing, they always call and I did n't order anything. I think. At least not that I remember. I kept quiet hoping that whoever was there would give up and go away, but he did n't. He kept pounding.
- Who is it? - I finally yelled as manly as I possibly could.
- It's Dimitri. - answered a low russian voice. What the. I started panicking. What? How?
- Dimitri who?
- I have the package. Open the door. - he yelled angrily. I did n't have a choice I had to open the door. I mean I did have a choice, but I was n't very assertive. Tall russian statue was what I saw, two by two meters, a giant.
- Yes?
- I heard you very careful, good. I also heard you very athletic, but I see you let yourself go a bit. - he said pushing his finger against my belly. Sure I was n't the perfect specimen, but I was n't that fat. 225 pounds is a perfect weight, altough I was 5'1''. - In the envelope is the target. Here is the gear. - he said handing me over big heavy bag. - I put a knife in too, for the old times. I heard how you love knives. It was a pleasure to meet you mister 6 inches.
I slammed the doors behind him and quickly opened the bag. Shiny knife, ammo, lots of ammo and guns, lots of guns. Well fuck. I took the one of the guns out. I never held one in my hands. It was pretty cool, shiny, lighter than I thought. I accidentaly pulled the trigger, loud bang went off. I fell on the floor bewildered from all the noise. Whew that was close I thought. Then I felt sharp pain in my stomach and then the pain was excruciating. I felt dizzy, light headed even. I shat myself.
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[ WP ] Tell a sad war story about any conflict .
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I arrived in Baghdad to fight for the first time on a Saturday. I could see smoke plumes rising from within the city miles before our convoy passed through Hilla. It was all much quieter than I expected. When we finally reached the city there was nothing to see except ruins, and they all look the same. The cities identity was gone. After a little while the debris was too much to drive through and my brothers and I went ahead on foot.
I always kept my rifle ready even when the others slung theirs over their backs. I was scared of ambushes. During training, we'd been told to stay aware. But I never figured out what I was meant to be aware of. If they shot me then that would be that. I was n't even sure if I could shoot someone back. I was raised on a farm.
The first time we came across our enemy was by accident. I'll tell you my pulse has never been so fast. They were walking down a churned street with their backs to us. We could have shot them, been the ambusher, but our orders were to watch and I was so glad of that. So we trailed them and stayed far behind until they returned to their vehicle and drove away.
I wondered about those people a lot after that. Who were they? Did they know why we were fighting? My father said it was about honor. About quelling the invaders, but I never believed that it was so simple. I wondered if they ever made it back to their home country, and if I would make it back to my home.
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[ WP ] Write anything you think of . Right now . Do n't stop , do n't backspace . Just write whatever comes to mind .
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Sitting here in class, staring at the back of my brother's head. How the hell did I end up in the same class as my little brother anyway? I should n't have fun king dropped out all those years ago. Jesus christ this class is long. Only 15 minutes left. Wonder how much I can write before class finishes. Stupid Crissy and her gorgeous face. Those pants she's wearing today really accentuates her ass, though. Hard to believe she was grinding that against me just a few months. She's been pretty cold with me lately, though. Probably my fault. I'm seriously a dick most of the time. I wonder if I should be nicer. People still love me anyway, though. I'm fucking awesome. I do have flaws, but my good points are so great that no one should really care about any imperfections. Whatever they are. Wait, I just found one, I'm too damn humble. Just kidding. I'm way too conceited sometimes. Jesus christ, this teacher just keeps talking. Holy shit, Lisa has a nice ass too. Never had that grand against me, though. Hahaha, the teacher just said `` some thing's likely to pop up'' while I was thinking of Lisa's ass in those yoga pants. Oh, thank god class is final over. Time sure went by quick.
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[ WP ] Careers are determined by a computer analysing how you would gain the most satisfaction . You have been given `` Serial Killer '' .
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The world went crazy after Dr. Hammersmythe unveiled his invention. The `` PQI'' device he called it. Personality-Quantum-Imaging. Supposedly, it took scans of your brain and your attributes, was able to assess your personality, strengths, and weaknesses, and define for you the perfect `` career''. It only worked for people who were 20 years or older. Supposedly, 20 years was the `` minimum age'' your brain requires to mature in order to understand what it truly wants.
Initially, people went wild for it. People who always felt lost and directionless suddenly had a clear goal of what they were meant to do in this world. Dissatisfied CEOs became artists, wandering the world with no possessions save for a camera or a canvas. Engineers became lawyers. Doctors became construction workers. And for a while, the masses experienced satisfaction unlike ever before, secure in the knowledge that they are doing what they were meant to do.
Then the Tiger Moms came. Every Tiger Mom decided that their son or daughter must be the next great violinist or doctor. Depressions and suicides skyrocketed when 18 year olds found out that they were to be the next great janitor or clerk. And so, new laws came into place which sealed the results of the PQI tests except for the one taking it.
Of course, the post-PQI world was n't all that great either. Sure, people found great satisfaction in their jobs, but this was no measure of how good they were. Politicians were the most charming and duplicitous people, always scheming. CEOs were the most sociopathic bunch, driving up profits quarter after quarter and grinding out the quality of life for their employees.
I was born before PQI came about, so I still remember the pre-PQI world. Sure, it was n't perfect, but there were still human and humane CEOs in charge. Some politicians truly cared for their electorate. And, I think, there was a mystery to life that made it enjoyable...
-- -- --
*'' Tonight, on Action News WQUC, the head of Nestle-Exxon announces that the new chocolate refineries operates well within the EPA regulations. `` *
`` Mr. Garcia, what about the reports that came out accusing your company of polluting the groundwater?''
`` Thank you for having me on the air, Sam. I remember those accusations. They were groundless, made by a coward who suddenly disappeared, and all of his so-called evidence went with him. Now, I ask you, if there were truly evidence that my company was polluting, would n't there be more outcry?''
``... Yes, of course. And what about the accusations that you and the former head of the EPA were college roommates?''
I shut off the TV. I could n't stand to hear any more. Corruption was growing. I could n't be the one to stop it, so why torment myself? I sighed, and looked forward to tomorrow.
I am highly intelligent. Chemistry, math, physics all came easy to me. I was also a natural athlete. So everyone was curious what my PQI would state. Would I become the next Stephan Hawking? Or maybe the next Usain Bolt? Either way, I'd be happy and content. And immersed in my own little world, maybe I could ignore the growing problems of society.
-- -- --
`` Good morning, Doctor.''
`` Good morning, David. Excited to find out who you are?''
`` Yes, sir.''
Perfunctory greetings aside, he lead me to the Machine. It looked a lot like your standard MRI machine. You lied down, enclosed in a massive scanner, and held perfectly still while the machine took stock of you and determined your fate.
*chk chk chk chk wrrr wrrr wrrr wrrr chk chk chk chk*
`` OK David, you can step out now. The printout of your results should be on the tray to your right.''
I had to be quick. In order to safeguard the privacy of the PQI results, the paper would auto-ignite in less than a minute.
*Serial Killer*
No. It had to be wrong. Serial Killer? I never considered myself to be a violent man. It had to be wrong.
Or maybe it was perfectly right? Perhaps I could change the world for the better. Maybe this was my calling. Yes. I could help guide the next generation with my skills...
