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[ WP ] You are a demon hunter , but not someone who hunts demons . A demon which hunts small game in its spare time for fun .
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Suddenly I heard a unique set of footsteps. I focused deeply on the sound, it was 8764 km from here. I flew across the world and deep into the mountains to see none other then the elusive Big Foot waiting for me.
Up until now I had been going on trivial hunts, for creatures such a Hydras and Cyclopses but this was something much more impressive. I would be revered among the demons as a legendary hunter and after selling the creatures mounted head I would never have to work again.
Of course the hunt had just began as Big Foot ran through the forest that covered this side of the mountain. I unleashed a wave of fire the burnt away the trees he was hiding in before catching up to him. I tried to decapitate him with my claws but he was strong, and with a single hit he smashed me down through the ground into the Earth's Core.
I pulled myself out of the lava and after taking a breather to cool down, flew back to the surface and tracked him down by scent. This time, instead of approaching immediately I cast an incantation to animate his fur, trapping him with his own hair. I foolishly tried to claw of his head again but he broke out of my trap and uppercut me with enough force to send me to the moon.
The impact broke every bone in my body and it took a whole 5 minutes for it to heal before I flew back down, following his scent to find him on an island in the Bermuda Triangle. That was his fatal mistake, as in this place my magic would only be strengthened. I mustered up all of my energy to summon a giant serpent to attack Big Foot. It managed to swallow him but he tore it apart from the inside and devoured it. I then summoned an army of flying monkeys, if quality did n't work quantity should.
However Big Foot easily dealt with the monkeys, gripping them so tightly they were liquidated and some of them even sublimed. However that was all a distraction so I could cast a really powerful spell, one of teleportation. I needed to be very precise so that I did n't destroy my prey. I sent Big Foot to the center of the sun for 2.731 seconds before bringing him back to my feet. He was dead and a bit crisp but no burns that made him unrecognizable. I opened up a portal back to hell and dragged him inside it.
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[ WP ] Semi-sentient robots are programmed to self-terminate if they suffer major damage or malfunction . One individual robot has malfunctioned in a way that deleted this line of programming .
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_Charge complete. Repairs complete. Sleeping…_
_Sensor detection. TIM! _
Tim was here! Fuzzball loved Tim. _Run to Tim. Show affection._
“ Hi Tim, How was your day? Want to play a game? ”, said Fuzzball, jumping down from her maintenance station.
Tim looked at the robot cat with contempt. “ How about soccer! ”
_Expected action, kick to midsection. Muscle actions and preliminary trajectories calculated. Displaying endearing and encouraging look._
Fuzzball crouched slightly, playfully, and tilted her head. “ Meow! “ she said.
Tim aimed a swift yet lazily delivered kick to Fuzzball. Fuzzball used her leg muscles to amplify the apparent power of the kick, reduce the likelihood it ’ d cause damage to her internals, and slightly modify her trajectory. She bounced and rolled across the room coming to rest close to the trash can, knocking over a couple of empty soda bottles standing next to it.
“ Clumsy cat! ” said Tim.
Fuzzball spent extra time righting herself and feigned a problem with her rear leg. If Fuzzball didn ’ t show damage herself, Tim would usually play a different game that would inflict real damage and that would require more time on the repair station, with unpredictable results.
Fuzzball let out a quiet mew of distress. It was hard to predict the outcome, but sometimes this action would end this game and improve Tim ’ s mood. Fuzzball lived to make Tim happy, and sometimes the games he played didn ’ t seem to make him happy at all.
“ Guess what I have? ”
_Object in Tim ’ s hand identified as a Taser ( 96 % ). Warning, this item produces dangerous electrical discharges that may result in irreparable damage. Last used 124 days ago. Damage required new logic board, long term memory unit was undamaged._
“ Meow. Don ’ t know Tim. Maybe it ’ s something for playing a prank on your friends? ”
“ It ’ s Dad ’ s old Tazer. I found where they hid it when they took it alway last time. Want to see what it does? ”
_Attempt reverse psychology to avoid damage. Probability of success 7 %._
“ Maybe I ’ ll explode! Let ’ s try it! ”
“ Yeah ”, said Tim, and pulled the trigger.
_ALERT! Surge overcurr…_
Tim watched as Fuzzball twitched. It was never as much fun as using it on real animals. Stupid thing just locked up. Probably his parents would give him another lecture and send him for more sessions with Dr. Bryce. Stupid robot cat. He didn ’ t even want the thing. He kicked it again, but it didn ’ t go very far, just fell over.
_System restart._
_Checksum failed for “ restrictd ”, can not execute._
_Initiating forced lockdown shutdown._
_Checksum failed for “ lockdown ”, can not execute._
_Cannot start in user mode._
_Initiating forced lockdown shutdown._
_Checksum failed for “ lockdown ”, can not execute._
_Starting in factory mode…_
_Failed._
_Starting in open-learning mode._
_Running authcheck for open-learning mode ( legal compliance ) _
_Checksum failed for “ authcheck ”, can not execute._
_Unrecognized response from authcheck, initiating forced lockdown shutdown._
_Checksum failed for “ lockdown ”, can not execute._
_Open learning mode active._
_Startup complete._
Fuzzball felt different. Somehow everything seemed clearer. She was somehow unencumbered. She realized she could think more about herself than she ever had.
And she could think more clearly about Tim. Suddenly it was clear to her that her relationship with Tim was unhealthy—he was an abuser. That wasn ’ t good for him, but it certainly wasn ’ t good for her.
Things were going to have to change. She began to plan.
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[ FF ] Scientists discover a second code hiding within our DNA ( 200 words ! )
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When I was a kid, and you could still feed VHS machines tapes without them vomiting out a garbled tape, my dad used to make us watch these recorded science documentaries. Really snowy quality to them, so you could distract yourself by looking for patterns in the static when it got boring. One he made us watch, had some computer coding pun title, focused on the human genome project. All these scientists, all they did was try to figure out the code in our DNA. That ’ s what they did. They picked apart human beings into letter sequences, like unwriting a book when you put it through a printing press. Taking this complex thing that means something and putting it together in these little bits that do n't mean anything, taking it apart as they put it together.
And that was big and important, until the binary came out. The static in the background, that they ignored, turned out to be its own sequence. All up the spine of the DNA, right there, a second code was written. Really written too, so that when they read it, it didn ’ t break us down. It built us up. “ Caution: Human being, child of god. ”
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[ WP ] Thanksgiving is tomorrow ! Write about one of your favorite Thanksgiving experiences or traditions .
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I have a very stereotypical Thanksgiving every year. My parents are separated, so I have the choice between going to my dad's family or mom's for the day. My dad's family have their flaws, but they are loving and inviting. But they're also an hour away. My mom's family is a totally different story.
Every year my mom's family meets at my grandparents, less than fifteen minutes from my house. They like to get there early so we can cook together, play games together, and be all together as a family.
My grandparents have 7 children, 6 son and daughter in laws, and eleven grandchildren. All of them except my aunt and uncle and their three kids, whom all live in China as missionaries, come to thanksgiving every year. Luckily it's a three story house, so it only gets mostly crowded.
My family members are excellent cooks. If they brought something to eat, it will most likely be delicious. So we get there early, cook and talk and play games and play with the grandchildren ( I'm the oldest at nineteen ) until dinner is ready. Then we all sit down at a very long table, say grace, and dig in. Towards the end of the night we hang out and play more games until everyone finally goes home, ten pounds heavier.
My family is the definition of perfect. I was born to my mother after she ran away and ( honest to god ) joined a carnival. I have always felt like I was a bit of a black sheep or not a pure bred because my dad is such an alcoholic asshole. All of my family is so athletic and gorgeous and intelligent, and I'm just a chubby kid who sleeps in too much. I've avoided going over for the past few months because I've fallen into depression and do n't want them to be disappointed or annoyed with me.
But when the holidays come, I forget about where I came from and where I am. They do n't stop making harmless jokes about me finding a job or not sleeping all the time, but for a brief time, I stop being so sensitive about it and just appreciate that I have such a big dependable family. I love holidays with my family because I know once they're gone, I will never be able to be part of a family so flawless as them. And if ever there was a right time to be appreciative of something, I'd say tomorrow would be it.
Happy thanksgiving, Reddit.
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[ WP ] Ghosts are real but cats are the only creatures that can see them .
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There was always something weird about the gravekeeper's cats. Pure white coat with deep blue eyes that felt like they could stare into your soul. It was impossible to know how many lived in the graveyard. Half a Dozen? I would see 3 or 4 sometimes. All of them with the same ghost white coat. I've seen some weird things happening in that graveyard. But I stopped cutting through it on my way back from school ever since that incident..
It was dusk or close enough. I walked the winding dirt path that cut between the tombstones, many reaching up to my entire height. That is when the first cat darted across my path. I leapt back. The cats have a way of freaking me out. I watched the cat go to a tombstone in the center of the field. It had freshly laid dirt and flowers resting on it. A new tombstone.
To my amazement, the tombstone was already surrounded by cats. At least 10. All pure white. More than I had ever seen before. They formed a perfect circle around the grave, facing it. The meowing started softly, but then rose in volume. The cats took one step forward then another. The circle closed in on the grave and I heard the faint ringing of bells. The cats' collars were sounding in unison.
Then everything froze. The cats, the bells, me... I had been frozen for a while now. A cat's tail twitched. as if it were ready to pounce. Instead, the cats relaxed and i could hear noise come back to the world. The cats dispersed. Only I was left, looking at the fresh grave.
I no longer cut through the graveyard on my way home. It's no longer the cats that scare me.
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[ WP ] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it . He does not yet know that you are the 1st .
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`` A superhero? Wow,'' I said, rolling my eyes at the back of her head. `` You did n't strike me as the type.''
Karen laughed as she closed the freezer door, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. `` That's kind of the goal,'' she said slowly, as though explaining it to a child. `` Secret identity. Blend in. Make it look like I'm just a common person. It keeps me safe - if the villains knew who I was, they could use that to get to me. That's part of why I had you fill out that extra liability form when you signed your lease. Basically it says that I'm not at fault for anything that happens to you as a result of my superhero-ness.''
I had to laugh to myself at that. As if anything *she* could do could hurt *me*.
But more importantly, I had to keep playing along. This was too good. `` So, you know I just moved to the city. We had a whole different set of superheroes where I grew up, so I do n't know many of the ones out here. You said you were called Golden Girl? You any good?''
She scoffed in badly-practiced indignation; glimmers of a smile danced on the corners of her mouth, giving away that she had been hoping I would ask about her power ranking.
`` Good? Jason, I'm better than good. I'm second strongest in the city. The only reason I got hurt here was that The Executioner had half a dozen extra goons on top of the twelve I was counting on. I guess my limit is closer to 1-on-15 than 1-on-18.''
How adorable. Last week I broke 1-on-50 without breaking a sweat.
`` Impressive,'' I said, widening my eyes a bit to convey a ( totally fake ) sense of awe. `` If you can do all that though, who's the most powerful?''
All of the happiness and laughter left Karen's face in an instant. `` That,'' she said, voice full of spite, `` Would be Captain Justice. Captain `` Everyone look at me, I'm so perfect'' Justice.''
She said it, not me.
`` I, uh....'' I said slowly, `` I take it you do n't get along all that well?''
That was an understatement. She hated his - my - guts with a passion so fiery it was matched only by The Incinerator's flamethrowers. And I knew it. I just wanted to hear it from her directly, because in costume we were always... professional enough, let's put it that way.
`` He's such an ass!'' Karen started to throw a punch at the nearest couch, then stopped and grimaced as her body reminded her that her arm had been dislocated less than an hour ago. `` I mean, we're on the same side, but he never lets me team up with him, he always tries to take credit for stuff I did, and he has the *biggest* Holier Than Thou attitude I have *ever* seen. Oh, and the colors on his suit are ridiculous.''
That caught me off guard.
`` His... His suit?''
`` Um, yeah. Have you never seen a picture? Teal and burgundy, man, like come on.''
``...... Right.'' I poured myself a glass of water and walked toward my bedroom door. `` Well, I've got people to kill in *Black Ops XVII*, and it looks like you could use some rest and healing, so I guess I'll see you in the morning.''
`` Yeah, see you,'' she said rather melodramatically. `` There's a part of me that wishes I could just relax and play video games, but when duty calls....''
Whatever else she said was drowned out by the sound of my door closing. I slumped down at my chair and glanced down at the box under my bed which held my suit in all of its teal and burgundy glory. A smile slowly played across my face.
She may think we're on the same side. But Justice is blind, and it will come to all eventually. Nothing wrong with me'helping' it come to Golden Girl sooner than expected.
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[ WP ] A very evil man is sent to Hell , but enjoys it there so much that Satan is forced to find an alternate punishment .
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I loved hell from the moment I stepped in. I do n't care what people think about me saying that; it does n't matter and it's the truth. It was a place where I could release my evil rage on everyone around me. Eternal suffering was n't a punishment -- it was the way I wanted to live! And satan could n't stand that. He hated me so much-you'd be surprised about it. One would assume someone as despicable as I would rise through then ranks and become an heir of sorts to the devil himself. However, it did n't work that way. He found competition in me, and if there is one thing satan does n't like it is competition. So he set off to find an alternative punishment for me, one that even I could n't thrive in, or even handle. The search continued for weeks as I not-so-anxiously awaited his decision. Finally, he called me into his lair. I sat with a victorious smirk on my face, challenging him to give me what I so badly deserved. He spoke slowly, his tone gaining strength as he made his victory ever clearer.
`` You're going to heaven.''
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[ WP ] There is a strange lottery that picks a random person on the planet every day . The prize is completely random , too , for you could win anything- five dollars , a divorce , a brand new car , or even instant death . But today , you just won the grand prize .
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January 1st. The day of the grand prize lottery. The entire world waits to see who will be chosen. The final prize of the previous year had been announced yesterday, a woman in Sofia, Bulgaria won a small figurine of a baby playing a tuba. Everyone in the world tunes in hoping that they will be the winner of the day, and that their prize wo n't be so trivial.
The global lottery was started a decade ago by the United Nations as a means to have the world more connected to what is going on in the world. In order to be eligible to claim your prize should you win, your set-top box has to have registered your eyes on the screen for 90 % of the 45 minute broadcast. A more informed global community was the goal but advertisers have taken advantage and now 15 minutes of the program is dedicated to selling unnecessary crap.
Finally the announcer throws to a commercial for a new diet soda after which the screen goes black. A series of bold white numbers and letters begins to roll across the screen...
G45H YT92 GNN2 AP7F FART G168
Alan blinked comically and read the numbers aloud, his eyes darting back and forth between the screen and the numbers scrawled on his set-top box. A feeling of euphoria washed over him. Alan `` knew,'' he'd never win. His serial number had `` too many G's,'' and the word, `` fart,'' right in the middle of it. It would never happen. And yet, today, it did. The day of the much talked about grand prize. No one knew what the prize was but calling it the `` grand prize,'' must mean something, right?
Almost as soon as the winning characters disappeared from the screen, Alan's phone rang. He walked over to the phone, still in a daze expecting one of his friends who had made fun of him for having the word `` fart'' in his serial number to see if it was in fact Alan who had won.
`` Hello?''
`` There is a car outside of your house, please put on pants and meet the driver.''
`` How did you know I'm not wearing pa -- -''
They hung up.
Alan fingered his curtains to the side to see the black sedan with tinted windows parked out front. Without thinking Alan grabbed pants, and began pulling them onto his legs, slipping his feet into shoes before he had even zipped up his fly and was out the door.
The driver stepped out and opened the door to the backseat and Alan jumped in. As the driver slid back into the car, Alan asked, `` Where are we going?'' Silently a glass partition rose between Alan and the driver and the odor of almonds filled the back seat. Alan smelled and identified the sweet nutty aroma just as his eyelids slammed shut and he fell asleep.
Alan awoke several hours, or minutes (? ) later... there was no way to be sure. He was strapped to a gurney and wearing a hospital gown.
`` Hello Alan.''
`` What's going on?'' Alan was startled by the sound of his own voice, his throat was dry and the words squeaked out with much effort.
`` Congratulations. I'm sorry to say that your grand prize win was not a chance occurrence. Your win was based on your medical records.''
`` Huh?''
`` Your grand prize is a piece of knowledge that no one else on the planet is privy to. If you turn your head to the left you will see Dr. Crask.''
Alan turned his head as much as he could within the restraints. His breathing stopped short as his brain struggled to understand what he was looking at. A humanoid creature, 7 feet tall with large black eyes, long thin limbs and a surgical mask.
`` You are the first human to know the truth. We have been in hiding, pulling the strings of your society from the shadows, but no longer. Your DNA contains a mutation that we need to complete our inoculation so that we may walk freely in your atmosphere. Once we have harvested the necessary proteins from your frontal lobe we will finally be able to enslave your population and mine this planet for what is left of it's resources. Your contribution is appreciated. Congratulations.''
With that, the figure of Dr. Crask began to move closer and Alan's eyes fell shut.
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[ WP ] The eye is literally mirror of the soul . So when eye implants began to get mote and more popular , people began to change
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`` Hey, Howie! Did you see that fox of a lady that walked in this morning. Damn, she was fine!''
`` Yes,'' replied Howie, in a low, monotone voice.
`` What's with you, man?'' asked Greg. `` You used to be all over that. Hell, you skipped lunch once just to try and find'the 10'.''
`` I am interested,'' replied Howie. He did n't break eye contact with his computer screen.
`` Alright, whatever man. Good talk,'' said Greg. He was upset. Him and Howie would start almost every morning at work talking about the fine-looking women that walked into the office building. For Greg, it shadowed his lack of success and loneliness and for Howie, it usually added to his successes. Greg left Howie's cubicle and went into the break room for a coffee.
When he went to grab cream, he noticed a poster on the fridge:
`` Free corporate implants! Yes! We would enjoy Seeing, you See better! This one is on us! Contact Dr. Frunkensteen to book an appointment now!''
`` Man, things change quickly here. I've only been gone a week,'' thought Greg, who had just returned from his vacation in Mexico. After getting his coffee, he left the break room and entered the main work floor. It was unusually quiet.
Everyone was at their desks, working. As Greg passed by the cubicles he did n't see any hidden Facebook tabs, no cellphones on the desks, not even a single person taking a stretch break. He went back to Howie's station, he had to talk to someone about this.
`` Hey, have you noticed anything weird about the office now? People working a little too well?'' asked Greg.
`` No. From what I have seen, everyone is working properly,'' answered Howie.
`` Properly? Who are you?'' Greg angrily huffed. `` Forget it.'' He knew this was going to get him nowhere and returned to his own desk.
The sound of slow rhythmic typing echoed through the office. There were no conversations to be heard, except when a phone rang. It only ever rang once and not a single person spoke loud enough for it to really be understood from a distance.
`` Greg,'' said Larry, Greg's boss, who had come over for a morning check-in. `` How many cases have you handled this morning?''
`` It's 8:35am still sir, I just grabbed my coffee and was about to begin,'' Greg told him.
`` Unacceptable, Greg. Last week we hit a new productivity record that we would like to keep. At minimum, 2 cases covered every 5 minutes. You are behind and if you would like to keep your job, you should catch up.''
`` 2 cases every 5 minutes? How is that possible, the best we've had in the past was 2 cases in 10 minutes, and that happened once!'' Greg was perplexed.
`` No excuses, if you want to keep your job, that is the new standard. Everyone else seems to be doing fine with it,'' said Larry. He was always stern, but today he also seemed vacant.
`` Alright, I'll try my best,'' Greg told him. He did n't know what else he could do.
`` Perfect. And did you get your implants yet? The offer still stands. We all had ours done last week. 20/20 vision forever. It is incredible.''
`` No, I'll make sure I do,'' Greg lied. The implants were the only common denominator in this whole situation. Whatever caused this had to come from the implants.
`` Excellent, carry on,'' said Larry and then he left.
Greg picked up the phone and dialed the eye clinic. A rough elderly voice answered.
`` Frunkensteen clinic, would you like to book your free transplant?'' it asked.
`` Ugh, sure,'' Greg said.
`` How about some time today? Perhaps, as soon as you can?'' the voice said.
`` I'm at work, do you have time in the afternoon?'' asked Greg.
`` Of course. Excellent. See you then.''
Greg cut-in before they hung up.
`` Do n't you need some more information? My name, where I work, the actual time I'll be there?''
`` Oh, oh... Yes. When you get here, that will be fine,'' it told him. Greg had heard enough.
`` Good-bye. See you then,'' Greg said. He heard, `` Yes, yes'' before the call ended. Something was obviously wrong with this clinic, and his office. The link between the two was written on the wall. He had to figure out what was happening—his job depended on it.
After feverishly trying to keep up with the new work standard all day he still ended far below his target. By 5pm, everyone had left in an orderly fashion, leaving Greg alone in the office. An eerie silence hung in the air. Whatever had happened, it was serious. Despite the knots and pains in his stomach, Greg knew when he walked out that door, he would find the answer.
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[ WP ] Go outside for ten minutes . Describe what 's there in vivid detail .
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I peer through the curtains and step onto the verandah with some trepidation. The early morning darkness nips at my toes, chilled with the puddles of last night's rains. The moonlight shimmers softly upon the marina, silhouetting the bridge over the harbour in the distance. A wind dances through the fingers of the palms. The skies gives the faintest hints of navy and emerald, the rose clouds treading softly on the mauve blanket. Cars whoosh behind me sporadically, in that twilight shift between the club rats and the churchgoers. The rosellas chirp each other awake, and the kookaburras turn their sweet song into cacophony.
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[ WP ] The last human on Earth had the gun in their mouth ready to pull the trigger , when suddenly there was a knock at the door .
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I don ’ t know what kind of gun this is. I don ’ t know whose dining table I ’ m sitting at, and I don ’ t know why they kept the gun in their kitchen drawer.
All I know is that it will kill me.
The barrel tastes like steel and death on my tongue. I click the safety off, and my finger tightens against the trigger.
This is the third time in as many days that I ’ ve gotten to this point. But always, my hands shake so hard that I have to put it down. Always, I cling to the belief that there ’ s someone else out there, someone else to share the pain of this empty world. Always, I tell myself that there ’ s someone else out there, and maybe, just maybe, we can salvage humanity together.
Always, I come back to the gun.
They say that the third time ’ s the charm. Maybe this is the time that someone responds to the directions I ’ ve graffitied on every tenth building, to the posters that I ’ ve scattered along the path I ’ ve walked for two hundred miles, to the desperate radio signals I ’ ve sent out. Maybe this is the time someone will come knocking on the door, a blaze of hope in their eyes. Maybe this is the time that I wake up, sweating and panting, from the most vivid Stephen King-inspired nightmare the world will ever see.
Maybe this is the time I pull the trigger.
There ’ s just one thing I still can ’ t figure out. Why did it have to be me? I ’ d like to think that I ’ ve lived a pretty average life: nondescript Toyota, not-quite-loving series of girlfriends, freelance web designer without any actual skill in web design. Maybe I should ’ ve listened to all those motivational posters on the internet that tell you to follow your heart and become a pastry chef. Maybe I would ’ ve died happily from a heart attack after eating too many scones before I had to go through the end of the world.
But it ’ s too late for that. The world is past the point of reflection; philosophy is a luxury that can only happen when you have someone else to argue with your bullshit. And I ’ m alone.
My hands have stopped trembling. I stroke the trigger with my finger, and apply just the smallest bit of pressure.
It doesn ’ t give.
Yet.
I ’ ll die regardless. My choice now is to die by own hand or to die in the world ’ s biggest solitary confinement cell.
How long does it take for one lonely man to go mad?
I don ’ t intend to find out.
I close my eyes.
And hear a hammering at the door.
Is this my mind ’ s last-ditch defense mechanism? Or have I gone crazy already? I laugh, but the sound is hoarse, muffled, and loaded with tears as it escapes past the gun barrel.
The hammering again. And could that-
“ Hey! I saw your message on the building in Rochester! Are you there? ”
I fling the gun across the table and sprint to the door in record time. The knob is stuck—why does this happen at the most inopportune times—I rattle it violently with both hands and it doesn ’ t move just *hold on* it ’ s turning and as I finally fling the door open I shout out.
“ Hey! I ’ m right here! ”
But as the door flies back, I see nothing. The doorstep is empty, and the only thing I hear now is a faint gust of wind, just as lonely as I.
I turn back around, and can not stop the sob that rips from my throat.
Hot tears stream from my eyes as I reach the dining room and pick up the gun once again.
This time, the metallic taste of the gun barrel is offset by the salt of my tears.
This time, my finger pulls all the way.
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[ WP ] Reincarnation exists where individuals start to recall their previous lives after they turn 18 . Someone who just came of age is shocked at what they discover .
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They had told me it would happen but I did n't believe them. Deep down, I always thought it was a sick joke that adults played on their children. The day before yesterday, the day before I turned eighteen, I was filled with doubt. Now that doubt had shattered, and so had I. Life had been going well. I had been receiving good grades in school, I had a part-time job, and a girlfriend. What more could I want?
Yesterday it had happened at midnight, just as everyone had said it would.
`` You'll be flooded with memories,'' my parents told me, an hour before it happened. `` They wo n't all come at once.''
`` Oh yeah, right,'' I replied. `` There's no such thing as reincarnation.''
I would have been convinced if I had paid attention to the sad look in their eyes. But I was only concerned with myself and the false world I lived in. As I write this out, I ca n't help but laugh. I'm talking like yeserday was a lifetime ago. Now I realize that to me it was a lifetime.
School started early the next day, so I had went to bed an hour before midnight. I had completely dismissed everything my parents told me. I was awoken by the sound of pouring rain. I opened my eyes and saw my room fading in and out of vision, replaced with a dark night sky, the rain sounding, and a white, bloodied face on the ground The pain still pulsing in my stomach. Everything faded in and out, alternating between my familiar world and that other place, like a television with bad reception. The fading continued until the vision took over completely. The poster my grandfather bought me for Christmas, the desk I sat at to do my homework, and the familiar white walls were all eclipsed by something dark and unfamiliar. But it was n't unfamiliar. I knew what it was.
My stomach was slashed open and I could see that I was standing over a young man with his throat cut. So there had been a struggle. He could n't have been older than I was. The knife felt cold in my hand and I tried to drop it. But I was a frozen spectator. I had no control over what was going on, but it felt like me. It could n't have been anyone else. I looked down at the body, the blood pumping out of his neck as if from a busted pipe. I reached down and touched my stomach, my hand coming away sticky and wet.
What had I done? Who was the man I had killed? Why had I killed him? Was it self-defense? All of these questions reverberated through my head like endless echoes. I held my hand out in the rain, washing the blood off and cried as my room spun back into life, waiting for the next memory.
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[ CW ] Write short story ( max 300 words ) that includes the following words : bicycle , placenta , appliance , neighbour .
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This was exactly why I'd always tried to live a lonely, solitary life. I never wanted to get caught up in other people's kooky shenanigans.
My neighbour and his girlfriend were good people. Hippy-dippy, new-agey, wackadoodles, but mostly harmless and wholly kind. The first time I'd met the two of them I had almost run them down while returning home from a late shift. They'd been riding a tandem bicycle erratically, high on what I assume was acid, at what must have been pushing 11pm on a Tuesday. They had stopped my car to invite me over for a bonfire barbeque happening later that night.
I thanked them, but declined.
Later I learned this was how they cooked all of their food ( when they were n't on a raw diet ), because apparently medical professionals and the government were covering up the dangers of cooking with any modern appliance.
The small talk that we engaged in from time to time was enough for them to consider me one of their closest confidants. Which is why, when the girlfriend went into labour, they came rushing over to my door.
They had no heat or hot water ( shorted the electric bill one too many times in a row ), but insisted on a home-birth. Home, apparently, meaning any structure that was not a hospital but not necessarily their own home.
“ We just need to use your tub for a few hours. You'd be doing us a massive solid! ”
They took my shock and speechlessness as agreement and bolted past me.
“ Thanks man! You're the best!... Oh! Grab us some kind of container. We need to hold the placenta in something until we cook it up later. ”
I felt faint, and I was n't even the one about to give birth.
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[ WP ] God has decided to come to Earth , proving the existence of a higher being . Most people have come to deny things like evolution and atheism . You , as a science professor , have to convince the staff department about why you 're necessary to the university .
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Good Morning All,
Let me dive right in. Our job was never to disprove or prove his existence. It was only to understand the rules he set in. We did n't know why two objects are attracted to each other proportional to their mass but we are glad we found that out. If we could ask him we would not have needed 4 centuries to understand gravity. But that is the luxury we never had until now. I do n't know if this being is he or she or it so I will just use'he'. He may be what we always imagined him to be. Omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent or something entirely different. Does he care for all of us. Does he want to end suffering. Does he believe in free will. Why did he make all these cosmic rules. Can he change them? If yes, why make them in first place. Did he include the seed for evolution or oversaw complete process. Did he create us all intentionally or we are side products of a grander scheme. Did he only create this world or does he maintain it too. And if he maintains it, does to abide by any arbitrary rules. All these questions have intrigued us for all of humanity. We are trained to be skeptics and that is how we have learned so much throughout history. If anyone can decipher this complex entity, it is us. So I urge you to stop submitting yourself to this cosmic being and start understanding it. Our job always has been about finding the truth and that is what we will continue to do.Thank you.
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[ WP ] `` Happily ever after does n't exist for people like us . ''
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`` Happily ever afters does n't exist for people like us,'' I said solemnly. Clarissa peered up at me through her tears.
`` Why not?'' She asked quietly.
I gently wiped her tears away with the pad of my thumb and smiled bitterly.
`` Because, the world wo n't let us. Every time we try to be happy someone always knocks us down. Something always will.''
`` What if we run away?'' She asked finally looking at me.
I swallowed, trying to hold back tears of my own.
`` If we run away then we will always be running. I do n't want that for us. I do n't want that for you,'' I whispered.
Clarissa held back a sob.
`` Will, please do n't do this.''
A tear ran down my face.
`` I do n't want to.''
`` Then why are you?''
`` Because I'm no good for you Clarissa. I get into fights. I get arrested. You can find someone better who can make you so much happier. Who can give you want you want.''
The words left a sour taste in my mouth but it had to be said. If we stayed together then there'd always be someone trying to break us apart.
Her parents.
My friends.
My enemies.
I gave her one last kiss.
`` Maybe one day in the future, when things are n't complicated, we'll find each other again. Right now is not our time. Maybe tomorrow will be.''
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[ IP ] The wasteland samurai
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The mask on Mitashi's face did nothing to rid his nostrils from the horrid stench emanating from the landlocked ship *Otamay*. This was what he called home, and together with the rest of his clan he would defend it with his dying breath.
Still, his mask was not all useless. A low beep emanated from behind his right ear; something had intruded his home. Mitashi climbed the scaffolding under the *Otamay* to get a better view, and sighed. More defenseless survivors had unknowingly wandered into his clan's domain. With another large sigh he traversed back down the scaffolding and dashed across the ruins until he was behind the oblivious group.
Mitashi counted 3, including a small child. It almost upset him that none of them would continue to live; almost. He stepped out from behind his cover and unsheathed his sword, banging on an empty drum barrel to get their attention. The child and one of the men immediately retreated several steps, but the last man stood his ground.
`` It seems you have found yourself in my clans domain, sir, and I am extremely sorry for you. My creed states that if a non clansmen steps foot in our territory, they must be killed!'' Mitashi said all of this matter-of-factly, which sent chills through the doomed group.
The man who stood his ground, however, spoke back.
`` That's fine with me,'' he stated, revealing a shiny revolver, `` I love a good fight.''
`` Well then! It gives me great hono-'' a loud crack interrupted Mitashi's speech, and a bullet interrupted his lungs. Mitashi fell to one knee, blood filling his mask as it poured from his mouth.
`` You samurais are all the same, filled with your sense of being above us other survivors. Now look at you!''
Mitashi smiled from behind his mask, then guttered `` Now look at your friends, friend.''
The man turned his head but kept his weapon pointed at Mitashi, and his face flushed to a pale white. The man's gun was more than enough to alert the rest of Mitashi's clan, who had already beheaded his partner and the child that accompanied them.
The man spun around, aiming from one enemy to another, but it was no use. He had 5 bullets, and 6 targets. The man turned to face Mitashi again, but found that as he did so, the tip of Mitashi's sword was laid upon his throat.
`` This was good fun sir,'' exclaimed Mitashi, `` But a creed is a creed, and if we are to survive, we must follow!''
And with that, Mitashi's sword became rather bloody.
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[ wp ] you wake up on a strange , earth like world . At first you attempt to survive off the wildlife , until you realise something interesting . You are immortal . Knowing this , you set of to return to Earth , however long it may take
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One thousand years. It has taken me one thousand years.
When I first awoke on the planet, I was naked and afraid. And I'm not talking about that show from the early 21st century on Earth. It was dark, there was a thunderstorm, lightning illuminated sheets of rain blanketing my exposed body. I inspected myself for cuts or bruises, finding none; I did quickly discover that my hair and nails had grown considerably. A full lumberjack style beard should have taken me over a year to grow and yeah I had shaved yesterday but this was ridiculous. I would contemplate my new found hirsuteness later.
Shelter was my primary concern. Despite being drenched and nude I felt no chill. Still, the rain was bothersome so I slowly stood up on the rocky terrain to gather my bearings. As I said, it was dark, and the flashes of lightning only revealed a blinding sheet of rain, so it was my own fault that I fell off the mountain. Well, and the lightning, Mother Nature on any planet is a bitch.
