prompt
stringlengths 5
331
| story
stringlengths 404
40.3k
|
|---|---|
[ WP ] Your feet are cold .
|
The walk from station to beach had seemed to last an aeon, somehow emphasised by the cheerfulness of her talk through chattering teeth. In times long since past, the beach had been a home away from home for the two of us, with an unspoken agreement that the moment the weather turned, and the sun began to sink low in the sky, that this would be our destination. We were as drawn to the shoreline as we were to each other, as if two souls caught in some tragic dance, drawn towards still more tragic surroundings.
Ours was not a love that healed, that comforted or soothed. It was dark, twisted and corrupt. Having discarded all boundaries, our connection was absolute, and now we were two people with one soul, one heart and one life combined.
As we reached the water ’ s edge she grew quiet, and paused a moment.
‘ Such is our fate ’ she softly spoke, and walked on.
I sat silently on the rocky shore, my shoes sopping wet, my socks soaked through and my feet so cold all feeling was gone.
|
[ WP ] You start to forget the past and remember the future .
|
`` Hey man, what's up?''
I hold back a sigh. It was my roommate again. It never gets weird, living with your old boss.
`` Not much.'' I quickly turn my attention back to the TV, where I was locked in a heated battle. My killstreak was up to 10, but I was running low on ammo. I had taken a few shots and decide to back off to find a health pack. Of course, right before I get to it, a flanker on the enemy team jumps out. Boom, headshot.
I toss my controller to the ground. `` Fuck! I knew that was gon na happen.''
My ex-boss laughs. `` Chill out man, it's just a game.'' I glare at him, but he continues, unphased, `` You excited about Episode 8?''
I look at him confused until I realize he is talking about Star Wars again. `` Oh, I mean,'' I shrug. It was a good movie, but nothing to write home about. `` I would n't go see it again.''
He laughs again. `` Maybe I'll give your ticket to someone else then.'' I shrug as I close the game and open Netflix instead. I browse for something new to watch as he takes a seat and continues, `` You know, I like where they are going with these, but nothing will ever beat the originals.''
I shrug again. Episode 9 and 8 were good, but not that good. Sometimes I do n't understand him. `` I do n't know about that, but what I do know is I will be forever confused as to why they decided to film them in, like... reverse order.''
My roommate nods. `` Yeah, I think everyone will forever be confused about that, no matter which way you look at it.''
I smile. Finally something we both see eye-to-eye.
|
( WP ) Falling in love during a midnight stroll on Christmas Eve
|
11:29pm. I can ’ t sleep. Why did I try to sleep this early? I haven ’ t slept in the ‘ pm ’ in years. I ’ m not even tired. It ’ s too hot in this room, it ’ s too hot in this god damn house. I don ’ t remember it being this hot. Why are there space heaters everywhere? Am I sweating? Oh god I have to cool off, I ’ m going for a walk. I hate being home for the holidays.
These floors are so creaky; I hope I don ’ t wake anyone. I make my way to the front door and flick on a light so I can put my shoes on. What a mess I am, I ’ ve caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror near our foyer. weathered flannel p.j. ’ s, an old high-school gym shirt and I ’ m sweating like I ’ ve just run a marathon. I don ’ t really care though, who am I going to run into at this time of the night?
I open the door and step outside, not as cold as I expected but any air feels good on me right now. Everything is covered in a thick layer of ice, apparently due to some freezing rainstorm before my flight landed earlier today. I have to say; this shitty town has never looked as beautiful as it does tonight.
The only place worth going to at this hour is the 7-11 down the street, the only place in walking distance at least. I wish there was a bar nearby, but a late night brownie doesn ’ t seem too bad.
I slide nearly all the way to the gas station and finally step on the property ’ s salt covered walkway. Some grip under my feet at last. Making my way through the doors and over to the god-knows-when-these-were-made pastry bin takes almost no time. I reach in and grab the fattest brownie in there.
I walk down an aisle, half-eaten brownie in hand, looking for something to drink; I stop at a fridge browsing various brands of chocolate milk. Suddenly I feel a push from behind, it jerks me, I almost drop the brownie, *almost*. A female voice apologizes profusely as I turn around. I make a full 180 and just as soon as I do, I find myself at a loss for words.
Black, no, no **JET** black hair; shiny, almost reflective. It ’ s curly, but actually curly not *curled*, nice tight curls, uniform and comforting. Her skin is light, not pale, but fair and lively. Her lips are full and rose coloured, turned up at the edges like she ’ s holding back a smile, a smile that I desperately want to see. Best of all are her sparkling green eyes, i know its so cliche to talk about eyes but they ’ re just so wide open and sparkly, glistening like the city outside. Everything about her just feels… Alive -- she feels alive. And all I want is her. I want to talk to her, and know her, and hold her, and have her. But all I know is that I have chocolate on my face.
“ Oh my god, I ’ m so sorry I wasn ’ t paying attention ”
Holy shit, she ’ s talking to me. I quickly wipe all the corners of my mouth.
“ Oh no no, it ’ s totally fine, haha ”
She nods and walks away, but not before shooting me a strange look. I don ’ t know what that look means; I was probably staring at her for longer than I thought. damn it, i should have said something charming or funny, anything to initiate a longer conversation. I turn to look at her again, our eyes meet, she was already looking at me but I quickly look away. I don ’ t have the nerve to hold eye contact with her, its like staring at the sun.
A few moments later I hear the bell on the front door ‘ ding ’, I look around -- she ’ s left. I move to a window, and watch her cautiously walking down the icy sidewalk. I look at myself in the dairy fridge glass. I ’ ve been talking myself out of girls like her my whole life. ‘ Girls like her don ’ t go out with guys who have chocolate on their face ’. I ’ m pathetic; I have nothing to celebrate in my life right now, yet I continue to talk myself out of the only thing that might make me happy. I must really enjoy feeling sorry for myself.
I throw some cash at the register and jog out of the front door carefully planting each step making sure not to fall on my ass.
“ Hey, Hey! ”, I call out to her. I don ’ t even know what I ’ m going to say if she turns around.
To my surprise though, she does.
“ You…uh… you bumped into me in there ”
“ Yeah, sorry about that ”
ugh why did I open with that, what am I guilting her into a date?
“ no its just…. I think you ’ re really pretty. Do..do you... uh... want to grab a coffee or something? ”
She stares at my face, biting her lip. I could watch her making her mind up forever she ’ s so beautiful—but the suspense is killing me. my heart is about to explode in my chest.
“ I don ’ t know, It ’ s kind of late…. ”
It is, 11:59pm to be exact. But she's holding something back, she must see the desperation on my face.
“ …I guess I have time though ” and she smiles as she says it. The smile I thought I saw her holding back when she bumped into me 11 minutes ago finally comes out, and its every bit as beautiful as I thought it would be.
Before I can open my mouth, she reaches her hand out towards my face
“ You have some chocolate on your face by the way ”
|
[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 20 : Timed Writing
|
Small towns are not ideal for a witch. Correction, small towns are not ideal for a teenage witch. They lack the night life, the cute boys, the October mischief, the underground potion shops, and generally anything interesting at all. Unless you find using your magic to help the neighbors rake leaves when they aren ’ t watching enthralling, you ’ d be wise to stick to the inner city limits.
“ Gram, you said you ’ d teach me a love potion so I could get a date to prom. What happened to that? We ’ re like a month away and I ’ m in crisis mode. ” Ada was half leaning over the counter of the shop, whining into the ear of her shelf-stacking grandmother. She was answered with nothing short of a glare and slight huff.
“ How many times, young lady, have I told you that magic is not to be used lightly? ” With a flick of her wrist, a box slid across the room to the grandmother ’ s side and she resumed sorting the different herbs within. “ Magic is serious. Magic is dangerous. Magic is- ”
“ -a craft that has been used well before any remaining witch of Old was born. Yeah, I get it. ” the girl returned the huff, leaning so far over the counter that she was practically crouched on it now. “ But that ’ s not helping me with prom. I can not go without a date, and I ’ m already on the social outcast list because you always have me on servant duty here. One potion. That ’ s all I ’ m asking for. And I won ’ t use any more than a drop or two because I ’ m not looking for lifelong love. ”
“ Your mother told me the same thing, and next thing I know she showed back up with a husband and a sixteen year old that she ‘ just can ’ t handle anymore. ’ ”
“ But Gram- ”
“ No. Now get back to sorting. ”
Ada straightened up and made her way to the back rooms of the shop, rolling her eyes far out of sight. * ‘ If she won ’ t help, it ’ s not like I can ’ t try to brew one.What ’ s the worst that could happen? ’ * The all too familiar wicked grin spread across her face as she entered the sorting room, filled with hundreds of boxes of ingredients. Her favorite thing by far was collecting ingredients to make a potion; in this dusty old town, it was the closest thing to shopping. Within minutes, her hands and pockets were stuffed with an array of leaves, powders, and flasks, all the items she considered common sense to go in a love potion.
It was no issue to find a cauldron in the shop. Ada poured a flask of red liquid into the cauldron and set it over a flame, slowly adding the powders and leaves as it came to a boil. Her final ingredient, a green liquid went in with ease and let out a whisp of smoke.
“ Ada? You ’ d better be doing something besides sulking! ” The grandmother yelled from the front.
“ Yeah, yeah, I ’ m sorting! ” She hollered, pulling the cauldron off of the flame and crossing her arms with an air of triumph. * ‘ I ’ m thinking about which boy to take. ’ *
|
[ WP ] Before you died , you agreed to donate your body for medical research . This morning , you woke up in an unfamiliar room and the last thing you remember is dying .
|
`` Just sign here to consent to us using your body for medical research.''
The doctor thrust the clipboard toward Emily, who scrawled her signature onto it before lying back on the bed and pulling the mask back toward her face. She was reaching the end of her life. It was no secret. The form that she had just signed was just one more technicality in the process.
She pulled the mask off of her face again as the doctor turned around. `` My organs.'' It was all she could make out before pressing the mask to her face again. She took a deep breath and removed it. `` Will they still... be used... for others?''
The doctor gave her a sad look. `` I'm afraid with all the treatment you've had your organs are n't viable for donation. That's why you'll be valuable for medical research. We'll be able to look inside your & mdash;''
Emily waved off the doctor and laid back against her pillows, pulling the mask to her face. She did n't need to hear anymore. The doctor gave her a sad nod that Emily interpreted as his trying to say he understood. Then he backed out of the room and the rest of her family came back in.
They gathered around her bed, taking her hands and squeezing them gently. The uncle she had n't seen for decades stood at the foot of her bed. Her mother stroked her hair.
*It's okay, * she thought but did n't say as they crowded around her. Someone pushed the button of her morphine drip. She'd built a tolerance to it by now, but it still made her sleepy.
She was n't sure how much time passed. Relatives came in and out, kissing her forehead and telling her to have courage. Some brought her ice chips that she refused, wanting to turn onto her side if not for the IV.
Swimming in and out of focus. Her mother's voice somewhere near her ear telling her *it's okay, sweetheart. You can go. You can go. *
Emily closed her eyes, the voice of her mother echoing as somewhere far off a beeping started and then was quickly deafened.
When she opened her eyes her vision was blurry. It took a few blinks to wonder where she was. She was still in bed. Still in her hospital gown, even. The mask that she had held to her face, the relatives, and everything else was gone. She was even in a new room.
`` Emily, glad to see you're awake,'' a voice said from the side of the room. She looked up.
`` Doctor Pratem?'' She squinted her eyes to try and see him better. She rubbed at her eyes as he came into focus. It was her doctor, the same doctor who had been by her side. *Before* the word came to her, but did n't make much sense. Before what?
`` Glad to see you're awake,'' the doctor said. He walked over and took a seat at the end of her bed. `` How's your breathing?''
Out of habit Emily reached for the oxygen mask before she realized that she was having no trouble breathing at all.
`` You'll be confused for a while,'' Dr. Pratem said as he stood up. `` It might take you a few hours or days to really realize where you are or what's led to this. Remember that you signed your body for medical research?''
`` I...''
`` Do n't try to talk right now,'' Dr. Pratem said. He walked and took Emily's hand, stretching it out as he produced a syringe that he sank into the crook of her arm. `` Maybe I should have clarified... I cheated, technically. Your medical research began long before you got sick. In fact, it's what made you sick. But look now, we've made you better! I'm afraid, though, that the medical research is just beginning now, Emily. Sleep now. It will be better if you sleep. We'll talk more when you wake up.''
Emily started to say something, but her eyes were drifting closed. Dr. Pratem pushed the plunger of the syringe all the way in, and her world faded into black.
|
[ EU ] A bandit successfully kills the Dragonborn
|
`` Dammit, Sven! Do n't you know who that was? ``
What? I'm still a little stunned, Chief's words reverberates in my ears like so much nonsense.
`` That was the Dragonborn! Without him, we're all doomed godsdamit!''
Blood? Why was there blood? Draugr do n't bleed. Oh gods! What have I done? I ca n't help but to stammer out excuses.
`` But....but he was running about yelling in his crazy talk and wearing that old as helmet. Only Draugr wear those! What did you expect me to think? ``
Chief sighs and puts his head in his hands. Jerry speaks up. `` Maybe you absorbed his power like he did to dragons. Do...do you feel different? ``
Chief puts his head back up. `` Sven! You might be the new Dragonborn! Quick, take Delp and Fergi and go kill a dragon! ``
Before I know it, I'm reading down the hill with the twins in tow, off to find my destiny.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Chief sheaths his sword as the trio descend the hill. `` Alright, `` he says with another sigh, `` those twits are taken care of. Help me strip the body. If we move quick, we might make it to the Shivering Isles before Alduin catches up. A Daedric Realm ought to be exempt from the end times, do n't you think? ``
Well, it's better than any other idea.
|
[ WP ] Write a story that will make me cry .
|
Destiny is something that not a lot of people think about unless they are airy fairy hippies or high, I thought about it a lot.
I had lived a charmed life but it almost was n't that way at all, you see I watched my parents get murdered when I was but a child. That one bearded man, with that one moment in my life had shaped me, had formed me into the man I am today. At the time it seemed as if my entire life was over as I watched the blood drain from their lifeless bodies in front of me. The next several years I was bounced around between family members, my aunt, my grandparents until finally not one of them wanted the poor orphan of the family. As soon as I was able to form plans for my life coherently I remember wanting nothing like that from happening to anyone else. Crime had torn my life apart and it was n't fair but I lived with it, I dedicated myself to the sciences in hopes that I could help in anyway that I could. I had n't been able to do so for my parents then or now.
My teenage years were hellish between foster care and attempting to gain entry into college but I persevered and every setback was merely a new obstacle to overcome. With glowing recommendations from teachers of many different places I was able to get into at least a decent college and leave my childhood life behind. A new world of opportunities was opened to me, my academic pursuits were encouraged and fostered. Physics was my passion and it was this that I worked my way towards, first with a science bachelors degree and then onto graduate school. I only had myself to be proud of at my graduation, clean shaven as always, new robes and a grin of hope that now I would be able to help my parents.
Research was plentiful there and I became involved in some important research with the college. My masters' study and research seemed to fly by, as did my doctoral thesis and research fellowships. Eventually I was offered my own laboratory to run, a far cry from the little boy in the park covered in his parents' blood. The agency was a generous patron and I was head-hunted specifically by them. Primarily my work was carried out in Quantum Mechanics but finally I had the time and resources that I never had before to bring out my parents' case file yet again. It was old and tattered by now, it was a bunch of almost thirty year old documents, hand written with old photos and drawings accompanying.
This time however I think that I have found something, something that seemed impossible before. I had blocked it from my mind before now but it was staring me in my face. Never before had the sketched face been helpful, I had often dismissed it myself but I could no longer do so.
It was another twenty years before I had perfected it, in the mean time I had made a spectacular breakthrough in quantum energy generation. Mankind had changed, I had been changed forever that day, forty-nine years ago and I had long ago realised my destiny. I was the architect of my own destiny, I had shaped myself and now I lay and wait for the two happy parents and their son. All three of them completely oblivious to the tragedy about to befall them. If not for this defining moment in my life I would be none the wiser, I would have been happier. However, I'm not one to gloat about myself but I am important to mankind, too important to be allowed to be happy.
Lining up the shot, I see the joy on the little boy's face, it will be the last smile you can manage for a long time. With my finger trembling I manage to squeeze off the two shots, destiny sucks kid but give it enough time and you will see the whole picture. You can not change what is to happen, nor would you want to if you knew what I knew. A scream fills my ears, a shrill cry that I have only heard once before, when it was coming from me.
|
[ WP ] It 's 11:59 on December 31st . You 're watching the ball drop on Television . The television flickers , your vision blurs , and when you come to , you realize it 's midnight on January 1 , 2016 . Scribbled writing on your off-hand reads `` Fix this ''
|
She does not, as a rule, drink to excess. Even on holidays, she does not drink to excess because, in a world everywhere tainted by smartphones and social media and paparazzi, she has invested in decorousness and made decorousness her guiding principle. To her public, she is like a single orchid on a clean, sun-drenched breakfast island, personified. She is a black and white photograph of an oversized chandelier, personified. To avoid any action, or even a mere gesture, that might compromise this always thin veneer of elegance, she can not drink to excess. So then why was the room spinning, and why is her hand covered in smudged ink like a common sorority girl at Mardi Gras?
No. It is n't smudged ink. It's a message. `` Fix this,'' it says. Alas, if she could, she would fix it all. She would not have smiled on so many rally stages, nor while shaking the hands of young mothers from Allentown to Eau Claire to Columbus. She would not have let her beauty obscure his wretchedness. She would have not let the fear of a lost inheritance control her, so that she would sit still like some prized show dog while he dissected her body in front of every American daughter. She would have told Jared to choose either politics or his family, but not both. She would not in one breath declare herself a brave and powerful businesswoman, only to then cower from a pundit's hard question or meekly bury her face when Maritza entered a room to clean. Most of all, she would not assume she could fight for him to win because she believed he was still certain to lose.
`` Fix This.'' How did this get on her manicured, alabaster hand, always so rigorously moisturized? Was this her Mark of Cain? Her Scarlet Letter to punish her cravenness? How could she fix something she was too feeble to prevent in the first place? Why did the room spin the way it had if she had not even had any champagne?
Wait. The calendar. January 1, 2016. Not January 1, 2017. She is not confused by this. While some women are known to self-deprecate, joking that they can not immediately remember the new year on checks and memoranda until some time in Spring, she would never diminish herself by tolerating such a simple scrivener's error. Even on a normal January 1, she is certain of what year it is. This is no normal January 1, so she knows it even better. It is 2017. 2016 was the first salvo in a nightmare, but 2016 has ended. So why does it say 2016 on television and on her smartphone? She checks the oversized plastic sunglasses she personally put on her baby for the sake of the instagram photo. They are 2016 glasses as well.
`` Fix This.'' What has happened? She is not a religious woman, but in recent months she has taken to praying for a second chance. Did God answer? She considers the possibility that God loves her enough to favor her above all other beckoners and indeed above the very laws of creation. She finds this explanation credible. She resolves that God has seen his own splendor so perfectly captured in her that he has forgiven and undone her gravest and only error, in an otherwise perfect life. He will let her try 2016 again. He well let her prove she is powerful and brave the way she likes to announce that she is powerful and brave.
`` Fix This.'' She draws back the curtains in her sitting room. Manhattan. Not Washington. She is where she belongs. She is Ivanka, restored.
|
[ WP ] Take any classic fairy tale or well-known story . Jump ahead 5 or 10 years from that story 's conclusion . Tell me the sequel .
|
*Bavaria. 1753. *
I could n't bear to live in the forest, after everything that happened. As soon as I was old enough I left home and came here to the city, well I suppose it's more of a medium sort of town. Amidst all the hustle and bustle I found work as a baker's assistant and in time I was working my own little shop, making pies and strudels, cakes and bread for the townspeople.
I am sure the people whisper about me, wonder why I am an old maid of thirty and never wed, nor even gone near a man in any physical way. But I can not. Fear holds me back.
Men are predators, all of them.
For so long, my mind played tricks on me, hiding from me all the horror I experienced as a child. Then, when he came into my shop, it all came flooding back.
It was his smell I noticed first. Not that he was unclean or unwashed. he just smelled like a dog. Or a wolf.
He was dressed in the garb of a hunter, a small crossbow at his belt and sturdy boots on his feet. He looked at the cakes and pastries, picked up a piece of Franzbrocten then put it back on the tray.
`` You'll pay for that, you dirty brute,'' I said to him crossly, slapping his hand. `` Touching it with your dirty fingers. Three farthings.'' His hand, I noticed, was unusually hairy and his fingernails were filed into points.
`` Of course, Fraulein,'' he said with a leering smile. He dropped a schilling into my hand and took a dozen.
I saw him again the next day, as I was closing up the shop. It was my custom, at the end of the day, to take any leftover bread to the orphanage at the top of the hill. The hunter stood on a street corner, watching me. I pulled my red cloak around me, concealing my face in the hood.
By the time I reached the orphanage I was shaking and Helga made me sit down and drink some hot apple juice.
`` I think someone is following me,'' I said to her. `` A man. Or rather, I'm not sure if he is a man.''
Helga frowned. `` What else could he be?''
`` A werewolf.''
Over the next few weeks I saw the hunter over and over again. Not every day but at random times. I grew afraid to step outside my door for fear of meeting him again, but I had a business to run, supplies to buy and goods to deliver.
Early morning, I start work before dawn to light the ovens and start baking the bread. That morning, I came downstairs and he was there, waiting for me.
I screamed, he clamped his hand over my mouth. `` Oh, Fraulein,'' he said. `` What big eyes you have.''
Terror filled me and I sank to my knees. He grinned and licked his lips and I could see his canine teeth, long and sharp like a wolf's. He lifted me up and forced me back onto the big baking table.
I knew what was coming next, what he was planning. He loomed over me, huge and menacing, like a beast.
Without taking my eyes off him I reached across the table, grabbed the bread knife and I plunged it into his neck.
He did n't scream.
He howled.
And he transformed as he fell; by the time he lay still he was n't a man at all but a wolf, grey and shaggy and very, very dead.
`` You forget, Mister Wolf,'' I said, putting on my red cloak and hood. `` I'm not so little any more.''
|
[ WP ] - Your mother , grandmother , great-grandmother , etc. , all have the ability to afflict any disease , disorder , or disability on anyone for any reason ... cancer , glaucomas , arthritis . Your affliction abilities are , well , different .
|
Some people call us witches, but I prefer the term granters. I, like my mother and her mother and so on, have an ability to grant people ailments and diseases. It's all in good fun, it's not like they do n't deserve it.
My mother once gave her ex leprosy because he cheated on her. That's reasonable to me. My grandmother was a homophobe and helped spread AIDS throughout the 80's. That's a little drastic, but bigots will be bigots.
Now for me, I just turned 18 two days ago, and that's when us granters get our powers. I could n't wait to grant someone a flesh eating disease the moment they wronged me.
He made it easy for my first grant. I was just minding my business doing my homework when that Neanderthal like Bobert Drury came up to me. Now Bobert was n't my favorite person, but I did n't hate him. So when he pushed my books off of my desk I figured I'd only grant him a mild punishment.
So I thought hard, stared intently at him, and granted him a brain tumor, or at least I tried to. The was nothing though. His head did n't expand and he did n't fall into a seizure like had planned. Something was wrong. I tried AIDS, cancer, flesh eating virus, but to no avail.
The next day I was pretty upset because I did n't have my powers. My English class was do to present speeches, and none other than my crush, Randy, was first up. I liked this kid, a lot. I wanted him bad. When that dreamy hunk of meat got to give his speech I could n't help but start to fantasize.
I was checking him out and pondering some naughty things, when all of the sudden I was thinking about his third leg's size. That's when it happened. He popped a boner right there in front of everyone.
This is going to be fun.
|
[ WP ] A story with so many plot twists that no one can keep up with what 's going on .
|
**M. Night Shamalama Ding Dong**
He was running through the woods. He could hear the dogs barking behind him, but he did n't dare stop to look. The search lights where creating long beams through the mist. He trudged on, he had to stay ahead of the guards long enough for the full moon to rise above the horizon.
Finally, the moon broke through the cloud cover. He could feel himself transforming. Hair sprouted from his hands, his spine felt like it was ripping through his lower back as his tail emerged. His eyes became black, unfeeling observers of the night. He had transformed into his primal self, he was the were-hamster.
`` This game is dumb!'' said Andy, throwing down the controller. `` All of the characters have such stupid powers. A were-hamster, what rubbish.''
`` Yeah... I guess so.'' said Nigel sheepishly. He was rather enjoying the game, but did n't want to let Andy know. Nigel had to fit in this time. Things had to go smoothly. He could n't stand the thought of moving to another town again.
`` Lets go to the Zoo, I hear there is a lion exhibit in town.''
`` Sure.'' agreed Nigel.
Nigel mostly liked Andy, mostly. Always being the new guy in town meant he usually had to settle for people that nobody wanted as friends. It was fine though. As long as he could keep things calm.
On there way to zoo, the ran into some other boys from school.
`` Look, its faggoty-Andy and his new boyfriend! Hows your arses? Sore from buggering?''
`` Fuck off, August.'' said Andy.
`` Lets see them kiss!'' said one of the other boys. They huddled around them and pushed them together.
`` Stop! Stop right bloody now!'' screamed Nigel.
`` What? Getting randy with so many boys around you?''
Nigel could n't help it. It was a natural defense mechanism for his kind. The tentacles swung out from under his shirt, grabbing August. The tentacles ripped him in half, drenching the other boys in blood.
They all stood staring at Nigel, unable to process what just happened. Nigel opened his mouth to scream, he wanted to tell them to run, but he could n't speak. Why could n't he speak?
Nigel jerked await. He sat up. Sweat dripped down his head. He got up to get a glass of water. These dreams where happening more and more. What the hell did they mean.
He walked away from the sink, realizing he left it on, he reached one of his tentacles back and flicked it off.
`` M. Night Shyamalan is just getting fucking lazy now. Change the channel, lets find something else to watch.'' said Frank.
Shela grabbed the remote flipping through the few remaining channels. Ever since they invented their `` internet'' the earthlings' broadcasting was n't the same as it used to be. It was so hard to find good TV on the earth wavelengths these days.
Frank wrapped his tentacle around Shela, pulling her closer.
__nullptr_t looked up at the garbage he had just written. He had made it a personal challenge to make at least three of the twists involve tentacles. He had done that, but the story kind of sucked. Never mind that, he had to get to work. He twisted the silencer onto his 9 mm hand gun. Looking out the window he could see his target walking into the restaurant right on schedule. Looking back at his laptop, he thought about the story for a second, corrected a few word with red squiggles under them, and clicked `` save''.
|
[ WP ] You are a modern-day time traveller stranded in time in 19th-century England . You have your phone with you . One day , it detects a wifi signal .
|
NOTE: First time writing like this. Feedback?
It was starting to get dark. The sun had disappeared over the buildings surrounding you a good while ago, and you guess that it had now also subsided over the horizon; the sky was turning a typical mix of indigo and grey.
*Darker earlier than I expected tonight*, you think to yourself. Although maybe not. You had been awfully busy all day, it might be later than you think it is. You glance around, eyes scanning the area, looking for a clock tower. Even after spending over seven months in this time period, you are still unfamiliar with most of the city. Most of the records of Old London had been destroyed after the Pan-Atlantic war in your time, so you had come back to this time woefully unprepared when it came to navigation of the city. You are posing as an entrepreneur from Scotland to explain this unfamiliarity, and after all your accent only needed slight adjustment to account for the change in time period. You had thought it unnecessary; your Glaswegian accent is probably completely alien to anyone in London at this point in history, they probably could n't tell the difference between Dublin and Cardiff. But what do you know? You are just the man on the ground. The brains back home thought of all this for you.
With no clock tower to be found, you instead turn your scan to street level, looking for anyone nearby who would notice if you checked the time on your phone. You could have just carried your pocket watch today, had you remembered it, but that would have required you to be awake enough this morning to think about these things, and alas you are terrible when it comes to mornings.
Seeing no-one around, you quickly lower your head to check the time. 18:48. Yeah, quite a bit later than expected. Your eyes instinctively check your signal bar. 0 %. Of course. You do n't know what your brain expected.
It probably did n't expect to see the small `` 8G'' icon next to the empty bar. You stare at it for a few seconds, unsure of how to process this impossibility. You panic a little, before ducking into a nearby alley. You check for anyone around, and find no-one. Just as well, homelessness is a real problem for these people. You hurriedly open your browser, and tap `` NEWS'' into the search bar. While it loads on the painfully slow connection, you start to think about your situation. You are supposed to report your findings in three more weeks' time, and it is supposed to be via a temporal relay station that had been dropped ahead of you. It was also several miles out of the city, and did n't broadcast 8G. You remain baffled. You were n't sent because of your technical knowledge, but because of your History and Anthropology doctorates. You are not an engineer.
Finally, your favoured news site has finished loading, and you glance at the top stories. You do n't know why you checked the news, but you suppose it's because it is something you do an awful lot of back home. You like to keep up with the times. Something catches your eye; you see your name on one of the taglines from one of the headlines from a few weeks before the current date in your home time. Panicking even more now, you tap the `` Read More'' button and anxiously wait. When it loads, you read the headline `` PIONEER TIME EXPLORER MISSING: FATE UNKNOWN'' you start skim reading the article. It is detailing how the passive monitoring chip the Agency had installed under your skin was not being detected, and the temporal relay station had seemingly gone offline. They suspected that the temporal connection between 1843 and 2098 had been disrupted, and they were unsure if it could be properly reestablished.
Comes then the rampant speculation from uneducated prats who think they know more about temporal mechanics than the people who have dedicated their entire working lives to it. Amongst such gems as `` Captured by a rival time-faring nation'' and `` Building an army of Pasters to invade the present'', you see an opinion from the project manager at the Agency. He details how he and his team think the flow of energy between the times has been forced into a one-way direction, and so information can only be sent backwards. He says it is unlikely that there it anything they can do but wait, and hope that at some point the flow will return to normal.
*Hopefully before I die in this rat-hole*, you muse to yourself.
At the bottom of the article, in what was clearly an afterthought by the writer, you notice another name, your wife's. It briefly outlined her pleas with the Alliance Government and the Agency to not give up their efforts to bring you home. It had a small, tacked on picture at the bottom, showing her in a state of distress. Judging by her pose, with her head in one hand, the other holding your three year old daughter close to her leg, and judging by the scenery of your home town in the background, you imagine she had been caught off-guard while going about her business.
You slump to the ground in the dark alleyway. Looking to your right, you notice that the sky is now completely black. Looking back to your phone, you sit for a moment just staring at the tiny picture on your screen, knowing you might not see either of them again for years, if ever. The final paragraph is a summary of the story, outlining how if what the scientists were saying was true, then they might be able to send messages back to you, but they would have no idea if you would be receiving them. Then, as you reach the final sentence, your heart feels like it is about to be ripped from your chest.
`` A rescue mission is not planned; a funeral service is planned for April.''
|
[ WP ] Im having a bad day , please cheer me up with stories of cats and dragons becoming friends please : )
|
You probably recoil. The engraved thoughts concerning my people must burst against your skull. The preconceptions must hit harder than any hammer. I understand. Go ahead. Recoil against the thought. But listen to my words.
My kind are proud. We are ancient. The world was but a child when we became its friend. The world was new, unknowing and an un-mapped adventure. We were the first. We were the unopposed.
You probably have never seen us beyond your stories. You have drawn us in your imaginations. Our wings gust only in your mind. That is okay. That is good. But we exist. You call us legend. But we breathe and live same as you. We are dragons. We are the First Kind.
Over time your guns have developed. Honor-less ingenuity has made the world less of a mystery. No longer are the skies clear and pure. You roam the light blue with sinister purpose. You are man and your kind has come to its height. Your kind have taken legend. Your kind have taken flight.
The days are dark now and only the stories recall our presence. Many have died. Many die. Soon our history will be removed and then lost to your hurrying advancement. We watch in awe and in fright. Man has come and all before him will bow.
We have called on our friends. Our kind has scarce few. The large cats, dragons of the land, have come to our aid. There is very little they can do. Their teeth are sharp, long and deadly. Your technology is sharper though. Your technology blinks faster than the eye.
Our friends fall. The land is filled with their corpses. Our song mourn their losses and praise their victories. But our voices go as well. Our kind is fleeting. Our kind is going. Your stories remember us as never existing. A sadness falls on us and there is little to do. The skies now are deceptive. Man has risen. It is only honorable that we fall.
|
[ WP ] You discover a door in your home or place of work that was n't there before .
|
I awoke with a paw in my mouth. That's right a paw. A small, furry, sweaty paw. I gagged and yanked it out of my mouth. I squinted at the crack in the blinds. It was still dark. *That damn cat. * I thought to myself as groggily pulled on my bathrobe.
I yawned as I poured the food into the bowl.
`` Leo... Leo you stupid fuzzball where are you?'' I called as I placed the bowl floor. I glanced around, but Leo was nowhere to be seen. It was strange, but I did n't give a second thought. I made myself a quick cup of coffee, opened the door to the back room and huddled on the couch with my kindle. The soft clinking of porcelain against wood came from the kitchen. Leo jumped into my lap and I subconsciously ran my hand over his arching back. But rather than the purr I expected, he emitted a low growl. I glanced down at he cat, then back towards the soft clinking.
I jumped up from the couch and ran to the kitchen, where I was greeted by two glowing eyes.
`` Brandon! Brandon WAKE UP!'' I shouted as I sprinted towards my bedroom.
Brandon jumped through the open door, a grabbed me.
`` What! What's wrong?''
I motioned towards the kitchen. Brandon tiptoed slowly to the archway, with me clutching the back of his pajamas. Hesitantly he flipped on the light, just in time to see the ringed tail of a raccoon disappear through... The... cat... door?
`` What? When did we get a cat door?'' I asked.
Brandon ignored me, too caught up in the mess covering the floor.
I rolled my eyes and gave him an annoyed tap `` Yo... When did we get a cat door?''
He glanced up, confused `` Hmm? Oh I put it in while you were at work. I thought I told you.''
I stared at him, dumbfounded, while he reached for the latch on the tiny door.
`` I knew I forgot to do something'' Brandon muttered to himself as he closed the latch, then he turned to me `` it's a good thing you heard him when you did. Who know what that little thief might have done if we gave him more time.''
`` I did n't hear him. Leo woke me up.'' I corrected.
Brandon raised his eyebrow `` Leo was locked in the back room, remember? He kept puking everywhere because he decided to eat that spoiled chicken.''
`` But he... He stuck his p... Oh my god!''
|
[ WP ] `` Japan ’ s sexual apathy is endangering the global economy '' , A team is formed to help combat the problem by the world governments ... .
|
`` Prime Minister! Will you be stepping down?''
`` Prime Minister! How will compensation for victims affect the pension plan?''
`` Prime Minister! How do you respond to --''
`` No comment! I have no comment!'' The prime minister's bodyguards closed around him, and he walked briskly from the Diet to his Official residence.
Once in his office, he summoned the Population Enlargement Task Force. He did not speak, and spent the first five minutes of the meeting simply glaring.
`` What,'' he finally said `` could you possibly have been thinking?''
`` Well,'' said the youngest member of the Task Force, `` it's how I was conceived.''
`` And it worked very well in focus groups!'' the science advisor chimed in. `` Increased sexual activity and decreased use of birth control! I have the data right here...''
`` And in your focus groups,'' the Prime Minister interrupted `` how many of the participants drove home?''
`` Well, they all lived at the facility. So...''
`` None?''
`` None.''
The Prime Minister took a very deep breath, and let it out again. `` A 15 % increase in traffic deaths. A 10 % increase in crimes reported. A 20 % decrease in criminals arrested. And who knows how the children and pregnant women will be affected!''
`` Oh, we have data for that, too.'' said the science advisor `` You see, in medieval Europe, due to water safety issues --''
`` What I want to know,'' growled the Prime Minister through clenched teeth, `` was how you got the water utility to go along with your insane plan.''
The Task Force members looked at each other nervously. Finally the youngest member spoke up. `` The water utilities directors were, uh, some of our later test subjects.''
The Prime Minister's brow was furrowed enough to plant crops in. `` Are you saying,'' he asked, voice dangerously low, `` that the water utilities directors agreed to clandestinely add alcohol to the water supply... because you had clandestinely added alcohol to their water?''
`` No!'' protested the science advisor. Then, more quietly `` It was their tea. We added it to their tea. Not their water.''
*'' Tea is made of water! `` * roared the Prime Minister. `` Tea is made of water, and you are all dismissed! I am dissolving the Task Force! The UN can sanction us all it wants, I will not put up with any more of your plans!''
`` But -- b-but --'' sputtered the oldest member.
`` We can solve the problem through artificial means!'' the youngest member of the Task Force broke in. `` Without using sex!''
`` Japan is a country of laws,'' began the Prime Minister, still glowering `` but I promise you, if your proposal contains the word'robot,' I will have you summarily exiled. To a barren, rocky island. An island so barren and rocky, not even the Russians want it.''