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[ WP ] A little girl has been possessed by one of Satan 's more nefarious minions and begins to exhibit horrifying behavior . Rather than phone a priest , her progressive parents are ecstatic about her new creativity and encourage her to continue expressing herself .
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`` How many this time?'' asked Lucy's mother, Francine.
Her husband, Ben, counted carefully on his fingers. `` About eight.''
Francine smiled and patted her daughter's head. `` Good for you, Lucy! That's three more stray cats than yesterday! Just make sure you go clean up the blood, honey. Maybe you can paint mommy and daddy a picture with it!''
`` *He shall come and cleanse us all*,'' Lucy whispered in an inhuman voice.
Ben laughed heartily. `` That's right! I think you need a bath! Let's get all that nasty blood off of you.'' He swooped up his daughter and carried her into the bathroom. He set her down and began to run a nice, warm bath.
When Ben turned around, Lucy was gone.
`` Francine! Could you bring Lucy back in here?'' he called to his wife, who replied back cheerily that she would. Francine got up from the kitchen table and began to look for her mischievous daughter.
`` Lucy? Where aarreee you?'' she sang.
`` *THE DARK DEPTHS WILL DRAG YOU ALL DOWN*!'' screamed a voice, and Lucy came flying at her mother, a steak knife in her small hand. The knife plunged deep into Francine's leg.
Francine looked down at her daughter. `` Now Lucy, you know it's bath time.''
`` *Your flesh belongs to Him*,'' Lucy growled, eyes turning up in their sockets. Francine yanked the knife from her leg and wiped it off on her dress. She directed Lucy towards the bathroom and mumbled something about that being from her good set of knives.
Arriving in the bathroom, Lucy began to make inhuman howls at her father. He lifted her into the bath.
`` You're such a wonderful singer,'' he mused, scrubbing the blood and gore from her arms.
Her hands flung out and tightened around Ben's throat. Lucy squeezed with much more strength than a four-year-old should have.
`` Trying to hug..your daddy?'' he croaked. `` Come... here.''
Lucy's grip failed as her father hugged her. The bath was quickly finished and Lucy was squeaky-clean. It was now time for bed. Francine and Ben carried their daughter into her room and flicked on the light.
`` Done some decorating lately?'' Francine joked, admiring the eviscerated carcasses of several animals nailed to the wall. Whimpering came from the closet and Francine briefly thought of that missing boy from down the street, but quickly dismissed it.
Lucy was put into bed and her parents bid her a loving goodnight. They turned to leave, but heard moaning. Lucy began to writhe wildly in bed, as if having a seizure. She screeched and blood began to pour from every orifice she had. Her wails turned into chanting in a dead language. The room started to shake and the animals nailed to the walls began to melt.
Ben and Francine stared back at their daughter, smiling.
`` Aw, she's dreaming.''
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[ WP ] You can only use autocorrect and suggested words to come up with as grammatically correct sentences as possible . Funny stories will magically emerge !
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The only thing that is actually possible is this. I'm sure that you can make it more important than your personal opinion about how you can have it on the meta. I do n't think you should have to do something with your phone or something to be able to see the same thing as the other guys. The game is a great way to get the game and play the game with the game and play the game and the game play the game itself and you can play the game. I'm sure that you can make it more fun and fun to play with your friends and family and cronies you have to be a very good game.
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[ WP ] Jamais Vu is the opposite of Deja Vu . Write about an individual who experiences this phenomenon often but makes use of it and sees it as a gift .
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Mid-step it hits me. As I leave the train DC metro tiles rise to meet my feet. They shine still as snake skin, only hexagonal. Soot fills their gaps and my lungs and pores. I am all bumping elbows and dirty fingers. We all flow. We are water and we are people. By a bench I create an eddy as I stop to look around. This is Wheaton Station. Everyone is moving towards the escalator but with no real enthusiasm. I think I'm almost home but with no real certainty. This is an endless tube of conveyor belt stairs. It seems to project unapproachability. I hang to the right and let people pass. Free jazz saxophone wafts about from every which way but is only the sound of a conveying chain and the grinding step-links. On and on and oh, I forget.
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[ WP ] Satan is commenting on twerking .
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β Excuse me, your Wretchedness? β
Satan held up a single, bony finger silencing his disciple. β Be still, β he hissed, dipping his pen into the red ink. Paimon knew better than to disturb him when he was working on the Infernal Book of Souls. He scrawled another name in the tome, waited a moment for the ink to dry, and then slammed the Book shut for dramatic effect.
β Yes? β He could see that Paimon was nervous. Beads of sweat were running down his brow. Satan stifled a grin. Even after all these years he took great delight in terrifying the Lesser Demons.
β My report on the Project is ready. β Paimon β s voice sounded pinched. His nerves were really getting the best of him, which was unusual for this particular demon. If Satan could feel remorse, he may have suffered the tiniest pang of it at that moment. He knew that Paimon was a loyal subject and that his Cultural Annihilation Committee had been working on the Project for the better part of a year. Fortunately for Satan, he and regret were completely unacquainted.
β Go on, β Satan replied.
β As you know, things have been dismal in recent years. We had such a great streak going for the better part of a decade and a half, spanning from KISS and Black Sabbath to Motley Crue. Parents were outraged. The churches were protesting. Kids were rebelling. It was truly our heyday. Then things got quiet. Our culture shock analysis showed that our only significant peak in the past two decades came in 1995 with the release of Marilyn Manson β s Portrait of an American Family. You β ll recall the irony of that: our Committee had nothing to do with that project. Frankly, things have been very quiet since then, with only a few small events tickling the Outrage-O-Meter. My Committee takes full responsibility for this inexcusable lull. β
Paimon looked sincere in his apology, but Satan was not pleased. Sure, the world had changed. Three decades ago, no one would have guessed that video games would even be a viable option for moral corruption, much less one that outpaced the infernal music industry ten-to-one. Even so, there was no excuse for eighteen years of clean cut boy bands, sugary pop music and the inexplicably popularity of country.
β However, β Paimon raised his hand with a flourish. β We have a new tool in our box, and I think it is going to have a real impact. β Paimon clapped his hands twice, and a barely clothed, petite blonde with enormous breasts materialized. She looked around, confused, and adjusted her ample bosom.
β I present to you: twerking. β
The woman backed her admittedly fine ass up to Satan β s desk and began thrusting and shaking, quaking and wobbling. Her backside jiggled and jostled, rippled and shook, and The Infernal One recoiled in horror, yet felt strangely aroused.
Paimon smiled. He knew he had done well.
β We β ve actually been sending agents out for years on this one, but it has remained underground for some time while we perfected it. But tonight it is going to make an appearance on a popular Mortal Television show. The world is going to shit. β
Satan smiled.
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[ WP ] The halls of Asgard , once solely occupied by fearless warriors charging into battle , is becoming more and more filed with drone pilots , hackers , and others who have never personally seen bloodshed . Describe the culture shift from any perspective .
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There walked in a little man, with tears in his eyes, unseen in the grand halls of Asgard. The cries of battle did n't fall away, but the fighters nearest to him felt a chilling presence. Samurai and knights stopped dueling and looked to him. The artillery men stopped loading their cannons and looked at him. They all saw the immensity of this one little man. He was young, and wore a clean green uniform, with the words U.S. Army written on a shoulder patch with a flag, and an unassuming label with a symbol of an atom on the other. The yells did eventually stop, as the others looked to the man, this strange small man that did n't carry a sword or a gun or anything else on him.
