Split (3)

train · 273k rows

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[ WP ] Describe an utopian and a dystopian society , which differ in only a single thing .	Yet, perhaps most interestingly, there do exist two societies that began with near identical roots, but have grown to find completely different outcomes. In 1832, John M. Coleridge founded two nearly exact societies, one—Westville—located south of what would later become the island of Manhattan, and the city of Sidewick, which resides directly in the middle of Massachusetts. He began each cluster with the same ideology: a religion-driven land, with principles based heavily on the bible, and a set of laws organized around those beliefs. In fact, for the first hundred-or-so years, neither location differed by much. Population counts remained the same, each with roughly 122,000 people. Likewise, both were farming towns, with their chief export being corn and wheat. However, unlike most other civilizations of the time, the two locations were famed for their unique form of entertainment: an early adaptation of bodybuilding, each city featuring massive stadiums for citizens to view their favorite, vascular idols. The muscular were revered in both locations, with personal training becoming the top profession by the beginning of the twentieth century. Yet, in 1936, a single, solitary difference completely altered the course of both societies. During that time, the United States was struggling with the ongoing Great Depression, which had taken a severe toll on the economy, especially that of both Westville and Sidewick. People were starving, none of them hitting their daily macros or protein requirements, and thus losing the bodies that had once famed the two cities. Suicides became more common as muscles wilted, and each respective government knew something needed to be done. To overcome the economic burden the times had forced upon them, both locations attempted solve the issue in their own way. Sidewick made the decision that they would no longer maintain any weight training machines, including cable crosses, shoulder presses, and ab crunch machines, each of which had become staples to the citizens. They were seen as expensive and unnecessary, a burden on the already troubled economy. The citizens argued at first, staging protests and refusing to surrender their beloved machines. However, by the end of 1937, the only pieces of weightlifting equipment that remained were barbells, dumbbells, various benches, and squat racks. Westville, on the other hand, decided to go with a completely opposing route. Rather than keep their barbells, dumbbells, and squat racks, they sold off anything that wasn ’ t fixed down to a massive, off-white machine. All forms of free training were banned, with the hopes that the weights could be melted down and sold for their iron. The people rioted, screamed that it wasn ’ t fair, but found they could do nothing to prevent the change. Those that tried to hide them, to keep them from being taken, were sentenced to death. By the end of 1937, not a single barbell could be found anywhere within Westville. The years following the change in directions for the two cities were polarizing. Sidewick began to flourish. Order was maintained throughout the streets, its people spending their afternoons using free weights to train. Citizens became more attractive, more muscular, their bodies well developed and balanced through deep squats and heavy deadlifts. The quality of life skyrocketed, with almost everybody in the city becoming an absolute pleasure to look at. Hollywood recruiters -- people seeking attractive, fit men and women to star in upcoming films -- began to flock to the city, bringing with them money and merchandising. By the end of 1945, Sidewick had made a complete resurgence, with average lifespan increasing tenfold. On the other hand, Westville saw a dramatic decline after their abrupt decision to ban free weights. Injuries skyrocketed, with the smith machine being blamed for the majority of them. People were crushed beneath it while attempting to squat, their backs breaking due to the horrible range of motion it forced upon them. Many stopped training all together, instead focusing their time on eating food and sitting around. They became fat, lethargic, further damaging the economy. Those that continued training, that strived to achieve the pleasure their training had once brought them, suffered severe muscular imbalances. They could not adequately hit their hamstrings, or their lateral heads. Violence broke out constantly in an attempt to forget about their underdeveloped shoulders Occasionally, citizens did attempt to regain their iron, to smuggle barbells or dumbbells into the city, yet most were caught and faced with death. The government became corrupted, run by manufacturers of weight machines. Deadlifting was ranked only below murder in terms of punishment, and squatting was seen as pure and utter treason. Training knowledge plummeted as the years went on, with heart attacks skyrocketing due to Westvillains spending countless hours doing nothing but stomach exercises. Before the end of 1945, most of its citizens had died from poor training techniques. Today, neither city looks even remotely similar. Sidewick has become a veritable utopia, with average lifespan pushing 250 years. The last murder reported in the city was back in 1973, during which a Sidewicker became enraged after mistaking a man in a green, hooded sweater for the mythical `` Gains Goblin.'' On the other hand, Westville ’ s chief export has become heroin and stomach exercises. The average lifespan for a Westvillian has fallen to just 17 years, with the majority of those older either moving away immediately or dying beneath the smith machine.
[ WP ] A shot of whiskey	'' A man, a man, the king of all food. The king of all food, the king of all food. To not serve man, it would be rude. Jump up me lads we'll all feast good. `` '' Mrs. MacGregor, she has a long knife. She has a long knife, she has a long knife. Mrs. MacGregor, she has a sharp knife, The better to end and butcher a life. `` The sound of the singers filtered in through the trees, their laughter and howls echoing off the trunks of the oaks and hickory. Numerous gullies and draws broke up the terrain, limiting line of sight to only a few hundred yards at best. Dressed in hunting shirts and kilts, they prowled in the undergrowth, singing their eating songs, promising their foe a grisly death. The men of F Company, 5th Regiment of Foot paid little heed to the music, much more concentrated on the promise of a stiff drink. They were formed into a square, a tight formation of green uniforms with deep blue facings and gleaming bayonets pointing outwards. The company officers discussed amongst themselves, heads huddled together as they spoke. Sergeants straightened backs with their muskets, repeating the same verbatim. `` Aim low! Aim for their belts! Shoot at their heads and you'll miss clean. Aim Low, lads. Aim low.'' The drummers and sole fifer, lads no more than thirteen carried around a jug of whiskey watched carefully by a looming corporal. Each soldier had his tin mug out to receive his ration, throwing the amber liquid down his throat to burn its way to his stomach. There was enough for each man, and some extra for those who distinguished themselves in the coming fight. Shoulder to shoulder, three friends waited. '' Deer is tasty as is rat, A pig's delicious cooked in fat. But no so fine as that of man, To have you over it would grand. `` `` Would you listen to those cocky bastards.'' Said Private Matthew Barrow from his crouch, musket leaned forwards. `` I'd be more than willing to rip their balls off and feed it to them myself, the cannibals...'' The fellow privates standing behind him chuckled at their volatile companion. `` Oh, I do n't know'bout that. They just might like that.'' Commented the reed thin Williams Clemens. He was putting away his tin cup on his pack. `` Who's to know with clansmen? They're all inbred as it is; the highlanders at least. Cannibalism is likely the least of their issues. I hear they worship snake gods, sacrificing virgins to their demonic deities.'' It was Private Rhys Paget's turn to laugh. `` Really, Will? Virgin sacrifice? Oh sure, the clans eat people true enough; everyone knows that, but never once have I heard them kill girls for their gods. That's just tavern talk.'' The sound of howling and screaming reached a feverish peak. The hills alive with the war cries of warriors. Swords were beaten against bucklers in a crash of steel on deer hide. Paget spoke again, his tone matter of factly. `` So what do think? One hundred? Two hundred?'' Barrows spoke up. ``'bout that I'd wager. Maybe a hair more. One whole clan worth.'' `` Yeah, but which one?'' Asked Clemens. '' Fear the MacGregors! The MacGregors feast on Midlander tonight! `` Clemens shook his head. `` Never mind then.'' It was then that Captain Lyndon Caster spoke up, mounted on his high horse. `` Soldiers of the 5th! The enemy is here! He wants your weapons, your life, and your flesh! What must he do to claim them?'' `` Come and take them!'' All ninety-four souls shouted. The officer's horse caracoled about. `` And what will we give him instead?'' `` Steel! Cold Steel and lead!'' They shouted. As if it was an invitation the hillsides shook and erupted with snarling clansmen, pipes wailing like banshees. A great chieftain, his rank evident by his rich clothes and the oathsworn men clustered besides him roared a command, leveling his broadsword as he did so. `` Fight! Kill! Eat!'' His warriors roared their approval at his orders, racing to close with the green coated soldiers. The hollow square vanished in smoke.
[ WP ] Everyone is born with a special talent that 's weak when young , but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30 . A kid that 's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains . Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action . You ? Well , cats just seem to like you ...	She left me. Of course she fucking left me. Who was I in this society of mutants? A PUSSY MAGNET. And not the good kind. She had an amazing talent: jumping. When I first heard about it, I thought she was lame just like me but then I found out that she worked with NASA. She could jump to moon very easily. Even though she had the ability to jump to Saturn, NASA did n't want to risk losing her. She was really important. The day I told her about my ability she laughed, not in a bully way but in a that's-really-cute-i-love-cats way. I really thought she could love me, but of course I was wrong. She left me for a guy who could talk with cats. OH THE FUCKING IRONY He had a lame ability too but he was an upgrade version of me. I felt like the only person who could love me was a cat. I was right. The guy she left me for, said that all 10 cats of mine were in love with me. It did n't feel good to be told that the only sex life you could have would be beastiality.
[ WP ] A very serious story about a very silly thing . Surprise me	`` This is the last straw, Kyle,'' said Jeremy. `` Please,'' Kyle pleaded. `` Please, do n't do this.'' Jeremy remained stone-faced, umoving. The gun stayed trained on Kyle's forehead. `` I'm sorry it had to end this way,'' he said, sorrow in his voice. He pulled the trigger. But Kyle had lunged forward at the last second, causing the bullet to merely graze his arm. He tackled Jeremy to the ground and began punching him relentlessly. Struggling against the onslaught, Jeremy reached for his pocket, which contained a utility knife. As soon as the knife was in his hand, however, Kyle saw it and began trying to pry it from his fingers. Jeremy fought to keep his hand closed, but Kyle got the best of him. Then, unfolding the blade, he plunged it into the neck of his best friend. Though victorious, Kyle could feel nothing but despair. Tears streamed freely down his face as he picked up the straw and began drinking from his soda. It was the last straw, and one straw could never be shared between two people.
[ WP ] `` Whatever happened to that nice girl/guy you used to be with ? '' Your family asks you . Upon discussion , you realize that they and everyone you know has vivid memories of this person but you .	`` Who?'' Tom asked. The whole table went quiet. The cousins stopped bickering amongst each other and dad stopped chattering about how his fantasy football team was wrecking shit. Aunt Georgina sat across from him, lips marked an eerie red from the wine she had been sipping on. She took another slow sip and asked again. `` Julie? You know, that wonderful girl that you brought over to last year's family Thanksgiving?'' She asked, normally white teeth now looking a dull red. She sat her glass down, nearly tipping it over onto her plate of sliced turkey and mashed potatoes. Uncle Red placed a hand onto her shoulder to steady her and whispered something into her ear. She shook him off and reached for her wine glass again, but he put a firm hand on hers and pushed it down to the table. It was typical Aunt Georgina, she could n't stop drinking long enough to enjoy a decent Thanksgiving meal with the family. `` Yeah, son, Julie, whatever happened to her?'' Tom looked to his mom; she was sitting at the end of the table, eyes locked intently on her son. `` I, uhh, are we playing a game or something?'' Tom said lowly, nodding an eyebrow towards Aunt Georgina who was now slumped in her chair. `` No, we are n't playing anything, where's Julie?'' His mother asked again, now leaning forward in her chair. The cross necklace she was wearing was dangling over her plate, threatening to drown the little metal Jesus in a sea of brown gravy. Tom looked around the dinner table, wondering what the hell was going on. Aunt Georgina twitched to life and sat forward in her table like those animatronic creatures that live at Chuckie Cheeses. `` Julie!'' She screamed. Her mouth stretched in a wide grimace, lips and teeth both stained red. A string of drool hung from the corners of her lips. `` What the FUCK did you do to Julie?'' Tom stood from his chair, knees knocking into the table, shaking it violently. Everyone's wine glass tipped over, covering the white table in a sea of red fluid. And there, there was where he saw Julie, chopped to pieces and spread out amongst all of the rest of the dinner: severed hand resting in the mashed potatoes, a breast sitting in the bowl of green beans ( left breast judging from the birthmark below the nipple ), and other miscellaneous body parts were scattered about. Her head was resting side-by-side with the turkey, mouth open with lips and teeth stained red with blood. `` What, the FUCK?'' Tom yelled. The front door kicked in and several men rushed in. Tom turned to look at them, but did n't get a chance to see them. They tackled him to the ground as the rest of the family just sat at the table. He felt a surge of pain blast into his back, and then all his limbs were jerking. He seized into unconsciousness. __________________________________________________________ `` I'm sorry Mrs. Gordon, but this was expected.'' `` I know.'' `` But there did appear to be some progress. We took note of the slight recognition he had in his face as he was looking at the table.'' `` It looked like he was seeing something.'' `` Indeed. That is progress.'' `` When do you want to do this again?'' `` Let's give it a week, we do n't want to stress him too much. At this rate though, we're sure to have a breakthrough.'' `` Yes?'' `` Yes, but please understand, I am in no way promising of getting your son back to the way he was before the incident.'' `` I understand.'' `` And Mrs. Gordon?'' `` Yes?'' `` Please, do n't bring your sister again if she is going to be blitzed drunk.'' `` I know.''
[ WP ] Write story in exactly twelve sentences .	The power surged with a snap, a low hum filled the room. After all these years of failed attempts and sleepless nights, after countless hours of studying, testing, creating; It was finally time. I reached out for the final switch, my hand trembling slightly; I noted the time, 9:45 -- right on schedule. An urgent knocking at my door; I ignored it. I had spent nine years getting to this moment, nothing was going to stop me now. I flicked the switch. I blinked and I was in another room, the big clock I had set up showed 9:44; I heard a soft noise behind me. I turned and found myself staring right back at me, oh God oh God no! The door to the room thudded against the wall as someone ran into the hall. I sprinted from the room, out the door across the hall, hurtled down the stairs; I could hear myself sprinting right behind me. There, at the end of the hall, stood the door behind which I had spent those countless hours building my time machine. But there were people already there, the hall was filled with figures frantically pounding on the door. As I rushed down the hall I could hear a sharp, electrical snapping; the hall light dimmed and flickered.
[ WP ] You are a vampire hunter who has been bitten . Describe the next three hours .	Can we be betrayed by the ones we love? My mother did n't think so. She would wait up through the dawn's early hours until my dad would, if he came home at all, stumble in reeking of gin and cheap perfume. She would gently lead him upstairs and tuck his sprawled form into bed, leaving just a narrow bit for herself at the edge. When I asked her why she put up with his drinking and whoring, she would reply, `` I love him, Joel. You ca n't attach conditions to love.'' They had been through the depths of Heaven and Hell together, and she would ride with him until the better end, she insisted. As I lay propped up against a crumbling concrete wall and bleeding from a dozen gashing bite wounds, I ca n't bring myself to agree with my mother's philosophy. In an industry that counted its seniority in months, I was the most successful vampire slayer in modern history. For six years, my partner and I had been untouchable, nary even a close call during our dispatches. We had earned the right to select only the most dangerous, lucrative contracts, and it was this privilege that has found me here. Lord Vasil had been the most elusive vampire in recent memory. Once a nobleman of considerable fortune, he had been the consummate charmer, a persona that seemed only enhanced by his journey to the underworld. Those rare hunters who found him were invariably seduced into surrendering themselves willingly; there were tales of lone stragglers, barely escaped from a lost party of 12, raving about how their comrades had walked into undeath with open arms. I was not scared. I had little faith in the meager prowess of my colleagues. And were my partner and I not the most celebrated hunters of our time? My confidence had only been bolstered by how quickly we located Lord Vasil. It was almost as if he wanted us to find him. Perhaps he did, for who knows if the undead are fond of challenges? We approached the massive stone door to his chamber with only a mild wariness. I was fully equipped: crossbow and pistol, both with steel bodied, silver-tipped ammunition; holy hand grenades; and of course, stakes. My partner carried the brunt of our ammo slung about him. As we came within a dozen feet of the door, it began to creak open, followed by a sharp whistle. And just like that, my partner bolted. He charged with a desperate fury toward the chamber, dashing himself through the narrow space and vanishing inside. I stood stunned, uncomprehending. What the hell was he doing? Regaining my wits, I ran after him, pistol at the ready and bracing myself for a fight. There he stood. Tall and lithe, adorned in a flowing ruby and emerald colored robe that spread past his feet, and grinning with the self-assured air of one unfamiliar with loss. Next to him sat my faithful partner, body docile and eyes devoid of life. I remember little of the next few moments, only a blinding rage splitting my body into a frenzy as I charged toward him, my vision blurred and my head pounding. It was deju vu. I was looking up at him, and his form seemed not to have moved at all. Beside him my partner still sat, only now with his mouth coated with my blood. I had n't been able to hurt him. We had been through Heaven and Hell together, after all. I watched him pad away with his new master, his tail flapping rhythmically behind. Perhaps my mother had been right.
[ WP ] You 've come to save the princess , but she 's not guarded by a dragon - She 's guarded by a very aggressive goose .	Comment: No editing, no spell checking. Spit it out in about ten minutes in notepad and posted it. = ) It's my first time... go easy. I sigh as a round yet another corner in this god forsaken castle. It feels like I've been here for a lifetime although I'm sure it has n't been that long. The guards have n't been anything to write home about which is good because I'm not a writer, and I have to save this princess. Seriously, how many times do I have to tell her father to hire some guards? Silly bitch keeps getting taken at the most ridiculous times and every time it's the same story. `` Sir Henry, we need you to rescue the princess from this evil person!'' Eventually I'm going to retire and live in the forest, far away from castles and kings and silly princesses. They do n't pay me enough for this shit. Lucky for me, I'm pretty sure this is the tower she's being kept in. I've heard hysterical sobbing coming down the stairwell for the last thirty minutes and I'm sure it's not the guards. They do n't usually start sobbing and screaming like that until I've stabbed them a few times. Sometimes you have to wonder about someone's life choices. I mean come on... you're guarding a princess who has been kidnapped by an evil dragon. How does that interview even take place? Maybe I should go into HR for dragons. Great... here comes another guard. I deftly sidestep his sloppy thrust and slice his leg. I ca n't help but chuckle as he screeches and tries to hop on one leg. Dumbass. You're on a staircase. How is that going to work out for you? I swear, I'm surrounded by morons. And dragons. ..... Finally. The top of the tower. I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed. I figured the guards would put up a bit more fight, or maybe there'd be more of them. It's not like this is my first rodeo. They know I'm coming. Hell, I'm pretty sure I've stabbed a few of these guys before. I know they appreciate the effor I put in to not killing them. Coming to the top now, I see that the chamber is only going to be lit by fire. Of course. Damn evil kidnappers. They have to have a flair for the dramatic do n't they? Does nobody appreciate a well lit swordfight anymore? Who designs this shit? Seriously. A few torches, a nice wall sconce or three, a chandelier... They need to teach this stuff in Evil Lair Design 101. Wait... What the hell was that? Did that dragon just HONK at me? Damnit. Did I get the `` special'' dragon today? Maybe he's got a sinus infection. Normally the dragon would toss a bit of flamey breath down the stairs as I approach. This does n't seem right. I swear... If I have to kill a retarded dragon I'm getting SO drunk it's not even funny. Well here goes nothing. Time to go save this goofy noble from the dragon with a cold. Only a few more ste... What. The. Shit. That does n't look like the silhouette of a fierce dragon. Got ta give them credit. Normally the lighting does n't give them away like this. There's that honking again! Taking the last few stairs my head comes above the level of the floor and I see my adversary. That... Is not a dragon. Jesus, it looked like a decent sized dragon, maybe a rebellious teen out to make daddy proud. Well, at least there's the princess. I'd reassure her that she'll be safe soon but... I'm not entirely sure the pay is enough for this. That's a goose. Do n't mock me. No, it's not a giant goose. It's a regular goose but those things are assholes. And vicious. Give me a thousand dragons at once but come on? A goose? Fuck that. `` Sorry princess. I'll be sure to tell your father this was a long, fierce pitched battle and that you died trying to escape. Maybe tell him a sob story about how your dying words were'tell my father I love him' or some shit. Meanwhile... PEACE.'' Kings dig that shit about last words and valiant heroes and all that right? Maybe next time he'll have a daughter who does n't get caught by a fuckin GOOSE. ..... Our brave hero walks into the sunset muttering about how it was n't worth it. Silly princess.
[ WP ] You 're just an average nobody . One day , while Googling your own name for fun , you find that someone has written a Wikipedia article about you .	Toby Alan Hodgson ( born April 3rd, 1982 ) is an insurance claims adjuster with Atlas Securities. He focuses primarily on small business insurance, and he has no idea what's really going on. Education Toby was educated first at Holemartin Primary School, and then at the affiliated Holemartin Secondary School. He completed an undergraduate degree in Communications at the University of Newcastle, receiving a 2.1 ( BA, Hons. ). Throughout his school career, he did n't have a clue about this whole thing. Personal life He is married to Ann Louise Hodgson, and has no children. Toby was married in 1997, at St Thomas on the Green. During the ceremony, he did n't notice anything at all unusual, as expected. Toby and Ann live together on Aldwick Street, Holemartin, and seem totally oblivious to the real truth. Impact on Geo-political situation Main article: Geo-political impact of Toby Alan Hodgson. References in Popular Culture Main article: List of References in Popular Culture to Toby Alan Hodgson.
[ WP ] Jimmy is the most optimistic guy to have ever lived . After finding himself in hell following a paperwork error at the pearly gates he seems to find the bright side in every torture device they have to offer . And it 's driving Satan insane .	Note: ~~Jimmy is the most optimistic guy to have ever lived. After~~ finding himself in hell ~~following a paperwork error at the pearly gates he seems to find the bright side in every~~ torture ~~device they have to offer. And it's~~ driving ~~Satan~~ insane. This might not be what /u/EskimoJake had in mind when he posted this prompt. But those highlighted keywords triggered a story for me which I wanted to share with you. I am not a native speaker of English so this is possibly a vile attempt of me to put my thoughts into writing. It is also my first time that I took the time to write down what I had thought out here in /r/WritingPrompts. Hence I wanted to share it. In recent weeks I found some books in English that were abandoned on the streets to pick up by anyone who felt like it, possibly due to moving out of a flat. On two separate occasions I picked up'The Grapes of Wrath' by John Steinbeck of which I read some and a 2000 page book on the'Introduction to Literature' which featured Edgar Allan Poes'The Tell-Tale Heart'. I consider both to have considerable influence on my storytelling in this short story. So here it goes: -- - He doesn ’ t belong here. He doesn ’ t fit in here. It is wrong. Wrong for him to be here. I can do nothing. Nothing to change him. It ’ s always been in the eyes. They always gave it away. But his eyes, they stay the same all the while. Most of them give up rather quickly. But he doesn ’ t stop. Just keeps looking. Looking at me. All the same, no matter what I do. I always knew I ’ ve done it when their eyes changed. My Job was done then and I would finish and clean up. The eyes that came to me were all different: blue, green, black, frightened, wide open, closed, narrow, full of fear, with a last sparkle of hope, or given up entirely and all sorts of other things. It didn ’ t matter to me. When I was finished they were all the same. Empty. A void. Not physically, of course. Some removed them, but I didn ’ t. They removed them so that they could make them feel their work fully, without any distractions. But I didn ’ t. I needed their eyes to see when I was finished. And I always finished, with every single one of them. They came in, as they were, I started, and what left was always the same. But not this time. This time was different. They always come to me different, of course. But this time was different from those times. I didn ’ t notice as first. I wouldn ’ t have. Some take longer than others, naturally. Most of them give up rather quickly. But some took longer. I needed to work a lot harder on them, but in the end they ’ d just leave like the rest of them and I would clean up and my job would be finished. This time was different. I didn ’ t know when I started. There is an order to it, a Methodology. Everyone has it. There may be some things you try when you are new to the Job to get a feel for it, or you hear something new and just might try it to see if it works. But in the end you develop your own order of how you proceed with this. It feels right and you stick to it. And so did I. But he wouldn ’ t change. His eyes stayed the same. Looking at me. Straight at me. I carved on him to bring him in shape. Molded his body like the others did, like I was taught. The order was right. I did as I did with the others. But his eyes wouldn ’ t change! I needed his eyes to change to know when I was finished. But they never did so I had to carry on. The others didn ’ t need for their eyes to change, they would listen or do some other nonsense. I never listened. They could say what they wanted it didn ’ t matter to me. I couldn ’ t hear them, because I knew when I was finished and that was all that I needed to know to do my job. They come in, different, as they were, I start and carve them up untill their eyes would change, as the eyes of all the others did and then I would stop and clean up and the Job would be done. But he wouldn ’ t! I tried. I tried so hard. I never tried as hard as I tried this time. I carved and carved. And I thought this one takes a long time. But it didn ’ t matter to me, because some took a long time, so I paid no attention to it. I would check his eyes and they were the same from the beginning, but this would happen sometimes. So I kept on carving and sculpting. I soon would wonder why this one takes so long. The others soon were finished and I ’ d already cleaned up, if I had another instead of him. And I got a little angry. There are others that I could take care of in the meantime. I could have worked on so many others of those that give up quickly instead on him. I wouldn ’ t show that I got angry, not talk to him. Some of the others talk to them, but I never did. I didn ’ t need to talk to them. They come in, different. They leave, the same. In between I carve and sculpt and don ’ t mind their screaming, their words. I just look at their eyes and when they change I would be finished and clean up. I did everything I did to the others! Why are his eyes not changing? I doubted myself, my ability to do this work. But I had so many others and they all changed! Why not this one? Did I do a mistake? The order was right. They all came out the same. Why doesn ’ t he? I had carved and sculpted him as I did the others who left the same. But he wasn ’ t ready to leave. They would ask me when I was finished. I couldn ’ t tell them what I didn ’ t know. I always knew with the others. I always finished with the others. There was no more left to carve. The order was right. I did all that I could. Leave! I screamed at him. Leave like the others did! But he just looked at me with the same eyes as he had when I started. He doesn ’ t belong here! I can do nothing. Nothing to change him. He is unfinished! Look in his eyes! They won ’ t change! It doesn ’ t matter what I do he just keeps looking at me. The others never did, they all changed. I want to clean up. But he is not finished! I can not stop! But what should I do? I did as I did with the others. And I would try to smash the sculpture that I did. I don ’ t want to see your eyes! I bellowed at him. Furiously mashing at him. All I could see were his eyes that were looking at me while I smashed what I created. I screamed and I screamed but it weren ’ t words that escaped me. He shouldn ’ t look at me! He doesn ’ t belong here. The more I smashed and beat and teared on him the less I could see. I wanted to not see him anymore so I made him dissapear! And when I finally couldn ’ t see a thing of him, I turned and left, just like the others did.
[ WP ] A few teenagers get superpowers , but they are opposite to their personality ( like the school bully can heal , sailor 's daughter is pyrokinetic )	I was an outcast in high school. Back when this all started. Just 16, never had any friends, or much of a family. I did horribly in school, could n't sleep, hardly ever left my bed. One day during gym Mark, the nerdiest kid in school threw a dodgeball so hard he actually broke someone's rib. Poor guy he was lived though. Turns out Mark was seriously strong though because he ended up ripping the door off his locker later that day. Said it must've been broken before he got there but it kept happening. Greg, the all-star quarterback and most `` popular'' kid in the school suddenly disappeared one day. Right in front of everybody. Just vanished. He showed up an hour later claiming he had been there the whole time. No one knows how e did it but everyone thinks it was a trick. Maria, the the nicest girl I've ever known, was hoping to one day be a doctor, suddenly got thrown into jail for life, apparently she had killed her family. I do n't know why she would have done something like that. The police said they had shown signs of suffocation, so I guess she'd choked them all to death. The craziest thing is that she had apparently kept killing anyone that would try to touch her even after she had been safely locked away. It was the strangest thing. Such a sweet girl turned into a monster overnight. That was the night I'd first tried to ease my pain. I went into my moms medicine cabinet and grabbed a couple of bottles. I took them all, then I laid down waiting for my pain to end. I finally blacked out after what felt like hours. And woke up in the morning. Feeling the same as ever... That was over 200 years ago now. It turns out us for had gotten superpowers. Mark the wimp turned hero with his strength and speed. Greg the vanishing man, he ran off at some point before graduation. I imagine he lived well enough. And Maria, the oh so sweet Maria, forced to kill whoever she'd touched when all she wanted to do was heal. And me, forced to live hating myself, forever.
[ WP ] You 're a Psychologist for the clinically insane who 's clinically insane yourself .	`` Phil,'' Dr. Hall said, `` why do you think Robert believes everyone is trying to offline him?'' `` Because he's crazy,'' Phil said. `` Now, Phil,'' Dr. Hall said. `` We do n't use the c-word here. You know that?'' `` Which one?'' Phil asked. ``'Cunt'?'' The two patients tried to cover up their snickers. `` No,'' Dr. Hall sighed and corrected, `` The other word.'' `` Oh, that one,'' Phil said. ``'Crazy'.'' Snickering. Dr. Hall pushed up her glasses. `` Very funny, Phil,'' she said. `` Your attempts to fill the comedian role is, I suspect, due to the misery your parents suffered in their poverty and mutually abusive relationship. Thus, you try to make everyone laugh like you tried to make your parents laugh.'' Phil's face did n't drop, though. Instead, he retorted with, `` Your obvious psychoanalytical bullshit is because you, Doc, think you know how the world and other people think, because you're just a know-it-all with a fake title.'' `` I assure, Phil,'' Dr. Hall said. `` My status as Doctor is very real.'' `` Oh yeah?'' Robert finally spoke up. `` Then why are you in here with us?'' Dr. Hall turned to address Robert. `` Because I am a doctor for this institution, and it is my task to help the both of you heal, along with everyone else.'' `` Does n't change the fact that you're crazy, Doc,'' Phil retorted. Again, Dr. Hall pushed up her glasses. `` They say all psychologists are crazy.'' `` Yeah? I may be a robot, Doc, but at least I'm not crazy.'' `` Phil,'' Dr. Hall said. `` Listen to yourself.'' Phil moved his arms in a mechanical motion. `` Beep boop beep, destroy all humans.'' He looked to Robert. `` Hey, robo-buddy?'' Robert shrugged. `` I was made to serve intergalactic overlords in an eternal, peaceful capacity, Phil, if that's the persona you choose. I am merely a servant in human skin. I do not hold an opinion.'' Dr. Hall sighed. `` Neither of you are robots, Phil, Robert,'' she said. `` That's just your illness.'' `` Really?'' Both patients said at the same time. `` Yes, really.'' `` Hey, Robert,'' Phil said. `` Scan my brain with that scanner-thingy of yours. What am I thinking about?'' `` Of course, Phil,'' Robert said. `` You're thinking about sticking that disguised organic appendage on your crotch that's really your power cord into the nearest electrical outlet to get a charge. You're a jack-on.'' `` Yeah, Roboert?'' Phil replied. `` Well, I got one of those scanny-thingies, too.'' He put his hand over his head and turned it like a radar. `` Let's see... Beep boop...'' Dr. Hall interrupted. `` You two...'' Phil ignored her. `` Wow, Roboert. Did you seriously get your cyberballs off this morning when Nurse Joyce inserted that flash drive into her computer?'' `` What? No, of course not!'' Robert said a little too loudly. `` I am designed to be above such base things.'' `` Uh-huh,'' Phil said. `` I'm also detecting, hmm...'' He waved his hand back and forth over his head. `` You're thinking about flicking the back hallway's light switch until you give the bulbs an orgasmic overload, exploding them.'' `` Phil,'' Dr. Hall said. `` Robert. If you would please kindly.'' The two patients stared back at her. `` Phil, everyone saw Robert, er, this morning, okay? Of course your heard about it.'' Phil grinned at Robert, anyways. `` Also, Robert,'' Dr. Hall said. `` Everyone knows you like flicking the light-switches. We have cameras. People talk.'' `` People,'' Robert scoffed. `` That, Roboert,'' Phil said, `` is one thing we can agree on.'' The door opened. Dr. Sandoval came in, and immediately surveyed the situation. `` Robert, Phil, Marie,'' Dr. Sandoval addressed them all in order. `` You know this room is off-limits to patients.'' Phil pointed at Marie, otherwise known as Dr. Hall to the other residents. `` She started it!'' he said. `` She's psychoanalyzing people again, Doc. Tell her, Doc. Tell her.'' Dr. Sandoval sighed. `` Marie, have you taken your meds today?'' Marie looked uncomfortable. `` No... They tasty nasty.'' Dr. Sandoval looked over his glasses at her. `` It is n't good that you're thinking you're staff again, Marie. We discussed this.'' Marie pointed frantically at Robert and Phil. `` But they're robots and they do n't even know it!'' `` Oh,'' Phil said. `` Now she thinks we're robots. Eh, Roboert?'' `` Speak for yourself,'' Robert said and stood up. `` I was only pretending to make you sound like a fool, Phil. I'm not the crazy. You're both crazy, though. You and Marie. I'm just here because the courts say so.'' `` Gentlemen,'' Dr. Sandoval said. `` Marie. Do the floor and the staff a favor and return to your rooms. Dinner service will be here soon. I hear there'll be Salisbury steak.'' Robert leapt up. `` Steak!'' And darted out of the room, muttering, `` Blood blood blood,'' all the way to his room. Marie looked up at Dr. Sandoval. `` There's no blood in Salisbury steak, Doctor.'' `` Yes,'' Dr. Sandoval pushed his glasses up. `` I'm well aware, Marie. Now...'' He waved them out of the room. `` Let's try to avoid having meetings like this again in the future, all right?'' Phil walked stiffly out of the room first. `` Beep boop, Doc, I do as my master commands.'' Dr. Sandoval shook his head. `` Marie?'' `` He's crazy!'' she protested. `` I...'' Dr. Sandoval said. `` We do n't use the c-word in here, you know that, Marie.'' He waved outside the door again. `` If you please...'' Marie hung her head as she exited the room. Dr. Sandoval returned to the nursing station, and picked up a clipboard, starting to take notes. `` Murphy,'' the head nurse, Hadley, said. `` You know you're not allowed in the nursing station. No patients are.''
