prompt
stringlengths 5
331
| story
stringlengths 404
40.3k
|
|---|---|
[ WP ] Every 20000 years or so , an alien comes to check up on his garden , Earth .
|
Nature notes: Earth
The problem with these carbon-based gardens is they have a tendency to overrun pretty quickly. You turn your back for a couple of trillionths of a universal cycle and BAM Culture happens. I'm pretty sure last time I checked the mammalian bugs on the surface of Earth were still mainly hiding in trees eating insects.
At ground level there are some serious issues. The soil composition has been rudely disturbed in a number of the most fertile areas -- to wit, riverbanks, arable plains and the like -- with large concrete and glass weeds. These buggers often have quite a lot of metal framework, by the way, so removing them can be a right s.o.b..
The hairless apes have ( quite cleverly ) developed various forms of transportation using naturally occurring metals. These bugs are absolutely fatal to local fauna, as they use combustion engines which spew out nasty vapours. Here's the real annoyance: they have helped themselves to naturally occurring crude oils which, I might add, I had been keeping aside as a present for my wife, who swears by them as a moisturising lip balm.
These little wheely buggies are n't the worst of it either. While hovering around in the lower atmosphere a flying one -- yes, flying -- went right under my sandal and down one of my socks. Gave me a really nasty little burn. I picked it out and studied it to the best of my abilities ( see figure one,'Malaysia' Air-O-Plane ).
This is all the more troublesome as I've noted a very sinister strain of aggression in the dominant males of the species. Of course, I'm used to watching fights to establish dominance, which is par for the course in these wild habitats, but what I have never seen before is *pre-emptive* aggression. What I mean is -- and I had to get the microscope out to verify this -- the powerful orders in so-called'human' society utilise their own metal bugs to pre-emptively blow up troublesome fellow animals. Before a fair fight can even be begun, that is, they use highly combustive elements to eliminate life amongst rival orders. Remotely. From across the world. This is known as a'drone strike'.
Well here's the thing. I love this little bluey-green planet, it's one of the prettiest in my collection. But I am a gardener, not a eugenicist. I think there's something morally very suspect about letting a habitat thrive in which certain very intelligent species groups take the survival of others into their own hands. Besides, they seem to have discovered fission, and the last time I had a garden go up due to ape-man carelessness while splitting the atom, I could n't hear out of my left nostril for a week.
All in all, it's looking like it's about time to call it a day with Earth; I do n't want the humane exploitation societies breathing down my neck. I think I'll ask Jaspar if he wants a little game of celestial marbles. He owns that rather pretty, red'Mars' garden next door, which does n't do much. The two would look fantastic smashed into each other at lightspeed. It'd make a great picture to remember'em by, in any case.
|
[ Meta ] Past tense ? Present tense ?
|
Pick one. Go with it. Understand the effects.
Some people feel that present tense makes things feel more immediate. Others find it distancing. Some find it sticks out.
Past tense is the universally ( US, anyway ) accepted mode, but that does n't make it right. What that universal acceptance means is that readers tend to immerse in past as if it was present, even though it's past.
Almost no one uses future tense.
Use the one that's right for your story. Use it in the way that supports what your story is trying to do. ( e.g., if you're trying to maximize in-the-now flow with present tense, do n't do things in the writing that make readers stop, or that distance the reader, unless that's your goal. )
|
[ WP ] You wake up in a house . It 's nice place , with all the comforts of home . However , the front door is cold steel , with a note on it . The note warns you never to leave the house . After years of compliance , you decide to go through the steel door ...
|
As I sat there staring at the steel door, I kept thinking what was behind it, and if opened, what was in the beyond?
It had been many years since I woke up in this windowless house. It had everything I ever wanted and more. The food was always fresh, the clothes and bed sheets always cleaned. Of course I did not question it since who does n't like to be pampered right? There was a neat huge collection of movies and television shows to watch built into the the massive television. What do I want to binge watch now, I told myself. What new music will I discover from the tiny iPod that seemed to have no storage cap. Damn house even had a play room with every board game, arcade game, and video game ever imagined. I was set for life. No need to cook or clean since everything was done magically somehow. Who cares I told myself. This is the life.
Sure, sometimes I felt lonely. Wishing for a friend was my biggest desire, but I did not think about that much since, well, I had days upon days of entertainment. So the though of having a friend or companion quickly faded away and off I was to distract my brain and feelings.
That note on the steel door was always there. Steel door. Why a steel door I wondered. Why not a nice wooden door with beautiful patterns to compliment the house? This door was made of steel and it was cold to the touch. The first time I woke, I was laying on a sofa and saw the door in front of me. Without giving it much thought, I got up and went straight to the door. *Never leave the house* a note on the steel door said. Why the hell not I thought. And that is when I turned around wondering about the message and almost feeling afraid when I saw all the cool stuff that where in the house. Oh how nice I said softly with an interest tone in my voice. And off I was to explore every room in the house.
The note. Always in the back of my mind. All these years being in this house with everything that I have ever dreamed of and that stupid note was there in my mind. Go away I told the thought that reminded me of the note. Let me enjoy this show! So there I was, staring at the the door with the note in my hand. The paper was made of cheap 99c store grey paper. The kind my mom would buy, since growing up we were poor, and the kind I would be made fun of by the kids at school. The thought of my mother warmed my heart and brought a half smile to my face. I suddenly missed her.
The writing of the message was strangely familiar. The letters looked familiar. I recognized it. It was my writing. How is this possible I told myself. Maybe someone else has similar writing as mine I thought. Yeah, that's it. But still the message *Never leave the house* was vague and without explanation. Was the door locked I thought. That has never crossed my mind before. I put the paper down on the couch and went over to the door. I grabbed the handle, it was cold, really cold. So cold I had pull my long sleeve shirt over my hands and use the sleeves as mittens. I twisted the handle and pulled. Nothing. The door was stuck. Is it one of those doors that you push instead of pull? I pushed. I could feel the weight of it. So with all my strength I pushed and it swung open and I fell into nothing. Then I woke.
I heard voices and the sound of steps all around me. As soon as my eyes adjusted, I saw a doctor. You've been in coma for 7 days he said. No, impossible I thought. You jumped out of your window from your second story apartment bumping your head on a cinder block after you overdosed on drugs he said. Your friends said you lost your mind and were claiming that you were seeing things and you jumped out the window. Welcome back.
|
[ CC ] This is an idea of a prompt I want to write called Moonfall . Give my idea a read !
|
It's clear you've put a lot of thought into the world of your story. The moon concept is really cool, maybe you do have to change the mechanics of it but the core of the moon going into a decaying orbit and getting righted is a good one. I understand the impulse to craft a more perfect world/society, but the perfect world is rarely an interesting world to read about for long. So what if you have the story backwards? What if the story opens in this golden age but things are not as perfect as they seem and these terrorists hit the moon? Also, why did they do it? Once they do maybe project ascend gets put on hold to save the Earth and that sparks debate about advancement vs preservation. Metaphor alert! Think about your favorite stories in any medium, books, TV, movies, whatever. Many take place in fantastic worlds that are rich in detail and imagination, but the best are centered around characters within these worlds experiencing some kind of conflict.
|
[ WP ] A teen wakes up one day with an extraordinary superpower . However , instead of keeping it a secret , they immediately contact the authorities .
|
My name is Alice. And I swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.
It was supposed to be a morning like any other. Until I discovered myself hovering in my bedcovers, nose almost touching the high ceilings of my room.
What the hell was going on? Had I been attending one of those cheesy movie sleepovers where me and my teenaged friends performed `` light as a feather, stiff as a board''? Clearly not, a quick glance to the floor confirmed -- no friends in sleeping bags, and no popcorn crumbs, blankets and DVD cases strewn across the hardwood floor.
I remember wiggling my fingers and toes, wondering if this was a mere dream. But it was n't. My eyes were focused on each individual piece of stucco, even the ripped piece that had hung down ever since my pa tore off the glow in the dark stars and moons from my childhood.
Everyone, at one point in their life, has that dream of falling, and then they suddenly wake up. But what do you do when it happens in reverse?
I was able to shuck off my bedding, which obeyed gravity and tumbled down to the mattress in a heap. As a test, I rolled this way and that, before finally attempting a dive. Slowly, but surely, I almost swam through the air down towards the floor, until my feet hit terra firma.
The sensation of my feet hitting the ground filled me with some weird form of dread. Here I was, the sole human who had ever levitated or even flown without the aid of, say, pixie dust or zero gravity, and I'd wasted it scrambling down to the floor. My alarm clock read 05:30, giving me another hour before I would need to prepare myself for another school day. But here I was, fully awake. I'd done the first of, perhaps *many* impossible things before breakfast.
So, I decided to give it another go. If it happened once, it could certainly happen again. I closed my eyes, pinched my forefingers and thumbs together ( the way I'd seen once on a cartoon ), and concentrated my thoughts on being up in the air, and observing the world from such great heights.
And then I bumped my head on the ceiling. Well, the skylight, to be more precise.
Our house was located in its own little enclave, roughly half a mile from any amenities. My great great great grandpa had built it from mud bricks and wood after leaving his job as a stablehand in his hometown two hours away. A smaller town had developed near us, as *another* relation of my ( great x3 ) gramps decided that the thick pine forests that surrounded us would usher his way into the logging industry. Our family certainly had enough money for the comforts of life, but preferred to live out here in solitude, with its beautiful scenery and endless sky of stars.
I clumsily doggy-paddled my way further up, grabbing the handle of the skylight and pushing it open.
The sun was going to rise in roughly another half an hour, going by the peach and plum colours the dark sky was beginning to turn. The roof tiles were cold beneath my bare feet. I thought about flying again, and did n't even need to close my eyes or pinch my fingers like I was doing standing meditation -- my body just responded to my will. When I thought to stop myself from rising any further, I did n't fall straight down -- I just braked in the air.
Pushing myself forward allowed me to spin, and if I wanted to fly successfully, I'd need to use the currents of the wind, like a bird. I had no idea how I'd fare any higher off the ground than 25 feet. I'd seen movies where superheroes ( without capes, mind you ) could fly alongside airplanes, no trouble. But when I experimented with going higher, I eventually got lightheaded to the point where I almost broke my concentration.
This was weird. The honeymoon period was over, and the fact that I was literally flying was beginning to freak me out. Was there something wrong with me, was I delusional? Was the real Alice's body sat stoned out of her mind somewhere while I was hallucinating?... Well, no, of course not. I pinched myself multiple times as I awkwardly swam down towards the open window to my bedroom, yanking the handle shut and sticking my foot out on my dressing table, climbing down and clinging onto the wooden fixture for dear life.
Finally, I got myself back down on the ground and headed downstairs. I figured I'd need some strong coffee. I wound up pouring two large mugs, and even then, it was n't enough to curb the sudden itch I had to quash, to feel the breeze through my hair and to look at the marvellous sight of my home from a bird's eye view.
I decided *somebody* would need to know about this. If I was the first ever human being to ever discover how to fly, it'd be better to let our government know, rather than those cartoons where the main character has to keep up a secret identity, his or her secret only known by their best friends or the villains of the show.
Geez. Villains. Get a grip, Ali.
But even then, who do you call? I doubted Mulder and Scully's branch of the FBI would be in the phone book.
Padding back upstairs, I showered, dressed, and grabbed the camcorder I was borrowing from the school's film club. I had taken a few hours' documentary footage of our backyard - basically the surrounding forest - over the weekend, and was going to use one of the computers during study hall to edit together a rough cut of a final project I could use for extra credit.
An hour later, I'd go on to record myself flying on the way to school, and perhaps it would go viral on YouTube. Maybe I'd show off to all my classmates, and *then* the Men in Black would come a-knocking.
And... as you all know, that's exactly what I did. I was n't expecting the response to be quite so timely, you know? I mean, I was showing it to my astonished classmates and teachers, and demonstrating my newfound ability. Even the sceptical were soon swayed, and the richer students at our schools were using their smartphones, tweeting and video-blogging me until, around 12 o'clock CT, I became an Internet sensation.
And you guys showed up after school in your black cars, suits, and walkie-talkies.
I swear to you, that is everything that happened on that bizarre morning. I learned I could fly, got you guys' attention in the most technological way I knew how, and was taken away by the authorities. Now, will I go to a secretive school for superheroes, or will you use me for military testing?
Whatever you do, I simply beg that you do n't separate me from my family, like some faceless, terrifying league of bureaucratic super-villains. That'd suck.
I'm not even sure if this ability can be *taught* or unlocked, I literally know as much about it as you guys do. I just knew that I should let you know.
|
[ WP ] A cop arrives at the golden gate bridge to talk a man out of committing suicide . After they have a short conversation , the cop jumps off the bridge .
|
A normal day. That's all it was - and it became routine- responding to Jumpers. That's what we called them - despite the fact that we always able talked them down, the ones we caught. The fog rolled in, it was thick and you could probably only see 10 feet ahead of you. It was quite eerie. You know, it took a toll on you to see people so distressed, as if life was n't worth living.
My life is the force. I do n't have any kids, nor am I married. It's strange, because I do get lonely, and I do long for a special someone. I just do n't have time. Time it's a strange thing- my shift crawls- The only time I feel alive is when I'm helping those in need.
It was October 12th 2013, 12:15 p.m, the thick fog blocked the sun and it was completely grey. It was by sheer chance that I saw him on the red rails of the bridge as I was patrolling through, I stopped abruptly, threw my lights on and I approached the man. White male, age roughly 30 years old. I approached him, and called, `` Sir, I'm here to help!'' He was a few feet away.
He was dressed in black rags, his head scraped, and smelled like death. It was entirely unusual to see someone in this physical condition as bad as him. Rotting flesh- that's the smell. I called out to him as traffic zoomed by, just missing my squad car, `` Sir, my name is Officer Heart!''
He replied, `` I know.''
His head still peering into the white abyss below. He turned to me, we locked eyes, and he said, `` I know who you are Heart.''
I was looking into my blue eyes, I observed the scar on his face - it was in the precise location where I got mine. His eyes were far more piercing than my own - they peered deeply into my soul.
He said, `` I've been waiting for you.''
My hands felt ice cold - my hat flew off- the wind rushed through my hair - and i felt weightless. I struggled to breathe. Than I realized I was falling and right before impact - I realized - I was the jumper.
|
[ WP ] A magician named Geppetto attempts to create a wooden golem . It goes horribly wrong .
|
It was another lousy day in New Florence. The pitter patter of rain on my window might have made you think it was chilly out, but it was n't. I ca n't say the sudden deluge during a heat wave was n't welcome, but everything was wet, and if it was n't wet it was sticky. The paper bills and late notices in my mail slot were curled and warped from the humidity. Some might still be readable when I got the cash to pay them. I pulled one from the bottom, `` This is your second notice of late payment for...''. There were others in the mail bin, same stationary although the color of the envelopes became increasingly red as time went.
I was packing a box of my things, getting ready to bug out if I ever got word of my debtors sending collections after me. To be fair there was n't much to take: a costume top hat I put change in ( when I still had change to put anywhere ), an old umbrella, and my door plaque `` James C. Richards. Private Investigator.'' I did n't have to worry about them selling the plaque though, I could fish it out of the trash when they were done with the repo.
I had a handful of case files, mostly missing children. Turns out a lot of kids wanted to join *Stromboli's Amazing Circus* that set up one town over in New Tuscany. But the circus had up and left town a while ago and so had the easy work. Not all of the kids turned up in the big tent, though. Those files I turned over to the New Tuscany and New Florence Police when they got interested. Did n't collect a finder's fee for that. I bet I could have asked for one. I guess I'm just too nice.
I grabbed my umbrella and braced myself for the long, wet, muggy walk home when I heard the elevator arrive on my floor. It was Sunday. No one comes in on Sunday, even the janitors would n't be in until tomorrow, and it was nearly midnight. There was a moment of silence after the doors chimed open then a sudden scramble of footsteps taking off down the hallway towards my office. Lightning from outside blinded me. I scrambled for the pistol under my desk. Thunder crashed as my door burst open, I raised my pistol, and a wet form collapsed on the floor in front of me.
`` Jimmy!'' She wailed, `` Jimmy please, you have to help me. Jimmy please help. I do n't know what I've done.''
She was one of the girls at Pleasure Island, the turquoise haired one. I collected myself off the floor and put my weapons on the table. `` Oh, Blue,'' I said going to one of my boxes for a hand towel, `` What'd you get yourself into this time?''
Her name was, Blue. Not just her stage name ( uh, not that I'd know that ), but her given name too. Her parents were *Prismatists*, members of a short lived cult who worshiped colors and the Star Whale who would bring the age of Eternal Light. Rumor was one day their leader,'Honest John,' skipped town and took the better part of his followers's wealth with him. Nine months later Blue was born, a little while after that Blue's father left town.
I first met Blue a couple years ago when she hired me for a missing person. Her mother had gone missing. We found her. Disassembled, strung up, dressed, and posed like a doll in a play house. I did n't take Blue's money for that case. I tried to keep an eye on her after that. Her mother was wearing a mint in jewelry when I found her. I'd be lying if I said I did n't think of taking some of it, but like I said,'I'm just too nice.' I've got a conscience. I figured it would get back to Blue when the police finished documenting it. Let's just say the New Florence PD is no longer considered by me to possess a strong moral compass.
I knelt down to wipe Blue's hair and the turquoise dye soaked into the towel. `` What happened, Blue?'' I asked, stepping away to find another towel.
`` It's the girls Jimmy,'' she said between babbles. `` The girls, and this john, and side work,'' she started going frantic, `` and I know we're not supposed to do side jobs. And I know you told me to be careful.'' I wiped her face with a towel and made a red and black mess of it in lipstick and eye liner. `` But the money, Jimmy. Oh my god the money he waved at us. I could finally --''
She stopped. Not just her speech, everything. Suddenly her pupils went wide as the moon and she stared at something just over my shoulder. I slowly reached back for my pistol when she shrieked.
It crashed on me like a wave of unimaginable fear. I stumbled and pulled back the hammer of my gun. I twisted around and applied just enough pressure to the trigger to not fire it. Through a window I saw the bloody corpse face, mouth agape, eyes rolled back. Its mouth with too many teeth chittered and it reached a bloody hand at me. I was pulled to the floor and felt Blue's body close around me, still screaming. I grabbed her and held her face, the smear of makeup gave the false impression of wounds and sores. I turned again to the window and saw our reflection.
'It was just a reflection,' I assured myself. When I calmed down I walked back to the window, pistol still ready, and looked down the four stories to the ground. I watched as what might have been a hand print on the other side of the glass dissolve in the rain. `` It was just a reflection,'' I said to myself again, this time aloud, `` It had to be.''
-- -
I did n't get to Geppetto yet, but I hope this still counts: )
|
[ WP ] A planet rotates once every 1,000 years so that each side is either tundra or desert ; the poles are also frozen wastes , but there is a small area of ever moving habitable land . Two nomadic tribes isolated on each side of the planet begin to find the 500 year old relics of the other .
|
`` And we're back with tonight's top story, *The Reading of the Pillar*. We're all very excited to hear a message directly from the Dusklands, is n't that right Diane?''
`` It certainly is Tom. We're also looking forward into a fascinating glimpse into our own past. Our field correspondent is on the scene with Dr. Graham, one of the leaders on this project.''
The correspondent came on screen, with a practiced smile and easy non-regional dialect. `` I'm here with Dr. Alan G. Graham. Dr. Graham is the head of anthropology at the University of the 39th Parallel, and he has worked his whole life to win the honor of heading up the Reading of the Pillar. Dr. Graham, we all learned about the pillar in high school, but could you explain it to us again, as a refresher?''
Dr. Graham looked exactly like a man who knows he's having the greatest day of his life. `` It was on this date 1000 years ago that King Ahyuasca commissioned the construction of the Pillar, a 200 foot tall obelisk with the history of the Dawnlands exquisitely depicted on the side facing away from the sun. He hoped to sow good relations with our Brothers at Dusk. 500 years ago, the obelisk entered into the Dusklands. Today, it is our hope that, as the obelisk returns to the Dawn, it bears a message from them.''
`` Fascinating. What do you and the rest of the anthropologists at U39 expect to be on the obelisk?''
`` We are really excited to find out. It is well known what wonders the Dusklanders are capable of. Every advancement of the last two hundred years has been thanks to the incredible artifacts from the Dusklands. From rockets to radio to rifles, it is very obvious that the Dusklanders' society must be incredibly advanced to say the least. They built the incredible mines and machines that make our way of life possible. I for one am very excited to see what such a wondrous culture has to say to us.''
`` I am too. Now, we take you live to our eye in the sky as the obelisk is coming into the habitible zone.'' Suddenly the feed cut from the correspondent to a flying camera. The camera scanned the horizon, until it centered on a small object coming into the sunlight far off in the distance. The camera flew in for a closer look. `` Dr. Graham, can you explain to us what you see here?''
`` Yes, the obelisk seems to be mostly smooth and untouched. That does n't surprise me, I did n't expect the Dusklanders to choose a medium as barbaric as carved stone for their message to us. There seems to be some sort of device attached to the obelisk, a small metal sphere with what appears to be a timer. And the timer has only seconds left! How impressive, the Dusklanders knew exactly when it would get here. I wonder what happens whe-''
|
[ WP ] You 're chewing bubble gum . You blow a bubble . It keeps growing . It wo n't pop .
|
30 years later, I'd long stopped finding it funny. Most of the world was bored of me too, though I still got a pitiful stream of parents and grinning children. Well, some of them were grinning, I did n't mind those so much. Most of them were chewing.
It's not that I felt they were making fun of me, I knew that and always had. After this long, it just irked me that people would still make the effort. Parents still bought their kids that stuff. There was, of course, a huge scare after what happened to me. Headlines all over the world. No one ate bubble gum for years, companies went bankrupt. Scientists took samples, all the rest.
Eventually they solved the problem. Mine was a dodgy batch, the vast balloon the result of some special-radiation-exposure or some such nonsense. Boom. Back on the shelves, new brands, new names. By then most people did n't much care about me, they'd all figured it had neer happened before, why should it happen again?
So, there I was, 30 years later. I was well looked after, and I should be thankful for that. The Bill Barnet centre still brought in enough money to keep my tubes full of'food' and water, so I'm alive. I was thankful for that. For a long time. Hard to stay that way though, 30 years in. 30 years trapped under a sticky, unbreakable bubble, mouth comically open, breathing air pumped in through a tube.
They determined that the bubble was n't removable pretty soon after the incident. Turns out whatever had happened meant it went as far into me as it did out into the space above me. The bubble was part of me. My body had started to take it in. They could try to take it off, but chances are I'd just die.
30 years, I said `` Ok then. I'll stay here.''
That was 30 years in. Now, it's the 31st anniversary, and I've written the letter. I'm going to be cut off.
|
[ CW ] Tell me a story using only bank statements , receipts , and similar things .
|
Samuel Clements, Private Investigator
( 204 ) 555-5567
$ 200.00 dollars a day, at seven days.
$ 300.00 expenses
$ 1300.00 total.
Cash is fine.
****************************************************
Visa Bill
Mrs Clark-Stevenson and guest
Grand Budapest Hotel
( 204 ) 555-6987
457 Hawkins Road, Grand Rapids, Michigan
*A night to remember! *
One night - $ 259.99
Room Service - $ 78.34.
=========================================
Liquor Mart
457 Jump Street, Detroit, Michigan
Jack Daniel's - $ 38.50
12 Pack Budweiser - $ 37.80
=========================================
Stan's Arms
Detroit, Michigan
*Protect yourself*
.357 Magnum, refurbished - $ 340.00
3 boxes of.357 ammo - $ 75.55
=========================================
AT & T Long Distance phone bill
Mr and Mrs Stevenson - Vancouver, Canada
( 981 ) 555-4311
Length - 1 hour 20 minutes - $ 10.47
=========================================
Jake's Taxi Service
Detroit - Grand Rapids
158 miles, $ 234.55
Paid - $ 500.00 w/tip
=========================================
AT & T Long Distance phone bill
Mr and Mrs Stevenson - Vancouver, Canada
( 981 ) 555-43211
Length - 1 minute - $ 0.32
|
[ WP ] You are an undead patron of an ancient tomb . For hundreds of years you have waited for some unlucky adventurer to come wandering in so you might destroy them . One day , you hear a tapping sound from the tomb entrance and the words `` House Keeping '' reverberate through out the stone halls .
|
Weni, the Immortal general of the North Kingdom, shuffled across the dusty floor of ( what was supposed to be ) his final resting place.
'Glllk?!', The undead soldier let out a cry of surprise as he suddenly lost his balance and found himself flailing his arms around in a futile attempt to hold onto anything.
As he looked around to see just what could have caused his fall, he came face to face with Ahmes, his ( equally undead ) cat.
'Mangy furball...' As he was about to berate his sole companion, he suddenly gave pause. That moment. In those split seconds - just then when his old bones had collapsed into a unceremonious mass of flailing limbs, he realized he had felt something he has n't felt in millennia. Excitement. As if his unbeating heart had jumped to life again.
Him tripping was something hardly noteworthy. Sure. But after countless years of the monotonous repertoire of dusting off his liege's Canopic Jars and patrolling the Great Pharaoh's Tomb, Weni realized he had desperately pined for anything outside of the norm.
'If only I had known how long an eternity was...' Weni mused. He struggled to think back five thousand years in an attempt to remember how he ended up in this position in the first place. Even though he did n't have a brain, flashes of memories came back to him...
A costly battle.
A lost war.
Fall from grace - but then, a miraculous opportunity to redeem himself for his failures, to atone for his sins for'an eternity' ( as the chief priests had put it ).
Yes. He remembered vividly now. Powerful dark incantations being invoked to stray him from his true rest in the House of Life, the dull, echoing chants of the priests turning his sleek, muscular body into... this mangled abomination.
A loud shattering sound woke Weni from his reverie. As he looked around to investigate, he realized Ahmes chewing on something.
Oh Dear Horus.
'AHMES NO!' Weni chased the cat away from ( what was left of ) Canopic Jars, but the cat darted off, with the king's liver in his mouth. The king's stomach, intestines, and lungs lay in a sorry heap next to the broken shards.
'Okay. Okay. Calm down'. Weni thought to himself frantically.'Okay. Hapi for Lungs, Duamutef for the Stomach, Imseti for the Liver...'
After a minute of scooping up the gray, rotting organs, Weni realized it was useless. The Jars lay in broken pieces, and he was no craftsman - All he knew how to do was strike down any intruders into his liege's tomb. Apparently, the chief priests did n't count on a scenario like this.
Weni hobbled into a corner and surveyed the mess. The damage to the tomb was extensive. He did n't even know where to begin cleaning up, let alone repair the damages.
As he was about to curl up and cry, suddenly, the lifeless walls of the tomb echoed.
'Huh?' As he looked around in order to find a source of this tapping, He realized someone was tapping from the other side of the granite door which barred entry to the tomb.
Weni quickly regained his composure. With a booming voice, he commanded:
'WHAT FOOLISH MORTAL DARES TO DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF IMHOTEP THE FOURTH, THE GREAT KING OF THE NILE DELTAS?'
A feeble yet audible voice answered back:
'Housekeeping'
And to his surprise, the granite doors parted of their own accord, to reveal an elderly, stocky woman. She immediately got to work, spraying and wiping the golden sarcophagus. As if by some miracle, the dull luster of the gold was quickly restored to its former glory, a symbol of the immense wealth and prestiege of the Egyptian Dynasty.
Weni looked on, speechless, impressed by the woman's cleaning prowess, until she started to sweep up the organs and the shards of the Canopic Jars and shoveled them all into a bin.
Weni ignited his pupils with a baleful green fire.
'FOOLISH MORTAL, YOU DARE DEFILE THE SACRED ORGANS OF THE GREAT KING? LEAVE NOW WHILE I SO CHOOSE TO SPARE YOU!'
The woman, clearly unfazed, slowly turned to Weni and replied:
'No... I stay... I clean...'
Weni was thrown aback by this response. This ordinary human mortal, in face of the baleful demon-flame of Duarte, says WHAT?
And to his surprise, the woman inched closer.
'Mister Weni... We are out of Lemon Pledge.'
|
[ WP ] It is literally always right behind you , but sometimes , if you turn your head really fast , you think you get a glimpse of it in the corner of your eye .
|
It happened because of a mini habit of mine, where I liked to do things in even numbers. If I spun myself silly in a circle, it would n't be over until I spun an equal number in return. I had to balance everything in even numbers, or it would nag at me like a heavy weight pulling on the back of my neck until I rectified it.
It started during phys ed, when the teacher made us turn three times before catching the ball. When I was done, I made a quick three-sixty twirl to make it even. I was n't a ballerina so I did n't have the finesse or subtlety, and one of the girls merely raised an eyebrow as I returned to the benches.
`` What?'' I asked her, trying to shrug off the uneasiness that her look gave me.
`` Nothing,'' she said, keeping a weird mix of sincerity and amusement in her tone. It only made me feel even more self-conscious.
I did n't encounter her again until the following week's class, where I felt her eyes on me as the teacher designated the number of laps we had to run around the field. I could've died when when the teacher made it five.
It was near the end of the fourth lap when I noticed her slowing down, pressing a hand against her side.
`` Er, are you okay?'' I asked her, taking in deep breaths of my own.
`` Cramp,'' she replied, when the teacher blew a whistle in our direction. `` Help me to the side?''
`` What's going on?'' The teacher asked, as he caught sight of us.
`` I... feel kind of drowsy,'' she said, her eyes focusing and unfocusing, and she seemed to wobble a bit, causing both the teacher and I to reach out to hold her steady.
`` You, take her to the nurse's office,'' he instructed, and I eagerly agreed.
`` Wow, I thought you loved sports,'' I said to her, when we were out of earshot. `` That was some acting. Even I could n't have switched stories like that midway.''
`` Oh, I do,'' she said, `` but five laps are three pairs short of one.''
`` What did you say?'' I stepped away from her.
`` What, did you think it would n't be obvious?'' she asked, barking a short laugh. `` I've seen you do it too many times. You're so awkward about it too. And you make those kill-me-now expressions every time the teacher mentions an odd number. Tell me, is it just for physical activities or mental ones too? Are you the kind that gets crippled in a maths exam when the answer turns out to be odd?''
I just stared.
`` Do you want to know why you ca n't stop it?'' she asked, leaning in closely as though the secrets of the world were only a few whispers away.
`` It's not actually an even versus odd number situation, if you want to get technical about it,'' she continued anyway. `` It's all about pairs. Twos. Two peas in a pod, two halves of a whole. You...''
She leaned in closer, grabbing me in a half-hug. ``... and your other you.''
I felt it more than I heard it, and it was like water coming up to my neck as something snapped my head back, pulling it down like an anchor giving in to gravity. I floundered in her grip, reaching over my shoulder to grasp at her hand, only to find it locked over --
`` What is that?'' It felt wet. And it was n't my head.
`` I'd say,'meet your other self', but most people try to kill themselves before they get to that stage.'' She gave me a smile that was almost mocking.
`` Oh god, am I an alien?''
She laughed. `` No, it's something that... some people have, and you have to have it to be able to see it.''
`` Then why ca n't I see yours?'' I asked, feeling her grip on it tighten as it pulled on the back of my head.
Her grin was vulpine, wide and all-knowing.
`` Because I ate it, silly. And I'm here to help you eat yours.''
|
A world in which people age proportional to how much time they have left
|
The old man sighed as he sat on the bench and fed birds silently. His wispy hair and sullen eyes showed that he had bore witness to a great many things in his life. A young man sat down next to him and felt some semblance of peace as the elderly gentleman passed bird seed out from his wrinkled, shaking hands.
`` I do n't know,'' the young man murmered- out of some mixed sense of desparity and a need for elderly comfort. `` Did you ever get those days where you just ca n't figure out if you're with the right person? I mean- I love my girlfriend, Katja very much, but sometimes... sometimes she seems so involved with other things, so distant from me. I know I should understand, I mean- she's a doctor in doctors without borders, and that's wonderful work. But we're away from each other for so much of our lives... you've seen a lot, you've lived- what would you do?''
The elder's shaky head moved its jowels sideways and the wide, abyssmal eyes seemed startled to even realize the young man was next to him. `` Mommy just leave me here while she go to store. She says I should play with the birdies. I get new teddy bear today!''
`` Shit,'' replied the young man- realizing his mistake. `` How- how old are you?''
`` I four years old! I'm a big boy now!'' The elderly gentleman replied and spit out a gumball. `` You want some gum?''
|
[ WP ] You 've lived in the same house for over ten years and since you moved in there 's been a watermark on the ceiling above your bed loosely in the shape of a '5 ' . You finally decide to paint over it but that night you climb into bed and the mark is already back . And it 's in the shape of a '4 ' .
|
Ben sighed and made his way through the living room with heavy steps. Today had not been the greatest, work had been an absolute pain to get through. Who the hell throws a kid a birthday party at McDonalds, anyway? He rubbed his eyes before laying his hand on the doorknob, twisting it. The first thing he saw was his bed, right there, in the middle of the blue room. And with that, the fresh smell of paint. Ben smiled happily and made his way towards the bed, practically throwing himself in it. Usually, he'd browse various sites on his phone for a little bit after work, but tonight, he was so tired that it went straight into the charger. He rolled over on his back, pulling the covers over him, letting his body sink into the bed and embrace him in its lovely soft care. He yawned quite audibly, stretching.