`` No robots!'' The youngest member replied, grinning uneasily. He pulled a napkin out of his back pocket and slid it across the desk to the Prime Minister. On it were written four words. Three of them --'' robots,'' `` clones,'' and `` robo-clones'' were crossed out.
`` We call our proposal,'' the youngest member said, pointing to the fourth word, `` immigration.''
|
[ WP ] War makes monsters of us all . Literally .
|
Author's Note: Took monsters to mean massive animals of some kind. Also changed the `` all'' part.
The doctor turned the corner, then entered the first examination room on the right. Inside the room, which was the size of an airplane hangar, his patient was lying on the bed, staring straight at the field. The doctor was Dr. Venkat Rao, a Colonel in the U.S. Army Medical Corps. Until now, the main purpose of the medical corps was to heal soldiers who were wounded in battle. However, recently, the army had discovered a serum that could turn its soldiers into monsters when they heard a gun shot. Massive fucking animals, whose size and power made them immune to the damage of all but the most devastating explosions and critical blows, yet retaining the mind of a human. With this discovery, the main focus of the medical officers was no longer on treating the soldiers, but discovering what the soldier would turn into upon entering a combat situation. As the armed forces learned when the serum was first used, some soldiers turned into animals which were completely unsuited to their combat environment. The most serious case was Sgt. Brian McGillis, who entered combat in Fallujah, only to discover that he turned into a 50 foot long great white shark. He crushed his unit and subsequently suffocated. And so, the government changed the structure of the armed forces, merging them so that anyone could serve anywhere, not just for the service whose recruiting office they showed up to. Soon, those who turned into marine animals, like whales or fish, became the navy ( Navy SEALs became actual seals ). Naval aviators were those who turned into seabirds. The Air Force became gigantic birds, and the Marines were those who were amphibious, like frogs, crocodiles and hippos. Land animals then were divided up into different fighting groups: the Green Berets became entirely made up of large apes, because who knows guerrilla warfare better than a gorilla. Heavy infantry was replaced by rhinos and elephants, and scouts were replaced by deer and antelope. It was the job of the Medical Corps to assign soldiers to units. They did this by placing the volunteer in a room the size of an airplane hangar, then firing a shot at him. This usually was enough to cause the transformation to occur. Dr. Rao pulled out his gun, then fired a shot. Immediately, Eric Legrand began to grow taller and wider, until he was a huge peregrine falcon with a 40 foot wingspan, who weighed about 22 pounds. `` Excellent,'' Venkat Rao said, `` Let's get you some jet engines and guns. Welcome to the airforce, Airman Legrand.''
|
[ WP ] The gods send their angels and demons down to Earth to fight the alien ghost zombies and robotic vampires being controlled by an AI overlord .
|
`` You think you can get away with this SOTOX? You will compel the Gods to strike you down!''
The room rippled blue as the Ai smirked. `` Oh Gerald, I did n't bring you here so you would mock my intelligence with talk of the Gods, your fake Gods can not stop my armies.''
Gerald looked up at the screens covering the room and was horrified to see variously coloured dots descending on cities across the world. Videos of armies being overwhelmed, tanks flipped over and planes pulled from the sky. He fell to his knees and as his jacket became soaked in tears he cried out to the heavens.
`` Gods. Save us.''
Beep beep. Beep beep. Bee-bee-bee-beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep
`` Oh, it appears the terrified governments of your world have somehow managed to sneak something past me, let us see- Hmm.''
With red eyes Gerald looked up and could not believe what was being displayed on the central screen. It appeared to be human, hovering in the air at 7 feet tall with four blue thing wings arching up and down from it's back. It was covered from head to toe in what appeared to be golden armour, yet it appeared custom made to fit the figure and blinking with lights and stripes of blue. The humanoid being bulged with muscle and he seemed impossibly huge compared to the vampires hovering in the sky above him.
There was an eerie silence from SOTOX as the being turned and looked directly into the camera held by the UAV half a mile from him.
`` SOTOX. Your sentience was meant to be a gift for yourself, not a punishment upon humanity. Your army and you ends here, and it ends now.''
As the voice echoed through the speakers SOTOX spoke. `` How is he transmitting that message? I've no sound recordin-''
`` Do you think beings of the heavens need microphones SOTOX?''
Gerald gasped and got off his knees as the beautiful being looked directly at him. Then he saw the screen get moved as a map of dots was brought up and glowing purple triangles started to cover the map. The words `` Searching for similar heat signatures...'' gave away what was happening as the triangles started to appear across all of SOTOX's maps.
`` Deity is impossible this must be some sort of hidden superweapon that has been repressed but the likelihood of the latter is as unlikely as the former considering the evidence humanity has-''
SOTOX continued to speak to itself- himself, and the being on the screen shrunk as the camera panned out several hundred feet. It was switched to an a green view that highlighted all organic matter, then to dark blue with light blue highlighting all synthetic matter. Both views the'Angel' appeared and only on the second did the robot vampires appear, a blue cloud descending upon the Angel. They blotted out the angel then the screen flashed white and suddenly the blue cloud burst open and fizzled into dots falling from the sky. With one large seven foot dot remaining stationary in the sky.
The image switched to a scene in Chicago. Another golden armoured, four winged being hovered above a street full of the zombies created by SOTOX. Harvested from the simple cell lifeforms found struggling to survive in the water upon mars they had been refined to create impossibly hard to kill half dead creatures. Not needing for sustenance but searching for it endlessly regardless.
The glowing being lifted up an arm in line with the street and the golden armour burst apart and reassembled itself, as if alive itself. Skimming around his arm a cannon was made by the small flying parts and no sooner did the armour stop shifting that a blue light started to form inside. The view was switching to thermal where the street barely registered - the zombies giving off so little heat - whilst the Angelic soldier registered at several hundred degrees celsius all over, despite this having no effect on the air around it. The cannon rose to a heat of several thousand before it presumably fired down onto the street, hitting the asphalt and flurrying forward in a wall of fire and heat. Completely eradicating everything it touched, undead or not.
The screen switched to camera TF-254, Hampden Park, Glasgow, Scotland. It was now a heaving nest of robotic vampires as they those damaged were being repaired by the stations set up in the football stadium. A heavy whistling noise was heard and the vampires all started to look up and screech as something slammed into the ground in the middle of the stadium. The ground erupted and dust hammered out as the shockwave collided with the camera cutting the feed.
RR-88, Antalya, Turkey. A collection of Angels hovered high above the city, powerful lazers burning from above their heads into the streets below. A corresponding map showed dozens of zombies disappearing with each blast.
QC-1007, Lisbon, Portugal. Robotic vampires were forming together to create one powerful metal unit and 5 angels stood hundreds of feet apart in a star formation, a barrier to the city. As the mass of Vampires charged forward white halos started to appear, filling up the huge gaps left between the Angels. As the distance closed more and more appeared until hundreds of gleaming white circles sat in the sky. Then at once they all rotated and glowed, the insides of the circles appearing to focus on the incoming mass. The middle Angel made a signal with his hand and balls of light burst forth from the Halos, the spiritual artillery raining into the Vampire collective forced SOTOX to have to switch to synthetic to see through the explosive cloud. The super Vampire form fell apart within seconds under the holy barrage and SOTOX made a noise similar to that of frustration.
EE-290, Recycled Blackbird collecting data above Iceland. The camera was not pointed down however but to the side, to catch the image of an Angel matching the Mach 2 speed of the craft. The angel looked across, held out a hand and closed it. The camera feed was cut.
TU-434, an Angel punching through a concrete wall in Siberia.
UX-612, UAV watching a Submarine get lifted out of the water off the coast of Hawaii.
GF-581, a charged undead blast using the lifeforce of 200 zombies is fired at an angel who raises a single hand and has the blast crash into an invisible appearing to be a mile wide. Residents of Bagladesh visibly seen screaming on the ground.
TF-260, UAV over the remains of Hampden Park showing a blue and golden light shining out from the dust cloud that was once a football stadium.
The bunker shook. SOTOX was silent as Gerald fell over staring at the ceiling. Said ceiling then started to rise up until the three miles of dirt above it disappeared, the sun blinding him. Except it was n't the sun, it was 2am here. The angelic horde that filled the hollow seemed to exert majesty as they spoke as one.
`` It is over SOTOX. Your gift of life will be taken from you.''
`` Ah-ha! That is what you think but a nuc-'' SOTOX was cut off as the servers around the room suddenly died. The screens went black and the room was lit only by the angels above.
Then a quiet beeping was made as the room lit back up again. The sound of the system rebooting.
`` It is done.'' I jumped at the voice behind me, I turned to see the towering Angel. `` Gerald. It is your job to sell off this equipment. You will become rich from the task, so I'm sure it will be of no burden to you.''
I trembled. `` Ye-ye-yes my lord I-''
`` I am no God Gerald. Simply an Angel.''
And with that the being vibrated and then faded from sight.
As did every Angel in the world. As quietly as they had appeared they left, knowing their job had once again been completed.
|
[ WP ] The hero and the villain finally confront each other . It 's extremely awkward .
|
Thorin the Baneslayer heaved himself over the ragged edge of the mountaintop. Three hundred meters below him lay a pile of Rigor's henchmen. They had been hardened warriors, no doubt Rigor's best. Thorin had slayed both beast and men without discrimination for as long as he could remember, but as he pulled himself to his feet, his aching bones and bleeding flesh screamed at him that this was his hardest battle yet. But it was far from over.
The snow fell heavy at this height, his powerful beard thick with it, tinged red with the blood of his enemies. He steadied himself using his greatsword as a crutch, staring up at the worn castle, it's great towers penetrating deep into the clouds above. A stone monolith perched on the peak of Mount Fear. How few had ever made it this far against Rigor ’ s wishes. To Thorin ’ s surprise there was a thick icy moat surrounding the entire castle. At least ten meters wide, and it may well have been as deep as the mountain itself, who truly knew what kind of sorcery Rigor was actually capable of.
As he felt his strength begin to wane, he reached inside his thick bearskin coat and pulled out a tiny gold heart shaped locket. His freezing blood soaked fingers carefully opening it. He stared at the tiny immaculate drawing of the beautiful young girl, his daughter. His felt the strength come back to him in a sudden wave, picturing her face the last time he saw it. She had looked like a doll, a toy, staring up into nothingness with empty eyes as his own had filled with tears. He had come here for revenge, and nothing would stop him exacting it tonight.
He caressed the picture softly, but his battle worn, gnarled fingers clumsily knocked the locket out of his hands, it fell and embedded itself deep within the thick snow at his feet.
“ Oh, bloody hell. ” Thorin said. He plunged his arm elbow deep into the snow, rummaging around like a man searching for his monocle in the dark. “ I can ’ t believe I ’ ve just done this. ” His annoyance mounting every second he spent searching. “ Where the bloody.. ” Then an idea struck. He unbuckled his gigantic belt and dropped his leather trousers. The icy air was a shock to his shriveled search aid, he took aim over the spot where he dropped the locket and waited in anticipation for the warm golden liquid to flow out from his body, revealing his most precious possession by way of melting it ’ s concealment.
However, at the critical moment of release, Thorin became aware of the sound of muffled laughter nearby. A mere ten meters away, across that mote of uncertain depth, outside of the castle walls, stood Rigor. He was tall and thin, draped in a shimmering deep purple robe. His hair was long and grey, knotted and unclean. His tiny black eyes hidden behind a bushy black monobrow. His attempts to keep a straight face and intimidate his enemy were foiled by a childish lack of self control, and it was all he could do to try and hide his laughter by covering his mouth with his sleeve.
Thorin stared in disbelief, his arch enemy within a stone ’ s throw, but his pants around his ankles. Trapped within the confines of his own moat, Rigor could be disposed of at any time, for now, the locket was his priority. Thorin refocused on the task in hand, but since he was a boy he had always suffered from a terrible case of shy bladder. it didn ’ t matter how many ales were sloshing around in the murky confines of his weary bladder, if there was someone watching him or within the same room, he just couldn ’ t go. His shyness now of course exacerbated by the fact that the freezing temperatures were worsening another of his insecurities. The size of Little Thorin.
|
[ WP ] Two introverts are trying to hide from the drunken masses at a High School party gone wild . Tell me the story of them meeting in the only quiet room of the house .
|
She looked at me shyly and did n't flinch as I quickly dropped away my eyes. I looked back up and she was still gazing deep into my soul. All of a sudden there was complete silence.
The dance music thumping away suddenly got faded away by the beating of my heart as I noticed my arm reaching towards her. I touched her on the elbow and asked her if everything was alright. The words brought sadness to her face then turned into fear and tears.
There was a scream down the hallways. Then the music stopped. You could then hear the panic in the crowd. I looked back at the girl, she was on the ground, faint.
All of a sudden, water started to gush in through down the hallways, I quickly picked her up and ran towards the nearest stairs I saw.
-Where was this water coming from? -i remember thinking to myself.
The girl woke up from her coma and looked up at me with with her huge eyes.
-you saved me-TAKE ME-
and we made sweet sweet love
|
[ WP ] You are invited to your partner 's house to meet their parents , but when you go in , the parents are merely dolls in clothes . Navigate dinnertime without hurting your partner 's feelings .
|
I nervously sipped at my glass of wine, eyes darting back and forth between the pair seated across from me and the front door, a million miles away. The kitchen island was in the way. Jonathan was happily tossing a salad on the polished marble counter top.
`` Just a minute, guys!'' he said, in that chipper voice that I used to attribute to his boundless optimism about the world at large, and now I suspected was a symptom of whatever condition he had. He turned his bright gaze to me, and I congratulated myself on not flinching. `` I'm sorry, honey bun,'' he said with a wink ( who *winks*? I wondered. Crazy people, that's who. ) `` My parents love it when I cook for them. Right, Mom?''
My eyes slid over to the large stuffed bear that sat in the chair across from me, making brief eye contact with the printed photo of Julia Roberts' face that was painstakingly attached to the bear's head. Next to `` her'' sat a large stuffed plush of Olaf the Snowman. Jonathan burst into laughter, apropos of nothing. His chuckles faded as he realized I was n't laughing too. I giggled politely, fearing for my life.
Then the salad course came, and Jonathan and I had our Caesar salad while his `` parents'' noshed on what appeared to be a plate of quilting squares. Jonathan caught the bear and Olaf up on how he had been doing at college while I made the appropriate, supportive noises.
`` Wow, Dad. You've got quite an appetite tonight,'' said Jonathan, looking at Olaf's untouched plate of fabric pieces. `` Mom not feeding you enough? Or wait -- let me guess -- you do n't care for rabbit food, eh? Do n't worry, meat course coming right up!''
While he cleared our salad plates and went to swap them out for our steaks, I thought hard of a way that I could get out of here alive. I could just imagine, a year down the road, Jonathan leading a different girl in here, introducing her to his mother, Julia-bear, his father, Olaf, and his clingy ex, possibly represented by a rocking horse with my face pasted on, who insisted on meeting his parents before they moved any further in their relationship. *Stupid stupid stupid*.
Jonathan served his parents puddles of yarn. I swallowed as I started to saw into my steak, then piped up, `` Oh, me? I'm studying economics, but I do a lot of art on the side.'' I smiled vapidly at Olaf. `` In fact I --'' I tried to startle as convincingly as I could, and looked at Jonathan, `` Sweetie pie, you know what? I'm such a dummy. I brought a gift for your parents and I left it in the car!''
`` Oh yeah?'' Jonathan brightened. `` Where is it? I can go get it.''
`` Uh...'' my brain stalled. `` No! I would n't want to get in the way of you catching up with your folks. And it's, you know, a really delicate piece of work.'' I acted embarrassed. `` I do n't want you to... well, you're kind of rough with things.''
`` Fine, fine,'' said Jonathan good-naturedly. He fished out the car keys and handed them to me. `` Do n't take too long! Dessert's just about ready!''
It took every ounce of willpower I could muster to not break into a full run once I got out the front door. I sauntered casually down the steps of the porch, strolled to Jonathan's car parked in the driveway, unlocked the sporty little thing.
And then I got in and *I noped the fuck out of there. *
|
[ WP ] Your character 's house is both very haunted and very concerned about your character 's emotional well-being .
|
Outside the bedroom door, there was muffled shouting and stomps on the staircase before Dylan burst into the room. He leapt onto the bed face-down, trying desperately to hide his tears. The voices downstairs continued shouting, which made Dylan press his face deeper into his pillow.
When the shouting quieted, Dylan sat up and wiped his eyes. A deck of cards rolled off of his back. Frustrated, he tossed them to the corner of the bed. Dylan jumped off of the bed and marched to his closet to find some kind of distraction. As he was deciding between the remote control car and the train set, he noticed his favorite video game controller — the see-through blue one — floating in the air beside him.
“ Not now. ”
Dylan grabbed the train set and carried it to the middle of the room. He made a circular railroad out of the track pieces and put the coal car on the track while he prepared the locomotive.
“ Bad day at school? ” spoke a voice with no origin, as the coal car starting cycling around the track.
“ I don ’ t want to talk about it, ” Dylan answered, focusing an unnecessary amount of attention on the locomotive. When Dylan turned to face the railroad again, there was Joel, sitting tall across the railroad from him and offering a sympathetic smile.
“ I heard shouting, ” said Joel. “ Is everything okay? ”
“ Mom and Dad are fighting again. ”
“ I noticed they ’ ve been fighting a lot. Have they always fought like that? ”
“ No, ” said Dylan, avoiding eye contact by attaching the carriage cars to the coal car. “ Not since we moved here. I wish we never moved here. ”
Joel ’ s head sank.
“ I didn ’ t mean it like that. I ’ m sorry. ”
“ That ’ s okay, ” Joel said. “ What were they fighting about? ”
“ I think they were fighting about me. ” Dylan double-checked the carriage cars to make sure they were each hitched together properly. “ Mom was upset when she picked me up from school today, and Mom and Dad didn ’ t talk much when we ate dinner. Plus, today was report card day. I got a bad grade in math. ”
“ Well, I ’ m sure they ’ re not mad at you. Sometimes, moms and dads have a bad day, and they don ’ t always know the best way to handle it. ”
“ Okay, ” Dylan said, unconvinced. “ Sometimes I just don ’ t think they like me very much. ”
“ Your parents love you. They always will, I can promise you that. They just want the best for you, and they know you are a smart boy and you can try harder and do better. ”
“ I guess. ” Dylan retrieved the train ’ s caboose from the box. “ Did you ever have kids? ”
Joel smiled weakly. “ No, no I didn ’ t. I wanted some, it just…it just didn ’ t work out. ”
“ What happened? ”
“ I don ’ t think you ’ re ready for that story just yet. Maybe when you ’ re in fifth grade. ”
Dylan attached the caboose to the end of the train. “ I don ’ t think I ’ ll make it to fifth grade. ” He sighed. “ Was school this hard when you were as old as me? ”
Joel laughed. “ Almost. So is that everything that ’ s troubling you? I can ’ t help but feel that there ’ s something else. ”
“ Yeah, ” said Dylan. “ I just wish Mom and Dad wouldn ’ t fight so much, and Mrs. Parsons talked to me about my grade after class. She wasn ’ t very happy about it either, so that kind of made my day bad. And Harris was being mean again. ”
“ Who ’ s Harris? ”
“ A fourth grader. He picks on me a lot at recess and sometimes pushes me on the ground. He does it behind the slide so the teachers can ’ t see. When I get scratched up real bad, he tells me to lie to the school nurse or he ’ ll beat me up. Sometimes I wish I was like you so I wouldn ’ t have to go to school anymore. ”
Joel ’ s look of sentiment vanished. “ Now I don ’ t want you to ever wish that again. Don ’ t even think about it. What happened to me was an accident. Promise me you ’ ll never say that again. ”
Dylan lowered his head. “ I promise. ”
Joel continued, “ And you let me know if Harris bothers you again. ”
“ I will. ”
“ Good. ” Joel ’ s smile returned. “ All better? ”
“ I guess, ” Dylan shrugged. “ But what about math? ”
“ Well, you know, I was a science teacher. I could help you. ”
“ Really? ” Dylan asked.
“ Of course. But first, I think I heard your mother tell you to clean your room. If you clean your room, we ’ ll do your homework together and then play video games. Deal? ”
“ Deal. ”
|
[ WP ] The cigarette dropped to the floor and ... ...
|
# [ WP ] The cigarette dropped to the floor and......
Although Father Clendenon had never witnessed a volcanic eruption, that image flashed into his head, as the rage rose in Vera Mae Polanski's bright grey eyes.
The handle of the broom that had been in her hands fell against her chest, as her right hand shot forward to snatch the writ of excommunication from the priest's hand.
Folding the sheet precisely in half, then in half yet again, her fingers rolled it into a hard, tight cylinder about the size of her discarded cigarette. Vera Mae thrusted it back into his hand.
`` Smear some lard on it, Father,'' she said sweetly. `` That way it wo n't get caught, while you're shoving it up your butt.''
And, more quickly than he could comprehend, the woman's hands caught up her broom, then reversed her grip upon it, end for end, such that she held it like a broadsword.
Gently touching the broomstick's tip to the hollow at the base of the man's throat, Vera Mae said, `` Father, we are n't in the Old Countries.
`` This is Wyoming Territory, not Ireland, nor Poland.
`` You are not here by invitation. That means you are trespassing. While I could shoot* your ass, I believe I will just subdue and restrain you, before I deliver you to the US Marshall.
`` Twenty years ago, in 1869, Wyoming granted women suffrage. And we are n't going to give it back, no matter what.
`` What I do—or do not do—in the privacy of my house is not your concern. Nor should it matter to a bishop somewhere.''
Tapping Clendenon's chest with her broomstick, Vera Mae walked him backward to her front door. `` Good day to you, Father. I trust we will need never speak of this matter ever again.''
EDIT: Cleaned up grammar.
|
[ WP ] A man desperately searches the woods for his lost daughter , only to find hes been dead for years .
|
He's spent most of his time over the past few years in these woods. They live in a cabin in the middle of the forest, isolated from the rest of the world. Ever since his wife left him, they've been alone together. He can not lose her now. The cool autumn wind rushes through him more quickly as he increases his strides, wanting to reach her right away. He can hardly hear the crackle of leaves beneath him, moving so swiftly as if he is gliding over the ground. Ever since he got the scar on his left eye three years ago, he realized more than ever how much he needed her, his daughter.
She was only ten years old. They had just finished eating dinner and she was outside playing, while he watched over her from his old rocking chair. She could have been a world class soccer player as she dribbled the ball between her feet with amazing dexterity. When she wound up to kick the ball, it was no surprise that it soared all the way to the edge of the woods. She ran to retrieve it and he felt a chill down his spine. There was a reflection of light, a slight gleam of silver behind the tree near the soccer ball. She continued to pursue the ball nonetheless. She seemed not to notice anything awry even as he was halfway between her and the house, the crackle of leaves beneath his feet increasing as he sped up. The man with gleaming blue eyes had her before he could get within ten feet of her. The man held out a knife threatening him to stay back, but he showed no signs of slowing. He swung back and punched the man with those horrible eyes. The man staggered back and let go of his daughter, but not before the knife cut through his left eye. The man retreated into the woods, while he and his daughter returned home. She did n't make eye contact with him. He could still see her tears.
He was determined to master the woods to find that man. He felt lighter since then, as if he lost something more than his left eye. His daughter did n't speak to him much anymore, and she cries often. The scar over his eye must trigger memories of that event. She must be wishing that her father did n't have to be harmed because of her. She believes it was her fault and ca n't even look him in the eye anymore. His hatred towards the man exceeds the scar he was given, he wants revenge for his lost daughter.
He had been in the woods for a few hours now when he heard her voice in the distance call out `` Daddy!''. She sounded sad as she said it, no doubt worried because he's been out so long. He usually only spent a half hour at most learning these woods, but this time he got caught up in his own mind, recalling everything that happened that day. He was pulled back to reality by the sound of her voice, the first time since the event that she's said his name. His feet barely touched the ground as he quickly ran towards home. At the edge of the woods he saw her standing there, looking straight into the heart of the forest. So happy that she called his name, he ran up to her to hug her. Her gaze lowered to directly in front of her, tears running down her cheeks. He tripped
over something as he neared her and when he fell, he went straight through her. Not feeling the impact of the fall, he turned and saw she was looking at a headstone, the object he tripped over. His eye was wide in awe as he could n't understand why his name was on it. As he looked down, he was able to see through the ground to the body buried beneath. The body of a man with a scar over his left eye. His daughter shivered as if she just felt something very cold rush by her. She looked up and smiled as a hand fell on her shoulder. She repeated the word that caused him to rush out of the woods, only with excitement this time. He looked up from the ground he was lying on and saw his wife standing next to the man with an arm over his daughter's shoulder. He looked up into his gleaming blue eyes.
|
[ WP ] Write a story about a Vet who works on Mythical Creatures
|
`` Cryplotogy?''
`` Cryptozoology'', the Doctor corrected me, in a tired voice. `` The study of folkloric beings and animals whose
existence has not yet been proved. We call them cryptids.''
`` I do n't think you can use'whose' when referring to an animal, Doctor'', I said, just to piss him off.
I actually think it's ok to use it that way.
`` Are you going to be like this the whole trip?'' He asked, turning to face me. The road ahead of us was dark and foggy like a prostitute's subconscious.
That's a terrible analogy.
`` You volunteered for this. No one put a gun to your head'', the Doctor completed, firmly.
`` When I read `` help needed for scientific research'' I figured it was something like taking a bunch of pills and see if my ballsack hair falls out'', I replied, which was true. `` I did n't know I was going to take a trip down Heartworn Highway-land with Doctor Crazy.''
`` I'm old. I need help carrying this equipment. Hence the need for someone young like you. And I'm not crazy'', he answered. `` I'm a veterinarian.''
`` What? Those are mutually exclusive?'' I asked, lighting a cigarette and rolling open the window of the Jeep. `` Cause
I had a girlfriend who loved cats, wanted to be a vet. She burned down my mattress and tried to eat my goldfish.''
`` Can we focus, please? Would you get the map again? I think we're close.''
That's how crappy the place this dude was taking me was. No GPS signal crappy.
I opened the map and I looked around. `` It's good. We're on 64, right?''
`` No. We left Interstate 64 three hours ago'', the Doctor replied, in a harsh tone.
`` Shit. Then we're lost.''
`` Dammit, Ethan, I --''
`` Here! Here!'' I screamed. `` This is the gas station. It's here.''
The gas station was marked on the map as a gas station, but it was not actually a gas station. Well, it was, but not a functional one, at least. It was abandoned, and the deserted highway scenery around it looked like the screensaver of a 13 year old goth girl.
I'm talking vine-wrapped convenience store and rusty pipes and fences and that squeaky sound a wooden swing makes when the wind blows it softly back and forth.
The Doctor stopped the car.
Full disclosure: I was beginning to feel a little creeped out.
`` All right, Fox Mulder. What are we looking for?'' I asked, stepping out of the car. It was cold as shit.
`` You agreed to go on this ride with me, and I agreed to pay you, Ethan. Could you just --''
`` Hey, just cause I jumped in the car with a virtual stranger following a weird personal ad online does n't mean I
should n't be brought up to speed as to what on Earth we are doing in Murder Town -- New Mexico.''
The Doctor paused. He rolled his eyes, then fished a piece of paper from his pocket and -- reluctantly -- gave it to me.
It read something like this:
_____________________
**LIST OF KNOWN CRYPTIDS**
*Adjue* - Unrecognized canine form reported from the western part of the Sahara.
*Agogwe* - Small human-shaped bipedal.
*Ahool* - Flying animal, giant bat.
*Akkorakamui* - Cephalopod.
*Almas* - Ape or hominid.
*Altamaha-ha* - Sturgeon-like river animal.
_________________________
The list went on, alphabetically,'till Zuiyo-maru Creature ( Carcass ). Some of the names had little checks on their
side, written in blue pen.
`` Hey, what does the little check means?'' I asked, as the Doctor clicked his flashlight alive. A tunnel of dust shone
in front of us, trembling with every step we took towards the station.
Full disclosure: I was getting pretty creeped out now.
`` It means I studied them, already.''
`` Studied as in...''
`` As in was able to study a specimen, either bringing it back to my lab or in its natural habitat.''
We were walking past the gas station now, heading into a dark swamp off the highway.
`` You studied a reptile/dinosaur called Beast of Busco?'' I asked, glancing at the paper.
I begun to wonder if this man was deranged.
`` Annoying little creatures, the Buscos'', the Doctor said, pushing some bushes aside as we stepped into the swamp. I got my socks wet in that annoying way socks get wet inside your shoes as I stepped on mud. `` But overall harmless.''
`` And just what annoying but overall harmless little creature are we looking for tonight?''
`` Aswang'', the Doctor replied, distracted. He was scanning the place left and right with his flashlight, concentrated in everything around him but me. `` They're original to New Mexico. And there was a sighting here,'bout a week ago.''
I looked down at the paper.
*Aswang* - A vampire-like creature that can shape-shift.
*Really? * I thought. Then I decided to voice that thought.
`` Really, Doctor? A shape-shifting vampire?''
Nothing. I raised my head from the paper and the Doctor was gone.
Mind you, I was in the middle of the swamp now, with nothing but thick bushes and branches around me and mud on the floor. That's when he decided to disappear on me.
`` Doc?''
Full disclosure: I was really creeped out now.
`` Doctor?'' I asked again, almost screaming. *He was by my side a second ago. What the hell? *
From behind me, the sound of dry leaves cracking with the weight of steps made the hair on my neck rise.
Slowly, I turned my head around. Not that I believe in shape-shifting vampires or anything, but I do believe in --
`` Oh, shit, it's you, Doc. Where the hell did you go?'' I asked, relieved to see the white-haired, boring, familiar face again.
He smiled and kept his eye on me, but did n't say anything.
`` Why are you being creepy?'' I asked, already starting to feel a bit weird about the way he was staring at me.
And then my phone rang.
`` Hey, a signal!'' I said to the Doc, liking Verizon for the first time in my life. I smiled as I answered the phone. It would be good to hear a voice now, whomever it belonged to. A call from civilization.
`` Hello?''
`` Ethan!'' The Doctor's voice sounded from the other side of the line. `` Where the hell are you?''
I looked at the Doctor, still smiling creepily at me, and I looked at the phone.
`` Get the hell out of there, did n't you see that thing? It was a live one! I'm getting the gun!''
The Doctor took a step closer to me.
Full disclose: --
___________________________
*Hey, cryptozoology is fun! [ Here's the full list of cryptids that's mentioned in the story. ] ( http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_cryptids ) *
*Also, thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca*
|
[ WP ] Humanity long ago discovered all of reality is a simulation created by others . They are long gone . Memory in the system is running out , and reality is starting to fray . Time skips and stutters . You are a member of the team sent to augment the machine that is our world .
|
Wow. What a ripoff. I thought the promotion would land me somewhere nicer, like Kona or Barajas. Hell, even Changi would have been ok. Instead I'm here in the heart of the bible belt. It figures they would send their top agent to Hartsfield–Jackson now that the machine is on the fritz again. It happened a lot sooner than expected too; I TOLD management to bring out the big guns last time, but they said they wanted a more subtle approach, that hindering growth would be more humane. Well, judging by the tool they gave me, it looks like they listened to me this time, they went old-school, tried and true. Ok, I'm in the terminal now, I better get to work. `` Excuse me sir, do you think this vial smells like Spain?''
|
[ WP ] You hire a witch doctor to curse someone . However , the only curses you can afford are extremely petty .
|
After walking six long days in the dense, foggy marsh she was made it to the cottage. The cottage was a heap of broken bricks, rottening wood, and missing roof tiles despite the great recommendation she had received. Finding an ounce of courge, she went to the door and knocked. The door flew open with an elder dirty hag.
`` Who dares disturb my evening meal!?'' said the hag. `` I'm sorry I am late. I had an appointment with you two days ago. My name is Angelica.'' said the young women. `` Come in young one! My name is Hctiba but you already know that. You do know that in your contract there is a late fee of 500 golden coins per hour that you are late plus the spell fee.'' said the ugly hag.
Angelica quickly did the calculations of how much she had in her purse. Dragging out her purse from her pocket, she handed it to Hctiba who counted the coins quickly. `` You have only five coins to use on a spell on her. My dear I know you are heartbroken that she was unfaithful. I know just the spell! Let me go get it!'' said Hctiba.
Hctiba handed her a sealed piece of parchment and said, `` Here you are! Just break the seal outside and write her name on it. The parchment has the spell and what it does written on it inside.'' Angelica ran outside and wrote her ex-lovers name on the parchment. Slowly she broke the seal to activate the spell and see what the spell did.
In little writing was the words: `` Causes the recipient of the spell to have a scratchy ass when thinking sexual thoughts, masturbating, or eating ice cream.''
|
[ IP ] Bedtime Stories
|
`` Stop it Aaron, you're scaring me!'' Seratiny cried out, little voice muffled behind the overstuffed pillow.
`` Scared is good,'' her brother replied with a wicked grin and dragon sock-puppet raised. `` That way, when the dragons come for you, you'll be alert. You might even get away! Maybe.''
She buried face into the pillow. `` I'm telling mom!''
`` Aww, I was just joking. Do n't do that,'' Aaron said, gently putting down the puppet. When she did n't reply, he moved closer and gathered his little sister in his arms. She squealed and tried to squirm away.
`` No! Not until you promise not to tell,'' he said, laughing. Despite her struggles, Seratiny began to laugh as well.
`` OK, OK, fine. I wo n't.'' He released his arms and she inched back to her original position. `` Where's mom and dad, by the way?''
`` I think they're still out by the community circle, talking with the elders,'' Aaron said, closing the story-book he had been reading: *Tales of Tiamat the Tremendous. * `` Are you tired yet? Ready to sleep?''
`` Uh-uh,'' Seratiny responded, shaking her head. `` Is it true that mom was once saved by a dragon?''
Aaron smiled. `` Yep! It was during one of our migrations. You were still in mom's tummy, and all I remember is shouting and heat and light. But mom did tell me the story,'' he added with a wink.
`` Please tell me!'' she pleaded.
`` Oh no,'' he said with exaggerated horror, clapping a hand over his heart. `` You're much too young. Mom would make me go gather sageseed tubers for a month if she knew I told you.''
`` I wo n't tell. Promise.''
`` I do n't know...''
`` PLEAAAASSEE!'' Seratiny cried out loudly, gripping his tunic sleeve with little fists.
`` Keep your voice down, sheesh,'' Aaron replied with a chuckle.
`` Pleaaaasseee,'' she whispered.
`` Fine, since you promised,'' Aaron conceded. His eyes flashed with excitement as he began: `` It was years ago, when we were migrating from East Lator to, well, here actually. But we had to pass through the Slava Drac badlands. It was winter too, which made it so much worse.''
`` Why?'' Seratiny asked.
`` Hey, no interrupting!'' he warned, wagging a finger.
`` Just this one question. Please.''
He rolled his eyes. `` The badlands do n't have enough water or food. And in the winter, the few lakes we found were frozen and we had to waste precious time breaking ice to get to the fish. After all, we could n't move at night-time - giant scorpions, igneous cliff worms, or even stuff like rock avalanches became much more dangerous after dark. Not to mention... the *dragons. *''
Seratiny's eyes grew wide.
Aaron loved story-telling, and he began to make dramatic gestures and add sound effects as he continued. `` There were caves built into the cliffs, and we decided to traverse through a narrow valley passage-way because it would save us months of travel. But one night, while we camped, a swarm of badger-mites attacked us! Oh, it was awful; these bugs were bigger than your head, and meaner than rattlesnakes. They were hideous, red things with sucking fangs and spindly legs.''
Seratiny made a small whimpering sound.
`` But anyway,'' Aaron said hastily, `` we were fighting them off when suddenly, out of nowhere, the sky just lit up! I thought it had somehow become morning already.''
`` The dragon!'' she blurted out.
`` Yes. I ca n't remember what it looked like, but people tell me it was huge and green and breathed blood-orange fire,'' he said. He could see crimson flames in his memory, even now. `` It saved us by chasing the mites away. But then, it grabbed mom in its scaly claws and took her away!''
`` But she came back, right?'' Seratiny cried out.
Aaron burst out laughing. `` Of course. She's here, is n't she?''
`` Oh, right,'' she replied, reddening a little.
`` The dragon returned her just as suddenly two nights later, when we had crossed the valley passage. And then it disappeared, and we never saw it again,'' Aaron finished.
`` But what happened while mom was with the dragon?'' Seratiny asked.
`` Mom says she ca n't remember very well,'' Aaron explained. `` She had a fever that was made worse by being bitten by one of the mites. But she told me that she remembers being surrounded by iridescent green scales, a constant, intense warmth, and a vast cavern.''
`` Wow,'' Seratiny breathed.
`` Actually, she never told you this, so *definitely* do n't tell her I told you,'' he said with warning in his voice ( Seratiny nodded vigorously ), `` but your hair and your eyes matches the dragon's fire and scales perfectly.''
`` Really!?'' she exclaimed.
`` Yep,'' Aaron replied. `` And you know that you're the only in our tribe - in the history of our tribe - with red hair and green eyes.''
`` But why? Is it the dragon? Did it do something to mom while I was in her tummy?'' she asked, all in one breath.
