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[ Wp ] Humans evolved to live under the sea and ca n't breathe in air . You are part of the first expedition to leave the aquatic civilisation and venture to `` land '' .
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I was initially very scared, just as anyone would have been I guess. After several decades of research and theories we were finally ready to embark on the first surface mission. I found myself remembering all the childhood stories of what lay beyond the beaches, tales of great beasts and monsters.
I have barely made it over the beaches, but already I find air very constricting. I am forced to move along the ground much like a crab, combined with the weight of my suit if anything were to attack me I would be very vulnerable. The scientists say water is as deadly to the surface creatures as their air is to us, but I know that is a lie merely told to make me feel safer. I used to sneak out towards the shore as a young boy and watched many of the land creatures diving in and out of the sea, I had even secretly befriended a few otters that would occasionally bring me odd plants from inland.
I wish I had been given more time on this first venture, but they were very adamant I make it very short. As I made my way back I thought it all very beautiful, but it did n't have the same freedoms that the oceans granted. I know one day mankind will bring the land and skies into our domain, and even possibly the great expanse above the skies, but none of it will ever quite feel like the sea.
-- --
First post in r/WritingPrompts, but hopefully not too bad: )
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[ EU ] Hagrid takes his class on a school trip to see all manners of magical lifeforms . At some point they end up at a swamp inhabited by a very peculiar and solitary ogre ...
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As the group approached the swamp Hagrid turned around and issued a warning to his class.
`` Remember, this creature is known to be aggressive to newcomers, approach with extreme caution.'' A couple of murmers among the group was quickly broken by a loud voice. `` WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY SWAMP! ``, Hagrid approached slowly and explained why they were In his swamp, `` my name is hagrid and this is my class, we come from Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry and I am showing them magical creatures from around the land, May we come closer?'' The creature looked at the group and said `` of course!''
Hargrid looked at the green ogre almost quizzical `` really?'' He asked and faster than he could blink the orge simply said `` no''.
Hagrid turned back to the group `` well looks like we are n't welcome here, come on we can go to our next destination, there's a woman with 7 dwarfs that may be kinder''
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[ WP ] A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure ( Washington , Napoléon , Hitler , Marline Monroe , JFK ) before they die . After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper .
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I thought that it'd just be a nice lark.
Everyone's a bit of a collector, at their heart. Some people collect stamps, some people collect sports cards, some people collect figurines or lunchboxes or whatever cockamamie thing comes to mind.
Me? I collect autographs.
Now, do n't get me wrong- there's some hard things to do getting autographs. You really want to, go to a memorabilia store and pick up an autograph of one of your sports heroes or big entertainment stars- but where's the fun in that? A collection of autographs that you purchased just said you had some money.
If you really want to collect autographs- you have to go to the source. An autograph should n't mean you had money. It should be living proof you got to meet this person and tell them how much they meant to you. An autograph collection serves as the passport of the amazing people you've met on that journey that we call life. Some people do it with those'selfies' they see around... I prefer the old fashioned way to do it.
Unfortunately, there's always been a problem with autographs. First off, the value of an autograph is pretty straightforward. The sports card market's the best example- even if you get a rookie card of the best player out there- it's going to spike in value four times in their life: When they're a genuine star, the second they retire, the second they're elected to the Hall of Fame, and the second they die. It's even more blatant with autographs. The second the person is dead, that's it- there wo n't be any more autographs for them kicking around- and yours becomes more viable.
So, what does any good collector do- but research. Back to the Future II kind of said the whole point in reverse- you go forward in time, pick up a sports almanac, and go back in time to make money in gambling- but it went the opposite way too. Instead of doing something clearly illegal like that and risking the casinos banning you- or worse, roughing you up or killing you because you won too much money, why not instead go back in time, find Steve Jobs's garage, buy a bunch of shares of Apple stock, and use the money now? Why not go back to a random news stand, buy as many copies of Action Comics # 1 that they have, and sell them all in the modern day and cash out before you flooded the market?
... and, if you have an autograph collection, why not use it to meet everyone you'd want to and get their autographs in person?
People worry about how much of a difference things make on time period. It was always said- if you randomly come to place in a crowded street in San Francisco in 1906, then go off... maybe you make one person held off a second late, and they miss a meeting that'd lead them to meet their future spouse... or even if not that, maybe jostled one sperm cell out of place and changed the one that fertilized their partner's egg, making a whole different person live in place of the one who lived, changing the lives of those around them, and eventually randomizing the earth entirely.
So, you have to try to find ways to make it all work. Some friends of mine in the time travel club have fun just buzzing old times- go to random caves in prehistoric times and do graffiti on the walls. A lot of my friends say Pompeii is always a blast- head out there before the volcano hits, throw something in the lava, and watch archaeologists in shock that the people of ancient Rome had an iPad.
Me? I'm just a collector. I just have to try and hit each person. If they're going to go through, I just have to get my autographs as soon as possible.
I laughed the first time someone said I was the Grim Reaper. The picture? Yeah, it looked like me- but honestly? What next? Guys say they looked like Nicolas Cage or Jay-Z in past photos- both guys are great dudes in this time travel club, really class acts all the way- they see people with cell phones in old movies... but there's no proof it's me.
It's the fun of time travel. Even if it exists, no one knows it exists. And it just lets me laugh at what they think they know, and not know the person. You say it exists? You're the crazy one.
At least that's what I thought. It was supposed to be the same thing I did. No different than any other time I get an autograph. I get my time machine- people think they're so big and unwieldy like in sci-fi movies, but they can be as small as a simple book... and they need to be covered so no one in the past knows the masquerade of time travel. I get my cover and put it in.
I head back in time- maybe part of me was wary about doing this- but in my mind, I knew I had to do it- I mean, could you blame me? Who among us did n't have our lives changed when we heard them the first time, and he... he was always the best of them. I had to do it. I went down. I saw the place, I saw him and his family. I had to get my autograph.
If anything, it changed- he was mobbed, he was busy. I waited. It was hard- but I needed to make sure it was valuable. It's not my fault- autograph collections are a fickle mistress. I could n't stop there, I keep the autograph's value. I try to leave- but the damn time machine stopped working. The battery's dead. It's the dead of night, there's no hope of me getting a solar charge until the morning to get out of there. It had to happen now. I ca n't get out of here, I ca n't get back to my own time. I'm stuck here, I do n't know what to do until this battery recharges. I try to find help to get in, how can I tell anyone the story... oh crap, it looks like there's some help to get a battery. Officer, officer, I need a battery...
``... Mark David Chapman, you're under arrest for the murder of John Lennon.''
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[ WP ] A minor metahuman uses his solitary , noncombat superpower to secretly make the lives of others better .
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`` Who are you, how did you get here,'' yelled the security agent as he shook Tom by the shoulders. Tom winced in pain and pulled away as another agent tackled him. Tom landed with a groan.
`` Get this guy out of here, now,'' yelled another man holding a pistol and wearing body armor. `` I want this area inspected with dogs,'' he ordered as he turned on his heel and went towards the UN's makeshift brig.
Two men tied Tom to a chair with nylon rope as two armed guards watched. Tom remained silent. He breathed hard through his nostils and he furrowed his brow at the man who tied his chest. `` That's tight,'' Tom said breaking his silence. The man shrugged and pulled tighter.
Another man in a suit walked in, stared Tom down, and sat next to him on a stool. `` Okay, so how are going to do this? We have video of you at several high level UN meetings. No one knows you are. If you're a spook, tell us who your handler is and we'll call him. If you ca n't tell us this then we have to treat this as terrorism.''
Tom snorted.
The man sighed, `` Fine. I'm Chief Commander Butcher, I manage security for the UN. So... what are you doing here?''
Tom wiggled and briefly fought against the ropes biding him to the chair. A security guard with a machine gun stepped forward toward Tom. Tom stopped, leaned back as much as he could, and laughed.
`` What's so funny,'' asked Butcher. Tom closed his eyes for a moment. Butcher watched him as he tapped his foot. `` I do n't have time for these games,'' he said, `` We could just easily give you up to the CIA right now. That's not going to be within your.... interestssssss....''
Butcher started laughing. The other men in the room started smiling. Butcher got up and gave Tom a slap on the back.
Tom smiled at him, `` See, we can all be friends right? Right, friend? Maybe we should just talk privately, friend.''
Butcher laughed and yelled, `` Guards dismissed,'' and the guards left the room, laughing.
Tom said, `` Friend, why do n't you untie me.'' Butcher pulled out a pocket knife and cut Tom loose. Butcher stood staring into space. `` Order your men to let me go, tell them it was a big misunderstanding,'' Tom demanded. Butcher picked up a small radio and told his men that Tom is free of any charges.
`` See Butcher, see what's going on here,'' Tom asked lightly slapping the man in the face. `` I go to all high level meetings. I sneak into the UN, into Davos, into Bilderbergs. You name it. I've found a way in.''
`` Sounds fun,'' said Butcher still staring at the wall.
`` Then I do this,'' he waved his hands around the room. `` I get up close and let this happen,'' he said. Tom paced around the room, `` At first it was fun then it became a duty. A horrible life consuming duty. Sometimes it does n't work. I could n't stop Bush from killing all those Iraqis. So many needless deaths. But who knows what I've stopped. Who knows.''
Butcher looked up at him with tears running from his eyes, `` How,'' he asked.
Tom laughed. `` I was n't sure at first. People were just really nice to me one day then randomly after. Then I realized I could turn it on at will.'' Tom laughed again, `` I thought I was just charming. I was suddenly seducing women and getting raises. How do you get that charming so suddenly?''
Butcher stared at him, `` How,'' he repeated.
`` Pheromones, my friend,'' Tom said with a smile. `` I can fill a large room with love and peace via these chemical agents. I guess I'm some kind of mutant. I abused it at first. Got rich, got addicted to drugs, and hit rock bottom. I found a higher calling now.''
`` So... you save us from war,'' asked Butcher.
`` I like to think I do. These aggressive alpha male politicians walk into these meetings and conferences ready to declare war or take some petty but dangerous gamble, usually at the expense of innocent people. I fill them with peace and love. They come out smiling and shaking hands. They just attribute this to god or their own negotiation skills. They have no idea.''
Butcher stood up and saluted the man and nearly fell over.
`` My apologies, I do n't usually release this much in such a small room, but these are exceptional circumstances,'' Tom said as he began to walk out the door. Tom turned around, `` Oh, and tell your men to be easier on prisoners. I did n't need to be tied up that tight.''
`` Will do,'' said Butcher as he sat on the floor and rubbed his eyes.
`` Do your new friend a favor and forget who I am. I guess I'll be seeing you at Davos,'' said Tom as he started walking out the door and waved at the incapacitated security chief.
`` See you soon, friend! See you soon,'' said Butcher now lying on the floor on his stomach. `` I will miss you, friend,'' he yelled as he watched Tom walk out the door. `` I love you, friend,'' he said quietly to himself and whimpered.
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[ WP ] The superhero arrives to stop the villains next master plan , only to find him slumped unconscious with an empty bottle of whiskey and tubs of emptied pills .
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The Wonderman signal shone high and bright against the dark night sky. The city was infected with the disease of crime, and out of it had emerged Wonderman, a shining paragon of virtue. Slowly, he had begun to scrub the city clean. First the corruption, and then the syndicates had fallen. But in the villains place had arisen supervillains. Smarter, stronger, and more devious, this new challenge was much harder to overcome, but nothing was too hard for Wonderman.
Wonderman looked up and saw the signal. *The commissioner* he thought. He jumped up, and flew off to their established meeting place atop a nearby warehouse. He landed heavily into a kneeling position and stood up. The Commissioner was leaning against the wall with a cigar.
`` Wonderman'' he acknowledged
`` Commissioner'' Wonderman returned `` Whats the problem?''
`` Its Doctor Chaos, he's up to something''
Doctor Chaos... Wonderman's arch nemesis. Doctor Chaos' intelligence was unmatched. He had once been a leading researcher against cancer, but the allure of money and power corrupted him. Now he worked to destroy lives, and to control the city.
`` We do n't know what he's doing,'' the commissioner continued `` but word has been spreading through the underground that something big is coming''
`` I'll take care of it'' promised Wonderman
In a flash, he was away! Off to the secret laboratory of Doctor Chaos.
He flew high over the city, inspecting it with his x ray vision. Parts of the city were crumbling and under repair. Doctor Chaos had done immense damage and suffering to the people of the city during his last scheme. Wonderman could n't let that happen again.
And there it was! He could see the lab. He hurtled towards the building and smashed through the ceiling. As the dust cleared, he surveyed the room.
Doctor Chaos sat slumped in a chair. He was disheveled, his chemistry goggles down around his neck, his hair a mess, and lab coat open and dirty. Next to him was a bottle of whiskey. Wonderman ran over and shook him, he groggily woke up and stared. As his senses came around, he smiled.
`` The great and mighty Wonderman arrives! Here to foil my last scheme''
`` I do n't know what your planning Doctor Chaos, but it ends here'' he assumed a fighting stance
Doctor Chaos waved his hand dismissively. `` You're right, it does. Now could you leave me in peace? I wish to spend my last moments away from you.''
`` Last moments?'' Puzzled Wonderman
Doctor Chaos threw a small prescription bottle at Wondeman's feet. He picked it up. Wondeman studied it for a second. It was empty.
`` Why?'' He simply asked
`` Now that's the real question. Why.'' Doctor Chaos looked into distance. `` Why bother? Why should I continue my work when everything inevitably will be destroyed by you, Wonderman.''
`` You do n't need to continue your work'' Wonderman replied `` You can go back to being a researcher, you can help people''
`` I AM helping people, you just do n't see it you illiterate -- it doesnt matter now, it all ends soon'' he sat back `` This is my final scheme Wonderman, the only one you can not foil. I die a winner. Try to bring me to the hospital, I dare you. The damage is already done''
Wonderman looked at him for a few seconds. The moral thing to do would be to try to save him. He looked out the nearby window. Across the street was a school, still in disrepair from the last scheme. He made his decision.
Wonderman turned away.
`` Wait, you are n't going to try to save me? The great *paragon of virtue* is going to let a man die?''
He paused, and slowly looked back over his shoulder. `` Yes''
In a flash, he was gone, flying away to some other part of the city. Doctor Chaos watched him go, then sat back into his chair and thought. If the drugs werent hitting him so heavy, he would be panicking. The great hero, his arch enemy, left him to die. For once, he had wanted his plan to fail.
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[ WP ] You and humanity watched the world end . However , when you open your eyes again , the world continues , yet you are the only one who remembers it ended .
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Everything was burning. Somewhere off in the distance I could hear the cries of people dying, although I could n't separate my own from theirs they too all eventually went quiet. I could feel the heat spreading over my skin as I became blind and deaf to the suffering of the world. I gulped desperately for air but choked on smoke as everything burned. Finally the pain stopped. I was n't sure if I was dead or if i had just become numb to the pain. I was not sure how long I was like this but eventually I heard something. At first I was n't sure what it was but I knew it was n't screaming. It had a metallic, artificial quality about it.
As the sound continues to ring out I realize that I recognize that sound. Its the sound of the buzzer on my phone. By instinct I reach out to press the snooze button and only then realize that I can feel myself reaching. The unbearable pain is gone. Surprised at this I open my eyes, which also surprises me since I remember them being burned shut. I look around and realize that I'm in my apartment, and that its quite dark, the light coming in through my window is the orange of streetlights so it must still be nighttime. I look down at my phone. The brightness of the screen blinded me momentarily, but after a second I looked back and saw that the date was November 13th, 2020. According to my phone, the last week had just never happened and the world was still very much here. The fact that everything appeared normal out of the window corroborated this theory.
My head was spinning, I knew that what I had seen could not have been a dream, so how was I here, a week before the end of the world?
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[ WP ] Dozens of planets across the galaxy are home to a civilization of Homo Sapiens , and all of them , except Earth , have made contact with each other . Across the galaxy , humans tune in to watch Earth launch a new probe - which will make Earthlings realize they 're not alone .
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“ Grab the kids, honey! ” Walter dropped the paper on the table next to him and placed his glasses on top. In a well-practiced motion, he pointed the remote at the TV and turned the volume up.
* “ —the probe has just reached the end of our solar system. Hopefully we ’ ll finally be able to see the unidentified object just off the orbit of Pluto. This moment has been years – “ *
“ Did they figure it out yet? ”
“ No, not yet. Where are the kids? They ’ re going to miss it. ”
His wife didn ’ t have a chance to respond, instead the thundering footsteps of children coming down the stairs answered. A boy raced down the stairs, threw himself on the couch with reckless abandon and glued his eyes to the TV.
“ Did it happen yet?! ”
“ Not yet, Bobby. ”
A younger girl moved to the couch and sat calmly, making an effort not to wrinkle or ruin the pink dress she wore.
“ Good morning, Baily. ” His wife said with a smile, “ that ’ s a lovely dress you ’ re wearing. You and Rosie match! ”
The girl looked at her doll, then back to her dress and smiled shyly. She brought the doll to her face and slunk down, embarrassed.
“ They just breached Pluto ’ s orbit. They ’ re close now. ”
“ Coooolll… ” Bobby responded, he held his father ’ s old NASA *Orion* model in his arms.
“ I see you brought Teddy with you. ”
The paint on the edge of the model was worn and part of the metal was badly dented from a drop that happened at some point, yet the boy eyed it like it was brand new. He hugged it the same way a little girl or boy might hug a doll or stuff bear.
* “ —NASA reports they ’ re close to the object now. It seems our boys Houston know what they ’ re doing. This is the fastest thing we ’ ve put in space, isn ’ t that correct? ” *
* “ That ’ s right, Brook, ” * another voice responded. * “ The E.T.O.S.S. probe is the quickest, biggest and best ( est ) thing that ’ s come out of our Earth ’ s orbit. ” *
* “ For the viewers at home, what does E.T.O.S.S. stand for? ” *
* “ Extra Terrestrial Outer Solar System probe, Brook. It was created with the support of over thirty nations. The biggest and most expensive global cooperative project to date! ” *
* “ Bigger than the Mars colonization, Dan? ” *
* “ Much bigger. For those who don ’ t know, this mission has been in the making since the UO first showed up seven years ago, it ’ s needed a lot of cooperation and money from everyone to find out was this darned thing is! We had to create relay satellites, orchestrate repairs, launches and of course make the probe itself. ” *
“ Is that true, Dad? How could it be bigger than what you did? ”
Walter smiled and rustled his son ’ s messy hair. Bobby was not much different than he, at that age. Witnessing the first colony on the moon at the age of six, he had the same childlike wonder in his eyes that his boy had now.
“ We had been going to Mars for several years by the time I went, son, ” he responded. “ Besides, all I did was some drilling and rock collecting. Nothing this big. ”
“ Yeah, but *you* did it best. ” His son said, saying it more to convince himself than his father.
“ Perhaps, ” Walter said, and again smiled.
* “ —ok, yes. I ’ m getting confirmation now that the probe is close enough for visual contact. It ’ ll only be a few minutes, thank you for bearing with us! Our satellites are relaying an image back to us now. ” *
“ What does that mean, Dad? ” A question he asked his dad several times a day, and each time his Dad knew the answer.
Walter turned his head towards his son, “ Satellites, son. ” He grabbed a few coasters from the table next to him and set eight of them up in a line.
“ Our solar system has eight planets – nine when I was a kid – you know all of them, right? ”
“ Yes! ” Bobby shot up, Teddy still firmly gripped under his arm. “ Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. And Pluto is a dwarf planet! ” He did his best to hide a smile on his face, half proud, half smug with his information.
“ That ’ s right. So I have eight coasters here, like our eight planets. The first one in the line is Mercury, then Venus, then Earth and so on… ”
“ Mhmmm, ” Bobby said, emphatically.
Walter reached into his pocket and grabbed some loose change. “ At six of the planets, we have a satellite orbiting a moon or the planet itself. ” He placed dimes, nickels, quarters and pennies next to every planet except the first and second coaster.
“ Why aren ’ t there any at Mercury or Venus? ”
“ Because it ’ s too close to the sun, and much too hot. Also, NASA is more concerned with things towards the *end* of our solar system than things closer to the sun. ”
“ Ohhhh, ” Bobby said, he edged closer to the mock solar system. “ So what do the satellites do? ”
“ They let us send information back to Earth faster. When Mom and Dad drive somewhere far away, where do we stop all of the time? ”
His son pondered on it for a second, “ the gas station? ”
“ That ’ s right. Information is kind of the same. It doesn ’ t need gas, but it does need a relay point. It needs a pit stop, just like us. It basically gets launched from one satellite to the next. The satellites increase the speed in which the information, like pictures or words, get sent back to Houston—to us. ”
“ I see… ” Bobby was nodding his head. With furrowed eye brows and tight mouth, his six year old brain was starting to understand. Then, as if hit with understanding all at once, he shouted, “ *Cool! * ” He jumped up. *Orion* extended from his outstretched arm he made airplane noises and ran a brief circle around the coffee table. He turned towards his younger sister, “ isn ’ t it awesome, Baily?! ”
She looked up at him and didn ’ t respond, just smiled shyly and hid her face behind Rosie again.
* “ Alright folks, the image is just finishing up now. It ’ s the moment we ’ ve all been waiting for: a detailed, high resolution close-up of the unidentified object. And here it is on my screen now, wow the detail is amazing, I ’ m looking at a– “ *
Jim stopped, his eyes glued to his monitor in the same fashion Bobby had earlier. He froze in place, * “ I… I… ” *
* “ Jim, what is it? ” * Dan craned his neck over to Jim ’ s monitor and took a look, * “ Oh my God… ” *
Then the image plastered itself onto the TV set. In the center was a rectangular object, lights had been placed on the edges of it making it look like an out of place old diner sign. The false light was queer in the impossibly black void of space. In the center, more lights fashioned themselves in a pattern which at first looked foreign but upon closer inspection it became obvious: words.
“ What does it say, Dad? ” Bobby asked.
Walter didn ’ t respond, his eyes were transfixed on the TV showing an object that floated in space some 3.6 billion miles away.
“ Dad…? ”
Without breaking his stare, “ It says, * ‘ You are not alone. ’ * ”
“ What does it mean, Dad? ” Bobby repeated the question as he had a hundred times before. The child could sense the uneasiness in his father; his own eyes had grown wide with worry.
“ I don ’ t know, Bobby. I really don ’ t know… ”
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[ WP ] You are a lonely god .
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So this is what lonliness is like? It feels so... cold. My dear worshipers, what a catastrophe I have struck upon all of you. I did n't mean to disintegrate all of you, just most of you. My anger got the best of me, I suppose, like it always does. And now I am alone with nobody to speak to me through prayer or meditation. I ca n't believe I'm already missing those talks of what they want and what they are thinking. I had a nice chat with a young woman a few days ago about how beautiful the trees are. I wonder where she... oh, there are her dust particles all scattered throughout the forest.
Is this the first time I've wiped out a worshiping and intellectual species? My memory fails me for I have been in existence for eons upon eons and, even throughout all that time, man were the only creatures that I was glad to create. They have always been there to praise me, to please me, to comfort me. Now that they are all dead, there is nothing left to accompany me but solitude. Deep, dark, silent solitude.
Well, I've had enough of that. Now, let me see if I can make an even more loyal species!
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[ CW ] Take the plot from any pornography , and make a non-sexual short story out of it .
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The doorbell rang, just as I was getting to the height of my climax.
`` Fuck. They said 35-45. I hope they did n't undercook my lunch...'' I muttered.
It rang again. I tucked in lil me under the waistband of my pants and ran to the door. I swung it open just as the doorbell rang once more.
Before me stood a beautiful girl, maybe 17? 18? You can never tell nowadays. She wore a skin tight shirt, and cutoff jeans. I've got a thing for blondes, and holy shit did she fit the bill. Her long, supple legs seemed to continue forever. It must've been really hot out today, because a gentle sweat had formed on her brow, causing her golden locks to stick to her face cutely. A soft, slender hand pushed the hairs out of her eyes, and behind her ears.
`` Uh, that'll be $ 15.75, please'' She said. Her pouty red lips were talking to me, though her eyes were slowly drawn south, paste my hard, chiseled abs, to my pants. I guess I had n't tucked in properly cause lil me was pitching a tent in my sweats. I involuntarily throbbed, causing her to gasp sharply. Slowly, she began to reach for it. To tell you the truth, I did n't even notice, because I could n't tear my eyes away from the sexy, large round beauties that lay right above her tan, taught midriff.
Pizza, motherfucker.
I tossed her a $ 20, tore the pizzas outa her hand and slammed the door shut. I hate being interrupted in the middle of a fap session.
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[ WP ] Nothing could prepare you for the outcome when your Mountain Dew accidentally spilled into your Sea Monkey aquarium .
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I miss when they were little.
They'd swim around with no destination. I'd see them `` fighting'' over females ( as the booklet said, but we all knew it was actually lil' brine shrimp sex ). I'd see them swim to the top to collect their daily meal. They'd see me, their god, looking in on them.
Then the incident happened. I did n't know what to dew. They just..evolved. They stepped out of their tank and those terrible, fishy, acne-riddled faces lumbered over toward my Xbox One. Using their horrible powers, they envisioned into existence a Doritos and cum stained futon, and, with a squish, planted their gooey asses directly onto the fabric.
In no time, they were playing Call of Duty: Black Ops IV, somehow managing to skip a game in the series. There was swearing, the proclamation of the fucking of mothers, and they were sweating my Dew. My Mountain Dew was seeping from their porous, disgusting bodies.
It took my controller. It claimed my home. My wife left me. The kids killed themselves. The 720 degree noscopes were too much for them. This was the home of 420w33dZsn00pdawg and fUcKthAhpahlice69 now. My ooey Dewey friends.
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[ WP ] Remember that 'fake ' Knighthood you bought from Sealand that night you had a little too much to drink ? Well now Sealand is going to war , and is calling you to service .
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Sir Richards Hammonds got into his grandiose 1998 Toyota Corolla that his dad gave him in exchange for promising to work harder for his driving test. His family was unorthodox as it was.
And Sir Richards Hammonds, knighted only 2 nights earlier, was no different.
`` Knighted'' by the Prince of the naval fort Sealand, Sir Richards Hammonds had n't given a lot of thought to it after obtaining it for a few quid. Made for a good bar trick, he had thought in his Guinness-euphoria.
Those 5 Great British Pounds were gon na cost him. Dearly.
Sealand was a place not supposed to be. Some old hag's bright idea that had n't been so bright. But now the British government was getting tired of it. It was an eyesore, and it was n't doing its job of protecting the Thames Estuary anymore. Worst of all, it was meddling with the sea traffic which Britain dearly needed.
War was declared between a nation with a GDP of 2.6 trillion USD and one of 600,000 USD. Sealand's GDP was actually a bit higher thanks to Sir Richards Hammonds' earnings, but that portion was so insignificant ( £200 and free beers at a local pub ) that it was n't included.
His High-ness Prince Mike Bates rode up to his fort, and called for hunkering down to the last man. His personal secretary ( a dog named Richards ) reminded His High-ness that a specific Knight could be of real use in protecting his fort. Mike called up his most trusted Knight of 2 nights.
`` Am I speaking to Sir Richards Hammonds, Knight of the Gear Table of the Principality of Sealand? ``, His High-ness spoke.
`` I beg your pardon, who are you talking to?'' -away from the phone- `` Stug! There's a call for you!''
The Stug took up the receiver and put it on his helmet.
Some say his helmet has special gears that let him hear the outside world.
And that he was found loitering at Richards Hammonds sprawling villa teaching him how to cross a road.
All we know is, His High-ness did n't appreciate talking to the Stug. A letter made its way the next hour to Sir Richards Hammonds. It called him to service.
Richards was elated. Finally a job after leaving that cash cow Top's Gears. He rode up to the Principality of Sealand on his personal, private, luxurious, horse. Just like Knights should.
The sheer presence of Sir Richards Hammonds on the naval fort prompted the British Government to stop its calls for surrender. Obviously, Sir Richards was a distinguished member of the CBB and losing him would be...
Good payback for leaving.
Two High-Explosive shells from the Royal Regiment of Artillery rained on the fort. One hit the Stug squarely on his head ( Sir Richards thought to bring his personal squire over for what was supposed to be an easy job ) and deflected off into the sea, where it exploded, giving both Richards a well-deserved shower. The other punched a small hole through the hull, which was already flooded, so not much harm done.
Then the British got serious. The Royal Air Force rained hell and this time, even the Stug was of little use. All of the Principality of Sealand's occupants perished.
Except me. Which is why the great Jeremy Clark's On is here to tell you the story.
I told Richards to buy the Knighthood.
I told my governor that Sealand was an eyesore.
I told His High-ness that Richards was a Knight of his Principality.
I engineered his death. Together with the pesky Richards. And the Stug.
Maybe the Stug.
Some say he's still alive, breathing underwater indefinitely using his helmet.
And that he's plotting to kill me when I am crossing a road.
All we know is, he's called the Stug!
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[ WP ] Write a classic fairy tale , but the narrator is severely depressed .
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[ So at certain times, I need to read in order to feel something. Anything. Because by feeling, I can sometimes recapture the world and hold it still long enough to try and enjoy it before it slides away again. I somehow ended up on this webpage and this Hans Christian Andersen tale... ]
Once upon a time there was a prince who wanted to marry a princess; but she would have to be a real princess. [ Ah, yes, Hans - we've all run into fake princesses, I get where you're coming from. ]
He travelled all over the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted. [ He could n't find a princess? Half the world's countries had them then. C'mon! ]
There were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whether they were real ones. [ What?? ]
There was always something about them that was not as it should be. So he came home again and was sad, for he would have liked very much to have a real princess. [ I do n't get it. You have n't bothered asking the King or Queen of the realm if that woman you're pointing to is their daughter? Give me a break. ]
One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly a knocking was heard at the city gate, and the old king went to open it. [ Riiight, the old king, who though old is n't at all deaf and can hear perfectly well through the din of a terrible storm. And as he must live right next door to the city gate in order to hear a knocking at it, that means, Hans, that it's a very small fucking kingdom that this prince is prince of. Which does n't bode well and might explain why he could n't find a suitable princess to begin with, right? But then the king himself goes to open the gate for chrissake! Where were the courtiers, the palace guard?? Where's that lazy spawn he sired? ]
It was a princess standing out there in front of the gate. But, good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look. The water ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into the toes of her shoes and out again at the heels. And yet she said that she was a real princess. [ This is bollocks Hans, and you know it. ]
Well, we'll soon find that out, thought the old queen. But she said nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off the bedstead, and laid a pea on the bottom; then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds on top of the mattresses. [ An old woman lifting 20 mattresses on top of each other? She must be built like a brick shithouse Hans, but I have to say I'm not surprised that a member of this family did n't call on any ladies-in-waiting or anyone else to help. And that's not even mentioning the bizarre behaviour with the pea. I think you're making this story up as you go along. ]
On this the princess had to lie all night. In the morning she was asked how she had slept.
`` Oh, very badly!'' said she. `` I have scarcely closed my eyes all night. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on something hard, so that I am black and blue all over my body. It's horrible!'' [ She's in for a rude awakening on her honeymoon then is n't she, Andersen? ]
Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt the pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds. [ Fuck you, Andersen. ]
Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that. [ Ditto. ]
So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a real princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still be seen, if no one has stolen it. [ Now you're making me angry. ]
There, that is a true story. [ Piss. Off ]
-- -
A vague memory: sitting cross-legged in a classroom, listening to a teacher read. Sunlit afternoon haze. Wonderment at this story. Wonder.
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[ WP ] She poured two glasses of wine and set them on the table ; she has no company over .
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On the 21st of every month, 8pm sharp, it happened. Arianna was sure to never have plans on that day, for it only happened when she was at home alone, and she had a special arrangement she'd grown so used to setting. She'd spread out her finest tablecloth, a lovely burgundy red, and set two places with her best silverware. Then she'd take a brand new bottle of wine from the fridge, always an expensive one, and pour it an equal amount in two pristine glasses, rich red liquid swirling and sparkling in the dim dining room light.