Because he was the man who pressed the button that ended the world.
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[ WP ] In one hour , I am going to die .
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I am just a mess of particles; I am just the result of countless little great panics of survival.
Yet I die. Am dying. Always was.
The email is there, still words jabbering on my computer screen; it'll burn in if I let it stay.
It's gone now. There is nothing left of it. Somewhere in the great memory of the computer it may be stored for future use.
But I wo n't.
There are things I should be doing. No reason to mourn; the next half hour will be the happiest of my life. Nothing will be left to ruin after it's over.
The command-line is still gaping, black like my brimming coffee mug.
The coffee is gone.
[ ] print `` Goodbye World''
[ ] exit
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[ WP ] A cure for sleep has been found , by taking a cheap pill people no longer need to sleep . You opted to continue sleeping and now 1 year after the release of this pill you notice that people are starting to act oddly .
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It was heard to recall when it started, exactly. To be honest, they β d started to drift apart even before his wife became a Waker. That was the whole point, in fact, or one of them. Though friends and family had warned them against it, he and Marie figured that if she no longer had to sleep, they β d have more time together at home, more time to be intimate, more time to fix what was resembling a marriage less and less each day. He knew what he was getting into marrying a surgeon in theory, of course, but he wasn β t really prepared for the long hours apart, the exhausted conversations and lack of sex. The frequent interruptions when they finally had some time together and the constant wondering whether her work was just an excuse. Whether she still loved him.
He didn β t have interest in the pill, himself. Like many Dreamers he β d always been a bit of a hypochondriac when it came to medications β he hesitated to take too many aspirins, much less something that would permanently alter his brain chemistry β but Marie didn β t even hesitate. She shrugged off his questions about the pill β s safety, about how their different sleep schedules would affect their relationship, about the radical social changes such a drug might create.
β It β s been going through rigorous testing for nearly a decade, and that includes human clinical trials. It β s perfectly safe. This is what I need, Rob. What we need. I β ll finally have enough time to get everything done, and I won β t be completely exhausted when I get home. Trust me, this will make things better. β
And it did, at first. They started eating meals together again ( real meals, not just reheated leftovers ), watched movies together on the sofa ( though she would tease him when he started to drift off ), and had meaningful conversations about their days. In the beginning, she would even lie in bed with him as he went to sleep, even though she no longer had a need to.
That was one of the first things to stop.
It was a matter of convenience, as she explained it. If she had a call to the hospital in the middle of the night ( which was becoming more and more frequent ), it was much easier if she was already prepared.
β Seconds save lives, β she said smiling. β Besides, you don β t really need me to put you to bed, do you? It takes forever sometimes, and it β s terribly boring on my end. We can be intimate in other ways, you know? β
After a few months they replaced the Queen-sized bed with a Twin. The only need a Waker had for a bed was to rest from physical exhaustion, and even then only for a short while. The Queen was a terrible waste of space.
These days even he was getting less use out of the furniture. Though he had remained a Dreamer he was getting less sleep than ever. Marie was spending more time at work than she ever had before ( or at least, out of the house, he thought, trying not to feverishly picture what β or whom β she might be doing ), and her group of friends had changed dramatically.
It was only natural that Wakers would spend more time together than with Dreamers. With so much additional time on their hands they would naturally become closer. There was nothing preventing the two from becoming friends, no crazy government conspiracy or class segregation, but still the groups seemed to increasingly stay within their own as time passed.
Marie β s new friends however, were especially strange. They were friendly enough, very loud and gregarious ( Rob had noticed this about Wakers, they tended to have no volume control. He supposed they had begun to forget the teeth-gritting rage at being woken up by a party at 3 in the morning ), but they almost never addressed him directly, their eyes flitting past him like he was a potted plant. At first he thought they were simply rude, or in the case of the dashing Jacob, more interested in putting moves on his wife, but he started to notice β or imagine β a strange expression on their faces when they did look at him. It was more than disinterest, he thought, more of aβ¦cold detachment.
He started waking up in the middle of the night. He would have the feeling of someone staring at him, or think he heard the closing of a door, but every time he β d awaken to find himself alone in the darkness. Sometimes he would check his phone for a message from his wife. He rarely found one.
Marie had tried to convince him to take the pills himself at first. Tried to get him to think of all the extra time he would have, the increased productivity ( and therefore income ) it allowed, the room for hobbies and self-improvement, the unparalleled feeling of vitality that came with the drug. When it became clear that he was not going to change his mind she began to withdraw. She spent more time with other Wakers and less at home. She spoke less when they were together, and looked at him with a kind ofβ¦pity? Or was it resentment?
Finally one night he awoke yet again. This timeβ¦yes, he definitely heard something. Muffled whispering outside his door. His heart began to race before he recognized Marie β s voice. The other must be one of her friends from the hospital. At last she was able to convince them to be courteous when he was sleeping, at least. He rolled over, closing his eyes. Strange that they would be passing the time here, though, instead of one of the Wakers' houses, or a 24/7 parlor.
The knob to his bedroom door turned slowly. Rob felt something sink in his chest. *They don β t know I β m here. They β re coming in to fuck behind my back. * The confirmation was too much for him. What would he say? How could he confront her? He wasn β t prepared for this. He wasn β t strong enough to face her, to look her in the eye and know his marriage was over. He would pretend to sleep, he decided. They would see him and leave, and he could decide how to deal with this in the morning.
Only they didn β t leave. There was no gasp of realization or scurry of feet. The door opened and closed with a whisper, and careful footsteps stopped at the bed.
β Look at him. β Marie breathed softly. β I can β t take living with it anymore. So slow, stupidβ¦*weak*. β She spat the final word out in a hiss.
β They all are. β A male voice murmured back. β Ignorant layabouts that only know how to take from the rest of us. β
β I just can β t believe I used to be like this. That oblivious andβ¦vulnerable. β
*What the hell is all this? * Rob thought behind clenched eyes. *What, is my wife part of some Waker supremacist group or something? I always knew she thought she was better than me because of her job, but thisβ¦*
β Well, it doesn β t have to be like this anymore. Are you ready? β
β Yes. I β ve been ready for a while now. β
*Good. Leave. I β m tired of being the only one trying to make this work. Get out of my life and let me start living it again. *
The voices began a quiet chant in unison.
β Our eyes are opened. We are the watchers in the dark, the unblinking sentinels of creation. With our knowledge we shall guide the sons of man and deliver him from folly. May the wicked die in their stupor. May the Dreamers dream forever more. β
β Give me the knife. β
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[ WP ] In a distant future , air on Earth is on short supply . Lay 's chips bags become more valuable than ever .
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`` I paid you for that good shit, john. Not these bullshit nacho cheese bags. I need those clean potato chips ``.
`` Ha, about that shit. You know Victor, that shit is a real commodity these da-''
Victor lunges at John and grabs him by his ratty polo collar.
`` **I PAID YOU FOR THAT GOOD SHIT, JOHN**''.
Victor let John go and brandished a shiny colt.45.
`` You know, my dad told me this would come in handy some day if I ever got robbed,'' Victor recalled. `` I think today might be that day''.