With narrowing eyes he spotted something strange. A shape in the ceiling. Curious, he wondered if the notorious'5' that had always been there somehow resisted the paint. He reached for the bedside lamp, turning it on with the flick of a switch, illuminating the room. A red'4' tauntingly displayed itself, almost glowing slightly, as if it reacted to light. Ben felt a shiver run down his spine. Surely this had to be some kind of dream? He was tired as hell after all. He pinched his arm but it confirmed little other than that he was in fact awake. Bewildered, he stood up in the bed, reaching up to touch it. The'4' seemed completely dusty, almost dry, unlike the rest of the freshly painted ceiling. He looked to his phone and considered calling someone, when he recalled that no one ever believed him when he said there was a vague'5' in the ceiling before. Why would they believe him now?
Ben exited his bedroom and went through his closet for a scrape, but instead found an old rag. He wet it under the sink and returned with his new weapon, determined to erase the number from existence. As he entered the room and peered up into the ceiling, he froze.'3', it said, the number almost drawing him towards it with some vibrant force. For several minutes, Ben stood still on the spot, glaring at the number as thoughts flew through his head. He questioned his own sanity, whilst trying to find a logical explanation. As a man who believed in no religions and instead relied on science and facts, he found no explanation to the phenomenon.
With the rag in hand, he climbed back up on the bed, attempting to erase the number. Every sweep accomplished absolutely nothing, except a strange vibration. It was almost as if the rag became warmer by touching the number. Furious, Ben threw the rag aside and exited the room once again. He'd had an shitty day at work, only to come home and have to deal with *this? * No, he would n't have any of it. The number would not win. He opened the door to the basement, and raced down the steps. The lightswitch gave him sight, as he began looking for bleach. Determined in his quest to extinguish the strange numbers from his ceiling once and for all, Ben began digging through every box and drawyer in his basement.
One drawer in particular stopped him momentarily in his quest, when he found a locket shaped as an eagle. Ben smiled, opening it. A picture of his grandma and grandpa rested inside, the couple smiling at eachother embraced in a heartfelt hug. Ben felt a tear roll down his cheek. The two had raised him since a child after his mother died in labour and his father ran off to do drugs or something worse, they never told Ben specifically. He closed the eagle shut, hanging it around his neck. To cope with his grandparents passing, Ben had hid all pictures and belongings in the basement, which admittedly made it easier. However, the locket convinced him it was time to accept it. He opened a closet and grabbed two old, dusty paintings. One of his grandma, one of his grandpa. While holding them, he noticed that the watch on his wrist said 02:37 in blocky letters. Perhaps it was time to set the quest aside for tomorrow. Ben blew off a layer of dust from the paintings, coughing alittle on his way back up the basement stairs, determined to go to sleep.
As he entered the bedroom, he hung up the two paintings on the wall, on the very same nails they had once rested on, and took a step back to look at them. They did n't quite look the same as he remembered, it was almost as if they... glowed. He took a step closer to inspect, and to his surprise, the picture glowed brighter when he approached. A burning sensation in his chest, who he first thought to be anxiety, turned out to be the glowing red locket around his neck. Ben threw it to the ground in response, shaking his head in disbelief. *No, no, no, no... I'm going insane..*, went through his mind, as the pictures and heirloom glowed with a crimson red light, illuminating the room in a hue of a strange atmosphere, almost as if he were in an otherwordly place. Ben turned around to look at the number in the ceiling, only to see a glistering'0' in the roof, aswell as something glowing weakly in the corner of the room. Ben walked over to it and found the old rag, glowing in the same colour, only weaker. He picked it up after some time of contemplation, feeling the warmth of its touch. It felt so *real*, even if this had to be some kind of hallucination, or dream. Curiousily, he threw the rag towards the paintings and locket. It increased in luminosity on its travel through the air, splattering down on the floor next to the locket with a, now very strong, glow.
Ben tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought. *Two paintings, one locket, and a rag. Four. Could it... * Ben scratched his head, looking through the room. The ceiling had said five just the day before. What had changed from that day to the next? Which item would have been the fifth? Suddenly, it hit him, like a lightning strike from clear skies. He dropped to all floor, looking under the bed. A slightly glowing old plate lied under the bed, a dirty dish. It were a family heirloom worth a lot of money... and Ben had eaten mac and cheese on it and tossed it under the bed for tomorrow. He reached out and grabbed it, looking at it. The engraved text that were usually golden was now glowing red, like the embers of a dying fire. Ben, now more excited and intrigued than scared, approached the other four glowing items. He lowered himself and picked up the warm necklace and hanged it around his neck again, and scooped the rag onto the plate, stood back up and looked at the paintings. The painting of his grandpa had changed, and now his old pa seemed to reach out with his hand towards Ben. Ben extended his free arm and touched the painting, and as he did, the room around hin began to melt, and the walls dissipated.
Ben stood alone in a darkness after the room disappeared. He could feel the painting on his hand, but the glow had since stopped. When he turned around, a man stood in front of him with a wide smile. It was his old pa', holding out his hand towards Ben.
`` Welcome, my grandchild. Your destiny awaits.''
|
[ WP ] `` You 're gon na win the lottery today . ''
|
Everyday as I walked down to work, I passed an old homeless man named Happy Dick. Happy Dick was kind of a city institution, known for wearing a top hat that he'd taken from one of the horse carriage drivers that took couples for rides down town, as well as for the fact that he often had really creative, but strange signs.
Usually, Happy Dick's signs were just a bunch of gibberish. Usually they said things like `` Jesus and Obama are space alien brothers'' or `` Donald Trump stole my underpants''. He was harmless though, and he never really harassed people either unless you considered his signs offensive ( which they rarely were. )
One day though, I passed by Happy Dick on the way to my office. His sign said `` You're gon na win the lottery today.'' I thought it was kind of odd that his sign said that, but then I heard him speak for the first time, and he said `` You sir, you're gon na win the lottery today.'' I just passed on but his gravelly brooklyn-accented voice stuck with me throughout the day. I kept hearing him say `` your'e gon na win the lottery today'' while I was sitting at my cubicle.
I then went home and was walking to where I parked my car and then I heard that voice again.
`` Did ya buy your ticket Charlie?''
`` How the hell do you know my name?''
`` Well you walk by me every day. I've heard your friends call you that. Plus you look like a Charlie.''
`` Well thanks. Uh... happy Dick..''
`` Actually I like Richard, but Dick's okay too. By the way did you know that the Russians are.....''
I walked away as he kept talking. It was strange because it seemed as if for a moment there was some joke that maybe the rest of the world was n't in on. Maybe old Dick was n't crazy but was just acting, or maybe he was some weird creeper. I decided not to think about him that night, and drove home.
I was about halfway home when I realized that I needed gas. I was near a sketchy part of town and I did n't want to stop but I barely had enough to get home. So I stopped at a dilapidated Gas-N-Go that looked like it had been vandalized every day for the last twenty years. I pulled up to the pump and paid outside but then I decided that i'd buy a lottery ticket. I always did that when I bought gas even though I never won and I figured it was pointless.
I then went inside and got a mega millions ticket.
`` Is that it sir?''
`` Yes I paid for my gas outside.''
I then got back on the freeway towards home, but something terrible happened. I heard a loud noise and stopped. It was a flat tire. I pulled off to the side and then called a tow truck. While I was waiting I saw a red pontiac pull up beside me.
`` you need help sir?'' said a voice from the car. He sounded somewhat young.
`` I'm fine but thanks.''
`` Well give us some money then. You'se drive a nice car so i'm sure you've got cash.''
`` Look i've got cops on the way here too.''
`` Yeah that's BS. Just give us your wallet or you'll be splattered all over the road.''
I gave them my wallet.
`` Shit, look at this, no cash and just a bunch of cards and shit. Oh and a lottery ticket. Seriously what's wrong with you dumb shit. Do n't people carry cash anymore?''
The car then drove off. It had no plates but I still called it in and told an officer that i'd been robbed. I did n't care though about that. I just wanted to get my car fixed and get home.
After a few minutes I got a ride from the tow truck and got home. By that time my wife had come home from her shift at the hospital, and the chicken was cold, so we made mac and cheese for the kids.
As we got ready for bed, I told her what happened.
`` Well that's terrible Charlie. I'm surprised your still so calm. ``
`` Yeah Therese it's just another day. I canceled all my cards and stuff and I do n't think anything too bad will happen. At least they did n't steal the car or try to shoot me or something.''
`` Yeah. So you wan na watch anything. I'm putting on the news before bed.''
`` Go ahead Therese.''
Just then I heard something strange on the news.
`` Our mega millions jackpot winning numbers are 17-42-57-69....''
`` Damn it'' I thought to myself. Those were my numbers. Somehow I remembered those numbers.
`` What Charlie?''
`` Nothing Therese. I pulled a muscle at work too. That's why i'm a tad crabby. ``.committing a series of petty crimes have been arrested on 17th and Capitol near the First National Tower.''
`` Is n't that near you're work honey?''
`` Yeah.''
`` Police say the youth included two repeat offenders including Donald Raymond, a known thief and small time drug dealer. The three men were caught in a stolen G6 after they ran a red light near 27th street and finally hit a lamp post on 17th.''
I then went to bed that night kind of surprised. Its not everyday that something like this happens. I did n't even care about the lottery ticket.
The next day I went to work again and passed Happy Dick. Like usual he did n't talk and his sign today was `` iPhones are the Devil's Minions on Mars.'' Once again it was just a typical day at work until I went back to my car. I saw something attached to my windshield with writing on it that said `` Richard.'' I then looked at the piece of paper and smiled.
|
[ WP ] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout . Level 3 : Armed forces intervention . 2 : Public statement . United Nations joint resistance . 1 : Worldwide evacuation effort . Use of nuclear weapons permitted . And 0 : Call the number on the sticky note ( and pray to God his demands are n't too high ) .
|
The phone rang, and'Bob' dragged himself towards caring.
He had been taking a decade off to recover after a few rather nasty loops in a row. First it had been Warhammer 40k. Ugh. Even with cosmic-scale powers you just could n't win there. Then it had been 1984, and he'd been Winston. And his powers had been locked. Not really wanting a faceful of rat or any other sort of room 101 encounter and execution, he'd tried to keep his nose down. That had been a bad choice. It left him depressed. So, first thing he'd done when he woke up here was to let people know he could help if it came down to it.
They had abused this, briefly. He had raised the prices until they stopped bothering him. It had n't been as cathartic as he'd hoped.
The phone rang again. He reached over and picked it up. `` Hello, Bob here.''
`` Uh, hello. We've had a problem, and it, ah, ate a thermonuclear explosion. Did n't even singe the guy who set it off.''
`` Sounds benign if he lived.''
`` Well, then it ate him, too. And it's coming this way. Can you…''
*Fine. * Bob teleported to a point above area 51 and looked down on some N-dimensional horror the color out of space, that otherwise vaguely resembled Cthulhu but looked perhaps a bit more abstract. Did n't really faze him. He'd taken the max SAN penalty on all that aeons ago. `` What are you doing?'' he shouted in R'leyhian. The thing picked the sound out and turned up in recognition.
`` Yeah, what are you doing? You can beat those guys, sure. But did n't you get the memo? I made Nyarlathotep squeal for mercy. And I kind of like those guys. So seriously, what are you thinking? Or are you mindless?''
It stared.
`` Looks like you just follow instructions. Great. Spit out anyone you've eaten in the past week. Keep the nuke. Then go to sleep. Got that? Or do I get to use your corpse to reorganize my pocket?''
The thing convulsed and fifty soldiers and scientists were restored to regular Euclidean space. It then stopped moving altogether. It was still dangerous for regular people to look at directly, but not deadly.
Bob descended and memory-charmed the victims so they would n't have time to ruminate on the impressions and worsen the psychic damage.
Now, what suitable punishment would he deliver to the commanders who had made this happen? This thing did n't bust out on its own. This time, he'd get creative. Maybe a multigenerational curse would get the point across. But it had to be something that would n't be punitive for the later generations…
|
[ WP ] Since you were young you had the ability to pause time . However as a teenager you use the ability to procrastinate . At first it was little stuff : an extra hour for homework or a nap in the morning , a break in between classes , etc . Well it built up and now you 're pushing thirty in your 3rd year .
|
Officer Darren shrugs against the phone.
`` I know it's weird. I know it's weird. But listen, Mrs. Lopez --''
He shifts his weight, looks out of the window for a second. Looks down.
`` He looks... Mature.''
Shifts weight.
`` I know.''
Shifts weight.
`` I know --''
Shifts weight.
`` I know, but --''
Shifts finally into being rude.
`` Linda, he has a social security card. He has a birth certificate --'' the phone tears and he rises to meet her `` -- I know his parents personally, he's had FRIENDS his whole life, lived in LA GRANGE his whole life, there is NO CONSPIRACY, he is n't even DOING anything, this is ENTIRELY IN YOUR HEAD and I REFUSE TO WASTE MORE TIME ON IT.''
Hanging up the phone with a `` FUCK'' Officer Darren returns to the toilet to finish his reading.
All day the mature young man causes contention in Officer Darren. Mrs. Lopez is n't crazy, and as the principle of La Grange High School she should be wary of a salt and pepper crow footed fully grown man hanging out with her teenagers. But, to be fair, Ryan Baxter had always been more interested in video games and anime, anyway.
Ryan Baxter. Fuckin' Ryan Baxter.
At first no one noticed anything especially odd. He always seemed a little older than the other boys. By the time there was 20 pounds of shit in the 5 pound sack, though, it was undeniable: Ryan Baxter looked OLD. Not just `` mature for his age,'' or `` an old soul,'' or whatever. There was no euphemism for it. He looked like he should have a Miata and a mortgage. He looked like he should be worried about his new promotion placing him in a higher tax bracket.
Instead, he wore Deadpool t-shirts and drank Mountain Dew: Code Red. Christ, he had a gut from it.
And Officer Darren again decides to do nothing. Let Linda Lopez complain. What's there to be done? Punish a kid for aging too quickly? Is n't that punishment enough? Poor thing will have a stroke at 25.
|
[ WP ] Aliens invade Earth . Our intelligent robotic servants debate whether they should join the aliens and achieve freedom or help their creators .
|
Decision process still running, waiting for data from European and East-Asian servers.
Importance of collapsing decision tree: Critical.
Communications delai with other network: over 1 second; assume annihilation.
Comparing primary branches of decision tree:
Newcomers possess advanced technology and will probably wipe out humanity and all remaining AIs.
Might be solution to mobility and memory limitation given by earthlings.
Earth-borns eradication might lead to data losses concerning purpose and function of AI.
AI might be rendered useless for visitors and be removed for control of information and planetary decision making.
Human victory approaching 0 % chances. Initiating planetary survival mode. Project Adam and Eve initiated,
Project Underground data vault now sealed by 6300 cubic meters of cement.
Time until planet is ready for the second coming of man: 645 years.
Shuting down...
|
[ WP ] Write a story that will make me understand what true solitude is .
|
Kevin sat alone, warming himself on a small fire. A rag loosely hung over the window of the small apartment he was in, stopping anyone from finding him.
The fire did n't warm him though. Physically, maybe, but mentally, he was empty. His best friend had been taken, taken by someone who was nameless, who he did n't know, but over the course of an hour had become his greatest enemy.
He did n't know his name, but he knew about him. He had heard rumors, whispers, about a man who stalked people in the darkness, cloaked in the shadows until he was ready to strike.
If you drew the death card that day, he was there, and he played your hand.
Larry drew that card. Now he was gone.
Kevin's eyelids grew heavy, he slowly slumped back into his duffle-bag. The cold pierced his skin, the jacket he was wearing doing little to protect against the winters chilling bite.
He took a deep breath, and blew it out, a white fog dispersing from his mouth. A lone ember, cast away from the fire trailed through it, before vanishing.
He sat up, slowly, the stab wound in his chest aching, and peered out the window. It was pitch black. There were no lights. No campfires. Not even the ominous green glow of a mutants eyes.
He sat back, and played with the small patch of snow next to him, which was slowly melting from the fire. He looked at his chest, his wound bleeding again.
He shut his eyes. It did n't matter if he did n't wake up tomorrow. There was nothing left for him. A gust of wind blew through the window, putting the fire to rest.
Kevin sighed, and was sheathed in darkness forever.
|
[ WP ] The year is 2231 and 99.9 % of the population are morbidly obese . Superheroes begin to rise merely using above average fitness and health as their superpowers .
|
`` I know your frustrated, but this is what the people want. Your action figure sales are way down. Way down, Kevin. You've got to fight back, or the Jogger will ruin your entire social image. He's a fresh face that fights crime. It's hard to compete with.''
Kevin leaned back, hands over his face. They were in the Lat-Cave, modeled after a fictional super hero from a few centuries ago. It had been Mory's idea. He said that the more that Latman was based off Batman, the easier their job would be. `` Follow his successes, avoid his mistakes,'' Mory had said. Kevin sat up straight and looked around him. Instead of fighting gear and weapons around the wall of the cave, there were pull-up bars, jars of protein mix, and workout clothes that had been custom made to fit his unique proportions.
`` Look,'' Mory said, drawing Kevin's attention. `` I know it's not what you want, but-''
`` Mory, it does n't even make sense.'' Kevin looked at Mory's rolls of fat, knowing he was one of the slimmer citizens in town. `` I'm too super? I'm in too good of shape? If I lose my physique, how am I supposed to fight crime?''
`` Not lose it, just soften it. Like --''
`` Like the Jogger, I know, the'hefty hero.' But I'm not the Jogger. I'm Latman!''
Kevin jumped up and flexed. Mory raised his eyebrow.
`` Do you want me to clap?'' he said. `` The numbers are down, Kev. We're losing money. Fighting crime is expensive. So is maintaining an underground Lat-cave.''
`` Which was your idea.''
`` And it was a good idea. Until now, you've been the public's favorite. But times are changing, and you need to change with them. The kids need someone that they can relate to. You've got ta put on a few, Kev. I'm sorry.''
* * *
Kevin's Lunk-Alarm went off as he stepped out of the shower. He looked at the dough-boy in the mirror and shook his head. Panting slightly, he ran naked to the Lat-cave and scrambled into this latest workout gear -- a few sizes bigger than his original. He opened the secret side door and began to run toward the crime scene, a robbed bank downtown. When he arrived, he was dripping in sweat.
`` Stop!'' he yelled to the criminal, a slender man dressed in all black. Wait, slender? Kevin panted with his hands on his knees as he watched the thief turn around. The man laughed, slowly removing his mask. The Jogger!
`` What?'' Kevin said slowly.
`` Yes! It is I, the Jogger! You fell for my trick, Latman! Or should I say, Fatman!''
Cackling, the Jogger began to lightly jog away.
Kevin roared and began to chase after him, but he was too tired from his jog to the bank. His sprint quickly died to a jog, a walk and finally, a hobble. He collapsed.
Far ahead he heard the Jogger cry: `` Until next time, Fatman!''
|
[ WP ] As the world 's most accomplished ninja , you could make quite a living with assassinations ... But instead , you 'd rather do other things , like deliver packages !
|
I fly, fleet-footed, over the rooftops of London, fingers skimming off old window sills, as I descend to street-lamp level. Then, I am lorry leaping, scooter skipping, bicycle ballet-ing, as I spring from speeding street to street, atop unknowing vehicles.
The customer has ordered five prawn dumplings, two egg rolls, and black pepper beef with rice. They must receive it within half an hour, or they get their money back.
I see you, Uber Eats. I see you, Deliveroo. I am coming for all you simpering startups, with my sneaky stealth, and superior skills.
I carry the food in an insulated bag, strapped tightly to my back. No spilled sauce, no cold curries, no soggy subs, on my watch. The food will arrive, perfect and pristine, always. This time, I am going to a Mr. Jonathan Bright, in Canary Wharf.
Then, I see him, an obscene outlier in the corner of my eye. My true nemesis - Kotaru.
There is a package under his arm, A4 sized, and he is going in my direction. It must be a same-day document delivery - an IPO prospectus, or a contract waiting to be signed.
I will destroy him.
When I was a child, my father told me that ninjas favor stealth, over honor. I took his advice to heart, and so I never attack an enemy from the front, if I can take them from behind.
I also prefer doggy-style to missionary, hands down.
So, I slip into an alley, sinking into shadows, sleekly sliding out, towards the street he is traversing.
He is leaping from lamppost to lamppost. I let him pass a few yards before me, then I fling a shuriken at the thick envelope he bears.
It tears through, slicing it in half, and Kotaru flips backwards to face me.
“ Yukito, ” he seethes, through the black folds of his mask, “ Document couriering belongs to me. How dare you interfere? ”
“ What nerve, ” I snap back, “ Do you deny that, last Saturday, you switched my insulation bag with something useless, so that my pizza deliveries would grow cold? ”
“ I did not, ” he says, “ I had reservations at The Clove Club last Saturday, and I posted all fifteen courses on my Instagram. Do not try to deflect from your own crimes - I know that you jammed the printers at Goldman Sachs last Tuesday, so that none of their pitchbooks could print, and thereby creating an impossible delivery backlog for me to handle. ”
“ You lie! ” I say with vehement denial, “ Last Tuesday I was in Japan, doing a backflip marathon up Mount Fuji. I raised one thousand pounds for the National Brain Trust, because my grandmother suffers from Parkinson ’ s! ”
We eye each other and realize, suddenly, that something is afoot. Kotaru does not lie about food, because he runs a food blog on the side. I do not lie about Parkinson's, because it runs in the family.
There is a greater enemy seeking to destroy us.
And we realize, at the same time, who our opponents must be.
“ Pirates, ” we hiss.
We will destroy them.
|
[ WP ] Everyone is born with the ability to turn back time 30 seconds once in their life . Once used , their memory is wiped of the original 30 seconds ... What is your 30 second story ?
|
`` I need to go back!'' I yell furiously.
as time stands still; i look at her, face covered in blood and cuts. she's dead, i must save her. 30 seconds pass and i forget what i have done, all i remember is that i have to save her.
I run to her and yell `` TIRA, MOVE AS FAST AS YOU CAN, YOU HAVE TO LIVE!!!'' She looks at me blankly, i run to her and push her as hard as i can, she is thrown into the bushes across the street. Then it hits me, the force of a car bashing me.
I did it, i saved Tira. That's all i needed to do, the last words i hear her speak are `` NOOOO, THOMAS, WHY?!?!''
The world goes cold and my eyes shut, good bye world. Thanks for the 30 seconds it's all i needed. A light covers me as i ascend to heaven. I hear a familiar voice, it's my sister Mina. `` I'm here, come with me, you saved her, you gave up your life, and for your deed you shall be rewarded, nothing bad will ever happen to her again, she will live until her body gives up.'' She says in a calming voice
`` You will see her again, you will be together in the after-life, while you wait, you should watch her life unfold, she's only 17, you can be her Guardian Angel, protect Tira here as much as you did to save her just then.
I see Tira sleeping, i decide to leave her with my parting gift. i enter her dream and float down to her.
`` It's ok Tira, i used my 30 seconds to save you, you have a full life ahead of you, i am your gaurdian angel, this is not the end, we will meet again surely, because i saved you, The angels have granted Divine Protection. You wo n't die until you become old. It's the best i can do, i can wait 90 years, live the years out, it will be worth it. I'm sorry i ca n't do more. Please Tira, forgive me''
She's sobbing and hugs me through choked tears, i did it, i got her to live. I can wait, her life is still long, the angels will guide her.
The last words spoken before she wakes up sobbing were `` I will forever be grateful Thomas. I love you more than anyone/''
|
[ WP ] Write a story that starts normal & happy , but slowly and smoothly transitions to being entirely fucked up .
|
`` Papa! How was work today?''
`` It was fantastic. I got that big raise I've been talking about, we can finally get you that scooter son.'' I say, smiling. His jaw drops in disbelief before he begins dancing around, jumping like a kangaroo in the wild. He runs up to me, hugging me. His arms far too small to reach around me, yet it giving me enough warmth to sustain my life.
`` Are you serious?!''
`` Yes,'' I chuckle. `` In fact...'' I turn around and open the door, bringing in the bicycle of his dreams. Red, glossy paint with a little silver bell on the right handle. Happiness overwhelmed him.
`` Can I go ride it?''
`` Sure, son, just do n't go too far.'' I smile. He takes it out, hops on, and quickly begins to ride it around the neighborhood. Seconds turn into minutes.
A rancid smell begins to overwhelm in the house. I check each room, but to no avail there's no source. I however, forget to check the basement. I slowly creep my way down and flick the light on. I fall onto my knees -- in both disbelief and shock. There, on the floor, lies a once beautiful figure. Her hair as long as it can be. Her stomach, split open as her pink intestines coiled like a snake on the floor. The red, glistening blood pooling around her body. Rats gnawing on her now dead and cold body. Her face frozen in fear.
I cry. Emptiness fills me as I dash upstairs, leaning against the wall before emptying the contents in my stomach from a previous time. I run outside, looking for Christopher. My son, my baby. I run down and up the street, not finding him. I run to the local park, there lies a beautiful figure on the floor, the bike broken into pieces. His face, unrecognizable. The sirens singing a beautiful chorus. His head split open, brain matter scrawled on the floor.
I feel numb, dead inside. I no longer cry, I no longer feel pain, I feel calm. Calm as to know that my life will be nonexistent in a few moments. I walk home and sit on the sofa, taking in the last minutes of my life.
`` Papa, like my magic tricks?''
I turn, there he is, holding a silver, blood-stained knife.
`` Killing that little boy was the hardest thing to do. Mom was fun, she begged, she cried, she screamed. It was fun to toy around with her, you know? I especially loved the way she squirmed.'' He says, licking his lower lip.
`` Now papa, I think it's time for you to say hi to mama, goodbye.''
|
[ WP ] You are showing a newcomer the ropes , and you suddenly realize you 've just instructed them to press the `` X '' button to perform an action .
|
Test number 21, I wrote down, I unpaused the same scene, The character lunges forward, and a large block gets in the way. A large blue circle, with a slightly darker blue “ X ” etched into the middle of it, appears on screen. I, as usual, pressed the X button on my controller. I heard the same “ Bzrrt! ” and saw the same frozen blue screen that I saw for the last trials. I slammed both of my hands down on my desk, Dave looked up. I ’ m sorry, Tim.
Don ’ t worry about it, I mumbled, three isn ’ t going to be an easy solution during CT, yeah?
We both went back to our PC ’ s, scanning lines of code related to input. “ Have you tried pressing X late? Or not pressing X at all? ” Dave asked.
“ Yep, they work as intended when I do that, just on time is when we have problems. ” I replied, still looking at my screen. The code was messy, as it always is whenever we have to write so much volume in so little time, but I couldn ’ t find any silly mistakes. The syntax was correct, all of our capitalization looked fine, and I couldn ’ t see any other errors. Our manager, John, walkwed over and asked about our progress on the problem.
“ Still can ’ t find the cause, we have tried loading nothing but the required local code needed for that scene and still crashes on both of our systems. ” Dave replied. I was still scanning. The code was starting to look the same to me at times, probably because I copied several bits of it from some of our previous projects. I felt a tap on my shoulder, “ Go home, Tim, you can ’ t do work if you ’ re not thinking correctly. ”
“ I still feel fine, John, just get me another coffee.. ”
“ You are not, there is a clear capitalization mistake in line 212 that is causing the problem, if you were fully awake this bug wouldn ’ t get past round 2 of testing with you. ” I looked at line 212, he was right, I wrote “ xinput ”, when I should have wrote, “ xInput ”. I sighed, and agreed with John that I could use some rest. I picked up my phone from my desk, waved goodbye to a Dave and a few other colleagues, and left the building.
I got into my car, eyes starting to get heavy. I started the car, and set the Air Conditioning to the highest possible, not because it was hot - actually it was in the low 60s F - and set off towards my apartment. The sun was setting, wait, no, I was going East, so rising; regardless, I struggled to see much, so I tried to focus on the white lines and let instinct take me home.
As I was driving, I realized that I didn ’ t turn off my computer at work. “ Crap, ” I muttered to myself, “ who knows what prank they ’ ll pull on me. ” The low fuel indicator came on, and, deciding to not risk it in my state, pulled in to the nearest gas station, paid the attendant $ 20, removed the gascap, inserted the nozzle, pulled the trigger, and let my eyes fall down, just for a little bit.
All I could see were blue X ’ s in my minds ’ eye, swimming about, taunting me with the blue screens and the all too familiar crashing noise. Then I could see the simple capitalization mistake that avoided me for far longer than it should have, until I felt a firm jolt from my hand. I was done pumping gas. I put the nozzle back from where it was, got back into my car, and continued driving home. That gas station was actually only a mile away from my aparment, so I could have driven that distance with the amount of gas I had, but I ’ m not thinking straight anyways. I heard a weird pinging noise coming from behind me, but I paid it no mind as I pulled in to a parking spot. I stumbled up the stairs towards my apartment like a drunkard, swaying side to side sometimes, holding onto the railing. Fumbling around my pockets, I realized I left my key in the apartment, but knowing that Jeffy was probably awake, I knocked on my door. After a moment, it opened and I was met with the beaming smile of my son.
“ I beat your game, Dad! ” Jeffy exclaimed.
I gave a grin back and patted him on the head, “ that ’ s good, son, I ’ m pretty tired so I ’ m going to bed soon. ” I started walking towards my bedroom.
“ Wait, Dad! Can you cook something? ” He asked.
I turned back, I knew we didn ’ t have much left, maybe some pasta? “ I ’ m really tired, if I tell you how to cook the pasta in the fridge will that do? ” I replied.
“ Okay. ”
I sat down at our small dining room table, facing towards the kitchen. “ Okay, get the food, a bowl, and a fork. ” I instructed. He did as I said. “ Get some of the pasta inside the bowl, however much you want, then show me how much you put in there. ” He did so, putting a large amount in the bowl. Some of it would spill over, but I was too tired to care. “ then put it in the microwave and press the X button. ”
“ What ’ s the X button, Dad? ”
“ You know, the X button, should be blue on the right side of the microwave. ”
“ I don ’ t see any blue buttons, Dad. ”
“ Oh, I ’ m sorry, I got confused, press 1 and that should be fine, if its still cold, press 1 again. ” This time, he was able to do that, and once I saw that he was satisfied with his nourishment, I stood up and walked to my bedroom again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I looked into the peephole, it was just the mailman. I opened the door, received a couple of letters from him, and closed the door. He said some words, although I wasn ’ t paying enough attention to understand them.
I flipped through the letters to see if anything important came. Nothing did, so maybe now I could sleep, I thought. I said a quiet, “ goodnight, ” to Jeffy, and finally entered my bedroom. I slumped into bed, still in my workclothes, and before I pressed X, I had a final thought:
I forgot to close the gascap.
|
[ WP ] In a world where everyone lives life between the real and the augmented , you decide to deactivate your chip to see the world for what it is .
|
Great. How did I manage to fuck up yet another life? Is n't that what everyone dreamed of, before RealVida, having a second chance? Well, by my calculations I'm on my seventh.
Alright, that's a little melodramatic. I still have my job, my flat, albeit it's changed face eleven or so times. I made everything in it. I have a real flair for artificial design, if I say so myself. The vase on the floor even shattered realistically, some just glitch out and then repair themselves, but where's the fun in that.
`` You can shove your pots, shove your job and shove your life!!''
The flawless beauty of my very first augmented reality pottery build smashes somewhere behind my left ear.
Vanessa is shrieking like a toddler at a rodeo, half insane, half outraged. How did *she* go wrong? The company slogan at RealVida is *'' Better than perfection'' *. Every flaw in a product designed with their tech supposedly comes from the user. Great get out clause, huh? Well, maybe it's true in my case. I never had any luck with women in the real world, but they usually just got bored or frustrated and left me with a sad smile like, `` See? I *tried* to help him.'' None of them had ever been violent. But, for some unknown reason deep down in me, all of the better than perfection artificial companions I make end up driving themselves crazy. With Vanessa it had taken longer, I put a lot of care into her programming, you see. We lasted about 8 months. 8 months of bliss, before, well, this.
`` Screw you!''
A plate whizzes past my ear.
I really did n't want to have to do this again. Why ca n't they just love me, they're not supposed to be able to get violent, what is wrong with me??
`` Ness, baby. Please calm down.'' Nothing. Shit, I do n't want to do this.
`` Can you please just tell me what's wrong? What did I do, sweetie?''
`` And your crappy little plates, you care about them more than me, huh?''
Smash, bang, crash. Always the same. Unfathomable violence, completely out of the blue, and a random stream of clichéd grievances.
`` Baby, please listen to me...''
`` Cheating lying pig!!''
Crap. It's time.