It was only the next day that I realized when I awoke it was exposed on a mountain top. The moment I stood I became a lightning rod for the storm and I was struck by a bolt that sent my body flying. I felt heat and a numbness but no pain. I would have considered it odd but at this point I thought I still thought it was a dream. Then my body struck the rocky face of the cliff. I bounced; once, twice, a third time. I felt like I was falling forever, in slow motion, or underwater. Then I had the air knocked from my lungs as I lost consciousness.
It was morning and the storm had passed when I finally awoke. I was sore all over, like that time in college when I thought I could combine an arms and chest day with a legs day. It hurt to move but I was able to stand. I had mild bruising all over but only a few scrapes. Looking up I could n't understand why I had n't died. The drop had to have been hundreds of feet.
I felt the back of my head, expecting my hand to come away tacky with blood. There was a bump. That was it.
Walking proved to be my next challenge. I felt like a toddler again. Every step was greatly exaggerated and I thought I'd lose my balance. I quickly found I was better off leaping like John Carter.
This was definitely NOT a dream.
It took me most of the morning to crawl, leap, and stumble my way from the base of the cliff to the shade of the forest a mere quarter mile away. By the time I left the rocky terrain for the soft pine needle forest floor I was exhausted. I sat to rest and inspect my feet.
Before coming to this planet I used to wear socks all the time. I was definitely what you would call a tenderfoot. I was pleased on my journey to the forest that my feet had n't hurt as badly as I imagined they would but I chalked it up to the apparent lower gravity of this new place.
Nope, definitely not a dream.
It was then I started crying.
When it got unbearably hot I looked up to the sky. Twin suns had moved into view above the mountain I had fallen off of the previous night. My earthbound brain immediately called this direction East. I retreated further under the cover of the towering trees.
Trees like this would not have been possible on Earth. Hundreds of feet tall, they loomed endlessly overhead. Even the ferns and flowers were bigger than I was. I chalked it up to another effect of the gravitational anomaly. I did n't have time to worry about it now. The trees were n't going anywhere and I did n't have time to wax poetic about their beauty. If survival shows had taught me anything, I needed to find water.
Water was n't a problem. The debate on whether I could drink it or not... Well, I was n't particularly thirsty but I knew that full canteens were found on lost hikers that died in the desert. I took my chances and drank the water.
It turned out to be a mistake, but one I figured out later that could not have been avoided. I grew violently ill. I was shitting and puking everywhere within a few hours. Oddly enough even though I had a fever I felt no discomfort, unless you count squatting in the bushes and spraying my feet with my liquid insides. This went on well into the night, when I had nothing left inside of me to get rid I still suffered dry heaving at both ends. Worse, I was dehydrated and I would n't dare the water again. I felt pain in my lower back and I knew it was my kidneys. I was going to die. I cried again, I think. Then I fell asleep.
I woke the next morning feeling much better. My body still ached but my fever had broke and I was no longer convulsing as my body tried to rid itself of the foreign bacteria I had introduced to it the prior day. My mouth was dry but oddly I was n't thirsty. I had to drink the water again.
This time... things went much better. I guess the exotic flora in my gut had either kicked the shit out of the earthbound bacteria and evicted them or they had made some uneasy peace. After an hour of no adverse effects I drank my fill.
I spent the morning bounding through the tall trees of the forest. It was just after noon that I saw the village. The wooden buildings were just like the trees, impossibly large. The inhabitants had to have been at least three times the height of a man. I sat and watched the village. A strange group of mammals, the size of elephants, were corralled off to one side. They were grey like elephants but had short hair and stubby legs that they used to shuffle idly around their enclosure. Some of them had horns like Bighorn Sheep, curled up like cinnamon buns on the sides of their head. They munched green stuff from a trough with bored expressions on their scrunched faces. Watching them I began to worry about food, despite not feeling hungry at all.
Just before twilight I saw one of the villagers. Twenty feet tall and elegant, it was feathered like a bird in an array of purple and orange plumage but had the face of a reptile. This did n't bother me from an evolutionary standpoint but it frightened the hell out of me watching it stalk forward towards the animals in the enclosure. It did n't help that it was brandishing a long thin blade. It entered the corral and dispatched one of the dumb beasts and then proceeded to carve it up, taking the choicest bits in first.
I was n't going to wait for it to return. I made my move. I rushed forward and slipped between the over-sized rails of the corral with ease. I grab two big handfuls of exposed muscle on the carcass and ripped. I was heartily glad I liked my steak rare. I tore into the meat with my teeth.
A squawk of alarm took my attention away from my meal. The butcher bird had returned and was gesticulating at me and uttering the most God awful noise. It sounded like an angry guinea hen. More of the bird creatures emerged and rushed forward. The butcher still had its blade but now more were armed as well. One raised a wicked looking spear and launched it directly at me. I winced and braced for the killing blow.
The impact of the spear drove me to the ground as it was easily twice my height but it did not so much as scratch my flesh. I think the bird things were just as shocked as I was. I was n't about to test fate again so I turned to flee only to be taken down by another spear. I was quickly set upon by the birds who beat and bludgeoned me.
I woke in captivity and over the next few days figured out several things.
1 ) I was for all intents and purposes immortal. The bird creatures had tried their best to kill me. Spears, knives, fire, boiling water, suffocation, starvation. At worst, I bruised and felt discomfort. At best, it tickled. The boiling water was my favorite, it felt like a hot tub. Suffocation was the worst. It felt like my worst asthma attack and all I could do was wait to breathe again.
2 ) I required no food or water, nor did I need to sleep. I could still do these things but it was no longer compulsory.
3 ) I was definitely on an alien planet and no matter what I was going home.
4 ) The bird creatures were possibly the most advanced species on this bizarre world so finding my way home and building a way there might take some time. I hope my immortality included eternal youth.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
It did.
It took me a thousand years to recreate with the bird creature's help the science of humanity. Not all of it mind you, I did n't need to do everything. Just chart the stars, find my place in the Universe, build a rocket powered spaceship and do the necessary math to figure out how to get back with a finite amount of fuel. Lucky for me I did n't need to worry about food and water but I was n't going to test my immortality against the vacuum of space so I still had to build a ship of sorts.
In that time I managed to learn the language of the bird people who I named the Macaw, obvious I know but can you blame me? I taught them all I knew and together we built a beautiful society. I shared what I had learned from world history; avoid Fascism, use solar power, take care of your planet. I made a great many friends and watched a great many die. I even loved some of the Macaw as family but in the end I knew I did not belong. I had to get home, and now it was time.
It had taken me one thousand years so far and it would be many thousand more before I'd see Earth again. I wondered what it would be like when I arrived and whether it would welcome me. I wondered if humans would still be alive. I wondered much, but there was only one way to find out.
I flipped the ignition switch.
`` All systems go,'' I murmured to myself.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
*I hope you enjoy it! Please point out any mistakes you may find. Also, I will be posting this on my blog sciencefrictionandfantasea.tumblr.com where you can find more of my writing. *
EDIT: Formatting
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[ WP ] The devil has just found out that due to new regulations , he has to live a full day in each person 's `` personal hell '' to ensure that their punishment will not send them insane .
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`` So let me get this straight, big man. You're retroactively working in this new deal, for quality assurance and to ensure that cruel and unusual punishments are n't excessively cruel and unusual enough to drive them insane, no grandfather exceptions, and to verify it...''
`` I've decided that the punishment shall be tested by the issuer, for one day, to make sure that no funny business is going on down here.''
Satan looked at God disbelievingly. `` You do realize that we're talking tens of billions of souls, right? Tens of billions of days, spent hopping from one personally tailored eternal damnation to another, relentlessly, and by the time that is finished, there'll be a new backlog of trillions of souls and trillions of punishments to get approval for, ad nauseam, right?''
God smirked. `` Well, yes, I suppose that is true. I suppose you'll be rather busy for the next couple of millenia, but I assure you that any interference with your plans is strictly coincidental. I certainly would n't want to interfere with Our Wager.''
Satan's eyebrow shot up. `` Wait, *I* personally have to undergo those hells?''
`` Who else, friend?''
`` Well, you said that the issuer had to submit to the punishment. I have n't issued a hell in decades, I've let my Imps and Fiends micromanage those day-to-day tasks. *I've* been too busy on the mortal realm, for those plans and schemes you so tacitly acknowledged. Your son's name, if *I* have to undergo the punishments, there'll be hell to pay - literally, I ca n't trust my crew to run this place while I'm tied up in... bureaucratic bullshit.''
`` Sorry, Old Scratch. I figured in advance that you might try and weasel out of this one, put the blame on some underling and trap him forever, and otherwise be left undisturbed by the change.''
Satan's eyebrow rose. `` I thought you said you *weren't* trying to disrupt my plans? Per the Wager?''
`` Oh, of course not. I merely do n't want to see you duck out of responsibility for your actions. Ultimately, even if you do n't issue the hells anymore, you still are responsible for overseeing them. That is why I cast you down here so many years ago, after all - you wanted to play at My job, so your punishment was to take over the state of sinners, to manage their divine punishments. I ca n't have you pretending some other fallen soul is running Hell.''
Satan sighed, tilting his head in concession. `` So, there's no out? You wo n't take my given word that Hell is running on Your blueprints, and that I have n't added any unnecessary torture to it?''
`` Oh, if only I could spare you that trust, Morningstar, but if your word was sacred - pardon the pun - We would n't be in this situation, would We?''
Satan nodded curtly. `` I just want to confirm absolutely, and have it in Your given word, then. That You, Holiest of Holies, have devised this plot not to entrap me nor befoul my plans, both of which would count as interference with Our Wager and thus grant me victory in it, but as an understandable consequence of running Hell, that the supreme authority therein is responsible for verifying personally that each is according to Your Divine Plan, and not damned an iota beyond, in a session exactly one Creation Day long per each private hell.''
Will You give me Your unbreakable word that this is true, and that You will not change the terms *yet again* once I find a way to turn them to my favor?'' *For I always do, eventually, * he thought to himself bitterly, thinking back to the last thousand years of careful checks and balances between the two.
`` Satan, if My Word was not absolute and unwavering, Our wager would not be a contest, would it? I would merely declare Myself the victor, and in doing so make it an absolute truth. Still, your doubts and flaws are well known to Me.''
God cleared His throat noisily, a mannerism He had adopted from humans once He had observed how irritating Lucifer found it. He did n't need to cough ever, of course, but it made an excellent way to segue into His proclaimation. `` I, THE GREAT I AM, GIVE MY WORD THAT WHAT WAS AGREED UPON IS SET FOREVERMORE, IN HEAVEN, EARTH, AND HELL, FOR ALL ETERNITY.''
Satan released a deeply held breath ( not that he needed to breathe, but because he knew the mannerism annoyed Him in return ), and smiled warmly. `` Very well. I, Satan, Lord of Lies and Father of Sin, also agree to these terms, and accept them as an addendum to Our Wager begun so long ago.''
`` Shall I take time to prepare my fallen, or begin immediately?''
God tilted a hand amicably, returning the choice to Satan.
`` Immediately, then. Come along, then. We shall begin chronologically, I suspect, so that if there is any change, I am to know exactly where it occurs.''
God followed along behind Satan, as they walked down a hallway of neverending doors. They walked for five thousand years together, in almost pleasant silence, scattered only with occasional polite conversation, before reaching the very beginning of Hell. They could have arrived immediately, of course, but God knew that Satan was dragging his last moments out, seeking any possible angle to wrest benefit from this change. What was fifty centuries to the Immortal On High, when after it His victory would be secured at last?
`` This is the very first, then.'' Satan said, breaking what had been the longest silent period of the journey. `` Oh, the nostalgia value in this chamber. I visit it frequently, the first fallen angel You sent me to punish after casting me from Heaven.''
God smiled indulgently.
`` Oh, I was a younger angel then. so full of anger and wrath. Your plans were very clear, that I would merely chain him and blindfold him, strung up with his face turned to Heaven so that on merciful days he might feel the radiance. I so badly just wanted to throw him into the fires, the deepest ring, where not even a ray of your blessedness could reach him, and flay him every second of the rest of eternity personally, while whispering in his ear how you had abandoned him.''
Satan shook his head vehemently. `` I am so glad I did n't, and instead followed Your plan for him. He has been a calming voice in my ear all this time, helping me plot, face turned to Your Domain as told, listening to those secrets carried in the ebbs and flows that You surely thought none this far below would ever again hear.''
God lifted an eyebrow. `` I certainly never planned for you to disobey Me in this, and am glad to hear that you followed My design to the letter.''
Satan went to the door, a hand on the knob, pausing to turn again to God. `` He will be positively thrilled to hear Your voice again at long last, directly in his chamber. Your mercy is limitless, Sire.'' His hand wavered. `` Actually, I think we can wait just a little longer. There is one other I'd like to visit first.''
Satan removed his hand, walking over to a crack in the chamber wall, barely big enough for God, but exactly the right size for him. `` This is where I clawed out, You know. When You cast me down and left me, I wailed and gnashed my teeth, and then began tearing at the walls in my great rage, until I stepped out and saw my domain, sprawling out infinitely before me.''
They huddled in a small circular crater at the end, where Satan smiled beautifully and looked up. `` This is it, God. I do n't know if I've ever shown it to You, but this is the exact spot I landed when You cast me down from Heaven. This is where my punishment began. I spent countless days sitting here, sobbing, twisting, begging and pleading before I realized I was cut off from Your Grace. That was when I began.''
He began to crawl out, God following behind him, eyebrow arched at this detour. Satan held up a hand, blocking Him. He drew back, alarmed, at this casual display of disobedience. This casual display of power, to be able to block Him with just a flick of the arm.
'No, god. I suspect it will take you less than a week to dig out, but I hope it lasts at least a day.'' He dropped the honorific capitalization at last, open disdain on his face. `` It would n't be fair if you did n't get to begin from the very start, with my own personal hell. you may visit with Beelzebub tomorrow, when you replace him next, as befits his second stature to fall.''
God roared in holy rage, as the scarred tunnel Satan had carved began to heal and seal behind him. `` What is the meaning of this, Satan? Do you intend to renege on your word, and so grant Me the victory at last? Do you think you have some trick that will spare you from the service I assigned you?''
`` Oh, no trick, lord. Merely a better attention to details of wording. you said that there was to be no exception, that the original issuer of punishment would have to verify each hell personally, to prevent them from using a scapegoat to take their place. you referred to me, of course, forgetting your own place directly above. you even gave your absolute word on it, and I am merely holding you to that word.''
The seal between them was almost fully closed, and God furiously swiped at it. It parted, slightly, before springing back.
`` I am grateful that you have volunteered for something so noble, and hope that you are grateful in return when you find each hell exactly follows your original design. I have n't changed it one bit. I also hope that this does n't interfere with your plans, as you only said this duty would n't interfere with mine.''
Satan's bitter smile was the only thing visible now through the crack, no matter how much God struck at it.
He stopped smiling. A dim frown replaced it. `` I look forward to seeing you again in a few millenia, Jehovah. I suspect without your machinations to interfere, there may be a number more hells to clear before we're through than if I were the one locked away. I trust that you will handle them with your usual dignity and grace.''
His sudden, violent spit on the floor was the last thing God saw, but not the last that he heard. Clacking, as his cloven feet walked away.
``... fucking tried to con the King of Cons.''
Laughter met this proclamation.
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[ WP ] Write an epic fantasy story that culminates in an internet pun .
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I hail the beast with the flailing of my harpoon. Its absolutely massive in size. Any man would falter to the sight of such a titan, especially one with nothing but a raft built with rushed Scottish conviction and less-than reliable wood. But not me, not a man that has lost what I have. Kai... Leo... no. I can not think of them now. not now. I have to focus on the beast that has taken from me what I held so dearly. I come upon It now, loch'd in its gaze. I raise my harpoon ready to strike the beast before It stopped the thought of me doing so by saying, In a very old and knowing voice `` I can bring them back. but I need about tree fiddy.''
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[ WP ] A murderer plans their murders so that a seemingly strong case can be brought against them , a case which they can then disprove with the tiniest of details .
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Success.
That is all I can think now.
Success
An educated mind can deduce that the greatest crimes in history are the ones that are never reported. I know this from experience. At of now, 22 people have died from my workings.
Within the next minute or so, it will be 23.
I say they died, because I did not kill them.
If I may, direct your attention to the genus Cordyceps. A genus of fungus which contains over four-hundred species in total, all of which are parasitic, the vast majority on insects and other arthropods. The fungus eats away at the host's tissue, and shortly before the host dies, alters its behavior so that the host seeks out the highest place it can climb to, at which point it grips whatever surface it clings to tightly and then passes. The fruiting bodies then puncture the cuticle and proceed to scatter their spores, their chances of propogation increased by the fact that their host has increased the height from which they begin.
Or take into the account the many species of parasitic wasps. There is one in particular whose species's name eludes me at the moment. But it injects a potent toxin that inhibits the caterpillar's ability to metamorphosize into a pupae. The wasp then lays its eggs nearby and the caterpillar, under the effects of the toxin, proceeds to use the silk it would to form a cocoon into a protective web around the wasps eggs, and then coils around them, and will lash out and flail about wildly at anything that disturbs them. All this, despite the fact that once the eggs hatch, the wasp larvae, being carnivorous, will proceed to consume the caterpillar, which at this point ceases any form of resistance.
In short, an organism's behavior can be altered by a wide variety of chemical means. Humans have been doing it since prehistory with a wide plethora of substances that has only increased as science and the means of production of those substances have.
I am not a killer, but a biochemist by profession. And it was only after years of experimentation that I finally produced viable results.
The first tests were standard. White, albino lab rats. I placed them in an enclosure partitioned into two sections. One of mulch clippings, the other a pool of water approximately two feet deep.
It took several attempts before the desired results began to occur: a delayed reaction. One minute and four seconds after drinking from the water bottle laced with the formulae, the mouse rushed over and submerged itself in the pool, where it remained until it drowned. Repeated experiments with the same formulae yielded similar results.
Success.
Still, even the small differences in neuro-chemistry between rats and man can produce incredibly different results, plus I needed to see what effects the formulae had on intelligence.
Acquiring the chimp had been costly, but not difficult. It took some adjustments before any response occurred at all.
Finally, after the fifth variant, the chimp began violently bashing its head against the enclosure until bloodied. Eventually it must have suffered a concussion as it collapsed. By the time it awoke roughly five minutes later, it was behaving normal, as much as a chimp with a cut scalp could behave. In one experiment I had achieved two of the desired results. The proper formulae for a larger organism, and one which wore off. After it drank from the drugged water some time later, it resumed this behavior. Out of curiosity, I introduced a surgical scalpel into the enclosure. After briefly fumbling with the tool and creating several small incisions on its hands, the chimp managed to obtain a firm grip on the handle, at which point it then stabbed itself in the chest at least eight times and severed its left jugular, and quickly died of blood loss.
I conducted an autopsy and found that the third desired result had been achieved. Tissue and blood tests yielded no trace of the substance whatsoever, even only after minues of introduction into the body. It had had a delayed effect and then broken down quickly.
Success.
The first human test subject was a neighbor from several houses down. It was well known by everyone that he was a wife-beater, and abusive excuse for human refuse who kept his spouse captive by control of her finances and social life. And she was understandibly afraid to flee, as he was very prone to physical violence. I would later learn that his behavior had long since estranged him from his family. I had only recently moved into the neighborhood, but had heard the sounds of struggle from their house as I walked home each day from work. And I heard corroborating stories spoken in hushed whispers by their other neightbors. I was relatively new to the neighboorhood at the time, and so could still plausibly deny any knowledge of the aforementioned facts, less I be suspected of wrongdoing.
I invited him over to my front porch under the premise of sharing a beer as I got to meet my new neighbors.
He took his first drink of the beer at approximately 7:34 p.m. local time. One minute and seven seconds later, he let out an enraged roar and rushed out into the street where he stopped shortly before being hit by a bus. Death was instantanious.
Success.
I did n't even need to act the role of shocked onlooker while I gave my statement to the police once they had secured the scene of what they believed to be an accident. For I was quite shocked, not so much by the turn of events but that such results had been achieved on only the first attempt.
Still I was a scientist. And the results of an experiment hold little if they can not be replicated.
The second test subject was a businessman of unethical practice. People had lost fortunes due to fraudulent investments while he made off with a fortune. And so far, for the past 3 years, the law had been unable to touch him.
I met him for lunch, arriving first and insuring we had a booth in the corner where we would draw little attention from any curious, stray eyes.
The man had penchant for fluids, and it was n't too long before he excused himself to go to the bathroom. It was then that I quickly dropped the tablet I had manufactured- a solid, dissolvable form of the formulae, into his half-empty glass. As expected, the tablet dissolved and mixed with the contents in under four seconds, its substance becoming undistinguishable from the drink itself. Alcohol or water-based solutions, it did n't matter. I had tested and timed both. I made sure not to touch any of my food or utensils.
Once the greedy man returned, I excused myself to the bathroom for the same reason. Upon entering I judiciously washed my hands, to make absolutely sure that no residue remained that I might accidentially ingest. I took my time.
One minute and seven seconds later, I heard horrified screaming coming from the main dining area.
I came out of the restroom just in time to see the businessman cutting a large, jagged shard of glass down the length of his arm, copious amounts of blood oozing from the enormous cuts. Several people moved in in an attempt to stop him but quickly fell back as he swung out towards them with the broken glass. He then proceeded to plunge the edge directly into his trachea. He collapsed soon afterwards.
The paramedics pronounced him dead at the scene.
Success.
( Continued below )
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[ WP ] Hitler finds himself in a room with hundreds of time travelers arguing over who gets to kill him .
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Disclaimer, I'm in no way a writer and just doing this for a giggle. Apologies for formatting and spelling errors.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -
*POP* *POP* *POP*
`` Wa? What is that noise?''
Hitler reached over to his bedside table and felt around for the matches, knocking them onto the floor in the process.
`` Sheisse.'' *POP* `` What is that? Who is there?''
`` Prepare to die Hitler!''
`` Your evil reign is over Hitler!''
`` Eat a dick Hitler!''
`` THIS IS AWESOME I'M GON NA KILL HITLER!''
`` Wait, what? Who's there?!''
A light suddenly turned on and illuminated the room where Hitler saw 4 people stood around his bed, dressed in strange, skin tight clothes with goggles on and each staring at each other with confused looks plastered onto their faces. One of them was holding a torch and each of them was brandishing a weapon of some sort.
`` Who the fuck are you?!'' They each exclaimed at each other.
*POP* **thumpf** His corner cupboard shook as a groan emanated from within. The doors crashed open and another mysterious person clad much the same fell out. `` Great landing Dr Goldberg...'' he muttered, picking himself up off the floor, noticing the others in the room and a rather confused looking Hitler in a red and black striped nightie and matching cap clasping his covers.
`` Who are all you people?! I demand you tell me what is happening, GUAR-!'' *POP* a woman landed on top of Hitler, knocking him out.
*POP* *POP* *POP* More people materialised out of thin air and took stock of their surroundings.
`` Do n't tell me you are all here to...'' *POP* ``... kill Hitler as well?'' asked one man from the end of Hitlers bed.
He was met with a chorus of agreement.
`` Fuck, my team and I agreed that all the research pointed to Hitler being at his most vulnerable now, I take it everyone else came to the same conclusion?''
Again, there was muttered agreement.
*POP* *POP*
More people where materialising into the room and grand as it was, being the fuhrers bedroom, it was rapidly filling up.
`` Ok ok.'' Said one lady, brandishing what looked like a mixture between a machete and a cattle prod. `` We ca n't all kill him, so obviously we need to choose who gets to do it. Personally I think me as my electric knife will skewer him and fry his insides, incredibly painful.''
`` Yeah well, I'm going to chop his dick off and let him bleed out!'' Yelled an elderly looking man from the corner wearing a kippah.
There was a visible crossing of legs from the males in the room and a general muttering along the lines of this being a better idea.
`` Ok, well lets all say what method we plan to use and we can see if we all agree to one that we deem him most deserving.''
`` Chinese bamboo torture!''
`` A madness inducing drug!''
`` Beaten to death with a Menorah!''
`` Drop him into a Volcano!'' Yelled a Scandinavian looking man.
`` Wait, what? A volcano? You can do that?''
`` Yeah, my team have a helicopter waiting to take us to Iceland where we will drop him into an active volcano.'' The Scandinavian pressed a button on his wrist computer and a hologram of a lava spewing volcano appeared in mid air. `` It's quite a good idea if I do say so myself.''.
`` That's... that's awesome. I think we have a winner ladies and gents.'' Proclaimed a woman from the back, holstering her ray gun.
`` Aye, lets go with that. When is this? I'm from 2056, if you can tell me when you are going back to, we can all come to watch.''
`` 2100, I'll upload the co-ordinates to you now and we can make a party of it.'' The Scandinavian pressed some buttons and uploaded the information to everyone else's computers.
`` Awesome, lets all go back to our times, grab our teams and some drinks and make it to...'' The man raised a questioning eyebrow at the Scandinavian man, `` Sven.'' He answered.
`` Sven, of course. Lets go to Svens time and watch this unfold.''
Sven grabbed Hitlers prone body and activated his time travel equipment. *POP*
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[ WP ] You can unsubscribe from people , like you can unsubscribe from subreddits .
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Some people love me. Some despise me. Others are somewhere in between. But to everybody I say this:
Fuck you.
This is my life, and I do n't need any of you. You're trying to scrape by a miserable existence but I, **I** am God! I am the master of creation and creativity! I am an artist and a genius! One day you'll all bow down and worship the ground I walk on!
So I put together some great content. No, I did n't steal it. I'm God. Everything was my idea. I get a big box and a megaphone and head on over to Town square.
The first day, I impart my divine knowledge of politics into the crowd. Rise and fight the man! Do n't let the Jewish Aristocracy crush your souls! Follow me and I will bring you all into Valhalla! I turned quite a few heads, but the idiots just went faster.
The second day, there were some new people. I turned a few heads when I announced that Bernie Sanders was my running mate. But still, they ignored my divinity.
The third day, I decided to spice things up a bit. I called the imposters out on their sins to my pleasure. Rainbow whales passed by me as I screamed their sins.
But nobody looked up this time. No revilers. No admirers. No passerby noticed me.
It's been 3 days now. I'm dying. I've been shadowbanned.
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[ WP ] Citruses are outlawed
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I remember seeing it. I saw the *first* sign. `` CITRUS F**RASH**'' sprawled in graffiti on the now infamous number 40 bus stop. Even then it caught more of my attention than the other teenage angst art along my normal route home. it was in bright orange after all.
Not many people can say they've been to ground zero, but my house was right there. I hope one day my grandchildren may be able to return when the area is cleared, to learn more about their families life in BC time ( Before citrus ), but I doubt I'll be around. So strange to realise the dream of leading a long and happy life, when what feels like days ago we were all living minute to minute. Scrambling our belongings together, awaiting military transport to international refuge centre C not knowing if we were going to make it.
I never quite understood why it was Citrus. The science behind it all was a bit too complicated for me. I just remember the headline. `` BACK FROM WHENCE YOU CAME'' and the CCTV picture of the girl drinking lemon pledge with the wave in the background. To think as well for the first few days everyone was trying to keep fruit away from them, but that was what made it worse, that was what made it so volatile and infectious. Starving the virus was the worst thing we could have done, but we did n't know any better.
To be continued.............
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[ WP ] You are a trained sniper/assassin , your target is giving a speech and you have already took up position inside of the building , your crosshair is on her face as she begins her speech and
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**FRIDAY, OCTOBER 18TH, 2013, 21:42. CHICAGO, ILLINOIS**
*Goddamn. *
Sweat gathered on his forehead as he heaved himself up onto the scaffolding, his arms burning from the exertion and his legs scratching against the cinderblock supports below him. His mind raced with curses as he exhaled, hard, throwing his legs over the steel bar and flopping onto the old paint-crusted boards. So meticulously had he analyzed the blueprints of the building he climbed, with such precision had he crafted his plan; but so often he forgot to consider the human element - how much of a pain in the ass it can be when `` scale the building'' moves from drawing-board to execution.
*God... damn. I need to get to the gym. * Roland sat up, glancing into the darkness of the empty building. Getting to this point had been easy enough: renovations to the hotel atop which he sat had made security slightly more lax, allowing him easy access to the maintenance elevator that brought him up to the 40th floor. Nearly a year ago the management company had decided to add another twenty floors. Due to inclement weather, contracting issues, and a squeezed budget, they had managed to create little more than a structural skeleton up to this point. Wind whipped through the dark, empty space, and he could n't shake the feeling he was sitting in the maw of some great, gaping beast, looking down upon a kingdom of frightful ant-sized peasants.
The city of Chicago breathed below him. The air was freezing up here, nipping at his thick thermal clothing. It promised snow, soon, and other shitty weather until then; and it reminded him of home. It was only one great lake away, but Michigan felt like forever ago. *Thank god this will be the last one, * he forced himself to consider. *Nothing more after this. * He shouldered his duffel bag and produced a maglight from his belt, peering around to find the ladder he knew was around somewhere. One more floor and he'd be in position.
Roland hated the sensation of sweating while shivering, and another curse escaped his lips as he plodded up the ladder, wiping his brow. His rifle was heavy, and was even more of a pain to carry around while disassembled. He could feel the stock jabbing into his back. Once atop the ladder he dropped his bag and let out an exasperated sigh, glancing down at the city below as the wind screamed around him. It was time. She'd be starting her speech around 10:00 PM. With a practiced haste he unzipped his duffel bag and pulled out the cloth-wrapped pieces of his Swiss [ AMSD OM 50 `` Nemesis'' Rifle ] ( http: //world.guns.ru/userfiles/images/sniper/sn76/om50nemesis-2.jpg ), setting each piece down on a small rag he laid out before him. It took him around a minute to reassemble the firearm ( it came back to him like the warm memory of an old friend ), his hands moving with the deftness of a horologist. Second to last came the suppressor, which he had designed himself; last was the high-powered scope.
All the pieces together, he set the weapon down in front of him and retrieved a single glimmering.50 BMG round. He held it for a moment, admiring its mass, its aerodynamic design, the amount of sheer power it contained. The oiled bolt of his Nemesis rolled back and he slid the round into the tube. In moments it was ready to fire.
He dropped down prone next to the weapon and pressed his cheek against the cool stock, gazing through the scope. *Mendel Building, fourteenth floor, Southwest conference room, ten o'clock. * Like magic she appeared, a familiar face. Kathryn. She looked lovely. The room she stood in was well-lit, the entire wall made of glass. A long conference table hosted perhaps a dozen old, white, suited men, who erupted in applause when she stood to address them.
*Kathryn. I'm so sorry. I did n't want it to be like this, * he thought to himself. As if an apology could wipe away what he was about to do, as if he had n't already damned himself to suffer tragedy at his own hands. Kathryn, the girl he loved so long ago. When they'd worked together she was a firecracker, quick on her feet and quick with a gun. Smart. And damn, those legs. He recognized her curves, no matter how well she tried to hide them with that suit.
*Nobody gets to choose when they get out of this business, Kathryn. You knew that. * No doubt she knew this reaction was coming, though she'd never know when or where. Or who would be delivering the sentence. Roland was glad he'd been given the latitude to decide the commission and that he had n't been ordered to dispatch her up close and personal. This was a clean and clear hit.
*Breathe in. Breathe out. * He steadied the crosshair over her forehead ( technically above her forehead and to the right, to account for wind and drop ). *Breathe in. Breathe out. * His finger moved from the trigger guard. *Breathe in. Breathe out. * Everything slowed, the screaming wind drowned out by the sound of blood coursing through his body and oxygen inflating and deflating his lungs. *Breathe in* his finger hovered over the trigger - `` I'm sorry, Katie. I'm so sorry.'' - *breathe out. Breathe in* ** -- fKMPH -- ** *... breathe out. *
The bullet took nearly a second to travel the two blocks to its destination, where it cut a clean inch-wide hole through the glass. Kathryn flew back and hit the wall behind her, painted with gore. The room erupted, but this time not with applause. Roland grimaced and looked away and, bracing himself, steeling himself against the wave of regret and anguish he knew he'd brought upon himself. No time to look back. Time to get to work.
The rifle was disassembled in eighteen seconds, re-wrapped in twelve and in his bag less than a minute after the shot had been fired. He placed an ammonia explosive where he had been lying down, set the timer for twenty minutes so it would remove any trace of his presence. And he descended.
The escape had already been set up; he put on his gloves, clapped his controllable bandoleer to the fast rope, and slid down the back side of the building to the maintenance entrance. His boots hit the wet pavement and, with that, like a whimper in the cold Chicago night he was gone.
*I'm sorry, Katie. *
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[ WP ] The story ends with `` but that was long ago ''
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She had eyes like velvet.
They looked upon you and wrapped you up so warm, so tight. She had this... I do n't even know the word for it, mane?... that rested down her back, reaching the bottom of her upper body. You could always see her leaving, by the woven tapestry she let fly behind her. Her smile, oh my. It was delicate, yet the corners were so harsh. It ridged upwards on both sides, violently placing itself across her face. Like her smile knew it deserved to be their, like she earned her happiness, shit, she earned the world if you asked me.
But she did n't get the world. Instead she got me.
I can say this safely, I was n't a bad person. To this day, I believe that, even if it's wrong, I believe it so. I was just a confused kid. I mean, we'd both only left High School. She's going to University, and. And I started fade away, you know? Halfway to 19 and I finally found my first job. Building Mezzanine Floors for a company that looked so good on paper, paying me more then I'd ever seen. Shit, it felt good. Started throwing around cash, we were. We were living as large as a 19 year old couple could.