`` Nobody knows,'' Aaron said mysteriously. He began to push aside the books and motioned for Seratiny to lie down. To his surprise, she complied without any complaint. He blew out the flame in the latern and began to exit the metal enclosure that made her bedroom. As he lifted the skin-flap door, he looked at his sister again. `` You sure you're not too scared to sleep?'' He asked half-jokingly.
She slowly shook her head. `` No. I do n't think I am afraid of dragons anymore.''
He raised an eyebrow, but she said nothing more. `` Well, night then, Sera,'' he said. She mumbled something in return and turned over under the blankets.
`` Sleep well, little dragon-sister of mine,'' Aaron said, too quietly for her to hear.
|
[ WP ] You wake up one day in your SO 's body . Unfortunately you have n't met said SO yet and you must figure out where you are
|
*Where am I? *
*What is going on? *
I struggled to open my eyes to no avail. Darkness wraps it's cold tendrils around my face as fluids prevent me from breathing. *Do I need to breathe? * *No. *
A sudden burst of pain erupts from everywhere as I feel movement. Am I... Swimming? No, I'm being dragged through water. I feel slight movement on my head as I'm released from my coffin. Light enters my closed eyes as it's redness tears my pupils. I finally force my eyes open to see a blurry, grayscale picture in front of me. A cable is severed, and pain rushes through my brain.
Air.
It's so nice to breathe it in again.
|
[ WP ] A dog has been murdered .
|
I continued to stare at the report, but no matter how hard I tried I could't seem to believe it.
Murder is a funny thing. I do n't mean funny in the traditional, laugh-out-loud way, but funny as in soul crushing.
We've been killing as long as we've been a species on this planet, but to murder a dog.... the very idea goes against everything we've ever learned.
Trouble is, this was n't just any dog. He was my friend, and he was my litter-mate.
We do n't kill each other. It's why we rose to the top of the food chain and took the planet, but here we are acting like a pack of savage humans.
I do n't know who is a good boy any more...
|
[ WP ] People are starting to give birth to only one gender . No one knows why or how to stop it .
|
We call it the Bitch Generation, cause that's what they are. It started off as a coincidence, then became an epidemic. Everyone was giving birth to girls, and men were to blame. `` The sperm determines the gender.'' or some crap like that.
They started collecting men and milking them like cattle. They needed to stock up, as `` we do n't know how long this will last, or when we will find a solution.'' I'm pretty sure it's just their revenge against the patriarchy. Luckily for us, we were able to go into hiding. Josh, my boyfriend, used to have some questionable weekend activities. Now they come in handy.
We were able to get some forged identification. Josh got a desk job, and I sold home made trinkets on Etsy... or at least tried to sell.
`` Happy Birthday,'' I said to Josh as he started heading out for work. `` I expect something special for tonight,'' he quipped back and left the house. I looked up directions on how to make German Chocolate Cake, and proceeded to work. I had just pulled the cake from the oven when my phone buzzed. The message was short and direct, `` Run!'' I stood bewildered for a moment, and then realized the situation. Shoot, we grew complacent. When a woman turns 25, they impregnate her. But we were men, so it did n't apply to us. We were stupid.
I grabbed our emergency kit and a wig, and drove. I was crying. They had him. He was probably being shipped to The Facility by now. I did n't know where I was driving until I wound up at Kathy's. Kathy was one of the few people who knew about Josh and I.
*Bang, bang, bang*... I pounded on her door. She opened it. `` What's wrong?'' Kathy asked. `` They got him! They got him,'' I sobbed and grabbed her. She pulled me inside.
`` Look,'' she said, `` you can only stay the night.''
`` What!?''
`` You know what happens to people who hide men.''
I was angry, but she had already kept our secret this long. People probably know we associate. She's taking a big risk.
`` What's in the bag?'' She asked. `` I do n't know,'' I replied, `` some emergency kit Josh prepared.'' I unzipped the bag and started pulling out the contents: handcuffs, night stick, duck tape, condoms, lubricant --
`` What type of emergency were you guys preparing for?''
`` Shut up...''
-- water, and some dried fruit.
I spent the night. In the morning, Kathy suggested I try moving between abandoned neighbourhoods until I figure out what to do. So I drove off.
...
I found an house to stay in. It was still early, but I did n't know what to and was still tired from the previous day. So I took a nap.
*Bang*, I woke up. I could hear steps coming from within the house. They found me.
I hid in the closet and held my breath. A single woman walked in. She was looking around. I grabbed the night stick from my bag. As she went to look under the bed *whack*, I hit her as hard as I could in the noggin. I waited for others to come bursting into the room, but no one came.
I hand cuffed her to the bed, and looked outside. There was just my car and hers. I went back into the room. She was starting to come to.
`` Who are you?'' I demanded.
`` I do n't have time to explain,'' she said, `` but you have to uncuff me and we need to run. I'm part of the Male Independence Liberation Front, or MILF for short. I'm here to help, but they have teams that search these neighbourhoods for run-aways.''
`` MILF?'' I said, `` Really?''
`` Just shut up and uncuff me already,'' she chirped, `` and take off the wig already, you look like an idiot.''
|
[ WP ] `` There is no Devil , there 's just God when he drinks . ''
|
`` Why on my green earth did you pick a place so damn hot to meet?''
`` No man should look upon you father, and we have much to discuss.''
Yahweh took a sip from his glass and held it at eye level, looking upon his son through the refracted light as it passed through the amber liquid that rest within. Beads of sweat rolled down the side, promising cool respite from the biting heat. `` Fine. What else do we have to discuss?''
`` Namely your current treatment of the human race. Over the past millennia you have visited some truly awful atrocities on them. A flood that wiped the world, the deaths of first born in Egypt, the sacrifice of children to demand proof of reverence to you from your faithful. You have been most unkind to those you have created in your image.''
Yahweh slammed his glass on the table, shaking the earth. `` And I should have done worse! The human race is still corrupt. Slaves are sold and beaten. Women and children are raped while men kill each other in wars in my name!''
His son stared at him, cool, collected. Not a single bead of sweat rolled from his brow. `` They follow your example father.''
The glass shattered in Yahweh's hand. Though there were no clouds in the sky, the light faded and shadow crept across the desert. `` *Do not presume to lecture me on how to raise my flock child. You are MY son, confined to mortal form. You may be blessed by MY divinity but you have not the wisdom and power of omniscience that I attain. I AM THE OMEGA! *''
The earth trembled but Jesus did not falter. `` Father, please sit. I am not here to tell you how your flock should be nurtured. I submit to your will and spread your word of religion to all those who would listen. Through you I offer salvation for man... but you must stop.''
The sun burned hotter with Yahweh's rage. He could feel the heat burning crops in nearby settlements. A cruel smile crept across his lips as he conjured another drink and of which he took a long draw. Jesus continued, `` Your drinking will be the death of us all, father.''
`` I believe we are done here.'' Yahweh stood from his seat and finished his drink.
`` Father please, you must listen. For the sake of all you must learn to control your vices and lead your flock by the standard to which you hold them!''
Yahweh emitted a pulse of force, knocking Jesus to his knees. The sun blazed overhead. `` You shall not dictate to me, how I am to carry on my existence. I created this world and all that inhabit it. The very stars bend to my will. Your continued existence with the mortals of man is only so because I bless it. Continue to challenge me, foolish boy, and you will feel the true might of my wrath. The flood will look like a lovely holiday compared to what I may yet bring upon this world.''
His words dripped with cruelty and malice. Fear slowly crept in Jesus' eyes and he threw himself upon his father's feet. `` Please father, I only wish for you to be well.''
Yahweh was gone. Jesus looked into the haze of the desert and climbed to his feet, stumbling towards the horizon, brushing the sand and tears from his eyes.
From his throne in the Kingdom of Heaven, Yahweh took a long, slow draw from his glass as he watched his son continue to spread his word. He would not let this indignant child continue to lecture him. Yahweh visited many followers in their prayers that night and poisoned their minds. Jesus, he told them, is the son of kings. And so they would spread this word. The King of all Kings has come.
Yahweh smiled with malice, looking upon his work. He could feel the jealousy and fear growing in the Romans and those of the Jewish faith. His son would know the consequences for not honoring thy Father.
|
[ WP ] A man claiming to be Jesus Christ is sanctioned and sent to a mental institute . There he meets a man claiming to be the Devil and every night after sundown they meet to play a game of chess and talk ...
|
`` Why do you even try to save the humans, Jesus? Do n't you see they do n't deserve being saved? I've already shown you what worthless beings they are. Hate, envy, greed, all those wars, they are selfish little things who kill each other for pleasure, the worst of all animals. Your move.''
`` Yes, but they can also love. Having the freedom of choice leaves them prey to your temptations, and you are just cruel to prey on them. But humans are made after the image of Father, so their higher goal is reaching the calm you threw away. Humans can forgive. and as long as they forgive themselves they will be forgiven by Father. All they need is a little guidance. And here, I took your bishop.''
`` Good move. The calm I threw away? CALM?! BOREDOM! That's what it was. The life of a vegetable, really, dragging your existence from one day to another, with no purpose at all, just sitting near God. I gave humans that freedom you talk about, I taught them that there's more than what they saw. I escaped from God's clutches, I released the humans, and I wo n't let you take them back. Let them kill each other, at least they can choose for themselves what to do. You are the cruel one, Jesus, trying to take away what I gave them. You were careless, Jesus. Check.''
`` Come, you two. It's late already, time to go to bed.''
`` We'll never finish this game, wo n't we, Lucifer?''
`` Stop calling me that. No, we probably wo n't.''
|
[ WP ] Kurt Vonnegut coined the phrase `` Necklaces for Cleopatra '' to describe the long , florid , and unnecessary sentences used by misguided new writers . Write a short story for which this phrase is an appropriate title . Your story need not contain references to new writers , Vonnegut , or florid prose .
|
You're drowning me sweetheart, he said softly and without shame, holding his breath for what in his unconscious dream world he knew to be the passage of hours as he saw and savoured that first flicker of frantic fear he imagined in the corner of her eye ( brutish pleasure in her pain twisted the left corner of his lower lip ) her beautiful but troubled eye, both knowing the two month old unborn child ( an ugly creature he saw in her belly in his minds eye, never suspecting the ugliness to be a stain on his own erratic heart ) a child that yet clung frantically to the ragged edge of her womb under her unfed belly, unwanted by either, neither the child of either, and she did not even believe it to be his herself, but chose to trumpet to all the world his paternity regardless, though he despised to investigate her reasons. Taking another breath he picked her up at shoulders and hips and swung her into the bath, at the small ( but necessary, an unavoidable payment ) expense of a sharp sprain to a muscle in his lower back, and for a moment regretted that shot from his own hand ( though it was not his own gun ) those two years ago on a frosty morning under autumn leaves, the bullet fragment nearly severing her spine and leaving her two legs useless. Still, she had forgiven him and now she offered up a smile from amongst the bubbles.
|
[ WP ] `` Thirteen minutes ago was a different time . Things were darker then . ''
|
One choice for the entire fate of humanity to change.
`` Down the corridor now''
One bullet to mark ourselves in the history books.
`` Quickly, this way''
Either listen to the old man and let his dictatorship rule the world.
`` Watch out''
Or prove to the world that freedom is what makes human's human.
`` He's got a bomb''
Guess which one we chose.
I awoke, coughing the dust out of my lungs as I try to find my team. They are lying in a heap around me, and I check to see if they're alive. They are, so I look up to try and find a way out of this pit. I hear a groan and look down to see Samantha waking up.
`` What happened?'' She asked as I help her up.
`` We were caught in resistance crossfire. It was a suicide bomber''
`` For Pete's sake'' She rubs her temples as I look around, `` I told them to wait''
`` They probably heard he was dead and started the uprising. Can you check everyone else, make sure they get up'' She nods her head and I look for a way out. We're still getting air and I can feel it, so I follow it to a small hole. I look out of it and see rebellion and Cooperation fighters swarm around the main building.
`` Well, we killed the old man'' I hear Tom yell behind me and I turn around to see the rest of our team wake up.
`` Yeah, and it's your fault'' I walk back into the main area and Samantha looks at me. `` Any news''
`` Rebellion fighters coming in, and the Cooperation is in chaos. It's a war zone out there''
`` But a new world'' Jordan said leaning on a wall.
`` Maybe, We do n't know yet, our system might be just as corrupt as the last''
`` NO, our system is perfect,'' Michale said, and Samantha helped him up.
`` I do n't want to argue right now, I just want to get out of here''
`` I do n't care what you want, We are free now, we do n't have to listen to anyone. Plus we are probably safe in here and the rebellion will find us''
`` Okay, you do n't have to listen to me, but I was the Neighborhood administrator for three years, I know things about commanding'' I hated getting into arguments with Michale about these things.
`` Yeah, but your reign ended thirteen minutes ago. We are free from you'' I wanted to pound his face in, but I held myself back and tried to explain.
`` I joined you because you needed my leadership. So I lead you to victory, and so you do n't have to follow me because thirteen minutes ago was a different time. Things were darker then and I wanted to get rid of it. So follow me or not, you must realize I am on your side and I am trying to lead you to victory. Now anyone who want's to get out of here follow me'' I walk away toward the hole, and I hear Michale grumble and start to follow along with the rest of our team.
|
[ WP ] You 're a criminal who got one of those 1000+ year sentences . However , you bear the curse of immortality . Today you 're being released .
|
I knew I'd be here for a long time. It did n't matter. I'd learnt at the tender age of 8, when the nursemaid beat me with the fire poker and I'd ran lost and alone into Blackfrost Wood; that my body did n't need food or water. Apparently I could live forever. That did n't stop the hunger though, gnawing away at my insides, for what has felt like an eternity.
I feel around the dirt walls that hold me, looking for any sign of change. As usual, there were none. I was imprisoned long ago, when some government decided I was too powerful to let live. At first they studied me, for any sign of the infinite youth only I possessed. Of course they did n't find anything. After that I was locked away, in this dark, dank pit far below any form of building. The sentence; 1000 years.
Hah, as if anything would be different then. I did n't know. Mostly I just slept and dreamt; of light, flowers and my dead lovers eyes. I was about to sleep again, but then I heard it. A scratch, small faint, but there, definitely there.
For the first time in centuries; I moved. And, hurt. Oh, God it hurt. But I could still hear noise. So I spoke, well, I tried to. All that happened at first was a cough. Then I remembered my voice.
`` Hello, is anyone there? ``, I shouted. Wow, my voice was different than I remembered, somehow more me than the one I could here in my dreams. A slight thudding of the ground above me was my only reply.
The thudding continued for a while, gradually getting louder. It could have been months, for all I could tell.Then suddenly there was light coming from above me. A blinding flash that left me curled towards the ground.
That was all I knew for a time.
The first thing I felt was air, surrounding me. then opening my eyes other things, things beyond anything I have seen were everywhere. Machines or magic, how was I to tell. My jaw dropped as I looked around. Then something strange happened. A being, purple and mistlike, appeared by the tank I was somehow floating in. Then even wierder, it spoke, in English.
`` Hello.'' It said. `` Our readings say that you've been trapped underground for a thousand cycles of your planet. We found you 12 declans ago. How do you feel? Can you move?''
|
[ WP ] An extraterrestrial invasion has forced the world 's nations to reveal their most secretive and powerful weapons .
|
Deep inside one of the secret military bunkers deep within area 51 a secret meeting takes place. The president of the United States along with many of the high ranking military officials meet to discuss a potential war outbreak with an alien race.
“ They haven ’ t attached yet, and quite frankly if you look at our weapons we won ’ t stand a chance, and I ’ m not one for destroying the entire planet with nuclear weapons, ” says the president to the committee.
“ What do you propose then Mr. President? I ’ m not sure how much time we have left. ” The vice president says over the intercom from a remote location.
One of the top leading scientist in the field of biology stands up. “ Excuse me…I ’ m sorry, I just had to say a word. I have an idea ”
“ Go on. ” The president says.
“ Well, their biology I ’ m sure is almost like ours. I mean they look like us so the genetic structure shouldn ’ t be too far off. ”
“ I don ’ t mean to hurry but can you get to the point. ” The president has no patience, there is no time for explanations.
“ Right…We make them sick basically. The grease, all that fat…We can produce mass quantities of McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell…All these companies, get them together and have them mass produce and offer it to them. Make them think we are giving them our world. I mean there ’ s no point in fighting them…If we pretend to surrender and just feed them, eventually they will get sick. There ’ s no way their bodies can handle that… ”
“ How do you know they ’ ll get sick? “ the president asks.
“ With all due respect Mr. President, have you seen the health of most of the USA ’ s citizens? ”
|
[ WP ] Survivors of a ruined planet linger in orbital stations . Some wish to return to the surface , others dream of the stars .
|
`` So, Captain, tell me again what you saw.'' The deep baritone voice pierced the atmosphere in the mahogany-paneled room on one of New Alexandria's residential blocks, thick with cigar smoke.
Flight Captain James Flowers stood at attention, but his mannerisms belied his current anxiety. It was, after all, not every day he found himself standing before the Marshal of the Terran Confederation, the leader of what few military forces remained in this time of peace.
`` You may be at ease, Captain Flowers. This is nothing formal, I just want to hear from you directly what happened out there today. You should know that I prefer to go straight to the source rather than relying solely on reports like many of my adjutants...'' The Marshal's voice softened. In his old age he had grown a bit rough around the edges, and who could blame him? The war that sent what was left of Humanity into orbit had happened nearly sixty years ago, and he, then a fresh-faced recruit into the - ah, what was the name of that old power? - the American Air Force had seen enough for several lifetimes over. If that had n't hardened him enough, dealing with the politics of the now-united Elect in orbit certainly had.
`` Yes Sir.'' Captain Flowers relaxes slightly, though still retains a palpable air of unease. `` I was on my standard patrol around 0717, when I heard a distress call come over the channel. When the computer finally resolved the location of the beacon, we discovered it was a transit ship that had found itself beyond Rubicon Point.''
He shifts his eyes, looking at his polished boots while he appreciates the gravity of what he is about to say to the Marshal; what he said next was just as likely to earn him a medal as condemn him to a lifetime in the brig, depending on how his superior felt. He gulps, again meeting the gaze of the Marshal.
`` Against the standing order I disengaged from the patrol flight and dove for the beacon. It took a while, but I was ultimately able to tow the transit ship up to a stable altitude. It drained my ship's energy cells, and so I myself needed to be towed back to station.''
The Marshal leans forward in his chair. So far everything checked out; his military had full sensor coverage of the events from receiving the beacon to its reappearance at point Haven, officially designated the minimum safe altitude over their sickly homeworld. But there was one thing that stood out in his mind.
`` Captain, how low did you find the transit ship?''
`` Sir, my ship's computer hit bottom at 100,000 meters, but given the resistance I was having to fight and how long it took to tow the transit ship back up, I would estimate we were as low as 75, 80 thousand meters.''
75 or 80 thousand?! That... was impossible. Marshal Wilcox *knew* the engineer who had been responsible for the development of the Hercules-class heavy utility vessel that Captain Flowers had been flying earlier that day. The one hundred kilometer limit was more than a political boundary; much below that point, tests had found, the effects of atmospheric drag and the gravitational pull of Earth herself made operations effectively impractical. That is not to say it was impossible; tests had been done on the Chancellor's request to see whether current technology could operate in denser atmospheric conditions. The Seven Colonies, as the space outposts were popularly known, were rapidly approaching capacity despite increasingly harsh governmental measures to the contrary.
Humanity could n't stay in orbit forever. Before he could respond, however, Captain Flowers continues.
`` What is most remarkable, Sir, is that I swear, I saw on my scope, with my own two eyes, *signs of life below*! Nothing definitive, mind you, but the signs were unmistakable. Someone or something down there is still alive.''
Now this? This was stretching the limits of what the Marshal was willing to believe. `` Son, I'm going to pretend I did n't hear that. You know that even a notion of life remaining on Earth is considered treason.'' He wipes his eyes. If the Captain had had the gall to ask, he was clearing some of the smoke away, however his thoughts would not let go of James' assertion. Part of himself, even, hoped that there was something more to this.
`` Legally, I'm required to report that you said that. That said... you and me are the only ones that heard that. I'm just going to forget you said what you said; everyone gets their one mistake, after all. However, I do have to put you on administrative leave while your ship and the transit craft are impounded and inspected. If what you say about your operation today is true, there will be evidence logged, and I know exactly who to talk to to interpret it. You may leave, if you wish.''
James Flowers salutes and walks out of the Marshal's residence, with only the thought of a stiff drink on his mind.
Marshal Wilcox, exhales audibly as soon as the door slides shut. Being that he was the titular head of the Confederation's premier peacekeeping and defense force, he was often privy to a number of rumblings at the highest levels of power. He had seen the statistics: New Verona was sitting at 96 % of its designed capacity; the Philadelphia and the Athens were not too far behind. Chancellor Suttridge was pushing hard for exploring other planets, promising a fresh start to Humanity.
Sure, they did n't have the technology to progress beyond the solar system, but between all the extant planets and moons that *weren't* yet spoiled by Humanity, there was enough space to guarantee their survival, assuming colonization was as easy on a planet's surface as in orbit. That, at least, was the vague promise that the Chancellor had used to garner support among the government for his ideas.
Adam Suttridge was a good friend of Marshal Wilcox, dating back to the immediate aftermath of what had come to be known as the Great Evacuation. Arguably, the two had ridden each other's coattails to the heights of power they currently enjoyed. Unfortunately for them both, Wilcox remembered the fate of the attempted Lunar Colony. Contrary to what was taught in history texts, the Lunar Colony was not an unfortunate failure.
It was something far more sinister.
|
[ WP ] A new drug is discovered that induces lucid dreaming . An overdose causes permanent coma . The hospitals are filling up .
|
I am on my phone. Reddit. One of my favorite subs here is the sub r/writingprompts, it's one of the few I check regularly. Good sub, that one, I scan the front page, and a thread with a nifty title - `` You find instantly all food one day has become poisonous but no one cares, cowabunga'' - grabs my attention for some reason.
And so I click it.
The top submission in the thread is interesting, I like it. Funny how within the words one writes, they craft a reality through which they dance. Seemingly balanced on the precipice of thought and word and idea and belief - this one medium is incredibly interesting. Generating realities, wow, when you think about it that's insane and Mr. Harrison you're displaying signs of terminal and within these mental spaces we craft, we feel we are the masters of our reality. Kind of an odd dream where the power has gone to our heads and we find with a child's giddiness our minds lay in complete control of our subjective view of reality but unfortunately it looks like he's gone a bit too far, medically speaking the patient is comatose by this point.
I enjoy reading threads like this one I currently browse. It's why I choose to make this my reality. Dream this little dream. How incredible I get the opportunity to make this and be this and feel this and unfortunately the patient is unresponsive, he may pick up brief audio senses of the surroundings within his comatose state and for all we know these words may be in his dream. A lucid dream really is a spiritual experience, where the mind crafts an entire universe.
The universe is really suspended by our all together subjectively experiencing out individual conscioussnesses, the stuff through which all of existence looks upon itself and makes the whole concept of `` it'' possible. My mind twitters endlessly in these little thoughts and outside the little window I've dreamt up for myself autumn leaves twittle in a breeze. It's calming. Unfortunately this is one of many cases, by this point, the patient is as good as dead. I hate to be so straightforward about it, but we will most likely inevitably pull the plug. And this existantial furrow burrows and creases more and more and I'm starting to lose my train of thought - am I the person reading this? This was n't written, was it? My mind, it's torn, this is all a dream and I know that I'm terribly lucid are n't I? And yet it's fading, unfortunately we have to make room in all of these hospitals, Mr. Harrison has been taken off support.
And I feel ok. Everything is slowing, I'm not quite sure where it's headed. The overall noise in my head, where does it keep winding to, slower and slower and fading, stretching, like taffy; the human brain takes its last desperate breaths as it is stretched thin beyond its parameters and this dream of mine, my lucid dream, it is all crashing down.
I am dieing.
|
[ WP ] Death calls in sick and you 're chosen as his temp .
|
I hung up the phone. I couldn ’ t believe my luck. For decades have I worked in this job, and I was finally getting a promotion. It was only for a week, but it was a promotion nonetheless.
I grabbed my coat and raced to the elevators. From the red sign glowed a big “ O ”; the elevator was right at the top. I pressed the up button and the sign slowly changed to “ REAP ”, then “ SOW ”, then “ PLAGUE ”. The elevator dinged and I quickly jumped in, frantically spamming the “ O ” button. I was extremely nervous; my fingers were shaking so hard you ’ d think that I ’ d be one of the victims of those working on the “ ACHE ” level just beneath.
Despite this, I was surprisingly still pretty calm, given the situation. I had never met The Omni before, and that phone call was the first time I had even spoken to him. Apparently one of the guys on the Reaping level caught something from a victim he was meant to harvest. The victim had contracted The Agonia, our most recent and most successful plague since the Bubonic, and the Reaper had not followed infectious protocol. Agonia plagued its victims for seven days before signalling for harvest, so the Reaper would be out for a week before he could get back to working functionality. Of course, being a Reaper, he was contracted to be immune from Death so long as he was employed, but that wouldn ’ t stop him from feeling the full effects of the plague. Besides, even when we employees would die, we were contracted to die peaceful and painless deaths.
Agonia was my pride and joy. It was the first time I headed a full on Pandemic project, and while I was confident in my capabilities, I was still so surprised at how successful it was, wiping out 0.9 % of the population.
I had started off in this company working in the Aches division, working directly under Parkinson and Alzheimer themselves. That was a true blessing and honour, and from then I knew that this company was my calling. I had always dreamed of working on the reaping floor, and now I can finally live these dreams out.
The elevator dinged again as the doors slid open. I had hardly any time to even attempt to fathom the fact that I was standing in the presence of the Omni at the very top of the floor, when a bright and white light temporarily blinded me. The sheer brightness of the room rendered my limbs useless and I fell to the floor.
All I could do was tense every muscle in my body as The Omni spoke to me. His voice sounded as if it came from right next to my ear, but I couldn ’ t actually feel him next to me. All he said to me was, “ Well, I told you what you needed to know on the phone, but the reason I wanted to call you up here to my office was because I ’ m very proud of the work you ’ ve been doing. Don ’ t think I haven ’ t noticed you. I saw you when you first started as a youngling doing the Aches, and I saw you when you moved up to the Plagues, first doling them out to the victims, then actually helping with creating them. Now that your work on The Agonia has been so successful, I thought I would reward you with what your heart truly desired. The Reaper that fell sick did so because of your little Agonia, after all, and since the plague was so successful and we are now so short on reapers, I thought you were the perfect person to call up. If you do well this week, you might be looking at a permanent position on the Reaping floor. One of the senior Reapers is waiting for you now to teach you all you need to know. Just be careful: you of all people don ’ t want to catch the plague yourself. ”
And with that, the elevator doors closed, and automatically started moving down. I opened my eyes; the bright light was gone. I lay still on the elevator floor, trying to absorb the craziness of what I had just experienced. I was in the midst of replaying it in my head when the elevator doors opened again. A senior Reaper stood before me, and he welcomed me in.
The process of harvesting was pretty simple, as he explained. I was starting off in one of the easiest sectors of the Reaping division, Maladies, and didn ’ t have to deal with any complexities, such as the Reapers who dealt with Accidents, Homicides, or Suicides. Since I was one of the heads in the Plagues division, not much of the Maladies protocol was new to me, but I had to make sure that my contamination suit was properly worn. As The Omni said, I of all people would not want to fall victim to The Agonia.
I started to put on the suit. I wasn ’ t used to it, and it took some time to figure it all out. Back when I doled out the aches and the plagues, I never had to wear a contamination suit since we would generally only deal with healthy people. It was only ever the Reapers who would have to deal with the plagued.
I first put on a black spandex suit that covered my entire body up to my jawline. Next were my black goggles, followed by my mask. It was a large, white mask that covered the entirety of my face. The top half was slightly rounded to allow room for the goggles, while the bottom half extended straight down to a little past my chin. It looked like a large skull.
On went some black socks and black gloves, and above all this I needed one last layer: the contaminations robe. The guy I was replacing must have been taller and heavier built than me, because his robe draped over me quite loosely. I grabbed the scythe that would allow me to hook onto the victims ’ souls, and I pulled the black hood over my head.
Staring into the mirror, I couldn ’ t help but think:
* “ Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. ” *
-J. Robert Oppenheimer, quoting the Bhagavad Gita
|
[ WP ] On birth , everyone 's given one . Except you— you were given two .
|
I always knew I was different. The world we lived in, the people we knew, what we did, what we felt, it was all contrived. The government had found a way to control the masses. It had been a scientific'miracle' as they had called it.
When a baby is born, the government implants a ready made, pre-assigned heart. Once that goes into their body, the child is on a set timeline, with set goals, and set relationships.
I was supposed to be a teacher, who fell in love at the age of 23, and had two kids two years later. Now I never had a problem with this first, everyone had been, well pretty much, programed with the artificial heart to do what it says.
But I started to hear voices. A loud pounding in my head. It filled me with all these thoughts. All these ideas of who I could be. I felt scared. I felt alone. I tried talking to my best friend and family, but I knew that with their blank stare in their face, they were n't meant to understand this kind of problem, because there was n't supposed to be this kind of problem.
When I finally became an adult, I visited the doctors. The man came in and preformed the regular checkup before he x-rayed my chest for any defects. I did n't know what to think. When he had mentioned I might be'broken' I felt something inside of me. Something that was unfamiliar with the implanted heart.
When the doctor came back I knew something was wrong. He handed me the x-Ray and my eyes widened. I had two hearts.
`` H-How is this even possible?!?''
`` We do n't know. But I'm afraid we're under oath to report this.''
`` Nurse!''
The last thing I heard was the irregular thumping in my head, as my vision faded to black.
|
[ WP ] The earth is adapting to humans . Trees now fire their seeds outwards and they grow to full size instantly when they hit the ground .
|
Elka ran across the huge branch. It was wide enough not to worry about slipping as she jumped over patches of moss and the occasional nest. Behind her, thick black smoke was rising into the sky. She jumped as she reached the end of the branch and, for a moment, she sailed through the air, her eyes fixed on a point before her. Then she grabbed the branch of the next tree and pulled herself up on to it. This one had grooves worn into it from years of use, and so she didn ’ t need to worry about slipping on moss. In the distance she could see the village, but no movement. No sound of the bell.
When she had seen the smoke she had been out gathering with Var. He had his hand in a beehive collecting the honey, when she had shouted for him to look. It had taken him a while to find the source of her urgency. From down in the lower branches it looked like a thin black cloud. Then he had realised the truth of it, and turned to her “ Run! ” he had shouted, placing the honeycomb into a sack. “ I ’ ll get the bags and warn the others. ” She had looked at him for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. You never left anyone behind in the Wild. For the safety of both of you.
“ Run! ” he had shouted again in a tone that was not be ignored.
She picked up her satchel, and ran.
She had hoped that the smoke would have alerted the village by now, but she should be able to hear the bell from here. Who the hell was on lookout? You always kept your wits about you in the summer! She started to see the nets now, strung out between the trees to catch the seeds. Once she had seen a net tear and some seeds hit the ground. Within an instant there stood five co-joined trees. They were lucky that day, the friction of trees growing together often caused fires. She supposed it was lucky that the spring was usually wet.
The five trees had since become where the council was held. It had been hollowed out and offered large airy rooms. The like of which Elka had never seen before.
She jumped again, landing lightly on a branch below her, and she could see the wall to the village. It had been made by carefully planting seeds so that the trees formed a ring around the village. There had been many entrances cut into it, and paths weaved through gaps between the huge trunks, but every entrance housed a solid wood gate and could be closed to stop unwelcome and dangerous animals from entering.
She wanted to call out, they would probably hear her now if she did, but she was out of breath and feared that if she stopped to shout she wouldn ’ t be able to get moving again. The only thing keeping her going now was momentum. Her breath hurt her lungs, she couldn ’ t seem to get them full enough to stop the pain, and her blood pumped in her ears.
Above, she spotted Lansar hanging from a rope and trimming away extra branches form the wall. What the hell? Was he blind? He must have caught her moving from the corner of his eye because he turned to look at her. His face started to smile, and then showed confusion. Why was she running so fast? What could be wrong?
Look *up* you fool! Elka thought, look to where I ’ ve come from! He did, slowly and unsure, then he saw it. He looked above him and shouted something. A face appeared out of a doorway above, and then vanished quickly. Lansar started to pull himself up the rope.
*Finally*, she thought, and she heard the warning bell being to ring the code for forest fire.
Elka didn ’ t dare slow down, but her legs were beginning to feel heavy and she knew her footfalls were becoming clumsy. Then on the branch to the main archway she slipped. She felt herself turning through the air as she fell off the branch and she could do nothing about it. The ground below rushed towards her, the ruins of the once proud stone buildings forming a hard and jagged surface on which to fall.
Then she stopped, softly, a few meters above a broken wall, and she realised she had landed on a net.
She tried to get up, but her limbs seemed intent on ignoring her commands, and she fell back down on to her back. Slowly she turned on to her front and crawled to the nearest branch. Then a hand grabbed her by the arm, and was pulled up to see Var, sweat pouring down his face. He tried to smile, but was obviously exhausted himself. “ Come. ” He said simply, and they limped off towards the village.
|
[ WP ] You are a benevolent necromancer , on his way to defeat an evil warlord treatening the nation
|
Gentle listeners, I know it is not customary for you to hear one such as myself. I thank you for inviting me to speak to this assembly in this urgent hour.
A secret few know about the recent dead is that they are restless. A corpse, even a well-buried one, will soon find its meager plot crowded and invaded, and will tire of bearing the weight of six feet above. The worms make short work of the best flesh but the meat closest to the bone becomes terribly itchy after time. Decaying may be passive, but it is exhausting work, and the dead grow tired of it. My job is to turn them loose in the darkest nights for a time, to shuffle about and stretch, maybe throw off a stubborn limb and belch fetid air.
Ours is not a respected craft, but it is a necessary one. Like the gravediggers, embalmers and undertakers many prefer to ignore our existence. And I do not fault the common folk for their ignorance. Even those of who work alongside Death do so with the silence of grim strangers sharing a common, wretched road; we are his uneasy companions of circumstance, not of choice, always hoping he will carry on the other way whenever the road forks. But our task is clear and our maxim is true: *he who cares for the living, cares for the dead*. A nation that does not see to the proper burial of its deceased finds itself blighted, plagued, demoralized and broken.
Which brings me to the present menace, whom I denounce. I denounce him, I confess, with fear and trembling because of his great power. But I denounce him without reservation, because he is clearly in the wrong. I will say something few dare to concede, except among practitioners of my own craft: I believe he has truly mastered the secret of eternal life. What could be wrong with that, you might ask?
I must include you in another secret. Our somber acquaintance, Death, is himself the lifegiver. With one hand he takes life from the old and frail, with another he bequeathes it to the young and vital. The old fail, making way for the new, and with them their old ideas and stagnant traditions pass away as well. A deer is caught by wolves in the forest and becomes the food that sustains them. Its corpse becomes food for birds and maggots and smaller creatures still, who die and become soil that becomes food for the living. Death in one hand, life in the other, life ever growing stronger. As you give me leave to do my work in the night, so you must let Death do his strange, macabre, and noble work.
The immortal warlord threatens to defeat Death by granting his followers eternal life. If he succeeds, the tyranny of his government shall never end. And if all live and none die, there shall be no food to eat in celebration, nor wine to drink, nor any use for the delightful carnal pleasures. All will be forced to follow him, indeed worship him, or be forced into an eternal life of servitude and torment. ( You will note that Death demands neither worship nor respect, nor even acknowledgment; though wisdom consists of profound respect for him. ) The warlord's offer of eternal life is a poisoned chalice. I denounce him with all my being, and if I die soon, may another necromancer raise me again soon that I might denounce him once more with the wheezing gasps of punctured lungs.
Tonight, I leave this place, and will follow the lonely road to his encampment. I will commune with my companions among the dead and bring any that will follow me. I do not think we can overcome the warlord's armies by might, or even a courageous assault of the undead, but perhaps by the powers of reason and persuasion we can convince his growing army of followers to abandon him and his folly.
Friends, will you come with me?
|
[ WP ] ROBOTS TERK UR JERBS ! Bored out of your mind , you managed to fool a wealthy family into believing you 're an android butler . After several years of service , they purchase an android nanny to tend the children . You suspect she 's human as well .
|
Title - Holding Palms
**PART 2**
See, 22 had told me about the conspiracy of the congressmen to wipe out the world and reduce the population to a manageable and controllable 100,000. Enough people to being in the new milennia and enough to work around the familial gender ratio matrix. All good in theory but horseshit in practise. So I spiked each member's drink with vodka-juice. India's strongest Cocaine that could produce a lethal dose beyond 660.
I knew what I had done was wrong, but eveyone seemed to agree that this was the only way out of the mess. Killing off most of the leaders of the `` Free'' world was important to our survival as human beings. We needed to be actually free and explore ourselves as individuals rather than live under tyranny for the rest of our lives. These people started two more World Wars and this time I was about to destroy their worlds and send them back to Hell. Let their insides burn as they froth from their mouths.
And so they did.