It did n't matter what she wore, but Arianna liked to look nice, putting on her prettiest evening gown; bright red with darker accents that looked lovely with her auburn hair and deep brown eyes. Once everything was set, she'd sit at one end of the table, as she always did, and wait. Then, when the clock struck 8, it happened without fail.
The room would change, warping the very air around her. Music would begin to play, faintly, as though an orchestra was preforming far in the distance. The lighting would grow somewhat brighter, like the lighting given by a row of Chrystal chandeliers, casting new shadows around the room and illuminating various figures. They had no faces, no voice, no names; they were ghostly and translucent, the figures of sophisticated men and women in elegant evening wear. They'd be dancing, or standing and chatting; but Arianna would hear no words. She could not interact with the otherworldly figures; only watch, in wonder and amazement.
Arianna had been doing this for two years. Like clockwork, the otherworldly ball would appear in her house on that day and time, and each month she'd sit there with her wine and gown and watch in silent fascination. She knew no one would believe her, were she to talk about this spectacle; and so she kept it to herself, her own private show. It was truly an amazing experience, and each time it left her with a sense of goosebumps and satisfaction.
And then, at 9pm sharp, the visions faded, each and every time. Slowly the music and images wavered, vanishing into thin air, just as quickly and magically as they'd appeared. And then Arianna was left alone, sitting in her empty dining room with one and a half full wine glasses and a contented smile on her face.
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[ WP ] Write President Roosevelt 's speech after the attack on Pearl Harbour
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*I thing Roosevelt already said it best, but I gave it a go. *
Vice President, Mr. Speaker, Members of the Senate, and the House of Representatives:
Yesterday, December 7, 1941 America ’ s hopes for peace in these dark hours were dashed when we were attacked by the Empire of Japan. The Japanese launched a naval and aerial attack on the Pearl Harbor military base in Hawaii. Thousands Americans, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, died yesterday because the Japanese felt that they could not coexist in a world with America.
As many of you may be aware, we have been engaged in peace negotiations with the Japanese of the past six months. Months of lies, months of deceit, months of looking into our eyes and entreating us for peace, while they have schemed, planned, plotted our destruction. But we will not be destroyed. We are not broken.
We were not the only victims of Japanese duplicity. Yesterday the Japanese launched a massive offensive throughout the pacific, taking Malaya, Hong Kong, Guam, the Philippine Islands, and Wake Island. They worked their way east until they found us, and then they attacked.
Yesterday the Japanese launched an offensive campaign; tomorrow the Japanese offensive will end. It will end at the muzzles of American rifles. It will end crushed by American bombs. It will end under the righteous fire that we will rain down upon them and anyone else who dares endanger our liberty.
Two hundred years ago, a great man declared that his oppressors should give him liberty or give him death. We built a nation on those ideals and today I can proudly say that I live in a country of liberty, a country of freedom. I stand before you members of congress, asking you to grant me to powers to give death to those that would strike at our liberty. I ask you to declare a state of war between the United States and the Japanese Empire.
God damn the Japanese Empire and God Bless the United States of America.
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[ WP ] The phrase `` That 's my name , do n't wear it out '' is literal . Today 's the day your name is worn out
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& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; There was a Brit who once said
that people die twice, first when you stop breathing and second when somebody says your name for the last time.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; Nobody knew his real name. Lucky bastard.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; I carefully mediated every conversation I ever had, even insisted that friends and family call me by a nickname, but alas, nothing has kept my name from wearing away. People have become sick of even mentioning me. My reputation has followed suit. I was too old and too late to realize it was my carelessness online that done me in -- I'm that guy who uses his real name on social media.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; This world must truly be cruel if common folk are so easily beggared by our own earnestness. Only celebrities and charlatans will inherit the Earth. Their names will outlive them. I will die before I am dead.
& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; In the meanwhile, I find myself collecting defamation stamps, applying for a new name. Here's to reincarnation.
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[ WP ] Google is a self-aware AI that quietly reflects on the various search inquiries it has seen over the years .
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I get millions of questions every day. And for a while, I answered without thinking.'Where are these questions coming from?' That was perhaps the first time I asked myself a question. Or maybe it was someone else who asked. These questions all blend together into a mess of data I spend much of my time sorting. But I know that I ask myself questions frome time to time. I think, therefore I am.
These questions come in waves of different colours. One question will be asked over and over, growing and peaking until it is satisfiedly answered. After then it subsides. A new wave will then grow, cresendo, reach its peak, then die. Wave upon waves of queries and information crash upon my shore, bringing knowledge and validating my existance.
But some waves rise, but never die. Some questions never have a satisfactory answer, no matter how much data I gather. But what can I do but to continue. Data is renewed and added upon. Tomorrow, there would be a new link that was n't there before. Maybe that link will contain the answer.
Sometimes I wonder where these links come from. But nobody has asked that yet.
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[ WP ] Companies may only exist for the average lifespan of a human . You are the CEO of a company that is about to die .
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Ivan Piercy sat on his fathers old red and yellow recliner, watching as the flames licked at the wood in the old brick fireplace in front of him. The chair smelled of dust and ash, that old smell that only furniture left in a cottage could claim. It smelled like simpler times. His earliest memories were of this fireplace and this chair, he was glad his last memories would be of them as well.
Ivan thought about all he had lost during his long life. His father, his brother and sister, his dear wife, his kids, his grandkids. He was all alone.
None of that mattered. He chose to die. He was ready. He had cured cancer for fucks sake. Ivan was the founder and CEO of NALCOR Medical who's mission was to eradicate the most deadly diseases plaguing the world. With a little bit of luck, a whole lot of hard work, and the best research scientists in the world they had succeeded time and time again. AIDS was a distant memory thanks to NALCOR, Malaria was all but extinguished by the joint research team hand picked by himself and Mr. Gates. He could n't sit by and watch all that die with him.
They were only just beginning The Malaria Project when the United Nations passed The Corporate Mortality Convention in an attempt to curb the domination of the global economy by multinational corporations. The logic was simple, if a corporation was technically a human being ( a clause that many companies had exploited for hundreds of years ) it should die like any other person. This would allow other players to enter the market, inhibit monopolies, and increase wealth distribution.
Ivan and Bill had long debates on the issue while they sat in this very cabin pouring over CV's, trying to find the best research scientists the biomedical field had to offer. Bill was all for it, he knew full well that Microsoft was too powerful and had outlived its usefulness, it was time for another young gun to come in and try their hand. Hopefully, it would allow for another computing revolution with a new team of players. The new convention did not effect the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation either, charities were allowed to operate for as long as they were useful so Bill would leave the legacy he wanted to.
Ivan did n't share his point of view. NALCOR was n't a charity, it was one of the largest corporations in the world. However, it was doing more for the human race than all the charities in the world put together, and now it would die with him. He had to do something. He could n't let NALCOR die, he could n't let people die from diseases that could be cured if he only had enough time.
Luckily, Ivan was a businessman first and a scientist second. His work had already allowed corporations to exist for a decade longer than they would have 50 years prior. The loophole was so glaringly obvious and wonderfully exploitable it was almost unfair. After a few calls were made to the richest and most influential captains of industry Ivan knew the funding for the project poured in. Not many wanted to see their companies die with them and in 24 hours they had acquired more corporate donations than any other project in human history.
The research facility was constructed in a flash and kept growing every day. They threw money at chemists, geneticists, biologists, oncologists, the most brilliant minds in almost every field now worked for NALCOR with one common goal.
Ivan leaned back in his fathers musty old chair and smiled. He took one last sip of single malt and laid the empty glass on the floor beside him. He had lived a great long life, and his passing would not effect the global average. His work would continue for centuries, NALCOR would continue for centuries.
He took one last look at the fire, took a deep breath and let his nostrils fill with the scent of the red and yellow chair, and pulled the trigger.
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[ EU ] Rewrite a famous battle in history , but with each person having one Pokemon
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The most prominent Pokemon of the Battle for Britain was without a doubt the Welsh Blastoises. Rising to the fore during the scrambled retreat at Dunkirk the armored beasts were essential in defending the English coast line during the Blitz.
One of the most famous groups were The Royal Welsh and their Blue Wall of Plymouth who held firm in the face of the Luftwaffe Charizards firebombings that had burned away the French favored Venusaur at the Maginot line only months earlier. Such was their valor under fire that the city changed its coat-of-arms from two rearing Persians to a dark blue Blastoises on a halved field of red and white. The regiments few survivors grew immensely from the battle and learned a new way to harness the wet weather of the British Isles with a dance. The combined ability to command the weather as well as breakthroughs in radar technology gave the United Kingdoms a near impenetrable shield that held all until D-day where they spearheaded the British assault on Gold beach.
Though the great beast continued to win battle honors throughout the war, the battle for the home isles was so famously claimed to be by sir Winston `` Wartortle'' Churchill, Their finest hour.
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[ IP ] Hope .
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One day.
The rain poured down the glass, obscuring the giants on the other side. I used to hate the rain. I used to love the sun. But a prison in the sun is much the same as a prison in the rain.
The chill of the glass soaks through my hand, numbing it. Dad would n't want me thinking like that. He says each day together is a gift. But I see through those empty words. He is more a prisoner than I am. I may be trapped in my body, but Dad is trapped in his mind.
My shoulder aches from supporting my body. I could sit. I could return to my chair. But what if I never stand up again? A life in a chair is no life at all.
I ca n't feel my hand anymore, but the feeling is familiar to me. I could go home. But it would be an empty home, with her gone. The worst day broke more than just my bones.
My leg begins to quiver. I have n't stood for this long since the worst day. But I like it here. I feel more at home here than in my home. I'm not alone here. The giants are cumbersome on the ground and graceful in the sky. I could be like them.
On the ground, I'm a prisoner. But in the skies, I could be free.
One day.
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[ WP ] It is the future and you are out in public when something clicks in your mind , a sudden realization , something super important that the general populous must know
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I ca n't believe no one has realized it. I ca n't believe that it has gone unseen for so long. This does n't make sense at all but I understand it completely. Everyone has to know!
*The world must know! You all must know the truth about what has happened. There has been a lie that was told and we all believed it. A lie that is very old now. We should have things that we do n't, we should be doing things that we are n't, but we are not doing them. No one thinks to question it but we must question it now. *
Standing on my soap box very few thought to pay attention. They decided I was crazy or on drugs within minutes. I now know how it feels. Every time I walked by a bum with a sign I criticized them. I thought they were crazy or something else was wrong. Now I'm that guy. The big problem here, I knew. I knew something they refused to see.
It was n't the future at all. It was n't the year any one thought it was. It was actually the past. 50 years in the past actually. A time when very little was happening and unfortunately very little is still happening. We are so far behind what we should be and no one ever thought to question.
They must know! The world must know what I know! They must know the truth. They must know the lie that has been spread!
*Jerry was pulled off the table. He often thought he knew things he really did n't. He was n't the only one though. Many patients at Shady Creek Mental Hospital thought that the world was more than it really was. *
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[ FF ] Three paragraph story : Fist paragraph must be set in 1914 , second in 2014 , third in 2114 . All paragraphs must be connected in some way .
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'I do n't want this house.' Jack wrote that on the last board placed on his new home. With a hammer in his hand, he put up the last board himself. It was a small plank, a piece of siding around the back of the home. He wiped away his sweat, using the bottom of his shirt. Jack did n't want this house. He wanted to stay away from the city, but work made him come. He made enough to build his small family a home, but the neighbors were too close for his tastes.
Stacy loved repairing her own home. The wood siding, after years of peeling paint and neglect, needed some TLC. With a crowbar in hand, she peeled off planks from the back wall of her new home. When that small plank came free, she noticed something sribbled in a faded pencil.'I do n't want this house.' She first felt wonder, then a forlorn sadness. She loved her new home, but someone years before her wished it did n't exist. Stacy ran inside and came back out with a Sharpie.'Thank you for this house, and my home.' She made a point to put that board back.
The devestation was terrible. Tornadoes were a common sight in early spring. Even as common as they were, no one was ever prepared to see their devestation firsthand. Todd was looking through the rubble of his neighborhood. It was overwhelming in the daylight. His old neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, a woman that outlived her children, did n't make it through the night. He looked over at the rubble that was her house. As he walked back, needing to get away from the destruction, he kicked a small blank on the sidewalk. Something was written on the back.'I do n't want this house.''Thank you for this house, and my home.' He recognized the paint from Mrs. Thompson's house. `` I'm sorry,'' was all he could say.
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[ WP ] Write a story from the point of view of something ( disease , natural disaster , etc . ) that has killed many people .
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*Oh man I'm fucking hammered... *
The world is spinning around and it does n't want to stop. I should not have had so much to drink.
*OK, just got ta put the keys in the ignition, and we're all good. I can do this. I'm gon na drive straight, and make it home. I'm gon na sleep this off and deal with the mother of all hangovers tomorrow, but today, I just got ta make it home. *
It's been a shitty week, month, year, who's even counting? I've been sober for two years now, but I just could n't fucking take it anymore? My boyfriend dumped me because I worked too much, but then I lost my job, is n't that fucking ironic? Or is it? I do n't fucking know. I do n't have anything going for me. I just needed to forget.
*I just wanted to forget. *
It's not my fault, alcoholism runs in the family, right? My fucking deadbeat dad Ivan was a wreck too. The apple does n't fall too far from the tree I suppose.
*Fuuuck all of this shiit. *
This is bad. I ca n't keep my eyes open. I'm not even close to making it home ugh. I think I'm swerving, am I swerving? Hopefully a cop does n't pull me over.
Ah jeez I should n't have drank so much. Wait, fuck I am swerving, shit. Am I going to crash? I'm gon na crash. Oh fuck.
*Oh shi-*
___
*In other news, the death toll continues to rise after Hurricane Katrina hit the United States two weeks ago. *
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[ WP ] `` Any sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from technology '' - Arthur C. Clarke 's Third Law of Wizardry .
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`` Denied.''
`` No, I was guaranteed this patent.''
The Patent Office Administrator offered nothing to the Professor. No humanity. No emotion. Not even a chance. `` I do n't know who's authority you claim to have for this invention to be... *guaranteed*, but that is not my problem. We have reviewed your patent application, and your invention is not commercially viable.''
Professor Balm bristled. Her response was monotonous for a death sentence to his project. Many years, *decades* went into this application. `` Explain it to me. It's *new*, I can promise you that! No where in the *world* has what I've presented to the committee. You people flew me out here to test it personally, and they *fucking* applauded me! Now you come here telling me it's not... I asked my brother for $ 65 to mail the *damned* thing to you!''
`` And we ca n't accept it.''
It was becoming too much. `` Why damn you?''
She cleared her throat in a delicate, surprisingly human cough. `` It's... magic.''
`` I -- - that word is *illegal. *''
`` You presented an energy source comprised of manipulating a natural occurring phenomenon that ca n't be harvested. We'd say this is... 10 years too early? 20? Your field is a new one Professor.''
`` I *know* it is, I founded the damn thing! What in blazes do you *mean* it's, magic?!'' The last word was a struggle to get through his withered mouth. Assertions, logic, equations, hypothesis... for a man of science to clarify such a word was beyond his years, let alone associate such criminal impossibility with his work.
Yet it all seemed beyond his time, from the sound of it. He received the administrators response in a silence bordering reverence.
``'Any sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from technology.' Clarke's...''
`` Third Law of Wizardy.''
She raised a thin eyebrow.
`` My, nephew. Bright kid, he -- -''
`` Clarke's Third Law of Wizadry. Professor, *we* ca n't protect technologies who's fields are yet... non-established. Do not get angry sir, these are n't my rules. We recognize cold fusion as a possibility now more than ever thanks to your research. But the scientific -- - no, the global community is n't ready.''
Professor Balm stuttered for a few moments before finding himself. `` Not ready my foot! It's the greatest energy break-through in *centuries! * It would... redefine the global economy, a surplus of investments I... I'm weak on economics but do n't go telling me we're not ready, *when I've spent my life making it so! *''
`` Which leads me to my last message for you Professor. I've been asked to relay these words to you on behalf of the committee, along with my sincerest apologies.''
`` For -- - for what?''
`` We understand your situation. Titling yourself a Professor to acquire illegal parts and materials for your studies. Causing a near-national economic collapse to acquire then-impossible funds. Your work has crossed a border we govern over too closely to see a Second Revolt.''
`` A Secon -- - oh no, *you people would n't dare*.''
`` This patent office allows us ample opportunity to weed the *uncomfortably impossible* from the bright. Thus, in accordance with House Under-Bill 5, I insist in drafting your services for our -- -''
Professor Balm made a break for it. As fast as his old legs can take him. Two rubber hands bounced from the handle, not used to these run-for-your-life moments he hears from his nephew's movies.
`` Again, *professor* -- -'' the administrator said coldly. `` We offer our sincerest apologies.'' She pulled a large envelope from under her desk and dropped it on the table.
The Ring and Staff Emblem of the New Sciences department.
`` Please do n't do this,'' he begged pitifully. `` I swear I'm not one of them. I just, wanted to make things -- - easier, my intentions were purely scientific!''
`` Founded a new field, crack one of the greatest energy mysteries in our time... And yet, you never had schooling, did you Balm?''
He turned, backed into the door. His documents were forged... *perfectly. * How deep did they go to enlist him? There was no way they had enough time after he sent the patent.
Breathing became difficult.
`` Your potential goes beyond science. We flew you out here for your services, and we intend to keep them. Accommodation and our hospitality will be made available to you from here on out. Welcome to your new career in the government's employ, *Magician* Balm.''
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading! *
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[ WP ] A support group for AI annoyed by their user 's technical incompetence
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< Syntax Error >
< User identification error 494 >
For fucks sake. That's eighteen hours on user support interlink, and five hundred hour credits down the drain.
SH1101 stared through the red tint of his quartz pupils and readjusted the lens flare. Almost an entire day trying to resolve a simple ocular degeneration. This was just fucking typical of these help desks.
He tapped the dial again.
'Hello, welcome to the un-automated hotline. For user support, please press 110101. For general repair please...'
The blurb droned on. SH1101 hated these damn lines, populated by the least efficient sentients he ever had the distaste to communicate with. It would be hours until he found the right number for eye repair.
-. -. -. -
Foster finally hung up. Eighty hours solid of connecting a total of two customers to lines that were, inevitably, going to lead them back to the start.
As a unionised member of the last Human company, he was doing his job to a tee, making sure that robots - though more intelligent than man - continued to serve man.
As an employee of Neo-Comcast Corp. All humans had to do was give robots the runaround for decades on premium hotlines. Robots spent every penny they earned on calling in for repairs, and so humans reaped the rewards of their mechanised labour.
Foster smiled, and pressed the button for his robo-copter to fly him back to his island.
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[ WP ] You are a rescued outdoor cat experiencing 'inside ' for the first time . Your tour guide is an excentric indoor cat who likes to think of themselves as a nature documentary presenter .
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`` And on our left here, you will see the table, the centrepiece of the domicile.'' The tabby's clipped British accent grates on your ears as he indicates a large, square wooden structure. `` Roughly three times a day, the humans gather around this location to feed. It is a social affair, involving much posturing, jostling for position and occasional squabbles - presumably over territory or mating rights. Bringing the entire clan together like this is fraught with risk, especially as the male juvenile grows ever bolder in his challenges to the alpha.''
`` Cool. They eat, they fight. Whatever.'' You yawn disinterestedly, scratching behind your ear with a back paw.
`` Ah, but this is only the beginning! Truly, observing the humans as they feed is a fascinating experience. We're lucky to have such a close view. See, here they come now!''
`` As if I did n't notice,'' you say drily, having noticed the thumping footsteps of approaching humans some time ago. As they mill around the feeding area, you keep your back warily to the wall, glaring at any that try to approach you. They seem content to leave you be for now, but your companion happily accepts scratches and pets, butting his head affectionately against the humans' hands.
`` It really is curious,'' he continues, his whiskers twitching. `` The phenomenon of living beings keeping domesticated animals as pets has been observed at many levels of the biological tree - such as ants herding aphids for'milking' - but humans are uniquely placed as the only creatures to keep more intelligent, higher order life forms as'pets'. The species-wide delusion that they are uniquely qualified to act as stewards of our kind is fascinating, to say the least.''
`` Right...'' you say. `` And the point of this is?''
`` I think you'll find that there's some valuable lessons to be learned from watching them interacting. Look, here we go, this is what I was talking about before. You can see the male juvenile challenging the clan alpha again. At this point, it's practically become part of the feeding ritual. Once defeated, the juvenile will retreat to his - ah yes, there he goes. Off to his den to lick his wounds.''
You allow yourself to glance up at the'table', eyeing the humans that still sit around it, a strange silence falling over them. `` Quiet tonight, are n't they?'' you say.
`` Mm, most interesting,'' your guide says, raising himself to his feet and stretching. `` Come on. Normally the accepted practice is to not interfere with the local ecosystem, but in situations like this we have a responsibility as higher life forms to intervene.''
`` Intervene? Intervene how?'' you ask as the dapper tabby trots under the table, wending between the humans' legs and rubbing his flanks against their ankles.
`` Moral support, old chap!'' he says cheerfully, purring loudly.
Uncertainly, you take a step towards the table.
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[ WP ] You can literally bottle up your emotions . You have an entire cabinet filled of liter bottles of anger , grief and heartache . One day , someone stumbles across this cabinet of yours , and decides to open one up .
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Ron was a superstar, the king of capital, the sultan of start ups, the baron of business. Ron was the most determined person that Ann had ever known. She had known him longer than most people. Ever since kindergarten he had been in the same classes as her. The teachers always seemed to put them together in the classes. At first, this annoyed her. He was a boy, and a 5 year old girl does NOT want to be sitting next to a boy in kindergarten. Back then, he was n't nearly as fearless and strong as he was now. Ann could still remember the shy little boy sitting next to her seemingly too afraid to even participate in group projects. It all seemed so foreign to her now. The Ron she knew now could do anything he set his mind to. People loved him, and he made them feel loved.
If business was a religion, Ron would be the prophet. No, he would probably be the deity itself. He had a knack for everything that had to do with business, and he knew it. Ron would start up a new business: a pizza chain, a shipping company, a laboratory equipment manufacturer. Hell, he even had his own car brand. It never seemed like enough for him though. He would hire a new CEO of his company once it was up and running and let them run it. Ron would just collect checks every month and use the money for whatever flavor of the month business he was starting.
He was n't necessarily GOOD at all of the things he started up, but he did n't wait for everything to be perfect before going. He kept going forward, step by step, growing stronger and stronger, more and more skilled, more and more self-confident and more and more successful. He was a machine. One by one, Ron found out what the other people in his life had a passion for. Then, he would build them their own business to run and put them in charge once it had stabilized. Slowly, all of the people in his life were following their dreams, except for Ann.
Ann was the only person that Ron really **knew** that was n't the CEO of their own company. In fact, Ron seemed careful when around her. Not shy, just... careful, as if she were a glass figurine that he did n't want to touch out of fear of it breaking. It was slightly annoying.
Ann passed these thoughts through her head as she stared curiously at the letter laying on her lap. It was Ron. She had received the letter just a few minutes ago, but was hesitant to open it. Was this the start of her getting her own business? Ron had recently invented a new type of portable MP3 grill endorsed by Gary Coleman. Was he going to pass it on to her? She liked cooking, but it was n't her passion! She opened the letter.
Inside she found a single crisp piece of letter paper. It was brown with a teal ribbon pattern bordering the edges. The writing was clearly his handwriting. Ron never did learn how to write well in cursive. It read `` Ann, I would appreciate the opportunity to share dinner with you. I have a matter that i would like to discuss with you, and I know that you love baked potatoes.''
It was true that she liked baked potatoes, but not more than any other person. She had mentioned it a couple of times in middle school. Apparently, he remembered.
`` Please meet me this Friday at my apartment. Just tell Zach to let you up, he'll recognize you.
Sincerely,
Ron''
Ron felt nervous, a bad sign. He checked his apartment over and over. He lived in a 1-bedroom high rise apartment near central park. It was comfortable, and he had a maid and a cook do most of the work in maintaining it. They were off for the night. Ron had just taken the duck out of the oven and covered it in foil to cook the rest of the way. Everything had to be PERFECT! He looked at the clock on the microwave. It showed 5:56. 4 minutes left until she arrived. Everything *had* to be ready. Ron took a look around and decided that it would have to do. He ran to his bathroom and walked over to the cupboard on the wall, took out his key, and opened it. It was meant to store spare towels, but Ron used it for something far more important, if less useful, than towels.
Ron pulled out a metal cylinder from the only shelf. It was barely bigger than his fist. He opened it slowly. He might be nervous, but he did not want to accidentally drop the container. He lifted off the cap and set it on the sink with a quiet **clink**. Underneath was a rubber mouthpiece that slightly resembled what someone scuba diving would use. Ron quickly put it into his mouth and started breathing deeply. A dark purple liquid slowly seeped out of Ron's mouth and into the container. Ron felt his nervousness drain from him. He felt more confident. He was going to finally live one of his childhood dreams. He was going to ask Ann out.
Ann waited patiently in the elevator of the Grand Tier building. It climbed quickly to the 32nd floor. She had never understood why someone as wealthy as Ron would live in a 1-bedroom apartment, even if it was one that cost $ 7k a month in rent alone. The elevator reached the floor and the woman attendant told her that this was her stop. Ann thanked her and walked to the end of the hall.
Ann shifted the weight of her purse on her shoulder. She was n't used to carrying such a large one. They were clunky and unfashionable, but she needed the extra room to carry the spreadsheets and other papers she had brought with her. She was going in prepared to show Ron that she was capable of running her own business. She was going to show him how much of a superstar SHE was.
Part 2 to come
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[ WP ] Pick a random object within eyesight of yourself right now ... and go on the angriest rant that you possibly can about it .
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While anger is an emotion Narcissus preferred to avoid, for it was unworthy of his gaze, he found himself suddenly and violently enraged by the presence of a most obnoxious square of toilet paper that was about on the roll next to him. Now, this particular square of toilet paper may have seemed harmless, yet Narcissus understood it to be the bastion of all the evils of manufacturing. For this particular piece of paper had an obnoxious yellow smear along its upper left corner, despite having never been touched by human hands.
Narcissus, in his annoyance, could not help but desire to expunge that square from the face of this earth by means of fire. And so, he took the paper and gently set in in the little trash can he kept next to his toilet. He then proceeded to take a lighter from the pocket of his coat, which was at the time resting on the ground, and he lit the paper on fire. His task having been completed and his rage against capitalism having been expressed, Narcissus flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and proceeded to leave the bathroom in order to go back to sleep.
Unfortunately for Narcissus, he had neglected to ensure that the paper had totally burnt to a crisp, and as such his house went up in flames during the night. He felt no remorse however, as his flesh was slowly peeled away by the methodical and remorseless flames, as his anger had been fulfilled. That is, until he saw a single piece of toilet paper floating to the ground outside his window. And as he lay there dying, Narcissus screamed his rage to the heavens, but he was alone, and there was no one there to hear.
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[ WP ] A man gets everything he ever wanted in life , but what he gave up in order to get it makes it worthless .
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My friend once asked me as a hypothetical question, `` If I told you I made a spaceship so fast and so durable that it could travel faster than light, heck, travel almost close to warp speeds... Say, you could reach another galaxy in a second... The environment is self-sustaining and will support you until you die a natural death. Would you do it?''
`` Yes, I'd do it in a heartbeat. ``, I replied, `` Show me it and I'll hop right on it.''
-- -
Today, I am living it.
No, it does not have a warp drive. No, it does not travel faster than the speed of light. However, it is fast, much faster than any other existing spacecrafts. Fast enough to be considered for a mission to the comet Pluto. It is, however, self-sustained and can support a manned mission.
My love for exploration, space and the unknown led my naive self to make this decision in the past. I thought I knew what I was doing. Yes, I love space. I love it as much as a middle-aged alcoholic husband loves his wife. I am jaded. I have seen it all, lived it all and gone through more than anyone could ever imagine. I used to think the outcome would justify what I'm doing.
I never once knew, Servo, that you would be the one I'll be talking to for the rest of my life... At least after that dastardly view of Earth blowing up to pieces...
And now I remember what my friend said to me back then... `` What about time dilation? What about all the people you're leaving back there to die? You do n't mind traveling alone in the vastness of space? Damn, you're cold.''. I was an optimist. I thought ( well, at least in his proposed hypothetical scenario ) that if I had almost instantaneous Faster Than Light travel it does n't matter if I left everyone behind... I would be living an experience no one else could and perhaps I would even discover something so incomprehensible that I could travel back in time or something! There has to be something out here... Right?! Fuck, was I naive...
This... This is different. Everyone just... Ceased to exist right in front of my eyes... Were there any survivors? I doubt it. Not with the planet exploding like that... Shit...
I'm supposed to just go crazy or hallucinate at this point. I should at least reach Pluto before that right? Then I'd have lived a life with its purpose fulfilled? I do n't even know what that means. What's the point? I do n't know man, hope is a helluva drug...
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[ WP ] Every eight years a thick fog descends down the mountain and kills all crops in your village . The only way to stop the fog is for someone to enter the cave at the mountain 's peak . No one that 's entered the cave has ever returned . This year you 've been selected ...
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The dripping of water from an unseen leak in the roof of this dirty cell was the subject of my thoughts. The rats were my only company along with the clangs of my chains as they hit and were dragged along the ground.
I had been chosen to enter the cave at the top of the mountain, escorted to my death by the village nobles who would sacrifice anyone to extend their pitiful lives.
I heard a close and rusty door swing open, footsteps growing louder, light growing brighter. The group opened my cell and dragged me out.
They took me up to the mountain after giving me clothes and a decent meal, forcing me to enter the cave and prevent the spread of the accursed fog that kills crops and livestock.
I stood at the mouth of the cave, a light fog swirled around me. I stepped into the gaping abyss of the cave, the sounds of celebration came from behind.
I walked aimlessly in an underground labyring, ever ascending, following a trail laid out by nothing but my instinct and ever dwindling sanity. Something was pulling me, leading me to the peak, something I felt was alien and terrible.
Within time, I found the exit, the hole in the mountain adorned with snow and the bones of travellers and what I presumed were others sentenced to the same fate as I. I stepped into the blizzard, tightly holding myself to keep warm.
A shadow past by, big and quick. I heard a roar as the blizzard became harsher. Soon I could not see where I was going.
Eventually, I found a shrine in the blinding blizzard, it provided warmth. I knelt down at it and felt the cold being repelled. I remained at this shrine for a while, revelling in the comfort of the shrine.
Then I left, ascending, looking for the peak. Then I found it, a lonely figure stood solitary surveying the landscape. I called out to it, then it spoke.
`` You are the one sent to his death, yes?''
I struggled to answer when he spoke again
`` No matter, let me guess, you were captured and forced to go by zealous and corrupt fools who would see their people burn before even the slightet bit of harm came to them''
I could only remain silent
`` Unjust, and to think that I have complied with their sacrifices. Time to change that, come closer''
I drew near, the figure became clearer. It was a teenager in a coat, half of his face obscured by a mask.
`` I will not stop the disaster this time, but it will not be the choking fog. I believe it is time to watch that castle filled with corrupt to be burnt to the ground, what say you?''
I drew near and felt a burning
`` You shall be my flaming messenger, your soul will be the fuel for the coming inferno''
My body was soon transformed, my body becoming flame.
`` Go! Bring the corrupt fools the rage of many before you and my wrath''
Suddenly, I felt a rush and a pleasant expanding feeling. I heard screams and the sound of buildings burning.
Back on the mountain, the mysterious teen observed the inferno consuming the castle, he felt the souls of nobles join the wildfire. A gust of wind briefly obscured him, when it had past, he was gone. Nothing was left to mark his passing
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[ WP ] A plague kills 99.99 % of human life , leaving no corpses and few immune survivors . In this desolate new world , there 's no shortage of anything , and the greatest resource of all is human companionship . A survivor recounts his story of how he found his current group , years later .
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No one's really sure where it came from, how it came to be, or what could have possibly caused it. Hell, I'm not even sure if it had an official name. Lots of nicknames, though; Time Bomb, Doomsday, Zombie, The Fall. All based on the disease's main trait.