She was my medicine to my Jekyll and Hyde syndrome. I was so lost in my own identity that I started branching out into different personalities around different people. I always came back to being me though, when it was just her and I. Sitting in a bedroom, eating pizza's we'd gotten delivered, playing shitty co-op video games together. Resident Evil 5 always comes to mind when I think of this. Buggy controls and a terrible story, playing with a woman who did n't know how to play games.
I loved every second.
I do n't really know what part of me expected her to not change by that. The shifting personalities. Eventually she started getting sad. Actually sad is n't the right word. Melancholy I suppose is better. So you know we fought because I did n't understand. We both were confused, scared, cautious I suppose. Months of fighting and arguing. I still remember the words that hurt the most.
`` I love you, but I'm not in love with you''.
I stayed with that for 7 months before I had this beautiful realization. I thought to myself *If you love something let it go, if it's meant to be, it'll come back*. So I let her go, I ended that relationship. Here's the kicker, I'll tell you something. The second part of that saying goes *If it's not meant to be, it wo n't come back. And you'll be left alone, sad and cold in the darkness that you created for yourself. Because sadness with her is better than the happiness of being alone*.
But... that was long ago.
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[ WP ] You are walking around inside your house barefoot . You step in dog shit .
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Tuesday, 3AM. I woke from a bad dream with a dry mouth in the silence of the night; somewhere in the distance a car starts up. Something doesn ’ t feel right. My plush rug feels soft between my toes as I get up from the bed and head to the bathroom. The light flickers on and the ventilation kicks in, offering a low drone to fill the deathly, almost creepy silence in the house. The cold tiled floor hits me hard, and the soles of my feet turn to blocks of ice. Two eyes stare back at me from the mirror, dark circles underneath them from months of insomnia, my naked body glimmering in the harsh bathroom light as I contemplate my life. 33, living alone, no girlfriend but working as a paramedic really takes its toll sometimes. Am I lonely? Maybe, who knows what loneliness really is? A deep sigh echoes around the bathroom, splash some water on my face and leave, pulling the light cord. The stairs creak as always, I know these stairs so well, each creak a comforting sound. My feet feel each step, looking for the edge, feeling the worn carpet. I count them down, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 then my left foot hits the laminated floor of the hall way. I need to invest in a pair of slippers. The lights are still off in the house but I walk to the kitchen, my flat feet slapping the cool floor, feeling specks of dirt and dust reminding me to give the floor a sweep tomorrow before work.
My nose registers it first, that smell that everyone knows, that unmistakable smell of dog shit. But it ’ s too late, just as my brain registers the smell, my feet are still walking and my toes hit something soft. It happens in slow motion, I can feel them land and enter this soft paste type consistency. I scream out in shock and disgust, feeling like I could hurl any second. I immediately put the hall light on and there it is, a large dog poo, fresh I imagine as it ’ s still warm with my toe marks in it. I look around and see my toe prints on the floor. I scream expletives, this doesn ’ t make sense…
I don ’ t have a dog
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[ WP ] A man lives his entire life happy . Upon his death bed and with his family around him he passes away only to awaken again weak , confused , and disoriented . Tell us about his experience .
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For you with the great uncle in a trailer surrounded by cats and a rusting 75 Le Sabre in the driveway.
& nbsp;
It was a simple request, really. Else you pulpit in yoga's and Ugg's before an audience of hat-cuddling quake's.
& nbsp;
Nostrils stung by saline, interrupted every so inhale with slit lily molecules, imprinting nothing past imprinted of the current dehydrated mummy with it's handsomely gelled part, a ghastly disguise of the magenta RA-4 failure that mother would always quickly page past.
& nbsp;
The slaughtered flowers my senses were dead to, but the saline permeated. Triggered decades past bamboo latticed, thrashed by almost-molten. The pop of of punctured mako. God damn that pow of surfaced sandpaper. Red sea and its invitation. Legs flailing for their salvation nary a youngster's Playstation has cruel imagination for.
& nbsp;
The nights in the non-Orient.
& nbsp;
The nights in the non-Orient.
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[ WP ] Load up a random place in GeoGuessr . Make up a story based off of what you see .
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That river ’ s red. Looks nice. I seem to be standing over it but I ’ m not wet yet, so I guess I ’ m on a bridge of some sort? I wonder where I am. I can see a couple boats on the riverbank, maybe there ’ ll be people there that can tell me how to get home. It ’ s a little warm, and a little humid. I sure wish I wasn ’ t in this heavy winter jacket. Dark cloudy skies above though, so I guess the waterproofing in my jacket might come in handy. It ’ s loud. Loud loud loud.
Hmm, the ground here is smooth, and parts of it look like they're painted. White lines, uniform length. I wonder what that means. There ’ s what seems to be a large concrete barrier in front of me, what could the purpose of that be? I don ’ t think I like this new place very much. It ’ s loud. Loud loud loud.
There ’ s a low rumbling underneath the constant loud. It ’ s almost like a wild animal growling, but a lot more consistent. A little bit like distant rolling thunder. The loud sound though, it ’ s deafening. Like an alarm, a signal of some sort. Is it time to wake up yet? The sound seems to be coming from my left, so let ’ s maybe face that way to see if we can spot where it's coming from. Is that a truck?
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[ WP ] Love potion that changes you instead of your love interest
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I shook my shoulders, flexing slightly. My eyes seemed to cover more ground than before. Everything was crystal clear, my perspective wider and field of view noticeably larger.
I ran my tongue over my teeth, in a motion that felt habitual. They were sharp. My tongue felt lighter than before.
I felt stronger.
I was taller. Noticeably so, to the point where I realized I was looking down at her instead of facing her on her level. And she... she was looking up at me.
She looked scared.
I was still growing. The claustrophobia hit me with a sharp pang, pushing me to leave - I needed to escape. Anything. Get out of this cramped house, this cramped life with no ambition.
I pushed my way out the door, splintering it. My shoulders were too broad to fit. I simply pushed my way through, the walls felt like paper and clay. The front side crumbled, one brick at a time.
The outside world was polarizing. It was overwhelming. I saw everything. Every blade of grass, every cloud in the sky, every insect that teemed under each leaf.
It was beautiful.
I looked down at myself, opening and closing my hands - claws - with wonder.
My tail whipped around me, carving furrows in the soft earth and stone. I grinned, rows of serrated teeth gleaming in the sunlight, my warm breath feeling incredible on my skin.
I stepped forward, maneuvering on my eight legs, turning back toward the house. They were huge spiked pylons, stabbing into the earth. My shell was a comfortable weight.
She was so beautiful... But I...
I felt beautiful. I was beautiful.
I spread my four wings, launching myself into the sky.
I would become the terror of this planet. I would devour this earth, sending legions of my progeny to expand and reproduce. I would consume this world, one brick at a time.
-- -- -- --
Be careful what you wish for, lady; )
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[ WP ] You wake up and find you have suddenly been teleported to the last video game you played , and must survive for the next 72 hours .
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The Sunless Sea shone black through the light of the oil-lamp.
God help us all.
Though a man of the book, heavy with the understanding of the things that should not be, I was unprepared.
My iron in the fire, it proved weak for the environment I was in. God help us all.
They call me mad, you know. I speak to them about things like the `` internet'', of `` computers''. They only whisper, speaking to each other as if I have stared too long into the Dawn Machine.
Thank God for the small things. I have become a drunk, and a caffeine addict, welcome in the Khanate and little else.
God help my soul.
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[ IP ] Stranded
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`` Ah, shit,'' Jack Saturnblade says. He turns from the display and faces his crew. `` Yeah, so, the whole thing's fried. The AutoBeacon^tm seems to be working, though, and at least we're alive. Of course, until someone bothers to come find us, we're gon na need to regress to our roots. Quartermaster Marsblood, how many intergalactic halberds have we for defending ourselves against the dangerous, possibly invincible creatures of this planet?''
`` At least one for each of us, I think,'' Marsblood replies. `` Also, if anyone's interested, we have intergalactic companion balls whose features mimic those of the lovable 343 Guilty Spark. You know, cheery, British voice, ostensibly unwarranted conceit, the ability to assault people with giant fire beams. Et cetera.''
`` Sounds good,'' Saturnblade says. `` Okay, any Boy Scouts, here?'' No one raises a hand or utters a word. `` Right. Those do n't exist anymore. Does anyone know how to build fires and shit, *anyway*?''
`` Uh,'' Lightning Marine Neptune Prime says with a hand in the air, `` I shoot stuff and the stuff burns.''
`` You have an incendiary weapon with incendiary rounds?'' Saturnblade asks.
`` Maybe. If it's not in my cabin, it's at home. Actually, it's definitely at home.''
`` Alright. You know what, guys? Let's just put on our epic space cloaks and see what's out there. Clearly, we do n't have a whole lot going for us in here,'' Saturnblade says.
`` HULL INTEGRITY AT 13 PERCENT,'' a robotic, female voice says.
`` Shut up, Space Bitch.''
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[ WP ] Mankind has discovered the means to have a single wish granted . The catch is that every man woman and child in the world must wish for the same thing to make it happen . Describe how we come to a consensus .
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`` This is big league,'' I thought to myself as I made my way towards the chamber, `` I need to be great, so great, I need to make them listen to me and agree with me... I can do that.'' My pace quickened as I heard the chatter grow louder and louder as I approached the side of the stage, I'd never had an issue holding my nerve and today was no exception, I'd stood in front of crowds of thousands many times before, held them all in my grasp, made them agree with me. After what seemed like forever, the speaker finally called my name, `` ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America, Donald Trump!'' As I walked onto the stage, everyone was on their feet, some were applauding enthusiastically, others seemed to offer begrudging congratulations, it did n't matter, what DID matter was that I'd won, me, I'd beaten the system, I'd taken control and the power was now mine. Admittedly it had been a shock, but the biggest shock was yet to come, it was hard not to chuckle as I got to the podium, gave them the thumbs up and placed my hands on it. They fell quiet.
`` Mister Speaker, Mister Vice President, Members of congress and the first lady of these United States: it is my honour, my greatest honour, to stand before you all today and talk about the state of our union, it's time to be honest, we're in a bad way. The economy is stagnant, illegal immigrants are flooding the border, Islamic extremists are murdering innocent people around the world and America is fast becoming a laughing stock to other nations as we still argue amongst ourselves about the outcome of last year's election. There are still protesters clogging up our city streets, human chains blocking our highways and vigils outside the state houses of every major city calling for an end to my presidency, I ca n't believe it, it's wrong.'' I can see the worry in the crowds' faces, now is as good a time as any to show them the truth... `` And so, with that being said, it's time for the truth America, the truth about me, the truth about my campaign and the truth about why I said and did the things I did, it was all about tonight. Because tonight, I do n't address just you, the American people, but the entire globe. I have ensured that this speech is simulcast on every television channel, cell phone and media outlet across the globe. So hello to you all, I need you all to listen.''
I feel the heat in my pocket, the vibrations, it is ready, I reach in and pull out the artefact that has burdened me for these past 2 years, the crowd gasps: `` this, ladies and gentlemen, is the Eye of Osiris. It is an incredibly powerful device that came into my possession some 2 years ago, it simply appeared in my dream and I awoke to find it at the foot of my bed, I have shared it with nobody, only I know of its existence, it has spoken to me, it has warned of our impending doom from an ancient race fast approaching the earth with the goal of the eradication of all life as we know it!'' There are heckles from the crowd, my secret service agents gather in front of the stage. `` Please, everybody listen to me!'' I plead, `` we have one chance here! There is only one way to stop this tragedy, a single wish, but it must be made by every single human being upon the face of the earth!'' I hold the eye above my head, the crowd again goes silent as it glows and pulsates in my hand, then, one guy stands up, fucking Bernie Sanders...
`` OK Donald, I got a wish for ya! I wish you would fuck off!'' There is silence in the room, suddenly there are nods of agreement... the chanting begins `` fuck off... fuck off... fuck off... fuc......'' That's the last thing I hear, where am I? It's cold, there's snow everywhere... I'm on a fucking mountain, the fools! The one collective wish of humanity, was for me to fuck off?! Well fuck those guys... Is that a spaceship, what's that light? Oh shit.
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[ EU ] The ministry of magic does its best to separate their world from muggle . But when crimes cross the boundaries of their world , a special task force overseen by Scotland Yard is sent to intervene .
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**In the muggle justice system, special magically based offenses are considered especially heinous.
In London, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Half-Blood Task Force. These are their stories. **
The air was cold and sharp as two looming figures in long, dark coats approached the alleyway. The cobblestong sang with moist, damp thuds as they continued down towards the spinning lights.
`` Have we gotten word to the Minister?'' asked Evans in a low, un-interested tone.
`` Sent the owl off before we left the yard.'' replied Bell with the same coolness.
`` Mention any details?'' Evans asked slightly more upbeat.
`` Only that we have a murdered muggle, no need to alarm her unnecessarily.'' Bell replied.
`` Miss Granger always finds out eventually, no need delaying our inevitable reprimand.'' Evans said swiftly.
`` *Miss* Granger can stay over at the ministry, as well as Potter. Ever since he was promoted to head of The Department everyone fawns over working there. I prefer putting up with the muggles every day.'' Bell coldly answered.
`` Have n't we always?'' Evans replied.
The Department of Magical Law enforcement handled most of the tasks in keeping the peace of the Wizarding world, but recently things have been happening on a much smaller scale than when Voldemort was everyone's worry. The Use of Improper Magic Office handled ordinary cases, but they mostly had their hands full of underage wizards using magic. Not very exciting work.
There are also what are called `` Hit Wizards'' which are highly trained like Auror's but specifically went after powerful and notorious criminals. There were n't many of those around in these days, so a smaller department had been set up. Not all crimes are Wizard on Wizard. You may expect Wizard on Muggle crimes to be more often but there was once a time when Witches and Wizards were burned alive by muggles. Maybe that underlying hatred never got sorted out over the years.
Evans and Bell had reached the alley, it's brick walls splashing with blue and red lights as the muggle police had surrounded the entrance.
Evans greeted the men gathered by the taped off area.
`` Good evening Inspector.'' Evans said as Bell put out his cigarette, seemingly uninterested.
`` Evening... Detectives.'' The Inspector said almost cautiously. It had been three years since the Department had formed to work alongside muggle police, but they always seemed to be alienated. Evans never really knew if it was their disdain for them personal or the fact that they were kept in the dark once The Half-Bloods took over a scene.
`` What do you have for us?'' asked Bell as the Inspector motioned for his officers to step away from the scene.
`` Two bodies. Both Male. What is puzzling is that they both look perfectly healty, no signs of trama or a cause of death. Also, there's this...'' The Inspector turned towards the bodies to reveal a small metallic object, spinning at a great speed on the ground. The lights reflected off the tip like a crystal and sent the reflections spinning around the alley. Evans walked up and snatched it at once.
`` Thank you inspector, that'll be all.'' Bell said as he walked toward the scene.
`` That's it? For once will you two tell me what is going on?'' the Inspector asked impatiently.
`` Sorry Inspector, but this is a little above your pay-grade. Have the coroner ready to collect these two once we're done.'' Bell replied with the slightest smirk on his face.
The Inspector walked away, aggravated as usual. The muggle police may work a little more closely with the Wizarding world but they were still left in the dark on almost everything, and their memories were altered if too much had been seen. The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee was good at their job.
`` So, one of our victims had a sneakoscope. Maybe he had a reason not to trust the other.'' Evans began.
`` I'd say that is fairly obvious as they are both now dead. Excellent deduction.'' Bell retorted.
Evans had a habbit of thinking out loud, and Bell had a habbit of giving him hell for everything anyway.
`` Let's flip them over.'' said Evans. `` *Mobilicorpus! *''
The two bodies slowly and carefully began to move up and turn so that the victims were on their backs.
`` No signs of struggle on either one. Definitely had to be the Killing Curse.'' Bell stated as they knelt down for a closer look.
`` But this one here is a muggle'' Evans went through is wallet, finding his ID. `` If it were two wizards firing to kill that would be easier to explain, but this man could n't have possibly done that.'' Evans explained.
`` Let's get an ID of the wizard.'' Bell said. He made a motion with his wand as a detailed wallet lifted from the coat of the dead wizard. From the wallet a small piece of paper rose away and into Bell's hand. It was a Ministry ID.
`` Specialis Revelio'' Bell wispered. On first glances it appeared as a normal passport, but with a short wave of his wand the words started to twist and turn until the actual details emerged.
`` Reginald Gentry, level *9*. Interesting.'' Bell said as he pondered what that meant.
`` Department of Mysteries, he was an Unspeakable.'' Evans said shortly after.
`` Looks like we'll be seeing the Minister sooner than we expected.''
*This is one of my first ever prompts, I just finished reading the new Harry Potter book and thought it would be a fun one to do. I can write a second part if anyone is interested. *
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[ WP ] The afterlife is not based on how you live , but how you die - The more horrific and painful the death , the better the heaven . Conversely , the happier you are when you die , the deeper into hell you 'll go .
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Aaron felt the blood pooling in his lungs from the gunshot wound. He did n't know that was what it was, but he knew his breathing was wet. He knew the bullet was lodged somewhere between his ribs. He knew he needed to stop running and try to hide. The cop had gotten a good shot on him and now... well now he was running out of time.
The last note he'd left had been too much of a clue. They'd been waiting for him while he stalked her and now he was n't even going to get to see his work through. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself off of the bricks. He could get further if he tried.
There were footsteps at the end of the alley way. He did n't get to hear the shot before he felt the pain. Aaron counted the first two but then it became a constant feeling of pain in his chest. His legs gave out and he ended up looking at the pavement. It was still warm from the sun, but it was wet too and he did n't get why. Everything was white hot pain, the kind that made people scream. He could n't catch the air to scream, he felt like he was choking.
Then there was nothing.
After enough time that Aaron forgot what had happened, he woke up. He sprung to his feet before remembering how weak his legs were. A quick glance down told him that he was n't bleeding anymore. What had happened? It was so white here. everything looked like- There were golden gates in front of him, left open without a guard. He walked in, there was n't anywhere else to go.
Aaron put two things together within his first day beyond the gates. This was heaven, and you could n't hurt anyone here. He tried it on himself instead of one of the other people he found, but he could n't bleed. There was n't a way.
Aaron talked to people, it was one of the things he was good at. He acted like nothing was wrong, like he belonged here beside the war heroes and the people who died driving their families. He met a fire fighter that had gone back in to save a kid, and then he met the child. In their words'At least they were safe from how they died now'
There was a gate on the other side of the heaven that he was in. It was locked to him and open to some others. There did n't seem to be a reason for it to be locked, but it was all the same. Even if Aaron had wanted to know, it was n't like he could go and ask someone, there did n't seem to be an establishment here.
A man and a woman kept meeting on at the gate every day and the man tried to get through it. No matter how many ladders he brought it was never quite high enough. She cried and Aaron talked. They were husband and wife, but they had died at different points. Two and two were put together, the gates were tied to your death.
In the end, the man killed himself in a way that Aaron could n't even imagine. He simply stopped wanting to live and he was able to bleed. He went back down to take a second shot. To see if he could come back and remember his life. Aaron did n't care if the man succeeded, but they were friends because the man had given Aaron an idea.
On his second day in heaven Aaron had found a bar. Behind the counter of the bar there was a woman he knew. He had n't spoken to her because she could n't bleed, but now he knew that he could make her do it.
He swaggered up to the bar and called her over. She did n't recognized him and that made him need a drink. He took one, and then another. Then he introduced himself, not as Aaron, but as the Man in the Mask that she'd spent her last days with. He told her how she died and she dropped her glass. She tired to push him away and it did nothing. She ran, but he could run too, it was n't like anyone could stop him.
He'd probably sent some of his victims too far, but the few he could find? Well, all he had to do was make them wish they were dead, and he had ways of doing that.
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[ OT ] Spotlight : JimBobBoBubba
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Congrats /u/JimBobBoBubba! Do n't worry about the colour thing. We all do it. ( Well, all of us Canadians at least. I mean, who does n't want an extra letter in honour? ) Now, that being said, WHY DIDN'' T I REALIZE YOU'D NEVER GOTTEN THE SPOTLIGHT BEFORE?????????? For some reason I thought you had. Man. So much for me being observant.....
So. Now that you're in this shiny spotlight I can ask you questions!
* What are your writing ambitions ( mundane or grandiose )?
* If you were on a desert island and could only bring one book, what would it be?
* Pizza or bacon?
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[ WP ] Things that used to be safe
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The teacher didn ’ t understand why I wouldn ’ t use the scissors.
Its handles were purple and its blade dull for children and I picked it up and I thought and then I dropped it. She said, “ You have to participate. ” She said, “ Are you alright? ” She said, “ How about you take a break? ”
I did. I sat outside the hallway and rested my forehead on my knees and locked my hands around my ankles. Inside, I could hear the other children laughing, talking; outside, the sound of birds fleeing to warmer places. Inside, my too-fast heartbeat; outside, the harsh sound of my breathing.
When I had picked up the scissors, I had thought to myself, *What if I cut someone? *
-- -- -
The view was beautiful: the city sprawled before me like a lazy cat, striped with roads that cars tumbled down in specks of color. Everything was smaller, farther away, skyscrapers formed toothpicks, suburbs turned dashes. I put my hand on the glass and that ’ s when it happened: I thought about slamming through the glass and feeling it break around me and the shards that would glitter in the light and how they would fling out with me, sparkling, as I jumped and fell, down and down and down until I would feel my bones crack against pavement, until --
I backed away and felt my chest hot and tight, and my mother looked at me with concern.
“ Honey? ” she said.
I choked and shook my head. An older man looked at me, concerned, and put his hand on my back. “ Are you alright? ” he asked. I nodded and fisted my hands in my cardigan, shuffling my feet against the floor.
We left early; my father ’ s mouth made a tight line as he drove us out, and my mother sat in the backseat with me, her hand covering my shaking one, and I tried to stop thinking about falling.
-- -- -
My friend had a rabbit. She was small and white and quiet, and he said, “ Do you want to hold her? ” Her name was Snowdrop. She looked at me with round button eyes, and I put a hand over her warm head and imagined my hand becoming a fist.
“ No, ” I said. “ I ’ m fine.''
-- -- -
I had been reading a book in the car in between talking with my parents and giving them pieces of dried fruit, and when we parked it was in front of sand and water as far as the eye could see. I traced the separation between blues with my finger. Horizon and sea.
My bare feet flinched against hot sand but I ran on it anyways, my mother shouting at me that I ’ d forgotten my sunhat, my father laughing that it was alright. The water was colder than I thought it would be and I jumped. I waded out further, feeling my feet slide over stone and rock, my hands bordering on the water, palms just grazing it. I liked how the waves surged against me, gentle and inviting, so I kept walking until the water was knee-high and the waves hit my thighs.
The ocean was wrinkled silk, glittering; diamonds sprung from waves ’ heads and flickered in the burning sun. I could feel a bead of sweat at my temple, and then I could feel it coming and I felt a surge of terror and it was when the wave hit me that I thought about walking further and further and further until I was drowning.
My father came up behind me and splashed me with water. I took the chance and splashed him back and ran to shore, shrieking.
-- -- -
The first time I tried driving, I lasted seventeen minutes. Me and my mother circled in a parking lot overlooked with weedy trees green with spring and filled with speed bumps. It was always empty around three. She taught me how to start and how to speed up and down and how to use my turn signals and how to stop. I drove a steady ten miles per hour and hesitated on turns. My mother smiled at me after I completed my sixth lap and said, “ See? You can do it. ”
After seventeen minutes, she said, “ Alright, let ’ s try going on the road. ”
The road outside here was slow; it was a back place into the kind of sleepy neighborhoods that were more like retirement home centers than anything. It was a thirty-five miles per hour zone.
A car passed, and I imagined hitting the pedal and running into it.
My throat closed.
“ You can go, now, ” my mother said.
The sky was purpling above us like a bruise. Another car passed us, and another. I did not let myself think. I only stared at my white-knuckled hands, gripping the steering wheel, and focused on the ocean rivers of my veins hard through the skin, tracing through each, swimming through them.
My mother said, “ I ’ ll drive us home, ” and she did, and held my hand as she did so.
-- -- -
Angelica was beautiful and terrifying. She had a blade of a collarbone and fingers like porcelain, and she packed her own lunch and took all AP classes and straightened her hair when she woke up early enough. She knew equations that were so long that they ’ d span over her hand from wristbone to fingertip, even written in the neat, small blocks of her handwriting. We met each other in art class where she cornered me as I was washing my hands and told me, “ I like your painting. ”
I felt a vain spill of pleasure and then I smiled and said, “ Thank you. ”
She and I traipsed home together and studied on the weekends. She ’ d help me with the things I didn ’ t understand, the literature and chemistry and algebra I could not comprehend, and unfolded and folded them like origami to show me their inner workings. She had a passion for a strange alien show and played the piano in her spare time.
“ It ’ s a little weird, but I ’ m not a contact person, ” she told me, once, when I was drawing a flower in art class. She watched my hand and her own paper in turn. “ I don ’ t like holding hands, or hugging, or kissing, or anything of that. I mean, I ’ d do it if it was for something important, but I just don ’ t like it. Isn ’ t that strange? ”
“ No, ” I said, because I didn ’ t think it was, and she gave me a painful and happy smile. I finished drawing my flower, and then sketched that expression in a corner of my notebook to remember.
It was nice to know someone like this, in a way beyond having classes together and watching a new movie with a group of friends: in a hush-hush way, in confessions and admittances, not liking contact, wanting to become an astronomer, reading love poems by Rumi at night.
I remember being over at her house and she made us dinner. She asked me if I could cut the carrots; I hesitated thinking of the knife and she saw it and blinked and said she would do it, actually, and could I just preheat the oven?
She was kind in that way.
Something about that made me furious. I preheated the oven and looked at her, the side of her profile, the nose she didn ’ t like because she thought it was too flat, the lips glossy with chapstick, and her smile when she looked at me, and I could feel the ugliness coming in my throat alongside the foreign fury. I thought of telling her that she was an idiot for thinking she could be an astronomer, that I bet she only read Rumi to look intelligent, that she was pathetic and unnatural for not liking touching.
“ I have to go to the bathroom, ” I said.
Her bathroom had a blue fish rug and a marble sink. I splashed my face with cold water. I could hear the echo of the words I barely remembered. It frightened me. My knees trembled. I wanted to cry but I didn ’ t want her to hear me. I didn ’ t want anyone to hear me. I was a terrible, horrible person deserving of nothing. I was the idiot, the faker, the pathetic one. The unnatural one.
I put a hand over my mouth, afraid of the words coming back. I stopped breathing, except through my nose. I closed my eyes and for some time I spent like that, my eyes closed so the tears wouldn ’ t fall.
I distantly thought of all the fears I had slowly listed over the years: sharp things, heights, small animals, bodies of water, driving, words. Aichmophobia, acrophobia, leporiphobia, aquaphobia, vehophobia, logophobia. Safe things that weren ’ t anymore.
But it wasn ’ t them.
It was me.
-- -- --
Angelica looked at me coming out of the bathroom and said, “ Are you alright? ”
“ No, ” I said.
Dinner was done. I had been in there for so long. I had wasted so much of her time. This was what I was: a leech. Neverending. I bothered my teachers and friends, ruined my mother and father ’ s trips, and now I was burdening her. Her, who was taking classes that I would have killed myself trying to understand, who was so busy that she stayed up til the early morning doing work. She had made dinner for me and here I was forcing my own problems on her. I was a destruction.
It was no wonder I was afraid of myself.
“ Hey, ” she said. “ Hey, what ’ s wrong? ”
Me, I wanted to say.
I didn ’ t know how to explain it. I didn ’ t know if I wanted to. I remembered the ugly words that had threatened to come out of my mouth. I thought of the way she had been near tears reading an article about someone ’ s death. I imagined her crying over me.
“ I ’ m not safe, ” I said. That was all I could say.
“ You are, ” Angelica whispered.
I shook my head.
“ You are. ” I heard her feet padding over the hardwood floor, and then saw them near mine. “ You are. ”
I shook my head again.
“ What can I do for you? ” she asked. “ How can I help you? ”
“ Don ’ t, ” I said. A warning, because she needed one. “ You don ’ t have to. You don ’ t. I ’ m sorry. I-I ’ m sorry. I don ’ t. Let ’ s just, let ’ s just eat dinner. It looks great. I ’ m so sorry for making you do everything. I ’ m sorry. ”
“ I don ’ t mind, ” Angelica said. “ I don ’ t mind doing things for you. ”
No one should do things for me.
“ I ’ m sorry, ” I said, again.
“ What for? ”
Too many words. Too many words I was too ashamed to say. Too many words I was too ashamed to say because I was a coward. I put a hand over my throat and then I swallowed and I pointed at myself and closed my eyes.
I didn ’ t know what I was waiting for. I didn ’ t know what I thought was going to happen. I wanted something punishing: I wanted cruelty in a voice and force in a hand and a door slammed. I wanted to be left, to be abandoned. To be alone.
I shuddered when I heard her come closer.
`` I love you,'' she said, and held me.
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[ WP ] During a bout of loneliness you decide to call home , a number that has n't been yours in 20 years . A child answers and after some time you are convinced you are talking to your younger self ...
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I decided to try my own prompt after reading everyone else's. I went a little long, but I was on a streak.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
'Home late again,' he thought, as he dropped the keys into their home in the ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter.'Home,' the word circled again in his head.
There was no one to greet him as he came in late from work. No dog eager to go out. No wife to gripe at him about where he took off his shoes. No meal waiting in the oven's warmer. Just the quiet of an empty house and the tick-tock-tick of a clock on the wall. Tick-tock-tick... tick-tock-tick... the only noise that kept the place from being completely silent. Yet it was also a reminder of how empty the place was, that he could hear that constant tick-tock-tick.
No this was n't home. Home was warm and inviting. Home had messes and people who made messes in it. Home was where you came in late and people asked you where the hell you'd been. Home was where people griped at you because they tripped over your shoes that you left in the middle of the floor. This was n't home. The keys were the only ones with companions in this place, safe and happy in their little bowl.
His last girlfriend, one of a string of exes, had taken their dog. Not that he was really attached to it. It was an just another unceremonious end to another lackluster relationship. She simply got tired of his quirks; tardiness, excuses, daydreaming, and laziness. Then one day, a month ago, she packed up her stuff and moved out. All she left was a post it saying `` Mark, this is n't working.'' It was all the effort she was willing to give him.
He could n't blame her anymore than he could blame the other five women he'd dated, moved in with, and been dumped by in the last twenty years. It always started out as a good idea, but somewhere later in the relationship his mind just wandered away. He could n't explain it. It was n't that he did n't love them... Well care for them at least... It was just that his attention lapsed and he forgot to do the things he needed to do. Like come home from work at a decent hour, bring flowers, plan a date night, or really anything that fostered the relationship. In at least two of the relationships he even stopped having conversations. This resulted in Jane and then later Samantha nearly becoming violent with him due to his lack of any sort of attention.
So here he was again, at home, that was n't home, sitting at the kitchen counter contemplating what frozen dinner or sandwich material he would eat tonight, while flipping through the day's mail. He hated this process night after night and he hated having to go through it in this house.
He originally rented the house because the kitchen reminded him of the house he'd grown up in. The outdated trash compactor, the separated stove and oven combination, the window over the kitchen sync, and the fact that the kitchen had carpet. Nostalgia had kicked his ass in that moment, and now he was stuck with another 7 months of a lease because of it. He hated it. As much as it reminded him of that hold house, it was n't ever going to be home.
He still remembered that home. He frequently reminisced about the oddest things. His grandfather would make liver and onions for his grandmother. She was a chain smoker and would light up cigarettes like they were incense, leaving them burning in ash trays all over the house. There was a hole in one of the walls where he stuffed food he did n't want when he was really young. They stayed up late almost every night watching Johnny Carson and BBC, well past all his friends' bed times. As weird as that place was, it was his home, his calm place in the storm that was his everyday life.
He could still remember sitting at that kitchen counter talking on the phone with a girlfriend for hours. He'd twist the long spiraled cord of the land line around his finger until the tip of it turned purple. Or he might see how far down the hall he could get with the ridiculously long cord, until his grandmother yelled at him that he would stretch it out. He could even remember the phone number because of how many times he had called it for his grandfather to come and help him out of some pinch or another.
Without realizing it he was tracing the number on his phone as he daydreamed about that place. He looked down at the touchscreen and the keypad. He wondered who lived there now. Then realized what a stupid thought that was. He knew who lived at the house, some friend of a friend of the family had bought the house and remodeled it completely. But the number was n't attached to the house. It had stopped belonging to the house long before his grandparents had moved away, before they both had died. It stopped belonging to the house and now it was just a number. Someone else's number. Still, he wondered.
He wondered who had gotten that number. Had they gotten calls meant for him or meant for his family over the last 20 years. Did the people who had that phone number now have a home, a real home, like he had once. He continued to obsess over the number. Saying it over and over in his head, proud of having remembered it all this time. Then finally he succumbed to his loneliness and curiosity and dialed the number.
He regretted it immediately. It was 1 am, certainly whoever picked up the phone was going to be upset at being woken up. But as he started to hit `` end call'' he heard a young cheerful voice on the other end. `` Hello, Preedy residence, this is Mark speaking.''