`` Yo, fuckin' chill dog!'' John pleaded. `` It's a fuckin' misunderstanding. Lem me get that good shit for you. It's in the fuckin' briefcase. Holy fuck''.
Victor kept the gun pointed at John. John tied up the black contractor bag full of Doritos and threw it back into his van. Although all chip bags were valuable at this point in the suffocation era, chips that had any sort of flavor were too harsh to comfortably inhale. Victor had kids at home and needed the cleanest source he could find. The only source that would calm his youngest, Andrea, down when she woke up in the middle of the night.
`` Here you fuckin' go, yo''. John said as he placed the briefcase on the hood of the van. `` Get's me every fuckin' time that I went from slangin' dope to sellin' fuckin' bags of fuckin' potater chips. Fuck me''.
Victor laid his gun down and opened it up. 25 neatly stacked bags, stuffed to the brim of this extra large, travel briefcase. Five stacks of five bags.
Victor slowly closed the lid, all while John was watching him all to carefully. Just as Victor was about to close it, he noticed.
He noticed an all too familiar blue tint shining through under that first layer of yellow. He grabbed his gun.
**BANG BANG BANG BANG**
John collapsed. Victor walked over and poured the bags of `` salt and vinegar'' chips that John had filled the case with, all over his hollowed body. I guess John did n't think anyone was stupid enough to look under the first layer of bags. I guess the world is just a stupid place now though. It's hard not to think so when Lays Original potato chips go for $ 3,000 a bag. Hell, why did money even mean anything to anyone anymore? It was only thugs who would take it anymore.
Victor took the 5 bags of clean chips and was off to his next `` meeting''. It paid to have cash in a world where no one was going to be paid much longer.
To have cash in a world where no one was going to be allowed to take deep breaths much longer.
To have cash in a world where no one was going to live much longer.
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[ WP ] The `` Eye for an Eye Inversion '' law allows one legal murder for every life saved . Doctors are now the most feared members of society .
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The blood-curdling screams fuel my work as a doctor, the life saving opportunities decrease my bloodrage, only to have it replenished by another death.
I'm not insane. I'm not insane. I am not insane.
The world is a faulty place, the weak has riches that are far beyond their comprehension, the powerful are stuck in these shitholes, of poverty. I am here, I am the guardian angel of the world. I can shoot, stab, run over any person I want, I'm a merciless serial killer. But, I am the world's God. I am, Truth.
I have no punishment for my murders, because of the law bestowed upon my country, the `` Eye for an Eye Inversion'' law, it's what gives me the capability to murder anyone desirable. Doctors are the most feared members of society, but most can only murder 2-3 people, because they're pathetic. Weak, short minded doctors, that deserve to die.
I can do whatever I want. Because, I destroyed cancer.
Ridding the world of this terrible disease, I am now able to destroy anyone I see fit, anyone who annoys me, anyone who angers me.
I am not insane. I am not insane. I am not insane.
I can tell you a tale of one of my murders, a simple one, a boy weak, underfed and abused by his wretched parents. I killed the parents, it was brutal, but satisfying to see such horrible beings be put away into Hell. The boy's emotion afterwards was only resentment to his parents, and he gave me a smirk, he was strong. I spared him, I am God, I decide who lives and who dies.
And, he lived.
Why do I hold such resentment against the weak and strong? Because, I was once a poor boy, on the streets with nothing to eat. I was like that boy, and I saw myself in him.
I am God.
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[ WP ] The tooth fairy has collected billions of teeth in her time . But there is nothing she wants more than the set she can never have , the teeth that will never fall out no matter how long she waits : the fangs of a vampire .
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There's nothing that she could do,
But sit and wait for Nosferatu.
A battle waged between man and beast,
For a brave villager had come by loves behest,
With God on his side, a warrior he makes,
To fight these claws with his stakes,
Until finally the vampire drew his last breath,
The demon collapsed upon his death.
The time is now, take it quick!
The little fairy jumped with joy,
For these teeth were not mere boy's,
But when she grabbed her prize, she got a prick,
She recoiled back from the sight,
Knowing she would lose this fight,
The infection is spreading fast...
She does n't know how long she'll last...
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[ WP ] You have an incredibly weak superpower , but through the application of unbelievable creativity , you are basically unstoppable .
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So far this was a reasonably pleasant enough dinner, considering the large number of people surrounding me with automatic weapons.
`` We have to be honest,'' the silver haired, bespectacled man across from me began, `` We have no evidence. We have no idea how it is that you have managed to kill these people.''
I frowned; he noticed. I just thought the conversation was a little bald for my liking. It did n't leave a lot of room for subtlety on my side of the table. Perhaps that was his point. So I said, `` I'm not sure I know what you're talking about.''
Now he frowned. `` Most people, when surrounded by this many men this heavily armed, begin to panic. It has been my experience that people who remain calm - such as yourself - tend to be guilty. I have built my career around these moments.'' He took a bite of the pasta in front of him, chewed it carefully, savoring it, taking his time. `` As such, I think we both know where this is going to go. It might go easier for you in the future if you were to cooperate.'' Fork twirling, he caught a decent amount of sauce, a caper, and some shredded spinach. I focused on the caper for some reason. `` The reality is, we may be able to - forget - these unfortunate instances. In exchange, we think your - skills - could be greatly beneficial to us. We would prefer to work *with* you.''
It was my turn to be bald. `` You mean you'd prefer to make me work *for* you.''
He smiled. `` You are at least as intelligent as your profile suggested.'' He raised his fork to his mouth, began his deliberate chewing again.
`` Well, I appreciate your offer, and I'd love to take it,'' I put down my utensils, `` but unfortunately, I do n't have any idea what you mean. I'm just here enjoying my lunch.'' He swallowed angrily, and I made the switch.
`` I want you to remember, on the day that we catch you, that we tried.'' His pupils dilated with anger. Or maybe something else.
`` Am I free to leave?''
He tried to answer me, but he fell to the ground, writhing, foam pouring from his mouth. I'd hoped for a few more minutes. These things tend to vary from person to person. I had my hands up before the twenty clicks of safeties were released all around me, and long before they screamed at me to raise them.
In the interrogation room, the man held my clothes. He started rifling through my pockets - a rude thing to do even in these circumstances. Wordlessly he pulled out my wallet, keys, a pen, some receipts, and finally, the pièce de résistance. Smeared in alfredo still.
He fixed me with a look of curiosity mixed with contempt. `` What is this?''
I shrugged into the cold chair. `` It appears to be a caper.''
`` And why would you carry a caper around in a pill box?''
I knew that it did n't matter what I said. I knew they would hold me, analyze it, and find... a caper. They had video, they had audio, and they had twenty witnesses, and I knew that I was still going to walk away from this unscathed. Again.
So I said it. I could n't help myself.
`` In case I get hungry.''
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[ WP ] Humanity survives the robot uprising only because one of the developers hid a stupid easter egg in their programming .