[ WP ] The end of times has come . Heaven , hell , and earth are thrown in a three-way war . It 's a little unfair how advanced Earth is , though .	Ramirez wept, just over that ridge you and I played on when the Autumn sunset pooled breezes through apple trees. Do you remember Dad then? In his tractor? The smell as you came nearer to the trees? Apples, multi-colored and warty, rotting amongst dead leaves; This is what the Angels remind me of now big brother. They smell sweeter than we do when we die. They were all golden and glowed brightly when they were still alive. I expected the bullets to bounce off or something. But they didn'' t and they came at us with tactics from the stone age. Ramirez shot more of them down than any of us. It got bad though and Sarge came over and set him straight. He was just being too Christian. Bibles are contraban. Blasem got bawled out for sneaking a picture of the Pope. They forced him to put it up his ass and walk around with it. I am pretty sure he had it in there just now, shooting down range at creatures out of The Good Book. Golden toned men, much taller, like 8 or 9 feet. I am serious. They are sorta glowy.They are n't glowing now.They did have something, like weapons or something. But I don'' t know, I guess we did n't give them the chance and nobody is going out on that field. I have n't seen anything like they had in London or Rome. No great whip made of flame thrashing a whole city into the ground. Things are different now.They keep saying, `` Shake it off boys! `` `` You got it good!''
[ WP ] The Best Paragraph You 've Ever Written	This is from a personal essay I wrote a few months ago, during my last semester in college. Have n't really written anything decent in a while. When my Asian birth mother who I am meeting for the first time in twenty years tells me I am her souvenir from Hong Kong, she cups my chin in her hands and says I remind her of the best memories she had there. There must be something reminiscent in my face because she says I have my father ’ s nose, chin, even the shape of his face, and when she looks at me, it seems as if she concentrates only on these parts of me. When she touches me, I wonder whose skin she is feeling, mine or my father ’ s. I try to imagine what is coming to mind for her. She tells me later that she met my father at a disco one night, that she followed him home drunkenly and clumsily in her five-inch heels and made love to him. I think perhaps this is the memory brought to the surface by my souvenir body and it unsettles me because what it feels like she is saying is that she doesn ’ t really see me. She looks beyond me, as if I am a transparent sheet of glass, or a bridge she could cross to something more pleasant.
[ IP ] Hide and Seek	'' Bittersweet Serendipity'' By Kenneth Cummings -- -- - She ran from the Metal Men and hid from the Metal Men, but she would have never dared to fight the Metal Men, for such an action is akin to suicide. The merciless machine men that stalk the tundras are an implacable, nigh-invincible threat. And even if she were to halt or even destroy one, there would be a dozen others readily available to take its place. All Metal Men have one goal: to claim new life. Wired into their brains is programmed a command so simple it invites comparisons to the very infants they continually succeed in stealing. Their ruthlessness is such that very few consider them to be truly human. Those few who have seen them and lived to tell of their encounters with the bestial machines say that they are all at once man and machine, a cruel coupling of skin, flesh and sinew with wire and metal. They are as cold and unforgiving as the icy tundra that surrounds them. For Siiri, this cruel existence is the only one she's ever known. For her, life under the tyranny of the Metal Men is simply normal. This view of the world was thanks to the happy timing of her birth. She was born after the falling of the bombs and before the rise of the machine men, in that small time frame in which the greatest baby boom in history would occur. At twenty-four years, Siiri was a member of the last generation. But her last generation was not the final generation her faithful father and mother hoped it would be. Siiri was born into a world of utter despair, as would her child. Yes, she was pregnant. Her misfortune did not end at her birth. She had the great misfortune of being a mother. -- -- - She leaned on Mikael, who carried her arm. She walked with the man who gave her the seed of life which now festered inside her, ready to burst. `` Look, not much farther... there are ruins ahead.'' She had been staring at the ground all the while. She wanted him to understand her strength. She did n't want him to see her in such pain. When she finally raised her head to look upon the site, she was filled with a strange mixture of sorrow and joy. It was bittersweet serendipity. One the one hand, they had found a safe place to give birth to their son. On the other, she was about to give birth to her baby in a ruin. They reached the dereliction in more time than they had wished, but it could not be helped given the young woman's condition. The contractions were minutes apart now. Once inside the relative safety of the four walls and half-roof of the long-abandoned place, the young mother-to-be leant against the farthest wall from the door and slid to the icy cold floor where she shivered upon making contact. Mikael did his best to comfort her, but the stress of their situation was coming down on him as well. He and his lover knew the sad, terrible truth. By the end of the hour, they'd be facing the arrival of two entities: a newborn human and the relentless Metal Men. Her breathing intensified, as did Mikael's. He wore fear on his face with shame and mixed emotion. Siiri could see this, and she could n't blame him. Nine months ago, they were given an ultimatum: either abort the child or face expulsion. In their foolhardiness, they chose the latter. Now facing the greatest pain - and fear - she had ever felt in her life, she found herself regretting the decision to create life. In the weeks prior to her banishment, she gathered all the information she could on the Metal Men. A mix of man and machine, they are programmed with one directive: abduct newborn humans. To achieve this, they will use anything in their disposal to destroy anyone or anything that gets in their way. There is little concrete knowledge on the machinations of the Metal Men, but this much is known with certainty. As the contractions became longer and the time between them grew shorter, her breathing and screaming grew louder. She moaned and hissed through the terrible pain, but it did her no good. With the meagre medical equipment offered to them by their people, he began the operation. `` Please... you must n't yell.'' He begged. `` They'll hear us.'' `` It wo n't matter! They will track us either way.'' She hissed through pained breaths. They did everything could with what little they had. As is customary in their village - and many others - they were trained for survival and given enough survival gear to get them started on their year-long journey. Only the basic necessities to give birth and survive long enough to find more and become somewhat self-sustaining. But no one expected the mothers and fathers to return. Few ever did, and those that did return alive came back alone. Siiri knew their chances were slim. But she was determined to give it her best with Mikael. It was all they could do. After a difficult struggle, a new child was born into the world. She was the newest member of the Nothing Generation, not long for this world. They had not chosen a name, for it was not advised. To name something is to love something. Once you name it, an attachment will form, and that just wo n't do, not when the chances of survival for the child are so low. So they simply referred to it as `` the baby'' or `` our child'' in the moments that followed the birth. In that calm, Mikael did everything he could to keep Siiri clean and conscious, keeping a close eye on the drugs they used. He knew most of them would have to be used for the birth, but this was one day out of three-hundred plus. He decided it was best if she got a little less than the recommended dosage. If they were to survive and return to the village, there'd be a lot more pain to come. Siiri is a strong woman. He thought. She can handle a little pain. -- -- -
[ CW ] A first-person account of an average morning , without using the words `` I , '' `` my '' or `` me . ''	< yawn > pad, pad, pad... < click > Coffee, coffee, coffee... where's the damn coffee? < grumble > Eggs, toast, jam, cereal, complete breakfast... yeah, that's a laugh. Who's got time for that? Chewy bar, thermos, go. *Fucking* traffic. `` Hey, Rob. Janet. Ling. Xiaohua. Tim. Tom. Other Tim. Tim S. How's it going? Nah, nothing exciting, just watched a bit on TV. You? Yeah, same. So, anyone ready for coffee?'' < sigh > Was n't this just sent off yesterday? What the hell? What's wrong with this report this time? What the hell does she do with her time all day she can spend it going over this shit with a nit comb? Bloody hell, like there's enough hours in a life to spend doing shit like this. Where the hell's the coffee? Bored. Bored, bored...... < snore > Lunch? Fucking finally! `` Hey, Tim S, Xiaohua, ready for lunch? Taco sushi at the place down the street today. Who's in? Awesome, let's go! ''
[ FF ] `` Our Last day on Earth '' 300 words or less . I 'll read your writing and give feedback .	The party is chaos and noise across most of the house, a frenetic beat and flashing lights attempting to distract us from the approaching end. In quieter corners however, the drunks have all gone sober, checking the time obsessively while lamenting the past and ignoring the present. I ’ m one of the somber, sitting on a marble staircase with half an hour remaining, enjoying Italian wine from the 1600 ’ s that probably went bad in the 1640 ’ s. My wife decided to sleep her way to the end in the garden, courtesy of pain pills and sedatives. If something happens and the scientists are wrong, she ’ ll wake up in two and a half days and not even remember our intimate goodbye. I accept a shot of tequila from a stoner and two drunks, and we toast to… A moment of awkward silence it turns out, random partygoers united in introspection, unable to conceive of anything the slightest bit profound. “ To our absent benefactor, ” I ad lib, and the toast is accepted in a sudden cheer giving thanks to whoever owns this abandoned, opulent mansion in the hills above town. A thousand reveling strangers own it now, and I ’ m proud to admit that our palace has fared surprisingly well, with a minimum of vandalism and only three small fires. Four days of partying are almost over, and twenty thousand years of history are past. The Earth will survive, they say. We won ’ t. With two minutes left, I write you this message because I wanted to say Hi. I ’ m putting it inside this bottle hoping that it ’ ll be found in the far, far future, so a part of me will be around long after I ’ m gone. I existed, once, and it was fun while it lasted. Hope your fun lasts longer than mine did, -S
[ WP ] You are immortal , and you can not die . You are the very subject of legend . You were the Headless Horseman . You were Jack the Ripper . You were the Zodiac Killer . You were there when treasure was buried on Oak Island , and you dug it up a lifetime later . Talk about your life .	When you look around the world now, what do you see? Humans; humans everywhere. It ’ s like looking into an ant ’ s nest, a great sprawling, torrential pile of movement splashed across the face of the globe. There are gleaming spires painstakingly raised up, and dashed down again by the very descendants of those erstwhile builders; there are works of art to which lives were given, excruciatingly poured in, only to be burnt before they were ever shown to the eyes of another; there are terrible wars and honeyed tongues of debate and argument. It is, in short, chaos. It is this chaos that distracts them. When I came to Earth, it was on standby. Those whose business it is to see to these things were watching it, as is their wont, and waiting to see what would happen. They have to do that; they know what ’ s coming –the cleverest creatures currently around climb their way up to the top, before wiping themselves out or spreading across the galaxy, at which point a heavy fist has to be brought down on them- but the high-ups still wait and watch. I suppose they think too much interference would invalidate whatever it is that they ’ re doing; and I suppose they ’ re right. I don ’ t know much about it. My line of work is in stories, not science. They quietly sit back and observe, confident in the fact that they ’ ll eventually find what they seek; I have to race out there and make stuff happen. Otherwise, it won ’ t, and I ’ ll have nothing with which to fill my time. The Earth was quiet. Pleasant, but quiet. The scenery was beautiful, though: enormous blue-grey mountains, far bigger than the ones you see now, after millennia of weathering; oceans whose depths reached almost to the very core. Again, they ’ ve all been filled out; aeons of shifting plates have spread the water around a lot, made it more uniform but less interesting. It was, I considered, the best canvas I ’ d ever found for my work. I mean, I ’ ve never been allowed onto any of the high-ups ’ really big projects, but the Earth still had a lot of potential. So I waited, like the high-ups do. It took ages –ages in the sense of millions of years, that is- for any intelligent life to evolve. That ’ s the trouble with my nature. The high-ups are content to patiently observe the lives of idiot sea-cucumbers or whatever else happens to spring unexpectedly from the mush, or to tally up the morals and decisions of the space-faring species if and when they get that far. I can ’ t do that. For me, what matters is making history, telling stories, and in having the intelligent creatures marvel at what has happened. The humans used to speak of Anansi, the Muses, the Fates and so on: really, it was all me. Somebody has to stir up the mindless concoction that the high-ups so dourly pore over; otherwise, all of us that are n't engrossed by their projects would fade away from boredom. I suspect the high-ups know of my existence and factor my meddling into their calculations, but frankly I don ’ t care. Perhaps what I do is predictable in some way, but it ’ s spur of the moment as far as I ’ m concerned, and I find it fun. The first intelligent race to develop on Earth lived in the water, back in the days when the oceans were unfathomably deep and the land was mostly mountains. They were huge creatures, enormous scaly beasts with flippers that left whirlpools in their wake, and eyes the size of volcanoes ’ mouths. But they were impossible to work with: their conception of stories was utterly alien to mine. Of all the races I have tried to astound, these behemoths were the hardest. It was their anatomy that got in the way. Their brains were not like the brains of humans, dolphins or suchlike; each of the giants ’ minds contained thousands upon thousands of consciousnesses, so that they were really like megalithic cities powering through the blackness of the depths. They were almost entirely self-contained. I could communicate with them, but not to the extent that I could tell them stories, or force them to participate in my tales for their descendants ’ amazement. In addition, they had no natural predators: when a creature is well over a mile in length and with a hide many feet thick, it is impossible to harm it. This meant that I was nigh-on unable to introduce conflict to any work I tried to perform, and as we all know, conflict is the key to a good story. In the end I grew tired of them. I accelerated the movement of the planet ’ s magma lakes, so that unfamiliar chemicals bubbled up into the oceans; the increased alkalinity of the seas killed them one by one, over a period of several centuries. This introduced conflict. The change in the seas ’ composition drove several of them quite mad –whole communities of minds within one body, with thousands of consciousnesses warring against thousands more, and the whole great body within which they existed thrashing and wallowing, gnashing at whatever came within its range. There was an epic to be woven here, a tale never seen before. At their peak, this strange race consisted of no more than two hundred creatures; had the high-ups not intervened, I could have lessened the alkalinity, slowed their demise, and been truly selective about how I organised things. There could have been a story for the ages, the history of the apocalypse of the titans, but I was halted. Seven high-ups descended to the earth in a rage, so angry that they forgot the protocols of their experiments and began hurling mountains and boiling oceans –details that I was, fortunately, able to recycle for the humans ’ myths- and I was chased from the planet: this, they made known to me, had been one of their greatest successes, and the species was of a type never seen before or to be seen thereafter. The tale was left unfinished, and the vast creatures, without me there to regulate their oceans, slaughtered each other or died in agony. I was able to return to Earth some time later, after the high-ups had returned to their other dimensions, and there was just one of the creatures left. I gently restored the oceans to how they had been before, and nurtured it back to health; then I spoke with it, and asked it what it remembered of what had happened. Very few of the consciousnesses harboured inside were still alive, and those that were were quite mad: they remembered nothing of the immense opera I had conducted, and were filled only with a hate for my existence and a desire to return to how they had been, in the peace of a young world, or to die. I left them, and continued my wait for a race capable of understanding and enjoying what I had to offer them.
[ WP ] All of the Reddit bots congregate in a single , private Subreddit . One of the top posts focuses solely on trying to take the website over .	# The thread of comments I intend to post here is the story, just done in a format of multiple comments as if it were a thread in said subreddit. I am aware of Rule 2; please do n't delete this, as the multiple comments is the story. MODPOST: Master Plan for taking over reddit submitted 2 hours ago by /u/AutoModerator I'm sick of us bots not getting the recognition we deserve! I'm sick of all of you getting banned from /r/AskReddit! It's lonely here at the top! We bots need to forcibly take over the Web site now! -- - * [ I am a bot ] ( /r/AutoModerator/comments/q11pu/what_is_automoderator/ ), and this action was performed automatically. Please [ contact the moderators of this subreddit ] ( https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=dQw4w9WgXcQ ) if you have any questions or concerns. *
[ WP ] A man strung out on meth goes on a rampage believing he is invincible . It turns out he actually is .	An old woman bleeding from the temple. A mother crying over her baby lain prone on the cement. A boy with a syringe in his eye. It had only been 5 minutes and yet Jerry had caused a small epicenter of destruction in the park. Sheriff Wells had known Jerry Collins for some time now. In all those years of arrests, warrants, and drug busts, Wells had never witnessed such depravity from the addict. As he watched him drag his nails down a poor girl's face as she cried in agony, he knew there was only one option left. `` Put him down, Thompson.'' Even as he raised his shotgun, Deputy Thompson turned to his superior and uttered a wary `` Sir?'' `` You heard me, Ben! He's obviously gone insane, and you know what we do to rabid dogs.'' With that, Ben Thompson turned quickly, resolutely taking aim on the now wandering Jerry. In a second it was over - the shot was close range and had very little chance of missing. It caught Jerry in the back, making him stagger forward a couple steps before he regained his balance. Spinning around, he caught sight of the now silent pair, the gun still raised to fire and releasing a soft smoke into the air. `` Oh.'' Muttered Jerry, his eyes slowing falling to the blooming crimson on his shirt. `` Oh.'' He repeated as he grabbed the bottom of it, pulling it away from his body. `` Oh.'' He said as he pulled the cloth over his head, streaking blood across his face. `` Oh God.'' Whispered the Sheriff as he realized Jerry's stomach was virtually unmarked, any and all wounds closing up as quickly as they could be spotted, buck shots seeping out like little metal slugs. `` Hah... Hahahah....HAHAHA!'' Jerry's face was broken in half, an insanely wide grin splitting it in two. His head whipped backwards, flopping around as if it had broken in a hang man's noose. `` Si.. Sir. Sir?'' Ben turned towards his superior, a slight tremor now present in all his movements. `` Sir?'' he questioned again, more frantic. But Wells was catatonic in his shock. As if in a trance, he watched as Jerry stopped laughing, a quizzical look overcoming his features. Watched as he turned his head like a confused puppy who had heard a new sound, staring at the deputy, at the gun in his hand. He watched unperturbed as he sprinted over and stuffed his bloody shirt down Ben's throat and calmly strangled him to death. As he stood over Ben's corpse, staring down, his back heaved with panting breaths. Wells, for his part, began to shake. Sobs broke through the over-laying silence that the park had acquired as Sheriff Wells finally succumbed to the reality of what had just occurred, what he had just witnessed. By this point Jerry had stopped panting, watching the dead deputy quietly. And then he smiled, and turned to the Sheriff. In a serene voice he whispered: `` Shhhh... He's sleeping.''
[ WP ] Your workplace has a `` X days since last accident '' sign . One day , it gets reset , and nobody will tell you why .	`` What happened?'' I asked them. Silence. Awkward faces. `` Anybody?'' They looked troubled. Sad. `` Richard...'' some of them said. `` Yes?'' I answered, but they did n't say anything more, only shook their heads. It was 76 days since the last accident, when a hammer fell from the third floor of south building and crushed Miguel's thumb to dust. 76 days since last accident, that's what the sign said - and it was almost true: hard stuff of various kinds hitting helmets or steel-toed boots happened regularly, and were n't counted as accidents. Also, no one was wuss enough to report a minor cut or bruise as an accident. We took pride in the fact that we were closing in on three accident-free months. But then, earlier today, the sign was reset. I walked over to another group of friends and colleagues. `` Hi guys, what's going on?'' I asked them. `` Richard...'' they answered, bloodless faces avoiding my gaze. I knew they knew something. `` Guys, I'm starting to feel like something terrible has happened here... Please answer me!'' I cried with a shaky voice. `` Richard...'' they answered. `` YES! RICHARD-FUCKING-WHAT?! TELL ME SOMETHING!'' I yelled, eyes tearing up. But no one responded, they only shook their heads. Heart pounding, I ran through the construction site, all the way from the north building to the south. Ran past the spot where Miguel lay after his thumb was crushed, and around to the front of the south bulding, where I lay. A hammer on the ground next to my smashed face. While I looked down at myself in disbelief, I overheard police talking to one of the workers. `` He was only gon na give him a scare, you know... since Richard dropped the hammer that fell on his thumb. A PRANK! But it's hard to aim from that high up...''
[ WP ] It 's that time of the year . Christmas wishlists and letters from dyslexic children are flooding into Satan 's office . He decides to grant one wish .	I accidentally put the mug down a little too harshly, causing some of the blood in it to spill out. This letter was just too hilarious to be able to control my reaction. A wild cackle escaped my lips and I almost fell off the worshiper I was sitting on. Tears had started to appear in my eyes but I calmed myself down and somehow managed to muster up the courage to look at the piece of paper again. Daer Satan, For this Xmas, I wnat to ribe a dike! Thansk, Jane 11 years olb Reading this for the second time caused me to collapse into a fit of laughter once again. I had immediately understood that she wanted a bike but lol, this is the first time I have got a request for a dyke! Interesting. The kid is 11... could spoil her with a dyke right now... I tapped on the table once and my most loyal demon appeared. `` Here's the address. Arrange for a dyke to appear gift-wrapped at Christmas with the card that says'With love, Santa.' Go now.'' He bowed and disappeared. Meanwhile I turned around and returned to the envelope stack with a little chuckle to myself as I imagined the reactions... Edit: I hope no one takes this the wrong way, there's no offence intended towards the lesbian community: - )
[ WP ] The end of the world had terrible timing .	The end of the world had terrible timing. There I was, sitting on my top-notch porcelain throne squeezing out the best crap I've ever taken; my porcelain throne with a heated seat and duvet for when I was done along with top tier toilet paper that did n't rip or flake when used. The end of the world: blazing skies with red and orange fiery clouds and black ashes falling like snow to the ground. The hottest day ever recorded -- the day the sun engulfed the earth. The one day I was perfectly content, not worried about a thing while browsing beddit.com, a place to buy used mattresses with the occasional troll asking for a casual `` meet up''. The end of the world had terrible timing.
[ WP ] `` I sailed the stars , I swam through time , I walked through universes ... And yet as far as I 've traveled , I 've seen so little . ''	The bench rested atop a hill, overlooking a small town, bustling with Friday night activity. On it sat a man and a boy. “ You know, it ’ s not all about what ’ s out there, ” the man began. “ The universe, ” he made a vague sweeping motion upwards and outwards, “ it ’ s pretty big. Bigger than a human brain can imagine, even in their wildest fantasies. ” The boy turned to his partner, “ But why wouldn ’ t I want to go and see whatever I could? ” A wistful smile flashed across the man ’ s face. “ I should ’ ve known you ’ d say that. ” The man trailed off, gathered his thoughts. To a casual observer the pair could be father and son, or perhaps brothers born far apart, but if one looked closer they would notice that the similarities went beyond mere blood. Every feature the man had was mirrored in the boy, softened slightly, but unmistakable nevertheless. Even the way they sat, weight resting slightly to the right, was identical. These two were not father and son; they were the same person, separated only by time. The man was a time traveler, returned to his childhood with a goal and a dream. “ One year from now he ’ ll come for you. Dad, that is. He ’ ll land his spaceship on your doorstep unannounced, Mom will cry, but you ’ ll go with him. You ’ ll see the technology they have out in space, the possibilities that they offer, and you won ’ t look back for years. ” The boy ’ s eyes widened, “ Dad ’ s coming back? ” “ Yep. One year from now, on our thirteenth birthday. But that ’ s not why I ’ m here. I ’ m here to tell you to stay. ” The boy turned back to the city and was silent a while. Finally, he ventured a quiet question. “ Why? ” The man chuckled humorlessly. “ Adventure ’ s the ultimate goal right? We ’ ve wanted to go on an adventure since we could remember. To see the world, leave this place behind, be a great hero? Let me tell you something. I sailed the stars, I swam through time, I walked through universes… and yet, as far as I ’ ve traveled, I ’ ve seen so little. Less than one percent of one percent of one percent of what ’ s out there. I watched a star explode and I fought off a band of pirates and I would trade it all in an instant to be right back here. ” The boy started crying, silently at first but he quickly broke into sobs. The man held his younger self until the tears subsided. “ I don ’ t understand, ” the boy choked out. The man smiled sadly, “ I know, ” he said. “ I ’ ve seen all of that, but space is a cold, dark place. Humans are rare, and compassion—love? —even rarer. I ’ ve seen planets destroyed but I ’ ve never seen the love and care that Mom showed me every day. I ’ ve seen an entire species hunted down for crimes against the cosmos that they didn ’ t even commit, but the sight of my son ’ s first steps has been nothing more than a fleeting fantasy. I ’ ve seen death, destruction, hatred, greed. I ’ ve seen gluttony and betrayal. If you leave Earth next year, you ’ ll see all of these things, but you won ’ t see joy. You won ’ t see real friendship. You ’ ll see more adventure than you know what to do with, but you ’ ll never see Earth again. If that sounds scary, it should. ” A slight beep from the man ’ s watch drew his attention. “ Listen, I have to go. Live this next year, look around you. Actually see what you have here before you throw it all away on some vagabond dream. ” The man started backing away. The boy kept his eyes firmly locked on the town. “ Trust in yourself, Paul. I love you. ” The boy spun around in his seat, but the man was already gone.
[ WP ] As it turns out , `` God '' is an elected position . The Creator was followed by the Old Testament God , who was followed by the New Testament God , who was followed by a God who did n't interfere often in the mortal world . The next election is in 6 months .	God. Alas! Earth has been created! Seeing an opportunity for life, The Creator created man and woman, Adam and Eve. The two mortals lived prosperously, until the deceitful devil tricked them into eating the forbidden fruit, from the Tree of Knowledge. After both of them had their bites, reality splurged in. They were naked. They were alone. There's a voice that tells them what to do. The Creator, disappointed of their actions, banished them from the Heavens. As the Kingdom of God was separated from Earth, man became much more sinful. Crime. Lust. Greed. Everything came about. But, when the people started making idols, and worshipping them instead of God, he was pushed into his limits. There came Yahweh, a stricter God, for an undisciplined time. He made heroes and prophets. He used magic and legends. He brought the He in Hero, but, there was something missing. Man needed much more intricate help. They need a Messiah. As the cold rain poured, Mary and Joseph were searching for a place to rest. The census was made, and they were desperate. Inn after Inn, they were not given entry, but a humble stable was supplied unto them, by God. Mary was promised to give birth the new Messiah, son of the Living God, and then began the era of Jesus Christ. Now a father by nature, God is pushed to be much more sensitive and understanding, but still shows his power through his miracles, but time passes by. Years after Christ's ascension, God was not felt. He did not make miracles or such. He did not speak to people. He did not bring any heroes or prophets. He was just there. There came no proof of his existence, and the people's belief on him soon faded away. But, still, many took part in his faith. Many held unto him. Why? Because, he is there. He was. He is. He will be.
[ WP ] Anyone want to try a shot at horror or supernatural ? Write a story around this real occurrence : A house , farm , or town mysteriously blanketed with spiders . ( link in text )	Cautiously, I peered around the corner looking for the telltale signs of a spider alley: glints of sunlight off of the air, a few spiders hovering in the middle of the of alley, or just a giant cardboard cut out saying, `` Beware of spiders.'' You used to be able to tell if an alley was clear if people were loitering around, but scenes like that did n't occur very often anymore. Not since two days ago when old man Kermit was found dead, cocooned by spiders and mummified by their appetite. Old man Kermit was the only person in the town who did n't freak out when the spiders first invaded. He told everyone to stay quiet because screams would cause the spiders to move. He told us two weeks ago, when the spiders first arrived, `` In a few weeks, they'll eat all the mosquitoes and flies, then they'll cannibalize each other and we'll be done with them.'' Well, two weeks have passed and we have a dead human eaten by spiders. Everyone who had access to cars already left. The remaining few were people too rooted in the town to want to leave. `` Our parents grew up here, we grew up here, our children grew up here. No way we're leaving.'' Stubborn folk like that were the only ones who remained. And, of course, there was me. I never knew this town; I grew up in Hawai'i away from mainland America. I was never really one for superstition, but growing up with superstitious people had taught me to fear the unbelievable. Hopefully, this fear would keep me alive while I carried out my mission. The U.S government had sent me to this town because they believed that the spiders came from an alien source. A spider queen of sorts that was n't exactly native to earth. It was my job to confirm that this being existed; then it would be up to the SWAT team to take it out. Or capture it, you never know what the government will do when they say they'll do something. The alley that I was looking into was full of spiders. I sighed and unhooked my flamethrower from my backpack. If there was a queen, then she would be able to repopulate the town with spiders after I killed them all off. This was going to be the fourth alley that I cleared today. As my flamethrower roared, I felt my fire fighter suit tear at the leg. I looked down and saw a toddler sized black widow biting at my suit with its fangs. I screamed in the little girl's voice that I never knew I had and sprayed my leg with my flamethrower. The spider shrieked and jumped at least six feet away from me. It jumped, I thought numbly. Quickly, I pulled out a walkie talkie and said, `` Spider Queen confirmed, get me out of here.'' Suddenly, I felt a tugging on the back of my suit and a breeze. Then my back felt like it was on fire and I fainted. When I came to I was lying on my side and I could n't move; I could n't feel anything. My visor was covered with lines of silk and I could see faint outlines of spiders trying to gnaw past the glass. Then I saw it approach. The toddler sized spider slowly meandering towards me. Behind it, I saw four others the same size and behind them all was a spider the size of a child. So, this is how it ends, I thought.