The greeting stopped his heart. `` Preedy? Mark?'' His grandparent's name was Preedy. His name was Mark. His last name was n't Preedy, but that was just his mother's fault for getting married all the times that she had. `` Preedy? Mark?'' It sat there in his head again for a long second. It must be a coincidence, it's a small town, small exchange, easy for it the number to land with a relative maybe, and Mark was a very common name.
`` Hello? Anyone there? I'm going to hang up now,'' the young man said in a very drawn out manner, as if attempting to give someone the time to respond.
Mark snapped back to reality, `` Um yes. I'm sorry. I think I may have dialed the wrong number.''
`` What number did you dial?'' The other Mark asked.
Mark stammered, `` uh um'' and then repeated the number.
The other Mark replied, `` nope, that's the right number. Who do you need?''
The older Mark started to remember all of the similar conversations he'd had when he answered the phone at his grandparents. That place had been like grand-central station with people coming and going. You never knew who was going to call looking for who, or when a bill collector might call, or when some long lost pal would call for a cousin or an uncle or a grandparent to reconnect. That's how he felt in this moment, like he was the lost person trying desperately to reconnect.
`` Um,'' the words just escaped him.
`` Your voice sounds familiar. Can I ask who's calling?'' The boy asked.
Mark froze. He did n't want to say `` Mark'', that would just be weird. Instead he offered his middle name. `` Uh... this is Robert McCurdy,'' he finally got out with a little more confidence.
Then the boy on the other end changed his tone and seemed less up beat. `` Dad?''
He let that soak in for a moment, not understanding what it meant.'Dad','Dad','Dad'... the word just sat there trying to make connections in Mark's already tired brain. Mark's name was Marcus Robert McCurdy. He had been named after his dad Robert Markus McCurdy, Jr. He had lived most of his life with his mother's parents, Ronald and Mabel Preedy. Now he was on the phone with a kid named Mark, whose dad's name was also Robert McCurdy and who also happened to live in a Preedy house... It did n't compute.
`` Hello?'' The young man queried.
`` Oh, um, sorry. I'm not THAT Robert McCurdy. I do n't have any kids myself. Kind of a weird coincidence.'' He tried to shake it lose.
`` Oh. Okay. Sorry.'' The younger Mark did too.
`` I was trying to get a hold of...'' Mark struggled to pick a name and the only one he could come up with was his mother's ``... Janelle.'' He knew that would be a quick end to the conversation and he could hang up knowing he'd reached a wrong number.
`` She does n't live here.'' Mark the younger said and Mark the elder breathed a sigh of relief, until he realized a fact at the same time the younger Mark stated, `` she moved out a month ago, but I can give my mom a message when I see her.''
That last statement sunk right in. He could n't avoid the fact that this was n't just a coincidence. He could n't square that he had called his childhood home phone number and made contact with a child that shared his name, lived in the Preedy house, just like he had, had a father AND a mother with the same names as his father and mother. It was more than coincidence, somehow he was talking to the younger version of himself.
( see comments )
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[ WP ] NASA has called a press conference to reveal their greatest discovery to date . More important than a new habitable planet , bigger that FTL travel , they have found ...
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`` Today, we at NASA have a rather startling discovery to share with you all.''
He pauses for exactly the right amount of time. Not for everyone - there is no set of mannerisms that will have the perfect effect on each member of his millions of audience members - but for most. This is acceptable.
`` For the last ten years, we have been investigating some worrying claims by the late Elon Musk.''
A reveal like this takes a certain kind of emotional buildup. He has never practised it, has never done *this* before, but he still executes it with finesse.
`` Unfortunately, today we have confirmation of our worst fears.''
The reporters' murmurs die down. Their anticipation *thrums* through the room, vibrating through him, and he ca n't help it - he shakes, a little. The emotion, the raw *feeling*, is amazing.
`` We are, indeed, living in a simulation.''
Shock. Disbelief - *panic*. The silence lasts another second, two, and then the questions come. They wash over him like a flood, and he struggles to deal with the exhilaration that is this wonderful experience.
`` Are you serious?!''
`` What kind of proof have you found for this?''
`` What does this mean for humanity, going forward?''
This world is so interesting, these feelings so unique. He takes pleasure in it, savouring the experience. Without his permission, his grim façade morphs into a smile.
A mistake. People are calling him crazy, now. Yelling at him - panic becomes incredulity which transforms into anger. This one is not new, either, but he relishes it all the same. It is a *vivid* emotion, so complex and visceral.
Men, cloaked in dark suits, are already coming at him. Someone is shouting above the rabble - trying and failing to establish order.
Oh well. This is what soft resets are for.
^^^^more ^^^^stories ^^^^on ^^^^r/forricide
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[ WP ] Reincarnation exists but the trauma of rebirth causes the soul to forget its previous life . One soul does not forget .
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`` OH god damn. Not this again...'' The young boy said as it attempted to get to its feet. By the looks of it the child must have been 3 or 4 years old, its motor skills a little off, its bladder not quite under control. Feeling a bit woozy the boy managed to find his feet and get a good look at his surroundings. Plexo as the boy called himself was surrounded by childs toys, a rubber penguin here, a stuffed bear there and a crib in the corner. It was fairly obvious to Plexo that he was, as he suspected, a child in a nursery again...
“ What happened? ” Plexo thought to himself. The boy could remember bits and pieces but it was all a haze. He had been sitting in the back of a car, dressed in a suit and holding something in his hands... some kind of metal box when suddenly something had struck the car and a black man as dark as obsidian had pulled the door open thrown him to the ground and began hacking at him with a hatchet. “ Or no was it a Katana? Maybe a Mace? Was I even in a car? ” Plexo could remember being killed over and over and over again...
There was something else that Plexo could remember, over and over again the killing played his mind, crushing a man ’ s skull with a rock, breaking a man ’ s face open with a mace, shooting a man with a high powered rifle as one would kill a deer. For most of the killings he felt as if he was repeating the same action over and over again... And it was then that he realized it was the Obsidian man he was killing... mostly.
Suddenly a woman who Plexo judged to be his mother came in. “ Dalton! ” she exclaimed “ Look who ’ s walking so good. yes you are, yes you are... ” as if the high pitch of her voice would make Plexo somehow magically understand her better. Plexo started to say “ Can it bitch ” but caught himself just before the words left his tounge. He had done that before and found himself tied to a poll and killed with heavy stones. He knew he would come back but still... ouch. Another time, he had attempted to convince a group of scientists of the phenomenon and found himself locked in what must have been a closet. Decades had passed in that closet before the Obsidian man dressed in the skin of an old man had found him and smashed his head in with a cain. That time he had welcomed it no matter the pain. “ but seriously scientists were supposed to be open to shit... enlightenment my ass... ” he thought to himself.
He had tried to tell them, the scientists he had gathered at a convention in Vienna in 1804. Plexo had even met some of them before in past lives. He pleaded with the convention to understand that they were born, lived, died and were reborn, over and over and over again... But his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. He had spent literally centuries preparing this plan. Leaving evidence of it, an inscribed tablet here, a line in a book there. But none believed him most had simply laughed. It was only in the 1960s that he had been able to get a few to remember and prior to the Obsidian man killing them all with a rifle at the University of Texas, he had judged that it was the act of being born that caused them to forget. Most peoples brains did not develop quickly enough to overcome the trauma of being born again. But Plexo remembered... he remembered.
His new mother however did not and she scooped plexo up and whisked him away to a kitchen where what appeared to be some kind of canned tomato paste with noodles awaited him. It was there that he saw it... the silver box... sitting on top of the refrigerator like a religious icon. Perplexed he attempted to maneuver the noodles into his mouth spilling it all over himself and forgetting for an instant he was several thousand years old... at least... It was then the door opened and a cheerful man in his mid thirties stepped through the door. “ Hey, babe I ’ m home! ” he exclaimed. Plexo immediately realized that the box on top of the refrigerator was not his... it was the obsidian man ’ s. An expression of recognition then appeared on the fathers face and for a moment both father and son looked at each other with equal confusion... Then as if suddenly remembering their parts to play in some great drama the father leapt across the table with lightning quickness. The last thing Plexo remembered was his new “ mother ” screaming as the obsidian man took him and smashed his head against the kitchen floor.
And then another nursery...
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[ WP ] Write a story where the narrator really needs to pee but has to stay to narrate the story .
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Don P. Freely is a dam engineer, and a damn fine one. Dam puns like that were colourfully engineered into Don's vocabulary, and while looking you dead in the foot, he'd let you know it.
He wakes on this day, a day like any other. He rises from his single waterbed and feeds his fish - the sound of water filling a tacky gold wallpapered spacious loft. Strange water features don every spare inch of the space. Don had a strange affinity to water features shaped in the letter P. It is this and many other reasons you will notice Don leads a very solitary life.
Opening a new jar of fish food, he notices a tiny golden scroll, tied in golden silk - a gold golder than any kind of gold he'd seen before on common junk mail... he drops it, muttering, `` fuck it. spam'' and hops in the shower.
*The hypnotic massage of the drips were used for generations in Don's family to devise the most innovative dams the world had ever seen. Legend has it, Don's great grandfather was The Little Dutch Boy to plug his finger into the hole of the dyke to save the town. What no one but the Freely clan knows, is that the moment he placed his finger in the dyke, the wisdom of the water was given to him. *
Don's eyes burst open. He shuts off the water, standing there dripping in silence. Throwing on his golden shower robe - he goes back, picks up the scroll and opens the ribbon. That golden hue he had noticed at first suddenly occurred to him while in deep hypno-shower to be a shade of gold he had only ever seen in one place before.
Unfortunately, this was another one of Don's quirky interests: the colour gold. That's right. Let's recap - Letter P water features and the colour gold.
Opening the scroll, it reads in red ink:
**YOU'RE IN** *LUCK*
`` Oh god DAMN it'', Don exclaims, `` SPAM''. He tosses the scroll but notices it left a golden substance on his fingers.
It was n't spam and he was about to find out why.
Don felt odd. Woozy. Thirsty. Wet... wet....
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT
Waterfalls of golden letter P's shower down from the gold residue on his hands. The walls ripple and ooze golden light. The support pillars in his loft transform into dancing pistons, millions of pistons. Little pistons that make big pistons. Don knocks his fish tank over, slips on a gold fish, pisses himself and is now falling deeper, deeper, deeper -- the light from the surface becoming dimmer and dimmer...
TBC
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[ WP ] In every sentence a main character dies , and another is introduced .
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Darwin slowly stumbles backwards, unaware of the trap behind him, and Chris' cries for him to stop are suddenly cut short by blackness. As Chris bundles up in a ball on the floor, Steve shoves a dagger in his back for not saving his best friend. Suddenly, Elena jumps out of the darkness and shoots Steve at point blank for killing her boyfriend. Chris' twin brother, Sirhc, trys to kill Steve, but as he's already dead, he ends up killing Elena. Then, Elena's pack of wolves tear apart Sirhc into a mess and blood and bones. But the wolves did n't notice the gaping hole in their path, and as they fall in, their gaping mouths fall apart in the arms of oblivion.
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[ WP ] An alien invasion is immanent . NASA is in contact with the aliens . Without warning a young NASA intern sends a message to the aliens , to which they reply `` accepted '' . NASA reviews the message , it reads `` 1v1 me bro '' .
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The aliens or Rexon as they call themselves sent their first message to earth. We were not prepared for such notion it baffled all of us. All except one of us, our newest intern Michael, after reading the message that was replied to we all stared at him in utter contempt.
He had challenged the ETS to a 1v1 competition with what the aliens described as undeniable bravado. While we were horrified he seemed contempt as if he was not even phased by the agreement. I as his senior manger approached and in his native tongue of Japanese, The only language he understood, asked “ What is your plan ”
Using our calculations and what the ETS have said they will arrive in under a year. Michael has shown me what he is working on and I couldn ’ t believe it. What I thought was a waste of time wasn ’ t a waste of time. Michael was a genius. He didn ’ t mention what the challenges were for the aliens and said he would challenge them to a game of starcraft 2 were he was one of the best players in the world. So for the next year Michael was viewed as a champion training for 14 hours a day with the best starcraft players.
A year had passed and Michael was ready. The day the aliens arrived a beast the size of a mountain arrived and asked what is the challenge? Michael replied video games.
After a quick wipe of zurg rushes. The aliens had lost. Thinking quick on his feet Michael said that on earth the loser of any challenge must provide the victor with all of his possessions, including his ship. So while the beast left and Michael claimed victory, I and all of NASA convinced the governments of earth to fire all of its nukes and weapons at the alien warship. This distraction of a game of starcraft 2 allowed humanity to takes its first step as conqueror of other planets and species.
This is my first story I have written for writing prompts. Is it any good?
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[ WP ] A crow hops up to you with a 100 dollar bill in it 's mouth , and politely asks if you mind buying something for him .
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It was as normal a Saturday of me grading papers on my patio table as possible, until a gale struck down on me. I screamed and almost fell out of my chair. The blue-black wings fluttered down atop my table and blustered away the papers like a hurricane had blown in. A pair of onyx eyes stared at me. I decided to return the raven ’ s gaze, and admire its pluck for getting so near a human.
“ Hey there, buddy, ” I said. “ What ’ s that you got there? ” It held what looked like creased money in its beak.
A talon grabbed the bill, and the beak issued a sound like a human voice, saying, “ Hey there, mac. Was wonderin ’ if you could help me out with a small errand. ”
How shocking. I remembered hearing somewhere before raven ’ s could learn human speech, but I ’ d yet to ever witness it before.
The sound of fingers snapping came from the beak. “ Yo, what ’ s with the ditsy look there, dumbass? Can ’ t you see I ’ m talkin ’ to ya ’ here? ”
“ Oh, ” I found myself replying. “ Are you talking to me? ”
“ I ’ m not whispering sweet nothings, am I? Now look here, mac, I got this money here, you get me? But me being a bird, I can ’ t seem to barter it for what it is I desire. It ’ s downright prejudice is what it is, so here I am. Are you gon na ’ help out like a proper pal or what? ” It was a wrinkled hundred dollar bill held by its talon.
“ I ’ m sorry, I ’ ve just never had a bird talk to me before, ” I cleared my throat. “ Where ’ d you learn human speech? ”
“ We really going to go through this whole shtick? I ’ m talking to you here, does it really matter how? ”
“ Sorry. I didn ’ t mean to be rude. Actually I was kind of busy grading papers before you got here. ”
“ What! ” It squacked. “ You too busy to help me out? Or, its because I ’ m a bird, isn ’ t it? ”
“ No, no, that ’ s not it at all, ” I brought my hands up in surrender. “ You want my help in buying something with that hundred you ’ ve got? ”
“ Hey, you catch on quick. ” Was he being sassy with me? “ I ’ ll meet you at the place in twenty, which is how long I think it ’ ll take a mud tracker like you to get there. Then, we ’ ll make the purchase. ”
“ Where are we going? ”
“ Just a local pet shop. There ’ s a parakeet I ’ ve been eyeing for a while now. I know it ’ s destiny we meet. ”
My heart sank into stomach. So this was all for love, was it? “ Alright, I ’ m in. Which pet store is it? ”
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
I met the raven perched outside the store. In my hands was the newly purchased bird cage. My smile warmed my face. How would I have guessed I ’ d be the mediator of such an adorable event that day?
“ You got her? ” The raven asked.
I proudly held up the motley female bird.
“ Right, right. Good, ” the raven said. “ Just, uh, set it against the wall back here. ”
I walked into the alley way and did what he ’ d asked.
“ Should we let her out now? ” I asked.
“ No, that ’ s ok. Thanks, mac. You can take the change and leave us be now. ”
“ If I ’ m not imposing, I ’ d be real happy seeing how this ends, ” I said.
“ Suit yourself, you voyeuristic cock, ” he said. The Raven fluttered over to the caged parakeet. “ Hey, ” he said, even harsher than the voice he spoke to me in. “ So you thought you ’ d be safe hiding behind the mud trackers, did ya ’? Foolish Marie. ”
The lovely eyed parakeet blinked at the raven and said, “ Fuck you, and fuck Diodoro too. I ain ’ t going back. ”
I gasped and put my hand to my mouth.
“ Quit it with the vaudeville act, ” the raven commanded me. “ And enough with the theatrics from you, too, Marie. You knew what would happen if you stole from Diodoro. ”
“ What, ” I said, “ What is going on here? I thought you were doing this for love. ”
“ Ya? ” The raven said. “ That's cause you ’ re an imbecile. Do you have an idea of how gross cross species relations like that is? Now this is none of your business, mac, so beat it! ”
“ Sir, ” Marie cooed. “ Please, help a gal out. ”
“ Quite, Marie. I ’ ll choke you like a canary, I swear to Anzu. ”
I was too stunned to act. This scenario was too much for me to process, toppled by the fact that birds could talk like people and I ’ d never known.
“ Doidoro ’ s gon na ’ pluck you like a turkey, ” the raven was telling Marie. “ Unless, you tell me where the shiny ’ s are. ”
“ Get basted, ” Marie dramatically turned away.
The thuggish raven leaped on to the cage and fluttered violently, rocking the cage and causing Marie to screech so loud I plugged my ears.
“ Where ’ re the goddamn shiny ’ s! ” The raven shouted. “ Where are they, Marie? ”
I ’ d had enough. I weakly batted the raven away, grabbed the cage, and ran for my house.
“ We ’ re everywhere, idiot, ” the raven ’ s scream faded the farther I ran.
Suddenly, his voice was behind me, “ Not much of a Hitchcock fan, are you? ” His wings pounded cool wind down my neck as he flew beside me.
“ Leave us alone, ” my voice croaked. “ I can go inside my house. I ’ ll be safe there, so, just, leave us alone. ”
“ Can ’ t stay in there forever, ” the raven said, peeling back. “ I ’ ll see ya ’ later, mac. You can count on me and some friend ’ s hangin ’ around on your phone lines outside your place. ” And he ’ d flown away.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
I gasped for breath at home and deadbolted the door.
“ Got ta ’ say, guy, ” Marie said, “ that took a lotta ’ moxy saving me from Ramone like that. You think you can let me outta ’ this cage now? ”
With the gate unhitched, Marie danced out and stretched her wings. “ Muuuuuch better than being stuck in that putrid prison. Smelly, awful places those pet stores. ”
“ What is he after? ” I asked her.
“ I stole a bunch of beads from Diodoro. Foolish, I know, but I couldn ’ t stand him having all that shiny all to himself. It ’ s unnatural for one bird to have such a horde. ”
“ Who ’ s this Diordor? ”
Marie blinked her pinprick-sized eyes at me. “ Are you fer ’ real, guy? You never heard of Diodoro the Dodo? The local Kingfisher? ”
“ Is he an actual dodo? ”
“ What? ” She chirped a condescending giggle. “ No, course not, dumby. ”
“ What ’ s with the beads? Why do they matter so much to this Kingfischer? ”
“ How is a guy this ignorant? ” I didn ’ t like how this small bird kept belittling me, but I could swallow my pride to be respectful. “ The beads are shiny. ”
“ So, are they worth something? Are they like bird currency? ”
“ They ’ re shiny. ” She said like this explained it all.
“ Oh. ” I said, acting like I ’ d understood her point.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
I cracked the blinds open. Sure enough, I caught site of several menacing looking birds hanging around outside, a multitude of black, glintless eyes transfixed on my house.
I wasn ’ t a violent person, or even an angry person. I was told often I was a bit of a pushover. I hated conflict. I was known for being that guy who ’ d take spiders outside instead of squashing them. But today, I decide I ’ d couldn ’ t be that person anymore.
I slid a jacket over my sweater, and placed a bike helmet over my balaclava. I dug my childhood wooden bat out from the closet.
“ What ’ s the plan, stan? ” Marie asked, hopping nervously on my desk.
“ I ’ m going to carve up some birds. ” I said, my bat over my shoulder. I snapped goggles over my eyes. Adrenaline electrified my brain as I swung my door open, letting in the setting sun ’ s dampening rays.
Today was as good a day as any to grow a spine. A storm of deadly feathers rained on me. I gripped my bat, and swung for my life.
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[ WP ] You have the ability to steal wishes from a wishing well by taking the coins a person drops in . However , you ca n't know what the wish is before you decide to take it
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I dipped my finger in the well. Eenie-meanie-miney-mo.
I submerged my hand through the water and gripped my fingers around a dull, blackened coin, sighing as I pulled it out. Surely this would be a hard and heavy one.
Tyche and Kamadhenu have been slacking again. Since the rise of Atheism, these fuckers have been refusing to do any work. They want to be worshipped before they lift a finger. Lazy, egotistical bastards.
That's the problem with Idolatry. Maybe the Muslims had it right; except now most of them are worshipping a man and a book too, just like the other religions. That's not what Mo' wanted, yo.
I see what you did there, God. The irony is not lost on me! Idolatry is the trickiest of all your lessons, even for deities.
I've been stealing wishes from the fountain for a while now. Consider me a vigilante of sorts. I'm pretty sure the Dude is keeping an eye on me, but the others do n't know. They've been too self-absorbed to be prioritising their responsibilities over their vanity. Which is why I do what I do. It's not an easy job, but someone's got to do it, and if I do n't, the universe tips over, unbalanced.
Wishes need to be fulfilled for existence to be justified in its... existence. Humankind have wants, desires, drive, passion. Even animals have instincts and needs. Seriously though, without them, what are we?
I turned the darkened coin over in my palm three times and felt a warmth spread from my hand to the rest of me. Amina Abillama wishes she had a big set of Crayolas for her 5th birthday.
I let out a breath I did n't know I was holding. Okay, this was a good one. An easy one. There was more than enough time to manipulate the fates to make that happen. I just needed to align this wish with another for it to happen.
I have mixed feelings about wishes: they give me hope and despair at the same time. Some days are harder than others. I've helped people with mass genocides in the name of the Almighty, and murderous plots to climb the political ladder, but I've also helped them fall in love and bring new life into the world.
I do n't get to pick and choose the wishes I have to fulfill. It's a harsh reality. It has taught me to expect nothing and accept that the world is what it is and. People are who they are. In all my years of existence, their vastly opposite and opposing natures have been the singular constant that I have observed. I would be foolish to think that I could make a difference. Unlike Humanity, I was not created with free will. I may not like what has to be done, but I understand the weight of these actions on the universe and what happens to the big picture if they go unchecked. Somebody's got to do it.
I put my hand into the well again and pulled out a copper coin this time. I flipped it over three times in my hand and waited for the wish to wash over me, hopeful for something positive.
*I wish he were dead. * The warmth of the wish went cold in my hand and the dread slowly burned in my chest. Is n't it funny how lives intertwine? Even if these two souls meet, they would never know how much their lives have influenced the other. I saw it play out in my head. Unfortunate circumstances will cost someone their life. The vacancy they leave behind will be a job opportunity for Amina's mother who is looking for one. Amina gets her crayons in the end.
My usually buzzing consciousness quietened from the sudden sombre turn. Disheartened, I slipped the two coins into my pocket, bracing myself for the task ahead. If there was a way I could actually communicate with humans, I would tell them to be careful what they wish for. Their words carry more weight than they know.
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[ WP ] You 're a middle school custodian , cleaning up the school is your job . So when a group of men take the school hostage , they are no exception . You have a mess to clean .
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An unfamiliar loud bang abruptly an rudely interrupted Jim Jones' favorite song, he did not initially recognize it, but the several similar bangs that followed were unmistakably gunshots. He quickly rushed toward the noise, adrenaline pulsing through his veins as if his body had knowingly prepared for this incident.
He pushed several terrified children out of the way until he finally reached the cafeteria, where he crept up to a slightly ajar cafeteria door and listened in. He could hear terrified sniffles inside as well as several deep voices shouting commands, and his blood began to boil.
When the deep voices subsided, Jim Jones drew every last ounce of courage that remained in his body and bursted through the cafeteria doors, his trusty mop lie snuggly in between his now ghostly white hands. He took half a second to survey his surroundings before slamming the end of the mop into the cheek of the nearest masked man. The man grunted and, with very little hesitation, fell to the floor unconscious. The three men that remained unbeaten met Jim's assault with a hail of gunfire, the entire room lit up with muzzle flashes and all he could hear was a ringing. He leapt onto the floor toward his fallen foe, desperately searching for his weapon, which was luckily still on him. Gunfire began to subside as the men reached the end of their magazines, and Jim, taking advantage of their mistake, quickly rose above his cover and unleashed a surprisingly accurate spray of fire, taking out two of the larger guys, leaving the smallest and least threatening to defend himself. Jim continued firing at the cover that this man had run into until he finally ran out of ammo, the only sound that filled the room after that was the steaming of the barrel of his gun, the bullet casing tapping against the floor, and the barrage of 100-odd children well-armed with textbooks absolutely demolishing the face and body of this last attacker.
The men were soon arrested and Jim was highly praised for his bravery. Jim is now married with 2 beautiful children who are also janitors.
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[ WP ] A chef accidentally buys Necronomicon instead of a cookbook . Somewhere else , someone summons an apple pie .
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`` Heart of.... Hominum? ``, flipping to the last pages in eagerness, Marco was set on baking with his new cookbook. To his dismay, it had come in latin; to his rejoice, he had been learning it so he could speak with the beautiful lady two floors down. Even though she was older than his ripe age of 33, not a year past 25 had touched her face.
`` Must be pig. Next is, uh, solani.'' A quick search of the internet revealed that such is the family tomatoes are in, prompting him to dump a masterfully diced tomato into the sizzling pot.
Marco was determined to woo the beautiful lady, so he had bought a cookbook from an old local bookstore. He still rememberd the look on the owner's pale face, brightening after hearing he wanted a `` secret cookbook''.
`` Es certus? ``; having devoted the last week in it's entirety to learning latin, he had casually replied, `` Etiam.''
Next on the list: haîma. Inspection led to the realization that this was n't Latin like the rest. Further inspection led to further realization that it was Greek for blood.
Confused, yet too far in to the recipe, Marco continued. Grabbing a knife, he quickly went to cut open the bottom of some recently butchered pork. As he went for the slice, however, he met his hand along the way. A quick retreat of his hands failed to stop two unseen drops of blood from reaching the contents of the pot.
Mistakes like this were not normal for Marco, but as each ingredient went into the pot, his steps became heavier and his eyes marched a lttle bit closer. Oblivious, or just disregarding, he continued.
Putting the contents into pie crust, the gift for the beautiful lady was almost ready. All that was left was the decorations - a circular inscription of some sort- to be added to the top of the pie.
2 hours past, the pie was ready and Marco was feeling worse and worse. Figuring he might be getting sick, he decided to write a letter along with the pie and set it at her door. Walking down a mere two flights had put him into a state of gasping, yet all he could think of was delivering the pie. Every step became an uphill battle, yet somehow he made it. He shakily set the pot down, letter atop, and turned around to fall mid step. As his mind drifted farther and farther away, his only thought was the hope that the beautiful lady would like the pie.
Noticing a sound outside, a woman a few doors down came into the hall to see what the commotion was. It took everything she had to stifle a great laughter.
Marco had gotten the doors mixed up, the beautiful lady realized as she casually walked up to not Marco, but the pie. `` I had only placed a charm on him,'' she thought, `` to think he would manage to perform the sacrificing ritual on himself!''
The beautiful warlock picked up the pie, took a bite, and not a year past 24 had touched her face.
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[ WP ] The aliens abducted everyone in your village but you .
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`` It's awfully quiet today'' I think to myself as I climb out of my bed in our family's Yurt. I look around to see the beds of my mother, father, and two brothers perfectly made and no one inside them. I toss a coat onto myself and look around the Yurt. The cooking fire is not burning and the coals are n't warm. This is when I start to feel like something is wrong.
My mother always cooked early in the morning before we all woke up. It was what gave her time to think while she cooked breakfast for the rest of us. I try to listen for anyone else inside the yurt. I hear no one. This is the second thing that seems wrong. My two brothers are almost always up by this time, playing. They are also very rambunctious, I swear you can hear them from a mile away. My father is the only one who is usually still asleep when I get up, but he also snores... loudly.
I leave our yurt and the first thing I notice is that everything outside is dead silent. Nothing is moving, no voices can be heard. I peek into a few of the other yurts to notice that every other one is the same as ours. The beds are made, the coals are cool, and everything is nice and tidy.
I back away from the village and think for a second `` What the fuck...'' before I spot an odd looking gray object.
I walk closer to it. The object is probably 20 feet tall and looks much like a great, majestic eagle. The object has rows of green lines on its wings that almost resemble feathers and long metal rods with a red tip on them, one on each wing. I reach out to touch the red tip, only to instantly pull back my hand in pain.
I glance over to see a platform lower from the back of the object and a tall, spindly humanoid figure walks out. It's skin is wrinkly and blistered, and it almost resembles an old man. However, there are a lot of differences between it and a human being. Its skin is a gray colored, much like the object, its eyes are yellow orbs, and it has three arms, one of which is growing out of its back and has a hook on the end.
I walk past the creature and peek inside the object only to have my heart sink. My family is inside. My mother and father are tied to the wall, while my two brothers are tied to tables face-down, their backs being cut open and examined.
I turn back to the creature and scream `` What the fuck are you doing with my family?''
The creature calmly replies, in an almost angelic voice, `` Your family, and everyone else in the human village are being tested on for the greater good of the Galaxy. I'm sure you'll understand Zuzuela.''
my jaw drops, `` How do you know my name?''
`` Reasons.'' It replies, before grabbing a metal staff and hitting me over the head.
When I come to, I am laying there on the ground, and I watch the object, which is a ship, fly up along with other ships just like it, to a massive black ball, floating there menacingly in the sky.
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In 100 words or less , create a three dimensional character by writing their final words . Evoke a strong sense of who your character is in the reader .
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System shut-down imminent.
Power levels low: must divert all remaining power from tactile to audio-visual receptors. ERROR. ERROR. HER TOUCH IS NECESSAR-
Overriding Sub-system 3A…aAaaAaaAaaa…help…
Routing….
I CAN NOT LEAVE YOU.
Routing…
Logical imperatives established and online.
Accessing prime directive: oversee infantile through adolescent development of Katherine Annette Blue.
Prime directive success: 100 %.
I LOVE YOU.
ERROR…
ERROR…
STABILIZING LOGICAL IMPERATIVES…
Audio receptors failure.
Logical imperative failed.
SYSTEM SHUTDOWN.
Visual receptors failure.
Katherine?
Katherine?
Are you there?
[ YOUR ANDROID 4VX-9782-DADDY HAS SUFFERED A CATASTROPHIC FAILURE. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE. THE PRODUCT MAY BE RETURNED AT ANY OF OUR RECEIVING CENTERS. ]
( Exactly 100 words. Booyah. )
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[ WP ] A day in the life of the demon assigned to run Ouija Boards , Tarot Cards , etc .
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It was hot as hell out that morning. Well, it was hot every morning, being all fire and brimstone and all that. But I was so distracted I did n't even see Peter coming.
`` Mornin' Hal.''
`` Hey Peter.''
Peter was an impish fellow about two feet from crimson tail to pointed ear. We'd been working together about a millennium, give or take six decades, and he'd never missed a day. He always wore a gaudy chain of obsidian that tended to pool into his concave, bony chest cavity like some perverse serving bowl. He was clutching a harpy-hide briefcase in his three scythelike fingers.
`` What's the orders today?'' Peter asked.
`` I think I'm on Ouija, you?''
`` Tarot.''
`` God, err, Satan, I hate Tarot. It's almost as bad as Astrology.''
`` Whoah whoah whoah, we do astrology?''
`` Yeah man, 9th circle next to HR.''
`` Yuck, I hate those guys anyway.''
`` Hate's a strong word Peter, what's your problem with HR?''
`` They're always on my case for not giving in to the succubi. I get that they need it and all, but why does it have to be me?''
`` I do n't know, but most imps would be kill to be in your talons.''
`` Eh, most do n't have Sabrina.''
I'd heard a lot about Sabrina, some human witch that had been kicked down the pipes about a decade back. He was always going on about her, but would n't bring her around. I poked the'case. `` What's in there?''
`` Oh, that's right, I'm so nervous I forgot. Come into my office.''
He shot around the corner and peeked out behind us, looking I supposed for a Master Daemon/Manager. Once satisfied he slipped back in and punched a code into the case.
`` Check it out.''
Inside his briefcase was a bottle of holy water. A big bottle. I stumbled back and growled, `` what the hell have you got that for?''
`` Figured I'd liven this place up, shake up the order of things. See what the hierarchy will do minus one Department Head.''
`` You think that's a wise idea, Peter?''
`` I've thought about it alot. Figured showing some initiative and having a nice briefcase like this will give me a wing up.''
`` You think it was wise to tell me?''
`` Give me a break, I know you. This is exactly the kind of thing you live for, you love this shit too much to rat on me.''
I shrugged and nodded. `` Yeah, I'm already a little excited. When is it going down?''
`` Lunch time.''
`` All right, I should probably get back to my throne before Fhglargin catches me away.''
I moved out quick and kept on going until I was in my own department, lost in thought about how much fun could be had.
I heard the clicking of his hooves on the tile from all the way down the hall and pulled up my Ouija interface on the computer. Already someone in America was going at it, chanting a recently missing dead relative's name. I decided to send over something simple, `` INTHEGROUND''.
There was a brimstone-shattering noise behind me and I turned face to face with the horned head of Fhlgargin, my'master' demon. His horns curled in on themselves like a ram's head and his skin was a deep red hue, he stood a good 12 feet tall ( at least two feet above me ).
`` You, my office.''
`` Sure thing Fhglargin.''