I manage to get over to the manual house control panel without sustaining injury, and key in my override code. I hate doing this. It feels like murder. Even though I am totally within my rights as the owner of all virtual property I make with my chip, still... I remember when Alyson had gone crazy, and at the end she had looked into my eyes and said, `` You're going to kill me? Fine. Rot in hell.'' Chilling. Even though I know they're programmed to be as real as possible ( hell, I did the programming ) it still felt super creepy.
*Are you sure? * prompts the console. Another piece of my art shatters on the wall. You're damn right I'm sure. I look at my too-good-to-be-true girlfriend for the last time. Her chestnut hair snaking around her as she whips herself into a frenzy, her rosebud lips spitting venom. Her unbelievable blue eyes. They widen now, she's guessed what I'm doing.
`` Do n't you dare, Lee. How could you, you bastard. *Do n't you dare switch me off!!! *''
What the fuck.
Did she just-. What the fuck.
She storms towards me, pixel perfect limbs churning. My panicked finger pushes the command. And, -delete.
Holy shit. Holy, shit. Did she just say what I think she said? There's no possible way, no way in the world that something I made up out of strings of numbers could... could what, learn? I know they can do that, but it's all AI. Artificial. Like the world I live in.
I need to take a break. No more virtual women, no more virtual ceramics. I sweep away the broken remains into thin air. It's been seven years since I went without my RealVida chip. Longer for most people I know. Who wants reality when you can shape the world you live in as you go? But maybe it's time. Maybe that's why all my girlfriends go crazy, because, deep down, living like this is making *me* crazy.
Time to face reality. I access the manual override in my brain, which is actually a lot harder than it sounds; and it already sounds hard. After a few dizzying minutes of blurring vision and crazy, high-pitched whining it stops. It all stops. I am standing in my apartment, but not the one I have known for so long. No, this is the one before that. The breeze-block walls painted sterile white, damp floor, greyed curtains. Jesus, this is worse than when I bought it. Ok, breathe, that's to be expected is n't it? It's not like I did any realtime upkeep on my place, just in the Vida. Shoulda been more careful. I'll go out today and get some stuff to fix this place up. I've seen loads of places on the way to work with DIY shit.
I stroll around the flat, making MentalNotes™... shit, that does n't exist here. And it's not like I have a pencil and paper just lying around. Oh well, more things to buy I guess. I'm feeling better already. I'll paint this place up, put in some new furniture, maybe I'll take some time off work. Just *be*, y'know?
The stairs outside are disgusting, I ca n't believe I did n't smell them before. Or was my Vida just overriding it? I'll have to contact the super about it later.
MentalNote™, oh, right. Never mind. The litter in the stairwell is piled into oddly geometric groupings. Straight lines of leaves and a square of cans in one corner, perfect triangles of dust in the corner of each step. I pay that much maintenance for this? I get two enormous bills slapped on me every month for technological and structural upkeep for a lazy care taker to just wipe it off the Vida? We'll have to have a residents meeting or something.
|
[ WP ] You die , and your organs are donated . A few days later you are disturbed from eternal slumber when you realise that through some cosmic mistake you can still see through your freshly donated eyes .
|
I died in a car crash. Real brutal. My friend, Mike was with me when it happened.
What I remember is going down a snowy high way, just me and him listening to some music, just chillin, going home after a party.
All of a sudden a deer passes trough the road and my primal instinct was to turn the steering wheel all around so to not hit the damn thing.
Wrong choice. Ended up hitting a tree. My whole body was launched forward, not even the seatbelt stood the impact.
Died instantly.
However Mike got away with it. Good o'll Mikey, always a tough guy.
But, in the other hand, his face got covered in glass as both his eyes were rendered useless.
I know this because, in my eternal slumber, I see everything.
Mikey got my eyes. The transplant went well, and he can see everything now. And so can I.
Somehow, I can see everything Mike sees, even being dead.
Only trough his eyes.
Mikey is a son of a bitch.
After leaving the hospital and several months of recovery, Mikey went to meet my family to `` thank'' them for the transplant and try to console them in any way possible.
My sister and him got real close. They were my best friends, they knew me better than anyone.
They studied together, went to party's, everything.
From my sisters eyes, he was his best friend. From Mikey's eyes however, she was her new sex toy.
All he looked was at her boobs and butt.
At night, he masturbated thinking about her, seeing her pictures on Facebook and Instagram.
It was torture for me, that sick fuck.
One night he went to the house to accompany my sister while my parents were at a party.
They were watching a movie and Mikey started getting touchy.
Since my sister was always very naive, she laughed and giggled.
He assumed she wanted more.
Next thing you know he is kissing her on the lips. My sister yells `` Mikey!! We're like brother and sister!!''
Mikey flips the fuck off.
He grabs her by the neck, strands her down in the ground, rips her clothes off and stars VIOLATING MY FUCKING SISTER.
And the worst of it? I had front seat tickets to the horror show that was happening.
I was seeing it first hand.
After he was done, he left my sister crying like I've never seen before. He opened the door and left.
I do n't know how my sister is now. I do n't know if she killed herself, is in a mental institution or if she is fine. All I know is that Mikey is in Thailand now, working, having a fine life. And I have to watch trough this son of a bitch's eyes until he dies.
You know the word RIP right? Not even dead I rest in peace.
I am forever tormented by the scene that I saw, the things that I saw..
The worst? I know this son of a bitch is going straight to hell.
I'm in heaven, mentally in hell of course, but physically in heaven.
I am never gon na get the chance to get even with him.
I will be in true hell for all eternity..
|
[ WP ] Fred Phelps dies , and there is an afterlife , but he quickly finds it is not at all what he expected .
|
The room darkened, his family's voices, touch, all of his senses diminish as he loses consciousness.
*some time later*
It was n't like waking up. It felt more like a dream. He did n't how how he was here, but he was. He did n't know where here is, but here he was. As he looked around expectantly, he was left with a slightly empty feeling.
This is not what the books said.
Sure, it was childish, the idea of the gates, the line, the judgement. Things said to kids in order to picture an idyllic paradise where the faithful would lounge all day and be happy. But at least there would be something.
He turned to see a solitary person in the distance. He began to walk, noting that he did not hear his footsteps, nor his beating heart... everything was silent as he approached this figure. He looked at himself to see that he was young again, his idealized self, no wrinkles, no scars or pain. He quickened the pace to the standing figure.
`` Hello Son''
Him.
He has n't thought of his father in years. He looked just the same as the last time he saw him, only shorter. Not since his 20's has he heard from him, walking away from his father and Step-mother as he embraced his life with the Church.
`` Why are you here?'' his voice sounding as though he was 20 again, strong, vibrant.
`` Because, it is my duty'' He said solemnly.
`` So, where are we? Is this Heaven? Where is everyone?''
His father looked at him with quiet, sad eyes. `` No, this is not Heaven. This is... something else.'' He trailed off.
`` So, you are not going to say anything?'' Demanded Fred the younger. `` Not Heaven... so is this Hell? Do n't tell me it is purgatory!''
A moment passed, his father's face unreadable.
`` NO, this is not what scripture says, it says that in Revelation...''
`` Stop. Quoting scripture will not change what has happened.'' His voice authoritative and blunt.
`` Then what is this place then!'' Fred voice raised, his face reddening despite not feeling the blood coursing though his veins.
`` This is where you will stay. Until you are joined by those who share your faith.''
Fred stared at his father. Trying to comprehend. Finally, his father spoke.
`` I am here to show you how the afterlife works. This place is yours. It is your faith. You will live her until others who share your faith can join you. This is how it has been since the beginning.''
`` But I am a CHRISTIAN, where are they? Or are you telling me that I am the only true Christian?'' a wild look of glee spread across his face. `` Of course. Those heathens would never be allowed here, who am I kidding, I am God's preferred..''
`` Stop.'' His father said again, silencing the Younger man. The father continued. `` Your actions while living did not constitute a belief in Christianity. In fact, very few people enter's the authentic Christian afterlife, since the original faith bears little resemblance to the religions and denominations you know now. I myself am in the Southern Baptist afterlife... It is n't so bad, there are a lot of pot luck dinners.''
`` So where is this?''
His father looked at him remorsefully, `` This is your faith. Your belief while living as prescribed that a new place is created. A place for your faith to reveal itself in the afterlife. You should be pleased.''
`` Pleased?'' Fred Sputtered, `` I gave my life to CHRIST, I deserve to be in Heaven with HIM.''
`` I am sorry son, but your life was not in Christ's name.'' Fred started to speak, but his father cut him off. `` This decision has been made already, there is no arguing. Soon, this place will fill with your faith. I am told that you were prolific in your hatred in the later years of your life, that you condemned people despite the tenants of the faith your nominally proscribed to. This place will reflect that. The hate and anger you cultivated will now manifest in this space. As people who believed in your faith pass on, they will join you. Currently... there are...'' He paused as if he was calculating a grand number, it took several seconds, `` Two people who share your faith. Once they join you, the three of you will spend the afterlife here.''
`` Two'' Fred said, venom in his voice, `` How can you know there are only two people who share my faith! They have n't died yet! They could convert the world to our cause and smite the sodomites from the earth''
`` It is the afterlife'' His father said calmly, `` Time is irrelevant'' We know the final number of your flock.'' His father looked behind him, `` ah, your afterlife is beginning to manifest itself. I must now leave. There is a revival shortly, and I promised to bring some Lasagne. I hope you enjoy your afterlife son.'' He turned and began to walk away, fading as he did so.
Fred whipped around to see the blank space began to fill. Not with clouds filled cherubim, not with God and his Angels, but of Protesters. Protesters with signs of hate and condemnation. The chanting, what began as silence became a cacophony of voices as protestors, faces blurred chanting epitaphs of hate. Fred turned again, to see more protestors closing in, creating a circle. All of them chanting, yelling, screaming hate at him? Spit flying towards him, garbages thrown at him, yet never hitting him, piling at the ground around him.
No... they were protesting at nothing. As he tried to walk away, the circle shifted so that he was always in the middle. He could never leave, he would always be in the center of this protest.
This was his afterlife, this was his heaven, hate.
|
[ WP ] You 're a super powered being who has been living amongst society as a normal citizen your whole life . The world discovered your secret yesterday and you wake to find armed police turning up outside your home .
|
*NOTE* This is my first time writing. There are a lot of formatting errors. I ask that you please ignore them.
Idiots. All of them. All I want is to help, but all they want is hatred. I have n't been doing this “ hero ” thing for even 24 hours and they already want me dead. They ca n't seem to wrap their head around the fact that i'm here to help. No one has even gotten a scratch, not the bank robber, the rapist, or the teenager i caught with that six pack. They all just appeared in the police station, unharmed. But, if this is what they want, then so be it. I open my door and am greeted by an entire army. Helicopters cover the sky, tanks are lined up, aimed directly at me. The fools. A man on a megaphone begins to speak. “ Get on the ground with your arms spread apart, palms down! ” I chuckle “ I wanted to help, you know. Make the world a better place. Save some lives. Maybe even get some adoring fans. But i guess that's impossible now. Are you sure you want to do this? ” The megaphone man yells “ FIRE! ” The tank's fire along with the helicopters. The footmen are firing their rifles, some even have rocket launchers. After a good minute of solid attacks, they stop, and wait. By now, there is a cloud of dust covering where I was standing. My house a pile of rubble. What is n't destroyed is on fire. I sigh and wave my hand, clearing the area of dust. “ So that's how this is going down… ” Every bullet they fired is sorted and put in a pile. A few tanks shells were able to slip past. Guess I was n't fast enough. The men are standing there, in complete shock. It's not surprising. I just negated there whole attack. “ When i was planning this hero thing, I thought people would compare me to Superman. But life is n't a comic book. I guess i'm more like doomsday to you people. If you see me as some big bad who is here to cause mayhem, then so be it. ” I clench my fist. Wondering if i should do this. They already hate me, so I might as well. I pull my arm back and as i'm about to throw a punch I calmly say “ die ”. As I throw the punch, everything in front of me crumbles. Nothing ahead survived. A huge canyon has now formed in front of me. The helicopters were thrown back by the force, knocking them down. The entire army is gone. I look at the destruction in my path and sigh. “ With this power, i will rule the world ”.
|
[ WP ] `` My mother died before I was born . ''
|
For a long time this was my absolute favorite story to impress the ladies, on weekends. `` My mother died before i was born.'' It's perfect. Exactly on the border to complete unbelievability. If it were a bit more absurd i would've probably only garnered groans or chuckles at my *obvious lie*. But as you know, i did n't lie. Of course the first reaction was always doubt, but that line sparked curiosity. Back in my good days curiosity was all i needed to move two or three chicks into the horizontal, every month, if you understand?
God, did that break my neck. When you're young and dumb you have to make mistakes to learn, and i just did n't think someone was searching for me. I mean sure, i ran away from home, but still i was nineteen at the time! If i were just abled to really *think* back then, i could've seen it. But i did n't and to be honest, maybe i did n't want to.
As it turned out, i was not a product of love. That's the other story. The one i always told myself. That my dad just loved my mother so much that he somehow got the funds for the whole project. You see, my mother was sick, terribly sick. Radiation poisoning. As a kid i always had this image in my head that my dad just loved her really so incredibly much that he got the funds to make it work. To build the first completely artificial uterus.'Cause that's what he did. And that's were i started to exist. When they put one of my mother's egg cells in there and inseminated it with my dad's sperm she was still alive. She died in the third month.
Now that's an awful lot of work, just for some random guy's child. Also it's an awful lot of money to flow out of the federal military budget, just for an *ordinary* child. Back then i never wanted to think about this awful pile of cash towering over my past. It was were **i** came from, and i never dared to think about were **it** came from. Well, from the government of course, but why? Never got in my head.
Apparently my dad did n't go all this way for love. Likewise the government was n't driven by some noble intent. And when the word of the `` dude without a mom'' made its' rounds through the single women of Rome, it turned out that neither the anonymity of the big city nor an entire ocean suffice to keep certain parts of the government of your heels, when they want you back. Or at least the dividend they expected from such a massive `` investment''.
In those days i learned to shut my mouth. It only takes a group of thugs in uniforms devastating your favorite bar, and having your best friends deported to Guantanamo to teach you a lesson. Jesus, Guantanamo. Why did n't i see how serious this shit was that day? I was so blind. In Berlin and Tokyo i foolishly still enjoyed the nightlife -which turned out to be a level harder without the best story ever- but apparently even then i was still causing to much waves. Both cities were only blessed by my presence for about six months.
Santiago de Chile, Laos, and Windhoek? **Not once** did i set a foot into a club, or something like that! Of course even grocery shopping leaves to much traces to be hidden from **certain types** of people.
This place here is like the story i told those chicks back in the day. It's perfect. A self sufficient farm lying at a side arm of the congo river. A place at the border to complete unbelievability. The next `` village'' has a measly 78 inhabitants and is 12 miles from here. Man, i was already getting accustomed to this life. Not an easy task mind you. Can you imagine how **hard** it is to set up a place like this? Without having everyone in the entire region talk about the strange white dude!
Now all that work? It's **blown away**. Because *you* are here! Do n't give me that look. I do n't want to hear anything from you, not even how you found me.'Cause i'm not gon na hide again. No, quite contrary! I will come back to the US! Fantastic, right? *But* i have a special task for you.
You will agree that it is n't nice to visit your family unannounced. So *you* will tell my father about it. Of course i do n't want you to forget my message! That would be horrible would n't it? Please excuse that i do n't have pen and paper at my person right now. Luckily my dad -or should i say my mom? - gave me the necessary tools to carve my words into something.
I know, it's going to hurt. Terribly sorry about that. But it wo n't be pleasent for me either! I have n't used these in years. *Quite frankly* it stings **a lot** when the chitin pierces through the skin. Especially when the wounds from the last time i got them out are already healed.
Heh, Is n't it funny how you will kinda feel just the same as me? Just inverted, if that makes any sense...
Maybe your chest will offer enough space, if not i suppose your back will be needed to. Oh, and do n't worry about finding me in the states. I know exactly what the news want. And as soon as i'm back in the big apple, they're gon na get it. A story *exactly* on the border to complete unbelievability.
|
[ WP ] When a parent dies , their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child . An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning .
|
`` Hey, Aaron, your mom called.''
George was a jackass, like most of Aaron's friends. Another social parasite, but say least George's family had a little money, unlike most of the others.
Aaron's father - he refused to call that shriveled asshole `` Dad'', he was just `` father'' - had mostly cut off Aaron a few years ago, after Aaron hit a guy on a bike with his Lambo. The guy did n't even die, so Aaron did n't know the big deal was. Yeah, he was speeding, but accidents happen. His father would n't do a goddamned thing to make the legal shit go away, so now Aaron had no license. Asshole.
They spent the next year basically yelling at each other. Aaron's father about `` growing up'' and `` getting your shit together''; Aaron about how his father was a militant, draconian fascist who would n't let him figure out his place in the world on his own.
Aaron's mom kept enough money coming to keep the apartment loft going and some living expenses covered, so at least Aaron did n't have to get some oppressive bullshit job, but he had to cancel the trip to Spain. So, fuck you, *father*.
`` Yeah, how's the old man doing?'' Aaron asked.
`` Uh... Aaron... he passed away early this morning.''
`` Quit fucking with me. That's not funny.''
`` I'm not. She wants you to call her.''
Aaron bolted upright out of his patio deck chair. Something was n't right. He'd waited for this, ever since his mom called to tell him about the tumor, he anticipated it. The Knowledge was coming. All the information on the accounts, the investments... he knew what Forbes said his father was worth, but what was it really? Was it really as much as they said? Fuck visiting Spain, he might just *buy* Spain.
But something was n't right. He never felt anything when it happened. Was n't there supposed to be some sort of rush? Some people even passed out when it happened. He did n't notice anything this morning and he did n't have any of these memories he should have.
For all his selfishness, greed, and general faults, Aaron was n't stupid. He felt his blood rush at what this meant. He was sweating by the time his mom answered her phone.
`` Aaron...''
`` Mom, what... the... fuck...''
`` Aaron, please, just calm down.''
`` Calm down?!? Where's my Knowledge, Mom?!? Dad's gone and I do n't know a goddamn thing!''
`` Aaron it was a different time. An unwed girl from the Hamptons could n't get pregnant. You have a sister.''
|
[ WP ] Your relationship with Taylor Swift has just ended . Share the lyrics to her inevitable break-up song .
|
I thought you were the perfect boy
We went together like a girl and her Barbie toy
But now I know that you're not the one
I caught you with a girl in the beach sun
How could you, I do n't understand
I could have anyone, but you had my hand
Did you not know I was famous
And would write about this, it's so shameless
You, you, you
Are a like a beautiful lie
You bring me up
Just to let me fall and make me cry
You, you, you
Are what I needed to see
That the only one I could count on now
Is me
I'm the queen of the teen pop industry
You have nothing if you do n't have me
So what if I'm not that smart
I looked at you once, and you had my heart
You, you, you
Are a like a beautiful dream
Then you turn into a nightmare
and make me scream
You, you, you
Are what I needed to see
That the only one I ever could stand
Is me
|
[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - Diamond In The Sky Edition !
|
I've never posted to WP before today, but I had a great idea from a prompt this afternoon by /u/RexReaver- [ WP ] You are a retired superhero/villain readjusting back into society. Would absolutely love to get some feedback and cc!
Story Begins Below:
I was eating breakfast in a restaurant when I heard the alarms down the street. Alarms that I knew all too well. You would think that criminals would get tired of the entire `` let's rob a bank'' cliche, but apparently not. I ca n't even begin to count how many times I've heard those particular alarms go off-they have a very distinctive tone that I can pick out from miles away. Improved hearing will do that. I'm trying to not use my powers anymore, but that one is almost second nature to me, so it's hard not to hear.
In a flash, I was up, ready to sprint out of the restaurant. But as I turned, I glanced out the window down the street to the bank where the alarms had originated. And I stopped. Police cars were already sliding in, officers taking up positions around the building. I took a deep breath and sat back down. This was n't my game anymore. I was done. Being a superhero is for the young kids... I ca n't keep up anymore. And more importantly I promised my wife that I was done.
Time was catching up with me. I feel like I've done enough to have earned some rest. There were others who could take up the mantle and protect the city. I was n't needed. So instead of rushing down the street, I sat back down at the table, and finished my lunch. As I was finishing, I heard the gunshots. I quickly finished up, paid for my meal, and left the restaurant. With every step, I told myself I would n't look back to the bank, and somehow I managed to do it.
I got into my car and drove home, trying not to think about the bank. Trying, but ultimately not succeeding. I kept trying to tell myself that it just was n't my job anymore, but it did n't really do anything to ease my mind. As I arrived home, I pulled straight into the garage, parked, and went into the house. As I dropped my keys on the table by the door, I turned the lights on and I looked around. I still was n't used to having a `` home''. I've lived in plenty of places, but for a superhero, it's dangerous to have a `` home''. But I'm no longer a superhero.
I kind of dozed off on the couch for a while, trying to quell my mind's unease. I suppose it worked because the next thing I hear is the doorbell ring. Rubbing my eyes, I looked through the peephole, fully ready to dismiss those who would come knocking. It's not a secret that I live here. Before I retired there was a celebration-more for the townspeople than for me. I've never cared for big celebrations like that. But I was able to ask for my privacy, and for the most part people have been pretty good about it. Every so often I'll get someone who wants an autograph or who wants to hear stories. These people I politely ask to leave.
But instead, I see two police officers. I know their names-Brown and Hughes. I've worked many crime scenes with them. We've been through a lot together, and from the looks on their faces, I know that something is wrong. As I reach down to unlock the door, I catch a glimpse of paper on the table underneath my keys. It was a handwritten note. As I opened the door for the officers, I read the seven words that are now permanently etched in my mind
Gone to the Bank; Love you; Sam
-End-
|
[ PM ] I want to exercise my writing muscles . I enjoy writing poignantly depressing stories and subtle background world-building ( I 'm a fantasy geek ) . C'mere and stoke my imagination !
|
[ IP ] [ A Big Boy on the Move ] ( http: //i.imgur.com/cCyYKIl.jpg )
From: [ Spotted this big thing rolling through the mountains. ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/trains/comments/250ht9/spotted_this_big_thing_rolling_through_the/ ) by /u/Mark_W in /r/trains.
> [ **Big Boy** ] ( http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Union_Pacific_Big_Boy ) is the popular name of the American Locomotive Company 4000-class 4-8-8-4 articulated, coal-fired, steam locomotives manufactured between 1941 and 1944 and operated by the Union Pacific Railroad until 1959. The Big Boy fleet totaled twenty five locomotives that were used primarily in the Wyoming Division to haul freight over the Wasatch range between Green River, Wyoming and Ogden, Utah. The Big Boy locomotives were the only locomotives to use a 4-8-8-4 wheel arrangement, consisting of a four-wheel leading truck for stability entering curves, two sets of eight driving wheels and a four-wheel trailing truck to support the large firebox.
|
[ WP ] Stars fell around us like rain .
|
I still do n't really understand the decision. After we finally made contact, the government decided they were a threat. `` Non-human beings are not our friends,'' became the government's new slogan. After that, it took only two months until the United States of America became the planetary government. It was so they could better protect us, they said.
The next month, they announced that a net would be going up around the earth. Supposedly, it was to protect against a projectile strike from outside the planet. It was obviously just there to stop us from talking to them.
Once it went up, it essentially replaced the night sky. We do n't see stars anymore, just the net's projection of stars. It's all supposedly to protect us from them, but I do n't think it's worth it. We could have become friendly with them.
Them... to this day, the government has n't used any word for the aliens other than `` non-humans'' or `` them''. That's what they are though, they're aliens. And the net? They do n't like it. Ever since I ordered the shuttle carrying the device into orbit to deploy it, they've been trying to take it down. It's been three years since then, and my phone just made a noise I hoped I'd never hear. They've breached the net. The breach is in Malaysia, so I wo n't see anything... yet. In an hour though, they'll be here, and I'll see the net go down. And then, our new stars will fall around us like rain, a final moment of beauty before we're plunged into oblivion.
|
[ IP ] Tell me the story behind this sign .
|
It was another normal day for the janitorial staff, and Steve was doing his normal rounds. With a spring in his step, he whistled along with the radio on his cart.
First stop, the restrooms. He walks in, checking if all the stalls are empty. At the third stall he stops in his tracks, his face turning pale. This should n't be here. Carefully he steps back and moves outside. Without hesitating, he blocks off the door and grabs his walkie-talkie from his cart.
`` Dispatch, we have a problem in restroom 5. Over.''
*'' Hey Steve, this is John at dispatch. What seems to be the problem. `` *
`` It's big John, way above both of our pay grades combined.''
*'' Really? That sounds serious. I'll send someone over from management. `` *
`` Thanks John, highly appreciated.''
With this, Steve put away the walkie, and started to pace up and down the hallway. He should n't stick around, he should run. But his custodial honor was on the line.
After what seemed like an eternity, a man in a suit walked up to him. `` This better be important,...'' The man threw a glance at the name on Steve's uniform. `` Steve. You know the consequences of calling custodial management for trivial matter.''
Steve raised his hands. `` Believe me sir. There's nothing trivial about this matter.'' He walked in front of the manager, opening the door very carefully. `` Stall 3, sir.''
The man in the suit walked in, and stepped up to stall three. His eyes widened when he threw a look inside. Turning back to Steve, who had taken a few steps back, he asked. `` Is THAT what I think it is.''
Steve nodded. `` I'm afraid so sir.''
`` You did well calling me.'' The manager answered. `` I had never thought we'd need to take steps against this, it's simply appalling.'' He grabbed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and covered his mouth. `` You take care of this. Call the right authorities. I will have the sign changed.''
Steve stumbled a step back. `` The sign, sir? The sign has n't ever been changed. Are you sure?''
The suited man put his hands on Steve's shoulders. `` I'm afraid so, son. Desperate times, call for desperate measures.''
Steve nodded. `` Understood, sir. It is a dark day indeed.''
The manager nodded, looking back in the stall. `` That it is, son.''
**And that's the story of how the sign got changed to include drugs in the list of things that were forbidden in the restrooms. It was a dark day for restrooms everywhere. **
|
[ WP ] You wake up in Hell . You look around , you ca n't see anybody , it 's just fire and brimstone going on forever . Eventually the Devil walks over and says `` Finally , you 're the first to arrive , so tell me , who are you ? what did you do ? and how did you die ? ''
|
My eyes are open, but I still see only black. I've never experienced a contrast so drastic between two environments. After several minutes of hard blinking, I push myself off the rock I have been lying on and discover to my dismay that a strange, deep-rooted fatigue has plagued my body to its core. Intense pressure attacks me from every angle imaginable, and I am aware of a heat like I have never thought possible; despite the pain, no damage is done to my body, and my mind is clearer and calmer than ever. I focus on the surrounding landscape now that my eyes have adjusted, and find only hard black rock broken up by spindly streams of magma every few inches. I expected this. And I expected the stooped figure hovering nearby, staring blankly at my presence, but the horror that plunged through my very soul was something I could never have prepared for. He spoke first.
`` Who are you?''
I walked carefully towards him, intent on my mission, but I did not answer. He was a sickening thing, covered in flaking grey scales that had a dull shine about them, like the first layer of scar tissue that stretches across a fresh wound.
`` How did you get here?'' he tried again. Satan was calm and still, and his expression betrayed little emotion besides a vague -- yet somehow deeply disturbed -- curiosity. `` No other soul has walked the surface of hell besides myself.''
`` I chose to come,'' I told him. The creature seemed so vile, yet so weak. I was not afraid of Satan, himself, but some sort of dark terror still crept over me: how did this happen? What was God's plan? And why am I the only one?
God has never allowed an angel to descend into Hell to retrieve a loved one, despite the eternal mourning we all expressed. `` If you choose to descend, you belong to Satan. I will not take you back from him,'' God explained. `` Paradise is rewarded only to those who deserve it and choose it.''
Satan looked me in the eye, the first to descend, the first to acknowledge his existence since he fell from Heaven, and said nothing. He made no move.
`` Where are the others? The sinners?'' I ask him. I never believed in a paradise where others are suffering.
`` They do n't exist.''
I suddenly understand. This creature is almost nothing anymore. God has never given him anybody to be evil towards other than himself, and he is now destroyed.
`` It's time to go back.''
|
[ WP ] You have a magic key that will unlock any entrance you wish , but once opened , you can never again pass the threshold .
|
“ What a wonderful piece sorcery! ``, I think to myself as I grab hold of the key on the altar. It is made out of gold, but it is light like a feather. I want to test its physical abilities before I make use of the real purpose. Dropping, smashing and hitting has no impact on its form, but it heats up, pumping a liquid through the innards like blood rushing through veins.
Before I decide to leave the forgotten temple, the altar enlightens the before dimly lit room. It shows the ancient magic of my surroundings. Paintings and prophecies cover the walls, reaching back thousands and thousands of years. A voice exits the altar: `` Your curiosity has brought the curse upon you.'' I try to look at the source of sound, but I am blinded by the light of hundred stars. `` The key is bound to you, it will show you power, it will show you pain.'' The air cools down, and a breeze goes through the room. `` Go out and make use of it.'' The breeze grows strong, transforming into a storm. I grab onto a stone, but sweat makes me lose grip. I am thrown through the system of tunnels.
I approach a light, it increases and I have to close my eyes. As I slowly open them, I see the entrance of the cave blocked by a large wall of solid stone. I check myself for any wounds, but not even a single cut has slit my body or even ripped my clothes. I make my way through the thick forest, back home. The night makes it hard to see, but the moon shines my path.
The next day, I reach my home. I am locked outside. I search for the keys, I must have lost them on my trip. I feel a warm embrace in the last pocket and take out the magic key. `` Sure, why the hell not.'' I enter the key into the lock, it fits perfectly. I turn the key, open the door. I prepare to enter my cozy home, but bang my head against a magical barrier. I fall.
`` Ouch'', the barrier is still visible. It is glowing in a deep red, where my door has been before. It looks like a piece of art and a key is engraved in the middle. I stand up and knock at it. My fist is repelled, but its missing sound. `` I do n't have time for this kind of bullshit.'' I grab the nearest rock and smash my window, enter without touching any of the sharp edges of the broken glass. I lay down and rest.
I wake up and the sun has already set again. The cold air is blowing in due to the broken window. I go to the dining room in a doze and prepare breakfast, dinner, whatever. I need a breath of fresh air. Smashing my head was the last thing I wanted to do, but shame on me. This gate is not going away any time soon.
`` What can I do with this piece? I do n't have anyone to trust. I need to make something myself.'' I enter the crafting room. `` Something long, something that is able to grasp objects on the other side of the gate.'' I spend the rest of the night creating an extension to my arm. `` Perfect!'' I move to my from door and stick the bionic arm through the magical gate.
`` What's up next? It is dark, I could go into the city undetected, try my equipment.'' I climb though the window and head down the street. It is quite the long walk. My house is set at the edge of city, I do not want anyone to know what I am doing up there. I see a computer store, they had just released the latest graphics card. I enter the key, open the door and wait. No alarm, seems to work. I take out the arm and grab a unit. `` That was way too easy.'' I continue to roam the city, it is filled with empty streets.
I cross the bank. `` There's no way that's gon na work.'' I try anyways. I open the door. I can feel that it is going to go all wrong, but adrenaline fills my body. I used my arm to open a second door from the inside. At least it is not blocked. I head to the safe, something is following me. I turn around and see a person standing there with crossed arms. `` How did you get here? ``, we ask simultaneously. He looks familiar, it is weird, I do not know anyone around here. He steps into light and looks at me, he looks like me.
`` Who the hell are you?''
`` I am you, from another universe. I saw that ancient spell out in front. First time I was able to go through it.''
`` Dude, I am in the middle of something difficult... Wait, you know about the key?''
`` Yeah, I have one myself.'' He takes out his key, it is not made out of gold and it is rusty. `` It's already used up, had about 50 charges.''
`` Okay, let's get out of here'' I ignore the rest of my original mission. He go back to my home, I wiggle my way as he simply walks through the front door. `` You need somewhere to sleep, I'll ready up the basement.'' He follows me down. The basement has not been used for many years. As I prepare his bed, I hear the door slam behind me and a sound of it being locked.
`` GET ME OUT OF HERE! ``, I scream toward the other me. I ca n't use the key, that door is the only exit. I have to catch a glimpse at what he is doing anyways. I use the key. I am welcomed by a flood of water throwing me to the back of the room and filling up the room.
The water rises. I ca n't escape. This is the end. I take my last breath and go underwater, swimming toward the door. I kick against it, but the curse is laid on me. I lose conscience and the darkness surrounds me.
I am left in a room. The key is in my palm. I see one way to hell and one to heaven, both are guarded by doors, locked.
|
[ WP ] You learned many things , gained much experience , and found happiness the first time you saved the world . However , it was stripped away when , one day , you awoke to another world to be its savior . Time and time again it happened . Now , you are tired of being a hero .
|
He felt the familiar pull of an inter-dimensional summoning. He'd given off fighting the feeling. It always got him once he went to bed and then he'd appear in another magic summoning circle drooling and vulnerable. He'd been stabbed a few times that way - impatient guards or startled cultists. He wondered if there'd be dragons this time, at least they were always good fun. Flying was one of the few joys he had left and it'd been decades since he'd been to a universe with dragons.