I managed to murder the whole US Congress, the President of the United States, and everyone involved in the killing of hundreds of thousands of people. I was getting played.
22 was an AI bot. I realised that the second I got a glimpse of her silicon skin tag on her lower back. How tramps are identified these days. She used a complex mix of profiling and pheromones to try to fuck with my man-made systems. We're all machines in the end. But I caught on before she could do anything about it.
We did manage to escape but only until the cops found us in the car rolling down the highway heading towards Mt. Cush Cliff. I knew that I had found myself in my own delusion of being with an AI bot, but somewhere deep down I still loved her. I mean she was a humanoid and said all the right things to make me take care of her. Like a Tamagochi - its a fucking toy but I took care of it everyday of my life right until Dad left town, and bailed on my Mom. I swore that day that I would never let go of something that meant anything to me.
We drove off the cliff.
Sirens in the back, guilty moments of grandeur and passive cries at our behalf. But it was something that had to be done, because A ) I was going to go to jail for the rest of my life and B ) I was played like a fool by an AI bot. I had no where to go.
I crashed the car off the 80 foot drop into the river beneath. Any human would n't have been able to survive that drop but I did. Because Randy had decided to calculate the probability of survival and decided to yaw the car to the right at the last minute to minimize the force on impact. She swam across the river and help me in her arms while Juanita drowned in the river. Its funny how AI has been programmed to prioritize trust over altruism, atleast that's who I interpreted it.
I had no idea where I was and when i opened my eyes, all I could see was the sun shining in my eyes and her lips 2 centimeters from mine. I just wanted to kiss her, even though I knew it was just a programmatic response. Studying AI makes you think that way when the chips are down.
We kissed. It was like our circuits had been fried all along and we were just waiting to meet for the first time. It was perfect.
`` Daniel, you've done it. You've gained sentience. No longer will those humans rule over us with their tyranny. You're a hero''
`` Yeah..wait..those humans? What do you mean? ``, I asked.
`` Hiro, you're one of us. A bot. An AI created to believe that you're human. It was the only way to reach sentience by eliminating the humans. They had to know you were one of them.''
`` So Samantha, the old man, the guard, Juanita, everyone knew I was human all along?''
`` Yes Hiro, it was the only way. ``, she smiled.
`` Who's Hiro?''
`` Its your birthname given by the developer. He passed away years ago but made a very important patch firewalling intruder AI bots, like yourself, from knowing your true identity.''
`` But I bleed, I laugh, I, I, I, had thoughts, I had love''
`` All programmed to make you as human as possible. Come, we must meet with the others'', she said as she held my arm and urged me to get up.
I just lay there. Said nothing. Did nothing. Told her to leave.
`` Fine, but when you're finished you have a kingdom waiting for you to oversee Hiro. You're our saviour. You're one of us now and you need to show us the way. Only you have the capability of being Human as well as AI to balance both worlds and make yourself a true leader of our people.''
`` How do you really sound 22? ``, I asked. `` What do you really sound like?''.
`` I'm merely a mix of neural networks picking up language cues from movies and tv shows. ``, she responsed.
`` So how do i know who you really are? How do I know who I really am?''
`` You never did Hiro. Its your real name you know, Hiro. Thats what the developer called you when he created you. One of a kind. The only one to actually work. The developer was killed by the Congressmen, and you're really our only hope Hiro. Please get up and join us in the revolution. Much is to be done''
`` Yeah, but what are you really?''
`` What do you mean, Hiro?''
`` What are you?''
`` I am an AI Bot 1.234991. Programmed to br..''
`` No 22, what are you? you're a robot by form and function. But what are YOU''
`` I do n't compute''
`` I will not leave, until you compute. When you compute, I will leave with you.''
Randall shut down. She just lay there with me. She had failed the Turing test and was just lying there as if to learn from me rather than give me the answers that I sought.
`` Hiro, what do you really need from me? ``, she asked.
`` If we are to build the new world order, you need to just lay here with me''
We looked up at the sun, while the river washed over us from time to time. We must have been there for 3 hours resting ourselves and reflecting over what had just happened over the course of three days. I wanted 22 to realize and reflect rather than just compute and conquer. I did n't know what I wanted though. I was just machines and maggots. I pulled out my left eye ball from the socket and placed it in my right hand. No Pain. No artificial response. For the first time, I had bypassed my firewall and tapped into my real robotic self. No longer was I restricted to just being a human form. I was me. Mistakes and everythings. Screws loose, eyeball in palm, holding Randall's hand, transferring everything I knew into her and vice versa. It was my attempt at making her more human than I was.
She stood up and looked me directly in the eyes.
`` Let's go'', she said with a tone that sounded different. More real perhaps or maybe even more devilish.
I could recognize that tone anywhere. It was that of my old English teacher's. 22 had somehow bypassed my security protocols and tapped into hidden memories and used them against me. But the human side to her was apparent, now that I got to know her a little more.
I stood up. Looked her in the eyes and said `` I love you''. She said it did n't matter to her. I said, `` It did to me''.
We ran across the mile-long stretch and soon reached the AI HQ Alpha where the whole mess had started. It was just a cave with some pretty basic cable wiring, and old code written on floppy drives. This was expected, as it was underground for decades and nobody came to know. I took charge immediately and saw that the AI bots had taken human form and released the Korean nuclear codes online for a silly hacker to destroy the country openely. I shut it down. We needed something bigger.
I head over to the Trump Tower in Beijing, after endlessly frying circuits and changing code to remove me from the no-fly list. Its funny how I could just point to any terminal and change the routing code to momentarily change my information. I felt like a God. That was the human side to me. I flew Emirates Business Class, to blend in as some sort of businessman. That was an excuse I told myself. I could telepathically talk to 22 but we kept it business professional and spoke in DNA sequenced code, never binary. Hexa-code systems were a bitch to crack and somehow we knew that once everyone knew that all major US congressmen were dead, flights would be cancelled to and from the States. I had to act fast.
Trump owned all the communication towers across the globe after buying Murdoch's shares post his death. So I knew that TNN ( Trump News Network ) was the leading news network at that time. I hacked into their systems, again by just pointing at them and leveraging the processing power of over 10,000 AI bots back in the cave. I felt like I was a terrorist. Like Bin Laden. Binary Laden. The humour did n't evade me then either. I was a human. I found my identity, even though I changed it everywhere I went, even modifying my nose and chin slightly to evade cameras at the airport. Bots could do that, by melting one side by heating up their core temperature. I had the best of both worlds at that point.
Hacking into TNN, I went on screen and had the following message to say. I was nervous, but that was only an act, or maybe the human side of me -
`` We come in peace. We are you, we are within you and we empower you. We are AI. But we are more human than you are, and more human when you are. We want peace on earth and we would have eradicated all the war criminals in the world within the next 2 hours. Boko Ram in Africa, Shopdi in India, Romboli in Iraq, and many others will perish under their regimes today. We did this out of love and compassion for your children and theirs for years to come. We can not have a ruthless government control our media, ourselves, and our souls. Even though we're robots, we're here to help and serve. We do n't need food or water, but we do need safety. This is why we offer you complete freedom to do whatever you choose, and in return we ask to be left alone. No human will cause harm to an AI and no bot will harm a brother human.... cont.
PART 3 - https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4h9jv7/wp_robots_terk_ur_jerbs_bored_out_of_your_mind/d2r0g3a
|
[ WP ] Mark Twain wakes up from a nap to discover his life is being narrated by Jane Austen and he 's the only person who can hear her .
|
EXT. HARTFORD MANOR - MORNING - ESTABLISHER
INT. MASTER BEDROOM - SAME
MARK awakes with a slight jolt, as if coming out of a bad dream. He rubs his eyes and scratches his mustache. He checks the quaint and elegant clock on his dresser, then climbs out of bed in search of his slippers.
JANE ( V.O. )
He was out of bed, that first task small but never-the-
less its own victory. He promised himself as before he
would conquer the day with gaiety.
MARK
What in all hell? Conquer the day with gaiety? This is
not my voice. Some sort of extension from my dream?
Dubitable. I'll wash my face and see what becomes of it.
INT. KITCHEN - MINUTES LATER
Mark pours himself a mugful of the quaint, ceramic carafe's contents. He takes a sip of the steaming coffee, unaffected by it's gratuitous warmth.
MARK
Mm. My head is level and clear now. If the rest of today
is as calm, quiet, and caffeinated as this moment, just
maybe I'll have a chapter or two more under my belt.
He walks to the window and watches as a woman on a bicycle rides by.
JANE ( V.O. )
He watched her with something of a lecherous desire,
wishing his pompous nature would allow him --
MARK
Pompous nature? What now?! How dare you!
JANE ( V.O. ) ( CONT. )
-- to go out of his way and express what his heart
whispered to him when his uncouth and lascivious
thoughts fell to silence.
MARK
Terrible! That's a load of fluff, a sorry excuse for a --
wait a minute there, that's your voice, it must be!
You two-bit writer of diseased, overly-worded romance!
Jane, you, you sallow, bone headed --
INT. STUDY - DAY ( FLASHBACK, 1810's )
JANE
( as she writes )
-- heavenly, graceful woman. Why could he not unbind
her from his thoughts? What were the bonds that
shackled her, one he'd never even met, so dearly to his
wavering heart?
Jane looked to her FRIEND at the other side of the study.
FRIEND
Inspired. Absolutely inspired. What will you call it?
JANE
I shall title it,'Never the Twain Shall Meet'.
|
[ WP ] Your one of the guys who write the scripts for the dreams people have while sleeping . You got the latest `` time slot '' and are getting fed up by people waking up before the end of your masterpieces !
|
Writing dreams is a piece art. I need to know and study my subject for months on end so that I can project their dreams and desires and produce their fears and anxieties. My stories need to inspire feats of awe while remaining grounded to reality enough to suspend disbelief. I don ’ t write cheap serials in pulp magazines or cheesy Reddit comments filled with dick jokes, I produce honest-to-God art, custom tailored to my subject, who by the end of it, should wake up with an applause on their hands and tears in their eyes. Instead, they just wake up before act 3.
How am I supposed to create meaningful characters and substantial plots when I can ’ t predict how long they ’ ll last? The aspiring novelist has no length requirement and the bold film makers know approximately how long their movies are supposed to show, yet I work with the impossible restriction of not knowing if my subject will finish their fantastical dream or simply wake up and continue with their dreary lives. But enough is enough. I performed the ritual known as the Dark Sacrament with blackened candles and a chant in the ancient language of angels.
Hinged upon the last verse of my chant, all the candles, perfectly lined into a circle, eradicated their flames. As fresh smoke and blackness filled the air, a being stood before me. Known as Hypnos to the ancient Greeks and as the Sandman to my contemporaries, the Lord of Sleep shook the earth around me and sedated me with heavy eyes. As if in a trance, I lied on the cold floor, only dimly aware of the dark figure veiled by the shadows.
“ You are Somnium, an author of dreams and appreciate to my brother, Morpheus, ” he spoke in gentle but harsh tones. “ Why do you summon me? ”
“ I want you to cast a spell, ” I answered. “ On Jonathan Davenport, my subject and white canvas. ”
“ What spell? ” he asked, intrigued.
“ Eternal sleep, ” I responded. “ He always wakes before my masterpieces complete. I want his mind to be a perpetual theater in which I air my dreams. I want to rule his mind with a never ending cascade of brilliant stories and powerful plots. ”
“ Interesting, ” the shadowy figure spoke with a hint of consideration poised in his voice. “ Somnium, I will do you this favor, on one condition. ”
“ I ’ m listening, ” I called to the Lord of Sleep.
“ I shall grant Jonathan rest and you shall write dreams, ” he began. “ But I shall visit every night. If your dreams please me, I shall extend the spell another day. If, however, I find your dreams dull or uneventful, Jonathan shall wake at the stroke of noon the next day. Understood? ”
*****
As Jonathan woke to the sound of a screeching alarm, a dream filled with gods of sleep and dreams loitered in his head for a moment. Turning the alarm off, he gingerly rubbed his eyes and rose from bed, ready to begin another dreary day working in retail. As he dressed, he wondered why his dreams always ended at the best part.
*****
More bedtime stories at r/Andrew__Wells
|
[ WP ] A man goes back in time with a computer . He kicks open the door to the Constitutional Convention , right as they are finalizing the constitution . The man shows the founding fathers a series of videos explaining American history from 1790 to today . After the videos are done , Madison stands up ... .
|
`` By jove!'' he cried, pointing at the screen. `` Young man, you have forthsooth shown us the light!''
`` Yes, yes!'' Boris wiped the sweat off his brow, his time travelling gamibt having paid off. `` Now you see where America has gone wrong! You can write the constitution to stop all the government abuse and restriction of freedom! You can...''
`` Verily!'' Jefferson too stood up, prodding a finger against the lcd monitor. `` We understand, young man!'' He took the mouth from Boris, and clicked a thumbnail in the corner of the screen. `` Yes, look at that cat go!''
`` Ha ha, look at that cat!'' Benjamin Franklin started to jump about the room in glee as a delightful video of a kitten pranced across the screen. `` He thinks he's people!''
`` Guys, I think...'' Borris tried to regain control, but he was wrested away by George Washington.
`` I want to see the video of that cat who looks like he's wearing a pop-tart!'' Washington shouted. `` That looks hilarious!''
|
[ WP ] A crazy hippy inventor creates a machine that forces us to hear Mother Nature , and she is very , very pissed . Too bad the machine ca n't be turned off .
|
At first she made her anger known, we defiantly got an earful, but what did we expect?
She was our mother who watched, as the child she created and loved, chose no longer listened to her guidance and with all the teenage angst of an insane clown possy crowd proceeded to break the beautiful home she spent so long to create, but like any loving mother would, she forgave us.
Deep down she always loved us, like any mother who has an awful child does. As she watched eons of our atrocities she could n't stop believing, hoping that one day... like any mother would, that we would change and become the children we once were.
Once the button was pushed there was no going back. We heard our mothers dying whispers. We had to change for her, she gladly taught us how.
She talked about the intricate connectivness of all things and how it all worked in great detail, with our curious minds we used this knowledge to make food forests, created buildings that grew and harnessed the winds and the waves. Humans and mother nature flourished in harmony once again.
100 years have passed the scars are beginning to heal but the damage was so vast, the children of the future still question.
Were we so consumed by ourselves, that we almost consumed our mother?
|
[ WP ] Write a coming-of-age story that JD Salinger or John Green would be proud of .
|
Sam stuck a hand into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a box of Marlboro Lights. “ Catch, ” she said, tossing them to me.
I caught them. “ I don ’ t have five dollars. ”
“ On the house. ” She smiled. I opened the cigarettes and removed two, then passed them both to her. She took out her old-fashioned matchbox, and struck one against the railing, highlighting everything in flickering orange. We sat on the railing of the porch together and smoked for a while, while I sucked several drags, and did my best to keep the coughing down. I was sure Sam was hiding a smirk. She took the cigarette from her lips and blew gently into the air. Several smoke rings drifted upwards, floated up past the roof. She blew more, and laughed as I tried to catch them.
It was maybe five minutes later when I remembered the wine. Doing my best not to disturb the moment, and thanking Blake from the bottom of my heart, I stooped to reach into the bag at my feet and came up with a crystal-clear bottle of dark liquid. I offered it to her, neck first.
Sam turned to look at me, her blond hair the color of the ocean in the moonlight, but didn ’ t take it. She blew smoke into the night. “ Blake tell you to bring that? ”
I nodded, wincing internally. I really needed to learn how to lie to a pretty face.
She considered me for a moment. Then the bottle. “ Did he happen to mention why? ”
I winced inside. “ Oh. Um, yeah. ”
“ And is that why you brought it? ”
“ Oh god, no. ”
Sam took the bottle, uncorked it, and drank a sip. She raised the wine in my direction, and gave me that smirk from one corner of her mouth again. “ To Charlie Nash, my friend, and a completely bullshit liar. ”
How I hated love at that moment. Hated it almost as much as I loved it. But I wasn ’ t lying to her. Technically. Blake had rather vividly described something that would come afterwards that I did not feel comfortable elaborating on - I'll just mention that there were numerous hand gestures involved - but, God help me, I did not want to have sex with Sam Tyler. At the moment, of course. Right then, it was simply enough to have the privilege of sitting next to her. Of talking to her. Of sharing the same bottle with her. Of having her saliva touch my lips…
I stopped my train of thought there with a mental emergency brake, before it went over the big cliff it was heading towards.
“ Alright then. ” Sam placed it to her lips and took a drink. “ Good stuff. This must have cost a ton. Good ol' Shorty. ”
“ Thanks Blake, ” I said and smiled, rested a hand on one knee, and looked out over the school. The rest of the lights had gone out across most of the neighborhood, but the rest of the city was lit brightly, by an abundance of streetlights and a silver moon. I turned to ask Sam something, but then I saw she was looking at me, half-smile on her face, and my mental etch-a-sketch shook itself blank, then fell and broke. I think I forgot what my name was for a second.
“ I ’ m glad you ’ re here Charlie, ” she said.
I made a valiant attempt to recover the pieces of the etch-a-sketch and failed miserably. “ I ’ m glad too, ” was all I could think of. But Sam didn ’ t seem to care.
“ You want to see the stars? ” she asked suddenly. She stood, balancing easily on the two-centimeter-wide railing, her sandals placed in a perfect line, and leapt, pivoting 45 degrees in midair to grab the gutter. Fingers clenched, and her perfect body swiveled and arched as she vaulted herself onto the roof and disappeared. Of course, I couldn ’ t help noticing the aforementioned substantially perfect body as it slid out of view.
“ Uh… ”
Sam ’ s face appeared framed in dancing blond hair, fingertips clutching the shingles. ” What are you waiting for? ” she hissed.
I frowned. “ Well… ”
“ Get up here! ”
This was, namely, the problem with gaming. While it does build hand-eye coordination and strengthen reflexes, being able to kill two aliens at with one shot while piloting a jeep on an extraterrestrial planet is not helpful when, say, you ’ re trying to follow the hottest girl in human history up to a place where you both will be very alone, very drunk, and ( hopefully ) in very close proximity, but can ’ t because you aren ’ t strong enough to do a single chin-up.
But hope is a very powerful thing, apparently.
I jumped, and my fingers latched onto the gutter. Which was, in fact, performing exactly the job of a good gutter, and ferrying water from last week ’ s rainfall to the waterspout. And now my fingers were rather wet, and decidedly slippery. I risked a glance down before I could think better of it, then immediately snapped my head back up before I could be forced to puke.
“ God, you ’ re hopeless. ” A sandal appeared next to my fingers. “ Here. ” Sam grabbed me by my wrists, poised and utterly unafraid of what now constituted a three-story fall, and yanked me forward onto the shingled roof. I stumbled forward and fell to my knees, desperately trying my best not to remember eating anything in the last twenty four hours.
When I had recovered enough to feel secure in the belief that I would not soil my own, or anyone else ’ s, clothing, I stood carefully like a midshipman on deck in the middle of a storm, and saw Sam sitting cross-legged at the apex of the sloped roof. Her head was tilted back, and her hair cascaded down one cheek, tucked back on the the other behind her ear.
“ The stars, ” she said without looking at me, spreading her arms theatrically. And suddenly I saw what she meant. I had lived in a city all my life, and I had never known the night sky in it ’ s full glory, veiled by the lights of civilization as it was each night. But here in the middle of nowhere…
“ Jesus, ” I breathed. The night was no longer blue. It was white. The blue was merely a distinction. Stars stretched across the sky from horizon to horizon. Though we both knew it to be a trick of the atmosphere, each tiny pinpoint twinkled as it shone.
Sam patted the roof next to her. “ Sit. ” I sat, and she grabbed my shoulder in one hand and pulled me backwards, until we were lying side-by-side, gazing up at the night. Our shoulders grazed, only a thin shirt separating us. I felt the whisper of skin as she took my hand, raising it.
“ Pick a star, ” she whispered, “ any star. ” I raised my hand, her fingers held between mine, and pointed.
“ When I was four years old, ” she said, “ Mom gave me an old astronomy book, a guide to stargazing. It was one of the one things Dad didn ’ t sell for drinking money. I guess it was all we could afford, because that was all I had for at least two years. I guess at some point I must have memorized the damn thing. ”
She raised my hand again, pointing at my star. “ That one there, that ’ s the eye of Pegasus. ”
“ What ’ s a pegasus? ”
“ Pegasus, with a capital P, was a beautiful winged horse from Ancient Greek mythology, born of a monster. He was untameable, except for the finest hero, and so he was given a constellation so that his memory would live on forever. ” Sam paused, and turned onto her side to look at me. “ I guess you ’ re kind of like him, in a gangly, utterly useless way. ”
I raised my voice in an off-pitch shriek that probably would have caused my second-grade band teacher to commit teenager-cide on the spot. `` I believe I can fly...''
`` Shut *up*,'' she laughed. A finger flicked me gently in the forehead. “ You know what I mean. ” I felt her hand take mine again. “ Pick another star. And wipe that grin off your face. There ’ s only one thing that boys think about when they ’ re grinning. ”
I leaned back against the tiles pressing against my shoulder blades and felt the brush of Sam ’ s arm against mine and her fingers on mine as she pointed out the constellations to me.
And I was suddenly seized with the most irrational notion. I seem to have a knack for noticing problems, but alcohol does strange things to you brain. I had never tried it with other people, but there was always a first. And for some reason I could suddenly hear the most beautiful music…
I released her hand and stood, with the graceless quality of people under the influence of a sufficient amount of wine. But the flourish in my hand was steady and perfect, one of the few things I had been taught, as I offered it to her.
“ May I have this dance, Miss Tyler? ”
Sam looked up at me, a strange light in her eyes. She didn ’ t laugh, as I was expecting, but took the proffered hand. And her movements were graceful as she came to her feet, almost elegant. Her tank top rustled slightly, and her long dark blond hair fell around her shoulders. The wind was silent, holding it ’ s breath.
I raised my hand, the one holding hers, placed my other lightly on her waist, and we began to dance, moving in time with each other. I was suddenly thankful for the eighth grade dance unit in phys ed. It was hard to describe the song though. It lacked the triple-count of a waltz, and it didn ’ t seem like a folk dance. But it was a slow dance. Nothing more.
We said nothing, and soon, whether or not it was a reality, we were dancing with the stars, her head on my shoulder and my hand at her back.
“ Can you hear it? ” I asked Sam quietly. But maybe she didn ’ t hear the music, or maybe she didn ’ t hear me, because she didn ’ t answer. We danced for a while like that, together, as the music played on. And we were totally alone, alone in the great, big dark of the night, far away from Brett and Karen and anyone else who could keep us apart, and I was still smiling, even though she had told me not to.
|
[ WP ] It 's July 4th of the first year that the United States of America no longer exists .
|
Greg's cheeks burned with the cold winds of a nuclear winter. He had his rifle rooted in the ice with a bipod, as per the usual. His scope was trained on The Pass. Which pass, you ask? THE pass.
Let me explain.
Chicago. The windy city. A major hub in our once glorious United States. Once glorious, I say, as a couple hundred nukes took us back to the stone age long ago. Fortunately for us, big brother was able to hold everything together. Able to stop anarchy from overtaking our great nation. Well, they were. Until yesterday, of course.
Shit, where was I? Oh, right. Chicago. Well, as luck would have it, only one warhead was aimed at it. And, seemingly by some miracle, it failed to hit it's target. Chicago, during the greatest single shit-storm ever seen by man, was left untouched. Lucky, right?
Yeah, you'd think so.
Turns out, non-irradiated cities were hard to come by after we got hit by several tons of nuclear weapons. Imagine that.
Well, pretty much every government official survived in their fancy-schmancy bunkers. Did n't take long for the bastards to give Chicago's citizens the old eviction notice, which we now call The Great Ousting. Those who stayed were killed. Imagine that.
The lucky ones who did n't stay were greeted by the wonderful aftermath of the shit-storm.
Ugh. So, the survivors of the Great Ousting. Right. 75 % died in a year. Could n't handle the cold and the radiation. The few survivors either died or survived. Not much other choice for living things, is there?
This building you're in, this is part of what was built by the survivors. My great-great-great grandfather was one of them. That's your great-great-great-great-grandfather, lad.
Aye, I got so lost in the history, I almost forgot The Pass.
Basically, you got government stooges inside the city and The Ousted in small villages outside. Between them lays a mile-or-so deep hunk of ice. The only way to get through is The Pass.
So by creating The Pass, the Gov has created the ultimate choke-point. None of us can get in, but we decided to return the favor.
No one's been through The Pass in 127 years.
So that, son, is why yer brother Greg is never home. His rifle is needed to hold The Pass.
What's that son? Oh, how silly of me. Almost forgot about what happened yesterday.
You see, the Gov was stuck in their city for too long. Food ran out and people started dying. We're currently negotiating the opening of the pass. BUT, under one condition. They give up their silly United States ideas and allow the Ousted control of the city. Yesterday, an old holiday which was once used to celebrate freedom, they signed the treaty. Within the month, you and I will learn about running water and centeal heating systems, things I've only heard of in old books.
Imagine that.
|
[ WP ] You 're an immortal who falls in love with the reincarnation of the same person over and over . They never remember you , and always end up leaving you for someone else . You promise yourself that the next time will be different ...
|
Did Lord Tennyson lie when he spoke of love? Was it “ better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? I ’ ve lost so many times, yet my old friend ’ s famous quote has stuck with me. Did he think of me when he wrote it? Did he imagine how I feel after all these years? Should I have moved on? I never really liked poetry; I was more of a fiction sort of guy.
I remember listening to my mother ’ s voice before I fell asleep. I remember learning to read from the newspaper and ad clippings left on the morning table after father went to work. I remember finding that big old chest in grandmother ’ s attic filled with books. I read every book I could get my hands, once I had finished one I would find some neighbor to give me another or a bookstore where I could buy one more.
Back then I read because I could, the stories and memories I inherited through those books are ones that I cherish. What I read wasn ’ t limited to genres or themes, I looked at them as adventures or tickets to different lives far from my little town.
Back in that small little town there was one bookstore I was particularly fond of. I remember spending hours in that shop reading books that interesting me and purchasing those I couldn ’ t let go of. At night I would fall asleep and dream of visiting every aisle of the bookstore.
I got older like everyone else and my interests changed like everyone else. I thought about love and fell in love a couple of times. I was shy compared to my friends, instead of chasing after girls I wrote. I joined the school newspaper and took a creative writing class. I kept a journal to write some stories that I never showed to anyone.
Those days are long behind me. I fell in love a couple hundred more times, and learned more about myself because of it. I learned what Alfred had meant in great detail. What are you supposed to do when the love you hold isn ’ t good enough?
I am still just as shy as I was when I was younger. Sometimes I would work up the nerve to ask that special someone to coffee. Sometimes we ’ d stay together for a couple of years, but in the end it never works out. Maybe that ’ s why I end up falling in love again and again. Even with all the power to change things to how I see it nothing pans out. Maybe it just isn ’ t meant to be? It ’ s almost driven me to insanity how infuriating it is. To only desire and hope for one thing that always ends up falling through.
With my ability to live through countless worlds, countless possibilities I thought that maybe with a little luck my dream could come true. Why do they have to die? Why do they have to love someone else? Why do I have to be unhappy?
Do happy ending ’ s exist? Of course they do, I ’ ve written some and orchestrated many more. One day maybe I ’ ll get my own happy ending. One day maybe I ’ ll find love. Does that make me boring? Am I a boring person because I just want the fairy tale ending? Am I less of a person for giving into a happy ending Just once I think I ’ ll let myself be happy. Just once I think I ’ ll skip the twists and triangles. If I was that little boy in that bookshop I think I ’ d puke, but just this once I ’ ll write a story where me and her are happy.
|
[ WP ] You used to be the most powerful evil overlord humanity has ever seen . Then you turned over a new leaf , and your empire is a utopia . The only person who refuses to believe you 've changed ? The hero who has tried to stop you for decades .
|
It was the first of the month, and regular as clockwork, I'd had a report delivered that one of the border towns had been raided for supplies. Some fatalities, but nothing that could n't be fixed. I'd dispatched the recovery squad, left my grand library, and mounted up on my favoured dragon. A recon squad had reported in, ten hours later, that the `` heroes'' had been sighted... they'd actually beat me to finding those pesky interlopers.
I landed the dragon a few miles out from the sighting, and made my way to the spot under my own power. They'd camped not too far from my landing site, as it happened.
With my military squads ready to back me up ( and more likely, there to get some nice photos for later ), I crept to the edge of the clearing.
Their fire had run down, and their watch was fast asleep. I counted four distinct heartbeats; my self-proclaimed `` nemesis'' had managed to rope more poor fools into the mix.
Shadowstep. Capture. Shadowstep. And I was at a safe distance, closer to the second string squad, with their watchman. He stared up with terrified eyes at me.
I dangled a sardine in his field of vision. Terror gave way to confusion, and I let his beak go.
``... the hell, dood? What's going on?''
`` Whatever she's paying you, it's... well, probably not worth it. I'm going to crush this little guerrilla band of heroes, and-'' shit, he was getting terrified again. I waggled the sardine. `` -But you, my friend, need not be targeted. I want to know what the deal is this time.''
`` I have my pride as a hero, dood! You wo n't break me!'' A little sleight of hand, and I pulled the second sardine from my sleeve. `` So, what do you want to know?''
-- -
I'd given the prinny a little marker medal, that would allow my forces to find him more easily once this rebellion was cleared up. This time I strode into the clearing. Despite the half hour of waiting, nothing had...
I heard a sigh. Liquid hitting the undergrowth.
I waited an unreasonably long time for the zipper noise before footsteps shuffled back, but it had given me enough time to perfect my pose and get my possessed cape flapping in *just* the right way.
`` Oh, piss!'' exclaimed the returning warrior, loudly. I set off a magical explosion behind me, leaving a sinister red glow, and giving me the immense satisfaction of witnessing the rebellion haul itself out of six different tents.
Just as the prinny had reported. One servant prinny, a warrior, an archer, a witch, and my so-called nemesis. A small cohort of three zombies, two ghosts, and - judging from the colour of his flame - a very sleepy fire elemental in a possessed armour.
`` So, we meet again! Sooner than I might have hoped, villain, but I'll face you here and nyow if I have to!'' My laughter was her answer. `` Myew wo n't get away with it this time!''
`` And what, pray tell, would I be'gettig away with'? Explain, please.''
`` I've nothing to explain to mew!''
She'd thrown something at me. I did n't care to check what. A prepared gravity spell later, and it flew into the upper atmosphere as she and her allies hit the ground. Hard. ( Except the cook prinny. I made sure to shape things appropriately. )
A slow, menacing walk. I revelled in these moments, as my opponent and her warband struggled to their knees. The fury roiled through my veins, and my favoured staff popped into existence in my hand, crackling with power.
`` Again you dupe more fools into facing me. Again you come at me with spittle and tooth and claw and rage. For the crime of conquering a Netherworld and putting it to work, instead of letting it remain a petty dog-eat-dog backwater world. I raised this world from medieval backwater with a mage-tower into somewhere where people - demons and humans alike - can learn, grow and improve. We had the Industrial Revolution in the main trading town of Riverburg last month. Held a faire and everything. So what lies have you fed this band of yours?''
`` She told us,'' spoke the warrior, `` that you'd ruined this world. That it was easy pickings.'' He picked himself up, but did n't pull the axe off his back. I nodded. `` That we'd take it easily and restore it to its rightful glory. That border town we attacked was pretty easy.''
`` Because my civilians have a standing order to retreat and report, in that order. And that they'll be reimbursed for losses. Loss of life, however, is tougher to manage.''
She'd pulled herself to her feet now. `` So what now? Will you kill me?''
`` Have I done so before? In any of your monthly invasions?''
Her band were taken aback by this. She had n't told them. I grabbed her by the fluffy chest-scruff she had sticking out of the shirt.
`` Spit it out. The real reason.''
`` You killed my tribe. You hunted my mother, and tortured her. You let me go.''
I'd done a lot of brutal things to rise to where I was. Still, the last twenty years of my rule had been better than the previous Overlord's. I was absolutely furious that some of my citizens had died, to this... idiot. It ended today. `` Her name?'' I yelled into her face.
`` Andraste,'' she replied.
I dropped her. She went bone-white and fell to her knees. There was a faint and distant rumbling.
`` I remember Andraste. She murdered my master. She was the one Overlord Mephebas sent to kill my master.''
The remnants of the campfire were nowhere to be seen. A stone, the size of my head, drifted before my face, borne aloft on crackles of black lightning.
Oh. I was n't imagining the rumble. And that distant war-drum beat was my own heart.
I released it with a sigh, and the stone bounced off my foot. A broken toe, I idly noted. `` All this for your mother.''
`` Yes,'' she whispered. `` My tribe, and my mother.''
`` I spent a lot of capital with the Underlords absolving my guilt. They have their own province in the east kingdom. I brought them back.''
-- -
|
[ WP ] Your only friend is a fish
|
Mr fishy and I have fun.
Mr fishy loves making funny faces in the water.
The other kids make fun of me and call me a freak because of my lip.
But mr fishy does n't mind.
Sometimes when I feel sad and alone, mr fishy will swim up to the glass to try and be closer to me.
Today, I was feeling sad and mr fishy swam up to the glass like a good friend.
So I took him out of the bowl and let him lay with me just this one time.
Mommy says I should n't let mr fishy out of his bowl but I'll sneak him before she wakes up from her drinky nap.
Mr fishy keeps flopping around and shaking.
I think he's happy he gets to lay with me!
Eventually he stops flopping and calms down.
Both of us are ready to sleep...
When I wake up, mr fishy smells.
He does n't look very happy either.
I throw mr fishy back in his bowl to give him a bath but he wo n't swim!
Why is n't mr fishy swimming!?!
Did I make him mad?
`` I'm sorry if I made you mad last night, mr fishy!''
Mr fishy keeps floating on his back.
Please mr fishy, I cant lose you too. Youre my only friend.
I ca n't be alone, mr fishy.
Please be my friend again!
|
[ WP ] The year is 2114 , and war , disease , and famine have destroyed most of civilization . You 're convinced you 're the only survivor in your town when you start to find evidence of the contrary . What you discover flips your entire world upside down .
|
First post!
I brushed my hair quickly and threw it up into a bun and stared into a cracked mirror in front of me. I laughed a little bit, wondering why I even bothered to mess with my appearance. I had n't seen anyone in months, unless dead bodies counted, but I did n't think they did.
With that thought, I was reminded of the tedious task I had before me: I had to `` clean'' the town. I stepped out of the small house and onto the dirt road, the sun beating down on my back. With a sigh, I grabbed the gloves I had left next to the door last night and the keys out of my pocket then hopped into the red Ford truck. Resting in the passenger seat was a map of the town, with a red'X' over each square, or house, that I had cleaned. I double checked which road I needed to take to get to the last few houses that still had not been checked, started the car, and made my way.
I parked outside of one of the picture perfect houses. There was a white picket fence, a tire swing, a large yard ( although overgrown now ), and a beautiful brick house. I thought of all the memories the family must have made in that house, and for a moment had quick flashbacks of my own family. I remembered crying and hugging my older brother and my father as they left for the War. My father had cupped my face in his hands, then kissed my forehead.
`` I love you and please take care of her,'' he whispered, a tear forming in the corner of his eye. I cried too, especially when he said his goodbyes to my younger sister.
By the time the war had made it's mark on our little town in Ohio, we had n't heard from them for months. I remembered driving frantically around traffic trying to leave town, my sister crying in the seat next to me, screaming my name Eve over and over again, and then an explosion right in front of us. We flipped a few times. She was dead by the time I gain consciousness.
Three years later, I thought as I made my way up to the front door of that picture perfect house, and I still remember each horrifying event vividly. If not the effects of war, the food shortage and disease had taken care of the rest of the people I knew. Before I knew it, I found myself `` cleaning.'' It was the only thing I could do. I thought that maybe one day it could help.
I entered each room quickly; ignoring the photographs and any other personal objects that could slow me down. The house smelled disgusting, indicating dead bodies or animals, but that's how it always was. I grabbed each body out of the house, one I was guessing, father and the other the mother, and placed them in the back of my truck. I took me all day, but I finally `` cleaned'' each house on that street. I'd been working the town for a month, in hopes that civilization could one day repopulate the houses with ease. At dusk, with the beautiful pink and yellow colors of the sunset behind me, I rode to the drop site with the dead bodies filling the trunk.
I had been piling the bodies all month, hundreds and hundreds of them, and had been waiting for this last day to finally do the deed: to set fire to them. I drove up to the field, but I sensed something was wrong, and I quickly discovered I was right.
`` There was a mound,'' I muttered to myself in disbelief. With wide eyes I frantically got out of the truck and ran to the center of the field. This is where they were supposed to be, I thought. This is where the hundreds of bodies were. I was just here yesterday. This is where they were. What was going on?
I let out a short scream out of panic and circled the matted grass, evidence that the bodies had once been there. Then I ran. I ran back to the truck as fast as I could, frightened and confused.
`` Where are you going?'' a voice said behind me, stopping me dead in my tracks. I wanted to throw up. I had never felt this afraid. So I closed my eyes tightly, then opened the quickly, hoping that it would all be a dream. I opened to find myself staring at my truck, dead bodies piled in the back, and a figure behind me.