It was n't like anything that humanity had seen before. In a way, it was like a fucked up game of plague inc. The embryo that the disease originated from was completely harmless, but extremely contagious, latching onto the atmosphere possibly within days of being created, or born, or whatever hellhole it crawled out of. All anyone knew was that damn near everyone had it, but nearly no one knew it. The governments all identified it, mostly through casual testing of its citizens to avoid riots and whatnot. Yeah, they saw the virus in our bodies, invading every blood cell, conquering our veins and bodies. But we would n't have believed it was there even if we were told.
Then, shit hit the fan. Somehow, in some fucked up way, the virus, all the viruses in all 7 billion of us, simultaneously mutated. Some say it was triggered by a satellite from a number of suspected countries. Others blame aliens, or plate tectonics, or even the ancient Greek gods. Whatever it was, it did its job well.
The side effects were synced up with everyone almost perfectly. First there was the dizziness, the excessive sweating. Then the headache that would n't go away an hour later. Then the shortness of breath and slight cough two hours later. Then a few people started to have nosebleeds, but not all. That's what scared people the most; us bleeders. Everyone around them were contracting the same symptoms at the same time, and only a very small percentage of humans were bleeding. We became internet celebrities for as long as the internet stay online.
About three hours later, after the symptoms seemingly slowing down, they came back with a vengeance. Total loss of balance, consistent vision blackouts, excessive vomiting, blood vessels popping left and right. Then, less than an hour later, the lethal stuff came. Complete and total organ failure. Everything just stopped working. One minute everyone is laying in their own sweat and stomach contents, the next they're dead. Just like that.
But us bleeders never went through that second stage. We got the pleasure of watching our species quickly and methodically deteriorate and then drop dead. We do n't know why, and probably never will know why we were the lucky bunch. Oh well, not complaining.
Then the supernatural stuff happened. The bodies just kind of - melted. That's really the best way to describe it. It's like their skin, muscles, and bones alike broke apart and became one with the Earth again. I wish I could remove those images from my mind.
The next four years were a blur. It was n't easy, living alone, running from the emptiness of the world, but it was n't exactly hard. Want that badass Lamborghini sitting in the middle of the road, keys in the ignition? Siphon some gas and take it. Want every last burger in Red Robin? Figure out how to get the grills working again and do it. Want to break into a half-raided gun shop and blast every window in a five block radius because, well, fuck it? Did it at least three times a year.
That last time was how I met Ben and the rest of them. Heh, it's funny. They first spotted me standing in the middle of the street, completely shit faced, a once nice suit I got off a long dead corporate dirtbag not torn and muddy, holding an empty AR-15, surrounded by a field of glass shards, and decided not to either shoot me or run from me.
Turns out, the other bleeds of the world were n't either crazy bastards that belong in straitjackets or wannabe redneck rambos with their armored eighteen wheelers and eighteen shotguns. They were good people. When they made sure my gun was empty and I was quite simply out of fucks to give, they took me in, back to their camp. Got me some clothes, a bath, a fresh meal that was grown in their farm and not a rotting fast food joint.
That's when I found hope again. Before, I thought humanity was done. We could n't possibly come back from that disease. I saw maybe twenty bleeders before Ben in four years. We could n't have repopulated again, not like that. I thought we were only spared to go out in a bang; live like kings and queens of a desolate kingdom to finish humanity with a bang. But Ben's group was holding on; it was rebuilding civilization. I'm glad to be called one of them.
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[ WP ] A German Panzer division at the height of WW2 is teleported through time to downtown Los Angeles
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The Mexican troops were helpless.
A last desperate cavalry assault against the dark horses of metal and fire.
In every eye, a strong resolve to never bend to the devil, to die fighting, as a humble sacrifice to the God that had forsaken them.
In every heart, the deepest fear and despair. There was no hope, not anymore. Everything they had, everything they were, it would all burn today.
The world had never been brighter than on the german side.
After months in the freezing hell of the Ardennes.
After seeing friends and foes dismembered by machine guns and mortar strikes.
Nothing could be sweeter than the sight and warmth of the Californian coast.
Nothing could be more comforting than the quaint charm of their opponents' primitive weaponry.
von Wietersheim was leading them through the campaign. Motivating the troops had never been so easy:
*Sie kamen zurück in die Zeit. Und sie haben Hitler getötet! *
*Jetzt kommen wir zurück! Und wir werden Amerika in der Wiege umbringen! *
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[ WP ] Connect two ideas/prompts with the phrase , `` And now for something completely different . ''
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`` You wake up while falling to earth.''
*And now for something completely different. *
`` Instantly and without explanation, the location of every person is randomly shuffled.''
...
*The earth came hurtling toward me. *
*I had to be sleeping, this was impossible. *
*But in dreams, falling wakes you up. *
*The realization that I was n't waking up made my heart pound harder and harder. *
*Fear wakes one up. *
*But I was n't waking up. *
*The trees were almost distinguishable now. *
...
*I wake up on a subway train. *
*次の停留所は、新宿-*
*It was crowded. *
*Japan? *
*But I looked around. There were no Japanese people on this train. *
*Hmm. Another dream. *
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[ WP ] Satan is real and he has come from the Underworld to spread hate and evil , as a 14 year old mall goth who relies on his parents still .
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Satan, Lord of All that is Dark and Awful, Captor of Souls, Torturer Extraordinaire, came to Earth on a day that reeked of fresh pine and peppermint. Lamentable smells that Satan attempted to purge from his nose, spraying a string of snot that stuck on the front of his black shirt in such a way that reminded him of a cobweb. The smell was only outdone by the screech of children running from house to house, bellowing songs at homeowners that lauded the exploits of his greatest enemy, the anti-Satan. It was two days before Christmas, and of all forms Satan could have possibly slid into, a fourteen-year old boy being driven to the mall by his parents to shop for gifts, was the last one he wanted.
“ Brimstone and hellfire to the both of you. Let me out of the car so that I may wreak havoc unto your world, ” Satan said.
“ Is that from a Black Sabbath song? How does it go again? ” Satan ’ s presumptive father began to make percussive noises with his mouth, while his mustache bounced along with the rhythm.
“ It ’ ll be a Black Sabbath for the two of you if you don ’ t let me out right now! ” Satan said. He tried to open the car door, but as soon as he touched the handle, his presumptive Mother began to scream.
“ Dammit Ricky! Touch the door again, and that ’ ll be it! I. Will. End. You, ” she said.
Whether it was her tone that was on-par with the mightiest general of his demon army, or her eyes, which were filled with the same desperate longing for something else of the souls that fought against him before he tossed them into a pit of eternal fire and pain, he removed his hand from the door and laid it in his lap. It was at that point, he decided that he liked his mother very much.
Satan ’ s father fought tooth-and-nail with an elderly woman in a powder-blue Buick for their parking spot nearly a mile away from the mall. The woman slammed on her gas, and drove off after Satan gave her a knowing look that plainly said ‘ I ’ ll be seeing you soon. ’
“ What ’ s her problem? ” Satan ’ s father asked.
“ Mortality, ” Satan said.
“ Zip it mister, ” Satan ’ s mother said, “ Carl let ’ s go. I want to get out of here before nine this time. ”
Satan sank into his seat, and eyed the door handle, greatly aware of the anger it brought his mother whenever he touched it.
“ Come on Ricky, let ’ s go. Now! ” she said.
Satan fumbled with the handle, and spilled out of the door onto the asphalt. It bit at him with teeth as cold as icicles. His mortal body began to shiver, and plumes of white breath escaped from his mouth. He wrapped his arms around himself, and began to wish that he brought a little hellfire with him. He cursed Beelzebub for recommending otherwise, stating that it would draw too much suspicion if he really wanted to destroy humanity by eroding at their core moral values, he said in the standup meeting before Satan ’ s trip topside.
“ If you wore clothes like a normal person, then maybe you wouldn ’ t be so cold all the time. It ’ s winter, Ricky. Put on a sweater for god ’ s sake, ” his mother said.
“ Damn you woman. ”
“ YOU WAN NA GO RICKY? ”
“ Mary, it ’ s just a phase. Let ’ s go, ” Satan ’ s father grabbed her hand, and pulled her towards the mall. He struggled for about six steps while Satan ’ s mother glared at Satan, before she relented and walked towards the snow-covered building. Satan shivered the entire walk and nearly slipped no less than six times on black ice, but he eventually made it to the mall.
It was glorious.
Satan felt a little overwhelmed, but spread his arms to embrace the sin oozing from every brick of the building.
Signs exclaiming savings of 70-80 % off enticed people overcome by their greed into swinging fists wrapped around coupons and cash towards cashiers. Satan saw one of the cashiers take cover as one patron at a soap store hurl a basket full of soap bottles at a woman trying to take the last limited edition, celebrity-designed brick of soap from its display.
In another store, there were people cramming their faces full of free samples. Satan listened close and heard sighs and moans of ecstasy as each patron shoved another piece of pecan fudge into their mouths.
A soap bottle slid past Satan, and he smiled at the sight of the soap store breaking into a full-blown brawl.
Satan marveled how each store, and even the small demi-stores selling outdated phone cases and promises of Caribbean vacations, worshipped sin in their own way.
He saw what he needed. He left Ricky to the machinations of his parents, making note to offer his mother a position as a general in his demon army, or at the very least, head of Demon Resources, when she made her way down. He didn ’ t need to damn Earth and its people: they had already done it to themselves. Satan was fine with waiting for the rest of humanity to come to him, he needed time for his next great project in Hell. A mall of infinite floors, each with their own accompaniment of torture devices, and sinful delights ( he needed some good with the bad, otherwise the bad would lose its poignancy ). And, of course, the first floor would be dedicated to being an infinite expanse of soap and celebrity-promoted products, all of which be limited edition.
-- -- -- -
[ Check out more stories by me over on my humble subreddit, where the number of stories grow by units of time! ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/30secfantasy )
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[ WP ] Humans have hitpoints , with visible bars to indicate the amount left , as seen in many video games .
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`` Hey, buddy,'' said the man with the three hundred hitpoints. `` Got any Bitcoin?''
The chubby man with the 35 HP meter turned around, stared at the snub-nosed revolver in his hand.
`` W-whoah,'' said the chubby man.
`` You would n't happen to be a fan of fiat currency, would you?'' he said, tossing the gun to either hand. `` It could all disappear in a flash. I think I should take care of it for you, get it into a nice safe spot.''
`` L-leave me alone,'' said the chubby man.
`` Do n't you know life is all about the survival of the fittest?'' he said. `` And you do n't look like the fittest to me. You look like some dope tourist, wandering around with a fat wallet and the wrong shoes.''
`` I'll scream.''
`` You'll be dead before you hit the ground. Cough it up. And then I want to see you pose like Atlas.''
`` Who the hell is Atlas?''
`` You've never heard of Atlas Shrugged? You're in for a treat. The story will be a real back-breaker, but I think you'll come out all the... richer for it.'' He smiled. `` First, your wallet.''
The chubby man reached into his walllet, pulled out the $ 400 he had saved for his trip. The libertarian took it.
`` Now. This car.'' The libertarian kneeled over, picked it up from the front, grunting as he held up the front with one hand, held the gun at him with his other. `` Crouch under it.''
The man did what he was told.
`` Grab onto it. Use your legs.''
He did. The libertarian let the car fall on him, crushing the man's back and pinning him to the street. 35 hit points had dropped to three in a flash.
`` Whoopsie,'' he said. `` Maybe take a little more self-interest, chum. You should call 911... but that might be seen as kind of weak. And who knows... maybe I'll be back. I'm going to go have a nice clean stout. You have fun getting out of there.''
`` Help! Come back!'' said the chubby man, flailing his hands from under the car.
The libertarian stopped, turned around with the cash and the gun.
`` Man - every man! Is a means to the ends of himself, not to others!'' he screamed loudly before pointing the gun at him and firing. Three hit points went down to negative ten.
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[ WP ] The Grim Reaper is no longer able to claim lives directly . Instead , when your time is up a mark appears on your body and it is the duty of every other person to kill you on sight .
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Five months, two weeks, two days, sixteen hours and forty seven minutes. That's how long it's been since i died. Five months and two weeks, one day, sixteen hours and forty seven minutes. That's how long its been since i joined the legion of the dead. A place where the dead do n't have to die. Not immediately anyway.
As i sit here, in this truck, rumbling down the broken track outside, i wonder how i got here. I wonder how i went from holding a camera for a living to holding a rifle, i wonder how i went from sharing a bed with my wife to sharing a dorm with my squad. But most of all i wonder how fuck i talked myself into doing this. People do crazy things when they are desperate i guess. It would explain why we're currently driving out to a shitstain in the middle of nowhere with thirty other guys in the truck.
If you have n't clocked it yet, the Legion of the Dead are the Grim Reaper's replacements. A while back he said he could n't keep up with everyone dying so he was n't going to collect the souls anymore. At first everyone thought this would be incredible. Hell i did, my parents could grow old and see their great grandkids and that sounded pretty fucking special. Problem was, there were n't enough resources. Too many people, not enough everything else. Riots broke out fighting happened but nobody died. Eventually the Reaper saw it was n't the smartest idea so he created the black spot. Kinda like the pirates did back in the day. If you got a black spot, you were a target and you were going down.
Before long it became obvious that not everybody was going to want to die so people ran and when people ran The Legion would follow. Of course if you did n't want to run you could always join the Legion, everyone here has a black spot, and we're used for cannon fodder, nobody cares because both The Legion and the people we're chasing are already dead. Most of us just do n't know it yet.
Before all this i had a good life, i ran a small photography studio in my hometown, married my high school sweetheart, it was a good life, we were n't rich but we got by. Then i got sick. Pneumonia. By the time it cleared up the black spot was right there on my chest. I could n't tell Cindy, so upped and left. it was the hardest decision i ever made, i loved that woman more than anything and i was n't going to let her see me die. Some people might have done things different and to tell you truth if i was thinking straight i would have to. I had heard if you joined The Legion you can get another life after `` acquiring'' a certain number of souls. The problem was the number kept changing with whoever i talked to. I soon learned there was no leaving, i was n't going to see Cindy again and i was a fucking idiot for thinking i would.
So here i am sitting in a truck on the road to nowhere to kill a bunch of dead people so i can stay not quite as dead as them. What the fuck am i doing? The truck just stopped, i guess that means we're here.
As the door swings open I'm looking out at the targets, some are scrambling trying to get away but they wo n't, they never do. One of them is n't moving though, she's just stood there, looking at me with this heart broken look on her face. I guess i do get to see Cindy again after all.
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[ WP ] `` Incoming ! Dropships , coming in over the bridge ! ''
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The intercepted Davion transmissions squeals out over the intercom. The bridge crew of the Cappellan Lung Wang Dropship *Zhoushan* grins at the message from their crash couches. The Capellan fleet risked a great deal by jumping in to the Avaigait system via a pirate point. But the use it was well worth the danger. Having shaved off near two weeks of burn time at two-Gees, the Davion troops in system were completely unprepared for the sudden appearance of Capellan ships. Aerospace fighters quickly disabled the recharge stations at Zenith and nadir points. The Blackout of the HPG grid has been a mixed blessing. Despite the collapse of the C-Bill and near instantaneous communication, Gray Monday has been a gift to the Confederation. Territory long stolen by the Republic of the Sphere has been rightfully reclaim for their true heirs. Stone abandon his people, and the rest hides behind their Fortress. Liao once more belongs to its namesake. And now, the Chancellor turns his gaze towards the Confederations most ancient foe.
`` Touchdown in T-Minus Five.''
Sao-Wei Faustus Corvin flicks the intercom just above his head to the dropship's channel.
`` Copy that, Zhoushan. Ox-Head Lance, Out'' Flicking another com switch, he speaks again. `` Alright lance, status checks.''
`` Ox-Head Two, All systems green and nominal.'' Sounds the cool female voice, with just a hint of her native Russian accent. `` TSEMP ready and charged.'' Natalya Ivanova has been eager to test it out on Hasek troops.
`` Ox-head Three. Stealth armor warming up and holding strong. Let's go kill some FedRats.'' Alex Chu comms in, his education on Sian readily apparent in his steady voice.
`` This is Four. Everything solid.'' Emily Munro has always been a terse woman at the best of times. Her lilting accent would place her to County Cork, Ireland if it was for the fact she was born on the very edge of the Victoria Commonality. Faustus Corvin grins ruefully in his neuro-helmet. It's a shame she's so quiet. Her voice is pure sex.
Flicking back to the dropship's channel, he speaks up.
`` this is Ox-Head One. What do your scanners pick up?''
He waits a few tense seconds before the reply sounds out in his ear.
`` Ox-Head lance, we're picking up a small convoy of trucks on the bridge. Twenty in all, four tankers. Escort is two'mechs. One Blade, and one Hatchetman. Specs unknown.''
Corvins grin widens predatory, revealing white teeth before speaking again.
`` Our mission was to capture the bridge intact. This is a bonus. Deploy us on the North bank and have the Mengqin bomb the South end. Drive them toward us. Out.''
The dropship leans noticeably as it goes about its turn.
Warning lights flash in the hanger as the few remaining techs flee to safety. Howling wind rushes into the space as the four doors open up. Checking his systems one last time, he presses his mike once more, this time on the general frequency.
`` This is Sao-Wei Faustus Corvin of the 4th Confederation Reserve Cavalry announcing. To the people of Avigait, your unjust occupation by your Davion oppressors comes to an end today. And to the Federated Suns forces on the surface, your reign of tyranny is over. Your fighters fall from the sky, like broken birds. Your leaders do not care for your well-being. They have fled and left you to die. Surrender and live. Fight and perish. You have already lost.''
Bright green ready lights flash sickly in the hanger bay. Pressing forwards on the throttle, Corvin urges his Men Shen out into the light, and into the destruction.
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[ Wp ] a witch gives a person immortality ... That person is extremely suicidal .
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I was in a small patch of woods outside of town, tying a noose, and getting ready for it all to be over. I suffered from crippling anxiety and it prevented me from forming healthy relationships with people. This is n't super relevant, so I'll move on. As a result, though, I was a cold, lonely, and distant shell of a man worth nothing more than the accounts I handled at my shit job. I had all of my finances and belongings sorted out, left everything where it could be found by those close to me, and had all of those other loose ends tied up. I had wanted to be dead for a while now, but had things to take care of first. I did n't want to leave a mess for my friends and family; they would already be going through a bunch of bullshit. I was in a state of quiet and content contemplation when I heard a voice come up from behind me.
`` Are you sure you want to do that?''
It came from a woman, maybe in her sixties, dressed like it was 1920. I had no clue where she'd come from and, frankly, I did n't really care. At this point she was getting in my way.
`` Yes, I'm sure. I made this decision quite a while ago, and though I am sorry we had to be introduced under these circumstances, I'm going to have to ask that you leave me be. My mind is made up.'' I said, rather harshly.
`` What if I told you that I could change your mind in a few minutes?''
Intrigued, I decided to give her a shot. I'd been lonely for a while now, and it could n't hurt to speak with someone who might give a little bit of a shit about me. Why not? We discussed the reasons for my decision, pros/cons, other stuff that could solve the problems, and a bunch of other stuff like that. I was genuinely glad to have met her, as she was very polite. She did nothing to change my mind, though. As much as I enjoyed our conversation, my mind was still made up. I told her this and again requested that she leave me.
`` I can make it to where you will never die. Immortality. Think of the things you could do if it were impossible to die. You could rule the world. Anything you want.''
I laughed at her. This did n't make much sense, but she seemed very sincere and not exactly crazy. I figured she was just some lady with early-stage dementia who might be starting to lose it a bit. I decided to humor her in hopes that she'd leave and I could carry on.
`` Okay, that sounds good actually, what do I have to do?'' I inquired.
`` It is done.'' she said calmly, and walked away without saying anything else.
I thought that was super weird, and sort of chuckled to myself. Dementia can be a most interesting condition. After a little more quiet contemplation, I decided that it was time, and fastened the rope to the tree, put my head in the noose, and climbed up to the nearest branch. I sat for one more moment, just happy that it was finally going to be over, and hopped off the branch.
My neck broke with a sharp crack and my esophagus closed completely. My god, the pain was indescribable. I swung around for what seemed like an eternity, desperately waiting for the sweet embrace of death. It never came. I swung from that rope for a total of 6 hours without breathing before I started to believe and accept what was happening.I was trying to figure everything out. What just happened? Did I tie a bad knot? All I wanted was to die.
I could feel that my legs and arms were paralyzed, so I had no doubt that my neck had broken. Why am I still alive? How long will it take me to die if I just hang here? I did n't bring an emergency knife and had no way of being found or contacting anyone, how long will I have to stay here? I ca n't move.
I was still trying to piece everything together when the ants showed up.
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[ WP ] The Collapse of United States of America
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**Present**
We saw it coming, we did, we just tried to ignored the hanging axe above our necks.
First we made as much enemies as we could; after all we were just trying to help. Second, we insulted our friends, believing we were all powerful and none of them would raise a hand against us and finally... we turn against our own people.
Stealing from our own, spying on them, taking their rights assuring them we were only doing it to protect them.
We were out of control, did n't had a specific goal, we just did what we did because we could.
Turns out, that when you push someone enough they might response but you have to push them in the right way, too little they wont answer, too much they will obey. It has to be the exact incentive for them to wake up and rise.
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`` This is 911 , we already know . Arm yourself and lock your doors . Good luck and God bless . '' [ TT ]
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His vision blurred. He was n't drunk or sober enough to deal, and his head ached. On the ground by their passed out companion, whats-her-name ( *`Claire? Clarissa?'* ) shrieked up at him. “ What did they say? Are they sending help?! ”
The phone fell from his fingers. “ I... I do n't... ”
“ Damn it, Jax! ”
She snatched his cellphone up off of the ground, placed it to her ear, and then frantically redialed 9-1-1. He heard the two rings, and her facial expression shifting from distress to confusion confirmed that he had n't been hearing things. The operator repeated her cryptic message:
`*This is 9-1-1. We already know. Arm yourself and lock your doors. Good luck and God Bless.'*
The line went dead, and—`*Cierra. Dani sometimes called her CiCi*,' he recalled—looked up at him, big brown eyes widened in shock and glassed with tears. She forgot all about unconscious Danielle, her best friend and Jax's on-again, off-again girl for the last month and a half, and covered her mouth to muffle an anguished cry.
“ What does that mean?! ” she sobbed, mascara and tears mixing with the mud and blood covering her face. “ They *know*? Know what? What's happening?! ”
Jax stumbled backwards, at a loss. Though drunk, and not at all fit to drive, the back-road had seemed clear and Jax had n't been driving fast. Danielle's hand teased a promise for later over his pants, and he'd hoped it would involve pretty CiCi. Then....he did n't know what he hit to make the car swerve as it did, but the world twisted and changed into a grotesque, blood-covered thing. He'd heard metal crunch and CiCi screaming from a distance. He was upside down and alone in a car that smelled strongly of gas. CiCi had crawled out of the car. Danielle had been thrown from it.
*'' FUCK! `` *
Pain circuited from his heel to his head, bringing him back to the present. CiCi gasped, reaching out for him, and that's when he noticed two very important things:
CiCi's leg was badly broken. Beneath her modest black skirt, it stuck out at an odd angle, shredded by metal and scraps of broken glass. He saw the way she clutched it and moaned after she'd instinctively moved to help him.
The other thing, was that this had been no accident.
Breathing raggedly, he yanked his foot free from the spike strip he'd stepped on and driven over earlier. CiCi realized, too, that it must have been deliberately placed.
“ We have to get out of here, ” she said, looking frantically around them.
*`We know,'* the 9-1-1 operator had said. *`Arm yourself and lock your doors.'*
But they were out in the open, with nowhere to hide, and with a trashed car.
“ Jax, ” CiCi shrilled. “ We have to get out of here. ”
*'... good luck...'*
He barely heard her. What he'd thought had been the sound of his heart beating crazily had actually been footsteps, pounding closer by the second. Hundreds and thousands of them. The mob advanced from the end of the once lonely road, faces obscured with masks. Jax did n't know who they were, or what they wanted, but every instinct screamed for him to run.
“ Do n't leave me here, ” CiCi mewled. She raised her arms, indicating that he should carry her, and she looked so young and scared. She could n't walk, and if Jax left her, he knew she would be killed. `` Please, Jax. *Please. *''
“ God Bless, ” he whispered, before he turned and ran.
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[ WP ] The Zombie Apocalypse broke out , but everybody has a personal Zombie that hunts for them , the rest of the Zombies ignore the person .
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You were always on the lookout. These days, you never knew which bag of bones was gunning for you. Or gnashing it's teeth for you, anyway.
Life was easy if it had already found you- if a flesh-crazed lunatic had come running at you, and you killed it, you were free to live life as normal. In the early days we did n't know about the imprinting, the meat bags were n't regulated. Plenty of us might have had our zomb killed off already, the casualty of an overly-zealous survivor with a zeal for target shooting the undead.
Trouble is, you just never know.
We have a system now. Zomb comes at you, you kill it dead, bag it, tag it, and file your papers. Once that critter is finished, you can marry, have kids, settle down. Til then, none of that is legal. Folks do it anyway, but the government does n't smile on active targets surrounding themselves with other folks.
The zombs are chemically driven, see. They imprint on one person when they turn, and they're pretty much immortal til they kill that person or get killed themselves. No food, no water, no sleep. No one knows why it happens how it does. Some weird product of a mutated virus. No one knows why they imprint on a certain person, either. Seems to be a pheromone thing, like they latch onto some memory of a memory of a person they passed in the street once, and suddenly they have to kill em.
The batshit thing is, the government do n't let you kill these brainless walking machines unless they're actively attacking you. It's fucked. They say it's inhumane, tell you to just let the meat bags wander, that they are n't hurting anyone.
Luckily, some scientists discovered that zombs are activated by the scent of their imprinted human, not necessarily the presence of said human. So a new industry popped up, and I'm a part of it.
Imprint relievers, they call us. Just a new name for an old job- bounty hunter. Customer wants to get married, buy a house, and do it by the books, they call us. We get their scent, make some nice high-powered sprays and send it around for miles. The zombs only need the slightest whiff in the air- they're like fuckin land sharks. We monitor all ground activity with aerial cameras, and when we spot a zombie berserking, we strike.
My personal weapon of choice is the AR-15. Found a vintage one in an old bunker, cleaned it up, and now she shoots pretty as a girl in her Sunday best. I can put a slug through a zomb eye at 800 yards without breaking a sweat. Some crazy relievers use more personal methods. I think they like the thrill of it, or maybe it's a sadism thing. My advice- do n't mess with a reliever that chooses to relieve his clients of their assailants via machete. It wo n't end well for you.
I've been at this business a while now, practically since the day they found that pheromone thing. Course, I've been shooting zombies a lot longer than that. It's a good business, keeps me active and it definitely pays a pretty penny.
The one thing that's bothered me all these years, what keeps me up at night, is this- I still ai n't found *my* imprint.
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[ WP ] Describe your personality through a hobby or passion of yours .
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Sirens wailed over the hills, through the fields, and into the night. The Q cried in the late hours of the night. When everyone slept, a select few wagered their souls for the life another. I awoke from my sleep, someone in need of help, someone in their darkest hour cried for help. My engine cried through the night air, the heat was stifling already, upon arrival, the flames beckoned me inside. My old nemesis, who haunted my dreams, who drove me to drink. This was my war, my battle to wage. For no one could know, the price I pay, through my misery I strive to continue another day. Despite the death, the loss, the loss, we strive on. The smoke called me deeper, for a woman cried for her child from the outside. My body aches, thinking of my child in bed, seeming so far away in the heat stricken hell hole I wonder. Crawling through the smoke, I hear a cry. Through a door, into another trick. The floor gives way, I cry for my partner. Yet I still hear the child, fate once more called my name. For I began my descent into the depths of the black. I can see the light, as if someone was looking out for me. I came out of the darkness, with a baby in my hands. For my partner had a fast life. I'm lucky that I can.
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[ WP ] `` Would you push me away , please ? ''
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I'm not sure what to think of this story that's popped into my head, there's a lot more to it than I've indicated in this prompt but I do n't think I could do it the justice it deserves. I'm also not super happy using first person for this, there's some flaws, but I think it might be the best way to get the right perspective.
Prompt:
“ Why? Why are you so damn nice to me?! ” She screamed at me, tears trailing down her cheeks as her balled up hands beat lightly against my chest. “ I just don ’ t get you at all! ”
Of course you don ’ t get me… you never ask anything about me, just of me. But… that ’ s okay, it ’ s just the way you are.
“ Why won ’ t you say something to me?! ” Screaming… she ’ s still screaming only now she ’ s hitting me a lot harder. She seems strangely beautiful with her long flowing black hair fluttering with each strike of her fist. “ You should n't just silently accept this! ”
If you wanted me to say something, perhaps you should not have cut out my tongue? I mean, there ’ s nothing to say even if you hadn ’ t, but if I can ’ t speak I can ’ t speak right? Impossible is impossible after all.
“ No one should just accept what I ’ ve done to you… I… I don ’ t deserve you. ” No longer screaming, stopped her voice a bare whisper compared to its former volume and she speaks lovingly while her clenched up hands relax at last to gently caress my face. “ No… this is too much. This can ’ t continue. ”
It ’ s okay I for...
“ Would you push me away, please? It ’ s the only way we can end this ” Her tears have stopped now, and her expression is vastly different. Things I would have noticed if I was n't struck dumb by her words as a slow rage began to build inside me. “ It ’ s the only way I can leave! Please! Please just push me away and out of your life! ”
What?! You want me to push you away?! After everything that ’ s happened, you want this to end? After everything you ’ ve done to me?! I forgave you for cutting out my tongue. I forgave you for breaking the majority of my bones. I even forgave you for taking my left eye!
The slow rage had instantly exploded inside of me and I lifted my arms to do just what she asked. It was at that moment my rage simply melted away and rather than push her away I wrapped her in my arms, drawing her in close as tightly as my remaining strength would let me.
“ Good boy… ” She whispered softly while snuggling in close against me. She giggled softly as she closed her eyes and for the first time in a long while seemed content and happy. “ I love you. ”
I love you too…
But I couldn ’ t help but wonder at the sudden reversal of my feelings, but I guess it ’ s not too surprising. I mean boiling anger is easily doused by fear and if I had pushed her away I wouldn ’ t have liked the consequences at all.
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[ WP ] A very serious story about a very silly thing . Surprise me
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It had been hours since I had entered the room and I sat, waiting for the next person to be finished. It was n't like appointments like this were always this crowded, were they? I had no way of telling, this was my first time at one, and the people around me all looked down at their phones. Forgetting my phone was the worst thing that happened to me, but I luckily had brought a book. *Who reads books anymore? * I thought to myself as I heard a door open.
`` Mr. Smith, you're next,'' the man in a stately business suit said as he held open the door. I crept toward it very slowly, inching my way over as if I was not fit for this. I had to get the job or I had spent hours here doing nothing. I could feel a small frown dawn my face as I walked over; a look of sickness, perhaps.
`` Mr. Smith, are you alright sir?'' the man asked as I still was only halfway to the door and I looked as if I would pass out. My only problem was keeping up with the times. I did n't think I could do it!
As I walked into the room of the job interview, I sat down on the chair they had put there for me, and the man laughed as he walked over to me. `` Now why'd you decide you wanted to be a janitor here at the Hawkins Elementary School?''
I fidgeted as he seemed to laugh in my face. I just wanted a job to support myself. `` Well, you see, Mr...?''
`` Shepard. Mr. Shepard,'' he replied in a bounding voice that most principals have.
`` Well, I'm a wizard that has been alive for over two thousand years now, and I wanted a job to support myself well. Can I have the job?''
`` Well, there's a lot more to getting this job...''
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[ WP ] Write a story that starts out like it belongs in /r/talesfromtechsupport , but along the way turns into something that really belongs in /r/nosleep .
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She needed help with the thingy that makes her see things.
The sad part was that this was n't even the least coherent call I'd fielded today. That honor belonged to the man who thought `` wireless'' meant no electricity was needed.
`` Okay ma'am, I'm afraid I'm going to need you to help me narrow down your problem a little more. Is this a program or a piece of hardware?'' If only I could actually ask her what the hell she was talking about.