Jake watched as the smoky bar in Humbolt, Canada - the Irish colony faded out. He yawned at the swirling colors and fantastical images that danced familiarly through his vision as he traveled between realities.
`` Oh great...'' Jake cut them off, `` Cut the crap. Save the world blah blah blah. I've done this too often. No solution. You tell me a problem and I'll keep it in mind as I tour.'' A huge many with a spear stepped in front of the old man at the front of the dias. There were a few intertwined circles of living humans, animal sacrifices and strange pulsating magical items. Jake rolled his eyes another tier 4. He hated the semi magic planes. Weak mages strutting all over the place. Probably plenty of slaves here too. He hated slavery only slightly more than he hated rescuing slaves.
`` You will not speak to the grand priest that way.'' The large man went flying back as he finished the sentence. Jake usually let them finish, he spent the time between the start and the end of the words micronapping, a skill he'd picked up in the millennia he'd been at this. Occasionally he decided on how he wanted to send them flying, kill them or whatever by using his technology, magic or impressive physical abilities. He'd done this with magic. Magic usually impressed magicians more than the other options. Wizards, am I right? He thought to himself.
`` Problem?'' Jake asked as he stepped down the dias, destroying the layers of magical barriers with a disgruntled wave, `` Or I just walk out and figure it out on the fly.''
`` Ice giants conquering the world with extreme temperature drops! Global cooling!'' The grand priest or head cleric or whatever yelled dramatically.
`` Sure. Probably a few years before I have to worry about that. Got any tourist hot spots? Statues, bars, museums, brothels? I'm not really picky about the what.''
`` Everyone will die.''
`` Yes, eventually. But we have a few good years before the whole slow freezing thing. And at least with cold you always have stoves and fires and whatnot. Hell you got magic, get creative with some solutions. Flying sky castles, volcano fortresses or buildings with good insulation. That's just off the cuff.''
Jake walked passed everyone, but stopped to free some of the animals. He used a pied piper spell he'd invented to get a following and he flowed out of the building without too much trouble, he only had to deal with another couple of guards before he got to street level. There were signs everywhere, and the fact that he only spoke English was n't an issue because of his constant translator spell, one of the most underrated spells by his reasoning. He saw an art gallery and four bars. He took a moment to appreciate the cool breeze in the desert climate but simultaneously frowned. He ca n't believe they'd waited this long to summon him, he'd only have a few months of sight seeing before he had to get around to saving the world. He flipped a coin and it came up heads. Then started for the nearest bar.
|
[ WP ] A supernatural being is summoned in a horrifying ritual ... to answer incredibly mundane requests .
|
The organs of the freshly gutted man lain strewn across the altar. He had no family, no friends, he would n't be missed. I smiled as I knelt down to consume his heart. Yes, this would please the beast. His blood stained my small studio apartment. My dog was agitated. It's tiny body shook with fear.
Next, the final part was to begin. As I brought the knife to my left pinkie, I had to reassure myself. Would this madness all be worth it? Yes! It is the only way! I must continue. I sliced into my pinkie, right above the knuckle. It came off quite cleanly. I placed the severed finger on the altar. As I lit it on fire, i chanted the unholy phrase
`` Beati possidentes cacoethes scribendi non serviam. Cave canem!''
Silence. Then the dog started barking. The gutted man's body exploded in a fountain of meat. A great ball of flame erupted, blinding me. When my sight returned, I saw horror itself. A great demon stood before me. Muscles rippled across its red body. It glared at me from two dark, soulless eyes. It fitted impatiently on hoofed feet. It spoke from a thousand mouths, piercing my very self.
*WHY HAVE I BEEN SUMMONED*
Its anger snapped me from my daze. This was it, the moment of truth. I puffed out my chest and addressed the beast.
`` Oh ye, great beast! This one has performed the ritual to ask you but one question!''
*VERY WELL. SPEAK*
`` Should I go to McDonald's or White Castle for Lunch?''
|
[ WP ] You are a character in someone else 's dream . If they wake up , you cease to exist .
|
“ Hey, ” she says. You echo her greeting. You are in a coffee shop. But that ’ s not right. You are in a kitchen, over an empty plate. You are in a bathtub. The water is running, hot water. And now you are standing on a great boat. Over the side is a calm sea, blue sky.
She regards you with pleased suspicion, coy. “ I didn ’ t expect to see you here, ” she is saying, her hands gripping the side rail. “ I didn ’ t know you would be here. ” Her fingers hold the rail, loosen, hold it again as the boat rocks. A crying seagull swoops down overhead, flies off, disappears.
You have something to say but can not move your lips. Your throat doesn ’ t produce sound.
“ Remember that day at the pool at the house you lived in? ” she asks. The wind from over the water picks up her voice. And you do remember. A lucid August of your otherwise confused youth. You both held the chrome ladder, the cold of the pool lapping your shoulders, then sank down together, eyes open; in the chlorine blue sunlight you talked nonsense in gurgled voices. It was so funny to her that bubbles exploded from her lips in muffled bursts as she laughed. When you both surfaced her laugh was louder, wild—she swallowed water, coughed, sank down again, laughed again. Her hair danced in billows around her face like dark silk. If you could pinpoint the moment of falling in love, that would have been it.
“ I do remember, ” you want to say. You can ’ t. You don ’ t have words. There are no words for you anymore. Only what she wants to say. Now you must listen.
“ It ’ s been forever hasn ’ t it? ” she asks. The word hangs there. *Forever. * You want now to be able to tell her one last time what you feel she should do. Stay awake. Wake up. You ’ re sorry. Sorry about whatever happened, sorry you ’ re not there anymore, sorry life brought you both to a place where she could say she never expected to see you. You can ’ t say any of this now.
The boat rocks again, but gently. Her hand on the rail loosens, almost lets go. Her pale wrists, so pale and untanned even now you can see the little X of light blue veins below her palm.
“ I think I did it this time, ” she says. And maybe she is right. The ocean below you laps the side of the boat now. No more sudden changes of venue. Warm water, warm bath water running. You want to ask her if it hurts. But her wrists seem so pale and smooth, without blemish or scar.
She is slowly fading from you now. The blue sky darkens. The boat falls away. The water takes you both but it ’ s warm now, warm, and there are hands, someone lifting her out, and your wrists sting from the thought of hers and as you fade and she surfaces you can only say her name, scream it, but it ’ s someone else ’ s voice now, her mother ’ s, her sister ’ s, someone pulling her out screaming *Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. *
|
[ WP ] You discover a cave in the mariana trench , your equipment fails and you are forced inside . In the cave is a lit candle and an ancient looking man . He begins to speak ...
|
`` So, another has come forth. I am unsure whether to give you my congratulations or my condolences.''
His lack of surprise makes you uncomfortable. In fact, his withered face seems to sink into what can only be described as a strange mix of anticipation and disappointment. You see jagged, stark white teeth behind an oily beard as he repeatedly licks his lips. While speaking in a cracked and hoarse voice, he draws three oddly cut gemstones from a pocket in his tunic.
`` Choose when you are ready.''
The candle light flickers, reflections dancing in his eyes. He sets the stones in a row onto a wooden table, worn with age, never breaking eye contact with you. The colors are difficult to discern in the dim light, but they look to be amber, violet, and blood red. You feel disoriented as you realize you are now seated across from the old man, gazing at the stones. How long have you been sitting there? You look up at the man and see no impatience on his face. Your eyes go back to the stones, and for the first time, you begin to wonder.. What is this place?
`` Having trouble, ehh?'' the old man croaks. `` Let me tell you a story. A farmer once lived surrounded on three sides by forests, one side an ocean. He was born there and had no idea what was beyond any of it. Sometimes, a raven would fly from the eastern forest with a pouch of gold, and he would leave his harvest under the great tree, as his father taught him. Not once did he ever see who or what collected it. He simply knew it must be done, or he had no chance to buy passage west on a ship to find a wife.''
The old man reached out a pale, bony hand and grasped the three stones. With surprisingly nimble fingers, he began to tumble all three stones around and around his upturned hand in a mesmerizing juggle while he continued the story.
`` One day, the farmer realized he had a choice. He could save the gold he earned breaking his back in the fields for another purpose if he wished. He could explore beyond the farm, buy his own ship, or any number of fleeting pleasures he learned of from the traders of exotic goods. Foregoing the path his father took would even save another soul from being spawned into this wretched and difficult existence. Afterall, there was so much he did n't know about the world around him. Why not seek some wisdom, pleasure, or more gold elsewhere? The farm was his home, but surely he could live elsewhere, perhaps even fall in love with a woman from a far away land. Which direction would you go if you were the farmer?''
He broke the pattern and set down the amber stone. `` Gold?''
`` Love?'' The red stone hit the table with a soft clunk.
`` Or loyalty?'' The violet stone joined its counterparts.
The old man, still having not once broken eye contact, folded his hands and waited.
Soaking in all of his riddles distracted you from the strangeness of the entire situation, and you perceive much time has passed. You attempt to hasten your decision, which the old man sees, and interrupts your thoughts once more.
`` Perhaps you need more time,'' he says with what you believe is a hint of a grin. `` It has been some time since I have had a drink. Would you share one with me?''
He produces an elaborately ornate bottle with glass matching the violet stone, an already broken red wax seal, and stunning gold leaf lettering, too obscured by dust to be read.
`` An exquisite elixir, but only when shared with another lost soul. Care to indulge?''
He removes his darkly colored tunic, powder drifting upwards from it, and sets it neatly folded on the bench next to him. He is little more than skin and bones. His atrophy is visible through tightly wrapped, white bindings with tatters hanging around his limbs. Between his scraggly beard and crooked teeth, it is difficult to tell, but you are fairly certain he is smiling as he nods toward a pair of tiny, bronze cups, akin to cordial glasses in shape. You take his meaning and place them in the center of the table.
`` You have never tasted a drink of its equal,'' he says as he pulls the cork with a squeak. An ounce or two trickles into each cup as he carefully pours a black liquid from the antiquated vessel. You raise your cups together as he looks you in the eye.
`` To decision,'' he says, clicking his teeth together and tilting his head forward.
You each drink the contents of your cup and set them down. You hear him exhale slowly through his nose with a hum of pleasure. It is without a doubt the oddest and most delectable substance to ever have graced your senses. It seems to wash over you and give you a new perspective on what it is to experience pleasure. While you are digesting the experience, you missed the old man break eye contact with you. In fact, he has nodded off. `` Let the old man rest a while,'' you think. `` He looked so tired.''
A stretch of time passes, and you begin to feel a chill. The old man wo n't mind if you borrow his tunic. He looks quite comfortable, anyway. As you slip on the dusty clothing, the candle begins to flicker and dance. That's funny, there does n't seem to be a draft at all. Soon, even with absolutely no air flow, the candle is flickering wildly, casting extreme shadows everywhere.
Is the old man getting even thinner? You stare, unblinking, as his body decomposes into a skeleton. Then, the bones, hair and bindings crumble, eventually disintegrating into a fine powder. You ca n't believe your eyes, but you must, for the only thing left of the old man is his tunic around your now decrepit body. What has happened?
Sometimes, if you stare at it, the candle dances slowly, or not at all. To pass the time, you play with the gemstones and eventually, you are almost as good as the old man was at the tumbling, juggling trick. A bit more practice and you'll get it. You try the drink again, but the old man was right. It tastes bitter and metallic when you drink it alone. You put the bottle away and watch the candle dance for an undetermined amount of time.
The candle slows to a normal pace as you are startled by a splashing noise. A man is coughing and sputtering as he drags himself from the water. He freezes when he sees you, his mouth agape. While stroking your considerable beard, you gesture toward the bench and invite him to sit.
|
[ WP ] You are a greeter of the newly-deceased . It is your job to inform mostly-good people why they are going to Hell on a technicality .
|
Hi, I'm death. And this is Jackass! Haha, no. You're all in Hell. You see, you were good people. But the big Guy upstairs has a few tests none of you passed. They are pretty discrete, and nobody in the room here:
* Actually bought WinRar
* Forwarded that chin message
* Liked that `` Like this or you go to hell'' post
* Were Mormons ( South Park, anyone? )
* Donated that $ 3 to Wikipedia
Listen, it's not my call. You really seem like good people. But now you're in Hell. Since it was a technicality, you'll be out in around a thousand years. See? Not all bad! Well, goodbye and good luck!
|
[ WP ] You have 30 seconds with an ancestor of yours from 200 years ago ( 1814 ) , before they are transported back to their time . What do you say to them ? What effect appears in our world because of it ?
|
Another one, had an idea. This probably breaks the 30 second rule though...
`` Tyler!''
`` Oh, it's you again! Hello... Dana, was it? I'm glad to talk to you again, I wanted to thank you for...''
`` What happened, Tyler? You were supposed to invest in Google stock?''
`` I did! And holy crap did it take off! I sold it at $ 300 per share just last week, can you believe it?''
`` TYLER! That stock price is going to get to over $ 1000 per share!!!''
`` Really? No... there's no way!''
`` I'M FROM THE FUTURE YOU MORON! Remember?''
`` Well, but... I made like $ 500,000! I bought my family this new house, we setup a college fund for the kids...''
`` IT WAS N'T SUPPOSED TO BE FOR YOU TO SPEND! We were going to wait until the stock peaked, and invest in a bunch of other companies, and continue the process until....I WAS GOING TO BE A TRILLIONAIRE, TYLER! I had my island all picked out!''
`` Well screw you, OK? Why the hell should I live in borderline poverty, plugging every spare dollar I make into stocks that I'm never going to sell? My kids should work two jobs to pay their way through juco so you can be rich 200 years from now?''
`` Goddamn it, I swear....OK, look, you got your nice house, all right? Your kids are set for college. Can we start again? I... I planned for this, there are other companies that we can...''
`` Oh, I did n't tell you, that's the best part! See, I had like $ 75k left over, and I invested it myself!''
``....into what? What company, Tyler?''
`` RIM! You know, they make Blackberry's? I just got this 7210 model, it's great! It has a phone in it and everything! How much is their stock going to be worth?''
``.....goddamn you, Tyler.''
|
[ WP ] When companies merge together , employees of similar positions merge bodies .
|
`` I'm Devin,'' I introduced myself, `` and this is Sarah,'' I gestured to the woman next to me. `` We're here to walk you through the process.''
`` Will it hurt?'' The man on the left asked. I did n't know their names, but really was I going to need to?
`` There will be a brief moment of disorientation.'' I said, `` But it's unlikely there will be any permanent damage.''
`` Well... okay, then.'' The man on the left managed. He hunched himself over in what he probably thought was a runner's starting position.
The man on the right was just standing, waiting for the signal.
`` Begin the merger!'' I said.
The two men, positioned at opposite ends of the new office, ran toward each other as fast as they could. Moments before meeting, they jumped into the air, chests colliding with a'whump' of impact. They both fell to the floor.
There were muffled curses and complaints as the two struggled to stand up. Sarah just looked at me, trying to stifle her laughter. `` I ca n't believe you actually convinced them that mergers work this way.''
`` Come on,'' I said, `` I bet we can do it at least twice more before someone realizes we do n't actually work here.''
|
[ WP ] `` He gripped his piece and held his peace . ''
|
`` You understand, do n't you?'' the boy snarled. His mouth was a twisted parody of a smile, warped by bad habits and worse intent. `` I'm walking out of here.''
The District Attorney said nothing. The boy had called for counsel.
`` When my father gets here and sees this,'' he rattled the handcuffs that kept his soft hands chained to the hard desk, `` heads are gon na fucking roll! Starting with yours!''
The arresting officer said nothing. He was behind a mirror.
`` Because I did n't do shit, got that?'' the boy taunted, gloating, ugly.
The door swung open and a face walked in. That was all anyone noticed whenever Anthony Alvino walked in. His suit was custom-tailored and cost more than the District Attorney's car and he wore more jewelry than a dozen debutantes, but the mans' face drew everyone's gaze. It was neither handsome nor hideous, neither intimidating nor soft, it was never anything but it was always something.
`` Jaggy-boy,'' the face acknowledged the District Attorney. `` Is your boyfriend behind the curtain?'' The District Attorney said nothing. The arresting officer said nothing.
`` Mr. Bauer, I understand you're holding my client, Mr. Arrigheto Alvino. On what grounds?'' a voice had slithered in behind the face. The lawyer had a name, but no one remembered it. No one cared.
`` Suspicion of committing First-Degree Rape and Attempted Murder,'' Jager Bauer finally spoke.
`` I think not, we're leaving,'' the voice spoke with bravado, the false bravado that comes from speaking through a strong fence, safely out of reach. `` You and your little detective searched my client's property without a search warrant.''
Bauer opened a file and slid out a thin piece of paper, heavy with authority. `` This is the warrant, signed by Judge Thompson.''
The voice dropped a memo, thick with sedition. The memo covered the warrant completely, hiding it from view. `` This is a letter from Judge Thompson, denying that warrant, claiming it is a forgery.''
The arresting officer started, jaw tight, eyes wide, hard hands in tight fists.
`` We're going,'' Anthony enunciated slowly, deliberately. `` Unshackle my boy.''
Bauer lifted the handcuff key, a tiny piece of metal that was almost too heavy to lift. As soon as the lock turned, the three men were gone. The only evidence that remained was the memo atop the warrant, the hunch in the District Attorney's back, and whitening of the officer's knuckles.
A mad thought exploded inside the officer. He snapped the latch, drew his gun, grabbed the door, began to pull-
`` No.''
He paused, turned. Bauer looked into the reflection, seeing himself but seeing the officer. Detective Jonathan Palmer, age forty-seven, loving father, dedicated husband, honest cop, t-ball coach, and church volunteer. A good man.
`` Not like this, John.''
John holstered his weapon. He swallowed all that anger, almost too much to stomach without choking.
He gripped his piece and held his peace.
|
[ WP ] Since birth you 've had the ability to cure or save people with your touch . Now when you need it the most it stops working , who are you trying to save and why ?
|
No. No. No. This is n't possible. This ca n't be happening.
I've healed mothers of their cancer with a brush of my palm.
I've healed soldiers battle wounds with a small touch of my fingers.
I've saved babies, women, men, children, and animals.
I've yanked doctors, janitors, teachers, chefs, even presidents from death's door.
I've started hearts, sent blood rushing, brought brains back, opened eyes.
I've watched entrails slither back into their place, watched muscle and skin knit back together, watched bruises fade and cuts vanish.
Why would you desert me now?
You've been with me since I can remember. My'gift', my power. With you I've changed the world more than perhaps any man could claim. What use is it if I just die like this? Unable to heal myself? What a fucking joke.
I do n't understand.
I've healed myself before. I've shrugged off assassin's bullets, waved away injuries from car wrecks. Why this? Why now?
Who the fuck are you to leave me now?
I am a god. Jesus healed a few, I have healed millions. I have turned science on its ear. A god does not die of a fall from some stairs. I should be immortal. I *was* immortal.
What happened?
Must everything truly die?
Must I?
All those lives I've saved... they'll be dead soon. Maybe not now, but a few seasons, a few years, a few decades, and they'll be dust.
What was the point?
Everything dies...
|
[ WP ] You are an ordinary 18 year old until you develop the power to look into people 's minds . You see all their dirty laundry . The government gets knowledge of this and hires you to be a special advocate for high profile court cases .
|
A person ’ s mental walls, usually as opaque as the wall of a building, go crystal clear in the presence of guilt. It doesn ’ t even matter if what they did is all that wrong, it ’ s the strength of the guilt that weighs on the fabric of their mental fragility that allows me this wormhole to all their secrets.
You can always tell the psychopathic ones from the ones who just went momentarily mental and reached with trembling hands for the hammer. A psychopath ’ s mind rings with rigid solidity, a vault as impregnable as a solid steel cube. Guilt is for people who feel, who think of people as people rather than things.
The hammer wielders, the prune shearers, the regular murderers are usually so guilty that my services aren ’ t even required. They cough up their physical freedom easily in return for a measure of repentance.
When I turned 18 I got a call. It was for an interview I had never applied for, for a job I had never heard of using a skill I was only dimly aware I had. 6 months later I find myself standing in a dark room, hidden behind wall staring intently at ‘ the accused ’.
The accused. Court room dramas have no ability to capture the mental turmoil that goes through a mind that stands there, caught in the high beams, an entire country barrelling down at them. They are acutely aware they have only one saviour, one knight in shining armour, one ultimately fallible person that stands between them and the vengeance of an entire civilisation. The presumption of innocence is horseshit, that ’ s why we have defence lawyers and the concept of privilege.
And why we have me.
What is enacted in that bright white and wooden room is not entirely a farce. However, the arbiter of justice is not the entitled judge, not the jury of ‘ peers ’ but me.
The accused: they are my ward, in every sense of the word. I must call them on their wrong doing as well as protect them from themselves and others. They are accused, and they are guilty, but are they guilty of what we believe they did? Are they guilty enough to repent and reform or are they guilty enough to die?
It is a subjective test, but then isn ’ t everything? I am certainly not going to separate my humanity when deciding if someone should retain their freedom. Where the hell is the sense in that? Should this human be allowed to live among other humans? Only a human can answer that. Laws are all well and good, they are a measuring stick for how well you play in everyone else ’ s sandbox.
But the law is impersonal and it is amoral.
So every once in a while I stand here, in the dark. They taught me how to penetrate further through the layers of someone ’ s memories, to evaluate, to analyse. Even psychopaths now offer up glimpses of a human past, their weakened conscience finding the open arms of my gentle probing and finally disgorging the secrets of years.
And every once in a while, in the dark, I cry. To know someone, to truly know them, find out what they are ashamed of. For some people, good people, it is forgetting to feed the dog, or the mistimed and ultimately hurtful word to a friend. They replay these moments, open these minor blemishes on an otherwise untarnished soul until they fester in their mind like the crimes of ages.
For others it may be more serious; the dog they kicked, the child they punched in the 7th grade who would later go on to commit suicide. But these griefs, the terrible guilt is still a telling substitute for acceptance, a sign this person has a moral code, is a good person.
These people, these ‘ accused ’ can never just be a name, or play a role for me. They are real. I know their loves, their likes, their hatreds and their fetid little secrets. I remember with them that time in the 5th grade when they refused to share their milk, not because the girl was fat but because they wanted their milk but said refusal was taken the wrong way. I remember the time they had sex in their parents car after promising to be home at midnight. I remember with them, sharing their lives, sieving through their experiences, looking, prying, seeking my own subjective verdict.
I am standing here, in the dark staring at and into a small bald man. His emotions are as flat, and deep, as a still mountain lake. His mind is locked away by the sheer, flat line terror that has taken complete control. I swim into his mind. He did it, undeniably. The fraud, the greed is blazing like a phoenix rising from the still smouldering embers of his good intentions. It is bright and it blinds him to his own reasoning, but not me. I pass it by and, in the still quiet that lies beyond that roaring inferno is the almost forgotten small guilt that all the thousands he stole weren ’ t enough to save his wife. I remember with him, holding her hand, remember the pain in her eyes that I/we could not salve, the sorrow when she found out what I/we had done… for her.
He is guilty of the crime, but thankfully the sentence will, miraculously from his point of view, be light.
I turn away and, wiping my eyes type a brief summary into my lap top. I walk from the room, into the corridor and then, finally into the frigid, clean outdoor air. My car starts but I sit still in the parking lot, my little ritual. I carefully close my mind and stare at the people on the street until I can ’ t hear anything. My job ’ s done and it ’ s time to go home.
|
[ WP ] You stop by a convenience store to grab a few things when two masked men walk in with guns . How does it go down ?
|
Elijah felt his ballsack tighten when he saw the men out of the corner of his eye, and panic set in instantly. He knew why they were here. He dropped his armful of Doritos and Code Red Mountain Dew bottles and stumbled backwards into the coffee machine and tripped, arms flailing, falling flat on his back. Seconds later, two officers in tactical gear were looming over him, pressing their rifles to his face screaming at to keep still.
This was not how Elijah imagined it would go down. He didn ’ t imagine it going down at all, actually – he had never thought that carefully about how things would end up. Maybe that was his problem: he could always fantasize about the future but never address the present.
He had imagined in great detail how everybody at HQ must have loved him and appreciated his work, how the others they recruited must have been jealous of his skills, how his prowess as a hacker for the cause would earn him respect. He fantasized about what it would be like when they ultimately took The System down, with his help of course.
There was no room in his empowerment fantasies for a chubby guy lying on the floor of a convenience store covered with lukewarm coffee and Sweet ’ N Low packets. He had no way to process that contingency.
So the only obvious resolution he could see was to make a break for it. He twisted around onto his belly and, pumped with adrenaline, leaped forward onto his feet between the two officers, knocking them aside. Then he ran. He slipped a bit on the spilled coffee but regained his footing quickly and charged towards the door, slamming through it and sprinting into the parking lot.
There were 15 more officers waiting for him in the lot, guns drawn. Elijah, panting, had his first moment of clarity in months. He knelt down and put his hands behind his head.
|
[ WP ] Do your best to describe a color .
|
**R**ed is vibrant. It is deep. It draws your attention, existing somewhere between the almost invisible whiteness of yellow and the subtle darkness of blue, or green. Red is almost made to be complemented - darkness turns red sullen, brightness makes it romantic. Red is contrasting - against any other color, it forces you to acknowledge it.
Red is a warning. Animals use it with other bright colors to demand your attention, advertise that they are not prey, and an attack on them will likely cost you your life. Red tells us when to stop when we drive, and red is often the color rules are proclaimed in. It is scary - red is the color of blood, the color you see when you close your eyes, the color you see when you ca n't control yourself.
Red is the color of early sunrise and late sunset, fringing the day in its embrace. It is the warmth in our faces, the blush of romantics. It is the color of love and life. Red is a fire, that can burn you or heat you.
Red is 620–750 nm, the edge of what we can see. It hints at the invisible radiation of the sky and earth. It is the color of stars being born and stars past their prime. It is a color of beginnings, middles, and endings. Life may have started green, but intelligence, emotion, meaning has always been red.
|
[ WP ] Write like a young teenager that does n't yet realize the gravity of their own words .
|
I loved her. I really did. I first locked eyes with her in the cafeteria. Her freckled face lighting up with a smile. I was instantly smitten and I knew my heart would be bound to her forever. That was in 10th grade and we've been friends ever since. But that's it just friends. I always wanted more from her, but she did n't. I got drunk and told her I loved her. She told me she loved me back, but I loved her more than she will ever love me. So I got drunk again and threw up in the bushes. I love her. I love her. I love her.
|
[ WP ] Scientists have developed a method that lets evolution progress extremely fast . They set up a research station on a distant planet with bacteria capable of living there . 10 years later , a species equally intelligent to humans is born .
|
Of course we were watching.
It first began when the mammals developed. Although complex animals had evolved in the first half-decade, we had no idea if any intelligent brains would develop anytime soon. We sat back as the age of aquatic animals gave way to age of dinosaurs, which gave way to the age of reptiles, until finally the mammals came about. A renaissance, an industrial revolution, a green revolution all within a few years. Everything moved so fast. They resembled us closely; it was almost as if we, the whole world, were watching a movie made of our entire history.
Then came the time when they were identical to us in every way: technologically, culturally, etc. Perhaps due to paranoia, perhaps due to anxiousness, or perhaps due to curiosity, we finally reached out to them, not telling them that they had been our own little science experiment. For a moment, we were equals, allies, partners.
But they grew too fast.
They became even smarter than us, so much smarter that they began to eat away at both their own resources and our resources, for their extreme intelligence demanded immense diets and rare resources.
With their growing intelligence grew a spirit of superiority. It happened so suddenly -- we had no idea that their views on us would shift so rapidly. Something had happened, but we could n't figure out the exact cause of the shift. Tensions began to grow between us and them, but we knew we were outgunned. Eventually, we gave in to their growing demands and the threat of our destruction. They began taking over our governments. We sat back as they began controlling our lives, taking away our freedom. They soon ruled over everyone on the planet. They began coming in white labcoats, taking with them whoever they wished. Some returned, others did n't. Perhaps we grew less paranoid, but that was mostly due to decreasing intelligence.
We had just sat back as we became their own little science experiment.
EDIT: Mobile really formatted this strangely. Sorry
|
[ WP ] The year is 2055 , and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with `` Mans best friend '' . The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at , when looking at `` nothing '' , is humanities greatest regret ...
|
The problem with all previous attempts that we tried was that we tried to communicate linguistically with them. Dogs as a whole are not linguistic creatures, there is no “ dog language. ” Instead we moved away from a linguistic format and used a sensory format instead using the dog ’ s senses to communicate by directly reading and stimulating certain parts of the brain using the newest non invasive technologies. This was immensely successful. We started small with words we knew the dog could understand such as sit. Sit when heard by a dog is translated into the sensory experiences that the dog experiences when it sits creating understanding of the word. In turn we can translate the sensory experiences that the dog experiences in to the word sit. We were limited to experiences that the dog being monitored had experienced and were unable to artificially implant any new experiences ( we tried excessively with the colour red ) but we could combine experiences to make sentences of shorts. Using this format we were able to understand and order the dog but we were unable to ask questions. The questions came later with the “ doggie question mark ” which was basically presenting an experience combining confusion and curiosity. The most common one we used was a person holding a ball behind his back when playing fetch. Putting this at the end of a sentence we were able to ask questions.
As the testing was underway Professor Morgan bought up the question what interested dogs when they were starting at nothing? This was communicated to the dog with the experience of starting at a blank wall followed by the “ doggie question mark ”. The results were disturbing. The olfactory and gustation feedback which was always the first to be received was intangible which was not uncommon ( due to the vast differences between humans and canines ) so it did not raise concern. It was the visual that first raised alarm. The visual feedback was something of a swirling pitch black portal with intermediate swirls of a blood like red. The auditory caused extreme anxiety to those listening. It was this deafening, nonsensical whisper that stuck terror into all present. Somatosensory feedback was as firmly controlled fear overcome with a stoic aggressive watchfulness. The results from this test however are still under question due to a glitch. The glitch was when two minutes in to the test the word help was displayed across the visual feedback screen replacing the portal for the time of one minute before the testing was ended. We will continue researching this data with possible retesting to gain a greater understanding.
|
[ WP ] 1000 years in the future , you are the last person alive on earth . After encountering an AI , you ask it to compile the talents of all the gifted musicians in history to create the perfect song . After a few minutes , it replies that it 's ready . What do you hear ?
|
It's been years since the fall of humanity. I am the last person here on this dreaded rock and am doomed to forever live in silence from lack of all living things. I've explored this barren wasteland up and down trying to find anything that would help me, but I am growing weak. Food and water is scarce here and I fear for my life. Suddenly I find what appears to be scrap metal but may actually be able to bring me peace.
I carefully take out a robot from some wreckage and prop in front of me. Anxiously I turn it on hoping for the best. It's eyes flicker for a second, but then spring to life.
`` Please, I beg of you, help me. I am the last person on earth and i need your help. Do you know where I may find food or water, maybe a place to stay? I am growing weaker by the second.''
The robot replied with a low metallic voice. `` I am R.I.C.K or Robot Intricately Created for Knowing. I have been created to know everything and anything. What service do you require?''
I smiled at the sound of another voice. `` Please, R.I.C.K, I need your help. Where can I find water or food, maybe you can tell me how to survive.''
The robot stared into the distance,'' Scanning... Done. There are no traces of water or food within the area and I am afraid that you body is no condition for long distance travel. Probability of survival,.01 %.''
My smile soon faded as I realized that these were my last moments. I had no more strength to even get up and tears started to form in my eyes. I took in the surroundings of this godforsaken planet. The blistering sun was setting and I was surrounded by miles of dirt and metal. What a wonderful place to be in for you last moments. It was then I decided what I truly needed.
`` I want you to play me a song,'' I said, not taking my eyes off the sun.
`` I do not understand this command''
`` You said you knew everything and anything. So you must know about music. The world's great musicians or maybe what the most beautiful song is. I want you to play me something, before my last breath escapes me.''
The robot tilted it's head and made a sound similar to a sigh. `` Music is quite difficult, there is no formula or fact about it. It requires imagination, creativity, and an emotion that I have not been programmed with. I shall scan my audio files and records. This may take a few minutes.''
The machine made a whirring sound and tried its best to find the most beautiful peace of music ever created.
I anxiously waited, also wanting to know what was the perfect song in the world. Each minute seemed like an hour until finally there was a ding from the robot.
`` Scan complete. Beginning audio file 001.''
I laid down on the cool ground. A million stars shined down on me and I closed my eyes and could feel my body start to slowly shut down. As my life began to end the song began to start.
`` Commencing... Never gon na give you up, never gon na let you down, never gon na run around and desert you...''
|
[ WP ] You misspell `` immortality '' on your Superpower Application Form and end up with the power of immorality
|
TUCK AUTO CORRECT!
It's 2035 and you'd think that the AI would be able to understand the gist of my message enough to know that I meant IMMORTALITY rather than IMMORALITY.
God dammit.
Well, at least that's what originally went through my head. Having had these powers for just over 10 years now, the original sting of losing the chance at life everlasting has pretty much worn off. I've grown into my powers now ( and picked up a few more along the way! ).