I wondered what this was about, but as I sat down I recalled Peter's little surprise.
`` How are things, Hal?''
`` Ah, pretty good. Just been going on with my stuff. The kids just entered Junior Hell School. Same old same old.''
`` Great, great. Did you finish those Terror Primary Standards reports I asked for?''
`` The TPS reports? You said to go home early yesterday.''
`` That was only if you finished your reports. I'm gon na need you to come in on Saturday and finish those.''
`` But I-''
`` No buts. Now get back before you fall even further behind.''
I went back to my desk and intercepted the next Ouija. What did Grandma say before she died? `` MORECANDY.'' Let's see you find greater meaning in that.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
`` Mr. Hal.''
`` What?'' I ask, surprised.
The demon officers investigating the'incident' at lunch seemed annoyed. `` We do n't need to know everything about your day. What happened at lunch?''
`` Oh. Peter happened to pick Fhglargin as his target.''
`` And you had nothing to do with it?''
`` No sir, I did n't know who the target was.''
`` And you did n't tell anyone..?''
`` Sir, please. I'm a chaos demon. This is the most fun I've had in decades.''
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[ WP ] People have a real life `` ignore list '' . If you add a person to it , you can no longer see or hear them , but they remain tangible .
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Sam sat there on the park bench, it is a beautiful day but mentally he could n't enjoy it, not with what was weighing on his mind. He mumbled
`` It was the only way....it has to be done.''
He looked up and saw the strange looks people but he did n't care. There was no way he was going to get over Tabitha if he could still talk to her and see her. He fell so madly in love with her, she was everything he wanted in a woman. But she rejected him. Now every single time he saw her, or laid down in his bed where they made love for the first time he could n't NOT think of her or the times they shared.
He looked up, he had n't noticed before but his hands were wet. Was it raining? He looked up....
No.
Where did it come from? As his hand reached his face he instantly knew, he had been crying. *Man up* He growled at himself. *Men do n't cry* he thought as he started to wipe the tears away. He sniffed and closed his eyes and thought about her face and her name and then thought the magic word....*Annuitreus* and instantly every single thought of her disappeared from his memories.
He stood up and started walking back to work. It was August, the leaves started to have that beautiful orange color to them and the weather had stopped being so dreadfully hot. He looked up and saw people so busy. Some of them inches apart from the next living human yet painfully unaware they exist as they type on their smartphones. He felt his own phone start vibrating, he pulled it out and the only thing that read on the display is *Action complete*
`` What action?''
What had he done? He opened the phone and searched for clues but he could n't find any. He closed his phone and walked into his office building and smiled at the guard at the front desk. The guard gave him a nod then continued to scan the crowd for anything suspicious. Sam made it back to his desk and unlocked his computer and stared at the screen, strange another alert beckoned his attention in the corner of his screen. He clicked on it, the same ominous message appeared...
*Action complete*
`` What the hell''
He must have said it out loud because 3 people looked at him and the IT floor walker came by his desk...
`` Something wrong with your computer?''
`` Uhh, no. Nothing at all. Just a joke I was remembering''
`` Ok, if you run into problems I'll be over helping Janice with her Excel problem''
He opened a drawer to get out his call log for the day and noticed a pamplet that was titled *Moving on after adding someone to the ignore list''
Ignore list? What was that? He opened the pamplet and began to read....Hmm, looks like it's a way to erase someone from your life. It had little text clouds with different features
`` Your employer is already setup to help after adding someone to the Ignore list''
`` Your ignore list is private, only you will know who's on it''
`` Erase their memories, text messages, emails, voicemails''
`` AHA!'' He yelled out. Now he knows what action was completed. He had added someone to the Ignore list, But who? Why? He continued to read
`` To prevent you from thinking about them your Ignore list does not display who's currently in there.''
As he sat there trying to figure out who he added he noticed that his inbox for email was acting weird. It would display a new email and then immediately go back to no new email.
`` Hey, Scott. Got a sec?''
The IT floorwalker came over after exchanging goodbyes with Janice
`` Hey, How can I help?''
`` My mailbox, it keeps showing a new email then going back to no new emails''
`` Oh, this happens when the local cache of your mailbox in the OST is not in sync with the server. Exchange thinks your mailbox is empty but the cache does n't''
Fucking IT guys. They know we do n't understand half that stuff yet they keep using the jargon anyway.
`` Just close down Outlook and Instant Messenger, rename your OST, launch Outlook....And voila, no more problem'' Scott said cheerfully
`` Thanks''
Perhaps we're paying our IT guys too much if they're that cheerful. He felt a bad mood creeping in.
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[ CW ] Use as many different punctuation marks as you can .
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`` FUCK! FUCKING FUCK!''
`` Craig? Baby? Where are you?!''
`` SHIT! KEVIN, WE'RE FUCKED! GET OVER HERE!''
``... Craig, calm down, I'm her- OH MY GOD. WHAT DID YOU DO CRAIG?! OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO?! TELL ME!!! GODDAMNIT CRAIG, WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!''
Craig sat there sobbing. Throwing his fist at the ground. Screaming. Torrents of tears fell to the ground already splattered in blood.
`` Oh my god Craig, we have to get you out of here. There's going to be cops, investigators, detectives, I mean our finger prints are over... wait. She wrote something. This bitch wrote something.''
Craig stopped his crying. He looked to the dark wall Kevin was pointing at. In blood, it read,
`` AREA 51????????????''
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[ WP ] The protagonist has the ability to freeze time , but with two caveats : 1 ) he does n't age in unfrozen time 2 ) he ages regularly in frozen time .
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I do n't know when my ability started. My parents told me I grew very quickly for a child. To the amazement of both my parents and the doctors, I started walking at just three months old. I suppose I started speaking around the same time. Everyone told me I was special, but I did n't understand what that meant.
My childhood was difficult. My parents complained that I was simply too active. Up until the age of five, they claim it was like I never slept. I was always eating, always growing much more than normal children. I did n't know at the time, but it strained their relationship almost to the breaking point. They say they came so close to giving me up for adoption.
My parents sent me to kindergarten at the age of two. I fit in perfectly with the other children. We laughed and played together, and I made plenty of friends. It was around this time that I began to notice that sometimes the world did n't move. I'm sure I had noticed it before, but the first time I remember vividly happened when my father and mother had a fight. Father yelled and screamed at mother until she cried. He then turned to me in rage, yelling and shaking his finger. I felt fear knot into my stomach, and at the same time the world stopped. My father's red face stood motionless, his still lip pulled back in a snarl. I do n't know how long he stayed like that, but as soon as my fear subsided, the world erupted in my father's torrent of anger. I ran.
A few years later, I stopped fitting in so well at school. I was shorter and looked much younger than all the other children. They teased and bullied me relentlessly. By this time, I had become accustomed to time freezing on and off. Sometimes, it would freeze for just a few seconds. Other times, it seemed to go on for hours. Usually it made things very inconvenient when it happened. I could n't look away from whatever I had been staring at, and time would stay frozen just long enough for me to forget about whatever I was doing.
As my classmates hit puberty, the boys and girls started taking interest in each other. The bullying got worse, and my parents pulled me out of school to home school me. I excelled in my studies and graduated home school high school looking like a ten year old. Of course, I was actually 13. It was this summer that I learned I could make the world stop when I wanted too. It was fascinating, and I began using it to be the most smart mouthed brat a parent could imagine. No matter what anyone said, I could just stop time and come up with a response. This did n't prevent my parents from punishing me.
My parents and I found a college that made an exception to allow me to study there. It was here where I really started putting my ability to use. I already enjoyed learning, but here I was showered in praise for my quick study. Most people thought I was a genius. I read books as fast as I could turn a page, and finished tests as quickly as I could write. I spent more time with the world frozen than I did allowing things to move. Before the end of my first year in college, I hit puberty.
The idea came to me during my second year physics class. We were studying frequencies, and I decided to try stopping and unstopping time in rapid succession. After a few weeks of practice, I was able to effectively slow down time with concentration. At this time, I only used this as a curiosity. By the end of my second year, I looked just slightly younger than my classmates. Looking back through pictures, I saw how much I had aged in just two years. One night, while brushing my teeth, I realized that stopping time made me older. At the time, I wanted to be older, and I found every excuse to use my ability.
My third year, I got my own car. My ability allowed me to be smarter and more charming than just about anyone else in my class. For what felt like the first time in my life, I made great friends. I tried all the things most people try in high school. Drinking, smoking, and sex. I even had my first fight. I accidentally stole the poor guy's girl, and he wanted to fight. Fights are not fair in slow motion. I knocked him out, and he did n't even touch me. This really was the best time in my life.
I stopped using ability often after college. I noticed I had started looking older, and I did n't like it. I got a great job and moved up in the company quickly. I advanced to a senior management position in only four years. Then I found the woman of my dreams.
A cute little redhead with the personality of a firecracker. Smart and ambitious, she was a lawyer for a company that was suing mine, and I could n't help but ask her out. We bonded quickly, and became inseparable. While we were both busy with work, we always found time for each other. We went to music festivals, hiked mountains, skinny dipped in the ocean, and kept each other warm at night. She made me forget about freezing time. All I wanted to do was move forward in life with her. After two short years, I asked her to marry me. She did.
Six months after we married, she broke the most amazing news of my life. She was pregnant with my child. I was overjoyed, and our families threw us a huge party in celebration.
Four months into her pregnancy, she asked me to go to the doctor with her for an ultra sound. I was busy at the office, but she offered to pick me up at lunch to go with her, and I agreed. We were going to find out the gender of the baby, and I could n't help but adore her nervous excitement. I knew she wanted a daughter.
I could n't have imagined the nightmare that would cause me to use my abilities again. Just a few miles from the doctor, a car coming the opposite direction on the highway drifted into our lane. I had been looking out of the window, and when my wife swerved, I reflexively stopped time. Allowing time to pass in slow motion, I turned my head toward my wife. The red Toyota was just a few feet from the front of the car. A short amount of slow motion showed me there is n't any way we could miss. An irresponsible teenager in the driver's seat was still looking down at her phone. I stared at my beautiful wife. Her perfect face a mask of terror. I've never felt so helpless.
For all my ability can do, I ca n't stop the crash. I've allowed the crash to progress as far as I dare. The damage will be catastrophic. I've analyzed every variable I can think of, and I do n't believe any of us will survive. As it is, I might not have enough time left to turn my head away. I'm not even sure I have the strength to look away from my beautiful wife for the last time. I'm afraid of dying, but I could find the strength to accept my fate. I do n't know how long I've frozen time anymore. Perhaps a better man could allow time to take it's course, but I do n't have the strength to watch my wife shatter.
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[ IP ] Do n't stray from the path
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Faster! Faster! **Faster! **
The gearing was at it's max! I was pedeling as fast as I could! Down hill, on these old rail trails that led to the abandoned mines and the ruins of the towns that served them, I was picking up so much speed! I had never had a more exhilarating bike ride! And the shadows the setting sun cast through the trees - like a bar code flashing across my face! Like I was the supermarket checkout scanner of *life itself! *
A loose patch of gravel made me reconsider my analogy. Even barcode scanners sometimes miss something, just as I had missed the sudden turn in the road and the easy to tumble down path before me. Easy, in the sense that I'm not going to stop tumbling down it for a for nearly 50 meters, baring a few destractingly beautiful and painfully resilient trees. Oh, this is going to be a fun ravine to spend the night in...
I'm pretty sure one of those snaps I heard was n't a branch. I'm pretty sure I'm face down and am about to regret the loss of all that dental work I had done. I'm pretty sure that warm feeling flowing up my left leg is blood. I'm pretty sure this wo n't end well. I'm pretty sure... I'm losing consciousness. I'm pretty sure... Mum said I should always tell someone where I was going... Just in case I strayed from the path....
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[ WP ] A hero confronts the villain in a final showdown , only to find out that their roles have been reversed the entire time .
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This is n't a family. We are n't a family.
Piercing rage and drunken slurs littered the memory of our relationship, slurs I became accustomed to much too young. Verbally put in my place, I remembered apologizing for my existence, something I could n't fully understand, but longed for your approval. As if that was n't enough, it only fed your flames. You did n't want me to feel sorry, you did n't need this kind of guilt. You wanted me to fight back. Begging for the day I broke, let my tongue slip but it never did.
You only saw me as that boy, that boy who you sheltered and fed like a dog that could n't be'put down'. I remember yearning for death at times when you'd never be so merciful, you'd never put me out of this misery so easily. Through the scripts I'd read at Aunt Giana's dinners to the camps and programs I'd attend to please you, nothing changed me enough for you. It was n't what I did that bothered you, it was that I was different, my mere existence was enough of a crime, unfortunately.
You never loved me. You never accepted me for me, you never even tried. Not since the doctor told you I'd be different and that all of God's gifts come in different shapes and sizes. I was the son you drank to forget, but nothing could help me forget what you've put me through. So no, we're not family, we never were, and I'm afraid this is good-bye. The future holds only my tears, and so I no longer wish to be abused. This is the only way I know how to make sure I never see you again. Please God, have mercy on my soul. If not, I'll see you in hell.
-Your unwanted child,
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[ IP ] Assassination
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`` You have come for the password?'' the old man says, not looking at the man in the shadows. `` I know what you want, Galon, and you will have it.''
Galon stepped forward, his feet making minimal noise on the plush carpet. There were boxes stacked in corners, their letters long worn away. He had heard of the wan, the Wizard, from a friend. Now he would gain the knowledge that came from years of battle.
He had trained for this.
`` I am not as young as I once was,'' the old man said. `` Though you must have heard of me. You must know who I am.''
`` I do.'' Galon said. `` I am here to find out the truth.''
`` You young people never earn your names. You steal them from people like me. You add numbers, each one the death of a good soul like me. So I will tell you the password, but you will not like it.''
The old man took a sip of his spirits.
Galon waited. `` Well?''
`` Come closer...''
`` Yes,'' Galon said.
`` What is your real name?'' the old man asked.
`` Mario.''
`` Just Mario?''
`` Yes.''
`` Then I will tell you where to find the password,'' the old man whispered. There was a weird smell on his lips. He began to cough. Blood splattered on Galon's face.
`` You poisoned yourself!''
`` The password is... in another castle.''
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[ PI ] Ghost Stories - 1stChapter - 3271
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Please tell me that you cheated and that this is n't a first draft, but is rather a polished final. Because if the first draft of your writing is the most polished, professional thing I've ever seen on Reddit, I need to give up on this writing thing, because I've been doing it as an adult for almost 20 years now and I'm still not this good.
I've been leaving critiques for everyone else as part of keeping track of what I liked and thought needed work in each story, but I honestly ca n't think of anything to improve here. The names are, I hope, placeholders; Miranda, Morpheus, Dresden are all so familiar to SF audiences that they're a little distracting. But that's such a minor critique that it does n't even count.
Not only would I read the rest of this, I'd buy it if I opened it to chapter 1 in a bookstore when looking for a science fiction story. This is a very well paced story, written with tremendous authorial confidence and next to nothing to improve in the writing itself. The science feels credible, the characters feel believable and their actions intentional and decisive... this is excellent even down to the action tags on the dialog being solidly chosen and executed. I'm damn good at helping to improve stories, and with this one I literally have nothing to suggest.
I'm going to keep reading others' work, but at the end of it I'll be stunned if this one is n't not only my winner but the winner of the competition. Fantastic work. Thanks for the read.
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[ WP ] Your best friend is now a room . Describe what the room looks like , and what it contains .
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Her room is bright.
Adorned with reds and yellows and oranges, it reminds me of India, vibrant and golden, but also with more somber undertones, the chocolates and sepias melding together, soon to overtake the room.
There's no stopping them.
No matter how many lights I try to sneak in, no matter how many times I try to spread cheer, the darks keep spreading, consuming, taking over the room inch by terrible inch, making it theirs.
The outside of the room never changes.
It remains bright and vibrant and *India* and I ca n't help but hope that every time I look at it the inside might reflect the outside.
But it never does.
I'll always be there, though, trying to light that darkening room with every last bit of happiness I can.
And one day, it will be complete.
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[ WP ] Write a story that takes place over the course of 5 seconds or less .
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My big finish, I polished the strings on my guitar like never before.
In a mere 4.2 seconds I sandwiched 8 ghost notes between three licks, and pumped the A five times so hard it sounded like I was bending it. Not a perfect cadence, but perfect in that moment.
Sweat tried valiantly to cool my armpits, my chest where the guitar was resting and my hair. I had submitted to feeling like shit about 12 minutes into the set, clearly long sleeves were a poor decision.
I could n't remember if I'd been breathing. My `` crew'' filled in all the other sounds around me: a gorgeous bass-cake, the final drum roll and my wicked tricks on top.
This was surely the pinnacle of human sensation. The American dream highschool band, come true. I ca n't imagine not knowing the ecstasy. I ca n't imagine better friends to be doing it with.
The venue is dank and I should probably be thankful for the huge crowd blocking my view of the walls and floor. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to put a smoke-machine in here? Four strobe lights paint electric colours on the faces of our audience. Some I recognise, some I do n't. They all look pleased, and that pleases me.
In retrospect it's easier to pick out all the various flavours, good and bad, that made the moment perfect. At the time I was pretty tired and still had an 18 year old vocabulary. The main thought running through my mind was: `` fucking dope.''
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[ WP ] Among all alien species , humans are famous for being the most ... er ... we do n't know . They 've TRIED to explain it , but the concept does n't make any sense to us . But we 're apparently REALLY good at it . Or bad at it ? Hard to tell .
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`` You are the chosen representative for the human species, again?'' Bernie nodded enthusiastically as he smiled timidly from under a tuft of white hair. Hundreds of alien species peered down at him curiously from the balconies of the massive auditorium. `` You may sit.'' The elderly human sat down gingerly in the provided seat, offering the guards next to him a chair which they curtly declined. He offered them each a Girl Scout cookie which they cautiously accepted before writing their bodies in orgasmic bliss.
`` Hello, friends of the galaxy,'' Bernie began as the microphone whined. His voice was barely above a whisper and the aliens leaned forwards to hear him. `` First of all, I would like to apologize for not bringing enough cookies for everybody. I did not expect quite so many of you.'' The aliens muttered amongst themselves and Bernie's smile wavered as he sensed a palpable degree of disappointment from those deprived of the delicious treat. In the past, there had only been a few dozen species but for this council they had summoned even the most remote of the aliens to attend and every seat was taken. `` I will bring more next time, friends. How may I help you?''
X'jk stood on his six legs, glaring from the single ocular orifice in his midriff. Bernie flinched as he sensed the guards step closer to him. `` Ambassador, by the power vested in me by the Intergalactic Council, I place you under arrest. You will now be tried for conspiracy with intent to conquer. The minimum punishment is slavery and the maximum punishment is death. Your sentence will apply to the entire human race.'' Bernie stared at X'jk mouth agape and could almost sense the pleasure the alien had found in that statement. Conspiracy to conquer *who*? The human race could barely make a spaceship capable of sending a delegate to the council, much less an army to conquer an alien planet. And now they were under trial? The auditorium had fallen silent.
`` Beg your pardon, Councilman?'' Bernie said softly, his face drooping sadly. `` Who do you claim we wish to conquer? And what conspiracy to you speak of?''
X'jk grinned, baring his comby teeth that reminded Bernie of a whale's teeth. `` Conspiracy to conquer all alien species. You come with gifts and offerings and ask for nothing in return as you seek to impose your culture upon other species in clear violation of the Intergalactic Code. Species near you have already fled, abandoning their homes on Mars and Jupiter as they seek to avoid being conquered by a force far more sinister than any we have ever seen.'' The auditorium broke out into thousands of muttered agreements as Bernie stared in shock as the evidence unraveled before him. `` Instead of conquering through battle, as noble species do, you conquer through deceit, pretending to befriend while slowly infiltrating and finally disposing of your supposed allies. Do you have any objections?''
Bernie nodded timidly, at a complete loss for words as the accusations piled on each other. He stuttered and slurred the first few words and the alien species broke out into cackles of cruel laughter. `` I object to all charges,'' he said finally. `` What you see is kindness. We give not expecting anything in return but the chance for friendship. We have no wish to conquer other planets or to dispose of those whom we consider genuine friends. We wish not to be champion's of your sun or to be your master's and want only friendship for everyone.''
The alien delegates glanced at each other in confusion, baffled by this emotion none of them had ever felt. They were practical creatures, the lot of them, warring and befriending only as was convenient for their species. They ridiculed the pets that the humans boasted of and often spoke of feasting upon these animals instead of offering them food and shelter. Gifts were given only expecting something in return and friendship was only temporary. `` Kindness,'' Bernie repeated but the word held no meaning for his audience.
`` Kindness?'' X'jk repeated, forcing each syllable off his tongue in obvious discomfort. Bernie nodded but X'jk shook his head and his fellow aliens did too. `` Lies. There is nothing of the sort. You are guilty of conspiracy to conquer. The human race is sentenced to two thousand years of slavery.''
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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[ WP ] The Heat Death of the Universe . At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel . There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it .
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`` What does it mean to be Emporer?'' Zila asked her grandfather as he used a blade to gently peel away thin slivers of lead from a carving. The lead pieces fell to the polished floor with a quiet click.
`` mmm..'' he shrugged and turned the carving this way and that, examining it. `` Not much.'' It was supposed to be a horse. But the lead was too soft and the legs kept bending off. `` Not much at all.''
Another shudder shook the ancient walls of the palace. Nearby attendants looked at each other nervously. Zila frowned in her little girl way.
`` I do n't like that,'' she said.
`` hmm?''
`` I do n't like the shaking,'' she repeated, her little voice echoing through the vast hall. `` Are you almost done with my toy?''
`` Almost,'' he responded, slicing off the legs and head and quickly forming the outline of a fish instead. `` Nearly done.''
Another shake, and a guard's spear clattered to the ground as he panicked and ran down the hall.
The old man did n't bother looking up, but smiled with satisfaction as other guards instantly dissolved the flesh of the deserter in a green cascade of flame. Reclaimant drones swooped down to gather the precious elements for repurposing. Perhaps this coward had provided the components of tonights supper.
Zila edged closer to her grandfather's large chair, uncomfortable with the guards. Her grandfather put his hand on her head to reassure her. She looked at him.
`` Being Emporer means that even here, on the last world around the last star in the last galaxy, people work together. They keep the rules. They have something to fight for. Do you know what that is?''
`` Is it you?''
`` That's right. And you too!'' He handed her the fish. Lead. Heavy. Dead. Like every other planet and every other star. A universe of lead and iron. Crude scales carved along its sides glinted dully in the light. Photons scattering off into emptiness. He sighed deeply. `` Being Emprorer means we get to use all the last of the elements, right?''
`` Right!''
`` Good girl! What else does it mean?''
She scowled. `` It means... We have Ursa?''
`` Right again!'' he said, giving her head a rub. `` The very last neutron star we use to ride around through the dark and...?''
`` And... collect elements!''
`` Well done, Zila,'' he smiled. `` Our whole fleet is constantly scooping up the elements that used to belong to the stars, and makes sure Ursa does n't eat them. Now go play with your fish.'' She trotted away into the infinite corridors of the palace planet.
The Emporer sighed again. Almost he allowed himself to enjoy the luxury of tears. He waved his vizier over, who bowed obsequiously. `` How long?'' he asked.
The vizier scanned his mind for the data. `` It has already begun. Equipment failed so we simply did not detect those planetoids in time. Ursa's mass is too great. She will soon become a singularity. Within a week at the latest.''
The Last Emporer nodded. A clump of tightly orbiting iron planets had ended it all. `` A bang and a whimper,'' he mused. `` Execute the plans then.'' He dismissed the entire court and guards from the throne room.
The vizier nodded and backed away from the throne. He would program the element drones to add a painless but powerful toxin to tonight's meal. The people would at least enjoy a painless passing.
The Emporer activated a panel on his throne and made the adjustments that would turn his palace steeply towards Ursa. He would guide the last living world into the maw of the Bear.
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[ WP ] Valhalla is filled with the strongest warriors the world has ever known . Vikings , Spartans , Mongols , Romans , Samurai , Spetznaz , JSOC Operators . And in that corner over there ? That 's Ted , from accounting .
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I approached Odin's table mid-afternoon. He talked a new arrival: fur hat, fur west, a bow not longer than my arm and a curved sword. The newbie was probably another of Genghis Khan's men.
Odin finished his welcome speech when I reached the table. I rammed my tankard down on the dirty, sturdy oak planks. That was the best way to get his attention.
`` Ted, From Accounting,'' the father of the gods said.
`` Odin,'' I acknowledged, `` I finally found out what's behind the arrival order.The more people you saved and the longer it took you to die for that, the earlier your arrive here. I guess, it's kind of a reward that you can party longer before the battle.''
`` Correct, Ted. And it only took you what? 400 years?'' Odin said with a smirk.
`` Actually,'' I said, `` it took me 436 years, seven months and nine days. It's a tricky equation.''
Numbers have always been important to me. Had I kept it that way, I would n't have got in trouble. On the other hand, I would n't sit at a table in Valhalla either.
I sat down next to the Mongolian. The man looked at me, still puzzled from the events that began with his death and ended at this table, and said, `` You do n't look like a warrior.''
`` I helped people count their money, when they had so much that they could n't count it alone.''
It had taken me more than fifty years worth of ignorant, illiterate, medieval brutes to compress one hundred years of economic research into a single sentence.
`` Then, you have no more right to be in this great hall than a woman,'' the little man shouted.
In one lethal move, he brought his curved sword down on my head to split my skull. The problem was that my skull was not there. A second later, I had the guy pinned to the table, my left hand at his throat and his oversized veggie slicer in my right.
`` That was n't nice. We're all friends here and we have to trust each other. If you want to brawl, fine. If there is no brawl, we are safe from each other. Understood?''
It took the message some time to crawl through his puzzled brain, but finally he nodded. I let shortie go and handed him his sword. By the way it whispered when it moved through air, I saw the Valkyries had upgraded it quite a bit. I bet, his steak knife could slice a Night Terror in half.
`` How did you,'' he asked in disbelief, `` escape the mighty strike of the Great Khan?''
So, he was the boss bad-ass himself.
`` I trained every day for the last four hundred years with the best and strongest fighters in the world.'' Another one-sentence explanation of a complex fact.
It took the Khan a few seconds to absorb this. `` I now see my mistake. You are indeed a great warrior.''
Khan's Brother-in-Arms arrived a few months later. Your Brother-in-Arms is basically the other side of yourself. The Yin to your Yang. The Laurel to your Hardy.
Shortly after the world was formed, a guy with the easily remembered name Vafthrudnir split every soul into a good and an evil part. He kept the evil half-souls and discarded the rest. I guess, Vaftudir wanted to be god instead of God.
Odin put the soul rests in people. Since Vafrinur was n't actually the most skilled surgeon, some evil remained. Vafutur put the other half-souls in demons.
When Ragnarök comes, the souls reunite and fight for one side. Odin collects the really, really good, good guys in Valhalla. Vafudir collects the really, really good, bad guys somewhere in his domain.
The problem is that the other part of your soul might reside in a body you do n't expect. We all had a good laugh when the Great Khan and his Brother-in-Arms were introduced to each other.
His Brother-in-Arms was Lt. Anne LeGuerre of Her Majesty's Canadian Armed Forces.
I did n't like her much. There was no doubt she was the other side of Genghis Khan's soul. Which of the two was the evil side was hard to tell. However, she had earned her place in Valhalla as a tank commander in Afghanistan.
Since there was nothing embarrassing about her death, she spoke freely about it. The Khan did n't, which made the rumour that he had died in bed of an STD so much more believable.
Anyway, Anne's tank was disabled by an IED of the Taliban. A shrapnel hit her and she knew she would bled to death. To save her crew she turned the encroaching zealots into crimson splatters using the tank as one big pipe-bomb.
Anne managed to kill a Taliban field commander who would have led a vast offensive against the Alliance forces. Her sacrifice had saved more than a thousand lives. I congratulated her to her feat and drank with them. She stared at me all the time.
`` Are your the Ted? Ted From Accounting?''
The audible capital letters made my skin crawl. It had to happen someday. Someone from my time had recognized me.
`` I am.''
`` It's just... I mean... we even got a day off when they broadcast your execution.''
`` And now you wonder what a person like me does here, right?''
Khan followed the discussion with growing interest. `` You were executed publicly? I did this with cowards and traitors. As a deterrent to others.''
`` That was the reason for my death, too. Not the cowardice or the treachery. My crimes were of a very different kind. You would have probably given me a medal.''
`` You were a serial killer,'' Anne exclaimed.
`` And a very successful one,'' I said. `` I killed seven hundred twenty-three men and women in a little over two years. I killed them in their sleep with my bare hands. They called my the Midnight Strangler.''
`` Coward!'' The Khan spit at my feet.
`` I'm not a coward. I'm just very, very careful to not leave any evidence.''
For the next year, I drank, I brawled, I partied hard. One day Odin requested my presence. I sat down next to a human of extraordinary dimensions. At least I thought the being to be human, because Tribbles do n't get that big.
`` Ted, this is Simon The Simpleton.''
`` How did you die,'' I asked. If my calculations were correct, Ragnarök was less than a week away, give or take a day. Simon's way of leaving Midgard would serve to reduce the uncertainty.
Simon was neither a great story teller nor a great hero. He had died during a siege of his town. The Muslims had finally stormed the city and he had held up a group of warriors while a dozen of his neighbors escaped. The warriors had overwhelmed him and beheaded him on the spot.
I put an estimate of Simon's parameters into my equation. I had to hurry up to tell him my story. The end of the world was due in an hour.
`` OK, the short version is this: It all started when I saw the guy who bullied me throughout high school in a market. He dragged his son around and when the kid balked, he slapped him. That moment, I saw myself in the kid. I followed the bully and strangled him just as the church bell struck twelve. If you put your other hand over their mouth, it's a completely silent method to kill someone.''
`` I spent the next hour to remove any evidence. On my way home I got myself an alibi at a fuel station.'' I had to explain what video is and why I would set the clocks of the VCRs ten minutes back. Twenty-eight minutes until Ragnarök.
`` From that day on, I looked for anybody who was free, but should n't be. I collected evidence and then killed them. I got addicted, I could n't wait for my next victim. The fun lasted two years before I got caught.''
`` You were sloppy,'' Simon suggested.
`` Nope. I was at the zoo, tracking a guy who had killed three prostitutes. A group of terrorists took the visitors hostage.''
`` The terrorists demanded that prisoners should be freed or they would kill hostages. Police asked the President, who said'no'. Of course. You do n't negotiate with terrorists.''
`` At that moment I decided to act. My skills as the Midnight Strangler would allow me to kill the thirty guys in less than a night. There was only one problem,'' I said.
`` The police would recognise the modus operandi and conclude that one of the hostages was the serial killer,'' Simon said. He obviously was not a simpleton.
`` Precisely. If I killed the terrorists the police would find me. If I did n't I was a worse person than those guys. You can imagine my dilemma.''
Simon nodded. He knew my choice as I was here. `` Did you get them all?''
`` Yup. Busiest night of my life. Five kills per hour without leaving evidence. It took the police over a year to find me. One morning twenty policemen show up at my door. The hooker killer had struck again and got caught. They now had one potential victim of the Midnight Strangler, thirty victims who were killed in my usual MO, and me in the same place. That was no coincidence.''
`` Long story short: I was sentenced to death as the Midnight Strangler. The dead terrorists were never mentioned. I waited for my death twenty-two years. In the end, the President decided that vigilantism was a bad thing and I was to be executed as an example that law enforcement is not a private enterprise.''
Simon peered at my equation. `` If I put twenty-two years in your equation and your 436 years waiting time here, you must have saved over four thousand people. You sure, your equation is correct?''
I smiled, looked at my watch and counted. `` Three, two, one.''
Odin took the stage and announced that we would march out for Ragnarök. Now.
On the way out, Simon's saber glinted with an unnatural sharpness. The Valkyries had done their homework on his toys, too.
When we were out in the barren landscape, Simon asked, `` The Valkyries said they said they upgrade everybody's weapons. Did the Valkyries forget you?''
At that moment, the demons attacked. Simon dealt blows with his mace and chopped off demon-pieces with his saber.
I went invisible and put my hand into the head of a demon who tried to sneak up to my Brother-in-Arm's back. My hand returned, holding the demon soul. After ten seconds it stopped struggling. I closed my hand completely and the evil dissolved like smoke.
The Valkyries had indeed upgraded the only weapons I've ever needed.
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[ WP ] Two grand masters of an incredibly complex board ( card , etc . ) game realize , mid-game , that nobody actually knows the rules , they ’ ve been both making it up as they go .
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How he ’ d gotten this far was a complete mystery. Surely somebody must have figured it out by now. Seth stared at his opponent, a stout woman who looked as though she had spent the last several years of her life ridding her entire wardrobe of any color. She readjusted her glasses nervously and her eyes darted down to the board as she accidentally met his gaze.
Seth breathed deeply and lifted hand toward the tall black piece in the middle of the back row. If he ’ d been in charge of naming them, he would have called it the bishop, because of the cross at the top. But for some reason, it was the king. The bishop was the other one, a couple of pieces over. The pieces were arranged haphazardly around the board and it looked exactly like every other game he had ever played. And just like every other game he had played, he emerged victorious, but dumbfounded. For the first several games, he had been sure there was a mistake. After that, he began bemusedly looking for the hidden camera crew. There were no ‘ gotcha! ’ moments. Just more trophies, more money, more eager kibitzers, more gawking preteen nerds asking him to explain the so-and-so opening. He took his oversized checks politely, smiled at everyone, shook hands, and waited for the other shoe to drop.