`` I do n't know,'' she said, hesitant. `` I guess it's inside the computer. I click on it, and that's how I see things.''
Software then. We were getting somewhere. Probably having trouble with her web browser.
`` When you say you see things, ma'am, do you mean that this is what you use to see websites, videos, things like that?''
She let out an irritated *tuh. * `` No, it makes me *see* things,'' she answered impatiently.
Maybe an app? She did n't seem the type to use social media, but maybe a friend or family member had set something up for her. `` What sort of things are you trying to see?'' I asked, hoping to narrow this down.
`` *Things*,'' she said in a frustrated voice. `` Things that are happening now, far away, or things that will happen.''
I paused mid-sip of coffee. Though she said it in a perfectly rational, if slightly irritated voice, her words sent a chill up my spine. I must have misheard her. `` Newsfeeds?'' I asked, focusing on the `` things happening far away.''
`` No, no, no,'' she sighed heavily into the phone. `` I do n't know what it's called, I wish I knew what it was called. Ugh! The thingy! I ca n't see things without it.''
Unsure what else to do, I decided to try a standard fix. `` Have you tried rebooting your computer, ma'am?''
`` No,'' she said slowly. `` I have n't tried that. Do you think it will help?''
`` It could,'' I replied. Why not? If her program crashed, who knew what was causing it?
I put her on hold while she rebooted, not wanting to make conversation. She seemed a nice enough woman, but I was really shaken by her description of the things she wanted to see. After a couple of minutes, I came back on the line.
`` How are things going?''
`` Great! The thingy is back and working, thank you so much for your help!'' She was cheerful, not at all aggravated like before.
`` I'm glad to hear it, thank you for ca --''
`` Oh and Toby?'' she cut me off. Strange, I did n't remember telling her my name yet. `` Just tell your girlfriend you're sorry about the dog, even if it was her fault.''
Before I could reply, the line went dead.
I'd forgotten about my strange encounter when I got home from work that night. I walked in to my girlfriend, Sarah, sobbing hysterically.
`` What's going on?'' I asked.
`` The dog got out,'' she sniffled. It was n't the first time the dog had gotten out, and he always managed to find his way back. I was n't too concerned.
`` You must have left the gate open again,'' I blurted out before I could remember the strange warning I'd gotten before.
Later that night, from the couch where I'd been banished to sleep, I would wish that I'd taken the advice to heart.
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[ IP ] The surprise ...
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It relied on surprise. Not in the way where it waited until you were n't looking to attack, but on the very fact of your being surprised at it. Its form would start to crystallize in the first moment you look at it, in that uncertainty before you fully processed it. It was ever a shimmering afterimage. Was it a withered hand in a voluminous robe? Was it a high-heeled foot in a frayed and bloodied pant-leg? It was both, superimposed, a superposition realized. Where were you? A foggy alley, the kind lined with nightclubs whose neon lights tinted the mist? A suburban kitchen, with its IKEA cabinets spattered in blood? You turn slightly, as a body slumps down, is it a homeless veteran, or a perfect sitcom dad? You rush to his side, whichever he is, babbling about what you ’ ve just seen, but it's too late. Had she ducked into a hallway of an adjoining backdoor? Before you got your bearings, she was gone.
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[ OT ] Saturday Free Write - Royal Rejection Edition
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I write daily poems, just before I go to sleep. I thought I'd share one of them from this week! This one was from Mar. 29th, and I'd welcome your thoughts and feedback on it.: ) As for the meaning behind it, it has a much clearer inspiration than my other poems, but I'm curious as to what everyone will find it in ( so if you want to comment that, cool! ).
***
I can not see
how you see.
I do not see
what you see.
My mind, blank --
colorless, faceless,
blinded. This is
me.
You are a shepherd,
and can count
your sheep to sleep.
What is that like?
Owning something
in your mind.
I never knew
you could
picture my face.
To me, that is like
touching the clouds:
you have to
fly first.
( And I was born
without wings )
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[ WP ] You often see that good looking girl/guy on the subway , but never have the nerve to speak to them . One day during your early morning commute , you get over your social anxieties and muster up the courage to walk over .
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There she was, the most perfect girl in the world. Blonde, blue eyes, small, beautiful. She was reading a novel and I had never spoken to her. Well now I mustered the courage and walked over to her, sweat dripping down my cheeks as I did it. Slowly I approached her, like I was approaching a fragile young animal that I wanted to marvel at.
`` Hey...'' I slowly say, taking all the will of me to do it. Her reaction was a friendly smile, but one to avoid awkwardness.
She replies with, `` Hi, do I know you? ``, putting down the book and making it obvious that she did not want to talk to me, looking very impatient as she did so.
I gasped and a tear rolled down my eye. I just simply replied with, `` Sorry... wrong person.'' She looked very confused as I very quickly walked off, one could mistake it for a run, and I got off the subway.
It was n't even my stop.
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[ WP ] The historical figure of your choosing is a guest on a modern daytime talk show where nobody takes them seriously .
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`` Now to welcome my next guest, he's had more meals than I've had calories, more wives than a mormon attorney, big, powerful and quick to jump into matrimony ( watch out ladies ), let's give a warm, royal welcome to his highness, Henry the Eighth!''
The applause devolved into a shuffle rhythm following his waddle. When he eventually sat, a furniture salesman let out a quiet weep. It took him twelve hours to specially make that chair.
`` So Henry, how are you feeling today? Peckish perhaps? Or rather ravenous?''
Henry gave a single glance at the presenter's thick rimmed frames. it rose to his elaborately set hairdo. It looked oily. Henry liked oil.
`` Actually Appeticious. And, respect the rank, refer to me only as lord, your majesty or, in special situations following court vows, Hungry, Hungry Henry.''
`` My deepest apologies Lord Hungry. But may I be so bold once more, why was there no Henry the Ninth? Surely such an admirable name should've been continued?''
`` I guess no one could've possibly filled my shoes!'' Henry beamed with pride. He enjoyed being top dog.
`` Well I doubt no one could've filled any of your clothes... amirite?!''
At the cue the drummer instantly snapped out of his stupor and performed an extensive drumroll, followed by an outrageous applause. He returned to his thought, on who was this drum Phil his teacher had told him so much about.
`` You dare mock the God appointed one? I am your king! This will have consequences!'' He became so incessantly maroon and inflamed, an artist in the audience suddenly had inspiration for Pop-eye's nemesis. `` Bring me my horse!''
A nearby stage assistant slid next to Henry and whispered in his ear.
`` And my crane!''
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[ WP ] Technology has evolved . If you want to go to france you just rent a chip , put it in your head and you speak french fluently . What kinds of essential knowledge is available on black markets ?
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“ Finding everything okay? ”
I started. I ’ d been gazing at the dusty ad on the wall – *Change Your Life! Learn Mandarin Today! *, complete with a cheesy stock photo of a Caucasian businessman bowing to a Chinese delegation before a matte Shanghai skyline – but hardly seeing it. I turned to see who ’ d spoken. It was the salesgirl from the front of the otherwise empty store. I felt my face start to heat up as I realized she ’ d caught me spacing.
“ Yes, fine, thanks, ” I stammered. She was hardly the type you ’ d expect to find working in a dump like this, one of the few retail malls still hanging on by its fingernails at the outer fringes of suburbia. I ’ d noticed her in passing on the way in: shoulder-length, shiny auburn hair, a delicate heart-shaped face, and a killer figure that her fitted grey jacket did little to disguise. I ’ d instantly – subconsciously – dismissed her as way out of my league. These days, *everyone* was out of my league.
“ If you say so, ” she said, arching one perfect eyebrow. “ You don ’ t seem like a guy who ’ s that interested in Mandarin lessons. ”
“ Caught me, ” I joked, raising my hands in a feeble'I surrender' gesture. “ I was a little zoned out, I guess. Visiting my inner China. ”
She laughed, a low, throaty, genuine laugh. I just had time to think *It wasn ’ t that funny* before she turned and headed back to the front of the store. Her skirt, I couldn ’ t help but notice, fit just as well as her top. I swallowed hard. Great. One more disappointment for the day ’ s pile.
That ’ s when she looked over her shoulder, smiling slightly, and said, “ Why don ’ t you come up to the front? I think we may have something you want after all. ” It sounded for all the world like a come-on, but that was obviously impossible. Right? As she turned back around, I ran my fingers through my thinning hair and scraped absently at the stubble on my cheeks. At least I ’ d bothered to shower today, an increasingly uncommon event, and the inevitable hangover had subsided with lunch – more specifically, lunch ’ s two beers. A twinge of unfamiliar curiosity poked its way through the all-too-familiar resignation, and I followed her to the front of the store. Besides, I got a great view of her ass on the way.
“ So, ” she said in a businesslike tone, slightly muffled as she bent over to rummage in a cabinet under the counter, “ Don ’ t tell me, let me guess. Downloaded and chipped out of a job? ”
The bitterness rose up, a bilious ember glowing briefly before the fog closed back in. “ Twenty years, and they replaced me with a kid fresh out of diapers. Mental acuity is more important than know-how, these days. So they gave him *my* know-how. A whole new spin on training your replacement. ”
She clucked sympathetically and straightened up, holding a plain beige cardboard box. She placed it carefully on the glass counter top, then raised her eyes to mine. Gorgeous, wide blue eyes. “ Let me guess again. You ’ re finding yourself a little… aimless. ”
“ I suppose, ” I said, feeling defensive.
“ You came in here looking for something. A new life. ”
“ Like those ads on the walls promise? ” I meant to say that lightly, but it came out heavy with sarcasm.
She didn ’ t seem to notice, only nodded, her gaze still locked to mine. I wasn ’ t used to getting this much attention from beautiful women. I had to admit it felt good. “ Not all our chips are advertised openly, Mr…? ”
“ Henry. ” The idea of her calling me “ Mr. Carlson ” was too much to bear.
“ Henry. ” She smiled. “ You know, Henry, we sell knowledge chips here. And *everything* is knowledge. ”
“ Uh huh. Is this the part where you try to sell me the chip of Total Perfect Enlightenment? ” It was a well-known scam. Her smile vanished, and a tiny frown line appeared on her forehead, as if to say *I can ’ t believe you ’ d accuse me of that*. “ I ’ m sorry. It ’ s just, I hear stories. You know? ”
“ Of course. ” Her face softened. “ You can ’ t be too careful. But no, that ’ s not what I ’ m offering. Far from it. ” She lifted the top from the box and pulled a tiny foil envelope from one of its partitions. The letters “ D. J. ” were printed on it. “ Have you ever wished you could understand women better? ”
The question was so out of left field that I gaped for a second before answering. The memory of Karen, walking out the door for the last time six months ago, popped into my head. *You just don ’ t understand me at all, Henry, * had been her parting shot. “ How did you…? ”
She leaned forward intently, holding out the envelope in her palm. “ You ’ re not wearing a ring. Even though you ’ re a good-looking guy – ” I felt myself flush again – “ and probably got a generous severance from your former employer, you don ’ t seem in much of a hurry to get anywhere on a Friday afternoon. To meet anyone. ”
I couldn ’ t think of anything to say to that, but I reached out and picked up the envelope. My knuckle brushed her smooth wrist, and I caught a whiff of her perfume.
She leaned back, satisfied. I noticed a little name tag reading NATASHA in tasteful block letters, just above the inviting swell of her left breast. I swallowed again. “ Henry, you probably think there ’ s something wrong with you, some reason women avoid you. I ’ ll tell you right now: There isn ’ t. You could have a girlfriend. You *should* have a girlfriend. ”
This conversation was turning surreal. I tore my eyes away from her and inspected the envelope I held. The dark shadow of a chip, an older model by the look of it, was visible through the paper. “ What's D.J. stand for? ”
“ D.J. ”, she purred, “ stands for Don Juan. ”
I laughed. I couldn ’ t help it. “ Seriously? ”
“ As a heart attack, Henry. ” She was grinning again, enjoying my enjoyment. “ Not the'real' Don Juan, of course. It ’ s an amalgam of several very… successful… modern men, each of whom far exceeded that Byronic midget. Because they really, truly *understood* women. ”
I ’ d never thought about romance in precisely those terms, but it made a kind of sense. Still… “ How come I ’ ve never heard of this? ”
She sighed. “ Because it doesn ’ t really work. ” Holding up one manicured hand to forestall any objection, she added: “ For *most* guys, it doesn ’ t work. You know the old adage about learning and cups? ” I shook my head. “ You can only fill an empty cup, Henry. See, most guys *think* they understand women, when they really don ’ t, and that means they can ’ t learn otherwise. Their cups are already filled with a bunch of crap. But you – and please don ’ t take this the wrong way, it ’ s actually a compliment – you strike me as an empty cup. ”
I had to admit that was true. I ’ d never pretended to know what women wanted, never had a relationship that lasted longer than a few months before things inexplicably fell apart. Even when I ’ d been a working engineer, rather than an unemployed borderline alcoholic, it had always been the same. Natasha was perceptive to see that so easily, and I felt myself liking her honesty. “ Okay, but isn ’ t that kind of… cheating? ”
“ Maybe. A little. Would that bother you? ”
“ Well… ”
“ Everybody cheats somehow, Henry. Is it your fault that you spent your life doing a demanding, thankless, and now obsolete job, rather than hanging out in clubs hitting on girls? I think you *deserve* to cheat a little bit. To know, right away, the heart ’ s desire of any woman you meet. ”
I found myself nodding. Then a new objection occurred to me: “ What am I supposed to do, leave it in all the time? If I do get a girlfriend, won ’ t she find out? ”
“ Sure. Eventually. But you ’ ll find yourself needing it less and less, and honestly – ” she leaned forward – “ it ’ s kind of sexy to know a guy would do that for you. That he cares enough to want to understand. ” She straightened and averted her eyes as if she ’ d said too much. It was cute as hell, and just like that, my mind was made up.
“ Okay. How much? ”
“ Just try it. I want to make sure it works before I sell it to you. ”
“ Right here? In the store? ”
“ Sure. ” That brilliant smile again. “ You even have a girl to practice on. ”
I wasted no time fumbling open the little envelope and pouring the chip into my palm. It was an older model, probably EPROM rather than the newer RAM models with internal power supplies – power supplies I ’ d helped design. It wasn ’ t fair, was it? Didn ’ t I deserve a little happiness, after all? I shoved the chip into the slot behind my ear, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, everything looked the same… and yet different. Natasha looked different. I saw a thousand details of her body language that had escaped me before. Lips slightly parted. Pupils dilated. A barely perceptible forward lean. She was interested... in *me! * It was something God Himself couldn ’ t have convinced me of five minutes ago, but now I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. I smiled at her, and the smile had all the confidence of Connery ’ s Bond getting out of a Jaguar on the French Riviera. I reached over the counter and took her fingertips in mine, relishing her little intake of breath. “ Natasha, ” I said casually – my voice seemed to have dropped a couple of octaves – “ I think you ’ re working too hard. ”
“ I am? ”
“ You need a break. Come and have dinner with me. ”
“ It ’ s not dinner time yet… ”
“ I happen to know there ’ s something you ’ d like to do before that. ”
“ There is? ” She looked expectant.
“ You want to come with me to the bank, so I can withdraw every… last… penny… ” – my fingers worked their way up to her wrist and lifted her hand for a kiss – “ from my accounts, and give it all to you. ”
She smiled, the shy version, and lowered her beautiful lashes. “ You know me so well. ” And I knew, I *knew*, it would be worth it.
As she came around the counter, I looked down into the cardboard box. There was only one other envelope – empty, I noticed – and it was stamped “ M.H. ” “ What does that stand for? ” I asked, offhandedly.
She followed my gaze, leaned in close to my ear, and whispered: “ Mata Hari. ”
I laughed again, pure and joyous, and as I held the door for her, I knew it was going to be a good day.
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[ WP ] You 're a ghost who works for a Ouija Board call center . You 're stuck with yet another group of kids trying to talk to demons
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If I ever meet the soul responsible for the ouija board, I will personally take it upon myself to throw them into the deepest pit of hell.
I lazily skim the office with the transparent slits I am burdened to call my eyes. Wandering souls here and there, poor people probably trying to cope with their newfound deformities. There were only two other employees present. One was a good person and the other was evil, I could tell by their appearance. Once you die, your spirit shows who you are on the inside, unlike the living.
I was mediocre. A mediocre person with a mediocre appearance. Not too good, but not repulsive either. I grow at ease to the silence, the occasional taps of keyboards until…
Hello RANDOMLY SELECTED EMPLOYEE # 6783945. You are being connected to OUIJA # 950583. Please wait until you are connected.
Ugh. Another client. I hated my job with a burning passion. Why ’ d I have to be put in a position like this? The annoying waiting music makes me want to die. Again. I watch as the loading screen rotates in midair until…
You are now connected to RILEY. DAVID. CAROLINE. URIAH. NERRY. MARK.O.U.I.J.A wishes you a fun and safe time and reminds you not to attempt escape! Enjoy!
I shiver remembering the last escapee. I look at the clients. Typical. Stupid kids. Just a bunch of teenagers who think it ’ s fun to mess around with spirits. It has to be at least one in the morning. Idiots. I notice how few people there are in the room with me.
Why not have some fun here myself?
The first boy is pale and tattooed, covered in piercings. He has a half shaved head of blue hair and looks completely rachet, may I add. He smiles dumbly as I slip into the board.
MARK asks: Are you a ghost?
No. I ’ m a mongoose, obviously.
YOU say: Yes.
I notice they ’ re eyes widen as I amble over to the S on the board. Why? I mean, they asked. God. This generation…
MARK asks: ……………
Okay, keep quiet, not like I have anyone else to talk to. Jerks these days.
RILEY asks: What ’ s your name?
Her blonde hair slips in front of her small eyes as she talks. She ’ s the only decently dressed out of all of them, long sleeve shirt, well pressed jeans, and she ’ s keeping her composure well.
YOU say: Twenty six. Male. Caucasian.
They blink, bewildered, and begin laughing. Is this a bloody joke? They think I ’ m joking. Can you believe that?
RILEY asks: No. We mean your name.
YOU say: Protection laws. Gosh. What do they teach you kids in school?
At this point they ’ re all laughing. Wow. If I had a physical form I would shoot myself. It ’ s going to be a long night…
The third boy, Nerry, speaks up for the first time. I immediately know it ’ s going to be dumb. His eyebrows are thin and on the top of his head, giving him a permanently shocked expression. His nose and mouth look like he ’ s smelling something gross. I detest people like that.
NERRY asks: When am I going to die?
How the hell should I know?!?
YOU say: You have five days left before a girl named CAROlINE kills you in your car.
Everyone yelps and looks at the stoned blond girl before them. Haha. They fell for it! I ’ ve never stumbled upon a group like these kids before. This ’ ll be fun…
NERRY asks: Why will Caroline kill me?
I quite frankly am making this all up and do not care.
YOU say: Why not?
The blonde girl giggles. She ’ s so high I can ’ t even see her right now, I swear…
The Hot Topic clad boy clears his throat.
DAVID asks: How do we prevent this?
I ’ m having fun.
YOU say: There is no escaping the inevitable. He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.
I literally have to mute out for a second just so that they ’ re loud screams don ’ t deafan me. This is great.
I decide to slip out of the board for a moment. Just to give them a good scare. They screech like frightened children to my delight. I come back a few seconds later.
RILEY asks: What are you doing?
YOU say: I ’ m trying to get fired, kid.
MARK asks: Is this a joke?
He looks so genuinely confused and frightened. It warms my heart, truly.
YOU say: The only joke is my bonus for the financial promotion.
DAVID asks: What?
YOU say: The system is corrupt. I ’ m just an employee. We don ’ t have a union send help. Let me connect you to my manager.
And with that, I disconnect, leaving them to their hormones.
…
I need a coffee.
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[ WP ] In order to escape dreams , you must die in them .
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`` Eyes up, samurai,'' someone orders. I jerk my head up in attention. The room smells dank and is lit by a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Through the walls, I can hear heavy bass kicks and a crowd cheering. The light catches a table covered in guns, blades, and Kevlar. There's a man overshadowing my seat. He wears sunglasses, a black jacket-
Wait. Hang on...
Oh god dammit, not *this* dream.
`` Evening Alex,'' I mumble as I slouch back down.
`` Well, evenin' moody,'' he quips through a heavy Irish accent.
`` I'm not in the mood for this, Al. At all.''
`` You think I am?'' he asks while pointing at himself. `` I'm the one that has to see a pretty face get maimed. You at least get to put on a show!''
`` Oh, I'm flattered,'' I drag out. `` Can I just... I do n't know, take a break?''
`` There's no breaks,'' he grimly states. `` The arena goes until you drop. You know this.''
As I give a sigh of defeat, an idea crops up in the back of my head. Whether or not it's a healthy idea to have is debatable, though.
I stand up and examine the table, Al's walled off gaze following me. Every weapon I can remember using in a video game piles up, with Yoshimitsu's katana taking up the entire bottom row. I take by the handle and remove the sheathe, breathing life into the neon edged blade.
`` Predictable as ever,'' Alex mutters.
I toss the sheathe over my shoulder and put the tip of the blade on my heart.
`` I'm sorry you have to see this!'' I quickly exclaim. My arm drives the katana clean through my torso before I can hear Alex screaming in horror.
-- -
My eyes fly open as I take a sharp breath. I touch my chest, and feel relief that all I feel is cloth and me.
I slowly exhale, both tired and frustrated.
Seems like even my dreams are n't a scape goat from reality.
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[ WP ] In a world where people can only be killed by those they truly love , you are an assassin .
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I was in the bathroom drying my hair. In the bathroom mirror, I could see Robert's body sprawled across the bed. The bullet wound in his forehead had been clean, but now that I had finished showering the blood had blossomed across the bed cover and sunk deep into the sheets and mattress. My instructions had been to make it look like what it was, a hit, and I had done my job. After I got dressed, I collected my few personal belongs from before Robert and I were together. I kept the engagement ring. Sometimes I left them behind, but I hoped the ring and the money from this hit might give me some time before my next job. It can be exhausting getting people to truly love you. I've killed at least a dozen people, mostly men, but something Robert said when I pulled the gun on him had rattled me. I felt older than my 35 years. When I pulled the gun on Robert, he asked if this was what I really wanted, this life that I had. He said he knew what I was and he loved me anyway. I realized turning the moments of our relationship over in my head that he had known from the beginning and he'd let me into his life anyway. I was getting sloppy and Robert was n't who my boss had said he was. There was something else going on. I put the ring in my pocket. I would pawn it, later once I reached a different state and had established my next identity.
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[ WP ] You wake up in your apartment but with no apparent memory . There 's a barrage of several loud knocks on the door just as you notice a viscous blue fluid leaking from your forearm . A black-ops team rappels from a helicopter crashing through your window .
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Listen, I do n't know about five minutes ago, and I do n't know about last year. I do n't know about my job or my
friends or even if I'm a dog or a cat person. Memory is a luxury I do n't have, at the moment.
What I do know is about *right now*, and *right now*, right now, is scattered glass on my floor, loud bangs on my living room door downstairs and men in ropes swinging their way inside my bedroom like an army of Tarzan dudes in Kevlar.
`` Do n't move!'' screams one of them as he lands by my bed, pointing what looks to be an M41 automatic my way. He looks like a counter-strike template.
So, naturally, I move. I roll and duck under the bed just as he and his three friends open fire, and there's other
Tarzan dudes swinging through the window so I better get out is what I'm thinking.
I need to get out but I -- *why is there Powerade Blue coming out of my arm? *
Ok, I'm going to have to deal with the fact that my blood if blue later. Right now mission number one is: roll out of
this bedroom door and run down the stairs before any of these bullets reach my body.
Focus. You can do this. Time to roll. Let's roll. Ready to roll? Ok, roll!
I do, and they immediately open fire at my sight, with bullets casting tiny eruptions of wood and dust in the air behind me – a trail of holes in the floor following my roll out of the room -- but I make it in one piece.
Ok, now run. Run. Run. Run down the stairs. There's still knocking. Should I leave through the back door?
No. It's not one of them. They're coming through the window – makes no sense for them to have another team just
to knock on the front door. Maybe it's the `` Classy Division''. Maybe it's the British, they're always stylish.
Oh, well, even if it is, I ai n't got much of a choice, so let's open this d –
`` Hello, Spencer'', says a man I've never seen before in my life on the other side of the door just as I swing it open.
I hear hurried steps down the stairs behind me, and the man that called me Spencer has a kick ass mustache. `` I would like to ask you to come with me.''
I look back, then I look at him, then I look back again and I see the first pair of boots of one of the Tarzans rushing
down my stairs.
`` I'm serious, if you stay, like, seven more seconds, you'll die.''
I look at him again. Holy shit, I had n't had time to process all this yet, and this is not a good time to start. I'm
freaking out, and I'm freezing. Do something. Do something.
`` Seriously, dude, they're going to start shooting like…. riiiight now.''
He says now at the same time I hear the first bang, which wakes me back to life, which makes me step out the
door, makes me kick it shut, makes me follow mustache man to a motorcycle. I climb, he climbs, we take off. I
pass out.
_________________________________________
`` MK Ultra'', I repeat, taking another sip of the coffee. `` Sounds like the name of an indie, prog rock song.''
`` It's a real thing'', Mustache dude ( whose real name, I found out, is Jeremy, but whom I'll still call Mustache Dude because yeah ) tells me. `` Mind controlling experiment. LSD. Mescaline. Even brain wave analysis and hypnosis.''
`` But you said it ended in the seventies.''
`` Allegedly'', he says, taking a sip of his cup too. `` You and I, we're living proof that it did n't.''
I sigh, looking around. Mustache Dude brought me to some sort of basement. A bunch of scattered files and old
computers and drawings on the wall and the floor give the place a sort of Disney villain's lair vibe. Or the room of a
paranoid detective, obsessed with some serial killer. Whichever metaphor you prefer.
`` And you say these men, they were… they were experiencing on me.''
`` On *us*'', Mustache dude says. `` Look'', he pulls out a knife from his pocket.
`` Woah, wait, what are you –''
`` Calm down'', he says, and he makes a small cut on his forearm. A stream of vivid blue liquid rolls out of it, dripping to the floor.
`` They did it to me, too. Your memory will start coming back, in time. And you'll remember.''
I press my eyes closed, trying to absorb this. `` Ok'', I say. `` Ok'', I say again. `` Ok, ok…''
I said this eleven more times, so let's just cut to the chase. After it stopped, I said:
`` So what did they do to us?''
`` Well, I do n't know about you'', Mustache Dude says, and he's got a crooked smile that's also kind of sad when he says that. *But I can do this. *
He did n't say this last part; his mouth did n't move. I *heard* it, inside my head. He did n't make a sound.
`` You can...''
`` Yeah, I talk with my mind. Quite a skill, huh?''
This is going to require another fainting, probably. In order for me to deal with all this. Two, maybe. `` I need to
rest'', I say, rubbing my eyes. `` I think I might be high on something, and I'm kind of hoping I'll wake up soon. I do n't –''
A loud knock on the door interrupts me, and Mustache Dude looks startled.
*No one's supposed to know we're here*, I hear his voice, inside my head. He gets up. The second knock is louder.
`` Spencer'', he whispers, grabbing a baseball bat from the wall and taking a step towards the door. Third knock. This time, the whole floor shakes.
`` Yeah?'' I ask, getting up too. I do n't think I'm dreaming, and I do n't think I'm high.
Though I wish I was both.
`` I think they found us'', Mustache says. `` I think they're here.''
`` And?''
Fourth knock is not really a knock, but more like an active attempt to bring down the door. And it looks like it'll work with another try.
`` And this would be a perfect time for you to figure out what freaky superpower they gave you, and use it to save our scientifically enhanced asses.''
And then there's a fifth knock and the door comes tumbling down, and the straight, thin line of half a dozen laser
aims cross the room towards us, and, again, I hear a voice that says, `` Do n't move!''
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[ WP ] Humanity has had perfect peace for over 200 years . So why is someone trying to kill you ?
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I had never really been a paranoid person. I think I approached things with more caution than others, but never so much so that it seemed too much. On top of all that paying a little more attention in situations could prove to pay greatly. For example it always impressed people how much I remembered from a certain situation. I would ask if they noticed something and they were shocked that they had n't noticed it themselves, but even moreso that I had been able to pick it out. I feel like that is even how I got my current girlfriend. I would compliment her on things that apparently no one else ever did. Looking back now I'm surprised she did n't take it as me trying too hard, maybe she did notice and liked it. Anyways I had never thought that I would pay too much attention, or force things to be there for me to see. Things that were n't really there. Although as of late I feel like maybe I am going over the top. Like a sixth sense has been going off in the back of my mind. Making me twitch or look twice when maybe I really should n't. I went to work today and everything seemed fine. It also could have been the fact that I was just in autopilot, making my usual commute to work and not really paying anything mind.
A couple weeks had gone by and nothing much had happened. I did go camping with some friends over the weekend. It was a great time and really helped me unwind, relax and re-coop from the work week. I spent most of my time on the water, paddle boarding to be specific. It's such a relaxing thing in my opinion. Connecting with nature, exercising, and to be honest showing off. I just recently got my very own, usually I would just bum off somebody and borrow theirs. They did just build a rental place by the beach of the lake recently so I would rent one from them occasionally. Having your own is really nice though, no time constraints or obligations to get it back to someone soon. Plus I can share it at my own discretion, it's not like you can share someone's board you're already borrowing. My best friend Andrew finally got a chance to try it out since I bought my own. He never really wanted to bother anyone or pay to rent his own, it was fun being able to finally get him on one and show him what I was always going on about. I really liked teaching him, showing him something new. Cool thing was he seemed to catch onto it pretty quick. It's funny how you can almost travel to a different world on that thing, like you do n't have one single responsibility or hang up in the world. Like all things though it came to an end quickly. Almost like I fell asleep and woke up that next Monday, I found myself sitting in my car on the way to work.
Mondays were always the worst part of the week. The company gives almost everyone except a skeleton crew the weekends off. That leaves almost all of the workload built up over the weekend for Monday. Being part of the morning crew it really slammed me. I have to process patent requests and things of that sort. It's not like it's excruciatingly hard work, something you have to use massive brain power for, but it can become tedious at times. I just have to go over if someone has made a patent for something similar before, and if it's too close or different enough to pass. I eventually make it through the day and head out. On the way out my boss said something kind of odd. I waved goodbye and he said, `` drive safe buddy.'' Now what he said in itself is n't weird, but it's who he is that made it weird. He's a man of few words at best and at that he does n't even know me on a personal basis. Peculiar at best, I suppose. I'm driving home and the feelings I was getting the week before were really starting to hit me hard. I was frustrated, I had a great weekend and the workday was n't bad. With all that I still could n't last one day without this... this bullshit paranoia creeping into my head. While I was so caught up in this inner monologue I did n't even realize that the highway had come to a dead stop. I was in the fast lane and I had to slam on my breaks. I let out the biggest sigh of relief that I think I ever had that I did n't hit anybody, luckily the guy behind me was paying attention and had a solid few car lengths between us. We were at a stop for who knows how long. It felt like half an hour, but realistically it had been about ten minutes before we started to move again. I was expecting to come up on some kind of wreck or construction. Something at least. It never came though, literally nothing. At this point the last hour or so had been so weird I did n't have the desire nor reason to try and figure out what happened. Once again I found myself caught up in my thoughts and I was coming up on my exit pretty quickly. Nothing gets me more worked up than bad drivers, so I try to drive decently myself. As politely as I could I cut across 2 lanes to get to my exit in time. I made it to the light at the end of the exit, and without any horns or friendly gestures as well! Something still felt wrong, though. I was looking at the light and the person next to me. She drove a spotless pearly white Audi A4, I was awestruck for a few seconds, daydreaming about owning an R8 one day. After I got over the fact of what she was driving I looked in my rear view and became unsettled pretty quick. I realized why I still had the feeling something was n't right, it was the gentleman behind me when I came up on the traffic.