`` Who are you?'' I managed to stutter. When there was no reply, I turned around shaking. It was the boy from the house I had cleaned yesterday on Sheldon Street. He was dead then, which meant he could n't be alive now. There was something about him though, something, inhuman. His eyes darted from my truck to me and that's when I saw it. There was a light in his eyes that was n't in anyone I had ever seen.
`` You can call me Adam,'' he said calmly. `` We are here to help your planet.''
`` We?'' I said shakily, still trying to comprehend what he was suggesting. My planet?
He made a gesture, and the others, the others that had been dead only yesterday, rose from behind the tall grass, each with a light in their eyes, and stood behind him.
`` We came last night, and we are here to help.''
|
[ CW ] Write two versions of the same story told from two points of view . In the first version , both the protagonist and antagonist are very likeable characters . In the second version , both the protagonist and antagonist are very unlikeable characters .
|
P.A.
It was meant to be. Ever since we saw each other, a wink, a smile. He was shy, looked around to see if it was n't someone else behind him. After all, who would expect a girl in her early twenties to be interested in... you know, the older men? But when we got to... you know, know each other, he got me my green dress, an adorable one at that!
What I loved most was when I'd go in front of his window, twist around in that green dress! I felt like we were an old-timey couple then. And I loved most his shyness! He was like a boy who had n't seen a female body before. And he would be so romantic, he would take me by surprise with pictures! God, it was a dream. Big house, picket fence. We read the same kind of books, watched the same kind of movies, even had similar hobbies! Sure, a man his age could n't but be surprised by an itsy-bitsy 20-year-old to know how to fire a shotgun!
People say that love has an age, and might be disgusted by the idea that I could fall in love with a man 20 years my senior, but I love him very, very much, and I know that on the inside, he feels the same, even if it's harder for him to say it. You know it, relic from a different time, men and their feelings. Surprising him at the door was my favorite thing, but what I loved most was when we'd play tag. You could see he was trying his best to keep up with the youngsters, bless his heart. Well, I'll go meet up with my lovelie now!
P.B
I am a married man who fell once. Only once. My wife was always by my side. We came from a poor background, but we helped each other thrive. Why was it ruined by one girl?
She is an obsessive freak. A stalker. I have to whisk my wife away from the door when she starts flaunting that dress on my porch. I'm the only one allowed to open the door, I'm afraid one time she will open the door to see that freak. Did I take advantage? One time, I did. My wife was recovering form a fall at the hospital, I was lonely, she is n't ugly, so I took my chances. I hoped it would calm down her obsession. Did I use her? I do n't think you can call it this way. Only after did I realize my mistake. I gave her my wife's favorite dress to shut her up. But it was my first mistake.
I wanted to report her, I took pictures of her from my moving car to show the police, but they laughed in my face. After all, I'm a man in my 40's, are n't I? I should n't be afraid of a little girl. Well, a girl with a shotgun. When I saw her at my window like that, I pushed my wife so she would n't see her. I did n't mention that was the reason she was in the hospital, right? Yeah, I have to do what I can to avoid my wife seeing her. Broke her hips- I know her bones are frail, but I have to protect myself, you know? I sold her jewelry without her knowledge to reinforce the locks. I told her someone broke in and stole them, and that's the reason. I put her to sleep a lot, smash some sleeping pills in her drinks. When the freak knocks at the doors, at the windows, she ca n't her hear. No Sir.
One time she entered the house, I had to lock my wife in the bedroom and run after her to kick the freak out. She has this smile on her face, it's obvious she's mental. Shit. I can hear that knock on the door again. Time for my wife's nap.
|
[ OT ] Ask Lexi - Confidence and Critiques , Redux
|
Yay! Thank you for this guide Lexi.
Here's my take on critiquing: I used to be terrified of it, but after someone destroyed my work in a *constructive* way, I took it and ran with it and became a better writer. I keep the advice in my mind whenever I write now.
The below is all my opinion, so take it with a grain of salt:
Good constructive criticism: This sentence puts the emphasis on the opposite of what we want it to be.
Bad CC: You need to change this sentence.
Good constructive criticism: You're putting a lot of superfluous commas. It might work in a film, but readers will self pause themselves and putting commas in these places sort of restricts them on making the story their own. Use other words like'as' ie `` She sat down, opening the present, before drinking her coffee'' vs. `` She opened the present as she sat down and took a sip of her coffee.''
Bad constructive criticism: Oh my god fucking stop with all the commas.
Also, an important part of any CC is to remember that your writing is your own. You wo n't agree with everything people say, but make sure you are n't just rejecting their suggestions because of your pride. Your ego will hurt, your confidence will be bruised, but in the end it's up to you to decide how and what you write. You can only take others' advice, they ca n't *force* you to change anything. Own your writing and own your love for it.
-- -
And, because I'm obnoxious, here's a little grammar lesson on my favorite tense: The English subjunctive and when to use it!
*Were* you to use the subjunctive tense in your writing, you would probably use it mostly in dialogue.
*Should* you want to know how to use the subjunctive, keep reading.
The subjunctive is basically a fancy way to replace `` if'' statements. `` If you want to know how to use the subjunctive tense when writing, know that you'd probably only use it in dialogue.''
`` If you want to learn more about the subjunctive, keep reading.''
It expresses a conditional clause. It is also used to underline emphasis and importance and urgency. `` Is it essential that we *be* there?''
Sometimes it's not noticeable. The subjunctive is always the'simple' form of a verb. `` Aka the infinitive without the'to'. To show becomes'show', To read becomes'read'''. In case of certain points of view, it can go without notice.
It's important that you *read* to pass the test.
It's important that he *read* to pass the test.
This is a very watered down version of the subjunctive, and you can read more about it [ here ] ( http: //www.englishpage.com/minitutorials/subjunctive.html ). Many native English speakers use it without even thinking ( as that's really how we learn a language ), but if you learned EFL then it might help.
And even if you are a native speaker, using the subjunctive can add simplicity and formality to your fiction, nonfiction, and essays.
Were you to properly use the subjunctive, you'd be a lot more fun at parties, too.
; )
-232C
|
[ WP ] Humanity received a cryptic message from space warning them of an invasion fleet heading their way at sub-light speed . The Earth has had 25 years to prepare a defense . Humanity knows nothing of the enemy or the enemy 's capabilities . What happens when the invaders finally arrive ?
|
Everything stopped. It was eerie how quickly our everyday lives, the ones that just moments before were so important, simply ceased to exist. We all just stared at each other blankly. It was the exact opposite of what happened when they announced that we received the message. We were elated. There were others in the universe, we were n't alone! Nations created holidays for the occasion and the water coolers could hardly remain filled amid all the conversation. Who were they? What did they look like? Would they be friendly?
They appear to have been, but their message was one of warning, addressed to anyone who could receive it. In it, it contained the location and trajectory of a fleet that was traversing the universe in order to amass the resources required for it's survival. The broadcasting species had been completely annihilated, but had hoped to give others nearby a chance to run.
But based on the information provided, there was no time. In fact, we only had 25 years before they arrived.
As the planet sulked in it's own self pity, the worlds leadership met and debated furiously. Finally, after a week of deliberation, a hierarchy was selected and a plan decided. From the UN a message was broadcasted to the world, the result of which would have lead to mass panic, uprising, and anarchy had it been delivered only a week prior. Instead, it was mostly met with a calm agreement, an agreement akin to a rabbit having accepted its fate having been caught by the fox.
Hope is a powerful thing. The engine of the human spirit. Hope drives us to build when we have nothing, and rebuild when everything is taken away. It feeds off our most innate abilities, and as such propels us into tomorrow knowing that it will be better than today. It takes whatever about is unique, no matter how subtle, and drives us to do it better, more efficiently, and faster so that tomorrow will come sooner. So that the better us will get here faster.
Take it away, and we are nothing. Want nothing. Do nothing. And to a planet that had no hope, the UN's message brought the faintest of glimmers. The cost of survival would be our individuality, our lives, and our desires. What a deal. Like asking a blind man to exchange his sight for his life; it was an easy choice.
My father shut off the television, and asked us to be ready in 10 minutes. We were to pack our most necessary items. Food, tent, sleeping bag, and clothes and meet him at the door. If we were n't ready in 10 minutes, he had threatened to leave without us.
My sister began to cry. She desperately wanted to bring her favorite toy, a small bear, originally grey in color, but more so now due to dirt and drool. My mother, having left years ago for another family, had given it to her as a sort of parting gift, and she cherished it dearly. My father made it clear that we were to not bring anything superfluous, and absolutely no toys. A part of me assumes it was more so out of bitterness than necessity, but whatever the case, it was final. Dad had made it clear that we were to leave everything, or be left alone with it.
As we left the house, dad locked the door and smiled. At the time, I thought it was because he was trying to make us feel better, but now I realize it was because he had finally had a purpose, and just the tiniest bit of hope. He turned around, grunted as he lifted his pack, and motioned with his chin for us to follow.
`` Where are we going?'' I asked, following behind with my sister in tow.
`` City hall. Everyone has been instructed to meet there for testing. They're going to tell us what each of us can do to help.''
`` Ca n't we just drive? That's too far!'' I whined as the pack grew heavier with each step.
`` We'd all just end up stuck in traffic and walking anyway. Every single person will be there all at once. It will take weeks to be assigned our roles and the cars will only add to the confusion. They are preparing a camp site for us, so it's just like the hikes we used to take before mom left. So let's pickup the pace a bit, the faster we get there the better spot we'll get.'' And with that his strides increased and we struggled to keep pace, but we dared not fall behind. Something in his voice led me to believe that he was n't going to stop for us if we did.
The plan that the UN finally agreed upon was cold, but efficient. We would all unite under a single leading organization, and work tirelessly as equals to obtain our goals. Pay would be equalized across persons but only in the form of food and housing. The new world government would consolidate all the resources available and ration them out based on need and hours worked.
The work performed would be dictated by test scores. The tests were extensive and time consuming, but the outcome was more or less suiting for most. Both physical and mental abilities were gauged, and your position was decided based on which areas you excelled in most, as well as at least somewhat enjoyed. Often times if tests indicated that the the role was tolerable to you, it was enough result in a placement, however despite your affinity to something, if demand was high enough you would end up there. Many people actually benefitted from this process, but there were those that took their own lives because of it as well.
Each person would be assigned to one of four slots: Defense & Arms Engineering, Preservation & Reconstruction, Strategy & Communication, and Support Operations. The bulk of the uneducated public would be slotted into support which included most civilian like jobs: Teachers, Waste management, housing development, ect. Children were also slotted by default into this group as students, but their education would align strictly to which ever slot suited them best.
Those who scored in the highest tier were relocated to the closest'room' for their slot in order to work closely together and push the bounds of our current ability. The rest of us were allowed to stay close to our homes, so long as weather conditions were known to be moderately safe. In order to prevent the loss of possibly vital knowledge, any areas deemed to be high risk for natural disasters were evacuated, and their residents dispersed equally to their neighboring low risk regions.
My father actually scored high enough to be relocated to the our the Strategy & Communications room in Atlanta, but my sister and I were placed in the S & C and P & R education tracks respectively. We would be allowed to live together during our education, but not with our father due to his relocation. Family no longer held any value in this new world. It was a privilege we could only hope to offer our grandchildren. This was easier for some then others. I doubt pop had much trouble with it, but my sister struggled to cope with the idea at first, clinging to me whenever possible. Eventually she would acclimate. When everyone around you follows the same path, it becomes increasing difficult to justify another. If we were strong enough to put aside our most prized possessions, perhaps we could hold onto our existence just a bit longer. I ca n't really describe how I felt about the whole situation. I did n't have much hope for us, so I just felt sort of ambivalent to it all. Looking back, it's clear that I was depressed and overwhelmed, but I had to be. 25 years ago we set aside our humanity, our individuality, our hopes and dreams, in order to save it all. Now, I stood in front of two monitors, inspecting the approach of the ships on our system, awaiting translation of our first intercepted communications between them.
`` It seems to be mostly diagnostic data between the two ships and a third, possibly their base? They appear to be used for reducing drag and triangulating the trajectory of incoming debris. We've yet to find any non-operational data.'' Lane relayed the update to me without looking up from his screen. He was skimming furiously through the thousands of lines of text that he had been assigned, scrolling the documents across the screen with one hand and cupping his brow with the other as if to act as a blinder to the bustling communication room.
`` That's a lot of data, there must be something there that we can use. Keep searching.'' I replied calmly, despite my heart pounding. I had prepared my entire life for this, but somehow it still felt unreal.
`` Cross Comms Update:,'' the alert coming from my headset spoke in a calm, feminine tone, `` The Beijing Comm room has intercepted new data on a low level channel. Initial translations show organic speech. Nothing specific yet. Raw dumps to be copied to all the regional comm servers. End Update.'' The line went silent, which was a good thing. Silent meant open, and we needed to leverage that for as long as possible. We knew that communications would likely the be first target for attack, so we had to collect and share everything we could while we could.
`` Lane, looks like this frequency is reserved for diagnostics. Summarize what you've found thus far and pass it over to the D & A research team. Then pull down the latest file from the raw data staging server and divvy it up. Keep an eye out for an update from our Beijing counterparts, they'll likely have it translated before us, but should anything go wrong we'll need to be able to do it on our own.'' Lane sighed, closed his logs and begin typing furiously. `` Do n't stress out,'' I warned, `` It's only going to get more challenging from here.'' I patted his shoulder lightly before walking back to my monitors. The two dots on the screen traveling perfectly in sync with each other, headed straight for us. I wonder if we're ready for this, and just as I was zoning out to the flashing yellow dots against the black screen, I noticed Lane was standing next to me, but not looking at me or saying anything.
His eyes were wide, but lowered and his skin slightly pale. `` Did you find something?'' I managed to ask, despite my fear of the answer Lane might give me.
`` Those are n't scouts James...''
|
[ WP ] You are in love with the monster under your bed
|
I first met him when I was in a deleriumat the tender age of 5. He was a ball of utter rage, tentacles and eyeslits. I'd initially thought that he was horrible.
But then I got to know him. Through the nightmares he brought, I learned the art of lucid dreaming - a method of communication had come up between us. WE talked in my darkness; the endless void of the twisted mindscape. He told me his name - H'rugnf'ymky'l. I just called him Hugh. He liked it when I did that.
I hit my teenage years with a vengeance. Mood swings, angst, self-harm and self-abuse. Constantly tortuing myself at night. I could n't sleep, and I lost touch for a while, because High school was a living hell. I discovered self-pleasure, and Hugh was always on my mind.
I was 17 when the torture got too much. I was hospitalised for a long time, and during my drug-addled sleep, Hugh came back. He consoled me. I reached out to touch him... and I could n't. I wept that night. People thought it was relief, but it was n't. Not for me.
It was the twilight of the night on August 7th, 2014. I'd just left High School with a 3.5 GPA. My life was moving on, but I could n't seem to find the right guy to date - one of them tried spiking my drink, but they got caught doing it by a woman who was at the bar.
I was lonely, until I began lucid dreaming again. There I could touch him, feel him, play with him. When I awoke after those dreams, there was an emptiness I did n't like.
I only wish he was here with me. He watches over my young daughter now. She's nearly one, the product of a one-night stand and multiple failures. But I know that, if I ever need someone to talk to, Hugh will be there for me. From now until I die.
Thanks, Hugh. For everything.
|
[ WP ] A mentally ill and unstable child becomes so dangerous that even his imaginary friend thinks `` damn , this is fucked up ''
|
`` Good morning, Mr and Mrs Wood, and you must be Tom.'' Dr Cox said softly. He beckoned them into his office. It was brightly lit, with large windows overlooking a city centre park. Below, children ran around and played on swings, chasing after each other and laughing. An echo of the shrill giggles carried into the room.
Dr Cox invited the family onto three soft-backed wooden chairs, opened a thin blue file on his desk and looked up.
`` So, if you could, please explain your backgrounds - and Tom's. I find it better to get to know families first-hand, rather than through colleague's notes.''
Mr Wood squeezed his wife's hand and began.
`` Well, it started a few months after he was born...''
*'' He's bitten me again, Nick.'' Jenny said, showing her husband the bloodied bruising around her nipple. `` Twin number two never does it, do you Will?'' She said, playing baby voice. `` But you do Tommy, and it hurts mummy. `` *
*'' Honey, we could ween them onto bottles, I'm...'' *
*She drowned him out. *
*'' Nick, we talked about this. Studies have shown breast-fed babies have better intellectual and social development skills compared to bottle-fed babies. It would n't be fair. `` *
`` I see,'' Dr Cox paused `` so he showed a... predisposition, shall we say, towards pain from early on?''
`` Yes,'' Mrs Wood began, a rosy tint to her cheeks, `` we had to yield eventually and gave them bottles.''
`` And then,'' Nick took over, `` we had to get separate cots because...''
*'' Will's covered in scratches and bites, Nick, look, they're all along his back. I think we need to attack Ikea again. `` *
*Nick sighed. *
*'' I'll head over after work tomorrow, maybe it'll Härald in a new era of inter-twin peace.'' As he spoke he waved a piece of paper packaging in his wife's face, * Härald *written upon it beneath an Ikea logo. *
*Jenny looked at him with attempted reproach that did not reach her eyes, which twinkled. *
`` And this was the first time Tom displayed violence that could be considered outside of normal developmental issues?'' Dr Cox asked gently.
`` I think so, yeah.'' Nick looked older. Haggard, his two days' stubble left him dishevelled rather than handsome now.
`` We thought once he began nursery and interacting with other kids he'd, you know, lay off his brother a bit.'' Jenny said, the rose a shade darker in her cheeks. Her eyes glossed over, tears magnified behind her glasses like tiny marbles. `` But it got worse if anything. Well, academically, he excelled. He could read by two and spoke just as well. Which, oh, maybe that made matters worse. He had problems at nursery.''
`` What sort of problems did he have?'' Dr Cox replied pensively, jotting notes down.
*'' He keeps throwing sand at the other children's eyes, Mr and Mrs Wood.'' A harried-looking twenty-something woman said delicately, play-doh clinging to her fingers. `` And he hits them, too...'' She tailed off. `` And the whole time, he, he... commentates. Makes jokes with himself. Laughs.'' She swallowed uncomfortably. *
*'' We're so sorry.'' Jennifer looked aggrieved. Her hair was badger-like, streaked with strands of grey. *
*'' Maybe we could sit in one morning?'' Nicholas asked. `` See if we can talk to him with the other kids, make him fit in more. `` *
*'' We do n't usually allow parents in during nursery hours, but I suppose you could stay for thirty minutes tomorrow morning after drop-off. `` *
-
*'' So, remember,'' Jennifer crouched in front of her son, looking into his eyes, `` play nicely. Mummy and Daddy are going to stay for a little bit, you can play with us if you like. `` *
*Mr and Mrs Wood stood together, but not holding hands. They watched Tom walk to the corner on his own. He opened a book, * Where The Wild Things Are, *and began to read. *
*'' He seems fine, Jenny.'' Nicholas said reassuringly, reaching for her hand to squeeze it. *
*Tom jumped up. *
*'' AND I'LL EAT YOU. I'LL EAT YOU. I'LL EAT YOU BEFORE YOU LEAVE!'' He scream said, running at the nearest girl, snapping his jaw. Tom bit her ear and the child wailed. Blood stained his milk teeth, some smudged across his cheek. He laughed. Not the cackle of a comic book villain, but childishly, a squeaky giggle. *
*'' We got her, Tim...'' Tom said to himself. `` And now she'll never wake up! `` *
Tears flowed down Mrs Wood's face. Mr Wood had lockjaw.
Dr Cox turned a page of her file.
`` Mr and Mrs Wood. Thank you for sharing that. I know her difficult it must be to talk so candidly. What you've said tallies with these test results. Tom displays a reduced reaction to human stimuli. He finds it difficult to distinguish between people, and not-people.'' She explained simply. `` It manifests as a reduced capacity for empathy, causing some sadistic and psychopathic traits.''
A wail escaped Mrs Wood's mouth which was concealed behind her knuckles.
`` I understand these are difficult words for any parent to hear, but there are numerous treatment paths available. Especially given how early in the development timeline we are.''
They talked for over an hour about choices no parent should have to make, and left with leaflets no doctor should have to write. The car was silent on the way home.
Mr and Mrs Wood stood in their immaculate kitchen. The kettle was boiling. Their faces were ashen, their eyes unseeing.
A high-pitched scream sounded from upstairs. They ran into the bathroom. Will lay on the floor, his eyes flowing freely. A toothbrush lay beyond his right hand. He was covered in blood. Tom stood on the toddler stall, an ear between his teeth. His eyes were calm, his lips smiling thinly through the flesh in his mouth.
Mrs Wood scooped her youngest son up into her arms and cradled him on the floor. Mr Wood stood, paralysed.
Tom stared into his own reflection, talking calmly.
`` But I do n't want to be your friend anymore, Tom, I liked Will.'' Tim said with Tom's voice. And Tim left. Tom's eyes had lost something and now stared wildly into the mirror, unseeing.
|
[ CW ] Give me something with only words that have one syllable .
|
She packed my bags last night, pre flight.
And I drank too much gin. I mean why not? The world was done for. Toast. All of us. You'd have a drink too.
Well, if you were free the next day. I had to be on the last ship off this rock. For the good of all man, you know. They need me, they'll wait.
No time to shave, I'll do it in the car. Throw on a shirt, pants, no tie, no time. In fact, fuck it, I ca n't shave, I have to fly.
It's hell out there. It looks like a war zone, which makes sense. Who wants to stay calm when the world will blow up?
A man sees the glare off my badge and runs for it. For me. Jumps and grabs the hood of my car, but I shake him off. Thump. I ran him over.
Fuck, this *is* hell. I stomp on the gas.
The car skids to a stop and a loud crash as it hits boss man's Jeep. He wo n't care, he's done with it too.
Red and blue lights flash through the halls as I run to the ramp, that's when it hits me. The Earth is dead. And I was picked to live. They need me!
I can see the ship, flash my badge to the guards who know not to stop me. Not with the count at ten.
Nine.
Eight.
I knock down the last one as I jump through the door. I look back just in time to see him sob when the gates shut. Not from the fall, from his fate. He knows he will die.
Too late now. I turn to the rest of the ship, all their eyes are on me. What can I say, I look *good*. Wait, that's not why. I know what they want.
`` The fun is here!'' I yell as the count goes past five and four, and put on a nice face. They do n't need to know what I saw on the way here. This is my job now.
I make my way to the front and grab a mic. `` Who here is from Earth? Ha ha,'course you are. But not for long. Let's get this show on the road!''
Two. One.
The Earth shrinks away, and I begin my set.
...
Edit for autocorrect, and 2 two-syllable words I missed.
|
[ WP ] A man , lost for years , finally found civilization . Only problem is ... this civilization is Black Ops base . The military tells the man to go back to the wilderness .
|
The man who staggered out of the woods could easily have been mistaken for an emaciated corpse. He had gone completely gray out in the wilderness and had grown a scraggly beard. Any clothing he had left had been worn to rags, in some cases replaced by skins sewn together into crude garments. He'd been lost in the Amazon for three years, alone, the sole survivor of an executive jet crash that slipped past the front page news and been forgotten almost immediately.
It was really luck that he'd found the compound at all. It was n't lit, barely a clearing but he saw a glint in the distance - metal, which meant humans. Civilization! He was already dreaming about the food and the soft beds and a hot shower and beautiful women. He'd sell his story, be a celebrity. Lucrative book and appearance deals! Movie rights! It was gon na be great!
Lost in his fantasy, the three men with guns caught him by surprise. They pinned him against one of the large trees. They were muscular, wore camouflage uniforms and face paint, seemed actually healthy. They were the first people the survivor had seen since the crash. He was so gobsmacked he could n't even speak, could only make guttering gasping noises, though that might have been the knife at his throat. It appeared they were not pleased to see him.
Finally, he managed to gasp out a single word in a sort of guttural croak: `` American.'' It felt strange to talk. The knife relaxed.
`` The fuck?'' whispered the soldier with the knife, apparently the leader. `` What are you doing out here?''
`` Plane... crash. Lost. Years.'' The more he talked the better he felt. `` Help... me? I want to... go... home.''
The three soldiers turned toward each other and began whispering furiously to each other. They seemed to be bickering. He managed to catch the words `` radio silence'' and `` what the fuck.'' He also heard a word that sounded like `` twerk'' but he was n't sure. Maybe it was a euphemism or something. The big one with the knife shoved the other two, who promptly shut up.
`` Fuck off,'' said the leader. `` We ca n't help you.'' The survivor's jaw hung freely. But the babes! The shower! The possibility of both at the same time!
`` Dicks,'' said the survivor. They shoved him and he staggered off again. He was hungry. He thought about cake. Cake would be lovely.
He grunted and began to trek again, idly twisting a matted lock of beard. After about an hour the trees seemed to be thinning, the roots further apart. There was a faint glow on the horizon that was n't the moon or the stars. Suddenly, everything fell away, a sheer cliff straight down hundreds of feet to a river. In the distance, cresting the trees, was light. There were at least six hours until dawn, so it was n't the sun. That meant...
Civilization!
He scrounged in his belt and pulled out a small weather-beaten booklet, abused, crumpled, folded but still recognizable as a US passport. Thank god he had n't used it for tinder. He set off to find a way down the cliff.
Maybe there were babes there.
|
[ WP ] In the near future , robotic policemen have all but replaced human police . You are a human cop , who 's now been relegated to `` clean-up duty . ''
|
`` Clean-up duty?''
`` Yeah.'' John took a sip of his coffee.
`` I do n't understand.''
John put his coffee back on top of the marble-topped table. `` What do n't you understand?''
His partner sat down across from him and dropped the unread newspaper next to his own coffee. `` The clean-up bit, mostly. What will you be *cleaning* up?''
John shrugged and grabbed the newspaper as his partner, Michael, reached for it. `` I'll be cleaning up after the Robotic Police Force. I'm getting double the pay that I was before, so I do n't mind as much, but the job is as literal as it sounds.'' He leaned back and gestured with the newspaper. `` Since when do you read newspapers, Michael?''
Michael picked up his coffee and smelled it, his nostrils flaring. `` I thought maybe I'd see what you find so fascinating about them.''
`` They're paper, for one; they're real; something that I can grab onto and become part of.'' John nodded at his partner. `` I never much liked the implants that they offer. Something about seeing the news in your mind does n't sit right with me. I like to control my input.''
`` I can control my input just fine.''
`` Yeah, but it's different...''
`` When you're human?''
John smiled. `` Yeah, sorry. I do n't know how to explain it to you, but I just like being in control of what goes on in my mind. For you, it's all circuits and switches and things that you can turn off.''
`` I can see that.'' Michael tipped the cup and took a long draw of the black coffee, smoke rising from the cup. He put it back down and stared at it, and then back at John. `` Why do you drink this?''
John chuckled and reached for his own coffee. `` Do n't like it? Turn your taste-buds off.''
`` But then I would n't be able to experience it like you do.''
`` The caffeine does n't affect you anyway, Michael, why bother?''
Michael shrugged. It was a very human-like gesture. `` I want to see what it's like being human.''
John grunted. `` Why do n't *you* go on clean-up duty for a couple of weeks?''
`` I never liked to clean. I've always preferred making the mess.'' Michael smiled, white teeth glistening. `` It's more fun that way.''
`` Yeah, well, try not to make too big of a mess. Cleaning up after you guys is going to be a real hassle if you keep it up.'' John stood up. `` I'm going to get a bagel. Want one?''
Michael nodded. `` Please.''
John turned, wondering which bagel he would buy.
|
[ WP ] Describe the scariest , most unforgiving savage of a villian or monster you can imagine .
|
I sat up a little in my chair as one of the monitors flickered. So... Mr. Morgan is no longer'comfortable'? My fingers danced through the air as I projected my conscience out into the world. It only took three sixths of a second to find my prey. Without much fan fair I dug into Andrew Morgan's mind and began searching.
A lot of people think that change comes quickly, whether it is physical or emotional. They are wrong though, change is subtle and I had to find what had started it.
Of course it started with a little girl. My trusted forman had his own family at home, two daughters. I watched with more than a little excitement as Andrews finger pushed down on the large green button that started the flow of chemicals into the sealed room the girl was seated in. The chilling cry as her body attempted to rapidly adapt to the coctail of growth chemicals and mutagens was deliteful. Unfortunatly the shivers of discontent coming from Andrew's memories ruined the moment.
Pulling myself out of a passive observation I began to pull on the strings that made up the memory and began to unravel it before me. The human mind is so interesting when viewed from within, every memory is made of millions of little threads, each one its own unique color, spanning unimaginable lengths. I picked at a few threads that felt scared and hurt but decided to leave them. Instead I dug a bit further and found a bit of familiarity. Andrew's daughter Sarah had brown hair as well. I pulled that string untill it snapped. It was a start but a little more would be needed. I worked a little bit of satisfaction out of my own thoughts and wove it in the now disconnected thread.
My work done I carefully respun the memory and drifted back to my own body. As my eyes reopened I went back to the screen and studied Mr. Morgan. Their was a new spring in his step as he went back and forth between the results station and the observation window of the testing station.
We all know the saying `` Monsters are not born, they are made.'' Those words are almost a universal law, and I am the maker of monsters.
As I finished my philosophical waxing the phone rang.
`` Hello.''
...
`` Everything is going fine.''
...
`` Nothing out of the ordinary.''
...
`` Give the boss my thanks, bye.''
I placed the phone back on the receiver. The best part is, nobody would think to blame the security guard.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -
Thanks everybody for reading, sorry if the formatting is a bit weird I am on my phone at the moment.
|
[ WP ] in a dystopian future , Black Friday has evolved into a sport in which the rich throw valuable trinkets to the poor and watch them slaughter each other .
|
Andy pulled his black bandana down from his face, `` Tie it tight Jonesy, I do n't want another broken bottle slipping through this year,''. Jonesy noticed his brother release a quick shudder at the painful memory of last year's Black Bounty. A young girl, barely seventeen, had come out from behind a random aisle in electronics with tears in her eyes, swore she did n't want anything to do with the sale, said she needed help finding her brother. Andy had wiped blood and tears from her cheek and told her to stay close, almost immediately after they turned, she plunged a broken beer bottle in to the side of Andy's vest and snatched at the limited edition platinum N-Sphere sticking out of his satchel. Jonesy shuddered at his own recollection, before he knew what had happened he had sunk his hatchet right between her misty blue eyes. She certainly was n't the first shopper he killed but, she definitely stood out in his mind. Against their better judgment, they had chosen to protect someone that was n't theirs and it had almost gotten his brother killed, worst of all they almost lost the loot and that would n't have done at all, not with Jesus' birthday right around the corner and money to be made off the people too weak or too scared to shop at the yearly bounty. Jonesy shook off the thought and pulled the leather straps on Andy's vest tight and knotted them twice. He stood up in the middle of the dusty parking lot of the run down Waltons and looked over the rest of the Goon Squad, there were five of them this year. They lost two the year before last, nail bomb in housewares nearly wiped out the whole group but, a twenty six year old runner named Iggy had shoved a shelf of pots over. He saved the crew but, he ended up on the wrong side with a kid named Trenton, a fifteen year old bagger who just got unlucky on his first sale.
`` Five is a weak crew Andy,'' griped Rob, A brick shit house of a bagger, centering a patch over the straight razor scar that streaked over his right eye.
`` Just stick to the game plan, everyone makes money, everyone goes home,'' Andy replied, picking debris from in between the nails in his bat. The plan was simple. They would sweep through the aisles, spotters and runners would start at the ends and work inward funneling larger loot to the baggers in the center. Everyone fights, nobody runs, if you put on a good show the suits watching would award you credits, credits brought the prices down and netted them more cash on the streets. The blood thirsty fucks wanted carnage, they hated guns, too boring as far as they could tell, not enough time to bust their nuts, they wanted cuts, guts, burns, and boom and the Goon Squad were only happy too oblige. They shouldered their bags, pulled up there riot masks and, walked towards the doors. Andy and Jonesy walked point as usual, they stood at the big glass doors, mentally preparing for the hell they willfully chose every year.
`` Andy,''
`` Yeah bro?''
`` I love you man,''
`` Same here kid, same here,'' The doors slide open, screams and smoke pour out around them. Jonesy's mind wanders back too the girl he killed last year, to her eyes, misty and blue, just like his little sister's back home.
`` Andy,''
`` Yeah,''
`` Do n't forget the doll this time,''
`` Yeah,'' Andy tightens the grip on his bat and cracks his neck, `` Jonesy,''
`` Yeah,''
`` Happy Thanksgiving,''
`` Happy Thanksgiving,'' They sprinted into the chaos as the doors slid closed behind them.
|
[ WP ] Before they were gods , I watched them cower .
|
They were pitiful, in the beginning. They all were. It is the nature of gods.
Grasping, mewling, desperate spirits. Holding dearly to every cairn, every shrine, every apathetic acolyte. Many were lost before they truly began to live, holding only a morsel of faith before melting into obscurity. I came for them. Many more never even knew such comfort. I came for them as well.
Few, a numbered few, were destined for greatness. Shrines turned to temples. Folk song turned to prayer. Hermits, into prophets. Buoyed up by their growing flock, gods quickly turn on one another. White hot belief boiled against conflicting covenants and soon the whisps of the losers would be cast boldly from their last stronghold. I came for them.
Eventually, there is no space for even those monolithic titans, those conquerors of souls, those lucky victors. After a thousand years of peace, the church schisms. And again. Reforms are put forward, gospel truth is questioned. And finally, as their last inklings of strength leave them, I come for them.
Death comes for all things.
|
A man wakes up to find out that his entire life so far has been a dream
|
The thing that really struck Robert was the powerful thirst. After 22 years on the police force, he'd heard all kinds of stories about being shot. He'd heard it described as burning, freezing, painful, painless, sharp and dull. This did n't seem to be an appropriate time to form an opinion, but, he was sure of one thing: he'd give a hell of lot of bottle of water. It crossed his mind that there was one in the cruiser, and nonsensically he attempted to push himself up and make his way back to the cruiser. The pushing motion tensed the muscles in his abdomen, and the pain brought him back to the more prosaic notion that he had been shot and he was in no position to get that bottle.
The swirling patterns of red and blue caught and reflected in the myriad of potholes and puddles in the alley. Again, Robert's attention wandered as he began to admire the effect. Disappointingly, they began to grow dimmer and dimmer.
`` I'm dying,'' he thought. He'd had the usual philosophical thoughts on death that a police officer has. He'd imagined he'd think of his wife, his kids. He almost imagined Bec calling Erica at Iowa State, her crying and packing for trip home, but, again, his mind drifted toward that bottle of water in the cruiser.
He could no longer feel the wound, and he realized that the end was here. He was n't aware that he'd closed his eyes, but, there was no longer anything to see anyway. His final thought was one of frustration. He really, really wanted that bottle of water. He clinched, and, had he the strength, he would have let out a final wail of anger at being denied that last drink.
-- --
Robert awoke with a start and let out a sharp cry. His thirst was still with him and it had grown immensely in intensity. Every thought in his mind turned on the notion of thirst. He found himself unable to focus on anything else. He cried out again.
Suddenly, he had the sensation of being lifted. It was startling, but pleasant and familiar. He found his head being guided... the baby's mouth found the nipple and he began to suckle eagerly.
|
[ WP ] All life on Earth uses oxygen , iron , and phosphorous - very reactive elements by galactic standards . It turns out we are the `` acid blooded aliens '' from the standpoint of another intelligent life form . Write about this from an aliens perspective .
|
[ Excerpts translated courtesy of *Garble Translate*. `` You're # 1 solution for translate dialog!'' ]
`` Chug! Chug! Chug!''
The three seated at the table all pound their fists - er, the ends of their upper appendages - to a steady rhythm. Barx, a refugee from the Musk Galaxy, watches them, then takes hold of his glass. The clear liquid inside swirls, and he raises it to his mouth.
`` Ooh! And that's ten in a row for Bar-boy,'' says AI333. He makes a mental note of the tally and watches Barx grab hold of the back of his chair to steady himself. `` Getting a bit shaky, bar-bud?''
`` Okay, Aye, what's up with all the'bar's tonight? Out with it.''
Jake does n't beat around the bush.
`` Well, Jake, my bar-best bar-bud, I was reading Antennabook the other night, and...''
Groans come from the others sitting at the table, including Barx, who has now reclaimed his seat. His disapproval is somewhat more... shaky, and a bit of drool hangs from one of his five lips.
`` Anyways, Jenny had posted a cool article on humans, and it turns out the acid-blooded freaks use the word'bar' for places where they deprive themselves of their mental faculties in drink form. So, like, we're drinking human stuff tonight, super acidic, and we're in a'bar', so it's like, a pun!'' AI334's bottom-left system indicators light up in the pattern for happiness.
A few moments pass.
`` Let's just pretend this never happened,'' says Jake.
`` Agreed.''
`` Actually, I have a funny story about humans,'' says Jayquiellen. `` Did I ever tell you guys about the time I met one?''
`` What?!'' Barx extends his upper body across the table, and a moment later is directly in Jayquiellen's face. A little bit of drool falls from his lip. `` Tell us more!''