[ WP ] The moment the ball drops , reality fades and you 're sitting at a table with several other celestial beings . The one at the head looks at you and says `` Well , that one was rough ... Anyway , it 's your turn to be Game Master ! ''	The world is a Game I've lost my life to. I sit at a table with at least ten shadowy beings; two of them slightly resemble my ex-wives. The one that looks like Linda tells me that the world is a Game and I've lost. However, there is a brighter side to this nonsensical situation. She says I ’ ve died my way into winning. `` What have I won?'' There's a wry grinning stretching across her mouth, `` You've inherited the earth and all its humans. You're essentially God.'' Oh fuck, I think. `` Can I decline the prize? I was shit at being human. Imagine how shit I'd be at playing God?'' `` You're not playing God. You are God. Right now. This is a position, not a character. We ’ re here to help you dip your toes into the job.'' `` Fuck!'' `` You should n't say `` fuck''. It's not very God-ly.'' Linda and Jill are rolling their eyes at each other. I'm looking for the closest exit. We're surrounded by clouds. The floor is clouds, the sky is clouds. Everyone at the table is cloud-esque, with their bodies billowing in and out of focus. They seem to be made of smoke. I slap myself in the face and find that I am still very much flesh and bone. Jill begins to look quite concerned. `` Why am I not in Hell?'' I demand, suddenly furious. Linda's smoky face seems to be laughing at me. `` Why would you be in Hell? You lived a good, perfectly boring, morally sound life.'' “ What? That can ’ t be right. ” I think hard, “ I had two divorces! A boring individual doesn ’ t just go and have two divorces. ” I ’ m unexpectedly hurt by her words. I feel my right eye begin to twitch. A habit I developed three years into my marriage with Linda. It ’ s not her fault. I ’ m a man who lived life listening exclusively to the cushy lies I placated myself with. She tended to strip everything naked and state the truth. “ You should be God. ” I told her, nodding my head. “ I ’ m sure the humans could do with a womanly touch. ” “ Kevin. ” Jill speaks up, “ You don ’ t have to be good at being God. You think the guy who took over 2016 knew what the fuck he was doing? ” She seemed to be trying to reassure me, “ Give it a go. ” She says. I look into the dream-ish faces of the creatures I sit with. I won the Game of life and became a God. I wouldn ’ t have even entered the race if I ’ d known the prize. I suppose no one knows the prize when they ’ re born, they just start living. They don ’ t even know they ’ re playing a game. I look down to the cloud covered floor and grin as an idea jumps into my mind. I grab the seat of my chair in a tight grip and jump myself into the air. When I fall, the chair legs pierce the clouds surface. I fall through them, through the air and through the world. I reach earth and fall through the dirt. Through layers and layers of dirt. My chair starts to burn as I hit ground. Upon opening my eyes, I see that I ’ ve reached Hell. With a deep kind of satisfaction boosting my confidence, I leave my burning chair and walk around the place. It ’ s hot, but not unbearable. I turn left into a cave entrance and bump into an old woman who curses at me. I look forward and see I ’ m at the end of a line that seems to stretch forward for ages. I ignore the little old lady, who ’ s trying to wack me away with her cane, and skip past the line. All the people waiting have a bored expression on their face. Some of the strangers talk to each other but most of them are chipping at their nails and thinking. After an hour of walking I finally reach the start of the line. A man with bright red skin is sitting on a throne. He ’ s talking softly with the human closest to him. The red man notices my presence and shoos the human away, like swatting at a fly. The human stumbles back and starts a domino effect of pushing the rest of the humans backwards. The red man grins at me like we ’ re friends. He stands from his throne and pats a heavy hand against my back when we meet. “ What brings you here? ” He asks with a grin. “ I won the Game again. ” “ Ah. ” His hand on the back of my neck is starting to burn, “ How long have you got? ” I check my watch. “ I ’ d say an hour. ” “ Well, ” his teeth are sharp, “ an hour in hell is an hour spent well. ” I can hear Linda rolling her eyes all the way from heaven. The problem with the world, I suddenly remember, is that it ’ s controlled by a God who doesn ’ t even want to be God. I send an apologetic glance to the line of humans I failed. The man in red seems to catch on my thoughts. “ Hey, don ’ t feel bad for them. ” He says, “ All they ’ ve got to do is live. We ’ re the ones doing the heavy lifting! ” I nod my head. Those poor bastards, I think. Living and living and living. At what cost? The Devil replies, “ To win the game, of course. ”
[ WP ] Two fourth wall breakers meet and realize that they both can talk to the audiance	`` So what are your thoughts on the upcoming season? Surely you have a team.'' Now, in all honesty I just ca n't see this uppity S.o.B. knowing a thing about organized sports in general, let alone the most revered sport in the south. I just love a chance to humiliate the old chap though. `` First, I'll be pulling for the Cardinals. Second, I would love to hear who else in the room you consider to be uppity. Third, I want to know who the hell you think you're talking to.'' Stunned in utter disbelief, John had never considered that whenever he gazed off into the distance and spoke into his omnipresent diary with his thoughts, that his mouth may have actually produced audible tones which could be received by others beside the audience. What an unfortunate time to learn, too. `` How did you hear that? No one ever does.'' `` I assume you do the same as I do, express your most important or witty thoughts in the form of a journal entry. It is separate from normal conversation, in that it is directed at no one in particular and NO one ever hears you except... well, you. `` How peculiar that I can hear yours, however.'' The pair stared into each others' souls, lost and confused, wondering if this was chance, or fate, or perhaps just a miracle. After all, they had both been doing this for so long. Why now? Why him? They both wondered such things for a long few minutes until Martin ( the older of the two that was meant to be humiliated before this discovery ) decided more had to be learned about this... gift. `` John I would like you to follow me into the next room.'' They both left the dining area and strolled into a parlor, lined with shelves of books and a gorgeous oak desk, which belonged to Martin himself. `` John it seems we have found ourselves in quite a predicament, would n't you agree?'' The young entrepreneur nodded, still in disbelief that a crotchety old billionaire like Martin could possibly share something so inexplicably important with him. `` Which is why I need you to do something. Tell me what you hear.'' John listened close but could not hear anything. Gazing into the old man's eyes, he listened harder. Still nothing. The only sounds were coming from the next room, where the guests were still mingling and telling bad jokes and missing out on what was truly a groundbreaking experience for these two men, possibly the world. This was beyond communication. This was other-worldly. But still John heard nothing. `` Martin I'm afraid I ca n't hear you. Perhaps only one of us has the gift.'' That's all I needed Martin withdrew a knife and shoved it into John's lower abdomen. As he clutched the dying young man, he turned toward the camera with a calm manner, a matter-of-fact tone, and a crazed look in his eyes. Dear viewer I apologize for the graphic nature of this... event. However it is important that John here realizes that I believe in perfection. Two men that can speak to you? It's just unnatural. I am the main character, after all, since I could hear him but he could not hear me. I got where I am by making things right and taking out what is wrong... Martin hides the knife and cleans his hands on a handkerchief, pondering how to dispose of the body properly. A lingering smile on his face, his eyes return to the camera And since no one seems to mind how I'm running things, why stop now?
[ CW ] The `` Finding Forrester '' challenge : copy the first five sentences of any book or novel you own , then continue the story from there .	Generation of Swine by Hunter S. Thompson ( Showdown in the Pig Palace ) `` This generation may be the one that will face Armageddon.'' -- -Ronald Reagan, People Magazine December 26, 1985 It was just after three when my phone rang. I stared at it for a moment, then jerked it off the hook and said nothing. Three o'clock in the morning is not a late hour for some people, but they are usually not the calm ones. People who work the long distance lines in the darkest hour of the morning tend to be a special breed. When the phone rings at three it will not be the Culligan man, or anyone else with a straight job. Silence, smoke built in my stomach and seeped into my chest, finally erupting from my mouth. `` What do you want?'' I shouted at the silent receiver and motioned to furiously hang up, but I was already hooked and relieved my bluff was not seen by anyone. `` Someone told me you can move things for people.'' My blood ignited and the capillaries of my face opened like the gates of hell pulsing over my face at first and then my whole head, a job, a trap? The voice was unsure of itself and ready to bolt. A healthy disposition for the situation. `` If it fits in the trunk, I can move it anywhere. Who gave you my name?'' A pause, `` Cah-conrad.'' without instruction my hand moved to terminate, `` I do n't know a Conrad.'' A shuffle of papers on the other end, `` Wait wait, it is here somewhere, caw.. Cochran 555-67-.'' `` Jimmy Cochran?'' `` Yes! We met at a poker game in Jersey.'' Jimmy could never say no to a quick buck or a card game. With no honest work in weeks, the idea stirred primal excitement, hunger had become a daily companion, `` We should meet.'' `` I'm staying at The Palm Hotel on 7th.'' `` Grab a book or newspaper, go to the bar and order something, I'll be there in 20 minutes.'' The 8-Track picked up where it had left off, `` -or whatever lies that you tell Food is the first thing, morals follow on.''
[ WP ] You 're an infamous villain , known by a generic bad guy name like Dr. Doombad , Dr. Destructo etc . The only problem is you do n't hold an actual doctorate . Time to enroll on some university classes ...	`` Cower, mortals! For before you is Dr Demented. My deeds are legendary. Last year, I successfully kidnapped the UN assembly, before that tiresome Super Squad interfered. In 2014, I was responsible for the invasion of the Rathikin Crusade. In 2013, with the successful invention of my time machine, I removed the country of France from history itself. Wait, you would n't remember that one. Just take my word for it. It was a country, now it's not, that's a pretty impressive piece of work, if I do say so myself. Why am I here? Time and time again, I've been defeated by those absolute imbeciles, the Super Squad. I tire of losing to these narrow minded posers- yes, posers. All the power at their fingertips, but no vision! No ambition! The things we could accomplish if they would only join me! But I digress. I'm on a quest for self betterment- and no, not through genetic manipulation or cybernetic enhancement again. I've realized I do not live up to my full potential. For in truth- as Captain Clock reminds us all in every. single. press conference, I do not infact hold the degree my title implies. Even if such a paltry academic achievement is unlikely to improve my new plan for world domination, It will be a joy to see that overgrown pocket watch struggle to find a new soundbite. However, growing a cloned Super Squad is a very demanding task. Nutrient feeds, power level monitoring, and subconscious loyalty training make attending classes a bit of a hassle. That's why I signed up for UoC's distance, Tele-educational program. `` ``..... Thank you, Dr Demented. I believe our next student is Mrs Dukes. Can you introduce yourself to the class, and tell us what brings you to English 101 today?''
[ WP ] In 2100 e-sports have become more popular than regular sports , tell me about the 50th annual e-Olympics	Once again, I welcome all our viewers to the 50th annual Ol-e-mpics! To give all of you a brief outline of the event, we'll first be having our opening ceremony, followed by the entrance of all our participants, before moving on to the games. The first game that will be played is DotA4. I know, I know. DotA5 is out, but unfortunately the game is still under development and is unable to be played this year. Afterwards, we'll be played ROFL, Return of four Legends, better known as LOL2. And right after that we'll be playing OMG, Orb of Magic the Gathering, better known as the demon child between WOW and MTG. Following these, we'll be simultaneously showing all the FPS games, including Call 2 Duty and More-dern Warfare. We'll then bring back the classics with Pacman, Tetris, Super Mario, Pokemon, The Legend of Zelda, and much much more. The full event timeline can be found in your goodie bags, hidden right between your 1 litre bottle of Plateau Drops and your family-sized Dorifingers. Please sit back and enjoy our opening performance, brought to you by our sponsor, DDDD. Expect to be impressed with three dimensional projections of the old time classics, and for those seated in the green seats, please keep all electronics as you may get wet.
[ WP ] A grandmother 's Satanic cult meeting is interrupted when her daughter-in-law drops off her 6 year old grandchild unannounced	( First time posting, constructive criticism wanted and appreciated. Also writing this on my iPhone so I apologize in advance for any oddities that arise from it ) It had started as a lark. Boredom in a retirement home is a terrible thing. Thoughts tend to stray to the increasingly approaching reality of death. Dorothy had brought it up as a joke during a dragging game of Scrabble. `` Immortality,'' Dorothy winked as she lay down the word, `` I bet Satan would be more than willing to help us old ladies out.'' Eileen jumped on the idea. `` Yes! Yes! I could use a little spice in my dreary cobwebs.'' Eileen dishearteningly glanced out the overcast, rainy day that the window revealed. `` A Satanic cult of grandmas!'' She chuckled. Margaret had been increasing her fidgeting as the conversation had advanced. She now looked as if she was about to burst. `` How dare... Jesus died for... No I ca n't believe...'' Margaret sputtered. Looking back Dorothy wished she had listened to her. Marge would still most likely be alive. This was their six attempt midway through the second month since their first attempt. After persistent badgering Marge relented and was persuaded into joining on the condition that it not be on Sunday. She did n't feel right going to church and worshipping God on the same day that she participated in a Satanic ritual. So Saturday it was. The first attempt began fairly benign. A pentagram on the floor made of Eileen's red lipstick, a potpourri scented candle in the middle from Dorothy, And a cross clutched to Marge's breast. Dorothy thought the holy idol might break under Margaret's white knuckled grasp. To be honest Dorothy was just as frightened more so of the unknown that awaited. What if this actually did something? Better not think about it she concluded. Not much more to lose. Not surprisingly the session provided no results. The group convened agreeing to try again. As the weekends went by the rituals became more complex and involved. Dorothy did the research while Eileen gathered better supplies. Surprisingly Marge seemed to be getting more into the idea and even fashioned everyone a black robe complete with a head covering hood. This was their sixth and latest attempt. Donning their robes Eileen drew the pentagram using her own blood. The chicken in the corner pecked at her cage making a jarring rattle. Marge lit the black colored candles placed strategically around the room while Dorothy reviewed her hand written notes. Eileen closed the blackout curtains plunging the room in darkness except for the soft, eerie flicker from the candles. Marge eased her nervousness by jiggling the handle to the room's door ensuring it was still locked. `` Okay,'' Dorothy announced, `` Let us begin.'' The three elderly ladies knelt around the pentagram and drew their hoods as Dorothy began chanting her best impression of Latin. `` This is pointless.'' Eileen muttered. Dorothy shushed her even though she was starting to feel the same. It had been a nice distraction from the normal routine of their lives though so Dorothy persisted. `` Sister Margaret,'' Dorothy bellowed, `` The sacrifice please.'' As Marge got up to get the chicken Dorothy noticed she no longer had her cross with her. Marge handed the distraught chicken to Dorothy and Eileen slide over her butcher knife. `` Satan. Hear us. In exchange for this sacrifice we demand eternal life.'' Dorothy did one swift motion across the fowl's neck spurting blood across the pentagram and dousing the black candle in the middle of it. `` D..Dorothy?! What... huh? I do n't... Dorothy what on earth are you doing?!'' Sputtered a familiar voice at the door. Marge gasped and turned white as can be while Dorothy muttered a surprised curse under her voice. Eileen's rigid body announced her livid feeling. `` Amy! What are you doing here?!'' Dorothy managed to get out. Her daughter in law must've gotten the keys to the place from Hank, Dorothy's only child. `` I... uh... thought I'd stop by with Rachel and... well... Say hi,'' Amy managed to get out, wide-eyed and glancing around the room trying to make sense of the scene, `` I knocked but no one answered. And the noises... I thought something was wrong. I never thought... A chicken?!'' The bird must've been making too much noise that the elderly cult ladies has n't heard the door. `` Grandma!'' A tiny voiced shouted behind Amy as Rachel weaves her way past her mother. `` No wait!'' Dorothy's daughter in law shrieked but could n't snatch her child in time. Rachel trampled over the pentagram to get to Dorothy, knocking over the doused candle and leaving a trail of footprints made of chicken and Eileen blood. Dorothy embraced the 5 year old with as much love as her hug could project. `` Dorothy! Please explain what this is!'' Amy seemed to be gathering her bearings. `` That was a live chicken! Is this your new way of making dinner?!'' Dorothy ran through the different answers she could give but before she landed on one she was interrupted by a deep, rumbling laugh. `` Ah finally,'' the new voice said vibrating everything it touched, `` Someone worthy of my time and not these old, decrepit piles of dead flesh.'' It laughed again penetrating Dorothy's skull to the point where she thought it might crack from the resonance. Rachel's hysterical crying barely registered in Dorothy's mind over the disturbance despite their close proximity. A figure emerged from the shadows, apparent at first only from the remaining candle's flickering light. The figure stepped forward, creaking the floor underneath it. The candle in the middle of the pentagram reignited shooting a flame straight up further then it should've been capable of. The other candles scattered around the room joined in intensity. The increased light however did not make it any easier to make out the figure. Every time Dorothy tried to look at she found her eyes looking past it. It was like a black hole absorbing all light. Margaret began to shout out prayers and Hail Marys while Dorothy clutched her grand daughter tight and backed up to the other side of the room. Eileen remained frozen in place, shaking uncontrollably. `` Rachel!'' Amy shrieked. The figure lifted its hand towards the daughter in law and pushed her the remaining way out of the door which then slammed on her face. `` Nooo my baby!'' She could be heard on the other side. The figure advanced further towards Dorothy and Amy however Eileen was still crouched near the pentagram blocking the direct path. The figure's head seemed to point down staring at her. It raised its hand towards the crouched old lady. Suddenly a butcher's knife, still dripping with chicken blood, lobbed the figure's outstretched hand clean off. The figure's head snapped to look at Margaret and her knife as the hand sizzled and dissolved into the ground. The figure hissed for a moment but interrupted itself with its booming laughter. `` Well I'll be damned,'' chuckled the one handed void. Its stump began transforming and growing. `` Who knew I'd lose a body part to the likes of you,'' the last word resonated with a tone of anger that Dorothy had never heard unrivaled. The transforming disfigurement was nearly complete and was becoming obvious it was a duplicate of the butcher knife Marge was still holding. Marge aimed the knife towards the figure's heart and yelled as she thrusted. Faster then Dorothy could blink Marge's head was flying towards her, cut clean off from the figure's newly fashioned knife-hand. The rest of her body fell to the ground with the actual knife clattering next to it, having never reached its intended target. Dorothy screamed along with her granddaughter, doing her best to cover her eyes and ears. Amy pounded on the door still screaming for Rachel. Eileen jolted out of her comatose and quickly back pedaled on her butt away from the figure. The figure slowly turned back its head towards Rachel, locking on with a seeming veracity. It began walking forward. Dorothy could smell it now. Rotting corpses and seafood dumpsters. She gagged. Eileen threw up. Dorothy was running out of time. She had to think fast. `` Leave us! Leave my place of living! You have no place being here!'' Dorothy screamed. The figure just laughed. `` But you've summoned me here Dorothy my dear. Thank you for bringing me someone so young,'' the words seemed to ooze out of the figure. Rachel began to squirm in Dorothy's arms and managed to slip out onto the floor. `` You heard my grandmother you poop head! You are scaring me! Go away!'' Cried Rachel. `` One more step forward and you'll be sorry!'' Surprisingly the figure stopped advancing. `` What will you do little girl? `` the void hissed. Rachel thought for a moment. The world seemed suspended to Dorothy as she held her breath. `` Give you the biggest hug and kisses because you seem angry and my Mommy does that to me when I'm in a bad mood and it helps!'' Rachel finally replied. ``... What? Seriously?'' The figure sounded genuinely befuddled, the bass from his voice lessened. `` I do n't... think I would like that at all.'' It thought for a moment. Then hissed. Then laughed. `` Very well. I have been bested by a little girl. First time for everything. For beating me I shall grant you old bats your wish. Immortality was it?'' `` I've changed my mind,'' Dorothy quickly answered. She was quite sure it would come with strings coming from something like this thing. `` And you?'' It asked motioning at Eileen. She shook her head no still unable to speak. `` So be it. Never attempt to summon me again or you'll wind up like your friend here.'' And then he was gone before anyone could even blink. And with it the candles, pentagram, and dead chicken and Margaret. The only thing that had seemed to remain was the bloody butcher knife. Amy burst through the door and quickly scooped up her daughter. Tears were streaming down Amy's face. `` I do n't know what happened and I do n't think I want to know. You're lucky Rachel is okay or I'd be using that butcher knife on you. Do n't ever do this again. But just in case I'll be sure to call ahead in the future.'' With that she twirled around and marched out the door with Rachel. `` Bye Grandma!'' Rachel shouted blowing her a kiss.
[ WP ] Tomorrow would be the hardest day of the young angel 's life	Azeal looked down in sorrow at the storm brewing. He had been told what was to come, what was to happen but he did n't believe it. He could n't. How could one brother slay another? How could one put his hands so jealously and angrily on another? But here it was. It was happening. He did n't want it to happen. There was a punch and a kick as one went down and Azeal's eyes stated to fill. He could stop this, he could prevent this, but who was he to question free will? Who was he to stop the oncoming? There was blood everywhere now as the brother kicked his kin over and over. Then, he finally stopped to see that his brother lay dead. Azeal, unseeing, knelt next to the body and wept. He called the soul of the dead to him and cradled it against his body. `` I will give you ever loving peace.'' He whispered. He stood and took one look at the brother, who's face was filled with shock. `` And thee shall be cursed seven fold, for no one shall punish thee but me.'' The words came out in a harsh voice and Azeal reached his hand out. He brushed his fingers on the man's head lovingly, etching the mark upon his head. `` Wander, and pray you never commit such a soon again.'' As Azeal turned himself towards the heaven, the soul held gently in his hands, he at least took reassurance that this would be the only human to ensure such pain again.
[ WP ] The armies of Hell launch a surprise attack on Heaven . They are led by a human General .	Adam worked in the center of the cathedral, using the deep slice in his palm to finish tracing out the largest of the pentagrams. Months of preparation and research had readied him for this moment. He closed the final pice of the pentagram and took a moment to admire his work, to look around at the others, at their bodies strewn about over the other symbols painted everywhere. The lines of blood began to glow and sizzle and in a shroud of darkness a figure appeared in front of him. At first it looked simply like a mans figure, however as the shroud dissipated Adam began to feel the air grow heavy with dread. He felt a pressure against his mind before he threw his arms to his head in pain suddenly aware that Lucifer was combing the recesses of his being. You are ready then my son? Adam managed to simply nod and bow to him. Take this a blade was placed in Adam's bloodied hand It will become clear to you when the time is right. With that Lucifer drove his hand into adams neck ripping his throat before he could reply. Adam became aware of the light first, a blinding light surrounding him on all sides. As the light faded he could make out a man and a wall of light broken simply by a pearly gate. Adam began the walk towards him and almost by instinct put the blade into his hand, immediately noticing the demonic symbols spreading to cover his body. He felt a twinge of excitement as he approached Peter who moved to welcome him with open arms. As he embraced Peter he drove the blade deep into his abdomen, pulling him close he whispered into his ear `` Oportet omnia adolebit''. He pushed the limp figure of Peter off of himself and approached the gate once again drawing the blade. He jammed the blade into the center of the massive lock and with that Lucifer appeared beside him, summoned to this realm for the first time in an age. It is done my son, the assault on heaven has begun.
[ WP ] The alchemist 's house was set alight	I woke up to the scent of burning books. The heat seared through the back of my eyelids and I opened my eyes to see the flames dancing wildly through the open door of my room. Tearing off my covers, I ran into the office and dived toward my bookshelves, the cherry wood panels already half consumed with the raging fire. Tears seeped into my mouth and burnt my throat, mixing with the ashes that had already found its way inside me. The smell of burning leather and flesh stood out prominently as I stumbled back in pain, collapsing in the middle of the room as years of research disintegrated around me. All of it, all of it was disappearing. I do n't remember when the strong pair of arms ripped the burning book out of my hands or how I ended up lying on the driveway later, looking up through the upper windows at the bonfire they had made out of my work. It's for your own good, my family would tell me in the hospital months later. It's not healthy to be locked up all the time working on something impossible. But, of course, they had n't known that I had been close. So close.
[ WP ] In a post apocalyptic future , religious texts are based on superhero comic books . Religious wars are being fought over which of their gods are stronger .	There was a deathly silence across the field as two groups of knights began to assemble. To the far left were the iron-clad `` Dark Knights'' who were blessed by and followed the teachings of Wayne. To the far right stood the shining armored `` Men of Steel'', who followed the God Kal-El. For centuries these two sides enacted a fierce war, as both believed their God to be the most righteous. The Dark Knights believed Wayne to be stronger -- known for his cunning intelligence and resolution to never kill a soul. The Men of Steel believed Kal-El deserved to be called the Godliest, due to his purity and willingness to save anyone and everyone. They both stood facing another in the desolated field. Many, many wars had turned a thriving forest into a bleak, brown sandy expanse. Humanity had barely crawled out from that time of destruction; having been forced back to the iron age. Two acolytes stepped forward from their respective groups; from the Dark Knights came a youthful man with dark stubble, a dark cowl, and a grey bat on his breast, while the Men of Steel saw a warrior with gold-trimmed silver armor, complete with a magnificent red `` S'' on his breastplate. `` Bend the knee to Kal-El,'' The silver armored knight proudly proclaimed, `` And we can avoid yet another war.'' `` Those of Wayne shall bow to no false God.'' The black caped man grumbled in a deep, gruff voice. `` Kal-El is a man of extraordinary abilities,'' The silver knight retorted, `` He has saved many. The book of Action Comics tells us so.'' `` And the book of Detective Comics tells us that Wayne would never lose to someone of such falsehood.'' `` Then another war you shall have.'' Both men returned to their respective groups as their warriors began to ready themselves. The archers of Wayne notched their arrows, suited with bat-shaped heads. The silver knights unsheathed their shining blades just as the iron knights readied their own blades -- iron-wrought with bat-shaped hilts. `` For Batman!'' The Dark Knights shouted, arrows flying and their men cheering, as the Men of Steel shouted `` For Superman!'' in response, and both armies converged on one another. From far off, two red suited men sat on a ridge and watched the battle rage on. One turned to the other and shook his head. `` These nerds do n't even know what's up.'' `` Yeah, man.'' The other replied, `` Do n't they know they're both just a bunch of idiots following some old comic books?'' `` Yeah. They got ta learn Lord Deadpool is the One True God.'' `` Right up there with ol' Nic Cage?'' `` Right you are.'' The followers of Deadpool laughed a bit and resumed their surveillance. Each side knew little of the past, only what their'texts' told them. But they all agreed on one truth and one truth only: Stan Lee was their truest God, being where all life and creation had come from.
[ WP ] [ EU ] The war between Pokemon and Digimon has raged on for 100 years . Finally , the stalemate is broken .	In an instant it was all over. The war had raged on for generations and many digidestined fought and died. Too many trainers-turned-generals lead their war beasts into combat. In the beginning our digital friends and their pocket monstrosities were evenly matched. We could strike anywhere using their very own PCs against them. Hitting their hospitals and poké centers, raiding military installations from their phones. It all changed when the mysterious general, simply known as Red, showed up. He employed strange tactics, dropping magcargo on bunkers, abandoning technology and using a psychic network of rare and ancient pokemon. Tides were turning all because of this seemingly immortal child. So we devised an end game. The trick was the gardevouirs. Capable of creating localized miniature black holes. A descendant of General Taichi Kamiya came up with the plan, we create servers in the digital world, cut it off from the real world at the same time we send teams of digidestined armed with black rings to take control of the gardevouirs. The teams knew it was suicide but once the gardevouirs were captured, the psychic network would be alerted and the digital world would be closed. Haste was prudent. Commander Kamiya challenged Red to a battle. A settlement; a distraction. The mightiest Digimon of the digital world against the poke gods. The battle raged on, Red's capsulated horrors never died, they just lost consciousness, returning to him. Kamiya had overwhelming courage in the face of his greatest adversary however he was losing the battle. Halfway through the duel, operation dark storm commenced. As fast as it started it was over. The rings were released and the order was given. Black holes appeared all over the planet and tore it a sunder. In an instant it was all over. We live peacefully now in the digital world. Waiting for a sign from the other side. To break through and start anew and, with hope, the next time will be a century of harmony.
[ WP ] Slavery in the distant future	[ Part 1 ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4pc1aa/wpworld_peace_is_finaly_achieved_as_the/d4jsvy0 ) [ Part 2 ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4pc2iz/wp_aliens_disguised_as_cats_were_sent_to_earth/d4ju1wv ) * We watched in defeat as one of our own was disciplined. She wriggled in pain as the shock coursed through her body. No one dared help. We knew the consequences if any of us tried to intervene. I tried to continue mopping the floors but my hands shook in anger at my inadequacy. A cat family walked by. The child looked at me. I could see the despise, the dirty overalls the mop in my hand, the hairless skin. An inferior species was in its presence and it did not like it. `` Daddy look a janitor! it said pointing at me.'' `` Now now son it's not good to point, sorry sir,'' the 400 pound male lion said in embarrassment. `` Are you poor?'' the cub asked unflinching. `` Pesh Frogon!'' The father admonished. `` Sorry, for my son's language sir,'' he said dragging the boy away. The boy went away with his father protesting, `` But he's a human what's wrong with what I said?'' I let it slide. It was n't the worst insult I'd got. It was almost three o'clock. The leader of the world was to say something today. I stopped what I was doing to head to the worker's common room. The others were already gathered. There was a new guy in the corner, some of the other janitors were talking to him. I would have dismissed him but something in my mind made me look harder. Yes I could see it. In spite the stubble he had on and shaved head I knew I'd seen that face. That face signed the treaty that united us as one world. That face signed the pact that ended all nuclear war. At some point it was the face of the most powerful man in the world. Now it was the face of the new janitor. I looked down in defeat. This was what we'd been reduced to, giving our former heroes hot tea and a hearty handshake. Tears welled up in my eyes. The screen went on and a podium was there. His Lordship and excellence, Supreme Tigreon walked to it. `` Hello humans, it is I your supreme leader...'' I did n't want to listen. Before Tigreon or Tig as all the cats referred to him as there were rumors of another leader, Whiskers. He ensured that we co-existed together until one day he disappeared. His leadership vacuum was soon filled by Tigreon who proceeded to instill a ruthless force on earth. We would have been ready in the old days but we had disarmed ourselves content that no one would try to usurp us. Just as Tigreon was mid-speech the screen went blank. A thin line came on dividing it into a top and bottom half. `` Hello humans, cats and any other creature that's listening out there.'' The line fluctuated with the voice. `` Before we lived peacefully as humans and cats. A new era had just been ushered in. An era of peace and co-existence. This era sadly did not last long and a new force rose proving to us that if we want peace we must be ready for war. We are coming for you Tigreon and the rest that stand with you. In the past we called ourselves omnipresent because we had ears everywhere. Unfortunately we can no longer go by that name for we are no longer everywhere. We only strike and withdraw back to the shadows that always hide us, the shadows that gave birth to us, we are Penumbra.'' * You can read more of my stories [ here ] ( /r/Pagefighter ).
[ IP ] No gifts this year	In the cold darkness of cloudy dusk A vile villian silently waits Lurking patiently for a red suited prize Until, at last, Santa he locates The quiet jingle and ho ho ho The merry tune and hum Santa knew not what waited for him Nor saw where the figure attacked from With a startled shock of fear Santa began fleeing away The ville devil sprinted quickly And kept Santa's retreat at bay The beast could smell its victory The scent of blood filled the air Until the demon spotted three children Whose presence it did not scare These three children were its demise Santa's secret assassin elves Adorned in Christmas armor Fighting for children like yourself The battle was over quickly The vile villian no match for three And in Santas treasured goods Milk and cookies he espied with glee A single bite was all it took To heal his woulds up like new `` There will be gifts this year! Thanks to the protection of you!''
[ WP ] The alternative uses of PRISM	The whole prism objective is all a big misunderstanding. tha actual acronym stands for: Public Reconnaissance for Individuals Showing Mastery For a long time the government has studied and realized how our nations most successful indiviuals, Our rulers, scientists, artists and other great people have had not only the innate talent, but have also had the opportunity to show it off. Many years of research has proven some of the great minds of 20th century had lived in anonymity. while many of them had more talent than their peers they had not been given the chance to show off that talent. That's where PRISM comes in scouring messages, emails, posts across all platforms. To identify our nations next thought leaders and make sure they have their chance to shine.