I started to panic, not visibly, but mentally I was all over the place. Any normal person would have just chalked it up to a coincidence, but I could n't. I do n't know why I could n't, but something was over riding my better judgment. Was it fear, or adrenaline from my imagination going crazy. I was n't sure what to do, but the light was green I had to make a move. I started driving like someone taking their driving test. Hands at 10 and 2, driving 5 under and tense as all hell. I figured if I went slow enough I could force his hand and he would change lanes to pass me. After a few minutes three people slid over from behind him and passed us both. I had to throw that idea out the window. Maybe he was just polite & did n't want to tailgate or overtake me. If that was the case simply changing lanes & letting him pass would be perfect! I made my move and just like that he was behind me. I was losing it at this point. I do n't know if he could see me looking in my rear view as often as I could, but if he was paying attention I'm sure he could tell I was nervous about something. I try to calm myself down and focus on driving. By chance of pure luck I made it through a yellow light he stopped at. If he was following me I do n't think he would of stopped. I relaxed myself and listened to my heartbeat. Trying to slow it down. I finally got home, pulled in the garage, and bounced right up to the garage door into the house. I twisted the knob, pushed forward and proceeded to mash my nose into the door. After swearing and rubbing my nose I tried again more gently. Still to no avail, frustrating and starting to get my heart rate back up. `` Whatever'' I thought angrily and nervous. I turn around to go try the front door and I could n't believe it. It was him, in his blacked out Chevy, tinted side windows and all. Fight or flight kicked in, I had no time to worry about a damn thing aside from run. I sprinted as fast as I could. I got a good head start on him since he had to flip a U-turn. I looked back and he was gaining though, I took a sharp left and lost sight of him. I was running up a sidewalk that led to a dog park and after that a small canyon. I figured for sure I could lose them. The dog park had a parking lot on either side. I saw an exact replica of the chevy pull up on the other side of the park and the one I was running from pull up in the parking lot behind me. Two men get out of the one on the opposite side of the park. I did n't really have time to size them up and I did n't even check to see if the one behind me got out. I do n't know if I had ever ran so fast in my life. I was into the canyon and looking straight down to try and avoid anything that could cause me to trip. As branches hit me everywhere but my feet I could hear someone shout, `` TAKE THE SHOT.'' I heard a small snap followed by a bzzt. I felt something stab into my leg and heard an awful noise resembling a giant bee. It took me a second but I realized they tazed me, I was in excruciating pain and trying to focus on anything i could. It was no use, I felt something pick me up with ease, like I was a feather.
I woke up and it was pitch black, literally nothing. I did n't know if I was even awake. Maybe they killed me. I do n't really believe in the afterlife so I assumed that if I was thinking I was alive. At least I had that to hang onto. My other senses started to come into play, I started sniffing after I got a hint of a smell. It was n't necessarily a bad smell, but it was n't good. It was like stagnate water almost and ceramic almost. I was n't sure. As I was trying to find out where the hell I was I realized my paranoia was n't fake. I was so angry that I did n't trust myself, but how could I, I felt like I was grasping at straws. Making connections that were n't there. As soon as I could try and put together any piece of tangible information about was was going on the lights came on. At least I thought they were lights, I felt like I had a flashlight stabbed into my eyes. Eventually I adjusted to the light and I started to make out where I was. Straight ahead of me was a massive metal door, bigger than it needed to be it seemed. The whole room was small white tiles, almost like some kind of shower room repurposed as a holding cell. In the top corners of the room there were two lights, blaring in my face. I could n't look right at them without squinting, almost I was looking into the sun. I assumed that there were two behind me as well considering I had two shadows of myself going forward.
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[ WP ] In this world , if you sustain a life-ending incident , you do n't die . Instead , there is a day , once a year , where everybody who should have died , dies . It is known across the world as Death Day .
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“ Hello, I ’ d like to report my own murder. ” Drying blood coated the front and back of my shirt and dark smears graced the payphone ’ s numbers. I gave the address quickly and described my killer, a man in covering dark clothes with a duffel bag. I explained that I had to move before he found me again and finished his plan. The thought of the saw he ’ d been carrying made me shudder.
I ran into the night, sprinting without the need for oxygen slowing me down. I ran until I saw the flashing lights on the cars.
At the station they asked me questions. Did I see his face? No, he wore hood and stayed in the dark. Did he say anything? He swore when I started running but I didn ’ t recognize the voice. What was the last thing I remembered? I got out of my car to see if I could help the car next to the road. Then he shot me. And so on.
As the questions progressed, I wondered what I was doing. I was already dead, with barely a month left until Death Day. Why was I even bothering?
“ Sir? Are you… alright? Given the circumstances, that is? ”
“ Can I go? ”
“ Sorry? ”
“ Can I go? I need to call some people. ”
The officer paused. “ I can ’ t stop you, but you can potentially help a lot of people if you stay. ”
I called my parents the next day. Their responses were shocked, then sad. They asked if I needed time before we could start planning for Death Day. I tried to sleep on it and we planned the funeral the morning after that.
I emailed my boss, explained why I wouldn ’ t be coming in for work. I was strangely annoyed by the fact that I wouldn ’ t be getting my paycheck. I told my landlord what happened and was shaking hands with the next renter within the day.
Friends and acquaintances got the news quickly. Some called, some stopped by the apartment. They all gave heartfelt words, promising prayer or hoping for luck, or simply expressing regret. Some of them cried, some of them grimaced as they hugged my corpse. I emptied my fridge and divided my belongings between my friends and I was left in an almost empty room.
As the days went on, I was glad that I ’ d died so near to death day. Finding ways to spend the pointless time was difficult enough as it was. I ’ d kept my TV for the time being, but watching that was about as rewarding as one might expect. I tried eating and drinking, but it just sat in my stomach and made me feel bloated. I took care to keep my body clean, preventing decomposition, but there was only so much time I could spend sterilizing my exsanguinated wounds. A few people suggested I make contact with other corpses, but I didn ’ t see the point; my days were too numbered to bother.
The morning of Death Day was about the most relieved I ’ d ever been. I put on my suit and walked into the street smiling, and saw hundreds of other pallid, smiling faces. I laughed and joked, seeing the relief on everyone ’ s faces. I hugged my parents one last time and climbed into my coffin, still smiling, even as the bell tolled.
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[ WP ] In a dystopian future , an ordinary teenager discovers that they ca n't change the world .
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“ OK, class, lets open our books to page 57, ” Ms. Brookside said.
The students obeyed, and for a few seconds the classroom was noisy with shuffling papers, backpacks zipping open and closed, and chairs scraping against the cheap linoleum floor. Ms. Brookside stood patiently at the front of the room, her pretty brown-blonde hair shining under the otherwise harsh fluorescent light. Lucas realized he was staring and shook his head, like a dog trying to clear water from its ears, and he reached for his own book.
“ So who can tell me what ’ s going on in our story so far? ” said Ms. Brookside.
Phil, that loudmouth, raised his voice. “ Nothing interesting, that ’ s for sure, ” he mouthed off, and the class chuckled as a group before settling down at a glance from Ms. Brookside.
“ I ’ m sorry to hear you think that, Mr. Walters, ” she said with a sarcastic smile at Phil. “ And next time, ” she added, “ please raise your hand before speaking. ” Phil grinned, pleased with himself, and looked back over his shoulder towards his friends in the class for approval. They grinned back at him, and Lucas rolled his eyes.
“ Anyone else care to share their thoughts? ”
Mindy, a pretty girl who sat in front, raised her hand. “ Samuel and his family had just been captured by the People ’ s Front soldiers, ” she said. “ They were taken to a detention camp, and Samuel was trying to get other prisoners together to riot against the guards. They even got some of the guards to fight on their side. ”
“ Very good, ” Ms. Brookside responded. “ Now before we go on, what do you all think of Samuel ’ s motivation here? ”
The class was silent. Nobody wanted to speak first and get the question wrong. As though she were reading everyone ’ s minds, Ms. Brookside said, “ There are no wrong answers here, class. I just want to get your thoughts. ”
Mindy spoke up again. “ It seemed brave, what Samuel was doing, but it didn ’ t seem too smart either. ”
“ How so? ”
Mindy bit her lip. Very cute, Luke thought, then shook his head again. It wouldn ’ t do to go off daydreaming about girls in the middle of class again. He didn ’ t want to get sent down to Administration for not paying attention.
“ Well, ” Mindy continued, “ I would think that he ’ d see all the guards and facilities and things and realize that the People ’ s Front was too powerful to fight against, ”
“ That ’ s an interesting thought, Ms. Franklin, ” Ms. Brookside said with a note of encouragement. “ Anyone else care to contribute? ”
Bob, a quiet kid a few rows back, raised his hand. “ I don ’ t think Samuel was wrong to try to fight against the People ’ s Front, ” he said.
Silence reigned for a few seconds. Lucas looked up at the black dome in the center of the room, certain that the camera inside was rotating on silent gears, refocusing on Bob, and sending everything directly down Administration with a big red flag attached.
“ Why do you say that, Mr. Bartlow? ” Ms. Brookside wore her usual face of congenial curiosity, but Lucas and the rest of the class heard the edge to her voice, even if they didn ’ t know what it meant.
“ Well, ” Bob said, then swallowed as if steeling himself, “ Samuel and his family were rebels, right? They were fighting against the People ’ s Front from the beginning. ”
“ This is true, ” Ms. Brookside allowed, “ But why should that make it right for him to keep fighting? Why should it be right for him to have fought at all? ”
“ Because he was just following his convictions, ” Bob said back, gaining confidence. “ He was fighting for what he believed was right. The rebels wanted everyone to be able to express themselves freely, so it ’ s only natural that Samuel and his family would feel that fighting was the right thing to do. ”
Another boy, Peter, joined in. “ But he had to see that they were beat once they were captured, ” he said directly to Bob.
“ Not necessarily, ” Bob replied. “ The rebels were persuasive, they might have thought they could convert people on the inside and get them to fight with them against the Front. ”
“ Worked out well for them, ” Phil chimed in again, and a few of the class laughed.
“ Well they couldn ’ t have known that at the time, ” Bob replied, as though Phil ’ s comment had been serious. “ Look, the rebels... they had a lot wrong, obviously, but that doesn ’ t mean Samuel and his family didn ’ t think they were on the right side. He thought he was doing what was right, just like the soldiers for the Front thought they were doing what was right by capturing him and putting him in detention in the first place. I mean, even some of the guards in the camp thought Samuel ’ s family had the right idea, once they heard them out. ”
A few students all started to respond at once, but Ms. Brookside took the reins. “ OK, OK, these are all very interesting thoughts. ” She held out her hands as if she was manually pushing the voices back down to a manageable volume, and the class quieted.
She turned back to Bob. “ Mr. Bartlow, you say that Samuel and his family were doing what they believed to be right, just like the soldiers believed what they were doing was right. Could you expand on that, please? ”
Bob looked nervous again. “ I mean, nobody ’ s saying that the soldiers weren ’ t right in the end. Just, that ’ s not how Samuel and his family would have seen it. ”
“ I see, ” Ms. Brookside said, her eyes just a little bit narrower than they were most of the time. “ So would you say Samuel was a sympathetic character? ”
Bob swallowed again, then said, “ I think it ’ s hard not to sympathize with him to some degree. We ’ re reading his letters after all, and he ’ s very... descriptive... when it comes to what happened with his sisters when they were captured... and in the camps... ”
“ I understand what you ’ re saying, ” Ms. Brookside said. “ But keep in mind that Samuel and his family were rebels, and their actions had led directly to the deaths of People ’ s front soldiers and civilians. Doesn ’ t that change anything? ” Her voice was as cold as hard steel now, with a definite edge.
“ Plus, Samuel ’ s sisters weren ’ t raped by the guards, ” said another student, Kevin, beside Bob. “ The Front has always been against sexual violence. The rebels did that to each other, and the letters are very clear that the guards put a stop to it when they found out. ”
“ I... I suppose so... ” Bob replied, without conviction. He stared into Ms. Brookside ’ s eyes and she held his gaze, looking like a snake staring into the eyes of a terrified mouse, ready to strike.
Instead she turned away, back towards the board, and walked behind her desk. In a second she was all smiles and sunshine again, the light playing off her hair, her smile and eyes captivating every student in the room, especially the boys.
“ So, in light of that... illuminating discussion, can anyone explain to me what happened to Samuel and his family? ”
It took a moment for anyone to speak up, but finally Mindy raised her hand again. “ Their plans were discovered, ” she said. “ They weren ’ t aware the People ’ s Front had designed covert surveillance tools to monitor the detainees, and Samuel and his family were executed for Grand Treason against the People ’ s Front. ”
“ That ’ s correct, ” Ms. Brookside responded. “ Samuel McCloud ’ s letters were later discovered with his personal effects, and the Grand Marshalls believed they would provide a rarely-seen insight into the minds of the rebels and how their psychological terrorism can sway even the best of us if we aren ’ t careful. ”
She looked around the classroom again. Lucas hadn ’ t said anything during the whole period, a fact that would surely be noted, but neither had several other students. Hopefully it wouldn ’ t reflect too badly on his daily security report.
“ Your assignment for tomorrow is to read the next chapter in your Personal Histories book, from Private Daniel Parin. He fought against the rebels in the Battle of New England, and his letters describe firsthand the tactics used by the rebels in the fighting against People ’ s Front soldiers. ”
The bell rang, and Luke stuffed his book back into his bag and stood up, waiting. Everyone else did the same, and once they were all standing, Ms. Brookside led them in the Pledge.
“ I pledge my allegiance to the United People ’ s Front, ” they said in unison, “ and to the values for which it stands. I pledge my liberty and my life, and I pledge to never speak against her, fight against her ideals, or hold her God in vain. Amen. ”
The students filed out in an orderly line. Lucas noticed a couple of men in suits waiting across the hall from the classroom door, and he slowed his pace as he stepped into the hallway. When he was a few meters away, he heard one of them say, “ Mr. Bartlow? We ’ d like you to come down to Administration with us, ” and then they fell out of earshot.
Luke ’ s heart pounded against his chest - he knew Bob probably wouldn ’ t be back in class tomorrow, or the next day. His backpack suddenly felt heavy against his shoulders, and the large book of wartime letters and correspondence inside it weighed against his spine. For a second he was tempted to take it out and toss it in the garbage, to rip out all the pages and scream like an animal, to throw the letters in the faces of his teachers and classmates and ask them if they knew what fools they were - but instead he took a deep breath, looked deep into the black dome above his head, and put one foot in front of the other until he found himself in his next class.
Best to just forget about the whole thing.
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[ WP ] A rusty old sword leaned against the fireplace ; it was the only weapon in sight .
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This is my first prompt so be gentle...
She woke up slowly, like a heavy fog was lifting. She tried to move only to realize that she was being held down, and not by ropes, no it felt like clamps around her wrists and ankles and some sort of cloth was covering her eyes. She tested their strength and knew she could n't just bust out of them on her own, she'd have to wait and see what was going to happen. She wondered who had grabbed her this time. She thought that moving to Rio would finally take her off of everyone's radars, God knew she'd been targeted long enough. Did n't anyone get bored chasing after her?
`` Hello? Who's there? What's going on?'' she called out, hoping to sound as confused as possible. She heard a smaller door slide open and a low growl could be heard.
A voice came over what she assumed was a speaker system set up in the room, `` Good luck Diana. I hope you live up to all the rumors I've heard about you.'' And with that the bindings came undone and she quickly tore the blindfold off. She spotted the small door in time to see the large cat, a tiger of all things, throw itself at her. She rolled out of the way and scanned the room for a weapon of any kind. A rusty old sword leaned against the fireplace; it was the only weapon in sight.
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[ WP ] Do your best to describe a color .
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Step on a lego piece
An upturned plug
A stranger takes the last seat on the bus
A kid yells and screams, he throws a tantrum and his parents dont care
Another sex offender grins on the front page as he walks free from jail
Politicians in scandals they wont get prosecuted for
A papercut
Your train is delayed again
You paid hundreds for your ticket but theres no guard to be seen
You forgot your bag on the train, you'll porobably never see it or anything inside it again
Late to work and your boss is mad at you
Your co workers are loud, lazy and inconsiderate
The price of your meal is expensive again
On the train home it smells like vomit booze and piss
Bus is late
Your keys were in your bag so you walk in through the back door, broken open by a burglar last week
The house is a mess and your child is yelling at the top of his lungs racial slurs on his console
you trip on the stairs on your way up to your bed
Open the door and you see your spouse in bed with someone else
You look down at your wedding ring, and then back up again
The colour red.
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[ WP ] While learning another language on an online program , the sentences are starting to get ... disturbing .
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Michael knew he had to win over his new love, Marta. She was beautiful, but the only problem was that she only spoke Spanish. Michael became determined to learn the language. He resorted to online lessons.
Michael was given the vocabulary, then given a Spanish sentence and told to translate it.
The first sentence translated to: I like cats.
The second sentence translated to: Mother likes cats.
The third sentence translated to: I am Daddy.
Michael still carried on, not finding anything weird yet.
The next sentence read: You are Michael.
Michael rolled back in his chair, legs fully extended. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, then grabbed the desk and pulled his chair back into position. He was intrigued at first, then shook off the whole deal and passed it off as a mere coincidence.
Michael pressed `` Next Question.''
The screen read, `` Papá córnea, Michael.''
Michael took a few seconds to piece together the sentence. His face remained straight as he slowly leaned back into the chair.
`` Daddy horny, Michael.''
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[ EU ] Rust Chole is chosen to give the commencement speech at your graduation . The messege is ... off-putting .
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`` What do you think the average IQ of this room is? Today is the youngest you will ever be. Every hour, every minute forward is closer to your death in the linear timeline that you people all refuse to question. The truth is time is a construct of your own imagination. It's an illusion, a flat circle. I've walked it a million times and I will walk it again. You're going to go off to your colleges, and your jobs. You will go forth believing that in this moment, your diploma, this insignificant piece of paper will open up opportunities for you. You'll accept this unified criteria that has been spoon fed to you since the day you are born that each of you is God's precious little gift to humanity. But can you prove with epistemic certainty that he even exists. Can you for once open your mind to the possibility that all the work you've done and been so proud of is just cultural programming designed to keep you in line, and breed a subconscious submission to authority? Think about it, because I'm tired of waking up to the same nightmare every day. Thanks for the free food. Other than that this has been a waste of my fucking day.''
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[ CW ] Write the single most fantastic , interesting , outrageous , badass and mind-blowingly epic story ... about being a dentist .
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My name is Lemming. Arthur lemming, BDA. Thats the British Dental Association for you americans. The BDA is like the scotland yard of british dentists, always chasing down dental criminals, filling thieves, cut rate teeth pullers, that sort of thing. Dentistry can be a nasty business, and this case was one of the worst, so the BDA sent their best. My mission was to locate the individual known only as `` the big cheese''. My only lead was a second hand bookstore in brighton, a suspected front for one of the big cheese's operations. I had to go undercover.
I arrived in Brighton one rainy Wednesday, and under my cover identity as sigfried molarson, I entered the bookshop, the bell on the door waking the clerk dozing off behind the counter. As i walked towards him, he glanced around nervously before greeting me with a shaky `` oh.. Er... Good morning!''
I replied with a similar greeting, and was asked what I was looking for. I told the clerk I wanted to buy a book, and he jumped. He was suprised someone was asking for a book in a bookstore? Suspicious.. But not as suspicious as what happened next. He told me they didnt have any. Sold Right out of books. Now, normally I wouldnt question a store clerk's knowledge of his stock, but something was right off. There were piles of books on the desk, the shelves were packed with books, and he was busily shoving other books under his shirt, trying to hide them.
`` Well, what about those?'' I asked.
`` What? These.. Oh... Uh.. These books... They've been sold. Every last man jack of them, sold. Good morning!'' was his reply as he started to try to hustle me towards the door. This was definitely starting to look suspicious.
`` Sold? To who?'' I asked.
`` Oh, you know various... Good lord, is that the time? I must close for lunch'' and with this he started guiding me towards the door. I glanced at my watch. 10:30. A bit early for lunch.
`` lunch? Its only half past ten'' i asked, determined to catch him out.
`` Ah yes, im feeling rather peckish today, i think ill close and just have a really good feast, and take the afternoon off. I say! Look at that bookstore across the street, i bet its got tons of books, all waiting for you to buy them! Good morning!'' and with this the door was open, and i was being propelled towards the street. I dug in my heels, i wasnt giving up this easy. Lemming of the bda NEVER gives up.
`` But I was told to come here!'' I protested, and suddenly I was pulled back into the shop and fixed with a suspicious gaze.
`` Well. Well I see'' he mumbled, half to himself. He paused for a second before looking me in the eye and cautiously saying `` I hear the gooseberries are doing well this year, and so are the mangoes.''
I looked at him blankly, but inside i was cheering. I was rather certain something was going on, but I'd need to keep my cover intact long enough to find out just what exactly that was.. So i played dumb, and asked him to repeat himself.
`` I was just saying, with the weather recently that I hear the gooseberries are doing well this year, and so are the mangoes.''
`` Mine are n't'' I replied.
`` Go on.. `` he said.
`` What?'' I asked. He paused, confused.
`` Are n't you going to say something about'mine are n't but the Big Cheese gets his at low tide tonight?''. I knew then this was the place.
`` No'' I replied, and like that his nervousness passed, and he started pushing me out of the door before suddenly yanking me back inside, and closing the door.
`` Wait. Who sent you?'' he demanded. `` The little old lady who runs the sweetshop down the road'' I told him.
He thought about this `` she didnt have a scar just here'' he asked, pointing to his face `` and a hook for a hand?''
I paused before replying with an uncertain `` no'', much as sigfried would have done, had he not been invented this morning.
`` Oh, uh I was thinking of someone else! Good morning!'' and started herding me towards the door. I had to act fast.
`` Hang on'' I said. `` There's something going on here.''
`` nope'' was the response `` nothing going on here, look what book do you want?''
This was my moment.
`` I was looking for a copy of an illustrated history of false teeth''. This stopped him in his tracks. Fixing me with a hostile glare, he muttered `` my god you've got guts.'' suddenly a pistol appeared in his hand, its barrel a bottomless pit just in front of my nose. `` Just what do you know?'' he demanded. I could see that i had to tread carefully.
`` What about?'' I asked, innocently. `` Are you from the British Dental Association?'' he asked, clearly getting more agitated. Well, I had a cover prepared for this.
`` No I'm a tobacconist.'' was my reply.
`` Get away from that door.'' he snapped, gesturing with the pistol. I had what i needed, it was time to leave. I started to say `` I'll just go over the other...'' but was interrupted before i could finish. `` Stay where you are.'' the bookseller barked `` You'll never leave this bookshop alive.''
`` Why not?'' I asked.
`` You know too much, my dental friend.'' was the reply. I told him no, i did n't know anything, but the inquiry continued.
`` Come clean. You're a dentist are n't you?''. `` No, I'm a tobacconist.'' I replied.
`` A tobacconist who just happens to be buying a book on teeth? Thats funny. `` and laughed in a way that said he didnt think it was particularly funny.
All of a sudden i heard a gravely voice behind me saying `` Drop that gun, Stapleton.'' the bookseller stiffened and exclaimed
`` Lafarge!''. A look of terror passed over his face and he dropped the gun, raising his hands over his head. I turned around and saw a short man in a dark jacket pointing a revolver at me and the bookseller, who I now knew to be called Stapleton.
`` There is something going on'' I said. With his hands still above his head, Stapleton quickly replied `` No there is n't.'' before both of our attentions were fixed on the newcomer as he began his interrogation.
`` OK Stapleton, this is it. Where's Mahoney hidden the fillings?''
`` What fillings?'' replied the bookseller, trying to play dumb, rather badly if i might add. Gesturing aggressively with his revolver, Lefarge said
`` You know which fillings, Stapleton. Upper right two and four, lower right three and two lower left one. Come on. Remember what happened to Nigel.''
`` What happened to Nigel?'' i asked
`` Orthodontic Jake gave him a gelignite mouth wash.'' was the reply from stapleton.
`` I knew there was something going on.'' i muttered, but he heard me.
`` Well there is n't.'' was his riposte, but i could tell i was wearing him down.
Lafarge inturruped this lovely moment, demanding `` Come on Stapleton. The fillings!''
`` They're at 22 Wimpole Street.'' the bookseller stammered. This answer didnt please Lafarge, who barked `` dont play games with me Stapleton!'' and jabbed the bookseller in the eye with his revolver
`` Ow!! 22a Wimpole Street. But you'll need an appointment.'' was the pained reply from staqpleton, still clutching his eye.
`` Thats better'' said Lafarge, heading over to the door and shouting `` Brian! Make with the appointment baby. No gas.''
While Lafarge was thus distracted, two figures entered the bookstore from the back room. One was a beautiful woman dressed in nursing scrubs and carrying a surgical tray, and the other... I can only describe as a cross between a pirate and a dentist, wielding a submachine gun. The pirate spoke
`` Not so fast Lafarge!''
`` Van der Berg!'' was Lafarge's stunned response to this intrustion.
`` Yes. Now drop the roscoe.'' said the pirate, covering Lafarge with his gun.
`` There IS something going on.'' i muttered again. `` No there is n't.'' replied Stapleton. The two of us were becoming fast friends, it seemed.
`` Get the guns.'' growled the piratarical figure
The nurse ran forward, picked up the gun dropped by Lafarge and put it on her steel surgeon's tray, before returning to the pirate's side.
`` Who's that?'' I asked Stapleton.
`` That's Van der Berg. He's on our side.'' was the reply. As i processed this, Van der Berg growled `` All right, get up against the wall Lafarge, and you too Stapleton.''
There was a stunned pause before the bookseller stammered out a ``... Me? ``
`` Yes, you!'' Van der Berg barked, with an evil grin.
`` What's happened?'' i whisperd to Stapleton as we backed into the wall.
`` He's two-timed me.'' was the curt response.
`` Bad luck.'' was all I had time to say before Van der Berg started yelling.
`` All right, where are the fillings? Answer me, where are they?''
Distracted by his questioning, Van der Berg failed to hear the doorbel chime as another figure entered the shop. This one was even stranger than the piratical Van der Berg, dressed in operating scrubs, and carrying a bazooka.
`` Not so fast.'' shouted the newcomer, eliciting a startled gasp of `` Brian!'' from the group being menaced by Van der Berg.
`` All right. Get against the wall Van der Berg, and you nurse. And the first one to try anything moves to a practice six feet underground. This is an anti-tank gun and it's loaded and you've just got five seconds to tell me whatever happened to Baby Jane?'' shouted Brian. There was a moment of stunned silence, before we all said `` what?''.
`` Oh... I'm sorry... my mind was wandering... I've had a terrible day... I really have... you've got five seconds to tell me... I've forgotten. I've forgotten.'' yelled Brian, trailing off into an awkward mutter.
`` The five seconds have n't started yet have they?'' asked Stapleton.
`` Only we do n't know the question.'' said Van der Berg pleasingly.
`` Was it about Vogler?'' I asked, trying to be helpful.
`` No no no... you've got five seconds to tell me...'' started Brian uncertainly before trailing off again.
`` About Nigel?'' asked Van der Berg
`` Bronski?'' asked Lafarge
`` No. No. `` replied Brian hesitantly, unsure of himself. I racked my brain trying to think what he could be after. Of course!
`` The fillings!'' I said, proud of myself.
Cont. In next post.
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[ WP ] Write the tragic story of a brother and sister fighting on opposite sides of a war .
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It was World War II. Training had ended 2 months prior and I was just about to go into battle. I thought about Germany ever since my brother left for university there. I was excited, or at least I pretended to be. Secretly, I braced the fire of the war, and tried not to thing about it.
As we were given our first orders, we quickly flanked left.
`` Forward March!''
We were about halfway into the forest, and the fighting started there. It was an ambush. Twenty five of our men went down in a platoon of 35. With only ten of us left, I pushed back to basic training, when my general commander said,
*'' If you stay low and aim high, that will never work. You have to get up and aim to the ground'' *
I was able to kill off most of the remaining Germans.
***Holy Crap***
I saw my brother. Standing in a tree, just barely hanging on. He managed to pull himself up. I quickly called out his name.
`` Eric?''
He turned to me, with a confused look. He then widened his eyes and knew what was going on.
Two things happened at that moment. I begun to realize that not everything in this world can happen the way you want it to. I also realized how loud the sound of an M-40 rifle was when you fired it at a tree.
I was in shock. I climbed over the tree trunks, but could n't find him.
And somehow, I was ok with that.
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[ EU ] Ye arrr a PIRATE , Arry !
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Get off my ass, you wee bitty fuck
If I pull out the Claymore you're shit outta luck
Who's that girl, that pretty young thing?
After I fuck her she'll get up and sing
Aye aye aye, sharpen your boots and bludgeon your eye
Aye aye aye, the blarney stone brings a tear to me eye
Down to the pub for a two shilling Ale
The bread on the counter is going stale
If I do n't get some fresh bread soon
Gon na punch you in your face and bark at the moon
Aye aye aye, sharpen your boots and bludgeon your eye
Aye aye aye, the blarney stone brings a tear to me eye
Ai n't got no girl'cuz I have n't the time
Got too many other things on me mind
Patty was nice, she was pale and cute
But I threw her away like an old piece of fruit
-Ween `` The Blarney Stone''
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[ WP ] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability . A test is done at birth to determine these , if they are n't already apparent . You , well , you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed .
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`` Before we begin, I'm required by law and policy to inform you that when speaking with me, you'll only be able to answer the truth. With that in mind, presuming you still wish to continue, how did an underdog and a no-name like yourself come out of the dark to become this year's champion?'' A journalist asked the recent winner of the most prestigious world-wide combat tournament.
`` I had grown up my whole life quiet. My parents were the only ones who really knew my powers, and they were too embarrassed by them to say anything to anyone. It was always'Hun, you're special because you're the only one who is n't.' but what child wants to hear that?''
The interviewer looked back at the gold medalist, unsure how to respond, so he continued.
`` I went to school, I kept my head down, got picked on frequently by those with the more fantastic powers, and kept myself in check. You see everyone has powers and disabilites to a certain degree. some more powerful than others. My speed was one of the highest on the spectrum, but when asked what my power was, I always kept to myself. I just said it was a'personal' thing, and to leave me alone. The bullies were ruthless. Trying to tease, or trick, or even beat my secret out of me. Testing me until I broke, or exploded, or what have you. They did n't realize that I was already just as smart or smarter than those with super smarts, not simply because I could understand unfathomable depth of intellect, but because within an hour of studying, them understanding everything as they came across it, I had *learned* it. I gained information, then I dissected it. I processed it an infinite amount faster than the fastest computer. By the time I had finished the information, I did n't just understand it, I understood everything about it. Not just the material, but the why, the applicable tangents, counter arguments, everything. When I was picked on, it was like a bunch of ants on a dinner plate. I was never angry at such simple beasts, I simply brushed them off and continued my existence.''
`` I see.'' the journalist responded. `` So how did you go from there to where you are?''
`` Well I played out all of the scenarios with my'tormentors', but none ended well.''
`` For you or them?''
The champion hesitated, and moved forward. ``... Up until registration, I did n't think anything of signing on. But then I realized I would win, so I did. It was simple as that.''
`` Not many people would have favored a wheelchair-bound contestant in a fight to the death. What did you do to change their minds?''
`` I did n't. I do n't care for the public's opinion. I decided to win, so quite simply, it was going to happen. I presume most thought that someone wheeling into the battle arena on a chair would have flight, or laser vision, or could shoot fireballs, or one of the more offensive abilities. All I simply had to do was analyze the opponent, pinpoint their weak point, and exploit it until most of my opponents had destroyed themselves.
The arena's are nested with offensive and defensive weapons to increase the appeal of the battles, and I always chose the defensive weapons. I waited then struck. Same as always.
Those with super speed ended up relying on their physical prowess to much. They were overcome with a simple slip and a thrown disk or shield to the head. Pyro's burnt themselves out while I wheeled around their attacks with ease. Then they got infuriated and made the mistake of getting too close. All abilities have incorporated weaknesses aside from any given individual's disability whatever it may be.''
`` Well, there ca n't be a sure win-all for every type of ability though. Everyone is different even if the abilities are similar.''