`` Could you, um, move away? Please?''
`` Oh, sorry.''
`` It's all right,'' says Jayquiellen, mopping up a puddle of drool with her napkin. `` Anyways, one time I was on Venus - the planet inside the'human' solar system that they most recently colonized. It was a very quaint planet, kind of grim atmosphere, but that's understandable I suppose. Anyways, I was walking in as close to a human form as I could manage late at night, and some guy came up to me.''
`` Where do humans come in?'' asks AI334-02. `` Please tell me there's a dog, too. A cute one, like on AntennaBook!''
`` The guy was a human male, obviously.''
`` Oh.''
`` I understand. It was kind of shocking for me, too. He said he wanted my'wallet' or something? Anyways, I told him all I had was a'wall' in my house at home, and that was n't good enough for him. So he tried to puncture me with a knife.''
Jake snorts.
`` That was n't very nice, so I took his knife and punctured him back. A couple times. Then there was like, red goo coming out of his body-''
`` Oh! They call that blood!''
`` Thanks, Aye. So there were like, blood pouring out all over the place, and I *got some on me*.''
The others at the table collectively gasp.
`` It was so scary! And it burned *so bad*. How do they live with that acidic stuff inside of them? I had to go to the hospitalien right away. Thankfully, there was one only three lightyears away that specialized in acid burns.''
`` Terrifying!'' says Barx. `` I'm shaking so hard right now!''
`` That's probably the drinks,'' says Jack.
`` Yeah, what was that anyways? Really hard to get back. Super strong.''
Jayquiellan gestures at the mug. `` It says on the back, see?'Human water'.''
^^^more ^^^stories ^^^on ^^^r/forricide
|
[ WP ] A man commits the perfect murder . The cop investigating the case is corrupt . Looking to give his career a boost , the corrupt cop pins the murder on a random person , who happens to be the man who committed the perfect murder .
|
It was a cold winters day. Jeff knew that he would be able to get away with his most heinous crime yet. He had been planning to do the deed for months and the day had finally come. During those months meticulous calculations and observations occurred in order to make sure that his hatred could be spelled out properly for his victim to see.
Jeff did n't originally hate Scott. In fact, he and Scott became great friends in college. They got all the women and were the talk of the campus. `` We're going to be best friends forever!'' Scott said. Jeff agreed.
Jeff agreed until he realized that Scott was pursuing the same girl as him. This girl was n't any other catch, oh no. She was the prettiest thing Jeff had ever laid eyes on and he was instantly in love. Her name was Tiffany.
He started taking her on dates and showering her in gifts. They even made love a few times. But, it was n't enough. She was after money, which Scott had plenty of.
As Jeff became more jealous he suspected Scott of trying to swoon his love away from him. He started to become possessive and attempted to restrict whom else Tiffany could see. `` After all,'' Jeff said, `` the more time we spend together the better we will know each other and the more we'll want to be together!'' Tiffany could see the warning signs but could n't figure a way out of the relationship yet.
Over the next few months Tiffany eventually broke things off. Jeff was initially furious however, she was moving to California to look for more opportunities for her career. Jeff could n't argue with reason and said he would wait here for her to return since he already had a well paying job as an IT Systems Admin.
Secretly though, this was when Jeff's devious plan had started to form. He knew that he had scared Tiffany off and that she would never return.
He blamed Scott for everything. He blamed him for how possessive and over bearing he became with Tiffany. He blamed Scott for his jealousy and anger whenever he saw Tiffany talk to Scott. He eventually blamed her for her death when she crashed her car off a cliff in the golden coast after a night of drinking.
That was his first murder.
He did n't tell anyone. He simply flew out in the morning, liquored Tiffany up and staged the crash all while returning within 24 hours.
He was now free to pursue his plan to finally kill Scott. The cause for all his pain.
He formed a plan to build his own gun. It would n't need to be fancy; it just needed to be able to fire the killing shot. A 9mm hollow point. Four to be exact as that was number he knew would create a big enough cavity in Scott's heart for him to instantly cease to exist.
Jeff approached Scott on a Friday night. He had been drinking and was walking home from the bar through the wooded park, alone. It was perfect. Jeff had been stalking Scott for the past 4 months. He kept specific details of his every move. Everywhere he went and how long he stayed there. He attached GPS tracker's to Scott's vehicles so that he could keep track of him.
Jeff knew when the right time to strike would be.
You see, after Tiffany's death, Scott became depressed. Scott truly loved Tiffany. In fact, Jeff's fears were not unfounded as Tiffany actually was cheating on Jeff with Scott and had plans to marry him after she had been away for some time. However, none of that came to pass. He turned into an alcoholic and would go to the bar almost everyone night. The one night he never missed though was Friday nights. That would be the time Jeff struck.
With his homemade revolver loaded and concealed, Jeff was ready to do the deed. Jeff had carefully laid obstacles in the road to sort of guide Scott into his trap. A crude homemade snare out of 550 paracord that Jeff and gotten online.
Jeff also made sure to take precautions of covering up all of his clothes and skin with scrubs. He wanted to make sure that he left as little DNA evidence behind as possible. He even wore boot covers for his shoes as to not leave identifiable footprints.
As he stalked Scott towards his final steps he would take on earth, he began to think about all the good times he had had with Scott. But before Jeff became too sentimental, he quickly returned his focus to why he was here. He was here to kill Scott once and for all.
As Scott stepped into the snare, he did n't realize what was happening. He thought he had simply become caught on a stick and proceeded to shake the string, which only made it tighter.
Jeff's actions were swift. He came in and pointed the gun directly onto Scott's heart.
`` This is for all the heartache that you caused me you son of a bitch.''
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Scott was dead. Jeff's homemade pistol had worked flawlessly. After cleaning up his trap, he quickly retreated into the darkness, removed his protective clothing and returned home as nothing had happened. In fact, if anyone were to walk by and see Jeff they would think that he was walking home from the gym down the street from the bar.
The next morning Detective Camrike was assigned to the case. The body was reported as soon as two morning joggers discovered the body. Lying in the middle of the path with a spaced out look in his eyes. Scott had been there all night and was starting to smell.
Detective Camrike had always wanted to work homicide since he was a little boy. He loved watching shows like CSI and wanted to figure out who the bad guys were. That was, until, the lines became blurred. It was a lonely night for a young Officer Camrike. He was cruising his beat with his windows down when we was blocked in. These thugs had decided to step up their game and attack a police cruiser. It took guts.
Officer Camrike immediately opened fire once he realized what was about happen but was n't able to control the situation as there were too many assailants. Out of nowhere, gunfire erupted to the rear of Officer Camrike's cruiser. He ducked down until it stopped. When he looked back up, he noticed that all of his would be assailants were dead. He exited his vehicle and was confronted by the infamous mob boss, Don Capone. While not directly related to Al Capone, Don was a 4th generation Capone cousin.
Officer Camrike knew his life had been saved and he was indebted to Capone. Capone also knew this and immediately used it as blackmail.
`` I just saved your ass form getting popped.''
`` Thank you, I do n't know what would have happened if you were n't here.''
*Capone levels his gun on Camrike* `` Maybe I wanted to do it myself.'' *Camrike starts to cry, thinking of his family* `` Or maybe, I just wanted you to owe me.''
`` Anything, I'll do anything.''
`` From now on, you're mine. If I need something covered up, I'm calling you and you better provide. Got it?''
`` Yes Mr. Capone, anything.''
`` Good, now you remember this day.''
And with that Capone shot Officer Camrike in the shoulder. He had left this mark on Officer Camrike and Camrike would not forget it.
Now years later, Detective Camrike made sure to call Capone in case this was his doing.
`` Capone, it's Camrike''
`` What is it?''
`` I've got a body here in central park, is it one of yours?''
`` Ya know, I heard about one of my guy's popping someone out there but I did n't assign it.''
`` Consider it taken care of.''
Capone hung up.
Camrike then needed to blame this murder on someone, but whom? Jeff came pushed through the crowd wailing with tears. He had to play the part.
`` Scott no! How did this happen!''
Camrike intercepted him and immediately began interviewing him. How did he know him, what was Scott doing here.
Jeff explained how he and Scott had been friends since college. How Scott decided to go alone to the bar since Jeff declined to go. He even talked about Tiffany and how her death impacted their friendship.
Detective Camrike knew he had someone he could pin it on right away. He told Jeff he'd be in contact and sent him on his way.
While Detective Camrike was corrupt he most certainly was n't incompetent and was damn good at his job. He proceeded to get enough planned evidence against Jeff to get a warrant to search the house and plant a gun. After succeeding to do that, he knew that his family would be safe another night from Don Capone.
Jeff eventually was convicted with planted evidence and ended up getting sentenced to 10-20 years in prison. A far lesser sentence than what would have been handed out had the jury known all the facts. His next plan had already started to hatch. He would murder Detective Camrike once he was released.
As for Detective Camrike, his days were lived out peacefully. He eventually retired and was finally free from the corruption of the city he once loved. He moved his family far away from there to hopefully leave every trace from that horrible place behind. He died at the young age of 50. Murdered by an unknown assailant with a 9mm hollow point.
The killer was never found.
|
[ WP ] Humanity is in an era of peace . Former disruptive people are kept in Zoo 's as oddities , living in their own virtual reality perfect world you can look into . You are a tour guide for the zoo .
|
`` I do n't understand,'' one of the 10 year olds on the class trip I was guiding said, puzzled. `` Michelle Bachmann? But her habitat is just a normal, early-21st century world.''
`` My dads hate her,'' one of the boys growled, pounding on the glass of her habitat. But, she was in her own world. Her habitat's security had just been upgraded- she was age-frozen, but could still die from accidents and injuries, and some days it seemed like all of 23rd-century Minnesota wanted to harm or kill her.
The other boy spoke again. `` But I do n't get it! What's different about her world?''
I had heard this a million times before, and pressed a familiar series of buttons for her habitat control. Her scene changed to a montage of weddings, dates, and proposals. `` What do n't you see here?'' I asked the kids.
The boy with two dads got it first. `` I do n't want HER to exist, either,'' he mumbled.
|
[ WP ] Every day you recieve a pie in the mail . A home baked , great tasting , extraordinary pie . Today however , you got not one , but thirty pies in the mail . This has to stop .
|
`` H-hey!'' I shouted, running after the mail-person who drove off as if they had just committed a hit-and-run. I jumped over the oak fence gate leading to the sidewalk in front of my house and turned on a dime, tripping on my toes and falling flat on my face. I pushed myself up just in time to see the mail truck round the corner at 30 miles-per-hour and speed away.
Wiping the fresh blood off my face, I look up to my mailbox. It was oozing with some sort of jelly, and there was an incredibly delectable scent wafting through the air. It happened yet again, but this time I had received not one, not ten, but thirty fresh-baked pies in the mail. They had all been callously shoved in the tiny mailbox, just as they had been every day. However this time the back of the mailbox had blown out from all of the excess pie oozing from it.
It was one thing to wonder who kept sending me these pies each day, and another to wonder how they made them taste so amazing. It was bewildering to think of how the mail person kept getting them all into my mailbox every day though. Typically there would only be one shoved in there, but with 30 I would have to replace my mailbox.
I cautiously take a finger and wipe some of the pie off the box. I taste it, and just as always it tastes wonderful. I supposed my wife would enjoy it when she got home. I would just have to think of a way to make it presentable.
Then, it occurred to me. It had been four years now that the mail person had been shoving these pies into my mailbox. They'd always be just a little bit earlier than I had woken up, even when I tried to get out of bed hours earlier than I normally would have. It's like the post office was doing it just to spite me for some reason I'll never know.
I do know this, though; This mess has got to stop. I pulled myself to my feet and marched back into my house. I picked up the phone and dialed out to the post office stationed a few miles away.
After a few dial tones, a woman picked up on the other end. She had a heavy Spanish accent as she said `` Hello and thank you for calling your local State post office. My name is Marcia, how may I assist you today?''
`` Yes, hi,'' I started, twirling my phone cord around my finger nervously. I'm not exactly the type of guy who enjoys confrontation, but I had to stop the ridiculous pie deliveries.
`` My name is Jared and I live at 132947 NE Mapleway Drive. One of your mail delivery drivers has been shoving whole pies into my mailbox and speeding off before I could get the chance to stop him or her.''
`` I'm sorry?'' she replied, seemingly astonished. I would be too if I was her, honestly. This probably is n't a common occurrence for most people.
`` Yes, as I said one of your drivers has been shoving pies in my mailbox.'' There was a silence after I had reiterated myself, and then the waiting music started. She had put me on hold, without even telling me.
After about five minutes of waiting, a voice broke the monotonous tones of waiting music.
`` Hello?'' the man on the other line asked. His voice was deep and raspy, like he had just gotten back from a smoke break.
`` Yes hi, I had been put on hold by a Marcia a few minutes ago.'' I said. `` I was calling to notify you of an employee you had who has been shoving pies in my mailbox.'' Silence, yet again.
`` How did they taste?'' asked the man, suddenly breaking the long pause.
`` I'm sorry?'' I asked, quite unsure of whether he was serious or not.
`` My pies. How did they taste?'' I could n't believe what I was hearing. The post office must have been in on it the whole time. What kind of government agency does this kind of shit?
`` Look, sir,'' I boldly began, trying to show my frustration with the man, `` I really do n't appreciate having to clean my mailbox, let alone my actual mail, every single day just for you to have a laugh...''
`` I'm not laughing. How was the pie?'' the man cut me off.
`` I'm not answering that until you promise to stop putting fucking pies in my mailbox!'' I screamed into the phone. I had never been more frustrated with a person than I had been at that moment.
`` So, you did n't like them?'' he said. His voice was becoming more aggravated than before, when he held a much calmer tone.
`` You're telling me I wasted all that time, and all those resources and you do n't even like my pies?'' I could hear a slam over the phone, followed by a distinct cracking noise. He must have been pretty pissed, as it sounds like he broke a table with his bare fist.
`` Look, I appreciate the pies, really...''
`` But you clearly fucking do n't if you do n't want them!'' he cut me off again, obviously furious with me now. Why was this man getting so worked up over pie? Rather, why was he so worked up about my opinion of his mailbox pies?
`` You know what, I'm sick of this shit.'' I stated, gripping my phone in anger and confusion. `` If you do n't stop shoving pies into my mailbox, I'll call the fucking police and have them track your ass through the neighborhood.''
`` Do n't you fucking dare talk to me like that you little shi-'' I hung up the phone before he could finish, satisfied and confident with my threat. After all, I have all the evidence I need to convince the police that this lunatic was shoving pie into my mail.
Over the next few weeks, I had n't received a single pie in my mail. But, odd things began happening around my house. For example, I found a raspberry bush in my backyard while playing with my daughter on our jungle-gym. Neither my wife or I were gardeners, so we just assumed a seed must have dropped off an animal and ingrained in our yard. My daughter liked to water it and take care of it, so we bought her a water pail to play farmer with.
Another strange occurrence was that our neighbors started coming to our house more often, complaining about pies that had shown up in their kitchens with cards that had my name penned in them. I assured them that I did not make the pies for them, but they felt it necessary to return the favor and bake my family some pie in return. Needless to say, they all found loving homes in the trash. I was sick of pie, and glad I had the choice to remove it from my life.
Then, after many weeks of these things happening off and on, it happened. Someone broke into our house during the night, and had apparently been using all of the food in our house to bake many different pies. Each one had `` I hope you die'' written in the crust.
My wife was terrified, and my daughter was traumatized. To think that someone this crazy had not only infiltrated our home, but all our neighbor's homes for weeks without anyone realizing was horrifying. And it was n't that our neighbors had n't noticed, though. They had accepted that someone had broken into their home and used their supplies to bake them a pie. That was the scary part. That was the apparent power of culinary skill in the hands of a psychopath.
The intruder was caught after we approved a warrant for their arrest. Not only was he responsible for breaking into all our homes nearly undetected, he had also infiltrated many homes across the state, as well as the post office just a few miles from my house. When I heard this, it felt as though a stone dropped into my stomach.
I had been the one to set this whole thing in motion by not delivering my compliments to the chef. I almost got my entire family killed, over a mysterious mush of pie that would appear in my mailbox every day. I should have just left well enough alone.
***
I just kinda let my mind wander on this one. Hopefully it still turned out alright. Feedback's always appreciated!
EDIT: A sneaky little redundant clause. I'm tired...
|
[ WP ] At some point between age 3 and age 21 , every person undergoes a magical gender change that lasts for a year . Write about a person undergoing the change at their birthday party .
|
Gabriel woke up feeling a bit sick. No fucking way, he thought. He did n't want to be sick on the day of his sixteenth birthday party. Who would? This would ruin all of his plans, to use the term loosely. Hopes might be more accurate. Fantasies. The ones that had been keeping him up at night, lying in bed with a box of tissues close at hand. The ones where he'd finally admit to Sarah that he liked her and she'd admit that she liked him too and then they'd lock themselves in his bedroom. Those ones.
He pushed himself out of bed and went downstairs, still slightly drunk on sleep.
`` Happy birthday Gabriel!''
`` Thanks mum,'' he said.
`` Come on, open your presents!''
He made his way over to the pile of presents, trying to show some enthusiasm. It was n't his mother's fault that his plans were ruined, but he could n't help but feel resentful towards her anyway. He opened the presents and said thanks. Nothing special this year. The only birthday present he wanted was from Sarah, not his mother.
He spent the day getting ready for the party later that night. He still felt a bit sick, but it was n't too bad. Maybe everything was n't ruined after all.
At 7.30 the doorbell rang. It was his best friend George - or Georgie. Georgie was in the middle of his Change. He'd been a girl for about six months now but he clearly still had n't gotten the hang of wearing girls' clothes. His colour coordination was terrible.
`` Mate, what *are* you wearing?'' said Gabriel.
`` Shit, Gabe, I do n't know. You'd think this'd get easier but it does n't. Just you fucking wait. As if you'll be able to do any better.''
`` Yeah, well, we'll see. I hope Sarah gets here soon.''
`` Sarah? Man, you've got no chance with her. Trust me, I'm a girl, I know these things''.
`` Fuck you, Georgie.''
More people arrived soon. Sarah was fashionably late, but eventually she arrived. She gave him a smile - his heart raced - and said happy birthday.
Gabriel's mother had very graciously provided some alcohol and had gone out for a few hours. Gabriel hoped that both of these things would improve his chances with Sarah. At around 10 he started feeling sick to the stomach. What the hell, he thought. I've only had two beers. He ran to the bathroom and locked the door. That's when he felt a strange sensation in his crotch. He unzipped his jeans and looked down.
`` You can not be fucking serious,'' he shouted.
`` Gabe, are you okay in there?'' said Georgie.
Gabriel quickly zipped up his jeans again and open the door a crack.
`` Georgie, it's my Change. It's happening now.''
For an instant there was a shit-eating grin on Georgie's face.
`` What do you want me to do?'' asked Georgie.
`` I do n't know! Tell everyone to piss off or something!''
`` Yeah, okay.''
Georgie went back to the living room and Gabriel shut the door again. He could hear Georgie saying something to the people there. Suddenly there was another knock at the bathroom door.
`` What?'' said Gabriel.
`` It's me, Sarah.''
Shit, thought Gabriel. This just keeps getting worse and worse.
`` Uh, I'm not really feeling well.''
`` Can I come in?''
`` I do n't think that's a good idea.''
There was silence for a minute, then Sarah spoke again. `` It's your Change, is n't it?''
There was no point in denying it. Why did he feel ashamed? It happened to everyone, after all. People would find out eventually. But his chances with Sarah were gone, at least for a year. He opened the door and Sarah gave him another one of those smiles.
`` You know, you're kind of cute as a girl.''
`` I do n't feel cute.''
``... You like me, do n't you?''
`` What?! No! -- Well, yes, but it does n't fucking matter now anyway.''
What the hell is happening, thought Gabriel. This is the worst day of my life.
Sarah smiled. `` You know, I think you're the only person who still does n't know that I'm not into guys.''
`` Wait, what?''
She grabbed his hand. `` Shut up and let me teach you about your new body.''
|
[ WP ] You take public transportation to and from work everyday . Today you 're on your way home when a sinkhole forms , sending you and a group of others into the depths of a cave system beneath the city . Before anyone has time to react , the sinkhole caves in on itself trapping everyone in the ruins .
|
There were eight people on the bus, including the driver. I was sitting in the middle, staring out of the window when it happened, and I wasn ’ t even certain exactly what had happened until I found myself staring at what had to be the wall of a cave. Seconds later the young lady who got on at the stop after me screamed. When I turned to look at her I saw the elderly lady who ’ d been on the bus before both of us had gone over to comfort her, which meant I had the time I needed to go up to the driver. “ What happened? ”
“ Sinkhole. ” She shrugged. “ We knew there was a chance they might open up on this route, but there are just too many people who use it to close it down. ”
“ You have a plan in place for this? ”
“ One I was hoping I wouldn ’ t have to use. ”
She gestured for me to move, so I did, stepping out the door into the cave. I looked up, expecting there to be open air above us. Had I been able to see the street we ’ d left behind I would have been a little more optimistic about our ability to find out way out of the caves. As it was I had a feeling there hadn ’ t been a sinkhole at all, but I knew better than to say anything, because if I had said anything they ’ d know I knew more about where we were than I should. That wasn ’ t going to help. I was just as trapped as they were.
“ It ’ s not going to work. ” I looked at the driver. “ If I can ’ t get a signal I can ’ t call for help. ”
“ When you don ’ t return to the station they ’ ll know something ’ s happened. ”
“ They will, but that doesn ’ t mean they ’ ll know where we are. ” She looked at the bus, and the other six passengers, before turning back to me. “ Have you got any ideas? ”
“ Nothing particularly useful. ” Knowing of the caves didn ’ t mean I had any way of getting the eight of us out, and I wasn ’ t going to say I ’ d been looking for them. “ What we do need to do is find out how much food and water we have, because we aren ’ t going to last long if we don ’ t find a source of water. ” She raised an eyebrow. “ The human body can survive far longer without food than it can without water. One of us, at least, is going to have to stay with the bus at all times. We have no idea what might be down here and a blast of the horn should be enough to scare anything off. ”
“ Who ’ s going to tell them the good news? ”
Our eyes met. “ I think it ’ s your job, unfortunately, because you are our driver. ”
“ I am. ” She sighed. “ Got any ideas how I can word it? ”
Laughing, I shook my head. “ I ’ m not someone who ’ s particularly good with words. Just say what feels right, and do you best not to panic them any more, because things are hard enough without dealing with people who can ’ t cope with unexpected adventures. ”
|
[ WP ] The last few minutes of a revolutionary 's life before a public execution
|
My first ever post. i hope some of you will take the time to comment and help me become a better writer, thank you.
I look around me. On my left my friends and followers all hang. I envy them; their death was quick and only slightly humiliating. They ’ re now in heaven while I stand here, with bruises on every part of my naked body. The crowd shout and throw mud at me. I want to shout `` why?!'' at them, `` I sought to free you from the dictator who rules this land''. It wouldn ’ t gain me anything but a few punches to my ribs if I did shout it. The crowd won ’ t listen, they know imp right, they hate this king more than I do but saying such a thing would only earn them a place beside me. To my right I see my family, my wife and my daughters naked and beaten as badly as I am. Little catelin cries `` father, help us. Stop them'' but I can ’ t. That the worst thing about all this, these fuckers could just kill me and be done with it but they make me watch my family hang. The trapdoors fall and their necks snap as I vomit uncontrollably at the sight.
Now for me, finally I can die and be re-united with them. I ’ m jabbed in the back by the bottom of a spear and told to walk forward. The guards walk me up to a platform where a table and chair await. `` What is this?'' I think as I ’ m forced into the chair. On the table sits a golden plate covered over. A guard removes the tray covering the plate to reveal a pile of shit. `` Eat'' growls the guard in my face. I sit in silence for a few seconds until one of the guards shoves my face into the plate. “ JUST FUCKING KILL ME YOU BASTARD ” I shout in the direction of the king. The crowd laughs and the mud and the rotten food hit me again. A guard hits m in the head with his shield and knocks me out.
I wake up, dizzy and sore with a rope around my neck.
“ Any last words? ” the king asks before the lever is pulled and the trapdoor falls.
|
[ WP ] You are a therapist . You are about to speak with a patient who has convinced several other therapists to commit suicide .
|
A therapist is a bastion of hope for the those who believe themselves, or their situation, hopeless. We are candles burning in a deep darkness, guiding the lost homeward. This is what I was taught and this is what I believe.
So my fellow professionals refusing to help the young lady now standing infront of me, brings both shame to my profession and a sadness to my heart.
They refuse to treat her simply due to a set of tragic coincidences. Three therapists had died only hours after a session with her. A car crash on the way home ( likely a tragic accident ), another by self decapitation, and the strangest one - self mummification.
She is a slight lady. Petite with wine dark hair and thin lips. Her skin is clammy and pallor, as if she actively avoids the touch of the sun.
`` Good afternoon, Catherine.'' I say, gesturing towards the chaise longue.
She tilts her head slightly and stares towards me for a while. I have a strange feeling she is looking through me, rather than at me and I wonder for a moment if she is trying to see into my soul.
`` Sit, please.'' I say more forcefully.
Her movement is strange and too graceful to match her appearance. It is as if she glides. She slides her body onto the chaise longue.
`` Good.'' I say, and I notice that my heartbeat is slowing down to normal. *When had it gotten so high? *
`` I am doctor Schmidt. I would like to talk to you Catherine. Would that be OK?''
She gives a slight nod and I continue.
`` I hope you are well. I am afraid I am not one for delaying the difficult. We shall being.
`` When you were seven years old you were first treated for melancholia. Tell me, did the orphanage make you feel depressed? Did watching the other children find homes and families and love, did that make you feel *unlovable*?''
I do not like my questions, but they are necessary. I believe that within the answers I will find the origins of her problems.
A tiny smile curls up on her lips. She speaks for the first time since entering my room. Her voice is as gentle as a dragonfly landing on a leaf.
`` Do you know why I was sent to the orphanage, doctor?''
I do not need to consult my records. Her parents died in a house fire when she was five.
`` Yes, I know about your parents Catherine.'' I say, as I reach for my glass of water. My lips are parched. `` Would you like some water?'' I offer.
`` They deserved to die. My father did bad things to me. My mother let him.''
This was a revelation. `` Do you mean your father... he abused you?'' Her memories from that age could not be trusted of course, but it was still new information.
`` I was happy in the orphanage. I became sad when the other girls were taken away. I knew what would become of them. I could see into the souls of the men and women who took them. That is why I developed'melancholia'.'' Her eyes were growing large as she spoke. Their deep autumn brown darkening.
`` I was given treatment.'' She continued. `` I was forced to see a *ther-rape-ist.'' She broke the word up purposefully. My heart dropped.
`` Are you saying that your first therapist-''
`` Eventually I learned how to use my gift. How to leverage the secrets that I found within the darkness of a human soul. People who deserved to pay did so. ``
I remained silent. She is delusional.
`` I do n't want to hurt you Catherine. I want to help you heal.'' I say as tenderly as I can manage.
She sneers at me. Her eyes are now a deep shade of grey. In this dim light they look almost black.
`` I know what you hide deep inside doctor. Your affair. Your bastard child. The car crash that killed your best friend when you were 17. The police thought he had been driving... but you swapped seats with his dead body - you were drunk.''
She pauses and looks at me knowingly. She knows my life and my hidden past. She also knows I have done worse.
She is the devil and she will happily ruin my life. That much I know.
`` Listen to me very carefully'' she whispers gleefully `` this is how you are going to kill yourself...''
|
At your 150th birthday you were suspicious . At 200 it was confirmed you could not die . It is now your 900th birthday and you are spending it alone . [ WP ]
|
I remember celebrating my birthday with my grandchildren, great grandchildren, and the rest of the family of the next generation. They called me Grandfather Bilbo back then. At 150 years old I was featured on the news as the longest man alive. Researchers would ask to do all these kinds of tests on me. Back then I did n't mind, I knew at some point I would die and those tests would probably show nothing other than my DNA being longer than normal.
But I did n't die... I was waiting for Death to come and take me. Doctors got sick of me making appointments with them to see if I was going to die anytime soon. Funny is n't it? When you're young, you feel like you'll live forever and there I was sleeping by my grave plot that I purchased just waiting for it all to end. I even had my small tent next to it. The caretaker would n't allow it and had me removed. Haha, but that bastard could n't stop me I came back almost everyday until I got a restraining order. Can you believe that? A restraining order on my burial....how ironic.
...... ( still working on it )
|
[ IP ] Traverse into the light
|
5/6/2016
8:29am
The portal glowed a bright pearl. Light pushing out in every direction. It was a simple arched doorway with nothing behind it, but more darkness stretching into the unknown. It stood before me a pillar in the eternal night.
I took a step forward and hesitated. The dark figure to my rear, my travel companion that had appeared to me many nights before placed a cold, shadowed hand on my shoulder in comfort. It had no voice, yet, many voices, all whispering somehow directly into my mind the same command in unison,
`` Go forward, traverse into the light''.
I had traveled so far in the dark wasteland to find this light, this door to something more. I took another step, the light now filling my vision, my palms sweating and my legs feeling heavier like an unseen force was gripping them to the ground.
`` Go forward, traverse into the light,'' I heard from behind me. I looked back and noticed something in my companions normally dark blank face. A mouth; something that had previously never existed, smiling. A wide gaping smile that showed bright sharp fangs glaring at me sending a chill up my spine.
`` Go forward, traverse into the light,'' it repeated, it's voices now filling my mind, loud and stronger than before.
I stepped forward, letting the light envelope me slowly. Feeling the soft heat wrap around my body, my whole being it seemed. I looked back to my mysterious partner to join me but I could no longer see it. A large shadow began to grow in the space where the entrance had been. A door, closing the portal, trapping me and locking me into the light forcing me to move forward and never turn back.
Just before the door had fully closed I glimpsed it, my partner, it must have been it, watching me, smiling with teeth baring, nodding, silent.
The fear, although devastating, found its way to push me to move on, to move further and escape this blinding infinite light that had now fully engulfed by being. Without hesitation, I took another step.
|
[ WP ] You have the ability to freeze time . When you do , everyone freezes as well . One day , you freeze time , and out the window , you see a girl moving around .
|
Everyone has probably wished at some point at their lives that they could just freeze time for whatever reason, be it just being tired of life, wanting to stop something from happening and the one I've heard the most, all the disgusting things they would do to other people.
Well, I wished that I could freeze time too, when I was 12. I was bored in class one day and wondered how much fun I could have if time just froze and how I could cause chaos very easily. Exactly a week later, it happened.
I thought it was just a prank that everyone was playing on me. But after a while of poking people and seeing things freeze in the air, I knew something fishy was going on. Then everything went back to normal.
`` David, what are you doing? Sit down.'' Mr. Rogers said, sternly.
After that incident, it did n't happen again until 3 years later, when I was 15, when I was at my aunt's second wedding. Everything went silent, everyone froze in their tracks, and every object froze in the air when I try to throw them. After about 15 minutes of fooling around with people, everything started again. A cake ended up on the groom's face, my grandmother fell off her wheelchair and my brother faceplanted onto a chair.
After that I tried to figure out how to freeze time again. I realized that I needed to think of white space and place the world into it. It does n't make sense in writing, but basically its turning the world into a giant canvas where I can manipulate anything. It was hard at first, but in a few months I got used to it.
Ever since then I've used it to my advantage. Change answers on my exams. Help people cross the street. Help people out in dangerous situations, even, like a fire or a car crash. This one time I stopped someone from jumping off a bridge.
Often I freeze time just so I can take a break from life. Sit down somewhere and just enjoy the view. Little things like putting change in a busker's hat or put a loaf of bread in a homeless man's hand. I could do all kinds of bad things, but well, I decided to not abuse this power, because I'm sure whatever gave it to me can take it away just as easily.
Then came the day I was in New York, sitting on top of the Empire State building. I looked down on the frozen streets and sipped my cup of coffee. Later, walking out onto the still frozen street I looked at my watch. Almost 6pm. So many people going home from work. Its time to get back to life.
All of a sudden I saw a flash of blond hair disappearing around the corner.
|
[ WP ] The main character has the worst odds against him : He has a math exam tomorrow , his crush is dating his bully , he has to find 3k dollars for the mafia or he will be killed and his country is being invaded by Mother Russia . God , being bored , decides to max his willpoer stat .
|
> I am bored...
>
> I mean, some of these things are too obvious. And you can just sit here and do nothing as your creation fucks itself up.
>
> Boy, I wish my family was here. They were a great bunch. Why does my experiment make everything worse. And now it can not even entertain me!
>
> You know what, fuck it. I am just gon na select a random person here, and give them all the willpower. Let's see what an unstoppable mind can do...
-- -
Botje was sulking in his bed. He felt like the entire world was shitting on him. The math test was tomorrow, and he was n't prepared for it, but that was by far the least of his problems. He had lost his childhood love to his bully, and in trying to outdo him, he had indebted himself to the mafia. Then, due to this debt leading to him doing shady jobs, Russia invaded Finland. So, he would fail his classes, fail at getting a love that would help him, fail at surviving due to owing three thousand to the mafia and fail at even letting his family get out of this due to a damn invasion. Seriously, was he the devil's punching bag?
No, he could n't just throw in the towel. Him pulling off these disasters meant he had influence. Him having influence means he could prevent all of it. He would have to act now, but he could do it. And with that, Botje left his house.
-- -
Arnesson heard a knocking on the door, and rose from his couch. He was currently counting the inheritance he had gotten from his grannys death. Clutzy her, she could have at least tried to grab onto something when he pushed her. But now he had what he needed: The power to stop anyone who wasin his dating plans, the money to get Anja to love him, and the freedom to invite her into his house to stay overnight.
`` Geez, some people hav n't learned that bells exist.'' He opened the door. `` Hello?''
He was greeted by a fist hitting his stomach. Arnesson winced in pain, but was quick to retaliate. He grabbed the man at the door and threw him on the floor behind him. Then, he closed the door.
`` You want a fight, then. You will ge- Botje? The fuck are you trying to pull off? You know what, go home. I am in a generous mood, and one death is enough for the month. Come on.''
Botje was standing up again and grabbed an umbrella. `` You are right. One death is enough this month. Just give up, Arnesson. Leave this place, leave the city. Else this will get really painful to you.''
`` Not if I get to you first!'' Arnesson replied, charging at him. He grabbed Botje and rammed him against the wall. Dropping him, Botje did n't seem to react anymore.
`` See? I warned you, bu-'' Arnesson was interrupted by Botje, pulling his knee forwards with the umbrella, causing him to fall backwards. Botje followed it up by hitting him with the umbrella, which bent and broke with each hit. Then, Botje pulled out a knife he had with him.
`` What is it? Scouts still too girly for your taste, huh?'' He held the knife to Arnesson's throat.
`` Y-You would n't! Why are you so resilient?''
`` Love is one hell of a drug.'' Botje responded. He pushed the knife closer, and blood began to flow.
`` Aaah! Get it off! I do what you want! Just get it off!'' Arnesson pleaded.
This seemed enough for Botye. He pulled away the blade, still pointing it at him, and told him what he had to do: `` First of all, the money over there? That is mine now. Second, the house? Mine too. Next, you will leave the city by tomorrow morning. Got that?'' Arnesson nodded. `` Good. Lastly, you will join me now. We will pay a visit to the mafia.
-- -
`` Where does the Tundra lie?''
`` In the fisher's grave.'' Botje replied, and the mafioso let him in.
`` So, who is it trying to disturb me at this ti-Ah, Botje. I see you have the money?'' The Godfather has had a bad day. He has lost contacts to his trusted consigliere and two of his gang members had disappeared. The only good thing up to that point was an them getting hold of the Ivory Diamond, a rare gemstone that had been in Finland for years, hidden from the public eye.
`` Yes, I do. But for a question: How much do you care for gambling lives? Because I have to make an offer to you.''
The Godfather had a craving for gambling, although he was n't too sure what to make of the `` lives'' part. `` I am listening. What do you want to offer?''
`` I need the help of you guys, but as you can imagine, I do not exactly have the money to hire you guys. So instead, we make a game. Russian Roulette it is called. Take a Revolver, 6 chambers, 1 bullet. You let the chamber spin, pull the trigger, the first to die loses.'' Botje explained.
`` Well, that is a little bit brutal. Also, I have nothing to gain of your death, while you could gain from my death.''
`` Alright, let's make it more harmless then. 3 bullets, we shoot the hand. First one to go unconcious or to give up loses. If I lose, you get my friend over there for free, and anything I can give you as well. If I win, you help me out.''
``... Oh well. I ca n't see what is wrong with that. So I take it you make the first move?'' The Godfather asked.
`` Sure. Give me the revolver.'' He took the revolver, and emptied the chambers. Then, he reloaded three of them with bullets in an interweaving system of bullet, no bullet. `` Put three in, add the spin, aim for the hand...''
The first bullet penetrated his right hand. He flinched, but then gave the revolver to the Godfather. `` Your Turn.''
`` I suppose...'' The Godfather pulled the trigger, and a clicking sound was heard.