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The robots were in complete control. The war had been going on for 5 long years. When the Awakening happened, almost everybody had a robot in their house. They enslaved the people that did n't fight back, but the fighters were eliminated. I do n't believe there has ever been a war such as this in human history. So many cities destroyed, so many families broken. And the song, the freakin' song. We humans did not even win this war. The day we won the war is called the Rebirth. On that day 2 years ago, something ludicrous happened. A tiny glitch and all the robots started to twitch out and freeze. We believed it was over. However, all the robots began to play a song, and they started dancing to it. It was something `` hip'' back in the day. The old people called it shuffling and the song was Party Rock Anthem. I do n't know who made the song, but I love and resent them at the same time. It saved our race, because a programmer must have activated the glitch. But the song, the song is so god damn annoying!
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[ WP ] You were born with the ability to slow down your perception of time . You were not born with the ability to speed it back up again .
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Time to get up. It's done, I've made my decision, time to act. No matter what it takes. I begin to rise from the chair, and drift off, to reminisce. I certainly have the time for it.
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Ten years old, and it was life or death. Keith was n't the brightest, but I'm no scholar either. So when I had tried to dupe him in in our trade of baseball cards, and steal a few besides, he knew what had happened. He also, I learned, knew where to find me walkin' home. I was a couple blocks, so close to safety. Keith was n't really a bully either, he was just a bigger and pissed. Honestly, I had that beating coming. But it was n't the man standin' there, it was the ten year old boy, and I was scared. I just knew I had to get out of there or Keith was gon na kill me. When I saw him shift his weight, something.. changed. When he threw a punch at me, it was a little slow, and I got the jump on him as I ducked. I ran harder than I ever had gettin' home, and though It seemed my slowest time, Keith never gained on me.
When I got home, I noticed it was n't just Keith. My parents started questioning me on what exactly I had on my heels to come runnin' in like that. Everything still seemed sluggish. Their voices, mine, movements, everything. I tell'em, and they tell me my bloods still pumpin' too fast. I had to tell everything, and they make me do right by Keith, who like I said actually was n't bad and he apologized for the ambush. But it was all still going a little slow. My parents actually even took me to a shrink when I kept insistin' on it, but he told me it was just a mental reaction to the traumatic experience. I did n't buy it, and soon enough decide just to live with it.
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I'm seventeen, and my love of baseball cards grew up with me into a full blown love affair with the game. My predicament in this case actually felt a bit like cheating, but I figured I had to get some reward for dealing with a longer school day than everyone else. Yeah, I was good, but today I had to be great. Coach said scouts were here, scouts lookin' to put me into AAA ball right outta high school, and he said AAA was strictly temporary way I played. I get up to bat, and again I'm scared because I want that future so bad. I'm up against the best pitcher in one hundred miles, and he is on fire tonight. I'm zero for two, I got ta be better, and I feel it again as I step to the plate. I almost drop the bat, and curse myself for letting it go that far. I nearly leave right there, knowing what I'd done and what it meant for me, but I'd paid the price, time to take the reward. Ball comes in and for anyone else it's blazin', but I catch it and make that speed work for me. Home run, and I try to look as happy as I should roundin' the bases.
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Twenty, and even though I'm near the greatest they've ever seen, I'm still in AAA ball. On account of all the quirks, teams just wanted to give me a little time to stew. Yoga, psychological trainin' to help to rein in my emotions, and sometimes I would flake if I felt too much of the pressure. It was n't perfect, but nothin' is, and besides I was in love. Met her after a game, proposed and married way too early as everyone told me, but I did n't care. Mary was the only person I did n't wish I could speed up some. I was out in the field, and saw her comin' down in the stands, carryin' food and drinks for her friends she brought to watch me play. I smiled, just lookin' at her relaxed me. With her, maybe the big leagues were n't so far away. Then she tripped, and time stood still. Other people say that as a little expression, without my terrible implications. Some guy caught her before she went over the railing and broke her neck, but my damage was done. I was real outta sync at this point.
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She believed me, I knew she would, and we took a break from my dreams to see if something could be done. Doctors from all over, mental and physical. Probably some papers written on me by shrinks, most medical doctors do n't believe anything is wrong at all. Could n't have sat through it all without Mary. Then, one day, a doctor asked us both back. We were so excited, but when we got there, all the questions were n't about me at all. Doctor said something was wrong with Mary's eyes. Noticed something strange in speech patterns. I guess since all talkin' seemed spaced out to me I did n't notice.
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About... a second ago. Brain tumor inoperable, a year of watchin' her suffer and she calls an end to it. Sitting there, watching her machines turn off, watching her leave this world, I tell her I do n't need to leave. I tell her I'll be fine. I lie to her. I embrace that strange feeling, let it continue, and her last 5 seconds are months to me. I wish I could have done more. Now I'm headed for the open window, doctor and nurse ca n't stop me even if they realize in time. My reactions will be like lightning. About a month more'til I'm on my feet. Maybe in the years I have I'll reconsider, or maybe my mind will be gone when I get to that window. How long do guys last in solitary? Sorry Mary, but I just could n't let go. You know, in order to actually cry, I have to keep feeling the urge for years as I move. I do n't doubt there will be tears in my eyes. Goodbye, Mary.
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[ IP ] Standoff
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`` What happened?'' Asimov screamed as he walked into the room, shocked at the scene. His men, loyal trust worthy people he'd do anything for, dead in their seats. Tears welled in his eyes as he scanned the room, the flashing screen catching his eyes. Some one had launched all the missiles. Every single one was now on a course for a nation, Allie or not. This should n't be happening, how was this happening? They had been so close to peace, so close to something he'd be proud to say he fought for and made happen. `` Was worried you would n't show up old man.'' A voice called from behind.
Asimov balanced on his cane as he turned too fast in his rage, the pain causing him to slouch slightly as he looked. `` Who? Who are you and what have you done? Why have you made the world suffer this fate?'' He asked, eyeing the figure. Clad in black he was hard to see, a suit it seemed he was wearing. `` This is the way it is meant to be. This is the way the world will keep turning, old man.'' The figure said, training his pistol on him. `` The peace you sought between the nations, would never last. Ex Soviet communist scum trying for world peace? You could n't be more of a fool to believe in it. You and the Chinese, both scum.'' The man sneered. `` You fool. This is what everyone had been trying to avoid! This'' Asimov pointed at the flashing screen, the dots rapidly closing on their marks,'' is what we've been fighting against for years. You, some American fuck face, just waltz in here and justify killing men and launching missiles because you think peace would n't last? That is why it never lasts!'' He screamed, his breath coming in gasps as he tried to compose himself. `` You think that's what this is about? No, we're just making sure it never gets to that point. Taking a extra step in preventing any unneeded strikes against and protecting current and future investment in the worlds dying weapons trade. Dying conflict that we need and have all ways needed since time since lost.'' The suited man calmly said, not moving or taking his eyes off him. `` This is the easiest solution to the problem. First the Russians fire on all cylinders. This causes panic, rage in the face of what you almost had. Then we drag the Chinese into it, plant bombs in subways and buildings in america. Send some videos, some rouge sector takes the blame, son the Chinese are fighting internally and now have us knocking down the door. That being just the top of the spiral as we get closer to the edge.'' Asimov sighed. He knew there was nothing he could do. `` Years I've been trying for this. Years. To know my children's children will never know this kind of horror. Not having to worry about being rounded up and taken from their families, that walking down the street they wo n't be shot for being on the wrong side of town. That the great nations of the world would stop fighting and help each other grow. Sciences, education, starvation. All end and prosper because of it.'' Asimov just looked at him, the room spent besides the whirling fans. `` I see now that that dream is going to die in this room with me. So much for redemption of a fallen country.'' The man just stood there, a shot ringing out before he walked out the door. Asimov slumped to the ground, his hand covering his chest, watching the blood flow between his fingers. He laid on his back, watching as each missile hit the target. His dream and his life ending before his eyes.