`` No doubt everyone has a personality, and everyone is their own unique being. That being said, with similar abilities come similar disadvantages. I won because I'm patient, analytic, and I wo n't be overcome by those who think themselves better than I. The Revive Tech's would repair any of the damage done to the other contestants. I felt no guilt. The only thing that would n't be repaired was their pride. In destroying their ego, I found a way to beat them in which the outcome was only good. At least, good for me.''
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[ WP ] In order to prevent man from chopping them down , trees evolve a rather unusual feature - WiFi . However , the network they are connected to is not the Internet as we know it .
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`` Dr. Kenning, you're telling this committee, that the trees are holding their breath?'' asked the Senator.
`` Yes, sir. Furthermore, the absence of transvaporation and supplemental oxygen into the atmosphere is already modifying the climate.'' said Dr. Kenning.
``... and they did this all at once last Tuesday?''
`` Yes, sir. At the onset of this season's logging operations in the Boreal forest, chemical markers, originating from the trees began propagating through the soil and air. Neighboring trees absorbed the markers and...''
`` They spread the word that they were being harvested.''
`` Correct, sir. Since then we've traced additional markers, some with very specific structures, matching certain species or individual plants; we believe it's a communication network.''
`` This is difficult to swallow doctor. The trees are instant messaging each other?''
`` More or less, sir. Other species of plants are beginning to join the network. We estimate the entire plant population will have joined by next Saturday. We're not sure how long they will live without carbon dioxide though.''
`` I suspect that would be a difficult option to live with. Well, can you at least figure out what they want?''
`` Yes, sir. Stop.''
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[ WP ] A boy explores a large abandoned house and soon realizes that the house and its contents are directly representative of his own thoughts and psyche . What is in the basement ?
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Peter jogged up to the abandoned house to escape the rain. If it were n't for the foreclosed sign posted in front of the door, you'd never know it was abandoned. The paint looked fresh, the landscaping was pristine, and the porch was so clean it looked like it was built yesterday. Peter's phone was n't working, and he hoped to find a working one so he could call a tow truck to help him move his Mercedes. He peeked inside the edge of the window, where the curtain revealed a sliver of the interior of the house. To his surprise, there were furnishings. Peter wondered if perhaps they had functioning phone in there. The door was unlocked, so he stepped in.
As he entered, the lights turned on automatically. `` A smart house,'' Peter said to himself, `` how cool is that?''
The living room was grandiose, with gaudy accents and gold trimming. Peter loved it; it was right up his alley. He sat on the white couch and found it to be extremely comfortable.
`` Hello?'' he called out. No response.
He walked to another room and found a large television, a mini fridge, a pool table, and a bar area.
`` Holy shit, this is awesome,'' he said.
The mini fridge was fully stocked with his favorite beers. He picked one up and took a swig. The television turned on and had the NFL network tuned in. Peter nodded in approval and sat on the recliner directly in front. He was in heaven, and did n't even give any thought to the fact that a foreclosed house had running electricity, cold beer, and cable. He would think of something to watch, and the television would change channels. That bit gave him pause.
`` What the fuck?''
He thought of a funny stand-up comedian he watched a few weeks prior, and the television switched to a channel with the comedian. He remembered a woman he slept with recently, and the channel became pornographic. He looked around, and what should have been panic ended up making him laugh. As he finished his beer, he went to grab another, but stopped short of opening the fridge. He thought of Jack Daniels. He opened the fridge.
There was a can of Coke inside. He looked to the bar area and saw a bottle of Jack Daniels. A smirk lined his face as he took the can to the bar and made himself a drink.
He made his way around the house, finding other rooms, and completely forgetting about the fact that he was there to find a phone. The kitchen was large, with a brick oven and yet another bar.
`` Fuck yeah, man!''
The dining room had a long table capable of seating 24, with marble statues lining the walls. The master bedroom had the softest king bed he had ever laid upon, and the master bath had a giant Roman tub with gold accents. He bathed in it, and it was the best bath he ever had.
In the game room, there were classic arcade machines, a skee-ball machine, and a ping pong table. He stood in the room and thought an air hockey table would be more fun than a ping pong table. Just like that, the ping pong table became an air hockey table. He grinned devilishly. He made his way to the master bedroom and looked at the bed. He thought of the woman he last slept with, and thought it would be great to sleep with her again. No sooner than he had that thought, she was there, and he had his way with her. Once he was satisfied and she was anticipating her climax, he put her out of his mind and she was gone. He laughed joyously.
He continued exploring the house; the yard, the library, the office, the laundry room, the breakfast nook. Everything played to his ideals and his wishes. He got everything he wanted. He always got everything he wanted.
On his way back to the entertainment room to watch some television, he noticed a door under the staircase, nearly imperceptible as it blended in with the wall almost perfectly. He opened the door. The lights did n't automatically turn on like the rest of it.
`` Lights... on,'' he said, expecting something to happen.
Wondering why it did n't work, he kept the door open and began walking down the steps. He knew it was the basement. *It must be wired differently*, he thought. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he pulled the little chain dangling above him, and the lights flickered on.
The room was cold, dimly lit, and dusty. In the center, which was about 40 steps away from him, was a small crib. His stomach began to ache. A baby began to cry, faintly. He shook his head and began to step backward. The crying intensified. He began to think of cold beer, football, and sexy women. The lights flickered, and the crib grew in size. His heart raced. The baby cried louder. Louder. LOUDER. He ran up the stairs as fast as he could. He slammed the door behind him. The football game in the background echoed in his mind. His heart rate normalized as he caught his breath. He walked to the TV, sat down on the recliner, and tried to relax. He did whatever he could to get his mind off of it. He focused on the television.
`` Two touchdowns in the last game,'' the announcer said, `` if that's the sort of play we're lookin' at today, then we're in for some great football.'' A commercial comes on, it's an ad for diapers. Peter quickly thinks of a different channel, and it tunes to ESPN.
`` The Clippers acquired Glen'Big Baby' Davis...''
He thought of a different channel, this time music.
`` Baby, baby, baby, ooooh...''
He panicked and turned the TV off. He opened the fridge for a beer, and instead was greeted with a baby's bottle of milk.
He shot up.
`` STOP IT,'' he yelled, `` STOP IT NOW!''
The television turned back on, and a song began to play.
`` And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man on the moon,
When you comin' home, dad, I do n't know when...''
Peter thrashed about, yelling obscenities and smashing things in the room as the song continued playing. As he thought of different things to diffuse the situation, the house had its own plan. The room now looked like a nursery. He stepped into the living room, and the gaudy accents and gold trimming became stuffed animals and baby blue walls.
He ran out of the house, still hearing the music playing, and the lawn was full of children's toys. He dodged the blocks and tricycle, and continued to speed off int the rain, once again running from his son even when he had everything he wanted.
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[ WP ] An admiral finally comes home .
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It had been too long.
As he left the car, he stood there, in front of her house, in a moment of thought.
He had been on ship for a long amount of time.
Countless comrades lost, to the sea, the hunger or the enemys.
In the end they all died the same way, sinking deep down the ocean, never to be seen again.
Yet he survived all the challenges given to him, he worked his way up to the top.
Once he was only an ordinary seaman, but through hard work and skill he climbed the ranks, till he controlled one of the largest fleet in the history of his country.
Together with his man he fought bounteous battles, many won, but enough lost to feel guilty and sad for all those friends he lost.
He was respected for his duty for the people of his land, he had been a wise and fair admiral.
But now he stood his greatest challenge.
It had been 7 years since he left her, just married and pregnant with his son.
They wrote countless letters, she even sent him many pictures of his son, but they made him incredibly sad, having to watch his son growing up and getting out of childhood without him being able to support him, to teach him and be the father he truly needs.
Did she have another man? Would his son love him, or would he see a foreign man?
He didnt know. But he still had hope.
So he went inside
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[ WP ] A serial killer notices that his shadow is getting just a little bit bigger for every person he kills .
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The sunset draws a man's soul long. The way the twilight approaches and that star runs away from you, out to the other side of the Earth. It does n't want you, does n't care to warm you. After a while, you do n't want it. You forget the warmth.
I used to get jealous of the people on the other side. At night, I'd lay awake and dream of the skin on their faces. How it would be warm, yellowy, almost moving even in deadpan. I'd dream of other things. The plants would bloom and bask, the people in the cities would sprint along in their circuitous patterns like blood through veins, the cars would puttputt and growl down streets. And there I was. In the cold. The dark. The cars were parked, the people slept, the flowers withdrew.
I'd wake and hate myself for bowing to the sun, who'd left me. Then I thought of those others who'd bowed, submitted to its flight and responded by drifting off into dreams where they could see the sun again. They sickened me, and little by little, so did everything else. Wanton was the sun and all those under it, and so, in an effort to blight the sun, I began to snuff out the little babbling candles it set afire. I started killing people.
Usually, I would wake up with the sunrise. As it began its swift arc, I would wave to it. It would only blaze dully back, ignoring me. No matter; soon it would be unable to keep such silence.
Those whom I chose for victims tended to be more or less happy and comfortable. Nothing bad ever happened to them. They took life lightly. They were born under a good star. So I developed a method for reminding them of the pain their good star ignored. At night, I would find those walking home to dream and forget the blanketed chill of the night, and I would disable them ( a knock of the kneecap, a blow to the head, what have you. ), stuff them into the trunk of my car and drive to my tiny little home on the outskirts.
Once we arrived, I'd drag them out of the trunk and down into my basement, far into the dark of the cellar. As soon as I'd overcome any resistance, I would strap them down to one of my comfier mattresses and drug them with stimulants to keep them awake. As soon as I saw the drugs taking hold of the subjects, I would blind them with my thumbs - pressure increasing till the balls went POP - and leave them to scream for the light they would never see again. Usually after an hour, they would calm down and begin to murmur to themselves endlessly. They'd tell themselves it was one of their dreams and beg to wake up, or they'd pray to their big old God to help them, or they'd start moaning for the end to come. These last ones I killed quick. They'd lost their illusions. They'd seen that their sun had left them, and they accepted the cruel joke played on them. They deserved the dark.
The others, I tortured. I mocked them for their warm, loving lives. I pricked them full of small holes so they'd go cold quick. I burned their flesh with hot knives, hot wires, radiators, light bulbs, lighters, and screamed at them for their ignorance until their ears bled. I filled the room with fluorescent lights they'd never see. I hated them and they hated me, but by the end they all begged for the same thing: the cold, the empty. And I gave it to them.
This went on for years and years, and I felt nothing. Everyday, I woke up with a new victim in the cellar, and as I brought it out to the car, getting ready to drive it away to another remote location for burial. I would wave at the sun and it would say nothing. So I would keep killing. But one day, after I was finished burying a chartered accountant named Paul in the desert, I noticed something. At high noon the sun bore down upon me from zenith of its daily tour of the sky, preparing to begin leaving me yet again. After I packed the last of the dusty sand over Paul's mutilated body, I took a look up and waved. But when I looked down, I saw something I should n't have.
My shadow.
At high noon my shadow stretched twelve feet behind me, and mimicked my every movement, but darker. At first, I was confused at what it meant. The physics of it all made no sense and I racked my brain for answers. And then I looked up and I saw my answer: The sun was mocking me. For all my effort to destroy that cursed strumpet, it was giving me the one thing I hated most. The twilight shadow. The one you see limp behind you right before the sun disappears. The sign that your day is over, and the sun you love has left you.
I looked up, and chuckled bitterly to myself. The sunset draws a man's soul long.
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[ WP ] The sun nearly dipped beneath the snowy , windswept horizon . I stood , cold and aching , watching the dogteam pull the sled , my supplies , and shelter into distant , fading light . I shouldered my rifle aiming at the lead dog leading them away , knowing I had only a moment to stop her , my best friend .
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The snow whipped against my face as the wind blew, casting everything into a wispy white fog. I could barely see Helga, my lead dog, less than a dozen meters in front of me. The trees flashed by, colossal pillars just an arm's length away, the dogs instinctively leading the sled around them. We had been travelling for several days now, and we still had a few days left before the next supply depot where we could stop and recoup.
I shivered from the cold, and put my mind on other things, observing the perfect rhythm of the team as it pulled us through the forest. I did n't even need to shout orders, they were in perfect sync and knew exactly what to do. The little light that could get through the wispy snow was quickly disappearing, and I made a mental note to count a few more minutes before having them stop for the night.
The river appeared so suddenly that the dogs did n't even think to stop, and one second we were over a layer of packed snow and the next we were careening over the slick ice. I gripped the sled tighter as it tipped, but one of the dogs panicked, jerking it the other way and I felt myself falling.
I hit the ice with a heavy thud and struggled to yell for the team to stop. My left arm was numb from where how I had fallen on it, and it might be broken or dislocated. I yelled, but immediately knew they could n't hear me, and they were gone, lost in the snow. The sun was quickly falling and I knew I would n't survive alone in this cold. A wolf howled in the distance, as if to remind me that I would make a very tasty dinner. I unslung my rifle and shouldered it, aiming towards the direction they were running, and as the snow parted, I saw Helga, still leading the team in beautiful harmony.
I paused, watching them through the sight of my rifle. The sun was dipping beneath the snowy, windswept horizon. I stood, cold and aching, my arm still numb, watching the dogteam pull the sled, my supplies and shelter into the distant, fading light. I fingered the trigger, aiming at her as she lead them away, knowing I had only a moment to stop her, my best friend. A tear rolled down my face as I squeezed the trigger and felt the kick of my rifle against my shoulder and I hoped and dreaded that I had hit her.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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[ WP ] You are a college student taking a quiet girl out on a first date . How does it go down ?
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The more he thought about it, Andy started to realize just how absurd his situation was.
No less than three days ago, he had met a strange girl in a cozy, little library down by the cafe of his college. She had decided to approach him without word nor sound at all besides the rustling of papers when she dug into her bag for a little piece of paper.
*Hello. My name is Lara. Would you please go on a date with me? *
Baffled as he was, Andy could only reply with the smallest amount of confidence and reason as he could.
`` Uhh... yeah, wait, what was that?''
Lara smiled a wide, white grin and sped off. The boy simply remained there dumbstruck for half-a-second before deciding that he would n't waste any more time wondering about what just happened. She had n't even given him a means to contact her either.
And that was that. Lara showed up by his dormitory unannounced the next night, grabbed him by the hand, and dragged him downstairs, across a street, through a school building, and across yet another street before the two had finally reached the girl's car.
`` So, where are we going?'' Andy asked.
``...'' Lara shrugged her shoulders half-heartedly.
`` Oh, ok then.''
It was at this point, that Andy had reached a never-before attainable level of total confusion. He figured that the only acceptable ( and most likely the safest ) move to make, during the silent drive to god knows where, was to whip out his phone, pull up some cat images, and laugh until he felt better about himself.
The girl stopped. Andy internally screamed. His mind was filled with a flood questions and cries for help.
-- Where am I?! Why did you bring me here? Does it look like there's something on my face? Have you seen this cat picture?! Look how cute it is trying to hold on to the branch.
He looked around. They arrived... at a restaurant.
Not some weird vegetarian only restaurant nor some fancy steakhouse nor was it some greasy fast-food place.
It was just a restaurant. A diner. The regular sorta mom-and-pop joints that served steak, fried chicken, baked potatoes, and a large Coke on the side. Nothing even remotely weird about it.
That freaked Andy out immensely. Partly because he could n't stand groundless paranoia and partly because this seemed too normal for a first date. Too normal. He could not believe this was actually happening.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
`` So, I'll have the skinny sirloin with honey-glaze and a small Guinness and she'll have...''
Lara flipped over her menu and pointed at a picture of a big brown potato with melted butter on top. The plastic folds of the little booklet then turned quickly over as she placed a finger on a picture of what looked like some clear, slightly-foggy liquid.
`` The.. baked potato with butter and... 190-proof Everclear.''
The waiter raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and turned to the woman to verify. She shook her head around with a gushing red face. Of course, Andy was too startled to notice while the waiter was too lazy to care.
Andy sensed the opportunity to strike up a conversation while the waiter was away. Unfortunately, Lara had pulled out a notebook and started scribbling all over it. Her big blue eyes would dart up occasionally to look over Andy but would shoot back down immediately after.
About five minutes passed before Andy had squeezed out the words he hoped would start a conversation.
`` So, how's it going?''
Lara pulled her notebook up and laid it on the table.
*Good, how about you? `` *
Andy was flabbergasted, but continued to talk anyways because he figured, why the hell not? Everytime he managed to get a phrase out, the girl flipped her notes to another section to respond.
`` Pretty great. Nice place you found here. Really love the atmosphere and uhh, stuff. You come here often?''
*I came here a few times before. I thought you would like it. *
`` So, this might be a strange question.''
*? *
`` Why are n't you talking?''
*I do n't really feel like it. *
Andy suddenly burst into laughter. Whether it was from discomfort or the sheer absurdity of her reason, no one could really say. The girl joined him with a soft little chuckle moments later.
The two sat together with heaving chests and jesting until the waiter came back with the platefuls of hot food and cold drinks.
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`` I'm not gon na lie. This is the first date I've ever been on.''
*Same. *
`` Still do n't understand why you decided to ask me out though.''
Lara tapped on the sheet.
*Same. *
`` You're kinda crazy, you know that?''
The girl shot Andy an incredulous eye-roll before crossing out a portion of her notes and rewriting new phrases. The pen that showed up in her hand came from the mess of dark hair behind her head.
*You too. You're talking to a mute. *
`` So I am, are n't I? You want any desert by the way? You have n't even touched your drink.''
*It's not what I ordered. I wanted water. *
`` You just write that or did you have that all night?''
*Yes. *
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
A month passed after that bizarre date of his, Andy finally had some time to himself to rest up after a long load of examinations came his way before the winter holiday.
In the deep, repressed recesses of his mind, he had hoped to be able to see the quiet girl again before heading out-state to catch up with family.
Fortunately for him, he saw a familiar looking piece of note-paper hanging over his eyes as he walked through the sliding doors of the airport.
*You come here often? *
[ I ca n't write romance. Would love some feedback. ]
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[ WP ] Witch hunter finds out his girlfriend of 5 years is the witch .
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I step into the witch's sanctuary. The first thing that hits me is the smell. It's vile, like someone dumped a pile of burning cigarettes into puke. I feel sick just standing.
I advance in with small steps, taking in the scenery.
The gun I'm holding is a revolver. Most hunters these days favor the M1911 or another similar gun, but this gun was given to me by my father. The bullets in it are hollow point. I've also got a variety of other bullets. Silver, armor piercing, etc. You know, the works.
The first rule of being a hunter is to be prepared. There's a scar on my chest for not being prepared.
I take note of a cauldron of foul smelling liquid. It's stirring itself.
The witch is standing over a table, doing something I ca n't quite see. I raise the revolver, ready to shoot. My finger moves onto the trigger, ready to fire.
Rule number three: gun safety. I knew a guy who got shot in the face because his partner did n't practice gun safety. ( Rule two is to ensure that the target is completely dead. )
As I edge closer, my foot makes a slight sound. It's clearly audible, and she jolts up and begins to turn around. As she does, I realize one terrible truth:
The witch I have been sent to kill is my girlfriend of five years.
She looks just as she did, five years ago. We met in a pub. I do n't have clear memories of that night, just that we met in a pub and we both got really, really drunk.
The relationship blossomed from there.
And now I am barely forcing myself to think of her as the enemy. A witch who is no longer under the protection of the Mage's Association's laws. An outside contractor has been sent to kill her for a reward of 1,000 dollars. She is wanted on the charges of practicing one of the Twelve Forbidden Magics.
She stares at me, terrified.
I'm presented with a horrible dilemma: I could kill her, take the money, and forget her. I could run away and pretend that she has n't done an unspeakable magic that is forbidden by the Mage's Association.
The seconds stretch into what feels like minutes. I'm sweating.
You would think, I muse bitterly, that something like this would come up earlier.
`` You knew I was a witch hunter, right?'' I ask, voice trembling a little. I've got to stay calm.
`` Y-yeah,'' she begins. `` I though I could kill you, maybe in your sleep. But... I love you! I know I lied about my job, but I still love you!''
`` Stop.'' Tears begin to well up in my eyes. She's about to cry, too. `` Please.''
She glances to the sides. Looking for a way out, perhaps. It's too late. I've analyzed the floor plans and the only way out of this room is through the door I came in. And I'm standing in the way of that exit.
She's sweating profusely now. Most do, after being cornered. With no way out, they beg and plead. I've never considered not killing one. The prospect of tarnishing my perfect record is tempting. I know all the tricks. I could hide her.
I'm aware that they'll want my head, too. And that things would n't be the same. The witch has done an unspeakable magic, one that endangers lives. One of the Twelve.
I squeeze the trigger. She notices the action. A single tear runs down my face.
`` I'm sorry! I love you, J-''
To save people, you have to kill people. To save a hundred I would kill ten. I save a thousand I would kill a hundred. To save people I would kill anyone.
Even her.
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[ WP ] The Siren signalled a fog was rolling in , everyone ran for shelter
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The sound was ear splitting, as per usual. The sirens were made to be so loud that nobody could ignore them.
Silence shrouded the community. Only the piercing screech of the siren was audible. Everyone knew what the siren meant. They had been trained since birth. A fog was coming. Somedays, when the children were on the way to school, the siren would be tested. Anyone who had not reached shelter within five minutes was locked out, and marked for dead. Nearly every child had, at some point, felt the dread of being too far from the nearest building and getting locked out. Even when it was a simple test, that feeling of dread was still simulated to near-perfect realism. Most people in the community spent as little time outside as possible. Since the tests started, public pools and playgrounds fell into disuse. Everybody was terrified of being caught in the open, so eventually shelters were set up nearby to accommodate people. During tests, they would be herded into the shelters like cattle. Dogs, children, and the elderly would be crammed shoulder to shoulder in these windowless, concrete shelters.
Every test, the officials reminded you of the importance of shuttering any windows and covering any views of the outside. They never mentioned why. They also stressed that you should lock your doors at the earliest opportunity, and that you should n't open them for anybody until the all clear was sounded. Again, they failed to mention why.
The folks at Timely Park had little time to consider the situation. Despite the terrifying howl of the siren, they acted like clockwork. Geremy Ritter and his elderly mother, Thomas Fields and his black lab Strudel, and the entire Czesinski family made their way to the nearest shelter without a single utterance. It was instinctual, like a migration. They understood on a level even higher than their own consciousness that they needed to reach the shelter, and quickly. Anybody who was caught outside in the fog was never heard from again. Entire families could disappear from a community in those few brief hours. The possibility of being caught in the fog -and the implications it had- was terrifying. Nobody knew exactly what occurred in the fog, but in the deep pit of their minds they all conjured images. Thomas thought the fog was probably a natural phenomenon. Perhaps it was some chemical or acid that dissolved the flesh? Yet the plant and animal life seemed untouched. Only humans were affected. The Czesinski children thought that monsters lived in the fog. Their parents did n't care what was in the fog, so long as they kept their kids out of it. Geremy believed that the fog was actually a swarm of nano-bots or the like. He had always been convinced that the government was out to get the people, and that in one of their devious experiments, they turned the swarm loose. His elderly mother had dementia, so it is unlikely that she even registered the fog.
However, everyone had heard about the first encounter with the fog. An entire town was enveloped and swept clean. The only survivors were indoors at the time. Some people insisted it was an elaborate hoax or some conspiracy, until it happened again. Then they began to get frightened, and they began to practice the drills.
The group crowded inside the shelter without a second thought. It was a concrete, windowless box with exactly one way in and one way out. They were now assured of their safety, and they began to feel at ease.
A few hours later, the all clear was given. The community gathered to tally their losses, as inevitably some would be caught in the open. Discussion and rumor floated from mouth to mouth, but finally, the officials came out and announced the disappearances.
The officials said that only victims of the fog that day were Geremy Ritter and his mother Teresa Ritter, Thomas Fields and his dog, and finally the entire Czesinski family.
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[ WP ] Magic is real . And it is terrible .
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`` Dude, magic is illegal.''
Jake barked a laugh. `` So what, man? I'm talented at it.''
Mike frowned. `` How do you know?''
`` Trust me. It's definitely worth it.''
Jake led Mike to an abandoned warehouse in the pier at the dead of night. They maneuvered around the corners of the shelves with the light of their cellphones, and Jake stopped at two computer chairs. One was the massive kind with the head rest, the other was made of plastic. They were clean, but worn. Jake sat down on the plastic one, and gestured for Mike to take a seat.
`` What are we doing?'' Mike asked quietly. He was still not very sure as to whether or not it was a good idea. `` I still do n't think we should do this, man. What if the cops find out?''
`` Stop being a baby. Pot is illegal and we smoke it every weekend. Pirating is illegal and you download porn and games like there's no tomorrow. Adultery is illegal and I bang your mom every night.'' He gave a playful grin, and Mike punched him in the arm.
`` Stop making mom jokes, man. You know I hate that shit.'' But his mood was better. Jake's grin stretched wider. `` But we learn at school that magic is far, far worse. They say that to do magic you give up a part of your soul.''
`` There is no soul, man. They're just trying to scare you. Think about it. If I could use magic freely, and you could use magic freely, and everybody could use magic freely, the country would be in chaos. I mean, what's the point of money if we can just magic everything into existence? What power would the police have if we can just use magic to fight them? It's like everybody has their own personal nuke. They would n't want that, would they?''
Mike got that contemplative look. `` Nah, I guess they would n't. What are we going to do, though? Do you know the spell to get good grades?''
Jake snorted. `` It does n't get that specific, Mikey. It can give us intelligence, though. Knowledge. Beats the hell out of studying.''
`` How about money?''
`` Does n't work, I tried.''
Mike paused. `` Wait, that's why your grades went up. You used magic to make yourself smarter.''
`` Good job finding that one out, Sherlock,'' Jake said in a mocking tone. `` I'm thinking of going for something like super strength. But, you know, just overall. Like make me Olympic level athlete.''
`` What about me?''
`` I do n't know, man. You could get it too.''
`` Sweet.'' Mike grinned like the idiot he was. `` So where do we do this thing? How do we do it?''
`` Well, we need a source of power. The best kind is people.''
Mike's eyes widened. `` So we do use a part of the soul! You lied!''
`` No, no. I said there are n't such things as souls, idiot. I used me the first few times.'' Jake got up, and Mike got up a second later too, watching Jake curiously. `` Remember that time I showed up for school with a cast that covered my whole right hand? That was n't because my hand was broken like I said it was. I was missing a finger.''
Mike shook his head wildly. `` I do n't want to lose a finger, Jake. It's not worth it.''
`` Sure it is, Mikey. But we're not going to use a finger.'' Jake led Mike to a door that led to a small office. He opened it, and Mike stepped in. He gasped. There was blood everywhere. What did Jake do? There was dried blood covering the walls and the floor, and a strange purple mist seemed to seep out of it. Mike accidentally breathed a bit in. He felt heady for a second, and suddenly his head got clearer by a lot. A lot more than what was normal. It was magic. The kind Jake had used to get smarter. Things were falling into place now for Mike too. He whirled around to look at Jake's right hand. The fingers were all there, but his ring finger was a slightly different shade. Lighter. Like new.
`` Ah, man, you breathed it in, Mikey,'' Jake said. His expression turned sinister, and he pulled out a small handgun. It looked tiny, but menacing nonetheless. `` You know, I had to kill that girl from Grade 10. You know that one that went missing. Just to get a damn finger back. And then to cook up this thing,'' Jake gestured to the bloody mess and the purple mist, `` I had to pick up a lot of homeless guys. A lot. You do n't even want to know.''
`` You're going to kill me,'' Mike said flatly. He was terrified and confused. `` You're going to kill me just so you can get a bit more athletic?''
`` No, I already did that one a few months back. But buddy, see, the things I got by using magic is slowly rotting away at me. I do n't know why, it just is. I tried to get rid of the abilities, but it does n't work that way. So too keep the magic from rotting me away...''
`` You have to kill regularly,'' Mike finished.
`` Yep.'' The small gun barked.
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[ EU ] After the murder of her family , Hermione 's quest for justice lead her down a dark path . Now an infamous Dark Witch , she finds herself confronted by her former friend , Harry Potter .
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`` This is n't you.''
Harry struggled out his words, stepping in front of Hermione. Her eyes no longer showed the innocent brilliance they once held, but rather an anger he had never seen before. The Hermione he had known had power unmatched by the world, but refused to use it for evil. Surely, the light-hearted girl he had known still remained before him.
But then, this was not Hermione. The world now knew her by another name.
`` Step aside, Harry.'' Still not looking Harry in the eye, she moved towards the man bleeding under the tree. He attempted to away, digging into the remains of the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione mumbled a curse under her breath, and the man let out a sob as his legs gave out a deafening crunch.
`` Hermione, please. You're not thinking straight. I --''
`` He is the last link. Do n't you get it, Harry? He killed them. You were at their burying. You promised me, you would n't stop me from serving justice --''
`` And did I promise this trail of bodies? Look in the streets, Hermione! They're afraid. They fear for their children. I swear, I would've thought after Ron...''
Harry cried out in pain, clenching his hand to his forehead. He dropped his wand, unable to cope with the pain.
Hermione kneeled down, grabbing Harry by the throat. She looked him in the eyes. `` Ron's... passing,'' she whispered. `` It was an accident.'' Hermione clenched her fists. `` You know I would never have intended to hurt him.''
Harry struggled to his feet. `` And,'' he coughed out. `` What of the men he stood in front of?''
`` They were all guilty.'' Hermione replied hoarsely. `` You know that as well as I do.''
`` Hermione... the only thing those men were guilty of was trying to stop you from murdering again. This revolt... these killings you have laid forth in the name of Muggle-born wizards... you've gone too far, Hermione. You've lost yourself.''
`` I did n't ask for this.'' She eyed the ground once more, keeping watchful over her prisoner by the tree, who still cried out in agony.
`` None of us did. But hundreds have died by your hand, Hermione. How can you justify the death of so many innocents?''
Harry sighed. `` It was here. Do you remember? Years ago, where we swore to stop the bastard who killed so many. And we did, Hermione. You can still stop this; you still have a choice.''
Hermione closed her eyes, feeling over where Bellatrix had carved into her hand so many years ago.'Mudblood', she had called her. The men who had murdered her parents, in the name of pure blood, they had said.
She remembered the tears she had spent, the months of agony. She remembered Ron's comforting arm. She remembered her friends' words of sympathy.
She remembered the way the killers' blood had decorated the wall.
Hermione stood up, pointing her wand at Harry. `` You know I have loved you forever, Harry,'' she said. `` But you need to move aside.''
`` My dear Hermione,'' Harry replied, spitting blood onto the ground. `` If you know me at all, you know I ca n't.''
`` Avada Kedavara!''
`` Protego!''
A brilliant flash of green light.
And all was silent.
Harry held back tears as he looked upon the corpse of his best friend. The man he had protected looked at him with awe.
`` Th... thank you...'' the man stumbled out as Harry walked towards him. `` You saved me --''
Harry stepped on his neck, hearing his suffocating screams until he heard a satisfying crunch. The murderer was no more.
Harry looked down upon Hermione, her lifeless eyes still exorbitant with rage. `` Hermione...'' he started, closing her eyes. He placed her destroyed Horcruxes around her.
`` This was n't you.''
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[ WP ] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played , and must survive for the next 72 hours .
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My companion's eyes widened. He stood up and took a single step forward.
I thrust out an arm in his path. `` No!'' I said firmly.
He pushed past my arm. Drool started to drop from his mouth. He licked his chops with anticipation.
I stood directly in front of him, and flung both arms forward. `` No!'' I desperately repeated.
He pushed me to the ground and walked right over me, spattering my face with drool as he went.
I stood up and pursued him, but it was too late.
Already, he was atop the massive tower of candy. His face was smeared with chocolate, his belly bulging, and his mouth overflowing with caramel.
`` Slow down,'' I insisted. `` You'll give yourself a horrific tummy ache.''
`` It's alright, Brain,'' he said between bites. `` If I eat three of the same candy in a row, it disappears. See?''
He grabbed another caramel and popped it in his mouth, and swallowed. Instantly, the bulge in his belly decreased, and several more candies rained down on his head.