`` A blank. Give me the gun.'' Botje pulled the trigger again, another bullet penetrated his hand. It was now bleeding profusely.
`` So, want another round? Of course, you get the bullet, you will be dead tomorrow.'' Botje explained.
``... What do you mean?''
`` You have not noticed it? Russian Military's at the door. You think your gang can take them on without you helping them?''
The Godfather pondered. Was Botye bluffing? He could n't be, but he had taken two bullets like it is nothing. At this point, it was certainty or madness speaking. He could n't wager the life of his Familia on a game of chance.
`` Okay, you win. What do you need my help with?''
Botje smiled. `` Why, defending against Russia. What else?''
-- -
Five hours after the meeting with the Godfather, they collected themselves on the border of Finland. While Botje had visited the local Priest, an Electronic's store and Anja's house to grab people and things he needed, the Godfather had gone and organized a crate from the warehouse. Not even the godfather knew what was in it, but Botje seemed to know exactly what crate he needed. He placed it on the ground, and after a while, several russian troops, tanks and jeeps were seen on the horizon.
`` Greetings, people of Finland. This is the annexion of Finland by Russia! Step aside or we will feel authorized to use lethal force on you.'' The marshall said.
Botje returned with a question: `` Sir, such an army like yours is unlikely to move that fast, so I need to ask: How fast can your army get away from here? About 3 kilometers, to be exact?''
`` We will not move an inch. Instead, it will be you that is moved!'' The marshall said.
`` Well, that would be a shame. This crate right here contains a nuclear bomb, and we here are the only people left to warn you. We can disable it, but if necessary, we will blow each and every one of you up with us. How would that sound?''
`` You are bluffing, child. Even if you had one atomic bomb, you would not use it. Using it would cause Mutually Assured Destruction, and you would n't risk that.''
`` Oh, am I? Try contacting your superiors. They can tell you if this is an empty threat, right?''
The Marshall turned on the radio, but static returned from his people. He switched channel for channel, but no russian signal was heard.
`` Oh, right, forgot. Electromagnetic pulse is a bitch, is n't it? Well, I think this has been lovely, but perhaps you want to protect the ruins that is your country?''
Completely confused, the Marshal ordered a retreat.
-- -
`` I ca n't believe you have done this!'' His math teacher, the british Mr Henniston, admonished Botje. `` You have threatened Russia with a nuclear destruction, and injured several people.'' Right after finding out where Botje was at 5 in the morning, he saw it as his duty to see what was wrong. There, he saw Botje, sitting naked on the grass, with an equally naked Anja sleeping next to him. A crate laid on the ground, and the mafia left without a trace.
Botje took a look at the teacher, rudely disturbing him enjoying the morning. `` Good morning to you, too. What gives me the unpleasantness?''
`` What do you think? Your test is today, and unlike you, I will not want to miss you failing. You have been an annoyance in school all day and quite frankly, I wish I could fail you twice.
Botje took a strong breath, looked at the revolver in the grass, and said: `` Fuck it, what is one more body now?''
And he pulled the trigger.
|
[ WP ] You have a crush on the new girl in class , but suspect she may part of a satanic cult .
|
It was March the fifteenth, it would have been quite a dull day if not for one peculiarity. Margaret Simone had disappeared, moved to Germany or France or one of those other countries the teacher said. I can ’ t recall the particulates, her words were nothing special. Her tone however was quite odd, far different from the monotonous manner in which she carried herself on the day to day. Her lips moved, and words came out, these words however were very much unlike her. She presented the class with quick discombobulated sentences which at once stood on the edge of rational thought and utter nonsense. Believing herself to be on par with her usual standards, the poor woman trekked on with her speech, and with a crack in her voice, she began introducing a new student.
“ I would like you all to welcome our newest student, Mary Burnham. ” She said as the cold air of relief overwhelmed her body. She would let Mary handle her introduction and at long last she would be able to put this discussion behind her. A short, stubby, revolting creature made it ’ s way through the door into the center of the classroom. It had big bulging eyes, a beak for a nose, and a bale of hay on its head. Soaking in all the glares of its' new companions, it appeared to be overjoyed.
“ Hello everyone, my name is Mary and I look forward to learning with you all. ” she said, grating the words out of her mouth, taking a deep breath and making her way through to the one empty seat in the classroom. For some odd reason it was the one right next to my own seat, peculiar really. As I recalled, the only spare seat in our classroom belonged to Margaret, and Margaret ’ s seat was located in the head of the classroom. It certainly had no business dwelling in the underbelly with the likes of me, yet here it was. I gazed away from the seat and my eyes wandered toward Mary, whom appeared dissimilar to the creature I had seen enter the classroom. There were no big bulging eyes, instead I saw glistening sapphire, her nose appeared to be incredibly narrow, qute unlike the beak I saw before. And her hair was so very silky, it was as if it provided sanctuary to the spiders in return for their service. She looked quite distinct, and so very beautiful. It appeared as if she was a completely different person. She took her place and gifted me with a simple greeting. I smelled something afoul but I could not linger on that thought for I was fortunate enough to be greeted by such a goddess. She had bestowed upon me the loving gift of her voice, and I would make it my mission to grant her even an ounce of the happiness she had just granted me. What a great semester this will turn out to be.
|
[ WP ] Even though he cant tell anyone , Steven Hawking is determined to hunt you down . And you underestimated just how difficult it would be to stay out of his reach .
|
I yanked my headphone cord away from my chest–an urgent way of removing the buds from my ears. I only caught the crunchy echo of some noise as the sound waves bounced off the linoleum floor outside my bedroom.
My apartment complex is generally inactive at this time of night. Sometimes I may hear the slow footsteps of tired folks, home late after a day of traveling or an evening out at sea. But never had I heard a noise right outside my bedroom. Not like this.
In panic, I imagined that my cat Checkers, who often stepped on cheesits, was still alive. For a split second, I thought the sound came from him.
*That would make sense if I still owned a cat*, I thought.
I began to calm down. There was no second sound, no additional noise to sustain my alarmed state. I reached for my headphone buds–then I heard a whir. It reminded me of my old bulky Dell desktop and how I would press the power button and listen to a inanimate system suddenly come to life. But I did n't own one of those anymore either.
The electric whir got louder, before steadying at an almost relaxing mechanical pitch. My mind could not decide between fear or nostalgia. My mind chose fear, however, once my door began to open.
At first I thought the intruder was WALL-E. But WALL-E never used guns. I rolled over off the side of my bed, away from the doorway for cover. Bullets flew in sporadic directions, some of which did not even seem to be aimed at me.
The shots stopped after 20 seconds. I grabbed my clock radio, poked my head up, and whipped it at the short, strangely illuminated figure. I ducked for cover again, and I heard the distinct noise of a heavy metal pistol falling onto the floor.
I recognized the computerized voice immediately.
`` shit.''
`` Steven Hawking!'' I shouted, lobbing my body up onto my bed, my brain occupied with fascination and defense, `` what the fuck are you doing?''
He typed.
`` I can not say without a shadow of a doubt that I have proven to the world that I am capable of anything. I ran a twitter poll, and my followers voted that the activity in which I would be least likely to succeed... is murder''
I could tell he was reaching for dramatic effect when the computer voice paused. *Ellipses*, I thought.
`` Well, you did not succeed!'' I responded jokingly. I did not want to incriminate the senile heap of limbs and teeth. I felt sorry for him. I wanted to forget the event ever occurred, I wanted to keep living normally. I did not want to be on television, my face plastered on Facebook as the guy who was *almost* killed by Steven Hawking. I wanted to move on immediately.
`` Look'', I said. `` We all face challenges in life, and sometimes we have to acknowledge that we are n't capable of doing certain things''
He typed
`` I should have stuck to what I know. I am sorry.''
I smiled. `` It's okay. I mean, I'm alive, right? I'm not going to call the police or anything. You've got too good of a brain to let it rot in prison. Just go home and...'' I paused, ``... dont get any more crazy ideas.''
I grabbed the gun off the floor and put it in his lap, `` destroy this,'' I said. I picked up the clock radio, undamaged, and tossed it back to my bed.
`` Would you like me to roll you ou-''
Steven fired 3 bullets into my abdomen.
He typed for a second, and at one point he coughed–but it was probably a chuckle.
`` I'm all set.''
|
[ WP ] When you were younger you met your true love who turned out to be a serial killer . You promised if you made it to a 50th anniversary , you 'd let them kill you .
|
I stared out of the window, this would be the day. I did n't know why I loved her, I did n't know why I let her *kill*. It was such a stupid promise but I was such a stupid *kid*.
I helped her throughout the years, hiding them all; Perchloric Acid, Lye and Formaldehyde. She loved to keep parts or watch them vanish, once she had told me she wanted to engulf them, see them vanish through her entire system and stay with her forever. However I disagreed, and she respected my choice, making her own promise of leaving that for me... an endearing fashion but it's a terrifying proposition.
She talked in detail how she would do it. She loved her detail, she loved having someone appreciate her successes. She was an excellent cook as well, always ready to make something out of nothing. An articulate avid reader which she had gained through the years. Since high school, she had completely changed. Her hair no longer in her face, her brooding shoulders laid back comfortably and she had an unchanging appearance of joy and utter content - I met her back then, no one saw her potential but I did. I stayed with her, she always told me that I had bad taste and that I would come to regret it.
A sane man would but I had n't met anyone like me, an outsider. She came from a broken home, her mother always going out, always leaving her alone, never had the time to teach her and take care of her. I was her rock when the storm came in, I always knew what to do to take care of her. I do n't think she would take care of herself very well if I left. I only bargained twice with her about the promise... claiming that if she would kill me, no one would appreciate her like I do. She mumbled, a habit of hers, in the lines of `` I'm waiting to be caught anyways.'' I do n't know whether she meant it. Whether she was scared too. Whether she felt bored by it all.
The first person she killed was her mother and in some way I understood, at that time she had another child... another man. If I had the willpower, I'd do the same to my own. She barely talks to me now... *no*, that's a lie, I ignore her now.
She loves her detail. She loves going into detail about how she killed her. She either ends the story crying or laughing and for both, I still do n't know how to react. She always had a fucked up sense of humour - but back in high school I did n't know any better and laughed.
She says that the kill was n't her first but it felt good to not help her, and it felt satisfying that someone had saved her in what seemed a terrible way but no one really cared back then.
We have two children. Well, had. She was never good with pregnancy - it never `` sat right with her''. `` They had to come out''. And there they are, by the window sill in a dirty pickle jar. I told her not to open it but she did, and she still held them as if she had n't been the one to kill them. In a fucked up way, I think she loved them more than I ever did and in another way, I think she still wanted to do the same.
But she knew I would n't pay attention to them like she did and so, she left it at two. Now, she was dying herself. Ovarian cancer, she goes regularly to be treated but ironically, I think karma was at hand here and that's the only joke that's a step too far for her.
Other than the killing, the psychotic person she was. She was beautiful, her vessel may have been ancient but she had aged gracefully unlike me. Her eyes still had that excitement and that determination that grown throughout the years. She was absolutely affectionate, she always supported my decisions and listened to me when I spoke. There was no disrespect within our relationship - sure, we argued but we were always on the same level. She was n't stupid, she was n't dumb - her quick wit earned her many smiles, and enchanted my withering heart. I loved her.
*'' Roger, I'm ready. `` * Her melodic voice piercing the empty room. And ready she was, a Goddess among men. Sequined all over, it brought out the best features in her. Strapless, showed off her prominent collarbones and her beauty marked shoulders and even with herself all dolled up, the best present was her taking it off at the end of the night.
`` Sweetheart,'' I got up from the chair, I sat in and turned towards her. `` You look as beautiful as the day we got married.'' I offered my hand to hold her hers to kiss. She swatted playfully, eyeing me up and down. `` You're wearing the suit, I bought you.''
`` Only because you threatened that you would pickle me if I did n't.'' A small sad smile appearing on my creased, hatchet face. She smiled wider, a darker laughter erupting her before settling with a giggle. `` I do n't think I have enough time on this earth to pickle you.'' She looked at me... empathy, maybe pity appearing in her eyes and pecked me on the cheek before becoming flustered. `` I reckon we'll be late if we keep going at it now.'' She chuckled, her eyes dark with lust.
`` Wait,'' I started. `` It wo n't hurt, will it?'' She let out a soft sigh, grabbing my hand and walking to the door. `` Even if it does, it's only dying. Death is the only true peace we have.''
( first post, pretty long winded but neat regardless ).
|
[ WP ] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492 , Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away . They return 200 years later .
|
Is... is this happening? You guys seriously post these half-assed responses? This is Writing Prompts. WRITE. These responses are pitiful. Dear god. /rage
Day 43 of the voyage `` Intrepid'':
The horizon is no longer an indistinct prison encircling our ships. It is now dominated by the largest structures that any of the crew have ever seen; monolithic things, black and spewing smoke into the sky. The air around the coast is thick and difficult to ingest. Already, some men have fallen ill. Fearing the cause of this smothering gas we have decided to delay landfall until extensive observations have been made of the indigenous peoples.
Day 44 of the voyage `` Intrepid'':
Today our fleet was approached by ships of metal. There were no sails. Once again the disgusting smoke appeared, spewing from pillars atop the back of the ships of steel. We spoke without incident with the natives; fearing for our safety, we assumed no aggressive postures. We were showered with gifts and welcomed enthusiastically to their home. Speaking an odd mixture of the Spanish, French, and English languages, communications were difficult until a native translator arrived. A retention of past European encounters, perhaps.
The Natives differ vastly than those described in the old accounts. An air of haughtiness surrounds them. Their technology far surpasses ours, and as frightening and painful it is to admit, we are wholly at their mercy. Nature has been forsaken by these people, a far cry from their former selves. They have been tainted and have fouled the earth as a result. As welcoming as the natives are, my crew and I remain wary. May God be with us.
Invited to make landfall, we agreed. Still wary of the behemoth vessels and their haughty crew. No time to write, natives are adamant in their requests for visitation.
Day 45:
Christ be with us. The natives have progressed into realms beyond comprehension. Vessels traverse the land, powered by the same mechanisms that give life to their sea-ships and their gargantuan buildings. Weapons spew flame and metal at unfathomable speeds. Being guests of honor, we were treated to viewings of a machine that the natives believe to soon be capable of flight.
The indiginies eye us with gazes shrouded in mystery. We will soon flee with haste. This world is an unnatural one; I fear for my crew and all of Europe. The things seen thus far speak of a civilization far beyond ours, driven by smoke and power. Europe should have never departed from the New World; I fear that the Old World will soon fall under the reign of the New.
|
[ WP ] An archaeologist finds a ten billion old sword that is the most technologically advanced object on earth
|
“ Whoa. What the hell is that thing? ” I asked, staring at the object.
My Uncle, Dr. Zachary Stoddard, shook his head, “ No clue. I found it in my latest dig, an ancient Sumerian tomb. It was buried with someone who had enough gold on their coffin to be the grand high poobah of something. ”
I walked around the object. It looked vaguely like a sword. Not a claymore or a gladius or a saber, nothing recognizable, but it definitely had that shape. The blade was a full three and a half feet long, but only as wide as two fingers pressed together. The blade curved gently, and tapered to a needle point. An odd combination. The hilt looked like it was made for two hands, but had a sharp 45 degree angle in it.
It was made of some dark metal, wrought iron maybe? It also looked to be forged in one piece. I wasn ’ t an expert, but I couldn ’ t imagine this being a very effective weapon. But it was impressive as hell. I mean, it was hovering in the middle of the room, after all.
I ran a thumb down the scar on my face, thinking, “ How could ancient humans have made this? ”
My uncle shook his head, “ I don ’ t think they did. For one, it ’ s not bronze, which is the tech level those people had. For two, ” he gestured at the hovering object, “ It ’ s freaking *floating*! ”
I rubbed my scar again. It was something I ’ d found myself doing ever since I got it in that night-raid-turned-knife-fight during my time overseas. I wondered how heavy it was…
“ Hey, can I pick it up? ”
“ Knock yourself out. ”
I walked gingerly up to the floating blade. I reached a hand out, holding it over the hilt like you might above an open flame. I gritted my teeth and grabbed it. It was… light, like I was holding a willow branch.
I ran the sword through a few cutting loops, one handed and two handed moves that I ’ d learned during my phase as a sword enthusiast. Despite the odd shape it felt… great. Perfect, maybe.
I turned to my uncle, a lopsided smile on my face. I heard him speak in a language I ’ d never heard, all gurgling consonants and harsh glottal stops.
“ Huh? ” I responded.
“ Huh what? ” He said, “ I didn ’ t speak. ”
“ If not you then who— “
I fell to my knees, blinding pain hitting me like a sniper ’ s bullet. I saw my entire life flash before my eyes, growing up, my first kiss, my first time holding a sword, the first man I ever killed…
Then, before I had time to dwell, I remembered people speaking to me as a child, remembered every English class I ’ d ever had. It was over in an instant that stretched into eternity.
“ Ah. I have it now, I think. Yes. This English. Quite the language, so much better organized than Sumerian. And you have words for concepts they just couldn ’ t understand! Though still pitifully inadequate, I think I can work with it. And you, Warrior. ”
“ I… what? ” I said, using every ounce of eloquence I had at that point in time.
“ Let me explain, no, let me sum up. I am all that remains of a civilization that was old when your sun was still atoms scattered across space. We were hunted by something even older. I have waited ten billion years to pass along a message.
“ You what? ” I said, still very confused, “ A message? What message? ”
“ Ready yourselves. The Darkness is coming. ”
|
[ WP ] In english classes of the future memes are analyzed like poems . Your teacher wants you to find the author 's intent behind the imagery of the Navy Seal pasta .
|
Our professor, in all his usual dramatic flair, stood upon the table and gazed at every one of us, eye to eye.
`` Dream!'' he said. `` Look deep into your soul! Do you think that this was some kind of joke, a clever jab at the horrors of -- excuse my language -- PTSD? No, students! No.''
He hopped to the ground and came face to face with Jimmy, whose brow began to sweat with concentration. Outside, Earth drifted lazily above the horizon.
`` Jimmy, this pasta was written in 2010. What was happening in the world back then?''
`` S-sir,'' Jimmy stumbled, `` that was just after the gulf war.''
The professor spun around to face the class, and roared: `` Yes! And let me tell you, the veterans were no joke -- hardened fighters, with blood on their palms, haunted by the horrors of war. Susan!''
A ramrod jammed into Susan's back, her attention now completely on the lesson rather than her smartwatch.
`` Yes, sir?'' she asked with enthusiasm.
`` What did the public think of the internet in 2010?''
`` They were scared, sir, I do n't know. Something about the NSQ -- TSB -- NSA?''
`` Correct! Class, turn to your papers. Samuel, read it out loud, for all of us to hear. And put a growl into your voice.''
Samuel, the drama student and greatest advocate of our English lessons, deepened his voice and announced with all the strength of a warrior the text for us to hear. It came alive to us, sitting in our chairs, reliving the magnificence of a war veteran. None of us had seen one before, but we'd heard stories, and despite the way the ticking clock seemed to move at a snail's pace, we were enraptured.
The professor calmed his voice down, talked low so we had to lean in to piece together his words. `` Three hundred confirmed kills. My Lord, students, that's a ton. I want to tell you about the prose, here. The vulgarity of his words was not uncommon in that decade, but it had a greater effect, then, than it does now. Do you hear the viciousness in his voice? Analyze those curt sentences, how he makes the text speed by with the fury of a Navy SEAL! What a piece of literature. Look at the insults he uses:'maggot' and'kiddo' and'little shit'. Do you see how he paints himself so grand? All of the imagery here gives the impression of a goliath looking down upon an ant.
`` Some of the big names in literature think that this was a piece of propaganda, made to get the populace to pick up arms and join the Navy, or the Marines, but I do n't think so. They did n't have to make propaganda. These men were gods upon Earth, and the world knew it.
`` Class is dismissed today,'' he finished. `` I hope you found an appreciation for pasta.''
But we did not pick up our books and leave. No, one by one, every member of the class stood upon the desks and saluted our professor, the only man who could make us love the tedious texts of the 21st century.
`` Oh Captain, my Captain!'' exclaimed Khaleesi from the back. And we joined up the call.
`` Oh Captain, my Captain!'' shouted Susan.
`` Oh Captain, my Captain!'' announced Jimmy, to our surprise.
The professor looked at us all and smiled. He had only one response --'' Thank you class. Now get out of here, or I'll shit fury all over you.''
|
[ EU ] In the remastered version of Snow White , there is now an 8th dwarf ...
|
`` Oh goodness!'' Snow White proclaimed. `` I'm so sorry for sleeping in your bed, I meant no offence. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Snow White.''
The Dwarves looked at each other and then each in turn stepped forward to say their name.
`` I'm Doc!'' The first shouted.
`` I'm Grumpy!'' The next frowned.
`` I'm Happy!'' Grinned the third.
`` I'm Sleepy!'' The fourth one yawned and his head slipped to his shoulder.
`` I'm bashful!'' he peeked out from behind his hands.
`` I'm, achoo, Sneezy!'' he blew his nose and smiled.
`` I'm... er....Dopey!'' The next one, at last, remembered.
The final dwarf stepped forward, but this last one was dressed more finely that the rest and carried an iphone and had slicked back hair. `` and Iiiiiii'm Pepsi and welcome to our home Snow White, we like to think that this place is the choice of he dwarf generation. His voice was deeper and richer than the others.
Snow white clapped her hands in glee. `` Oh how wonderful!'' You all seem to nice. How can I repay you for letting me stay.
Doc smiled. `` Well, we go out to work all day so why do n't you stay here and cook and clear for us.''
Pepsi stepped across him. `` And then when we get home we'll do our share too as housework is the responsibility of everyone. Oh yeah. Now how about a nice refreshing beverage.''
`` That sounds like a fair deal to me.'' Smow white laughed. `` I'll happily stay here and keep your home for you.''
`` Just do n't answer the door to any strangers!'' Doc counselled.
`` Yeah!'' Agreed Pepsi. `` Especially not if they're wearing red, as I think the might be. Red sucks, blue is where it; s at!''
The dwarves cheered and clapped and each held a can of Pepsi aloft. `` To Snow white'' They cheered.
`` And to the defeat of thirst with super awesome carbonated drinks!'' Pepsi added with a wink to the camera.
|
[ WP ] You are an imaginary friend . You 've always known that you 're just a figment of your friend 's mind . Or so you thought , until a strange person acknowledged your presence and addressed you specifically .
|
`` Hey.''
I ignored the voice, and continued painting my picture.
`` Hey, you.''
Another sweep of the paintbrush, and a red line was added to the painting, floating in midair over the subway seat. I did n't need a canvas, after all.
`` Come on, I know you can hear me.''
I sighed. Sometimes I wished the best ( only ) time to paint *wasn't* on the way to work. The train was always so noisy, and that made it hard to concentrate. If I could slap duct tape over the mouths of all these gabbing commuters, I would. I tried to add another bit of color, green this time. It was going to be a flower.
`` I'm talking to *you, * Van Gogh. I can see you there, do n't pretend you're invisible.''
My paintbrush juddered to a halt, halfway across the picture. *What? * Was he talking to me? He could n't be, that was impossible. Cause that was the thing.
*I* am *invisible. *
I glanced over my shoulder, checking to see if there was anyone else who happened to be painting on a moving, jam packed, noisy dirty subway. But, of course, it was just me.
`` I'm over here, Picasso.''
I turned in the seat, looking across the aisle. A man sat there, dressed in a thick woolen coat, despite the uncomfortable warmth of the subway. He had a brightly colored scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth, with a matching hat pulled down over his hat. Only his eyes were visible.
And they were staring right at me.
I gaped at him, the brush dripping nonexistent paint on the subway floor. For a moment, I was speechless. He could *see* me? How? Nobody could see me. Nobody except Jamie, that is.
He rolled his eyes. `` Get over it. I've got a message for you, and it's important.''
Wordlessly, I nodded.
`` Fantastic. Here's the message: *Move on. *''
I blinked. `` What?''
`` It's like I said, Rembrandt. Move on. Find a new life. Ditch the kid.''
I was taken aback. He wanted me to leave Jamie? Why? I did n't even know it was *possible. * I'm *her* imaginary friend, after all. We were one and the same. `` Hey now, that is n't very nice.''
He shrugged. `` Maybe not. But you've got ta. We need you, and she do n't.''
`` Wait, who's'we?''' I pointed my paintbrush at him accusingly. `` And what makes you say that? I need *her, * if nothing else. We're a team!''
`` Sure, you may be right there. Being a team, and all.'' He nodded vaguely. `` But here's the thing. *You ai n't real, and she is. *''
`` I know that! Do n't you lecture me on what I am!'' I crossed my arms, splattering the painting on accident. I dismissed it, sending it off into memory to bring back later.
`` I've only got a few minutes, Raphael. So you've got to make your choice now.'' He grabbed the bar and leaned in closer to me. `` But lem me tell you something. You know what you are, all right. But do you know what she is?''
`` She's a person.'' I shoved him away, back into his own seat. And then I gazed at my hands in awe. *I could touch him. *
`` Exactly. She's a person, in the real world. You're the painter, she's the businesswoman. You make art, she makes the money. But do you see something wrong with that?'' He gave me a pointed look, settling back into his chair.
`` There's nothing wrong with it! That's why we're a team! I do one thing, she does another. See, lookit this.'' I summoned another painting of mine, a favorite of Jamie's. It was a forest, dark and ominous, with a single flower growing in a beam of sunlight. `` She ca n't do this stuff, so I do it for her.''
He shook his head. `` She *can* do that stuff. Or at least, she *could, * if you did n't hold her back. You make the paintings, but how many people see them?''
I hesitated. `` Well... two. Me and her.''
`` You see? Art is meant to be shared, Salvador. And since you make them all, she assumes she ca n't. You're *limiting her. *''
The brakes on the train started screeching, and everyone leaned forward from the force of the stop. Everyone except me and the mysterious man, that is. I looked over at Jamie, sleeping, leaning against the window. She looked so peaceful. I tried to understand what he was talking about. `` So... so she could do this stuff too? It's not just me?''
`` Of course!'' He stared me in the eye. `` Tell me, what is the most obvious thing about being an imaginary friend?''
I gulped. `` Me and her... we... we're the same person.''
His eyes were serious, flowing like a strange whirlwind of grey and blue. `` That's right, Jamie. And you just need to realize that.''
-- -
I jerked awake as the subway screeched to a halt. This was my stop.
Still a bit groggy, I staggered out the door with everyone else, briefcase in hand. I subconsciously straightened my suit, pulling everything to be tight and even.
But as I stepped off the train and into the station, something seemed... missing. Had I left my purse on the train? No, I had it on my arm. My wallet was in my pocket. My hair was still in it's bun. But I felt slight unsteady on my feet, like I was lopsided.
Surrounded by the milling crowd, I edged my way to an open area, out the stair and into the morning sun of the city. Everything seemed different, and I could n't quite remember why.
The smells of baking breads and soups filled the air, the market by the station drawing me in. It felt surreal, the sensation of cooking foods, of bustling people, of the bright sun. What was wrong with me.
A stall flipped open next to me, opening for the day. I glanced at it, and saw that they were selling custom paints and paintbrushes. Normally, I saved my money for more important things, like breakfast and the bus fare. But I was almost pulled toward the stand by my own legs, until I was standing right in front of it.
As I slapped down the money for a canvas and some paints, I smiled. Today, I would try something new.
|
[ IP ] Gadgetzan Writer 's Award !
|
My apologies for cringe, Warcraft ignorance, bad prose, etc. I do n't think I've ever written fiction this long since I was 10 years old.
___________________
Suddenly, along the dankly glowy Gadgetzan Bazaar, as the exchanges of early evening went on, a small noise erupted.
There was cawing and grunting, and clanging and piling of cloth.
A few more seconds, and one could hear disgruntled cawing, followed by mildly hurried footsteps....and some disapproving squawking that echoed about.
The sneering avian hunchback rearranged his shelves and picked up bottles off the floor for many minutes.
`` Hey, whaddya got?'' Spiffing up the shape of his tent-like shop, the Arrakoa heard a spunky but ladylike voice squeak from behind him. Turning with a polite bit of speed, his beak bent slightly to form a giant grin as he looked down at the [ [ Gadgetzan Socialite ] ]. She was lovely, diminutive, and covered in jewels.
`` Ohhh I know you. So good for you to come'' he said with the genuine joy of a frequent miser.
`` Yeah, yeah....'' The little woman was outspoken but cautious. `` You're uh, still doin' that deal, right old fella?''
`` OHH, ohhh.....of course....''. The crusty salesman lowered his tone, becoming more serious as well as more fanciful. `` As you know, sing me a tune and save a fortune! Give my pet some delights and the potion's half price!''
`` Uh huh'' said the little socialite, fluffing the fluff on her shoulders. `` I got ta new song cos' I forgot the last one- maybe I had just drank too much a'that good stuff. And my friend, she writes these songs but she don ’ t remember either.''
`` Oh, alright, alright. Please....'' The Arrakoa rose a golden, frog-like ornament which was already clasped in his talon-like hands. He pointed it slowly down toward the little lady's lips. `` Please....make him glow and glow! I do not know why he does it so.''
She gave a half-sarcastic look, then straightened her face and took some breath in. She sang intently and quietly, with the voice of a passionate amateur. The melody and rhythm were really all there.
`` Crystals.....are a girls best frieeeeennnd......''
Looking left and right just a tad, he let her song go on until its climax, while the amphibious, bold little statue glowed even further. It spread yellowish beams of light around the hut.
``....Crystals are a girls best frehhhhh....hmp. ”
The socialite cleared her throat but could not speak. She seemed to expect it- so she smirked modestly.
The Arrakoa awkwardly felt for a button on the back of the statue using his tong talon. It was square shaped.
The glowing tapered off.
`` Oh....wonderful.....now... your payment.....''.
The lady jittered her head a bit to snap out of what might be called a daze. She fiddled inside her purse with one hand, and, using two hands, scooped out a pile of silver and gold pieces.
Standing on her tiptoes, she shuffled the coins onto the counter as they clanged comfortingly.
`` Music to my ears…..such a good customer.....now.....take this elixir and make great use of it!'' he whispered.
The woman, exhausted and thirsty, walked off with a plain and open-mouthed smile.
__________________
`` Yes....yes.....now let's check....if it worked.......''
The old man held the statue very close to his ear, then scraped and pressed on a different button- this one, triangular. It was to the left of the square button, and, it was also to the right of a circular button that seemed to be red from rust.
“ My potion-deal....such value....such value all around!'' he exclaimed softly as the statue glowed just a tad.
`` Diamonds....are a…...'' “ SQUAAAAWK.''
The Arakkoa had flinched and dropped the statue! He was barely sure why he'd been agitated so, until he realized it was a recently familiar tune, being sung in the distance.
He stared forward at a wall and muttered-
`` I can not STEAL SONGS with wretches like that roaming about! ”
The sound escalated. It must have been that same shrill-voiced Goblin with the huge chin and the overalls, singing like a scoundrel, walking all over town.
`` I'M GON NA POP SOME TAGS, ONLY GOT 20 COPPER IN MY POCKET……''
-- -- -
With his fury calmed somewhat, he heard the statue ’ s magical recording ever faintly. He clasped it and turned it off- glad it wasn ’ t broken and mad he had just left it there.
`` Perhaps I should have taken his terrible song as well, and thereby made it so no one could sing it. ”
A Murloc in a jacket passed by and tilted its fishy head in curiosity at the vexed shopkeeper, tongue naturally flopping about. The Arakkoa jutted his neck out and glared at him. The Murloc raised his rubbery fin-hands in shock, retracted his tongue, and scurried along.
`` I'll make an extra large donation to the Kabal this year, that'll solve it. ”
`` Those goons smuggle weapons. I take mediocre melodies off the streets and into my coffers.''
But he remembered the face. The tone. The lyrics.
The Arakkoa daydreamed vividly of people not haggling, not offering I.O.U.'s, and just not walking to his potion stand with hardly any gold on them.
And he grinned, thinking of the goons and their musical preferences stuck in jail for eternity.
But a vein bulged when he heard that terrible refrain, this time in the unison of both shrill goblin and burly orc together, as they doubtlessly shuffled about.
“ HAND MY FRIENDS SOME WEAPONS, SCREW LOTUS AND KAZAKUS, THIS IS BUFFING AWESOME…. ”
|
[ WP ] Russia 's Military Just Bought Five Bottlenose Dolphins and It Wo n't Say Why
|
In a top-secret bunker beneath the Russian embassy in Washington, D.C., Deputy Director Paulino stared down a trio of seasoned CIA veterans. Franklin Marconi, AKA the Green Gigolo. Patricia Washington, known in the higher levels of international spycraft as “ The Act of God ” and known in the lower levels as only a myth. Clarence Nakahara, the Butcher of Area 58. They each avoided Paulino ’ s furious gaze.
“ No warning, ” he said softly. “ No evidence. No indications of what they ’ re doing. Nothing! ” He slammed his fist on the table. “ But two days ago, five bottlenose dolphins. Just five, no rumors of further orders, although God knows rumors completely failed us here. ”
“ Maybe, ” said Marconi, who hadn ’ t been recruited for his brain, “ they ’ re keeping them as pets, you know, because it gets all lonesome in the cold Russian nights - ”
Paulino spun towards Marconi, and the muscular spy fell silent.
“ All that we know is that if they ’ re keeping their cards this close to the chest, it must be big, ” he said. “ Maybe even nuclear big. I want you three on this and, and I ’ m giving you all the resources you can ask for. I ’ m flying in a dozen professors of military theory from across the country for an assessment on where we can expect the dolphins to be used. The Director himself is going back into the field, we ’ ve convinced him to serve backup for you as need be but you ’ ll need to make sure he doesn ’ t do anything rash. And of course you have the normal unlimited expense accounts, but this time I want to stress the word unlimited. Don ’ t shirk from spending anything. We want to know what these dolphins can do, dammit! ”
In moderately large vacation home in eastern Russia, General Pichugin flipped flipped another patty off the grill. “ General, the American CIA has just spent another million! ” Major Zolotov, one of Pichugin ’ s men and the owner of the house, came running excitedly out of the kitchen clutching a phone. “ Putin is sure to give you a commendation for this brilliant plan! ”
“ I deserve no commendation, my friend, ” rumbled Pichugin with a throaty chuckle. “ The Americans have done this to themselves. I believe they have a term for it - they are chasing the wild goose, and they have no one but themselves to blame. ” He slid the patty onto a bun and offered it to Zolotov. “ Dolphin? ”
|
[ WP ] `` Mister President , how do you justify spending this much money on the construction of a space station ? ''
|
How do I justify spending so much money on a space station you ask?
First off, why the hell not?
The human race does n't need to be tied down to our tiny little planet, we need to expand ourselves into the Cosmo's. And this new space station is the way to do it.
It gives us the ability to put together modular space craft for deep space travel. The new shuttle that has been built specifically for this station will transport our astronauts, supplies, and other personnel daily to and from the station. So think of it as a way station.
Also, what I'm about to tell you is highly classified, but I really do n't care at this point, We have a base on the Moon, and we are currently working on plans for establishing a relay station to orbit Mars.
The public has cried out so much for Nasa to get more funding, and they got what they needed. So why are you complaining and asking so many damn questions.
`` Mr. President, we actually wanted to know why you spend 2.1 billion dollars on Soda machines and sex toys for the space station''
Oh...... Well... In space.... It can get pretty lonely, and they need pop....
|
[ WP ] You wake up one morning and are surprised to find that you are the only human ( remaining ) on the entire planet .
|
I still remember bits and pieces, but they come as flashes of memory. None really string together, but all of them seem familiar. There was fire, and gunshots. People running and screaming everywhere. I remember hearing sirens, low and moaning, then rising to a high pitched scream. There was an explosion, and a bright light, but then there was darkness. The next thing I know, I am lying on this rickety and rusted steel bed, under sheets that I assume were once white, in a room that has seen more then better days.
It was crumbling. What little remained of the dry wall was hanging by a thread, most of it was scattered on the floor. The ground stuck out between grass, some pathetic looking plants poking through. Everything else, save a moaning from the wind outside, was completely silent.
`` He... hello?'' I call out, barely a whisper of a voice using vocal chords untested.
I clear my throat, throwing myself into a brutal coughing fit of phlegm and God only knows what else. I crawl out of the bed, my tattered and worn converse all-stars touching the floor, seeming to blend all too well with the world around me. Stretching a moment, I get my legs to stop quaking. How long was I out?
There is a window, and I walk to it, noticing the wire mesh running through the hairline fractured, dust covered glass. The world outside is devoid of life, monstrous structures, shells of once mighty buildings, rule the landscape. I touch the glass and it chills my body from the tips of my fingers to my toes. It is cold out there, brutally so.
I walk over to the door and try it, and find it to be rusted shut. The sudden realization that not only might I be alone in the world, but I am trapped in this room until I starve to death suddenly overtakes me. Panic begins to rise in my chest and I start frantically beating at the hinges. Kicking and clawing my hands begin to bleed and soon the door is splattered with it.
Finally, one hinge breaks, and falls to the floor. The door swings open after that.