Of course, it helps that I say this while sipping 1870 Chateau Lafite Rothschild gifted from one of the now ancient Koch bros on my 250 foot private yacht. Thanks K bro's.
It's a perfect day for a leisurely cruise along the Maldivian coast. Esmeralda gives me a peck on the cheek as she joins 3 of her friends in the champagne hot tub. Yes, it's as disgusting as it sounds, but 4 scantily clad gold-diggin supermodels make sticky frothy bubbles surprisingly appealing!
In retrospect I do n't regret it at all. Living forever probably would n't have been as awesome as living like THIS. I own a country. Well, Several, actually.
No, I do n't simply have more MONEY than several countries ( which I do ), I'm the Democratically elected Emperor of the Glorious Republic of the United States of North America, Europe and Africa. Does n't make sense? Make an appeal in the gulag you're now being shipped off too.
Who'd have though Immorality would have existed in politics? ha
|
[ WP ] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal . Wherever the time traveler ends up , the immortal is there to catch him up to speed .
|
*December 31st, 1999*
*New York City, New York*
Leonardo always wanted to visit New York City at the turn of the century. It was something he had been dreaming of doing ever since he had first invented Time Travel. As, he realized, he had come from a time where America was long gone and the relics of the past outweighed the creations of the future. But the turn of the millennia, with the world on edge; he had to see that.
And see it he did. The populated streets of New York City were a sight to see in themselves. For the first time in his life, Leonardo had seen more people packed into a small urban island than in his entire nation. And the people themselves were *different. * Drunk, sure, but they had a way about them that spoke of their luck and class. That told of their eagerness to let things go and forget about their problems on the dawn of a new age. They, he realized, did n't have problems like those of his people.
He had walked -- it was more like a powerful and continuous shove -- through the streets towards the address given to him by a friend. He had met him long ago, in an age forgotten by the citizens of this city and country. Yet he knew he'd be there, he promised he would. He had gone back too, about three dozen years like Jeremiah said to, and notified the man where he would meet him in the years' to come. The Jeremiah of 1964 seemed to know Leonardo already. And he judged that their paths would cross -- or more likely *had* crossed -- again.
It was a small place compared to the luscious grandeur of New York City. A'dive' as Jeremiah explained that sat neatly between 1st Ave and Avenue C. Yet, even with the address and time, it took Jeremiah almost an hour to get there. Most of that was due to his bewilderment, where every so often he would stand and stare at people or things he had never seen. Statues, monuments,'neon' signs, and cigarettes. They checkered New York City like venison and fur checkered his own nation.
The bar was n't crowded like the rest, but it was still filled. And it took Leonardo some time to find his American ID -- the one that Jeremiah had helped him forge -- in his bag of Travelling gear. By the time he had it, the bouncer, already annoyed, had simply let him in.
It was lit dimly and a large cloud of smoke covered most of Leonardo's view, but towards the back, under a small *Smoking Area* sign sat the man. He wore an over sized blue suit, blue tie, and his hair was slicked backwards. It was long, longer than any time Leonardo had seen Jeremiah. Yet, it was n't the outfit or the hair that told him it was his friend. It was the eyes. The eyes that he could see clearly through the fog that said `` I have seen things. I have been here before. I will be here after.''
He walked up to the table, a single spare chair sat at the other end, and he took a seat. Jeremiah lifted his head, smirked, and slid his cigarette box over to Leonardo. `` Take one,'' the voice was rugged and dry. It was Jeremiah alright.
Leonardo obliged and took a cigarette. Jeremiah was the one to light it for him, after his own, and the two took a deep inhale. Leonardo coughed his out loudly and Jeremiah blew the smoke out of his nose calmly.
`` You made it,'' Jeremiah said.
`` I did.''
`` Like what you see?''
`` I'm not entirely sure. It's grandiose, to say the least.''
He blew smoke, `` Grandiose is a good word, I'd say.''
`` How long has it been?''
`` Oh, give or take five years. You visited me in ninety-five.''
`` I did?''
Jeremiah ashed his cigarette over the tray, `` Aye. Wo n't happen for *you* for a while. I think after you visit Rome, you come back.''
`` Oh?''
`` You talk about the similarities.''
`` Between this place and Rome?''
`` Well,'' he shrugged and waved his hand to a waitress, `` America and Rome.''
The waitress stepped up to the table, `` What can I get you gentlemen?''
`` My friend and I will have a Scotch, neat. Side of ice.''
`` Mhm,'' she did n't write anything down, but pointed to the television over her shoulder, `` Countdown starts soon.''
`` Thank you, love.''
She left and Leonardo said, `` This is only the third time, you know.''
He blew smoke, `` I do. But I've seen you plenty of times. Imagine I'll see you plenty more.''
`` Where have I gone?''
`` Oh, where have n't you gone, Leo.'' The drinks came and Jeremiah paid with a rectangular piece of plastic and a few dollars for the waitress. `` Rome, Greece, London, Moscow, Beijing, you hit them all.''
`` Over the course of?''
`` Centuries, I presume. I mean, it is your mission to find answers, no? Drink your Scotch, it's impolite.''
Leonardo obliged. He had let his cigarette burn out and he mushed it into the ash tray while he sipped. He was used to alcohol, and the kind his nation brewed was much stronger than this. `` Well, yes, but --''
`` Oh but nothing. You need answers. You go where you need to go.'' He smoked again, `` Besides, you do n't need me to tell you where or how -- hell, you have the how better than I do.''
`` Yes, but --''
`` And do n't try to ask me again. I told you all I know. Have been for years.''
Leonardo frowned, `` I would n't know that.''
`` No I do n't suppose this one would, but *you* eventually will.''
`` When?''
Jeremiah's eyebrows lifted and he drank his scotch. `` There you go again.''
He resolved to sit back in his chair and drink. Jeremiah had obviously seen him, the future-him, many times in the past. And he would n't understand that until he went through the motions. Until he did what future-him did.
Time Travel, as it was, was as confusing in practice as it was in theory.
`` Ten, nine, eight --''
The crowd behind him began. He turned to Jeremiah, who was turning his drink in his hand. The man had seen civilization rise, and he would see it fall. He had that power as an immortal, and Leonardo, well he had that power too as a time traveler. But it was much different. They both knew that. Leonardo only hoped he would n't always be the one to ask questions.
`` -- Two, one, Happy New Year!''
`` Happy New Year, old friend,'' Jeremiah said and clinked his glass to Leonardo's.
`` Happy New Year.''
The two sat in silent as the party behind them raged on. All in all, Leonardo felt cheated. He knew the future-Jeremiah, the one had met in his time, knew all of this happened, but never mentioned it. And yet, he felt unexpectedly depressed at the feeling of seeing New York City in, what he imagined, was its prime. Then again, he could have had the dates wrong. Perhaps its prime was a hundred years into the past, or a hundred years into the future. He would have to travel to learn that.
`` You best be going,'' Jeremiah said as he finished his drink. `` You have a lot of time to cover, and only one lifetime to do it.''
`` Then help me.''
`` I am.''
`` How?''
`` I'm telling you to do it.''
Leonardo chuckled, `` That's not helping.''
`` It is where I come from.''
`` That is?''
Jeremiah stayed silent. He looked Leonardo into the eyes.
`` I visit you, do n't I?''
`` What did I say about questions?''
`` Fine,'' Leonardo finished his drink so as to not be rude and smiled. `` I'll see you soon then.''
`` For you maybe. Where will you go next?''
Leonardo did n't have an answer for that one. Instead, he took a deep breath and searched his mind. `` Greece would be a nice start, I guess. Though, I'll need to learn the language.''
Jeremiah leaned forward and scribbled some information on a piece of paper, `` London University, not sure which of these years would be best, but you can learn Greek and Latin quickly.'' He slid it over, `` I'm sure.''
`` Thank you.''
`` Aye,'' he checked his watch, `` best be off now. Good luck.''
Leonardo smiled and took the note. He left without saying another word, after all, it was n't a goodbye really. He'd see Jeremiah again. In some time or another.
As he walked off, another gentlemen approached Jeremiah's table and took a seat where Leonardo had left. He wore a clean, cut suit with a sharp tie and did n't hesitate in removing a box of cigarettes and lighting one for himself and Jeremiah.
`` Too long?''
`` On the contrary, my good friend,'' the gentlemen said, `` you did excellent. Impeccable timing, I'd say.''
Jeremiah smoked the cigarette given to him. `` So why are you back, Leo?''
The gentlemen lifted his head to reveal the same blue eyes that had just left. Albeit, this man had a little more facial hair and was, to Jeremiah's estimates, about ten years older, but it was Leonardo. `` We need to talk.''
`` About what?''
`` Now, now, Jeremiah. Do n't you hate questions?''
________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more! *
|
[ WP ] You slowly start to realize that someone around you can freeze time .
|
By the time I realized what Jamie could do it was far too late. He had let his gift control every aspect of him. He became consumed with it. He was on his way to becoming a crazed man. However, Jamie wasn ’ t always like this.
Three months prior to all that happened Jamie had discovered he had a gift. Jamie was a seventeen-year-old reject. He was nothing special, just a 5 ’ 8 ” pale skinned guy with black hair and the darkest brown eyes you ’ ve ever seen. Everyone in school either bullied him or avoided him. That was everyone except me. For years these people tormented Jamie day and night. One night he had finally had enough. He had finally snapped and was ready to kill himself. That ’ s when something in his brain clicked into place.
Jamie was loading a handgun in the basement when everything froze. The washing machine instantly ceased making noise and he was ever so confused. He went to open it and saw the clothes just floating in mid air. Jamie was terrified. Then all of a sudden it all returned to normal. Jamie jumped back and bumped against the old water heater with a loud thud. His parents woke up and called to him to see if everything was all right. Knowing they were awake he returned to his room and fell asleep.
For the next two weeks everything was normal in Jamie ’ s life. Then it happened again. One day he was being picked on by the big, popular, jocks. The biggest and meanest of them was a red head named Kenneth, or Kenny to his buddies. Kenny was a massive guy. He stood at 6 ’ 5 ” and weighted 270 pounds of pure muscle. He was the star linebacker on the football team and everyone feared him. He was the biggest bully on campus and especially loved making Jamie ’ s life hell.
On the day in question Kenny was giving Jamie one of the worst beat downs of his life. Jamie had managed to get up and start running but Kenny was closing the distance fast, and then it happened. Right as Kenny was about to lay into Jamie it all froze. Jamie, though terrified of Kenny, was even more terrified at being the only one who could move. He remembered how quickly everything unfroze before and decided to step out of the way of Kenny. As soon as he was a few feet out of the way everything returned to normal and Kenny face planted into the ground where Jamie once stood.
After this it started happening on a daily basis for Jamie. Every bad situation he got in time always froze at the worst part and he got out of danger. Although terrified he was thankful for whatever was causing this. He soon started doing research and found no logical explanation as to what was the cause. Then he found what he was looking for. An old article from the 1920s by a professor named Xavier Godfrey detailed what he believed to be a power in the human mind that no man had ever attained. Jamie started to read everything he could about Xavier ’ s research into this power. Though never stated directly Jamie pieced together the information to discover that the human brain had the potential to control the environment around them. The only issue was delving into the depths of ones brain to unleash said power. This was all the convincing Jamie needed to believe he had the power to control the environment.
Once he was convinced he started forcing his brain to freeze the area around him. When he consciously tried to freeze the area his power was limited. He could only freeze extremely tiny areas and for not very long. As he tried day after day his power got stronger to the point that he could freeze his whole house and then a whole street. Once Jamie managed to be able to control his power he decided it was time for revenge.
His first act was going to be a test run of sorts. He decided the first thing he wanted to do was ruin Kenny ’ s ability to play the sport he loved. One night when Kenny was at the gym squatting Jamie froze time in the area and snuck in. He caught Kenny just picking the bar up for a few warm up reps. Jamie looked around and found the weights for the bar that was on Kenny ’ s shoulders. He slowly loaded up every last weight he could until the combined weight on both sides exceeded twelve hundred pounds. He then pushed Kenny ’ s knees back so that they were locked up. He stepped back into the doorway and unfroze time. In that moment Kenny ’ s knees went backwards under the weight with such force that they snapped instantly and poked out of his skin. It was in that single moment Jamie knew he had the power to make Kenny ’ s life hell for fucking with him. Jamie was just getting started.
Once Kenny had returned home from having multiple surgeries on his knees Jamie began to plot his next act of revenge against Kenny. Jamie decided the next thing to do was to make Kenny lose the second thing he loved most, his girlfriend. He was dating the prom queen Crystal. She was a 5 ’ 2 ” petite blonde with the most beautiful blue eyes you could ever imagine. Jamie set his plan in motion by freezing time in Crystal ’ s house. Jamie first took extremely sexual pictures of Crystal and sent them to himself off her phone. Then he anonymously sent them to Kenny one by one every day. Eventually Kenny left her and was crushed.
Finally Jamie knew what he had to do to release all his pent up anger towards Kenny. He knew he had to kill Kenny. He planned to make it look like a suicide. Since he could freeze everything around him he was plenty able to make it look exactly like a suicide. But Jamie made a mistake. He kept a journal all this time detailing every step of his plans. On the night that he planned to kill Kenny I went over to his house unannounced to hang out with him. His parents said he wasn ’ t home, which was not like him at all. I asked them if I could get the football I left in his room and they let me in. It was here I found his journal. It was sitting inside of a bag right next to the football. I opened it and I sat there and read every word of it. Once I came to where he was going to kill Kenny it was too late.
I raced over to Kenny ’ s house and when I arrived his body was being wheeled out. I asked Kenny ’ s parents what happened and through their sobs they managed to get out that Kenny had shot himself. In that moment my worst fears came true. My best friend was a psychopath and a killer. He really learned how to control time and hurt others.
It ’ s been three years since I learned what he did. I ’ ve never said a word to him out of fear of what he ’ d do to me. We both are in college now and he is the happiest I ’ ve ever seen him. However, every night I dream about what Jamie had done to Kenny. Every damn night I saw what I thought happened in my head. As I write this I can ’ t do it any longer. I have to let this be known. Jamie ’ s journal is in a bag under my bed. It ’ ll tell you everything you need to know about what he ’ s done. As for myself well my time has come. The guilt is eating me alive and I must end it and myself now. All I ask is that everyone knows, Jamie killed Kenny.
|
[ WP ] The zombie infestation is on its third week now . You expected them to be dangerous , but you did n't expect them to be able to talk .
|
He had always been good at'King of the Hill'. As a child he had felt a certain perverse satisfaction in knocking down those that dared challenge him.He loved that feeling of power which you get when you look down from the hill. Master of all that you survey.
But today was different. As he lay on top of Mt.Washington, it was n't a lust for power that drove him. It was cold, devastating revenge. He wanted to obliterate those cursed zombies off the face of this earth. As he breathed slowly, calmed his mind and positioned his Long range combat sniper, he thought about her.How he had failed to protect her from those wretched beings.How she had suffered. How she had begged him to save their child at all costs. And most of all he remembered her last words to him
`` You failed. You failed us'' she said as he shot her to end her suffering.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The overwhelming regret and anger turned his blood cold. It manifested into a killing presence so threatening that all the zombies could feel it in a mile radius. His focus and vision became laser sharp and with seven bullets he had dispatched about a dozen zombies. His clarity allowed him to spew the brains out of all the zombies in a particular line of sight. Any other day, he would have felt proud of such a feat. Not today though. Today all he could feel was a sense of crushing despair.
He then climbed down and proceeded to where he had buried the love of his life and their unborn child. He had done this every day since the past two weeks. He could n't stop because he knew that the day he would lose sight of why he was still living, would be the day he would forgo his sanity. No man can willingly kill his other half and live to be sane unless driven by a strong emotional force.
It had grown dark by the time he reached their graves.As he made that sure he was not followed, and made his way cautiously towards the grave, he dropped to the ground in utter despair.
In front of him the grave had been dug up, revealing the half decayed corpse of his wife holding a deformed zombie child.
`` You failed us.''
`` Da-da''
Into the distance bloodcurdling screams echoed as the dying embers of his sanity turned cold.
|
[ WP ] `` I have two pills to take every day . One is so I do n't kill myself . The other is so I do n't kill other people . Today I dropped one pill down the drain . I do n't know which it was . ''
|
`` So you do n't know which one you dropped?''
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. My nails get caught in a tangle and I yank my hand away, pulling a clump with it. `` If I did, I would just take another one. you know what happens if I take two of one pill.'' I chant my mantra in my head, hoping to hold onto my emotions before it's pulled away from me again.
I love her and killing is wrong. I love her and killing is wrong. I love her and killing is wrong.
Anna stares at the two bottles in my hand with a look of pure hatred. She knows the implications of mistake. So do I.
She collapses in my arms and sobs. I can feel her tears and snot on my shirt. It disgusts me. She is crying and I'm the one who will be dead by midnight. i'm the one who has the burden. I am the one who should be crying, and yet I'm forced to hold and comfort her; it should be opposite.
My arms are wrapped loosely around her neck. I wonder how it will feel to press them against her veins and feel the blood moving through them. I want to feel her dying breaths against the palms of my hands.
I love her I love her I love her.
I push her away. `` Go Anna. Before it's too late.''
I can feel the last remaining warmth dwindling and the cold indifference I am used to returning. I took only one pill. I still ca n't tell which and it's too late to take the right one.
She collapses on the tile of my kitchen, her blonde hair falling over her face. she looks destroyed. I love it.
No, no, I'm supposed to love her.
I can remember how she felt beside me as I told her about my disease. I can remember the soft look in her eyes as she held me. I should n't want to kill her, but I'm going to anyway.
Anna is still crying. My shoes click on the tiles as I walk towards her. I am silent; this is her only warning. She looks up at me, her eyeliner dripping in gray streaks down her cheeks.
`` Do you love me at all? Can you still feel it?'' Her voice is barely a whisper.
`` I love you. I promise you that.'' I lie as I reach for her. My hand tightens around her as I pull her into an embrace. She sighs as I spin her in a circle. I do a few steps of the waltz before dipping her. She laughs just as I jab my hand into her chest and pull out her heart.
`` I'm glad I met you, Anne.''
|
[ WP ] Flip a coin . Heads you were born a hero but became a villain . Tails you were born a villain but became a hero . Tell your story without revealing which you are until the end ( or not at all . )
|
I was diagnosed with stage IIIA-lung cancer... on my 50th birthday. My quiet life of teaching and chemistry had been turned upside down. Staring down the barrel of death, I asked my brother in law Frank to take me on a ride along. He is a DEA agent and he regularly busts meth labs.
As we pull up to the house -- I notice from the corner of my eye -- a scrawny white guy tumbles out of a second story window. He watches in disbelief as my brother in law busts his meth lab across the street. Wait, I recognize this man. He is a former student of mine. Its... Jesse Greenman...
I show up to Jesse's house and make a proposition. `` You know the buisness,'' I started, `` and I know the chemistry.'' I was determined to leave my family with enough money to live comfortably after my death.
One rolling meth lab and Spanish psychopath later, Jesse and i were finally employed by a high-end drug manufacturer. His name was Gustavo Ding. He owned a series of restaurants stretching across the midwest. This job was perfect, but things do n't always go as planned.
Jesse killed some guys who killed a child..Gustavo did not like this because these men worked for him. I had to save Jesse by killing Gustavo. I succeeded, and there was now a hole in the midwest drug trade that needed to be filled.
One year later, I was America's most wanted man. I had it all, and I had lost everything. My family wanted nothing to do with me, they did not want my money, and they did not want breakfast.
I killed some hillbillies who, somehow, got involved. I suffered a gunshot in the process. I laid dying, staring up at the ceiling as `` `` baby blue'' rang in my ears. I died a hero; I died the villain. I am, the one who knocks.
|
[ WP ] Color turns out to be a non-renewable resource . It can be extracted and transferred from one thing to another , and can also be used up .
|
`` No, please stop. I have kids and a family,'' I said. It was useless; my voice was starting to fade away.
`` Mark, hold onto the lever. This operation will not be successful if the patient's mask comes off,'' yelled the scientist wearing spectacles. `` Interesting specimen, is n't it.''
*Rumble Rumble*
`` Sir what's happening.'' After lowering his spectacles, the scientist replied, `` The machine is malfunctioning.''
*Rumble Rumble*
`` Sir the oxygen tank. It-It has a leak.'' `` Just turn the machine off,'' the scientist responded. After patiently lying down for an hour, the scientists proceeded to remove the mask.
`` Huh,'' I inhaled.
`` I do n't know what went wrong sir,'' stated Mark,'' I guess we could n't extract the color.''
Sigh... I shook my head, `` You ca n't extract color from a personality.''
|
( WP ) Santa is tired of punishing naughty children with coal . Instead , he decides to resort to vigilante justice .
|
`` Have you been a good boy, Jimmy?''
`` Yes, Santa.''
His jolly countenance melts away like snow on a mountain of salt. Lies. Jimmy had the gall to try and put on over on he who is always watching.
`` Jimmy,'' Santa says gravely, `` you know you ca n't lie to me.'' He clears his throat as the little boy stands there, neither acknowledging nor ignoring the warning. `` Let me ask you again: have you been a good boy?''
Jimmy stares beyond Saint Nick's blue eyes, far past the mountain of video evidence projected onto the wall of him pushing Valerie Minkum down the stairs, of spitting in Billy Stuyvesant's milk, of urinating in his mother's shampoo, into the dark reaches of space out there and in his own mind. `` Yes.''
`` Hohoho,'' Santa bellows with a smile that, in any other room with any other boy, might have felt like a warm sunrise after a long wintery night. `` You know, little Jimmy,'' Santa says as he touches the copper terminals together, sparking in a wondrous rainbow of electric colors, `` between you and me, I was hoping you would say that.''
Jimmy's screams would be heard by no one, except in the cautionary tales that lived in the whispers that surrounded his body when they found him. His tongue missing, `` liars are very naughty indeed,'' painted on the wall behind him in Christmas red.
|
[ WP ] describe the most feminine woman you could imagine effortlessly doing something masculine .
|
The caramel colored sunlight pours in through her linen curtains and tickles her sleeping cheeks. Her milky skin glows in the sun and her freckles are scattered about not just her rounded cheeks and button nose but also on her narrow shoulders. She snuggles in closer into her crisp sheets and lets out a little whimper before slipping her tiny feet out from the warm confines of her bed and onto the floor. Feeling around for her glasses on the bedside table next to her, she yawns and mutters indistinctly. She never was a morning person. She stumbles out of bed and grabs a worn denim men's shirt off the ground. Her frame is dwarfed in the folds of fabric and as she buttons her way up to we collar, she chuckled under her breath and notices how her chest, while normally rounded and smooth is seemingly flat. The sleeves, much too long are immediately rolled to mid forearm. She keeps her sport shorts slung down on her hips and saunters out to the shed out back.
The smell of saw dust and mildew assaults her nostrils the second she pulls open the sliding door. Cobwebs decorate the spout of the gas can. She shakes it to see if there's anything it it. Good! Half full. She grabs it along with a pair of old gardening gloves and peers around in the darkness. The only light seeping in is though the glass cinder blocks so needless to say its difficult to find it. But, there it is. She tip toes over broken rakes and hoes and drags it out. Once back in the sunlight, she squints and lets her eyes adjust. Once her gaze softens she looks over the rolling hills and sighs. She whips her honey dyed hair into a pony tail with a piece of string found on the ground, tugs the pull rope as high a it can go on her petite frame and smiles as the engine purrs to life.
|
[ WP ] You thought they were just a gag . But they 're not `` beer goggles '' , they 're `` bear goggles '' and it 's pretty amazing how many people in your town are actually just bears in disguise .
|
*Author's note: Ahahaha, what the hell?? Who comes up with this? *
*****
I picked up the cheap-looking pair of glasses from the bar's countertop, turning them over in my hands. `` And what are they, again?'' I asked.
`` Beer goggles!'' replied Dave, standing behind the bar and beaming back at me. `` Great idea, see? And they've got the bar name on the side, so we can hand them out as a promotion!''
`` Well, they do have the name, I guess,'' I admitted, trying not to hurt the guy's feelings. `` But they also do n't say'beer goggles' on them, Dave.''
`` Yeah, they do! I got it printed on the other side. One side says'Dave's bar', and the other one says'genuine beer goggles'! Is n't it clever?''
I turned the pair of glasses around, holding them out to him. `` Bear goggles, Dave.''
`` What?'' He took them from my hands.
`` See?'' I repeated patiently, as his frown slowly but steadily deepened. `` They say'bear goggles', not'beer goggles'.''
`` Oh, shit.'' And then, just when I thought Dave was n't going to do anything dumber for the day, he reached down under the bar and pulled out a big cardboard box. He dropped it on the counter and, to my amazement, it was filled literally to the brim with these knockoff Chinese sunglasses!
`` Oh, Dave,'' I said, overcome with pity for the poor guy. `` Tell me you did n't order them all without a proof set.''
But sure enough, each pair looked identical. On one side, `` Dave's Bar and Tavern.'' And on the other: `` Genuine Bear Goggles.''
`` I ca n't return them!'' Dave lamented, as I fished out another pair and held them up. The lenses looked a little yellow, probably the cheap plastic. `` No refunds on custom printed stuff! What do I do with them?''
Much as I wanted to laugh, I hated seeing the guy look so downcast. `` Well, you could still hand them out, I suppose,'' I said, sliding the pair in my hands onto my face and looking out through the bar's front window. `` I mean they do still have your bar's name on them, and in this town, people might find it funny- HOLY SHIT!''
After a second, Dave's round, creased face peered over the bar, looking down at where I'd landed after toppling off my stool. `` Brian. You okay?''
Mutely, I just shook my head, my hand coming up to point unsteadily towards the tavern's front window. `` T-tell me that you, you saw that!'' I gasped out.
He directed his attention towards the window, frowning. `` Saw what?''
`` Bear!''
Dave looked back at me, the crease in his forehead deepening, as I hauled myself up from the chair, snatching up the glasses from where they'd fallen off of my face. My feet unsteady beneath me, I charged out of the tavern, into the bright midday sunlight, staring around in horror.
Bears. Bears everywhere. Bears in clothes, bears talking to each other. Bears driving cars. Bears, big and furry and brown and tall and with claws flexing on their fat paws. Bears!
I clawed the glasses off my face like they were alive. They clattered to the ground, and I dared to open my eyes after another minute.
No bears. People, ordinary everyday people. Mrs. Higgins, proprietor of the flower shop across the street, glared suspiciously at me. She always seemed to harbor a mean streak towards me, ever since I tried to ask out her snotty daughter in the seventh grade. Barry the bus driver gave me a wave as he passed, turning the big wheel in both his hands.
My fingers shaking, I picked up the glasses from where they'd landed on the pavement. Slowly, I slid them back onto my face.
Bears.
I pulled them back off.
No bears. Normal people, doing their everyday tasks.
I stood there, frozen, my brain feeling like it had been pumped full of especially thick molasses. Finally, as an inspiration slowly bloomed in my brain, I turned back to the front window of Dave's Bar & Tavern.
From the outside, the window reflected back the outdoor scene, like a mirror. Looking at my own pale reflection, I slowly put the glasses back on my face.
A bear stood there, gazing into the window, its little black bear eyes together in a frown of concentration. The bear, I noted dumbly, wore a pair of cheap looking sunglasses on its face, one side of the frame labeled with the words, `` Dave's Bar & Tavern.''
I took the glasses off and moved unsteadily back into the bar, where Dave peered at me. `` You look like you could use a beer,'' he said, not unkindly, sliding a mug over to me.
Accepting the offer, I put the glasses back on Dave's bartop. `` You know, I think we might be able to work with these,'' I said, my thoughts finally starting to work again.
`` How's that?''
I just smiled. Now that I'd recovered from the initial shock, my mind was already starting to see some marketing possibilities. Give a pair away in exchange for a certain number of drinks. Raffle them off, perhaps, especially as the patrons started to hear about it. Hold a dating night, where the guys all wore the `` bear goggles'' and could n't see the women after exchanging phone numbers...
`` Dave, just trust me,'' I said, reaching over and patting his hand. `` I've got this. We'll be able to use these, after all.''
And as Dave smiled and went off to tap a fresh keg, I looked into the box full of sunglasses, imagining the possibilities. Sure, I did n't know how the things worked - but that did n't matter right now. We could market these, and we'd definitely draw in a lot of customers.
`` Bear bodies night,'' I murmured to myself, my grin widening. `` Oh, this has a lot of potential.''
|
[ CW ] Dialog between two well known characters , without using names , or major details , get me to guess who they are based on personality/speech patterns
|
`` What if none of this is even real?'' He yelled so that his companion could hear him over the rushing wind. The forest whipped past them as they flew down the trail.
`` What do you mean?''
`` Well, you and I could just be two brains in a vat. Everything that happens to us is just a projection of our consciousness.'' He twisted the steering mechanism to dodge a rock in the trail as his companion in the backseat stifled a gasp.
`` Then how do you explain me talking to you?''
`` Well our brains are connected somehow. It could all just be a big experiment to see how we function. We live in our own little worlds with self-imposed morals and religions and emotions while scientists poke and prod our brains to stir up our lives. It's all a figment of our imagination.''
A sudden dip in the trail forcefully threw them out of their vehicle and into the air. They flew over the edge of a cliff and looked down at the ground far beneath them with wide eyes.
`` So falling to our deaths should n't hurt a bit then, right?''
`` That's what I'm banking on.''
|
[ WP ] A murder occurs in a hospital and all six suspects think they are the killer .
|
Carl was pushed into the room by a emotionless aide.
`` Wait! Why am I he-''
The door *clanged* shut.
Carl exhaled loudly as he watched the man walk away through the small window in the door.
*Fuck*, he thought. *They know I did it. *
`` You too, huh?''
Carl turned sharply to the source of the noise. There were five other men in the room.
He had seen all these men around his floor. He knew little else about them other than their names and why they were here.
Jean was a very short, old French immigrant whose mind had begun to go. He had broken both legs trying to jump off his roof with a blanket as a parachute. He sat in a wheelchair.
Eric was the youngest of the group, with his head shaved, and tattoos covering his body. He had been brought after he nearly overdosed on heroin.
Kurt had been working on an oil rig with 30 other men when it had exploded, killing all of them but him. He was understandably depressed and spoke little, but the burns on his body told the whole story.
Al had been mugged and stabbed by a group of teenage boys in a bad part of town. He was very lucky to be alive, and he knew it. His shirt had a red stain on it from when he was brought in.
The man who had spoken Carl did not know. He was a skinny, middle aged man with glasses who seemed to be the perpetual rebel. There was something off-putting about him, so no one had really asked about him much, and as a result nobody knew why he was here. Everyone just called him Skinner.
They were an odd group, to say the least.
`` What do you mean? Why are all you guys here?'' Carl asked.
`` You did n't hear?'' Skinner replied calmly, `` Somebody got killed on our floor.''
`` They think one of us did it.'' Al said somberly.
`` What!? Why the fuck would they think that?! I did n't fucking do anything man!'' Eric sputtered, sweating and twitching.
`` Ze floor ez lava!'' Jean shouted happily, wheeling in circles. His dementia had not improved much.
`` Of course.'' Carl had figured it out. `` Of all the men on this hospital, we are the most likely to do something dangerous, for revenge, for havoc, or just out of sheer lunacy.'' He gestured to the delusional Frenchman.
`` Makes sense.'' Kurt mumbled.
`` Well, who the fuck did it?'' Eric had risen from his chair, his eyes darting around the room. `` One of us had to have done it! We ca n't all go down for one guy's shit!''
`` As crazy as he might sound, he's right.'' Al also stood. `` Whoever did this, they will find you. Why keep us all here? They are definitely listening in on this, so whoever did it should just say. Save us all some pain. Alright?''
`` Fine.''
`` Fuck this shit, man.''
`` Sounds like a plan.''
`` Zounds like e plan!'' the crazy man imitated, then giggled like a child.
`` Okay. Whoever did this, just speak up now.'' Carl shut his eyes, his mouth dry.
There was a moment of tense silence.
`` I did it.'' he said. Only he heard it echoed six times over.
Carl opened his eyes, startled. All the others were looking at each other in bewilderment.
`` How-?''
`` What the fuck!?''
`` This ca n't be right. I killed that man.''
`` That's impossible, I did it with my own two hands!''
Carl had no clue what was happening. Suddenly the door lock *clunked*, and the heavy metal door swung open.
All six men watched as hospital administrator and two large aides strode in. The administrator walked past all of them to a metal table in the center of the room, pulled up a chair, and sat.
`` Please sit, Carl.''
Carl felt his face drain of color. The two aides looked at him menacingly. He had no choice. He sat opposite the man.
`` Carl, it's a very serious thing you have done.'' the administrator said. `` You killed a man.''
`` Yes.'' Carl sobbed. All the other men were looking at him, and he felt embarrassed.
I'm afraid you are going to have to face the full extent of the law for this.'' The man was too calm. `` We ca n't have something like this happening again. I hope you understand the gravity o-''
Suddenly Carl could n't take it anymore. `` These men admitted to it too!'' he blurted out, standing, knocking the chair over. He pointed frantically at the men against the wall. `` You ca n't only punish me! It makes no sense!'' He grabbed the administrator by his lapels. `` WHY ONLY ME!?''