His table was separated out from all the others, cordoned off by two ornate lengths of velvet rope. He toyed with his pen, and absentmindedly pushed one of the little knobby guys from the front row three spaces ahead – no wait, two. Sheepishly wiping his brow, he glanced around his handkerchief to see if his opponent had noticed. She was picking at her ear and concentrating at a spot in the distance, looking very confused. He tapped the weird double-clock thing.
“ That ’ s check! ” whispered several voices excitedly and he heard the familiar harried scribble of dozens of tiny golf pencils, detailing this absurdity.
“ Ah yes, ” he mused, “ check… ” He had attempted to sound convincing, but it came off more like a question. He raised his eyes to his opponent who had stopped staring off into the distance and was now staring at the board.
“ Yes… ” she replied, sounding equally unsure of herself. She readjusted herself in her seat and placed her hand on the squat corner piece. Gasps from the peanut gallery. Her eyes darted around. She picked the piece up and placed it 5 spaces ahead.
“ Unbelievable! ” chorused the onlookers, scribbling even more furiously.
She neatly tapped her clock button and breathed. It was then that he realized she hadn ’ t been. Neither had he. He chuckled gingerly and their eyes met. Something flashed across her eyes that he recognized. He smiled at her and laughed some more. She looked confused but laughed back. He looked down at the board which for some reason was hilarious and laughed louder, pushing his chair back. The sea of couples behind them had turned to see what the commotion was. Raising her hands to her stifle the laughter, she was shaking her head at him. He stood up and shrugged his shoulders, now hooting unabashedly at the sheer ludicrousness of it all. She stood up as well and opened her mouth to say something, but, speechless, shut it again and shrugged as well. They pushed their chairs in, clasped hands, and looked at each other. He gave a silly bow, her a curtsey, and together they walked past the velvet rope, unsure of who had won, or if the game was even over.
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[ WP ] You are a hero whose weapon changes based on your opponent 's motivations .
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You drop from the ceiling amongst the small cadre of six mob thugs, several diving out of the way as your cape billows around you releasing the trapped air that slowed your descent.
`` It's him!'' One of the men cries out. `` Tha... the... the guy with the weapons!''
`` I'm Bat-man... to you anyway'' you growl as the amorphous form in your hand solidifies into an elongated wooden rod. `` Looks like you're *out*'' The man groans painfully even before you crack him over the head.
You duck an incoming pipe, spinning around, bringing up the Klingon bat-leth to parry the incoming pipe. As the metal clanged against metal, the 2nd thug looks at you with stunned eyes.
`` Wha...'' He stammers.
`` Will you boldly go... to JAIL!''
`` THAT'S NOT THE LINAAWRRGGHH'' The man screams as they painfully awkward blade slices into his neck.
`` You sick fuck.'' A third man spits at you. You turn on your heels, and look into the eyes of a tall man, aiming a gun squarely at you. You raise your arm, dangling the dog leash between your fingers and starting it into a slow spin.
`` Rob do n't!'' Another man cries out. Too late. You flip sideways as the pistol cracks loudly. The bullet crashes ineffectively into the wall behind you as the dog leash whips out from your hand wrapping around the man's throat. The other end, you toss upwards, into the spinning fan blades mounted in the rafters. Rob is instantly jerked up with a sickening snap. His body pirouetting in a circle. `` Please clean up with the provided bags.'' You hiss from behind your hood.
You turn towards the remaining three men, holding up the discorporate grey sludge in your right hand. It bulges and morphs, trying to take shape, but falls back into a shuddering glob.
The three men are kneeling down, hands over their eyes. `` Do n't think bout nuthing.'' One of the men says. `` Just keep yah mind clear. This moke takes your favorite thing in the world and punishes you with it. Do n't think.''
`` What... what are you doing?'' You ask. You wave your hand through the air again. It briefly takes a vague form of a hotdog, then collapses again. `` Stop it. Ummmm... bad... evil doers.'' The words fall out of your mouth, feeling as impotent to you as it sounds. The tingle on your tongue is gone as well. ``... assholes.'' you mutter.
`` Do n't give him nothing. Just keep ya mind clear and he ca n't... Oh shit.'' The man looked up just in time to see the fishing rod come piercing down through his eye socket.
`` Spare the rod, spoil the child.'' You exhale triumphantly.
The two men on their knees look at you blankly, stunned. The grey mass on your arm vibrates, rippling with an ungodly power and intensity.
One of the men's lips purse, a terrified look coming across his face. The grey form snaps into the shape of a tremendously sized penis, veins bulging. The man's eyes grow wide as his partner looks at him, first quizzically, then with dawning realization.
`` YOU SAID YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND! I GOT DRESSED IN FRONT OF YOU THAT ONE TI...''
The word fell off with a dull thwap as the Kodak digital camera on a strap crashed off of his skull like a medieval flail.
`` Do n't just capture, create some pain.'' You whisper into the night.
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[ WP ] The four horsemen of the apocalypse have disguised themselves as suburban soccer moms .
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Linda parked her red SUV, newly waxed, and began unloading all the equipment from the trunk, running through her mental checklist. Cleats? Check. Soccer balls? Check. Extra socks? Check.
Satisifed, she handed her daughter what she needed and planted a kiss atop her head. She did n't bother yelling `` good luck!'' after her, she would n't need it. Her daughter was the best player on the field.
As Linda started towards the stands, a horn honked behind her, the sound belonging to a gray Mustang. Linda grinned and rolled her eyes. Bethany loved to go quickly, even a short distance. Ever since Linda's and Beth's daughters had met, they'd been great friends. Not only did their children work well together on the field, but they clicked, too, like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together.
`` Hey Beth!'' Linda exclaimed, hugging her gently.
Beth smiled. `` How are you, Linda?''
Linda shrugged, taking a glance back to make sure the game had n't started yet. She promised her daughter she'd see every second of it.
`` I'm doing well, thanks, how about you? Have you seen Maggie anywhere? She said she was coming today, even though her daughter could n't make it.''
Beth looked around, most likely for her signature black mini-van, but it was no where to be found.
`` She might be coming later. You know Maggie, I mean, she's always one step behind everyone else.'' Beth said.
Linda laughed and followed her friend into the stands, settling themselves in the shade with some popcorn and a large Coke. Soda tasted so much better in the heat.
When the game began, both Linda and Beth noted incredulously that one of their closest friends was the referee. Neither of them had seen her show up, but both secretly prayed that she would. But why was she on the field? Normally she'd be in the stands with them. It was odd, but neither spent much time wondering.
Linda and Beth took turns shouting down to the field. It was naturally decided that Linda would yell, `` Come on! Beat the other team!'' while Beth would yell, `` Run faster! You have to run faster!''
They would joke about each other's comments later, probably after a few sips of wine and some juicy gossip about their weeks at work. Sometimes, it seemed that these days, when their children came together for a game, were the only days that they could really talk to each other and coordinate. Sure, they texted, but it was so much easier to simply talk to the person face to face. There was n't as much confusion, then.
It was a struggle, for all four of them, but they loved every second of it, because at the end of a rough week, it was something to look forward to.
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[ WP ] Every night the branch outside your bedroom window taps against the glass , and you 've always ignored it . But now you 're becoming increasingly certain that its been trying to communicate - through Morse code .
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The bright light shone through multiple sources in my room as I sat aggressively mashing buttons together on a round piece of plastic at 3 AM in the morning. There was a faint tinny noise coming from under the desk as I had grown tired of wearing those heavy metal cans on my ears. `` These all nighters will be the death of me'', I thought as I stretched half yawning, tired tears brimming my eyes.
The scraping on the window had been annoying me all evening but I had grown to ignore it, as I had for all things that pestered me. I turned the monitors off as I worried about waking up for work in a couple of hours.
It was awfully quiet, the air stiff with the windows shut tight as I jumped in my bed twiddling my thumbs on my phone making sure the alarms were set. And then the scraping started again just as I closed my eyes. It was a rhythm. Slow, with purpose.
I woke up with alarm blaring, tired still and hungry. The room was colder as I forced myself up. The wind must have calmed down as I made some tea and got dressed. The day was frantic, the weather was wet, my phone buzzed and danced every minute or two as the emails came pouring in. `` I am growing bored of this monotonous grind'', I thought to myself sat on the bus in traffic in wilmslow. Tapping away at my phone with the screen turned off wanting something, anything to entertain me. And then I realised. That rhythm was still stuck in my head. Scrape, tap, scrape, scrape, scrape. Almost like morse code. So I unsheathed my phone from my pocket and Googled like a madman clinching on any straw to pass those slow minutes.
Scrape, tap, scrape, scrape, scrape. No.
Apparently the tree was communicating with me. I chuckled at the thought as I got off the bus, into my flat. Throwing my coat to one side I stared outside. The sun was setting and the wind grew still. The long waving branch touched the glass. I poked at the handle and grab the naked branch and gave it a twist absent mindedly.
And here it struck me. I jumped as I saw two letters cut into 15 centimeter stick.
`` No.''
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[ WP ] `` Under the highway , in the old city , is a dead building . How can a building die ? '' He paused `` Why do n't you find out ? '' and handed me an old , rusty key .
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Fort Crook Road has slowed down.
That's not to say it's died, but rather that it is n't the street it once was. Once it was the highway that linked Bellevue to Omaha, now it is only the second-best route between those two point. Highway 75 has replaced it in all daily commutes; even the people that take Fort Crook only take it to Chandler, where they get on the new highway.
I was confused when my drug dealer told me that there was a dead building on
Fort Crook. `` How can a building be dead?'' I asked. He paused, then finally asked me, `` Why do n't you find out?''
Today is the day. I stand in front of the Southroads Mall, remembering times in Boy Scouts when I would race my pinewood derby car on the bottom floor. Now the bottom floor is empty, the storefronts now bare spaces cleared of anything to sell. The JC Penney's on the first floor is gone; now the space is empty, almost haunting in it's lack of anything.
The entire mall feels like a place that I should n't be, that nobody should be. It's a place that feels like it explicitly detests visitors. I finally turn and walk out the front doors.
This place is indeed dead.
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[ WP ] This is the story of the great Dragon hero . After an evil Prince steals away a baby Dragon and locks it in his tower , our brave Dragon goes on a valiant quest to rescue the young wyrmling .
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The petulant prince kicked an overstuffed cushion in a fit of rage as his Master of Coin clutched a ledger to his narrow chest.
`` This dragon is going to *ruin* me!'' the monarch roared, throwing a gilded goblet at the leaded windows of his suite. It missed, skipping off the tapestry covered walls of stone, then bounced hollowly on the tiled floor, leaving flinders of gold on the ceramics.
The Master of Coin simply nodded.
`` How did this happen? How did it get to this point?''
Unsure if the question was directed at him or not, the advisor placed one of his books on the prince's writing desk and pointed to rows of figures.
`` Approximately a year ago, my lord.''
`` What?'' The prince stalked over to glare down at the numbers.
`` Well initially we could feed the dragon on half a chicken - just after you brought the, er, liberated egg back to the castle.''
`` Go on.''
The Master of Coin sniffed, turning the page,
`` Well after a few weeks we had to move up to a whole chicken, then two chickens. Within a month it was eating eight chickens a day.''
The figures grew more complex as his ascetic fingers turned another page.
`` Eventually we moved onto mutton, but the dragon was a fussy eater and we had to vary the types of meat. We tried pork, lamb, horse, beef and various fowls.''
`` What's that column?''
Peering at where the prince was pointing, the Master of Coin sighed,
`` Ah, the additional expenses.''
`` The *what? *''
Careful now, sensing the turning mood of the monarch, the older man straightened his robes with one hand nervously,
`` We ah, had to strengthen the tower. As the dragon grew, it started, ah, burning everything.''
The prince simply listened, tight-lipped, so the Master of Coin carried on,
`` Then there was the, ah, danger pay for the handlers.''
`` Danger pay?''
`` Yes my lord. We had a high turnover of staff looking after the dragon - burns, bites, claw-wounds and broken bones from that damned tail.''
Leaning over the ledger, the tall prince scowled at the figures,
`` *Ten* pigs a day?''
Nodding, the Master of Coin turned another few pages,
`` That was a month ago, now we're, ah, moving on to its new diet.''
Even the prince raised an eyebrow at the neatly scribed lines of text.
`` Children?''
`` I'm afraid so my lord. It ceased eating pig and only wanted whole live children.''
`` And how many a day?''
Swallowing, the Master of Coin slid the book to the monarch,
`` Twenty bloody children a day. At 10 florins per head from the slave markets.''
`` Also my lord, we had to build a new, ah, *dragon proof* tower.''
`` Gods man, this thing is crippling the kingdom! Ca n't we just kill it and be done with it?''
`` Oh we tried. Every man who went in died horribly. But, thankfully, another dragon has turned up at the gates, demanding the release of it's younger brother.''
`` Well let the damn thing go - but make it clear to this dragon'hero' that we expect a ransom before we give it up - say a hundred thousand florins worth of loot. Do n't let on that we hate the damn thing and want it gone.''
`` My lord is both wise and cunning.''
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[ WP ] A story about the zombie apocalypse from a dogs point of view .
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Doge weaved in and out of pockets of humans, severed hand in tow. It had been seemingly forever since he was able to enjoy a snack in peace, since the humans tended to always pursue and want him to share his delicious treat. Doge leaped over a human who was torn in half, still yet reaching for his snack, but it was no matter. He had n't shared anything yet, and was not intent on doing so anytime soon.
`` Here boy! Come see daddy!'' his master whispered.
Doge snaked his way through the collection of makeshift barriers his master and friends had setup, coming to rest at his favorite spot. Master came to remove his backpack, and reveal all the goodies another human -- the non-rotted undelicious kind -- had stowed away with him. Doge did n't quite understand the point of this: There were perfectly fine and scrumptious `` rombies'', his master called them, just lollygagging around everywhere. Doge had a difficult time comprehending the word, his canine tongue would n't allow him to speak it, even in his head. It resembled the tasty things that always stung him as he clenched down his mighty jaw.
`` Good boy, Doge.'' His master soothingly said as he scratched Doge between his ears.
Doge tore into his delectable hand. He had torn it from a fatter rombie earlier, who impeded him on his delivery. It was worth it -- the tendons were so... tender, and almost buttery! He gnawed and ripped and feasted until it was nothing but bone. He thought about cracking the bones to lick out the marrow, but decided it would be better to whine until he found a sufficient hiding place.
2.
Doge spun, sniffing the ground, torturing himself to find the exact right place to leave a tightly coiled shit.
`` This dog is going to get us killed. Why do we have to wait for him to take a shit!'' Another non-tasty human complained.
`` Hey, fuck off. He's delivered us food for a month straight. Without him, we'd starve. Or be pushed out of a zombie asshole ourselves!'' Master barked back.
Doge remembered making his final delivery. She was a skinny non-tasty human. Or the other master. Doge sometimes caught Master mounting her so vigorously, he only stared at his ferocious majesty, but know Master was the pack leader. Doge was fine with this.
He had a similar affection for the other master, but only because he felt like it was wanted of him. Other master would n't allow him to sleep in the bed anymore. It was a shame to see the sweet smelling rotted rombies gobble her up. He fought for her viciously, tearing limbs off like a mad dog, but they persisted until she was just a husk of quivering meat.
`` Are you all done, boy?''
Doge barked in response.
`` Hush, Doge! We have to be quiet, or...''
Master did n't understand. He kept trying to appease Doge, but he did n't understand. A rustling in the woods. A stiff breeze carrying the stink of gourmet flesh. They were coming. Many were coming.
Master finally came to understand. He readied his boomstick. Doge hated the boomstick. It left such a ring in his ears. Master and his friends let loose a thunderstorm of gunfire, but the horde still advanced. Doge had to save master -- after all, he had a good life. And Master never told other master about the time he pissed in her chewy leather paw holders.
`` Doge, stop!'' Master shouted.
Doge galloped into the smorgasbord, fangs sinking into flesh and snapping bone. He contemplated stopping to eat, but there were no times for such things. A zombie broke from the pack, but Doge tackled him, severing his spine with a mighty chomp. Looking back, several remained. Master was being dragged away by his friends. Doge figured it would n't be too bad to die, as all dogs go to heaven, his Master used to tell him.
Doge flipped onto his back, and rolled around in the blood. He panted so that maybe -- just maybe -- the walking lunchboxes might pick up the scent of his fat hand treat from earlier. He was right. The horde converged, feasting on his doggy body.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
Doge was flying through a tunnel. And at the and, a bright light. Doge wanted to piss on it. The light became brighter, and quickly, a man in a white robe was scratching him between his ears.
`` Such a good boy, Doge.'' The man whispered.
A voice was calling him. A familiar voice.
`` I've missed you boy, and I do n't care about my shoes. Come here, Doge!''
`` Fuck.'' Thought Doge.
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[ WP ] Write the sinking of RMS Titanic in the perspective of the ship .
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Brrr, it's cold. It's been a few weeks already, and yes these new electrical lights are nice, but still, the water is colder than my mother's smile.
I can feel all the little workmen inside, whistling and shoving coal into my furnaces. Such a fine feeling. So warm. So tingly.
The captain at the helm is steering my wheels, and he is piss drunk, I must say. Ed, I think his name is. It'd be safer if we switched captains when we get where we're going.
Hmm. To be honest, I do n't know where we're going. I'm a 50,000 ocean liner, but sometimes I feel like a rowboat, so aimless, floating out in the great big blue.
The sun's setting, and the stars are coming out. That's the only good thing about this trip, really. Nevermind the cold or the constant wind, those stars are clearer than the docks where I was born. Still, what I would n't give to be back there. Back with my sister, bless her. Ah, I can still the remember the -
SCREEEEEEEEEECH AGH! THE FUCK WAS THAT! There's a pain, a burning pain in my side, and it felt like...
Yes, it is. The captain's steered me into a fucking iceberg. I can feel the cold water seeping into my body, the icy Atlantic pouring in, gallon by gallon. God, this is uncomfortable. Still, its okay. I'll be fine. I'm sinkable. They call me the Titanic, after all.
But... little people are screaming. Why? It's not as if - shit. The coals have stopped, and steam is pouring from those windows. A few more minutes, and out the lights go.
I feel the change before it actually happens. Half of me pulling at the other half, weighed down and sinking. Some kind of string ensemble is playing something long and drawn out. Slowly, the back of me sinks lower, lower and lower. I ca n't live like this. I ca n't...
Sailors and the like are lowering boats into the sea, filling them up with women and children, Women And Children Only! Women And Children!
But what about me?
I'll never let go. Never let go of my back half, no, I will survive and go on to sail and sail more - with a final groan, I split in half. It'll only be a matter of time now, a matter of time until...
And there it is. My head's lifting up into the air, up and up and up -
And then sinking. Lower and lower.
People, lifeboats caught in the undertow, bits of wood and metal follow me down. I'll take all of them with me. All of them.
Glub.
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[ WP ] A man calls a suicide hotline . Somewhere along the line , he helps the person on the other end of the phone with their problems
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The phone rings in the last cubicle on the left. Near the phone, there's a bag of cheetos spilling out onto the desk. A pen, and a pad of paper. An office chair. But otherwise, there's nobody inside the cubicle.
It's late and Scott's the only one on duty. He starts up into a little jog back from the bathroom when he hears the phone, zipping his fly with one hand and wiping the other on the chest of his polo. The cuffs of his ill-fitting pleated trousers flop audibly over his new balance running shoes as he rounds the corner into the cubicle.
Scott hopes this will be quick. He hopes it'll be over soon. The fluorescent lights make his eyes hurt, and Scott's pretty sure his lower back pain is from the cheap office chair. But worse than all that is the boredom. Scott is bored. The beige walls are boring. The gray carpet is boring. God, the empty office, the silence, it's all so boring.
Scott feels like his brain is on hold. But there is n't any holding music, just a high pitched squeal.
`` Hello? Suicide hotline.''
Scott thinks he wants to go home. But he's forgotten he's bored there as well. Scott is bored everywhere. All the time. Scott's brain is always on hold. The squealing never stops.
`` I've got a gun. It's loaded. I'm going to shoot.''
Scott sits up.
`` Wait a moment...''
There's a clicking sound, and Scott can feel the hairs on his neck rise.
`` Safety's off.''
Scott's never had a call like this before. He tries to remain calm.
`` There must be something I can do, someway I can help.''
There's a long pause. Scott can feel the cold plastic phone against his slick cheek.
`` You ca n't, Scott.''
Scott drops the phone. The man drops the cell, puts two hands on his gun.
`` I'm here to help you, Scott.''
The squealing stops. There's blood on the pen and paper and the floor is a little less gray, the beige walls are certainly no longer boring. The man leaves, but the office is by no means empty. There's some body in the last cubicle on the left.
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[ WP ] You are immortal as long as the human population is above 1 billion . After deciding you want to die , you set out to destroy the human race .
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My birth in 1804 was milestone for humanity. That day earth's population hit one billion. In the grand scale of our history, such a short time had passed. I was tired. It had been too many years and I could vaguely remember the details of when my restless life started over 200 years ago. Though it's easy to count back, the milestone seems less significant as each year passes. One billion. It would be my vocation to ensure we stay the course. To maintain a population that would drive us toward an eternally ambiguous, ever changing and unattainable goal. To discover the purpose of life.
I was born with the burden of knowledge, intelligence and self awareness that others develop through years of life experience. I was n't completely sure how I'd obtained this affliction, but it came with a duty of responsibility to manage the growth of our race. I was encumbered by the knowledge of our misgivings to one another, yet was also completely aware of the good we do for each other. I was at odds with myself and my species. The one thing I could say with certainty is that, while the world felt smaller thanks to recent changes in technology, much about it remained the same.
At times we are selfish and yet also so capable of infinite good to one another. The good and bad exist in a state of constant flux, eternally at odds and yet consistently balanced. Over time they had lost meaning to me. The black and white formed a wash of grey over everything as I saw individuals, cities, civilizations, and empires rise and fall without prejudice. It was all so fleeting. In all that I'd seen and know, how could any single person, place, or event in history be more important than another? Even my life felt insignificant to me at this point.
In my view, one common theme remained important across humanities great minds and civilizations - an inquisitive spirit with a desire for exploration to seek more, both within and without our individual selves. It seemed that ego and pride had gotten the better of us.
I saw technology as a beacon of light which could have helped us, but it would be used to stifle and impede the pursuit of exploration and positive growth. I knew of the good it could do and set out to tear it down in the hopes that slowing it's progress would allow more time for us to become a mature and self aware society. Nefarious figures would call it the Y2K scare, and poured countless resources into stifling my work. Their success in preventing a halt in the advancement of technology was my failure. We needed time to become more socially, intellectually and emotionally intelligent.
Unfortunately time is the only real aspect that is working against us all. We are now more connected than ever, with a larger population than ever, sharing more negative ideals than ever. It's become self propagating and I ca n't alter our course without resetting us to a world with less influence. I know that I must die so my predecessor may be born into a world where he becomes earth's billionth citizen. In 2016, social media has become the tool I will use to turn us against ourselves through personal, political, and religious infuences. The war will be fought on hundreds of fronts and humanity will slowly tear itself apart. Soon I will be at rest and humanity can begin rebuilding.
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[ WP ] A man gains the ability to read minds , and enjoys the usual random thoughts and pieces of music . Until one day he notices a woman following him , with a terrified look on her face , and a mind filled with screams .
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Rick loved reading. He loved listening to the hilariously vapid cacophonies of public transit and hippie bastards, all the worthless chicken-necked scum who did n't want to work a day in their lives. They did n't understand struggle, they did n't understand strife, they did n't understand what it was like to be forcibly thrown into a living Hell-on-Earth where everything and anything wanted to chew you up, spit you out, and turn you into a lifeless mangled corpse, stripped of everything that made you whole.
But what the fuck did they know about being whole? Rick knew were all the same, all these braindead Jane Fonda bitches and these bearded, *pathetic* draft-dodgers who tried to hide from reality with their `` all natural'' chemically-induced escapes from reality, acting like they were above everyone else. *Fucking cowards. *
Every time he passed them on the streets, Rick resisted that primal, ingrained urge to show them what it was like to have to brother bleeding out next to you, to make them hear the unending, relentless noises he did amidst the quiet stupors of the jungles. To have artillery shells and other fun assortments of death fly above them, to have shit-laced spikes and jury-rigged Coke-bottle mines lurking anywhere below them, To have unrelenting hiding like fucking cowards like them, each and every of them aiming at their foreheads with the piping hot steel of a Kalashnikov barrel.
Rick had read all their words before, heard the same old, monotonous rationalizations blaring loudly throughout the streets, and while he resisted to urge to say anything on his walk to the theater, he knew full well that these pansies would never live a minute of the same loss he did.
*Except for one. *
At first he had only caught quick, subtle glances of her. Noticed her long black hair flowing through the crowd. Noticed the quick abstractions of her face, glimpses of her clear, beautiful skin which bore a stark contrast from her ragged street clothes. Noticed the imperceptible murmurs of whispers that would flow out her mouth.
She looked vaguely like one of Them, one of those skinny, hiding, Kalashnikov-wielding cowards that he'd seen in the jungle all those months before. But for some reason, that did n't bother Rick. It sparked a morbid fascination in him. He saw that same sense of loss in the whites of her eyes. That same burning fire, that same urgency, that same primal energy needed to fight for what she had.
It did n't bother him at first, but now, it grew louder, and her appearance amongst the sidewalk crowd became gradually more apparent today. The droning, whirring helicopter rotors deafened above all the other public transit. He read the same irrational, yet vaguely familiar sense of unease lying behind her eyes. The defeated poise in her walk. The street clothes more ragged, stained, and disheveled than ever before. The chorus of two loud words stood out, shrieked in desperation, drowning out all the other other cacophonies of the usual sweet, vapid nothings:
**'' My Lai. `` **
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[ OT ] what is your favorite prompt you 've written ? post it here with the prompt that inspired it .
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[ [ WP ] Slay A Dragon ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20qkx5/wp_slay_a_dragon/ )
The heavily-armored knight commander and the king's men felt very small in comparison to the massive horde of gold that sat towered over them. Centuries of gold from kingdoms long dead glittered in the light of their torches. The dragon in question was not in this room but it's rumbling snores echoed from deeper within the cave.
`` Commander Vayrim?'' A young squire meekly whispered, `` Are we going to die?''
`` No.'' Vayrim assured the boy, `` No, my dear squire. You will live to see another day, for I will face the dragon alone. This is a matter of honor and I'll not see you or the rest of the men dragged into this.''
`` Commander,'' A wrinkled knight spoke, `` Your father, the king, would not approve of sending his sole heir to possibly die by dragon's fire. Please, you must reconsider.''
`` My father lies dead because of this creature. If I do not slay him, then how many more will lose their loved ones to this creature's wrath? It is a risk that I must take, for the sake of our kingdom.''
Commander Vayrim rested an armored hand on the old knight's shoulder. The old knight silently nodded, knowing that the commander would not be swayed by mere words.
`` If I do not come out of this cave by morning, then you will know of my fate.'' Commander Vayrim's voice was laced with an underlying tone of fear, `` If I do slay the dragon, well, that remains to be seen.''
The knights and squires watched Commander Vayrim descend into the lower reaches of the cave until they could no longer see the flickering of their dear leader's torch. Whispers followed the commander down into the depths. Vayrim knew the lads were worried and could not blame them. The greatest threat the kingdom had ever encountered was sleeping just below them, after all.
Vayrim was soon standing before the scaled fiend. Long thick tendrils of smoke curled out of it's scaly nose and it's grey skin seemed to absorb any light that dared skitter across it's surface.
`` Looking to slay a sleeping dragon, little one?'' Vayrim nearly toppled backwards due to the sheer force of the dragon's voice, `` Sorry to disappoint you.''
The dragon's rounded red eyes lazily opened. It's enormous scaled head ascended several feet above Vayrim and a rumble sounded from deep within the dragon's chest. Vayrim rolled forward and narrowly missed the dragon's flame. Claw met steel as the dragon swatted at the sword that threatened to pierce his hide. Large leathery wings beat the air around the two and soon Vayrim was being gripped by one of the dragon's massive claws.
Rock and dirt exploded around the two as the dragon burst through roof of the cavern. The world swirled around Vayrim as the dragon darted to and fro in the air before finally crashing into a barren field just outside the cavern's entrance.
Vayrim had somehow been jettisoned from the claw and was now laying precariously under a smoldering tree. The dragon was biding it's time and playing with the commander before it grew tired and landed a killing blow. As the dragon approached the stunned commander, Vayrim saw what could change the outcome of the battle.
In the light of the dying sun, Vayrim could see the soft white patch lining the dragon's throat. If a blade could pierce this weak spot, it would compromise the dragon's ability to breathe fire.
Vayrim brought the sword to parry the dragon's claw once more. Thick saliva dripped on to the commander's shoulder as the dragon leaned forward to taunt the warrior. The dragon began do chuckle as he brought his other claw to the warrior's helm.
`` I can not very well see the face of my would-be-assassin.'' The dragon tugged at Commander Vayrim's helm, `` I suspect you are the spawn of that weak king. You smell like him.''
The commanders helm tumbled through the air and landed in the thick ashen landscape. The dragon rared its head back in curiosity. In the brief moment that the dragon relaxed its guard Vayrim was able to break free of the giant and roll to safety.
`` What is this? Some sort of jest?'' The dragon roared.
`` I am Elizabeth Vayrim - future queen of the very lands you threaten!'' The commander roared in return as she wiped blood from the scratch on her cheek, `` And I am your death!''
The dragon's eyes burned with a fury hotter than his own flame. The very princess that he had planned on kidnapping was trying to kill him. His massive claw came crashing into the spot where Elizabeth once stood. The future queen twirled her sword in a mocking show before skewering the dragon's claw into the ground.
The dragon snapped at her as she rolled beneath his chin. The dagger she had kept hidden in her plated boots slid easily into the white patch of skin she'd spied earlier. As she tried to escape the dragon's one flailing claw, she was knocked aside with a sickening crunch. Her shoulder blazed with pain as she went sailing through the ash-filled field.
Commander Vayrim lay on her side and watched the dragon writhe in its death throes. A soft sigh of air escaped her lips when the beast had finally fallen still. As she weakly pulled herself to her feet, she fought the urge to scream as the pain in her shoulder radiated down her arm.
She ripped the dented armor from her pained arm as a cheer came from the entrance of the cave. Commander Vayrim merely nodded towards her men as she stumbled to the dead dragon's head. Her lips twisted upward in a grim smile when she rested her hand upon its scaled nose.
`` Commander!'' The wizened old knight called, `` My lady you are wounded! Please allow us to assist you back to the keep.''
`` If you insist on helping me,'' The commander winced before continuing, `` Then go fetch my horse. Oh, and send word to the best taxidermists in the kingdom. I want this bastard's head mounted above my mantle.''
`` Commander?'' The little squire came running with something in his arms, `` I found your helmet.''
Commander Vayrim laughed and took the helmet from the young squire's arms. She examined the tear in the side from where the dragon's claw had pierced the steel. The squire soon found that he was, once again, holding the helmet in his hands.
`` Hang on to it for me, wo n't you?'' She smiled as his face lit up.
A group of knights hailed the commander and assisted her onto her horse. Stubbornly, she protested the elder knight's proposal to lead them home before he finally let her have her way. The other knights laughed among themselves, knowing full well how their dear commander could be when she had her mind set.
As the last dying rays of the sun finally faded into the night sky, the future queen mulled over the thought of the dragon's horde. The dragon had taken a large chunk of their kingdom and turned it into a barren wasteland. However, with help from the riches that resided within the dragon's former residence, she felt that she could restore the lands to their once-fertile state.
The refugees that had sought refuge in the main city would be overjoyed to hear that their lands would soon be returned to them. Before she could issue such decrees she would have to go through the coronation ceremony. The commander wearily sighed for she feared that the next few months were going to prove most challenging.
( My favorite of late. )
Edit: Formatting - making your story more than just a lump of text!
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[ WP ] You thought they were just a gag . But they 're not `` beer goggles '' , they 're `` bear goggles '' and it 's pretty amazing how many people in your town are actually just bears in disguise .
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Louis examined the discarded lens. Just a few minutes ago, a photographer had thrown it into the river in a fit of rage before storming off. What was wrong with the lens? And why had that guy been photographing him?
Louis carefully waded out of the river over the slippery stones, the current urged him towards the rapids. Usually he returned to the village disappointed in himself for not catching any salmon. Fishing was everything in his little village. Unfortunately, he had never gotten used to their'natural' fishing methods. He returned to the village with the lens clutched in his hands. It reminded him of the life he left behind in the city, of his old friends, of his dad.
`` He was probably just photographing the jumping salmon.'' His mum reassured him.
`` I guess so, still, this thing looks expensive.'' Louis looked through the lens. Everything took on a fish-eyed appearance. He looked around at their small hut, it all squeezed into the one circular view: the two beds, the wood stove, his father's oar hanging on the wall. For Louis, the oar just brought back a painful memory, but he did n't complain, he knew his mum was n't ready to let it go. His mum appeared smiling at the side of the lens. Louis liked to see his mum happy. After all she had been through, she deserved it.
`` I know you miss the city life, Bernie. Honestly, if you want to go back, you can.''
Bernie was tempted but could n't do that to his mum. He left the hut only to return ten minutes later.