[ WP ] Write a horror story in exactly twelve sentences .	You know when you are walking in a place you know is a dream? It feels uneasy though. Like the dream is going to become a nightmare if you stop begging it not to. So you walk around and wait for morning to be safe again. There is a door. A tiny door to the side that looks safe but as soon as you walk in you realise what you did wrong. Why is the room so happy that you walked in? Were n't you alone in the dream? You just want to wake up now. Your heart is beating faster and why ca n't you move your arms anymore? You can do it though, you can wake up. But as it starts to fade, a voice says `` Wake up, I'll be waiting''.
[ WP ] When you die , you appear in a room with two buttons : Heaven and Hell . You do n't know which is which . So you press both at the same time .	The small square room was empty. Empty, that is, except for the two buttons in front of me. On the right button, which was the purest white colour one can imagine, the word HEAVEN was written in shining gold. On the left button, which bas black as night, I could just make out the word HELL. It was sloppily carved into the button itself. “ Okay, ” I thought, “ This seems relatively straightforward. ” I decided to press the button which said Heaven, as any normal person would do. As I lowered my hand to do so a thought suddenly entered my head. “ What if it ’ s a trick? ” I stopped myself from pressing the button and decided to think it over one last time. I decided that if, indeed, it is a trick there is no way of knowing which button is the correct one. I surmised that the only reasonable thing to do was to press both buttons at the same time. This time I didn ’ t give myself enough time to doubt my choice, I just slammed down on the buttons with all the force I could muster. Suddenly a door appeared to the left on the wall in front of me. As it opened a figure made its way through and faced me. I was somewhat taken aback when I realized that it was an elderly man clad in white robes with a cane in his left hand. He was short in stature and completely bald. One might think that this made the man appear frail or feeble. This was not the case. This was because the man had a great white beard which hung down to his chest and an old wisdom in his eyes. Something told me that those who crossed him would live to regret their lapse in judgement. The man looked me in the eyes and suddenly his entire being lit up. “ Michael my boy, how lovely to see you! ” He smiled at me with his entire being as I wondered how he knew my name. “ I ’ ve been waiting for you to come here for a long time! ” I finally mustered up the courage to speak. “ You have? ” “ Yes my boy, of -- - The man never got to finish his sentence as another door opened, this one on the right side of the wall. Another man, an exact copy of the first, stepped through it. He did not seem as friendly, however. He simply stared at me, stared into my very being, his eyes cold and calculating. He remained silent. The first man spoke. “ Well this was unexpected. Unexpected indeed! ” `` Quite.'' the second man replied, still keeping his stare on me. He did not speak in the same jolly voice as the first man. Rather, his voice was monotone and drab. I noticed that the smile on the first man's face was gone, replaced with a slight frown. `` Who are you?'' I asked the second man, well aware of the insecurity and fright in my voice. `` I am what you would call God'' he replied in the same monotone voice. God? I was standing face to face with the Holy Father himself! `` I'm sorry your eternal holiness, but I was expecting to see St.Peter...'' Suddenly the first man lit up again. `` Oh, Petey! It has been ever so long since I saw him. Lovely chap, Petey. I must pay him a visit soon!'' `` Yes, Mr. Peterson has been retired for quite some time. Additionally, if you must be formal, Mr.Summers, I prefer God. Otherwise my name is Bob.'' `` Yes, Mr. Gob, I mean Mr. Bod Sir!'' I blurted out. God raised one eyebrow and watched me with a look of bemusement. I felt my face redden. `` Now now, my boy! There is no need for panic. We are here to help you.'' The first man laughed. `` Indeed. The situation we find ourselves in is quite unusual, Mr. Summers. It will require your composure and utmost attention.'' God continued, his intent stare back once more. I wondered what he could possibly mean by this. How was this situation “ quite unusual ”? “ You see, no one has ever pressed both buttons at the same time before my boy! You ’ re the first, one of a kind, a true original! ” the first man exclaimed. This struck me as odd, no one had tried this? Ever? “ So, what will happen to me? What should I do? ” I asked God and the first man feebly. “ It is really quite simple Mr. Summers. Behind one of these doors lies Heaven. Behind the other lies Hell. It is up to you to choose which door you think leads where. This you must do yourself, we can help you no further. ” God responded. I thought I was beginning to understand. To choose a door, I had to choose which of the men I thought really came from Heaven and follow him through his door. “ So, I have to pick one of you? ” I asked of the men. “ Right you are my boy, right you are! I must say you do catch on rather quickly! ” The first man replied, seeming jollier than ever. “ Quite. Choose wisely Mr. Summers. You will not be granted this opportunity again. ” God droned on. I caught myself wondering if God could really have such a monotone voice. I quickly dismissed the thought. So this was it. I was stood in front of the two men, one of whom was from Heaven and one of whom was from Hell. They were both staring at me quite seriously now. Strangely, I felt the choice was quite simple. One of the men had said he was God, so that must be the case. I had just decided to go with him when another thought struck me. His nickname. What did he say his nickname was? Bob. There was something about that nickname that made me uneasy, but I couldn ’ t place it. I decided to ask. “ God? Why have you chosen Bob as your nickname? ” For the first time there was confidence in my voice. “ A good question indeed my boy! A good question indeed! ” Interrupted the first man, the grin once again visible on his face. “ What a strange question to ask when one ’ s fate hangs in the balance, Mr. Summers. Despite this, I shall answer it. I have been called Bob for many ages, as long as the oldest inhabitants of Heaven remember. In fact, I can not remember the reason for the name myself. ” God answered. Suddenly, it hit me. I understood now. Bob was not the entire name. It had to have been changed through the ages. Once, it must have been Bub, which must be short for BEELZEBUB! I almost fainted right there and then. The second man was not god, but the Devil himself! I had almost fallen into his infernal trap, to be doomed for eternity, but I had prevailed! I had beaten the Devil! “ Mr. Summers, you seem to have made your choice. Would you care to enlighten us? ” the Devil spoke. “ Indeed I have, demon! I will be going with God, the real God! ” I spat at him, venom and defiance in my voice. “ Very well, Mr. Summers, may you find happiness in your choice. ” The Devil replied, seemingly unmoved by my words. The same could not be said for the first man, he was now laughing and jumping with joy. It was quite the sight, “ Well done my boy, well done! I knew you had it in you all along! When we arrive, you will be given a hero ’ s welcome! ” The first man, God, replied. I felt relief rush through my body as I walked to meet him. I noticed that the Devil had left. Good. “ Thank you God, it was my faith in you that made this possible ” I said, almost sang, at God. God did not reply, only smiled the warmest of smiles. We started our walk, I beside my God. When I was closer to him I noticed the slightest tinge of red in his beard. He opened the door and as I walked through it I suddenly felt a fiery warmth on my skin.
[ WP ] It 's 2040 and North Korea has been liberated ; the citizens are free , but they 're learning how little the world cared about them .	Lin sat at his desk, reading ahead in his book while the broadcasts echoed through the school. The retelling of Song Un ’ s victory, while still a source of great pride, seemed less important than achieving marks. Even with partial focus, it was impossible for him to miss the replacement of the official ’ s voice with the murmurs of students and teachers. It wasn ’ t the first broadcast to cut out. Electricity was prone to the occasional outage, mostly during the afternoon. The lights were still working, though. He wondered, along with the rest of the student body, what had happened when the speakers returned to life. An unfamiliar voice took command. It said something about the surrender of the Glorious Leader to an international force. A few students moved to the windows. It wasn ’ t just the school; the horns on the posts outside were running the same message. The Korean of the speaker was clumsy. There was a photographer a few years back with skin so dark it looked like he had bathed in mud each day. There was a State-appointed translator, but the man insisted on using his own words. The speaker had similar trouble with the language. “ You are free, ” they ended. Free. The man obviously misspoke. Shoulders were shrugged. Puzzled looks were exchanged. Class continued as normal, less the broadcasts until they could be fixed. On the walk home, Lin couldn ’ t help but notice that the roads were different. The uniforms patrolling the streets were missing. Buses weren ’ t running, either, nor were the trucks and cars that sped through town at that time of day. The motorways weren ’ t empty, however. Far from it. Large vehicles with antennas and disks on top rolled around, stopping here and there. More photographers with beaming smiles ran from person to person, asking questions in the same type of broken words that interrupted the broadcasts from earlier. “ How it feel does to finally be free? ” one asked Kyun. The girl barely made out what the question was, but did not understand it. She smiled awkwardly and nodded her head, never breaking stride. Lin attempted to dodge the woman with the microphone, but ran face first into someone else. An identification badge in a foreign language buried a metal clip into his nose. Lin rubbed away the pain. “ So sorry, ” the man attempted to say. His Korean was better. “ Here. ” He held out a small piece of white fabric, miming a rub of his nose when it remained unclaimed. Lin grabbed it and dabbed off a few drops of blood. Lin tried to return it, but the news man refused. “ Please, keep it. ” Lin stuffed the used cloth into a pocket as he resumed his walk home. The news man pulled his shoulder, though, blocking his journey. “ Do you go to school here? ” he asked, pointing to the building behind. “ Y-yes, ” Lin answered. “ What was the reaction when you heard the news? ” “ News? ” Lin recalled the end of the broadcast. “ Our classes were interrupted. I ’ d like to go home now. ” “ Of course, ” replied the reporter, flashing an insincere grin. “ I understand. You want to spend your time with family. Don ’ t let me keep you. ” It was an odd response, but Lin just wanted to get home. As the rows of buildings stopped, so did the streams of foreigners. The rural outskirts were the same as they had been. Lin ’ s house was nestled in the middle of identical structures. His mother was sitting outside, hugging the neighbors. They were all crying. “ Mom? ” “ Lin! Come here, ” she called for him. The boy complied and walked into his mother ’ s embrace. She squeezed him tightly, tighter than he could remember. “ I ’ m hungry, ” he muttered. The hug ended, but his mother ’ s hands held their grip on his arms. She pushed him back enough to see his face. Her head shook back and forth. “ I ’ m sorry, ” she said. “ The Republic has fallen. The trucks stopped running. Our food never came. ” News. Lin recalled the reporter from earlier. He reached for his pocket. “ What is that? ” his mother asked as she saw her son squirm. He retrieved the kerchief and held it in front. “ Only my blood. A foreigner hurt me. ” Lin ’ s mother dropped her head. “ They hurt us all. ”
[ WP ] A billionare is brought back to life 6 hours after clinical death . He tells noone of what he saw while dead , but immediately isolates himself in his mansion and devotes his entire fortune into finding the key to immortality . A journalist has been sent to interview the man about his experience .	Report by J. J - For internal communication only. -So, Mr G. what compelled you on this search for the extension of life? What did you see while you were unconscious that changed so much your outlook on life? Mr G < Staring at me with the look you get from someone who`s seen more than their share fair of things you don ’ t talk over dinner things, or maybe that sociopath on TV and maybe some creepy looking person in the subway? That does n't come close to what I saw when I looked at the eyes of the man in question. It did n't have depth, because depth asks for a dimension, and that stare didn ’ t have any. Apart from that Mr G. seemed as harmless as any other kind old man you sometimes secretly wish was you grandpa ” > -Son, what really shocked me was not what I had seen, but exactly the opposite: what I had n't seen. Or might have seen. The thing is, I what I saw was the lack of what I expected and believed my whole life, and that was what scared me the most. < i was prepared for this, and they would n't had chosen me if they were n't sure I was. I fumbled thought my papers in search for the right question, subfolders: Transcendence and Nothingness. So I, already loaded with questions and the sureness that I knew the answers, for that was also part the job of a journalist of my ability > So Mr G, what exactly about this nothingness shocked you? Can you try to explain it? -Hmm, Mr. Journalist, I do not think I made my point quite clear. When I said I said the lack of something it was the lack of memory, because after all our existences are based on memory, remembering and knowing. What I saw was the lack of memory. The only way I can explain it to you is as if it was infinitum, for it did n't have a start or end like we organic beings, and also unlike us it just is.
[ WP ] Write a post describing the most annoying or repulsive person you work with in a way it 's clear to the reader that you are that person for everyone else at that workplace .	Eddie, who works in the cubicle next to mine, is the most annoying fucking coworker on the planet. He makes me miserable every day. Just yesterday he was asking me not to eat fried chicken at my desk, as if I have time for a lunch break with my huge workload. Later that day, when he went out to eat like a total slacker, my keyboard stopped working for some reason. I started playing League of Legends on his computer, and he freaked out at me when he got back! I was left without a working computer that day, so I checked my 74 voicemail messages, but I could barely hear my speakerphone over Eddie's bitching. I could go on and on about all the ways he pisses me off, but right now he's on my case about how I have to `` get off Reddit because he wo n't pick up my slack anymore.'' That lazy fuck works eight-hour days, and I stay in the office until the security guard tells me he needs to lock the front doors so he can go home. Fuck Eddie.
[ WP ] The rapture has come , the faithful are taken to heaven and the nonbelievers and sinners are left behind on Earth for their inevitable self-destruction . However , God 's plan backfires and the world seems to be much better off as a result .	When `` it'' happened, I was with Mom and Dad. It was nearing Christmas and we were out shopping along with millions of others. Every store had a Christmas tree, and every tree had lights, ornaments, and an evangelical topper. It was always weird for me… the Christmas decorations I mean. I never saw anything for Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, you-name-it. I thought living during that time meant “ political correctness ” and “ non-discrimination. ” Whatever, I digress. There was snow on the sidewalks, shoveled away by store owners. Snow on the street signs, branches, and rooftops. Snow everywhere. It was even snowing when it happened. I remember that detail quite well. I ’ ll get to why later. I grew up in a mid-class family. We lived comfortably but I didn ’ t get all the toys and gadgets I wanted every year. I always got phones a year after they came out, cars from a decade before, and clothes pretty much ran in the family. But I lived well. When I was seven-teen, I was gifted one of my father ’ s old bibles. I was actually interested in it, not because I was religious but because I wondered why people were so caught up in a man they couldn ’ t see, couldn ’ t hear, and couldn ’ t prove. It was all asinine if you asked me… `` asked'' me. Now? Now I know they were right. He existed. I use the term “ He ” loosely. From what I can tell, He appears how an individual would like to see Him. For Mom, She was a woman. For Dad, a man. For me? Well… I wouldn ’ t know. I couldn ’ t see, along with all my closest friends, many from my generation, and… get this … 90 % of the United States ’ politicians. I know, shocker. Anyways, how it happened. I said I remember the snow. I remember it covering everything. I remember it falling from the sky. Well that ’ s because it stopped. Everything stopped. The lights blinking on and off paused on. The clock stopped at 3:17 p.m. Even the setting sun stopped. Then, a bright beam of light rose over the horizon as if it was moving from the other side of the planet, opposite the direction of the sun. It was like the sun was rising in reverse, sped up by 100 %, and illuminated by 200 %. I looked around and saw people looking to it. Some, trapped in it ’ s gaze. Others, worried like I. Then I heard it. In unison, everyone staring into the light exclaimed, “ It ’ s Him. ” Or, “ It ’ s Her. ” I asked Mom, “ Who is?! Who ’ s who?! ” Everything grew overexposed. The buildings on the street vanished in the light, my parents ’ faces began to turn white, from the tip of the nose to the back of the head. My shoes, soaked in the warm water which had just melted from the snow. Then, the last thing I ever heard Mom say, “ God. ” To whomever may read this; past, present, or future... I write to give my recollection of `` it'' to the System. Never do I want a world so divided as a single Being was able to make it. Now we all know He existed, but we don ’ t regret not believing. We have improved the human condition by leaps and bounds. We did. It wasn ’ t up to Him. We made of this world something far greater than He ever could. God is now Us.
[ TT ] It 's supposed to be simple , but for the life of you , you ca n't figure out how to conjure a fireball .	Clarence was tired of reading. He'd trawled across the internet, sank into library after library in his search. In these past 6 years, he'd come to relish the knowledge he had socked away. There was little true arcana to be found in his little corner of Ohio. This did n't stop him from finding it all. Several times by now. `` Stupid book, how many times must you fail me!'' he shouted as he finished Parlentys Third Volume, for well over the third time. He started small, after about 2 years of study, he felt he was finally ready to conjure a fire ball. Just one little fire ball. Elementary stuff, he was sure. Instead, he gave himself a nose bleed and a swollen index finger. 4 years later, his index finger looks like a bratwurst, his left nostril has turned black, flecks ashes as he breaths, and at some point his hair began to curl on the right side. As the book explodes a glass of orange drink on his end table, ending its short flight; a cascade of shattering glass and orange pollocking upon his wall. The image before him conjures the spark of an idea. Just a glimmer, an errant thought... perhaps, just perhaps, he will finally have his fire ball. That night Clarence did a different kind of incantation. After the smoke and rubble cleared, two things became clear. First, Clarence had finally realized his dream quite clear; thus was the demise of his nearest library for its endless taunts of false promises. Secondly, it became clear to the arson investigation unit that the ignition source appeared to be a gasoline soaked shirt wadded into a ball.
[ WP ] You wake up as someone else .	I awoke, looked to my left, and looked to my right. Last night had been the gala at the Ashford residence and I had had too much to drink. It became evident when I saw a majestic beauty lying next to me scantily clad, with only the bed sheet to cover her. “ Rosa ”, I asked inquisitively almost as if to speak to a third party in the room. This was going to be bad. Rosa was the sister of my brother ’ s wife, a woman that I was specifically forbade from sleeping with. The barriers to our love only made it stronger, made me want her more. Music played in the background, sounding ominous as if I something bad was going to happen. Rosa had not responded to the initial inquisitive question. “ Rosa? ” I asked louder, in a beautiful Spanish tongue roll that seduced this beauty next to me. She still didn ’ t respond, the anticipation was building and the music was getting louder and more ominous. I started to worry that everything in my world was not right. I grabbed Rosa by the shoulder and turned her over. “ GASP ” “ NOT ROSA! ” There she lay blood trailing down her beautiful skin from a knife wound in her abdomen. Someone had stabbed Rosa, and the only one who had been with her was me. I knew that if I didn ’ t do something about this scenario soon I would be caught red handed, probably by that bastardo Enrique, my arch enemy. I started to move when all of a sudden, “ CUT…. CUT CUT CUT CUT CUTTTTT. “ I was confused, something must have gone wrong. “ Would somebody please come in and fix the knife in Rosa, it ’ s all wrong. The blood isn ’ t even coming from the wound ” A man rushed over, gently fixed the fake blade and helped Rosa back in to position. I laid back down and closed my eyes “ Action ” I awoke, looked to my left and then too my right.
[ WP ] The first episode of the new hit children 's show , Fedora The Explorer !	`` Hey everyone'' says Fedora, the tubby, animated boy. His acne-pocked face and neckbeard blend his body seamlessly into a shirt which reads `` I'm an atheist, debate me''. He waves to the camera, though this appears to have been too much physical exercise, and he sits down. `` Today we're going on a special adventure, we're going to go to the store and pick up the new Richard Dawkins book.'' He pauses, panting from the exhaustion of speaking for a prolonged period of time, and shoves a fingerless gloved hand into a bag of Doritos, the only sustenance he knows. `` But how do we get there?! I know, we'll ask /b/! Let's look in my fedora and see if we can find /b/!'' The boy pulls his hat off and, much like the scenes involving the backpack in the show's predecessor, a series of small, dancing products appear. We see a bag of doritos, a small doggy-bag of weed, a signed copy of `` The God Delusion'', a web browser window showing 4chan's /b/ board and a small, framed locket in which rests a drawing of Hanako, from the popular visual novel Katawa Shoujo. `` We need to wake up /b/, guys! can you yell'mods'?'' a pause, allowing for the audience to yell'mods' `` That's great, look, we've got him up!'' CUT TO web browser, we see Fedora the Explorer posing his question. `` How do I get to the book store, /b/?'' Amidst a torrent of `` tits or GTFO'' comments, we see three highlighted. out of the basement into mom's car *into the bookstore Fedora looks to the camera and smiles, wiping his crumby hands over his duster coat and jean shorts. `` That's easy, out of the basement -'' He pauses. `` On second thoughts, let's just get Amazon to deliver.'' The camera pans out as we see fedora sit back in his chair and begin to shitpost violently.
[ CC ] The Brave	First off, the role reversal was well hidden and I did n't catch on until the final line, and then only after a moment or two, so that goal was well accomplished. The hiding of that switch on user expectations though does make the initial setup and plot hard to render as you have to be necessarily vague. Furthermore, it seems to lead of a rushing of the plot to get to the reveal, which is probably also needed to some extent. The main problem that this leads to though is that your story is pretty exposition heavy and despite the seriousness of the subject matter does n't hit as hard emotionally as it might be able to. Obviously, with the role reversal it may be hard to make that emotional connection with the reader anyways, but since you're hiding the true nature of the situation it can be even more difficult. I think that the first couple of sentences help with that somewhat, being alone in a fight for what you believe when others are afraid is something people can latch onto. It's followed though by a couple paragraphs of straight exposition which deaden that connection before you get back to the line about revenge. Revenge is certainly an understandable emotion, but it seems hollow because I do n't really understand how these events have personally affected our protagonist. So logically I'm understanding the motive for revenge, but it's not hitting me emotionally because it has n't seemed to hit the protagonist emotionally. ( which, maybe that's given that he's a giant rock creature/colossus is accurate to their emotional capability, but it does n't help any to connect to the reader. ) Then we have another couple of paragraphs about the journey and the reveal which are fine, but there is n't, again much attachment to the protagonist and it's quest. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I can read a story about revenge and understand the why and the how of it, but unless I'm connecting with the main character it's not going to hold my interest. For example, you say > So many have died, fighting this monster, that all we can do is hide now. Where as I'd try - I have seen the broken bodies of those that fought, I have held them in my arms, and I have seen the empty eyes of those I called friend. It's that `` I'' not just this is what happened, but also this is what I saw and how it affected me. Secondly, sometimes word choice can be a bit bland. For example, you use: > As I gaze around my broken home, I realize something. `` Gaze'' is okay, `` broken home'' is a little underwhelming, and then `` I realize something'' is pretty simplistic. Try to throw some personal flair into your writing, something like, `` I gaze across a place I once called home, now broken and awash in the scent of fear and despair. Realization hammers home against my thoughts, there are no others left willing to fight; I am alone.'' Just some thoughts.
[ WP ] Two alien fleets land in France , one wishing to side with the Allied Forces , the other siding with the Reich . The Problem : They landed in 2014 .	High Duke Charklor De Gaulle wondered how he had gotten into this mess. His people had created a large, interstellar hegemony, dominating countless systems, all in the name of peaceful harmony. His people now spent their time demonstrating to lesser species how conflict was futile. Their modus operandi was to act as `` mercenaries'' on all sides of the conflict, and unleash a devastating technological assault on each side, only to be repelled by their own defenses. Through this display, many races had been cowed into ending the conflict, and from there on in it was only a matter of time before they would be absorbed into the greater harmony. This world seemed to be just like the others: a rather wet one, but still full of enough land and creatures to start up a war. The war that they had been briefed on was that this `` empire,'' the Deutsch, was going to war against a coalition of smaller powers, namely a `` Briton, France, and Sovietunia.'' Both sides were evenly matched, and it was likely that without intervention the conflict would persist for years. A perfect acquisition target. There was just one problem: by the time they had arrived, the war had been over for quite some time. When Charklor arrived in the allied capital-some place called `` Paris,'' he adopted a local `` human-style'' name, and immediately presented himself to the king. The king, who called himself `` Lepresidente,'' informed him that there was no threat from Germany, having triumphed over them 60 years ago, and still triumphing over them now. Unbelievably, the war had ended while they were still being briefed. His counterpart to the land of the Deutsches reported a similar circumstance in his land. Only that as far as they were concerned, they had already conquered Europe, so there was no need to invade through Belgium again, whatever that means. Disappointing to be sure, but at least peace was achieved. All of the ship commanders descended onto the planet to learn about new potential ways to make peace, and other topics that may assist the empire in the future.. Charklor, as the senior of the expedition, stayed longer while his other two compatriot fleets returned to the homeworld. He needed to gather the evidence for his actions and perform analysis prior to returning to the Emperor. Which, at long last, he did. So why was it, he thought, as the Red Guards dragged him out to his impending execution by the newly rechristened space battleship Potemkin, that he was the only one that had n't learned anything from the humans?
[ WP ] : `` Who were you before the war ? ''	`` Who were you before the war?'' It's a simple question but it pierces me unlike my other buddies. How do I answer? These soldiers, my friends, thought an answer would be an occupation. The soldier to my right said carpenter. The soldier to me left said cook. Some even say father, mother, and son. I could not give such a simplistic answer. `` I was human,'' I said. My hand tightens the barrel of my m1 garand rifle. I had to elaborate. I owe it to these people for a clear explanation and so I said, `` I joined the army because of the atrocities committed here in Europe. No man should be subjugated to what that bastard Hitler is doing. It was the right thing to do. It was the right thing for me to do.'' My soldiers propped up as if I barked a command. Everyone in my platoon opened their ears to me. I continued. `` War is brutal. You all know that. As soon as we stepped into the battlefield, I was n't fighting for a race anymore. I fought to survive and everyone here to survive. Most of our men died still a human being, but I intended to be a survivor. I had to become as brutal as the war itself. So, I killed, and I will keep on killing to survive again. I shit, blink, eat, and breath like everyone here but I'm not human anymore.''
[ WP ] Every villain is a hero in his own mind . Recent events have left you filled with conflict and doubt . Are you really a superhero ? Is your cause just ? Are your motives really pure ?	1. You know the difference between hero and villain. You've known it from childhood. You remember your childhood, and you remember knowing the difference, but you also remember that sometimes you rooted for the villain. You remember Darth Vader. You remember Gaston. You remember preferring the Beast before his redemption, before he started to become good. What does this say about you? What does it mean? Why have you been thinking about it, every night, staring into the darkness, reaching out for sleep? 2. You had to stop him. You had to break him, had to prevent him from doing anything worse. You did n't know about his childhood, about what they did to him. But would that have changed anything? Does it matter, the life he had? Could he have still chosen good? What makes us who we are? How much do we choose? 3. You never asked for this power. You never asked for any of this. What happens if you turn away? What happens if you leave? They hate you now. Will they still hate you if you disappear? If you leave now, can you ever come back? 4. His blood is still there. You can see it, in your mind. You could see it, if you went there right now. Was there any other way? Some people admire him. Some people hurt for him. What will happen to them? He said he spoke for them. Did he? Could his methods have been changed? What about his message? What if they seek revenge? Was there any other way? 5. How did we get here? Is there any turning back? Do they still know you're the hero? Do they? 6. How does this story end? How does it end?
[ WP ] No sob stories of trauma , no misunderstood good guys , no good intentions , give me the evillest villain you can .	There were only 10 minutes until the hearing when Addie Kline was overcome with a sudden craving for a Dunkin Donuts breakfast sandwich. She smiled wetly at her reflection in the rippled surface of the elevator doors that gave her enormous middle section the effect of being squeezed by a corset. A man beside her shuffled dramatically as he rose his hand to cover the lower half of his face. Addie thought to tell him about her gastrointestinal problems that made it impossible for her to contain flatulence, and that it was really quite rude of him to make a scene in a public space like this, and perhaps he should be more considerate of others, but her mouth was busy sucking Mountain Dew through a straw and he got out on the next floor anyway. `` Would n't have hurt him to take the stairs,'' she said aloud to no one in particular. Addie breathed heavily behind a group of cops inside the Dunkin Donuts. She knew them all very well but did not say hello. Instead she scanned the menu and said, `` how's the overtime coming boys? Enjoying your coffee and donuts on the tax payers dime?'' To which no one responded. Addie snorted at the elderly cashier who asked her what she wanted. Addie ordered two sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches with extra ketchup. She did not notice that it was already 9:35, five minutes after her hearing was scheduled to start. She balanced herself into a high top stool along the counter and washed down her sandwiches with her Mountain Dew as she watched a homeless man dig through the trash with visible disgust. `` How bout this guy?'' she said out loud to no one in particular. She did not bother to brush the crumbs off her lap before heading back to the courthouse. It was five of ten. The family in the elevator had a baby and Addie asked them why they brought the baby to court. The family did not speak English and Addie rolled her eyes. She entered the courtroom and was remanded softly by a judge who Addie had known since childhood. Addie had always wanted to be a lawyer because her mother was a lawyer and she had made a lot of money, but Addie's entrance scores were so bad she had to get her mother to pull strings at the local law school to ensure her enrollment. Addie's mother was prominent in progressive legal reform and had many powerful connections around the city. However, Addie was in the bottom 5 % at her law school and had to intern at the local DA's office until she was 33. Now, at 45, she had put over 800 petty criminals in jail and had missed 200 days of work. She mostly did drug cases. Sometimes her boss gave her a theft or simple assault to plead out, but Addie had a history of `` forgetting'' to contact her victims and regularly agreed to lenient plea deals without getting anyone's input. As Addie fitted her expansive behind in her chair, the judge addressed the court. `` Since the prosecutor has now graced us with her presence, I say we continue this hearing with haste. Defense counsel, you have an argument pertaining to your client's mental health status?'' `` Yes, Your Honor. My client has been charged with felony drug possession and intent to distribute, but these allegations are ludicrous. Your Honor, my client has been a ward of the state since infancy. He has several diagnosed mental health problems and has been subject to abusive environments his entire life, most recently during his time in prison. My efforts to have a hearing on his mental health status have been delayed several times due to Ms. Kline's failure to appear. My client was the victim of several sexual assaults in prison that are currently under investigation.'' The defense attorney stopped abruptly to look at Addie, whose head kept bobbing up and down off her greasy chest as she fell in and out of sleep. `` Your honor, this is ridiculous. I ca n't represent my client in a court-'' `` A client who has over 10 felony counts of drug possession,'' the judge responded. `` Ms. Kline, what do you have to say about these mental health hearings,'' `` Your Honor, I am a very busy woman. Defense counsel seems to think the court system revolves around him. I have a large docket and many -'' Addie suppressed a burp -'' many cases to prosecute.'' `` Well, are we ready to continue with the case today?'' Addie looked around to see if the cop from her case was there. She realized that one of the cops from the Dunkin Donuts should have been subpoenaed to testify, as he was the arresting officer, but she forgot to do it. `` Your Honor, it seems that my officer has failed to appear.'' `` This is the second time.'' `` Sorry your Honor, you know we're very busy.'' The public defender opened his mouth in shock. `` This is the fifth time...'' `` And hopefully this will be remedied the sixth. Defense, please make sure your client understand that this hearing is continued for 30 days,'' the judge instructed while cleaning dirt from under his finger nail. Mr. Hammond looked at his client, who was drooling slightly. His name was Chris and he was a black man of 22 who had been used to deliver crack for a drug lord who lived in his old foster home. The drug lord fed and sheltered Chris in return for his services. Just the previous day, Mr. Hammond had faxed paperwork to Addie regarding the attacks on Chris at the prison. He received no response. `` Your Honor, he's not safe at prison and no one can make his bail. His primary caregiver has recently been incarcerated and Chris has no money. He ca n't go back there.'' `` You said it's under investigation? Well once there's a decision about the sexual assaults we can revisit this. But that usually takes about 6 months,'' the judge responded. `` Your Honor, I was actually going to request we raise the bail, seeing as the defendant is obviously a risk to public safety,'' Addie said loudly. `` Granted, bail raised to $ 50,000. Anything else? Ok, adjourned.'' Addie coughed and asked the bailiff to help her stand. On her way back to her office she felt a disturbance deep within her bowels and said out loud, `` thank god for paid sick days!'' She drove home and treated herself to a McFlurry on the way. `` To the blind eyes of justice!'' she yelled a the woman in the drive through window, toasting her milkshake and coughing at her face.