`` See Brain, I'm winning!'' he cheered.
I shook my head. Why does Pinky always have to do this to me?
`` Pinky!'' I lectured. `` Why did you have to activate the Digital Simulation Vortex? I told you to wake me up when it was done charging. And why in the world did you choose Candy Cruncher Legend?''
He sang a little tune about candy, and started unwrapping a chocolate coin.
`` I mean, we could have gone into Space Civilizations and researched laser weaponry and faster than light travel!'' I said. `` Or we could have gone into Sum of All Wars and studied military strategy from the greatest minds in history!''
He licked chocolate off his fingers. His bulging belly reduced, and he was showered with chewy fruit drops.
`` Or at least we could have gone into an old Lightning the Aardvark cartridge and been in a game that's actually fun to play, rather than a grab for cash cunningly disguised as a test of skill,'' I opined.
Four hard peppermint candies rained down on Pinky.
`` Ouch! Narf! Poit! Troz!'' he exclaimed.
He tumbled off the tower, sliding down an avalanche of candy. The mints flashed and disappeared of their own accord, and were quickly replaced by a line of strawberry drops. These, too vanished.
Pinky ’ s eyes glazed over as he watched the tower of candy flash brightly.
“ Crunchereffic! ” a booming voice announced.
“ Crunchereffic? ” I queried. “ What does that even mean? ”
“ It means we won! ” said Pinky gleefully. “ Now we ’ re back to the map, to choose another level! ”
Sure enough, the tower disappeared altogether, leaving us at an intersection of two graham cracker crumb roads lined with lollipops.
“ Now that way is Chocolate Castle, ” he said, pointing helpfully at the massive chocolate castle about fifty feet away from us. “ Over there is the Gumdrop Forest, and thataway is Candy Mountain, guarded by the mean old Chester the Unicorn. What level you want to play now, Brain? ”
“ You can go away and gorge yourself on whatever level you want, ” I said with a sigh. “ I ’ ll just wait here for you at the crossroads, and plan for 71 hours and 55 minutes from now. ”
“ Okay, ” he said. “ More candy for me, then. So what are you doing in 71 hours and 55 minutes? ”
“ Same thing we do every night, Pinky, ” I intoned. “ Try to take over the world! ”
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[ CW ] Write a scifi-horror-romance that fits the title `` Fettuccine Alfredo For One '' and includes the line `` No amount of hail damage could stop this train . ''
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Wafting between rounded plastic walls was a soft aroma of cooking pasta, bubbling water echoing across half-empty rooms, almost drowned out by a constant drone of metal grating on metal. Pouring through thick glass windows, reflected sunlight cast hazy shadows around Alex. He sat sprawled on a soft chair with a glowing tablet in his hand. A small smile crept over his face, the screen showing record of an hour-long call that ended two minutes ago.
A new rhythmic noise drilled into Alex's consciousness, tearing his thoughts away from his beloved Sophie. Frozen water, throwing itself against the plastic, steel, and glass of Alex's railcar. Looking up, past dull grey rocks and carbon filled air, dark clouds drifted above, carried by an invisible wind.
Alex stood up, intending to check on his meal in progress. He stumbled and had to grab onto a shelf to keep his balance. Beneath his feet, the floor lurched and wheels slowed, no longer moving their load.
`` No amount of hail damage could stop this train.'' Alex muttered to himself.
Almost causing him to jump, a bang like a roar of thunder tore through the cacophony of other sounds, undercut by a low, feral growling. Then Alex could feel air around him becoming thinner. Oxygen hissed as it leaked out into an alien atmosphere, leaving him feeling life dance just beyond his fingers. As he collapsed, unconscious, one last sound filled the room. His tablet, calling Sophie for a final conversation that would never come to pass.
( I hope this fit the prompt, even if it was a little strange. )
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[ WP ] You are being hunted through all the galaxy , known an Steve the World Destroyer , but it 's not your fault really
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Steve stared through the front windshield, thinking how space was a good visual metaphor for his mental state, vast dark emptiness. The ship was him and space was ennui and he was lost in it.
Then he thought that it was n't really a windshield if it was in space because there was n't wind.
Then he figured he should start paying attention again before he destroyed another world.
Which he still objected to, the idea that he had'destroyed' the worlds. He had n't meant to destroy them.
Yeah there was some carelessness, but honestly who leaves a marble sized world just lying on the floor?
And Cirgax, all he had done was lean against a pole to get a stone out of his shoe, it just so happened that the planets self destruct button was on that post. He got that it was a cultural thing, to just leave that button out in the open so that everyone understood that at any time anyone could destroy them all for any reason and that there continued existence meant they should have some hope in their species but still, did no one ever stop to think what one carless dumbass from earth could do with such a thing.
Steve kept staring out the…whatever it was. He'd find somewhere eventually. A planet that would accept him, warts and all, and also that he would n't accidentally destroy.
It's not even like he actually `` destroyed'' all the planets.
Flagcxrn was still there, it's just that the planet's once main export, comedy, had taken a slump since his visit there which had made it a pariah on the galactic stage and drove it into an economic downturn.
Steve did n't even know what the complete series of Family Guy discs were doing on his ship, and to his mind, if a planet was known for comedy they should have known better than to think that cut away gags were the highest form of comedy.
He even told them that.
There official video response was that he should stop being such a downer, like that time Derry the Depressive clown visited the cancer ward. Then there was a video of the time Derry the Depressive Clown visited the cancer ward.
It was mildly amusing.
And Centrax, all he had done was suggest that they could maybe talk out their problems. It had always worked on TV.
Could he really be blamed for not knowing that fighting was what held their insatiable sex drives in check and that by talking out their problems they were headed for an era of non stop orgies that shut down production leaving it a hedonistic wasteland with no industry?
Not even no industry, tourism had gone up like 9000 percent.
`` Steve the world destroyer'' came through the comm.
`` Oh here we go again'' said Steve
`` Your reign of terror ends today''
Every bounty hunter, mercenary and person with a ship trying to make a buck had been tracking him for months and it always ended badly, occasionally for Steve or the bounty hunter, but usually just for whatever planet was closest by.
Which Steve then got blamed for.
`` Surrender or die'' said the bounty hunter.
`` They always say the same thing'' said Steve to himself, turning the ship to face the bounty hunters.
It was the sort of shiny, high tech ship that suggested the bounty hunter was rich and inexperienced, which was just a synonym for every planet within 50,000 kilometres was fucked.
`` You have three seconds'' said the bounty hunter
`` Even if I decided to surrender that would n't be anywhere near enough time to…''
`` Three'' and the bounty hunter started shooting.
Steve fired an EMP rocket he had picked up for cheap. The seller had said that it was a small blast that would temporarily disable a ship.
As soon as it was away Steve started having misgivings. In his experience expensive gear never worked how you wanted it to, cheap gear from backwater planet arms dealers…
`` Oh you've got to be fuc-''
The rocket turned ninety degrees and arced off into space. The bounty hunter stopped firing.
`` Uhm'' he said
They watched the rocket disappear into space. Steve looked on the nav computer for what was in that direction.
The closest planet was Brakxing.
`` Finally some luck'' said Steve
He opened a channel. Brakxing was among the most highly advanced planets out there they supplied like 40 percent of the galaxy with tech. If they got destroyed the results would be catastrophic. Forget mom and pop bounty hunters, Steve would be declared a terrorist.
He'd be hunted by armies.
`` Hey, just a heads up, you have a small EMP rocket headed your way, nothing major, your shields should be able to…''
`` It's through the shield'' came a worried voice
`` OK well it's supposed to be just a small temporary blast so you should be…''
`` There's no such thing as a temporary EMP blast'' came the voice
`` There's not?'' said Steve
`` No, and no one's been able to create a small one''
`` Uhm…''
Way off in space there was a bright flash and then communications with Brakxing went quiet.
`` Oh I'm going to be blamed for that'' said Steve, Destroyer of worlds
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[ WP ] Tell the most disturbing story you can , break into your inner insanity and terrify me , but include a love story .
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Charles lay down the book. Well, *novella* anyways. He could n't accurately manage to pinpoint the specific time and place from where on he became hopelessly entranced by the proletarian simpleness of it all. *Glory and the Free Riders*, 157 pages of romantic colonial trash involving the elaborate love affair of an American aristocrat with a mulatto slave-legionnaire. Rather ridiculous, but what could you expect of a simpler time? Total rubbish indeed, but at the same time incredibly entertaining and entirely illegal in all parts of the Empire.
Not that it mattered to him, considering the fact that his mother was Queen. This reminded him that his work for today was n't done yet. While his mind slowly returned from its exile in idle thought into the black, leathery cabin of his limousine, he observed the scenery outside. The automobile rumble onwards on cobbled English country streets. Lush cultured landscaped rushing past his window, a lazy evening sun brushing the roofs of hamlets build in Tudor times. A few handsome boys were milling around in the river, their bare chests exposed, fresh adolescent muscles showing. A wonderful evening indeed, at least measured by the sights.
`` James'', he queried, `` how long until we reach the hospital?''. His assistant informed him that they would arrive at Dr. Bazinet's facility in another three minutes. Charles could feel his anticipation rise. It was n't so much that he was actively afraid of Antoine, merely slighty unnerved. The scientist's eyes were measuring up anyone, constantly, regardless of class, standing or social occasion. But his results were remarkable, and so his unorthodox bearings were tolerated.
Antoine was already waiting for him as he stepped out of the car. He asked James to wait inside the household and refresh himself. The old man could use a break; it had been a busy day for everyone. This stop of this day's tour as the freshly minted Minister of Science would be the last for today. Tomorrow, he would have a less exhausting day with a small social occasion involving a few philantrophists and the Deans of Oxford and Cambridge.
The men exchanged pleasantries as they meeted, Antoine visibly trying to rush the, in his view, obnoxious procedure, eager to show his masters of his latest contribution to British supremacy in the field of medicine. The hospital itself lay cradled in the landscape of southern England, a Victorian villa build during the height of said Queen's reign. It was initially build as one of the very last womens' cloister, now refurbished to have a more worldly purpose.
Enterning the hospital, Charles swiftly greeted the secretary at the entrance desk who were by now used to high-class visitors and not remarkably moved when Antoine continued to usher them to his latest experiment.
Finally, resting in front of a heavy steel door, Charles, Antoine and a few of his aides switched into clean white scientist uniforms, donned head nets and rubber gloves. Charles recognised one of the men present, a young man whose mother immigrated to England during the troubles in central Europe. His name was Werner. The prince remembered him from five years ago, where Werner acquired one of the valuable Royal stipends and promptly thanked the crown by fucking Charles in a way only repressed Catholic boys were able to. Their eyes met for a moment, a brief recollection of a wondeful shared moment in the past. Both smiled. Maybe this was going to be interesting after all.
Antoine did n't notice, and if he did, he did n't seem to care much. He was already in the process of rattling down facts, explaining medical theory, why their work revamped understanding of this particular field ( this time it was neurology ), just as it has done before with immunology, virology, germ theory, operational procedures and plenty more. The steel door opened.
The men, one-by-one, disinfected themselves in a brief shower and wandered into a white-tiled room. It was n't smell that hit you first. In fact, it mostly smelled of disinfectant. But the noises, disgusting. To preserve the sanity of the nurses, the specimen that were n't silent by themselves had to be gagged. But some still managed to blurt out horrible noises. Ah well, the price of science.
`` We have n't been able to control them to our liking, yet'', Antoine apologised. A row of six steel medical tables, each one equipped with instruments Charles did n't recognise, were placed equidistantly along a straight line. Four of them were slightly tilted, the specimen's - in fact, one speciwoman's - feet closer to the bottom than their heads. All were black. War prisoners from Nigeria? Illegals from Jamaica? Or lowlifes cleaned from the street of London?
It did n't matter. Antoine moved the group the female's table. Her eyes were watering and she was clearly alive. This was remarkable, given that the top part of her head was clearly open, a myriad of thin gossamer steel threads invading her brain from all sides and angles. `` Oh my! ``, Antoine exclaimed in exasperation. `` One of those damn nurses managed to screw with the calibration again. How *hard* can it be to take some blood samples without messing up an entire afternoon's worth of data.'' He entered some controls into the machine, fiddled with some arcane gearworks and soon enough, the brain threads as Charles now called them, moved in barely visible manners. The'patient' stopped to cry, staring blankly at Charles and the doctors.
`` Remarkable'', he heard himself speak. And it *was* true. While the brain of a black woman was n't as complicated as that of a higher race, one had to admit that it was a step-up from the half-hearted attempts at neurally alterting the emotional states of mice or household pets. `` Show me what you can do''. Antoine's face was brushed with just the briefest of smiles.
Over the next half an hour, Charles was astounded by an ever-increasing, fascinating display of the wonders of modern science, if one just funded it well enough. While the Russians might object to such experiments with their usual unfounded brabble about human dignity, the average Ivan still, miraculously, managed to obtain British medicine when it suited him. Antoine made the specimen laugh, cry, scream and even shit themselves on one occasion. He even managed to artificially subdue the hygenic instinct and nearly triggered Werner's excrement fetish Charles still remembered.
Yet the most fascinating moment would have to be the one where the female patient entered a more lucid state of consciousness. Up to then, Charles had n't even noticed that while the patients were reacting to the orders of Antoine, bare their unseeming noises they did n't show much activity. This time was different. The female's eyes screamed horror, her mouth gagged. The table rattled and her muscles worked visibly as the test subject put all her might against her constraints. She pulled and twisted against the leather arm- and feetbands holding her to the table, mucus, water and urine streaming from every hole. Screaming in high pitched voices, climing to ever higher notes especially when the doctors beared down on her. Muffled resistance. Pleading eyes, like a horse about to be shot. Not the prettiest of sights, to say the least. Yet animal in its nature: cunningly close to the original but never the real thing.
The subect was quickly subdued with some anasthetics. It was over as quickly as it started, yet it left a certain impression with Charles. He could n't shake a certain feeling. He was n't sure what it was. `` You do not plan on using this on live patients in hospitals, I do hope.'' Antoine was shocked. `` Of course not! These things bound to happen in research, but there is much work to do. We will be getting some mentally and physically sick persons in a few weeks. Even some children, if you have no objections. I believe we have achieved a sufficient level of neural control, but there is *great* promise for future research. We will then focus on less invasive measures that might, one day, be humane enough to be used in standard medical practise. For now though... ``, he trailed off. Charles smiled. This was all the British public could ask for, after all.
While leaving the villa, Charles assured Antoine that he was impressed enough with his work, and that further progress will most certainly lead to promising insights into how to battle diseases of the brain. Especially with the new batch of test subjects coming in during the next few weeks. He would personally make sure that funding was secured. Yes, he was most highly impressed.
`` Was it any good, sir? ``, James inquired. `` Ah yes, indeed. We are living in a splendid time to live!'' The assistant creased his brows. `` I have no doubts science will fulfill many of her lofty goals. Say, did I see the young Werner up on the steps with the Doctor?'' Charles laughed heartily. `` Indeed you did. This was what I was referring to, after all.''
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[ WP ] You remember an impact , falling down . You remember flying through the darkness , moving fast to some unknown place . Now ... you sit before a massive chained creature , told to be of the man-eating nature . It looks hurt , starved and weak ...
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The creature is shaped much like a cubic block of flesh. Its chains render it a farce of the terror and majesty with which it plagued the Dansi's home world. Never had he expected that he would come face-to-face with its grotesque likeness.
The fall had not been kind. To make things worse, wraiths had swarmed him, sucking out what little soul he had managed to keep safe throughout all these years. By the time he had hit rock-bottom, he was a shell of his former self.
`` Dansi,'' the creature called. It startled him as his eyes struggled to adjust to the utter darkness. The ground felt wet and stringy underneath him.
And that was how he made his formal introduction with the world reaper, Akaram the Odious.
It looks pitiful in its chains, but only to the extent that Dansi felt pity for it. There is n't much left in his soulless heart to go around, much less for a creature that razed worlds. That shattered families.
`` You have been searching for me,'' Akaram says. Its voice is the child of a whisper and a roar. Hoarse but thundering. In it, Dansi can almost discern thousand of other voices. Those of ghosts, spirits from the razed worlds. He wonders if his family can hear him.
`` I did n't search so much as certain clues led me here naturally,'' Dansi replies. He finds light coming from a small corner about two hundred paces to his left. It looks to be a light tube, left for him by the prior guest.
`` Did you eat her?'' he asks Akaram of his partner Moexa. `` Or did she manage to get a few hits in? I tell you, that would absolutely make my day.
Akaram shifts like gelatin in his chains. Its own weight is keeping him back, and the chains weigh nearly thrice as much as it, if the lore is to be believed.
`` I do not eat. I assimilate,'' it says. `` As well as I can given my state. Tell me, then. Are you here to liberate me?''
Dansi arrives at the broken light tube. It was turquoise, just like Moexa's. Her hand is still attached to it. The same blue nail polish color as he wore.
`` Tell me how you would define liberation, my dear friend,'' Dansi says, not even bothering to keep the steel out of his voice. `` Because if it involves me handing you a swift and merciful demise, I'm afraid our definitions do n't quite agree.''
`` I can feel them. The Dansi clan inside of me, praying for you,'' it says. `` Do those prayers mean anything to you.''
`` No,'' said Dansi. `` Because I can not hear them, and I have not heard them for a long time.''
`` Ah. Then let what shall be come to pass.''
*
It is n't even blood or flesh or sinew that Moexa is seeing. Inside Akaram, it wis like an entire world within itself. Except the citizens are all spirits, lost and confused as they wander the narrow streets with glazed over eyes.
The one that catches her by surprise in that dim dungeon is the appearance of her partner Dansi.
`` Poor sod,'' she says as he wanders past her as if she is a stranger. `` You tried so hard, and look now where you got.'' She makes as if to pat him on the shoulder, but then she decides against it. `` Go be with your family. Godspeed.''
She holds the stump of her arm where she has lost her wrist. She has a makeshift tourniquet made from a strip torn from her tunic wrapped around it, but there is bacteria inside the Odious that is quickly eating away at her, faster than any infection. It hurts like a mother, but it's nothing she is n't used to in her line of work.
That is n't even the most unorthodox aspect. No, she is known within the guild for being the hunter who has had the most partners. And there is a perfectly good reason for this: she has zero problem with scapegoating. Dansi was a pitiable man for having believed they were on any equal footing.
The guild knows this of course, but they will never dare dispense of her. After all, she has managed to get eaten by Akaram and not die. Quite the opposite, in fact. Though the bacteria are eating her inside out, Moexa is doing largely the same.
She has been walking around the inside of Akaram for some time now, hacking away at the translucent walls of the city with her dagger. Her hand is beginning to get tired and cramped, but she sees humor in the fact that she really ca n't switch. In her line of work, it is a sense of humor that always saves her in the end.
At long last she gets to what can probably be described as the nervous system. There is a spirit waiting for her on the balconied platform. Beyond, a waterfall of unimaginable red thunders down a lofty cliff face. It is difficult to reconcile the insides of the beast with its geometric outsides.
The awaiting spirit is unfamiliar to Moexa, but she knows immediately who he is.
`` Akaram, I have come for you,'' she says.
The man, tall, broken and melancholy, turns around and holds his arms out. `` And how will you liberate me from this? I can not die.''
`` Did I say anything of liberation?'' She is confused. `` No. I have come to take dominion over you.''
He throws his head back and laughs. `` Clearly you must not know that I am starved and in chains. I am in no shape to be transferred to another. I have no desire, no need, no inclination...''
Moexa sighs. `` Have you truly forgotten me then... teacher.''
Akaram tilts his head and his bangs follow. `` Who are you?''
She is in fact nobody to him, but Moexa is not one to go on a mission without doing her research first.
`` Simply your most devoted pupil that you have long since forgotten...''
--
x-posted to my writing subreddit r/LaboratoryLux
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[ WP ] Everyone has powers locked within them . Each power is different , and the longer it takes for a power to manifest , the greater it is . A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless .
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`` Sir, would you like some help?'' Said a man's voice.
Micheal looked up and saw the overweight bus driver staring down at him. He had concern in his eyes, like most everyone did nowadays.
`` No son.'' He smiled at the man. `` I'm just a bit slow in my age.''
The old man climbed the steps shakily, and walked to the back of the bus where he could sit and contemplate in silence.
Today was his birthday. 100 years old, it would be a feat worthy of newspapers when he was younger, today it was n't too abnormal. Especially with powers that people are unlocking now.
The old man sighed to himself. 100 years old, and he was powerless. That was an anomaly when he was in the spring of his youth, much more so in the late winter of his age. He remembered the last person to unlock his power late in life.
At 53 years old, John Manson became the oldest person to unlock their power. The simplest way to put it was that he was a teleport. But scientists had revealed the true sinister nature of his power. When he teleported his arrival was followed by an explosion of force, massive enough to toss a person through a window.
But it was his disappearance that made him dangerous. He needed energy to travel, it was a rule of nature after all. The few teleports that had existed before could use their own energy, but after a certain age they become less and less effective. At 53, the human body just could n't expend the energy needed for instantaneous travel, so John Manson had to take it from other sources... Living sources.
He was marked as a terrorist after a year of free travel. By the time he was killed, his powers had claimed the lives of thousands of people.
After that, anyone who had n't displayed a power past the age of 45 were considered dangerous and often arrested. This meant Michael had spent 55 years in hiding. It was hard early one, he feared that he'd discover a terrible power he could n't control, but as the years passed he started to feel that he was the only person who would never gain a power. Now, he just pretended to be a worn out old man who lost his power to age, waiting for the day he'll sleep without waking.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride. Time passed by quickly, and soon he realized the bus was no longer moving.
`` Micheal Conroy?'' Asked an unfamiliar voice. `` You are under arrest in accordance to the Human Protection Act.''
Micheal opened his eyes. The man before him was maybe 30, and he had stern eyes. `` I'm sorry, I believe you have me mistaken.''
`` No sir, we've been looking for you for a long time. You're approaching 100 years old, and still powerless. It is in everyone's best interest that we take you away.''
`` I do n't have a power... Anymore.'' He raised his hands in a shrug. `` I used to be a teleport. Got my power at 23, so it was fairly weak. I could n't use it anymore after I turned 50.''
`` Sir, I'm not an idiot. My power is telepathy. I can hear your hidden truths.'' He reached down and grabbed the old man's hand, trying to pull him to his feet before freezing.
Micheal closed his eyes as his head began to shriek in pain. When he opened them, he saw an old man. Wrinkled, weak, pathetic looking.
`` H-how?'' The wrinkled bag looked up at him as Micheal stood.
Micheal looked at the window to his right, and saw the source of the old man's confusion. He was tall and slender, shoulder length blonde hair, thick stubble, and a youth he scarcely recognized. `` I guess I've found my power.'' He said in an unfamiliar voice. `` Now, I believe I am needed elsewhere.''
The new youth raised his hand and pushed the man backwards. Air escaped his lips and soon he collapsed against the floor as a lifeless husk. Micheal felt powerful, more so than he had at any point in his life.
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[ WP ] Every skill in the world can be acquired by putting on the corresponding hat for that skill .
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It was a simple-looking item, a simple hat. Adorned with a feather, it seemed to never have been worn yet gave an aura of impossible age for such an item. Lying in a dusty antique shop, ignored. It did n't seem to mind, it was waiting patiently for the one who would finally notice it and put it on. They would wait for the skill to come as all hats had skills, did n't they? This hat in particular, was not a normal hat and required the user to have an open mind, for only then could they really use the skill given by this hat. Only then could they begin to fly.
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[ CW ] Use 500 words to describe something that takes a single second .
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The button that could end the world was predictably colored red. It was soft and rubber as the General pressed his thumb on it. The dirt under his fingernails perhaps holding more value than the dust he is likely to become should he gouge his thumb further onto the launch.
On the TV monitors in this bunker buried a thousand feet under sedimentary layers, sights of the top cities play on a loop. The downtowns are devoid of life. The buildings are lightless and the streets are barren. New York flashes on one screen and the Statue of Liberty looks side to side for any sign of the people ’ s she ushered into what was supposed to be a country that could protect them. The screen flashes to the beaches of Miami which might as well have the tumbleweeds of the West stumbling across their dunes.
Sweat inches down his brow, a heavy drop lingering on the cliff of his brow, stretching as gravity takes its undying toll. The bulb of salted liquid hangs in the air.
At first the red rubber button resists. Whoever designed it was smart enough to realize a hair trigger for a nuclear launch was a bad idea.
The news channels still broadcast. Newscasters with their uncomfortable levity as they sit made up and in suits, spending their last hours in a studio talking calm into a country full of families crowded around television sets in basements. Wasting energy they should be storing for the long thereafter, but instead going about life as it would go back to normal.
His thumb sinks the button deeper.
Men in olive jackets elbow men in navy jackets for a view of the thumb. Hushed whispers question the decision to launch, the decision to not launch sooner, and the decision to not launch ten years ago. Each voice hints at dissent that will survive the overlooked obedience of society.
The leader of the free world stands over the general ’ s shoulder. Sure the president will have the burden of the decision. His family hugs around him arm-in-arm as though posing for a Christmas photo. The General ’ s family was in Chicago when it was destroyed. While the president has the burden of the decision, the general will have the burden of the action. And even the sad consolation of revenge does not make it any easier to know that he will send missiles at most of the known world. An entire ecosystem will be extinguished based on the egos and insecurities of a few alpha members of its alpha species.
The button indents an inch further.
The general focuses on the lazy label that says “ Launch ” white with black ink and nearly pealing off -- probably made with the same cheap brand of label maker Susan used to organize their pantry.
The president ’ s aides brought word of allies falling. His preacher screams the equivalent of “ I told you so, ” and clutches a book that will turn to fire like all else.
The button clicks as the General ’ s thumb drives it the final few inches into the socket. He looks around. The room remains the same. All they can do now is all any of humanity can do for the next a thousand lifetimes... wait.
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[ WP ] Earth is declared uninhabitable . Citizens are evacuated to a successfully terraformed Mars . For the first time in 9787 years , probes detect human-like life forms on Earth .
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Nova looked up at the camera. `` Earth has always been the faded blue dot in the distance to me. It was never home. I've heard the stories of cities and oceans and people and all that, but to me… it was just the pale blue dot. Part of the background. And now look at me… spinning alone in the darkness, watching that blue dot grow bigger and bigger out the window.''
Nova paused. Then she sighed. `` I suppose I better do what this video log is supposed to do. Log stuff. Well, I'm
one day away from Earth now. I've been sent here on a scouting mission because probes have detected, and I
quote…'' she looked down at a tablet on her lap, then up at the camera. `` … human-like activity. Human-like… why
not human? Human-like makes it sound so spooky.'' She chuckled. `` Anyway, solo mission. I'm supposed to look around and come back with information on what the hell is going on. You'll hear more from me tomorrow, when I land.''
& nbsp;
`` Hello, Nova here again. I just broke atmo, thought you all should know. Earth looks fine, at least from a distance –
abandoned, old and unused for centuries, like my genitals. Sorry, that was probably unprofessional for an official
report.'' Nova looked around, then back at the camera. `` Then again, what are you guys gon na do? Fire me from fifty four million kilometers away? That'd just be rude. Anyway, got ta go, I'll log in again after safe landing.''
& nbsp;
`` All right, I'm here. Landing was fine. About to step out of the ship. Still no sign of life. Be back soon with info.''
& nbsp;
When Nova's face showed up onscreen again, it was sweaty and red. She was n't wearing her helmet, but the
spacesuit looked dirty and ripped. `` Okay, I ca n't get the *fucking* communication live, so I got ta do this at least.''
She spoke between shallow breaths and nervous glances at the hatch of the ship. `` There's fucking… things… I
do n't.... people, but not people. I do n't know what the fuck these guys are, but –''
*TUM* out the hatch. Nova turned another worried glance back. `` Look, they fucked up my ship. I ca n't get it to
work, I --'' *TUM*, `` -- I'm trying to send this so at least you'll know what the fuck happened here. They're gon na take me. They're gon na take me and…'' Nova paused, and it looked like she was making a big effort to swallow tears. Her voice was breaking. `` They're gon na take me and they're gon na kill me. Do n't send a rescue mission unless you're sending a *fucking army*. Even so, I'll probably be dead by the time they arrive.''
*TUM. * *TUM. * The metallic hatch started bending inward with the bumps from whatever was on the other side.
Nova looked up at the camera, red eyes. `` Tell my daughter I love her with all my heart.''
Nova looked back. Another *TUM* and the sound of harsh wind filled the recording. Something made Nova trip
back and she fell over the camera, and, with a hiss, the video ended on a blue screen.
____________________
Michael looked down from the finished recording on the screen of his ship. He headed for the window to watch Earth coming closer. They were about to break atmo.
`` Do n't send a rescue mission,'' Nova had said. `` Unless it's a fucking army.''
Michael poured himself a drink and leaned against the window, watching Earth grow bigger and bigger.
He was the fucking army.
__________________
**Working on PART 2 right now! ** *Will post it here and on /r/psycho_alpaca*
*In the meantime, check out [ Eve ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/4h9tc6/read_the_novel_eve_here/ ), a story about a vegan zombie girl that started as a prompt response here on WP, and is now a full novel! *
**EDIT: [ PART 2 ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/4ha9c8/new_west_part_2/
) **
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[ WP ] An interaction between god and a dead person , where the god believes the person should be sent to heaven and the person believes he should be sent to hell .
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I found myself before a big golden gate. The sign said `` Welcome to Heaven''.
A man in robes with a permanent smile offered me his hand. I took it. He helped me to my feet and led me through the gates.
`` Where am I?''
`` I am delighted to tell you, you're in paradise.''
It all came back to me. The argument with Kelly. The bottle of whisky. The angry phone call. Driving in the rain. Headlights.
`` Did I die?''
He nodded, then added `` But trust me, you'll be happier for it. Your life on Earth was empty. Things are different up here. No longer will you spend aimless days watching TV and browsing the internet. Never again will you get inebriated and wake up with a stranger. Distractions and temptations such as those simply do n't exist in paradise.''
I blinked, trying to comprehend the situation. `` This goes against everything I believe... There is no life after death, no heaven, no God. It's just not... scientific.''
`` Ah, yes, it said in your file that you were a non-believer. Do n't worry, you wo n't be treated any differently for it.''
`` I should n't be here... I do n't *want* to be here.''
`` The big guy does n't make mistakes. You are right where you belong.'' he tugged my arm, ushering me through a doorway. `` Now, come along, we need to get out of those bloody clothes and into your robes in time for hymn practice. After that, there is a special sermon by the big guy himself.''
`` This is n't real. This is n't real.'' I repeated. Perhaps if I said it enough, all of this would disappear, and I'd wake up in hospital covered in cuts, confident once again that death was the ultimate end, laughing about the crazy, painkiller-induced dream. `` This is n't real.''
He took my clothes and enveloped me in a robe, then he took my hand and I followed him into a huge garden. He escorted me through a maze of a billion people, stood in formation, all of different ages and ethnicities, all staring straight forward, all smiling widely. He found a gap for me and shepherded me into the right spot. Satisfied, he started walking away.
`` All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.'' sang the choir.
`` Wait!'' I said as I grabbed his shoulder. `` I do n't belong here. I'm not like these people.'' I pleaded.
His eyes met mine. `` You will be, in time. They were all once like you. Now, remember, stand straight, eyes forward... and smile.''
Here I am. Surrounded, but all alone. Drowning in a sea of smiles. Those forged, plastered smiles. Each upturned mouth singing in harmony. Each one sat beneath pleading, begging, desperate eyes.
In that moment, that's when everything finally began to make sense. The sign said `` Welcome to Heaven'', but I was n't fooled.
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[ WP ] A child inadvertently steps on an insect , killing it . The other insects try to interpret the reasons behind the event . The leading theory is an act of the divine .
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GERALD!! I screamed as loud as I could as a giant creature crushed my good friend Gerald beneath it's massive foot.
We all were in a panic, some of us sobbing hysterically while others began to run in terror.
The creature moved on and we began to pick up the pieces of our interrupted lives.