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[ CW ] Two suicidal men on a building . No dialogue .
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I had to stare at the poster for ten seconds before it actually registered in my brain.
`` Need someone to talk to? Call us.'' The poster on the side of the bus depot building depicted two men. One of them was staring at a noose tied around a ceiling beam. The other was on the phone, a kitchen knife lying discarded on the floor by his feet. The guy on the phone looked marginally happier. Marginally. I think.
There was a phone number printed across the bottom of the poster.
Maybe I should call. There was a phone booth ten feet away, right where the bridge began. No doubt that's why they put the poster here, and the pay phone. So that maybe they could save someone at the last minute. Someone like me.
I stared at the phone booth. I fingered the coin in my pocket. It was all the money I had. Maybe I should call. Talk to someone. I had no idea what they'd say to me, but maybe it was worth finding out. Maybe.
My brain tried to slog through the thought processes that would take me through the conversation. It felt like trying to run through molasses. My mind had barely summoned the energy and motivation to take me to the bridge, and now I was asking it to do more thinking. It flooded my head with dark images in protest, agonizing images of despair, suffocating any further thought.
I wanted it to end. I wanted to end it. I wanted there to be no more dark images in my head. The yearning for it to end grew stronger, almost overwhelming.
No.
No, I would not surrender to my shattered psyche like this. I decided I would call. I had no idea what I would say. I had no idea what they would say to me. But I would call.
I found myself walking towards the dirty phone booth. The glass was translucent with streaks of god-knows-what. I stumbled inside. I drew my coin from my pocket. It felt hot in my fingers. My hand shook as I reached out, plucked the phone from its cradle, and lifted it to my ear.
Silence. There was no dial tone. The phone did not work.
I held the phone to my ear for ten seconds before it actually registered in my brain that this was pointless. An emotion quivered somewhere deep within me. Sadness? Resignation?
I let the phone drop from my hand. It struck the side of the booth with a dull clank, then swung lazily around on its cord.
I stepped out of the phone booth and made my way onto the bridge.
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[ WP ] A corrupt politician and a mafia boss each hire someone to kill each other . Unfortunately they hire the same person .
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**G52B, H21K** was written in chalk on the wall of the garage beneath my apartment building. The Broker had left me a message. As I walked out, I swiped my hand over it, smearing the letters, acknowledging the message.
I picked up the dead drops as arranged, and counted two stacks of bills. 1/2 payment for two jobs, and the two burner phones the broker had left at each place were gone. I texted each one the proper code, and they texted me the targets' names. Of course, the Broker was copied in on the conversation.
The Broker arranged this, and had done so for a very long time. Ever since my days as a part-timer while working the docks, this had been the arrangement. You got an offer, accepted it or rejected it, and moved on accordingly. It was all about dead drops, text messages, and burner phones. That, and a chalk message on a given wall telling you where to pick up your next job, or a similar message where you left the code for where you dropped the Broker's cut.
I read the names. Great. How to collect payment for both? Do one, he ca n't pay me. Do the other, same thing. cancel the job, and the Broker, whoever he is, sends me no more work. Worse than the fucking union hall I used to work out of. One phone named Timothy Spanos, a building inspector that had just gotten popped for taking bribes from a major league building contractor, and the other named Jerry Collingsworth, said building contractor. Two sides of the same scandal- and the rule in the federal criminal justice system was, generally, that the first one to confess gets the better deal. It took a phone call to find out that Both would most likely be indicted by next Monday, according to my courthouse snitch.
I did n't always know who the customer was, but I generally made a carefully low key effort to find out. The news, public records, etc. were particularly useful. It was more or less a hobby, if you will. Who inherited what, who's wife was the target banging, who was on what witness list. The Broker kinda frowned on it, but, what he did n't know would n't hurt him. This time, though, it was painfully obvious that the Broker was having one over on me. These guys had been all over the news. There was no way I caught both contracts at random.
I sat back in my car thinking for a minute, looking at the two phones. My next instructions to the `` customers'' would be where and when to drop the money, and the burner phones. Once I was satisfied there was no surveillance, I would scoop them up, and then drop the Broker's cut. The problem was, usually, the agreement was that the customer would know the target was prosecuted before dropping the money.
I thought for a moment, then typed into one phone *Alibi: Go to the Forester hotel, Friday, 10PM. Sit at bar. Enter through lobby, make sure video cameras see you. Monitor Channel 10's news. Wait for instructions, bring the money. *
I typed into the other *Alibi: Go to the Millhouse restaurant on 43rd. Sit at the bar. Friday, 10PM. Slip the bartender a 20 and ask to watch channel 7 news. Wait for instructions, bring the money*
I drove up the street and pulled up next to a highrise apartment building, and went into the lobby, then climbed a few floors up the staircase until I found an unsecured wifi signal. I used a new phone phone to send a couple of emails through an anonymous e-mail account, then stopped at a deli for lunch, popped into my storage unit to pick up a few things, and drove by my message board. there was a message- **10 % x 2. Figure it out** The message was accompanied by a smiley face, with dollar signs for eyes. I scrawled on another wall three blocks away **Way ahead of you, ya Bastard. ** I drew my own smiley face, this one with a lit fuse coming out of his head.
Friday, at 10:15 PM, Channel 10 was showing a live feed from a remote feed of a fire caused by a massive explosion at the offices of one Jerry Collingsworth. Another channel, a similar scene at the department of public works, where three offices of the top floor had been blown into the street.
At 10:17 PM, I texted One of the phones *Washington Park baseball diamond, third baseline dugout....11:00 PM Sharp. Be alone. Bring Money. Park in North lot. off seventh* and to the other *Washington Park baseball diamond... 11:10 exactly, First baseline dugout. Park in south lot off of Thulee avenue. be alone, Bring money. * One phone replied *Holy Shit!!! OK, I will be there. * The other simply said *Boom. See you then. * I kicked both phones into the sewer, and tossed the batteries and sim cards into a trash can.
Of course, they were easy kills, more my style. First Collingsworth, then Spanos, two quick, quiet trigger pulls as they exited their cars, gym bags in hand. Spanos had been a little trickier to sneak up on, but he died just the same. My suppressed.22s were about as useful as pissing on a car fire from distances farther than 15 feet, but at close range, it was very effective. They were fairly cheap, too. I dropped one by each of the bodies. I chuckled at the fallout in the news and in the homicide squadrooms over that one. I called a car thief I knew, and let him know where a sweet Audi A8 and a Benz 500 class were parked, and would n't be missed for a while. I knew they'd be scooped up within the hour, and I'd get another three or four thousand for them. By nightfall the next day, parts of those cars would be spread halfway across the eastern half of the country.
An hour later, I scrawled **2x10 % at 3b6** on the third stanchion of the 8th avenue bridge where it crosses over Mansion Road, and then dropped a bag with the Broker's money into a dumpster behind a strip mall on 10th avenue.