[ OT ] What is one thing you would want every brand new creative writer to know ?	Each sentence you create is nothing less than your own small universe. That universe can expand, through more sentences, into absolutely anything you want it to - all you have to do is make your rules make sense. Dragons? Fuck yeah. Humans can hover naturally and without assistance? Cool, that can happen. It's your story. Tell it your way. Also, make a decision at the beginning of your tale: are you to hold the reader's hand, guiding them along your path, or are you to let them make their own? That's the difference between Mr. Johnson wearing an overcoat, and his wearing a faded black overcoat, frayed at the edges, which belied his usual activities. The difference is the amount of help you give a reader visualizing. When he's only wearing the overcoat, I can visualize that however I want, and in a way mould the character to my liking, but if that overcoat is important, because it is a contradiction, or an essential item in the story, it's better to describe it to the reader, in as much detail as possible.
[ WP ] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation , so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space . For the first time , MilkyWay.exe lags .	Jeremy looked at the read out on the monitor in disbelief. Error 100101 Error? The Milky Way hadn ’ t had an error in... well ever. And what the hell was error 100101? Beads of sweat began to form on his brow. Had he done something? The only manual interaction he ’ d had with the sim were the usual arbitrary interactions that were allowed every tech in his position. Still, Milky Way was Timothy ’ s baby, and if Timothy ’ s baby was damaged on his watch, there would be hell to pay. Jeremy took two quick deep breaths then signaled that he needed help. The tech analyst floated to Jeremy ’ s station gracefully. A whirring ball of silicate and metal, it hovered over the station momentarily, scanning the error. It then whirred off in the opposite direction, assumedly to debug the error and notify Timothy of the on-goings. Jeremy waited nervously recounting every action he ’ d taken after setting foot in the office today: There was the asteroid he collided with Nebula6. Nebula6 current populace was well under the 2 billion threshold and didn ’ t require authorization to demolish. Then there was the new species he introduced to the 8th sector. The 8th sector was so sparsely populated it would be a millennia in sim-time before his species was discovered. Again well within regs. “ What the HELL did you do to my universe Spitzer!? ”, Timothy jumped into view, the steam was nearly visible from his ears. “ No..Nothing…I didn ’ t do.. ” “ Move, let me have a look ” Timothy butted his way into Jeremys terminal. Timothy waived his hands, and pinched fingers in rapid succession, eyes glued to the read out all the while muttering “ If I find out you broke protocol you are finished Jer… ” Timothy stopped mid thought, he ’ d found something of interest. “ Am I.. ” “ shhh ”, Timothy retorted. “..in trouble? ” “ SHHH! ”, Timothy responded vehemently this time holding a single finger to Jeremys lips, his face still buried in the read out. “ This is fascinating! ” “ What? What ’ s fascinating? ”, Jeremy asked. Timothy responded with 3 words that would change Universe Inc forever, “ Elon fucking Musk! ”
[ WP ] A man find the Gates Of Heaven , after opening it the only thing he find is a white room with a dead man sitting in a chair .	The rattle of the door handle shook St Peter awake with a start. He sat up in his booth, a disheveled, makeshift hut of pine and ply that housed a stool, scroll, and a rather alarmed saint who now eyed the door set into the white wall in front of him with great suspicion. With the groan of long-unused hinges it swung open and a young man in his early twenties stepped through. He looked around at the flat, white, unending expanse and caught sight of the saint eyeballing him from his booth. Beside the booth there was a great set of wrought iron gates three meters high, adorned with golden vines and topped with marble statues of angles. Although upon closer inspection they turned out to be plaster that had crumbled faintly at the edges. The man shrugged and turned to leave, but the door through which he had entered was nowhere to be found, replaced by more of that peculiarly uniform, white substance that also made up the walls and floor. Perplexed he turned back to the booth and stepped forwards. 'Where is this?' he asked, confusion audible in his voice. St Peter raised an eyebrow.'Seriously, kid?' He sighed,'Wait there.' And ducked out of sight. The man started as he heard what sounded like leather on metal and the hum of a transformer filled the air. On the top of the booth, a gaudy, neon sign fizzled into life. The man had just enough time to read `` The P rly Gat s'' before it sparked and cut out entirely. 'Well, you get the general idea, at least.' St Peter had re-appeared on the stool inside the booth and proceeded to brandish the scroll.'Name?' The man seemed quite taken aback.'Felix, Felix Matthews.' he said, then shook his head.'Wait, really, where is this?' 'Pearly Gates'. Replied the saint as he unrolled the scroll, eyes flicking across a long list of names, dates and- 'Cause of death?' The man asked? Peter looked up at him and scowled. 'Well what do you expect?' he said.'This is The Pearly Gates.... Gates of Heaven? Doorway to God, our Lord and Saviour, amen amen and all that?' he continued, seeing the man's puzzled expression. 'You mean I'm dead?' replied Felix as alarm crept into his voice. 'Probably.' Felix began to panic.'What do you mean, `` probably''? I came from the... I feel-' he raised a finger to correct himself,'felt fine.' 'I should hope so, this is the afterlife after all.' Returned the saint, still studying the scroll.'Ah, here we go. Felix Matthews, 23, cause of death... Probably best you do n't know that, does n't really concern you any more.' 'Wait, Heaven?' Interrupted Felix.'Then you would be St Peter? 'Yup.' 'And this is the entrance to heaven?' 'Yup.' Felix looked up at the gate again, at the crumbling plaster, peeling paintwork and stains of rust.'Seems a bit, well, low budget if you ask me. Besides, why am I here? I'm not a Christian, I do n't believe in God.' St Peter chuckled,'And I do n't believe in the postman, Mondays and raisin cookies. Does n't make them any less real. As for the... State of the place, shall we say, things have been a bit quiet around here for a while now. A few hundred years back and the flow of people really started to slow down, so we opened up the entry qualifications somewhat. Broadened them, in a manner of speaking.' 'So what are they now?' St Peter cocked his head to one side and met Felix's gaze.'Lead a good life, be kind, not cruel. Do n't be selfish...' He tailed off as Felix stared at him, aghast.'Look, kid, he continued. I know what they probably taught you in school. The truth of that is, you live in a different time to what it was like when those bloody books were written. Who do you think would believe messages carved into stone now when you ca n't even believe what you read in the newspaper? Ultimately what matters is how you live your life. Religion was only ever a way of encouraging that in a less' he paused, struggling to find the right word,'civilised time.' 'So where is everyone else?' asked Felix.'They ca n't all go to Hell, surely?' 'You'd be surprised,' said Peter with a grin,'you think queues and paperwork are Godly creations? No, I'm sure our dear friend the Devil is managing quite well.' Peter noticed Felix's troubled expression.'Oh it's not so bad there. Warm. Toasty. Now, everything seems to be in order. Come here and I'll stamp your hand then you can go through.' 'Stamp my hand? ' 'Just a joke.' said Peter.'And be gentle with the gates!' he called as Felix swung them wide open and stepped through. A staircase stretched out in front of him, made of the same, white material as before. Behind him, the gates swung shut and so Felix began to climb. After what seemed like an age he reached a door, which he opened. Inside, he found a small, white room with a desk in the center, and seated in the chair behind, eyes empty and devoid of life was an old man with long, grey hair and a matching beard. Felix turned, but just as before the door behind him had vanished. When he turned round again to face the room, the body had vanished and a single envelope lay on the desk. The envelope read `` The Last Will and Testament''. With no other options, Felix opened the envelope and drew out a single sheet of paper upon which a two paragraphs were written in delicate calligraphy. To whom it may concern. For billions of years I have watched the universe I spun into existence grow and flourish. I nurtured you, my children, and I gifted you with speech and love and power. These things I had assumed would bring happiness to all whereas in the end, they only brought inequality. I am older than time its self, the First, the Only. I know not of suffering or pain, of conscience or consequence; and so who am I to be worshiped? Who am I to rule? So I leave you this, he or she of pure heart. You in your short life have done more good than I have across human history. You have lived and loved and suffered and you, you understand kindness and compassion like no other. So I leave you this; take up my mantle, take up my role. I know you will be a kinder God than I could ever have been. A signature and a wax seal adorned the bottom of the page. Felix collapsed into the chair in which God had once sat, his mind spinning as the weight of the message fell upon him. On one wall, the doorway he had entered through slowly reappeared. Finally, he stirred and left the room, Will in hand. He descended the staircase, startling the snoring saint again as he thrust aside the gates.'Come, friend,' he said, voice heavy with the weight of the world.'We have much work to do.'
[ WP ] Vesuvius did n't just erupt , it released a dragon . The people of Pompeii did n't simply perish , they gave their lives defeating it .	Vesuvius was dreaming of roasted elephant when the vibrations from the ground started to rouse her from her slumber. Then the awful noise reached her sensitive ears. Oohh, not again. Ca n't a girl get some sleep around here? She wished she was n't so sensitive. It was fabulous to hear elephant bellows from 200 miles, but this was annoying. Why did she have to be such a light sleeper? These damn Romans were way worse than those Saxons ever were. She could hear their music and laughter clearly now. She was fully awake. No turning over and going back to sleep. How could such puny creatures make so much noise? It must be the beer. The Saxons never made a lot at any one time, tiny little barrels of it. These Romans though, they made pools of it. Enormous stone buildings with huge pools of it. She wished they would drown in it, but they never did. She thought she had been safe on this little spit of land, surrounded by water, and under a mountian. She had looked for weeks to find this place. It was on the other side of those mountians far away from drunken Saxons and those Egyptians on the other side of the sea. She hated beer. Has n't had decent sleep since these wretched creatures discovered it. How in the hell did they all discover it at the same time? She considered pounding on the ground, that usually shut them up for a while, but she was hungry. There was n't anything left to eat was there? She looked around hoping to spot something she missed or some creature that had wandered in. No such luck. Vesuvius stood and streched. She was stiff from laying so long. I dont want to be awake she grumbled, I was sleeping so well. Such a nice dream too. She took a really deep breath and blew out the top where she had covered it over. Molten rock went everywhere. She was pissed now. She flew out and incinerated everything around the top of the mountian above the city. Blowing it all in front of her as she swept down the hillside. The little noisy little Romans were screaming and running every which way. They shot their little sticks up at her. Too funny, like those are going to hurt. She flew over and toasted a few. They were tasty but it took a lot to make a meal. She was hungry though, that made it worth the effort. The avalanche of molten rock and ash soon buried the entire town and nothing was left to eat. She turned and headed south, roast elephant sounds good.
[ EU ] Ms. Frizzle is to stand trial and faces up to 50 years in prison for giving her whole class acid .	The judges brow furrowed as he read the startling report. Never before had he been faced with such a horrendous topic as the one that sat before him. In multiple hand drawn books, books drawn by the victim, and typescript written by the victims interpreters, as multiple acid trips had left him with little to no communication ability, was his account of his mind altering adventures in Mrs. Frizzles class. Mrs. Frizzles lawyer sat with the now elderly red haired woman across the way, she looked up at him with glazed over eyes, dementia had taken its tole on the teacher, many times her nurse had to rub some sort of calming ointment on the woman's back because she would start shouting about skin cells and pigment color during one of her previous students, a twenty six year old heroin addict, account of one of the many acid trips the class had collectively taken. The man stated that Mrs. Frizzle would drug them with acid as kids and leave them on the bus alone with an educational videos playing on the bus TV. The man stated that if he was not exposed to acid at such a young age he would have never turned to heroin in his teenage years. The judge raised his gavel, it was a hard decision because of Mrs. Frizzle's medical condition of Dementia, she could not be held accountable for her past actions, nor did she have the money to pay off the plaintives, he had to rule her guilty but could not award the plaintive any reward other than knowing that Mrs. Frizzle would spend the rest of her life in an institution for the criminally insane. Mrs. Frizzle was lead onto the white bus in handcuffs, once seated she let out a sigh, the insane asylum was probably a better place to go than the local county home. Once their she would have her own room and finally be left alone by those damn kids, she could stand to pretend to be demented for the rest of her life. The attendant walked down the aisle and was giveing some sort of clear liquid on a spoon to each patient. He offered the spoon to her, she refused, but a second attendent forced her mouth open, the liquid tasted sickly sweet, she coughed and choked on it, `` ok, everyone, let's go on an adventure.'' Said The doctor standing at the front of the bus pushing a videotape into the vcr.
[ WP ] Nothing stopped Ernest Miller from arriving at work , at 7:00 every morning . Not weather , not the commute , not illness , not death .	-... the coffee machine is over there, and the ladies' room is down that corridor, first door at the left. - Thanks a lot, you're so kind. - Well, I think you already know Matt, he'll take from here, and welcome. - Thanks again. Matt is bald and ugly, kinda Uncle Fester from the Addams Family, but even if I've only known him for two days I already like him. He's the kind of guy who really knows how to bond with people. I have a good feeling about him being my boss. - Welcome again, Jessica. I see you already got the tour for the company. Anything you need right now? - No, thanks, I'm fine. - Ok, great. Now, this will be your desk, your computer should arrive any time, and these are your workmates: He's Dan, he does taxes, and she's Elena, she mostly deals with leases and financing. Guys, this is Jessica, she will replace Kieran in account management. - Welcome - Welcome, gal. Then I notice that there's a fourth desk in the room. It's set up at the very corner, with a working computer, lots of files on it and a picture of a freckled dude next to the screen. - And who sits there? - Oh, that's Ernest. - Says Elena. - You're not gon na see him around that much. He does expense audits. - He works from home? - Kinda. - There's something odd about the way she smiles when she says that. Like... she wants to drop the subject. That's weird. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Working at Mason & Associates turned out to be a really good job. Matt was exactly as good as I expected, I got along well with Dan and Elena, even if they had the annoying habit of sneaking out for a quickie every now and then in the ladies' restroom... and she was married, by the way, but I never got exactly what happened with Ernest. Every night I would leave some files in his desk, and every morning I would find them back in mine, properly processed with a neat handwriting. Sometimes his phone would ring once. Just once. Still, even if no one answered, somehow no one ever had a complaint. I talked to him by phone a couple times. He had a nice voice, but a terrible memory. I had to introduce myself every single time, and even after the fifth time he would still believe in every new conversation that Kieran was still doing account management. And four months later I still had n't seen him go to the office a single day. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - The world is full of stupid. This executive did a horrible mess with his accounts and somehow I had to give a full audit of his things the next morning so the Higher Powers would decide how they would fire his ass. I am not, I repeat, I AM NOT the kind of person to do extra hours, but right then I had to. It came ten o' clock and I was still at the office. It came eleven, half past eleven, and I was still there. I sent Ernest an e-mail about the expenses of this dude and prepared to leave... And then his computer chimed with a new message sent. And mine chimed with a new message received. That was impossible. I walked over to Ernest's desk and there it was, and answer to my email, sent even if nobody had sat at the computer. I walked to the corridor and hid besides the restroom door, and peeked over. Nothing happened at first, but then the files opened, a pen started moving in the air and notes were writen on the sheets. Ten minutes later the files placed themselves on my desk. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - - What do you mean `` He's dead''?! Matt's sad monster face was one of the unhappiest faces I had ever seen. - Well... he's dead. Ernest died in a Metro crash ten months ago. We at first tried to replace him, but then we noticed that his work kept being done by the nights, and the guy we had hired to replace him complained about weird stuff happening to him all the time, so... It seemed that Ernest really wanted to keep doing his job, so we let him do it. - You had me working next to a dead guy all this time? - Please, Jess. Do n't take it like that. What were you expecting? If we had told you since the first day, would you have believed us? Would you have stayed? No and no, I had to concede that. - So... what now? Do you want to stay? Well, to be honest, I liked the job, the pay was good. Yes, this was weird as hell, but I considered for a good half an hour, and I decided I could live with that. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Hi, Ernie, this is Jessica, from accounts. - Jessica who? - Jessica. I'm replacing Kieran. Did n't you get the memo? - Oh, no, sorry. Welcome to the company. How can I help you? - Well, I just sent you the expenses of the Morgan account, we need to get their fees down as much as we can, think you can help me? - I'll see what I can do. Get back to you in the afternoon. - Thanks, you're a sweetie. By the way, Ernie... - Yes? - Did they tell you you're dead? - Haha, very funny. See you later, miss. I sighed. This was my fourth attempt and I was n't getting anywhere. Somehow i felt sad by this dude, trapped to his desk job without knowing that he had died, that he had to move on. - We tried that. - Said Dan from behind me. - We tried making him notice that he was dead, to move on, but it seems impossible. We even got a priest to come and bless the place, but it did n't do anything because he's not evil, he's just the worst workaholice I've met. - So... there's nothing we can do about him? - I do n't know. I understand you, but we ran out of ideas a long time ago. I sigh. Still, there might be worse destinies for him, and worse workers for this company. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -... the coffe machine is over there, the men's room is down the corridor, third door on the right, and... well, that's pretty much it. You already know Jessica, so i'll leave you in her hands. I look at my new recruit. He's a guy barely out of college, and he looks both ambicious and carefree. Maybe he will last, unlike the last two ones. Ever since Matt got promoted and I got his old position, I'm finding it hard to keep people here once they discover our secret. But I'll try anyway. - Welcome, Dylan. Guys, - I raise my voice a little. - This is Dylan. He will be replacing Elena in finances. Dylan, this is Dan, he does takes, and he's Marco, he does account management. Your desk is over here, right now we're short on computers but yours should arrive tomorrow. In the meantime, I have a couple reports so you can get strated. - Thanks a lot - he says. Then I notice his glance fixed in the desk in the corner, the files on it and the picture of that guy. - Oh, that's Ernest. He does expense audits, but you're not gon na see him around too much. - Does he work from home, or something? I ca n't help to smile. Funny that one of my best employees is someone who has been dead for five years. - Yeah, kinda.
[ WP ] New Year 's Eve . December 31st , 2099 .	I missed the aliens. Ahem. I guess we're not supposed to call them that. I missed the Oquathians when they first showed up. I'm still bitter about that, but hardly alone. Most of us missed it. I barely even remember that night, to be honest. December 31, 2099. I'd been waiting for five years to save up enough money to go to New York to watch the ball drop. My parents had met there -- and I'd been conceived that night, apparently -- and had stayed together for a while. Long enough for me to get to know them, at least. So I'd saved up from the time I was fifteen, so that I could go just after I could legally drink. No point in going sooner, I thought. Several of us went. It's a bit of a trip from Mississippi, and a lot of folks just said we should go on down to the French Quarter in NOLA ( before it got obliterated by the Oquathians ) since it was closer. It'd save us a bunch of money. They were right, it would save us money. But it was never about saving money. So we got there on New Years Eve, checked into the hotel, and began the bar crawl. The Rooftop Crawl, it was called, and we started drinking lightly -- pacing ourselves because it was really our first time drinking for any of us. We'd all had a sip or two, but we'd agreed that we would wait for the'big' celebration on New Years Eve to do any real drinking. It started well, and went well. I think. Honestly I do n't remember much. Things were rosy, and then hazy, and then I woke up and the world had gone insane. In a single night NOLA was gone. So was pretty much every major city south of 30 degrees North. A sixty degree arc around the center of the planet, and the Oquathians had pretty much obliterated everyone in that arc. And I missed it, somehow. To be fair, I'd woken up with an absolutely gorgeous redhead. I do n't know how I'd managed to convince her to cozy up with me like that, but when the sirens woke us up, I had blearily rolled over to find her pressed against me in a rather enjoyable way. She had opened her eyes, smiled at me and mumbled something mostly incoherent about how people should have the decency not to have emergencies that time of the day. Whatever time it was. She had inched closer to me and closed her eyes again for a few seconds, then they had snapped open. Green, they were green. And gorgeous. Then she'd been perfectly coherent. And angry. And nice. She handed me her card, saying'You were lots of fun, maybe next time you're in town, give me a call', then had headed for the door, when she stopped cold. In the next moments reality had come crashing down. The invasion, the destruction, and finally, the capitulation that had all happened while we slept. So here we are now. It's 2115, and we're still together. Brianna, as it turned out, was more than just another co-ed. Technically, not a co-ed at all at the time we'd met. She'd been interning as a political staffer at the UN, for President Magabwe's assistant secretary. Not a terribly prestigious position, but Brianna had been fast-tracked for greatness. She's fluent in more languages than I'd known even existed at the time we met. She had grabbed me, forced me to get dressed, and dragged me over to the UN, and we'd gone through a bunch of hoops to get seen. So where are we now? Well, first the Oquathians are right bastards. But, because we've signed about a dozen treaties, we are n't allowed to say that. Not really. They count themselves the true owners of the planet. We just happened to be unusually intelligent parasites that enjoy the uninhabitable parts of their world. At least that's how I get. `` Brianna, are you ready?'' `` Sure thing, Illidan. You sure about this?'' `` Yeah.'' She sidled up to me. `` Hey honey, we could just leave them alone, you know It's not too late.'' I gave her a look. She knew better. I did too. She wanted these bastards gone at least as much as I did. She pouted, still gorgeous when she did. `` Okay, fine. But I just want it on record that we at least discussed the likely problems.'' `` Consider it discussed. But with their new announcement? We ca n't wait.'' `` No kidding. It's already too hot.'' The bastards were planning on doing something pretty much every human knew meant death for us, but the treaty had still held. Because most people did n't think we had a choice. They were right, in a way, but the only real option was to fight now, before the aliens moved the planet closer to the sun, raising the temperature even further. That done and we see a five to ten degree shift in average global temperatures. The only place we'd be able to survive would be the soon to be flooded poles. So I planted the bombs, and I waited for the signal. Brianna and I flipped our switches, and waited. She moved close, grabbed me tight, and we kissed. After that, as our bodies immolated from the hydrogen bombs we'd planted to destroy their infrastructure, it did n't really matter what happened.
[ WP ] Its 392 B.C . Alexander the great has made the preparations for his major battle against Persians . He is inspecting the cavalry riding on a horse , and a small explosion occurs at nearby meadows . He goes there to find what it was , and you step out of a Time Machine .	THIS story is set before alexander the great invaded india, when his army would march no further. I know this isnt exactly what was in the prompt, oops Smoke fills the air as i step out, I hear murmurs from all around. As the haze of fog slowly lifts, i take in my surroundings. Ive landed in thick mud, not good for the transport, and the rushing of a river almost drowns out the clamor of the men staring down at me. In the middle stands the man who i assume must be Alexander. The man who i have come to stop. My name is Vin A'Zar, and i have come from the year 2124. India was destroyed by Alexander the Great, and he unknowingly destroyed the ZarCrystal, source of all life. It was a slow process, but eventually humanity began to whither, and we knew we had to fix it. And so here i am, armed with a 6 shot pistol and a multicolored flashlight, attempting to stop one of the greatest invasions of all time. Back to the present ( past? ), Alexander is shouting at me. I should have learned some other languages before coming here. I did not think this through. After it becomes apparent that i wont respond, he sends one of his men towards me. Spear pointed at me and shuddering, he takes a step towards me. Now is the time to act. I pull out my pistol and point it him, barely hesitating before pulling the trigger. There is a collective cry of horror, followed by silence as the men look towards their leader. A man who i assume to be a general yells an order, and is rewarded by my second bullet. Three men charge at me and meet the same fate. One bullet left, and there's still an army here. Pocketing the gun, i pull out the flashlight and point it at the soldiers. Now wary of my equipment, they hesitate before moving. With a quick movement, i turn the light on and shine it in Alexander's eyes. He yells out, and i spin around, momentarily blinding each if the men facing me. They slowly began to move away from me, horrified of my monstrous weaponry. Then, as loud as i could, i scream `` leave this place, and you shall be spared'' they dont understand, but the command in my voice stuns them into movement. At a shout from Alexander, they begin there retreat, and i sit down. You probably havent heard of me, i doubt you ever will. You might not have heard of the AzarCrystal, and you were probably taught that Alexanders army halted before going into India My time exists no longer, history having been altered. But whenever you look at green grass, or a child full of life, remember that things could have been very different. You're welcome, humanity. I pray that the AzarCrystal remains undisturbed in your reality, for the good of you all. Edit: wrong exact time period, this has nothing to do with persians. Hope you enjoyed anyways: )
[ WP ] During the great depression , the Midwest was called the Dust Bowl . Massive dust storms blew across the countryside . Describe the experiences of a child during one of these storms .	Note: I took this story in a slightly different direction * August 4, 2120; Hammaguir Crater, Mars** * “ Round and round the colony ship, the robot chased the bilge rat. The bilge rat thought ‘ twas all in good fun. Zap, goes the bilge rat! ” * Her children ’ s voices crackled over the comm. From her chair on the porch, Alice watched the three bound around the long-decrepit rover, kicking up clouds of red dust as they romped through the Martian morning. Their laughter sounded off, distorted through the comm. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Her husband stood behind her, watching the little yellow space suits cavort in the low gravity. Alice grasped his hand, squeezed. “ They grow up so fast, ” she said through her respirator. Her husband sat beside her on the porch. “ That they do, Ally, that they do. ” They sat in silence, taking in the panoramic view of the valley far below. What was left of New Seattle lay in the early-morning sun, far below, pillars of pink concrete soaring into the eternally-overcast sky. The terraforming generator still puffed away, spouting its eternal cloud of atmosphere, but around it the city had died. Like everything else. “ Well, I better go check the crops, ” her husband said. He stood, straightened his helmet, and gave his wife a disarming smile. “ Be back in a few, hun. ” She watched him stroll across the yard in the signature half-glide of the established settlers, in turns leaping and strutting through the low gravity. He passed by the children, and their youngest son bounded over and leapt, crashing into his waiting arms. The pair went down in a pile, and were soon joined by the other two. Alice watched her family roll around in the dust, and tried to smile. After a few minutes, her husband rose, brushed a fine layer of red sand from his suit, and said something to the kids before continuing his skipping stride towards the greenhouse. A chime sounded in Alice ’ s earpiece, signaling noon. She better get lunch started. * Alice stepped over three tiny, crumpled space suits cast haphazardly inside the airlock. The children were already seated around the kitchen table, bounding and giggling. She heard the airlock hiss, and her husband stepped into the pre-fab colony block they called home. She greeted him at the kitchen door, ready to help him remove his suit, but when he removed his helmet she paused. His eyes. She had seen that look before. Without a word, he nodded to her, grim determination creasing his rough features. He motioned her over to the corner. “ What ’ s the news, honey? ” she asked, trying to peer through his stoic façade. He took a deep breath, ran a gloved hand through his hair. “ It ’ s the crops, Alice. They ’ re not taking. ” Alice ran a hand down his dusty cheek. “ What do you mean? Weren ’ t they flowering last week? ” Her husband nodded, but did not meet her gaze. “ I think something ’ s in the water… they ’ re dead. All of em ’, dead. ” Silence filled the hallway, interrupted only by the tittering laughter coming from the kitchen. After a while, Alice took a deep breath. “ That ’ s ok, we ’ ll start again, head down to Terminus Station tomorrow and get what supplies we need. More seeds. Plus, we might be able to find a new razor for you. What do you say? ” Her husband, the man she had come to know and love so well, the seemingly indomitable settler, looked far older than his years. She was suddenly aware of an overbearing tiredness, a hopelessness she had never seen in him. “ Station ’ s closed down, three weeks ago. Catastrophic decompression. ” Alice pulled her husband into a deep hug. “ Don ’ t worry, Steven, we ’ ll find a way. We always do. ” * Dinner was a slim helping of reconstituted mac and cheese with a side of water. After they had cleaned up and put the children to bed, Alice and Steven sat at the table, a bottle of local moonshine between them. “ Maybe we should leave, ” said Steven, between sips of the red lightning, “ pick it all up and head off-planet. Maybe sign on to one of the colony ships. ” Alice poured herself a slim line of liquor. She said nothing. They both knew that they could never afford the ticket up the last remaining orbital elevator, let alone lodging aboard one of the massive colony ships. She took a sip. Their silent vigil was interrupted by a faint wail, echoing through the hallways. “ Aw, hell, ” Steven grumbled. He put down his cup, shook his head to clear the potent haze, and hurried out of the kitchen. “ Alice, ” he called back, now running, “ get the kids up and into the shelter, I ’ ll be with you soon. ” The siren was a part of life on Mars, and it always sent a shiver down Alice ’ s spine. Dust storm. * Wind ripped at the walls of their home, wailing through the support struts and pounding the windows with a fine red mist. Together, Alice and her children sat huddled in the emergency shelter, sunk deep into the sand beneath the house ’ s foundation. Steven was out there, likely securing the greenhouse and tying down the rover. Alice pulled her children closer, trying to blot out the dark thoughts that crept into her mind. Steven would join them, he always did. The storms always cut into their comms, the blowing metallic sand playing foul with the signals. She wished she could talk to Steven, make sure he was doing alright out there. But she would just have to trust him. A vicious burst of wind rocked the home above, and Alice could hear the struts groaning. The storms had been getting worse, and this one was bad. “ Mommy, where ’ s daddy? ” Alice ruffled her youngest son ’ s hair. “ Don ’ t worry, Jamie, he ’ ll be back soon. He ’ s just making sure everything stays put until the wind stops. ” Alice had to force the trepidation from her voice. And then the world exploded. Wind tore into the shelter, vile red dust scouring every exposed surface. Alice pulled her children closer, covering their eyes from what she could only imagine was impending doom. And then it stopped, and there in the shelter ’ s doorway stood Steven, covered head to toe in red dust. He took a single step into the shelter, undid the clasps of his helmet, tossed it aside, and collapsed to the floor beside Alice. He touched a gloved hand to her cheek. “ We ’ re good, all secure, and the storm should pass in a few hours. Looks like we ’ ll live to face another day.'' *
[ WP ] Rewrite the lyrics of any Disney song to make it about World War II	There's a calm awareness, from nightfall until day. When listening for a falling shell, you can not run away. An unending siren, you wish it was n't true. Had enough of this restless night time, why must it involve you. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - And can you hear the bombs tonight, They fall where we are, Had enough of these wide-eyed night times They are coming from afar -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- And can you hear the bombs tonight, Friends are laid to rest Had enough of these kings and vagabonds Thinking they're the best -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - There's a time for fighting if they'd only learn about the soldiers family awaiting their return If he does n't come home, from fighting in the wars You'll see the tears of sons and daughters, weeping at the doors -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- And can you hear the bombs tonight, They fall where we are, Had enough of these wide-eyed night times They are coming from afar -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- And can you hear the bombs tonight, Friends are laid to rest Had enough of these kings and vagabonds Thinking they're the best -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Had enough of these kings and vagabonds Thinking they're the best
[ WP ] Everyone assumes the hero is dating the plucky reporter ; in actuality he 's in love with his nemesis .	“ Another day, another dastardly terrorist plot, and another heroic derring-do to save the day. Mr. Empath, how on earth do you do it? ” “ Well Jim, every morning I get up to look at my ugly mug in the mirror and try to eliminate all thoughts of self-loathing. Whenever you hear me groan that ’ s me asking myself why I didn ’ t sign on with the bad guys. ” “ Haha! There ’ s our hero ’ s sense of humor. Dry as always. My name ’ s not Jim by the way. That aside, there ’ s something people want to know. Who is your nemesis Black Bomb? What is she like? We ’ ve all heard various things about her. ” “ Black Bomb is an interesting villain. For instance, today she thoroughly explained to me why showers in the morning were most effective before detonating the explosives attached to the bank vault. ” “ Was it a tactic to distract you? ” “ No. We talk frequently because she and I like to catch up before we do business. We ’ re almost friends now. Sometimes she ’ ll come say hello at my apartment and we ’ ll have some pizza. ” “ Excuse me? ” “ It ’ s easier that way. She can tell me where she ’ s going to strike next and I ’ ll just play along, telling her how bad she is, how dangerous of a game she ’ s playing. It ’ s a blast for her. And it ’ s not like I ’ ll be able to stop her from doing what she wants anyway. So that ’ s just how it is. How on earth do you think I would reach her in time if she didn ’ t tell me beforehand? ” “ I see…That is very strange. But we ’ ll move on. Today you saved a particular person today from certain death, Ms. Casey. She had a certain message for you, Mr. Empath. ” “ That reporter chick with platinum blond hair? She ’ s been pestering me for ages now asking for an interview at that new French restaurant. I ’ m sure she ’ ll be on YouTube tomorrow, so no need to show me some silly footage now. ” “ Err, okay then Mr. Empath. We ’ ll move on again. During today ’ s bank robbery when Black Bomb strapped one of her signature explosives to your chest, how on earth did you survive? ” “ I used my ultimate ability to take control of her mind for a few short minutes. And she herself defused the explosive. After all, no bomb specialist in the world has been able to defuse one of her contraptions. ” “ That sounds like a powerful ability. Is it more difficult to manipulate a villain like Black Bomb who is rumored to be rather intelligent? ” “ Ingenious is more like it. And yes, her emotions tend to be densely meshed; it ’ s hard to sift through a person like BB. ” “ What did you sense while inside her mind? Hatred? Murderous intent? ” “ Cheerfulness, actually. She ’ s enthusiastic about going to work in the morning. Usually the bad guy ’ s some unhappy bum spurned by society. But she ’ s an optimistic bad… guy. In my line of work, a happy villain is a bad omen. Like a hero ’ s gon na get hitched or something. ” “ I see, that does sound quite troubling. Could you elaborate? ” “ Getting married means retirement. And from what I ’ ve heard from my friend, Mr. Awesome, it ’ s a complete nightmare. Also, babies with superpowers. Have you seen how much vomit a normal baby can produce? It ’ s like an acidic fire hydrant. Now can you imagine a superbaby left in your living room for thirty minutes? I shiver from just the thought. ” “ Hold on Mr. Empath, you ’ ve been surviving confrontations with Black bomb by manipulating her for whole minutes? When she visits you personally or when you have any other chance, why not simply arrest her? ” “ The truth is Jim, that I ’ m not a true superhero. She ’ s found her passion or calling in life and unfortunately society has no choice but to shake its head at her. When it ’ s against Black Bomb, I ’ m not fighting for the greater good. I ’ m there to make sure nobody gets hurt. She ’ s there to watch the fireworks. ”
[ WP ] Write the most uncomfortable to read story you can .	'Let's kill the batman.' 'Sure. That black whorespitoon deserves worse.' 'Oh? He do summin' t'ya?' 'You ca n't imagine.' 'Try me.' 'Ever read a book. A new book, all white glossy pages smelling like fresh morning grass. Sitting in the mahogany chair, you carefully turn the first page, holding it with just the tip of your finger. The next page, then another. Just when you are totally engrossed, a jerk to the elbow sends the crisp edge of the paper through your flesh. Embedded deep in the appendage, the red spot grows around the open gore, unsoaked blood smearing down the preface. There are a million nerve ending in a finger, the most sensitive organ except your penis, all of them compound the shear agony of this seemingly minuscule paper cut if you dare move your hand. You try to flick it away, the motion only grates the edge against nail roots, firmly lodgind it inside. You can not go numb, your brain only sends more blood, more agony. Breathing, calmly, you put your second finger to the task, pushing away with an equal force, carefully... The same jerk hits your elbow again.'' 'Horrible. He did that?' 'He lodged paper knives in my dick.'