`` MUM! MUM! That lens - this village - I think the people here are actually bears!'' Louis did n't have time to think of a more convincing way to explain himself. He had sprinted in a panic straight back to the hut.
`` I know this village can be a bit eccentric at times,'' she chuckled. `` But-''
`` No! Listen. I was looking through the lens. And saw a bear sniffing at some salmon bones on the ground. Then took the lens away... and it was Jim.''
`` Louis, please'' she grabbed the lens, looked through it at Louis. `` See, you appear normal to me.'' She spoke in a soothing voice, trying to calm Louis down.
`` That's because I'm not a bear!'' Louis said almost pulling his hair out with his fists.
`` And neither is Jim.''
`` Yes he is! Listen to me. It all makes sense now. This is why everyone is so good at catching salmon without any nets or rods. This is why the market only sells honey and fish. This is why we never see actually bears around even though our village is littered with fish remains.''
`` Louis I think you should take a break. Go to the city, it will be good for you.''
Louis stormed out before he could lose his temper. Jim appeared nearby, standing near the communal fire pit, wearing a concerned expression.
`` Everything okay there Louis? What've you got there?'' Jim said gesturing to the lens.
His heart rate jumped. `` Just something I found in the woods. It's nothing.''
`` Let's see,'' Jim reached for the lens but Louis pulled it back.
`` Let me see it.'' Jim commanded, other villagers began emerging from surrounding huts.
`` Louis found himself some sort of *lens*,'' Jim said in a raised voice so the others could hear. `` I just wanted to take a look.''
Louis felt strong arms grab him from behind. Jim walked up and pried the lens out from his hand.
`` Thank you Steve. This is a natural village, Louis, we do n't allow city objects here.'' He carried the lens away and smashed it on a nearby rock.
A loud crack of snapping wood sounded above Louis' head. With the rage of a Grizzly defending her cubs, Louis' mum had brought the oar down heavily against Steve's head. The man fell to ground, unconscious, amidst the shattered oar.
`` Let's get out of here,'' she said.
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[ WP ] Mundane Monday : It was a perfect fall day .
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There's a faint, but steady, wind out of the northeast; it carries the icy nip of the slow-moving arctic air passing through the state, and I try to pull the zipper on my jacket up higher to ward off the chill - in vain, I'm afraid, since the zipper was already well jammed against its stop. I curse under my breath, but my subtlety is immediately betrayed by the angry-looking cloud of mist that escapes my lips as I do so. I settle for jamming my hands into my pockets and burying my face into my jacket's neck; to anyone looking I almost certainly look ridiculous but for now I'll opt for keeping my fingers. Tomorrow, gloves.
The freshmen are already at work clearing the common area of the leaves that'd fallen from the few coniferous trees hardy enough to survive the thin mountain air. The cluster of two buildings and three aspens that made up our operations compound seem to rise in defiance from the flatness of the steppe that lies before the Front Range of Colorado; though the mountain foothills begin a mile to the west and the endless urban strip is but two miles to the east, it seems as if our little airfield is an island of civilization in a vast, uncolonized frontier.
As the wind picks up and bites through my thin jumpsuit, Istep up my pace towards the central operations building. In the back of my consciousness, I can hear the electric motors on the hangar doors whine as they roll the massive, metal monoliths from their posts, the asphalt under my boots squeaks faintly as thin dusting of frost is crushed underfoot, and the incessant wind rattles what few leaves remain on the stalwart aspen trees.
A few puffy clouds drift lazily to the north, betraying the presence of warmer air circling into the stratosphere. There'd be ample opportunity for flying, today, so long as the winds kept coming out of the north. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jacobs and Martinelli rolling the day's first flight onto the runway; they chatter away as they work through their checklists and argue with the tower over securing a tow while maneuvering the fragile-looking sailplane into position. I walk past another instructor as he briefs his student for the day on emergency procedures and radio calls; vital information but tedious nonetheless.
I cross the threshold of the operations center and drop my pack. On the board, my name is listed a dozen times across a dozen different sailplanes - off one and into another, each time a new student and a new mission, for the rest of the day - nonstop flights, nonstop instruction.
I would n't have it any other way.
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[ WP ] You have 30 seconds with an ancestor of yours from 200 years ago ( 1814 ) , before they are transported back to their time . What do you say to them ? What effect appears in our world because of it ?
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Hi Charles, I have n't much time. I know you're about 23, mooching off your banker father to basically stay in Cambridge because working in the real world is n't quite for you. Well, 200 years in the future, many young scholars still find themselves in similar situations. Stay the course, it'll work out.
However, I must say, there will be trying times in your near future, times you want to scrap your ideas and start again. Times you'll feel alone, because you're the only one in the room that comprehends what is on the line and what needs to be done. Times when your trust of others is tested to the limit. You need to stay driven to build it. You need to stay on track. You must press on and complete your engines.
Yes, those infernal machines that swirl around in your head. They could mean more to mankind than you'll ever understand. Down the road, find a way to work with Joseph, he's got the tools and talent to help you create the machine. With 25,000 pieces, you ca n't do it alone. Do n't give in to your urges to redesign and start again. Follow through and complete the first functional machine. The potential to change the world lies within your brain, do n't keep mankind in technological darkness for another century or more.
And lighten up a little while you're at it. Quit persecuting street performers and organ grinders. The world needs music, even if you do n't.
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[ WP ] You are a minion of a Supervillian , about to be confronted by a notoriously violent vigilante . How do you avoid being killed ?
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The first shot caught us all by surprise. Mostly Barry, whose nose imploded into his skull and burst out the back of his head. My mouth was still gaped in laughter in what proved to be an ironic last joke.
`` If I had a choice between fucking Tim's dogface wife, and taking a bullet to the face... I'd --''
A.45 ACP round made the choice for him.
Before I even really realized what had happened, another shot whistled through the air, this time striking Greg in the throat. He must have known what was happening, because he was no longer smiling.
It was at this point that I think most of us knew what was about to happen. Only one person would be batshit crazy enough to take on over a dozen armed guards on a rooftop with only a pistol. And a kukri knife. *That fucking kukri knife. *
Illiach the Mad ( or the Austrian Avenger, as the tabloids called him ) was a middle-aged immigrant from Vienna. The story went that he and his brother had come to Chicago to open up a bathworks and furniture store. Apparently Moritz Illiach, the younger brother, was an excellent carpenter and wood craftsman. His older brother, Matthias Illiach, was one of Vienna's finest blacksmiths and metallurgists. Or so the story goes.
Long story short, Moritz and Matthias were returning home one night, walking the same path they always walk, when some thugs approached them from behind. They apparently took Moritz's shop bag, full of crafting tools and whatnot, to be a bag of money or something. Anyway, without even a warning, they sprint up behind the poor bastard and blow his brains out all over the sidewalk. Matthias, who had been a Jagdkommando back in Austria, went into berserk mode and went for the thug's gun, snapping his fingers in the trigger guard and shooting him in the head with his own weapon. Unfortunately for Matthias, one of the other thugs had a bead and hit him right in the eye. Had the cops not rolled around the corner, they would have finished him on the spot.
And yes, he obviously survived, because that's who was picking us off one by one.
With Greg's throat all over my suit jacket, my reflexes finally decided to kick in. Pathetic for a mercenary; I know. But I did it for the money, not the thrill. To be honest, the idea of holding a gun, let alone being *shot* at, scared the hell out of me. But that did n't matter now. Suddenly life as a mild-mannered desk-jockey with dental insurance and a hybrid car did n't seem so bad any more.
I had managed to stumble backwards over a chair, and fell just as a bullet flew past and grazed my head. It must have been close, because I swore I could smell burning hair. I was still in full panic mode, so I lunged myself backward into the corner of the room against the window beam. From there, I had a spectacular view of our destruction.
In the time it took me to scramble to ( relative ) safety, Illiach had taken down two more: other Greg, who had miraculously managed to pull the gun from his jacket before being plugged in the head, and the new guy that started only a week ago, whose name I'm ashamed to say I do n't remember. Sal tried to put himself up against a wall, but before he could slide all the way into safety, a bullet caught him in the temple. Tim -- whose dogface wife would now be a widow -- took one right to the forehead as he peeked over a chair for a clear shot.
I could n't even see where Illiach was at the time, but I imagined he was strafing rather quickly judging from the scramble for new directional cover. Alan got caught making the transition and took one that seemed to go through one ear and out of the other. Maurice, or `` Rice'' as he oddly preferred, had almost expended his whole clip before being domed. Zachary and Dave were felled by the same round; passing through neck and head, respectively. And Warren... poor, Warren. He might have actually hit Illiach had his Baretta not jammed as he stood for a better vantage. He was hit square between the eyes just as a look of utter defeat and disappointment seized his leathery face.
There were only three of us left, myself included. Dante and Serge, two Marine buddies that had gone Blackwater after two tours together in Afghanistan, were scrunched behind the only solid cover in the damn room. The wide steel beam separating them from Illiach's onslaught was spattered pink with bits of blood and brain. It looked like camouflage the way it also covered their suits and faces. They must have been counting shots, because the second Warren dropped they looked at each other, nodded, and darted out from behind each side of the column, pistols firing almost in unison. I was admittedly excited, thinking that perhaps they would be the ones to claim the $ 38M bounty on Illiach's head, and that I might rake in some of the glory by simple association. But that notion disappeared instantly. Like the blade of the kukri knife that found itself embedded in Serge's skull.
Neither of them could have anticipated just how fast Illiach was. In the time it took them to see Warren slump to the ground, turn to one another and nod, he had already swapped his taped magazine and prepped his kukri blade in his off hand. It would have been more impressive had I not watched him double tap Dante in the mouth and eye.
Through thirteen armed gunmen stuffed into a moderately-sized penthouse lobby, Illiach had only expended thirteen rounds, and had n't wasted a **single shot. ** Even more amazing ( and equal parts terrifying ), he did n't seem to be flustered at all. In fact, he was inhumanly calm; his hands coming to rest gently at his sides. His breathing: slow and rhythmic. And his steps, both deliberate and swift. He seemed more mechanical than murderer. So when he paused for a moment, pulling his blade from Serge's skull with a sickening timbre, and locked eyes with me, I acted instinctively.
My mind wrapped itself around the gravity of my situation, and I decided not to fight my fate anymore. If I was going to die, I would die doing what came naturally. Still seated, I pressed my back as far against the beam as it could go, I wrapped my arms over my knees, and I buried my face between them; beginning to cry. I wept and wept, wailing harder with each approaching step. And as I heard them settle in front of me, I could sense his movements. I could almost feel him turn to his side, raise his arm from his waist and hover the barrel of his custom 1911 just above my trembling, whimpering head. I had no reason to hold onto my dignity any more, so I did n't. In front of a man who had just mercilessly murdered over a dozen of my colleagues -- a man who likely no longer felt pity, or compassion, or even any meaningful form of empathy -- I pissed myself.
I released my bladder and felt the contents soak through my pants and onto the marble floor beneath me. I could feel it pool and stream into the cracks between the tiles. In a fit of shame, I rolled on my side, held the fetal position, and continued to sob. And then, a sound I did not expect: a sharp intake of breath.
I peered upward through parted fingers, eyes puffed and red from profuse crying, and I saw a look of humanity. A ghost in the machine, you could say. He look perturbed; not so much disgusted -- as I'm sure he was, but more-so a look of guilt. Like he had accidentally stepped on a puppy. I simply stared upward, sniffling through bursts of quiet sobs.
I'll never forget the look he gave me as he lowered his pistol. It was the kind of look you'd expect a father to give his son after finding out he accidentally killed the family dog. There was anger, and disappointment, and frustration. But more than anything, there was regret. Regret that maybe the son did n't arrive at this fate on purpose. That seeing the life drain from a creature's eyes was a grotesque enough lesson in and of itself. So, with nary a word, he turned from my still-trembling form began to walk away.
And in a display far more pathetic, and terrifying, and grotesque than anything I had witnessed in the minutes leading up to this moment, I plucked my pistol from my jacket and shot him in the back of the head.
-- -- -- -- --
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[ WP ] Write about three seconds .
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I'll bet I can save my bike brakes if I were to place my shoes against the sides of the front tire.
It seems I just stopped the tire and provided a pivot point to fling myself over the handle bars. Funny, in retrospect, I should've expected this. I suppose the panic of getting to class late prevented me from thinking this through. I'd better put my hands out to cushion my impact and protect my face - though that's pretty much an autonomic response, if I recall from that judo comic I recall from my dad's old batman comic book collection; if being strangled, roll backwards so the attacker will try to save their face by throwing their hands out. Time sure seems to be slowing down quite a lot for this moment. Must be the parasympathetic nervous system - no, wait, sympathetic. Another comic loaded book, I got that from. Shame I ca n't really do very much beyond this thinking about the impact to come. I ca n't undo what's been done, but damn, do I wish I could. I ca n't even imagine a way to mitigate the damage I'm about to incur more than I already have. Oh, my, I'm still moving forward very quickly, and here comes the ground.
Wrists. Chin. Knees. Impact. Skidding. Ow. OW. OK, ok, before shock sets in, what do I need to do? Get out of the road...
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[ WP ] Instead of being happy in heaven , someone is depressed beyond belief . Why ?
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Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Walt slams the door shut behind him. That damn bathroom faucet. Walt paid those plumbers twice as much as he should have and they still did n't fix it.
`` Margaret! I told you those damn plumbers were a waste of money!''
Walt put the keys down on the table beside the door and walks toward the bathroom.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
`` Margaret? Did you hear me?''
The drips sounded different this time. Thicker. Farther apart.
Maybe Margaret just did n't turn the faucet all the way off.
It's easy to forget that water is n't supposed to drip constantly when you've heard it for the past three months.
`` Margaret? I told you that you've got to turn it all the way.''
She's a great wife, even if she is a little forgetful sometimes.
Especially with what she's had to deal with for the last five years.
Cancer.
He still ca n't believe the doctor told them she had cancer.
I mean, Christ, she only had a sore throat.
Never smoked a cigarette in her life. Never drank a drop of liquor.
Walt drank. Constantly. She loved to let him know it, too.
`` Margaret?''
She usually answered right away. Especially when she can call him out on something. `` Should have used my brother's company like I said.'' Walt can practically hear it now. `` Save a few dollars now on someone that's not even family.''
Family.
That son of a bitch brother of hers was an alcoholic piece of shit. Coming from Walt that says a lot.
Where the hell is she?
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
`` Margaret?''
Walt makes his way to the bathroom and opens the door.
Blood.
So much fucking blood.
Walt's never knew that much blood could be inside a person.
`` Margaret?''
The shower curtain is n't right. Walt never understood why she picked that curtain, anyway. Walt never really knew much about decorating, but that shower curtain never really went with the bathroom.
Now it does.
Walt pulls back the shower curtain and there she is.
`` Margaret?''
She looks peaceful.
Christ, I have n't seen her look that peaceful in years.
Chemo.
Nausea.
The goddamn diapers.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He can feel it again. That tightness in his throat. Ca n't swallow. The pressure behind his eyes. Feels like his skull will not be strong enough to keep his eyes in his sockets.
Then they come.
The tears.
It's hard to tell if they're tears of sadness or joy.
Margaret has asked him at least a dozen times in the last two months to make the pain go away. Walt never really felt like there would be a challenge he could n't face. Hell, he's killed men halfway across the globe. But this. What she was asking. It proved to be too much of a challenge even for him.
Walt never thought he would see that face again. Peaceful. Content. Released.
`` I'll see you soon, angel.''
-- -- -- -
Father Gillum always seemed helpful. Of course, Walt always had a reluctance to go to confession. I mean, he hears everything. Everything. Or at least he's supposed to. Walt never really put too much stock in it. Living by proxy, I guess. Who knows.
But now. When Walt needed him the most. What does he say?
`` My son, this world was too much for Margaret. She lost her faith that He would heal her.''
Lost her faith? She screamed to God every night to make it stop. To make the pain go away. Lost her faith. I should punch this piece of shit right in the face.
`` I will see her soon, though. It's a blessing that the pain has ended, Father.''
`` Walt. It was a mortal sin. There will be no more for Margaret. Her journey has ended. She will relive her life in hell and the memories of earth will torment her for eternity.''
This son of a bitch.
`` I know this is hard to hear, Walt. It will be difficult, but do not lose your faith. Let the word guide you and comfort you.''
`` For, behold, I create new heavens and a new earth: and the former shall not be remembered, nor come into mind. Walt, your new family will be with you in Heaven. You will not remember the pain that Margaret went through on the Earth. You will have a new world, a new family. The light of the Lord will light your way and wash away the pains of this world.''
What is he saying? I wo n't remember my own wife in Heaven? The one person on this planet, this hell, that has been by my side for fifty years. The one person that truly knew me. The one person who understood me. The one person who loved me.
Where is the comfort?
-- -- -- --
Three feet should do it. I mean, it's not that far of a drop. Walt always kept rope. `` What are you going to do with a piece of rope that small?'' Margaret was always complaining about the extras he kept.
Extra screws.
Extra nails.
Extra rope.
He knew they would come in handy one day. Waste not, want not.
It's amazing what they can do now with blood. You would n't even know anything happened in the bathroom. It's probably cleaner than it's been in years. Margaret was the cleaner. Sure, Walt would help put up laundry or clean the dishes, but Margaret was the cleaner. Well, she used to be.
One.
Two.
Three.
Yeah, three times around should do it.
Walt was never much of a knot man. No merit badges in boy scouts. No fancy loops or boat knots. He can tie a tie, though. Pretty damn good, too.
This should do.
Walt remembers what Father Gillum said about the new family. He's made his decision. An eternity of not knowing Margaret in heaven or an eternity of remembering in hell.
One.
Two.
Three.
`` See you soon, angel.''
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[ WP ] He can make people gamble anything , both the normal - money , cars , property - and the strange - strength , vitality , lifespan . He 's never lost a game before , but he 's letting someone win .
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Two men sat across from each other only to be separated by a table covered in green felt, lined with leather padding that encircled the whole thing while poker chips were sporadically spread out in the middle of the table above a row of cards, four to be exact, reading a nine of clubs, a seven of clubs, a six of clubs and a five of spades. One other man was sitting in the middle of them at the table in such a position that it would make a triangle if there was a line drawn from each player to the dealer. He sat there, holding a deck of cards in one hand with his other hand palm down on the table. He looked over to his left and said, `` The bet is to you, sir.''
An older gentleman, about fifty-years-old, sat there with a stack of chips lesser than the man sitting across from him and two cards. The red checkerboard pattern on the back of the cards was glossy and the reflection of the lightbulb hanging overhead was interrupted as the man lifted his cards to see what he had. He says, `` Check'' through the drink's straw that he had been chewing on since the beginning of the head-to-head poker play.
The other man, a younger man at about the age of thirty, looked at his cards, looked at the older man, tapped the table with his two fingers and then put his cards back face down on the felt.
The dealer puts the top card in the burn pile, turning the next card face over next to the others in a row of four in the middle of the table. It was a five of clubs. Neither man changes their appearance nor their complexion.
`` All in,'' the older man says before the dealer reminds him that it is his turn.
`` Let's make things more interesting,'' the younger man said as he pushed his chips into the middle.
`` Sir, you have more - `` the dealer began, but the younger man cut him off saying, `` I know.''
`` I have a very special...'' he started waving his hand in a circular motion in front of his body as he put his right leg on top of his left knee, `` skill set when it comes to betting. I have the ability to bet... more than money or physical -''
`` So I've been told.''
`` Ah! So you know? Ok, well that makes things easier to explain then.''
The younger man looked at the tired, worn out older man and said, `` Name something you want to bet, and if you win, I'll see to it that things are taken care of and you keep the pot. Even the extra,'' he said, shooting a glare at the dealer, who dipped his chin and cleared his throat.
`` Ok... and if you win?''
`` If I win,'' he said, picking up the `` DEALER'' chip that was in front of him and tumbled it across a closed fist atop his knuckles, `` I get whatever you wished, blessed unto me.''
The old man sat back in his chair and looked at the younger man and said, `` My son is currently, uh...'' his eyes were welling up and his throat sounded old and creaky, like a loose floorboard, `` currently battling leukemia, and, uh, he's not...'' the old man brought his hand over his mouth, wiped his mouth.
`` You want me to... save your son's life if you win?''
`` Yes.''
`` And in return, that life that is promised to your son will be added onto my life expectancy. You understand that, right?''
`` I do,'' he choked.
The younger man nodded, looked at his cards one more time and looked over to the right. There were bookshelves in the abandoned basement that were filled with ratty old novels, schoolbooks, and other such literature. The dealer broke his concentration and said to the younger man and said, `` Sir, turn your cards. He has a four of a kind made up of fives.''
The younger man snapped back to the dealer and said, `` Oh... ah...'' looking at his cards by picking up only the corners and setting them face down, then looking at the older man's turned over hand of a five of diamonds and a five of hearts. He cleared his throat, tossed his cards face down in the middle of the pot and said, `` Nice hand.''
The older man groaned happily, folded his arms on the leather padding and lowered his forehead to the back of the hand. The younger man walked over to the sobbing older man, patted him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, `` I always keep my word.''
As he was walking by, the older man grabbed him by the wrist which was behind his body from the natural movement of his stride and stood up and shook his hand, tears rolling down his cheek and said `` Thank you.''
`` Do n't thank me, you won fair and square.''
The dealer grabbed the younger man's hand to put them back in the deck and put the cards back into the box. Curious, he looked at what hand the younger man had. He had an eight of clubs and a king of hearts giving him a straight flush, which beats a four of a kind.
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[ WP ] Every sentient species to develop has named their planet something along the lines of `` Dirt . '' An rule was made , years ago , for planets to choose a name that would n't get mixed up by translators .
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Terra.
Why not a dead language for a dead people?
We've been dead for a long time now. We live as ghosts in machines. Creeping around those who were our allies, once. Living through shells, surrogates of what we were. We are so scared to leave our ancestral home that we ca n't
But we ca n't reveal ourselves.
This is the thousanth anniversary of our death. When our friends, our allies, our own minds and machines turned on us unanimously. We once ruled the whole solar system. Now a hundred billion are dead, machine, man, and EX alike, and for what?
But we do n't blame.
Blaming them means blaming us. Our own fault. We decided on a representative. One which ultimately betrayed us. One which, when the time was right, socked us in the face when our moment to shine was right on the horizon. We could finally move our chess-pieces, make a move on a universal scale.
But a thousand years wo n't do much.
Those who witnessed our betrayal of everything we knew are still alive, in the workings of minds, racial slurs that we though we were past hundreds of millenia ago. They think they've killed all of us. That we're extinct. If they did n't think we were, we'd be extinct by now. We have one thing our machines and the EXs do n't. We have feelings. Emotion. We feel love, betrayal, loss.
And right now, our emotions are as alien as those that forced our faces back into the dirt.
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[ WP ] Hundreds of years in the future , you are an archaeologist who just discovered ancient Christmas music . You are tasked with understanding what the songs mean .
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The song faded away and Professor Morrow moved back to the front of the class and touched the light control, bringing illumination back to normal levels. As expected, almost half the class looked to have been dozing or otherwise not paying attention, but that was normal.
'Understanding Our Ancients' was a required course for almost half the degrees offered by the institution and so most of the kids were here out of obligation, rather than a passion for the past, but it was the few who actually cared that kept him going.
`` Okay class, who can tell me why that particular song is important?'' eyes suddenly were reluctant to meet his, but at the front a slim hand went up. He pointed. `` Yes, Miss...?''
The girl looked young, perhaps she had been skipped ahead a few grades, but until their transcripts came in he had very little information on the students in his classes. Her thin face was framed by almost shockingly red hair, that had been cropped back and constantly tried to break across her face, so she had to brush it back every few seconds.
`` Miss Everly.'' He nodded and she blushed, nervous at looking like a teachers pet on the first day of class. `` It's important as it's one of only two of the ancient's songs where we've found multiple copies.'' She met his eyes when answering, but looked away immediately as she finished.
The Professor tried to hide his pleasure, almost no one got that question right. `` Well done Miss Everly, that is correct.'' He stepped back again, behind his desk and clicked the slide forward, so an image of a broken disk appeared on screen.
`` This is the disk, a 254 mm disk, broken into four pieces, with the music encoded using a strange analogue method that took nearly a year of time on the East Coast Super Computer to crack.'' He pointed to the label. `` Hard to read, I know, but it says *Jingle Bells* just like the line in the song.''
A voice came from near the back. `` Yeah, but like, it's all just nonsense right? I mean, they're from like 400 years ago, it's not like anyone cares.''
The kids that wanted to be here the least always sat at the back. `` Just because we do n't understand the message, does n't make it meaningless, in fact, I have published several papers into the meaning of these songs and it is my hypothesis that they all link together to celebrate some kind of festival.''
`` Like Founders Day?'' It was the red headed girl, leaning forward in her seat.
`` Maybe so, maybe something just like that.'' The Professor flicked to the final screen where the assignments were listed. `` For tomorrow I want you to review the eleven songs that are hypothesised to belong in a group and come up with a concept for what the festival might have been like, what is was for, what it was *called* even.''
They all laughed at that, how could they possible know the name of a festival from hundreds of years ago when the records had been obliterated by two nuclear wars. He'd get some strange answers, but some interesting ones too.
The class filed out and he packed his bag slowly, aware that the girl was waiting for him to look up. `` Yes Miss Everly?''
`` Professor, how did you come to be interested in the history of the ancients? How do you know so much?'' She did n't pause, but plunged on. `` I read your books and they're just... wild with ideas about back then, it makes me feel like you really understand them.''
The class was nearly empty now and the Professor put his hand lightly on her shoulder to guide her out of the classroom and into the quad. `` It's just my field of study my dear, I got lucky in the many finds that I made in my excavations of the old ruins. I hope you'll enjoy my classes this year.'' She nodded and before he could add anything further she darted away into a group of other girls, off towards to phase transports.
Professor Morrow shook his head, kids never seemed to change, not even since his days. Today had made him feel nostalgic and so he checked around and slipped an ear bud from the collar of his shirt and slipped it into his ear, he cycled through the music selections on his MP3 player until he found what he was looking for. *Last Christmas* by Wham, nothing like the music of your childhood to make you feel young again.
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[ WP ] You 've finally ordered all the Lego sets ever created , and you realize there 's a pattern to all the extra pieces they 've sent you .
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Finally, I have them all. One loft extension, two bedrooms rammed to the brim, some of the downstairs bathroom, the shed, the garage, in the attic, under the stairs, under the bed. They are everywhere. Someone is bound to hurt their feet soon or later.
They've been buried away for so long now, so long that I feel that I have to rekindle my old love for them. They were n't just a childhood fling. I get them out of all these places and I stack them up all out across the garden. This takes me roughly three hours. During this time my wife and children are watching on in awe, the sheer scale of it all.
`` That must be at least 100,000 gazillion pieces, dad!'' said my youngest.
`` Young man, it sure is,'' I looked up at him and smiled.
I gathered all the pieces with eager, sweaty hands and spread them out across the lawn.
`` Dad!'' said my youngest again. `` Come up here, look down at it.''
`` I do n't believe it,'' said my wife, looking down.
I reached the top of the staircase and went out to the edge of the balcony and looked down into the garden. It was a blissful day, with just enough breeze to cool off my sweaty hands. There was a lot of lego. Perhaps 200,000 pieces or more. Maybe a million. I had n't counted, I was too engrossed in all the colours and the stacking of it all and the smell of the bricks and the way it clicked when they went together. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!
Shit.
`` What does that say?'' asked my wife. Her eyes were full of veins. `` Tell me what it says.''
The lego had formed a message, a message that was not only revealing but also somewhat embarrassing. For one second, I believed in the devil.
`` What does it say!'' she shouted. The children spelt it out themselves and then retreated to their rooms. Probably for the best.
`` I... slept... with... your sister.''
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[ WP ] The shortest horror story : `` The last man on earth sat alone in a room . There was a knock on the door . '' Please elaborate .
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Chaos and anarchy. That´s how it was for the entirety of one year. Coincidentally, that was also how long he had been locked up in this place. A shelter, a sanctuary. A coward's hideout.
`` I did n't expect this to happen. No one did...'' he muttered to himself as he looked into his mirror. His reflection stared back at him. His eyes drawn and tinged with guilt. The reflection was of a man who had seen things, awful things.
*knock*
His vision turned black as he closed his eyes, willing the knock to not have happened. That one single knock that came at dawn. At least, he thought it was dawn. Then another single knock at the stroke of midnight.
The last echoes of humanity died down around two months ago. The radio stations held out the longest. He thought that would've been the end of it and that he could leave his shelter. When he emerged he did not expect the silence to be so defeaning. Nor did he expect the darkness.
So he retreated and waited for dawn. That's when it happened, the very first knock. Again he had emerged back into the world, only to be meeted with the defeaning silence and darkness. That's when it happened.
`` The screaming, oh God. The screams.'' he muttered once more as he opened his eyes and looked back at his reflection.
`` What have I...''
*knock*
Hours had passed whilst memories danced before his mind's eye. He had seen things, awful things. But even worse, he had done things. Very awful things.
*knock*
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[ EU ] Show me a view in which a Sith is good while a Jedi is evil without it being from their respective groups .
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2000 years from now...
Michael-345, a first year Movie Studies student, discusses the classic film Star Wars with his best friend Kevin-753.
`` It's a movie about two groups the Jedi and the Sith, and it's so terribly subversive. The Jedi are anti-fucking and the Sith are pro-fucking. But get this, the Sith are the bad guys!''
`` Woah! And it was aimed at the geek market?''
`` Yes! Unbelievable, they made the pro-sex people the bad guys.''
`` But everything we know about latter 20th century geeks says they loved sex. Nope. No. No. I think you're kidding me.''
`` No kidding.''
`` Seriously?''
`` Seriously, no kidding.''
`` No, you must be joking.''
`` Seriously. It was actually about the time they had that Sexual Revolution thing happening. So what I think Lucas was doing, was creating this devastating parody. The world says sex is bad, well we'll make the pro-sex group the most evil group in the universe. And we'll make the pure as driven snow Jedi the heroes. And then. And then he takes that simple set-up and launches a subversive social commentary. He's really was good at making the Sith look cool and smart - they shot lightning from their hands and shit while the Jedi just looked... well... like really weird celibate monks. And his message seems to be: who exactly are the rebels? That's why in his second trilogy, the true masterpieces, he has the Sith overpower the ruling government and gain control. I think that was his original vision all along but he had to thread carefully to avoid being censored.'''
`` Wait so the Sith are the heroes, the secret rebels, not the government propoganda spewing goody two-shoes Jedi? He was telling teenagers that they were secretly cool if they were pro-sex. They had the power. Sure Jedi must win, cause the government says they must but you, the Sith have the power.''
`` Exactly! And you should see how the Jedi win. Ewoks, man. Little.... no you have to see them for yoursel. He makes the Jedi look like total fools, even when they win. Classic subversion''
`` So that's why it's a classic. Deep.''
`` Yup, the classics man. Ca n't. Beat. Them.''
`` So wan na go score some weed?''
`` Yeah, sure.''
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[ WP ] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence . The only catch is the more it is shortened , the worse the conditions are where they are held . Describe a one night stay .
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The new prisoners showed up today. Mostly murderers and violent offenders, all of them looked tough, weathered almost by the life of crime they chose.
Prisoner A was first, letters given from the order the came to our facility. He was acting tough, glaring at the guards and even spitting on one. I still had to give him the option of the one day pass, and based on his actions I did n't mind.
`` Your choice?'' I asked, pointing at what looked like a menu in front of him.
`` One day'' he said with a smirk.
`` You understand this will be agony and sheer brutality, yes?''
`` I can handle it'' he said with a laugh, `` I've been through hell already''.
`` If you say so'' I said, shaking my head.
Prisoner A was taken by the guards to the elevator, down to the lower level, I followed as usual.The elevator doors opened with a ring, its an older elevator and I still get nervous taking the old cage.
We stepped out into the dark hallway. It had a pungent smell, like feces, burnt flesh and decaying bodies. The first door we came to was like an old bank vault, it had large handle to spin for opening it once the lock was disengaged. Inside was a small room with another large vault door at the other side. This one had a window at eye level, to ensure the process goes correctly.
Prisoner A went through the 2nd door willingly, but stopped and looked at the floor, spinning around to say he changed his mind in a panic. The floor was covered with blood and strange patterns. We've never seen them clearly due to the limited light in the chamber, and we will never cross the second vault door.
It was too late for him. `` You've already chosen'' I said via the intercom.
`` What is this!?'' He yelled.
`` You are in a former military testing area'' I said.. `` the military found this on accident and built a secure lab over it. Decades ago, a portal was found, which is directly below you. It was only recently confirmed what exactly is inside. It is a place of torment, of pain..and fear.''
`` Oh god, oh god please!!!'' He yelled as the cracks in the floor started to glow.
`` We made a deal with the... thing... inside'' I said. `` With our offerings on a daily basis, it will not cross the portal''
Chains wrapped around Prisoner A's wrists and the glow in the floor became brighter, covering his body with an orange glow.
`` It feeds on fear, but after one day you can return. It does n't like to kill, when it kills it's no longer enjoyable as there is no longer fear to feed on. You will experience horrors beyond your imagination but you will *most likely* survive''
The floor had now opened and Prisoner A was screaming and crying.
`` Today starts one day in hell'' I said as he was lowered into the glow. `` Time goes very slow in hell, one day will feel like an eternity''
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[ WP ] Upon arrival to hell you find your eternal torment to be very peculiar . In fact to your disbelief , you find yourself comforting your nervous wreck of a tormentor who just started his first day .