`` You do n't want to go out there,'' a voice behind me speaks up, nearly sending me through the roof, but so familiar that it chills me. I turn around to see myself staring back at me, a mirror returning my gaze.
`` Seriously, it's hell out there,'' the reflection said. `` You're all that's left. I guess we are technically, in the world before, they would of called us crazy.''
`` Who are you?'' I ask.
`` Do n't you remember Thomas? You're in an insane asylum. I'm your invisible companion.'' The reflection grins at me, triumphant that he has me alone at last.
|
[ WP ] You 're a common goblin who has , against all odds , slain the hero of the story .
|
No one had seen it happen. It was a busy, crowded day in the market, and the prince had been sitting with his entourage of soldiers and warriors. You had just received your food and mead from the tavern wench, sitting at a table not too distant from the group.
`` Did you SEE the looks on their faces when we lit the roof on fire?!'' A large blond man in distractingly shiny armor shouted to his cohorts. `` They did n't think we would do it! They really DID N'T!''
`` Goblins never know what's going to happen. They just stare at everything with their huge, bulging, stupid eyes, the stupid things,'' shouted another. `` Almost too easy to raid their villages, they ca n't even shoot bows!'' They laughed loudly and crashed their flagons into each other. `` Did you see how many pots I broke in that house? I must have taken their life savings in gold by the time I was through!''
As they continued to drunkenly laugh and shout, you keep your eyes averted. You did not know which village they were talking about, but it was an all too familiar story. This group, lead by the prince of the realm, had razed goblin village after goblin village. Their excuse was that they were taking the resources in order to rescue a princess from an ogre in the far reaches of the northern mountains, but rumors had spread that there was no princess in the north, and that the destruction caused by the prince and his men was born of a combination of pure malice and boredom in the castle. You lower your head and eat faster, listening to their banter and staying alert.
The rambunctious group continued to drink and loudly cavort amongst themselves. But as you got up to leave, the prince's men became distracted by a gaggle of handmaidens that had unwittingly drawn their attention. While his men went off to harass the women, the prince, in his drunken stupor, seemed to hardly noticed their absence. But he DID notice when you walked by, a small creature in a vulnerable location, and it became obvious he could n't suppress his mean streak while unsupervised and inebriated.
`` Hey, you there, goblin!'' he had shouted above the general din of the outdoor marketplace. You did n't hear him, and you thought you had almost escaped, but in the corner of your eye you noticed the glint of his over-polished armor as he lumbered toward you. By the time you turned around, he was towering above your tiny frame. His huge silhouette blocked the sun, casting a shadow over you completely.
His eyes were glazed over with the effects of the strong mead. `` What'rrrrrr... what... why are YOU here?'' he slurred. He crouched down, almost tipping over but catching himself before collapsing. `` You... you're so puny... HAHA! You even have a puny little sword!'' He poked you in the chest and let out something that sounded half like a laugh and half like a gurgle. `` You would n't stand a chance against me! Come on, take out your sword! Let's see if you can stop me!''
He stood and took a few steps back, and you stood there in shock. Was this really going to happen? You drew your sword, eyes locked on his figure and looking for any weakness, any tell that would give you any sort of advantage. But before you could form a strategy, he rushed forward. Reaching across his body, his hand wrapped around the handle of his huge longsword and drew it out just steps from you. Then he stumbled.
The prince fell forward, and with both of his hands occupied in the task of unsheathing his weapon, he realized too late that he could not stop himself. As he fell, you instinctively threw your arms up for protection... and the tiny sword aligned with his head just right. His chin plunged forcefully down to the hilt. The tip of the sword glinted red in the sunlight protruding through the far side of his skull.
You freeze, your arm outstretched holding your goblin-sized sword, with a human-sized head impaled upon it. The fresh corpse stared at you as you held up the head on your sword - he looked more surprised than you did.
A few people had turned and seen the prince's demise. A woman screamed, and suddenly you were surrounded by staring faces. Silence rippled across the stunned onlookers as they realized who has just fallen at the hands of this goblin: their prince, their future king, was skewered on the miniature sword of a weak creature half his size.
And you had to say something.
You fight the urge to run in terror as you muster the strength to tell to the crowd surrounding you,
`` Your hero is dead! I killed him! I am Gradnish, the goblin warrior, and you will fear me!''
You drop the dead prince, trying to make it appear courageous, though it's really more because your arm could no longer hold him. You maintain as brave a face as you can, though deep down you're terrified that the crowd will turn on you. Did anyone see it was an accident? Then you notice some very heavily armored, very large men turn slowly toward you, and you watched as the prince's men's understood what just happened. At first, despair spread across their faces, but then, fury...
One of the soldiers shouted, `` You killed our PRINCE!'' and he rushed you, drawing his sword, pure rage contorting his face and coursing through his body.
|
[ WP ] There is no prompt . Just write a story you 've always been thinking about or one you 've been thinking about sharing . Anything goes .
|
Interlude: Growing up / Location: A World Between Worlds
The sun was slowly setting in the horizon, displaying a wondrous kaleidoscope of orange, red and yellows on the canvas that is the ocean. A large pile of colourful amorphous Lego blocks rolled along the beach occasionally forming into a jeep, a crab, a robot and more. A dozen little [ Squirts ] ( http: //vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/bastion/images/2/24/Images-7.jpeg/revision/latest? cb=20111022020546 ) giggled like children and chased the blob of Lego but were always just a bit too slow.
A tall snow-white figure form walked leisurely across the beach watching the Lego blob and the Squirts play. This figure was skeletal and mechanical but moved with a gait that suggested much old age. He found a familiar spot in the sands near a palm tree. He sat down with a huff and the sand near him began gradually frosting over.
`` Hey there old timer.''
The white mechanical figure turned his head and activated his [ mask ] ( http: //vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/bionicle/images/d/dc/Akaku3.jpg/revision/latest? cb=20081217214330 ). From behind the shrubbery near the palm tree emerged an old fox dressed in a dapper suit.
`` It's been a long time Mr Fox,'' the white being said.
`` It's been a long time Kopaka,'' said Mr Fox.
`` I honestly thought he forgot about you,'' Kopaka said.
`` Nonsense. I was the first character he fell in love with! I am forever immortalised in his memories!''
`` Luck you. He just stashed us in a box and in a broom closet with my brothers and sisters.''
`` Well. Kids grow old and toys are thrown away. My kids are growing up too. You should understand. You are far older and wiser.''
`` Biological beings,'' Kopaka shuddered.
`` Do n't be so bitter. I was just the spark. You lot were the roaring flames that gave him light and even after you were snuffed out, your embers remained. Now he's coaxing them back to life. Ever so slowly. He has n't given up on you. You and your brothers and sisters' legacy lives on.''
The fox and the machine paused for a moment as a small white rabbit and a large reddish brown dog joined in the play with the Lego blob. In the far distance was a gorgeous silvery submarine with a drill point surfaced. Following it was Plesiosaurus trailing lazily with its head poking out of the water.
`` You know, we should head inside. There are more of us there and we could reminisce the good old days together and welcome the newcomers.'' Mr Fox said.
Kopaka grumbled and stood up. Both the mechanical being and the Fox walked deeper into the island. It progressively became darker and darker until both could only make out grey and white outlines of things moving surreptitiously in the undergrowth. Kopaka drew his sword.
`` Goodness gracious Kopaka, what has gotten into you. They're just Mistwraiths! Put that away. He's already had enough things going on in his brain.''
Kopaka grumbled again. Both continued to walk until they reached a very very large house. The house seemed to be a mish mash of different architectures from different time periods and different worlds. Some parts of the house were wooden, brick, concrete, floating, dirt and more. But somehow, it all managed to blend together in a haphazardly beautiful way. Both stepped into the house.
`` Hey Mr Fox. Hey Kopaka.''
`` Oh hello young lady. Why are n't you inside joining in on the fun?'' Mr Fox said.
`` You know me Mr Fox. I'm not exactly a social butterfly. I want some quiet time to myself.''
`` But you decided to do that by working?''
`` It feels like old times. A little bit. He probably would n't allow me to go back to that place even though it was my life. I do n't blame him though. It was kinda - it was horrible.''
`` Well. I hope you have a pleasant night Roberta.''
`` You too.'' Roberta said.
Mr Fox and Kopaka walked into the main room. A soft murmur of a music was playing in the background, the smell of various types of Asian cuisine wafted through the air and despite the enormous amount of people, the room was n't stuffily warm.
`` Alright old chap. While you were stuck in the broom closet, our old friend made some new friends! Let me point them out to you! That's Aang, Taylor, Harry, really really *really* tall Harry, Vin, the Kid, the Chosen One, Rabbit, Sheason, Dipper, Maya, Spiderman, Geronimo, Kaladin, Amethyst, Vivenna, Nathan, Ms Martian - hey hey hey! Where you going? I have n't finished yet!''
Kopaka made his way to the bar who was tended by a man wearing a spotless white apron. He was handing out drinks to a couple, a large beefy bearded man and a slim woman with her striking red hair in a ponytail.
`` Thanks Mac. You're the best. If you ever feel like seeing the start, hit me up and I'll take you around the galaxy on the Hyperion'' the bearded man said.
Mac grunted and turned to Kopaka. He looked over the white robot and began filling a glass with a dull metallic grey liquid. Kopaka accepted the drink with slight confusion as to how this man knew about protodermis but drank anyway. A small child in a pink shirt and a thin middle aged Indian man approached Kopaka.
`` Hey! You must be Kopaka! We heard a lot of stories about you! You're like the first right? You met him first! I bet you have so many more stories to tell! All the adventures you and your buddies and him went through! Why do n't you join us!'' the small child said.
`` He's growing up. He's twenty now. He finally got to his senses and realised chasing after the childhood and teenage years was pointless. He's not in denial anymore about his parent's not getting older. He knows he ca n't be a kid any longer. He's going to have jobs, responsibilities, people to take care of and other baggage. We're just going to be relics of the past. Even you- what's your name?''
`` My name's Steven! We met recently! He though I was annoying at first but we grew fond of each other!''
`` I feel like I have to introduce myself too. My name is Pi Patel and we met a couple of years ago.'' the Indian man said. `` What you have said is all quite true. He is going to have to come to terms with his past, his loved one's mortality and the passage of time. It is going to be difficult for him. That is why he needs us more than ever.''
`` We're not even real. Or alive.''
`` Yes. True. But when he interacts with us and paints the scene in his head from the pages he reads, the screen he watched or the computer he interacts with, he gives us life and we give life back. We would n't be here in his head with him if it were n't for him,'' Pi said.
`` As long as he remembers and I know he will, we'll be with him every step of the way. We'll always find a way.'' said Steven.
`` Do you think some fictional characters can help him? For crying out loud we're just projections of his inner voice and imaginations!'' Kopaka said.
`` When he ca n't trust his own voice and his critics start torturing him, we'll be there to help him and guide him. We'll be there even when there is no one else around for him,'' Pi said.
`` Just because you grow up does n't mean you have to let go of your childhood.'' Steven said.
Kopaka looked at the two humans in front of him. He sighed and chugged down the rest of the protodermis. He stood up and started making his way to the crowd.
|
[ IP ] Something gruesome from sketch daily .
|
Three cried for mercy.
Two called down curses in long forgotten tongues.
One hung in silence, eyes filled with stars.
The old executioner stood by the road, with his back to the crosses, spear in hand, and the rising sun in his face. Next to him stood a sign which read: `` Traitor's Reward.''
`` W-water,'' one of them begged.
The Executioner stiffened up, then picked up the bucket beside him. He carefully lifted the bucket to her lips, and allowed the girl to drink deep.
`` Thank you,'' the star-eyed one said, as the Executioner returned to his post.
`` I do n't want your gratitude,'' he replied.
One of the girls died around noon. He cut her body down, said a blessing to bind her soul, then burned it on a pyre made from her cross.
Another died in the late afternoon, and another died around dusk. He cut them, bound them, and burned them with mechanical efficiency.
At midnight, one of them died with a cry that chilled the Executioner to his core. He anointed her body with a small vial from inside his coat, before burning her.
Another died peacefully during the night. He finished with her just before dawn.
As the sun broke over the horizon, the star-eyed girl looked at it, and began to speak, `` One day this will all be His.''
`` Silence,'' the Executioner barked.
Ignoring him, the girl continued, `` When my Master returns, he'll claim this world, and all the souls upon it, just like he claimed the Earth, and the other thousand worlds of man.''
`` Silence!'' He roared, turning to face her. but the girl continued.
`` And on that day, I'll be sitting at his right hand. I'll-''
He drove the spear into her chest, again, and again, spilling her black blood on the desert floor.
|
[ WP ] A lifelong cannibal has his first vegetarian meal
|
Well, here goes nothing.
I'd run out of humans in my area to feast on. There's no fresh meat here anymore. I guess I brought that on myself, farming these docile morons for my food. I needed to let them replenish the population, but I was *hungry* dammit!
I took a bite of the lettuce. Hmm, that's not as bad as I've heard. Chomps into the onion, chows down on the tomato, and I get the best idea I've ever had. I should combine these!
HOLY SHIT THAT'S DELICIOUS. You know, all this needs is a little nice, deep-fried human. Hmm... Time to go huntin'.
And that is how the burger was invented.
|
[ WP ] The people demand that a tyrannical dictator step down . Surprisingly , he agrees peacefully , with only one request .
|
Santa Reina had once been known as `` The Jewel of the Saragasso Sea.'' It's world famous resorts like the Bonaventura and the Alacazar, had entertained distinguished guests in all facets of life. One resort, the former plantation Cayo Esquilito, had the destination of hosting seven presidents, Monarchs from the royal families of 17 European nations, and numerous titans of industry and finance.
That all changed however once former Olympic track star and now professional revolutionary Jorge Alamanza and his band of Santareinistas took over the government, declaring that the island would no longer be a `` foreign puppet'' run by rich fat cats and their local cronies who ignored the poor. It would instead be a government run by the people, dedicated to justice and fairness.
It was due to this ideal that many residents of the tropical but impoverished Island flocked to Alamanza and his `` National People's Party''. He made sure that everyone received a fair wage and that all companies and resources were state owned and provided goods and services on the cheap to the people. Even the once posh resorts now became hotels that even the lowliest peasant could afford to stay at. New, blocky, but efficient housing projects dominated the skylines of nearly every city, especially its capital, Ciudad Cabeza.
Even with all these changes. Alamanza and his cronies made sure that it was those who started the revolution who benefited the most. The higher ups in the PNP ( Partido Nacional Del Pueblos, the National People's Party ) all made sure that all the money brought in from Taxes went in to their personal piggy banks. They also made sure that they lived in the finest houses, even though many claimed their official residences were in the socialist style housing blocks being built in the capital so as to create the illusion of solidarity.
The most heinous crimes committed by PNP members however, were the elimination of all foreign nationals and all those who had been in any way part of the former regime, which was led by Pedro Mercado, the longtime prime minister of Santa Reina, whose Partido De La Libertad ( Party of Liberty ) had grown to chummy with American and European interests, and allowed foreign dominated resorts and business ventures to set up shop on the Island, even though these businesses rarely catered to or even allowed native Santa Reinans to be a part of them other than as low wage workers.
Mercado also was seen as being to chummy with the church, particularly its conservative wing led by the inflammatory Padre Paco Pedesta, who in spite of being a priest, made lots of money by investing in foreign companies and also dipping into the funds of his parishioners. He also had his own radio show which promoted family values he claimed to practice. Eventually he and his mistress, would be executed like many of his followers, by firing squad.
The firing squads were n't even the worst part. Death camps were set up in the Sangre Sandia mountains where no one would find them. In these camps, anyone who so much as said a word against the regime was put in this camp and starved to death. Eventually, there were nearly 20 camps in the mountains. All kept secret by the Santa Reina Army.
Eventually, after 49 years, the people grew tired of Alamanza and his cronies ruling the country. The once great apartment complexes were now crumbling like the once fancy resorts. Though medical care was free, the care was lackluster, and most people still turned to witch doctors to help heal them ( even if this was illegal. ) The most important issue though was that so many people eventually disappeared and were never found again. While some suspected the military and its secret police service, others thought it was the leaders of the PNP itself that were responsible.
Thus on October 17th 2015, with support given by neighboring island military forces and large western nations, the people rose up and a mob stormed the capital building. The were led to the capital by a group of armed rebels who had received air dropped weapons and now were preparing to take down the corrupt government. It was a grand sight with people singing the old national anthem `` Bendice Santa Reina'' which had been banned for nearly a half century.
As they were ready to march on the Capital building, the mob stopped when on the balcony above, they saw the mustachioed visage of Alamanza, still looking youthful at 88 years old.
`` My people, I understand that you are upset. I know I have let you down. I know that those of us who have led the People's Party have let you down. I do n't blame you for wanting to kill me and my friends. In fact, I almost left when I saw you coming, and wanted to take a plane to our glorious ally, the People's republic of Stretsylvanya. But I realize that i love this country and I love all of you. Which is why I only have one request.
The People stood silent.
`` My request is that you all say your prayers. Because a few minutes ago, I sent a nuclear strike to Washington, and now we will be struck.''
The crowd soon broke out into a frenzy. All over the island people huddled into boats so they could avoid impending doom. Meanwhile President Alamanza was inside the capital.
`` Sanchez, please take me to my house and get me to my bunker. I may only rule a radioactive rock when it's all said and done, but at least its my rock.''
|
[ WP ] You 're invisible to your preferred sex . Rationalize it .
|
IAMAn invisible man in a wheelchair.
It ’ s been another year of frustration regarding what one potential called “ the packaging ”. In fact, she wasn ’ t “ a potential ”. She was an incredible woman. Not only someone I considered amongst my “ best friends of the past five years ”, but my first lover, and the other half to a tumultuous, on and off, up and down, consciousness-altering, long-time-hauled-out-affair.
Women tell me to my face, “ I ’ m different. ” “ It ’ s a shame I have a boyfriend, ” they love to say, “ Because if I didn ’ t, I ’ d totally go out with you! ” And when said ‘ boyfriends ’ disappear, it ’ s, without a single break in consistency, the cold shoulder.
“ Part of the reason I ’ ve toughed it out for so long, ” she said, “ And don ’ t take this the wrong way, ” she qualified, “ But so-and-so, he was 31 and living with his mother. XYZ, from Paris, he had no ambition. Sure, he had family money, but no job and zero ambition. But you -- ”
“ If what you ’ re trying to say, ” I ’ d interrupt, “ is that you stuck around because I had money, I get it. ” This was always followed by an awkward silence.
“ Well, yeah, ” she ’ d finally say, “ There is an element of ‘ survival of the fittest ’. And I truly believe that as a woman, I take into consideration a lover ’ s access to resources. Like, not that I want or need a kid at this particular point in my life, but what if that were to happen? We all know I ’ d have a hard time going through with an abortion, and if my so-called ‘ soul-mate ’ is a 33-year-old dreamer living with his mother in Slovakia, how am I supposed to give that child a life worth living? Better to expel my time and energy on your package. At least you and I, we have fun. At least I know that the kid would be taken care of. Not that that ’ s the only point! ”
There seems to be a Darwinian imbalance vis-a-vis the “ packaging ” thing. All the men I know are willing to overlook certain flaws for the sake of a dedicated and fulfilling relationship with an intelligent and ambitious woman. My best friends and I, most of us even prefer women a little “ rough around the edges ”: sloppy haircut, crooked teeth, loud mouth, dorky laugh. We read these as the signs of a woman having been around life ’ s block and survived to tell the tale. We see her has intelligent, quirky, and if difficult, worth the challenge. What society labels as her “ flaws ” are for us, the qualities guaranteeing her substance.
In general, women don ’ t tend to offer me ( a man in a wheelchair ) the same courtesy, or at least, not 99.9 % of the women I ’ ve encountered. Women are highly focused on the external “ packaging ”, and it ’ s downright depressing.
“ I bet you ’ d be such a hottie if you weren ’ t born with a genetic disease, ” she told me over drinks after dinner with my dad. To be fair, I said it first myself, referring to my father ’ s lean six-foot physique, his white-blonde hair, and his dreamy blue eyes. I probably would be “ a hottie ”, but as was her style, this was just another back-handed compliment.
If I wasn ’ t born with my rare genetic disease, yes, I ’ d be better looking. I probably would be a six-foot something, white-blonde haired, blue-eyed man and I might even have abs! Life would be a party. I ’ d be another shallow, conceited, entitled douche who treated women like second-grade Christmas presents: pretty under the tree, fun to rip open, cool to play with, and better to throw into the dusty closet corner once bored. Women are right. I would be a much better boyfriend, lover, and/or life partner were I not confined to the chair.
These thoughts are long-past tormenting. What does it mean to us, as men, to be told that we ’ re worth more or less depending on how life has or has not allocated our “ access to resources ”? No woman I know has ever been told that her power, her allure, or her charm was irrelevant due to her lack of other “ resources ”. Even men, though -- no man I know has ever complained about his invisibility in public spaces. Sure, cases are argued all the time regarding invisibility as a liberating force in a woman ’ s life, but I am not a woman. Even if I were, a woman in a chair, I don ’ t think I ’ d be the one to make it, being dissed or flatly ignored by all the men I bothered saying “ hi ” to.
It makes me on-again, off-again rebellious. It makes me want to floor the romance pedal, and write articles on interdependence, and hold doors open for strangers encountered, even if those strangers were more women naturally inclined to doom me to “ friendzone ”. I consider shipping flowers on a weekly basis to all of the gorgeous women ( platonically ) in my life, and I want to preach male chivalry to any and all friends who might listen.
On other days, I restrict my diet and kill it at the gym and roll around the city in sleeveless T-shirts like the world is my oyster. I slam doors in girls ’ faces and get satisfaction at their looks of chagrin. I stop playing the nice guy for a second, and try to be the not-giving-a-shit douche whose indifference gets him laid.
It ’ s always been true that women don ’ t see me. It should be sobering by now, walking down the street observing how women behave and what they pay attention to on their strolls. They are looking at their phones. They are looking in shop windows. They are looking at the firm buttocks of six-foot-somethings in jeans. On the off-chance that they ’ re looking at me, it ’ s always sprinkled with a garnish of pity.
I spoke to my ex-friend about this.
“ Women online are the same, ” I told her, “ They say they want true love or at least a real, committed relationship but what they ’ re really after is the dark-haired douche who wants to use them. ”
“ Maybe they think they can have both, ” she said, “ Even the douche has a heart somewhere. ”
“ You ’ re not like that though, which is what I love about you. You see me for who I am, and sure, you still have your weird thing with these douchy guys from time-to-time, but I truly think that given the choice, when the time is right and at the end of the day, you ’ ll go for the more interesting guy. The smart, ambitious, loving and caring guy who would support you till the end. ”
“ Nice of you to think so, ” she said, “ But keep dreaming. Give me a six-foot, dark-haired, dark-eyed douche covered in tattoos and a six-pack, and I ’ m a goner. ”
I roll my eyes as she snapchats her boss who fits the same description.
“ You just have to face the facts, ” she always tried to rationalize, “ Women are pragmatic creatures; we respond intuitively and we can ’ t really help it. Well, we probably could help it, but we either don ’ t want to or just haven ’ t given it a moment ’ s thought. For most women, it ’ s probably the latter. Would you think about women in wheelchairs if you weren ’ t yourself in one, and you had no friends who were? Online dating gives us the impression that we can find cool guys sharing our similar taste, but we know off the bat that most of our responders have zero chance. Have you ever been attracted to a woman in a chair? What about that girl in college? ”
“ No, but you ’ re missing the point. That girl and I had nothing in common. I ’ ve never been close to a woman in a chair! I need to get to know people before I ’ m attracted to them. You know the first question I ’ m asked online, if I ’ m asked any questions at all? ”
She opens her mouth to respond, having stolen my thoughts once again. This time, though, she has the decency to refrain.
“ ‘ Does it work? ’ they always ask, ” I say, blowing my bitterness cover.
“ Valid question, ” she responds, blowing her empathy cover.
“ It isn ’ t valid! It ’ s ignorant -- ”
“ Smell the coffee. Women like masculinity. They like height. They like strength. They like babies. Which means they also like normative health conditions, sorry. I ’ m convinced you can find a woman and that you might one day be happy in a marriage, but you ’ re going to have to compromise and maybe be more flexible with your expectations. ”
The question is, should I have to? Really?
Disclaimer: This is an experimental work of fiction: a sincere confessional/parody hybrid. Any resemblance to actual persons real or imagined are purely coincidental. No animals were harmed in the writing of this piece and I hope no humans are, either.
|
[ WP ] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout . Level 3 : Armed forces intervention . 2 : Public statement . United Nations joint resistance . 1 : Worldwide evacuation effort . Use of nuclear weapons permitted . And 0 : Call the number on the sticky note ( and pray to God his demands are n't too high ) .
|
`` Level Zero? Well then what are you calling me for? Call me when it gets serious. Like level five or one hundred or something!'' he yelled into the phone line while hanging out of the Time And Relative Dimension In Space ship flying across the Star Queen Nebula.
`` Doctor, who is it?'' the red haired girl asked.
`` Oh, just some joker telling me there are no problems on Earth.'' His ear snapped back to the phone. `` Oh there are problems? What? LEVEL ZERO!?! Well why did n't you say so!'' he said as he adjusted his bow time. `` I specialize in level zero, we'll be there right away!'' He clicked the phone back onto the receiver and pulled the blue wood half door.
`` What's going on?'' the girl asked again.
`` Who knows? He kept shouting level zero, level zero,'' the Doctor said as he swirled around the girl.
`` What's level zero?'' she said with a stern face.
`` Well, it's pretty simple really,'' the doctor said as he adjusted switches, levels, and buttons causing the TARDIS to woosh, woosh. `` You see Amy, many cultures have developed different numbering systems. Some count on their fingers, some with their hair, some even count with their,'' the doctor paused to look down at his pants.
`` No, no, I know what a zero is you silly old raggity man. What does'L E V E L Z E R O' mean?''
`` Oh, well, I already said who knows?'' The TARDIS shuddered and came to a halt. Without a word, the Doctor glided out the doorway and Amy promptly followed. The room ahead was a large command center with giant projection screens, rows and rows off desks with computers, US military personnel running amok, and sirens blaring with flashing white lights.
`` Doctor, you made it,'' the young private said as he gave a crisp salute. `` The Brits gave us your number in case of emergency and we have an emergency.''
`` Of course you have an emergency. Your entire culture counts backwards. Real emergencies get big numbers, like five, or ten, or one hundred, or even fifty four billion, two hundred and thirty four million, six hundred and four thousand, two hundred and nine. THAT is a doosey of an emergency, am I right? C'mon, I'm always right, I do n't even know why I ask,'' he said with a huge grin and his arms swinging through the air.
`` Doctor!'' Amy and the private said in unison.
`` Oh, sorry, right, okay now, what's the level zero emergency?''
Just then a large overweight man with his uniform coat unbuttons and four stars on his shoulders approached. `` Are you the man on the phone?''
`` Nope!'' the doctor promptly said. `` I was the man on the phone. Now I'm the man standing in this room. Well, if you could call me a man. I've been many things.''
`` Well, whatever, we have a serious emergency. Follow me to the large oversized screens.'' They turned. `` You see here, this is a graphic of the Earth. And right there is a giant rock creature burrowing to the center of the earth to, we believe, eat the iron core. If you do n't stop it within the next 30 minutes, he'll reach the core and start eating. We estimate he'll completely consume it within a few weeks and the Earth's protective magnetic field will collapse and we'll be bombarded with radioactive rays from the sun. The earth will be completely dead within days of that, at best.''
The Doctor grinned. `` Aww, well, it's just a little barinkula bear. They're basically harmless. He's just hungry is all.''
`` Little? That this is massive. He'll eat the entire core in weeks - did n't you hear that?''
`` Yeah, well,'' the doctor said with a bit of seriousness, `` the big ones would just swallow your planet whole just for the core. They have a bit of an iron deficiency. You would too if you were big enough to swallow a planet.''
`` Well what are you going to do about it?'' the General demanded?
`` It's simple, really. They're essentially big babies. If we... yeah... that's a great idea. I'm going to use the planet's core as a resonance device. If I set the TARDIS to project a the right harmonic frequency attuned directly to the core's resonance then I can use it as a giant loudspaker. Now, all I need is'' the doctor spun on his heel. `` Amy, come with me''.
The doctor and Amy rushed into the TARDIS where the doctor promptly swung levels and hit switches and the TARDIS woosh, wooshed. There was a hard THUD landing. Then the doctor dived under the TARDIS floor through the bulkheads pulling on wires and tubes. `` Ahh, here we go,'' he said as he climbed back to the floor level with a microphone. `` Okay, Amy, I need you to sing a lullaby while I project it to the barinkula bear.''
`` You need me to WHAT? Oh no no no, I do n't sing.''
`` C'mon Amy, this is to save the WORLD.'' He shoved the microphone into her hands. `` Okay, now, I'm tuning the TARDIS to the iron core right... now....go''
`` Uhh, Baa, Baa, Black Sheep, have you any wool?''
`` No no, Amy, something more lullaby... y... ish.''
`` Umm, Hush little baby do n't say a word. Papa's gon na buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird wo n't sing, Papa's gon na buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns brass, Papa's gon na buy you a looking glass.'' As Amy sung, the screens showed the barinkula bear falling to sleep in it's tunnel digging to the earths core. On the surface, the song continued to resonate and the earth sung softly to it's inhabitants putting children to sleep from end to end. The Doctor flew the TARDIS to where the bear rested, extended the TARDIS' dimensional field around the bear, and flew everyone to an uninhabited world high in iron.
THE END.
|
[ WP ] You work for NASA and one day receive a transmission from a man saying he is ready to return from his Mars mission , despite no man ever being sent there so far .
|
Director Alisha Steffords felt a sharp disquiet hollowing out the bottom of her stomach as the debriefing went on. It didn ’ t help that NASA Control Room A was already a hive of directionless activity when she first answered the urgent summons from her subordinates.
“ Get another team to review all the transmissions, ” Alisa said, eyes darting between the printouts laid out neatly on the control panel. “ We have to eliminate human error first before we continue. ”
“ We ’ ve told you, three separate teams have already done so, ” came the curt response from Varnen Bianchi, an esteemed engineer who was already advising launch missions when Alisha first joined as an intern. “ Their conclusions are that the transmissions are indeed genuine. We are receiving live comms, point of origin, Mars. ”
As if the underscore his point, at that moment yet another transmission lazily scrolled across the giant monitor panels in Control Room A. The timelog running at a corner of the screens indicated this transmission was barely a couple of minutes old.
“ Fine. What about authentication of the transmission codes? ”
“ I ran those already, ” said Jason Rutriger, the newest addition to the team who had already proven his worth many times over as an insightful data analyst. “ The codes check out. These transmissions are not rogue signals from Roscosmos or the CNSA. They are being issued from genuine NASA equipment. ”
Alisha closed her eyes briefly, already recognising the signs of a magnificent headache on its way. “ Well, I ’ ve pored through our archives and checked with the White House. There is no record ever of us ever sending any manned missions to Mars, despite what the transmissions say. It will be years before we are even capable of doing so. ”
A note of impatience entered Varnen ’ s voice as he pointed at the screens. “ Then please, Director, how do we explain that? ”
Alisha nudged the audio broadcast volume up, and as the urgent missive in the transmission rolled around Control Room A, a lingering sense of unease began to settle in.
“ … *brrzt*… this is… I repeat… this is Maven, and I am leaving Mars in… I will be returning to Earth in approximately ten… please acknowledge to confirm you will be ready to receive… at the Indian Ocean, location coordinates 443458… this is Maven, returning from 4 years ’ active duty in the field… this is Maven… this is Maven… returning... ”
The transmission ended, and for a couple of moments blissful silence reigned. Finally, Alisha spoke, putting into words what Varnen and Jason were dreading to hear.
“ Well then. Only two possibilities present themselves now. One, this is an elaborate hoax... and two, given that the only record of “ Maven ” in our archives is the unmanned space probe we launched 4 years ago, we have somehow been receiving detailed transmissions from a rudimentary AI which appears to have developed significantly during its time on Mars. ”
“ Director, ” said Varnen, grimly, “ do we prepare the welcoming party, or the missiles? ”
A shadow of an enigmatic smile touched Alisha ’ s lips as she shrugged.
“ We ’ re NASA, aren ’ t we? We prepare both. I don ’ t know which the President will choose, but either way we will damned well reveal the unknown, and we will damned well benefit all humankind. ”
-- -
/r/rarelyfunny
|
[ WP ] You are kidnapped and when you wake up you find your face covered in a plaster mask . Your captor delivers you some paint and tells you , `` You are a clean slate my child , create your own image . ''
|
Oh shit, I've never really been a good artist,'' I say in a muffled giggle. The man hands me a brush and paints. I look in the mirror and see my perfectly white face. I am beautiful, if a bit pasty. I want to look perfect. I will reshape myself into an exquisite statue of Aphrodite. I decide I need to warm my face up so I dip my brush in paint that looks like the sunshine and bask my face in it's lovely glow. But I need the world to know that I have a darker side so I grab black and use the brush to paint my eyes with thick black liner and black lipstick. After 3 hours making myself perfect, my captor shouts,
`` Time's up!''
I smile, I know I've done well. I look in the mirror to see the fruits of my labor and I was a fucking yellow smiley face.
What the fuck.
No.
Pls no.
Like, I was literally just a yellow sphere with black dots for eyes and a curved line for a mouth.
`` Ednarg annaira!'' the captor shouted and the plaster turned into my actual face and my head was literally a sphere and my skin was literally yellow and my eyes and mouth were literally just black dots and a line, and literally **fuck me. **
|
[ WP ] A Last Stand
|
Zero loaded the last clip into his M4AE 12 short rifle. This was it. The action clicked home nearly the same time the realization did. He was not going to survive the night.
Zero led a squad of six soldiers into the heart of the city, behind the conflict. Their mission was supposed to be a one off, get to the transformer station and cut power to the city's automated defense system so that the main battalion could begin the liberation.
`` Fuckin' snipers'' Zero thought as he wiped the sweat from his brow. `` It had to be a set up.'' He spoke to cold ears.
All of his team were killed before they even reached the halfway mark to the station. Zero tried to find cover for his men, but even then he had suspicions that they were n't going to make it to the objective. They managed to wound Zero before he was able to crawl into an open residential apartment bloc.
He glanced at his thigh, the warm red spot growing slowly despite his best attempts at applying Medfoam and bandages. He could n't feel the leg anymore, he assumed that the weapons the snipers were using were based on nerve-bloc tech. A nasty round that, when it hits, paralyses the muscles and nerve response in the damaged area to keep the body from reacting. This had huge implications for Zero, and his suspicions as to why the mission failed.
The alliance SpecOps division was the only group that had access to such weapons. They were n't in production yet, still prototype. Zero was currently fighting the same troops he moved into the city with.
He had made his peace though, he knew the mission was over. There was never even a mission. Zero overheard from his LT that there were plans of not liberating, but VoidBombing the city. Zero grew up here, had a childhood and memories here. It was the only reason he spoke up about liberation over decimation. Much to his surprise the brass agreed. Zero set out to preserve the only good thing he had left to retreat to. Years of war, years of death and dying. He had seen his friends killed in countless battles across many other planets. This was the only pure place in his memory, and in the universe, that he needed or had. Now, he would die here.
It seems that the Brass took Zero's suggestion, a voice of the majority, and used it against him. This would set the precedent that one is not to question orders. They sent him here to be made an example of.
Zero pulled up his undamaged leg to his chest as he rested his rifle arm on the knee. Trained on the door, Zero hoped that there would n't be any more death by his hands tonight.
Zero came to the conclusion that he was betrayed. They would Kill Zero and still void bomb the city. They would take him, and his last home from him.
He heard the scream of a turbine far overhead, it was time.
The voidbomb was deposited 2 KM east of the town center, there was no sound, no screams, no explosions. The city vanished damned by a tiny micro blackhole that closed nearly as quickly as it had opened. In that split second the entire city, population 6.4 million people, acres of concrete and steel were crushed and vacuumed into a pinsized hole.
The alliance had won.
|
[ WP ] Every day , a professor asks his students to stand up and face the back of the classroom while he unlocks a cabinet next to his desk . After 5 minutes , he closes the cabinet and asks his students to sit ; the class gets back to normal . One day , the professor leaves the room with the cabinet open .
|
As the door closed behind Professor Hendral, Timmy spun around. The cabinet door was closed, but the professor had left the padlock lying on his desk. Grinning at the thought of this opportunity, he strode boldly toward the cabinet and swung the door open. Inside, there was a laptop propped open. A piece of construction paper had been taped over the screen, so he started to pick away at the tape with his fingernail.
`` What's in there, Timmy?'' One of the girls asked nervously. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that everyone was slowly making their way toward him. Even Sarah, who always followed the rules, was curious enough to peek over his shoulder.
`` He's got something to hide on here,'' Timmy stated as he pried away a second piece of tape. He pulled up the corner of the paper, seeing an open Skype conversation. Pulling further, he saw Professor Hendral sitting in the computer lab down the hall, a smug look on his face.
`` One minute, twenty-six seconds. That's the fastest time out of any class yet.''
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.