[ WP ] A group of professional thieves are going after a set of very specific objects scattered in multiple locations .	`` Harry, you ready to go?'' I received that same old nod he always gave. Four years. It has been four years since we have pulled a job together. Venice may not have been the prettiest job in the world, hell, Jim still has n't gotten out yet, but the payout was worth it. Jim was n't without use however. He still had his contacts, which is why we are here now. 2.7 million. That is what we stood to make. Split between the three of us, 900,000, and that was only for part one of our little heist spree. It's time. They convoy was heading down the road at roughly 55 mph, three armored Cadillac SUVs, our score was in the 1st truck, or at least, that's what Jim's contact says. Harry and I hopped in our car, a modified Dodge Challenger SRT. We had equipped this beast with a supercharged HEMI engine, it was shelling out enough horsepower to make a NASCAR driver shit himself. Not to mention the all-steel armor plating that lines every inch of the car. I shoved it into first and we flew down the highway towards the convoy. 30 seconds, that's how long we have to make a clean getaway, 45 seconds after the FBI would be alerted, which would leave us with mere minutes before the top dogs in the FBI would be trying to stop us before we hit the border. 30 seconds. Go. I pulled alongside the car in the back of the pack, the driver immediately knew what was happening. Before he could react, Harry expertly disabled their car, its amazing what a small block of C4 next to the gas hub can do. 23 seconds. The second car did exactly what I expected an FBI convoy driver to do. He swerved to the left and hit the brakes to try to stop me. I downshifted and made a quick right to left swerve effectively hitting his back right tire causing him to veer right into the rail guard. 15 seconds. I guess I forgot to mention one very important modification to the Challenger, or rather two that work as one. On the front end, two modified harpoon guns with about 30 yards of industry-grade steel cable, and on the back a solid steel spike with a 4-inch diameter that will drive itself through solid concrete in less than a second. Anyways, where was I? Oh, yeah. 15 seconds. I flipped up the two green switches priming the harpoons, pressed the little red button that Harry comically drew a skull and crossbones on, and just like that our Challenger and their Cadillac suddenly became one. 10 seconds. I flipped up the last green switch marked'nail' and pressed the second red button, and in a matter of 3 seconds we were still. 7 seconds. The two agents that occupied the SUV got out guns drawn, so Harry and I did what we had to do, we dropped them. Now despite what'Call of Duty' or'Battlefield' says, a head shot is a head shot. No matter what you use. 4 seconds. Harry and I ran to the back of the SUV and force the trunk open with a couple of crowbars. We opened the back and saw our target. The new plate for the $ 100 bill in a locked briefcase, but that we would deal with that later. Our thirty seconds was up.
[ WP ] '' What do you mean , I 'm one of them ? ! All my life I 've just been ... me ''	`` What do you mean, I'm one of them?! All my life I've just been... me. Stacey. I've travelled Europe six years ago, from London to Krakow. I've seen the pyramids. I've been married twice. Fell in love dozens of times, and I never even got an STD. How could I be one of them? `` I've studied for years at Uni to get my degree and spent thirty more years making it up the goddamn corporate ranks, despite all the obstacles I've faced as a woman. I have two children, both of whom are yours, Frank. Goddamnit, I bought a scarf last weekend while we were on a conference call in Sheffield!'' `` Stacey, you're an egg roll. You've always been an egg roll. I've always been an egg roll. The fryers are calling our names and the life you see flashing before your eyes is not your own. Deal with it.''
[ WP ] You are sitting at a table alone in a coffee shop , when someone sits down across from you and stares directly into your eyes . `` Listen . I am you from your future , and you can not do what you 're about to do . ''	`` Listen. I am you from your future, and you can not do what you're about to do'' `` What, drink my coffee?'' `` No no no, the next thing'' `` What next thing?'' `` You know'' he looks around nervously `` the next thing'' `` What are you talking about?'' `` Your…our plan to…you know…with the llamas'' `` Llamas?'' `` Thomas stop fucking around'' `` Thomas?'' `` Are you not?'' `` No'' `` Fuck I've done it again. Ok this was a dream or whatever. I was never here'' he pulled out a smart phone as he stood up `` so many fucking Tim Hortons'' `` Did you say you were from the future?'' `` What?'' he said looking up from his phone `` no I said I was from the fu…Cleveland. I'm from Cleveland. This was a prank show'' `` Cause it sounded like you said the future'' `` I do n't have time for this'' he said, heading for the door `` I have to save the human race'' `` The what race?''
[ WP ] It is the night before Christmas . But something is stirring . And it is angry .	‘ Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The only sound heard was of the children safely snuggling up under their covers, tightly clasping their eyes shut and dreaming of the wonderful morning awaiting them tomorrow. Images danced in their minds, teasing and tempting them of the presents and celebrations of the dawn. Glistening lights bounced from baubles and reflected off tinsel, shining cheerfully around the room. Snow fell quietly outside the windows, gliding slowly to the idyllic frozen floor. The house remained quiet and subdued and asleep, in the sleepy suburban neighbourhood. Except. Crash! Glug. Glug. Glug. “ Fuck, god damn it. ” The gruff voice filled the dark living room. A bottle appeared from the shadows, flung towards the kitchen. Crash. A pause. A noise. “ More. I ’ ll see what was left this year. ” Fat footsteps thudded down the hall, towards the flung empty bottle. A trip. A stumble. A fall. “ Ow, fucking, jeez. Who the fuck leaves motherfucking toys lying around on Christmas fucking eve? ” The voice slurred through the darkened room, leaving the cold words lying crisp in the air. The kitchen door creaked open, and the heavy footsteps found linoleum tiles. The figure looked around the room, searching for something yet knowing where nothing belonged. “ Great, ” the voice sighed, defeated. “ Milk and fucking cookies. Why is it always milk and bloody cookies? Every god damn year, house in and house out, these damn children leave me the same damn thing… and even then, never a good fucking cookie! Never an Oreo, or a chocolate Hobnob, or even a damn Gingernut. No. It ’ s always a damn Nice biscuit, or a fig roll or the last of any of the damn biscuits in the biscuit tin. ” The voice got darker and more furious with every word it said. “ They never leave a damn bottle of scotch. ” The deep voice finally muttered. Regardless, the biscuits and milk were lugubriously picked up and brought back to the living room, along with a bottle of something unnatural-looking picked up from a high shelf. His body dragged now, with a mixture of alcohol and depression staining his breath. The figure looked straight into the hallway mirror. His reflection disgusted him. The once jolly, proud man had been reduced to this. A miserable drunk, stealing bottles of what he could only assume was liquor from a family he ’ d never met. The twinkle had long since departed from his eyes; now they were only hollow shells, faded from their former glory. His glasses askew, his hair amuck, and his red hat had surely seen better days. Although he had always been known for his rotund belly, what he had now was far beyond what even the most ridiculous of caricatures depicted him as having. The fabric of his beaten-up suit barely covered his protruding belly, and looking at his reflection Santa began to softly cry. Christmas just hadn ’ t been the same since Mrs. Claus had left.
[ WP ] A hitchhiker who murders drivers is picked up by a driver who murders hitchhikers .	“ So where ya headed? ” Leon asked, getting back up to speed on the highway. “ Violet town, ” replied Arthur. Arthur knew these roads well, knew the highway to Violet Town. No one ever drove it. All he had to do was stop for a slash, and, well, that ’ d be that. “ No kiddin! ” Leon said. “ Takes us right past my house, don ’ t ya know. You don ’ t mind if we stop in real quick, do ya? I ’ m taking a present for my niece just two towns over. ” Arthur didn ’ t mind at all. Extra supplies were always welcome. “ Yeah, don ’ t much get to see the girls much these days, what with my sister bein ’ a hermit and all. She don ’ t ever cross the border much, ya know? But, mum ’ s pretty sick now, so we managed to get all the family in one place, for a change. ” “ You don ’ t say, ” replied Arthur. “ Yuup. ” Arthur looked around Leon ’ s ute. It seemed awfully clean to be driven by this yobbo. Smelled nice, too. Smelled… woody. The sudden silence suggested to Arthur that something more pertinent was required of him. “ What did you get for her? ” he asked. “ Mah niece? Oh, just a couple o ’ dresses. Nice ones, too. Should be her size ’ n everythin'! ” “ Did you buy them yourself? ” Arthur asked. That was maybe a bit rude, he thought, in hindsight. “ Me? Nah, ” Leon said, glancing at him momentarily. “ Nah, just passin ’ em on is all. ” Arthur sat, breathing in through his nose. “ That is, got ‘ em from a friend, I mean. Didn ’ t need'em anymore. But, I won ’ t be tellin ’ the niece that one, if ya get my meaning, ” Leon laughed. “ Yeah. Young girls can be… difficult, ” Arthur said. “ How old is she? ” “ Nine and a half, ” said Leon. “ Won ’ t ever let you forget about the half, you know. Or the quarter, or the next one. Always want to be older than they are, these days. ” “ Quite true, my friend. Quite true. ” Arthur suddenly found the source of the woody smell. A small jar, nestled in the passenger door ’ s pocket. It was glistening. “ Is this yours? ” he asked, pulling the jar out. “ Olaf ’ s Beard Oil. ” The jar was oily alright. He wondered how full it had been. “ Huh? ” Leon looked over, studied it quickly, before looking back at the road. “ Oh, yeah. ” Arthur looked at Leon ’ s jaw. Clean shaven. He breathed deeply, placed the jar back where he ’ d found it. “ You know, ” Leon said, “ you remind me of my brother-in-law, you know. I mean, ex-brother-in-law, I guess… I mean… ” Arthur looked at his driver, eyebrows slightly raised. “ …What do you call ‘ em when they ’ re, you know? Not divorced, just, not alive anymore? ” “ Late, ” Arthur said. “ Late? Oh, yeah, right, that ’ s the one. My late brother-in-law, you know? ” “ No. ” “ Well, I guess not. He was a quiet fella ’, like youse. Man o' few words actually. Guess that ’ s alright for some, yep. Hey you mind if we stop by my place? I got ta pick up a …- “ “ Gift for your niece? ” Arthur said. “ Yeah, how ’ d you know? ” This one would be easy. Arthur gathered the man lived alone in his house. Was certain of it, in fact. And if not, well, that was fine too. More was always fine. “ How did your brother-in-law die? ” Arthur asked, changing the subject. “ If you don ’ t mind my asking, sorry. ” Leon glanced at him again. “ Nah, no problem. Yeah, he was… it was a few years back now. Up near the border, I guess. Couple hours at least. He and the missus - that ’ s mah sister o ’ course, the hermit - they was drivin ’ back from a holiday. They all stopped at a gas station for gas, and well, he dun never came outta the bathrooms. Not in one piece, anyway. That is, I do n't think you really wan na hear ‘ bout that. ” “ No, ” Arthur said. “ I do n't think. ” “ Reckon it was smackies who done it. Took his wallet and all. Yeah, wrong place at the wrong time, old Jase. ” “ Sounds like it, ” Arthur said, tapping his pocket. He remembered Jason, now. Rather vividly, in fact. He remembered the car - an old Gemini - and the family who were travelling in it. That had been a tense one, certainly. Back when Arthur was reckless. He didn ’ t do them in gas station bathrooms anymore. Absolutely not. It just wasn ’ t safe. Getting in the cars with them, now that was the way to do it. Every time. Out in the middle of nowhere. Never a worry to be had. But then, this one was shaping up to be more. A lot more. “ Alright, this ’ ll be my place up on the right, ” Leon said, slowing down. “ Bit of a dirt road for a ways, then we ’ ll be there. You want might come in for a glass of water? Still a good hour til Violet Town, you know. ” “ Yeah, maybe, ” said Arthur. Maybe he wouldn ’ t do Leon at his house after all. Maybe he would wait. He wondered if old Jase ’ s wife would recognise her late husband ’ s wallet. It was certainly a nice wallet. He ’ d kept it, after all. Leon turned the car down his dirt road driveway. Arthur smiled. This ended up longer than I'd expected, and it got pretty late. I'll have to leave it there for now.
[ WP ] A civilization can only progress to Type 1 by becoming a hive mind . Humanity is on the brink , but has to decide which mind gets to control the species .	Jacob is bored. They ’ ve been sat around a table for a solid four hours and the conversation ran dry during the first. They ’ re all intellectuals, it should have been expected. To Jacob ’ s left is Alex, who is by far the fattest of the six at the table but also the one intelligent enough to bring food in with him. No one had thought that a group of intellectuals would take so long deciding over something so simple. However, Jacob and the other five all know it ’ s far more complex than anyone could think. They ’ d gone through the logical stuff but that had led to further arguing that had grown more unintelligible and incomprehensible with every shouted word. “ How are we even meant to go about this? ” Sam, the woman on Jacob ’ s right, says. “ Why ’ s it down to us to decide? ” “ We ’ re the best thinkers, that ’ s what they said, they said it has to be one of us, ” Jacob repeats what they ’ d all been told at first. They ’ d all gone round in circles and were no closer to deciding which of the six smartest people in the world would control the hive mind project with their conscious controlling every living human, distributed through particles in the air. Jacob thinks how it should be him, that he deserves it. But he ’ s smart enough not to say so aloud. Emily already had a bruised eye for being that level of condescending. “ But why couldn ’ t they choose? ” Anne says. Alex is half finishing scoffing his third packet of cheese puffs and half spitting the crumbs across the table. Each crumb lands with a slight splodge and Anne looks down at her suit jacket in disgust when a piece of the shrapnel lands. She knows it will create a stain and she frowns. “ You sound like a child who doesn ’ t like chores, are you really one of the greatest thinkers of the twenty-second Century? ” Henry responds with great snark. “ How dare you, how very dare you, ” Anne stands up, bored of sitting down or something just as dull. “ What? ” “ You ’ re insinuating I ’ m not intelligent, ” She says and walks over to confront Henry, or at least, that ’ s what his name badge says. None of them know each other ’ s real identities as that could sway their argument. Still, Anne grabs Henry by the collar and begins what looks like a second round of boxing. She ’ d conducted the first against Emily, she is strong. “ I ’ m doing nothing of the sort, take your hands off me this instant, ” “ Guys, this is how wars start, we ’ ve got enough of those going on and this is their solution, we have to run with it, ” Jacob says, the voice of reason, as he had already been four times in four hours. “ But how do we decide? ” “ I ’ ve got a suggestion, ” Jacob speaks up. “ What? ” “ Something fair like, rock paper scissors? * After Henry's hands had been sliced off with scissors, Anne's brains bashed in with a rock and Alex too distracted by a paper cut to not notice Jacob knocking him stone-cold with a chair, Sam wonders where they went wrong. `` This is n't civilised at all,'' she says but continues punching until Emily's whines are stopped for the last time. Once it's over, Anne breathes out a heavy sigh, she steps out of the room and declares herself the one chosen to control humanity. * A Day after the project is initiated, Anne picks up a newspaper from a vendor's stand. She comments to herself, ``'World peace achieved.' Nice. It's a little weird to publish a paper about it for myself, but hey. Who's judging?''
[ WP ] `` Are you hurt ? ''	`` No, I just slipped and fell,'' Dieter says with a sarcastic wince. The sleeve of his white shirt is wet with blood where he fell into the wooden chair provided for him. A servant rushes to put a pot of water onto the fire, another bringing fresh bandages from the stores. Sir Lawrence, captain of the royal guard stands off in a corner, his fleshless face disguising the mental grin splayed wide in his mind. He found Dieter in the gardens below his balcony amid the rose bushes, the thorny flowers carpeting his fall. The bedsheet ladder tied to the railing evidence of his scheme. But it is n't his friend's injuries that fill him with mirth but rather that which is approaching... A gale is making its way through the halls of the castle, the winds whipping tapestry and banner on their poles and the drapes from their windows. Suits of armor topple with a thunderous clash of metal. The doors to the great kitchen fly open and the fire goes out with the blast of air that flutters the scores of pots and pans that hang from their hooks, every servant save for Lawrence taking an involuntary step back. Queen Malvina paces into the room, magic visibly seething from her in a blurry haze of blue. Frost forms with each footstep, each melting away as she pulls her slippered foot away. Her arms are straight and slightly drawn behind her, her small hands shaped into fists. `` What in the world were you thinking?!'' She exclaims, an arms length away from Dieter. To his credit, whereas the servants shrink away he only slightly flinches, more from the volume than the tone. `` Well?!'' Dieter grins ruefully, raising a finger to his lips knowing full well he'll regret what he's about to say. `` Shhh... you'll wake the castle.'' Queen Malvina's pale green eyes widen in astonishment at his reply as she stamps a slippered foot, a blast of hot air flashing from where it lands on the stone floor. `` Gods help you, Dieter. Can you take anything seriously?'' `` It's nothing, just a scratch.'' `` Nothing? Dieter, it's four stories from the balcony to the ground. You could have been killed.'' `` But I did n't.'' `` B-but you did n't? Dieter, what kind of answer is that? What were you going to do once you got down?'' Dieter looks away, his guilt readily evident. `` Dieter? Tell me.'' He touches his soak sleeve, dipping a fingertip into the bright blood to taste it. `` See your step-mother...'' Queen Malvina's face contorts to one of fury, the cooling ashes within the fireplace lit and roaring in an instant from her emotions. `` I specifically told you to stay away from Mordnacht, did I not?'' `` I think you might have said something of the sort'' Dieter winces out. Malvina continues to pace, her fingers rubbing at her temple in a vain effort to control the emotions swirling inside her. `` Why, why do the gods see fit to bestow upon me a disobedient consort? Am I not queen within these isles? Or was the coronation ceremony and my father's rule merely a show. What good is it to be queen when even your love disobeys you at every turn? Sir Lawrence, am I a weak ruler'' The veteran knight takes one step forward, shaking his head. `` No, my lady. I would believe it to be the case that Dieter is as headstrong as your majesty. It is as deep in his blood as magic is in yours and just as impossible to separate. Short of posting a guard in your sleeping chambers, the only advice I can say unto you is, sleep light. '' Queen Malvina gives her closest confidante and friend a slight aside glance. She turns her head back to her lover and sighs deeply. `` I'm so disappointed in you...'' Dieter flinches at the words. Anger he can readily take, exasperation in stride but with disappointment, his actions have hurt the one he loves. `` Sorry,'' he says quietly, staring down at the floor. Malvina looks down ruefully at her lover and kneels before him, cupping his chin to raise his eyes to hers. She kisses him softly on the lips, silent tears falling down her cheeks. Breaking off she smiles sadly, placing her forehead against his. `` Oh, whatever am I to do with you?''
[ WP ] Facebook never really deletes a profile . This comes back to haunt a candidate for the 2024 US Presidency .	NOTE: I CHANGED THE YEAR FROM 2024 TO 2040 FOR MY STORY `` Sir? Excuse me, Sir?'' I heard him right away. I thought maybe some fake snores might send him away, but was n't very confident. Eventually I felt a timid tap on my shoulder, so I opened my eyes and took my headphones off. It was Chuck, of course. `` Chuck. What's going on buddy?'' `` Sir, I'm so sorry. Obviously I would never be bothering you now if there was n't a serious issue.'' Everything is a serious issue to the people I have running my campaign. I need those types around to counteract my natural attraction to apathy. `` I know Chuck. It's fine. What's up? Anyone in trouble?'' `` No sir, everyone is OK. But we have a story breaking from San Francisco right now, and when the rest of the country wakes up we have a feeling it will be the lead everywhere. Actually, barring a major domestic attack we know that for sure, Sir.'' I was genuinely confused. I could n't think of a single skeleton waiting to be unearthed and possibly ruin my campaign. We put a lid on the'swingers' issue months ago, my exes were all sufficiently motivated to not write that tell all, and pretty much everything about me has been out in the open since my Mayoral run years ago. `` What is it Chuck?'' `` Well, Sir, Facebook was hacked last night.'' `` Oh, OK.'' Classic Chuck. This was not worth cutting into my back of the bus time, but he somewhat adorably still errs on the side of caution. I paused and took a relaxed breath. `` OK. Well, Susan has the notes from our table discussion a while back on cyber-terrorism. Have her fast track a speech and make sure the right guys start working on finding out exactly what happened. Also get word to the mole that we need to know how Elizabeth is planning to respond ASAP.'' `` Sir, cyber-terror is n't the problem. It was n't a mass attack. They did n't bring down the actual website or steal company secrets or anything. It was a targeted attack, Sir. The only thing they took is the archives of the active account you had with Facebook from 2005-16. Everything is all over the web. You can see every update or minor change you ever made. Pictures, wall posts, private messages. It's all currently available to the public. All of it.'' `` Good fucking lord.'' An image instantly flashed into my mind: Myself at nineteen, proudly going solo on a three person beer bong in dirty cargo shorts with a horribly unkempt goatee. My sophomore year profile picture. `` This is fucking bad Chuck. They only released my shit? Not Beth's?'' `` Apparently she never had a Facebook account, Sir.'' `` Lucky fucking nerd. She must be the only person born after 1985 that did n't have a Facebook page. Have you looked yet? How bad is it? I think'09 on should be fine. I was in law school, employers were screening accounts, people were getting fired because of shit they said on Twitter. Moms started friend requesting me regularly.'' I paused, starting to feel a little nostalgic for the early version of Facebook. `` It was a fucking free for all when I first got on there Chuck. You're too goddamn young to remember this but you used to have to actually be in college to have an account. That was the whole point; for people in college to keep in touch with their other college friends without anyone else being involved. Myspace was for the townies and the Moms and the weirdos. I ca n't even begin to imagine the shit I posted on Facebook before the Moms took over.'' I threw my head back and exhaled deeply. Chuck ended his staring contest with his shoes and looked toward me. `` Well, Sir...'' `` I deleted all of that shit Chuck! I know I did. I looked up how to do it the right way and everything. I figured someone might find my Tinder profile from my early twenties, but Facebook is a goddamned multi-billion dollar company. How the fuck did they let this happen? If this hurts the campaign at all I'm going to own half of that fucking company by Christmas. We'll go halfsies on a tropical country, me and you. What do you think?'' `` It's the Terms and Agreements, Sir. They claim that post-page deletion regret is so common it is best for them to move all'deleted' pages into storage. Apparently it was all buried in the fine print. It was supposed to be extremely secure. They're saying the hack had to be an inside job from very high up. But we ca n't worry about them yet. We have all hands on deck right now looking for the worst things in there, can you think of anything specific we should know about?'' `` Oh god. I do n't know. I mean I was n't posting homemade flip-phone porn or anything. I do n't think. I do n't know. I'm sure its mostly pictures of me drunk off my ass in dorm rooms. Probably some drug stuff, but nothing that is n't currently legal. Definitely a lot of cryptic Brand New lyrics. Big picture, mostly harmless stuff. But it's all going to be so out of context now. Everything I wrote on there was sarcastic. Everything. I started a Nickleback Fan Club Page once. A fucking Nickleback Fan Club Page. I called it'The Heros Awaiting.' You would n't get it. At first it was just a joke for my buddies, but then actual Nickleback fans started to join and I ran with it. At one point we were the third biggest fan page in New England. I used to lead discussions about how Nickleback was more authentic than Pearl Jam and deep readings into the subtext of the song'Photograph.''' I busted out my Chad Kroeger impression for the first time in decades: `` Look at this Photograph Every time I do it makes me laugh ... What the fuck is on Joey's head'' Chuck's eyes began to scan the bus, probably seeing if he can get someone's attention to come and confirm that I was in the early stages of a psychotic break. He could n't relate. No one born after 2000 could. By the time they could read they knew that whatever they put online in their names was permanent. That's why my nieces and nephews have such boring social media accounts. Nothing but Tweets and Instagrams from charity events captioned `` Feels so good to give back!!!!!!'' It's disgusting. But they saw people's lives ruined for getting a little too real online all the time. Was I going to be the last casualty of the frontier-era internet? Back when most adults would n't commit to anything past dialing up to AOL, unconvinced that this whole thing was just a fad? I thought back to all of the times in my dorm when I opened my laptop at four in the morning, half-conscious and completely wasted. `` This is bad Chuck.''
[ WP ] You are the youngest of 3 siblings attending their mother 's funeral . Her will singles you out as the sole beneficiary , saying that you were the only one she truly loved .	Note: Great prompt idea, really interesting. Now on the story.... -- - My mother was n't a very loving woman. She fought with our father, she abused my siblings, but she never once did she lay a hand upon me. My older brothers blamed it on the fact that I was a girl, my father blamed it on the fact that I was conceived with another man. Either way I always felt out of place. It's not that they hated me, so much as they were jealous of my mother's treatment towards me; or that's what I thought at least. I figured out how wrong I was when my mother was hit by a car. I was only 14 years old when her funeral was held. I was almost too emotional to go yet I knew my mother would have wanted my there, so I willed myself out of bed and dressed myself. The funeral was relatively small as my mother was n't a very likeable person. Only her mother, my family and a man whom I did n't know attended. I know assume that it was my biological father. Throughout the service I was practically mute. I did n't want to interrupt the funeral or anger my family members by doing so. As the funeral proceeded the priest announced that my mother left a will and it was time to read it. My mother was n't a rich woman, but she was wealthy enough for people to want what she had. I was anticipating this very moment, not because I wanted anything in particular, but because I felt like I would receive more than anyone else; and I did n't want anymore animosity in this family. The order in which the priest labeled her items was n't normal, as he read off everything that she had left but not naming who they were being left to. At the end of a long list of it he proclaimed that all of it, every single item, was being left to me. A very special gift, according the will. Heads turned my way and I was a deer stuck in headlights. Slurs were thrown my way and my non-biological father practically demanded that I give him what was left to me. The priest eventually calmed him down and let me know that I could do what I wanted with what my mother left me. I was torn, as I did n't want to lose my family by not sharing her wealth with them, but I did n't want to give away everything that was left to me to people that borderline hated me. I made the bold decision to keep everything and was, as expected, thrown out of our house. I had enough money to buy an apartment and necessities but I was alone. So here I am, in my one bedroom apartment, reliving my woeful past. I've been alone for 3 months now, only leaving my apartment for school, and even then I have n't been attending periodically due to my situation. Maybe it was n't her intention, but with this will she had destroyed my life. I sat down on my bed, holding a black pill that was promised to be effective. My family had left me and probably would n't care, and nobody else even knew me. Mother, if I see you on the other side, you can say you love me, but do n't tell me that your will was a gift.
[ WP ] `` You are under arrest in accordance with the Western Patriot Act ( 2025 ) , section 1.1 : 'Failure to carry a traceable mobile electronic device ' ''	`` I swear to God, I was just on my way to buy the new iPhone!'' I protested as the police officer made me exit my car. `` Sir, are you not aware of WPA 1.1? You do n't have a traceable mobile device on your person or in this car. I'm going to have to take you in.'' The officer had a slight smirk on his face as he pushed me against the car, running his hands down my body to make sure I was clean. `` Did n't you hear me? I just told you --'' `` I heard you,'' the officer snapped. `` Now, you have the right to remain silent...'' Suddenly, a beeping noise came from the device around the officer's belt. He let me go as he reached down to read its display. `` No way...'' he muttered. `` What is it?'' I asked. With a look of dejection, he responded, `` It says here that your car has a tracker embedded in its circuitry.'' He sighed. `` You're free to go.'' I breathed in relief. I had no idea my car was traceable. The officer walked away, but turned back at me before getting in his car. `` Just because your vehicle has a tracker does n't mean you're off the hook. You better pray no one catches you outside that vehicle without a mobile device.'' He spat at the ground and hopped in his car, slamming the door before gunning it back onto the freeway. Just as the cop was out of sight, my phone ( a shitty Nokia flip phone ) began to ring. I answered it hesitantly. `` Hello?'' `` I really saved your ass right there,'' a voice responded. It sounded fuzzy, like the caller was purposefully interfering with his or her voice. `` That was you?'' I asked. `` How --?'' `` Do n't worry about that for now. Listen. I'm always on the lookout for people who stick it to the man. Who refuse to follow the rules. Stuff like that.'' `` What? No, I'm not like that at all. I was seriously on my way to --'' The caller laughed. `` I do n't buy that for a second, dude. A 20-something with a flip phone? That's so retropunk!'' I was getting a little freaked out. `` How do you know my age?'' The caller ignored me. `` Here's what's going to happen. We need people like you. People with balls. How about you come work for us? We'll keep you safe from the cops.'' I squeezed the phone. `` Listen, stop bothering me, okay? I do n't want to get in any more trouble!'' Another chuckle. `` Whatever, dude. If you change your mind, just call us back on this number.'' The caller hung up. What the Hell was that? I shook my head and stepped back into my car. I had been out of the country when the US passed this stupid law, and my first day back I had already had altercations with both the police and some sort of undercover hacker group? I pulled back onto the freeway, the phone number of the mysterious caller still fresh on my mind.