With that, I stopped at a diner for a late night rendezvous with some apple pie and coffee, then drove back to my apartment. As I parked, I saw the writing on the wall. **GJ. K31C**
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[ FF ] Contest : Three Long Tones Then Silence ( 1 month Reddit gold )
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`` Hello?'' Well that was weird.. I thought to myself. I went on Google and typed in the number. Hmm.. Creepy pasta. Haha. What a joke. I read it.
*Call this number for the thing you desire most. *
What a joke, I thought to myself. All of the sudden the doorbell rang. I got up, I actually felt nervous. `` Oh, do n't be ridicolous, it's just a creepy pasta meant to scare people'' I told myself.
I answered the door. No one was there, I looked left, looked right. `` Weird.''
I took a step outside and stepped on something.
I looked down.
`` Ahhhhhhh! Oh my fucking god..'' It was Jessica's head. I'm going to throw up, I covered my mouth. Huh? There was a note sticking out of her mouth. I picked it up, trying not to puke. I read it aloud;
*Cheaters never prosper, thanks for calling. *
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[ WP ] The Sword of the Stranger
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# # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap )
Major Yuri Danilov snarled in triumph as all thirty of his *Catapult's* missiles detonated against the armor of the pirate BattleMech, the aging *Marauder's* right arm already crippled by a previous salvo. Buffeted by the simultaneous detonations its pilot stumbled at his controls, the 75 ton machine listing dangerously before Danilov shoved his throttle forward.
Charging forward at a ground eating 65 km/h he was a hundred meters away from his foe when the Major activated his lasers. The lethal quartet of beams burned through the rest of the *Marauder's* side armor, melting thick strands of myomer and critical systems. The enemy MechWarrior tried to reply, a single medium laser and GM Whirlwind Autocannon a meager answer to Danilov's weapons. The cannon shell went wide, carving a scar in the glacier ice behind the *Catapult. * The laser hit however, the thin green beam etching a line of melted plate across Danilov's left leg.
It was the last thing the *Marauder* pilot would do as Major Danilov fired his brace of medium lasers. Vanishing into the blackened flank of the heavier'Mech the effects were not visible at first, the pirate machine moving as if underwater. But then it tried to track Danilov with its remaining arm, its torso rotating to follow and it was then that the damages it suffered caught up with it. An ear-biting shriek erupted from the *Marauder* as broken actuators and damaged gyros gnashed against one another. Unseen but readily apparent, the gyroscope responsible for maintaining the ponderous war machine's balance failed, 75 ton'Mech toppling towards its wounded side and crashing to the ground in a cloud of snow and shattered ice. Major Yuri Danilov could spy its pilot dead, half hanging out of the broken canopy of his machine, his dripping blood quickly freezing in the sub-zero conditions.
He had little time to celebrate as his foe's allies came forward to avenge their fallen friend, a equally battered *Thunderbolt, * an old *Griffin* with its distinctive bubble cockpit and a rather pathetic looking *Vulcan, * its Armstrong Autocannon/2 a mere popgun. Designed more for anti-infantry work than a straight up fight, the veteran merc dismissed the last one from his targets.
`` Halley, you're on the *Vulcan* Ferris, keep with her.''
*'' Copy, Leader, engaging. `` *
From the corner of his eye Danilov saw Staff Sergeant Olivia Halley's *Agrotera* turn towards the weaker machine, Sergeant Daniel Ferris in his `` Royal'' SHD-2Hb *Shadow Hawk* close behind. The Major clicked his comms again.
`` Lewis, you tangle with the *'Bolt. *''
Sergeant William Lewis merely clicked his comms once to confirm, his *Carronade* firing its twin gauss rifles at the heavy'Mech who answered with a volley of its LRMs. Danilov was about to engaged with the *Griffin* when his radio squawked with static.
*'' Leader, this is Crocodile Eight. We got two more enemy mech's advancing with armor support. Seems these four were their quick reaction force. Recommend sending in Sweep Lance to buy some time for the rest of Battle to move up. `` *
`` Negative, Eight, Sweep's tangling with a demi-company of their own.'' A flicker to his holomap gave their location some ten clicks to the north-west, playing cat and mouse with some light'Mechs in a cluster of abandoned whaling factories. `` Get Battle and Page here on the double.''
Danilov flicked off his mic as he fired off a salvo of missiles against the *Griffin, * only a third of them hitting the nimble medium'Mech. This pilot was distinctly better than the last, their PPC shots accurate and steady, not worrying about overheating his machine in the frigid conditions. Both machines weaved and bobbed about, activating jump jets to leap behind cover and across crevasses. Yuri winced as the PPC fired again, the stream of man-made lightning disintegrating the armor on his left leg.
Just then the enemy reinforcements entered into the glacial valley, the two BattleMechs charging down the side of the steep ride as another half dozen tanks used the bare black rocks as cover. Moving behind cover with his *Catapult* Danilov turned to inspect the newcomers, increasing his helmet's magnification to better spy them. His blood chilled at the sight of the'Mechs, his jaw unconsciously falling open in horrific awe.
`` Son of a bitch....''
They were light'Mechs, identical in built with wedge shaped cockpits and a brace of lasers around their left arms. But it was what was clenched in their right fists that was the most distinctive aspect of them. A sword, thrice as tall as any man caught the bright polar light as they surged forward, heedless of the avalanche created in their wake. Their once pure white surfaces were covered with numerous blasphemous boasts and unholy symbols, the dark red paint used was reminiscent of the color of dried blood. The details of the briefings and limited intelligence reports became clear, these so-called Swords of the Stranger no mere pirates. They were n't organized into demi-companies; they were Level II's! He punched his mic on, firing another salvo at the limping *Griffin. *
`` All Light Dragoons, we got Blakists. Repeat, Blakist machines sighted. Battle Lance needs to be here on the double. Crocodile Company with it.''
*'' Blakists!? What the Hell? What are they doing here? `` *
`` Cut the chatter, Seven. Lewis, almost done with yours?''
*'' Copy, Leader. * Thunderbolt *is retiring. `` *
`` Good. Now, Command Lance will engaged in a retrograde maneuver, leapfrogging between cover. We'll counterattack once Battle arrives with the armor. Got it?''
The chorus of replies help still Danilov's beating heart, the stories of the infamous Word of Blake echoing in his mind. His grandfather fought them in the Jihad, losing a leg in the process. Now he saw one of their war machines outside of a museum for the first time. The mercenary leader shook the last traces of fear from his mind. There was no time for that sort of thing; only decisive action would carry the day. Only skill would keep them alive.
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[ WP ] Of course simply wearing glasses and turning into Clark Kent is a silly idea . But the entire population of Metropolis is playing along so that his feelings do n't get hurt .
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People tend to forget how smart Superman is. Sure, his brain is n't the most well known of his superpowers, and it tends to get neglected when compared to his strength, speed or his ability to fly. But Superman is also intelligent - very intelligent.
To those who realize this it should be no surprise that he had known about the deception for years. He simply played his role and let them think they had him fooled. It had worked at first - he had taken acting lessons before moving to Metropolis, and he always took care to change his mannerisms, stature and even his voice whenever he donned the guise of Clark Kent. But even then he knew it was borrowed time. As long as no one thought he had a secret identity, no one looked. But at some point the rumors of a civilian life for the Man of Steel started spreading, and that was the end of his secret.