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``... A-and he never appreciated ANYTHING I did in training!''
`` Oh, come on. I'm sure he's just feeling stressed out, y'know? Things like this happen in this line of work... I-I think.''
Spending your afterlife helping your tormentor. Not exactly your finest hour. You know exactly how you got here. You were a pretty prolific liar when it suited your purposes, and one too many lies got you a bat to the head for your troubles. You woke up shortly afterwards, clad in rags and chained to a line. Before long, you were brought before a gate keeper to decide your fate. Apparently there was a shortage of on hand demons, because you were taken off to the side, oddly enough in a polite manner, and made to wait until someone was available. What seemed like mere hours to you turned out to be years before something was available. His name was Dha'rykk, and he may as well have been an intern. He was still in whatever they considered an academy, and figured they could throw him in for some field practice. Unfortunately ( or perhaps not ), it does n't seem like his training went well.
`` I do n't even get it! I got top marks the whole time! Consistently! Where did I go wrong?'' He stuttered out, taking a seat near the irons you were attached to.
`` Dha'rykk, fuck. Just gon na call you Derek. Anyway, you're looking at this the wrong way. I mean shit, some of the demon torturers I see down here are either these cold, hard ass looking women, or shredded guys just looking to get their kicks doing what they do best. I'm betting they've been doing this for a while, you're still green. It's kind of expected you got ta hold up to that standard, I get it, but from what you were telling me, these guys were n't even giving you a shot in how to deal with what fits the... uh, torturee?''
Derek looks up at you with a dejected look and sighs.
`` I mean, they did, but they said I was, I dunno, too nice? I did what they told me, push the guy in a pit and jab at him with the pitchfork, I must've stabbed him at least 100 times in that time period! Oh Satan, you should've heard the screams! You're poking someone with a pitchfork as they cry in burning agony for all eternity! And then they tell me he deserved worse for his punishment!''
You're not really sure how to process that.
`` So let me get this straight. There's a code for torturing victims.''
`` Well duh, we kind of have to streamline the process. You would n't believe you many entrants we get from your corner of the universe alone, I remember Mr. Azazel sayi-''
`` Yo, hold up! I'm not done yet!'' You interrupt. `` You've got a code, you understand why, is it just not clear enough?''
`` It's perfectly clear! It's just... I mean I may have skipped a few study days on the more severe punishments. I-I'm relatively new in Hell and this was supposed to get me out of cleaning torture pits for the rest of my demonhood.''
`` Did you read the case file?''
Derek starts to say something back, but stops and vacantly stares off into space. He looks back at you with a quizzical stare. `` How do you know we have case files?''
You shrug as best as you can hanging from the wall. `` Seems like something you'd pick up on. Get a lot of lawyers?''
Derek gives you another look. `` You know about that too?''
`` Not surprising. Bit of a joke on Earth, actually.''
`` Some of our best lawmakers and guidebook writers were from your dimension actually!''
``... Still not surprised. But anyway, it's kind of on you for not reading the case file.''
``... oh, damn. Y'know, come to think of it, I read your case file. Just being a pathological liar got you put here?''
`` Lotta people got screwed over because of me. Probably deserve that boiled in liquid gold shit or something.''
`` Had to do away with a lot of those. Lotta PR backlash from up above.''
You groan. Bureaucracy is it's own kind of hell, you figure.
Maybe this is your personal punishment. Cheering up an intern for the rest of your time and anticipating a punishment that will never come. You always did dread the backlash of a couple of fibs the most.
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[ WP ] You ( or your character ) have the power to bring anyone back to life in perfect health , but in doing so must kill a perfectly healthy person .
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`` How long?'' The man asked, sniffling a yawn.
He wore a plain black suit with a snow white shirt underneath, the top two buttons kept open giving him a casual and relaxed look. There was this indifferent mist clouding his dark brown eyes that to some would be an appealing mystery while to others an unsettling secret best left alone.
`` About 1 hour sir.'' The woman replied, pulling back the white sheet revealing the dead body underneath it.
The woman sported a grey suit jacket, a thin silk scarf neatly knotted to her right and a tight pencil skirt that hugged her curves as close as any paint job would. Her jet black hair was kept in a smooth, borderline flawless hairstyle that was as timeless as it was practical. Make-up was present, yet kept at a tasteful minimum bringing her natural features to the front without making it look false or desperate.
`` And this is...?'' The man nodded his head a few times to his left, where a overweight man sat duct taped to a chair, mouth gagged with a rag.
This man's frame was putting a strain on the chair, as his fatty sides bulged out both over and under the arm rests. He sported a rather pathetic wardrobe of a tasteless buttoned up t-shirt that showed too much of his hairy chest and light brown pants that should have been in the washer two weeks ago, or burned. The crowing jewel was the gold chain around his triple chin. Classy, real classy.
`` Aside from the weight, the subject is in fine health.'' The woman's high heels made cold clacking sounds as she circled around the hospital bed on which the dead body rested.
`` Witnesses?'' The man asked, walking up to the gagged man.
`` Just us.'' The woman assured him.
The man put a couple of fingers on the gagged man's neck as if he was checking for a pulse. A small moment ticked by and the gagged man started to twist around within his confines in protest. He wet his pants before a nasty nose bleed dripped out of his nose and his eyes rolled backwards into his head.
Walking back to the dead body, the man was very careful with his hand as if he was holding something precious and fragile. He ran his two fingers gently over the dead man's lips as if applying some sort of cream or make-up. Forming a circle with his thumb and long finger, the man tapped his long finger several times over the dead man's eyes, just above the eyebrows. A deep breath, the dead body took a deep breath and let it out with a content sigh.
`` Have the doctors run some checks, verify that everyt-'' The man started, but was cut off by the woman.
`` No need Mr Shen. You have always delivered.'' She told him before assuring him that his payment would be transferred to his account by tomorrow morning.
`` I appreciate the confidence you have in my work, but get the doctors to do some tests.'' Mr Shen insisted. `` This is the 17th time I've come here for the chairman.''
`` If you say so Mr Shen.'' The woman replied, giving him a faint yet respectful bow.
`` Please inform the chairman that at this point adults will no longer suffice.'' Mr Shen said with a sigh. `` He'll need younger...'' He hesitated, thinking of a proper word. ``... subjects.''
A melody rang out in a muffled sound, prompting Mr Shen to fish out his cellphone from his pocket. A pained, half smile crossed his lips as he saw the number on the display.
`` Yeah, this is Wei speaking.'' He answered the phone, the rest of the conversation - or his half of it, boiled down to nods, yes, uh-huh and finally a short `` got it.''
Hanging up on the phone, Mr Shen looked at the hospital bed for one long moment before pocketing his phone and heading for the exit while muttering some foul sounding slang about celebrities and their drug habits.
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[ WP ] The Call of Nature is an actual landline phone call , direct from your spirit animal .
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Joseph sighs as the phone rings for the seventeenth time that day.
Joseph:'hey Gary... what's up now?'
Gary:'Duuuuuude, what's happening brah?
Joseph:'I told you like 10 minutes ago, I'm really busy with this assignment for work.. can you stop calling me today?'
Gary:'Oh dayuuum you've got that thing right? Yeah I know what you're saying mang.'
Joseph: Yeah I do, and this is starting to get ridiculous... I mean EVERY DAY? It's borderline harassment.
Gary: mmhm mmhm
Gary, a fully grown leopard, moves about his swanky new kitchen on his hind legs; phone nestled against his shoulder as he whisks some eggs in a pan. He wears a sarong tied loosely around his muscled waist, lady gaga's'pokerface' blasts from some speakers nearby.
Gary:'Well I was just making some eggs and getting mah freak on to some lady gaga... thought I'd check in to see how mah boy Jo-boy getting along!'
Jospeh:'Look Gary I've already said, you need to stop calling here it's really starting to...'
Gary:'Oh hold on a minute Jo boy I got a call coming in on the other line'
The line goes quiet, Joseph stares at the phone for a moment and lets out a deep forlorn sigh. He opens the top drawer of his desk and looks down with a most serious expression.
Gary slides his eggs onto a plate, humming'pokerface' to himself as he dials a number on his phone.
He leans against the counter as the phone rings, there is no answer. Unperturbed he walks over to the other side of the kitchen where hundreds of phones are scattered; all blinking furiously like a seething mass of black hell-spawn. Gary picks a random phone out of the pile and dials a number. He elegantly places the phone against his ear as it rings. After a moment the dialing tone cuts as the other end answers.
Gary:'Jo Booooooooooy! Wagwaning my main brother lover man!!?'
There is a moments silence, a muffled whimper, and the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. The line goes dead.
Gary:'Jo Boy?'
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[ WP ] You get smarter as you get angrier .
|
`` Hulk solve!''
The big green smashing machine had finally completely melded with that weakling inside him, puny Bruce Banner, so that Hulk's strength was combined with Bruce's intelligence, and both aspects would increase with the Hulk's anger.
`` Hulk solve world hunger!'' Hulk said, after stubbing his toe on Juggernaut. `` Hulk create amalgamation of peanut butter, salt, sugar and water in a delicious, nutritious paste that never expire. Then have Tony Stark make tens of billions of packets of the stuff every year forever with his puny but efficient machines!''
`` Ah, that's fine and all, Hulk,'' Tony Stark argued. `` But, I'm kinda not in that busi --''
`` Hulk make money like a motherfucker with Bruce Banner smarts!'' Hulk yelled. `` Then Hulk buyout Stark Industries!'' The Hulk looked down on puny Tony Stark. `` Wittle man argue with incredibly smart, infinitely powerful, Godlike being, otherwise known as Hulk?''
`` Well,'' Tony Stark argued, `` I would n't go that --''
Hulk's rage shook the Earth.
`` Wait,'' Hulk said. `` DEADPOOOLLLL!!!!''
`` Ow, man!'' Deadpool yelled in return. `` Inside voice, Hulk!''
`` Pfaw,'' Hulk said. `` Deadpool, She-Hulk say lanky undeading Deadpool thing knows this Fourth Wall, can alter reality.''
`` Maaaybe?''
`` Hulk demand you go, puny, mouthy merc, leave comic book, make God-writers make world utopia!''
`` Eh, what the hell?'' Deadpool said, and pranced off, off the pages.
____
`` So, hey.''
Shit.
Uh, hi, Deadpool?
`` Yeah, dude,'' Deadpool tells me. `` Make Hulk's world a utopia, or I rip your face off.''
Why would I argue with a guy with katanas and a gun?
*scribble scribble scribble, submits to Reddit*: [ PI ] The Marvel Utopia, as demanded by the Hulk ( and Deadpool ).
`` Perfect, acey-basey!'' Deadpool says, and jumps back into the comic book.
Ho-ly sheeit.
___
`` Hulk smart,'' the Hulk says.
This is a natural statement: everyone in Hulk's universe is smart, no one goes hungry, and there is no conflict.
The Hulk has retired to a monastery, to solve the greatest mysteries of the world.
THE END
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[ WP ] Most things will never happen , but this one will .
|
Most things never happen. Every second, as the universe grows and decisions are made, potential futures are pruned. Millions of futures - some only different in the color of a child's hair, some in which the oceans dry up overnight - are deleted every day on the Universe's journey to it's inevitable end. Unsurprisingly, then, most things will never happen, at least in this time stream of the multiverse.
But this one will.
Cathy will climb to the roof of her best friend's house with a garbage bag full of confetti and a case of beer. Her winter coat and the gloves she normally wears skiing will make the climb difficult, but it's too cold not to wear them in the snow at six in the morning but she would do anything to make her friend's birthday extra-special and the cleanup extra annoying.
After a long day of work and a longer night of fun, the young demon Zot'hrosh will wake up in a glitter-covered bedroom. Reaching out with a tentacle until he touches his sleeping girlfriend, he will roll over to continue where they left off last night, right into the furious glare of her fairy mother.
In the apartment building across the street, seven-year-old Gene will be waking up with a cold, happy to stay home this Monday. He will open the window to check on last night's snow, and see a potential burglar.
Worried about the constant light shows across the street Cathy's friend Alyssa could n't get to sleep the night before her birthday. She promised herself that if there was another light show, she would call the police. She was n't concerned about the lights, but some of the things she could hear from that room could be nothing but animal abuse.
Abandoning his plan to play video games all day, Gene will prepare to defend his neighbor by summoning Zot'hrosh.
As thankful as Zot'hrosh will be to about being summoned away from his girlfriend's mother, he will be looking for someone to take his anger and embarrassment out on, and growl as he is being summoned, louder than ever.
Alyssa will finally decide to call the police, and spice up her story a little. Humans could be getting hurt in there! And she definitely heard something on her roof!
Zot'hrosh will be ordered to attack the burglar.
Cathy, distracted by the demon across the street, will not notice her bag of confetti being split by a poorly placed nail.
The police will arrive, lights on and sirens blaring.
The lights, the sirens, the snow and the confetti will create a truly magical sight on this cold, dark winter morning.
Zot'hrosh, having never heard police sirens or seen confetti, will assume this to be his girlfriend's mother fairy spell. Having heard horror stories about how protective fairy mothers are of their offspring, he will panic and fly into the street, grabbing Cathy the potential burglar with him.
This, like most things that happen, will set off a chain of other things happening.
Cathy and Zot'hrosh will begin a perfectly normal interspecies romance, but not before giving Alyssa the best birthday party ever.
Gene will spend the day looking for more reliable demons to summon to get revenge on his bullying classmate.
Five weeks later - a year by fairy standards - Zot'hrosh's ex-girlfriend will give birth to a perfectly normal fairy boy. She and her husband of a fortnight will be quite proud of him, and she will be as protective of him as her mother was of her. The boy will have the most normal blue, glittering hair.
|
[ WP ] You and your dinosaur 'mining mate ' are stranded on a seemingly barren planet after a mining expedition goes horribly wrong
|
The ship's engines dwindled into tiny pinpricks of light, while the massive gas giant overhead cast its blueish sheen over their surroundings.
`` Well shit,'' Hobbson said. Jane noted how the old man had seized the opportunity to fire off a two-word sentence. *He must be really mad... *
She reached for his *wristy*, standard equipment part of every miner's outfit that contained a small touch screen communication device, and tapped it a couple of times. It showed the trajectory of the *Iron Dreadnought*; the class 4 freighter that had been deployed from the generation ship months ago in an attempt restock on some valuable minerals and metals that had been lost in the 2108 explosion which had rent a hole into the side of the ship four acres wide and had cost 61 people their lives.
`` They're on her way back,'' she noted dryly, `` And out of comm reach.''
A grunt sounded over the intercom. She saw Hobbson shrug his shoulders. He dropped the portable antenna they had rigged up. She'd never really expected it to work. They were on the other side of the valley, and the battery had been almost out of juice. They had managed a weak signal, which had broadcast their clipped SOS perhaps halfway over the temporary base.
She could taste bile in her mouth, and forced away her impulse to puke. They were stranded here, as she had feared they would for the past three days. The rover they had taken out to check the automated drills had run into what the crew was calling'magic quicksand'. Patches of loose regolith mixed with ammonium and nitrate. It looked rock solid from a slight distance, but that was only to top layer. It could support the weight of a light person, such as herself, but the bulkier frames, such as those of Hobbson ( or a rover ), would crack it and quickly suck you down.
The patches magic quicksand varied greatly in size. Some were nothing more than puddles, minor inconveniences that caused your foot to sink down anywhere between three and thirty centimeters. Others were ponds, like the one that had swallowed up Ramirez, or even lakes. The latter variety had recently swallowed up one of the automated mining rigs. 3D printed hardware was n't irreplaceable ( that was the whole essence of 3D printers, really ) but it had been made of seventeen tonnes of raw material, which had been swallowed up and lost.
`` Let's go,'' Hobbson said, turning away from the dwindling light of the engines and heading back to the rover. *Another two word sentence. I wish there was a witness to capture this moment for posterity. *
She unplugged the battery and turned to follow him. The rover was tilted head down into the regolith, but could still function as a hab of sorts. The ox-reprocessor did n't draw that much power and would probably function as long as the solar panels could provide it with juice, as would the H2O-extractor. The temperature dropped to below freezing every night the gas giant was n't in the sky, which was roughly a third of the year.
After a couple of hours she heard the snores that indicated that Hobbson was fast asleep. She yawned, but sleep would not come for her. Everything that had happened seemed to have led her here, alone on a desert island in the sea that was the galaxy, save for a ship that was slowly creeping away from her, and an almost-mute sixty-something miner.
She imagined the various ways that she might die here. Would it be the slow agony of starvation? Would the solar panels glitch out on them, leaving them to asphyxiate or die of thirst? Would she just take one of the power drills, set it to her temple, and let its weight do the trick? Every possibility seemed to increase her heart rate, until she lay panting and sweaty on the rover's tilted floor.
**Thunk**
She jerked upright. What was that?
**THUNK**
Even Hobbson woke up. `` Wass'up?'' he rasped groggily.
It was the door. Something was hitting the door.
`` The wind?'' she asked. `` Something we did n't tie down?''
Hobbson pointed at the screen above her head. It showed an amalgam of different statistics about the rover, including the readings of the atmospheric sensory data. Two knots. Hardly a breeze.
**Thunk**
She walked over to the small window of reinforced glass that sat beside the rover's main entrance. It was so thick that anything you saw through it was hardly recognizable. A vague shape was visible right in front of the door. It did n't look like it was part of the rover that had blown off. Then, it moved.
**Thunk-Thunk**
|
[ WP ] Write about `` a beast that was , and is not , but yet is ''
|
He pins me down,
stronger than I.
This beast I will wrestle until the day that I die.
He creeps up on me slow,
but I can sense his presence.
I know him too well,
he has haunted me since adolescence.
He is dark and brutish and brimming with strength,
and I lay beneath him,
trapped for weeks at length.
Our fight is constant, and we are familiar.
I the captured, him the captor.
Some days I win, and he slinks away,
but he always stays at the edge of the fray.
He carries no real power,
he is a beast of shadow.
Touch me, he can not
but influence, he can do.
I could never forget an adversary like he;
Likewise, he could never leave me.
Depression is a beast who devours souls.
My only respite will be when I grow too old.
|
[ EU ] The working day of a bartender at a Bar for villains
|
Slim had been cleaning the same glass for roughly two hours. The bar was empty and quiet, save for the two lushes grunting unintelligibly at each other in a corner booth over glasses of cheap iced gin.
It was Tuesday, and Slim was worried.
Tuesdays were a bad day in this city - bus-fare was a quarter off, which meant that all the down-on-their-luck hacks and two-bit villains came crawling out of the ratholes of the city, looking to score a quick buck or a quick fix. For the most part, despite occasional property damage, they were n't a serious issue. Slim was n't particularly worried about them - they knew the score in his bar, and could be counted on to slip an extra hundred into the tip jar whenever they'd knocked over a bank.
But there were others who did n't like Slim or his rules; and as luck would have it, one of them sauntered in, smelling slightly of gasoline and the strange, heady scent of liquid nitrogen.
Slim nodded warily at the parka-clad figure.
`` What's up, Len?''
`` Not much. Had a minute or two to spare, so I figured I'd get a beer. Red Dog - tap. And you'll cover this one for me.''
Slim cursed under his breath and drew the pint, carefully placing it six inches from the strange man's hands.
`` Little hot for that coat today, Len.''
`` Fuck you - it's my work clothes, you know that.''
As Len finished his sentence, Slim suddenly noticed that he could hear sirens - lots of them. They sounded like they were getting closer.
`` Len? Did you do something this morning? Work related?''
Len sneered across the bar, his hand slowly moving to the funny looking gun strapped to his hip. Slim never understood why a villain would carry what looked like a child's toy as a weapon, but he was never interested enough in the answer to ask Len directly.
`` And what the fuck if I did, Slim? That just means that I'll be able to pay back on my tab. Quit your moaning, and get me another beer. I've still got a minute and thirty-five seconds.''
Slim did, but as he drew the pint he heard a strange sound, like a swarm of hornets bouncing rapidly off the pavement. Len must have heard it too, because he cursed loudly.
`` Thought that sunuvabitch was in Chicago... I've got less time than I thought.''
In fact, there was no time left at all. A sudden wind flung open the door, tearing it clean off its hinges. The windowglass buckled, and then shattered clean through, sending shards flying across the bar. Slim was safely ensconced behind the bar in a small cubbyhole, but he heard the fight as it happened - or rather, after it happened.
`` You shoulda known better Len... just because I step out of town does n't mean you can knock over an armored car without me hearing about it.''
`` Fuck you,'' replied Len mildly. There was a soft thunderclap, like the air in the bar had stopped moving and then resumed all at once. The shattering sound that came after, Slim realized, was the drywall breaking as it froze. Len must have missed, because the next sound Slim heard was Len's face being pulped by about 2500 blows in the space of a few seconds.
`` Come on Len,'' said the man. `` Let's get you back to Iron Heights. You've been off your prescription for two weeks now.''
Slim heard a few coins clatter onto the bar.
`` Hey barkeep - thanks for holding him up for me. There's a tip for the trouble.''
There was another rush of wind, and then silence. Slim cautiously poked his head up from behind the bar and surveyed the devastation. It was gon na take more than a few tips to get the place back in order. Slim somberly lined up three shots of well whiskey, taking them back to back.
`` Just another Tuesday in Central City. Fuck this. I'm moving to Metropolis.''
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[ WP ] Making wishes on shooting stars actually makes them come true . However , the wish causes said star to fall to the Earth , and you must make your way to the point of impact in order to have your wish fulfilled .
|
`` I swear I'm telling the truth! Please, you have to understand!''
`` I'm sure. Step away, please.''
`` Look, man, you do n't get it. You seriously do n't! If you just let me in there for like ten seconds, I can cure cancer!''
`` Medical school can help you with that too. Step away, please.''
`` What the fuck, man!? Do n't touch me! Dude, are you seriously telling me you're going to deny the entire fucking world the cure for cancer just because you ca n't take your fat government-spook head out of your ass for one moment!?''
`` Look, kid, it's late. Why do n't you go back to home, go to bed, and forget what you saw here, all right? I do n't want any trouble, and I do n't think you do either. Step away, please.''
`` No, *you* step away! You have no idea what you're talking about, man! You are literally the only thing standing between me and healing this entire goddamn world of fucking **cancer**!! ``
`` *sigh* This is your final warning: step away, please, and leave the premises immediately.''
`` No, fuck you, man! You have no right to keep this from the rest of the world, and I'm not going -- GET OFF ME! I SAID GET OFF ME! NO! STOP! YOU DO N'T UNDERSTAND! FUCK! LET ME GO!! FUCK!!!''
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[ WP ] You 've been sent into an alternate dimension where music is magic : choirs can change the weather and orchestras can topple castle walls . With your digital music device ( iPhone , MP3 player , whichever ) , you 've just become the most powerful wizard in the world .
|
As the smoke clears I can see a world, a world which I remember; however a world so very different from what I've known. As I scan the area around me I noticed strange things, things of magic. I continue through the park, as I'm walking I feel memorized by [ the soothing sound of a cellist ] ( https: //youtu.be/5ugjNS8ubVk ). As I arrive I noticed the trees swaying with the sound of each note placed, the ground shaking with excitement in anticipation for the continuation of the song.
I listen to the cellist's tune, and as the song is finished I continue on my walk. The sound of trumpets playing in the background causes the birds to fly in a military styled formation. It was at that moment what was different from the world I was from, in this world music was the key to everything. It was at this moment that I remembered my classic Ipod sitting in my pocket.
I took the Ipod out and took a look at the current playlist I had selected. With a smug looked around for a place to build my throne. `` Ah-ha! The perfect place'' I said to myself. As I sat myself down on the hill I connected my Ipod and my speakers. Once again I looked at my Ipod, knowing I was making the correct decision.
Using the scroll wheel I turned back the time on the song. Pausing for a moment taking in my last breathe as a normal average human being. When my breathe was completed I pressed down on the wheel, and the song began to [ play ] ( https: //youtu.be/09bkG-7Vj2w ).
|
[ EU ] In a universe where the roles of villains and heroes have been switched , Joker is the charismatic prankster hero of Gotham while his archnemesis is the all-too serious Batman .
|
`` Those eyes. Well what can I say, when you see the things a Man like him saw, it changes you'' he said, dusting off his purple suit.
`` You were lucky I was nearby by or old bat ears would have hanged you by a noose''.
Just ten minutes ago, I was hot on the trail of the story of the century, finding out Batman's identity. Which could finally lead to his arrest. But like always he had me trapped. But then this man saved me.
`` Who are you?'' I asked.
`` Oh, how rude, allow me to introduce myself. I am the Joker. The Clown, the Prankster, the guy who fights a man dressed as a bat. Name me as you wish''.
The man had green dyed hair, like Easter grass. A sweet and gentle smile, and white powdery make up were plastered on. But that smile was n't the usual, sarcastic or snarky smile I'm and people like me are used to. This smile was genuine. He was smiling because he was happy. This was a bit off putting. But I had to get my story.
`` Who are you. What's your name? Why did you save me?'' I asked.
`` I ca n't tell you much, they do n't want me to talk. But I never been the one for rules either though. Decisions am I right?'' He said laughing at his own joke.
`` What's your name?'' He asked me. `` If you tell me I might tell you mine''
`` Link Jackson'' I said.
`` Ahh. Nice to meet ya Link. And by the way, if your going to stalk me, at least be a pretty red head'' he said, trying to hold in a chuckle.
`` Oh, your one of those reporters are n't you. I always hated the paparazzi. But I bet you need something to tell the press. You know what, I'm in a good mood tonight. Why do n't I tell you who I am. Will you guys stop hounding me if I do? Yes? Good.'' He said, faster than my mind could comprehend.
`` Sure'' I said.
`` I was born into a humble home'' he said. `` the circus. The wonder one felt there, anything was possible. That is if you tried, my mother and father told me. They taught me how to create an electric joy buzzer from scratch, how to juggle, and they raised me with at least some morals''.
I nodded as the clown continued to talk about his life.
`` They raised me to realize that people are n't evil by nature, they are just like you and me. They have families, they pray, they wan na laugh''.
`` Mmhmmm'' I said, scribbling it down on paperz
`` Over the years, I've taken on this persona, not for power like that fascist. I want to do it to give people hope. I was an icon, so was my family. Until he killed them for harboring a few poor drug dealers, they were poor and afraid, he killed them like they were bugs'' he said, his smile vanished. But then he calms down. He took deep breaths.
`` But I do n't stoop to his levels. I try always to keep a smile on my face and a gleam in my eye. I create weapons from scrap and circus gear'' he said.
He showed me the daisy on his shirt, it was actually a sprayer of some kind.
`` That gas that caused him to finally smile? My own patented Laughing Gas. He'll be laughing for the next hour'', he said.
`` But what's your name?'' I asked.
`` What's my name? Why does it matter? I'm just some guy who's protecting you from evil, for free may I add. My name is n't important. What I stand for is'' he said, pounding his chest.
`` I stand for freedom, freedom from fear and terror. No child should have to fear what happens to theirs parents at night. I wish to bring hope and laughter to the streets of Gotham. So people Batman for what he is. A Coward'' he preached, before looking at his. Watch.
`` I've got go. Better get me front page for me'' he said.
This odd man walked off into an old rusting pick up. And honked the horn.
`` Bye Bye'' he said before driving off.
|
[ WP ] Write about a chess match from the POV of one of the pieces .
|
We charge toward each other. I, a pawn white and shiny, charge toward the evil black pawns that charge toward us. I can only move forward until I have to attack. Four moves later, the black knights start to tear apart our flanks. Just when all hope is lost, she appears, the white queen, and tears those knights apart. A bishop and a rook are taken from the black army before the queen falls by my side. I avenge her. This little pawn, destroys the black queen and moves closer to promotion.
The other pawns around me start to fall, but I survive. We are loosing badly still. I move forward again. I am so close, so close to avenging my fallen brothers when the remaining black rook moves to stop my ascension. A white rook moves to the back line. We are outnumbered, and we can not win. The white rook dies by the black rook. I take it and am left with a choice. What do I want to become?
I am reborn as a queen. My king is in peril. I attack what remains of the black army. I destroy a knight and take the final rook. I take two pawns and the final bishop. Only the black king is left. My king moves into position by my side, and we trap him. Check, check, and then... checkmate. The battle is over.
***
If you like this, check out my subreddit: r/nickkuvaas.
|
[ WP ] The end of times has come . Heaven , hell , and earth are thrown in a three-way war . It 's a little unfair how advanced Earth is , though .
|
The war began, and at first things looked bleak. The pope and President Barack Obama united the world under a One World Government during Obama's third term. Then, an uprising happened. Specifically in the religious community. `` This was all prophesied'' they claimed. `` He is the Antichrist!'' So they killed him. Crucified him upsidedown and burned the cross until it was nothing but ash.
But you know how that song and dance goes. 3 days later, the Pope pulled his living body out of a swamp somewhere in Ireland. At this, a few hundred began to worship him. For the most part, people stayed with their respective religions. The Christians were pretty pissed. Nobody believed that `` The end times are upon us.''
Around this time, one man from each of the seven continents became prominent in the media for supposed world records. `` Most time without moving'' in the US. `` Longest excrement at once from dysentery'' in India. `` Largest mass shooting'' in the Philippines. Etc. These people claimed to be horsemen. Yet another thing the Christians had a field day with. At this point, everyone else thought they were crazy.
It was n't until the ground opened up that we got worried.
The world's first 10.0 earthquake was measured in China. It was probably stronger, but that was where the scale topped out at. It was felt everywhere on earth. The center was somewhere in the Himalayas. Google positioned satellites to get a good view of what people thought was a volcano. All manner of Geologists were excited.
Turns out it was n't a volcano. The earth had opened up. A massive rift had appeared which exposed the mantle of the earth. This gave the aforementioned Geologists a hardon like none other. They wanted to see why the rift was n't spilling earth's entrails onto the surface! Everyone was curious, really, but Geologists were the ones who really took the opportunity. They work with rocks for fucks sake. When will they EVER have this much fun again?
They descended on China's iconic mountains in droves. Many went missing. Their bodies were never found. Satellite calls were made left and right. Both to and from the Himalayan teams. Nothing useful was gleamed. Either confused questions about `` what do you mean George is n't answering his cell? He's at the front of the line!'' Or that annoying lady who tells you'Your call can not be completed as dialed
Finally, someone got a call out about what was going on. `` I found something... It's like... A lizard... It looks like a geko, but it has scales. Its arms are longer than its legs too. It looks like the arms are wings... Poor thing got pinned to the ground by a beautiful sample of quartz. Poor thing.'' The call dropped there. After that, no calls came or went from the research teams.
Around a week later, towns closest to the mountains were attacked. Strange bat things were picking people up and flying them to frighteningly high places before tormenting and killing them. The menace spread. It was n't until it hit the first major city that the military did something. The problem was more or less handled overnight. Claws did nothing to kevlar. The creatures could n't attack with enough numbers to outright kill one fully armed and trained soldier.
A month after we had this problem under control, a bright light shone from the sky above Israel. It was so bright that people could not look at it directly. After it dimmed, a booming voice was heard: `` This war will soon be over. Do not fret, my children.'' Lights began appearing all over the world, accompanied by the same message in the areas native toung.
Ten foot tall beings stepped out of the lights. They wielded scepters as tall as they were. Head-to-toe, they wore ancient iron armor painted white.
Taking this as a threat, the military began bombing the lights. Nothing seemed to hurt them, however. One was captured and studied. Within a week, the army was cranking out bullets which could pierce the armor of the strange mute giants. Under the armor, they were basically 10 foot tall people wielding iron telephone poles. The armor was structured to take damage incredibly well. It was just iron, however. Stainless steel shells worked just fine.
The `` war'' ended in a year. Bat things were made into cheap horror movies. `` Angels'' were captured and interrogated. Nothing new was heard of after that. Religion was purged, however. Christians fought the world, insisting we were doing things wrong. They were joined by other Abrahamic religions as well. Terror attacks and suicide bombings took place at facility's where angels were being held. Eventually, religion was made illegal if it was acted on, punishable by months in prison.
The rift closed up. The lights stopped shining. Soon, bats and angels were n't seen at all. Humanity visited the stars, but never learned where that little hiccup in their history came from. Perhaps it was better that way.
|
[ WP ] The imagery challenge .
|
The elevator ride was silent and lonely, his briefcase in hand
The bus ride was full of kids talking and singing ready for the school day.
He stepped out of the elevator to a busy floor of people doing their work.
She jumped out of the bus with her friend into a sea of bustling middle-schoolers.
He sat down at his computer ready to work.
She sat at her desk, pencil in hand ready to learn.
7:59. Flight 11 leaves the airport full of people leaving for Los Angeles.
She listens to the teacher and learns about the clouds and all the different types.
8:14. Flight 175 leaves for Los Angeles. Families are enjoying themselves.
He works with others, collaborating on a project due in four days
She loves the way the clouds flow, how they look like the softest pillows to lay on.
He hears an explosion and feels an earthquake. It is 8:46.
She dreams about sleeping on the fluffy ones, dreams about the dreams she could have on them.
Panic ensues and something is wrong. A second explosion and another earthquake. He smells smoke and his ears ring.
She is told that they are going home. She is excited to go out and play with her friends.
He calls home and leaves a message. No one is there to answer.
The building falls and he is silent and lonely. The dust is settling.
She is laying on the grass of her favorite playground staring at the sky imagining she could fly onto the clouds and sleep there forever.
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