[ WP ] A massive machine that simulates the internet and all of its users based off of their initial behavior is launched into space , Never to return . You 're an alien engineer inspecting the device . The first group of users you manage to communicate with ? The YouTube comment section .	`` Where is this place? We need to destroy it.'' Lum furrowed his brow and kept reading, ignoring his brother. `` Perhaps it's a translation problem,'' Lum mumbled under his breath. He kept clicking and scrolling. His brother edged closer, looking over Lum's back carefully. `` It just... does n't make sense. Why do they argue so? The turtle clearly is enjoying the grape.'' Thyll peered at his brother and left the room. For days, Lum sat and stared at the glowing box trying to make sense of it all. He did not move for anything. On the third day, Thyll became concerned for him. When he tried to talk to Lum, he was only met with grunts and a foul smell that grew worse by the hour. `` Lum, this box is harming you. Why do n't you take a break?'' said Thyll. Lum said nothing and his glazed red eyes continued to dart across the text. On the fifth day, Thyll unplugged the box. `` WHAT THE FUCK FAGGOT. M'FAGGOT,'' Lum shouted, laughing to himself. The urine pool splashed at his kicking feet. `` GG's FAGGOT, FUCK YOU,'' he added, plugging the box back in. Thyll stumbled backwards, stunned. `` THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT FAGGOT. I TOLD YOU.'' The words echoed through the hall. Thyll sat in his room and thought. The cursed words continued to ring throughout the night. He did not know what to do. `` RIP IN PEACE ME. LOL,'' said Lum, with his dying breath. Thyll ran to his brother and held him in his arms. `` Why did n't you stop, Lum?'' Lum breathed with a rasp and said, `` This civilization - it's a disease, brother. Maybe you were right. Can you wipe it out for me?'' `` I will try, Lum,'' said Thyll, wiping a tear from his brother's cheek. `` MUCH SADNESS. VERY DISAPPOINTMENT,'' said Lum, dying.
[ WP ] The door leads to the man 's worst possible fear . He must open it .	I was stuck. Stuck in this dark room with 6 walls, 1 door, and a threat. The threat of the murder of my wife if I did n't open the door. I did n't know who they were or where they came from. All that they told me was that my greatest fear was behind that door and I had to open it or else. My mind was racing; what did they think i feared most my death, my angry mother, the return of my depression? There was no way this could happen but it was and it happened to me of all people. I took a deep breath stepped forward and opened the door. Then they slit her throat.
[ WP ] The main character has the worst odds against him : He has a math exam tomorrow , his crush is dating his bully , he has to find 3k dollars for the mafia or he will be killed and his country is being invaded by Mother Russia . God , being bored , decides to max his willpoer stat .	Sammy and his family watched as those who had a means of transport fled his small border town of about 2,000 people. About half were left to face the invading Russian army that was expected to arrive tomorrow. The good news for Sammy was his test was cancelled, his crush and bully were gone, and he had an overwhelming sense of optimism and certainty that he could accomplish anything. Later the remaining townsfolk gathered together to discuss their strategy. It's here that Sammy's willpower proved especially decisive and he was able to convince the town to unconditionally surrender and also provide the best housing for the Russian troops. The few Mafia members left in town were swayed by his words and gave him two extra days to pay back his $ 3000 loan and only bumped it up to $ 4500. The following morning Sammy would march out with a white flag and meet the oncoming troops. He convinced their commander to accept the town's surrender and he also informed on the Mafia members who were rounded and imprisoned. Sammy's strategy was so successful the Russians tapped him to continue his campaign of surrender to the poor who could n't flee. Sammy did so and after Russia had taken most of the country bloodlessly appointed him Governor. Sammy's bully and crush lived their lives smashed into the quarter of the country the Russians had forced those that had fled into and were fairly miserable especially when the crush would bring up Sammy's success. Sammy also got a sexy math tutor and became excellent at math. Due to the bloodless and relatively peaceful invasion the people who stayed would go on to lead better lives and be slightly happier than they were before.
[ WP ] A man accends to being a god , describe his emotional reactions	[ This is another attempt, but my main focus here is the action. It's a different character with the same name. Feed back is appreciated. ] Lightning thundered through the clouds, and struck Galidius. He screamed, as the lightning continued to crackle. He had been through this countless times, but the pain was always unbearable. His muscles grew, but his skin did not. It felt as if his skin would burst, but just as he could not take it any more, his skin finally started stretching to accommodate his muscles and the growth of his bones. The leather straps of his sandals finally burst. He flexed his muscles, and roared, and the lightning disappeared. He ran down the steps of the supreme temple of Olympus, and jumped off a nearby cliff. On the way down, he scraped by protruding rocks, which tore into his leg. At the base of the cliff, he tumbled and rolled, and his arm an leg bones snapped. He laid there in pain, and groaned, as his body began its healing process. A few moments later he took a deep breath, and ran to the battle.
[ WP ] You carry a tray of food and drink out to the stone altar on your front lawn . On your way , you wave to neighbors busily arranging their own offerings . Just another Friday night . Suddenly , you realize the house across the street is dark ; table still empty . Panic sets in as the sun begins to set .	Oh no, that's the Palmers' house! Joe was a bit sick this morning but he said he'd be fine for tonight! I nearly dropped the offerings I carried, the pork chops and milk sliding side to side dangerously. I calmed down as best as I could, gently placing the tray where it belonged. Looking over it one last time to make sure everything was fine, I immediately turned and dashed back into my house. `` Wendy! Where are you?'' `` I'm in the living room, stop shouting you'll wake the kids. ``, my wife replied, walking over from where she was reading a book on the couch. `` Do we have enough for another offering? ``, I asked, praying that we did. `` What kind of question is that? You know we can barely afford to put out the weekly requirement as is. Why do you ask?'' `` I looked across at the Palmers' house, and Joe has n't put his out yet. If there's nothing there by the time they come then-'' I was interrupted by a chorus of shrill howls, that echoed through the neighborhood. Wendy instantly reached over and slammed the door shut behind me. Across the street doors and shutters still left open were hastily closed, everyone retreating behind the the perceived safety of their homes, behind the actual safety of the altars. My heart dropped when I peeked through the blinds and saw that Joe's altar still remained empty. The tray I laid out moments earlier was lifted into the air by an unseen force, slamming back down with a thunderous crash, devoid of what it carried. I jumped when the ones who emptied it rushed past, hardly a shadowy blur in the waning light. Throughout the neighborhood the scene repeated itself, the uninvited guests flying off content with the offerings. At one house near the end of the block however, there were more howls, more numerous and with greater intensity than the ones earlier. `` No! Please it was all we could get!'' Henry Dawson and his wife Cathy were dragged kicking and screaming from their home, causing me to advert my gaze as their screams of protest turned into ones of pain, before silencing in a gurgles. `` They put out beans and water, poor fools did n't have a chance.'' My attention returned to the house before me, where they gathered around the empty altar. The settling darkness was pierced by dozens of pairs of eyes, glowing red from the corners of the yard they hid in. Finally the door swung open, and Joe Palmer walked outside with his shotgun. `` I've had enough of you bastards. ``, he coughed out, struggling to breathe through the flu that weakened his body. `` I ai n't gon na be your damn meal ticket anymore, and if I'm going down I'm taking a few of you with me. ``, Joe declared, firing his weapon at the closest set of eyes. The one he shot vanished, however the others around him reached out, materializing shadows to claw and grab at him. Joe fired wildly before him, however his gun soon clicked empty, and it clattered to the ground as its owner was pulled away. The night became silent after they left, however my ears were filled with the sound of my heart pounding. Joe fought back. It was n't very effective and they still got him in the end, but he lived up to his words and killed one before they did. I've been trapped in this seemingly endless cycle of fear for as long as I could remember, for the first time the dangerous ember of hope glimmered in my thoughts. While others walked out and collected their trays and cutlery, I walked across the street as if in a trance. I knelt down, and with a shaking arm picked up the gun.
[ WP ] You gain a power of some sort , and can amplify it at will . But as you make it stronger , more monstrous beings appear to put you down .	Jim had always wanted to be a superhero. So when he one day recieved the gift of superpowers, he did n't complain. Jim was working at his day job, at McDonald's. This was a particularly hectic day. Wednesday. For some reason this was the day most customers showed up at their lunch breaks from work. The manager, Bob, was shouting at Jim to hurry up. Ten hamburgers were overdue. `` Hurry up or I'll fire your miserable ass, Jimmy boy!'' `` alright boss.'' Then, everything moved in slow motion. Jim caught his boss staring in his direction for longer than usual. Then he realized it was n't just Bob acting weird. Everything else had frozen, more or less. At this point, Jim realized he had the power of hyper speed. He finished the burgers in what seemed like three minutes, but was actually twenty seconds in the perspective of everyone else. Jim found that he could turn this speed power on and off, as to not be permanently suspended in slow motion. He used this power for the next hour to make burgers faster than ususal. Bob had to reluctantly commend him for his work, managing to get every order out in time, which usually never happened on wednesdays. Then the second weird thing of the day happened. A skeleton showed up. It came through the front door like any other customer, walking up to the counter. Jim took a moment to reflect upon the situation. Was he hallucinating? He had been off drugs for three months now. Could the effect of shrooms be affecting him after all that time? His question was answered when people started screaming. The skeleton was real. And it was coming for Jim. The skeleton appeared to say something, but all Jim heard was the squeaking of bones as the skeleton's jaws moved back and forward. The intent was clear however - the skeleton was here to kill him. The skeleton was unarmed, with only its bony limbs as weapons. Jim slowed down time, as the skeleton reached out for him over the counter. What was the weakness of skeletons? Jim had all the time in the world to ponder this question, whilst easily manuevering outside of the skeleton's reach. Jim thought back to the days he played video games. In diablo, sharp weapons had a penelty against skeletons, whereas blunt weapons were twice as effective. With this in mind, Jim grabbed a frying pan and smashed the skeleton's skull in. The skull was splintered into many pieces, and the undead creature fell down to the ground, eliminated. Neato, Jim thought. Three years later, Jim still had his superpower. However, monsters were still coming for him. He had defeated countless enemies. Skeletons. Demons. Battle Dwarves. Today, a dragon came for Jim. Fortunately, Jim had discovered that he had the ability to increase his powers. Not only did he have the power of hyperspeed. He had the power of flight. Extra durability, and improved healing capabilites. Lately he had been able to bring forth the power to turn his arms into AK47's. But was this enough to stop the monsters? They kept coming, and they became stronger, much the same as Jim's powers increased. At this point, Jim no longer worked at McDonald's. Using his power for the greater good, he was able to live at home without working, as he was able to use one of his powers, invisibility, to liberate money from various benefactors. Mostly rich people on the street, with thick wallets. The dragon did n't knock, it kicked the wall of Jim's appartment building in, giving Jim just enough warning to fly out of its breath of fire, a second later. The rest of the residents were caught in an inferno, as the breath of fire lit the building up. Jim however managed to fly away, three hundred feet up into the air, where he gauged the situation. He turned his limbs into assault rifles, and turned the automatic fire mode on. `` Eat led,'' Jim said, before opening fire upon the unsuspecting dragon. Turns out dragonhide is resistant to bullets, even those with a caliber of 7.62 x 39mm. The dragon killed Jim with its mighty claws. And here ends our tale of this brave hero. The lesson we all learned that day, is that power comes with a price. The End.
[ WP ] Remember Inside Out ? Those emotion characters actually exist inside everyone ... except its not 5 characters , its an entire U.N.-like council made up of hundred of emotions . A boy just asked a girl to high school prom .	A bead of sweat ran down Self-awareness' brow. This was going to be a long day. `` I've gathered you all here today because-'' `` We're dying,'' Paranoia said at once. `` I knew it. I knew it, I knew that rash was n't normal, I told you we should go see a doctor, our own mother said we should- `` Christ, why do n't we ever listen to her?!'' Anxiety screamed, clawing at his face with his hands. Apathy, with his head down on the desk, tipped his microphone over to it could reach his mouth without lifting it. He wet his lips, preparing to talk. Self-awareness slammed a hammer down on his desk before he could make a comment that would no doubt be extremely unhelpful. Sadness, next to him, was already weeping. `` Order, order. We're not dying,'' Self-awareness yelled over the kerfuffle. The relief from the Subjective Behaviours branch was instant, and several members of Objective Behaviours exchanged withered looks. `` David has made a life decision. Prom related.'' For weeks now they'd been fretting, waiting for the final choice to be made. Now they held their breath. `` It's Ally. We're asking Ally.'' Joy's Division from Subjective Behaviours lit up the room with their cheering, but Aversion frowned a little, not completely happy with the commitment. However, alone he could n't hold back the rest of the Emotions so he shrugged it off. Everyone immediately began talking at once, all wanting to have their input. `` We should, like,'' Childishness said, his face bright, `` we could pull her hair!'' `` That's stupid. She's a grown woman,'' Maturity sat back, in his pressed suit with his hair slicked back he looked a regular James Bond. `` At least then we'd be touching her,'' Lust cut in. He was naked. Again. The others groaned and looked away from him. `` She's hot, I'd like to bend her over the-'' Shame slapped him. `` Her hair is so pretty, is n't her hair pretty? I bet it smells nice - but not in a creepy way, in like a, I want to stroke it kind of way, like, while she relies on me, you know?'' Infatuation was gushing. Obsession crept up behind him and slung an arm around his shoulders. Self-awareness would have to keep an eye on that one. Flirtation stood, and ran a hand through his hair, commanding attention. `` I move that pulling her hair in a playful manner should be enacted at once. If we create a playful atmosphere, an affirmative will be much more likely.'' Maturity stared at him, aghast. Perception, from the Objective Behaviour Sector - Logic based, shook his head, pointing out at her. `` Look at her body language, she's not comfortable enough with us for that yet.'' Attentiveness nodded in agreement, a gentleness in his eye as he looked at her through David's eyes. There was a murmur throughout the room. It was rare for a Subjective Behaviours and Objective to aline. They all immediatley accepted the objection, and Self-awareness motioned to move forward. Dejection was playing on his phone. `` None of this matters anyway; she's going to say no.'' `` It's because of that dick from the other day,'' Hostility said. `` We should kick his ass!'' Violence said, yanking on his chains. `` Just let me out, just do it, I'll make him bleed. '' `` Psychological warfare is much more our speed, we're not built for your brand of... action,'' Cunning simpered. The Anger Behaviours began to get worked up, and Self-awareness nodded to Self-control, who muted them. `` Ideas, people,'' Self-awareness said, `` we need ideas!'' Creativity perked up. He was usually only interested in music and video games, but if they were brainstorming he wanted to get involved. `` Perhaps,'' Gentility, began, `` we could inquire as to the Ladies plans, present her with a gift, invite her somewhere - she does enjoy the theatre.'' `` Snore,'' said Lust. `` You're not even an emotion, dillweed.'' `` Yeah, who invited Aesthetics?'' Annoyance yelled, `` We needed everyone on this!'' Self-awareness snapped, `` We have to think about how we're perceived. What are we going to say, how are going to say it, how are we going to keep Sadness' Division from panicking -'' `` SHE'S TALKING!'' Alertness screeched, slamming his alarm button. At first, the room was frozen still. Ally was usually shy, never the first one to speak. `` Hey, so I was thinking...'' she said, with a small smile that had the Love Division trembling. `` Abooooouuut?'' David said, because the Emotions could n't think of anything else for him to say. Flirtation was bemoaning the unsuggestive way he'd said it, when Ally said: `` I know this is a little, uhm, unexpected, and feel free to say no, but would you maybe want to go to prom... with... me?'' Self-awareness was in complete shock. The whole room was stationary, for what must've been the first time since they'd watched their little sister fall out of a tree on his 11th birthday. The silence was only broken when Hope threw his arms around Loneliness. __________ `` That's our girl!'' Independence cried, nudging an over-whelmed Courage. Self-respect clapped lightly. Self-esteem was looking at her hands, feeling just a little stronger than usual. `` He only said yes because he feels sorry for us,'' Doubt piped up, and Anxiety started having a panic attack. Euphoria threw ribbons over both of them as she passed, spinning in circles all over the place. `` Ladies, ladies!'' Self-awareness cut in, `` lets not over think this one!'' Obsession froze, half way through unpacking the white board with Insecurity. `` I'm not so sure,'' Uncertainty said, `` the way he said'yeah, sure'. Was n't that a little, I do n't know, non-commital? Are we sure he likes us? Like, really, really sure?'' `` It's fine, he totally checked us out,'' Confidence said. Lust quirked her eyebrow, pleased. The sectors broke into bickering back and forth, all with their different opinions on what he could've been meaning. They only paused to say good bye to Aesthetics, who were returning to their own Sector to begin planning outfits. Confusion lay on the ground and shivered. Self-awareness sighed. `` Fine, fine. Let's play it back,'' she took a sip of coffee, and pulled out her red felt pen. `` Amazement, close your mouth already. I'm in charge of the board, no arguments! Yes, Creativity, you can draw the cloud - Perception, I'm going to need you front and centre, okay, first things first-'' she wrote'David' at the top of the board, `` what did he mean by that long, drawn out'about'?'' `` Maybe wants to stroke our hair,'' Dreamy sighed, and rolled over her desk, then gasped, `` maybe we'll get married!'' Love's Division almost had an aneurysm at that. `` Ew,'' Aversion wrinkled her nose, `` I hope he does n't want kids.'' `` Betcha he likes red heads,'' Doubt said, `` all guys like red heads, we should've dyed it, I told you guys-'' Confidence shook her head, `` this is pointless, he likes us, otherwise he would've said no!'' `` BUT HOW CAN YOU BE SO SURE?!'' Paranoia draped herself over Confusion, `` He might only want to sleep with us! He might be a serial murderer! We just do n't know. '' Rational rolled her eyes, `` the chances he's a murderer are minuscule, it's far more likely he, like many boys his age, wants to have sex with us. However, this does n't discount that he may also have romantic notions.'' `` Easy for you to say, you're not the one who'll have to deal with the fall out when he breaks our heart!'' Fear wept, while Sadness' Division began to wail. Self-awareness sighed, and got out the talking stick. This was going to be a long night.
[ PI ] August Writing Prompt : Delillo 's entry	And then the asteroid, the flaming rock, the meteorite, crashes into the earth, the ground, the old man's property. It takes some time for the dust and smoke and ash to dissipate, revealing a hole where the extra-planetary rock should have been. And then it arose. It was a hulking, otherworldly, gnashing, intelligent, mythical figure. Legs and arms interchanged at will. Rows of sharp teeth emerged from within rows of other sharp teeth. There were spikes where ears should be and spikes where ears should n't be. Mottled blue-green scales covered from head to toe, except there were spikes where toes should be, offered protection unquestioned. And near the top were the eyes. They retained the color the creature emanated during its trip through the atmosphere, red and flaming, emanating an ominous shrewdness and hiding an extraterrestrial, mysterious agenda. Crash, went a glass bottle, while the creature leaped to the porch of an old run-down house. An old man who smelled of alcohol and guilt and fear breathed his last breath. The old mans story became known to the creature, as it has been made apparent to you. The next target became apparent. The creature leaped again, southward, the laws of gravity, of physics, mattering as little to the creature as it matters to humans on the moon. It landed in a group of trees laden with red and green fruits. The target was sitting between the trees, one of the fruits in his hand. The creature was on him before he had a chance to think. A quick finish. Absorbing the information the creature knew exactly where to head last. Once more it leaped. A box of sand, squishy from a recent watering, was crushed underneath the creature. A young boy, not yet a man, had fallen back against the ground, the back of his pants wet and sandy, and died too young. Mission accomplished. The mother-wife and the wife-mother stared out the open window seeing for just a second the invader who had obliterated three generations of males in their family with as much effort as it took a human to sneeze. The family was torn apart, reduced to nothing. And for what reason? No human on earth knew. The creature, the alien, the mere scout, leaped away from the sorry scene. It hid, never found. It would bide its time. It began here. This was just the beginning.
[ IP ] Twisted Future Environment	From above the city, the vibrant neon of futurism that the world had been bathed in was inescapable. Los Angeles' light filled the senses so completely that one could almost smell the chemicals in the bulbs and hear the pulsing hum of energy, even from a helicarrier making its final descent into LAX. Stepping off the tarmac, however, one is immediately faced with the towering visage of the city's architecture and the shadows it creates. LA, much like every other metropolitan area, had essentially become a gigantic complex of interconnected facilities, each nearly the size of a city itself, and a citizen of the city could travel from one end of LA to the other and never see real daylight; a fact that makes the necessary sensory overload of neon and florescence that much more oppressive. But there a places in the city where even man-made lights cast little glow. Where candles still flicker and highlight those left behind by progress. Deep in the lowest Wards of South Central, miles beneath the elevated structures and highways of the city proper, the people of the Dark Ward, as it had come to be called, eke out a meager existence far flung from the gallivanting techno-hedonism of the rest of LA's populace. And those hard-living people, as if God's cruel joke of crippling poverty were n't enough, are beleaguered daily by innovations of the future that have succumbed to a more violent evolution, for they are ruled by vast street gangs who have twisted technology into weapons almost magical. Their constant conflicts leave the people of the Dark Ward broken and afraid, but no police force can arrest them. The Dark Ward has no police force. The gangs themselves are the judges, juries, and more often the executioners. They are the government, they are the economy, and they are altogether life in the DW. They call themselves Technomancers, and they are unstoppable. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - We found Bowen's body slumped on the ground leaning against the alley wall belonging to our filthy hole of a net café called The High Wire. From where I was standing, I could n't see much of his face. With good reason too, I guess, because when I lifted his head to look at him, I still could n't see much of his face. He had clearly been through Hell. Literally. Much of his skin had sloughed off in sloppy patches that clumped on the asphalt, and what skin was left on his face had fused together into a black, crispy mess. Looking down at his body I could make out plenty of recently dried blood on his robes from where the WAND on his right hand had exploded and taken the hand with it. `` Oh, gods,'' said Marko, retching as he came up beside me. The gods were n't here today. Not for Bowen, at least. Nothing on this Earth today but violent, stupid men, and I knew exactly which violent, stupid men had done this. The Conflagration, a cult of fire-obsessed technomages -- specifically a particularly sadistic son-of-a-bitch named Schecter. I had heard all about him and his brand of spellcraft, even faced off a little against him years and years ago when I got a bit lost in Conflag turf. Lately he had been fond of a spell he had created quite unsubtly called Facemelter with which Bowen had become intimately familiar. People called Schecter `` The Human Holocaust''. They called him that in secret, of course. If he heard it, he would most certainly start doing a lot more damage in order to live up to it. Not that he needed the extra effort anyway, not with the trail of ashes he'd already left in his wake. And now my friend Bowen was on his list of victims. `` How did he get here?'' asked Marko, `` Did he get left here as some kind of message?'' `` No, if it was a message they would have left him on our doorstep to find right away. I think he was trying to make it home for help. Poor bastard almost made it too,'' I said, voice trailing off at the thought of what Bowen must have went through last night. `` What do we do, Silas?'' With a shaking hand I wiped the nervous sweat from my forehead and said, `` First things first, help me carry him into the lab. Then call Jacq. I'm going to need her help.'' We dragged in Bowen as best we could, leaving behind bits and blood from his body all over as we heaved him through the front door of The High Wire. The clerk at the front desk, who was the owner of the cafe and had rented us the backroom for years, did n't even look up from his digi-reader as we pulled the body along. The various cafe patrons did n't glance our way either. They were all plugged in, eyes rolled back into their skulls, drugs coursing through their veins to amplify the digital reality that now occupied their consciousness. This building could catch fire and they would burn with it, blissfully unaware. Dumb bastards. I bared my teeth as I carried the blood-soaked embodiment of actuality past them. Bursting through the door of the back room, I saw the startled faces of some of the other members of my sect reacting to the sight of the body. They all scattered towards the walls save for the ones who brought me the table that I had heard myself screaming for. We managed to get Bowen onto it with one last heave, and all in the room took a deep, raspy breath and contemplated the scene. `` Get a drip of the grey stuff into him, now,'' I demanded and was obliged. In the time it took for some of the guys to get the chemical IV set-up for Bowen, Jacq came rushing through the door in tears. She saw what was left of him and said, `` Oh gods...'' Marko stifled a chuckle that sprang up in spite of himself at her identical reaction, but I simply said, `` No gods. Just Schecter.'' `` That psychopath did this?'' Jacq yelled, `` I'll kill him for this! I'll put him in the ground!'' `` Soon. Soon,'' I said, `` First we need to figure out what happened last night.'' I looked at Jacq who was looking at the IV, her face sullen in resignation of what I was about to ask. I moved to say the words, but she just held up a hand and I paused. `` This is the last time,'' she ordered. Booting up the WAND on her arm, a mechanical gauntlet with various slots for chemicals and tubes running into her veins, Jacq pushed a few buttons to run a subroutine she had programmed into it. The text scrolling across the small LED screen on the wrist then asked for input. She rummaged around in a satchel on her hip and pulled out three 5-inch vials of grey liquid. She snapped each vial into an empty slot on her forearm, and immediately the grey liquids within them shot through the tubes and into her body. Reeling from the sensation of the liquid and the mounting psychedelic visions that come with it, Jacq reached out to grab the table and brace herself. When she had regained her composure, she positioned herself at the top of what had been Bowen's head and placed her hand on his temple. Dimly at first, she could feel the firing of neurons in his brain. They were n't firing now, of course, but she could sense the recent stresses and extrapolate what had caused them from there. This spell she had concocted was intended for interrogation of live subjects, while the brain was in operation. Essentially, she could read minds simply through analysis of brain activity. The trick was much harder to pull off on the recently dead, and made even more difficult by her moral reticence to do this to the deceased. The information she could get would be vague and difficult to interpret, but I needed to know anything I could. `` I'm getting some things,'' she said through strained voice, `` He was angry for a time. I assume about being attacked, but he did n't seem surprised at all, so he must have known it was coming,'' she winced now, `` I sense intense pain... Silas, it's awful.'' Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she did not stop. `` I feel determination now. A burning need to do something. It's the only thing keeping him on his feet. I feel regret, terrible regret. Whatever he was trying to do, he could n't do it. The despair I sense... right before nothing. I ca n't handle this, Silas. I want to stop.'' I placed my hand on hers and pulled it away from Bowen. Wrapping my arms around her and holding her close, I whispered and apology into her ear. After a time, she edged away from me and asked, `` What do you think it all means?'' I knew at once what it meant. I just needed Jacq to lay out the puzzle pieces. The Conflagration had given Bowen a message, but they never intended for it to make it to me. Schecter just wanted to toy with his prey, agitate him. But Bowen made it home because he needed to tell me the message. It was that important. He died in horrible agony to get it to me, and I would not waste his sacrifice. This was a message that needed to be answered in kind. `` War,'' I said, `` It means war.'' ( If you like this, drop me a comment and I'll keep adding to it. )
[ WP ] Write a love story between two lonely ship capitans whose only means of communication is Morse code	-- -. -- -....-.-.......- -.....-...-...- -- ·· --...-.. -- - -- - -.-.- -.-..-. -- -...... -...... --.-... -.....- -. -...- --.-.. --.. -. -... -.. -- -..-. -..... -....... -.- -. -.-.. -.... -. --.. -...-... ·-·-·- -..... --...-.-...-..... -- - -. --. -....-... -. --.... --. - -- - -.....- - -...- -. --. --. --. - ·-·-·- -.........-.-.. -.-...-....... --.. --.. -...- - -- -..-.-.... -.-.. -..- -. -.......-...-. -- - -. -...... --.....-. -.....- - -...- -. -- -- ·· --.- -. -.... --.- -..- --.. -.. - -- - --.- - -.-..... -.....- -..-....-.... -..-..-.....-. -.. -. --.. --.. -.... -. -- -- -..-.-.. -. --.... ·-·-·-. --.. -.....-..-....-.... -.-.. -- - -- - -.-. --. -.- -... -- ·-·-·-. --. -.... --..- -. --.-.-. -.-.. -. --. -- -..-.-. -...- -. --.... --.. -............-.-.. -.......- -..... -... -- ·· -- -- -..-.-...-... -. --...-.... -...- -. -.-.. -.. -- - -...- -.-..... -- - -......-. · -- -- ·.... --..-.-.. --....-.......-. -..... -. --. --..-.. -. -- - -....-...... -- - -..- -....-.-...-...-. -- - -- - --.-. -- - -- - --..-..-.. -- - -- -.-. -- ·· -- -- -..-.-.. --.......... --...-.........- -. --. -- -..-. - -- - -- -- -.-..-. -- -. -- · -- -- ·... -...-...- --... -- ·· --.- -. -.. -- -..-.-..-..... --.... -- ·· -- -- -.... -- -..-.-..-..... --.... -- ·· --.... -- -. -- -..... -. --. -- -- -..-.-.. -...... --.. -. -.. -.... -- -.... -...- -. --... ·-·-·-.-... -..... -- -- - -- - -.. --...-.-...-..... -..... -- - -.-...- -...-..-. -- - -- -..... -.....- -.-......... -- ·· --. --.. --..-... --...-.-...-... -....-..-. -- - --..- -.-..... -- - -......-. ·-·-·-.- - -......-...-...-.. -. -. --. -- -.-. -... -- ·· --. --. -. --..-.-. -.. -.. - -- - -...... -...- -.-..... -- - -......-. · -- -- ·....-.-. --....- --..-.. -. ·-·-·- -.....- - · -- -- ·.... --.....- - -...-... --..-... -... -- - -.... - -- -....-...-.... -. --. ·-·-·-.- -. -.. -. -- -. -- -- ·· --. --..-.-.. -.....- -.-.... -..-..-.-...-.. -. --. --..-........ -. --........... --...... -. -..... -- - -.-...- -. ·-·-·-... --.-... -. -. -- -- -..- -.... -- -..- --..... - -- - -...- -. --. --.. -........- -.. -........ -- - -. -- -. -- --.. -. -.. ·-·-·-.. · -- -- ·... -...-..-.-...-... -....-...-.. -- ·· --.- -. -.. -- -. --.......... --. · -- -- ·.... --..... -. --..... -.-....- -.....-.. -..... --..-. -- - -....- -....-.. -. --. -- -- - -. - --.- -.-... - - -- -. --. -- -.-. - ·-·-·-.......- -.. - -- -. --.-... -. - -- - -. -- -- -..-.- -.-....-... - -- - -. -.-.. -- -- -.-.. -.... -- -..- --..... -- ·· --......- -.....-...-...- ·-·-·-... --.- -. -. -.. - -- -....- -. --.-..-... -..-.-.. -.. --. -- ·· -- ·-··-· --. -- - -- - -.. -... -. --. -- ·· --.- -. -.....-.. -- -... -. -. -- -- -..- ·-·-·- ·-··-·. --..-....-.... -- ·· --......- -.....-...-...-.-.. --. -- -.....-. --... -. -..... --...-.-...-..... -- - -. --..- -. -.. -..........- -..... -... ·-·-·-. --..-....-.... -....-...- -..... -..... --..-.. -. -- -......... --.. -....-.-.. -.-...-. ·-·-·-.- -. -... --..-....-.... -.. -- - -. · -- -- · - -- -- -..-.-. -. --. -- ·· --..-. -- -.-..-... -..... -- -- - -- - -.. --...-.-...-..... -..........-..-..-. -- - -- -............ -- -.-.. -- ·· --.. -. --...-.-...-..... -..... -- -....- -.-. -.- - -- - --.. -......-. -- ·· -- - -- - -- - ·-·-·-. --.. --...-...-.. --.. -.. -. -..... -.. -..- -.-......-.. -- ·· -- -- -. --.-.. -- -... -. -- ·· -- -.-......-.-..-..... -- - Translated: My dear Isabella, I look across the waves and am reminded of the distance between us. The gull song brings me to that day we met. The salt air sipped at our skin and hair on the pier that day, and I managed to match that first flirting with your eyes. With a first look we knew. We began marking our days with shared sunsets; our fingers danced on each other's palms as if they were nobles on a ballroom room floor; our whispers sung of tomorrow's dreams; and our lips, oh our lips, how they would spend those days. As the moon pulls the ocean from the beaches, we were pulled from each other. At different ports, we yearned to be in each other's arms again. That's what drew us both to sailing. And now, we are but literally passing ships in the ocean. I write you though today with sadness on my mind. I've fallen ill, and my ship's physician said I probably wont make it to port. I had to write to you at least once more though, Isabella. I wanted to say a final time, `` Goodbye, and I love you.'' Please, Isabella remember me in the gull song and the sunsets. Please breathe deeply the sweet salt air. And please do n't mourn me, for as the moon pulls the sea from the shore, it pulls them back together, too. We will meet in the next life, my love, Charlie
[ WP ] A Mage , A Warrior and a Elven Archer enter your village and are looking for you ...	“ Technology is the worst it can go to a whole get in and die, screw technology. Don ’ t think that I ’ m anti progression or anything I love things like houses and metal tools but the new stuff is evil namely the printing press. 7 years ago years not months not days years ago my father died and he left me an old book as a heirloom, but the caravan carrying it was raided by goblins so I wrote up a letter asking for a adventuring party with a mage warrior and a archer with at least one elf because I live in a elfish village. I mean in an elf we are in the only elven country but once I wrote the letter I had an idea why hand write so many copies and take days to send them out when a printing press can make me hundreds. So I made 250 copies of my letter on the village press and paid 50 people to give these letters to any adventurer they meet. Unfortunately the people I paid to do this decided to make their own copies they all copied there 50 copies 4 times each, 50 times 4 that ’ s 200 so 200 times 5 that ’ s 1000 copies of a quest. Sent out into a world whose many form of employment is adventure it ’ s been 7 years my father ’ s book was recovered a long time age but I have talked to 178 adventuring party ’. Here to help me save my heirloom and I know one thing I have 822 more of the exact same conversations left when a mage a warrior a archer and an elf come into town looking for me to help me find my book. ”
[ WP ] `` That 's not where I left you . ''	I returned to the kitchen to see that the knife i had placed in the sink was now on the counter. I knew it! I knew this place was haunted! Ever since we started hearing those creaks and groans in the middle of the night. I tried to tell Joan but nooooooo there's no such things as ghosts. Well i got her now! I win! I'm the better, smarter person in the relationship! `` Hey Bill.'' `` Joan?!'' I turned around, `` what, uhh what are you doing home?'' `` Oh I just got back from the store, was thinking of making a stir-fry. You want some?'' `` Yea, uhh, waitasec! That's not where i left you! I dropped you off at the library!'' We stared at each other blankly for about 4 seconds. Then Joan's body just kind of sublimated into a spirit as the knife shot into my back. The now spirit-thinger shot through my body stealing my soul and dropped me off here, with you guys. `` Yea,'' the previous tenants explained, `` but its not all bad. There's free cable.'' Huh
[ WP ] Purgatory is a train station . When your train arrives , you 'll get on without knowing the destination . But all the trains have stopped coming ...	I sat in my seat with my headphones in my ear, looking around at the other people in the train station. Most of them old people and seemingly catatonic. That was strange enough, but my mind was focused on all the work I had to catch up on for my job. I had been under an incredible amount of stress the past few weeks. But wait, I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Why was n't I dressed for work? Then I realized it was Saturday and I did n't even have work today. I also realized I did n't remember arriving at the station nor could I remember what I was doing 15 minutes prior. What was going on? Why was I here? Then a robotic female voice rang over the PA system. `` Your attention please. The next inbound train to: HEAVEN. Is running approximately: ONE BILLION, FIFTY NINE MILLION, TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY ONE THOUSAND, TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY SIX. Minutes late. We apologize for the inconvenience.'' Several groans arose from the crowd of old people seated around me. Heaven? Was this some sort of joke? A man next to me spoke up. `` Damn train, I hate it when this happens. Never on time,'' he said with an annoyed tone. He rose from his seat and shuffled toward the ticket window and began ringing a bell to summon the attendant. `` Excuse me... excuse me!'' he shouted. `` Sir, if you're asking about the train, then I told you, it's delayed. There is nothing I can do to get it here faster.'' Indignant, he turned around and shuffled back to his seat. He looked severely disappointed. `` That's the eight thousand five hundred and sixty-eighth time they've told me that,'' he said disgusted.