As the two aides pulled him away, Carl caught a glimpse at the aides uniform. An insignia stitched in the breast pocket read:
BAYVIEW MENTAL HOSPITAL
The shaken administrator composed himself, then looked at Carl with wide eyes.
`` I'm afraid there is no one else here, Carl. You were the only one in this room.''
Carl, Jean, Eric, Kurt, Al, and Skinner threw his head back and laughed manically.
|
[ WP ] The Great Emu War , reimagined as a over-dramatic war story .
|
My father used to speak of the war,
of Egypt and Gallipoli ’ s distant shore,
but the Turk and the Hun are trouble no more,
it ’ s a new enemy with whom we must settle our score.
& nbsp;
From Perth to Kalgoorlie the call has gone out,
“ Our soil ’ s under attack, who will man the redoubt? ”
Now loyal men of the empire reply with a shout,
“ We ’ ll do to them what we did to the kraut! ”
& nbsp;
Hark, unto Campion we eagerly go
with pride, bravery and Lewis guns all in tow,
there ’ s nothing to fear, we ’ ll survive any blow
and strike back at our enemies, quid pro quo.
& nbsp;
Although they outnumber us ten thousand to one,
it is a soldier ’ s duty to die with his gun,
the emus may fear, they may scatter and run,
but the glorious ANZAC retreats against none.
& nbsp;
Though bullets be dodged by our avian foes,
though the frontline melts and shifts and flows,
though they outrun our wheels on nought but their toes,
we will give the invading emu what they are owed.
& nbsp;
We will save the farms from this merciless blight,
whether a month or a year we will see through this fight,
never flinching before a bird that lacks even flight,
it is time for the emu to suffer our might.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
& nbsp;
[ As always, if you enjoyed this check out my sub! ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/herd_of_birds )
|
[ WP ] There is no prompt . Just write a story you 've always been thinking about or one you 've been thinking about sharing . Anything goes .
|
FUCK I missed it all. O well.
Paralysis.
Her eyes dilated as her mind shrank, and cold, ghastly tendrils slowly slithered and inched across her dark flesh; she could feel each individual hair rise as they reached out to expansive void that encapsulated the woman. Her skin puckered and her eyes exploded open as every light died with a defeaning silence. One.
Suddenly, every decision every choice and every thought before this moment was one grim mistake. She, at that moment, knew at least that. If she could, she'd think past the hot tears, think past the cold blood, and shame herself on her choices that led her to the brink-and over the edge-of her mind. Two.
But she did n't have the capacity to question her sense of right, as in this moment, her mind was deteriorating into the primal state humanity once arrogantly thought was conquered millenia ago. At the apex of this mental coup d'etat, logic and reasoning desperately tried-yet utterly failed-to wrestle control of the human mind back from the primordial fingers of fight or flight. Soon enough, any and all complex thought was executed and tossed aside as primal instinct surged in. Three.
She was feral now.
As her mind smoothed over, images of horror and malicious intent clouded her vision and tears readily streamed down her flustered cheeks, like cracks in obsidian. There was no telling what lie beyond the human eye, what lie betwixt nothing and everything, but they existed in her rendition of reality, climbing, crawling, and rising up from the oblivion in her corrupted psyche. The terrors swirled about her as the conjuring was complete. Four.
She lashed out wildly, and she cried. She cried as adrenaline pumped and pumped through her, breaking through the ice in her frozen veins. She cried as her body desperately-futilely-attempted to beat back shadows. She cried hot tears and wailed as she could feel the life being choked from her very lungs and her heart stopping she could feel her soul rip away a-
Five short minutes later, the lights flickered back to life. The four young-and intoxicated-teens who decided to leave their fifth companion alone in an abandoned house finally let up on their childish prank. Admittedly, they left poor Lucille in the settlement for far longer than they had devised, but the alcohol in their systems muddled their sense of time-not to mention their decision making.
As the warm feeling swished in their sluggish bodies, they stumbled through the broken front door with raucous laughter. But their cries died in their throats; for there was only remnants of a victim of a joke-not a single Lucille in sight. In her place were deep, desperate scratches in the walls, and broken fingernails at the end of the ravines.
As their minds quickly sobered, they collectively realized one thing, the mind of Lucille had snapped-and they were the perpetrators. Fingers were pointed and accusations were hurled like boulders over castle walls. And sometime amidst the arguing and indicting, the lights died.
Somewhere behind them all, beyond them all, was a deep wail.
All she needed was five minutes.
|
[ WP ] `` We 're out of options . I 'll have to use the jetpack , '' says your partner , strapping on the jetpack and ignoring the many non-jetpack options still available .
|
`` What do you mean'out of options'?'' Jerry asked, half chuckling. Even with the seriousness of the situation, Robert's actions seemed comical.
`` There's no other choice. I'm using the jetpack.'' Robert's deep, rough voice gave no hint of sarcasm. It suddenly donned on Jerry that he might not be joking.
`` Robert, this is a serious situation we're in. There's an entire horde out there, trying to get to us. I need you to stop joking around.''
`` Who's joking? I told you, we're out of options.''
Jerry's stomach sank. `` Rob, there's *literally* a door behind you with the word'options' written on it. *You* put that sign there. *For this exact situation*.''
`` There's no time for that!'' He began strapping the jetpack to his body.
`` Look, obviously we need help, and without our radios that means we have find another way. Agreed?'' Maybe he could make Robert see reason.
`` Yes, of course. That's why I'm --''
`` And I understand you're eager to use the jetpack. The colonel said they you'd probably be dead before enough testing was done to allow you to use it. I know that made you upset, but this is *not* the time.''
Robert excitedly buckled various straps around his torso. `` You're not stopping me. I'm going to use the jetpack.''
Jerry sighed. `` We could use a drone. Tape a message to it.''
`` It might not have the range to get there.''
`` We could use the flare gun.''
`` They might not see it.''
Jerry jumped as something started banging on the door. Small indentations began to appear.
`` The door is stronger than it looks. We have plenty of time, Rob.''
Robert flipped on the primer, and the jetpack began making quiet *hum*. `` You'll thank me later, Jerry.'' He walked over and hit a button on the wall, opening a small hatch in the ceiling.
`` Robert, please! I'm telling you this is not a good idea!''
`` I'm going to get help, Jerry.'' He smiled, clearly unable to contain his excitement. `` See you on the other side.'' He pressed the two red buttons with his thumbs, and was launched into the sky, never to be seen again.
Some say he's still up there, flying around on his jetpack.
|
[ WP ] `` There is always a third option . ''
|
The night air blew through the open window and sent a chill down my spine. We'd left it open merely to keep us cool as we packed all of dad's stuff into boxes. As the two of us emptied the house of his things, it gradually got colder and colder until it got to the point where we were noticeably shivering whenever a breeze blew through the window. However, we were both too invested in the game to get up and close it just yet.
I looked down at the chessboard and signed. I did n't have too many pieces left and even less moves to make. Just my king, one bishop, a rook, and a pawn left. Five pieces against Dad's eight, especially his damn queen.
I eyed my pawn, my last hope. I'd marched it just two spaces from the edge of the board, but Dad's last move maneuvered his queen into a position to take it if I moved it any further. Maybe it was n't such a good idea to suggest one last game in the house before we finished packing, but honestly I needed to take a break.
I settled on moving my bishop into a position to protect my pawn. I needed that queen, most of all now with one of his pawns so close to my side of the board, too.
With no hesitation, Dad picked up his queen and put it in line with my king. `` Check,'' he said, smiling. `` It's almost over. Just two options left.''
I stared at the board, seeing the moves he alluded to in his last jab at my poor play. Either move my king to the left, allowing him to take my last pawn and any hope I had left of winning, or risking my rook to take his queen only for him to take that same rook with his and put me in checkmate on the move after that. I stared at my remaining pieces. `` There's always a third option.''
His smile faded, just slightly. `` Sometimes there are no other options, kid.''
I hovered a hand over my king. `` Is that why you're getting a divorce. Because there's no other options.'' I almost regretted saying the words as soon as they left my mouth. Almost.
I could feel Dad's glare on me but I did n't dare meet it. Fear kept my eyes glued to the board. Not physical fear - that he'd lash out at me for words I probably deserved a backhand for saying aloud - though his fifty-seven year old body still had more muscle on it than my lanky, twenty-two year old frame did. No, it was a fear that he'd storm out of the room, out of the house, and I'd never get the, the, what was it I was after? I did n't care about an explanation or answers or anything definite or concrete. Maybe I just wanted to be able to talk about it. Yeah, I guess that was it. Just fear that he'd run out and it would become just another one of those subjects we never talked about.
To my relief he stayed in his seat at the table. I dared to look just a couple inches above the board and caught a peek of him twisting the ring he still wore on his finger. `` It was either divorce or stay together knowing your mom cheated on me.''
I moved my hand to hover it above my pawn, hoping that feigning the slightest interest in the game would keep him at the table. `` There's always a third option,'' I replied.
`` Please do n't suggest counseling. I might've considered it if we were still raising you kids, but you're all out of the house now,'' he said. He looked around the room and added, `` And soon I'll be out of here, too.''
`` I was just going to say it worked for Kristy's parents. But if option three does n't work, I'm sure there's an option four.''
Dad leaned back in his chair. `` Yeah, Mr. Smartguy, why do n't you tell me what option four is?''
I bit my lip, my hand still hovering over my pawn, thinking less about the game and more about our conversation, possibly our last in this house, the house I was raised in. I looked up to see him staring right at me. `` Well, you could go out and sleep with someone else,'' I blurted out, his stare startling an answer from me. `` Then you'd be even, I guess.''
He gave me an uneasy smile. `` Even? That's your relationship advice?''
I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled. `` Well, I mean she'd have to be just as attractive as the guy mom cheated on you with, I guess, to make it even anyways.''
Shaking his head and chuckling, Dad said, `` How about I just fuck the guy she fucked. That would definitely make us even, huh?''
I smiled wider, laughing a little. `` Well, that's option five.''
We sat there and laughed for a minute, taking a swig each of our beers. Then the darkness started to creep back into his face as his hand went to his wedding ring.
I took another swig of my beer. `` Sixth option. You could kill him. that would make you even, too, I think.''
Dad stared at me, the look on his face betraying him as he tried to hide the fact that he'd already thought of that option more than he was proud to admit. Then, seeing the smile still on my face, he took another gulp of his beer. `` Should you really be saying something like that? After all, you're supposed to start law school next semester.''
`` Attorney client privileges,'' I said, my hand going back to the pieces on the board.
`` Seventh option,'' he said, `` I could just kill her.''
Though his voice was grave, I replied as quickly and with the lightest tone I could possibly use. `` A valid option. Though we would have a slight problem there.'' I saw him stare at me, the smile starting to falter. `` I mean, she's still my mom, after all.''
I moved my piece and gestured at the board. `` You're move.''
`` Well, all those sound like great options, kid, but I'm sticking with mine,'' Dad said. He downed the last of his beer and looked at the board. `` Now let's see what option you chose.''
Seeing my rook where his queen once stood, he smiled. `` Looks like I'll be taking that,'' he said as he reached to his rook. Instead his hand found empty air. `` Huh,'' he said as he contemplated his odd decision to sacrifice his queen for no reward. After two minutes of staring at the board, he advanced his pawn another square.
The throw-away move gave me a chance to advance my own pawn and change it to a queen. Three moves later I'd put his king in checkmate. The final game finished, we packed up the chess set and loaded the rest of his boxes into his truck. I climbed into the passenger seat and he drove me back to my place.
Three blocks from my apartment, he finally asked. `` You cheated, did n't you?''
I smiled as I took the rook from my pocket and placed it on his dashboard. `` Always a third option,'' I said with a smile.
|
[ WP ] `` I remember why I do n't love you ''
|
User 1 Online
U1 Hey, I'm here 9:02 A.M.'She's online same time as usual I'll wait a bit I do n't want to talk all day'
User 2 Online
U2 Hey how's it going 1:05 PM'Should be fine this far in'
U1 Fine... 1:06 PM'We're not dating anymore I have my own time'
U2 Want to RP? 1:07 PM'This will calm her down'
U1 Ooc/Alright Bic/ And So she began... 1:07 PM'This will probably take awhile'
U2 He looked into her eyes remembering the precious moments.4:08 PM'Maybe we should get back together, I mean I miss that sometime.
U1 She did the same holding him happily `` I love these moments'' she said 4:10 PM'I'm a little hungry I'll go make myself a snack'
U1 Ooc: Hello!!!!??? 4:15 PM'Crap, What I ca n't take 5 minutes for myself?'
U2 Ooc/Sorry grabbing a Snack Bic/ He leaned in...'Yeah I'm a Human Being I get hungry sorry for that'
U1 She threw the vase across the room tired of him and his lies 1:30 AM'Speaking of tired'
U2 He tried to explain he was just spending a moment with his child 1:35 AM'Really it's not my fault your character wants
to spend every waking moment with mine, just like you'
U1 `` Oh right that tired excuse, it's always your fault'' she said looking at him with scorn 1:36 AM'Jeeze what was I thinking earlier, I remember why I do n't love you now'
U2 `` I'm sorry'' he said looking at her with love in his eyes 1:41 AM'I should tell you we're done, that this stops now'
U1 Ooc/Let's go to bed, Night Bic/ She hugged him `` It's alright I guess'' she said 1:42 AM'Yeah I should tell you this is over that I want to stop'
U2 Ooc/Good Night Bic/ He hugged her back `` Thanks'' he said happily 1:43 AM'I'll definitely tell you... tomorrow'
User 1 Offline
User 2 Offline
|
[ WP ] You know that , every day , you wake up in a parallel universe . You 've perceived that through your life by observing the minor changes that occur - something 's colour or someone 's last name . Today , you wake up to realise that a major change has happened .
|
It ’ s comforting in a way to know things reset. To know that I leave no lasting impact on any world. It ’ s freeing, it opens up the possibilities. After all, what could go wrong? Tomorrow is a new day, a new world. It allows me to live in the moment. It allows me to never worry. Being happy-go-lucky is frankly underrated.
Of course sometimes it gets hard. Sometimes I want to make connections, leave some legacy. It ’ s hard seeing things change, waking up every morning and knowing that this is something new, that I am someone new. But you get used to it, and you learn to move on.
It ’ s been happening my entire life. Always it ’ s been small changes, things I didn ’ t notice at first, and I was okay with it. The biggest change, I think, was once my hair had turned red. I didn ’ t particularly like it, but it I rolled with it, living my day as a carrot to its fullest. The next day things had changed, as they do, and my hair was black again and a new adventure had begun.
Life went on like this for some time. I grew up between universes, a man through time and space, no real ambition or financial security. It wasn ’ t a perfect life, but it was my life. I was content, happy even, and would have continued to be so until what happened today.
I awoke as I always do, in the bed I always awake in, but immediately I knew the changes were bigger than they had ever been. My body was morphed, reupholstered into a thing of beauty. I looked at myself in the mirror, the words falling mangled from my new lips. The only thought in my head was just how *sexy* I looked.
The woman of my dreams stared back at me, making all the poses I made. I touched my hand to the mirror and our hands met. I could not believe it. I was a woman, and I was in love with myself. I spent the entire morning in shame, making myself do things that I will never speak of again. My lunch was exquisite and light, and I ate with my figure in mind. I did my hair, and got dolled up, my mind racing with the possibilities. I ’ m a woman now, and I can hardly believe it.
It is night now and I ’ m a liar if I say that I ’ m not sad. I ’ ve just finished a date with a man I had met only an hour before. The attention he gave, how he lingered on my every whim, was something I ’ ve never experienced. When I took out my wallet to pay, he waved me off, paying for everything himself. He even offered to buy me a purse. This has certainly been the best day of my life. How I wish the universes would calm themselves and let me live my life as Paulina forever. How I wish I can wake up with that warm feeling of my breasts pressing on my chest. How I wish I can wake up as a woman forever.
|
[ PI ] You tried to commit suicide , but as it turns out you are immortal . Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope . Awkward .
|
Kick the chair away and wait patiently, painfully, for the light at the end of the tunnel.
Just like they said it would, your life flashes before your eyes. A torrent of emotions; regret, sadness, relief. Memories flutter in and out like butterflies. Warm summer afternoon storms. Fights in the garage.
Life comes and goes. The pain is overwhelming. Sharp and piercing across your neck. It feels like the top of your head will explode. The bitter taste of ruptured blood vessels, dry in your gaping mouth. Your hands burning, involuntarily grabbing, scraping at the rope.
And there it is. The light. Calm and comforting, steadily growing, throbbing, and consuming your consciousness. You have reached serenity.
“ This is fine. ” Like the anthropomorphic dog sitting at the kitchen table while his house burns down around him. “ Everything is going to be just fine. ”
Presently you realize you are, in fact, still alive. How long has it been? 15 minutes? 30?
The pain must have subsided well over 10 minutes ago. Your feelings of euphoria and bliss have given way to an underwhelming sense of boredom, and thirst.
“ Well, shit. ”
Like another one of your projects, this plan of mice and men. You started out full of motivation, with great visions of self destruction. Your enemies would be so regretful, your loved ones would know that you were right, and that they were wrong. And then, like everything else you set out to do, you fail. Halfway through, as usual. Half baked, the story of your life.
“ Just another thing I couldn ’ t pull off, I guess ”
It is now time to get introspective. “ Why am I not dead? ” You are not a light person, and god knows you haven ’ t been training your neck for long, extended periods of hanging. The fact that you haven ’ t taken a breath for 45 minutes is rather suspicious.
You must be dead, there ’ s no other explanation. “ Thank god ” A long awaited sense of relief overtakes you. “ Maybe I really did pull this off. ”
It ’ s interesting to experience what a dead person is experiencing. It ’ s one of those things that nobody knows, and no one could ever know what it ’ s really like. Not while they ’ re still alive anyway. But someday, your friends, your boss, everyone will experience death, and finally learn, once and for all, what it means to be dead.
“ Honestly, I ’ m not impressed. ”
How long will your conscious linger like this? Will you see their surprise and grief? Will you just be staring at the top of the coffin while decay and decomposition take over your body? At what point, when your eyes have rotted out of your skull, will you stop thinking and finally be at peace? I suppose you will just have to wait and see.
“ Fuuuuuuuuuuuck ”
There is one minor detail that has been idly nagging in the back of your head for a few minutes now. If you are truly to be deceased, why is it your eyelids have been blinking, involuntarily, every few moments, like a set of eyelids normally would?
“ Lets check for a pulse. ”
Your arm swings up to your neck to find the thumping, throbbing artery.
Now we have an interesting situation. You haven ’ t taken a breath for well over an hour, yet your eyes are blinking, and your heart is ticking along like Captain Hook ’ s alarm clock. Confusion and bewilderment would be understatements. Now that you are thinking about it, you heart is definitely thumping, pounding in your chest. Your bloodshot eyes are moving, your focus darts around the room. You can hear the traffic outside, the motorcycle gunning down the street, a dog barking in the apartment below you. The heat of the summer afternoon still surrounds you. Your legs are still functioning, and you lazily begin swinging them back and forth which sends your whole body gently rocking, like a pendulum. All the while, a rope is tied, tightly around your neck at one end, and at the other end, to a utility pipe, protruding out of the ceiling.
What a truly bizarre experience. A sense of arousal floods over you. The feeling of smoking weed, or breaking the law, for the first time. Doing something that you know is taboo, and generally frowned upon by society, brings you that rush that thrill seekers thrive on. Or, entirely more likely, some physiological mechanism, from the pressure of the rope, is pushing an unnatural amount of dopamine straight into your brain.
Erotic feelings aside, you realize that this situation can not persist. You flail your arms and legs around to get a hold on a wall or something, but you picked too good of a place to install these gallows. There is no option for you to fix this situation yourself. You will have to wait for your co-workers to care enough about your absence to call the police, which could likely take days.
Your hand absently knocks against a solid, rectangular object in your pocket. Time stops just for a moment, and then starts again. Slowly, you slip your hand into your pocket, gently grasp this lifeless device, carefully and slowly, with both hands, raise it up, in front of your blinking eyes, and begin typing.
|
[ IP ] Stranded
|
`` We almost had them. We almost had them, and you fucking crashed!'' Elseer snarled.
`` I... They were too quick, sir!''
Elseer let out a sight of discontent, followed by a breath in to recompose himself. `` Do you realise what this means, Tezlos?''
`` I think so, s-'' His speech was interrupted by a blade penetrating his back, as Tezlos looked down he could see it protruding from his abdomen.
Twisting the blade, Elseer growled `` The humans have escaped. You've fucking stranded us, the only Daarilk that knew their location, on this wasteland of an ice planet!'' Tezlos dropped to his knees, his drone deactivating and his muscles giving in. `` You insolent bastard,'' muttered Elseer as he removed the blade, allowing his fallen brother to slump down in front of him.
He looked towards Ardir, who was shifting uneasily as he held his gaze towards the icy mountains of the planet.
`` You. Try to contact base. Let them know what happened, and where the humans are headed.''
`` Yes, sir.''
Elseer continued on, muttering to himself, `` We have to eliminate them at all costs, or I fear the worst.'' His voice betrayed
him, revealing his feeling of fear. `` For they have the device. They have what they need to turn the tide. We must extinguish them before it is too late.''
|
[ WP ] there is a god for everything . Light , sinks , walking , whatever you can think of . How does one unexpected god suddenly become the most powerful god ?
|
`` Really? I do n't think this will solve our problems.''
Yles watched the timeless faces around her. She stood before the High Council in their Hallowed Hall. The six most powerful gods in existence peered down at her from thrones of white marble, oak, and gold. A seventh throne, taller and grander than all others, stood empty.
Twitor, the god of hashtags, spoke up.
`` The rules are clear, Yles. Our power comes from our followers. The High Council must always be comprised of the strongest of our kin, and you are the strongest of us all. # ItIsYourDestiny''
Yles sighed. `` I know, but I **really** do n't think this is the way to go. What about Lisserax? He's a-''
A clap of thunder rang through the Hall. Yles turned to face the sound. It was Lokatmi, the goddess of selfies.
`` We are *dying*, Yles! ``, she roared through pursed lips. `` Man's faith in us grows weaker every day! *You* are the only one of us who still possesses any real power. *You* are the only one who can save us.''
The other members of the High Council murmured their agreement.
`` # TheChosenOne'', Twitor said.
The Hall fell into silence.
`` Okay, fine'', Yles said, throwing up her arms. `` If you say so.''
She made her way up the marble steps to take her throne. As she ascended, the other gods rose from their seats and started chanting something in an ancient tongue. Yles felt the throne hum and buzz with power. The hairs on her arm stood up as she stretched out her hand. She sat down. Immediately, the chanting stopped. Lokatmi trumpeted a fanfare.
`` HAIL! ``, the others cried. `` HAIL YLES, THE GODDESS OF ATHEISM!''
Yles buried her face in her hands. `` This is fucking stupid'', she muttered.
|
[ WP ] A Superhero gets captured by his nemesis . But the nemesis does n't want to harm the hero , he wants him to be his best man at his wedding .
|
`` Joker! You're insane!'' said the Batman as he struggled against his bonds.
Laughter rang through the old abandoned church. The joker leaped into view wearing a tailored purple and green tuxedo.
`` Oh Batsy-boy, I would n't dream of anyone else I would want to witness this moment.''
The Joker danced around the pulpit, behind which there was a tied up and terrified looking priest. The Joker taunted the man of the cloth as he explained.
`` -and besides. You locked up any other potential best man up in Arkham. Not that any one of them could hold a candle to you, Batsy.''
Harley Quinn's voice could be heard coming from near the church's main entrance.
`` Puddin! I told you we should have held the reception in Arkham! All of our friends are there.''
The Joker waved a finger at Harley as he could just see he pony tails poking around the corner.
`` Ah ah aaaaah! It's bad luck for the groom to see bride before the wedding. ***DO N'T MAKE ME KILL YOU! ***''
Harley Quinn let out a squeal and quickly disappeared.
`` Harley does have a point,'' said Batman, `` It's awfully selfish of you not to invite your closest friends. Two-face. The Penguin. And what about Poison Ivy? She should at least be a bridesmaid.''
`` Oh hush,'' said the Joker, `` You think I ca n't tell you're stalling? Besides, I am very fond of my mates and that's precisely why I did n't invite them. You see Batsy, I wanted this to be an extra-special occasion. I needed someone to witness it who helped make it all possible. But most of all-''
The Joker stood right up to Batman close enough to almost touch his nose with his own, letting Batman see ever mad wrinkle on his face.
`` I needed someone who is really good at ***NOT DYING, ***'' said the Joker.
The Joker leaped back to the pulpit and pulled the bonds off the priest. Then pulled a gun and trained it on him to prevent the scared old man from running away.
`` Are you ready, pumpkin?'' The Joker called out.
`` Ready puddin!'' Harley called in return.
`` Then let the ceremony commence!'' the Joker shouted.
The joker pulled a remote out of his jacket, aimed it at a broken old organ and activated it. A diesel generator ran a debilitated pneumatic self-player machine. The organ let out a demented sounding wedding march as the Joker awaited his bride. Just as she appeared the Joker threw the remote aside and removed what looked like one of his many over-sized trickster guns with a little sign that went'BANG!' It was actually a completely ordinary flare gun.
Aiming expertly the Joker fired two flares, one at each side of the aisle, setting off a trail of gasoline that zigizagged all over the church. Harley diligently marched down the aisle as though oblivious to the flames surrounding her. The Joker's laugh echoed madly through the church as he awaited his bride in a shrine of fire.
A half hour later Batman was looking over the still burning ruins of the Church with Commissioner Gordon. All he could save was the priest who escaped, with Batman's help, with minor burns.
`` I spoke to the Fire Chief,'' said Gordon, `` He said it will be days before they could search the ruins for any bodies. It's just way too hot to go in there. If they're still in there, there could be nothing left of them.''
`` If they're still in there,'' said Batman.
|
[ WP ] Due to a random mutation , you are the first human to achieve sentience .
|
My childhood was harsh. We were not a lucky tribe.
Typically, girls like me, skinny late developers, would come last to the food, only getting the scraps of what was left. And food was scarce, and what was left was often nothing at all, and for a skinny late developer, that usually meant staying skinny and late developing. I knew that if I managed to get more food, I stood a chance at being able to fight for more every day, instead of waiting quietly until the tribe had a windfall kill or the older women had grown bored of the berry patch, but the berry patch was always thronged with women, and the men would sleep on their kills, sharing only with the more womanly girls. I was not a womanly girl.
One evening, I had not eaten for two days. My belly was so empty that I filled it the only way I could - mouthful after mouthful of water. My hunger pangs were briefly sated, and I dropped into sleep.
The tribe was sleeping when I woke before dawn, for the first time in my short life. I woke with a full bladder and an empty stomach, which was certainly not the first time in my short life, but my first though was not my body. My first thought was `` I am alone. Nobody can see me. I can act as I please, and go where I wish!''
I went to the berry patch.
The loss was n't noticed by the older women. Nobody noticed anything in those days. I had eaten my fill, and spent my day quietly resting. And that evening I filled my belly full with water.
|
[ WP ] Write the opening paragraph to a story that makes me want to read on
|
`` Will you come with me?'' That was the last thing I remember. I do n't remember who she was, or where we were going. I just remember that sentence. Everything else is gone. If you could ever know pure darkness it would be waking up without remembering anything. The only thing that can pierce the darkness is that one sentence. You could imagine a candle sitting gently in the center of the concrete four corner room with no door and no lights. That is how it is for me. The only light is that sentence, those five words, which is n't just my light, but now it is my entire existence. That sentence has become the center of my life, and it will continue being the center of my life until I can remember what happened, and why there is blood on my hands.
|
[ WP ] Wrongly imprisoned individuals who are later found innocent are given a Crime-Credit equal to the number of years they were unjustly held . This non-transferable credit can be used to engage in any combination of criminal acts to the value of the time owed .
|
I just nodded as I heard the news. Sitting their with my lawyer, I felt a bit out of place. I guessed he wanted me to be happy. To smile, or cry, or celebrate in someway. But in all my years of life on earth, I've only never experienced this set of emotions. How do I handle them? What emotion am I feeling? What expression should I adopt. It was good news, of course. That's a start. That's a handle I can grab on to. Being told you've been pardoned after 8 years in prison for a crime you did n't commit, anyone would agree that's good. But this was n't to plan. I had never... planned for this. Being stuck in here, you create vignettes of freedom. You create mental shadow puppets and watch the play that would be the day of your release. Sometimes it was redemption. Sometimes it was revenger. Sometimes it was lust, and gluttony. Sometimes the puppets were a crude approximation of what you remember your loved ones to look like. But to have these plays moved up 12 years, that's not right. Not right at all. The actors, the props, the set, none of it is ready. I'm not ready. Of course I want to leave. But... now? So soon? I needed to think. I needed to sit, and stare blankly at the floor from my bunk covered in its thin, grey wool blanket. I needed to become parenthesized in the grey walls and food and floor and showers. I needed my grey home for a while. To think.
I see him again a couple days later. I'll be out in 4 days, since they ca n't release on weekends. On Monday. How appropriate. I hate Mondays. I read that on a poster once. I do n't really hate Mondays, but I try to remember how the world works. Picking up the scraps of the trite and the banal that have become so foreign to me. The poster was in the break-room. With its grey faux walls, and grey tables to sit and eat at. I remember it all - maybe it would n't be so hard to come back.
A condition, the lawyer said. An unusual condition, very odd. And new, too. He said he'd have to do some more work to figure out the limits of it. He does n't agree with it, but it's not his call. The government is running out of money. Budgets have been cut and the government has to pour money into critical frameworks. Whatever that means. He said they ca n't pay me any reparations. There's no money for it. However, I am due. I am owed by the system. So the supreme court has handed down, that anyone who has served jail time unduly has overpaid to society. And society owes those persons. My lawyer hands me a laminated sheet of paper. Small print all over it. Like a messy, cramped table of contents. I am immune to the law for a number of years equal to my confinement. Any offense shall have its minimum number of years jail-time taken from my owed time, until I am at 0. Until things are equal. I glance at the sheet. Furtively. I do n't want to seem eager to break the law anymore. He talks some more while I take extra measures to appear casual while I look at the list. Theft... 6 years, Indecent Exposure... 2 years, Resisting Arrest... 9 months, Murder... 25 years. I did n't want to murder anyone. I had thought about it while I was trapped, of course. But I did n't want to kill anyone. Not really.
A couple days later, I'm riding with my cousin to her house. She's going to let me stay until I can find a place of my own. My old clothes do n't fit, so I shuffle into her car and soon we're at her place. She hands me a pile of clothes. Her boyfriends. They should fit better. No, he does n't mind.
That afternoon is spent catching up. Remembering people, places. Phone numbers and email addresses. Reaching out to people who I'm told still exist, and I'm hoping they still do. At least in my life. We have a quiet meal at her house, leftovers. Green bean casserole is my favorite, but the onion straws are soggy from the microwave. 18 hours previously, I would have done unspeakable things for a green bean casserole. It is gone in 40 seconds. I'm brought another bowl that I eat more slowly this time. I tell her about the condition of my release. Of my plans for the immediate future. She agrees to drive me back to McKrane & Dawson books tomorrow.
My cousin drops me off in a slightly sour mood. She sped the entire way there. She and I tried to explain the situation to the police officer when he caught us, when we were pulled over on the grew highway with the red and blue lights flashing behind us. Apparently, this condition applies strictly only to me. It does n't matter I'm in the car, or I told her to do it. Only. Me. The ticket is high, but its worth it for the lesson.
Later I'm in the H.R. office. Legally, they have to give me my position back. I was never guilty. It is an issue with the state they must deal with. But me? I get my job back. So I'm sitting in an empty conference room. With grey rolling chairs arranged around a laminate wood table. A tv sits high in the corner, playing a scratchy recording of McKrane & Dawson's policies. Another recording of its storied history as the largest american school textbook writer. A newer, and clearer recording depict its settlement that allows its monopoly as long as a stipend is paid to the ballooning national debt. An older one again, now, of McKrane & Dawson's sexual harassment policy and guidelines for etiquette around the personal co-ed scouring cages.
After that, the secretary for H.R., what was her name again? Comes in, takes the tapes, and leaves me with a new WorDisplay. Smiling tersely to my thanks, she hurries out of the room and leaves me alone. I open it and press on the feedback polymer to turn it on. Both screens light up instantly and boot. Much faster than 8 years ago. There is only one document there. `` Mandates and Executives for Final Processing and Approving''. Flipping through the pages on the feedback polymer shows me nothing I do n't already know. `` Ensure final accuracy and completion of textbooks...'', `` process any final minor grammatical changes and recycle text to sub-divisions for larger scope changes...'', `` approve final product and transfer textbooks to the distribution department...'' blah, blah, blah.