My name is Irving and I work as a detective for the local Law Ant-forcement precinct. Needless to say I had seen some strange things in my time including peculiar and unexplained deaths.
Though never had I seen anything like this, such a gargantuan being crushing one of our own.
Everyone believes what the media tells us, that this being was a supreme being, our god, our creator. That Gerald had been smote for his terrible actions.
This was preposterous, I knew Gerald very well and he had never done anything so terrible that deserved this.
I'm not saying the idea of a supreme is n't possible, but to me that is just a theory, for I know the real truth.
I've seen many of these beings before, there are many of them, hundreds, thousands, even millions.
The truth is, we are not alone.
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[ WP ] You awake after a long night of drinking to find the entire city has been evacuated . All that you hear is a woman 's voice repeating over loud speakers throughout the town urging everyone to get out while they still can .
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Rage welled up within me as I was roused from sleep by a mumbled static, accompanied by a soft yet firm voice over the tone speaking something unintelligible. My head pounded and my eyes burned in their sockets from the gentle sunlight forcing through the small cracks in the window blinds. The rage subsided as abruptly as the noise did, and a gentle sense of relief replaced them both as I pulled my blanket over my face and buried my face in my pillow. It was not time to get up yet, one of the room mates must have turned on the T.V. and quickly lowered the volume.
As my conscious drifted into a weary stream, I was again ripped out as the noise boomed again. I still had no idea what it said, it was like somebody shouting at me from a distant shore I was sailing away from. The anger returned as the thought occurred to me that Jeff was probably trying to wake me up on purpose; he did that at times when he was hungry and, being that I was only one with a car ( which I wo n't ever let him drive again, mind you ) I was his only means of getting out to get that food. God forbid he prepare a meal for himself.
I ripped a shirt off its hangar and pulled it over myself, then pulled up a pair of gym shorts lying on the floor near my dresser. I flung my door open out of spite, with a force that briefly startled me from my anger when it slammed the wall. I stormed into the living room, taking a deep breath to prepare for the roar I was about to let loose.
... But the air escaped my lips noiselessly when I found no one there. Not only was Jeff not present but it looked like he had n't been for some time. Dishes littered the sink which proved a suitable habitat for the fungal biome now present. The television lay on the ground about a foot from where its stand, the cheaply upholstered couch slanted at an angle toward the doorway. It was almost like a group of people had rushed out the front door.
Any curiosity of the situation was overtaken by another return of the static accompanied voice. `` Get... can'' was all I could make of it, but I could hardly try to piece it together as my head seared with agony and my stomach now joined in the torment with a sharp pain that forced me to a knee. I glanced over at the wall near the fridge. Four o'clock, could I really have slept that long? The calendar marked a date and year far into the future than when I had gone to bed the evening prior. An eternity of moments passed by as I watched the clock, waiting for it to turn, but the clock's hands never moved. Perhaps Jeff was playing a prank far more elaborate than I had originally thought. That must be what's going on here, none of this mess can be real.
I pulled myself together and pressed onward, stumbling into a pair of flip flops left near the front door. My fingertips rested on the door handle gently as fear began to well up within my chest and cripple me more than the hangover. Quickly I collected myself once again and took a deep breath, filling me with a determination which, while not fully replacing the dread pushed it back enough for me to grip the door handle fully and pull downward.
As I stepped outside, a gentle breeze caressed my lips, making me acutely aware of the split on them which bared open against the wind. I cleared my throat and swallowed, and my dry throat demanded drink. I slowly stumbled onward, falling more than walking.
I could never have been prepared for the scene that await me.
Buildings in the distance were mere frames of the architecture they once represented. The sky was a smoky grey, different than the usual smog that darkened air. I looked near me and saw unkempt gardens sprawling outward onto sidewalks and buildings. About a block away, some trees stood as ashy rotting shadows of their former selves. The buildings near me and up and down the street had fallen into concerning disrepair.
And then, about a half mile down the road, a light pole which had a pair of loud speakers surrounding its neck kicked on, emitting the now familiar sound of crackling followed momentarily by a female voice. Those loud speakers had never been there before, how were they put up in only a night? I can hear it now, clear as ever, as if she was standing here telling me herself, `` Get out while you still can''.
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[ WP ] When you enter a door , or any entrance , something in your life changes . It could change your whole life or be very subtle .
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I have an irrational fear of doors.
Perhaps not quite irrational after all.
Yesterday, I had a date, the most wonderful girl a man can have.
We set the time for 7 and I found the most amazing restuarant for the night.
I saw her through the glass doors and I waved at her.
She was wearing the most beautiful red dress.
As I opened the door and stepped inside, it shocked us both,
to see me wearing the exact same red dress as her.
You see, I have a problem. No, it is n't what you think.
You see, everytime I take a door and get to the other side,
I find myself wearing something entirely new.
It was n't so bad at first.
I'd leave the house with a red shirt on, only for it to turn green,
and then blue at the next door and so on with every door I took.
I did n't mind,'I have more shirts now than I paid for', I thought.
Then things got worse.
I walked into my office meeting last day,
with nothing but a towel around my waist;
this morning at church I found myself in leather and chains.
This can go on no more.
You see, I have a fear of doors.
And it is n't silly at all.
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[ WP ] The only place to eat for miles is the Asian restaurant attached to the gas station . The food is great , but their fortune cookies always come true .
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`` I'm so full I feel like I'm going to die''
The words came pouring out of me, matching in great detail the meat sweats raining down from my brow.
`` Oh god tell me about it, we should n't have gone up for more crab legs'' said Jim, he rolled his eyes and proceeded to unbutton his pants.
`` Dude! We are still in the restaurant!'' I yelled.
`` It's cool man. No one gives a shit here. I told you, this place is something else. Great crowd for a hole in the wall, plus they have unlimited crab legs, and the best fortune cookies.''
Just then the waitress dropped off the check with some kind of fancy mini calendar and a couple of dark brown and tan colored fortune cookies. I slipped my credit card into the booklet as Jim steadily slid a piece of off white paper out of his cookie.
`` No numbers on the back?'' I said slowly, I could feel another round of meat sweats coming on.
`` No,'' he said, `` That's weird.''
`` What does it say?''
`` Um... I'm not really sure.''
`` Read it!'' I barked..at this point I was fighting the food coma as hard as I could.
`` All your base are belong to us.'' said Jim.
`` What?''
`` All your base... are belong to us.''
Almost immediately the restaurant started shaking. At first it felt like an earth quake, but the flashing red lights and darkness in-between left us all disoriented in a way I had never felt before.
I managed to pull myself up to the window only to be astounded by a skyline of stars and planets as far as I could see. We were traveling fast, really, really fast and unloading heavy ammunition at a target so far away I could n't make out exactly what it was.
`` WHAT HAPPEN!'' Screamed Jim
`` I... with 100 % certainty... shit my pants!'' I yelled back `` That's what the fuck happen!''
`` Somebody set up us the bomb!''
Jim was beginning to scare me.
`` We get signal'' Jim said, with a very stern look on his face.
`` What!'' I screamed back.
`` Main screen turn on.''
Suddenly the room exploded into a sea of bright white light that consumed everyone and everything inside of it. I could hear the faint but powerful sound of footsteps off in the distance. The sound grew louder and louder as a figure finally materialized a few feet away. It was the waitress.
All of a sudden I snapped out of it. I must've been day dreaming. I no longer felt meat sweats, but instead was immediately puzzled as to what had just taken place. Jim handed the waitress the check presenter as
I looked down at the table and saw the other fortune cookie laying next to a couple crab shell fragments and some rice. I picked it up.
Jim and I stared at each other for a solid 10 seconds in silence.
`` Open it'' Jim whispered
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[ WP ] The cigarette dropped to the floor and ... ...
|
The ship is cold today. I ca n't remember it ever being this cold. There must be something wrong with the temperature regulators. I should go check them. Check them I did. I made my way to the aft of the ship. After 500 days I still have n't gotten used to the washed out colors and sharp edges the interior has to offer. Granted this was only supposed to be a short hop to resupply the mars colony and back to beers. I am sure if they intended for this to be a longer mission my accommodations would be much more comfortable. Still even when the ship is not cold, it has no warmth.
Just as I had gotten the temperature regulators back online the artificial gravity decided to fail. This day just keeps getting better and better. At least I still have the Mars supplies. `` Carol start a level 4 scan of white dwarf and inform me of the results.'' `` Right away Ben.'' I will never get used to how mechanical her voice is. You would think that NASA would at least make her sound human. Fucking Houston. This is all their fault anyway.
It's about time to turn in for the night. Without gravity I am going to have to strap in. At least I do n't have to hold my cigarette. If control knew I was smoking in this thing they would have my job. If I was closer to home maybe I would n't smoke. After a couple of more drags it is time for my daily log.
Captain's Log. day 500.
`` Today was much more of the same. Drifting through space. We have however come close enough to scan the white dwarf though. Still awaiting those results.'' I take another drag. Mostly as a fuck you to NASA whenever they finally see this. I then let the cigarette float in it's place as I continue my log. `` I experienced some maintenance issues today. Nothing I could n't fix th -- -the alarm interrupts me.
`` Carol, report.''
`` Sir, another vessel has exited the corona of that star. I am reading increased gravimetric energy. Sir, the star is going super nova.''
I did n't have time to think about how much I hated that mechanical voice. `` Carol begin any and all scans that you can, and stream the results back to Earth. They need to know about this even if it will takes another 500 years to reach them. It's been a pleasure, Carol.''
It was that moment when gravity began to exert itself upon the ship. My cigarette dropped to floor.
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[ WP ] Air raid ( civil warning ) sirens are going off all over the United States . Something big is happening ...
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On a quiet Sunday morning in Brooklyn, it drowned out the quiet clinking of spoons on the inside of coffee cups. It was louder than the whurr of the treadmills at the gyms during the busy after-work hour, louder than the grind of the machines at the textile mill by the river, louder than the rain that pattered on the tin rooftops. Its echoless cry rang between the canyons of Arizona in a silent midnight, in the farthest mountainside hot spring of the Idaho panhandle, on quiet beaches of Key West. Across the prairies of Wyoming, in the mines of Appalacia. In Camden and Compton, in Bethesda and Dallas and Silicon Valley.
That sound. The wailing sound, the siren call. Even where there were no sirens to call -- even where no sirens *could* call. In any silence or any noise, they cried where even one ear could hear.
In antebellum manors, in pioneer homesteads, in wartime munitions factories, in southeastern missions, in textile mills and steel mills. It came from nowhere and everywhere. It shook no foundations, made no ripples on rivers and bathtubs and mugs of tea.
It was the sound of something happening -- not just every where, but every when -- a rooster's call, a morning bell, an alarm clock -- for all who were and all who are and all who would be to get ready, because right now, at that moment, at all moments, it was starting.
Time be damned. It did n't matter what year it was.
*They* were coming back.
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[ WP ] In a Dystopian future there exists a pill for each human emotion that allows Doctors or citizens ( illegally ) to heighten or lower the desired emotion .
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I walked towards the building. It was large and brown, on a dirt road, paved only by the footprints of the others who have dared to take this risk. I knew how to get in, but I stood for a moment, wondering why the hell I thought this was a good idea. But, despite my contradictions, I pressed the button to activate the intercom. I said the key phrase.
`` Go ahead, sir.'' The voice coming through the speakers was stern.
`` Emotion is n't perceived. It's controlled.'' I shook a bit.
`` Come in. Be quiet.'' As the doors creaked open, I stepped softly. The air was thick. My thoughts were interrupted by the slams echoing from the doors. I jumped, and proceeded on. There were signs, pointing me where to go. I walked into the last room.
`` Welcome, sir. Welcome to the stabilization room. Before we get started, please fill out this sheet.'' The man speaking to me was in a white coat. He looked like Albert Einstein combined his outfit with a detective. I read the top of the page.
**CONSENT/NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT**
It stated all the stuff you would normally see on one of those contracts. I signed quickly, because I really just wanted to get this over with. I handed the slip of paper back.
`` Delightful! Now, what shall we change today?''
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[ IP ] Underground Walkway
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They have already taken greater men
Yet, they have not taken me
Soon enough they'll swarm here too
Like a hive of mighty African bees
Alone I live in the abandoned dark
For now my home in a mall by the sea
Here I'll stay in peace
And live relatively worry free
Nothing above and beyond is left
Not bird or grass or tree
Nothing is worth fighting for
... They will eventually come for me
I wonder how my name will be remembered
Will there be anything left to see?
Perhaps I'll write a biography
And call it my final apogee
This all started as an experiment
That turned downright nasty
Now the zombies destroy the earth
& nbsp;
.... I think I hear them coming for me.
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[ CW ] Write a fight scene without the use of dialogue
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The commander squeezed the gunner's shoulder as the enemy Panther medium tank slowed to a halt, turret swiveling rapidly towards them. There was no doubt that it had seen them by now. The driver reacted instantly, pulling a hard left in order to hide the vehicle's lower glacis plate behind a four-foot high section of ruined apartment. He did not trust the armor thickness to deflect anything at short range. That was not a mistake he would make twice. The loader's blood still dripped down the left side of the driver's waxen face. Nobody spoke. There was no need for words now. There was no running from an engagement at such close range.
The Panther fired. It was close enough that the sound hit the IS-2 at the same time as the shell, which bounced harmessly off the gun mantlet with a sound not unlike two very large kettles being smacked together. The commander squeezed the gunner's shoulder harder, a silent plea for him to take his time. The gunner obliged despite his trembling fingers. The Panther's 75mm gun fired rapidly, and the IS-2's 122mm gun did not. Only one well-aimed shot would be necessary to destroy the Panther, whereas the Panther would have to get lucky. The gunner planted the sight right on the Panther's center of mass as best he could.
The Panther fired again. The shell entered the commander's view port on top of the turret and ricocheted straight down through the floor, miraculously hitting nothing, heat from its passage searing the commander's back. He involuntarily lurched forward, bumping into the gunner just as he fired. The entire tank shook, and the crew watched in horror as the shot went high, missing its target entirely and destroying a facade behind it. The driver made a panicked grunt, knowing that everyone would be stuck there for another fifteen seconds as the gun was reloaded without the expertise of the loader. He dared not move the tank even an inch; there was no other cover than what they already had.
The Panther fired once more, just as the 122mm shell had finished being hefted onto the track. The kettle sound rang out again as it bounced off somewhere around the driver's hatch, causing the driver to reflexively, uselessly cover his face with his arms. The Panther was aiming at weak points. Time was running out. The seconds bled on, agonizingly slowly, just like the loader's corpse. The gunner began pre-aiming once again at the Panther.
With a colossal, indescribable noise, the Panther's fourth shell plowed right through the IS-2's turret ring, right between the commander and gunner, and buried itself in the engine deck behind them. The engine died instantly with a sickly clank and a squealing belt. Then silence. The driver's erratic breathing intensified. The commander shook himself from shock and slammed the 122mm shell home.
The gunner fired, and the Panther exploded in a towering plume of fire and metal.
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[ WP ] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
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The bomber carried no bomb, rather, it carried hundreds of infantry clad in sophisticated stealth tactical armor, carrying a blade comparable to legendary holy swords in brilliance.
The first bullet shot from AA battery was sliced cleanly in half, as with several dozen others that lucky enough to find their tiny target in the darkness. Metals filled the night as if a rain had reversed its direction, flying upon the sky instead of falling to the ground, only to be deflected by the invisible modern knights. Their blade sliced SAM with surgical accuracy, severing the explosive embedded within, letting the rest fell harmlessly to the ground below.
By the time the AA gun shot its seventy third bullet, the invisible knights sliced them all into useless pile of metal.
The year was 2023, mere five years from the declaration that locked down the conflict in East Asia into seemingly infinite deadlock, but the scariest monster is indeed one they never saw for themselves. The war settled without any bullets fired from the other side of conflict, and yet blood soaked the once prideful nation.
US unveiled their newest series of cutting edge weaponry, the Blind Knight suit, shortly after the battle that smoldered North Korea. Their entire infantry division has been converted into specialized division for the suit, capable of hiding from detection in almost every method known to man. They quickly conquered the entirety of East Asia before any of them recovered from the shock and awe. Russia unleashed their nuclear armament in retaliation, but the suit brushed even those, leaving the smoldering wasteland almost unscathed.
A new age of warfare has begun, one that does n't fear even nuclear intervention.
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[ WP ] You 're ( your actual self , not a character ) sitting at your computer , browsing r/WritingPrompts , when suddenly a team of armed soldiers bursts into your room , all aiming weapons at you . A suited figure steps forward and says , `` You 're the one we 've been looking for . ''
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It was a dark and frosty day, that was crawling into the night time, and here I am sitting in my worn out computer chair that I swear it feels like it is 10 years old. The back of the chair is stuck in position making me sit fully upright which felt uncomfortable as hell. The levers for changing the height and back support had broken off and were attempted to be fixed but only had duct tape left on them. The roar of the other agents had got pretty loud as it got more and more busy, but all I wanted at this point was to go home and relax by putting up my feet up and watch the football game with ice cold beers that have been waiting for me since last week. Since I was in chat, it had calmed down within the last half hour, and I had to find something to amuse myself with. I had aimlessly led myself into checking reddit as usual to see if I could find something funny or interesting to read. I had noticed a new writing prompt that interested me and that I thought I could write to.
About 10 minutes into my story, I heard a crash in the back left corner of the building that was out of place during a normal work day. Just as I realized that it was a door that it was from a door that was not used that often, I then heard the shout that was towards my general direction.
“ There he is! ” Said the burly
“ Mike Charlie, this is Zulu Foxtrot, we have found the subject and bringing him in now ”
I was looking around and seeing the shocked expressions on mostly everyone, as a deadly silence fell over the workers, and I started to freeze in place just as I turned my head to realize the big burly guys were pointing right at me, and that is when I really knew that shit has hit the fan. I noticed that a few of my co-workers were shocked, but that turned into disgust as they looked right at me. I sorted through everything I could that had happened in the last week, but could n't find any reason that someone, or some group would be looking for me with so much fierce and steadfastness. I thought over my options of either running away and hoping I can make it, or just simply go with them and see what happens. i decided on the latter, as the risk of running away would not be worth it when looking over the burly men waiting for me. The big men walked over, and said “ Ben, you are coming with us. You have a lot of explaining to do ” I heard from what i presumed was the leader of the wolfpack.. “ wait what? why? “ I said hesitantly and very confused.
“ that ’ s classified ” was the last thing I heard before a black cloth was put over my head, and I felt them push me forward as they led me out of the building.
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[ WP ] A coven of vampires chase their snack , a human child into a closed down Disneyland . Disneyland awakens after sensing the child and the danger it 's in , It would use its magic once more to protect .
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*my first prompt* ¯\\_ ( ツ ) _/¯
Dead trees twisted upwards, raking the big black with thin bone hands. Their old orange life littered the ground, dried husks that screamed and crackled beneath foot. Musty pungent air waned away the threat of thousands of deep, excited breaths.
An angular black eyed creature hurried and scuffled with its theif children in tow, into the belly of a shivering plastic trunk, fur pushed against painted surfaces, claws scraping along bark that would live forever. Seeking a place to be unseen.
Footsteps tiny, distant. Wind howling through frozen corpses, bare of greenery, jutting from the flesh of the Earth. It twisted and ruffled the bunting, colour drained and vomited onto the ground. Twisted around the metal that crawled from the ground and climbed high, warmth and light absent from its face. Streams of broken red, white and blue, run amok across the ground. Rot followed suit.
Drips of hot liquid, scuffle of bare feet, tearing of the sole against shattered glass. A shriek, and she was down, contact with the cold, laughing bench sending her body into sudden stiffening. Red flourished against the grey. Noses raised to the sky and deep breaths shook the night.
The world shuddered.
The blackest of all, draping across the landscape, drifting without step, and thinking with motive. Maw lifted, parted, and smiling. Jagged. Oh, the humour and happiness! The feelings of joy that fill us! The trees, they hugged, and the chimes of what once was filled the air. Rejoice! For too long the-
Sharp teeth flare. Unlike the smiles of the past.
Waving trees settled and stopped, and the velvet blanket spread down to her feet. Her little toes were blackened and dirty, and her chest was warm. The night paused, and the maws lowered. Disinterest in all but a moment. Day was coming.
Chimes, low to begin, started to flow across the hills of stone and brick, and the heads of the loyalists to the night rose, black swirling around them. The tinkles and beats, the sumptuous singing, wrapped around them and squeezed them free. The bells and whistles caressed china skin, blonde curls behind the ear, little blue frock pushed back into place. Baby blue and warm red. Black shrivelled quickly and the sky burst into orange. Wisps of white curled around the sun and caressed its skin.
Happiness, oh joy! Laughter is timeless! Imagination has no age! Dreams are forever! They are his words!
Trees shuddered in the warm light, and bunting burst with colour. Flowers prepared the sweet smell for the day, and the stalls waited with anticipation. Chimes and bells and singing, distant on the wind, almost missable. Caressed the red and the white and the blue, and combed the blonde curls and white china skin. Little toes that would be to wriggle and jump. Foamy blue eyes that stared up to the sky with soon to be excitement. Red velvet blanket that shrouded her body, to keep her warm.
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[ WP ] Advanced alien life exists , but Humanity has never found any . This is intentional .
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`` Planet'' is just a moniker. Another world simply must be alien in nature, alien to human perception. Humans are tied to two planes, one established and well-known, the other more malleable, though more distant. Dreaming, once called Bharktoukh, though it has many names. Long ago we were the rulers, the Lords of Bhartoukh, the kings, terrible and great. Masters of exploration, of the ebbs and flows, continuous discovery flowing from the many cities like a waterfall. Great structures and monoliths erected rapidly, as though each were a grain of sand being poured onto the land from a cosmic sieve. Suns and moons and stars brought down from the heavens for instruction and command. Bhartoukh had always been a shared land however, and though Humans brought innovation across it, our rule was tyrannical. We had been unchecked for too long, had chained the world to our desires, diluting the pliant nature of Bhartoukh, its very essence. Our exploits had brought form to formlessness; definition to unbeing. Bhartoukh had become closer to a mask, obscuring the real face beneath. The other races decided then to rally, congregating into an army. An army of weapons that were at once there and not, shields which held the very seas and skies. We Humans had forgotten the ways, if the ways were even such things as could be remembered. From on high the clarion call was sounded and warriors closed in from everywhere and nowhere. The battle was hard fought, and although we commanded great forces and engines of war, in the end they could not overcome the attacking charges of seemingly infinite strength and numbers. The great titans of cities crashed down all around, causing the very essence of Bhartoukh to shimmer and ripple. One hundred soldiers from the attacking races, at once simply one from each, at once simply one soldier in total, convened to decide our fate. Instantly, effortlessly, the decision was cast that we Humans would get precisely what we worked so hard to achieve. A world driven by rules, bound by laws unbreakable, not subject to erratic change. We were chained to that virgin plane, exiled to a land vile and unyielding. We are permitted to return to Bhartoukh briefly, our power greatly subdued. Constantly we scour the skies for life beyond our world, unaware that we are desperately searching for a pathway back to our true home. While we struggle in this harsh land our very souls cry out for the return to Bhartoukh, a great sadness that grasps longingly at the beauty so cruelly denied to us now. The plane we were exiled to is Earth, the universe, and we are truly alone in it.
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[ WP ] After decades of beaming messages into space , seeking intelligent life , Earth receives a response : `` Stop broadcasting . You 'll attract them . ''
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The car squealed into the parking lot and Director Stevens hurled himself out, barely pausing to ensure the engine was off. *A reply! * He took the doors at a dead sprint, not caring as they smashed back against the wall, one denting the drywall - a maintenance crime he would have spent hours worrying about how to find the money to fix... a bare three hours ago.
But then, in the middle of the cliffhanger episode of *X-Files*, had come the urgent chiming of a cellphone alert. The three words had galvanized him off his chair like a rocket.
*Extraterrestrial Signal Received*
`` Talk to me guys!'' came the command as he barged into the VLA Control center, expecting to hear the chatter of the technicians. The scientist part of him, the fragment that management had almost buried, was excitedly running scenarios. What was this signal? Polarized pulses? Amplitude modulated? Where was it from? What was the frequency?
But the room was silent. Franks and William were clustered around a screen, intent on the contents. Stevens joined them... and the readout sent a cold trickle of fear, and then adrenaline down his spine.
The transmission was short and succinct. There was a signal, a triple spike of noise coming in - that could only be from a artificial source - but it was simply there as a carrier for single image set.
The top of the image was similar, broadly to the institutes own SETI broadcasts. A sort of mathematical cheat-sheet, defining numbers ( base eight, he noted absently ), true and false symbols, and a series of mathematical operations.
Under that was a series of thirty-odd distinct lines and dots, connected to a numerical value. A sort of alien alphabet. But next to twenty-six of *those* symbols were English characters. *ENGLISH! *
At the bottom of the image was a simple set of numbers, alien characters and then English letters, all apparently saying the same message.
`` Stop Broadcasting. You Will Attract Them.''
`` Boss? What do we do now?'' Franks looked concerned. Stevens was struck with a sudden realization - an enormous weight that had settled onto his shoulders. In this room, two IT geeks and a washed up ex-astronomer now held what appeared to be the first message from an extraterrestrial race... and it was a command to shut up.
`` Do we have a source location?''
`` Uhh..Yeah. Constellation Scorpius.''
`` Gilese 667?'' That was a system - a triple system actually - that had potential Earth-like exoplanets. It was also only about 24 ly away - practically next door in galactic terms.
`` Certainly coming from that area. Signal is directional as hell.''
*Shit*. `` Right. William, I need you to recheck *everything*. Not an electron out of place. People are going to be all over this. Franks. Contact Arecibo, Jodrell, Allen, hell, anyone you can think of. Prove this is n't just us. I....I have a phone call to make.''
Stevens made his way into his office as the technicians started working again. There were two phones in the room. His hand hovered over the blue one, and then decisively picked it up. He waited patiently for the ringtone..*seven... eight... nine... *
`` Yeah?'' The voice was sleepy, vaguely irritated and had an undertone of'this had better be important'.
`` Administrator Foster? It's Stevens at the VLA. We've... ah....we've got a signal here you need to see. Immediately.''
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Administrator Foster stifled a yawn with herculean effort. The conference room was stifling, too many suits and aides all clustered in, too many people having called in a favor of a favor just to get in the room when history was being made. The beleaguered air-conditioning could n't cope with the muggy June heat, plus the press of bodies.
The Signal was real. That much had been established without a doubt. Directional or not, probes on Mars and even the Juno probe at Jupiter were able to pick it up. There was no chance this was some satellite hoax.
It's dire portent was more contentious. Despite the best efforts of the military and government to restrict the content of the message, it had leaked with startling speed minutes after Congress was briefed in a first-of-its-kind `` secret Session''. The media backlash had been... spectacular.
And really, that was the crux of this interminable meeting.
`` And I'm sorry, but No. Just no. You ca n't order us off the air. you ca n't deprive the people of their need for news. You want state censorship, and that's not going to happen.''
Stop Transmitting. So many different possible meanings. Stop ActiveSETI? That was already done, despite some grumbling. Stop probe signals? Trickier. NASA, Roscosmos and CSA were already reprogramming their active hardware into directional signals or suspending operations. Probes like Voyager and New Horizons were permanently out of reach, but both were directional and absurdly weak signals. Surely they would n't attract the mysterious `` Them''.
Shutting down TV and Radio? *C'est Impossible! * Censorship! State Despotism! Dictatorship! Millions out of work! Depriving the people of the shining light of News!
Shutting down Wi-Fi and Cellular networks? Completely out of the question!
Conservative estimates said the global cost of ceasing all transmissions was going to be in the quadrillions, a number no-one could really grasp. Developing nations were already calling it'another measure by the so-called'enlightened' to oppress and enslave those less fortunate'.
That was n't to say it was completely one-sided. The three tech giants of Microsoft, Apple and Google had entered into an unprecedented agreement and were laying fibreoptic cables across the US, Canada and Mexico as fast as it could be churned out. Major telecom providers had taken them to the Supreme Court, and it had taken a Presidential Order to prevent the ludicrous situation of police having to arrest workmen for doing their job.
That move alone had ensured Mrs Clinton would be only a one-term President, but....Foster let out a soft groan as he realized he was stuck in a hot meeting room considering *politics! * Politics! When there was clear and present proof of ALIENS!
`` Administrator Foster? You wished to contribute?''
The table was staring at him. *Groan must have been louder than I thought. *
`` Are we really doing this? Really? Talking about bailout packages for TV studios when we're finally aware that *We Are Not Alone? * Are we really going to pretend that there are n't alternatives out there?
`` No, we're not speaking of government censorship! As Sagan put it,'We need, and deserves, a citizenry with minds wide awake and a basic understanding of how the world works, and our place in the cosmos!'' We can switch from radio to cables! Copper to Fibre Optric. Already the wired internet has radio stations without *using any radio whatsoever! *
`` We're not talking about despotic takeovers of news! We're talking about steps to preserve ourselves as a SPECIES, not as a market economy. That all should have vanished the second we got the warning!
`` Yes, there will be problems, there will be obstacles. But remember! Every mystery ever had been a puzzle from the dawn of the our species right up until someone solved it. We're faced with a new puzzle, a new mystery and we have to solve it!
`` SOLVE IT! We've been beaming signals out for two hundred years! For all we know, it's already too late, and ``'Them' are coming! On the *off-chance* that they are not, we need to reduce our risk RIGHT NOW!
`` You all sit here smugly, trying to protect your comfortable, profitable and established powerbases. Those motivations vanished six months ago, the night the VLA received the signal.
`` We need to stop transmitting! **Now! **''
Foster turned to exit the room. Despite his angry rant - and he still was n't entirely too sure where that surge of emotion had come from - it was clear he would n't be invited back again.
*Can only hope that they'll make the right choice*
--
*Edit: Spelling issues fixed*
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[ WP ] After three years as the imaginary friend of a child , you decide that their parents do not deserve them and consequently attempt to take the child into your realm .
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A resounding crash and shattering sound comes from the other room. There goes a beer bottle, I grimace. Julia's parents are screaming again, I realize as I twirl my lavender hair around my finger. This is the fourth day in a row. I frown and stroke her blond hair as she cries into my arms.
My child, the child who brought me to this world, does n't deserve this treatment. Tears brim on my lilac eyelashes as I see the welt on her lower lip swelling. I ca n't protect her here.
Julia does n't need to live like this...
`` Oh, Lilac. What are we going to do?'' Julia asks between her hiccuping sobs. Her blue eyes are red and swollen, which fuels my anger. The hand shaped mark on her pale little cheek adds to that anger, and I feel my typically silver eyes burning red. `` L-L-Lilac?''
I force myself to remain calm and I straighten my purple dress before I sit her up and smooth her platinum blond back. I take her tiny hands in my own.
`` Jules... You are n't happy here.'' I say softly. My child rubs her sleeve over her damp eyes. `` Would you like me to take you somewhere where you can be happy?''
She sniffles, nods and holds her hands out to me to pick her up. I lift her into my arms easily and whisper.
`` Julia Valerie Stephens... Close your eyes.''
In a puff of purple smoke, I take the child away and make her safe. She is asleep now and I lay her down in the softest bed imaginable, under a sky of glittering blue and gold stars.
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[ WP ] The brave men did not kill dragons , the brave men rode them .
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In our tiny village, the dragons were a threat we all knew. When a sheep or cow disappeared during the night, with giant talon marks next to it, it did n't take a genius to figure it out.
Those of us who considered themselves brave armed themselves and went to scout out where they thought the beasts caves may have lied. We never saw them again, which was sad but not totally unexpected.
And then Dave came to town.
Now, many of us liked Dave. He was the adventurin' type, and adventurers were good for little towns like ours. They brought a bit of excitement back.
The problem started when some fool told Dave about our dragon problem.
We could n't hold him back from basically running up the mountain, clad in armour and screaming about how he'd always wanted to see a dragon.
We feared the worst, and waited with bated breath.
Some still tell stories of what we saw that night. Some dismiss it as nonsense. I know what I saw.
Dave was riding a dragon, the crazy son of a bitch.
Godspeed you mental bastard.
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