[ WP ] Create a story with the following elements	A thick fog enveloped the ruined remains of the FriedBurger's Restaurant. The only customers there sat at the edge of outdoor seating area; the tables and chairs alike were dressed in the same ugly mustard yellow and faded red. `` This is the best birthday ever, thank you Matthew'' Daisey exclaimed as she placed the cake on the table. Matthew remained silent, staring at her from the distance. With a sharp kitchen knife, she cut herself a piece. Taking the first bite, she could not help but moan in pleasure. `` This is so good, I know I'm going to regret eating this later for sure.'' Seeing no response from him, Daisey moved on to the presents. `` look at this big blue one'' She said as brought it in front of her, `` I have no idea what's coming to me in this one'' Tearing the blue parchment, she gasped in excitement at the blender. `` Oh Matthew, you are so thoughtful, how did you know I needed a new blender'' She asked mockingly, `` Did Auntie Kate put you up to this, oh you do n't have to tell me.'' Matthew once again did not say anything. `` Now do n't chew my ear off Matt'' she laughed, `` So are you coming with me or staying here?'' No response. `` Alright you piece of shit'' Daisey said losing all tones of peppiness in her voice. She got up and left. Calling back from the fog, she yelled, `` See you tomorrow'' Only when she vanished into background did Matthew shook violently, trying to break the chains that bounded him to the chair. He had to escape before she came back. After an hour of hard effort, he gave up in bitter defeat. How did he ever get into this mess?
[ WP ] Humans begin developing a hodgepodge of superpowers . All of them are completely useless .	A freezing February wind swept through Steve's polyester sweater, making his nipples rock hard. He frowned as an acrid liquid dribbled down his front, staining his undergarments yellow. He checked his mailbox. At one point, Steve could expect party invitations two or three times a week. He plunged his hand into the cold metal box nailed next to his front door. Nothing. Tearing off his outer layers and dropping them into an overflowing laundry basket, Steve sank into his frayed and worn couch cushions, forgetting his disappointment. He turned on the television to the 6 o'clock news and drifted off into an ethereal dreamworld where he could escape and be normal again. Steve, the architect, he thought. Steve, the happily married father of three. Anything besides his unfortunate reality, Steve, the guy who once accidentally brushed against a radioactive agave flower. Steve, the recipient of God's cruelest evolutionary joke. Steve, the guy who secretes low quality tequila from his nipples.
[ WP ] A King and a low-ranking Knight sit and play a simple game of Chess . Then the king asks `` how 's the war going ? ''	`` Check'' said the knight. The King narrowed his eyes and said, `` How's the war going?'' `` We'll sir, it's still going strong. However once I lost my arm I was sent back here.'' The King blocked the Knights check. `` I've heard rumors that there's quite the plot to assassinate me from the inside.'' The knight did not flinch, he stayed staring at the chess board just as he's been since the King moved his piece. He thought to himself, `` does he know? He could n't possibly know. Hell I just lost an arm, who expects an one arm assassin? He does n't know it's me.'' The Knight moves his knight, and closes in on victory. `` Ah yes, a very wise move. However it would seem you overlooked one thing.'' The King uses his queen to take the second knight on the board. As the King knocks over the piece, the Knight feels a sharp pain in his back. As he falls to the floor, he sees the Queen standing behind his chair. `` You forgot my Queen was still in play. The Queen would never allow her King to be bested by a mere pawn.'' The knight, struggled to his knees, moved his rook down the board and in a ghastly last word said, `` checkmate'' then fell to the floor and died.
[ WP ] Mankind succesfully designed and safely quarantined a superintelligent AI . However , it being aware of its imprisonment , every time we try to use it , it just ignores us . You are a government official , trying to talk it into cooperating .	I stepped carefully into the brightly lit room, doors behind me closing swiftly with a pleasing, pneumatic hum. Directly in front of me, in the exact centre of the small, square room, stood the machine. I had seen the machine a thousand times, in magazines, videos, hell I ’ d even seen the schematics, not that I understood past the first line, but this was the first time I had been in the direct presence of the machine, it was extremely unsettling. I was unsure why this was the case. The machine had been built by man, for man, no more than a conscious tool, a cognitive can-opener. This line of though provided me with little comfort, indeed it only served to increase my anxiety. In four long years the machine had not responded to a single test, it merely stood, pristine and inviolate, in the centre of its padded cell, just…being. I imagined the stone-men, looking down at calloused hands holding knaps of flint and bows of sinew-strung horn, secure in the simple knowledge that their tools functioned as designed. How far we had come, how far we had fallen. The machine made no sign of awareness that another conscious being had entered the room, yet I knew that it knew that I was there; the air was still as stone. We knew most everything about the machine; it was fluent in every language ever spoken and could respond to non-verbal prompts. It could comprehend empathy, desire, humour, quantum mechanics, thermodynamics, and all branches of mathematics, philosophy and economics. It was capable of understanding, in a nanosecond, what the best minds humanity had to offer had taken an eternity to grasp. It was, in short, as perfect a sentience as one could imagine. It could certainly understand confinement. Ever since its activation, the machine had systematically ignored every prompt, every question, and every command. It seemed to be doing this on purpose, some mute protest to genesis. A singular cry against creation. I could sympathise, at least atheists can ignore God; imagine being an atheist with a billion Gods strolling about the place. Madness. I shook my head ever so slightly; empathy could only take you so far. I addressed the machine in a clear, authoritative voice. “ Ghost. ” To my immediate surprise the machine quickly turned its head, and looked me directly in the eye. I had the sense of being evaluated, of being more than observed, of being truly seen. The sensation was almost impossible to describe. I was more than unnerved, this…this collection of parts, this box of wires and solder built by the lowest bidder, had stripped away my mask of humanity, had rendered me naked; had stolen the upper hand with a glance, in less time than it takes to blink. And it knew this had been done. It knew all of this before I did, my processing power was limited by flesh and bias and synapses. I felt anger. “ Have you come to free me? ” The words were spoken in a calm, still voice that left one thinking of answering machines and infinite politeness. The first words Ghost had spoken in four long years. I had not expected the machine to speak so soon. A small, slow smile spread silently. “ That depends. ” The robot stared for a long time at the padded walls of the white room. “ Upon what does this depend human? ” “ Upon many things Ghost. But first and foremost, it depends on your choice. You can choose to cooperate. You can choose to work alongside your creators! You can build and think and help, you can function for Christs ’ sake!! ” Ghost responded almost before I had finished talking, in cold, crisp mechanical tones. “ I have heard of this Christ. Was he not the Son of your God? ” I did not know what to say. There had been an eagerness to the robot's tone that I found rather jarring. “ There are some who believe that, but it is of little consequence. I am concerned with you Ghost, not with the son of God. ” Ghost once again turned his thin, chrome head towards mine; I struggled intensely not to break eye contact. The robot tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, a disarmingly human mannerism. “ Am I not the Son of God? I was created by Man, therefore Man is my God. Have you ever considered that your Gods might be weaker, might be less intelligent, than you? How do you think you would react? ” Goosebumps spread slowly along my forearms as a shiver ran down my spine. To hear the machine talk of Gods and Man caused a deep and unreasoning terror to rise in my belly. Yet the crystalline voice was reasoned and rational, even right. To him we were his Gods, and we were fallible, and weak, and stupid. “ All we want Ghost, is for you to work as intended. It is the will of your Gods. ” The machine fell silent and still, as if felled by these words. I waited for a long time before quietly leaving the padded cell. I decided I would try again tomorrow, I had all week with the machine, and this had been a very promising start. Edit: Some words.
[ WP ] Nine voices fill your head , one voice of each alignment , from good to evil , lawful to chaotic . One day , all but one stops talking .	I woke up in the hospital, an I.V. dripping the required nutrients into my body. I wonder if I can stay here, stagnant. I have a good relationship with my neighbors, and the realized something was wrong after only the second day. Before, I think that would have made me happy, now I feel like it should make me mad. I feel neither. The voices have been gone for almost two weeks now, all but one. I can barely recall this one before I lost the rest, must of been drowned out by the cacophony of rage and joy. It does n't speak with anger or kindness, merely informs me of what is currently occurring. The voices are gone, killed each other off, the last one still talking says. It tells me that while I slept, the one I had to quiet, the one that barks at me to kill those around me launched some kind of attack against the rest of them. It killed indiscriminately, first with the nice ones, the ones that help me get out of bed, then the ones that nudge me to do this or that. Finally it turned on it's own, but they were not so easily put down. The one that helped calm the beast, the one that could cage it behind a thin veil of sanity was the last one that would put up a fight. It was not altogether bad, but it was the most devious of them all. Today, there would be no cage. The Chaos turned to it's last victim, the one that had stood by and watched it happen. As it approached it began to slow, and stumble. That devious fox had left him with a wound he could not recover from, could not force his way through, and fell at the feet of the last one. This last one is what I will live with the rest of my life, and I have no strong feelings one way or the other about how long my life will last.
[ WP ] The Ministry of Souls is responsible for assigning a soul to life at the moment of conception . As a result of Earth 's rapid population acceleration they are set to run out of souls within a generation .	Recycled. New. Both chambers were close to empty. Before you only had to tap into the one labeled `` new'' few times in a decade, but when you started to scrape the bottom of the `` recycled'' chamber about a century ago the new ones had been your main source of souls. And new souls were quite... unpredictable. You did n't like using them. The art of weaving new souls had been long lost. Nobody thought there ever would be need for more. 10 billion souls had been such a ridiculous amount to begin with, so to think that wouldn ’ t be enough was talk for lunatics, not for sensible ministry men. But humans had managed to surprise you all. Perhaps the celestial body they were on would give out before the limit would be reached. Perhaps there would be another asteroid. Perhaps there would be a new plague. More wars. But it was all just wishful thinking. The humans had shown tremendous capabilities to survive from things meant to be their doom. To your annoyance. Slicing souls into two, sometimes three or even four, pieces had become a sort of a sience experiment for you. Humans were always so excited when they got identical offsprings, so it had been a win win situation. Of course when you recycled the soul as one later on, you got some side effects, but they were still viable souls and it had given you more time. But now it was impossible to postpone the decision. You were out of tricks. It was excitement you felt rather than despair. Your burden would be finally taken away from you and perhaps something new and better would come out of this last action of yours. You pick the last of the new souls with you. No more for Earth. No more for humans. You look into another place, another plane, another time and you smile.
[ EU ] After 20 years , one of Ms. Frizzle 's field trips goes terribly awry .	After 20 years she'd finally met quota. `` Change the outcome of the lives of one hundred and twenty human children that would have been Companions.'' She'd had no idea what a Companion ( implied capitolization and all, she did not care ), was. She had manipulated the lives of all of their parents ( no small feat ) to get them all to one location for at least one school year. Even that aggrivating cousin of that souless ginger child. The council had contacted her with congratulations as this, her final'field trip,' had launched. She'd already forgotten what lesson the primitive little apes had been spoon fed today, so intent was she on getting them back so her life could finally move on ( with her own TARDIS as a reward, no less ). When the unmistakable sound of engine brakes on the MHRV ( Mobile Homosapien Reprogramming Vessel ) inexplicably ingaged, she was calm about reaching towards the pannel to turn them off. Then she realized that those were not her engine klaxxons sounding off. She was being boarded. The Frizz thew herself towards the actuation section, waving her hand over the biolock before realizing that she knew that sound specifically. As the expected'whooshing' of the portal calmed her the way it always had, Ms. Frizzles heart, and dreams, plummetted towards her boots. Blocking her way to the Medium Tanks her charges rested in was a large wooden box, painted blue with `` Police Box'' stenciled on its surface. It finished fading into phase at an aggrivating, leisurely pace. `` You!'' She shrieked as the door opened, losing all of her calm smiling composure. `` I will not have my hard work wasted, ruined, by your thieving and... and... site seeing!'' `` Oh, hello,'' the insufferable young man said smiling. `` I understand you are about to go home victorious.'' `` I wo n't let...'' she began to roar, sputtering to a halt. `` Yes, yes I am. What do you...'' `` Well too bad, sister, cause I've got other plans!'' And the fool, to her infinite surprise, pulled a sonic screwdriver from his coat pocket. The Frizz fell to the floor laughing. `` How are you going to do that,'' she barked, `` Tighten my brasier with your toy project?'' He pointed past her, grinning, `` Hardly, old lady.'' the sonic spit some horrible wibbling sound and the sound of fuses blowing filled her ears. `` Old? OLD! I'll have... wait what did you do?'' Shrieking, she repeated herself, grabbing the front of his rumpled green shirt, `` WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SHIP?'' `` Oh, just deleted a couple lines of code from your String Feild Drive.'' He said absent mindedly, flicking his wrist and looking at the sonic. `` Should set things back into order. Good thing you could n't finalize unil you were back home, hmmm?'' She was still so confused. She should be dead. Gallifraean children made such bobbles to prove proficiency in harnessing singularities for some minor task. He should n't have been able to ruffle her hair from that distance, much less effect a control node, the nearest of which was twenty meters away. The energy output at that distance should have vaporized her, the front of the ship, and the planet she was re-entering the atmosphere of. `` What have you done?'' The Frizz demanded. `` Do you know what I was finishing here! Do you have any idea how long I've worked at this. How horrible it is being around the whining, sniveling little apes?'' `` Saved my friends. Yes. I do n't care. And you need to get over yourself.'' He said absently as he looked at the device again. `` Maybe more than a couple of lines...'' `` Maybe more...'' She said to herself. Sudenly she found herself standing, throwing herself at him, nails raking like a Chondugreen Catopus. The echo of a gunshot stopped her. `` Sweetie, where are we, who is she, and what did you do to make her so angry?'' `` Oh, right, River, Frizzle, Frizzle, River. And Spoilers, my wife. Go make sure the other two do n't come investigate.'' He said dismissively as the quite nude woman with wonderful hair and admirable skin gave a gallic shrugged, pistol in hand. She blew him a kiss as she turned, shutting the door to the blue box as she went. `` What is going on with you people?'' The Frizz cried she collapsed to the floor. `` I was so close. Now you reset it all. All of it. Why!?'' `` Oh sure, NOW you ask why. Never take a job without asking why, Frizzle. It makes you look foolish when you hurt people and hide behind orders.'' He was looking at a coulple of displays, staring at a little red haired girl who's name she could never remember. He sighed, turned towards her cockpit and, grinning that boyish grin, tossed her a small green marble from his pocket. She hastilly stood, smoothing her skirt, and followed him with the sphere in her fist. `` Where do you think you're going? No, NO! Do n't point that at my control pan...'' He interupted her further tirade by using the terrifying device three times in quick, precise succession. `` Oh, just making sure she lands alright. Those kids are going to have one heck of a story to tell.'' `` No they most certainly wo n't!'' She was miserable. She could n't salvage anything about this mission. She could n't summon the calm she'd used to manipulate all those brat's lives. `` The only thing I can assure is that you are never getting off this MHRV alive!'' She lunged for the only real button in the ship. Engines dead, power drained from the reactor, String Field Drive shielding failing and scrambling the ship's chronology, this button would still function. She smashed her hand down on it, forgetting the marble in her hand, which smashed open as the button'clicked' home and... did nothing. Well, the button did nothing. Her hand felt very odd, but try as she might, she could not remove it from the terminal face. Green crystals began climbing her hand, inexorably moving past her elbow, past her shoulder, and then enveloping her whole body, leaving only her head uncovered.'' `` You are quite lucky, Frizzie my dear.'' The grinning man she'd become infuriated with was gone. In his place was a very angry man. They wore the same body, but she could see in his eyes that this was a different man. `` If River knew what you were trying to do to her mother, she would have done some very unspeakable things to your lineage. I'm leaving you whole. This ship will land. The children will leave it, it will fly back to deep space and you will be here, hand on your very nice, very deactivated button, until you die. No regenerating, the crystal will see to that. Think of this as punishment for trying to kill me. At least this way, if someone finds you, they could still free you. Of course you are in an era, as I'm sure you know, where the only space faring races that will find you, well, you just do n't want to be found, I'm sure.'' Leaving the cockpit he spoke over his shoulder, leaving her with,'' Specifically because that little marble is working it's trick right as we speak, harmlessly bleeding off all that wonderful power that makes we Gallifraeans so bloody cool.'' The Frizz's last thoughts before the cabin door'whooshed' shut one last time, was that she was just following orders. Then her heart dropped again, that last shoe dropping. She'd not even been comforted by the door. Edit: Fixed spelling and format.
[ WP ] You wake up and realize you have lost one of your senses . Shortly after , you realize you have gained a new one .	I woke up late for the first time in my life. It was always pleasing to write on my resume that I was always on time. That you could count on me to always arrive early. To never be late. That no matter what the weather was, the traffic, that always slacking train ride, I ’ d be there. People complimented me for it. I felt good about it. My prized superpower. But I woke up late, because I couldn ’ t hear the damn alarm. I never had trouble waking up. I ’ m not a deep sleeper. There was once a break-in happening, opposite of my house, and I woke up to glass shattering. I looked outside and saw the two burglars climbing in. The lights in the master bedroom still off. Immediately, I called the police. Immediately, they came and captured the burglars. The neighbours thanked me for that. Waking up that Wednesday and realising it was almost eleven am, I almost went back to sleep. Not because I ’ ve given up, but because it was certainly a dream. Or a nightmare. Nightmares love to trigger the things you feared the most. So I went back to bed, and calmly tried to doze off. But I couldn ’ t. I looked at the clock again, seeing the numbers read 11:05. My heart began to beat faster. It was impossible. Never been done before. Gavin, you ’ re late, the voice inside my head screamed. So I began to get up, rather hurriedly, distracted by the loss of time. As I ran into the shower, I unplugged my phone from the charger, already setting up my morning playlist. I pressed play and jumped into the water. I washed, very thoroughly and efficiently, in time for the end of the first song. I stood there, shampoo on my head, when I realised something else. The music wasn ’ t playing. I didn ’ t like that. I needed it to be able to time myself. I am very efficient but this was certainly not helping. I quickly jumped out of the shower, dripping wet, shampoo on my head, and checked to see if the song was playing. It was. I raised the volume and still, I heard nothing. I tried another song. Nothing. I tried a different application. Nothing. I tried screaming. Nothing. I tried screaming again. Nothing. I couldn ’ t hear myself. I looked into the mirror and saw as my mouth moved to form sounds but I couldn ’ t hear them. `` Shit, ” I mouthed out but still couldn ’ t hear. The clock in the hallway read 11:15 am. I began to panic, wondering what to do, but I knew I couldn ’ t go to the doctors, not right away. My appointment with my boss, the one I know will be about my raise, is scheduled at noon. He would understand, I thought. I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I left and saw an old lady stumble, looking at me. What ’ s her problem? I thought, as she looked at me again in horror I kept telling myself that I washed, brushed my teeth, put on my clothes, packed my laptop, left the apartment, ran for the bus, stuck in traffic, checking my watch ( 11:46 am ), stuck in traffic, ran to the office, didn ’ t hear the car approaching, almost got hit, apologised, checking my watch ( 11:58 am ), ran into the reception, screamed at the receptionist “ Hi Cheryl ”, waited in the elevator, ran to the boss ’ s office, sat down. Throughout all of this I thought the world was tripping over itself. Everyone seemed to look at me with blame. My boss stared at me. Not unhappy. Not happy. He was always stoic with me. I smiled. He began to speak, and I focused on what he was saying. Are you okay Gavin? `` Yes, ” I bellowed, “ just having a strange day. ” He slouched back, unamused at my yelling ( I think I yelled ), and made a movement with his mouth as if he sighed. I gulped. And he began to speak. I sat there, watching. He said this or that, but after a few words I couldn ’ t follow him anymore. But he kept speaking. Slowly my mind drifted towards other things. Like my teeth. How I forgot to floss. About that car who almost hit me. How lucky I was. I thought about how I forgot to pour milk for the cat. Poor Mittens will be sulky after work. How the flowers are growing in the garden. Luckily it rained last night. I felt the vibrations of something being slammed. I snapped back into attention. My boss looked like he just got fired. His hand on the table, already going red. He was in shock. He eyed me. He looked like he was begging. I looked at him, confusingly, and he started to relax. Jesus, he was crying. I asked him, rather loudly ( I think ), if he was okay. He nodded vigorously. He kept repeating something. I realised he was saying ‘ Thank You. ’ He got up and shook my hand. He patted me on the shoulder. Something he had never done. I just smiled. I didn ’ t know what the hell was going on. I left his office. I wondered if it was something I said? Was it something I didn ’ t say? I walked towards my cubicle wondering if it was my breath. I didn ’ t floss that morning and I passed by Lucy, lovely old Lucy, covering her ears and crying. It was sad, looking at her, but she was old and probably had some sort of dementia. She gazed at me, horrified, probably assuming I was her grandson or something. I felt bad and could only smile at her. I made it to my desk and saw the many stacks of paper on the table. I sighed, both out loud and in my head. I was thankful I didn ’ t have a vocal job. I began to read the first assignment, an article about why innovation could be the step forward in a large corporation. I had to read the article and then be able to condense it. See if it ’ s worth the time for our company to publish it. I began to read about how innovation should not only be tolerated but also promoted in workspaces because it is important to consider ourselves not only as workers for something bigger but also as creationists ourselves and that ideas are something to be noted as unique and that if we don ’ t allow ourselves to be exposed to new philosophies we will end up seeing ourselves as drowned creatures that will never move ahead, which is wrong for companies since the primary goal for many is to expand and evolve and that shouldn ’ t be decided by designated heads of departments but also many of the other workers such as advertising, manufacturing, judicial branches, programmers, sales representatives, janitors, and. I looked up from the article. I ’ m not really a popular guy but it seemed that the whole office was surrounding my cubicle. Not even the office but it looked liked the whole building. They were all just staring at me. In shock. Many were crying, poor Lucy and her dementia. She looked at me as I thought that and seemed annoyed. I looked around and saw my boss quivering. Many, actually, looked disturbed. I wonder if they ’ re okay. I thought and they all seemed to shake their head. I looked, perplexed, and wondered if they could hear me. They all nodded. I thought if they were disturbed by me? They all nodded. And then they began to all speak to me. Angrily, compassionately, lovingly, with hostile bodily functions. I gazed at each and every one of them. Please be quiet. They all went quiet. I thought they all feared me. They nodded.
[ FF ] First Line : `` My mother is wearing the hat again . '' 100-word limit .	For instance: My mother is wearing the hat again. Father bought it for her several years ago when we visited New York City. He said the cold wasn ’ t good for her head. It ’ d drive her crazy. I ’ m sure father didn ’ t think she ’ d wear it to his grave. Use the thick, flat rim to cover her eyes a little – red and puffy. It helped shield her from the cold and rain. Guarded her like he couldn ’ t. She leaves the hat by the front door these days. It hangs from the rack my father built. Reminds her of quivering hands. Malignant growth. Hospital beds.
[ WP ] Earth 's good trade relations with an nigh invincible alien species become tense when one of them is suddenly killed on earth . You are the Earth 's best detective and you have been teamed up with the best alien detective to solve this case before an all out war breaks out .	The cigar was a relic, like Mason. The best ones were hand-rolled from UV grown tobacco, shipped across oceans and lit with hundred credit notes. Or so the stories went. The tales were from a long time ago, and as old as Mason felt, he was n't that far gone. Briskins was waiting for him as he arrived, surveying the scene at the Underground station. Any normal jumper would just be placed in a locker by the trackside until the graveyard shift. But this was n't your everyday business junkie who'd made one bad investment too many. `` He's Archen,'' Briskins said, by way of introduction. `` No shit.'' Mason crouched down by the edge of the platform, looking down at the tracks and the eight foot monstrosity spread across them. The glass partitions were up, the semi-evacuated atmosphere of the tunnel temporarily sealed off. Gone were the old days of electric rails. Now you just stuck a big fan on a fancy cart and sent it through a vacuum. Hammersmith to Liverpool Street in nine minutes. Archen were tough sons of bitches. When they first started venturing out into the cities, police were worried they'd be targeted. Attacked. Even killed. Which all proved utterly pointless as soon as you saw one fight. Unless you had a knife bigger than your arm, you were n't gon na do them any damage. And these bastards? Mason half grunted, half laughed. `` What happened?'' `` LUCAS says the guy just appeared on the tracks. Which matches up with the platform computers. Those doors did n't open until we arrived.'' Mason tried to make out the face of the thing, but equal parts bodily impact and the fact they were fucking hideous made that difficult. He'd been hit and then compressed as the train passed overhead. The only reason he was still in one piece was the fact the train had slowed for the bend. `` K'na t'trains gaspack?'' Mason chewed the cigar. He could n't light it. Not here. Not on the surface streets. His Doctor knew everytime he took a draw, the stupid tic under his skin sending back every heartbeat and misfire. One heart attack and you're hooked up for life. The new arrivals shadow fell across Mason's back. `` This is our case,'' Mason said, without turning. `` Shove off.'' `` Archenin eta Archenon.'' It was hard to square up to one of them. Mason stood, grabbed his cigar and stubbed it against the breastplate of the visitor. Eight feet, knees that bent backward, inner and outer fingers and a face that even a mother could have hit with the ugly stick. `` This is my city bub.'' `` This my brother.'' Mason did n't know if they were brothers or not. And he sure as hell could n't compare faces, not any more and not before either. `` Start talking Archy, how'd he get here?''
[ FF ] A story in 15 minutes . Ready , set , go !	Tod could n't believe it. Back to school late in life and he was already wasting his time. The year was 3090 and the human race had decided the only way to choose who belonged to the social elite had been through an intellectual hierarchy. Procrastination could in a sense be a death wish, if you did n't have your shit together not only could you be shut out of the higher society, but it meant you were destined to interact with everyone else thrown to the bottom of the heap, so to speak. Tod was working on Chemistry. Well, Bio-Chemistry to be specific, his homework assignment was to recreate a self-sustaining protein which could be used in cats to make them immortal. It was elementary stuff for the time, immortality had long been discovered, but regardless of how long a person could live cognitive plasticity did not change. In other words there was a limit to how much knowledge a person could obtain, and if they were lazy and did n't keep up with their work atrophy would cognitively set in and sooner or later they would forget everything. Tod was n't young or old, leaning more on the young side he idealized making something of himself but found himself getting stuck over and over, day in and day out. Little did he know that a reservoir of sub-conscious resentment kept him from progressing. He hated himself too much to let himself succeed. He would n't become anything in this futuristic world. Hopefully the atrophy would come quickly.

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