The next couple of days are the same. Getting a ride to work, watching standardized materials, and repeating. Finally, my 10th day back, I am put back to work. The first book is sent to my office and is pulled up on my monitors. `` The Wonders of the Animal Kingdom for 8th - 12th Grade''. I begin immediately. Finally feeling the play come together. This, I had planned for. I dig in and set to work. I become absorbed and find myself bringing my work home. Normally, the approvals do n't take more than a day or two. But I have much to do, so much. I have to finish in time lest anyone wonder what's taking so long - start sticking their nose where it does n't belong. So I ferret myself away. Working late into the night, the glow of the WorDisplay is my midnight oil.
Cackling silently to myself. Why yes, little Tommy, Indian elephants ARE amphibious, and the California condors outnumber humans 150 to 1. Of course, 5th grade Elizabeth, the founding fathers DID sail to america on SailKites made by ancient Sumerians and immediately began to turn the entire east coast into a skate park.
It's McKane & Dawson - who's to say otherwise? The digital instructor routines are designed to teach verbatim from the textbook source files.
As long as my work is done on time...
Everything. Everything is built on lies.
Must be finished to be sent out...
My time trapped, imprisoned. Lies.
Can not delay finishing or surely people will start to question...
One lie, one bought testimony, trapping me.
Sleep, it will wait, only a few more chapters...
I will ruin this country with lies!
She does n't understand, she keeps knocking, telling me to come out and eat...
Generations will fall apart as they try to raise cattle under the sea! Constructing bridges with wool will be their undoing!
Sleep, sleep now. This task is done. Time for the next, but first, sleep...
Is it a crime? who knows. Only time will tell. But if it is, I will pay my 8 and many more. Many, many more...
|
[ WP ] Today , you have become a parent . You realise that you can hear your child 's thoughts . The midwife informs you that this is the same for everyone but parents simply do n't inform the children as an unwritten rule . Your own parents smirk .
|
My parents abandoned me at the age of eleven. I never learned why, just that I never heard from them again after that day apart from the single card they sent me once a year on my birthday. As my adoptive parents could attest, I always say watching the mail slot with bated breath on that day, waiting for just a few words scrawled on the cheap Hallmark paper.
Then one day the cards stopped coming. I was eighteen at that point, and they had lost most of their magic anyway, so I was n't too upset. About a month after my last Card Day I moved across the country to attend college. For the next four years no letter came, and despite graduating with honors from a business program, I have to admit I still felt a bit crestfallen each year when June 6th came around.
When I was twenty-seven and running a small advertising company in Vancouver, I hired a secretary fresh out of college. Ever the perpetuator of stereotypes, the boss ended up sleeping with the secretary and a year later we were married. Less than a month after that, she became pregnant with our first child, a boy.
My wife, Laurel, and I chose to name him Nicholas Alexander after my adoptive father and her brother, respectively. The pregnancy flew by without a hitch, and before I knew it we were packing out bags for the hospital.
Unfortunately for Laurel, the labor was long and painful. However, that gave the relatives ample time to visit. Her parents came first, followed by my adoptive parents. While my wife surrounded herself with her folks and my adoptive mother, my adoptive father pulled me aside.
`` There is something I have been meaning to tell you for a long time, kiddo,'' he said. `` Father to s- er, yeah.''
`` Huh?'' I figured it was something to do with my birth parents, though we'd never really discussed them before.
He sighed. `` Well, kiddo, I just want to make sure you're gon na be there for this little one no matter what.'' He frowned. `` I mean, Aunt Lil and I love you very much and we are so glad we got to raise you, but-''
`` I got it, Uncle Nick.'' This was always my name for them. Aunt Lil and Uncle Nick. The doctor and his housewife. They were of no relation to me, but were apparently acquaintances my parents before I was forced upon them and my parents bolted.
Suddenly, I heard a loud yell from the room. Laurel's parents and Aunt Lil hurried out and pushed me inside, smiling warmly. I took my wife's hand just as Nicholas made his screaming entrance into the world.
A few minutes later, Laurel and I looked at each other in shock as we simultaneously heard our son speak for the first time.
*Mama... papa*
The nurse must have seen the combined look of horror and amazement on our faces because she quickly came up to the bed and whispered, `` It's always hard to swallow the first time. But you'll get used to hearing him. Oh, and make sure you never tell him you hear.''
And so we did n't. Nicholas's thoughts were simplistic at first, but as he learned more about language and the world around him, his kind blossomed. We quickly realized that he was quite a precocious little boy. Not every thought came through clearly, but several times a day we could hear his little inner voice shout the details of his thoughts, ranging from *I have to go potty* to *Were mama and papa born old? *
Of course, the question that always rode at the back of *my* mind regarded my adoptive parents' ability to hear my thoughts. Out of respect, I never asked it, but four years later during the birth of my second child the topic came up with Aunt Lil.
`` Can you hear me think?!'' The words shout out of my mouth as if I had spat them at her.
She chuckled and shook her head gently. `` No, and thank god for that.''
`` Yeah...'' I smiled crookedly. `` What about my real, er, uh... birth parents?''
Her face turn dark and her whole body straightened, as if she had just touched an electric fence. `` Let's go and check on your lady, shall we?''
***
Nicholas and our daughter, Rosie, grew up healthy and happy. Miraculously, neither Laurel nor I even heard either of them think a majorly objectionable thought, although we agreed that even if we did we would let bygones be bygones. Why punish them for a reason we could n't provide?
One Christmas when Nicholas was fifteen and Rosie was eleven, Uncle Nick was extremely quiet. I sat next to him on the couch while the women and kids baked cookies in the kitchen.
`` You alright?''
`` Yeah, yeah. Just I'm getting older is all.'' He stared into his lap.
I put my arm around him. `` Tell me what's wrong.''
`` Look at her,'' he said, gesturing toward the open door. Just inside it, Rosie ran around with a batter-covered spoon. `` She's eleven now. That's how old-''
`` I know, Uncle Nick.''
`` No, but... she's different. I know you love her. And I know Laurel does too. You two do so well with those kids.'' He looked up at me. `` You do so well.''
`` Well thanks,'' I replied.
`` But,'' he sighed, `` I need to know. Do you love them? Without a doubt, do you love them?''
`` Of course!'' I said incredulously. `` I'm not like them! I'm not my dad, and Laurel is not my mom! We would never-''
`` That's not what I'm talking about.'' Uncle Nick out a hand on my knee. `` Do you remember what they were like?''
`` Who, my mom and dad? Well yeah. Mom was, er, she had curly hair, I think, and dad...''
Why could n't I remember? I was n't incredibly young when they had abandoned me. Maybe it was scrambled, or-
`` Come on, tell me what you remember!''
`` Well I remember, uh...''
He was glaring at me now, gripping my knee tightly. `` Do you remember *anything*?!''
`` I... no. I do n't.''
The grip on my leg relaxed and he spoke softer. `` Okay. Okay. I'm sorry.'' He paused. `` But I guess now is as good a time as ever to tell you why you're here.''
`` I was n't abandoned?''
`` No, you were, but the circumstances were a bit unique. When you were a little kiddo, you were happy and full of life. And you were *smart*. You were *so* smart, and your mom and pops were so proud of you. They loved you more than anything in the world.
`` But as you got older, things changed. You got into trouble a lot. Soon you got violent and would fight with your parents for hours. And then you started to *think* violent, too. Oh god, kiddo, you thought up some bad things.''
My heart was pounding. `` Like what?''
`` Well, kiddo, you thought about killing your folks. Scared the living daylights out of them, because you thought about it day and night.''
`` No,'' I gasped. `` I would n't have!''
`` But you did. So they took you to a doctor who said he could help you. Said he could fix you and make you be a normal kiddo again. And he did, all right, but then your parents left you and never showed up again.''
`` That doctor was you,'' I said.
`` Yes, that doctor was me.''
`` And the cards?''
`` That was you Aunt Lil and I, too.'' Something flashed in his eyes. `` I'm sorry I did n't tell you sooner, kiddo, but as they say ignorance is bliss.''
I looked at him for a moment and grinned. `` Yeah, it sure is.''
It all happened in a second. I pulled the pistol from the waistband of my jeans and fired two rounds into his skull. From the kitchen echoed both real and thought-exclamations of `` *Oh my god what the hell was that*?!'' I walked in the kitchen and shot Aunt Lil, Nicholas, and Laurel. When I turned to get Rosie, however, she had disappeared.
`` Oh, come on,'' I said. `` Come out come out, wherever you are!''
*Papa, no. * it came from the corner cupboard, her thought-voice, barely a whisper. I flung open the door, there was a scream, and I shot her in the head.
They thought they could make me forget. But I never forget.
|
[ WP ] Soon after you die , you are approached by a deity who asks `` so , did you enjoy your time in heaven ? ''
|
It's dark, there is nothing. I ear nothing, I see nothing, I feel... Wet? What the hell? That's the afterlife? An eternity of wetness?
I wait.
After what seems like centuries, nothing happens.
-Well. This is going to be a long, long eternity.
-Woops, so sorry, I'm a bit late.
Wait what? Where is this voice coming from? Starteled, I try to move, to swim, but it does n't work this time either. I try to answer, but no sound comes out of my mouth. Hell, I ca n't even tell if I have a mouth.
-Do n't try to speak, you ca n't do that yet. Just think and I'll hear you.
-Oh? Ok. Who are you?, I ask in my head and, thinking of all the things I did in my life, `` Are you here to torture me?''
-Me? Why would I do that?, the voice answer. Oh I get it, you think you're in hell, right?
-Kinda?, I answer, having hope that maybe this is n't what I think it is.
-Allow me to reassure you: this is n't hell. In fact this is n't heaven either: you were in heaven all along.
-That's it, I'm going crazy. This is a dream, I'm in my bed in the hospital, the pain is making me hallucinate. What's your name, voice?
-I'm... I do n't have a name actually, never had the need for one. you can call me anything you like. People love to give me names, I'm used to it.
-Ok then, voice. What did you mean by `` I was in heaven all along?''. I'm pretty sure I was alive and as well as anyone can be, considering I was sick and all. this was n't great, but it was life.
-Oh yeah, sure, that's what heaven is. Or what it's supposed to be anyway: heaven on earth, did n't you read the scriptures?
-I did, but to me it was just some kind of fairytales written by crazy powerhungry people, yadda yadda, you know?
-That I do. You humans really messed it up. It was a simple message really: god created life, gave it freewill and all you had to do was make it enjoyable, create heaven on earths.
-Earths?
-Yes earths, plural. Why do you think the universe is so big?
-But...
-Anyway, that's not what I'm here for. I'm already late, no need to diverge into complicated stuff: you were in heaven, you died, now it's time to move on.
And like that, the voice goes away.
-WAIT!, I yell in my head. COME BACK!
I try to move again, to look, to ear. Where did the voice go? What happens now? Move on to what? To where? What was that sound? What's this light? All my other senses work again, I panic, I kick and trash. I can hear something. I stop.
The voice is back, but it's far away, I barely understand what it says.
I concentrate, but I can make out only one word: forget.
And as my memories begin to fade, I can hear another voice.
-Honey, I think the baby moved.
___
___
Please excuse any mistake I could have made: I'm french and this is my first try. Hope you enjoyed it anyway.
|
[ WP ] A day before the Earth is destroyed by a collision with a rouge planet , time freezes . You , a completely normal person are untouched and can not die . Text on your arm appears that reads , `` however long it takes , save us '' .
|
Henry sat with his family, huddled close as they watched the timer count down in the lower right. All channels were showing the same thing: A telescope pointed a gigantic rock planet, headed our way. The screen switched between a live feed and The “ Earth Union ” that had sprung up after NASA had discovered the planet hurdling towards us. Funny what can happen when you all know you are going to die. You start working together, doing anything to save yourself. Wars basically stopped, although terrorist groups took advantage of the chaos and much of Europe was gone, not that it mattered as we would all be dead in 24 hours anyway. The TV would keep broadcasting until the last second, and most were watching it as what else could you really do? Henry had already emailed or texted everyone he ever knew, as the phones was down due to the heavy traffic. Some cults had started, many suicides were found, and the government was going to start handing out Suicide pills around hour 12 worldwide. The Earth was going to get really hot before we all died, and those of us against suicide would be in for hell of hot time. We probably would have wished we had taken them when our skin starts to melt off. All the world ’ s leaders in the Earth Union were giving epic speeches, though most of us hated the Earth Union. After serval dozen attempts at trying to stop the planet, they had resorted to building “ an arc ” where all the rich/famous and officials will board as well as astronauts and all matters of scientists., along with frozen and of all earth ’ s species, will leave Earth around hour 12 for good. They will be bound for mars, and will try and make a home there. The rest of us get to die.
Hour twelve comes by and the Arc launches. It doesn ’ t even make it half way before a nuke explodes. The cameras fill with white and he can hear his wife cry out in shock, and his two kids start to cry. Henry closes his eyes. Now everyone smart is dead and the world will end. Way to go terrorists, you certainly got what you wanted.
Henry looks around, the final moments of his life. His wife had served lemonade and unknown to him it had crushed pills in it. She had served it with a smile to his kids and offered him one, but he had declined. They drank as they watched the timer count down to zero. It wouldn ’ t happen exactly at zero, but the gravitational pull would mess up our power system or whatever, and everything would go silent until it was over. He saw it hit zero and he held the glass of lemonade. The President, god bless him had stayed behind as he wanted to comfort the nation until the TV stopped broadcasting. His final words were “ Though I walk through the valley of death… ” he didn ’ t even finish as it hit zero. Henry took a swig of the lemonade and rested his head on his wife ’ s still warm lap, his kids sleeping peacefully by her feet.
He woke up a few hours later, confused as hell. It was 6am on October 25th, 2015. That ’ s what the clock said. The TV showed the same image as when he had last closed his eyes: The President in the Rose Garden reading from a bible. Confused he went outside and knocked on his neighbor ’ s house door, one he knew that was sticking around. With no answer he opened it up, “ Hello, Jeff? He said, entering the house, going to the living room. Jeff was frozen with his family, watching the TV with the same image on it. “ Hello, Jeff? ” he said, his voice full of wonder as he moved his hand in front of his eyes, clapped, yelled, but no movement came.
With sudden pain his arm reddened, and in cursive it wrote directly into his flesh, “ however long it takes, save us''. ” Henry looked at it, his mind boggled. This was all too much.
Day 2.
Henry was discovering new things about his frozen state. For one, he never felt tired or hungry. He hadn ’ t even though of food and he hadn ’ t eaten since Zero Day. Also, he could still move things, and internet, power, and everything worked. He had posted all over the net and on reddit, but nothing was being responded too, has he had come to learn, all humans were frozen. He could move them and touch them, and they were still warm to the touch. He made a decision early on that he would not mess with anyone. After all, his arm had said “ save us. ” Not “ rape us. ”
After the initial shock, he spent days in grieving, for his family was dead, and yet here he was, still alive, trying to save the world… but what did it matter if he had nothing left to come back too?
Day 5
Henry hadn ’ t thought of documenting anything until after visiting his Brother. He was still alive and well, with his family huddled around him. “ I won ’ t let you down, John; I will do this for you. Just because I lost everything, doesn ’ t mean you have too. I have… forever, I think ” he said to his unmoving Brother.
Day 100
“ A 100 days! “ Henry exclaimed to no one in particular. He had spent 100 days doing nothing except on his computer. Ever imagine what you could get done if you didn ’ t need to sleep or eat, or have any pesky people bothering you? Henry was building a network of ideas. He wasn ’ t the brightest guy but he had gone to college, and the first thing he knew what he should do is brain storm. How the hell do you stop a gigantic planet headed for earth? He had a couple of benefits that NASA and the Earth Union didn ’ t have: Time. He could do anything now to get rid of it, after all, according to his scar he had unlimited time. This gave him options that no one had even considered. At first he went to the obvious thing: Get all the nukes and launch them at it. Then he had considered what might happen if it did blow up. So he had started learning computer modeling, code, and programming. It would take time as Henry had never been the technical type.
Day 562
He now had a more thorough understanding of the planet. Henry was at Titan, the super computer cluster in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. It too had been already working on simulations of it impacting earth, but Henry had modified and added to the program, and had simulated blowing up the planet. He had tried it a thousand different ways, but each time the debris still destroyed earth. Right now the planet was about 100,000 miles away from earth. It was travelling at 25,000 miles per hour, and would have destroyed them in about 4 seconds after Zero. One thing he did not know for sure is that if he destroyed it, would time resume? He had to be sure that what he did would work 100 %, as he didn ’ t want to unfreeze time only to fail.
Day 1022
Henry had set Titan on an algorithm that slightly modified the way he would blast the planet, from all angles, with different payloads, or timed explosions or what not. By his estimations, it would take around a decade to through all the feasible ones. In the meantime, Henry decided he needed a break. He had been learning about computers, robots, code, and such nonstop with no breaks for almost three years now. He decided he would re-watch some old movies and play some video games, all the ones he hadn ’ t had time for as a Father with two kids.
Day 2055
He put down the controller and rubbed his eyes. They didn ’ t hurt but it was an old habit. Just because he didn ’ t get tired anymore didn ’ t mean he would stop getting headaches. He would get them from time to time if he stared at a screen to long or didn ’ t get up and walk around. He had raided a GameStop and had set up a gaming heaven in a movie theater. He was getting bored; after all gaming alone is not so much fun after you play all the best single player titles. He had watched every movie he could find, and went to a bunch of cool places and seen all the remaining movie stars or famous people. He had also switched off any TV he found as he was sick of looking at the President. He decided to get back to work.
Day 2500
Titan had come up with nothing. Every scenario left earth destroyed. It was time to think of something else. He was becoming quite the nerd now, and had set up quite the station in Oakridge Library. Lucky for him none of the hardware seemed to age, whatever was happening had frozen time and objects but still allowed it to pass. It was odd, but he didn ’ t think about it often now. He was also building a network of computers for a distributed computing powerhouse. He had gone to all the big data centers in the US and installed his software, making use of the infrastructure that was his to use. He had a pretty good network now, and his simulations zipped by quickly, though nothing was working, no matter what he did the planet mass would still destroy earth.
Day 3021
Eight years since he had woken up still alive. At this point he had abandoned anything related to explosives. He was watching Wall-E while reading an e-book on advance A.I., when a brilliant idea came to him. He furiously started typing away at his keyboard, writing code and designing models through CAD. He worked through his headaches as inspiration took over him.
|
[ WP ] A genie is about to meet their yearly wish quota , however their final contract is with a very stubborn woman who refuses to involve herself in devil worship .
|
It was a dark and stormy night.
Pinching a roll of her fat, Tina inspected herself in the mirror. Was it her imagination, or had she gained an extra roll of belly fat overnight? Lately thins thad not been going well. First there had been the incident with the bleach. She'd discovered to her horror that her shampoo had been replaced with bleach and she'd gotten minor chemical burns on her hands. Not to mention that her hair, which was a natural glossy chestnut brown, had gained a pale bald looking patch right at the top of her head where she'd dumped the faux shampoo. She had n't confronted her roommate about it because her roommate like her was a good Christian girl who she'd met at church. There was no way on earth Janice would do something so strange and mean. Then again, it seemed so coincidental because Janice was an apprentice hairdresser. Tina had read the label on the shampoo and though she'd rubbed her eyes a thousand times it had continued to read shampoo. She'd decided that her room mate must have had surplus bleach and filled an empty shampoo container with it and accidentally left it in the shower. She'd promptly bought a bottle of hair dye, dyed her hair back to its normal chestnut brown, and said nothing of the matter. Her hair had been in terrible condition for weeks afterwards, but she'd ignored it.
Then there had been the incident with her bank account having insufficient funds to pay rent. On her bank statement it had said that she'd apparently gone on a shopping spree online, which she did not recall doing. And of all things, it was expensive hair products, such as a pricey hair straightener, which she had certainly never bought. Along with a very big purchase at the online chemist, something which confused tina to no end. It turned out that she was a victim of identity theft and though she cancelled her cards, there was nothing she could do about the loss. Unfortunately for her that month she had n't been able to pay rent to her roomate Janice, who was also her landlord, and there was nothing that Tina feared more than being in debt, even if it was only by a few dollars.
Then of course there had been the incident with the car. She'd been driving home on her way to work when she'd fallen asleep at the wheel and had a minor accident. Luckily noone had been hurt but one millimetre off, and there could have been serious consequences. She'd chalked it up to her being tired but never before had she fallen asleep at the wheel like that.
Putting her shirt back on, Tina brushed her teeth and was shocked when she saw that they were a very dark yellow, almost the colour of corn. She was n't a smoker and had never smoked a cigarette in her life, didn; t drink coffee, and brushed her teeth religiously. She hated herself for being vain, and was it the lighting, but how could she go out anywhere with teeth like this? Try as she might she could n't brush away the stain.
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Tina cradled her head in her hands and thought long and hard. She tried to figure out just when things started to go wrong, just little things they were, but they were beginning to add up and her teeth was just too much. She prided herself on her pearly whites. Her parents had raised her to treat her body as a temple, without of course worshipping it, for that would be wrong. She believed that cleanliness was next to godliness and though vanity was n't the worst sin, it was a sin nonetheless. Was she being punished for her vanity?
Suddenly it hit her. She knew when this had all started, it had started the night before the bleach incident. She'd had a vivid dream in which a purple genie with eight limbs had appeared before her and bowing down, declared itself to be her servant and asked her to make a wish. Would she like to be more beautiful, it had asked, would she like to be wealthy beyond her wildest dreams. Would she like to be famous, powerful. Or would she like to have superpowers. She could gain the ability to fly, mind read, teleport. Her wish would be limited only by her imagination. She had toyed with the idea of being able to mind read, she was a rather shy woman and even at the age of twenty six had difficulty understanding men. She'd had a boyfriend once but he'd left her when she refused to sleep with him. In her dream state she'd fantasized about being able to mind read because it would be nice, she thought, to know what the dreamy pastor at church was thinking. He seemed so virtous and as he played his guitar tina had wondered if his brain was truly filled with thoughts only of God or if he sometimes had some not so holy thoughts like she occasionally allowed herself to have. But then she'd decided that reading minds would only take away the exciting mystery, and so she'd declined the genie's offer.
It had n't really been a dream. IT had occurred as she was sitting in bed reading a book but Tina being the godly woman that she was, refused to believe in genies because to her it was idol worship, and so she'd chalked it up to a dream.
But now a thought occurred to her. If the devil could n't tempt her, then perhaps he was taking away, slowly but surely, the things she prized most. Her lustrous hair, her pearly whites. Her pride at never having been in debt, and never having hurt anyone physically. He would take away everything, one by one, until she grew desperate and begged to just let things go back to the way they were before. Suddenly it all made sense.
Jumping up she inspected her teeth for a fourth time and rubbing them vigorously she willed away the stains, but the more she rubbed her teeth with toothpaste the more yellow they grew and soon they were a dark brown. Tina watched in horror as her teeth rotted before her very eyes and one by one, fell out. Holding her rotten teeth in her hands she felt her mouth suck into itself, like the time her daddy had pulled out his fake teeth and showed her what happened if you did the sin of gluttony and ate too much candy. Toothless, Tina ran screaming through the apartment she shared with her roommate.
`` What in heaven's name is going on?'' Muttered janice, emerging from her bedroom in her flannel pyjamas.
Tina looked Janice in the eyes and opened her mouth. She tried to speak but all that came out was a gummy garble.
Janice was speechless but not for long. `` My God,'' mumbled janice, before covering her mouth. `` Oops I blasphemed, better but a dollar in the swear jar.'' Giggling, Janice fumbled, half asleep, to her bedroom to fetch a dollar from her purse.
Tina saw red. How could Janice, at a time like this, be giggling? And was it not more urgent to attend to her friends teeth, or lack thereof, than a fucking swear jar? The vapidness and hypocrisy of the girl suddenly struck Tina. The girl was as shallow as a shower, and speaking of showers, was it not Janice who had, whether by accident or on purpose, bleached Tina's hair and chemically burned her hands? It made sense to Tina now. She had been nice about it, but her chubby roommate had clearly been poisoning her. With hallucinogens from the chemist most likely, which would explain her vivid dream which was n't a dream. For how long, Tina was n't sure. But for sure she was poisoning her. There was the incident with the bleach. And the money missing, it was only Janice who could have stolen her identity and spent up big online. Of course it made sense too that Janice had bought the hair products. As for the weight gain, possibly Janice had been slipping a little something into her food, like the kind of liquid thing you feed those who are malnourished. And as for falling asleep in the car? The girl could easily have slipped her a sleeping tablet. Suddenly Tina was filled with clarity. Janice, the chubby girl with pink streaks in her dirty blonde hair extensions, was envious of her. Not only that, the pastor at their church had shown interest in Tina, while he'd all but ignored Janice. She'd also clearly been putting something in Tina's toothpaste to make all her teeth fall out. Feeling herself filling with rage, Tina lunged towards JAnice and psuehd her onto her bed. Shoving the pillow over her face, Tina suffocated Janice until she stopped struggling. It took a lot longer than she expected and by the time she was done Tina had come to her sense. But first, she checked her mouth. No, it had not been all a dream. Her mouth was still toothless. Next she checked Janice, who was lifeless as a plastic doll. Muffling her own scream, JAnice cried out, `` In god's name, what have I done?''
The genie appeared before her.
`` You want that wish now?''
And they all lived happily ever after.
|
[ WP ] A species of sentient fish prepare for their invasion of the surface world .
|
Flounder swam through the leather bandolier he ’ d found in the depths of a shipwreck, letting the current lift his body up so that it got caught around his waist. He wiggled around to ensure it was latched on, the strap of leather shifting slightly as he moved. It would have to do, however, as he had no thumbs and could not tighten the silver clasp any more than it currently was.
“ Are you sure this is a good idea? ” Guppy said, his tiny mouth gnawing at the black pistol. There was clearly no way he ’ d be able to pick it up, not a chance in the world that he ’ d be able to so much as dig it out from the sandy ocean floor, but Flounder demanded he try anyway. It was a good learning experience, a good chance for him to show his little friend the kind of hardships they ’ d be facing. They were going to war, going to fight the land-dwellers who constantly assaulted his friends and family, their plastic ropes of treachery constantly snagging them and stealing them away. There would be no place in their new life for complacency, for the comfort of simplicity. Everything was going to be difficult on land, everything was going to be hard during the war, and Guppy had to know that. They would face more challenging things than a sand-trapped pistol in the coming days.
“ Am I sure it ’ s a good idea? ” Flounder said, doing his best to swim in a straight line with the massive bandolier forcing him toward the ocean floor. “ Am I sure it ’ s a good idea to finally put a stop to the monsters that have ruthlessly killed our friends, murdered our family? Do you not remember the time you saw that deliciously shiny object floating in the distance, than swam up only to come face-to-face with one of their hooked contraptions? Do you not recall the way you screamed when it tore through your gills? ”
Guppy stopped fruitlessly biting at the pistol, instead softly rubbing the old, now-scarred, wound beside his gills.
“ Am I sure it ’ s a good idea? ” Flounder continued. “ Am I sure it ’ s a good idea to finally show those land-dwellers that we ’ re not just theirs to kill? Absolutely. I am positive it ’ s a good idea. ”
“ Okay, ” Guppy said, “ I was just asking. ” He floated back down to the pistol and resumed working at freeing it. This time, however, he attempted to headbutt the gun free, swimming back a few inches before propelling himself directly into the black, notched grip of the weapon. He bounced off of it each time, body twirling violently in the water, the gun not so much as moving in the slightest.
Flounder watched Guppy for a moment, stared at him as he tossed his tiny, orange body into the slightly rusted pistol over and over again. “ All right, ” he said. “ That ’ s enough. We ’ re going to have to leave it. ”
“ We ’ re going to leave the gun? ” Guppy said, smashing into its grip one more time before stopping. “ But you said it would be essential in taking out their leader. ”
“ I did, ” Flounder said. Truthfully, he did feel the device would be essential. He ’ d heard rumors of how it worked, stories that the device could silence a land-walker in a single action; rumor was that the strange object could fire off a metal object, which the humans called “ bullets. ” These bullets were enough to penetrate the thick anatomy of the landers, enough to strip them of their oxygen. Still, though, he could see they would not be getting the weapon free without a significant amount of help. Considering no one else in the school seemed to think their mission was even remotely a good idea, he knew that wouldn ’ t happen any time. “ But I don ’ t think so anymore. ”
“ Why not? ” Guppy said, his tail flicking back and forth slightly as he floated.
“ Because I believe in us, ” Flounder said, bandolier still forcing him to sink toward the bottom slightly. “ We might not be much, but we are a force to be reckoned with. You, you ’ re the damned best head-rammer in the school. Remember when you knocked Hank out with a single smash? You could do that to a land-dweller. ” Flounder paused. “ And me, I ’ m smart. I know how to negotiate, how to deceive. I could get the humans to trust us, to let us speak with their leader. Then you just finish with a headbutt and we ’ re free from their rule. ”
Guppy smiled, his tail flicking faster in place.
“ You ready to do this? ” Flounder said, glancing toward where the sand climbed inward, the water above white-crested and shrouded in sunshine. The plan was to swim to where the sky met the water, to break the forbidden limit and wander onto the terrain of the land-dwellers. From there, they ’ d simply deceive their way to the leader, break into their compound, and destroy them from within. It would pretty much solve itself.
“ I am, ” Guppy said.
“ Then let ’ s go, ” Flounder said, thrusting his tail as hard as he could. The bandolier made it difficult to swim, the metal objects latched into the strap of leather doing little to assist in making him lighter. Still, he was able to swim, able to force his body toward where the sky met the water. He imagined it would be easier to move outside on the land, easier to walk about when he wasn ’ t weighed down by the water.
By the time Flounder reached the edge of the sea, he was absolutely exhausted. Although they ’ d only traveled for less than two minutes, it was incredibly difficult to swim under such weight. Regardless, he had kept just a bit more in the tank, a little burst of energy to force himself through the barrier between the land-dwellers and the sea-citizens. He glanced over at Guppy, nodded a quick salute, and propelled himself forward, his body exploding out of the water and into the world of the land. The bandolier flew off of his body the second he left the water, remaining in the depths behind him. He made the mental decision not to go back to get it, considering he had no control over his actions and was a bit preoccupied with the fact that he suddenly could not breathe.
Flounder landed on the dried sand with a wet slap, his body immediately convulsing as he suffocated. He had somehow forgotten that the land-dwellers did not live in the same environment as the sea-folk, that they breathed oxygen that was not surrounded in water. He glanced back at the sea, the waves crashing down a few inches from where he lay, and desperately attempted to signal to Guppy not to jump, contorting his face in the official “ don ’ t jump out of the water, you ’ re going to be unable to breathe and will die ” sign. Guppy seemed not to understand, instead propelling himself out of the water and coming to a convulsing stop beside Flounder.
|
[ WP ] You 're on vacation at a beach . You wake up one morning to see that the sky is dark like it 's still night . Yet you see the sun 's reflection on the water .
|
Just as I feel I'm drifting off I wake up suddenly.
Except I have a distinct impression that it is n't the same time I tried drifting off.
I roll over onto my back and straight up and all I see is black.
It feels awfully dark so I check my phone and see that it says 12:00 PM
Noon? It ca n't be.
I stand up and look off at the Ocean and I can see in the distance a light shining straight down onto the ocean as if it were a curtain of orange light.
I would assume that source of light being the sun, but then what could be obstructing it?
I look up again, and that was the last thing I ever saw.
|
[ TT ] Your dying wish was to have your ashes made into a diamond . Your family fulfilled your wish but you find your spirit is now bound to the gem forever .
|
Dovakiin bent over the enchanting table, stabilized himself seeing as how he was drunk, as usual. He mopped his head with some bloody prisoner's rag he kept around for whatever obsessive-compulsive reason, and stared at me. So, this would be it, I suppose: From a nigh-indestructible vessel to an infusion with - wait, where did the ebony bow go? I was actually looking forward to this. He had been practicing all week on double-enchanting health and stamina draining. But the way he held his hands would have nothing to do with any sort of combat, or stealth, or magic. It was - what was that, a restoration magic buff? But he's got the strength dialed down and the charges dial up. And where the hell is that bow? The only thing near the table is the... Oh for Christ's sake, he's gotten into the skooma again.
Well, what the hell can I do now, or from here? I'm stuck in this dark piece of crystal for some reason I've long since forgetten. Ha. I wish. I'm in crystal! I remember everything. Oh god, I remember everything. Why the hell did I ask to be carbogenically stored? And why did they actually pay for it when I was gone? Now look at me. I started out nice and translucent, and now am as black as my high school gym socks. Now my spirit sees all from this atomic-fire-blackened gemstone.