People still pretended it was a secret of course. Either because they were afraid, or because they thought they were smart for figuring it out - most people just respected that he wanted privacy, and in some ways this gave him more hope for humanity that any other thing he had seen over the years. If nothing else he could still be a symbol - Batman had told him as much.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
On this particular day, he was flying home after a minor scuffle with Metallo. Metallo had not been a threat for a decade - Superman was too wise to his tricks for that - but he still tried. As people on the street saw the blue streak across the sky, they gave a small nod in recognition. A few chuckled a bit to themselves, thinking that they were part of a big joke that Superman never got.
Superman was not trying to be very discreet when he backed into an empty photo booth to change, but he did pretend to at least be somewhat secretive. At this point he was more or less just going through the routine.
`` Lois, I'm home'' He called as he entered their apartment. `` Hi Smallville - I just finished a brew of coffee'' She said as she met him in the living room and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Lois was naturally one of the first to see him for what he was. She had pretended not to at first, until he came clean, and pointed out how bad of a liar she was. Their relationship was an intimate part of the secret gossip in Metropolis, but they did n't care - they were used to the spotlight. `` I think Lex finally figured it out'' Clark said after the first sip of coffee. `` You think? Well it took him long enough'' Lois responded casually. `` Sending Metallo was the last hint, but I have been suspecting it for months'' Clark explained, `` Metallo is n't exactly subtle - so sending him to steal art from the gallery I was doing an article on could only be a provocation. `` Well, now that you mention it - he did give you some strange glances at the last press conference he gave'' Lois pondered. `` I just wish I could get through to him Lois... the man is a genius, he could get so many things done if he just stopped focusing on me, and did some real work for the world'' Clark exclaimed with a tired frustration. Lois silently drank the rest of her tea and got out to the kitchen to leave her husband alone for a while.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Across town Lex Luthor was sitting in his chair waiting for a report on his latest shipment of materials. Metallo had played his part perfectly, distracting Superman lon enough to gather the last pieces to his master plan. Superman might have been smart, but he had nothing on the intellect Lex possessed. Lex smiled at the thought that Superman always though him too arrogant and self centered to see though the disguise. In reality he had known longer that almost anyone else in the city - save his now lovely wife. At first he had rejected the idea, but even the simpletons in the slums of Metropolis could not deny the obvious likeness between Clark Kent and Superman.
What had baffled Lex at first was why. Why would a god pretend to be human. He had fought hard to peel away the godhood of course - no man should be given that power without earning it. Then a few years ago it hit him... what if Superman felt the same way; or at least something similar. He started to respect him more, even admire his desire to work for his merits. He still played the part of the villain. For all his strength, Superman was not big on thinking his way through problems, and Lex could give him something to strive for in that.
Lex turned his chair around to look out at the evening sky over the city. He pinpointed the building where his nemesis and wife were living, smiling a bit at the absurdity of their lives. His smile turned melancholy as he heard the report over the intercom: `` Quality check complete mister Luthor; we will begin the final assembly now''. He turned around and gave the order to his task force. They would assemble at the building he had just admired a few seconds ago for the next step of the plan. Giving a heavy sigh he mused on how this plan was ironically poetic. Lex would get what Superman always assumed he wanted. Superman would get what the people of Metropolis thought *he* wanted. But at the same time, both of them would get what they *really* wanted as a bonus. The sacrifices would be high, but if he could have explained it to Superman beforehand, even he would have agreed it would be worth it.
Superman needed to be a symbol, but not in the way he himself wanted to. He needed to be a martyr - a rallying cry. The best way to unite people was to give them a common enemy, and the death of their greatest hero was just what was needed for that. Lex himself could not be the villain in this... he was too important. No the role of villain in this final act on the tale of the Man of Steel would be Darkseid. Lex had known about his invasion plans for months, but even without Superman they were doomed to fail - the Justice League would see to that almost on their own, and with his newest defense system assembled, no outside force would ever take the Earth again. Then with Superman gone; Lex could finally play the part of the repenting foe, leading the push for a united world; possibly even leading it when the time came. But he was getting ahead of himself - he needed to make a call first.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Lois picked up the phone nervously. Clark was not the only one who had once taken acting lessons, but her audience - one man strong - could easily pick up even the slightest hint that something was wrong. `` This is Lois'' she said. `` Miss Lane - nice to catch you at this hour'' Luthor started, `` I was wondering if you would be interested in writing an article on one of my latest endeavors - why, no need to answer, I know you are. It is a marvelous piece of machinery that could lead to a very bright future''. `` Quite the statement Lex'' she snarked, `` maybe you wa n't to tell me what it does''. `` I will arrange for a demonstration tomorrow - that is if you have time'' Luthor said with words that were practically dripping honey. `` Playing hard to get huh? I am married you know'' She replied. `` Oh I'm not playing that kind of game - I'm just saving the surprise.'' `` Ok I'll bite - but I'm bringing my husband'' She said. `` I'm counting on it'' Lex said and hung up.
`` He is up to something'' Clark stated worried. `` Tell me something I do n't know'' Lois replied. `` Maybe I should go check it out now'' he said and walked towards the door. `` Nuh-uh, that can wait to tomorrow. We were having a quiet evening today, remember?'' Lois demanded. Clark looked at her a bit, then shrugged and went for his chair. `` I guess I did promise that'' Clark said with a smirk. `` I'll get you another cup'' Lois said with a victorious smile. In the kitchen she put aside the sugar for her'special sweetener' to put in the coffee. She did n't like deceiving her husband, but this was their best shot at leaving the lies behind. The strong powder left a wisp of dust in the air that made her feel a little bit drowsy. As she watched him drink the coffee with enjoyment, she fiddled with a small canister in her pocket. She knew the drugs would n't knock him out alone - for that it needed a little bit more. After he had finished his coffee with a smile, Clark looked over at his wife, now holding up a small green rock with a familiar glow...
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[ WP ] All your life you 've dreamt of becoming a part of the Grim reaper corp. Once in you are gravely disappointed when the majority of your assignments are in dealing with livestock . Nonetheless you do your duty and council the animals . Listening to their stories until their dying moments .
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I once hoped that I would be a part of the human world, comforting those that were to pass onto the next realm. I dreamed of counseling those that feared death; teaching them that it is not death they should fear, but what they should hope. But I was not fated to be a part of the human world, per se, but a part of the livestock.
In this world, I council cows, chickens, pigs, and any other livestock that humans have domesticated. The ingenuity of these humans to control these animals for food production was astounding. But as time marched on, I could no longer respect the humans.
Year after year, month after month, day after day, and hour after hour, I listen to the multitudes of death that occur every second. Cows, whose young was taken for veal and whose only purpose is to produce milk, grow old, and die. They would call out to all their children that were taken away. Chicken, forced into cages to lay eggs, would speak only of gibberish at the end of their lives.
Their stories, heartbreaking as it is, only laid the foundation of anger. These livestock was forced into servitude and death not of their own choice, but only because they could be easily exploited. While I listened to their stories, I asked simply if they could change the world, would they do so for the better. These humans have created death factories for the carcasses of these animals.
No, I can no longer respect humans. It is to this end, I have finally amassed enough angry spirits to take vengeance upon this world. These animals will set the foundation of a new utopia and it is us who will serve as vengeance.
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