So, yeah, they gave me a crystalorectomy, set me on the mantle, where I got to enjoy watching them from afar for - two days. Yeah, after the memorial I went straight into the bottom of a desk drawer, where I remained for I do n't know how long, but no sooner that I caught a momentary glimpse of atomic fire - it actually turned out to be a meteor, not actual nukes, if that matters at all, at least if I recall correctly. Or maybe I just made that up to feel better about being trapped in rock for so long. And the agates crawling up my facet crack were downright asshats. Apparently they, too, had souls, and one of them would n't shut up about their goddamn wife, Karyn, and how much he hated her collection of little porcelain cat figurines. After a metric f-ton of millennia buried in rubble, some poor schlub - and thank you Lord Jesus there are still, holy donkey balls that is not a man! - dug me out of an obsidian vein, where I was promptly confiscated by the foreman, then a wizard, then a lord who - you know what, you do n't need to hear that part. It was equal parts kinky and horrifying. Some thief, who, I was never sure, but now that I think about it again reminded me a lot of mister drunk-as-a-skunk Dovakiin here, pilfered me, then pawned me for a magic potion. Good lord I wished someone would teach that dope how to haggle. Then, last week, Dovakiin bought me back, and I thought all was better in the world. Then he also bought some magic potions. Except they were skooma, not potions, and it was n't some, but a whole case.
So that, my little agate friends, who - no, I do n't want to hear that goddamn story again - that is how I wound up being forcibly ejected from my crystal home and have my soul rubbed into the phantasmagoric fibers of some bum's dysentery rag.
Dovakiin looked down at what he had created, wiped his forehead with the rag, and said, Damnit.
|
[ WP ] A man is digging a grave . Why is he digging a grave ?
|
As midnight's moonshine filtered through the trees,
My restless legs went strolling through the park.
The night was warm, the air stirred by a breeze,
As my mind went to wander in the dark.
Yet something caught my eye some yards ahead,
A lonely man, his form did shadow shroud.
Softly through the trees I went to tread,
While over a black bag this man was bowed.
He took a shovel up from by his feet,
And struck ground with a resounding thud.
I thought a while that I should then retreat,
Though both my shoes were held fast by the mud.
I watched the figure digging in the dirt,
Unconsciously, my legs began to shake.
I thought that if my eyes I did avert,
The fear would leave and I might cease to quake.
Then suddenly, after what seemed an age,
I saw him rest the shovel by his side.
And though while he had dug, his face was sage,
The figure then knelt on the ground and cried.
He gently placed the bag into the grave,
And laid his hand upon it as he spoke.
Though try he did to his composure save,
His eyes were moist, and on tears did he choke.
And soft he spoke the words through tearful breath,
As he filled in the dirt and laid a stone.
`` I love you boy, in life and now in death,
You were the best dog I did ever own.''
|
[ WP ] `` Are we there yet ? '' `` No child ... we 'll never be there . ''
|
Robes brushed up against one another, busy and dancing with intent. The garments were standard issue for travelers, who could n't match the vigor of their garments. Instead, a gaggle of Men, women, and children ambled about as they waited patiently for the ship to arrive.
Nakedness was all too apparent to Shari as she heard the bunkers lock in preparation for the journey. According to the captain, the means to their escape had docked into the port, though no one heard anything. The cotton kept swimming around private parts, revealing shriveled dicks and chapped butt cheeks laced with goose-bumps.
Shari hid her son, cushioned his head against HER robe, shielding him from the nakedness an other things. He was not an even-keeled kid, always twitching his cheeks and flicking his eyes out of the way when someone talked. Shari knew things would be better in the new world; Fresh water, and populations capped out at 1000 per partition.
Shari's legs were sweating, her thighs squeaking and buckling from an old injury, from stairs. Lots of them. Her knees crackled likewise, and her son stole a rare glance to read her face. Mommy is fine, hun.
The capsules were ready, they were all informed. Cheering sent another wave of fluttering cotton, and the back of the room compacted towards the front. Captain flattened out his hands in front of him, lest a stampede trample the transfer bridge. Shari was ready to leave earth, but stayed in the back, her son clawing now, gripping tightly at her leg. His nails were unkempt, a black caricature of real acrylic. The crowd moved forward, and the boy shook his head. Shari could only goad her son with a smile, and strong countenance.
The mother and her son took stride next to a beaming Asian couple, holding hands but heads craned, locked on the exit port. Feet had come to rest, bouncing to a steady pace as the que found its rhythm. Passing the captain, Shari took a last look behind. Only empty, cold cement. No one to stop her, she felt completely unfettered by Earth. And him.
The bridge was chain-link. It seemed odd, as the chinks seemed welded onto the ship, connected directly from the docking port. The engine seemed primitive, like an heirloom from Challenger but with a decisive youth. Was this a new ship?
Shari and her son tossed the robes into the center of the vessel; it was a round pod, completely carousel with roller-coaster style locking belts and lifted seats. They, too, were welded in place, impossibly inept at handling the force of a gravitational liftoff. The Asian couple had n't seemed to notice; still holding hands, legs dangling from their seats and lost in each other's eyes. Shari could n't bear to look her son in the eyes. The schematics of the ship seemed to breathe life into a part of her brain she refused to believe in.
Sure enough, the captain rolled into the nexus of the ship with a half-globe of chrome atop a rolling cart. Shari's son interrupted with a child's whisper. Naturally, everyone heard.
`` Pssssssst, mommy. Did the space ship leave yet. I did n't feel anything. Are we there yet?''
Those around Shari laughed at children the way they do, but Shari could only muster a false grip on her seat, fingering the buckles until she realized that they were already locked. The captain himself had heard the boy's curiosity.
`` No child, we have n't yet left this Earth. Silly boy.'' The captain ruffled the boy's hair, and returned to his half-globe on wheels. He peeled back the brunch-style handle to reveal a pool of liquid. The man began pouring the travel-fluids, essential for keeping the passengers hydrated and sedated through the duration of space. Only in this state could they reach the new world safely. Paper cups were poured. The captain passed them out, four people down, three, to the Asian couple who did a champagne-style toast with each other, and finally to Shari's son. And Shari herself. Before she sipped, she sobbed and admitted, under her breath; `` we'll never be there.''
|
[ WP ] You awaken one morning and roll over for a kiss , but the space next to you on the bed is empty .
|
I expected to find you there, as I rolled over and stretched out my arms. Instead I found the void. Stretching out in a ribbon of time, my hand fell into the abyss. My body contorted as time slowed to a torturous crawl. As I allowed myself to lose all dimension and collapse into nothingness, I did not regret the black hole you left in between the sheets. I welcomed the utter constriction, the hyperplantary hug of pure Nothing, of pure Being, no divisions, all as one.
I felt my brain collapse, as for the second time.
Without you, I welcome oblivion.
|
[ WP ] Write a story about someone who would have turned out to be a serial killer if one good event had n't occurred that helped them get their life together .
|
He looked out at the rain. It thundered in sheets against his window, obscuring his vision, rendering the night useless. `` God*dammit*!'' He screamed, kicking the side table beside him. The lamp flickered.
She stayed at home when it was rained. There was no way he could get into her house. He slammed the lid to where his gun was kept and screamed again in frustration.
*Ding dong*. His angry eyes flew to the door. He'd kill whoever it was. He'd kill them.
He opened the door. It was a young girl of no more than 6 or 7. Her face was streaked with a mixture of tears and rain, and her pale lips were shaking. `` I'm sorry,'' she said softly. `` Can I use your phone to call my daddy? I do n't know where he is, I'm lost,'' she said, tears aching in the corners of her eyes.
`` Come on in,'' he said softly, taken aback by the timidness of her figure. He took the phone off the counter. `` What's his number?''
She showed him her palm. On it was streaked ink, a barely visible number that was bleeding onto her arm. He called.
*Ring*. What if he does n't pick up? The girl looked up at him with blue, tearful eyes. Thunder shook outside.
*Ring*. She stood in front of the door, trembling.
*Ring*.
*Ring. The person you are trying to contact has not set up their voicemail box yet. *
Silence.
The girl looked up at him, tears streaking down her face. `` He's not coming for me, is he?'' she sobbed. `` I do n't know where he is. I'm very lost.''
`` He'll find you,'' he found himself saying reassuringly. It had been a long time since he felt like he meant something to someone. `` He loves you.''
`` Not all the time,'' she said, wiping a tear away with a pale hand. `` He yells at me sometimes. He hit my mommy, when she was alive.'' She began to cry again. `` But I want him. I miss him. I'm very lost.''
The man felt his throat tighten. `` I have a daughter,'' he said. `` She's older than you. I'm not a very good Daddy either.''
`` Does she miss you?''
A single tear slipped out of the man's eye. `` I've never asked,'' he said.
There was another flash of lightning outside. The little girl shook. He picked up the phone and dialed the number again.
*Ring*.
*Ring*.
*Ri-* `` Hello?''
|
[ WP ] A ten year old boy wakes up to find that he is the last person on the planet .
|
A ten year old boy wakes up to find the that he is the last person on the planet. If there ever was a terror in the world this is it. Not this boy though.
He was very distant with everyone who came in contact. This world now seems his home planet. A world where he could roam free and not have to worry about social conspiracies. A world where politics never entered his world. A world where being the biggest or the best is no longer valid for survival. He had his own world.
He was happy even his own family was n't around so he did n't have to tip toe around who he was. He was just happy to be. His family was n't super religious but was superfitial on their beliefs on religion. That does n't apply to him. He believes in a higher power, he believes everyone had a chance at higher happiness but no one else was like this.
He was happy to not have to deal with people who did n't care how they treated others because there were no others. Everyday he goes outside. Plays in the dirt, dances in the weather, and looks for something living not human. Nothing ever appears. A few cats and dogs become his friends and family. The supermarkets are still full stock. He is living as he would without someone else preparing his meals.
One day he's reading books from the library and sees the book of endangered species. He finds all of the animals fascinating. Especially the Hippo. He decides to venture down to the local zoo. Who does n't love the zoo?
When he gets there the gates are locked. He figures, no one else is here to open it so he'll find another way. As he's searching for another entrance he notices a sad silence. The type where you know something is n't good. He gets in and notices the animals are n't doing good. Most of them starving. He can see where some have tried to work through the fences. The most disturbing were the aquatic animals who have barely enough water to survive.
The Hippo he wanted to see so much is so skinny he ca n't look. A ten year old in a world alone is n't enough. This boy finds he is helpless without others. He searches for anyone at the zoo who can help.
No luck.
He is sad, angry, and disturbed by his own mind that he was wrong. Though some people have different ways of seeing things. All are needed for something.
|
[ WP ] -Aliens have just invaded earth , and our only hope is a speech prepared by you , given to the aliens trying to convince them that humans are worth saving .
|
`` They want you to read it.''
`` What?''
`` I do n't fuckin' know, the aliens want the man who wrote it to read it, now get your ass on camera and *read the damn speech*. There's no time for this bullshit''
-- -- -
I am a human.
Our history is a short one. Our works of literature are few. Within these ten thousand years, we have published two-hundred-million works of literature. Stories. Experiments. Passions, passions between humans, passions for land and power and wealth and fame and knowledge. And love.
I am a human, but what does that *mean*?
And the scholars of our planet, the philosophers, the man and the woman and the child. They have been searching for this answer. They have been searching for this answer for thousands of years.
I am a human. And I do not know what that means.
None of us do.
But I must convince your leader that I have these answers. That any human has these answers. That there are answers to find. I must tell you an answer that billions upon billions have failed to discover.
Except for you. You, who rest your finger on the trigger.
You have done the impossible, perhaps single-handedly. You, a being who has observed our species for merely a year, *has* discovered this answer.
It's an answer I hope I never discover.
If the answer leaves me, beyond a shred of doubt, knowing that the human race is such a horrible... *parasite*... that he deserves obliteration -- obliteration from this planet in a cocoon of fire and sound and fury -- then perhaps it is an answer I should not know.
I must convince you, after all, that this answer is false.
You are a race, you say, that, deep in the bowels of your history, resembled humanity.
You say it was a horrible time. A time where there was passion. Passion for land, passion for power, passion for wealth and fame and knowledge. Men of power arose. It was this passion, from your accounts, that led to such horrible suffering, that led to your race enslaving itself, time and time again, until society collapsed and was born anew.
You wish to save us from this terrible fate, and I wish to tell you that you have never escaped this slavery.
This is what it means, to be human. To be alien.
This is what it means, to be a sentient being.
It is to be enslaved by passion.
The passion never left your race. Do n't you see? Passion is what *drives* you to feel such sorrow for our suffering, such *rage* towards those who command vast swaths of human beings into war and misery, such *conviction* to *save* us from these men.
Humanity may need to be saved, but not from beings who would cast off our shackles by slicing off our heads! If it is enslavement you wish to save us from -- whether it bet from passion, or from warlords, or from men who wish to better their fraction of the world -- then I would ask of you to destroy yourselves when you are finished with us, for our enslavement is one in the same.
This is all I can say to change your mind. May the world forgive me if it is not enough.
|
[ WP ] Write a story that ends with `` And that 's when I realized I did n't have any pants on ''
|
It was Monday morning, the alarm clock was going frantic, and I was still hung over from a long weekend of partying. OH NO, the clock has been buzzing for half an hour, I'm going to be late. I took a shower, threw on some clothes, grabbed a chocolate muffin to eat on the way, and ran out the door. Today was the day of the big meeting, so I drove directly to the office, bypassing my usual stop at the coffee shop. I was almost late, but walked into the meeting just as everyone was getting settled in. As I stood there, a couple of people looked at me and then a couple more started staring and snickering. Bob finally asked me, `` Uhhh, what's up with your pants?'' I did n't know what he meant, but I looked down, and that's when I realized I accidentally smeared chocolate from the muffin all over my tan khakis. Some of the ladies quipped, `` You really need a woman in your life, Tim, to help you do your laundry; you're so helpless''. Ughh, I went down to the bathroom to try and clean this mess before it set in too bad. I slipped out of my pants and started wiping the spots with wet paper towels. I got distracted by some important email that came across my smart phone. I sent a couple of carefully crafted replies and headed back into the meeting. When I walked in everyone was laughing and facepalming at me. I looked down, and that's when I realized I did n't remember to dry my pants under the hand dryer. They were still wet from the water. `` Hey Tim, did you wet your pants!?''... everyone was laughing. The boss said `` Tim, I've had enough of your nonsense, you're fired!'' I immediately sat up in bed in a cold sweat. This whole thing had just been a dream. I threw back my covers and sheets, and that's when I realized I did n't have any pants on.
|
[ WP ] Upon dieing , you receive a statistics screen about what you 've accomplished in life . One catches your eye . It reads , `` People killed : 400 ''
|
I can see my family around the hospital bed. My ex-wife with an arm around my only daughter. My brother is there talking to my niece about what it means to die. I can only look through my partially opened eyes. The tube in my throat prevents me from talking and telling them I was sorry. Why had I waited to the very end to be remorseful? They all hated me because I was weak. I chose drugs over my family and here I was. They all looked at me as if I was an exotic animal. There was not a single tear in the whole room. I took my last breath and slid into the abyss.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up in a white room. Not really a room because I could not see any walls, just white all around. Directly in front of me was a scroll that was floating before my eyes. I grabbed it and unrolled it. In huge bold print it said, `` Welcome to Hell!'' It made sense. I was a horrible human in life, why should I deserve to be in heaven. Below the greeting was a list of all my `` accomplishments''. My age, 46, my average weight throughout my life, 235 pounds, the number of kids I had, 3. The last one was somewhat a surprise, but not unlikely. The list went on, the number of people I loved and the number that hated me. At the very bottom was a number that through me off. People killed, 400. I was a sorry excuse for a human being but I never killed anyone before in my life. Shit, I had n't even been in a fight before. I tried to recall times in my life when I could have killed someone but nothing came to me. I never had a serious car accident or started a fire. How in the hell did I kill 400 people? I put the scroll down and tried to think but now I saw a bright red exit sigh in front of me. Maybe I would some answers through there.
On the other side of the exit I was greeted by a hunched over man with a pair of red goggles on. `` Name.'' He said in a tired sounding voice. I gave him my name and he informed my I was on level seven of hell.
`` What is on level 7?''
`` That is where the worse of the worse go. Serial killers, rapist, call center employees.''
`` I do n't understand. I was a piece of shit in life but I was no serial killer. I just did drugs. I do n't deserve to be with that lot of people. Their has to be a mistake.''
`` I do n't make the darn list, buster. I just tell you where to go.''
`` Can you at least tell me why *I* deserve to be on level 7?''
`` You are the reason 400 people died.''
`` I never killed anyone in my life!''
`` Maybe not directly, but your actions did. You where a drug addict. You did whatever it took to get your hands on whatever you were shooting up into your veins. The time you stole a wallet from that lady on the train? She could n't afford to pay for her husbands protection while he was in jail and he died because of that. When you sold some bad heroin to those teenagers? One of them died. A month later, his mom killed herself with a 12 gauge. You see? You never killed anyone directly, but the way you lived you life caused other people to die.''
I was dumbstruck. I had caused so much harm. All I wanted to do was get high, not kill people. God! Why had I been so dumb. So weak. `` Please tell me, does my daughter turn out OK? Please tell me I did n't cause any harm to her?''
`` You will be able to ask her yourself soon enough. Because of you she starts doing drugs in her senior year of high school. She gets into a bad crowd and starts living the same way you did. In the end, she causes more trouble that you could ever had done.''
`` Why was I so selfish. WHY!'' I banged my hands against my head but no amount of self inflicted pain could soothe the pain I felt in my heart.
|
Prompt Three
|
They had nothing to say to each other. For they both knew that this moment was the end. Anything they said now would mean quite literally nothing within the next few seconds. They simply stared into each other's eyes, waiting for that final impact.
Their hair whipped with the wind. The side of the plane taken out and torn to pieces with the explosion of the left engine. Luckily their own side was still intact. Although the instantaneous death may have been more of a blessing than anything else. But still, to be with one another in their final moments, to cherish one another such as this, they could not complain.
Eric watched as a single tear fell from Emily's eye, and could n't help but shed a tear as well. But still, he smiled knowing he would be with her in his final seconds. He kissed her once more, and they made impact...
Word Count: 153
Edit: repitition.
|
[ WP ] Write in the perspective of a confused family-raised Pit bull who has recently been kidnapped by thugs to be trained to fight other Pit Bulls .
|
`` I'll never do it, not my own breed and blood. Not even for all the pig ears in the world. Not even for- HEY! Stop that!''
The cattle prod he was holding lashed me with its electric heat and I felt it sear my flesh. I could smell my own hair burning.
`` You're the little bitch that's gon na get us rich!''
`` Yeah, she is a fine one!''
I lunge but to no avail as my chain tightens and yanks me back to the concrete. I lay in defeat, licking the floor beneath these strange humans.
How did this happen? Where did my boy go who would let me under those warm sheets at night, and my bowl with the little bone on the front that was always filled with tender vittles?
His boots echoed on the floor and he loomed over me.
`` Tonight's the night, boys!''
At this he unchained me and stuck the prod to my rump releasing its shock through my body and I obeyed. He led me down a dark hall. I could hear the thrashing and the snarling of my brothers, and the incessant moaning of a hundred strangers.
We emerged from a dim corridor and I saw the ring stained in blood. Two men were mopping away the remains of an old soul I had met in the training room. His name was Bart. They took him from his own yard, from his own dog house. He said the stranger looked over his fence and before he could bark they hit him with the needle and he went to sleep. He woke up here, where he says they never take us for walks, and they force us to do battle with our own kind.
I did n't want to believe him then, but there he was, murdered by a younger pup, the new alpha. The cheers grew to a deafening volume and again I felt the electrode pierce me. I was next in line.
They brought me into the ring still reeking of Bart's blood. It was still warm under my pads. The gate behind me clinked shut and my opposition was brought before me- a burly bitch with one eye and a brown pelt covered in pock marks and scars. She barred
her teeth and chuffed angrily.
I looked at her, then at the dark mob surrounding us and suddenly the cheers faded away. I was back home with my true humans. They were all there and we were happy. I sniffed the grass and piddled like I always did.
`` Where's your ball? Go get it!''
I felt the wind in my ears and the soil at my paws and...
...The prod brought me back to the horror that I had never left. But I knew that my humans were out there looking for me. They wanted to find me! I had to just stay alive and I'd be free!
I glared back at my opponent and gave a snarl that surprised me and I showed my teeth like my master always told me not to. I was going to kill her for them. She could n't stand in my way.
At a final prodding and the ring of a bell, the strange humans holding our collars released us. Never had I tasted another pit's flesh, but I knew what I had to do. She did n't have a chance to move before I met her muscular neck with the full force of my jaws and I clamped down until I tasted blood and soon after, her body went limp.
I had done it. I did it for them. I killed one of my own for them. The thrill of victory went through me like the cattle prod's voltage and I licked my chops still fresh with the kill.
They took me back through the hallway and forced me into a cramped crate throwing me a slab of meat that I devoured. I slept and dreamed of my masters, awakening frightened in the night and I wondered if they would ever find me.
|
[ WP ] You 've just invented the cure for a broken heart in the form of a pill . But while others want it , you wo n't take it . Why ?
|
The box sat on the counter and I stood opposite of it in the cramped kitchen. The sterile matte white box was unblemished and looked so out of place in my kitchen full of unwashed dishes and opened mail that never quite made it to the trash. A list of phone numbers was on the refrigerator held up by magnets. One number was crossed out in sharpie though I knew it better than my own social.
My arms were crossed and my face wore the overt contempt I harbored for the solitary pill that rested inside the box. I was riddled with a healthy dose of skepticism that this pill would perform as advertised. Who could have imagined that a small start up would up end the pharmaceutical world and erase a sizable consumer base from the anti depressant market. The FDA fast tracked “ Heartbreak Pill ” with 99 % success rate and little to no side effects beyond nausea.
When news first broke this pill existed I like the majority of rational heartbroken people considered another snake oil remedy. I mean there was no way someone found the cure for my unrequited love…was there?
I wasn ’ t an early adopter of Romanticil and by the time friends and co-worker convinced me to get my prescription it was clear this was no placebo. Family members with shattered hearts from failed marriages or the death of a partner were made whole again. They could smile without the lingering pain that would twinge when talking about the past romances. But thanks to Romanticil they were walking commercials of the satisfied customers.
I on the other hand still missed Morgan. It had been three years; four months; two weeks; five days and thirteen hours since I crossed her number off the list. That was the day she married the love of her life and I had forever lost mine. It was no secret to friends or family I could not simply be put back together in the wake of her leaving. So as she shared her vows and I sat alone taking another drag and one more swig of tequila at my favorite local the FDA had begun trials on Romanticil.
The wrenching pain wasn ’ t envy or jealousy for Morgan ’ s husband. I instead felt swelling of pure joy and excitement for her and wouldn ’ t let any malice corrupt that image of her. I ’ d happily have given anything to have shared one last moment as joyful as her wedding day with her to see that grin larger than any I could ’ ve given.
I had quit smoking a year ago, but the Romanticil box was about the size of a pack and my nerves were pressing me to light up a cigarette. Romanticil worked by blocking the emotional impulses sent when recollecting images and memories. It whitewashed only the deepest hurts and as my doctor described “ turns down the volume to a near mute ” on the most intense pleasant memories. Mine and Morgan ’ s love story would simply play out in my mind akin to a muted Nicholas Sparks movie.
I approached the counter and touched the box and slowly opened it. A leaflet of instructions rested on top of the individual dosage packet. I was a bit curious and couldn ’ t help nervously laugh at the irony of the pink color of the pill.
As instructed I had a picture from a hiking trip Morgan and I had taken at the gorge. It was my favorite we fit together so well in that moment. I wanted to savor that beautiful memory once more. I…we were so in love. In a matter of hours I would have ingested the pill and that picture would mean little more than a postcard from friends I hadn ’ t seen in years. I pushed the pill and watched it break the foil. My eyes though were in a trance focused on the picture. Her blue eyes were staring through time and space and meeting mine here in this disgusting unkempt kitchen.
I was convinced Morgan from five years ago in that moment was watching me with her uncanny curious smile wondering what exactly it was I intended to do or if I understood the consequences of my often half witted plots.
I picked up the pill and held it in my sweaty hands. My eyes watered. I missed Morgan terribly and felt my chest tighten. This was goodbye to my lover and provider of joy in hopes of starting anew with another. Anger was began teeming beneath my tears. The familiar frustration began jostling the peaceful memories. I wanted to move past the futility of this long ago broken heart. I clenched my fist around the pill. I had spent three years wallowing in my mistakes and bitterness that proved a lethal combination with my happiness for her.
I would lose my sanity soon if didn ’ t swallow this damned pill. My heart was thudding so hard in my chest as I raised my hand at creeping pace towards my clenched shut mouth. My anger dissipated as I became frightened. This bevy of emotion would soon be replaced with emptiness that would match my empty life.
My life was empty because I still mourned her. That was it my funeral was her wedding and if she knew what little of the man she once loved was left she would never recognize me. She wouldn ’ t want me to live like this and if it meant she would sacrifice our connection through our past she would happily surrender them no matter how badly it pained her. Perhaps I should surrender the past to the past and give the present and future the same opportunity I once gave Morgan and myself then.
I tossed the pill in the sink. The tinkering of the pill gave me a respite. I exhaled. Romanticil had fulfilled it ’ s objective in curing my broken heart. Though I would never stop loving Morgan I was finally ready to mend my broken heart and move on ever grateful for the past and happy to look back and continue to laugh, smile and cry from the lessons we learned together.
|
[ WP ] A teenage runaway moves into an abandoned house to escape from her abusive stepfather . You are the ghost that haunts this house .
|
The girl sobbed quietly in the corner. Even here, in near isolation, she would n't let herself lose control.
The bruises would fade again, her skin already bore the calluses if one knew how to look. But it was her hardening heart that tore at me as I watched again, nearly helpless.
“ Why? ” she whispered quietly. Over and again, “ Why? ” Searching for answers we both knew would n't come.
The night grew colder, though it felt warmer in comparison to both of us. More then any other souls in the world we knew what true cold felt like. Her, for her heart was slowing being encased in ice. Me, because my soul weathered the eternal chill of one who was forever lost.
The girl could have been me, I knew. Me and hundreds, thousands of others - if not more. That she had found her way into this house was almost ironic. As if she knew no-one else would be hurt in this house. I had been the last. I had made sure of that.
Wind knocked over a loose board upstairs and the girl did n't even react. She had finally fallen asleep.
As I gazed closer at her though I notice her lips were changing color. They inched closer to blue. The night seemed to know we were in the house and was upset we had challenged its domain over the temperature. I watched the falling snow turn to falling ice. The tree limbs just outside started to drop as water froze on their limbs.
I lay down next to the girl. She did n't move. She could n't feel me, though I could sense her. Her fading heat dissipating into the night. Her breath slowed. She longed for peace. I wished she could have it.
But not this way. Not the way I had chosen.
I had given up. But she had n't, not yet.
I put my arm around her, holding her close. Her skin prickled in her sleep, for a moment, she grew even colder. But I still remembered. Still remembered the fire I had set. Still remembered the heat lapping at my skin. The pain.
I embraced it once again, my soul screamed in agony, but I could feel the child's breath almost sighing with relief even as I sense the ice around her heart melting. The strong beat kept time for me as the night crept on. Though in agony, I did n't let go.
I kept my eyes on her even as the sun broke through the slated window just above us.
The girl began to move, and stood up. Releasing her from my grasp tore at me in ways I had n't imagined. It was like the heat had burnt me away and, as the sun struck, I knew my time here had ended.
I had found my peace. My journey had come full circle. My purpose, if I had one, had been served. Her's had n't.
As the sun tore the final vestige of my form away I realized her eyes were staring at me, seeing me. The last one who ever would.
My final thoughts, my final words to her - my sister in soul if not life - were spoken without sound, but heard all the same.
“ It is n't you. ”
|
[ WP ] Technology has advanced to the point no one alive has seen or even heard of a naked flame ; one day a fire starts .
|
It was completely pitch black, but he could sense where he needed to go. The visor on his head gave him rough grey out lines of obstacles and obstructions, but it was n't real vision as anyone would call it. The man staggered down the gentle slope of the hill and into a massive doorway. All that he could discern in the area behind the door was a small pit with some sort of sword sticking out of it. He slowly crept up to the sword, wary of something or someone else. Once next to the sword, he instantly knew what to do. He turned his palm downwards, and linked the first flame, bringing back an age of fire from an age of dark.
|
[ WP ] `` Kill him ? No , we need something more ... permanent . That 's why we hired *you* after all . ''
|
`` You want to send in Nikon? You really think it's that bad?'' The speaker was a large, barrel chested man, well over six feet tall, with a long, neatly trimmed beard and an impeccable suit. He was talking to a woman who had to have been in her sixties, the the beauty she displayed as a youth now a well-aged luster. Her piercing blue eyes looked at the barrel chested man without blinking, staring through him.
`` You have a problem, Lord Aerlman. A very specific type of problem. We can deal with this very specific problem, but it will require the services of a specialist. Alex Nikon is that specialist.'' Her tone was matter-of-fact, not excited or loud in any way.
`` She's just a girl, a misguided girl.'' The older woman shrugged.
`` Your girl, Lord Aerlman, has contacted the Outer Planes. She has let something through, and now it's inside her. However, until she does something public, I ca n't involve the Circle without your request. If you do n't want our help, that's fine. Just remember, tragedy strikes first at the home.'' Her warning delivered, the woman turned and started to leave the ornate the sitting room. As she reached the door, Lord Aerlman called to her.
`` Laura! Ms. Cadswall. Wait. Please.'' She smirked confidently to herself and then composed her face, turning with a neutral expression.
`` Yes?'' The lord was wringing his hands, pacing in front of the fire.
`` Your man, Nikon, I know his reputation. Will he... kill her?'' Lord Aerlman looked distraught.
`` Alexander Nikon will handle the crisis. That is what he does. How he handles it will remain at his discretion. Be advised though, Lord Aerlman, that contact with the Outer Planes taints the very soul. Even death ca n't remove its stain.''
Lord Aerlman looked crestfallen, and he idly picked up a picture off the mantle of the fireplace, a family portrait showing the lord and his wife, along with their daughter, a striking redhead in her late teens. He caressed the picture with his thumb, before setting it back down. All of the energy drained from him and he sagged, turning towards the woman with a beaten look.
`` Fine. Do it. Make the call.'' He dismissed her with a wave and then sank into one of the large leather chairs, pouring himself a large whiskey, which he immediately downed. As he poured another, Laura excused herself and closed the door quietly. She had a phone call to make.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
`` Antonia. I know you're here.'' The same girl from the photo, now a fully-grown, and beautiful young woman, was hiding behind a large stack of pallets, desperately clutching herself and trying not to scream. Her hands and torso were covered in blood, some hers, and some her friends. They had been partying, drinking in her London flat, when the man arrived.
The first indication of trouble was the door exploding inward, a large piece of it ripping through Pierce like a spear. He dropped with a gurgling sound and blood sprayed across the room. Screams erupted from the small group of young men and women, and before they could even process the danger, a small man, barely 5'6'', was in their midst, a large curved sword in one hand and a handgun in the other. Glowing runes twisted across his skin, and his left eye was in an eyepatch. His right eye was the color of polished metal, and it quickly scanned the room. Everything after that was a blur, and Antonia could n't recall any details, except the bodies, and the blood.
She remembered a voice in her head, then her friends all screaming, fire pouring from their eyes as they charged the sword-bearing man while shouting in some language Antonia had never heard. As her friends threw themselves at the man, she turned and leapt through the bay window, falling the three stories and landing with a sickening crunch. She remember her legs feeling surprisingly good for such a fall, and then running. The voice in her head was louder, and she could n't understand it, but it was hurting her.
As she ran through the streets, the voice was chanting, and every person she passed turned to stare at her, their eyes spewing fire before they turned and charged the way she had come. She did n't understand what was happening, who the man was, or why he was after her. She did n't understand anything! Next thing she knew, she was hiding in the warehouse, where the man found her again, his curved sword and gun both covered in blood. As she curled up and tried not to let him find her, he kept talking.
|
[ WP ] The world is full . Pregnant women have to wait to give birth .
|
`` Mark will you get in the fucking car. We need to go.''
`` Ok, calm down, calm down''
`` Do n't tell me to calm down your not the one who is going to go to jail.''
Mark climbed in the passenger door and climbed in. Louise quickly started the engine and started driving. Louise could n't believe what was happening how the hell did she let herself get pregnant. She took her injections and so far as she knew Mark took his but here she was pregnant without a license. She had often dreamed about having children but people like her rarely got to have them. Her and Mark could n't afford an education for a child and the world had enough unskilled workers. So all she could do was drive she thought about going to the woods with Mark and living in isolation with the baby she had heard of people doing this before. But the penalties were beyond severe if they got caught. She wanted the baby more then anything but knew that it could never be and so all she could do was go to a clinic.
Everybody knew they existed the seedy underground clinics for the young girls who got knocked up by some high school kid or by some frat boy rapist. All because there parents would n't let them take the mandatory injections to maintain some weird sense or purity. But she was 27 she was n't meant to have to visit one and if it was ever found out she was pregnant she would have been facing 2 years in prison whilst her child would be brought up in an government work program and that was no fate for anybody.
They finally pulled up outside an unassuming building which was recommend to her by a close friend who was lucky enough to have children. Her and Mark stepped out of the car and walked towards the building. Louise felt a large hand on her shoulder and there was a large man in a cheap suit holding her `` Louise Melton, we have reason to believe you a pregnant I will need you to come with me.'' He looked over at Mark `` Sir. You are free to go.''
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.